I want to Cunt my own Father……I thought this would be difficult, but looking back on my shit upbringing, words spilled off the quill in quick tommy gun succession.
One of my first memories of the braindead lout was when he drilled a hole through my tortoise (at my request). TV’s Blue Peter had done it with theirs, demonstrating how to tether a pet tortoise to the front lawn with twine by drilling a very small hole in the corner of its shell with a hand drill. Thus, allowing the creature freedom to move, but not to fuck off.
As soon as the electric wood drill bit came in to contact with the shell, the tortoise shot up the shaft legs akimbo. ‘Tommy’ died a painful and unnecessary death. “Volenti non fit iniuria” to he who is willing, there can be no injury!
If this wasn’t bad enough – in a display of abject cuntery, Mongoman hollowed out the tortoise (mentioning something about turtle soup, in a futile attempt to lighten the somewhat sombre mood in the house) and patched the hole with glass fibre and resin for the exotic ashtray that adorned our living room coffee table until he quit smoking in 1982.
In 1983 Neanderthal man filled ‘Tommy’ with concrete to create an ‘envy of the street ‘exotic door stop. This guy was so versatile.
On another occasion whilst not enjoying a caravan holiday in Scarborough I heard the familiar ‘slap’ and low gruff voice say “come on then love…lets have a bit of fun”. In the safe cloak of midnight blackness and, as the caravan rocked in an aggressive thrusting motion, I remember to this day the amorous exchange between the two lovers: –
Cunt: “say its big!….say I’ve got a big en!”
Mum: “Oh Arthur, no”
Cunt: “SAY IT!”
Mum: “Its big Arthur!”
Cunt: “Say you want me to blast it on your tits!”
Mum: “No Arthur – that’s crass”
Cunt: “SAY IT!”
Mum: “Blast it on my chest Arthur”
Cunt: “Arrgghh!! Say there’s loads of it! SAY IT!”
You get the idea….
I then reflect on my own cuntish mannerisms. How I treat women. My distain for effnicks, my lack of filters in social gatherings, the fact I actively seek to offend and upset people for my own trivial amusement.
A few years ago, I squatted naked, with a Fiskars Axe, in a green wheelie bin by my front door. It was October and I waited in the darkness for ‘Halloweener’s’. As soon as any of the little twats with their insufferable 4×4, soya latte drinking ‘Pippa made us a Halloween card at school’ wanky mums and dads came near my doorbell I lept out and scared the shite out of cunts. I hate Halloween! That weekend in the local boozer some of the dads mentioned it was all a bit too much. Bit too scary for the six and seven year olds. I replied with “Good – I hardly sacrificed a tortoise did I?” before going on to detail the features and benefits of a Fiskars Axe. A few mums collared me to say they though it all very amusing which was code for arousing methinks. Any way I blame you pater – thanks for ruining my intellectual, emotional and social formative years. CUNT!
Nominated by DAd Wud
