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Thread: Prisoner Cell Block TTH

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    Prisoner Cell Block TTH

    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    Just the beginning, for now. It gets more in depth and serious later on.

    September 20th 2009

    “And then I ate the aborted foetus and fucked her in the arse!” Mazuurk sat reminiscing his recent rape exploits , basking in the glory and adulation of the more lurid members of The Third Half. It was the second TTH meet, and everyone had got up off their scabby arses to meet and greet each other. James sat on his lonesome, pen on paper, a poem of forlorn misanthropy in the works, a fringe of greased hair masking his pale complexion. Pabs wandered around in a daze, his cock grinding against doors to the delight of Baz, Mahow and other cretinous beings. Harold and Henry sat facing each other, locked in heated debate over trivial matters far too inane to go into detail over here. Luca was on his portable decks, spinning tunes of cheese to this disdain of all and sundry. The Dutch committee were together, a borked language bringing humour to whoever had the pleasure to overhear.

    Around a table were Dav, ScousePig, Jimmy, Yev and Mellin, football debate on the go, locked in their own in no way homoerotic world. Saint stood with Tool, Spikey and Lewis, who, at an actual meet, were discussing TTH issues without seeing the blatant retardation of such actions. Zink was following Mert everywhere, drooling, his eyes transfixed by Turkish arse. SG was alone with his only companion, The Guardian, a smug look of self satisfaction beaming across his virginal mug. Ital, Fry and Shindig together, videogame discussion going back and forth, hands on cocks at the mere mention of game collections. IJ and DM were patrolling like overlords, keeping their eye on everyone with faux authority.

    Magpie on lemonade, Joe Joe and Boltonmassiv in a battle of miniscule intellect, R One and Smiffy stoned, monotonously killing every brain cell they ever had. The Aussies, Elth and Queenslander walking on their hands to acclimatise to England. It was a surprisingly joyous place to be, drinks flowing, laughs being had, until it happened, Manc Sean stepped through the door, drunk beyond recognition, with none other than Celebrity big Brother cretin Terry Christian in tow, arms around each other.

    “Oi Oi ya cunts!” shouted Sean, cock out, piss dribbling in his wake. Everyone turned to look, seeing a shambles of a bloated buffoon and his annoying twatcunt of a companion. Terry Christian headed towards the table of footballing minds, picking up a chair on the way, smashing it over Yev’s head for no particular reason. Everyone stood in unison, seeing this scene of unnecessary violence. Mellin dived over the table, pinning Terry down, head butting the fuck out of him. Dav and Jimmy gave Terry sly kicks to the scrotum before running backwards like the hooligans they are, waving their fists at no one in particular. Suddenly, Joe Joe punched Massiv hard in the face, knocking him to the floor, his pristine hair still locked in gayness. Within seconds, it all kicked off, Elth and Queenslander with didgeridoos, like B-Movie lightsabers. Zink forcefully kissing Mert who seemed to actually be enjoying the sexual attention.

    Harold and Henry were stood tall, together in drunken unison, seemingly confused by what was going on with a repetitive chant of “YOU DIRTY CHRISTIAN BASTARD!”. The landlord looked on in horror, rapidly dialling 999, reporting the carnage. The scene resembled a Roman Shower porno, vomit, blood and piss everywhere, faces being stamped on, egos crushed, yet despite this, Saint still postured in his own effeminate way, broken English insults being launched at a rapid rate. The sirens were drawing closer, arriving just as Jimmy got chucked through the pub’s window. The police got out of their cars, immediately enraged at the sight of Jimmy. “He’s black! Fucking get him!” They steamed in on poor Jimmy, batons smashing his ribs and body as he protested his whitehood. “Don’t give me that ya Yardie scum, stop fucking resisting” Jimmy’s arm was still outstretched, a rolled up newspaper in his hand. “He’s got a fucking gun! Taser the cunt!” As Jimmy’s body was rocked by electricity, his will to fight gave in, cradling him in darkness. Satisfied with their job, the police entered the pub, gunshots fired into the ceiling as TTH regulars stopped, looking up, envisioning a world of hurt. All except Zinc, his penis forcibly stretching Mert’s mouth who was blacked out due to pleasure.

    It was intended to be a peaceful meet up. A friendly affair. Then came the quintessential bedroom hooligan . A single riot that led to prison stretches for everyone involved. And so it came to pass that the now infamous Terry Christian Riot of 2009 led to a new chapter in the disturbed history of TTH.
    ...

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    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    January 20th 2010

    Day 1 of incarceration. During wash down, Mert slowly realised his homosexuality, spreading his arse cheeks for the jet of water to cleanse his soon to be christened hole. Cells were shared, TTHer’s together, against their wishes, their hopes. Jimmy was immediately chucked into solitary confinement, regardless of protests. He’d been hit the hardest, a 15 year stretch for resisting arrest, drawing a firearm upon a police officer, and being the instigator of the riot.

    The cells were unlocked, the prisoners free to roam for the day. Sean and Terry Christian were around the pool table, sharing tales of faux brutality. Sean recounting the day he literally owned a Man City supporter on an internet forum as he fapped his rancid cock frantically, splurting his motherload onto a laminated picture of Sir Alex. Terry remembering the time he went out on the lash with Danny Baker and Eamonn Holmes, getting shitfaced and enjoying his first Bi-Sexual foursome with a 57 year old female patriarch of his local. Of course, the court case and headlines describing minor fuckwit celebrities in non-consensual spit roast were merely an aftermath, the Christian was the definition of male sexuality and he’d take any hole he damn well pleased. Whilst an erection of joy slowly formed in the crotch of Sean, a lifer wandered over, eyeballing Christian.

    “Eh, you that cunt of the telly yeah?” smirked the large, bestial ignoramus at Christian, who duely ignored him, visibly shaking. “Oh, fuckcake, I’m talking to you” he snared angrily. Christian stopped on his shot, looking up at Sean, who had turned and walked away, a trail of piss running down his trouser leg. Christian knew he had to confront this ogre, and turned. “Yeah mate, I’m the Celebrity Big Brother reject and glory hunter supreme”. “Aye, I thought ye were that fucker. You‘re not welcome around these parts you fecking slut” replied the lifer. “And, erm, why‘s that exactly?” enquired Christian, his body in a Parkinson’s-esque wobble of epic proportions round. “We don’t take kindly to fuckin nonces round here. Fuck off back to your cell before fuckinI jib ya ya cunt” Christian tried his hardest, but his feet were locked, he couldn’t move. Terror overcame him, he was alone, the entire prison watching on and cheering the lifer, guards making bets as to how quickly his life would ebb away. “I…I…I can’t move…I ain’t a nonce, please, I bring laughter to this world” The lifer squared up to Christian, a pool cue in his hands. He smashed it in half over his knee, two sharp weapons now in his possession. “Yeah, ya bring fuckin laughter do ya, ya cunt? Well, this’ll bring fucking joy” the lifer forcibly stabbed the two ends of the pool cue into the scrotum of Christian, lifting him up like a human toy, slamming his back into a wall. The other lags watched on in delight, cheering “Bleed out Christian, Bleed out!” It resembled the summer of 64, the lifer Nero, the lags the baying, irrational mod. Blood slowly trickled from Christian, and to the shock of others, it was no ordinary blood…

    The blood was blue, not red. Christian had lived a lie in the hope of popularity. The lags were angered, none other than Sean, who ran back, a putrid stench of shit filling the air. He picked up two cueballs and stomped them ferociously into the eyes of Christian. Sean had been suffered for a fool, but it wouldn’t happen again, he’d make sure of that. As Sean and the lifer stood, arms around each other, rejoicing, the pathetic, pointless life of the Christian was gone. The prison had come together as one, for the first and last time.
    ...

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    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    January 21st 2010

    Meal time. Around the dining hall sat instigators of many crimes. Rape, murder, abuse, burglary, G.B.H to name but a few. Joining these denizens of illegality were the residents of TTH. In the lunch line, they waited, quietly, for whatever they would be served. They looked tired, forlorn, alone. Inevitably, they sat together.

    The meal was nothing short of pathetic. A gloop of seemingly mashed up newspaper. A solitary rotten apple each. A glass of juice, the consistency resembling spit. It was an unpleasant experience for those used to being mollycoddled, those accustomed to being anonymous. Tool had taken to wearing a sack to hide his features, too scared to reveal the horror that was splattered around his face. DM was the first to speak.

    “Now, I’m aware of my unpopularity, but this is for real. We have to stick together to get through this. We all have our own problems, our own faults. My dwarfish skull will lead to abuse, I can see it. Baz, your jug ears will make you a trophy fuck for anyone with a serial killer grin fetish. Massiv, your deftly organised hair and childish good looks will make your arsehole resemble a reservoir. The rest of you, you know your flaws, your insecurities. We have to work to our strengths to survive” Harold was the next to speak up, staring intensely into the withered eyes of Henry..

    As the majority of regulars were forming a bond, a lone prison guard walked down a long, dark corridor. Either side of him stood secured wrought iron doors. Screams of abuse and anger bellowed forth from locked cells, reverberating around the hall. The guard approached the final cell, two armed guards manning it. “Food in” he announced, opening a small hatch and sliding in the tray of mangled food stuffs. The stench soon hit him, powerful and disgusting. He reeled back in disgust. “You dirty fucking bastard” the guard exclaimed, quickly shutting the hatch. He turned to the two armed guards “Keep you eyes on this one, he’s gonna be fucking trouble”.

    Inside the lonely cell sat Jimmy, naked. His eyes were heavy but active, scanning the darkness, shadows everywhere. “Am I black? I look black. Could be black. My mother says I’m white. I’m not black. Black. Am I black? My penis says no, my mind says yes. Dirt, need dirt now”. He started to claw at the walls, ripping dirt and dust to the floor, his fingernails ripping free, blood oozing. The pain didn’t hit him, he was slowly slipping away into insanity. He rubbed the dirt and grime over his body, his mouth chewing his lips. No pain anymore, just thoughts and delusions. He sat, exhausted. In the corner sat a mount of faeces. He had nowhere to put them, and to his insane state, the faeces developed a persona. Jimmy spoke to it, named it Frederick. “Yo sure be a black man, Jimmeh, take no notice of what the mirror will tell you, you gots that swagger, we all seen it, you be blessed son” A crooked smile broke across the torn lips of Jimmy’s face, his sanity finally cracked into a million pieces as he crawled to Frederick, softly planting a kiss upon the fetid mount. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you” he repeated cradling Frederick in his arms, rocking back and forth…

    Back in the dining hall, Harold was taking charge”…so Henry, you gonna use your obvious I.R.A links to get us out of this? Ya know, get a few pipe bombs hidden in cakes, a couple of grenades sewn into your nutsack like, blow this joint to fuckeroo?” Others smirked, but not Henry. He stood, enraged, feebly pointing a finger at Harold. He opened his mouth, preparing his vitriol, but it wouldn’t come forth, not today. He needed to type, to write his anger. His fecking uselessness in social situations had failed him one again. He took his knife, carving words into the table. Others looked on, bemused and in hysterics that a keyboard warrior had failed yet again. Tears filled the small eyes of the Irish rogue, his hands now clenched, and he dived over the table, his dinner tray wading heavily into the face of Harold. As the blows rained in, the guards took note and steamed in, pulling the two apart. As Harold stood, his over weight moon face had no cuts, no scars, no bruises, just an imprint, an imprint of a mangled dining tray, his features pushed forth, a trademark symbol and date of origin imprinted into his voluminous cheeks. As they were dragged away to their cells, TTHer’s all looked at each other, waiting for that moment when one would let it out, and they broke into laughter together. Prison sure was all it was cracked up to be…
    ...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    January 23rd 2010

    The prison yard. The TTHers were huddled together, unwilling to mingle, or step out of their bubble of inane tranquillity. Their eyes were rapid, darting around the place, sighting the scene. To the far back right stood the skin heads. Large, burly men, bodies littered with inarticulate tattoos clearly torn into their skin with brutal abandon. In the centre were the black gangs, either on the weights, beefing up their intimidating bodies, or on the basketball courts, idly pretending to play a game while eyeing up the sket whore men that they could plough into oblivion. Wandering merrily around the yard were the, as previously mentioned, sket whores. Those with no sexual allegiance mazed from man to man like something out of the ministry of silly walks. As most TTHers continued to gaze upon the sight, Mert felt instantly at home, skipping gayly to join the effeminate mass.

    Closest of the lot were the general, typical white men. A thronging mass of sweat, geekdom, rape and inferiority, the TTHers decided to make their way over there, happy in their ways. They blended in instantly, albeit shyly, with regular TTHers keeping among themselves. Yev, Mellin, Scouse, Dav, Kets and the like were all knocking a football around in fake interest, SG had joined the Aussies in pretentious intellectual discussion, judging whether cartoon paedophilic pornography should be made illegal due to its highly inflammatory nature. Whilst in the midst of this discussion, Pabs, Maz and Goblin sidled over, offering spontaneous offensive witticisms, the discussion turning both irrelevant yet heated.

    The Dutch, however, would only group together, safe in their cloud of fucked up clown language, not quite understanding anything they were saying but putting on a brave face. Harold and Henry were back together, bonding, an unlikely air of loving electricity resonating from their debate on the ethnical cliché of this prison yard. Fry and Shindig had joined up with the sweating, rope thing mass of geeks and diljeets, opinions on the merits of modern era gaming flying back and forth amid a retarded cloud of fuck wits stood scratching their balls whilst spewing out lol Games r for geeks lol gheys opinions with startling intellect and timing.

    Mert was still floating around in a homoerotic daze, eyeing up the muscle mass and pocket length of anyone he cared for. As he stood still, his eyes transfixed on the opulent arse of a modern day Nazi, he felt an arm, strong and powerful, sidle around his shoulders. He looked up, mouth aghast at the sight before him. 6foot 5, shoulders broad, arms like polished iron. “Hey there cutie pie, what yo name be?” “Me-me-mert…” replied the Turk gingerly, his head bowed in shyness. “Well Mert, I’ma be packin thirteen inches of solid black gold and you be carryin round an arse as tight as a virginal chuff. You looking for some sweet time, Charlie?” “Charlie..? Why yes sir, yes I am, but my name’s Mer…” “SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU WHITEBOY EUORPEAN SLUT, I’ma call you wadever I damn well please, princess. Now follow me, I’ma split your pelvis into the channel tunnel” Mert, now terrified out of his own retarded brain, followed suit, drooling at an arse so packaged his own mother would probably keel over with lust.

    Deep into the basement of the prison, a lone figure was now stood triumphantly in his dark cell, arms raised high, apologising to Fredrick as his hands clawed through the muck smearing fetid words onto his now dirt black chest. He began to laugh deeply, his vocal cords relaxed, powerful. Written across his chest, rancidly was YARDIE 4EVA, his white, jolly good upbringing a long distance memory. Banging on the cell door, demanding rice n pea from man dem bakra, a new dawn was opening in the life of Jimmy ‘Hitey-Titey’ Floyd…
    ...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 1st 2010

    Tedium had set in. Every incarcerated member of TTH had reached their boiling point. Harold and Henry had been avoiding each others sly digs, no energy left to start a confrontation. Kweli’s obnoxious banter had no effect on his room mate Magpie, who’s singular inanity carried on relentlessly. Baz’s loon smile had been turned down a couple of notches. Most members stayed in their rooms, counting the seconds as they passed by, their lives nothing but a bore, sweating out their longing for interweb debate. Maz had taken to scraping a tunnel with his once perfect teeth at night, his intelligence far too limited to think of using any actual tools. However, a small group of members were plotting something ingenious, something that may well get them out of here…

    February 2nd 2010

    The yard. Yev, Kets, Scouse and Mellin were knocking a football around as ever. As the ball came to him, Scouse trapped it and picked it up, drawing the others close to him. “We need to set up a game. Prisoners versus Guards. 11 versus 11. Us versus them. Regularity vers..” “Alright, fucking get on with it” chirped Mellin, rage boiling. “Ok, ok. Basically, we need a team. We need to get some of the lads up for this. Someone needs to instigate something, get themselves up to the governor. We can fucking do these screw bastards over royally. We’ve got the skills, we play regular football, no? Well, maybe not Lewis, he needs a fucking harpoon to move him. Or James, the emosapien shandy. Or Elth. Or... Oh fuck, well, some of us do. Follow me, man up, I've a plan"

    The others followed suit, a roguish gang of pumped up freaks. They were making a beeline for the Nazis, eyeing Kweli, the newest recruit, alone, scared, weak. Mellin steamed in first, a natural instinct, kicking his skull ferociously. Kets joined in, diving at two overweight tattooed inbreds. Yev danced frivolously, a 19th Century dandy with no concept of violence, demanding others put up their dukes. The Nazis looked on, confused, intimidated by a display of almost poetic gay ballet. Scouses spotted a guard coming in and clothes lined him, the guard's teeth scattering the ground. With this display of violence, it all kicked off, Mert's sexual dominator Maurice headbutting the fuck out of anyone in sight, shielding his Turkish delight. The geeks shouted cattily from the sidelines, egging each other on, doing sweet fuck all. Amidst this, Harold and Henry were embraced, eyes gazing longingly into each other, a puppy dog smile stretched across both their faces as their lips touched, soft saliva dribbling down as their virginal kisses reach ecstasy...

    A gunshot, everyone stopped, ordered down. Harold and Henry were so locked upon each other, they stood before everyone, Henry's lower right leg floating elegantly in the air, bent behind him. Silences for seconds, before a brutish guard ran in, baton in hand, cracking both forcefully over the head. They collapsed, with smiles as fresh as Autumn dew. Prisoners were marched, one by one, in line, back inside, guns trained on them, waiting for violence. As Yev stepped inside, a familiar face strode up to him, a face of much grace and furious anger. The governor, in his first year stretch as the head of this jail, Yev awestruck. "Are you....are you...Samuel L Motherfucking Jackson?!"...
    ...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    It's too fucking dark. I feel alone, my roomy asleep on the bottom bunk. Me? I can't sleep. I swear I can see something seeping through the darkness, something shifting. I pull my sheet tighter to me. I don't want to know what it is. Shut my eyes, please fucking shut my eyes, but they're locked open. I don't deserve to be in here, I don't want to be in here. My family, my missus, my life. All ruined. It's drawing closer, a mass like no other, floating, I can feel the pain start to well up, the fear stuck in my throat...

    The governor's office. Sam Jackson presides, Yev, Kets, Scouse and Mellin in shock. Kets speaks up "How the fuck did you go from A-list superstar to a fucking lowly prison governor in England? Seriously..." Sam's face screws up, intensity strewn across it, his only real emotion "What the fuck did you say? You fucking come into my fucking jail and my fucking office to question my fucking authority, to fucking speak fucking down to me? I should pistol whip you were you stand white boy..." Sam pins Kets up against the wall, throat first. "If you ever, EVER fucking act out of fucking line in front of me again, I'll fucking make sure you're fucked beyond all fucking belief you honky cunt. I will fucking strike down upon thee with great fucking vengeance and furious fucking anger" Kets was visibly shaken, but strong in his will. Sam let him down, laughing softly, motioning the TTHers to take a seat...

    Closer now. I'm so alone, so, so cold. I need support, I've never felt fear like this. I've had hatred flung at me, abuse, but it didn't feel real. For the first time in my life, I'm borderline incontinent. My bowels are loosening, but there's no sound from this mass, it's creeping closer now, my fingernails ripping into the cloth. I can feel the room shake now, violently. Is this hell? Am I tripping my fetid nuts off? Please stop...
    ...

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    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    "So, we have a proposal Samu..." Yev piped up. "Were you about to address me by my full fucking name? How fucking dare you. In here, I am your fucking lord and saviour, your only fucking hope. Apologise now, moterfucker" Yev's mouth opens, no word uttered. "KISS MY FUCKING RING WHITEBOY" Sam holds out his hand, a solid gold sovereign on his middle finger. Yev struggles with what is going on, but duly obliges, the others laughing quietly behind his back. A smug sense of satisfaction crosses Sam's face as he seems to relax. "Now, I know you fuckers intentionally went out of your way to start something in the yard today. I'm not against a bit of fucking violence, and that was a top fucking show, but I'm concerned by two things. Firstly, those two homo motherfuckers in the yard.." Scouse intervenes "Harold and Henry? We kinda had an inkling, sir..." "Yeah, I know who the fuck they are. I've been keeping a fucking eye on that fucking website of yours. I seen that Henry motherfucker, flaunting his fucking picture with me like some kind of fucking credential. Why the fuck you think you were sent to this prison? I want that Henry so bad, man, and you gonna fucking help me. Those rogue Irish eyes, fucked political views, that stance man, so fucking jive, ya dig?" Mellin and the like looked at each other, bafflement and a shared sense of what the fuck. "Go on, sir" inquired Mellin. "Secondly, I fear for this fucking jail. There's one of you in solitary. Rumours have been getting out, the Yardies got their hopes up. Jimmy, you know Jimmy?" "Ye..." "Shut the fuck up and listen. Well, he's become their fucking messiah. We gotta release him from solitary to stop a fucking riot. He's turned into a dangerous little mofo. This man doesn't just do a dirty protest, this sick fuck embraces his shit and gives it a name, He's fucking gone, turned black, believing his own fucking hype. You need to control this middle class white boy black renegade for me, make this cunt see sense" "So, erm, what do you wish us to do, Sir?" enquired Yev, gingerly. "Are you fucking stupid, son? Are you fucking retarded? You fucking heard me. Either get me that sweet ass Henry motherfucker, or control one of your own, ya dig? Sort this shit out, and I'll listen to any of your lame ass fucking demands. On your way bitches, on your fucking way" Sam stood, tall and powerful, ushering the four amigos back to their cells. The four looked at each other, not knowing whether to smile, bemusement spread between them..

    The rooms fucking mental now. I can't take this, I'm gonna die, I know it, alone, no hope. I hear shuffling underneath me, and bang, it stops. Quiet, no mass, no fear, just my own cretinous thoughts. I hear my roomy cough as a tear stems from my eye. I hear his voice..."You ok mate? What the fuck's up now...?"..."It's ok, Massiv, just another fucking ghostquake..."
    ...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 5th 2010

    A dreary Friday. Moods were low among the TTHers. It was the day of Jimmy's release from solitary was due to occur later today, and to top that all off, a new influx of prisoners were about to be incarcerated. It was a common occurrence, but today was something different.

    The current residents had taken to their usual viewpoints, arms through bars, eyes looking through the windows as the creaking, old, battered prison transport lumbered wearily into view. The large gates slowly slid open like the once pristine flaps of Stimps' aging mail order bride, cheers and jeers in abundance from the more unintelligent prisoners. The transport started to trundle through the gates, its speed decreasing, before pulling to a halt. It's doors opened, prisoners walking off, one by one, joined at the ankle like the chain gangs of old. A small, skinny man, head down, 17 years for the rape and abuse of a random family. Behind him, a middle aged male in Jack Duckworth glasses, a protruding stomach, 6 years for tax fraud. Further down the line, a young male, brash in his walk, a smirk across his face, 26 years for a triple murder. As these visionaries of evil advanced their way slowly towards the governor, a shock captive came into view. The headlines had been seen months before, but no one had expected him to show up here...


    INSANITY BEFORE HONOUR it had read, a picture of a rough, dishevelled former sports star beside it. The article continued:

    Renowned footballing ruffian Joey Barton was arrested late yesterday evening on multiple charges of murder. Barton, a hard tackling Newcastle United midfielder, had previously been convicted of assaulting former fellow team mate Ousmane Dabo, and had been jailed for common assault and affray in May 2008.

    Violent behaviour has been a long staple of Barton's admittedly racist career. Born with an IQ of a borderline retard, these latest shock revelations will make those who still had sympathies for the troubled Barton realise that he had now gone over the mark. He had gone full retard.

    Police were called to an incident at Barton's home around the time of 6pm yesterday evening. Due to Barton's constant flirtation with the law, they had their own task force on 24/7 alert, and this latest report was the third that day. Earlier, around 11am, cops were called to his abode to defuse a situation in which Barton had beaten his wife due to her laughing at the fact he had been staring intensely at a carton of orange juice concentrate for the past two hours. When his own concentration led to no orange juice being poured, his wife mocked his cretinous mistake, and he subsequently burnt her right breast in a Breville toasted sandwich maker. Upon arriving at the scene, police laughed it off as another incident of the wonderful world of Joey Barton ™.

    At 2pm later that day, the Joey Barton Response Team were called out again, this time to the sight of Barton and Joe Kinnear in a handbags at five paces petty brawl. With enough persuasion, and the allure of a cup of tea and a kit kat for Barton, they defused the situation. However, the incident at 6pm was unlike any other they had seen before.

    Chief Joey Barton Response Office Tim Spleen recounts the scene of horror that lay before him: "Myself and my partner, Secondary Officer Jed Hammer arrived at Mr. Barton's house, and after multiple attempts to gain entry, we finally found the key was left in the lock, and let ourselves in. Immediately, the sounds were deafening, a chainsaw was obviously whirring inside the house somewhere. We armed our pacifying kit kats, and made our way cautiously through the property. We saw blood spatters on the walls, but ignored these due to the frequent beatings Mrs. Barton suffers diligently. As we neared the sound of the chainsaws, we saw a head nailed to the kitchen wall. A single large bolt had pierced the forehead of an individual, who, with later analysis, we ascertained to be a Mr. Mike Ashley, the owner of Newcastle United FC. We stepped into the next room, to see a headless corpse on a actual spit-roast, turning over a naked flame. Mr. Barton was naked, black and white warpaint across his body, a tribal head dress on his skull. Tied to a chair, with his own left arm forcibly inserted down his throat, was a deceased male, who, due to later tests, we found to be Mr. Kinnear"

    Shocked and visibly upset, Mr. Spleen continued his description. "We immediately calmed down Mr. Barton by snapping the kit kats in two, the sound turning him, his crazed look turning to hunger. He sat before us, and kindly gave us his hand. We took it, and asked him to shake it, which he did. He then gently took the kit kat into his mouth and crawled to the far corner of the room, were he started to growl at it. We allowed him his moment of glory, and softly handcuffed and leashed Mr. Barton, before leading him outside to the squad car. As back up was called, we tried to communicate with Mr. Barton, who, unfortunately by this point, was licking the inside of the windows in the squad car"

    It was later discovered that Barton had reacted badly to a supposed contract increase of a mere £20,000 a week, which would've seen his wage rise to over £100,000 a week. He had rang Mr. Ashley and Mr. Kinnear to invite them to his home for discussions, and they had obliged. During that time, he had received a text from a Mr. Craig Bellamy, wondering if he was still up for a spit-roast, and in his confusion, had taken matters into his own hand. The incidents that took place between that text and the arrival of PCs Spleen and Hammer were still unclear.

    As the TTHers looked on, a thought crossed Yev's mind. Joey Barton was exactly what their soon to be team needed...
    ...

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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 8th 2010

    1.00pm. Visiting hours. Due to the heavy nature of TTH population in jail, they were given their own visiting room. They were all seated, in conversation. Spikey was joined by his mother, chain smoking three cigarettes at a time, a child in her arms of parental ambiguity. R-One was sat opposite a scruffy Mancunian local, shifty, narrow eyed and reeking of piss. James was boisterous with glee, his idols, his desire sat before him, My Chemical Romance. As he sat there, wild eyed, delirious, frothing at the mouth, and before he could utter a word, Gerard Way opened his mouth: "So, we've been receiving your mail, young one. Your poetic darkness overwhelms us. We're here to acknowledge your existence, your dignity and bleak heart. Now, if you would be so kind, get on your knees underneath this table and be prepared to wash your mouth out with our splooge of depressant, my fellow emosapien". Reluctantly, James took to their command, down between the knees of Way, his phallic sword of desolation tickling the tonsils of James, his right hand forcibly bringing forth the cream of mortification from Ray Tero's rancid cock. James' muffled cries fooled no one, he was in his element.

    "So, Spikey luv, hows dis placin doin ya huh?" Spoke the Spike's mother, onto her seventh cigarette in the ten minutes she'd been here, a wart of obvious disgust protruding from her chin. "Eh, mam, it's fookin lovely in here, I tells ya, proper banging like, lovin it" lied Spikey, his head slowly getting bigger as his brain struggled with the concept of pinnochioism. "Eeee lub, wat's goin on wit head there like?" "Oh, nothin ma, I'm goin through puberty and the like ya know" he replied, his face now resembling that of a squirrel pumped full of helium. "II gots ya letters Spikey, reet lovely they were an all, I smuggled summat in for ye, gi us a sec yeah?" The Spike's face lit up with glee, "Alreet mam". Spikey's mother started to gurn violently, he pelvic floor muscles relaxing, reminding her of that 3 way pussy fuck she got that very morn. "Eh luv, I think me flange got a splinter" "A splinter? What the fuck mah? I asked for a tuna baguette and some Sunny D" "I tells ya what Spikey, you get the the smells of a good old tuna baguette on this 'un". Her face was now bright red, her eyes bulging. As Spikey watched on, the table in front of him suddenly lifted nine feet in the air. "Mah, what....the....hell...is...this...?!" "It's a shed luv. Ye should try travellin on the fucking bus with this grindin 'gainst ya intestines. Thought you could sell it, like, gets ya started" A look of resentment, and confusion crossed Spikey's now eight foot wide mug. "A shed? A FUCKIN SHED? Christ's sake mam, you couldn't organise a spit roast in a youth offender's institute. Useless, I'm fucking out of here" The Spike stood and stormed out, cussing his damn upbringing, the guards laughing ferociously at him...

    "I made ya this cake, Ronona" Spoke the scrotum sat opposite the emaciated Neville brother. "I fucking done made the icing from crack cocaine, like, filed the sponge with heroin, and the cream's laced with MDMA. I know ya missin the drugs, like" Ronona looked on, apoplectic with rage. "Weed? The fucking weed?" "Eh, I didn't know ya wanted no weed like" "How fucking long have we known each other, Ste? Fifteen fucking years. You know I don't touch none of this skank shit. You fucking imbecile. If my arms didn't resemble long streaks of tramp's piss, I'd smack ya. Fucking useless" Ronona rose, swiping the cake from the table, splattering it to the floor as he walked out. Sand, overhearing this conversation, dived from his seat, eating the cake from the floor like a true addict, the lesbian at his table looking on "If only he could do that to my vagoo, I may turn straight..."
    ...

  10. #10
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 9th 2010

    "It's ok, Henry, my love for you is still potent. I don't care that you're loved up inside with Harold. I don't care that your getting a shit stained cock. All I care about is you, and our love will be strong forever. I have to go now, apologies. Stay strong sweetness..." Scoobs put the phone down. Henry stood still, silent, his heart confused, close to breaking point. Harold passed by, saw him, came close. "Never mind her, sweetpea. You need to man the fucking harpoons with that one. What we have is pure, rational, uncompromising. Come, come with me, I'll make your metaphorical pain go away with a pounding that'll leave your shitbox feeling like you've done fifteen rounds with an Arab curry" Henry's face lit up again, a retarded smile, crooked teeth exposed. Hand in hand, they walked away, two lovebirds without a care in the world...

    A guard spoke. "Oi, Henry, governor's office. Now. Follow me." Harold's eyes welled up slightly, "I'll be waiting for you, princess", kissing Henry on the cheek. They broke apart, Harold forlornly heading back to his cell, Henry striding behind the guard, about to meet his idol. They got to the office door. "Go straight in, I've to wait inside". Faint music was emanating from the room. Turning the handle, Henry let himself in. From Sam Jackson's iPod dock came forth Wild Irish Rose by U2, candles strewn around the room. In his chair, legs crossed, sat Sam Jackson, a red silk smoking jacket on, cigar in hand, a lustful gaze on his face. "Come, my dear Henry, come and sit" As Henry approached the chair, Sam piped up "No, my white sugar, not there, here.." Sam patted his knee, a gentle, loving smile, his eyes looking longingly into Henry's eyes. "I said come here before I beat your fucking arse, cherub" Reluctantly, Henry approached, sat down nervously, Sam's hand reaching around him, cradling his portly chest. "Now, I'm aware of your feelings for me. I've seen you, on the internet, showing off your pictures of you with me, your pimp stanch, those blue polyester shorts. The chemistry in that picture alone is intense. I want to make that real, to make all your dreams come true. Do you feel that, brushing your thigh? That's eleven inches of prime salami, with your name stamped all over it. Don't you want this, baby, don't you want me...?" Sam's hand slid gently down to Henry's crotch, a soft bulge emerging. There was conflict in Henry's mind, his love for Scoobs, his animalistic lust for Harold, his desire, his longing for Samuel L Jackson...

    Their eyes met, noses almost touching, lips millimetres apart. Sam made the move, locking Henry to him, a long tongue deep inside his cheeks. Without warning, Sam pinned Henry to his desk, straight in, forcefully, hand over Henry's mouth, muffling his screams. Harder and harder, deeper and deeper, it was unbridalled ecstasy for Henry....

    Outside, a loud bang, the door handle turning...

    "Oh give it to me my black stallion, give it to me...weld those arsecheeks with your opulant glue..." Sam's head rocked back, pleasure akin to nothing before...

    The door open, a womanly scream of shock...

    "Oh yeah baby sweetness, take it all my clover of luuurrvvveee..."

    The figure spoke, voice cracking..."HENRY! What are you doing to me, my dear..? Wh.....Why...?" Harold's hands went to his eyes, a sniffling, destroyed mess. He turned and ran gayly, like a tart chasing her dog...

    "Ignore him, butterlips, I'm there, Oh God am I there, feel it swimming inside....GGGNNNRRRRGGGHHHHHWHITEMANTAKEDISAAAAAAA HHHHHWWWWWYEAH....My princess, my darling queen...I am yours my sweet Irish rose..."
    ...

  11. #11
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 10th 2010

    Trial day. Lewis stood tall and wide, his mass blocking out the frame of the goal, as Baz flung pies at him, sharpening his reactions. Yev, Kets, Scouse and Mellin were clad in knock off football gear, stretching erotically, Mert's mouth agape as he rode the black stallion of doom. "Right, lads, this is a basic sprint, 60 metres, on your marks..." Jimmy rolled up, his fingers a-glock, imitating a gun sound as he grabbed his crotch. Everyone set off, unfit, staggering. Kiko was the first across the line, followed closely by Phonics, the rest crumbling over in a heap.

    "Nicely nicely, lads. Now, we can't currently afford a ball, so Jimmy's happily loaned us Frederick for this exercise. It may be a ball of hardened faeces, but it'll have to do. Headers and volleys next" Scouse flicked up the repugnant ball, high in the air, knocking it towards Amigo. Amigo saw it approaching and shied away, depressant tears rolling from his eyes. "Nice, Amigo, you're in the Gudjohnsen role, basically stand around in midfield and act like you kinda know what's going on. Now fuck off you wining pussy and get on the sidelines" Flicking the shite up again, Scouse steered the ball towards Spikey. Again, another member shied away. "Man like, come on ya know, done me hair this mornin and everythin. Besides, me craniums so soft me skull'd crack. I'll fuck off on subs bench yeah? Nice props and that k?"

    Ooookkkk then....As the trials continued, the team slowly took shape. The whistle for the yard went, time to pack up and fuck off inside. Lewis' gut still rumbled with starvation, and Jimmy g-walked over to Frederick, embracing him, planting a soft, loving kiss onto the pungent arseball. Yev, Scouse and Mellin retreated to the library, Kets going back to his cell to knock one out to a 1981 picture of Thatcher, her ankles teasing his sexually surreptitious imagination.

    Discussion arose, furious, lasting for night on three minutes, childish scribblings only they could interpret, the team decided. It read:

    GK: Lewis (Speaks for itself)
    DR: Ronona (Resemblance)
    DL: Kets
    DC: Harold
    DC: Henry
    DMC: Mellin (Past history)
    MR: Fry
    ML: Dav (lol)
    AMC: Amigo (Emocentric)
    SC: Yev
    SC: Scouse

    Subs: Taz, Mahow, Mert, Jimmy, Maz

    United v Liverpool? Fuck off. Real v Barca? Fuck off. Boca v River Plate? Fuck off. Introverted forum members v Prison Guards? Fuck yeah, one week to go...
    ...

  12. #12
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 12th 2010

    "Pass and move, you fucking cretins" Yev was boiling with rage. He'd adopted the Ferguson technique, and now resembled an over-the-hill crab. "How many fucking times, keep the ball flowing. Dav, ya useless cunt, don't just stand there, get down the wing. Christ. LEWIS! Fuck's sake, not you, you can stay stationary, there's no way fuck all's getting past you, get out of the centre circle" The disdain was clear to see. The team was nowhere near ready, and the half time refreshments of lamb shanks from Mert wasn't going down well. "Yo, Yev, ain't you supposed to be playin?" Enquired Maz, ponderously. "Yeah, but these fuckers need to realise what the fuck they're doing, this is for our fucking pride. Cocking spazplates...Where the fuck is Mellin...?"

    "Yeah, sound, we sorted then yeah? Sweet as a fucking Jew in Hades. Keep it up man, this Wednesday. You know what ya need to do, yeah? Bangin" Mellin hung up the phone, the plan in place...

    Across the yard, one Joey Barton sat on his lonesome, eyeing up the match practice, itching to get back into it. He stood up and approached Yev. "Eh, mate, like, any chance of me gettin a game, like?" Yev turned, eyeballed the racist. "Eerrmm, nah, team's sorted, full up like" As he turned his back, Barton nutted Yev hard, sending him crashing to the dirt. "Fuckin dissin me yeah? Sixty grand a week, ya gets me? I could buy your fucking family, mate, those fucking rats in the kitchen man, I'ma cook them up a treat" Yev was cradled, dazed, in pain. Just as Barton went to put the boot in, Mellin lunged, spearing Barton, both crashing to the floor. "Maz, mate, rip me off some wire mesh, yeah, quick time" Mellin pounded his fists repeatedly into Barton's face, Maz appearing with a wide piece of the mesh. "Gis it 'ere mate" Mellin shouted, grabbing it and laying it over Barton's unconscious body. "Oi, Lewis, bodysplash this cunt, will ya? "Lewis, sensing his time had come, ran gingerly, his folds hypnotic and flew through the air, landing squarely on Barton...

    It took four men to lift Lewis up, staggering incoherently. Barton lay there, the mesh having dissected his body into small, square packages of meaty delight. "Yo, Lewis, I'm cook you up a fucking meaty pie, man, use this oxo cube motherfucker for seasoning" offered Mellin. Looking down from his office, not giving a fuck, was Sam Jackson, a rogue Irish head bobbing merrily at his crotch...
    ...

  13. #13
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    They rely on me, of all people, to get them out of there. Me, fucking me. I escaped conviction, I know, but I'm enjoying my time, my life, and I get that fucking phonecall off fucking Mellin, and I fucking agree to do it. Fuck.

    February 12th 2010, Evening

    "Ya Go murda dem, straight accompong, no bag-o-wire pon da bamba yay" Jimmy sat there, as confused as Eton buggery. "Erm, yes..." "Brindle, man, Brindle, seen?" "Oh, well...if you put it that way..." replied Jimmy, getting up from the bunk. "Deestant, man" Jimmy exited, grime now in his every pour, blacker than a Crankie down a mine shaft. As far as he could tell, he'd been ordered to murder someone, to establish himself with the Yardies. He'd been dreaming of this day, practicing good grammar, politeness, ignoring the stereotypes because only he knew the real them, the real yardies. Once he entered that cell, he'd almost given up hope of his own intellect.

    'Who I murder, then?' He thought to himself, nonchalantly. He knew he was going through with it, he had too. Time to man up, to rep his heritage, and damn fuck it if Jeffrey Archer wasn't here to rep his real heritage, any old cunt would do. Second floor now, looking down, like ants in a fucking maze they were. Jimmy eyed them, left, right and centre. He couldn't decide, too many fucking options. He pulled Frederick to his ear, cradling him..."Fuckin' sweet, good idea man, I'ma do that".

    Rage furrowed across the brow of Jimmy, sweat starting to pour. He was steaming, on a rampage. He burst through the cell door, flying through the air, his fist connecting with the bone of his victim. "DAN DADA, EH? GI FENNEH MON" The Yardie leader's face began to crumple, no reply to the ferocious beating Jimmy was handing out. With each blow, the sweat came, washing the dark skin of Jimmy clean, white showing through. "ME A BADDA DAN DEM, SEEN, BIG BOUT ME, I FIND MYSELF FEELING THIS ANGER WITH WHICH I WILL DESTR..."Jimmy stopped, the Yardie long deceased, looking at himself. "I'm....Whi...wh....whit.." Confusing streatch his mind..."White?! Seriously, why didn't any young gent from this institution take it upon themselves to inform me of such a thing? I turn Somalian with my shitball of a faecal friend, I readily muder the leader of my aspirational gang, and I'm...WHITE? Oh lord.." The guards were getting closer..."Let me just check..."Jimmy pulled down his pants, finding a small, fish like stretch of flesh he called a penis.."I really am whi..." Before he could get out his words, the guards were at the cell door. They spotted Jimmy, looked at his hands..."HE'S GOT A FUCKING WEAPON, TAZER THE CUNT!" "Not again..." moaned Jimmy...
    ...

  14. #14
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 14th 2010

    "Get the fuck out of my solitary". Sam Jackson was at the entrance, the podgy, almost albino Jimmy lay naked in the cell. "Man, I believe you're black, no real man can deny that. You're kinda milky, but you're a brother, and were I come from, brothers look out for each other. Besides, those Yardie motherfuckers are kicking shit off and I need you to control them, get me?" "B-b-but sir, I am most certainly not black. I cannot control such animalistic behaviour. I am the Stephen Fry of this pris..." 2I'LL GIVE YOU FUCKING STEPHEN FRY IN THE ASS MOFO, GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE AND DO YOUR FUCKING JOB" Jimmy clambered to his feet, weak, tired, and fucking petrified.

    "Right, guys, you're getting it together. Harold, I know I told you to master ball control, but get up off your fucking knees and leave Henry alone" The final practice. Scouse had been practising his free kicks, mastering a set piece which, unbeknownst to them, was to be the key on matchday. Yev had come to the conclusion that this was the best his hopes would get. Lewis, almost athletic now, was saving shots all of a sudden. Ronona, stoned out of his conk, took easily to defending, standing there, rooted, smashing a bong over the head of anyone who dared get in his way. Kets took to imitating his idol, booting the fuck out of anything stationary like a Georgian horse on crack. Harold and Henry after much confusion about the interpretation of 'going hard in the tackle', became one, in unison, skipping gayly after the ball.

    The roughshed DMC, Mellin, gave up on any aspect of skill altogether, instead taking happily to performing borderline wrestling moves on any opponent, mastering the people's elbow in the process. Down the wings stood two, unfit males, the Finney and Matthews of the modern day, akin more to the legends pension age mobility. amigo strutted nonchalantly, cocky, with no actual skill, much like his idol, his first touch resembling a virgin's first grope. Both strikers were lethal, although admittedly not in front of goal. Scouse had all the speed of a stoned sloth, his shooting technique wouldn't look out of place in Riverdance. Yev...well, for all his banter, he had a touch of skill, could kick a ball in a straight line, and wasn't a fucking basket case, so the hopes hung on him. Two days...
    ...

  15. #15
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    February 16th 2010

    The big day had arrived. The match of the millennium. Family and friends had been invited, and on the sidelines, Spikey's mam's cuntshed had provided ample shelter for those desiring warmth. On the pitch, they were lined up, Lewis taking a breather between the sticks, lay down flat on his face, breathing excessively. Mellin, daubed in war paint, was shadow boxing just in front of the box, blades strapped to his boots, rage blazing across his face. Fry was skipping, his beard the rope. However, there stood a large gap in the centre of defence, Henry and Harold missing...

    Inside the governor's office, Sam Jackson sat, a smile on his face. Harold was bound and gagged, Henry held back by two guards, his feeble strength getting him nowhere. "Now, my Irish rose, didn't I tell you not to fucking fuck with motherfucking Samuel. L Jackson? Didn't I tell you there'd be consequences? You're my fucking love, my fucking heart, my fucking cock machine baby. That little cunt over there, that feeble fucking excuse of a human, you think he loves you like I do? Fuck no...GUARDS..." Four guards entered the office, straight towards Harold. One stepped back, lined up a shot with a cricket bat, smashing it across his face, the once flowing tears flying through the air. Another ran up, punting Harold's cranium, almost snapping his neck. "See what happens when you fuck with me? YOU DON'T FUCK WITH THE JACKSON!" Henry watched on, mouth open, a piercing scream echoing from his lungs...
    ...

  16. #16
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    "Maz, Jimmy, get in the fucking back line, will ya? The two poofs have done one" shouted Yev. They both sauntered up, ready for a war. The teams were lined up, tension in the air, as the whistle blew...

    "Haha, nicking a fucking car? Fuck that, HGV all the way, I'm no amateur..."

    Kets was on the ball, silky, jinking past one guard, then another. He cut inside, playing the ball straight to Amigo, who turned clumsily, beginning to fall. As his head collided with the floor, it caught the ball, sending it flying across the ground, straight into the feet of Yev, his back to the ball. Two guards closed him down as he began to turn, passing it hastily to Scouse. A guard slid in, late, connecting with Yev's knee, crumpling him to the floor. The referee was oblivious as Yev writhed on the floor, but Scouse was free, one on one with the keeper. He steadied himself, eyeing up the angle, and shot with ferocious power, slicing the ball out for a throw in from an improbable angle...
    "You see, Henry, stay with me and all your troubles will be gone". Harold was on the floor, barely conscious as blow after blow rained in on him. Henry was on his knees, destroyed, eyes set upon Harold. The beating continued as Harold began to slip away, life ebbing from him. "Bring him here" demanded Sam Jackson, "On his fucking knees..."

    10 minutes in and the match had resembled a spastic run about. Brutal tackles were flying in, and the guards had possession. As they advanced, their winger was running at Jimmy, an image of calm. As he closed, Jimmy reached into his shorts and drew a makeshift knife, lunging at him and jibbing the guard in the knee, sending him down in excruciating pain The referee blew, play stopped. This didn't stop the guards as they steamed into Jimmy, beating him senseless, Jimmy's fellow Rasta army still in their cells. They were stomping on him, smashing him to pieces, when a solitary arm fell, the weapon in his hands. "HE'S GOT A FUCKING WEAPON, TAZER THE CU...Oh, seems he's not breathing, job done lads" Mert entered the fray, dragging Jimmy's lifeless body to the side, taking his place in the centre of defence.

    "Fourteen fucking Stellas man, lovin' it, buzzin' man. Can't see shit, but who gives a fuck? Shit to do, out my way, standing at a fucking bus stop, I drive where the fuck I want..."
    ...

  17. #17
    Senior Member Samadini's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by Dark Soldier
    Fry down the wing now, ball at his feet, Mellin streaming through the middle. Fry looks up, whips one in, arcing through the air. Mellin's head connects, ball rattling the crossbar with power. It bounces out, towards Dav. He lashes out, smashes the ball into the top corner. 1-0 TTH. All of TTH steam in, hugging, kissing, Mert's erection enough to perch a bird upon. Back in their positions, the referee blows for kick off. Kets looks around. No fucking goalkeeper. He tries to draw the referees attention, but he's ignored as a guard boots the ball straight into the empty net. 1-1. On the horizon is a blob, almost the mass of a hot air balloon, running stiffly back to the goal. "Sorry, missed the celebration lads. Does the pitch have to be this fucking long? I'm as knackered as a MILF after a black cock pounding..."

    Henry was between Sam Jackson's black, toned legs now, tears still flowing. "Open that sweet, sweet mouth of yours, baby". Reluctantly, Henry did, getting a mouthful of lean sausage, his tongue going to work. "Oh yeah, baby, feel that. don't be thinking of that bitch that once wanted you angel, oh yeah, delight" Henry felt humiliated, but it was all going to plan...

    "Almost there now man. Can't see shit, this thing is fucking big, it's in my sights..."

    Mert had the ball, unsure what to do with it. A guard was approaching at speed, as Mert shit himself, picking the ball up and running down the pitch...

    "Fucking brace myself, here it comes..."

    As Mert reached the halfway line, a massive crash was heard by all. It came from the outer wall, brick and stone flying everywhere. Through the dust cloud appeared a large vehicle, swerving everywhere. It steamed through fence after fence as everyone ran from the pitch, and it reached, braking hard, Mert looking up just long enough to see his life before his arse, anal seepage everywhere as he was splattered against the fron of the HGV...

    "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" exclaimed Sam Jackson, trying to rise to his feet. As he did, Henry bit hard, through the phallus, ripping it off in once clean bite. Sam Jackson let out a roar of pain as Henry pulled the black club of death from his mouth, beating the guards senseless with it. He approached Sam Jackson, on the floor in unquestionable pain. "Kill the love of my life, will you? Fucking destroy my heart, and for what? For an egotrip? For some fucking thrills...?" "No...no..I...I loved you, Irish, my rose, I fucking lov..." Henry swung the cock, beating Sam Jackson to death with his very own appendage...

    Alan staggered from the HGV, barely able to stand, drunk beyond belief. "I told you guys I'd f-f-fuckin' do it...*Hic*" He lent over, vomiting a torrent of bile to the floor. Yev rounded every TTHer he could into the vehicle as the guards stood aghast. Looking up to the Governor's office, Yev saw Henry, painted with blood, gone to the world, a snarl unlike any other across his face as he leaped out, landing 15 foot below, charging at the guards, the large cock his weapon of choice. 'He's fucking lost it' thought Yev, as Alan took the wheel of the HGV, driving as competently as he could, a modern day jailbreak...


    Thanks fuck that's done with.
    ...

  18. #18
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    I've just reread the opening post and laughed out loud twice already. 'He's got a gun! Taser the cunt' and 'passed out due to pleasure'.

    Blinding stuff.

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