Dust Auction

Hello and welcome to the auction of dust.  Please take your seats quietly and make sure to turn off any mobile phones or portable mitigation units.

Ok, everyone?  Eric will now display the items.

Thank you.

- Two bog-standard ice banjos.  Wonderful detailing on the juniper stacks.

- Techincal documents describing the rise and fall of Hitler’s penis, obtained by Alied forces during Operation Phwoar. 

- A provocative crayon sketch of Angela Lansbury hand drawn by the former lead artist on Hey Arnold! prior to his dismissal (real bit of history there).

- A life-sized replica of the children’s playset version of the Ghostbusters Fire Station made from plastic.

- A single 300ml aerosol canister of the anti-perspirant ‘Kaynyne’ which contains the aroma of dogshit (very popular in Germany).

- Ten bottles of unidentified blood (buyer accepts full liability for any diseases contracted as a result of using this item).

- A self-poratrait of the Queen (c.1958) rendered in neon-pink lipstick on a pure bronze commemorative platter given to her by the President of Zawumbo, Mr Chidi Ezeugo as a token of the respect of the Zawumbolese people.

- A ‘used’ copy of Playboy dated 11th September 2001 in terrible condition.

- A toilet roll holder sans toilet roll or the required screws to attach it to a wall, (seller has included a partially depleted slab of Blu Tack and a short note expressing their deepest regrets).

- A brass handlebar moustache security armour kit for use in the field.  Comes with leather straps w/ brass buckles to attach to the head. Viability of the leather to cope with the weight of the armour unverified.  Some signs of wear; please take into consideration the item is quite old and was used by Kaiser Wilhelm himself during his last bout of the craps, before being passed down to his daughter, Kaiseria Wilhelmina.

- A complete set of original Star Wars action figures with the heads and limbs sawn off, then dipped in white paint before being crushed by a steam roller and set on fire.

- A packet of authentic Maltesers said to be in the newsagents at the very same time the adjacent Snappy Snaps was crashed into by George Michael while under the influence of illegal street-homosexuality (this is unconfirmed, but it makes for a wonderful story.  If but it were true!)

- A self-portrait of the Queen (c.2011) rendered in neon-pink lipstick on a pure Irish gold commemorative platter given to her by the President of Ireland Mary McAleese as a token of the respect of the Irish people.

- A skull said to belong to Paul Daniels (believed to have come into his possession during one of his fequent grave looting expeditions to Cambodia.)

- A complete set of Walkers Crisps.

- Several thousand used syringes rescued from incineration by a quick thinking hospital porter.

- A VHS collection of most episodes of the Disney Time TV specials presented by Dannii Minogue for the BBC before her soul was exorcised.

- A vial of Thames water taken from David Walliams’s lungs after his bid to swim from London to Paris ended in failure.

- An iron bucket once thought to belong to Paralympian Chris Akabusi, but recent research suggests he merely considered buying it before opting to buy a cheaper and more durable plastic variant (there whreabouts of this treasure are thought to be in Akabusi’s shed).  Still a useful item nevertheless.

Bidding on the first item to begin as soon as I can find my motivation.

The Candidate.

Hello folks and world, hello folks and world!  It’s me, the famous wanker Buck Buckchrister!

I have come in front of you to give displeasure and dispepsia to all my adoring fanatics by jaxing in their ears and solidifying the contents of their stomacharchés through psionic ejaculation (retroactively a’course; enough pressure to mash any safety valve into tiny cartilige triangles).  But I diverticulitis.  The main ambush of ziss ting iss to give a certain kind of ‘spenx’ to all future dessert spoon wannabes, Watanabes and waterbaybays.  I would like to anonce my candidarsey for the prescription of Impediment of thee Benighted States.  I feel that my special and dare I insist, unique brew of abilities which include hyper-contradictory perceptional powers, invisibility while holding in a shit, advanced knowledge of childhood sexuality, psychopathy, male pattern baldness, bald-faced lying accompanied by an erection, and lust for bloodshed (I’m going to kill again, so why not put that talent to the use of our proud nasty?), will be an unhealthy boon for our patriotic collection of anti-thought fuckheads.

I’ve seen what the other candidates have to offer and it ain’t worth a god damned fucking piece of my pooh-pooh.  They don’t have the bollocks either in their pants or heads required to take the tough decision to kill thousands of innocent children for the good of whatever the fuck it is.  But you can TRUST me, I HONESTLY don’t give a shit.  I wouldn’t flinch at the prospect of having to shoot my own family if it meant we could have lower taxes or higher taxes, or more oil, or bigger condoms, or less ethnicals running around spouting their fucking voodoo shit.  And if I may be so bold as to not lie to you for a second, I would desperately love to kill my children, they’ve been nothing but a drag on my sexy lifestyle which I used to be able to engorge every day back in the 80s when I ran my own law practice in Balabummer Tenderanus.  I’d offer my clients a 5% disco on my corrupt legal fees if I could watch them take a shit into a waste paper basket on my desk while I took photos and worked my sin to death in my right hand (of the Lord).  But now the kids are always having to be taken home from school ‘cause of their chronic mental problems the councillors say are brought on by an ‘evil home environment’.  Well, fuck’em, I say!  Are you with me Damnerica?!  Give me a FUCK YEAH!!!  BSD!  BSD!

[The crowd gets to their feet and chant in unison as Buckchrister pulls down his pants, holds up his shirt, and waggles his flaccid penis around while making a high pitched screeching ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! Eeeeeeeeeeeeech!’ sound.]

Written while under the influence of banality.

Drinking one’s own urine.

Whizz drinking.  We’ve all done it – a crafty palm-full here and there; we all think about it, all the time.  In short, it dominates every waking and sleeping moment of our lives.  But how can we speciously justify it to others?  You could try the old chest-nuts of its health benefits.  We can say it solves skin problems such as limescale and mould, that it cures fictitious mental conditions such as depression, autism and dyslexia, or for the man in your bed that it puts hairs on your scrotum, (if you’re man enough to have one).  But let’s be honest with each other, no one is going to believe that shit, and more to the point, no one is going to allow you to urinate without supervision again if you so much as broach the subject even from the obtusest of angles.

Drinking one’s own piss has long been seen as a social faux-upas,  attempted only by those in our society with the genetic ‘gumph’ to carry it off.  Such people include: Holyworm movie-tramps armed with all-access sex faces, popular-mucus suckers (Lanky GarGamel, Emememem, Kurry Peppers, Batusi, etc), and specially anointed preens of the horny crutch, divested with ejaculate consumption by our Lard, Harold Cramps.  The rest of us mere normals have had to live a piss/lips-free existence, for fear of being cast out of our social circumference of other rampant closet pee-pee-guzzlers, on account of their hypocritical shame, the bastards.

BUT THAT WAS THEN.  May I introduce the (mineral rich) solution.  May I introduce . . .

THE URINATOR! [Cassette: Screams of craving agony]

[SEE BELOW]

As you can see from the image [ABOVE], ‘The Urinator’ is an auto-urine ingestion unit.  The discreet excretion pipe lovingly channels the golden delicious directly into the mouth parts of the adult male [PICTURED] or female [NOT PICTURED].   Supplied “high-glue” strips securely fasten the ‘U-Tube’™ to the upper-dermot, and can easily be removed with any high street industrial strength solvent (ask your local mechanic for the ‘hard stuff’ with a knowing smirk, he’ll understand).  The tip of the ‘U-Tube’™ may be cunningly concealed under the collar of a shirt, or the neckline of an erotic dress, for quick, convenient access to your own waste water – straight to your tumescent lips.

We’ve literally thought of everything, but I can tell you have some questions from the confused look on your wet face.

Q: “Are the piss safe?”, Shed Wanderlust, Donkchester

A: Yes, the piss are well safe.

.

Q: “Is this way of life for me?”, Linda Ahymnal, Lesbeard

A: Yes, especially for someone like you.

.

Q: “Can, or should I?”, Rita Bathfouler, Hardcore-Under-Water

A: I don’t mind.

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Q: “What about the shit, dude?”, Quentin Tintin, Lambscock

A: You need “The Defecator 1000″.

.

Q: “I have a 9 year old in my house.  Should I be concerned?”, Debbie Shush, Wummockshire

A: It depends.

.

Q: “I penis small! do are these pant have ways of making it do?”, Denny Belsen, Hammersmith

A:”‘The Urinator” is fully adjustable and has been proven to work effectively on even the smallest penile scudge.  Don’t worry your pretty little head, you’ll be gulping down gallons of your own steaming piss in no time.  And that’s as close to a guarantee as we’re prepared to go.

Hopefully this will answer all of your fucking questions.

BUTT WANK! THERE ARE MORE (information[s])!

Buy RIGHT now and secure yourself, for FULL-PRICE, “The Urinator DELUXE”!! Shit! :-O

The inconspicuous motorised back-pack helps to force the nutrient rich bladder by-water right into the throat, should you not posses the sufficient push or pull to get the job done on your lonesome, (for reasons of medically induced ineptitude or mental maladroitness).

And there you are.  You too could be enjoying the benefits of drinking your own urine, not to mention the yummy taste “just like Momma used to make“!

The future is a sort of golden/greenish colour.

[Orange may indicate the presence of blood. Best to ignore it.]

I shall leave you with some customer testimonials, extracted under only the mildest of duresses,

“i fukkin’ luv it. it tasts great wiv chips and my fukkin’ wife dont know nuffink abaht it THE FUKKIN’ BITCH!!!!”

Barney Claine, East End Thug and closet vagina.

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“It’s improved my love life immeasurably, spicing things right up in the bathroom.”

Synthia McShane, gymnastics enthusiast.

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“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it should be banned and the man who made it executed.”

Sir Ribald Foof OBE, ex-army, retired government racist.

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“Good shit.  Nice one. Cheers. Nice shit. Good one. Cheers.”

Billy Shits, building.

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“Doctors said I had only four months to live. That was three months ago and I’m still here.  Thanks Urinator, you’ve saved my God damned life! *takes massive gulp* :)

Randy Baby, American.

The Story of Ireland, told by Fergal Keane from behind a bush.

Quote of the . . . ever.

I’ve actually been a human turn-spit myself, so I know what hot, hard work it is.

From BBC4′s ‘If Walls Could Talk’, presented by Dr Lucy Worsley.

Look, I’m immature and puerile, all right?

MUMMY I’ve dun a drawring!!!

A new update! Can’t believe it. I thought this piece of shit was dead… wait, it’s my blog, why am I focalising the average visitor?  Ne’er mind, says I.

Here is a drawing I have done.

“WHAT IS IT?”  I don’t know.  The image appeared in my mind, beamed in by inter-planetary space cretins, I am merely their means of conveyance, transillustrating their shit for everyone to see.  I think it’s a message we’d do well to take heed of, as it may involve rape.

The decidedly suspect anatomy is both intentional and a symptom of me not quite knowing what I’m doing, but knowing enough to force joy in the hearts of children.

- Dick “Don’t call it a comeback” Socrates, (pronounced ‘Soc-ras-clart’)

Major site revamp

Work in progress, will adjust it when the mood takes me.  Currently, the mood does not take me.

 

- Duck Socalval

Fred Crisps 4 – Stand up

Fred Crisps tries hand at stand up comedy STOP hilarious results STOP Human race gets to him STOP We are all sons of Satan STOP Love Mum STOP

Tune in back next for another more Fred Crisps comic strip here again.

- Derek Smalls

Der Fred Crisps Unterhaltung Zeit No. 3!

Ja, er ist zurück, Fotzen! Jeder ist erschreckend Kind Menschenhändler, Fred Chips! Lassen Sie uns sehen, dann mit Schrecken ejakulieren, was Heiterkeit ist er bis zu dieser Woche!

Wow! Vielmehr radikalen, huh? Tune in nächste Woche wieder Kot beladene Samen Sarg Stil zu aktualisieren, hat Sahne und Becher-Belastung von Boden Skelett Staub auf Ihrem letzten Frühstück vor der Ausführung mittags gießen!
Wir sehen uns!

- Dick Socrates.

Ed Balls attacks Prince Charles and that woman he’s married to.

See, he should have been Labour leader.  Ed Miliband doesn’t have the balls to attack Prince Charles. *smug chuckle*

 

-DS

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