arse of the believer
whom @LouLouMySweet had chained
1 Like
Butt naked across the
road from the Rockstone
checking gonads for smears
of spicy fecal matter.
Btripz naked nuns were
rolling in sticky nutella
as they escaped from
Dubai Phil’s bar bill.
3 Likes
A close shave indeed
but not so close
Brazilians were in vogue
because of the world
As well as having other stuff to do, just having to wait for (and managing to find) a suitable place to break up the storyline has made editing together the latest episode a tricky task. 
We have an interesting mix of mostly those trying to work together to create a flowing story – and those who enjoy throwing in curveballs instead. It’s been fun trying to work within those limits and between us still attempt to carve out something that is readable, and humourous.
It is working out pretty well so far my friends, keep up the good work. 
*** Latest Update ***
[Episode Five] – Piglet’s Escape: A close shave, smeared with Cheryl juice, Mighty Kenyan Mold, and a tax-avoidance Starbucks latte.
The old lady grabbed her umbrella, not realising it was a pig. Not just any pig - but - David Cameron’s favourite piglette!!! The hairy ears worn smooth with constant use, flapped gently in the breeze from Corbyn’s arse, as ‘Call me Dave’ lied and lied again.
The terrified piglet squealed, realising Tories fuck everything. Ted lost the plot, just for a change, which is as good as alcoholics can muster. “Now for some answers!” cried out the old bastard from the other end of the ward.
“It’s now or never!” – Piglet struggled to escape – but Dave’s clawing hands dug in, drawing blood. Piglet squealed. He knew Dave’s cock was infected, riddled once more with extra-terrestrial blood-sucking parasitic worms that discouraged the ladies - keen as mustard beforehand - from entertaining thoughts of a cunt entering them. A violin playing cat would be more welcome.
Piglet struggled free, and flourishing a feather duster, distracted Dave’s attention sufficiently from fucking-up the country for just five seconds, before he beat Labour in a lying competition with an egg whisk, shoving a Panamanian Passport in his knicker drawer with his other secrets. Piglet wondered when this chance would come, and in hope, he celebrated with pork scratchings, and rubbed pooh on his mate pap’s shrivelled and redundant yet strangely beautiful 128k spectrum.
He kept playing The Hobbit on a second hand violin, stringless, but excellent for sliding gently into the massive offshore tax loop-holes - thanks to the Tories little bit of politics. “Where is Panama?” asked Eddie Van Halen, forgetting even his own name was once Englebert Humperdinck. “Fuck knows”, Dave replied, whilst caressing his porcine and noticing a scotal smear on Trump’s green bollocks could be seen growing through his orange scalp and wheatabix head array.
Piglet escaped! 
– and Dave’s furious! “George you floppy haired financial wizard!”
“Well done!” cried the Tory chancellor [or should that be] (lied the Tory chancer?) as his nose grew a red throbbing proboscis, thankfully without a smear of any political scandal, unless you include the scrotal fiddling of Westminster Paedo-rings.
Finding the one ring - the ring of fire - once upon a time in a place far closer to the storyline, but still very unsavoury – was a Panamanian offshore rig, where PhillipineSaint lingered, furtively adjusting his pants over his ears, and blocking the porcine squeals. But he still ordered a plate of bacon with crispy bits, and a tax-avoidance Starbucks latte. Tax-avoidance for 20 of the country’s finest bestiality inclined frontbench Politicans.
“But it’s only £30,000!!!” wailed Ashley Cole, pointing his little ratty face smeared with Cheryl juice at a St Mary’s linesman, whilst clasping his tiny brain - and thinking about Liam Payne pounding her. But she was worth a mortar and pestle in her love flower – already distinctly over-watered – with essence of giraffe and Mighty Kenyan Mold, plus a nasty yeast infection. Heavy application of Canestan stopped the pulsating throb, heart running down the inside of his leg, killing this thread dead.
“Defibrillator!!!” called a passer-by, which was pretty dumb.
“Dumb? surely you jest!?”
“Don’t call me Shirley!” [Shirley raged].
“Hey Shirley 
How’s you?”
“Been worse, but then – I have a beard” [she conceded].
“Have a shave then!”
Nicely plucked, fucked, and good to go, after both barrels unloaded into the silted canal – Lou said “Stop Insinuating!” - stamped her foot, and shook her booty. The tail was raised by by her sybaritic teasing. The peeling of grapes, the gargle of absinthe, all the tools to render her prey unconscious, giving her carte blanche to satisfy her curiosity, and debauch her victim.
Waterboarding was so yesterday. Like a black widow - she preferred to envenomate, then bite the heads – as disjointed sentences damaged chances of a booker prize. 50 Shades of grey matter went up the arse of the believer, whom @LouLouMySweet had chained butt-naked across the road from The Rockstone, checking gonads for smears of spicy fecal matter. BTripz naked nuns were rolling in sticky nutella, as they escaped from Dubai Phil’s bar bill. A close shave indeed. But not so close.
[Episode Six] has begun…
Brazilians were in vogue, because of the world…
4 Likes
record set for most
Big arses wobbling suggestively.
“Who wants it then?”
Gesticulated Pap, bollocksac coated
in nutella Nuns accomodating