WHO Poll
Q: 2023/24 Hopes & aspirations for this season
a. As Champions of Europe there's no reason we shouldn't be pushing for a top 7 spot & a run in the Cups
b. Last season was a trophy winning one and there's only one way to go after that, I expect a dull mid table bore fest of a season
c. Buy some f***ing players or we're in a battle to stay up & that's as good as it gets
d. Moyes out
e. New season you say, woohoo time to get the new kit and wear it it to the pub for all the big games, the wags down there call me Mr West Ham

Claret Badger
Send Claret Badger a WHOmail

President and CEO of The Foundation Of Right
Also President and CEO of The Foundation Of Wrong

\\\"If music be the food of love - play Black Sabbath.\\\"

Fucking heron.
> Big-beaked cunt, looks like he\\\'d have my eye out and I hear their wings can be a bit mighty as well, so last time out I opted for the trusty Gank front kick. I\\\'ve got a fast kick, but the heron managed to shift really quickly, given it\\\'s size. It must stand a good three-and-a-half foot tall.
> I\\\'m going to make a trap. I\\\'m not waiting out in the terrorised girl\\\'s garden all fucking night (heron only comes first thing in the morning) but there\\\'s a decent air rifle by the window. What I really want is to catch it alive so I can kill it with my bare hands.
> I was wondering if I could do this - the heron loves carp, that\\\'s the problem. If I sacrifice one carp and fill it\\\'s gut with fishing hooks, then attach twine to the hooks that are tied to pegs at various points in the garden embedded in the ground to prevent it flying away, would this work?
> The beak looks too strong, but I\\\'m picturing the heron wolfing the fish down whole, then when it goes to fly off, the hooks dig into the gut wall and it\\\'s fucked. Then I go out and punch it about and snap it\\\'s neck when I\\\'m bored of that.
> Disposal is no problem, I\\\'ve already made arrangements.
> Would this plan work, I don\\\'t want to waste my time rigging this up if not. Any other suggestions? I want to have some fun killing it, and the girl\\\'s father will keep me in beer for some time if I can get hold of this pest.\\\'
> 2 months on we have an update:
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> gank 1:52 Fri Jun 8
> Re: Oi, gank!
> That fucking heron? The beaky fucker used to visit all the time, Scouse-like on his little mission to thieve the carp. Since I posted that thread, I haven\\\'t seen the cunt, nor does there appear to be diminishing carp population in the bloke\\\'s pond.
> This has led me to the following possible conclusions:
> 1. The heron can read and has internet access, stumbled across WHO, read the thread and shat himself, thinking \\\'I\\\'d better give that place a swerve until the heat is off a little\\\'
> 2. He didn\\\'t just terrorise the fish in this bloke\\\'s pond, and some other cunt got there first and is currently living on cold heron and pickle sandwiches. That would annoy me no end.
> I could still do with the brownie points, so I might kidnap a heron from some bird sanctuary or other, kill it humanely (or at least, not in a messy way), then one morning get it out of the boot, put the carcass in the back garden, make a lot of noise to wake the family up and make them look out of the window, at which time they will see me in full Rambo getup, savaging the body of the dead heron, but also flinging it about in faux struggle, and tear it to fucking bits. They\\\'ll think I pounced on it and overpowered it with my bare hands, before ripping it\\\'s fucking wings off and biting it\\\'s fish-choring, sharp-beaked cunting head.
> I\\\'m in a bad mood now, thanks for that.


The full Akabusi collection......

Mr Akabusi, please come in\" said the secretary as she adjusted her horn rimmed glasses and felt the sudden rush of blood to her clunge.

Akabusi strode into the room like a Titan with a clown face. His eyes were drawn to the secretary\'s tight black pencil skirt and loose white blouse, through which he could see a straining white bra and within that a pair of massive bristols.

\"I\'ve come to fix your pipes\" announced Kriss with his deep barotone timbre filling the room like spunk filling a vagina after after a ten year prison sentence.

The secretary quickly sat on the desk and unhooked her tight Croydon facelift hairdo unleashing waves and waves of lush brown hair.

Akubusi dropped his dungerees and let his throbbing member fall to the ground. As he spied the secretary\'s glistening axe wound his cock stood to attention quicker than a Chelsea Pensioner at the Cenotaph.

He then banged her. And banged her. And banged her. Until the secretary was like a floppy doll covered with spunk.

As Akubusi wiped his now flacid python on some company stationery he whispered \"Awooga\" to the naked secretary and patted her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi scaled the walls of the £756,000 Sussex mansion with all the stealth of a gekko on a Mallorcan shower wall. AS luck would have it the window was open. He dropped in and slipped out of his dungerees and let the cool air caress his polished ebony skin.

The house was quiet. He looked into one room and saw the sleeping Peter Andre - without the wig and wax on his face he was rather beautiful. But Akabusi wasn\'t into arses. Not today.

He heard a noise coming from the bathroom. He ran along the landing, his giant cock swinging in the air like Saddam on Youtube. He looked into the bathroom and saw a mad little f**ker, big as a barrel and blind as a bat leaping up and down in some boiling water.

\"Akabusi!\" said a voice behind him. \"Stop looking at my son with your cock out\".

Akabusi slowly turned around and saw Katie Price in front of him - wearing nothing but a Juicy Couture camisole and the slightest glistening of her ample clunge.

As ever Akabusi\'s cock became harder than the Guardian cryptic and proceeded to bang her tits off as Harvey ate a bag of Prawn Cocktail crisps from the floor that Akabusi had brought just in case.

Before Akabusi left he wiped his now dying cock on Harvey\'s afro, bent down to the prone Jordan, who lay liked a painter\'s radio in the moonlight, and whispered \"Awooga\" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi didn\'t like going to the dental hygenist as much as the next man but his smile was his bread and butters. So he lay back on the patent leather chair and felt his anus tighten like a pupil in flashlight.

The nurse came into the room and immediately Akabusi could smell pussy and it was strong. Within the confines of his dungerees he could feel the old chap twitch like a Michael J Fox without the pills. The nurse bent over Akabusi to check his molars and he caught a glimpse of her huge bristols.

He said \"Ahhh\". As the nurse left the room to get a lollipop and a sticker Akabusi wasted no time. He leapt up and slipped out of the dungerees, letting the air con in the room tingle his black and curlys. He thought briefly about having a w*nk before so he could last longer but it was too late.

The nurse walked into the room and spying the naked ebony Adonis before her became wetter than a paper towel in a Koh Sumai hotel on Boxing Day 2004. She let the white tunic slip to the ground and unleash an epic pair of tits and a pussy with less hair than Lex Luthor.

Akabusi mounted her like Dettori and rode her in the dentists chair until he came all over her like an airport fire hose. Because his mouth was so numb from the anesthetic he went down on her soaky wet clunge piece for about an hour before he came. And her as well. Obviously.

As he pulled on his dungerees he wiped his now fallen hero on the lollipop the nurse had given him, bent down over her spattered porcelain body and whispered \"Awooga\" in her ear before patting her on the fanny.

The End

Akabusi was uncomfortable unless he was wearing a pair of dungerees or stark bollock naked so he walked into the Jimmy Savile Row tailors with trepidation. He needed a new suit for a Tanni Gray Thompson testimonial he was speaking at.

\"If you could slip out of your dungerees, Mr Akabluisi\" entoned the fay tailor. \"It\'s Akabusi\" said Akabusi as his laugh filled the cluttered shop like an arsehole on creampie.com.

Kriss let the straps of his denim dungerees snap and the fabric rushed passed his polished espresso chassis leaving him standing naked. The rarefied air of the tailors brushed against his black and curlies like a fart in a tanga brief and for a moment he felt like a black Messiah.

\"Miss. Portensa will measure you up\" said the tailor as he disappeared out back for a tug and a weep.

Portensa strolled into the room and immediately Akabusi felt a twinge in his king size plonker. She was wearing a little black dress which he knew concealed a fantastic pair of tits and almost certainly a clunge so tight it shopped at Poundland.

\"Just relax, Mr Abakuski, while I measure your inside leg\" she said with a French accent richer than a Guinness sh*t. As Kriss felt the cold metal of the tape measure climb up his leg, he could feel his black boa fill with blood quicker than tampon on the first day.

Before he knew Miss Portensa was handling his growing concern like Pat Jennings. She pulled apart her dress to expose her smooth white skin, epic bristols and a fanny more hairy than Richard Keyes back.

He ploughed into her like a tighthead forward and plunged his now diamond hard cock into her like he was staking Dracula. Within hours it was over, Miss Portensa a useless pile of tit, minge and spunk and Akabusi panting and sweating like a multiple rapist.

Akabusi rolled up his mickey and pulled on his dungerees. \"What about the suit Mr Abakusi?\" breathed Portensa.

\"f**k it. I\'ll wear me dungerees. It\'s only Tanni f**king Thompson\" roared Akabusi as he bent down over her bloodless torso, whisphered \"Awooga\" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Akabusi sat back at his desk in his £127,000 mansion outside Luton as he sent off another lottery scam email to an unsuspecting victim. He had been keeping a low profile since the Tanni Gray Thompson Testimonial - there had been problems with access and Tanni had been left in the car park.

He\'d spent most of his day walking around his study naked, the newly installed central heating allowing him free and easy nudity. After watching Working Lunch Akabusi positioned a full length mirror so he could have a w*nk as he flexed his biceps which were so black and shiny you wouldn\'t be embarrassed to upholster a Porsche 911 with.

He had to drive to Letchworth later to open a new JJB Sports with Roger Black so he turned off the computer and popped his dungerees on and headed to the kitchen to toast a blueberry Poptart.

Before he got to the bottom of his walnut finish stairs there was a loud knock at the door.

As he opened the door Akabusi knew he was going to f**k something this rainy afternoon. There before him we two young women both in smart pencil line skirts and green blousons that he knew concealed at least four epic bristols.

\"We\'re Scientologists!\" chimed the duo with accents sweeter than Midnight Hot on FTV when the missus is out. \"Would you like to take a stress test?\"

Before he knew it Akabusi was serving blueberry Poptarts to the girls in his second living room. Akabusi could feel a spasm in his veiny colossus every time the girls said Dianetics and before long he \"accidently\" let his denim dungerees drop to the shagpile revealing his toned form that was as black and scary as a balcalva in Derry.

The girls didn\'t flinch and attached the cold metal of the E - Meter to his now throbbing ebony hose. \"Do you like Tanni Gray Thompson?\" was the first of many questions asked by the two blondes. Throughout the dials made no movement.

\"Would you like to f**k us both on your pleatherette settee?\" asked one of the girls. Immediately the E-Meter exploded and Akabusi\'s cock became so hard he knew he could drill to Calais if they needed him.

He pulled the girls blousons apart with his newly cleaned teeth as they slipped out of their tight skirts exposing four pert and peachy tits and two clunges with so little hair he thought he was looking at Right Said Fred as kids.

He barged into the two of them like a stock car and before long he was plunging his Super Tennants can of a cock into one girl\'s arsehole as he used his famous tongue on another\'s clunge that was wetter than a 21st on the Marchioness.

Within hours it was all over, the Scientologists strewn across the plastic sheeting Akabusi had put down moments before copulating. In his head he was humming Samuel Barber\'s Adagio for Strings as he had never seen such twisted naked flesh, cum and blood since Hazel Irvine cam over. His battered cock weeped the last remnants of his powerful seed as he wound it up and slipped into his dungerees.

\"Would you like to meet Tom Cruise, Mr Abukusbi?\" said one of the girls as she coughed up a short and curly hairball.

\"f**k off, I know Fatima Whitbread!\" roared Akabusi with a laugh that filled the spacious two bedroom semi like Fern Britton in a thong. He bent down, whisphered \"Awooga\" in her ear, patted the other on the fanny.

And walked out of the house, slamming the door. Then remembering it was his house. And he was wearing his indoor dungerees. He had no car keys. And he was late for the JJB Sports opening in Letchworth.

The End.
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