Day 31 Sotonians Transfer House: 'The UPDATED End'

Day 31 Sotonians Transfer House: 'The UPDATED End'


Its day 31 in the house and as the tension builds to the midnight climax, the supreme Welsh sleuth DCI Rhal E Boyo has been sat in the monitor room for the past two days observing the house guests in a desperate search for clues to the murderer…


Thank fuck this is almost over thinks Boyo. the last 48 hours have been akin to having someone yank a testicule out through his urethra with a rusty bit of wire whilst being anally invaded a fucking angry Rhino with both horns

He has been sat watching what has to be the most mind numbingly dull bunch of cretinuous morons go about their idiotic routines for the past 2 days. He has come close to just shooting himself, but thank fuck he is not fire arms approved so could only fucking tazer himself if it came to it.

Its the last few hours of the transfer window so depsite not having a fucking scoob about who done it, he is now resigned to the fact that he simply could not give a fuck about these dumbfucks and he would be quite happy if they all joined the Arsehole Gradee and it it remained unsolved as far as he was concened - whatever that might do to his repuation…

Yesterday brought a new low as the dumb cunts drifted to looking at Daley Tom with no cloths on… fatso was tugging away like it was a fucking trial for the Wanking Olympics (might be the only medal we get, but must be a fucking shoe-in for gold in the Handie assisted class).

Bletch was commenting on the artistic merits of the photograph, the pose and the exceptional definition of his gluteus maximus. there was a lustful look in his eye, which did not escape CD who looked as if he would explode with envy.

Slowy had calmed down, there had been no repeat of the outburst from Saturday and together with Soggy they had returned to talking utter fucking bollocks almost continuously - Boyo had seen the dangers of this before, like being drilled in the fucking head with 10mm masonary bit… or arguing with Pap on the brexit thread

Barry was now engaged in his usual misery - Boyo suspected that if Sir Les Eton-Reed signed fucking Madonna or who ever the fuck was the worlds best player these days, barry would find a way to take the shine of the event and piss on the fucking bonfire. These fuckwit ‘scoocer’ fans - bloody twats. Why could they not follow a real fucking game, the beauty and elegance of the Welsh backline dancing with the ball to score a 5th try against the cunting English was truely special)

That CD guy was once again naked with the exception of a small tablecloth. He was on his hands and knees, close to Bletch and was being used by the old queen as a side table upon which rested Beltch’s pink gin

Rusty Hole or whatever he was called seemed to be arguing with Pap about something - Thankfully Pap was now fully clothed again having been able use Arsehole Grandee’s clothes. They were a little large for the skinny hairy arsed Lenin, but at least he was spared having to stare at his dangling scrote clean or soiled…

The various extras were mumbling away as ever, never able to fully articulate anything of any value to any conversation. Boyo was beginning to suspect that may not have been just down to contractual issues…

Thank fuck it was nearly over…

Over the Tannoy Big Bad BT Brother once again calls the house to order - he has given up trying to add humour to his announcments since it has failed on all occasions and now the Arsehole G is gone, he has no concern.

‘’ Willl all the house guests please convene in the the main loiunge’’ the dumbfuck suggests in an attempted Geordie accent, failing to notice the guests are indeed already all together in the one room with the obvious exception of the fat bloke in the morgue.

There is the usual grown at the dimwitted announcer, before the screen goes blank and the audio feed is cut…

The bear was watching…

To be concluded… maybe… if there is sufficient encouragement if you know what I mean…


Nice near-conclusion @areloa-grandee , however I think we have forgotten that one of the chuntering extras has come to the forefront recently. Possibly emboldened by your demise, sad or otherwise.

I think that maybe @rallyboy needs to turn his attention to @themightyostrich , personally I just don’t trust someone with an eye bigger than their brain.


Its not over till the fat lady sings.

And she’s dead.

this could run and run with no end goal in sight just like Shane Long


I shall miss this…until the summer window opens.


Lost in a Roman wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane
All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain

Sounds about right.


As the feed dies, DCI Boyo leans back and sighs ‘What the f…’’ his relief is suddenly cut short as the searing heat of an explosion rips through the house, the blast having shattered the darkened glass in the monitoring room. He feels the sting of glass and heat penetrating his skin before losing conciousness. …

Its completely dark and still when he awkes… he can feel the dust thick in the air as he tries to breath normally. the pain is bad but not excruiating. He knows he has broken some ribs, most likely when being hit by one of the fying monitors. He tries to stand and is surprized that he is able to do so without to much strain - he aches and there are cuts all over but he knows he has been lucky, shielded from the main blast and heat by the isolation of the monitoring room - the thick sound-prooofing may have cushioned the blast as well as the noise.

He can see into the lounge through the gaping hole - and its a scene of utter fucking carnage, like someone has sprayed blood and body parts with gay abaondon over every inch of what used to be the lounge, forget body bags, SOCO will need a fucking scoop and a wet vacuum to bag this lot. There is the faint smell of BBQ’d flesh… cooked by the blast no doubt - Jeez fucking wept … this is something else

The emergency lighting kicks in and really makes the scene come alive. Fatso has literally exploded and not through pleasuring himself to death, but torn apart by the blast. He must have been close to the epicentre. His head is impaled on the lava lamp the 70s kitch fucking enhanced by the severed head he thinks.

The sight of Bletch is interesting. Fatso’s Handie appears to have penetrated his left eye, his penis still enclosed by the pleasure glove acting as a rigid poker helping the deeper penetration. Bletch always was a bit of dickhead he thinks before he can help it

Slowy and Soggy appear to have embraced - or to be more melded into one - two halfwits, makes one full wit he thinks - trouble is as he cant see any head they may now have trouble articulating any coherent thought

All he can see of Barry is his shoes and feet - the rest would appear to have disintigrated and may be accounting for the excessive blood splatter - he is not sure if this is as a result of the now obvious explosive devise or the news of Promes not signing

CD seems at first unharmed - still on his hands and knees, still partially covered by the small table cloth, the only difference being that Pap’s whole arm, that has become detached from the rest of his body, has entrered his arsehole, and liquidized his insides - the fingers protruding from his mouth. Given Paps rumoured punsishment, is cant he quite sure whether this killer fisting happened before or after the explosion

The rest of Pap is also gone but he must be dead as their are a pair of slightly stained bollocks hanging from the remains of the ceiling light

Rustyhole and all the other insignificant extras are all mashed in the explosive quagmire…

He begins to shake his head when he hears a familiar voice…

‘‘they all had to die you know’’ - he turns to find Big Bad Brother, AKA BTflipshislid holding a Glock 9mm pointed in his general direction.

‘’ Arsehole first naturally, piss taking twat thinking I aint funny’’ then the rest were just a bunch of nobodies, who just spouted incessant shite ‘’

The DCI has to agree, and he knows that this rather spectacular end will have improved the local gene pool, but murder is murder and he will to take BT down.

‘‘you too of course and your fucking egg chasing ways’’


DCI Boyo has closed his eye at the shock… this is it he thinks… some fucking end… but he does not fall. He opens his eys and finds he is very much alive and OK… Before him Bearsy is standing holding what can only be Paps other arm which he has just used to smash BT in the head, the gun going off and the bullet entering Bletchs other eye.

Bearsy is grinning


Oh do fuck off!! What the flying fuck would I be doing with a Glock 9mm? Them’s shit them is.

Desert Eagle or .44 Magnum for me please…


I envisaged something more like this…


And you can FRO too @gavstar


I’ll need to ‘to’ before I can ‘fro’.


Don’t make me angar @gavstar you won’t like me when I am v. anger!




Fuck its CD! :lou_lol: :lou_is_a_flirt: :lou_wink_2:


And do I see Bletch in the background wearing an unpleasantly green blazer?


Me ?


Actually, now I’ve looked in the mirror, it does look like me. I’m a super hero !


You’ve all been had for mugs.


The only mug round Barry is the miserable bloke who cant resist trying to inpect everything with his wind up fake misery - you think we dont get you? hahaha Folks on this thread dont take themselves too seriously -we dont take you seriously at all…


Theres more to life bollocks…