“Evenin’, guvnor. Wha’ can I do yer for?” “Bit delicate, mate. Missus’s not too ‘appy: me tool’s too big…” “Never known a lady to complain about that!” “Well, tight squeeze, see. I mean, she wants me to do ‘er… ya know… dirt passage…” “Eh?” “‘Er… tradesmen’s entrance…” “Yer what?” “You blinkin’ thick, George? ‘Er back door!” “Oh! Flippin’ ‘eck!” “Yeah, well, now what do I do?” “Got jus’ the fing: WD-40. Good fer all ‘inge...

“Lovely pair o’ knockers, eh?” “Yeah.” “Love ta cop a feel o’ them buns…” “Yeah…” “… give ‘er a good poke…” “Hehe, yeah.” “I mean, ‘oo wouldn’t want ter shove ‘is tool up ‘er box?” “Yeah, right.” “Makes me knob all big jus’ finkin’ abou’ it.” “Same ‘ere.” “All righ’, so what’s ‘at come to?” “Er, lessee… pair o’ knockers, bag o’ buns, poker, toolbox, and one doorknob (large)… that’ll be seventeen and six.” “Right, ‘ere ya...

Went Samson down to the vineyards of Timnath: and, behold, a young lion roared against him. And the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon him, and he rent him as he would have rent a kid. And after a time he returned, and, behold, there was a swarm of bees and honey in the carcase of the lion. And he said, “Out of the eater came forth meat, and out of the strong came forth sweet.” ~ It was Tuesday morning in the Yeshivas...

“Back soon, mbak!” I called towards the kitchen. “Jalan-jalan?” – “Going for a walk?” came Sri’s voice, amid the clatter of pans and the scent of terasi and lemon grass. “Is that OK?” I asked. “Of course: Ningsih can help me with supper. Be back by sunset, though.” Her voice, tinkling like degung, radiated trust and cheerfulness. My heart twinged briefly, but I dismissed the feeling with a deft and practiced gesture of mo...

CUNT IS A CONCEPT! proclaimed a banner, in gaudy capital letters. A WOMAN’S RIGHT TO COCK! demanded another. FUTA RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS! announced a third. And a fourth posed the existential question: ASSIGNED CUNT AT BIRTH…? “God, look at them,” sneered Gaia, as she stood by her window watching the crowds demonstrating up and down the length of Harley Street. “always thinking they’re entitled to more! Do you know, I ha...

“Ah, Mrs Stubbs! Do come in.” Mrs Stubbs was, in contradistinction to her name, tall, slender and elegant, with pale skin, gently slanting oriental eyes, her black hair formed into a soft bob which, indeed, bobbed winsomely as she entered the consulting room, smiled cautiously, and sat facing Dr Gaia’s large mock-oak desk. The doctor was, by contrast, large and buxom, with frizzy black hair, her dark skin rich and glowing...

In the days of the First People’s Republic, there were two friends. I say friends – but actually, they lived a long way apart. One lived in the great city of Bilbao, by the banks of the Mississippi. A proletarian under the rule of the Republic, he laboured all day in the stockyards. The other lived in a farmhouse atop a hill halfway between Szechwan and Surabaya. A peasant in the lands of the Grand Duke, she tilled the ea...

The Huntsman kneels by Snow White’s body and weeps. “O God!” he cries. “Why could I not save ’er? O my beloved Snow White!” Tears running unstaunched down his cheeks, he carefully lifts Snow White’s naked sleeping body and carries it down to the stream, where he washes her from head to foot, gently rinsing the magic fruit juices and futa-cum out of her hair and off her skin, pulling the accursed apple out of her arsehole...

Callum the Huntsman sits by his hearth, brooding. Through his cabin window, in the distance, the gilded towers and turrets of the Royal Palace rise gleaming, their flags fluttering in the warm spring breeze. From the stone walls and oak rafters of his cabin hang the tools of his trade: bows and arrows, axes and knives, skins and heads of deer and rabbits. Callum broods. And the object of his contemplation is Snow White. S...

Snow White walks swiftly, escorted through the Forest by her animal friends. Tears run down her face now, as she ponders the horror of her situation. “My life in danger! Oh, how utterly awful! So, to the Far Kingdom must I escape. But then what? And who will take care of me now?” She walks, and as she walks her friends bring her sustenance – berries and nuts and wild fruits – and guide her to springs of cool water where s...

“I say, why did Her Majesty send you with me today?” asks Snow White. She is indeed fair of face, with hair black as ebony, skin white as snow, and lips red as the rose. Her dress is pastel blue, and her smile and her laughter light up the forest glade. Her voice is pinched and nasal, in the best tradition of Anna Neagle, Pathé newsreels, Hello Children Everywhere – and the finest of royal princesses. A stream babbles thr...

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall, who is the Fairest One of all?” commands the Queen. She stands adorned in raiment of gold, her dark hair graced with a silver crown, her skin pale, her lips full and lustrous – her beauty glorious and, surely, unsurpassable. “Fair art thou, O Queen,” replies the Mirror, “and thy dark hair, thy pale skin, and thy full red lips are things of great beauty. But yet, show me more, Majesty, that I m...

The sun has barely risen this wintry Sunday morning, and fog swirls across the path and canal outside the front door of Claire’s Cunt Kitchen. “Brad, shut the blinds, will you?” calls Claire from deep within the bowels of her kitchen. “And turn the screen on, it’s nearly nine!” Bradley is wiping tables in the front room of the café, scrubbing the last of yesterday’s semen stains off the pink Formica tops. Jill has arrived...

This two-part “Christmas special” follows on from the conclusion of Alison Goes to London – but it can also stand alone. It is 2051, and under the “Enlightenment”, Europe is ruled by Pleasure, and love is eschewed. Claire and Bradley have graduated from the Royal Academy of Fucking and, assisted by their friend, up-and-coming anal slut Riley, have set up a fuck-café in Cuntden Market. However, their best friend Alison has...

Soeliram, Anak manis djanganlah ditjioem; Kalaoe ditjioem merahlah pipinja. “Sweet child, let her not be kissed,” she sings in her native tongue, “or ruddy will her cheeks turn: soeliram…” Her voice tinkles and her spirit soars, as the bundle in her arms latches onto her full brown breast. The child’s eyes are wide and sincere, sparkling like burnished bronze under candlelight, as mother and baby commune through song and...