♥ shhexycorin ♥

A fresh carcass, ripe for a good plucking

It’s not often that you get to cook with such a rare bit of meat. Llamas are notoriously healthy breeders and rarely fuck up in childbirth. So a getting your hands on a stillborn llama carcass is like fucking golddust.

So, here’s my recipe, learnt from an Argentinian gaucho by the name of Rodrigo Gillipollaz.

Roast Stillborn Llama

Stillborn llama are usually 10-25 pounds. Allow at least one pound of llama per person. A 24-inch barbecue unit will hold a 15 lb llama; a 30-inch unit will hold up to 25 lb. A larger animal will require cooking equipment with greater capacity.

Preparing the Stillborn
Wash llama thoroughly inside and out with cold running water; remove any tissues from cavity. Dry completely inside and out.

Rub body cavity with salt and pepper, and desired seasonings (garlic, thyme, rosemary, etc.).

Fill cavity firmly with a dressing of your choice. Dressing will prevent the sides from collapsing during cooking. Sew up opening with heavy string.

Cooking the Stillborn

Stick the animal on your hot barbecue. Cook for about an hour and half, make sure you burn the fuck out of it if you want Llama Crackling as a starter. Serve the animal whole, on the table and allow your guests to wet themselves with excitement as they tear the animal to shreds.

Fuck knows what I’ve done, but my activities have certainly alerted the secret services of something. I’m pretty sure that someone’s been going through my flat, for one - my knicker drawer looks like a bomb hit it and I can’t find the fucking remote for the stereo anywhere.

My suspicions were confirmed this afternoon. There I was, in my Marigolds, up to the elbow in soap suds and dog fat, when I heard a peculiar noise from outside. I opened the window, had a peek around and there they were, bold as brass, four of MI5’s most covert operatives spying on me!

I hate cunts with a persecution complex, but this isn’t paranoia, it’s real life. And it’s NO FUCKING JOKE. If this keeps up, I’m defecting to Poland.

Not that I’m dropping hints or anything, but anyone who wanted to win my heart could do no wrong by giving me this handbag for Valentine’s Day…

Something tells me it would come in very useful!

I got an email from my cousin Bernard this morning. Finally some light at the end of his very dark tunnel! He’s been struggling for many years trying to cope with his job at the abattoir and his second job as a double-glazing salesman. Also his troublesome wife just won’t stop dropping sprogs, at the last count he had 6 daughters and 9 sons! Not bad going for someone so notoriously badly equipped in the trouser department.

But with some clever financing and a rare display of entrepreneurial panache (he sold half his kids to the local child trafficker), he’s finally managed to get himself a car! It’s a hideous people-mover, but he needs that to ship the family around, and it should make getting from job to job a little easier. I might have to visit him, now he’s not such a fucking pikey.

Bernard looking like a smug fucking cunt in his Fiat Multipla

I heard a great story from a friend about a bloke who went to the local knocking shop after the football to get himself sucked off. He was shown to a room, told to get himself ready. So he strips off, taking off his shoes and socks. To his horror, he realises that his feet are fucking rancid! He spots a bottle of talcum powder on the sideboard, and liberally shakes it onto his feet. Only the lid flies off… and the bottle empties in his lap.

At that second the whore opens the door to the room, causing the powder to billow up in a cloud, filling the room.

Sad fuck, bet he didn’t get his blow-job either. Or if he did, he paid extra and it was dry, messy and smelt of his nan.

The Kemptown girls just want to have fun.

I worry about this world we’re living in, you know. I was tasked by Big Vern to do some research for the This is not a Brothel group on Flickr.

So I asked my mates if they knew anywhere and Malcolm suggested I go to “The Playpen” - a massage parlour in deepest, darkest Kemptown. I was horrified when I got there, it seemed to be employing whores who looked like they couldn’t be much older than 12!

This is NOT a bit of “innocent” fun

This got my journalistic instincts tingling, so I set about asking these girls some questions. At first they were reluctant to talk to me but I slipped them a couple of quid each and that quickly loosened their tongues. To my absolute amazement it transpired that they were all well over forty, I even met one of their daughters, who’s studying at university - debt free thanks to her hard-working Ma!

There’s been a fair bit of news about brothels this week, if these girls are anything to go by, prostitution gives you a good life that keeps you looking young. As long as you don’t mind all the degrading sex acts with strangers, of course. These girls told me they couldn’t get enough off it.

So I’ve decided, I’m buying shares in Brighton Lube plc.

/>
Shhexy ho jahbuzzz

So I’ve started a new Flickr Group, Shameless Whores. I’m fairly used to whoring myself on the internet, but I thought that what we really needed was a place where people could show the world how fucking great they are.

It’s really kicked off, with 140 people now whoring themselves to great acclaim. We have a fine collection of beauty, wit and shhexiest motherfuckers the internet has to offer!

Join the fun, show us what you’re made of, or just watch the lovely, lovely whores.

I thought I’d lost these photos! These are a couple of pictures from when I got my first tattoo. I didn’t start with anything too fancy, not like some of my customers. Just a simple design on my back. I wanted to get it done properly, but my pocket money wouldn’t cover it. I found this guy working in an alley, he offered tattoos and back-street abortions, so all-in-all he was a very useful person to know!

Man, it fucking hurt! The guy broke a couple of needles in my back, but he wanted to get the ink in good and proper. Took 37 hours to get it all done, twice as long as he expected… so obviously it cost more, I had no cash so had to find another way to pay him. It’s always the same…

Turns out the cunt was a fucking fraudster and did the tat in soluble ink, he just gets his kicks from sticking needles in people. What pisses me off is that he made me pay for the pleasure, by rights he really should have been paying me.

Clicky clears up loose ends

PULITZER PRIZE-WINNING PHOTOGRAPHER was blighted for many of his days by the inconsiderate travelling folk who insisted on parking their foul-smelling caravans in the grounds of his vast estate. Here is an excerpt from Clicky’s last diary entry, prior to his arrest by MI5:

“I’ve had it up to the fucking bollocks with this lot. They’re pissing all over the lawn, disturbing my strolls in the bushes with Winston and nicking a shitload of meat from the freezers. The joke was on them though, they took the meat my chef chopped their dogs into last week! Ha! Serves ‘em right, cunts.”

I don’t know what my poofter mates were thinking, taking me to a place where women get their kit off and dance provocatively for each other. At first I thought it was all pretty fucking disgusting, and Pete and Edmund were just pissing themselves. The gays get very excited by tits, which has never made sense to me.

Anyway, I was knackered and about to leave when this pair of hotties got up and started grinding away in my face! I really didn’t know where to look. They were so fucking shhexy that they very nearly turned me! But then I remembered that they might have fists, but they haven’t got a cock… You can’t live without cock.