Part 1 – Inside every bush there is a flush
Cuntspoker brethren. I’d like to share with you all a rather disturbing tale about a private poker game venue I attended a few years back, which until now has been suppressed in the darkest depths of my mind.
It all began when I received an anonymous letter through the post from a Lady identifying herself as Angie which was scented with female-ejaculate. In the hand written letter she claimed that we shared an affinity for poker and the dark side, with the words ‘dark side’ punctuated by commas made from a paint print of her obviously shaved snatch. Included in the envelope was a Polaroid image of her naked, with her breasts perched atop a copy of Phil Gordon’s Little Green Book of Poker. Not much of a looker I thought, but hey… inside every bush there is a flush!
Picture the scene… it’s the Mediterranean, its 2am, and I’m just enjoying my last Moroccan Marlboro before going to bed. With viewing options limited in this neck of the woods, my hand was forced, so I decided to watch a bit of BBC World News, the international sister channel to BBC News 24. I turn on the TV to be greeted by the following from an overexcited Matt Frei – the BBC’s man on the ground:
“He’s chiselling! A MAN IS CHISELLING! You are watching live pictures of a man chiselling!”
Miguel: You know what really gets on my tits, Clive? People that find it absolutely abhorrent that you don’t like fish. The sort of cunts that upon hearing the news you’re not so keen on the Surf element of Surf and Turf, will recoil in horror and begin wailing like banshees, rocking back and forth in their chairs, in the foetal position. They find the very idea that you don’t like fish so morally repugnant, that they become crusaders trying to convert you from your pagan ways. ‘You’ll like it, just give it try’ the food Nazis demand of you, hell-bent on regime change. Well I won’t, if it’s all the same to you. And furthermore, I’ve been on this earth for thirty years now, don’t you think in all those years, which is three decades in all, I might have tried fish sufficient enough times to warrant the declaration ‘Sorry love. Fish isn’t my bag’, without fear of violent reprisal. I might have lived in a land locked town in the Midlands for the first twenty-five years of my life, but this isn’t the 1950’s, it’s not like I haven’t seen a fish before, our local Spar shop had a fish counter. You cunts… Just accept that some people don’t like food that tastes and smells like three week old fanny juice.’
Clive: What Miguel said.
More of what really gets on Miguel and Clive’s tits soon…
More of what really gets on Miguel and Clive’s tits soon.