A Haunting In Norfolk

[ChildeHarold]

On 04/01/2021 at 20:07, Decimus said:

No wonder they're all so bent and fixated on weird, Japanese Octopus porn, the poor little cunts can't afford to go out and meet a real tart.

Back when I was a cheeky underage drinker looking to prematurely ejaculate up some naive fellow teen's, rancid snatch, you could go on a night out with a barely a score to your name. At an age where ten pints would see your underdeveloped liver struggle to process enough alcohol to keep you conscious, £25 was more than enough to keep the party going and buy a few Smirnoff's in exchange for a toothy blowjob.

Nowadays the cunts have to sit in thrashing their maggots to Deviant Art Pokémon erotica because you need at least £100 quid to make a decent night of it.

It's all about the Old Man isn't it! Close resemblance to one of the characters in Pinter's Homecoming. 

[Guest Weary&Disgusted]

11 minutes ago, ChildeHarold said:

It's all about the Old Man isn't it! Close resemblance to one of the characters in Pinter's Homecoming. 

Which old man are we talking about here ?

[Guest Parabolic Cunting]

On 05/08/2018 at 21:32, Decimus said:

Gather round fellow cunters, and make yourselves comfortable. Dim your lights, lock your doors and pour yourselves a large medicinal brandy.

What I am about to divulge has never been discussed outside of my inner circle through fear of being ridiculed by sceptical naysayers. But as the weather cools and the nights slowly begin to draw in, I feel that it is time to share the horrors that I once confronted during a cold foggy, and damp November evening whilst wandering the bleak fens of Norfolk in 2013.

Having attended a birthday of a colleague in a small hamlet just outside of Swaffham, I was dismayed to discover that the taxi I had ordered to take me to Norwich railway station at 11pm had failed to appear. Due to the complete lack of mobile phone coverage within the area, I was unable to call Mrs. D to mount a rescue mission, so began a five mile walk to the next village where a colleague was staying at a cosy local hostelry.

No sooner had I set out upon the narrow country lane which led toward my salvation, than a thick mist suddenly descended upon me, rendering my surroundings completely obscured beyond a radius of a mere four feet. Stumbling blindly along in eerie silence, I desperately attempted to grope my way towards civilisation as I suddenly became overcome with a feeling of existential dread. Within a minute of the fog cloaking my senses, I began to sense that I was not alone in my nocturnal journey. A slow, rhythmic breathing was ever present behind my right ear, deepening and becoming more ragged as I nervously increased my pace in an effort to escape the spectre that was stalking me.

As my own heart rate rapidly increased, I began to feel myself hyperventilating to the point that I had to stop my journey through fear of rendering myself unconscious and vulnerable to whatever was hunting me. After a brief two minute interlude where the only noise to break the sudden silence was the mournful hoot of a tawny owl, I began to run at full pelt, blindly crashing my way down the twisting lane that by now was completely cloaked by a veil of fridgid, ethereal vapour.

I eventually reached the safety of my colleague's lodgings, and fortified with a double Laphroaig, I considered relaying to him the horrors that I had faced during my eventful night-time adventure. As I was about to begin, my colleague turned his face back from the roaring fire of his room and looked me directly in the face. It was at this point in time, I realised that the true horror was only just beginning. This was not my colleague that I was face to face with. The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than....

 

 

So few like for such an outstandingly mental post.