June 14th Virgin Islands.
Can anybody remember when Street Ladies were of the honourable sort? Of course you can’t, they’re whores for God’s sake. Honourable activities like bowls, shit kicking and necrophilia are alien to them. So when one steals your money, shits in your new Burberry hat and wipes vaginal discharge over your Cleveland steamed face you should not be surprised. Especially after paying them with sea shells.
So hookers then – walking cunt dispensers, fruit machines without the handle but with extra lights and my favourite pastime. Or at least they were. They are now relegated to 3rd place after Fishplugging (see previous post) and ‘Icepick’. Let me introduce you:



Those of you with prior knowledge of my oral offenses and bum tickling tendencies will know of my love, my feverish search, my willingness to go to all (bell)ends for new arseholes and Icepick here, he defies words. Well he would, but I, Tommy H Shortdick (BA Hons. Rib Tickling, Funpot Gargling AUS Distinction) am a fucking wordsmith. Look at him, the proud strut even when standing still, that tattoo on his tit, the Beckham-esq fuck you to all the uglies. He stands proud, like a Lion on the Kenyan Plains before a hunter sticks a cattle prod up his shithole. Funnily enough that is what happened to Icepick here when he mistakenly tripped over a sparkling blue teddy bear that was washed up by some careless fucking girl, probably on a fucking cruise with a bunch of Old cunts just trying to die. I mean if you want to die why not stuff an arsenic laced biro up your nose and fucking sniff? That’s Rock n’ Roll man, not a fucking P&O cruise. Jesus Fucking Christ. Cruises. What a fucking piece of shit.
Anyway, Icepick falls over and I pounce. I leap upon my pray like an enraged albino mongoose, struggling against the power of a stricken beaver. We fight like two classically trained actors in a Shakespearian battle, masterfully orchestrated, but with the astounding addition of two phallic members.