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A Haunting In Norfolk


Decimus

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1 minute ago, scotty said:

Rat has become a shadow of the man who routinely described his auntie Vi making abortions out of marigold gloves and firing them at the luftwaffe. It's tragic really, nowadays all he ever leaves behind him is a collection of wanky fonts and the bitter whiff of disappointment. 

Leave my fuckin Dad alone.

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6 minutes ago, scotty said:

Rat has become a shadow of the man who routinely described his auntie Vi making abortions out of marigold gloves and firing them at the luftwaffe. It's tragic really, nowadays all he ever leaves behind him is a collection of wanky fonts and the bitter whiff of disappointment. 

 

4 minutes ago, ratcum said:

I was hoping Vlad would accidentally novichok the whole fuckin lot of them Deco. The sooner we admit the Russians are doing more to stop IS/ISIS/ISL/House of Frazer than we ever could, the better. Okay they're propping up kasbah rocker Assad, but that's better than Johnny extremist.

I rest my case. 

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Guest 'eavensabove
10 hours ago, Eric Cuntman said:

Fuck! 

'A leading Nazi, who escaped but never made it to South America'

It's him. It's the ratfuhrer.

No. They found Hitler's ashes. 

Fraulein Eva Braun, is  plausible.

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Guest 'eavensabove
11 hours ago, ratcum said:

yeah, you know...caramel refluxers, Bovril bobbers, dung divers 

Ahhhh. Now I get your drift... Butterscotch batters,  Pumpernickel pumpers,  Back-porch bangers... 

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12 hours ago, scotty said:

Rat has become a shadow of the man who routinely described his auntie Vi making abortions out of marigold gloves and firing them at the luftwaffe. It's tragic really, nowadays all he ever leaves behind him is a collection of wanky fonts and the bitter whiff of disappointment. 

I will rise from the ashes, like a phoenix,

..well, a rat

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3 hours ago, Jiggerycock said:

Are we never to be allowed our one moment of indiscretion, set against the indifference and cold hostility of an uncaring world?

Deny us if you must! We will always have Cockley Cley!

genuinely funny

please close the labia on your way out

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6 hours ago, 'eavensabove said:

Ahhhh. Now I get your drift... Butterscotch batters,  Pumpernickel pumpers,  Back-porch bangers... 

"A cocoa-shunter  a slot badger, you're a two pin din plug, you're a bush dodger, you're a small bean regarder, you're an unabummer, you're a nut administrator, you're a bent ref, you're the crazy world of Arthur Brown, you're a fence foal, you're a free willy, you're a chimney bottler, you're a bunty man, you're a shrub rocketeer".

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3 hours ago, Jiggerycock said:

"A cocoa-shunter  a slot badger, you're a two pin din plug, you're a bush dodger, you're a small bean regarder, you're an unabummer, you're a nut administrator, you're a bent ref, you're the crazy world of Arthur Brown, you're a fence foal, you're a free willy, you're a chimney bottler, you're a bunty man, you're a shrub rocketeer".

More nonsense from the Guardian.....

lol.

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Guest Wizardsleeve
2 minutes ago, Lord Punkape said:

Abandoned due to high winds.....

The front 9 was like a tumble dryer gone berserk.....

I would bet a pound you'd give me an iron if I made a beans on toast comment to that, right?  

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7 minutes ago, Wizardsleeve said:

I would bet a pound you'd give me an iron if I made a beans on toast comment to that, right?  

 

7 minutes ago, Wizardsleeve said:

I would bet a pound you'd give me an iron if I made a beans on toast comment to that, right?  

I play Calllaway actually....

lol.

 

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  • 1 year later...
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....

 

 

T-minus 22 days...

 

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  • 1 year later...
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....

 

 

Pile of shit.

 

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