♥ shhexycorin ♥

This is a great one for kids’ parties. A simple recipe, healthy food for the obese children this sugar-soaked nation seems intent on breeding, that might just get them off the Potato Waffles and onto the finer things in life.

It’s also good to create a bit of a fun connection between kids and their food and what better than two Disney classics particularly beloved of the under-tens? Bambi’s shit, I’ve never seen Babe, I’ve no doubt it’s a piece of worthless, sentimental, moralising claptrap like its predecessor, but, hey, they’re kids, they’re fucking moronic cunts.

Get yourself a piglet (there’s a Winnie the Pooh connection here too!) and little baby deer. No older than 4 months for either animal. Chuck them live into the food processor, at that age it’s all edible… and at that age kids can’t tell the difference.

Bambi & Babe Burgers, mmm… perfect after a long day’s hunting.

Add a raw egg, capers, chopped onion, Farley’s Rusks, Dijon mustard, a teaspoon of monkey spunk and whole green chillis. Pummel hard with your fists until it’s all mixed nicely.

You could just make them burger-shaped, but with a bit of artistic flair you can make them into the shape of a pig or deer. Serve with usual accoutrements, but make sure you use sunflower seed granary wholegrain floury baps, just in case one of the kids has some sort of cunting allergy. There is little in life that’s funnier than watching a kid go into anaphylactic shock. Gives me the fucking horn every time.

With any luck you’ll have given the kids AIDS from the monkey spunk too. Over-population of this planet is REAL and it’s COMING, the more you do to prevent it, the better. Plus kids are a fucking blight on my life, who can blame me for wanting a bit of revenge?

Jamie Oliver eat your fucking heart out! I’m much shhexier naked too.

Pulitzer Prize winning photographer, Clicky McPhotographer spent much of his youth in the company of William Butler Yeats. The poet and modernist exerted a profound influence on the young lad, in his artistic walk and lifestyle choices. Clicky’s diaries from this time are a veritable joy, a bildungsroman of intense emotion, personal growth and discovery.

Here follows an excerpt from the summer of 1913, when they first met, Clicky was just 13 at the time, impressionable, certainly, but already showing a glimmer of the genius he was to become. Over the next three years, they developed their fondness for anonymous sex in public places into an art form, political movement and philosophy. Cottagism has been overlooked by history books and university professors since the royal felching scandal at the first ever Pulitzer Prize ceremony in 1917, which rocked Georgian society to its very core. This gross oversight must be corrected, this is part of my humble attempt to do so.

Mungo Clacton-Jackson
Official biographer of Clicky McPhotographer and editor of The Clicky McPhotographer Diaries

“Friday, July 4, 1913, Regent’s Park, London, UK

“Met that old poofter poet again today. Told me to come to the park with my Brownie D70s, he had something special to give me. We met by the duck pond, thought we’d be alone, but WB’d brought that cunt EP¹ along. Not sure what he sees in the retarded fucking Yankee. We spent an hour or so chucking stones at the ducks. It was a fucking scorcher, soon I was sweating buckets and getting really itchy. WB said I should take off some clothes if I was that uncomfortable, I’d been working out a bit, doing fifty mangle-lifts every night. I was starting to look like a real man, so I knew I’d give the old scrote a bit of a thrill and put pudgy P to shame.

After EP calmed down we decided to go and have a look at the public conveniences, we’d heard tell of some that they were particularly spacious and had glory-holes you could get two cocks in at once. The marvel of the modern age! Sure enough the place was heaving with gents and me being a nubile slip of a thing, I got all the attention and a really sore arse! It might have been wrinkly aristocratic attention, but a boy can’t be picky if he wants to get ahead.

WB Yeats, Ezra Pound and some strangers they and PPWP picked up in the park.

All in all, a good day’s cottaging, earned myself a few bob and got another poem that I can sell to some dumb cunt who thinks it’s art.

I’ll show the world what real art is one day, just you wait.”

Footnotes
¹ Ezra Pound.

People always go on about how horrible the use of napalm is in war-time, but frankly, I don’t know what the fuss is about.

My Ma was a working girl in the brothels of Saigon during the war, as were most girls of her generation. She was a hard worker and had plenty of GIs who were big fans of her unique pelvic floor, it could pop a cock from twenty paces!

Being a prostitute has many hidden benefits, you might not get a pension and health-plan, but a good whore will have men of all sorts at her beck and call, preferably men of power, influence, or, at the very least, able to give you a hand when needs must.

My Ma was one of those whores. She was out on a picnic with a couple of her favourite clients one day for an al fresco gangbang. They had lunch and then got down to some hardcore fucking. Just as they were about to go for some aural double penetration, they heard the sound of planes overhead.

Like a shot, the General nipped back to his jeep and got some protective clothing for them all. Before the first bomb dropped, they were suited, booted and ready to get back to the matter in hand.

Drip-drip-drop little napalm showers!

My Ma described it as the best sex she’d ever had, multiple orgasms shaking her body, her screams echoing around the valley for hours afterwards. That’s some praise from a woman as experienced as Mummy Corin.

It makes me kind of sad that we live in such peaceful times. I fear I’ll never get to feel the rush of some napalm nookie.

:(

It’s not easy, you know, trying to be a dogger when you don’t have a car or a boyfriend.

I’ve been going to all the best dogging spots in Brighton, up Devil’s Dyke, down to Duke’s Mound, and near Telscombe Cliffs… but I have to get the bus (really not a good idea) or walk there. Which means I’m all out of breath and sweaty before I even try to pull.

Doggers are so fucking picky and critical, if a woman isn’t all spruced up and looking immaculate, they’re really not interested. So I try bringing a little beauty kit with me, retouch my make-up before getting to the carparks, I even got some portable hair-straighteners as my hair tends to go frizzy in the fog.

Some relief for the single female dogger.

So I’ve had no fucking luck for the last month, I keep walking round carparks, wiggling my arse at the blokes and couples in the cars… but no cunt will even look at me. And I’m so fucking horny, it’s driving me to desperation!

Then the other day, just as I was about to ram a fist up myself for some relief, I happened upon this naughty little tree that was ever so well-endowed. I sidled closer, he looked amenable to my advances and pretty soon I was bouncing away, having the time of my life!

I’ve always been dismissive of hippy cunts, it’s how I was brought up, but maybe they were right all along, tree-hugging is the best hobby a girl can have!

Those doggers can just fuck right off.

No updates in how long? It must be written by the laziest cunt in the world. Or a rather busy one who tends to get tired after being forced to use her brain all the time. Work has been getting on top of me of late and it’s been stopping me from writing crap on the internet.

Of course, I’m not one to see this as a problem, more of an opportunity. With so much to do and so little time to do it in, I decided enough was enough, I needed a creative solution! So I consulted the world’s very best men of Science on the possibility of creating a Corin Clone.

Apparently human cloning isn’t really allowed at the moment, but the science boys are big Shhexy fans, so bent over backwards to help me. It took a couple of weeks but finally my clone was ready! But bless those geeks, they didn’t make me just one, but a whole army of the things. I’ve had to rent the next door flat just to have somewhere for them all to sleep. Luckily I’ve been able to take on more work than ever though, so money really isn’t a problem!

shhexycorin clones on sale in all good hardware stores, £300. Order yours today!

The trial of the Beslan hostage-taker, Nur-Pashi Kulayev, has caused emotional and angry scenes around Russia recently, culminating in him receiving a life sentence last week. The Russian media seem to think it’s a cover-up, the people think he should have been given the death sentence. I couldn’t agree more, not because I think he deserves it, I just love a bit of rigorous discipline.

Anyway, the local rag, the Evening Argus sent me over to Beslan to interview the last few stragglers at the school to see what they thought of it. Unfortunately though, it must have been the special kids they saved, because their English was fucking shite.

I had all these serious questions lined up about how they must have been bunking off to have a fag by the bike-sheds when the “terrorists” staged their attack, how if they’d paid attention in chemistry, they might have been able to create a bomb of their own whilst the gunmen were busy. But no, now the Argus won’t get the Shhexy article they wanted for their weekend bumper fun edition and I’m left with unpaid expenses that I can ill afford. Cunts.

Eventually, one bright spark worked out that their was one way they could communicate that didn’t rely on them being able to a) hold a pen and b) talk without it sounding like they had a gob-full of cock. “Body writing,” they called it. So they got me to stand in the gallery (where the attackers first appeared) whilst they laid themselves out on the newly polished gym floor.

Survivors of the Beslan School massacre talk in the only way they know how

What a fantastic photo, I thought! Timeless, provocative, heavy with meaning. But it turned out this had nothing to do with their former schoolmates’ tragic past, they were propositioning me! As you know, I’m never one to turn down a bit of school-boy sex and I figured that if I couldn’t get the story, at the very least I could get my end away.

It was the right decision, tragedy and puberty coinciding make for a red-hot lover, and I had 18 of the little fuckers all over me. I’ll tell you one thing, Russinan schools might be poorly equipped in comparison to England’s, but its pupils certainly aren’t…