♥ shhexycorin ♥

Stomach-churning special effects!

Oliver Stone’s controversial film about the tragic events of September 11th 2001, World Trade Center is due out in August. At the Cannes Film Festival recently, he showed a 26 minute excerpt to a select audience, but has been very secretive about it otherwise.

My good self excluded, of course. Ollie has always placed great value on my opinion and last week flew over to give me a complete overview of the work-in-progress.

It’s a fucking high-octane rollercoaster ride of excitement, I can tell you! Rammed full with fast-paced action and slapstick physical comedy, accompanied by a script that revels in playing with language - at times I could swear that Mel Brooks and Woody Allen co-wrote it. These were the times when I let out a little bit of wee, I was laughing that hard.

My personal highlights:

• Osama is played sympathetically by a blacked-up Ben Affleck, who turns in a sterling portrayal of a man fighting for his beliefs.
• The firefighters are played by members of the New York Transgendered Choir, whose show-pieces throughout the film bring a bit of glamour to Stone’s grimy New York set.
• The special effects are gob-smacking, Oliver’s succeeded in turning the humdrum events of that day into a vomit-inducing gorefest.
• I defy you to listen to Elton John’s song that accompanies the second tower’s collapse without feeling that disco beat grab hold of your feet - I was shimmying in my seat!

I’m really looking forward to seeing the film when it’s finished, it’s the kind of film you can watch over and over and over again! BOOM!

The rabbits must be taken alive; once captured you should blind them or keep them in a lightless box for a month to gorge on grass, carrots and cabbage. When they’ve reached four times their normal size, drown them in a snifter of Scrumpy.

Cooking Le Petit Lapin is simplicity itself. Simply pop them in a high oven for six to eight minutes and serve. The secret is entirely in the eating. First you cover your head with a funeral shroud. Then place the entire bunny into your mouth. Only its head should dangle out from between your lips. Bite off the head and discard.

Fresh out of the oven, the bunny will be so hot that you must rest it on your tongue while inhaling rapidly through your mouth.

When cool, begin to chew. It should take about 15 minutes to work your way through the skin and muscles, the delicately crackling bones, and on to the inner organs. The lungs and heart, saturated with cider from its drowning, are said to burst in a booze-soaked flower on the diner’s tongue. Enjoy with a good Claret.

Le Petit Lapin: feel their little bones crunch in your mouth!

I’ve known there was a market for Albanian Badger ever since I first tasted it on holiday a couple of years ago. PPWP had taken me along to attend to him during a three month riverboat cruise. It was there I learnt the secret of preparing an Albanian badger in a truly lip-smacking way.

As it’s a secret, I obviously can’t tell you how to cook it. But, let’s say, you were to experiment with a badger, an otter’s spleen and half a gallon of finest panda piss, you will probably stumble upon the recipe yourself!

So we returned from holiday, but those badgers were never far from my mind. Then one day, my close friend, Nuggets Mahoney mentioned that he had friends in Albanian Customs who might be able to turn a blind eye to the stringent restrictions placed on exporting these endangered animals. “Fuck yeah!” I thought.

After a little bit of drama due to me being a bit of a dunce about paperwork, the first shipment arrived this morning. So should you fancy trying your hand at one of the tastiest dishes on the planet, drop me a line and I’ll get you some of the shhexiest meat you’ve ever tasted.

A fine specimen of an Albanian badger, I skinned it alive and made a lovely hat.

Aw, he got the whore flowers!

It’s all been a bit quiet on the whore front since the Whore Wars back in March. The police clampdown and curfew really put the dampners on the sex trade for a while, not to mention the alarming rise in violent attacks against Brighton’s prostitutes/.

But the working girls at Brighton’s most reputable whorehouse, The Playpen, aren’t the type to take things lying down and decided to whip up trade with a special offer that the men in this town (and a fair few of the women) are finding it very hard to resist.

The premise is simple, buy one prostitute, get one free. Or go twice with your favourite whore, at no extra cost. The cunts are queuing round the block to get their hands on this tasty bargain!

The upshot of it all is that the customers are spending a lot more quality time with the whores, are getting to know them as people and, funnily enouugh, are finding that these sluts are actually warm, funny people with a lot of love to give. We’ve had two marriages in the last month, there are several babies on the way. The whores are happier than they’ve ever been and, as a lot of them have been leaving their jobs to start families, unemployment in the city is at an all time low!

These two really hit it off, it started as business transaction, now they’re in love!

God, it’s great to be able to bring you some happy news from the world of Brighton’s whores.

Capitalism FUCKING ROCKS.

My Nana’s sisters weren’t as lucky in love as she was. The three of them were seduced, impregnated and abandoned by the same man, all when they were in their early teens. After a couple of home-made abortions, the girls tried to get on with their normal lives, but in those days abortions weren’t quite the fashion accessory they are today. They faced regular stonings at the hands of their fellow villagers and after an attempted rape too far, they decided to run away and join the circus.

They tried their luck as bearded ladies, but ultimately failed due to being sold a dodgy batch of steroids. Dipping their toes into something more glamorous, the sisters developed a naked trapeze act that soon became the circus’s star attraction. Sadly their show proved too shhexy for their audience’s good. A huge rise in the number strokes and heart attacks during their performances forced the sisters into early retirement.

Chronic opium habits soon ate through the sisters’ savings, but desperation has always brought out the best in the Corin family, and the girls had the inspiration to become the world’s first Human Houpla.

World’s First Human Houpla! My shhexy great-aunts.

The premise was simple: if it was vaguely hoop-shaped, you could chuck it at my great-aunts. The cost and prizes varied according to the weight and pointiness of the object being thrown.

The gambling gene runs deep in the homeland and the sheer bravura of the girls’ game won them their fortune. Men couldn’t resist the urge to throw ever more dangerous items at the three beauties in front of them.

The Human Houpla act has been going for over 60 years now, my great-aunts are multi-millionaires and their legions of fans are still flocking to fling metal objects at them. Unfortunately all three of them have suffered massive head trauma over the years, the kindest way to describe them would be “dribbling spackers”. They’re cute as pie though, and have named me as their sole inheritor in their wills! One day, I’m going to be fucking loaded, at which point I’ll buy myself a tropical island and leave you cunts for dust.

Just counting the days…

Make your porno films on the cheap with this fab toy from Hasbro.

I think I might buy this for Benny the Paedo’s birthday. He’ll love it, he’s a big fan of bukkake. Of course, I prefer bukkate parties.

A couple of years ago I was on holiday in Copenhagen, nicking their free bikes, getting cunted in Christiania and doing dirty things to the Little Mermaid.

I was dancing for my dinner one night at the Spiseloppen, when the waiters got very agitated because a VIP guest was asking for something they couldn’t prepare. Then this booming voice cried out, “JUST GIVE ME DOG! I WANT DEAD DOG!”

Instantly I knew I was the girl for the job and offered my services to the head chef, Lars. Fuck me, were those hunky chunks glad to see me. Getting the meat wasn’t a problem, with all those hippy cunts around, there were plenty of puppies scampering by. Only the best for the Prince’s table!

Within the hour, I’d served up two of my world-famous recipes, the Prince wolfed them down with relish and demanded to see the chef. He told me that he had never tasted dog so good, that my culinary flair was truly the greatest he had encountered and that I was to be installed as his personal chef at the palace!

Well, I could hardly say no, could I? I served under the man for six months, teaching the 30 or so other kitchen staff the tips of my trade - how to kill, flay, marinade, stuff and sauté a dog, what to do with its teeth and how to make a nice ruff with the collection of tails you have hanging by the door.

One of Prince Henrik’s favourite meals. Here we were just about to strangle the pup and make it into Dog Tartare.

Eventually I decided to take my leave of the palace. The Prince was in tears when I left, telling me that he would never forget me, as he owed his current health and happiness to my recipes.

Then what happens this week? There was outrage across the world when Henrik mentioned that he is partial to eating a bit of dog. Too fucking right there was outrage, stories in every newspaper and not one mention of his beloved Shhexy Chef! What a fucking cunt, I’m going to start a revolution in Denmark, decapitation is too good for that ungrateful twat.

OK, so maybe I’m a number nerd, but it’s given me a little kick. So I thought I’d invite all my friends over for a party at Casa Corin. I’ve been cooking for days, the RSPCA thought I was the nicest girl they’d ever met. Ha! You can’t beat free food.

So, come cunts, come all.

*avoids saying “we’re having a ball.”

Fuck. Anyway get your fat arse over here and make me another mojito.

It’s a party, everyone’s invited. Bring booze, drugs and dancing boys.

Over the last few months, I’ve been a good girl and haven’t been doing anything to attract the attention of the authorities. But it seems that, my beloved Nuggets Mahoney and myself have caused something of a stir with our new Flickr group, FlickrCentral (Uncensored). It was either the behaviour of some of our esteemed members that did it, or maybe it was the revelation of our love affair to an unsuspecting society, but those cunts from MI5 are outside my house, AGAIN.

I could spy better than this with my Tony The Tiger Secret Agent kit. Wankers.

They’ve been there for the last five days, watching my every move, making notes, taking photos. But the fucking idiots haven’t realised that they left their camouflage in the van! I can see their every move, which admittedly is only every few hours and they do have the good sense to keep quiet though, except when it gets to dinner time. I’ve been feeding them tins of tuna just to shut the cunts up.

What really makes me sick is that MY taxes are paying for these utter incompetents. If you’re going to take my hard-earned cash to get people to harass and initimdate me, then the least you could do is get someone who can do it properly. Ya cunts.