» Breasts

Zorro!
Ever since Viz came up with the definition of "to zorro" (i.e. to skilfully flick your cock from side to side at the moment of spaffing, as you would yield a rapier, to stripe your jizz across the tits in the style of an accomplished swordsman) Mrs Biscuit has been challenging me to zorro her norks.

Apparently she's got little estimation for the amount of self-control that men can still have at the moment of coughing one's filthy custard.

So anyway, last weekend I eschewed the delights of spaffing in her gob in favour of zorroing her tits.

And the results were fabulous.

At least for me.

But rather than massaging the cum into her skin like a porn star she scuttled off sharpish to the bathroom, leaving me to revel in my victory. I reckon she made the mistake of putting the shower on hot, causing the sement to crystallise like cumcrete. She was itching at her tits the whole day long trying to get the crust off.

I haven't been invited to fuck her since. No idea why...
(Tue 11th May 2010, 9:36, More)

» Tinkering

Pi-tastic
Ever since mini-biscuit started insisting on farting around with our garage door opener keyfob every time he got his sticky little fingers on it, I got really tired of always having to trot down to the basement to see if he'd managed to leave it open or not.

One Raspberry Pi, a couple of magnet sensors, a relay board, a bit of woodwork and a wee bit of coding later and I can see if the bloody thing is up or down from anywhere in the world. I even wrote a webpage especially for mini-biscuit that just contains a massive button the size of the full screen so even he can fumble around and eventually manage to press the button to open it for me.

Even better than that, was writing an app so that my telephone periodically works out if it has a bluetooth connection to the car, and if it does then it reports its location back to the Pi every so often - the upshot is that the Pi knows where the car is, and so as soon as I turn onto our street it opens the door up and I don't have to lift a finger any more and can instead concentrate on sweeping majestically in like a smug wanker.

Magic. Now don't you nice people go trying to hack it, now will you...

imgur.com/a/Gd54E
(Fri 5th Aug 2016, 14:39, More)

» I Hurt My Rude Bits, Again

Hot vagina
A few Christmases ago, I got given a bottle of mega-hot sauce. The sort where you could dip the end of a cocktail stick into it and the tiny droplet on the end could make your gob incandescent for a good half hour or so.

I'd brought it into work one day and we were trying it out when we'd gone for after-work refreshments: there were some red faces after a few of the hard cases decided to throw caution to the wind and take a teaspoon of the stuff at once.

Later on, in a state of more advanced refreshment, some of us went up to Orchard Towers. Just for a few extra drinks you understand. I was busy trying to talk to my mate and of course the local hookers were coming over and trying to make the usual tape-loop conversation. "Hi how are you". "What your name". "Where you from". "How long you in Singapore". "I love you long time". Repeat.

I was more interested in finishing telling bullshit stories, yet there was of course a stream of hookers trying to get our interest. Eventually a more aggressive one turned up and decided that she's dispense with the usual patter, preferring to just grab my hand, ram it against her minge and grind away. She lasted about a minute before she shrieked and ran off to the bog, and I figured at the time that she'd just given up and decided to flounce off. We stayed for a bit longer and exactly the same scenario repeated itself with a different hooker. Curiouser and curiouser.

But later on when I got home, I was taking out my contact lenses and chanced upon a rather different theory due to my eyeballs immediately starting to hurt like buggery. Even the next day after a good rinsing I just couldn't bear to put them back in. I had to bin the lens-case too. Obviously the earlier horsing around with the hot sauce had left plenty of traces on my fingers, and yes I had first washed my hands after having had highly diseased clunge on my fingers from earlier.

Probably not worth using it as lube...
(Mon 11th Mar 2013, 13:07, More)

» Random Acts of Evil

Shit fingers
A while ago, my housemate put me on to a rather amusing jape, best done in a manky pub's toilets after having a big shit...

Step 1 - pull out and tear off as much bog paper as you think you need to draw an ace. Clearly there is a direct correlation between the necessary amount, and just how messy your arse is, i.e. just how hot last night's ringstinger curry was and how many pints accompanied said curry.

Step 2 - pull out just a little more bogroll from the drum, do not detach from the roll, and use it to make the first wipe, smearing as much of your mess as possible onto the pristine sheets. Get it as close to the free end as possible.

Step 3 - leave the soiled end dangling to dry a little, while you finish cleaning up with the paper procured in step 1.

Step 4 - carefully respool the soiled paper into the drum.

Et voila, an exquisitely set booby trap, left for the next punter to discover...
(Fri 17th Feb 2012, 8:49, More)

» Darwin Awards

Telephones plug into the wall, right?
Me and the same half-blind mate who featured in the nut and bolt story were much younger for this extravaganza...

Ferreting about in the loft at the age of perhaps 7 or 8, we discovered one of those old bakelite telephones. Fantastic, we think. Score. Now we can call people without having to do it from the living room in front of folks.

We lug it to his room and contemplate. We know that telephones plug in to the wall, so we fetch a plug and some tools from his old man's toolbox. After much learned (well as learned as you get at 7!) debate as to which wire should go into which terminal, we end up with what should be a working telephone.

We plug it into the wall, switch it on (at this point, the educated reader may already be smelling a rat) and we decide to make a call.

Lift up the receiver and *BLAM*. Cue worried parents tearing up the stairs wonder what the f*ck happened, and two kids white-faced in shock.

Thing is, we hadn't exactly wired it up to a modular plug, we'd wired it up to a 13A plug and plugged it in to the mains...

The telephone never worked after that. In fact it was in a bit of a sorry state with the bakelite cracked and slightly burnt.
(Thu 12th Feb 2009, 22:11, More)