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Profile for Mr Twisty Cheeky:
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I'm not a real B3tard. I'm not even a real person. I am a 'sock puppet' account, an alter-ego of someone else on this site and I am dragged out every now and again when for one reason or another, the real B3tard doesn't feel like putting his own name to a reply or post.

I'm not a troll ,and mostly harmless. In fact, I recommend that everybody have a friend like me...

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Best answers to questions:

» I don't understand the attraction

What’s the deal…?

What’s the deal with Harry Potter?
I bet he likes it up the jotter
Dan Brown’s shit sells by the tonne
& Obama’s peace prize? – what’s he done?

Those 'talent' shows that please the plebs
And spaff out more ‘Z’ list celebs
To pack the pages of ‘Hello’
With wankers I don’t want to know.

ipod, iphone, and i-whatever,
They think they sound so fucking clever
They’d sell a crabs-infested cunt
If someone put ‘i’ at the front

And 'supermodels'?...I've never tried ‘em
(Although they could do with some meat inside ‘em)
Those stick-thin girls don’t float my boat
They’d snap in half against my scrote

Amy Whinehouse? I don’t rate her
In fact I’d say I fucking hate her
And ‘R’-'n'-cunting-bastard-‘B’
Is nothing but a noise to me

There’s one thing I don’t understand
How in this talented, musical land
That Coldplay still make stacks of cash
Despite the fact they’re fucking gash…

And those ‘Movies’…Epic, Date, Disaster?
About as funny as being raped by a 7ft Rasta
Who pays to make these piles of shite?
Or goes to watch them any night?



And…

*deep breath*…

Cordon 'Bleurgh' and tiny portions
'Modern Art’ displaying abortions
Txtspk when it’s not required
Alan Sugar? – YOU’RE FUCKING FIRED!
Chavs in jeans that hang too low
That strictly fucking dancing show
Pete Doherty – his stupid hat
Ben Stiller – what a dead-eyed twat

I could go on and on and on
Until this question is long gone
But if we all had similar tastes
The world would be a boring place

So thanks to B3ta for these pages
That give us space to vent our rages
I’d say ‘don’t take this rant to heart’
But fuck it, let the flaming start!
(Fri 16th Oct 2009, 14:29, More)

» Sexual fetishes

This is going to make you vom into your own outstretched hands…

Kink, quirk, fetish, perversion – call it what you will. I have a weakness…a deep routed craving so despicable and foul that it cannot be mentioned in public without turning stomachs and subjecting myself to such ostracism and ridicule that the mere mention of it would make me an outcast from society, and no doubt put on some sort of register.

Are you ready? Brace yourself…

I like sex. I do. It’s nice. I was going to say ‘normal’ sex but after reading this QotW it is painfully apparent that I haven’t got a clunge-wobbling clue what ‘normal' is.

I just feel that if I am lucky enough to find a woman who will spend time with me – someone whom I respect, and find physically, intellectually and emotionally attractive, then that really gets my jizz juices jumping like nothing else. If that person is also prepared to share such a trusting and intimate act with me, then I consider that a right result. However, I definitely believe that this person should be loved, cherished, and treated like a Princess (I was going to say ‘Queen’ but then thought better of it – and when I say ‘treated like a Princess’ I don’t mean 'put in a Mercedes and driven into a wall at 100mph by a rat-arsed Frenchman')

Getting strung up by the man-berries and clubbed with an over-ripe haddock on the third Tuesday of every month does not get my mutton musket firing I’m afraid…but the mutually shared satisfaction of giving and receiving sexual pleasure from someone you care about and feel comfortable with?…that’s what busts my rocks off. Maybe even…(oh my god I can’t believe I’m admitting this)…a bit of…romance? Christ-on-a-skateboard I bet nobody’s admitted that yet.

It’s pretty ‘out there’ I know, but yes - I’ve bought women flowers – and not just on Valentines day or birthdays etc but…(chew the bile back, folks)…I’ve sometimes bought them flowers for no.fucking.reason. I’ve taken women out for meals and bought them presents. I don’t go batshit looney and spaff my entire salary on diamond bracelets every day or anything like that - and I’ve been fortunate enough to never have my generosity taken advantage of by a woman. I’ve also been able to quickly dispel doubts that my intentions are anything but honourable. Honourable! – For fuck’s sake what’s the matter with me?

I will try and cheer her up if she’s had a bad day. If she decides ‘not tonight’ then that’s perfectly fine…I’m not a fucking animal – my nads will not explode if they are not habitually emptied into the hair or questionable cavity of a willing participant every 4-and-a-half hours. I understand that women sometimes need their own space and time, but I also let them know I will be there for them if they need me. I don’t stalk, don’t abuse and don’t spend my 'me-time' rubbing my crotch up against their facebook page. However, I also seem to know how to pick 'em, and so have managed to not be taken for granted. I listen to what they have to say. I value their opinion and treat them as an equal, but still feel it is right to hold the door for them or help them unscrew jars etc. Am I beyond help?

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not some prudish, cardigan-buttoned-up-to-neck, songs-of-praise-loving wheelbarrow of wussiness. I’ve tried some things (mostly down to the request of the partner) that would make your eyelids do that ‘inside out’ thing – but it is my deep regret to admit that the vast majority of these acts left me feeling a bit…well…‘awkward’ – and they’ve never once made me produce a hot stream of splooge from my hog’s eye so girthy that it could be seen from the moon. I know a bit about biology and I think I know where my cock is best suited, and therefore have little or no desire to shove it in nostrils, armpits or the eye-socket of their pet Chihuahua.

I know, I know – I disgust you…and I’m sorry. You’d all be quite justified in throwing JMG or some other /talker at me like a justice-powered Honda Accord of mass destruction to debunk my attention-seeking lies and burn me at the sort of metaphorical stake usually only reserved for mega-cunts. I await the wrath I no doubt deserve. But I tell you what…you think this is easy? Try living my life for a day. ‘Coming out’ as a ‘gayer’? – pah! – Piece of piss, you guys don’t know what pressure is. It’s easier to admit that you’re a member of the cunting BN-bastard-P than to admit to your mates in the pub that you are a romantic and that you respect women.

Even now, I’m tempted to throw in a punchline like ‘Of course, they have to be under 4 years old’ or: ‘but I have to admit that their dismembered body parts taste yummy’ or some such shite but I can’t do it…sometimes you just have to stand up and admit your principles.

My name is Mr Twisty Cheeky…and I am not normal.

Please don’t think any less of me. I’m just a weak, slightly pitiful human being
(Fri 23rd Oct 2009, 9:52, More)

» Random Acts of Kindness

Hail Seizure!...

Many moons ago I was but a fleeting young Cheeky, and my only skill consisted of being a bit of a techno-geek (as in technology and suchlike, not the ‘boom-boom-bloody-boom’ music sort of thing)

In any case, one day, my parents had decided to buy a new telly, due to the unforeseen circumstances of their previous one bursting into flames. (This was the olden days, remember – that used to happen a lot)

Anyhoo, in their ultimate wisdom they took me along, for my ‘expert’ 14-year-old opinion on what would constitute fulfilling the bare requirement of a 'bargain-tastic new-fangled TV-a-tron'.

One megastore later, as I wandered around the electrical shop pretending to know what I was doing, we were distracted by a 'bit of a kerfuffle'…

A young girl, about 10 years old…started positively freaking out by the wall of televisions that tends to line such establishments. Screaming wildly with arms flailing, the poor kid was acting as if she was either being electrocuted, demoniacally possessed, or could just no longer contain her excitement at the sheer magnitude of shoddy blenders and wotnot on special offer.

Her poor flustered mum didn’t know what to do – so she opted to 'flap a bit'.

Displaying the very worst type of human nature, like when driving slowly past a car crash, the entire population of the store decided to stand perfectly still…and cowardly observe what was to transpire. For fuck's sake, I could’ve sold popcorn to the amount of lazy-arsed, agog faces, gawping away as they turned their heads away from their potential purchases so they could watch the events unfold.

My Dad, however, had other ideas. Like a crusty, slightly wiffy old superhero, he decided to pause on humouring my increasingly fumbling ‘expertise’, and he strolled straight up to the poor girl and his distraught mother.

As the little lass continued to gibber endlessly, everyone else just stood and stared. I did too. If this had happened nowadays there would probably be phonecam videos of it on youtube…but nonetheless, everybody stayed rooted to the spot as my Dad cheerily approached them, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Are you alright love?” He enquired, as the girl uncontrollably wibbled. The distraught mum seemed quite stunned as she watched this bumbling old fellla amble over in the middle of a crisis…but immediately, before anyone could comment, the girl started to calm somewhat in the presence of this total stranger.

“Would you like a sit down?” my Dad then enquired, before heaving some big object over (using the strength that only Dads have - it could have been a MASSIVE fridge, but might have been a chair), and reassuringly ushered the poor girl towards it.

She nodded her head tentatively, and started the slow journey towards being compos mentis.

The flummoxed young mum was obviously still startled, but she soon composed herself, stepped in and joined my Dad as everybody looked on, watching this blithering old fart involve himself…and completely take control of the situation. Thankfully, the girl continued to slowly calm down.

However, at this point, (if I remember correctly it was the store assistant manager…but either way he was some cunting lickspittle), decided to assume that my Dad must somehow be related to the poor girl, who must only be throwing a big girlie tantrum, and he promptly decided that he didn't want such an embarrassing display driving his precious customers away. He approached my Dad, straightened his corporate badge and barked: “Oi!, You!” before pointing his finger at the door and exclaiming: “Get her out of here!”

Now - I cannot state enough - my Dad is a kindly, wisend old bell-end who has lived a bit, and thusly it takes a lot to rile him. However, the actions of this insensitive management mongoloid seemed to be almost precisely the exact amount of wankerishness it takes to boil my old man's piss. He manoeuvred the girl's frantic mother closer towards her daughter and clasped their hands together, before briefly leaving his post to step away; just a couple of strides towards the utter fucking twat who was thinking of nothing but his sales figures.

To this day I can’t remember how something spoken so quietly by such an unassuming man could be so intimidating. But Lorks…I mean, I nearly shat a brick, and I was only ‘watching from the wings’ as it were. I’m afraid my typed words do not do justice to the next thing that happened…My Dad calmly stepped towards the ass manager, looked him straight into his beady eyes and said:

“She will leave when she’s ready……but as for you……..you will fuck off…...NOW!”

The jobsworth jobbie proceeded to take huge backward steps in the fashion of someone who had just found a freshly severed horse head in his underpants drawer. Visibly crumbling like a freshly attacked World Trade Centre, the shop assistant simply slithered away and melted into the background, as some onlookers dared to glare at him from afar.

My Dad then turned and went back to the girl and his mother, speaking gently, yet confidently, and over a few minutes, managed to calm everybody down and then accompany the girl and her mother to their car. Ensuring their safety, he then passed on his phone number to the mother so she could call him and let him know how the young girl was doing. With the panic now subdued, the mother burst into floods of appreciative tears – heartily thanking my Dad for his heroic assistance. He merely beamed at her and answered: “No problem love. now if you don’t mind, I have to get back inside before my lad makes me fork out for some bloody crap over-sized telly”

The mother duly called later. It turns out that the girl was diagnosed epileptic, but her previous seizures had only been very mild. However, the strobe-like flashing of a veritable wall of TV’s managed to set her off like a cheap Chinese firework. It was a very real, proper emergency, yet nobody thought to do anything…except my Dad.

I was already proud of him…that was just some more icing on the cake.

To round this off, I would dearly like to big my Dad up some more with something like: 'Of course, this behaviour was natural for him because he used to be a Colonel in the army’ or ‘He used to be a Doctor / Psychiatrist’, or even something like, ‘He’s built like a brick shithouse’, but I’m afraid I can’t. He’s just a normal sized guy who, before he retired, was a forklift truck driver in a shitty warehouse in Coventry. However, He just so happens to be quite staggeringly good with people – and I consider that a genuine gift - so I won't try to add any more facts, bullshit or credence to my tale. He is just a quite phenomenal human being.

…but I still call him a silly old bugger.
(Mon 13th Feb 2012, 17:02, More)

» B3ta Person of the Year 2010

And my nomination for B3ta Person of the year 2010 goes to…

*Opens Envelope*

*Dramatic Pause – maybe left a bit ‘tooo’ long in a sort of annoying, ‘Chris Tarrant’ kind of way*


It goes to you.

That’s right, you. Go and look in a mirror, or see if you can catch your reflection in that knife you’re holding. Yep, that’s the fucker I’m talking about.

Why? Because you made it, kiddo. Now, I don’t want to count any chickens or anything, as the year isn’t quite finished yet, but all being well and good you will cross the finish line of 2010.

That is no mean feat. Some others haven’t been so lucky. Please spare them a thought.

But you made it - despite being battered by recessions, repossessions, depressions and Beer sessions. You’re still here – and you’ve still found the time to visit B3ta. I salute you.

You raised your head out of the sloppy sea of unadulterated ubershite that passes for mainstream entertainment nowadays, and you stayed sane; choosing not to gouge your own eyes out with a spoon, and becoming better for it. Perhaps this place helped a little bit? – one of the few remaining bastions of free speech that remains? It gives you a simple opportunity to vent some of life’s crappier dealings by spaffing your unique offerings over these pages. This is something which you do selflessly, free of charge, purely for the interest of others. That is some achievement. So kudos.

2010 hasn’t been easy – no doubt sometimes fate has given you a proper kick in the love spuds (or lady equivalent), but you persevered and overall you didn’t let it get to you. That ability is often taken for granted nowadays, but the way the world can be sometimes, you deserve a medal simply for not going batshit postal. Well done.

So here’s to the small victories, the little wins, the things that might not mean fuck-diddly-all to most folk but managed to make at least one of your days just that little bit better. Fuck me, they mean the world when they happen, so enjoy them – you deserve them.

To every gentle B3tard, from the vitriolic trolls to the long-time lurkers, from the quick quippers to the ‘encyclopedia B3tannica’ posters, and from the legendary lethario, MASSIVE DRUG taking, Honda Accord drivers of Justice to the lonely, lie-filled losers…Thank you, and please don’t change, this place wouldn’t be the same without you.

Please don’t get the wrong idea - I’m not suggesting Détente here, in a sort of ‘football-in-no-man’s-land’ kind of way. Nah, that’d be as dull as Hippo poo. But how about giving someone a click for Christmas just for the hell of it? It don’t cost nuthin’ and it might make someone’s day.

And remember, learning to click yourself can be the greatest love of all.
(Mon 20th Dec 2010, 10:30, More)

» Impulse buys

Drunken Ebay…

The purchase of ‘Beerlooms’ has been a regular ‘tennis bat up my cack pipe’ for years now. I have spaffed many a penny on pointless trinkets just because it ‘seemed like a good idea at the time’ – and that time being when I am copiously piss-tarded

One occasion that leaps to mind was ‘the headphone incident’.

The main PC in my house is now situated in the corner of my dining room adjacent to the lounge. I used to have it in my office, but the present Mrs Twisty Cheeky insisted I move it because, as she put it, I was ‘turning into a wankish, Gollum-like hermit-esque twat wallop’ and she was fed up with never seeing me.

So like the bitch slapped obedient little fuck-knuckle that I am, I duly set up a work station downstairs, and had to put up with the wife and bloody kids legging it about like Panzer tanks on poppers, disrupting my work and putting the unwelcome kybosh on my previously illustrious and fruitful pr0n watching career.

In the enforced absence of such erotic visual delights, I tried to seek solace, stimulus and solitude in an alternative format. Music.

Until one sprightly evening, when I was struggling to listen to a few bangin’ choons over the conflicting blaring sounds of Lazytown* DVDs and Goddamm 'Diagnosis: Murder'. I then decided ‘enough was enough’...

I needed to buy some headphones.

To prepare for this life-changing decision I did the dutiful thing and got reekingly and royally cunted on fine ciderish goodness. I then locked my fingers together, gave them a satisfying yet slightly arthritic ‘crack’ and set about the arduous task of t’interwebz shopping.

As I browsed the pages of Ebay I was swamped by choice. There were headphones, headphones fucking everywhere. But what make? Sennheiser? Bose? Should I have closed back? Bass Boost? I didn’t want to spend too much and didn’t have a fucking Scooby what I was doing…so I cleverly decided to drink a bit more to aid my judgment…then I saw them before me, like manna from the gods…

Cordless.fucking.headphones. Surely the greatest single invention In the history of the world.evah.

'Get in there!' I thought to myself – I had been enlightened. Music and movement. This was what I craved. I didn’t want to be tied down with your peasant-type, nampy-pamby ‘wired’ headphones like some common cuntcake – I yearned for, nay demanded, infra-red glory!

There were about a hundred of these items being sold, one at a time, five minutes apart. I hurtled to the ‘bid’ button like a lumbering hippopotamus following a failed attempt at balancing on an upside down greased ice skate. Being pissed, but still slightly rational at this point, I considered twenty quid to be the maximum I would bid. There were no ‘buy it now’ offers, but nobody else seemed interested anyway – the naieve, maladjusted nincompoops! – They were all going to miss out, and in just a few short hours this technological marvel was going to be mine!

But then it started…achingly…the paranoia began to creep in. What if the rest of the world was just lying in wait…waiting for the moment to strike as soon as I climbed into bed? What if I got outbid when I was slumbering away, oblivious to my life’s dream slipping from my clammy grasp? My hopes could be shattered for the possible sake of a penny? The sanctimonious fuckers! I would not let this happen!

I hardly had time to finish my next three cans before I had completely caved to my fears, and convinced myself that I was definitely going to lose the precious bounty. Simply 'bidding more' never occured to me...I had to construct a cuntingly cunning contingency plan that would thwart the most hardy of Ebay sniper in his efforts to deprive me of what was rightfully mine…

Fiendish in its simplicity, my idea was to pop another bid in for the next set of headphones on the list, thusly when I was outbid on the first pair, I would be front-runner to buy the next. Flawless. Genius. Nothing could go wrong. Victory would be assured!

But then I considered again…what if there were two crafty people in the world with the same idea, that they had already considered this alternative action to snatch my wonderous goods from my grasp? I could not allow such a travesty to occur.

So I put another £20 on the next set on the list…and thought again…

By 2am I could barely stand, yet managed to stumble to bed…safe in the knowledge that I had covered all available angles. My work was done. All I had to do was wait…

The next morning I awoke with a munterrific hangover and the feeling that Satan himself must have crimped off a particularly chunky brown loaf into my mouth and stamped on my head during the night.

My memory of the prior evening, however, was a bit ‘hazy’ to say the least…and the events were quickly forgotten about and consigned to history...

Until about a week later, when I received a lovely yet unexpected parcel in my porch. On unwrapping I saw a gleaming set of new cordless headphones. Yay, and indeed woo! What a pleasant surprise!

But with that, like a kick in the bollocks from a raging bull wearing steel toecapped hobnail boots with an apocalyptic asteroid attached, the memories came gushing back.

I sprinted to the PC and checked my Ebay account to confirm my worst fears…

Over the next few days I received parcel after parcel relentlessly dropping in my porch…until I had the full compliment of FIFTEEN sets of identical crap cordless fucking headphones…each one having a wireless range of about 4 and a half centimetres, so you had to press your head firmly against the transmitter to enjoy the sound quality, which was akin to a decrepid urangutan shitting firey marbles into an empty can of value mushroom soup.

I was too stupid embarrassed to complain, and my conscience wouldn’t let me sell them on again – they were just too cataclysmically crap, and I knew Joe public would whinge like the bitch he is.

So thank fuck that Christmas was just around the corner…because that year, everybody in my family, from my 6 month old neice to my 92 year old Grandmother-in-law, took receipt of a badly wrapped, shiny lump of usless headphoney uber-tat from their loving uncle Cheeky.

I live to give.


*Lazytown – Is it wrong to fancy the girl with the pink hair from Lazytown? It IS? Oh, I thought so…I was just asking that’s all…forget I said anything…


\not a peado




EDIT: Congratulations go to the Pink haired 'Stephanie' girl from Lazytown who celebrates her 18th birthday today!

*breathes sigh of relief*
(Fri 22nd May 2009, 10:38, More)
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