Well.... this
wot I wrote a while ago, drunkenly, as a response to Rory Lyon's odd and unrelenting focus upon a B3ta stalwart's mother, and never posted due to it being horrible enough in terms of both content and form that I was a bit ashamed:


Let's spare a thought for Rory's mum -
she cannot walk, she cannot run
she spends her life upon her bum
slowly dessicating.
The praline in life's chocolate-box -
she wheels herself down to the docks
and chows down on the sailors' cocks
to make 10p, fellating.

A wizened, crippled, dried-up cunt,
a mother to a spastic runt -
subsisting on the sacrement
that she is forced to swallow.
When she's done, she wheels back home -
her breath smells like the cocks she's blown -
each bump traversed brings forth a moan,
because they've fucked her hollow.

It's not for naught she sells herself
despite her age and failing health -
when Rory sees her hard-earned wealth
he gets a small erection.
With spittle dribbling down his chin
he snatches mummy's whoring-tin
runs to the meter, shoves 10p in -
--At last! Dialup connection.

"Not long now," he thinks with glee
"I'll troll them all, and then they'll see!"
But plans don't trump stupidity
and haven't since his birth.
Try as you might, you won't detect
a hint of wit or intellect -
in fact, it's best you just forget
that Rory crawls the earth.

Trembling fingers start to tap
upon the keyboard on his lap,
producing naught but worthless crap
all rendered with poor grammar.
He spazzes out opprobrium -
"YOUR FAT AND SOS YOURE FATTY MUM!!!1!11!"
- as subtle and as Swiftian
as a mongloid with a hammer.

Born from a back-alley ride,
a lion's roar, he claims with pride.
Sadly, though, the dull cunt lied -
which should be dealt with harshly.
Boasts aside, the truth is that
he's just a boring, trolling twat
- a neutered, mewling pussycat -
Mufasa? More like Parsley.

So spare a thought for Rory's mum -
it is a bad thing that she's done -
pretending that she had a son
instead of an abortion.
The flotsam from her genitalia -
paid for by a lonely sailor -
grew to be an abject failure
grotesque and malproportioned.
Wasting all his jobless time
posting banale shit online -
a spandrel from some sailor slime
squirted in a cripple.
For his hopes, and all his fears,
for all his tantrums, all his tears -
his twisted, tortured, wasted years
won't leave a fucking ripple.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Wed 18 Jul 2012, 0:31, 70 replies)

The Demon Organist of Location Withheld
I was called in to play the organ in a church.
I'd never played an organ before, so I found myself in an empty church in a quaint country village, just me and a massive organ. (I always feel uneasy when confronted with a massive organ, for some reason).

I ran through the hymns, trying to get a feel for it. The hymns were easy enough, but organ keyboards are not like piano keyboards, and I really needed to get in some proper practice before the big day.

So I bashed out the hymns again, and moved on to some stuff I knew a little better, seeing what of my repertoire worked at approximately a jillion decibels.

Edith Piaf? Yup.

Chucho Valdes? Nope.

System of a Down?

System of a Down?...
Yup. Emphatically Yup. Definitely Yup.

Metal on an Organ? Why not? Why, indeed, the hell not?

And so it was that a party of elderly ladies came in for their midday pray to find their stand-in organist bashing through Symphony of Destruction, Amon Amarth and Toxicity, dressed entirely in black and laughing like a man possessed. And I'm not talking about a little, weak-kneed titter here. I'm talking about a full-throated baritone cackle: 'Ah ha. Ah ha ha. BWAH HA HA HA HA HA!'.

And lo, as the painted eyes of long-dead saints looked down upon my blasphemous head, did one old lady came up unto me. And she spake thusly:
"Do you know any Motörhead?"

For the crime of being out-rocked by an old lady, I am going to go to hell.
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Wed 18 Jul 2012, 16:29, 9 replies)

Laughing in the face of adversity
In the office a few months ago I was dealing with a few nasty complaint issues and decided to have a 15 minute break outside the building, to get some fresh air. As I was mulling about in the car park of our office, one of the local automated wheelchair driving women drove into the car park in her modded people carrier. She parks not too far from me, presses a few buttons and her car started to slide open and reveal a side-lift. She rolls on and presses another button, then she slowly begins her descent.

Nout really funny about this tbh.....that was until another worker was walking towards the entrance and walked past her car. As he was minding his own business his mobile went off unexpectedly. And played as loud as you like the fucking Thunderbirds theme tune. I nearly asphyxiated on the spot. She wasn't impressed.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 17 Jul 2012, 16:31, 2 replies)

I'm not a religious man, but I've had to deal with them a lot over the years.
And what various clerics from different Christian sects have told me, and, you know, I'm paraphrasing, and I could be wrong, but what they've told me is that sin isn't so much a question of a list of things that you can't do, but it's more about being seperate from God.
Now, I'm an atheist, so I've no instinctive grasp of what this means. But I've been told, by both Catholic Archbishops and Presbyterian Preachers, that being in a state of sin means not being able to appreciate God. So the old "deadly sin" of Sloth isn't so much a divine injunction against laziness, but it's a realisation that people suffering from what we now call depression can't commune properly with the divine. In other words, sin isn't a crime, it's more akin to a failing, or an illness, or a disability. It's a problem to be dealt with, rather than a failing to be punished.
And, again, I don't know. I'm not religious. The entire mental framework of sin is one with which I don't engage. So, I should probably fuck off, and not comment. But, but, here's the thing;
You people had a choice about the Question of the Week. And when I say "you people" I mean British internet nerds. Because that's most of b3ta. That's not a value judgement, it's a fact.
And you had a choice about to to question, for the week, and you had the choice to discuss Class. Which would be interesting because right now you're all being screwed by some people who all happened to go to the same posh schools and inherit vast amounts of money, and are stopping you achieving a democratic system of government that might in some ways reflect what you want.
But you chose not to talk about that. You half-wits voted to tell some shit jokes about killing badgers and wanking in churches.
So, do you know what the real sin is here? Yeah, that's right. Gay marriage.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Sat 14 Jul 2012, 1:00, 7 replies)

I once ordered a lemonade at a cafe in an Ikea
They gave me the cup at the check-out, and I had to fill it up myself from the dispenser. I put some ice from the ice machine in the bottom, then filled my plastic 500ml cup with soft drink mix. Unfortunately, I had filled it too close to the brim for easy transportation. I took a couple of refreshing sips to lower the level in the cup. At this point I could have just walked away. Some nights when I am laying in my bed, racked with remorse, I ask myself again and again: "Why? Why didn't I just walk away?".
But I didn't walk away. A horrible plan formed in my mind, driven by an all-consuming greed. I didn't care whose life I destroyed, how many laws I broke. I didn't even think about the consequences.
I checked the ladies at the register. They were dealing with customers. They had completely forgotten about me and the fulfillment of my purchase. I looked up, trying not to be too obvious. No cctv. There was a mother near me, but she was putting sauce on her children's hotdogs, she wouldn't suspect a thing.
Trying to look casual while my heart was pounding, I returned to the drinks dispenser. As nonchalantly as I could, like I was just any normal customer, I TOPPED UP MY DRINK AGAIN WITH MORE LEMONADE THAN I HAD PAID FOR.
Suddenly fearing the hand of a store detective on my shoulder, I walked a little too quickly to the exit, and my drink spilled a little. I probably lost more than I had gained by illegal means. Even when I got to my car I knew I wouldn't be in the clear until I was at least a few miles away. The drinks holder in my car was too small for the cup, so I drank the whole thing quickly and so didn't really enjoy it. It is a crime I've had to live with for the rest of my days. I never went back to that Ikea again. I can't, the risk is too great. I gambled and won, but if I returned and they recognised me, I could lose everything.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Tue 17 Jul 2012, 22:00, 6 replies)

Highway to hell
The sun was blazing off the windscreens of passing cars, the sky was clear, the recycled air was awash with upbeat rock from the stereo - it was a good day to be driving on our fair nation's motorway system. Ahead of me was a coach, the large kind often used to ferry airport-goers and the elderly, in the middle lane. I was to its right in a gradual overtaking position, and looking ahead did spy what is I suppose a fairly familiar sight - a bunch of school kids leering out the back window and exercising their wrists in a vigorous manner designed to imply - quite correctly - that I was a wanker.
I'm an easy-going, devil-may-care kind of guy, but that glorious day I was having none of it. So, as I approached in my overtaking manoeuvre I extended my left arm - still keeping my eyes of the road of course - and delivered a steady and determined middle finger that Johnny Cash would have been proud of.
As I came up alongside the bus, I glanced upward at its steamed windows, to see a group of smiling children with Down's syndrome waving excitedly at me...

My attempt to morph my bird into a reciprocated wave was the epitome of pathetic-ness. Funny how wrong you can be with the sun in your eyes.
(Jimtastic, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 18:00, 2 replies)

DSV
We (me and a few mates) will burn in hell for telling a little porky-pie to one of my mates 11yo brother.

He asked what the DSV stood for in SeaQuest DSV. We told him that it stood for Downs Syndrome Victims and that the crew (not the cast) were all made up of people suffering from Downs.

We're not proud at all.
(FUXTIX Not my words, Carol, Fri 13 Jul 2012, 11:35, 5 replies)

First post - sheds - I've got that over and done with?
The thing that makes me feel like I'll burn in hell and I still feel guilty about is a project I was part of years ago.

I saw it failing. And I saw it failing badly. I made a couple of noises to management and got a "don't worry about it" message back.

So I booked 5 weeks holiday in one go and hid abroad. By the time I got back to the UK the rest of the people on the project were fired for not doing their job properly and I kept mine.

Still makes me feel a bit sick and nervous to this day.
( rob, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 14:03, 4 replies)

I might be going to hell
Because yesterday i wanked myself into oblivion.
I doubt i will be welcome back at Alton Towers though.
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Fri 13 Jul 2012, 14:37, Reply)

Dear Sir,
How dare you! How very dare you! "QOTW" is a long established part of this website, some may even say its lifeblood. It also plays an important role in society by creating an environment for liars, rapists, sexual deviants, violent thugs, drug addicts and Honda Accord enthusiasts to tell their lurid tales and not bother the rest of us. I can only think that the people who perpetrated the heinous act of attempting humour, humour, are in fact "trolls," to use the common parlance. I am an avid shed enthusiast and looked forward to telling many exciting tales about the sheds I have owned over the years. During my service to the crown I was stationed in Zimbabwe and owned a large selection of sheds or, as the locals called them, "sheds". I hope you all get banned for ruining QOTW, I hope the good Lord himself casts you into the fiery pit for this disgraceful display of arrogance.

Good day!

Yours,

Maj Gen Mark Morrisons Prison Shoes (ret)
( mark morrisons prison shoes I love Willie, Fri 13 Jul 2012, 9:47, 21 replies)

Don't worry peeps - here's why it's not real!
I have a very vivid memory of when the whole religion thing lost this sheep. Having been raised by irish catholics, sent to actholic schools from the age of 4, only really socialising with other catholics, hell was a terrifyingly real concept. As silly as it sounds I remember so many nights crying myself to sleep with thoughts of the concept of an eternity of pain (trying to visualised eternity is pretty overwhelming, especially when you're 7).

Fast forward to year 9 religious studies class (compulsory, and not the open minded sort of rs where you learn about other religions. This was memorising the bible and the catechism teachings about everything important - and everyone pissing off the teacher by declaring their support of abortion and euthanasia.)
So one sunny day we had to spend the whole fudging hour learning 3 words: Omnipotent, Omniscient, Benevolent. Half an hour repeating the words and their definitions, half an hour discussing the implication of that.
Basically it was:
1. God is all powerful. Everything happens because he/she makes it happen.
2. God knows everything. Everything that has ever happened or will ever happen.
3. God is all good. Will never do anything without good intentions.

And that's how a catholic religious studies teacher in a very catholic school accidently convinced me that all of religion is just logically wrong.

If God is all of those things then Hell makes f**k all sense!
For example, if you're going to say that gay people go to hell, then by this logic God made them gay. God created them that way, and knew in advance that they would be gay and would have lots of bum fun. But then why do that if God only wants good for people and is going to then send that person to an eternity of pain for doing what they were made to do and which they apparently had no part in - cos everything is by God so it's his choice for them to be gay. And you can apply that to everything.

Or a more recent example that made me want to vomit. (you may have seen this in the news) - basically a 12 yr old girl in Brazil was raped by her stepfather and got pregnant with twins. She had to have an abortion, because aside from anything else, 12yr old bodies can't handle a double pregnancy. So logically (and very morally) the catholic church excommunicated the girl's mother and all doctors involved. They said the stepfather had done somthing bad but was worthy of forgiveness. What the fudge sort of God would KNOW that would happen, MAKE it happen, and then agree with the decision that those trying to protect the girl were the evil ones?! If I needed a final push to renounce Catholicism that was it right there. Maybe I'll write to Pope Benedict and inform him of this...

I haven't got a problem with people being religious, but people threatening to send other people to hell bother me to a rather extreme extent. This logic doesn't prove there's not a God (I'm open to the concept of that) but it does make organised religion seem basically messed up.
(Bambola, Tue 17 Jul 2012, 21:19, 16 replies)

Hells been booked since 1996
On a tour down the Falkland Islands back in 96, me and my mate were on R&R in the main (only!!) town on the island, getting totally shit faced. In one bar, The Globe, and we started asking the locals if there were any good time girls on the island, prossies, brasses that sort of thing. I remember the locals muttering to each other then asking me to phone this number and to tell who answered that we were here to party. I did and the voive on the other end said to make sure to bring drink, waahey, c'mon I said to Billy lets go get laid.
Local taxi driver said he would take us there and I remember him giggling the way there (Alarm bell should have started ringing).
I also remember getting out of the taxi and clocking the wheelchair ramp and hand rail (more alarm bells!!)
When we entered we were welcomed like long lost warriors by a small, overweight, physically disabled (legs had gone) and obviously mentally disabled woman in her late fifties. We thought this fine woman was the mum and we were about to meet some ravishing sex bomb daughter in her twenties, but alas this lovely old woman was the entertainment for the night.
What to do! Admit we were conned by the locals and slink back to camp like rats leaving a burning nest or man the fuck up and treat this lady to a night of passionate gang banging.
We manned the fuck up ladies and gentlemen and me and Billy showed that lady the night of her lives, she even found the funny side whilst getting kebabed me and Billy were high fiving like Vegas porn stars.
Ended at three the next morning when Billy sobered up and started sobbing about what we had done, what animals we were etc, etc.
Good night though but what I believe will send me to hell is the fact that I stole her copy of The Immaculate Collection when we left, not the gangbanging of a mentally, physically handicapped lady.
(Hammy1801 may have scabies!, Tue 17 Jul 2012, 19:53, 5 replies)

Gonna Burn in Hell
When I was a younger man than what I am now, must've been the early 1980's, I was into CB radio. I met some people down in the Welsh Valleys, and was invited back to this familys house for a cup of tea.
Anyway, when we went inside the guys house a typical terrace house, there was a Budgerigar in a cage by the door. The guy said he'd had this bird for about 5 years and it was his best friend! (I know...typical Welsh, they love their pets!) he proceeded to make me a cuppa, whilst I decided to curry favour and talk to his budgie through the cage... "Whose a pretty boy then?"..."Hello Bobby!".... "Who loves his Daddy?"..... When and I still don't know why I did it... I made a cat meow sound through my teeth, where upon Bobby the Budgie appeared to have a massive heart attack and fell off his perch!
I didn't know what to do, so in panic I reached into the cage and propped dear departed Bobby against the side of the cage, on top of his feeding trough. I quickly sat down as the guy brought me in a cup of tea. For some strange reason he didn't check the bird on the way back in. It was all I could do to keep him off the subject of budgies or sex with sheep, and I quickly made my excuses to get out of there sharpish, and never to return.
As I drove away leaving the guy on his doorstep waving goodbye, I thought if there's a hell I'm gonna burn. Worse than that though I turned on my CB radio, and there's this irate Welsh voice yelling on the open channel "That Bastard Killed My Fucking Budgie!!!"
I turned the radio back off for at least 2 weeks, and it seemed to go away.
(MrFaberge we didn't burn him!, Sun 15 Jul 2012, 11:17, 1 reply)

i once shouted at a duck
didnt apologize
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Sat 14 Jul 2012, 22:51, 2 replies)

A week before this happened, Jakes dog ate pineapple hair conditioner from the bathroom and was sick everywhere..
I was over there, purchasing some fragrant herbs and spices for relaxing the mind, body and soul.. Whilst dividing and measuring the merchandise, half dropped onto the floor. Jakes dog went into full scavenge mode and scoffed the lot. We tried everything but that was one stubborn dog. Jake being quite the experienced herbalist, (stoned out of his tiny little gourd) fed the dog the rest of the conditioner to try and make it sick.. It kind of worked, the dog threw up bubbles for about half an hour, and then proceed to fall into a crazed dreaming lying down sleep state.. The poor thing survived, and lived for 7 more years, but was never quite the same as before..
I'm going to hell for watching the proceedings, stoned, and laughing constantly at a seriously stoned dog throwing up bubbles..
Feel guilty just writing this down.
Drugs are bad.
(bangthedrum, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 21:26, 1 reply)

Attacking a priest
Age 4. My brother and I were getting dedicated into God's family... kinda like a christening, but when you're older. I don't remember much about it. We had to stand at the front of the church and be STILL and QUIET and DON'T TALK TO YOUR BROTHER!

Now, this didn't seem too fair, as the man in the church outfit kept talking. He kept saying my name as well, but didn't look at me once! How rude! So, to get him to look at me, I trod on his foot.

No reaction. NOTHING. Wow.

So I tried again. A bit harder this time. Again, no reaction. I leaned all my weight onto his foot, and he didn't even look down.

So I decided to take a flying leap! I jumped onto his foot as hard as I could, which action made my mum finally notice I was doing something. She dragged me to the back of the room and told me off, and from that vantage point I could see the priest finish his prayer, smile at the congregation, introduce the next song, and then slowly limp his way to the pew to sit down.

Victory, I feel.
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 16:15, Reply)

On Saturday night
I unplugged Bruce Springsteens amplifier to plug in my phone charger.
( Muns, Wed 18 Jul 2012, 9:00, 5 replies)

No words....



(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 17 Jul 2012, 10:41, 4 replies)

I'm not going to burn in hell.
Not because I've led a pious life, but because hell simply does not exist.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Thu 12 Jul 2012, 21:20, 5 replies)

My flat looks onto a graveyard...
I recently moved into a new flat, four storeys up and with a lovely view right over the local cemetary. Not the most picturesque panormama, but the rent's low.

Every other week the council workers start digging a new hole and a couple of days later, the ladyfriend and I are treated to a free funeral, sometimes with the musical accompanyment of a lone bagpiper.

We try not to grab the popcorn and rubberneck. However, this one time, long after the grave had been filled in, I leant out the window for a cheeky cigarette.

Off in the distance, I could see two tall bald men standing by a freshly lain wreath shaped into the word "Dad" and they seemed to be hugging a third person, either a young teenager or a very short woman, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure whether they were comforting her, or restraining them... but it turned out to be the latter as the short one broke free and dived head first into the bunch of flowers.

The two bald guys grabbed her by the legs and started dragging her away, while she ripped up chunks of grass. She escaped their grasp again and fell to her knees, this time hammering at the ground with her fists. The men came to pick her up but she shook them off then began to try to dig up her recently buried loved one with her bare hands.

It was at that point I finished my smoke and returned to my work.

But I have to admit, I was giggling the whole time.
( Butters and his titanium codsocket, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 14:29, 1 reply)

when I was young, I was fascinated by the dark side and the occult.
Brought up by Roman Catholic folks, made to attend church, had choral music pumped out of the (admittedly good) family stereo every weekend day by parents who were brought up to be God-fearing Christians.

My brother rebelled first, by stopping going to church (even after we'd gone through the shadow moves of saying 'Oh, I went to the 07:30 mass' (which was shorter as there was no sermon), or 'I went to the Sunday 17:30 one (different town but you know how these quasi-social organisations interknit and make contact and recognise people and will say to your parents if you didn't show up).

I eventually followed my brother's example and stopped going at about age 16. Ooooh, rebel rebel etc. but my brother took it to the next level. He started listening to heavy metal and wearing Iron Maiden T-shirts, and while I understand that Eddy the 'ead is not so much satan incarnate, El Diabolo did put in an appearence on the the cover of Number Of The Beast, with its' '666' theme and so forth, not to mention the backward introduction to the Still Life track on 'Piece Of Mind' album, which was nothing more intelligent than Nicko McBrain's patois impersonations when played the right way around (double backwards backwarsd).

As I heard these tracks more and more I liked listening to the musical stylings of The Iron Maiden and picked up my brothers' bass guitar, played along and really got into them. Played along, got the t-shirts, went to the concerts. METAL!

This was at the height of me working on a paper round ad getting my wages paid after my Saturday round, then walking out of the newsagents with £6 (1984-ish) and past all the comics. 2000ad jumped out at me. The demeanour, the attitude, the artwork... oh, and it also does other strips than Dredd.

Engrossed in the publication, while listening to Iron Maiden play 'Number Of the Beast'(chorus lyrics include "666, the number of the beast, hell and fire are sure to be released"), my stern Catholic mum caught me reading 2000AD, the page being Nemesis the Warlock (his subtitle being "I am the deathbringer") where he had a baby son Thoth (Egyptian god of knowledge, so heretical to a Catholic) who was referred to as a homunculus (alchemical, therefore magickal, therefore paganic, therefore un-christian, therefore BURN THE WITCH etc.)

Which is why my mum ironed my Nemesis the Warlock tshirt and accidentally turned up the heat to FORCE PLASMA on the steam dial and melted his face. Gut reaction, I suppose, for a stern Catholic.

Me: "Aww mum, what happened to my t-shirt"? asked I.

Mum: Fidget. Twitch.

Mum: "...I accidentally burned it while ironing it. I'll give you the money for a new t-shirt if you want".

Me: "Oh. OK. It was £6".

Mum: "Here's £6 out of my purse"

Me: "Thanks. OK, I'm off to buy the same t-shirt again" said I.

Mum: "NO YOU CAN'T!"

......

Mum: "....because I don't like it....it's EVIL."

Me: "OK.... can I get another t-shirt instead?"

Mum: "Just no more satanic image worship t-shirts"

Totally got a Live after Death t-shirt instead.

1.bp.blogspot.com/_CvAgMMGRTbE/S9ENUy0COAI/AAAAAAAAAF0/VxOoIt3q9lo/s1600/Live+After+Death-P.jpg

Oddly enough she didn't rate that t-shirt highly highly worthy in the 'Jesus will personally welcome you into the afterlife if you are wearing this at the pearly gates' league table either.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 16 Jul 2012, 1:17, 8 replies)

I've shown my cock to old ladies, farmers wives and school children.
I've held it aloft and shown off its colours and I've even been known to stroke it in public. A large crowd actually applauded my cock on one occasion.






Its a lot of fun winning best in show at the local poultry shows.
Of course we sacrifice it afterwards to His Satanic Majesty.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Sun 15 Jul 2012, 1:43, 1 reply)

I haven't been very bad ...
... so I guess that I am danged to heck.
(uncle_bud is not the jelly roll king., Sat 14 Jul 2012, 23:40, Reply)

Naughty.
I've kissed other ladies. And touched their boobies. And fannies.
(fuzzyjumpers savaged a lion on, Fri 13 Jul 2012, 14:11, 10 replies)

Well, they don't need them.
Someone asked me for suggestions for baby names. I said they should go to a cemetery and look at the grave stones. They looked at me horrified; I thought it was a really good idea. Incidentally, telling someone to go to a cemetery is my answer to most questions.
(stooey Not an actor but I play one on TV, Thu 12 Jul 2012, 17:09, 1 reply)