Wickerman in the Twenty-First Century...
Standing round in Siberian temparatures, feeling my nipples go hard and break off under my cloths, wading through the mud and small inbred children with the type of mullet Billy Ray Cyrus would be proud of. Wondering how long its going to be until my cock shrivels up completely and I can legally change my name to Susan or Sharon and start singing like Aled fucking Jones...

I might pop off to the fast food stall and spend one of my hard earned fivers on a hotdog thats so charred and blackened the best scientific minds on CSI would be hard pushed to carbon date the fucker. Then I’ll trudge back, dodging the piles of vomit and cow pats.

Then I’ll wait a while longer, freezing, absolutely fucking freezing...

And then it happens – what we’ve all been waiting for. Some cunt from the council sets fire to a pile of broken up furniture, damp wood and autum leaves, sending a ploom of thick, acrid smoke bellowing into the air. And we stand and watch as they burn an effigy of a famous terrorist who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament a few hundred years ago.

Then they set off a few fireworks. Then we go home.

All very Wickerman (only without the tits and vag).

I really, really, really don’t see the fucking point...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 20 Oct 2009, 9:24, 4 replies)

Heehee
Yeah, those fireworks displays are fuckin 'orrible. Would rather stick pins in my cock then go to one of those things.
(Lizard King, Tue 20 Oct 2009, 10:53, closed)

I hate it too
which is why I encourage Halloween. Kids are fans of short-term gratification.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 20 Oct 2009, 11:27, closed)

fireworks are fucking brilliant
like a great big deafening jizz shot

take that, you cowering canines
(Cancer Joy was short lived, Tue 20 Oct 2009, 12:02, closed)

Guy Fawkes
Probably the last honest man to enter Parliament...
( snee held his breath since, Tue 20 Oct 2009, 13:38, closed)