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Not shitting where you eat


Guest Quincy Cockfingers

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Guest Quincy Cockfingers

Lately, every time I am put in a position whereby I must shite away from the house, and I don't mean the office or anything controlled, it's a fucking cunt. 

Last Thursday morning before leaving Casa Cockfingers I wasn't quite there, despite expending some grunting and heaving trying to shite out the sirloin from day before.

Fucking caught out, en route to meet some cunt on the Riverside in stinking Glasgow, in the pishing rain, limited venues. Stopped in a shit cafe full of ugly wet bastards, hoop drooling shite, got to the pan just in time for the first blurt- alas- the remainder solid, not rock solid but fairly elastic - problematic. Lodged about 2/3 committed. Cunt.

Late as fuck so caution to the wind, I decided to snip and retract, snip and retract. As we know this is second best to a clean slam dunk, no "calving", but often necessary. Usually one can crimp off relatively cleanly and with an indrawn breath "suck" that turtle back into its shell to await a second break for the sea.

No such fucking luck! Could not snip that shite! I managed to bottleneck it a bit, give it a tiny waist, but my hoop was certainly out of trim from Mrs C's recent merciless fistings and couldn't quite cheesewire right through. Normally it's like a giant squids beak, but not this time- no fucking danger!

Decision point. What to do? Come on Quincy, what would Magiver do? Either wait for a "gravity assist" (no fucking time, that's out), attempt a full retraction (risky), or plough in with a fistful of bog roll and hand crimp/Caesarian the cunt.

Right, fucking option C- inelegant but at least you're in the driving seat, go for it. Bastard shiny bog roll! Who invents this shit, who buys it? Must it be a frictionless surface? I cautiously grip the shite at its narrowest gauge- right by the hoop- between thumb, forefinger and pvc bog roll, I fuck it up and squidge it, the texture and resistance is fucking rank so I bottle it.

I know I'm fucked. The residual dump has that uncomfortable feeling indicating it's much larger than reality- it must go, so I fall to heaving, straining, eyeballs bulging as I become some kind of purple Ainsley fucking Harriot. Fucking nosebleed - right into my keks and inside my light grey suit trousers. 

Shite half born, only thing left to soldier on with the shite bog roll, literally spreading it up my back like Nutella. That fucking stuff- so shiny on the flat, but sharp as fuck on the fold. Wiped and wiped but every time caked in shite - fuck all difference- until my rings blood appears with the shite. Cunt.

Shitty sore arsed stupid fucking cunt trudging through the pissing Glasgow rain with apparent vadge bleeding going on, to meet some builder cunt who would assuredly rip the fucking piss? Fuck no- 200 taxi home to scrub the shite and blood off in the shower. Fucking total cunt. 

And interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Guest Wizardsleeve
7 hours ago, Quincy Cockfingers said:

Lately, every time I am put in a position whereby I must shite away from the house, and I don't mean the office or anything controlled, it's a fucking cunt. 

Last Thursday morning before leaving Casa Cockfingers I wasn't quite there, despite expending some grunting and heaving trying to shite out the sirloin from day before.

Fucking caught out, en route to meet some cunt on the Riverside in stinking Glasgow, in the pishing rain, limited venues. Stopped in a shit cafe full of ugly wet bastards, hoop drooling shite, got to the pan just in time for the first blurt- alas- the remainder solid, not rock solid but fairly elastic - problematic. Lodged about 2/3 committed. Cunt.

Late as fuck so caution to the wind, I decided to snip and retract, snip and retract. As we know this is second best to a clean slam dunk, no "calving", but often necessary. Usually one can crimp off relatively cleanly and with an indrawn breath "suck" that turtle back into its shell to await a second break for the sea.

No such fucking luck! Could not snip that shite! I managed to bottleneck it a bit, give it a tiny waist, but my hoop was certainly out of trim from Mrs C's recent merciless fistings and couldn't quite cheesewire right through. Normally it's like a giant squids beak, but not this time- no fucking danger!

Decision point. What to do? Come on Quincy, what would Magiver do? Either wait for a "gravity assist" (no fucking time, that's out), attempt a full retraction (risky), or plough in with a fistful of bog roll and hand crimp/Caesarian the cunt.

Right, fucking option C- inelegant but at least you're in the driving seat, go for it. Bastard shiny bog roll! Who invents this shit, who buys it? Must it be a frictionless surface? I cautiously grip the shite at its narrowest gauge- right by the hoop- between thumb, forefinger and pvc bog roll, I fuck it up and squidge it, the texture and resistance is fucking rank so I bottle it.

I know I'm fucked. The residual dump has that uncomfortable feeling indicating it's much larger than reality- it must go, so I fall to heaving, straining, eyeballs bulging as I become some kind of purple Ainsley fucking Harriot. Fucking nosebleed - right into my keks and inside my light grey suit trousers. 

Shite half born, only thing left to soldier on with the shite bog roll, literally spreading it up my back like Nutella. That fucking stuff- so shiny on the flat, but sharp as fuck on the fold. Wiped and wiped but every time caked in shite - fuck all difference- until my rings blood appears with the shite. Cunt.

Shitty sore arsed stupid fucking cunt trudging through the pissing Glasgow rain with apparent vadge bleeding going on, to meet some builder cunt who would assuredly rip the fucking piss? Fuck no- 200 taxi home to scrub the shite and blood off in the shower. Fucking total cunt. 

And interesting.

 

You must have looked a right cunt exiting the stall.  By the omission in your tale, I assume Stickers was absent from his duties offering you a towel and clean up afterwards?  Fucking dodgy workshy cunt!  

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Guest Bill Stickers

Whatever happened to nominations like this?

It's got it all - fecal matter, fistings, and some boring fucking cunt called 'sleeve dragging the topic back round to his favourite member Mr Stickers for the umpteenth time.

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23 minutes ago, Cuntopolis said:

Will some cunt please give me a précis of this nom, before I ask him to kill himself and stop wasting people's time with pathetically long noms.

Well I could do but it would be a bit like Mrs Michelangelo asking hubby to knock up a garden shed after he'd just completed the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

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Guest Wizardsleeve
1 hour ago, Bill Stickers said:

Whatever happened to nominations like this?

It's got it all - fecal matter, fistings, and some boring fucking cunt called 'sleeve dragging the topic back round to his favourite member Mr Stickers for the umpteenth time.

So your carer has fucked off until the afternoon shift arrives?  

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Guest nobgobbler
55 minutes ago, Cuntopolis said:

Will some cunt please give me a précis of this nom, before I ask him to kill himself and stop wasting people's time with pathetically long noms.

Precis for the nom: "I shit myself. Now Bill will love me."

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Guest Quincy Cockfingers
49 minutes ago, Cuntopolis said:

Will some cunt please give me a précis of this nom, before I ask him to kill himself and stop wasting people's time with pathetically long noms.

Instead of any of that just fuck off and jump in a swollen river

 

2 hours ago, Eddie said:

Truly, very disturbing, a light grey suit you say ?, no one has worn one since the 80's down south.

Excuse me- I said light grey suit trousers. Tartan sports jacket, string vest, greasy headband, can of spesh.

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Guest Quincy Cockfingers
2 hours ago, Wizardsleeve said:

You must have looked a right cunt exiting the stall.  By the omission in your tale, I assume Stickers was absent from his duties offering you a towel and clean up afterwards?  Fucking dodgy workshy cunt!  

Remember, this was Glasgow. They thought I was fucking Hollywood. Not Paul Hollywood mind, fuck off. Id have said "royalty", but they'd have cut my throat from ear to ear.

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Guest Ahriman

"Mr Cockfingers latest novel 'Not shitting where you eat' is a heart warming tale of shitting, fisting, shiny bog rolls, and arse bleeding, that invokes the same kind of emotions one must experience when being on the receiving end of a donkey punch. Fuck off Shakespeare, there's a new literacy master in town, one whose body of work shall be taught to snotty nosed little shits for generations to come. Fucking good job Quincy!"

-Some Cunt   

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