A syringe of this in a closed car on a hot summer day.   Sorry no details.

May anyone join in?

I wouldn't ordinarily, but to my mind revenge stands on equal footing with sex, ice cream, and making small children cry.

I had a landlady in the '80s whose cunt, had she had one, must have been a gory gash of fetid slime. One night I came home to discover that she was painting the entire suite below me with oil paint, giving me a migraine that lasted for days.
The UBC Zoology department, where I worked at the time, was crawling with millions of escaped blatidae, the well-fed insect-jews of an ill-controlled ethology experiment. Those I didn't feed to the carnivorous fish I gathered by the dozen and bred in petrie dishes. When i had nigh on 500 (perhaps...my memories are subject to cannabis-accelerated aggrandizement) I took them to aforementioned landlady's up-scale west-side bungalow in the middle of the night and funneled them through her mail slot. Would it had been her other slot (had she had one).

A few years later, prompted by some minor irritation, I used my universal remote to torment the silly anorexic who lived next to me. (She had a cunt, but the housing lacked allure.) Whenever the little dear turned her TV on, I reached out my window and muted it. She had a repairman in, but he could find no fault with the set. After his visit, however, I changed approach. She'd sit down to watch Wheel of Fortune; I'd switch her to the news. She turned on some menstrual women's program; I'd turn her set off. After a few weeks it became time to up the ante: I allowed her the sound, but slowly turned up the volume, then banged angrily on the wall for quiet. She came over and explained her problem - I told her she should take the TV back to the store where she bought it. And she did. Oddly, the problem persisted. So I passed my days, when I was young, for a life without enemies, even straw ones, is an unappetizing affair.

WCL

Wilber, I don't know you, but you've got a way with words and an evil mind!!!

dirckman wrote:

Wilber, I don't know you, but you've got a way with words and an evil mind!!!

Thank you Dirckman, glad to meet you. Shall I tell another (shorter) story?

My grandmother, may she rest, had a cunt that was so rugose the inner folds of her labia had their own dimensional numbers. Teams of physicists and mathematicians laboured day and night to describe the forces on the event horizon of her cunthole, and at one time a manned probe was tragically lost when...but that's a different story. This tale is about my response to her prudery when I showed up at her door as a young man with a lovely woman in tow. The woman in question had a cunt as sweet as a wild strawberry. It was pink and soft and naturally hairless, and the syrup that dripped from it would be trivialized were I to describe it as ambrosial. My grandmother, however, barred access to this singular treasure, insisting that we spend the night in separate rooms. I lay in bed all night with my cock pressing against my chin, my tongue darting back and forth in involuntary spasms of frustration. The next day dear granny went to work. She owned an antique store, and her house was filled with lovely bits of ancient bric-a-brac. Once she was gone I placed the means of my revenge upon a Victorian settee, spread her out till her pubic symphysis cracked conveniently in two, and spent the day impregnating all I could find that was vaguely phallic in conformation with the tangy smell of wild strawberries. Old glass fruit, mirror handles, fountain pens, the silver service, grandfather's swaggerstick, the toilet plunger, the bedside phone, and finally (think Georges Bataille) her spare glass eye - everything and anything that would fit in part or whole was rubbed and shoved and shone until it stank. Then I put it all back, carefully, but unwashed, and left.

WCL

Phreddy wrote:

For all you dog lovers, here is my confession.

Our clueless neighbors had a stupid bitch that barked constantly when they were gone.

Don't know how you did it, Phreddy - let's make that, I don't want to know how you did it - but my neighborhood is quiet now.

My neighbors have emailed two profuse apologies since yesterday.

Listen up, everybody: High-Street.Org gets results! Tell your friends!

Dirckman has a tale to tell about an afternoon spent with two ladies.....  Dirckman took it upon himself to have lunch one afternoon with an attractive young lady friend of his...  One thing led to another during the subsequent drive through the hills and the attractive young lady removed the bubble gum from her mouth and stuck it on Dirckman's dashboard.....  She then commenced giving Dirckman road head of which Dirckman was pleased....  Anyhow, later on that afternoon Dirckman went to another lady friends house to get drunk with her.....  One thing led to another and Dirckman's lady friend commented that Dirckman's dick smelled and tasted like bubblegum....  Dirckman laughed evilly on the inside and blamed it on his body wash.

Dirckman's going to get a one-way trip to Bolivia.

Choad lost his cheery in a waterfront brothel in Callio, which cost him a buck fifty, a litter of crabs, panic and ddt powder. Choad was 15.

Callio is Lima, Peru's shipping port.

Roger_That wrote:

WilberCuntLicker wrote:

My grandmother, may she rest, had a cunt that was so rugose the inner folds of her labia had their own dimensional numbers. Teams of physicists and mathematicians laboured day and night to describe the forces on the event horizon of her cunthole, and at one time a manned probe was tragically lost when...but that's a different story....
WCL

This just wafts of Horse.

Is there, then, but one man on the continent capable of off-colour sesquipedalian rhodomontade? Methinks not. In addition:

a) I do not waft. Admittedly, my effluvium is quaquaversal, but I maintain a strict no-waft zone around my keyboard.
b) I am not fond of horses...except as glue. (As a young thespian I ran fleeing [hands over fundament] at the suggestion I play the lead role in Equus.)
c) I am not American, nor do I venture below the evil 7-squared.
d) In consequence of c), I can spell. Go ahead. Ask me to spell something. Anything.
e) I can talk like a human being, if I want to. Not that I do.
f) Show me your cunt that I may lick thereof. That is the object of my perseveration. Not inter-special watersports.
g) whiz. I'm not horse. I'm

WilberCuntLicker - at your cervix.

Roger_That wrote:

WilberCuntLicker wrote:

g) whiz. I'm not horse. I'm

WilberCuntLicker - at your cervix.

I don't have a cervix, so perhaps you should go banging up someone else's tampon socket.

Ah...so sorry...I'm guilty of the coarsest insensitivity. Hysterectomies are nothing to laugh at. My apologies.
WCL

WilberCuntLicker wrote:

Ah...so sorry...I'm guilty of the coarsest insensitivity. Hysterectomies are nothing to laugh at. My apologies.
WCL

Ok rule #1 at cruel:  Never apologi"s"e you foreign fuck.  I can speak the Queen's English as well.

Honestly, I wasn't upset anyhow.  Hell, I posted pics up at the old cruel of my huge incision with surgical staples, pain catheter and nasty bloating.  (No I didn't show my cunt).  So cervix, surgery, hysterectomy jokes, have at it, seriously

Besides, they gave me a huge vat of percocet.

Edit:  Would anyone like to see the pic again?

AGGGGGGGGGGGH NOT AT WORK!

Greetings, Wilbur...

You were speaking there to a genUine, dyed in the kiwi wool roofucker.

choad wrote:

Greetings, Wilbur...

You were speaking there to a genUine, dyed in the kiwi wool roofucker.

Christ...no wonder she lost her cervix.

(And thanks for the greeting....)

Roger_That wrote:

I am not sure I can find any sort of tie-in to blame the rooboy for that.

You're fishing for a second apology, Wogga? That's a record!

WilberCuntLicker wrote:

In all verity, the first apology wasn't. I thought Roger was a man...I was commiserating on the loss of his cunt-bits.

WCL

FOOOOOLED you.  Har har.