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  • fake news

    Dear 321go fans, I made a terrible mistake in my life,
    and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error.
    It all started, as many things do, with
    me having trouble shitting upon my move to 50 Golday in Chelmsford.

    No, I was not constipated from my diet of my microwave chinese meals;
    this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique.
    It seems my now adult ass-hair had grown to such a length that
    when sitting down for my thrice daily herculean horror shits, some tiny
    grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my
    asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me knowing that I still had
    plop to drop, but unable to shake the terrifying turd loose from its
    asshair hammock. Eventually I would have to do one of two things: either reach
    down with some bowel towel and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which
    required careful precision to avoid smearing the beast all over my
    cheeks, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go
    for broke, start wiping like a demented nurse, and hope that I could remove
    all the leftover chutney before the bowel towel reached its Can't-Be-Flushed
    toilet blocking threshold.
    This happened once at badmans house, serious sewage backlog for hours.

    I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be
    another of my legendary Little Johnny Kripton 'awesome' ideas.
    "Hmm! Why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans
    will flow out like carling from a can!" I said to myself.
    It is a statement that will go down in history with other regretted
    retarded statements of mine.
    "I'm calling my band 9 Pin Tap" - before getting slated forever
    "I'll stay out for one more cider" - before falling in a ditch
    "The russian big muff sounds awesome" - it sounded fucking shit

    I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable bic razor from
    the local spar and one of blues tea towels to sit on. Starting from the bottom,
    and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the satisfying process
    of ridding my inner ass of hair. I really should have showered first but there wasn't hot
    water so, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and
    miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the tea towel. Slowly, my
    twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks
    of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed
    my work. The tea towel was covered with a pile of quivering hair. My ass was smooth as
    ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over, and planned my night out.

    Little did I know.

    I now have a great respect for ass-hair. Like everything in this world,
    it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I
    had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for
    granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when
    I rode out into the sun heading for work. After climbing the stairs in NFU
    and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant.
    The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant
    sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step.
    I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to
    the office so my dad didn't tell me off for being late again.
    Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

    Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic
    shit- molecules lingering around my starfish. When I stood up to go out
    for elevenses, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat
    combination. Later as I made my way back to 50 Goldlay for lunch, it started to itch.
    ARghhhh, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and
    down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and
    scratching away, I rushed to my bed room at the back of the house, trying to be as
    quiet as possible because Bluey was working nights & was asleep in his room.

    Unfortunately the journey caused me to sweat, and when I finally
    reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other
    like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted
    to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of my micro desk fan and spreading my
    cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst
    free and filled the room. Every dog within a mile radius started to
    howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat
    went into the fan and blew back into my face over my back. I fought to keep from
    chundering. And as I stood there, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with
    the concentrated essence of my anal glands mixed with the tangy
    smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought:
    "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

    Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ring at every
    opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair, ventilation!
    I attempted to launch one of my infamous grim reaper farts, only to have it get stuck
    between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the rectal walls can get
    vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating girl fart that slid up
    and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil, the everlasting stench clinging to my cords.

    As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who
    has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in
    as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well,
    that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are
    many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't
    just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than
    endure this constant agony.

    But then I recall the relief of a night out down O'Conners
    and the mental female 321go fans that I try to pin back at 50.
    Attached Files
    hell yea! HELL YEA!

  • #2
    Re: fake news

    Haha Johnberger, your butthole must be knackered by now with the amount of abuse it takes, both out and in
    And if you don't like it then hey fuck you!
    Get the fuck out of my face!