Absurd turd of the month:
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How shit is that!
Would you rather have super duper sight
Or a super duper tongue?
Super duper flight
Or be super duper sprung?
You’re going to have to pick,
But a super duper mong
Won’t be quite as slick
As my super duper dong!
Everything has a super duper mode. They’re called different things, but in essence they all mean the same: it’ll perform at it’s absolute best, at the cost of possible false positives. My dong sometimes stiffens up for no real reason, just because it got a little excited over nothing: a false positive. But sometimes that’s what I like about my super duper mode!
So what’s YOUR super duper? Please comment.
Porn, like everything else we talk about on speak shit, has some sort of taboo around it. Well, we reckon nearly everyone watches the stuff and it shouldn’t be taboo at all.
So help us prove it and bring porn out into the open! Might even host some porno parties to really get things moving. Maybe a giant porn festival?
Please vote. Anonymously. Honest! I’ll start it off to get things moving: yes, I watch it – I like to use my dog’s turd as a warm lubricant while tossing off to a bit of fanny on my TV.
As ever, comments are welcome!
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Trains and shit have a lot in common.
Both shit and trains are elongated tubes with rounded or pointed edges, and it doesn’t end there. I sit on a train at this very minute asking myself why I chose the train over the coach. On this occassion it’s because I couldn’t be bothered pissing about in Oxford waiting for a coach when a train was leaving in just 10 minutes. But I already regret it – as I crossed the bridge to my platform earlier, thinking how pleasant it is to have a journey that runs on time for once, the departure board changes from “on time” to “delayed. How the fuck have they only just figured out, with 1 minute left until it was due to arrive, that it isn’t going to be here on time? What a pile of shit! And yet, as I sit here on this train, I can’t whinge about it to anyone because neither my mobile (cell) phone nor my mobile broadband have a signal. On a coach, they provide free wireless internet access, and from the motorways both devices have a signal. So I honestly wonder what bullshit advertising has convinced me that a tain is still a better option?
But what has really driven me to torment any passing internet user with this rant is my experience a little over a week ago. On a beautiful day I attempted a trip to a town called Alfreton, not far from Nottingham. I had spent much of my previous day buying a carefully orchestrated selection of tickets, as it was important that my timing for the day was spot on for reasons I won’t go into. The first train was OK – it didn’t arrive on time but it was only a few seconds late, no big deal. But during my 1.5 hour wait in Birmingham New Street things went amiss – suddenly every train to Nottingham was cancelled. What the fuck?!
So they send me on an alternative route, with different timings that don’t fit my plan. But it’s OK, I can make it work, just need to get on the train that’s due to leave any second now. There it is! Great, I’m on the train. What’s that? NO FUCKING DRIVER?! WHAT GOOD IS A BLOODY TRAIN WITHOUT A DRIVER?? And so the first train of the day in the general direction of Nottingham (all others having been cancelled) sits at the station for another 45 minutes, packing in more and more passengers crushed like sardines in the little standing space that’s left, then eventually leaves. Can’t get any worse than this, right? Wrong. Some turd drives into a railway bridge somewhere and we all get held up for another hour. Honestly, this all happened on the same day! And it doesn’t end there either! The first train back in the reverse direction was remarkably uneventful. Unfortunately for me, the cherry on the shit cake was yet to arrive, when at Banbury they chuck us all off the train and load us onto a coach instead. If I wanted to go by coach, I’d have jolly well bought sodding coach tickets! What a bunch of twats.
We all need meaning in our lives, whether that meaning is to procreate, solve the mysteries of the universe, or just get blind drunk at every opportunity. I could go into a load of philosophical shit about why we need meaning and whether or not it is really necessary, but frankly who gives a fuck? That said, I felt that if humans can’t live their lives without meaning, then a website should also have a meaning to justify its existence. So here it is: Censorshit!
“What the heck is Censorshit?”
I hear you ask that question and I think you’re a bloody moron for not figuring it out. I mean come on, really, it’s fairly obviously a deliberate misspelling of the word “censorship” in an effort express our highly negative opinions on the act of censoring authors’ works.
In case you hadn’t noticed, we don’t censor this website. In fact the only reason we don’t advertise is because the agencies reject us for “promoting excessive profanity”. But don’t worry, I’m not going to give way and forget the ideals behind our establishment merely for money. No, we’re better than that… unless you’d like to buy the whole website off us, that I’d go for, at the right price of course.
So join the revolution and bring back freedom of speech! How? Well, you could start by following us on twitter.
Greetings from the toilet.
Allow me to introduce myself, the crappest of the crap, Seb. More importantly though, I’m also joined by Ben and Matt (both equally poor at just about everything). Did we all meet in a public toilet at a service station just off the M40? Probably, but despite the presence of the legendary “glory hole” just behind the toilet roll, we certainly didn’t become ‘acquainted’, until University (and even then, despite Ben’s pleas, it has yet to become an intimate relationship).
No, we did not meet in a toilet. We met during a week in which we spent very little time sober, and thus have little recollection of events. But other events stick in my mind exceptionally well. Allow me to introduce Ben:
Unfortunately, despite our best efforts, we are unable to show this photo at this time, but I can assure you it was hilarious.
Of course the outcome of this oat obsession wasn’t pleasant… but it was an improvement over events a little earlier in the night. Of course on occasion Matt and Ben drink together too, and despite Matt’s sensible approach to partying there have been times when rather interesting things have happened. Bringing beer into the library and making more noise than a sumo wrestler makes trying to bully his feces out of his anus while a rhino sticks his horn where the sun don’t shine in an attempt to lure Phil away from a text book would be one example.
Allow me to introduce Matt:
To be fair, it was Thomas the Tank Engine night
We’ll start with the obvious. That hat is shit. Alas, I was wearing one too, so I can hardly complain. The t-shirts on the other hand, despite appearances, kicked ass. But more on that later…
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No pain killers, no doctors or nurses, and certainly nobody to hold my hand…
So how was it possible to produce and pass such a huge shit?
The extraordinary tale of the conception, incubation and birth of the feces behind speakshit.com – coming soon!
