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PHOTOSHOP?! Tish and fipsy. I like to does the paintmash!

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» The B3ta Cookbook

I once tried to make a microwaved chocolate muffin for my wifey.
Except I didn't have any milk so used twice the amount of cooking oil instead, assuming that in the world of 'cookery' one liquid was much the same as another.

When it came out after 5 long looked like a slab of beef and smelled like a wet dog.

I ate my bit out of sheer bloody mindedness and was rewarded with an evening of bowel-related entertainments.
(Tue 3rd Jul 2012, 19:37, More)

» Public Sex

Christ, this is a dull load of depressing shite.
When did B3ta turn into the letters page of Reader's Wives?
I visit these parts to laugh, not to read about ugly strangers clumsily fumbling each other's offal in some godforsaken trolleybus in Stoke.
(Mon 27th Apr 2009, 18:49, More)

» The Wank Bank

In the case of most of these stories:

(Thu 23rd Aug 2012, 23:45, More)

» Shit Claims to Fame II

My first ever pet was a knackered cockatiel. It had been beaten up by its brothers and sisters and therefore couldn't fly and spent its days possessed by a distracted panic.
It was given to me by the bloke who wrote the theme tunes for Postman Pat and Charlie Chalk.

Also, my mum once made a rice pudding for Russel Grant's aunt.

What do I win?
(Sat 22nd Sep 2012, 17:25, More)

» Have you ever seen a dead body?

Aye, I have, lad...
I mind the time I were in a steamer, heading up the Suez Canal with a bunch of dirty bedouins.

Word was that the Egyptians had a work-force 30,000 strong digging out that son of a bitch...and it was up to us poor bedraggled bunch of motherless bastards to incite a revolution.

The sun was as blood, seeping into the horizon. Soon night would fall. I was cleaning my cock with rum, having recently plundered the cabin boy's gully creek. The air was so thick you could chew it.

I climbed up on deck and turned my eyes to the distance. Squinting against the last streaks of sickly sunlight, I made out an army, the shadow of each man stretching across the desert. Trudging across the sand..they could almost be ants. But dirty great ants with shovels. This was not going to be easy. There was something in the way they walked....shambling...stumbling... as if they were dead already.

When a man has nothing to live for, he has nothing to fight for. Darkness fell. An icy sweat broke out across my furrowed forehead and my anus puckered. Someone had to turn these men...these animals into soldiers...or all was lost.

But in the end I did and we won, and when I got home I put on the telly and saw Dr Gunther Von Hagen dissecting some old dead bloke.
(Thu 28th Feb 2008, 13:19, More)
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