Tag Archives: Cuntingham Palace

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.

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