Decimus Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 (edited) 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.... Edited August 5, 2018 by Decimus TBC 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ape™️ Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 it’d better not be fucking Frank. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Cuntybaws Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 Pile of ectoplasm. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Miles Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 Mary Hopkin. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Miles Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 Frank's boat was in Torbay today Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Eric Cuntman Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 1 hour ago, 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.... ....Barry Chuckle. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
nocti Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 1 hour ago, 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.... This wasn't a fucking Premier Inn was it, Decs? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
camberwell gypsy Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 1 hour ago, Slippers said: Mary Hopkin. Those were the days 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
camberwell gypsy Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 2 hours ago, 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.... Pen"s pussy. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Lord McCunty Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 I skim-read this post, but soon lost interest. I (and probably Punkape) was eagerly looking for the point you got arse fucked by a Sasquach. How disappointing. Did you have to make do with being Fucked up the arse by a Norfolk farmer? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Trumpton Bacon Posted August 5, 2018 Report Share Posted August 5, 2018 3 hours ago, Decimus said: fortified with a double Laphroaig You've gone down in my estimation. Rancid earthworms fermented for 14 years in a vat of specially imported Nigerian swamp sewage, then decanted into used Aberdeen Angus spunk storage barrels to mature for a further 10 years, Laphroaig indeed. What is this shit? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
PANZER MURPHY Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 Some cunt with a ponytail n butterfly net Panzerknacker 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Neil Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 9 hours ago, Decimus said: The hideous face that still haunts dreams was none other than.... Was it a mirror? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
scotty Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 tl;dr Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Stubby Pecker Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 10 hours ago, Lord McCunty said: I skim-read this post, but soon lost interest. I (and probably Punkape) was eagerly looking for the point you got arse fucked by a Sasquach. How disappointing. Did you have to make do with being Fucked up the arse by a Norfolk farmer? Sasquatch is considered a looker in those parts you silly cunt. Old decs would have to coat his cock in honey to get such a filthy creature even contemplate such an ungodly coupling Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Stubby Pecker Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 13 hours ago, 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.... Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Decimus Posted August 6, 2018 Author Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 20 minutes ago, Stubby Pecker said: Sasquatch is considered a looker in those parts you silly cunt. Old decs would have to coat his cock in honey to get such a filthy creature even contemplate such an ungodly coupling Cut your hair, you scruffy fucking cunt. 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
southerncunt Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 10 hours ago, Lord McCunty said: I skim-read this post, but soon lost interest. I (and probably Punkape) was eagerly looking for the point you got arse fucked by a Sasquach. How disappointing. Did you have to make do with being Fucked up the arse by a Norfolk farmer? I got a laugh out of that. Have a like. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Miles Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 11 hours ago, camberwell gypsy said: Those were the days Goodbye. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
southerncunt Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 13 hours ago, 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.... ...... BronyKeith with a katana and a boner. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Wizardsleeve Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 21 hours ago, 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.... If the answer is anything but Withers finishing one off to a gay porn centerfold, I'll be surprised. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Drew P Pissflaps Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 (edited) ....a mirror hanging on the wall. Edited August 6, 2018 by Drew P Pissflaps great (perverted?) minds. eh, Neil? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Guest Boaby Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 Dogging? Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Stubby Pecker Posted August 6, 2018 Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 9 hours ago, Decimus said: Cut your hair, you scruffy fucking cunt. I hope you were enough of a gentleman to a) give Sasquatch a reach around as you pumped the unfortunate creatures hairy arse with you disgusting spunk, and b) offer it a smoke post coitus? Any resulting offspring would instantly enrich the genetic pool of your six-fingered backwater Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Decimus Posted August 6, 2018 Author Report Share Posted August 6, 2018 11 minutes ago, Stubby Pecker said: I hope you were enough of a gentleman to a) give Sasquatch a reach around as you pumped the unfortunate creatures hairy arse with you disgusting spunk, and b) offer it a smoke post coitus? Any resulting offspring would instantly enrich the genetic pool of your six-fingered backwater Pecker, you know what I want, and it's within your power to give it. Apologise for your awful fucking slander and we can go back to cordial relations. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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