Chronicles of a Cunt


Some people are born fucking stupid and others have idiocy thrust upon them. My best mates sister must be a bit of both because she’s a total fucking moron. I mean she doesn’t dribble on herself or bang the side of head when trying to count, but if her actions this weekend are anything to go by, she’d probably fit right in on one of those special buses for kids with special faces. My best mate and I rolled into his sister’s house on a Saturday afternoon following a heavy couple of days of debauchery involving  narcotics that only vets should use, two overly intelligent antipodean ladies with accents straight out of Prisoner Cell Block H and more recently two very expensive bottles of bourbon. I still stank of that nice sweaty sex smell because I hadn’t showered, Fingerbanger (I’ve changed his name to protect his identity, but he’s not fucking innocent trust me) stank of his own vomit because he’d just heaved up a bottle of expensive bourbon over the front of his shirt.

Fingerbanger had demanded that, as we were in the vicinity, we stop at his sisters house so that he could shower and try to clean himself up. Fingerbangers sister, since splitting with her husband a few years back, hangs out with a load of  fresh faced young spunk targets she knows from work. So when she invited us to a house party that  she was a little nervous about attending that night I  jumped all over the chance. When Fingerbanger came back downstairs and heard what was being proposed he was horrified. ‘What the fuck was she thinking!’ he asked. ‘Could she not see how fucked we both were?’ he quizzed. ‘Look at the fucking state of that cunt!’ he pointed out, waving an admonishing finger in my direction. I tried to look innocent, which isn’t easy when you’re clutching a half empty bottle of expensive bourbon and smell like you’ve been bollock deep in Madge Ramsey all night trust me.

With a bit of cajoling and the promise of some herbal relaxants we managed to convince Fingerbanger that contrary to his extreme paranoia and cautiousness this was actually a very good idea and so off we set.  By the time we arrived at, what can only be described as a fucking mansion, the situation had already deteriorated rapidly. I had tried to piss out of the window of his sisters car as we drove to Cuntingham Palace, when the siblings complained about my unorthodox urination I’d rested my cock neatly upon Fingerbangers’ shoulder almost causing his sister to crash the car into a tree. On arrival I’d not bothered waiting for the pair of them and had crashed every fucking gate this party had, barging unannounced through the front doors, swiping a bottle of miscellaneous spirits from the kitchen side and plopping myself next to the first human being who possessed a love hole I could find.

She was big, she kept saying she was big boned but if that was the case her massive bastard bones belonged on display in the fucking Natural History Museum. Obviously self conscious about her girth, she kept bashing on and on about her glands. To put her mind at ease I dragged her into the garage and fed her my glands for a while. Gentlemen, have you ever been in that tricky situation where it’s almost impossible to squirt your muck? I fucked this monsters’ head for about twenty minutes before giving it up for a bad job. Besides I got distracted by an axe and timber that was clearly set up for providing fire wood, I removed my top and made like a Lumberjack. A few minutes later somebody came to investigate the noise, as he entered the garage he was met by flying kindling wood and a wild eyed, half naked man entertaining a bird who looked like Barney the Friendly Dinosaur.

“Who are you?! What the hell is going on in here?!” I have to admit I was a little put out by this chaps abruptness.

“Who am I?! Who the fuck are you is the real question?” In my inebriated state I thought that my Paxman like, rapier wit and incisive comment would throw him off my scent. It didn’t.

“This is my house, what are you doing in here?!” That was enough to stop me in my tracks somewhat. I’m not some sort of yobish lout after all.

“Oh I do apologise,” I said shaking his hand as he stood there, all befuddled and shit. “I was chopping wood for you. Lovely house you have here. Have you met Barney?” I left him stood there, examining the devastation I’d left behind me. It looked like the Amazon Rainforest after the Annual Brazilian ‘Cut Down a Hectar Just for the Shit and Giggles’ event.

Not to be discouraged by my earlier failings, I took Barney by the hand and led her upstairs to the bathroom. Very spacious, and well appointed, like Grand Designs on smack. Heated towel rails, gold taps, fancy retro sink. The perfect setting for throwing one into this birds arsehole. We smooched over to the sink, I pulled her knickers off, which was like taking down the big top on the last day of the circus. In, what can only be described as a Herculian display of strength, I lifted her up onto the edge of the sink so as to obtain a better angle with which to slot it up her. It turns out I’m stronger than an antique Victorian hand basin with original fittings and that Victorians had obviously not taken into account that folk might like to balance a baby elephant on said hand basin when producing their fancy dan sanitary wear. We’ve moved on a lot since then. It shattered into a million porcelain pieces, water gushing out in a fountain from the broken stumped remains. I was so pissed off. It should have been me gushing like a fucking fountain not the bastard sink.

I made like OJ Simpson and did my best to leave the scene of the crime. I made it as far as the downstairs bog. This was a million miles away from the Lord of the Houses’ bathroom upstairs, it must have been where he makes the servants shit, I reckon. Not even a lock on the cunting door. It made for very awkward fucking, I had my cock up her arse, with one leg jammed against the door holding it shut. Twenty minutes I arsed that bird for, still struggling to seal the deal whilst swearing every time some fucker tried to open the door. There was a concentrated effort to gain entry into that toilet and eventually my leg gave way throwing me bollock deep into Barney’s ringer. I spun her around and looked over her shoulder at the long, angry snaking queue of desperate to piss party goers. As upstairs was off limits due to some cunt vandal destroying the antique Victorian sink this pisser had become the only available place to relieve oneself. I found myself staring into the eyes of Lord Cuntingham.

“You!” He was apoplectic with rage, I tried waving Barneys massive tits in his direction in an attempt to appease him, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Oh hello my dear fellow! Have you run out of wood?!”

Chucked out with my pants around my ankles and still didn’t shoot my load. Frustrated cunt.

13 Comments

Filed under Chronicles of a Cunt

13 responses to “Chronicles of a Cunt

  1. Anonymous

    Ha Ha….Fuck face

  2. Barney?! Is that you?!

  3. Chang

    This blog is one of the worst I’ve seen online. Even Cap’n’Jacques is funnier than you. You’ve gone from hypocritical left wing sanctimony into the realms of unfunny anecdotes. Just give up!

  4. Geever

    This would be funny if it were real. Back to fantasies about ugly fat chicks for you. Since you would appear to have an internet connection, I’m sure your cock and right hand would prefer porn rather than writing your own false sex horror stories; and the rest of the world would prefer you not to blog such horseshit.

    • What my right hand would really prefer is to fish hook your mouth, forcing you to look me in the eye whilst I crash in and out of your ringer.

      You could murmur ‘Horseshit’ repeatedly from around my fingers if you want… It’d make me cum quicker.

      Lets play a game me ol’ mucker! Within the anecdote above there are two bare faced lies, one exaggeration and the rest is true. See if you can work it out, Sherlock Homo. I promise to play by the book!

      • Edward Hitler

        Deal, you contemptible bastard.

        Two bare faced lies eh, matey? Well here’s a fucking shot in the dark, one is that the fat bitch never had her laughing gear around your pecker in the first place – the other is that you shagged her.

        The exaggeration could be one of two things – either the party at the mansion was actually at your mum’s house and by breaking the sink you actually meant you shot your load over the bathroom walls in an act of desperate hand relief having failed to get laid. The other possibility is in fact that the fat bitch was actually your sister; which ties into the first answer about how you didn’t shag her, rather stole her bra for aforementioned bathroom hand relief.

        Well old fruit, am I right? eh? 20p says I’m bang on. You utter bastard.

  5. Wrong, wrong and wrong again you cunt faced Fuckslug!

    That’s 20p you owe me Edward Wankerhands, you’re going to have to tell the kids that Xmas is cancelled this year because you’re fucking brainless and lost a bet to a mean man on the internet. You can send it to me via Paypal.

    I’ll also accept payment in kind, send me a photo of your wife’s / girlfriends / mum’s milk bags so I can size them up against Barney’s and I’ll call it quits.

    Any other Clueless Clouseau Cunts out there want to take a punt at this or should I call it quits and put Spunknose up there out of his misery?

    P.S. I did once shoot my muck on my mum’s walls though… her cervix ones.

  6. Anonymous

    Hi Barney here (see above)
    I think I’m missing the point here, I think this is supposed to be bad.. so bad it’s kinda good (like Batman in the 60s), I mean its not like any of this is true, Imamofo is probably some sad weirdo with a beard, that fingers his arse-hole and licks the shit off while wanking but he is quite good with his imagination…
    P.S. – I’ll ask your mum how her cervix is, am seeing her tonight

    • Barney!

      You baggy arsed bint! Actually you reminded me of Batman in the 60’s… A portly, big paunched fucker who wears inappropriately tight clothes and looks better with a fucking mask on!

      You’re betting at guessing than Inspector Cuntchops up there though. I do have a beard and questionable wank habits.

      PS – We can Eiffel Tower her whilst discussing the pros and cons of having regular smear tests if you want?

  7. Eddie Hitler

    ^ Anonymous wasn’t me BTW.

    • I could tell it wasn’t you, you feckless cunt! You can spell and string a proper sentence together and shit, unlike that mouldy old spunk bag!

      Have you been desperately clutching at your bellend, squeezing tightly so that not one milky drop escapes, whilst waiting to hear the results? I’ll put you out of your fucking misery Duke Wankalot…. And God help me this is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.. I’m suspecting that you wont be able to handle it….

      Lie 1: There never were any Australian Girls that weekend. It was just a fabrication so I could talk about fucking Madge Ramsey and break the reader in gently.

      Lie 2: It wasn’t Fingerbangers sister… It was his mum. Make of that what you will, but true is true. A sister was more thematically suited to this rendition.

      Exaggeration: I didn’t chop up that much wood before being discovered in the act. In fact, I think I only made it through two faggots… Swinging an axe whilst shit faced is harder than one might imagine.

      Do you feel guilty now, you Grinch faced, miserable little testicle plinth, for robbing the story of all its magic and wonderment, for ripping the joy and exuberance from it?

      The least you could do is pay me my 20p you tight cunt.

  8. Raul

    How many roads must a man walk down, before he can say he’s a cunt?

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