WARNING. Achtung.
The following sketch contains very adult descriptions of sex, drug abuse, criminality, racism, and taking the piss out of cripples.
If you are not offended – I have failed in my task. If you are offended – there is an excellent group on FB called – ‘Holy Shit- Chilli Burns my Hole.
The following sketch contains very adult descriptions of sex, drug abuse, criminality, racism, and taking the piss out of cripples.
If you are not offended – I have failed in my task. If you are offended – there is an excellent group on FB called – ‘Holy Shit- Chilli Burns my Hole.
Bingo- King of the Bongos.
Part One.
Poor, poor Tracy. A triple amputee at the age of three from a rare disease called ‘Rotting Limbs Syndrome’, she spent most of her life rolling around.
Her parents were mega rich. The father a drug cartel leader, and the mother a hi-class whore. With the dosh they bought a 3D printer. The best in the world. The software was the finest and for Tracy’s 16th birthday, she received some really cool kit. Two legs and an arm. She could stiffly strut her stuff and the right arm fixed in a permanent Hitler salute.
The fact that she had prophesises with a strange hue of blue, did not distract suiters as they matched her eyes. Blue from rolling into objects – but now she was a woman in legal bloom. Her parents were desperate for a grandchild that could be ‘normal’ and continue the family business of drugs, sex and murder – all tax free.
They set up an account on Tinder. They fiddle the personal description a bit, showing a pretty face, full bosom, hairy crotch – but what caught the suiter’s fancy? A certified picture of her bank account showing 24 million dollars. The offers poured in.
Now – Bingo – King of the Bongos. He was a simple sheep shagger in New Zealand. Herded them around in circles, clubbing a lamb or two every weekend to eat. He had experience, at the age of 15 he had been kidnapped and forced to club baby seals in Norway. He went on to club to death his evil ‘employee’ stole his money, then went clubbing.
Part One.
Poor, poor Tracy. A triple amputee at the age of three from a rare disease called ‘Rotting Limbs Syndrome’, she spent most of her life rolling around.
Her parents were mega rich. The father a drug cartel leader, and the mother a hi-class whore. With the dosh they bought a 3D printer. The best in the world. The software was the finest and for Tracy’s 16th birthday, she received some really cool kit. Two legs and an arm. She could stiffly strut her stuff and the right arm fixed in a permanent Hitler salute.
The fact that she had prophesises with a strange hue of blue, did not distract suiters as they matched her eyes. Blue from rolling into objects – but now she was a woman in legal bloom. Her parents were desperate for a grandchild that could be ‘normal’ and continue the family business of drugs, sex and murder – all tax free.
They set up an account on Tinder. They fiddle the personal description a bit, showing a pretty face, full bosom, hairy crotch – but what caught the suiter’s fancy? A certified picture of her bank account showing 24 million dollars. The offers poured in.
Now – Bingo – King of the Bongos. He was a simple sheep shagger in New Zealand. Herded them around in circles, clubbing a lamb or two every weekend to eat. He had experience, at the age of 15 he had been kidnapped and forced to club baby seals in Norway. He went on to club to death his evil ‘employee’ stole his money, then went clubbing.
Met a dodgy man and
bought citizenship for New Zealand even though he was black as the ace of
spades, built like a brick shit house and his mother tongue was, Bingo, of the
tribe Bongo, deep in the Congo. But he was not stupid.
Whilst guiding some sheep around with a weapon to make many a woman desire, he would play with his smartphone. He joined Tinder and came across Tracy. He sent her a message ‘Uga Uga? Jiggy-Jig, ah, ah, oooh ahhh.’ He sent a photo of him stuffing between legs of lamb.
Back in Columbia, Tracy was using one handed typing and Goole speech software. She was really tired of reading and looking at pictures of handsome men lying about it was not the money that made her attractive etc etc. Bingo`s message was truthful and down to earth.
She replied – By making a cover of the Pina Colada song, the chorus
Whilst guiding some sheep around with a weapon to make many a woman desire, he would play with his smartphone. He joined Tinder and came across Tracy. He sent her a message ‘Uga Uga? Jiggy-Jig, ah, ah, oooh ahhh.’ He sent a photo of him stuffing between legs of lamb.
Back in Columbia, Tracy was using one handed typing and Goole speech software. She was really tired of reading and looking at pictures of handsome men lying about it was not the money that made her attractive etc etc. Bingo`s message was truthful and down to earth.
She replied – By making a cover of the Pina Colada song, the chorus
Yes, I love Uga Uga
Jiggy-Jig in a drain
I love stuffed lamb and
I love stuffed lamb and
Getting fucked out of my brains
I have to meet you
I have to meet you
Pappa sends a private jet
We will marry and you can pull off my legs.
My right arm is stiff
We will marry and you can pull off my legs.
My right arm is stiff
In a Hitler salute but
Pull that off - it will be a real hoot.
And so, it happened. They married. Bingo was on and in
ecstasy.
His wife, loaded to the gills on 97% pure coke, adored being legless and popped on the stick of joy as Bingo used her real arm to spin her around in what is now known as the ‘corkscrew’, position.
His wife, loaded to the gills on 97% pure coke, adored being legless and popped on the stick of joy as Bingo used her real arm to spin her around in what is now known as the ‘corkscrew’, position.
9 months later out popped triplets of future gangsters.
Perfectly formed physically and a strange skin hue of black and blue, there
brains showed signs of cocaine addiction and alarming frontal lobe swelling.
2018 - The ‘Terrible Triplets’, so nicknamed. Macho, Poncho and their sister, Mattress, by the age of 15 were learning to make future gangsters of their own and keep it in the family. The cartel was drowning in green backs. They were bored. What’s the point of wearing a 20k diamond and gold Rolex when you are trapped in a paradise of hell in the middle of a jungle – Bored, the triplets needed a plan to get out into the ‘real world’ without getting terminated by the DEA, ‘friends’, enemies, and drunken drivers.
End of Part One.
Bingo – King of the Bongos -Part Two.
Macho, Ponco and Mattress have a plan. Bumping off the grandparents was easy. Demanding a day out to go fishing at the man-made lake on the 50,000 square kilometres of land controlled by the cartel, they simply drowned them. The piranhas did the rest.
Bingo and Tracy had for some time been rather alarmed at the antics of the triplets. Sprinkled cocaine on their cereal was alarming enough but spending hours doped and Macho and Poncho using Mattress as sexual relief raised warning signs. (No one was to bother about the strange disappearance of the grandparents.)
Getting a first-rate quack Doc from the United States, the triplets, drugged out their skulls, electric shocks to calm them down- had all a frontal lobotomy. The removed bits then fried gently with rosemary and garlic, French fries and a lovely chardonnay were served to them. It would help them think.
I mean, these three were the future! A billion dollar empire run by lunatics! Sense must prevail. With a large part of their thinking process removed and now being digested by each other, Macho shat his sister out and Poncho shat Macho out and Mattress shat Poncho out and they went… Fucking mental!
After awaking and checking they had matching stiches to the sides of their heads, their empty skulls rattled a few loose stones of subterfuge. First stop – the coke stash. Fully loaded in what was the rest of their heads – next stop, the weapons stash.
They also needed to have a little chat with Mom and Dad. They were in the entertaining room. Must have been about 8.30pm. Disco lights swirling, fog machine pumping out to the beat of Ma baker by Boney M. Tracy and Bingo were just about to wrapping up the end of a battle with a neighbouring cartel – The San Pedro. Named after its boss, San Pedro. The massacre had been bloodily done and the only loose threads hanging about was a flayed San Pedro on a meat hook suspended from the ceiling.
Macho started the conversation. ‘Yo Pops, Mother fucker, and you, you plastic bitch of a Daddy fucker – yo yo- hah ha- greetings from planet zog.’
Poncho – ‘What he means that his head hurts.’
Mattress –‘My vagina hurts. What we want to say is – ahhh- knits in my crotch, ahh – we want OUT (she shouts) we want FREEDOM.’
Bingo, King of the Bongo sighs – ‘What the fuck are you three clowns going on about?’
2018 - The ‘Terrible Triplets’, so nicknamed. Macho, Poncho and their sister, Mattress, by the age of 15 were learning to make future gangsters of their own and keep it in the family. The cartel was drowning in green backs. They were bored. What’s the point of wearing a 20k diamond and gold Rolex when you are trapped in a paradise of hell in the middle of a jungle – Bored, the triplets needed a plan to get out into the ‘real world’ without getting terminated by the DEA, ‘friends’, enemies, and drunken drivers.
End of Part One.
Bingo – King of the Bongos -Part Two.
Macho, Ponco and Mattress have a plan. Bumping off the grandparents was easy. Demanding a day out to go fishing at the man-made lake on the 50,000 square kilometres of land controlled by the cartel, they simply drowned them. The piranhas did the rest.
Bingo and Tracy had for some time been rather alarmed at the antics of the triplets. Sprinkled cocaine on their cereal was alarming enough but spending hours doped and Macho and Poncho using Mattress as sexual relief raised warning signs. (No one was to bother about the strange disappearance of the grandparents.)
Getting a first-rate quack Doc from the United States, the triplets, drugged out their skulls, electric shocks to calm them down- had all a frontal lobotomy. The removed bits then fried gently with rosemary and garlic, French fries and a lovely chardonnay were served to them. It would help them think.
I mean, these three were the future! A billion dollar empire run by lunatics! Sense must prevail. With a large part of their thinking process removed and now being digested by each other, Macho shat his sister out and Poncho shat Macho out and Mattress shat Poncho out and they went… Fucking mental!
After awaking and checking they had matching stiches to the sides of their heads, their empty skulls rattled a few loose stones of subterfuge. First stop – the coke stash. Fully loaded in what was the rest of their heads – next stop, the weapons stash.
They also needed to have a little chat with Mom and Dad. They were in the entertaining room. Must have been about 8.30pm. Disco lights swirling, fog machine pumping out to the beat of Ma baker by Boney M. Tracy and Bingo were just about to wrapping up the end of a battle with a neighbouring cartel – The San Pedro. Named after its boss, San Pedro. The massacre had been bloodily done and the only loose threads hanging about was a flayed San Pedro on a meat hook suspended from the ceiling.
Macho started the conversation. ‘Yo Pops, Mother fucker, and you, you plastic bitch of a Daddy fucker – yo yo- hah ha- greetings from planet zog.’
Poncho – ‘What he means that his head hurts.’
Mattress –‘My vagina hurts. What we want to say is – ahhh- knits in my crotch, ahh – we want OUT (she shouts) we want FREEDOM.’
Bingo, King of the Bongo sighs – ‘What the fuck are you three clowns going on about?’
Poncho – ‘We want to go to your roots in the
Congo and live with the Bongos and teach them how to sniff cocaine and drink tequila
and rape nuns and murder missionaries – and ah
hah hah – what yes Oh no. Yes okay.’
Macho – ‘I want to fuck a lark.’
Macho – ‘I want to fuck a lark.’
Bingo, King of the bongos – ‘Listen you idiots, yes, you are the
fruits of my loins and,’
Tracy – ‘And my womb via my virgin entrance
hole’
Bingo – What do you expect in the Congo? That the Bongos will accept you? They are much cleverer than you and (sweeps a metal hook into San Pedro’s mouth due to mumbling a lot), without my authorisation backed by Tarzan, you will not survive longer than it takes to shit yourself in fear.’
Macho – Uga Uga – lekker lekker, hah hah, good boy, paw.’
Bingo – What do you expect in the Congo? That the Bongos will accept you? They are much cleverer than you and (sweeps a metal hook into San Pedro’s mouth due to mumbling a lot), without my authorisation backed by Tarzan, you will not survive longer than it takes to shit yourself in fear.’
Macho – Uga Uga – lekker lekker, hah hah, good boy, paw.’
Poncho – ‘What time is it? I think my Rolex has
stopped.’
Tracy – ‘Time for dinner. Your favourite – baked enemy brains in cocaine and
ecstasy sauce with pulped mammary glands.’
Mattress – (the only one with a little bit of brain left), ‘Pops, tell us about how you became King of the Bongos.’
Bingo, King of the Bongos – ‘It happened a long time ago.’
Stay tuned for the next exciting part….
Bingo explains how he grew up in the Congo and became King of the Bongos.
A musical break.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJMLJVha5swMattress – (the only one with a little bit of brain left), ‘Pops, tell us about how you became King of the Bongos.’
Bingo, King of the Bongos – ‘It happened a long time ago.’
Stay tuned for the next exciting part….
Bingo explains how he grew up in the Congo and became King of the Bongos.
A musical break.
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