MESSING WITH THE ORNAMENTS
One of my mates at university was a lovely girl named Kate Bucket Fanny. Kate acquired this name on account of having a vagina the girth and volume of your average JCB digger bucket. And like a JCB, she’d had plenty of builders inside her in her time. Midway through the first term Kate bequeathed my flatmates and I an object of wonder and delight: her knackered old vibrator that she’d ridden to mucky, gloopy oblivion. It was a crusty pink double-handed broadsword of a motorised dildo which leapt and bucked like an electrocuted break dancer whenever one of us plucked up enough courage to twist the base and turned the damn thing on.

It probably had the DNA of half the people in our halls splashed all over it and the remnants of all the best venereal diseases.
We put it on our windowsill between the spider plant and our collection of empty Coors bottles, pride of place, you could see it from the road outside.

Then one night after a particularly heavy drinking session, one of my flatmates, Ian, more pissed than George Best after a liver transplant, appeared in our communal kitchen stark bollock naked. This was alarming. He then staggered over to the fridge, grabbed another beer, and in another jerky, drunken C3P0-esque move lifted Kate’s former best friend from the windowsill.

“Errr, Ian,” said one of my other flatmates, Blackpool Ben.
Ian wasn’t listening. He tottered back over towards the closed kitchen door, revved up the mighty plastic phallus of dread, bent over and wiggled it round his brownstar.

“Err.... Ian... ???”

But Ian just replied in an incredibly drunken slur, so drunk he sounded like he’d had a stroke: “Look at me! Look at me! I’m Kate! Huuh, huhh, huuuh... I’m cumming! I’m Kate! Huhh, hee, hhuuuhh, haa!”

At which point, one of my other mates, Dan, barged into the kitchen, slamming open the door and ramming Ian’s hand forward. Kate’s vibrator, humming and revving like an idling motorcycle, shot forward and disappeared, embedded deep inside Ian’s stinky sweetcorn tunnel. Ian screamed like, well, like he’d just been anally raped. He leapt forward, twatted his face on the kitchen counter and then landed in a heap face first on the kitchen floor, out cold, arms splayed either side, the final couple of inches of the massive though now somewhat muffled vibe doing a little jig buried between his buttocks.

The rest of us just stared.

We waited for Ian to come round himself – it would’ve just been a bit too gay to help our naked, drunk, machine-buggered mate out.

Just far too gay by far.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 20:37, 9 replies)

It's people like him that give sausaging a bad name.

( Ghoti Fingers, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 20:41, closed)

something something, bon jovi

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 23:49, closed)

u dun a funny

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 10 Oct 2014, 7:36, closed)

there's a first time for everything

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Fri 10 Oct 2014, 9:03, closed)

Modesty and wit.

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 10 Oct 2014, 12:44, closed)

Fuck off and die in a fire Skagra.
But give The LOVELY Dozer his account back first.
( stuj (^(^;;^)^) GO TEAM SPIDERS!(^(^;;^)^), Thu 9 Oct 2014, 21:11, closed)

chinny

( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 21:39, closed)

what kind of savage drinks coors?
It's this kind of filth, etc.
( rofl harris, Thu 9 Oct 2014, 22:20, closed)

You were The Famous Five AICMFP

( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Fri 10 Oct 2014, 9:42, closed)