DEATH FROM ABOVE
The sea obviously scares the living crap out of me.

I remember as a kid a fella who lived a few doors down was a contestant on Bullseye. He did well. He did very fucking well indeed. In fact he won himself a shiny new speedboat…

… neighborhood kids would come from miles round to point and stare and wonder what the fuck was the point of a car without any wheels. I imagine several elderly passersby considered telephoning the local constabulary to report a strange, mysterious, alien artifact sitting out front a crappy old terrace house on the Walsgrave Road. It became a local oddity (akin to finding a virgin at a Catholic girls school), and – in time – that speedboat sat like an overturned giant albino turtle and turned as manky as a crack addicted prostitutes gusset after a session with the horniest rugby team in the fucking world.

You see, this was the Midlands. The middle of the country. We may have the occasional river, stream and pond large enough to drown your average witch in– but, when it comes to any larger expanse of water we had sweet fuck all. Fish came from the chippy, not from the sea.

And this is why the coast scares the living crap out of me.

Although I’ve recently discovered another reason to be absolutely fucking petrified of anything remotely beachy. I now go to a small seaside town in South Wales a fair bit, a place named Penarth. It’s got a pier. It’s got a place that sells chips and ice cream. It’s even got a few bars where, being English, you can venture in and have some Welsh hick call you a cunt and suggesting you “like going down on the Queen’s hairy beaver while Prince Phillip tickles your chocolate brownstar with his fetid old cock”. Nice place. Anyway, being a greedy cunt the first thing I tend to do is grab some chips then feign interest as my girlfriend, who’s from this place, goes off on one about how much she misses the view. Yeah, great. Water. Shitloads of it. Fucking marvelous. Haven’t had this much fun since the last time I ran a fucking bath…

So, I’m there eating my chips when suddenly, out of fucking nowhere, winged fucking death descends, flapping mighty wings stronger than Thor, and I watch – horrified, letting out a girly scream – as this great big fucking beast fucks off with half my chips, tipping the tray out of my hands as it ascends like one of those big fucking scary fuckers out of The Lord of the Rings.

“Arrrgggghhhh!” I reason.

My girlfriend starts laughing. “It’s only a seagull, you great big poof.”

“IT NICKED MY CHIPS!!!”

Seagulls. Fucking horrible. Hate the fuckers. If Charles Manson ever actually decides to fucking die, he’ll probably come back as a seagull and succeed in his dastardly plans to fuck up the world through the awesome power of annoying the fuck out of anyone with a snack at the seaside. I’m standing there silently shitting myself, scanning the skies for any telltale signs of death from above. Then I notice the fucker’s perched on a post a little way away, guzzling down my chips and giving me the evils with its beady little Damien from Omen eyes. Then I notice something that really gets my interest, and so does my new arch nemesis, the feathery little shit with the huge yellow webbed feet and personality of Jordan after she’s been out on the sauce.

We both spot an old woman. Probably down from the Valleys for the day. She’s doddering along with a walking stick, using it to keep herself upright. And in her other trembling, age-feebled hand, she’s holding a tray of chips. The seagull, seeing a nice easy second course, takes flight, circles. I’m entranced – fair play, it was either watch someone else get mugged by this winged bastard, King of the Skies, or listen to my girlfriend drone on about her happy childhood summers twatting about on the pier playing Pac Man. The bird swoops lower. This is going to be good. In a weird way I was enjoying seeing this masterful hunter do its thing. I hated the little shit, but still, this was nature. This was probably educational. The seagull swoops, makes a strafing run. I’m encapsulated. It was a like watching one of those wildlife programs where the lioness stalks the wildebeest… The seagull cuts effortlessly through the air like a hot knife through butter, swoops towards the old ladies chips –

- and then, at the last possible moment, the old lady drops her walking stick and punches the fucker hard in the throat with the skill, poise and dexterity of Jackie Chan.

It squawks, lands on the ground in a crumpled heap, then fucks off on foot making a strange choking noise. I just gaped as the old lady stooped and picked up her stick and carried on ambling towards a bench; if I’d have just pulled off a move like that I’d be screaming like I’d just scored the winning injury time goal in the World Cup and demanding free blowjobs from every living human being within a ten mile radius.

“Did you just see that?” I asked my girlfriend.

She nods. “Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “Good job that doddery old lady was about to protect you from the big scary seagull, you great big ponce…”
( SpankyHanky, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 16:52, 16 replies)

Ha!
All seagulls are bastrds, fact. I have seen seagulls so fat from idiots feeding them chips that they cant get airbourne, they just hop around. Also, they have lost all fear of humans. My dad lost his icecream to a gull. Thank god for air rifles.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 16:58, closed)

It has a peer
Lord Penarth, I'm guessing?
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 17:07, closed)

Cheers
You see??? Anything sea related has me completely muthafucked! I even had to spell check 'Sea', FFS...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 17:10, closed)

I'm just winding your leg up, you big goof
Your posts always raise a smile, creative spelling notwithstanding.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 17:12, closed)

Cheers, mate
Though I do think its only right and proper that seagulls are rebranded. They need a new name. 'SEAGULLS'... Fucking lame. How about 'CUNTBIRD'???
( SpankyHanky, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 17:15, closed)

Yep
Cuntbird is about right. Their noises, if translated into English, would doubtless be 'EEYYARR FOCKIN' GIZYERCHIPS KNOB'EAD I'LL FUCK YOU UP YOU GET MEH?'
(Gertcha_cowson NAH MATE, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 17:50, closed)

Cuntbird - never a more accurate name...
Good to see you're still knocking out some fine material, matey

*click*
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 11:37, closed)

Seagulss are cunts..
..but apparently so are old women. Top story, *click*
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Thu 17 Dec 2009, 21:27, closed)

Didn't see that coming...
...but I like it. Horrible things, they have no shame.

*Creepy stalker alert*

I know this sounds weird (and from a lurker no less) but I have to know for sure; would you have been sitting on a bench on the southbound Victoria line platform of Highbury & Islington tube station around 9AM on Monday morning? If not, you have an absolute double...
(Crimboski, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 10:46, closed)

*Creepy stalker alert 2*
Was you also wandering in chinatown last Saturday night? I'd just waddled out of a buffet and swear I saw ya...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 10:58, closed)

Fuck me
I suddenly feel like Bigfoot, what with all these fucking sightings... I was actually up at Islington Town Hall for a meeting with work on Monday, so I'd have been twatting about up that way at that time. Fuck knows which tube station I was at. It was a fucking cold one though, if that's any help?

Chinatown - no. Don't think so. Was out round that way in Soho on Saturday night attempting not to have my cock shrink from the cold to such a degree it actually inverted and I became a lady, but dont think I actually went to Chinatown (though I was rat-arsed so fuck knows, really)...

Come and say "hello" if you see me about. I don't bite. OK, I lick. But I don't bite. Cheers.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 11:47, closed)

Haha, ace. I would've said hi but I literally glanced at you (well, if it was) for a second or 2 as I was rushing for a train. Considering I live in the midlands and probably spend no more than 10 days in London a year it'd be a pretty strange coincidence though...
(Crimboski, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 12:39, closed)

This could be a new 'offtopic' theme...
'Spanky Spottings'

It even sounds perverted enough...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 18 Dec 2009, 12:37, closed)

Seagull - Fail!
No such bird, Herring, Black headed etc: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gull

Good story though.

click
(Kip, Sat 19 Dec 2009, 16:06, closed)

Fucking Quality
It's posts like this that make me think you're wasted on here sometimes.

*Christmas click*
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Sun 20 Dec 2009, 10:19, closed)

Fantastic tale.
The wit and speed of Hunter S. Thompson on a more mundane setting.
( Christian's Bolt and Ski, Thu 24 Dec 2009, 1:34, closed)