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animal magic
05-02-07, 09:19 PM
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.

Red Chilli
05-02-07, 09:21 PM
OK :confused:


Wasn't it John Fashanu who used the term "Awooga"?

Akabusi was too busy laughing all the time.

kopdan
05-02-07, 09:26 PM
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.

FLMAO

MARTINOZ
05-02-07, 09:49 PM
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.

That's brilliant :haha:

sambirken
05-02-07, 10:29 PM
is this the 'on crack' thread

Shaggy
05-02-07, 11:28 PM
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.

FLMAO :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:

Shaggy
05-02-07, 11:41 PM
Maybe I'm too stoned for my own good, but that's one of the funniest things I've ever read. :haha:

ronan
06-02-07, 11:19 AM
Maybe I'm too stoned for my own good, but that's one of the funniest things I've ever read. :haha:

:handshake: lay off the skunk shaggy :rash:

Shaggy
06-02-07, 11:23 AM
Well I've not had a smoke today and still I'm weeping with laughter at it. Marvellous. :handshake:

Guest
06-02-07, 11:26 AM
:respect:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/4/46/Radio_Times.jpg

Guest
06-02-07, 11:27 AM
Actually his real name is Kriss Kezie Uche Chukwu Duru Akabusi .

:haha:

animal magic
06-02-07, 11:30 AM
my mate sent me some more will post them soon

Red Chilli
06-02-07, 11:32 AM
Does your mate work for the Daily Sport? :haha:

animal magic
06-02-07, 11:32 AM
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.

Shaggy
06-02-07, 11:37 AM
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.


:haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:

Can I ask...what the fuck is this? Where's it coming from? Any relevance? It's fucking funny, I know that much.

animal magic
06-02-07, 11:39 AM
i dont know where they are from a mate emailed them to me

Akabusi sat in his Vauxhall Corsa as it passed through the car wash humming the theme tune from Record Breakers. All the windows were soaped up and no one could see in so, for the briefest moments, he thought about having a w*nk. But his two kids were in the back so he decided against it.

After dropping them off at school, Akabusi was at a loss as to how to fill his day. He was delivering a motivational speech to a bunch of spastics tonight in Stevenage so he didn't want to over do it. He felt a twinge in his back. It had been aching since him and John Fashanu had wrestled naked in front of a roaring fire at Fash's £128,700 mansion in Hemel Hempstead. Akabusi had smashed a porcelain bust of Justin and he had had to leave.

Before he knew it he was at a massage parlour and had paid his £10 entry. Before he could get to the changing rooms he slipped out of his pin stripe dungerees and could feel the fragrant steam of the sauna tickle his massive balls like a poacher under a trout.

He applied a towel to his lower torso, barely able to conceal his pulsating ebony fire hydrant. He stepped into the room and lay down on the pleather massage table pushing his face through the hole and letting his cock hang over the side.

Behind him the door opened and Akabusi's pussy senses were raised to Severe. The aroma of chicken and sweetcorn soup and Morecambe Bay cockles hit him like a steam train and he knew right then that he would sire another child.

Small hands covered in oil began to explore his muscular, Nigerian coffee coloured bodywork. As the girl's hands reached his proud buttocks he tried everything in his power to conceal a huge fart he had been brewing since he'd parked in the multi storey car park.

When the girl slipped a greasy little finger up his April he let out a yelp and nearly roared "Awooga" but he stopped himself. The hands of the girl motioned him to turn over, which he duly did.

His eyes found a young Chinese girl wearing a little white tunic which he knew concealed a pair of juicy little bristols and almost certainly a clunge as ripe and yellow as a week old banana. As he lay on his back, blood rushed into his veiny Tower of Pisa quicker than Asians into a Cash And Carry at 8.59am. He lay there looking like a chocolate drawing pin as the girl starting applying more and more oil. He was so hard and tall that he worried slightly that the price of oil may be affected by his erection.

Her tiny hands kneeded his giant oak and at one point Akabusi half thought she was an Ewok trying to climb a Giant Red on Endor. He leapt up and ripped open her tunic revealing, as he had suspected, a gorgeous set of two tits, nipples as dark as Green and Black 70% and a pussy so wet and hairless he was reminded of Duncan Goodhew.

He dived into her like a released rapist and set about plunging into every orifice that was available and some that were not. Within hours he was on his vinegars and let rip with such a gush of spunk that the poor girl tried in vein to make a call to the Morecambe Bay coastguard.

Spent, sweating and panting Akabusi untangled his yawning plonker and slipped on his dungerees. The girl, who later from police reports he found was called Hi Tide Run, lay on the floor, a shredded mess of manfat, baby oil, matted hair and rice. Akabusi looked at his Casio watch/calculator and saw that the spastic thing started in 20 minutes. He bent down over the Chinese meal he had just demolished, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Shaggy
06-02-07, 12:03 PM
Fuck me these are priceless :haha:

disco
06-02-07, 12:03 PM
Fuck me these are priceless :haha:

Brilliant :haha:

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
06-02-07, 12:10 PM
this is so beyond bizarre, that it's brilliant. anyone with an imagination can't fail to love these.

disco
06-02-07, 12:13 PM
A combination of a funny Russell Brand (if that's possible) and the Bear from Bo Selecta. :haha:

Shaggy
06-02-07, 12:17 PM
"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 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.

Shaggy
06-02-07, 12:18 PM
Akabusi didn't like going to the dental hygienist 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 dungarees 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 dungarees, 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.

Red Chilli
06-02-07, 12:18 PM
It's funny because it's true :haha:

Kaip
06-02-07, 03:53 PM
:haha: :haha: :haha:

jonnygrunter
06-02-07, 04:40 PM
theres more on the football365 forum

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.

jonnygrunter
06-02-07, 04:44 PM
http://myspace-752.vo.llnwd.net/01448/25/78/1448528752_m.gif

disco
06-02-07, 05:41 PM
HAs anyone got a link to these - can't really post them by e-mail! :haha:

Shaggy
06-02-07, 05:59 PM
Haven't got the link to hand, and I just tried to search the forum but it won't let me. Anyway, it's all come from a thread on the Football 365 forums. 'Kris Akabusi sex stories', or summat.

CharlieMansonsSquint
06-02-07, 05:59 PM
I'd like to meet the person(s) responsible for these articles.:haha:

animal magic
06-02-07, 06:50 PM
HAs anyone got a link to these - can't really post them by e-mail! :haha:


deleted

animal magic
06-02-07, 06:54 PM
HAs anyone got a link to these - can't really post them by e-mail! :haha:

http://forum.football365.com/index.php?t=msg&th=259884&prevloaded=1&rid=&S=31785872de3a5e5f3e1e1d437

Big-Red-Ed
06-02-07, 08:06 PM
My lungs are about to collapse with laughing so hard. Feckin genius.

cadmium
06-02-07, 08:58 PM
"Awooga" FLMAO

Shaggy
06-02-07, 09:26 PM
My lungs are about to collapse with laughing so hard. Feckin genius.

"Awooga" FLMAO

Bump.

Funny innit fellas.

I sent all these to some mates over email, and was amazed to find only around half thought it was funny, and I got SLATED by the rest, who thought it was rubbish, mildly offensive and unfunny. I also posted it on 6CM and it bombed there too. Hey ho.

Some of it is close to the bone (pardon the pun) but I just love the imagery, the colourful language, the wonderful metaphors and similes...and of course the signature ending.

It reminds me of Partridge. Akabusi, hilarious as a choice of character given his 'family-fun' image, and his inane, grinning, almost hapless personality, and his mundane life as an ailing minor celebrity, punctuated by these wild tales of sordid filth. Akabusi the sexual predator. :haha:

And his cock did appear to be pretty massive.

kopdan
06-02-07, 09:50 PM
its some of the best creative writing I've witnessed

Plus it features a character I've had dealings with in the past

kopdan
06-02-07, 09:52 PM
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v611/kopdan/krissmessage.jpg

Red Chilli
06-02-07, 10:35 PM
Bump.

Funny innit fellas.

I sent all these to some mates over email, and was amazed to find only around half thought it was funny, and I got SLATED by the rest, who thought it was rubbish, mildly offensive and unfunny. I also posted it on 6CM and it bombed there too. Hey ho.


I suppose it's on the same level as all that Chuck Norris stuff, but not as original. Quite funny.

Shaggy
06-02-07, 10:39 PM
I suppose it's on the same level as all that Chuck Norris stuff, but not as original. Quite funny.

Y'see that Chuck Norris stuff went straight over my head. I suppose I can relate more to Akabusi and his adventures more than I could Norris. :haha:

Joe Le Toff
07-02-07, 06:43 AM
:haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:

Some of the funniest stuff ive read in a long time

Kaip
07-02-07, 09:12 AM
Brilliant Thread

Joe Le Toff
07-02-07, 02:14 PM
http://forum.football365.com/index.php?t=msg&th=259884&prevloaded=1&rid=&S=31785872de3a5e5f3e1e1d437

Ive wasted virtually the whole day at work today reading this thread and the football365 one

Classic, absolute fcuking classic.

brikkis
07-02-07, 02:47 PM
Ive wasted virtually the whole day at work today reading this thread and the football365 one

Classic, absolute fcuking classic.

:haha: :haha: :haha:

Harv
07-02-07, 03:16 PM
this is absolute gold!!!

I have no idea who this Akabusi fella is...but its funny as fuck


AWOOOOOOOOOOGA.

cant wait to yell that out after ive finished servicing the missus ;)

PTP
07-02-07, 03:25 PM
fucking funny - i have been crying with laughter reading these - there is a lad from our footie team who always shouts awooga - i have just sent them to him - he will fucking piss himself.

Shaggy
07-02-07, 03:44 PM
this is absolute gold!!!

I have no idea who this Akabusi fella is...but its funny as fuck


AWOOOOOOOOOOGA.

cant wait to yell that out after ive finished servicing the missus ;)

Kris Akabusi was a 400m hurdler. A real "family fun" figure, a kind of typically gallant British loser. He improved loads though and won a few silvers and bronzes at major championships, including the Olympics when he trailed behind Samuel Mateté and Winthrop Graham, and was renowned for his wild, insane laugh. He also appeared to have a huge cock, Linford Christie style, as it flapped about very visibly inside his lycra shorts.

He was a real wholesome. effervescent sorta figure, so much so that he ended up as a kids TV presenter on CBBC, presenting 'Record Breakers'.

He's now a bit of an Alan Partridge type figure - an ailing minor celebrity.

It's one of the reasons I find all this so funny. He's an unlikely star of such sordid stories

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/7c/38529855_akabusi.jpg


http://www.sporting-heroes.net/files_athletics/AKABUSI_Kriss_1991_GH_L.jpg



http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b195/uglyonbothsides/kris.jpg

simey85
07-02-07, 04:01 PM
that is lethal stuff! nearly pissed myself!

Mumsafan
07-02-07, 05:31 PM
OK :confused:


Wasn't it John Fashanu who used the term "Awooga"?

Akabusi was too busy laughing all the time.

Yes it was Fashanu who used it.

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
07-02-07, 06:05 PM
http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k200/mvonbmvonb/38529855_akabusi.jpg

Surely his head is more this size in real life, I think they photoshopped his publicity shots.

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
07-02-07, 06:10 PM
http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k200/mvonbmvonb/AKABUSI_Kriss_1991_GH_L.jpg

And this is the original, undoctored image. Now we know where the stories stem from.

Shaggy
07-02-07, 07:03 PM
http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k200/mvonbmvonb/AKABUSI_Kriss_1991_GH_L.jpg

And this is the original, undoctored image. Now we know where the stories stem from.

:haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:

animal magic
07-02-07, 09:36 PM
nice signature shaggy :haha:

RoadEnd
07-02-07, 09:48 PM
Akabusi sat in the park throwing bits of sausage roll at a one legged pigeon as the winter sun beat down on his ebony dome like Ike on his first wife. He'd picked up two sausage rolls and a Steak Bake from Gregg's at the station and found a quiet spot in the park. The Steak Bake had given him serious heart burn which only a bottle of Tango could put out. He'd bought a bottle of Lilt instead. All in all it had been a sh*t day for Akabusi.

His accountant Harvey Goldenblum had called him earlier and confirmed that his £117,980 mansion in Brickhills had been repossessed by the National Lottery. Akabusi had become addicted to online scratchcards and things had got so bad he sold all his medals and naked pictures he had of Norris McWhirter. The ten quid he had got on eBay for the lot hadn’t made a big difference.

On the upside the cool air of the wind brushed against his expresso chassis like Rolf Harris on canvas. He felt his tremondous length growl like a waking tiger - it wanted feeding and he knew it only ate pussy. He popped his hand inside his grey dungerees and pinched the increasingly engorged helmut to quell it's mounting excitement. He brushed pastry flakes into a pile and then necked the lot of it. It made him feel good. Like a man again.

He made a little pooh behind a tree and headed over the road to the Palace.

Akabusi had been to Buckingham Palace before - he picked up some mickey mouse MBE back in the day. He hadn't disgraced himself and poor old dead Diana had welcomed a fanny patting. Today Akabusi and Roger Black were receiving a little badge to thank them for not killing any spastics on a outward bound trip to the Brecon Beacons. The Palace didn't know that a little window slurper had fallen off a cliff and Akabusi and Black had buried the body in a shallow grave. Hopefully feral cats and foxes would do the rest.

Akabusi mingled with the crowds of Lords, Ladies and f**king Tanni Gray Thompson. Tanni managed to get invited to all these things and the Palace had excellent access due to the Queen Mother. Akabusi didn't need any encouragement from Jim Davidson, who was receiving a knighthood for services to race relations, and pushed Tanni into a broom cupboard and jammed the door. Hopefully the feral cats and foxes would do the rest.

The Queen appeared. Akabusi couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of blood and cum rush into his empty brown wheely bin and his giant testes twitch like a black body builders pectorals. His proud onyx majesty rose to attention as everyone stood. He looked like a brown flag pole and his flag of spunk and a little p*ss was attempting to unfurl. As Her Majesty went by his erection fell to it's knees quicker than a Romford secretary. She was minging.

Akabusi was f**king confused. He was expecting Helen Mirren - that glorious old milf that he'd seen on a pirate dvd the night before. The reality was some old bird who he suspected had bristols like burst balloons and a clunge as crusty and useless as a Conservative Peer. His sword sheathed and his balls bowed Akabusi went off looking for pussy elsewhere.

Akabusi headed down to the stables. He liked horses, they knew what it was like to carry such a dead weight betwixt ones's thighs and he often used to train with Desert Orchid at the Linford Christie Track. The sessions would often end with mutual masturbation from which Akabusi would keep Orchid's horsefat and sell it to Arabs. He didn't know what Orchid did with his though.

Kriss let the buckles of his smart dungerees slip to the sh*t covered hay and let the fetid air of the stables circle him scum round buy one get one free deals. "Do you ride Mr Abakumisi?" said a female voice from behind Akabusi. He froze. The lady was so full of plums he felt like he felt when he'd teabagged Janet Street Porter.

He slowly turned around looking like a chocolate Challenger tank heading into battle. Before him was a brunette dressed in tight cream jodhpurs, white blouson and a pair of patent leather riding boots that would bring a tear of cum to any man's cock eye. He knew that beneath the riding gear were at the most two sparking bristols and a clunge as smart and as bald as Helen Rollinson. But not as dead.

"Do I ride? What do you f**king think!" he roared with a laugh so loud the horses bolted into the yard and killed two OBEs and a bloke in an electronic wheelchair. His sceptre rose to knight the girl whose tight jodphurs were becoming wetter than a child at an Art Malik birthday party. He was going to get royally laid.

"My name's Kate. Kate Middleton" she said with a voice as silky and hot as a balti fart in tight jockeys. Akabusi became so hard he thought some c**t was going to put Excalibur into it. The future Queen let loose rivlets of brown hair and loosened the buttons of her blouson. Akabusi wasn't one ot stand on ceremony so he tore her top off like a Zulu at Rourke's Drift. A pair of epic creamy white bristols store at him like Paul McKenna's eyes. Kate ripped off her jods and stood before Akabusi naked - her glistening axe wound beckoning him to bow at her feet.

Akabusi tore into her like Henry VIII at a Toby Carvery. His hands were all over her like the old Empire and some of the acts they were committing were just as horrific. He plunged deep into her like a jousting event and felt her cold regal body rub against his hot black tribal like years of oppression. She was greedy for cock and Akabusi wasn't one to disappoint. He thought later that she might make a career as a sword swallower if this Queen sh*te didn't work out.

Within hours it was over, Kate lay a mangled mess of white flesh, medals, horse sh*t, cum and vol au vents. Akabusi pulled out of her like Hong Kong, letting his weeping willow of brown muscle to roll around in the hay. Akabusi was sure that his rampant manslush had reached the inner sanctum and he broke into a wide sh*t eating Akabusi grin as he thought of a brown baby being born to the royal household in nine months times. "Try explaining that you bitch!" he roared.

He could hear the constant banging of Tanni Grey Thompson somewhere in the Palace so he bent down over the sated, upper middle class spunk vessel, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

tomasjj
08-02-07, 07:52 AM
its some of the best creative writing I've witnessed


Really? :eyebrow:

I find it quite funny, but not extremely creative.

It's like college sex stories for English lads who have read ultra light versions Burroughs or Hunter Thompson but could hardly get past page 20.

The Awooga word has me laughing though, and the history of the main character.

brikkis
08-02-07, 11:44 AM
http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k200/mvonbmvonb/AKABUSI_Kriss_1991_GH_L.jpg

And this is the original, undoctored image. Now we know where the stories stem from.

FLMAO

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
08-02-07, 02:19 PM
Really? :eyebrow:

I find it quite funny, but not extremely creative.

It's like college sex stories for English lads who have read ultra light versions Burroughs or Hunter Thompson but could hardly get past page 20.

The Awooga word has me laughing though, and the history of the main character.

Are you more a Pondus or Down's Duck man then?

A swedish mate translated some of this for me. Was pretty funny

http://www.dn.se/content/1/c6/35/75/31/r364.gif

tomasjj
08-02-07, 02:24 PM
Rocky is a fun cartoon, but my comments were more aimed at the praise given to the texts for their creativity etc.
I didn't find them that brilliant, just ok.
Sex stories for male literature students.

Shaggy
08-02-07, 02:30 PM
Well….

I was out of the office this morning, as I had an appointment.

It was just me and this woman in a little office...quite a sultry woman. I could see her massive tits wanting to burst out of her tight blouse. My pussy sensors were running wild. The aroma of chicken and sweetcorn soup and Morecambe cockles hit me like a steam train, and you can guess what started racing through my mind…

Awooga.

I started cracking up, while she was waffling on about something totally mundane. She suddenly stopped to say "I'm sorry, is there something amusing you?" and I had to apologise profusely and bluff my way out of it.

disco
08-02-07, 03:00 PM
You must be the first person I've known who has difficulties distinguishing jokes from real life :haha:

steveheighwayrobbery
08-02-07, 03:10 PM
class absolutely -have 5 - no fuck off that the shop next door isn't it?

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
08-02-07, 03:17 PM
Rocky is a fun cartoon, but my comments were more aimed at the praise given to the texts for their creativity etc.
I didn't find them that brilliant, just ok.

Sex stories for male literature students.

I'm going to send you some Barbara Cartland books to disprove your theory. :shake:

Shaggy
08-02-07, 03:17 PM
You must be the first person I've known who has difficulties distinguishing jokes from real life :haha:

:D

I can't get this Akabusi lark out of my head. It could cause serious problems.

cadmium
08-02-07, 03:35 PM
:D

I can't get this Akabusi lark out of my head. It could cause serious problems.


Yes but it's just so funny, awooga!

cadmium
08-02-07, 03:41 PM
Can we have an est conference, may I suggest this (http://www.nyt.co.uk/kriss.akabusi.htm) speaker?

PTP
08-02-07, 03:42 PM
it reminds me a bit of Extras - the episode with Patrick Stewart in, the way Patrick Stewart describes the current play he is writing "and I looked at her, and then she was naked" hahaha

(need to of seen episode for that to make sense)

Shaggy
08-02-07, 03:43 PM
Can we have an est conference, may I suggest this (http://www.nyt.co.uk/kriss.akabusi.htm) speaker?

:haha:

Look at his face!!! You can just tell he loves it, the dirty bastard.

cadmium
08-02-07, 03:44 PM
:haha:

Look at his face!!! You can just tell he loves it, the dirty bastard.

:haha:

simey85
08-02-07, 03:53 PM
:D

I can't get this Akabusi lark out of my head. It could cause serious problems.

i know i literally in tears laughing at them and have random outbursts of laughter when i read a new one which is drawing strange looks from people in the office!

akabusi ROCKS! :rock:

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
08-02-07, 03:56 PM
One of Akabusi's biggest mistakes with his earnings, was asking deceased artist Francis Bacon to paint a new portrait to adorn the walls of his 2 bedroom mansion. Subsequent bookings on his Front Page developed website seemingly dried up when he used the long dead gay artist's work on his homepage.

http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k200/mvonbmvonb/Krisbacon.jpg

simey85
08-02-07, 04:06 PM
such an unlikely hero for the people!

tomasjj
08-02-07, 05:35 PM
I'm going to send you some Barbara Cartland books to disprove your theory. :shake:

Don't bother, my mum has some of that shite stashed away somewhere I am sure. :shake:

redbuz
08-02-07, 05:52 PM
Funniest Thread ever! :haha: :cry: :haha:

cadmium
08-02-07, 07:53 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gprk_e3uiQk

"Kris Akabusi, Kris Akabusi"

singlerider
13-02-07, 02:50 PM
I also posted it on 6CM and it bombed there too. Hey ho.



Now now Shaggy, we both know that's not true.

A couple of people were a bit bemused, the rest of us were pissing ourselves.

Where has this come from originally?

Shaggy
13-02-07, 02:54 PM
Now now Shaggy, we both know that's not true.

A couple of people were a bit bemused, the rest of us were pissing ourselves.

Where has this come from originally?

I think at the time I posted that comment mate, it had bombed. However, since then it seemed to have been received a bit better.

The source of all this is discussed in this thread somewhere, I think. The link is definitely here – it’s from the Football365 forums. Seemingly some bloke (username Rofl_Lundgren) made them all up.

Parm
13-02-07, 04:58 PM
I dont know why, but it is funny as you like, proper warped, but funny as fuck.
As Shaggy says some may get it, others wont.

Monty
13-02-07, 09:43 PM
That is the funniest thing I've read in years. Any links? Where the flock does it come from, who wrote it?

Shaggy
14-02-07, 12:57 PM
That is the funniest thing I've read in years. Any links? Where the flock does it come from, who wrote it?



The source of all this is discussed in this thread somewhere, I think. The link is definitely here – it’s from the Football365 forums. Seemingly some bloke (username Rofl_Lundgren) made them all up.

Monty
18-02-07, 09:09 PM
:handshake:

Akabusi sat in his Vauxhall Corsa eating a corn beef and horseradish bloomer from Greggs with all the gusto of an Ethiopian at a Harvester salad bar. He looked out the dirty window at some pigeons fighting and f**king in the strong beams of the low winter sun. He roared with a laugh as loud, dark and hollow as a Lenny Henry comeback tour. What did these animals know of the art of f**king love making?

The thought sent a quiver down Akabusi's ebony frame to his purring pussy pounder. It hadn't tasted the sweet suds of a clunge for at least eight hours and it was getting restless and hungry. Kriss considered inducing a wet day dream - or a "lunchtime geyser" as Geoff Capes had once called it. But no. His throbbing hulk of brown greasy gristle needed kneeding and it had to be from the wettest, reddest lips since Jilly Goolden on a tour of the Bordeaux region.

And anyway, John Regis was sitting in the back of the Corsa nursing a Cheese and Onion pastie and feverishly counting the rain drops on the window. Since the Manchester Casino debacle Regis's OCD had become 456 times worse. Akabusi and Black had tried to f**k the casino over with Regis counting cards but the daft window slurper had gone nuts and pushed the table over and flopped his monster cock in the face of the croupier. Regis insisted there were 39 steps out of the casino but the boy's feet barely touched the ground.

To cheer himself up Akabusi had entered a Pro Celebrity Golf Tournament at Wentworth and as he licked his big brown finger and dabbed the crumbs from his tweed dungerees he looked out on the assembled Z list clebs at the first tee. He knew he was going to get some hole today and he prayed to his Nigerian gods that it was deep and didn't have a flag in it. Yet.

Akabusi wiped Regis down with a wet wipe and headed over to registration. In the distance he spotted that c**t Tanni Grey Thompson rolling over to the first tee with her electronic caddy in tow - it looked like a convoy of sh*t Transformers. Akabusi growled and snarled like an Muslim's belly on the penultimate day of Ramadam. If he was playing against her he was sure he would lose his considerable rag and bury her up to her head in a bunker. He tried to remain calm as he was introduced to his caddy.

Clunge Sunesson was the smoking hot daughter of Fanny, Faldo's old stick holder, and Akabusi's interest in this good walk spoilt was heightened when his greedy eyes focused on the svelte Swedish sexpot that stood before him polishing his wood. The cool air of the early morning breeze slide into his dungerees like Sidney Cooke into a nephew's bunk and licked at his black short and curlys like lesbians at the annual muff divers stamp collectors blow out. He wanted to sink his rapidly engorging brown Mizuno into her fairway as soon as. But he had a game to play and some spastics to buy a bus for or some sh*t like that.

"What's your handicap Abakumi?" hurled Bruce Forsyth as he passed by in his golf buggy which doubled as a hearse. "By big cock, you old c**t" roared Kriss with a sharpness and panache not seen since that bender Wilde complained about the wallpaper. Akabusi knew he had a powerful swing but knew more often than not his balls ended up in the rough. She worked in the clubhouse on Saturdays.

As was Akabusi's custom he let the brass buckles of his tweed dungerees loose and felt the coarse fabric rush past his ebony carcass like a rocket launch. All the celebs knew the score with Kriss and no one said a f**king word as he stood at the first tee looking like a large chocolate "K". Akabusi always played erect- it improved his game and left him ever ready to plunge his black post box into a fan or PR girl. As he shifted his giant onyx rugby balls and pulled his bat or club or whatever the f**k it was called the CTU tone of his mobile started ringing.

Clunge picked up the huge bloody thing and the battery attached and slung it over to Akabusi. It was Derek Redmond. They hated Redmond. Him, Blackie and poor Regis had never forgiven him for plonking Suzanne Davies and not letting them watch and he had a small willy so he never really fit in. As Akabusi held up the whole tournament with his call viewers could see his veiny colussas begin to fall to the ground like Beckett in the cathedral. Apparently Redmond had been sending parcel bombs to various offices across the country. He'd got a parking ticket whilst he was dogging with Collymore and McFadden in Penge and it had driven him nuts. And he had a small willy.

Deflated, Akabusi told Redmond that the lads would be over to his £117,560 mansion near Watford as soon as the tournament was over. They'd have to kill him of course. He knew too much. But at least the madness would be over and the good people of the parking and traffic enforcement community could sleep easy. Black liked murder and killing so he would garoutte the micro cocked loon whilst he poured the others a Kestrel.

Clunge Sunesson came over and told him the tourny was off. Darren Clarke had waterlogged the second hole with his tears and automatically both won the tournament and managed to f**k loads of mothering birds. Akabusi wished he had a dead wife. Oh well, he thought as his attention returned to Clunge.

He knew beneath the pink Pringle top and flourescent tabard lay a pair of epic blonde bristols with all the promise and weight of Frank Lampard as a teenager. And as sure as Regis was mad as a closed box of c**ts, Akabusi knew that tucked into those khaki shorts was a pussy as hairless and had a powerful grip as a Professor Xavier action figure. He felt the blood rush into his brown campanile quicker than a train delay at the hint of snow.

He picked up Clunge and threw over his shoulder and headed to the tranquility of the nearest bunker. He torn her gear off and flung her into the bunker. She lay helpless in the sand like an unturned beetle - with a pair of itty bitty tits and a fanny as wet as a Zeebrugge purser. He plunged into her like a Johnny Vegas dive bombing a kiddie's pool and before long he was up to his crackers in this blonde spunk wagon.

Within hours he was approaching his vinegars and let out a roar of pain, pleasure and passion as he let fly such a stream of hot man scum over her battered torso that people in the next town thought someone had struck white oil. He had.

As he strapped his dying dong to his toned calves and slipped on his tweed dungs he looked over to the Corsa. Regis was all excited - there were 8796 rain drops on the rear window and couldn't wait to tell Redmond. Black was at the boot loading up some tools and cheese wire. This was going to get messy.

He looked down on the shagpile of giant spermazota, matted Scandic hair, Slazenger Number 1s and a Clunge that looked like a regurgitated steak, bent down, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End. :haha:

cadmium
18-02-07, 09:47 PM
Nice one Monty :haha:

The Glove
22-02-07, 11:11 PM
How the mother fuck had this thread passed me by?

Its the funniest thing I have read since the story of the RJF - 70's kid show violence.

The Glove
22-02-07, 11:13 PM
In fact Ive still got a copy of it.





Whilst most supporters know about the hooligan violence that blighted
football in the 70's and 80's, few people will be aware of the clashes
that took place between rival children's TV gangs.

This week sees the publication of 'Congratulations you've just met the
RJF', the long awaited biography from children's TV favourites, Rod,
Jane and Freddy. This explosive book brings readers face to face with the
relentless violence of 80's kiddies TV.

Sports Offensive reprints these exclusive extracts.

Beginnings

Rod: In 1979 there were a lot of really useful firms operating out of ITV
and "The Rainbow Boys" were one of the best in the business. The
problem was, because we were new, we were always on the outside looking
in. It was time to make a bit of a noise and show them we could handle
ourselves.

Freddy: We decided we were going to take Play School in their home pub,
Chatters wine bar in Hampstead. On the face of it, it was a f*ckin
ridiculous thing to do. They were pretty handy and had a big reputation,
but that didn't mean nothing to us. We were ready to make our mark and
didn't care how we did it.

Jane: We got there early and just kept a low profile. Pretty soon the
whole place was filling up. There were quite a few faces in there: Fred
Harris, Derek Griffiths, Big Ted. I can't say it bothered me. All I was
thinking was, "You're going to get it, you numpties!"

Rod: I think it was Johnny Ball who clocked us. I can remember him saying
something like "I can think of a number: the three wnkers stood over
there" and it all kicked off. Even though they hit us with everything they
had, we took it. All I can remember is Freddy screaming, "Hold the line,
just hold the fckin line" and we did.

Jane: I didn't think they could believe that three of us had taken about
forty of them at their place. They just melted away, flicking the V's
at us and looking like a total set of pussies. I saw Hamble with blood
p!ssing from an open head wound. To be honest I was too wound up to care.

Rod: We walked away from there with our heads held high. The Rainbow Boys would have to take notice now. Rod, Jane and Freddy had well and truly
arrived.

The Battle of Blue Peter

Rod: There's been a whole heap of bullsh!t spoken about who vandalised the
Blue Peter Garden. The truth is that place got torn up in one of the
maddest, bloodiest children's television rucks I can ever remember.


Jane: Blue Peter were always giving it some about how they were the best
in the business. We were happy to let them think that. Our feeling was
they'd got sloppy and hadn't fought anyone decent for about five years.
Their shows always went out live, so the plan was to wait until the end of
the live broadcast and pile in. The trouble was it didn't work out like that.

Freddy: We'd gone over the wall and started heading towards them. It was
Simon Groom and Janet Ellis and we could tell we'd taken them by
surprise. Rod wades in and bang, bang, bang they both go down like a sack
of sht. It was all a bit too easy and we couldn't work out why the camera
crew were holding back. Then we realised, they'd been having some sort of past presenter's reunion. They all came pouring out of the studios: Noakes,
Purves, Singleton; all ready to kick seven shades of sht out of us.

Jane: As far as we were concerned there was only one thing to do. Stand
our ground. Other firms would have run but we just thought, fck, this far
and no further. It wasn't easy mind. They were tooled up with bottle tops
from a bring and buy sale. Peter Duncan was just wading into us with a
bicycle chain shouting, "Take that you c*nt !" I honestly didn't think
we'd last much longer.

Rod: Then we heard it. The best sound in the world; "Up above the streets
and houses, Rainbow climbing high!" It was The Rainbow Boys battle cry
the cavalry was coming. Zippy dropped the nut on Biddy Baxter and suddenly
things were a bit more even. I swear on my mother's grave if security
hadn't stepped in we'd have murdered the b*stards.

Freddy: The garden was totally fcked. They covered it up and said it was
the work of vandals. No it wasn't, it was the scene of our finest hour.

'Congratulations You've Just Met The RJF' is published by Hodder and
Staunton and retails at £7.99

The Wolfman
22-02-07, 11:26 PM
chris i cant believe you missed this thread, i fucking love it.

Thats why my usernams is awooga on the other site.

That RJF thing is good. :haha:

glynner
01-03-07, 03:48 AM
this is absolute gold!!!

I have no idea who this Akabusi fella is...but its funny as fuck


AWOOOOOOOOOOGA.

cant wait to yell that out after ive finished servicing the missus ;)

dont forget to pat her on the fanny :crackoff:

I_Funked_your_mum
11-06-07, 07:30 PM
The sun shone down on Akabuski's shiny chocolate head which glistened in the mid day sun like the tin foil wrapper of a milky bar. He was in the front garden of his two bedroom mansion and was sitting wearing his summer short style dungarees which showed off his mighty jaguar which would moisten any clunge to biblical vengeance proportions, perhaps an ark would be needed. Fortunately, Akabusi could provide.

His Argos plastic garden furniture was heating up and it began to burn his mighty oak tree like legs. He stifled an awooga and decided that he needed a glass of Coke Zero (he was hoping for a sponsership deal and drunk it at any opportunity he could.)

He walked to his Kitchen/dining room and from the window he suddenly smelt the sweet aroma of clunge. An aroma he knew only too well. It hit him fast and suddenly like a junkie waiting outside the post office for a pensioner on a monday morning. Like the junkie, Kriss also had an addiction. An addiction for the sweet sweet act of love making. Or as he called it. "Munching the branston"

The aroma was sending him mad and his pulsating warrior was almost bursting through the summer dungarees so he slipped them off and he stood there in all his glory like Michaelangelo's David smeared in chocolate with a much larger pocket rocket. He was in a frenzy now and was ready to track down that clunge and attack it like a bully attacking the boy with the stutter in the playground.

He burst out of the door of his mansion and surveyed from left to right. The sun on his balls felt good to him. It reminded him of the time him and Michael Hutchence had gone to a brothel and had some kinky match sex with cheap whores. All of which are now in wheel chairs, like all of Kriss' lovers. It was then that he spotted where that sweet aroma was coming from. It was ex blind date host Cilla Black. She was out walking her dog and saying Chuck to anybody would listen. Kriss normally didn't like old Vag but this smelt too good to turn down.

He bellowed over to her 'surprise surprise' You see, he also has a razor sharp wit. And at this he plunged into cilla like a plane into the world trade center. His mighty staff was up her BHS two piece beige suit and her old ginger saggy clunge was tightening around his mighty penis which looked like Al Jolson but infact several feet bigger than the singer.

In mere hours it was all over. He looked down at Cilla who looked like she had just been attacked by a gaggle of angry geese who had an affection for spitting. His famous Akabusi smile appeared on his face and he said. "Are you still breathing?" There was no answer. Barely holding back his laughter he said "Maybe i should ask our Graham" He chuckled so loud and erotically that a 4 year old who was playing near him actually hit puberty right then. She pointed towards her playhouse and Akabusi grinned.

Before heading off too the playhouse he leant over Cilla. And gently whispered, "awooga" in her man juice covered ear. And patted her on the fanny. Today had been a good day for Kriss Akabusi.

The End.

Guest
11-06-07, 07:34 PM
The sun shone down on Akabuski's shiny chocolate head which glistened in the mid day sun like the tin foil wrapper of a milky bar. He was in the front garden of his two bedroom mansion and was sitting wearing his summer short style dungarees which showed off his mighty jaguar which would moisten any clunge to biblical vengeance proportions, perhaps an ark would be needed. Fortunately, Akabusi could provide.

His Argos plastic garden furniture was heating up and it began to burn his mighty oak tree like legs. He stifled an awooga and decided that he needed a glass of Coke Zero (he was hoping for a sponsership deal and drunk it at any opportunity he could.)

He walked to his Kitchen/dining room and from the window he suddenly smelt the sweet aroma of clunge. An aroma he knew only too well. It hit him fast and suddenly like a junkie waiting outside the post office for a pensioner on a monday morning. Like the junkie, Kriss also had an addiction. An addiction for the sweet sweet act of love making. Or as he called it. "Munching the branston"

The aroma was sending him mad and his pulsating warrior was almost bursting through the summer dungarees so he slipped them off and he stood there in all his glory like Michaelangelo's David smeared in chocolate with a much larger pocket rocket. He was in a frenzy now and was ready to track down that clunge and attack it like a bully attacking the boy with the stutter in the playground.

He burst out of the door of his mansion and surveyed from left to right. The sun on his balls felt good to him. It reminded him of the time him and Michael Hutchence had gone to a brothel and had some kinky match sex with cheap whores. All of which are now in wheel chairs, like all of Kriss' lovers. It was then that he spotted where that sweet aroma was coming from. It was ex blind date host Cilla Black. She was out walking her dog and saying Chuck to anybody would listen. Kriss normally didn't like old Vag but this smelt too good to turn down.

He bellowed over to her 'surprise surprise' You see, he also has a razor sharp wit. And at this he plunged into cilla like a plane into the world trade center. His mighty staff was up her BHS two piece beige suit and her old ginger saggy clunge was tightening around his mighty penis which looked like Al Jolson but infact several feet bigger than the singer.

In mere hours it was all over. He looked down at Cilla who looked like she had just been attacked by a gaggle of angry geese who had an affection for spitting. His famous Akabusi smile appeared on his face and he said. "Are you still breathing?" There was no answer. Barely holding back his laughter he said "Maybe i should ask our Graham" He chuckled so loud and erotically that a 4 year old who was playing near him actually hit puberty right then. She pointed towards her playhouse and Akabusi grinned.

Before heading off too the playhouse he leant over Cilla. And gently whispered, "awooga" in her man juice covered ear. And patted her on the fanny. Today had been a good day for Kriss Akabusi.

The End.

:haha: :haha: :haha:

What a nickname ! :D

I_Funked_your_mum
11-06-07, 08:03 PM
:haha: :haha: :haha:

What a nickname ! :D


Cheers mate. I am rather fond of it myself.

Shaggy
11-06-07, 10:57 PM
Akabusi thumped his hand on the walnut effect table. His brown hammer fist split the table and for a moment he was reminded of Ulrika Jonnsson's well thumbed clunge. This was sh*t. His rider for this gig had specifically specified specific things like 500 gram Tupperware container of Reggae Reggae Sauce mixed with blue peanut M&Ms. He could clearly see that the f**king M&Ms were f**king red and there was only 450 grammes of the f**king sauce. Promises had been made.

Busi had had a bad few weeks. Him, Regis and Black had accidently burnt down a building in Manchester after a pyrotechnics display for the opening of a new JJB Sports had gone spectacularly wrong. It would have to be the last time they let poor demented OCD riddled Regis buy pyros. Or indeed anything. In the rush to evacute two Make A Wish foundation kids had been left behind and their charred electronic wheelchairs and three British Knights trainers were all that remained. Black had "disappeared" the evidence before the fuzz and more importantly the deputy chief marketing officer for JJB Sports North arrived. They had some pretty major openings in the coming weeks.

Even more depressingly Kriss's ebony pussy plunger hadn't tasted the sweet sticky sauce of a pretty major or minor opening in a while and the grisly pulsating Kaa betwixt his toned thighs wouldn't let him f**king forget. It needed feeding or it would go elsewhere. It also needed bathing but that was another story.

As Busi keyed in his agent Harvey Goldenblum's number into his Raspberry he looked around the table at the most useless eleven c**ts since he saw West Ham play. Jury service was the last thing he needed and when the Old Bailey celebrity bookers were going to persist in serving up red M&Ms with his sauce he wanted out. And he wanted in. A pussy.

At the moment they were deliberating over some Muslim numpty who had been caught cooking up fertiliser "above the shop". Busi had been called in at the last minute to fill the gap left by Sally Gunnell who had left to perform an emergency opening of a JD Sports in Letchworth. She got all the good gigs. The Old Bailey had made him the foreman and Busi had accepted with open muscular onyx arms. Kriss soon realized this meant he didn't get a fat reducing grill or anything to cook with and he would have to "make notes".

There was only one angry man in this room and it was Krisstopher Akabusi. The other members of the crew or whatever the f**k you called it were sure that Omar Epps was going to blow up Bluewater. Busi didn't give a monkey's clunge in hell, he preferred f**king Lakeside and he was willing to bully the others into a not guilty verdict if it meant he could get off to Cape Canerval where Roger Black and Regis were holed up. This was justice, Akabusi style.

The hot air of this cracking late April day crept into the walnut effect conference room like DJ's into the Walton Hop and found it's way between Busi's polished Texas Gold black body and his fine pinstriped dungarees that Mr Raja had knocked up for him. He could feel the chocolate liono stir as the air caressed his newly shaved rugby ball size balls. All three of his genitalia knew it was summer and knew that outside in parks, Lidos and street corners were women in tight white tops and towelling shorts splashing around in the watery arc of a burst water main. Goddamn, all four of them needed kneeding.

"Right let's get this sh*t over with" roared Busi as he stood upright like a cock in a fanny shop. "This is not a quarter as exciting as the f**king Phil Spectrum trial and this f**king one isn't televised. I was made promises". The eleven ugly men and true shuffled their papers, some followed Busi's gaze out the window to the frolicking pussy in the street. Some knew his pain, some didn't have a clue about Akabusi and that was their f**king loss.

The verdict in his fist, the twelve strode through the marble hall of the Old Bailey, crims, briefs and nickers parting as justice passed by. Akabusi had requested two drummers to play him in as he entered Court One and surprisingly they were there. As they pumped out the epic drum solo from Nilsson's Jump into the Fire in perfect unison Akabusi felt like a brown Buddha, a chocolate Jesus, a black...gas. But this wasn't about him. It was about Lady Justice.

Lady Justice was the raghead's brief and Busi's slit senses were enlivened and his sperm levels were raised to Severe as she entered the court in her long black cloak, white high collar and horse hair wig. He knew that beneath the apparel of law was an epic pair of bristols so firm you could make them heads of state in North Korea and a clunge so tight it fiddled the electricity.

For over a week Kriss had been asking these guys in gowns to make him a large Mocha with a side shot of espresso but it had turned out these dudes were barristers and not baristas. The law was an ass and Akabusi wanted to part it and plunge his jet black sack attack into it. The drummers stopped and once the screams and applause stopped Busi stood. As he opened his large piano key filled mouth he caught sight of Lady Justice. She had a leg up on a desk and had her gown pulled up to her arse as she smoothed down the creases in her Agent Provocateur stockings.

Busi was instantly harder than Dave Courtney's missus' clit. But without the Liz Duke T Bar through it. The power of his engorged cock tore the pinstriped dungs from his back and he stood naked and horny. He lept over the walnut effect partition and stalked Justice like an elephant at an Indian celebration that got out of hand.

"Erection" cried the clerk of the court. "Overstained!" roared Akabusi with all the might of Andre the Giant farting into a Sennheiser. Justice was up for it and she whipped off her legal gear quicker than Paul Gadd will be back in the ELC. Busi was right. This brief was epic. Her milky white duds had nipples darker than South London and her clunge was wetter than Tony Bullimore's copy of Heat and covered by a horse hair merkin.

Akabusi jumped on her like SO19 on Brazilians and tore into her like a Fitness First bag on the top deck of a bus. To the assembled crowds it looked like a feral chocolate scales of justice was attacking a white gavel of sexiness. Busi was inflicting Zero Tolerance and Maximum Poundage into the defence and she was lapping it up like a cat with diabetes.

Within hours he was was on his violent, volcanic vinegars and he let spray with such a gush of giant tadpoles the Judge fell to his knees and prayed for a Noah's Ark speed boat to pull up. Justice had been served and as Busi rolled up his Persian he thought he might just make the flight to Florida and the hook up with Black and Regis. This was a good day.

"Mr Akabumbumbum, what is your verdict?" pleaded the sodden Judge. "Quality shag. Quality" roared Busi as the twin drummers started up again. "And him? Let the all the f**kers go. It's summer time! Let's get out there."

Busi pulled on the shredded dungs and looked down upon the pile of flipping flapping spermazota, horse hair, fertiliser and torn stockings, bent down, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Shaggy
11-06-07, 11:00 PM
Akabusi sat in the back of his Corsa watching Loose Women on his black and white portable. He hadn't seen this many mouthy c**ts since he f**ked all of B*witched at Ainsley Harriot's barbeque in Staines. That had ended in bloodshed and he knew if he watched another minute of this menstrual backwash he would have to take a life.

It was piping hot in the motor, Kriss never opened the windows and the air con was like a war veteran with emphysema trying to blow out a dropped John Player Special. Busi was wearing his spring wardrobe - crushed tan linen dungarees which were more breezy than a French cheese shop. The air was creeping in around his sleeping genitalia and tickling his taut black curlies like a favourite uncle at a niece's birthday party.

Akabusi turned the telly off, he was depressed. That morning he had given a motivational speech to a large group of deaf young achievers in Stevenage and he spent an hour pumping his fist and mouthing "Awooga". Which wasn't far removed from his usual routine. Kriss had wondered what these f**kers would achieve anyway other than playing the xylophone really fast and signing Open University programmes about ants. When they didn't clap Busi had stormed out without even flashing his chocolate donger. He'd stuck a fat index at them. It was the only language they understood.

To cap it all he looked down on his weeping dark colossus and realized it hadn't supped at the frothing fountain of a ladies clunge for over two days. His fat balls were more full of tadpoles than the Blue Peter pond after Peter Duncan dared to have a w*nk into it. He needed to unsheath his meat drill bit and screw something into a wall soon or he feared a bigger cum explosion since Paris Hilton made herself sick before lunch.

He got out of the car as a bucket full of crumbs from the ten Greggs Steak Packs he devoured quicker than the North Sea eats oil rig workers dropped to the ground. He looked around at all the other cars parked up at The Priory and laughed a deep and dark laugh that set off a few alarms. When you had a plonker like Busi's you didn't need a Hummer to get pussy, pussy came to you. In your '91 Vauxhall Corsa. He was at The Priory to see poor old John Regis whose OCD had gone ballistic since he was turned down for a part in the sequel to the Greek fight flick 300. 301 was a perfect project for Regis and his rampant OCD would have been helped exactly 3021 times more than the cocktail of drugs he swallowed every morning.

"This is Regggggggggggggggiss" was the last thing Akabusi heard as Regis was carted off in The Priory's white Escalade ambulance outside Kriss's £127,983 mansion in Luton. If Roger Black had been there then maybe they could have saved the huged chested blubbering fool but Black was in Tehran about to poison that President Inmydinnerjacket or whatever that guy who looked like a minicab driver in a £10 Spastic Society suit was f**king called. It had meant cancelling four JJB Sports opening events and one signing at a Maplins in Letchworth but work was work.

Akabusi strolled into the clinic, his midnight pussy piercer slapping against his toned inner thighs like Collymore on Jonsson. The Armani clad nurses stopped administering placebos to cigarello thin models to watch as Busi headed for the John Paul Getty ward with the confidence of a man with a gold medal and a brown wheelie bin in his dungs.

The attention sent a spark down his body and his meat twitched to a semi and he knew that if he had a look it would now be the size of two kingsize Mars bars wrapped together with fat veins. He let slip the confines of his linen dungs and let the imported air of the clinic cling to his toned onyx chassis to Ciccone to black babies. Regis was sitting at the window of his oak panelled room wearing a Maria Grachvogel clincal gown and was busy counting the reality stars ghost writing their autobiographies in the grounds. "97, 98..." wept Regis as he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh that meant Busi was in the room.

They embraced. They weren't sh*t pushers or anything but the touch of Olympian on Olympian seemed to cheer up the vacant Regis. "What the f**k have they got you on, John?" roared Kriss with all the power of a Spartan attacking a Ginsters concession. "Karl Malden, Kriss. f**k knows" said Regis as he secretly counted the bristles of Akabusi's immaculate tache.

"Get the f**k out of here, Mr Akabumbum" said a voice from behind the boys which was a smooth as a babies arse but without the skid marks. Akabusi was almost at full lob as he turned to spy a nurse clad in a tight white tunic that Busi was sure concealed a pair of bristols so epic that Cecil B Demille made her bras. If Kriss's pussy senses were right and they always f**king were he suspected that joining those tits was a clunge as wet as a Norwegian work experience chap.

Busi knew at that precise moment he had to get Regis out of this c**t soup factory but he also knew that he had to bash this nurse's doors in like coppers visiting a Rasta temple. Before this thought even left his brain to tell his balls the nurse had ripped the tunic from her hard body and let the buttons fly across the ward. The combatants faced each other, Akabusi looking like a brown capital T on it's hind legs and her like a naked woman with nice tits.

Akabusi pounced on her like a fat person devouring a buffet of obesity genes and within seconds he was sliding the length and breadth into a glistening hole that had previously been as unable to open as a bacon sarnie stall at Golders Green tube station. As she reverse cowgirled him he was faced with a tight little arse hole that looked like an 80 year old whistling. Busi called to Regis to come over and stick his pinky up it. Struggling with his OCD, John finally couldn't resist and slipped it up to his Liz Duke signet. This was progress. And it made the nurse yelp like a dog being kicked.

Within hours Akabusi was on his violent vinegars and let fly with a gush that looked like a dam letting off pressure. The nurse slide all over the floor looking like she had just had union with Slimer.

"Pack your Transformers rucksack Regis. We're f**king out of here" cried Akabusi as he rolled up his brown St Bernard cock and popped on his linen dungs. Busi wanted to get to a party near Durham he'd heard of on Myspace, it was called "House Rape" or something and he knew that sounded quality.

Akabusi looked down on the twisted pile of dying giant sperm, matted blonde hair, Prozac pies and a clunge so wasted it should be in The Priory, he bent down, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Harv
11-06-07, 11:57 PM
Akabusi sat in the back of his Corsa watching Loose Women on his black and white portable. He hadn't seen this many mouthy c**ts since he f**ked all of B*witched at Ainsley Harriot's barbeque in Staines. That had ended in bloodshed and he knew if he watched another minute of this menstrual backwash he would have to take a life.

It was piping hot in the motor, Kriss never opened the windows and the air con was like a war veteran with emphysema trying to blow out a dropped John Player Special. Busi was wearing his spring wardrobe - crushed tan linen dungarees which were more breezy than a French cheese shop. The air was creeping in around his sleeping genitalia and tickling his taut black curlies like a favourite uncle at a niece's birthday party.

Akabusi turned the telly off, he was depressed. That morning he had given a motivational speech to a large group of deaf young achievers in Stevenage and he spent an hour pumping his fist and mouthing "Awooga". Which wasn't far removed from his usual routine. Kriss had wondered what these f**kers would achieve anyway other than playing the xylophone really fast and signing Open University programmes about ants. When they didn't clap Busi had stormed out without even flashing his chocolate donger. He'd stuck a fat index at them. It was the only language they understood.

To cap it all he looked down on his weeping dark colossus and realized it hadn't supped at the frothing fountain of a ladies clunge for over two days. His fat balls were more full of tadpoles than the Blue Peter pond after Peter Duncan dared to have a w*nk into it. He needed to unsheath his meat drill bit and screw something into a wall soon or he feared a bigger cum explosion since Paris Hilton made herself sick before lunch.

He got out of the car as a bucket full of crumbs from the ten Greggs Steak Packs he devoured quicker than the North Sea eats oil rig workers dropped to the ground. He looked around at all the other cars parked up at The Priory and laughed a deep and dark laugh that set off a few alarms. When you had a plonker like Busi's you didn't need a Hummer to get pussy, pussy came to you. In your '91 Vauxhall Corsa. He was at The Priory to see poor old John Regis whose OCD had gone ballistic since he was turned down for a part in the sequel to the Greek fight flick 300. 301 was a perfect project for Regis and his rampant OCD would have been helped exactly 3021 times more than the cocktail of drugs he swallowed every morning.

"This is Regggggggggggggggiss" was the last thing Akabusi heard as Regis was carted off in The Priory's white Escalade ambulance outside Kriss's £127,983 mansion in Luton. If Roger Black had been there then maybe they could have saved the huged chested blubbering fool but Black was in Tehran about to poison that President Inmydinnerjacket or whatever that guy who looked like a minicab driver in a £10 Spastic Society suit was f**king called. It had meant cancelling four JJB Sports opening events and one signing at a Maplins in Letchworth but work was work.

Akabusi strolled into the clinic, his midnight pussy piercer slapping against his toned inner thighs like Collymore on Jonsson. The Armani clad nurses stopped administering placebos to cigarello thin models to watch as Busi headed for the John Paul Getty ward with the confidence of a man with a gold medal and a brown wheelie bin in his dungs.

The attention sent a spark down his body and his meat twitched to a semi and he knew that if he had a look it would now be the size of two kingsize Mars bars wrapped together with fat veins. He let slip the confines of his linen dungs and let the imported air of the clinic cling to his toned onyx chassis to Ciccone to black babies. Regis was sitting at the window of his oak panelled room wearing a Maria Grachvogel clincal gown and was busy counting the reality stars ghost writing their autobiographies in the grounds. "97, 98..." wept Regis as he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh that meant Busi was in the room.

They embraced. They weren't sh*t pushers or anything but the touch of Olympian on Olympian seemed to cheer up the vacant Regis. "What the f**k have they got you on, John?" roared Kriss with all the power of a Spartan attacking a Ginsters concession. "Karl Malden, Kriss. f**k knows" said Regis as he secretly counted the bristles of Akabusi's immaculate tache.

"Get the f**k out of here, Mr Akabumbum" said a voice from behind the boys which was a smooth as a babies arse but without the skid marks. Akabusi was almost at full lob as he turned to spy a nurse clad in a tight white tunic that Busi was sure concealed a pair of bristols so epic that Cecil B Demille made her bras. If Kriss's pussy senses were right and they always f**king were he suspected that joining those tits was a clunge as wet as a Norwegian work experience chap.

Busi knew at that precise moment he had to get Regis out of this c**t soup factory but he also knew that he had to bash this nurse's doors in like coppers visiting a Rasta temple. Before this thought even left his brain to tell his balls the nurse had ripped the tunic from her hard body and let the buttons fly across the ward. The combatants faced each other, Akabusi looking like a brown capital T on it's hind legs and her like a naked woman with nice tits.

Akabusi pounced on her like a fat person devouring a buffet of obesity genes and within seconds he was sliding the length and breadth into a glistening hole that had previously been as unable to open as a bacon sarnie stall at Golders Green tube station. As she reverse cowgirled him he was faced with a tight little arse hole that looked like an 80 year old whistling. Busi called to Regis to come over and stick his pinky up it. Struggling with his OCD, John finally couldn't resist and slipped it up to his Liz Duke signet. This was progress. And it made the nurse yelp like a dog being kicked.

Within hours Akabusi was on his violent vinegars and let fly with a gush that looked like a dam letting off pressure. The nurse slide all over the floor looking like she had just had union with Slimer.

"Pack your Transformers rucksack Regis. We're f**king out of here" cried Akabusi as he rolled up his brown St Bernard cock and popped on his linen dungs. Busi wanted to get to a party near Durham he'd heard of on Myspace, it was called "House Rape" or something and he knew that sounded quality.

Akabusi looked down on the twisted pile of dying giant sperm, matted blonde hair, Prozac pies and a clunge so wasted it should be in The Priory, he bent down, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.


HAHAHA.


never get tired of these.

absolute gold:respect:

Guest
12-06-07, 05:35 AM
Where do you source these materials guys ?

Shaggy
12-06-07, 09:34 AM
Football 365, and I'm also a member of the Kris Akabusi AWOOGA group on Facebook. :D

Guest
12-06-07, 09:38 AM
Football 365, and I'm also a member of the Kris Akabusi AWOOGA group on Facebook. :D

:haha:

You'll have to send me an invite for it, that should be good fun. :D

On a side note, did you receive the packet mate ?

Shaggy
12-06-07, 09:43 AM
:haha:

You'll have to send me an invite for it, that should be good fun. :D

On a side note, did you receive the packet mate ?

Oh ace, forgot about that. Not received anything yet mate.

Guest
12-06-07, 09:45 AM
Oh ace, forgot about that. Not received anything yet mate.

Post Office :shake:

Sent it more than 2 weeks ago. :sigh: Anyway, let me know if it comes.

Shaggy
12-06-07, 09:49 AM
Post Office :shake:

Sent it more than 2 weeks ago. :sigh: Anyway, let me know if it comes.

TWO WEEKS! Haha, never mind. Surely it'll be here soon.

Shaggy
12-06-07, 09:49 AM
AWOOOOOOOGA!

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v241/Sean13/awooga.jpg

cadmium
12-06-07, 10:16 AM
AWOOOOOOOGA!

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v241/Sean13/awooga.jpg

:haha: I'd forgotten about the Akabusi stuff, absolute quality!

PTP
12-06-07, 10:59 AM
quality - joinin the akabusi fan club on face book now.

Joe Le Toff
13-06-07, 02:21 PM
Akabusi sat in the back of his Corsa watching Loose Women on his black and white portable. He hadn't seen this many mouthy c**ts since he f**ked all of B*witched at Ainsley Harriot's barbeque in Staines. That had ended in bloodshed and he knew if he watched another minute of this menstrual backwash he would have to take a life.

It was piping hot in the motor, Kriss never opened the windows and the air con was like a war veteran with emphysema trying to blow out a dropped John Player Special. Busi was wearing his spring wardrobe - crushed tan linen dungarees which were more breezy than a French cheese shop. The air was creeping in around his sleeping genitalia and tickling his taut black curlies like a favourite uncle at a niece's birthday party.

Akabusi turned the telly off, he was depressed. That morning he had given a motivational speech to a large group of deaf young achievers in Stevenage and he spent an hour pumping his fist and mouthing "Awooga". Which wasn't far removed from his usual routine. Kriss had wondered what these f**kers would achieve anyway other than playing the xylophone really fast and signing Open University programmes about ants. When they didn't clap Busi had stormed out without even flashing his chocolate donger. He'd stuck a fat index at them. It was the only language they understood.

To cap it all he looked down on his weeping dark colossus and realized it hadn't supped at the frothing fountain of a ladies clunge for over two days. His fat balls were more full of tadpoles than the Blue Peter pond after Peter Duncan dared to have a w*nk into it. He needed to unsheath his meat drill bit and screw something into a wall soon or he feared a bigger cum explosion since Paris Hilton made herself sick before lunch.

He got out of the car as a bucket full of crumbs from the ten Greggs Steak Packs he devoured quicker than the North Sea eats oil rig workers dropped to the ground. He looked around at all the other cars parked up at The Priory and laughed a deep and dark laugh that set off a few alarms. When you had a plonker like Busi's you didn't need a Hummer to get pussy, pussy came to you. In your '91 Vauxhall Corsa. He was at The Priory to see poor old John Regis whose OCD had gone ballistic since he was turned down for a part in the sequel to the Greek fight flick 300. 301 was a perfect project for Regis and his rampant OCD would have been helped exactly 3021 times more than the cocktail of drugs he swallowed every morning.

"This is Regggggggggggggggiss" was the last thing Akabusi heard as Regis was carted off in The Priory's white Escalade ambulance outside Kriss's £127,983 mansion in Luton. If Roger Black had been there then maybe they could have saved the huged chested blubbering fool but Black was in Tehran about to poison that President Inmydinnerjacket or whatever that guy who looked like a minicab driver in a £10 Spastic Society suit was f**king called. It had meant cancelling four JJB Sports opening events and one signing at a Maplins in Letchworth but work was work.

Akabusi strolled into the clinic, his midnight pussy piercer slapping against his toned inner thighs like Collymore on Jonsson. The Armani clad nurses stopped administering placebos to cigarello thin models to watch as Busi headed for the John Paul Getty ward with the confidence of a man with a gold medal and a brown wheelie bin in his dungs.

The attention sent a spark down his body and his meat twitched to a semi and he knew that if he had a look it would now be the size of two kingsize Mars bars wrapped together with fat veins. He let slip the confines of his linen dungs and let the imported air of the clinic cling to his toned onyx chassis to Ciccone to black babies. Regis was sitting at the window of his oak panelled room wearing a Maria Grachvogel clincal gown and was busy counting the reality stars ghost writing their autobiographies in the grounds. "97, 98..." wept Regis as he heard the unmistakable sound of flesh against flesh that meant Busi was in the room.

They embraced. They weren't sh*t pushers or anything but the touch of Olympian on Olympian seemed to cheer up the vacant Regis. "What the f**k have they got you on, John?" roared Kriss with all the power of a Spartan attacking a Ginsters concession. "Karl Malden, Kriss. f**k knows" said Regis as he secretly counted the bristles of Akabusi's immaculate tache.

"Get the f**k out of here, Mr Akabumbum" said a voice from behind the boys which was a smooth as a babies arse but without the skid marks. Akabusi was almost at full lob as he turned to spy a nurse clad in a tight white tunic that Busi was sure concealed a pair of bristols so epic that Cecil B Demille made her bras. If Kriss's pussy senses were right and they always f**king were he suspected that joining those tits was a clunge as wet as a Norwegian work experience chap.

Busi knew at that precise moment he had to get Regis out of this c**t soup factory but he also knew that he had to bash this nurse's doors in like coppers visiting a Rasta temple. Before this thought even left his brain to tell his balls the nurse had ripped the tunic from her hard body and let the buttons fly across the ward. The combatants faced each other, Akabusi looking like a brown capital T on it's hind legs and her like a naked woman with nice tits.

Akabusi pounced on her like a fat person devouring a buffet of obesity genes and within seconds he was sliding the length and breadth into a glistening hole that had previously been as unable to open as a bacon sarnie stall at Golders Green tube station. As she reverse cowgirled him he was faced with a tight little arse hole that looked like an 80 year old whistling. Busi called to Regis to come over and stick his pinky up it. Struggling with his OCD, John finally couldn't resist and slipped it up to his Liz Duke signet. This was progress. And it made the nurse yelp like a dog being kicked.

Within hours Akabusi was on his violent vinegars and let fly with a gush that looked like a dam letting off pressure. The nurse slide all over the floor looking like she had just had union with Slimer.

"Pack your Transformers rucksack Regis. We're f**king out of here" cried Akabusi as he rolled up his brown St Bernard cock and popped on his linen dungs. Busi wanted to get to a party near Durham he'd heard of on Myspace, it was called "House Rape" or something and he knew that sounded quality.

Akabusi looked down on the twisted pile of dying giant sperm, matted blonde hair, Prozac pies and a clunge so wasted it should be in The Priory, he bent down, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.


:haha::haha::haha:

Diego
13-06-07, 10:25 PM
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPHIbugO5Uk

Shaggy
16-06-07, 02:44 PM
***NEW STORY***LOTIONS 13***

Akabusi stepped out on to the balcony of his £10 a night luxury apartment and watched as the sun went down on the horizon like a missus looking for new shoes or Charlton. Regis had spent the afternoon throwing waterbombs onto guests below, 346 to be exact and was now curled up on the shag sleeping like a baby in the Algarve. Black was cutting the air with the sounds of his knife sharpening. Everything was as it should be.

Except Busi was bored. The last few weeks had been sh*te since the boys had gone up in the vomit comet with Stephen Hawkings over in Florida. What with Stephen and poor old deluded Regis it had been like looking at floating vegetable soup but the "kids" had had fun and Kriss had been fascinated by the gush of hot knacker suds he'd ejected into the air when the flying air hostess had pierced his NASA dungarees and slipped her index up his april. Busi just wished she hadn't been wearing so many rings.

Since then Busi had opened eight JJB Sports and one Maplins after giving a motivational speech to some young offenders in Guantanamo Bay. "Don't let the f**kers get you down" was the core message as he pumped his fist and shouted some of John Fashanu's slogans. However Busi wanted to Git Mo.

Get more pussy. His sloppy black anaconda hadn't tasted clunge custard for 8 days and his balls were heavier than Murat's conscience. Only the night before he awoke in a sweat and was sure that his onyx plonker had been trying to strangle him. When he ficked on the light, the pussy pounder had been whistling nonchalantly at the end of his walnut effect kingsize. This was a worrying development.

This morning Regis had walked in with some tarty piece from the docks and offered her up to Busi as a sacrifice. She was rougher than a main road in Blackburn, Lancashire and when unwrapped and held up to the light had a fanny like Louis Armstrong's face after a punch up. Busi and Regis couldn't even get to semi status and Black had barged in and chucked her over the balcony. Into the pool. Or into the car park. They hadn't checked.

To cap it all Regis had become addicted to Facebook, stalking old primary school friends and his fellow inmates at the Norris McWhirter Celebrity Day Centre in Mitcham. He currently had no friends or pokes but had hit F5 84,970 times. One step (avoiding cracks in the pavement) at a time.

Busi slipped into his crisp tuxedo dungs letting the cool evening air from the Croisette slip bewtixt his ebony mainframe and the silk lining encircling his big twig and big berries like pikeys around something burning. They were all in Cannes for the premiere Akabusi's latest grasp, stab or snatch at celebrity - a caper movie called "Lotions 13". Featuring Busi, Black, Regis and a gang of other athletes turned motivational speakers it was "disgraceful romp" about a robbery on a JD Sports in Letchworth run by Shadow from Gladiators. It was unmitagated sh*te and a "disgraceful mess" but Harvey Goldenblum, Busi's agent and accountant, had promised huge tax dodges and that was enough for Kriss.

Busi and his entourage hit the narrow streets down to the waterfront with all the swagger and cocksurednessness of a pack of bulls heading to a china shop convention. Apparently the Palais cinema was booked for a film called "Ocean's 13" starring Brad Pitt and John Fashanu or Benrie Mac so the glistening premiere of Lotions was at a small sex kino in a back alley of a back alley called Sinstadts. If all the suds had been cleared from the floor and walls they might be in with a chance of not catching anything.

The two foot of red carpet, which Busi knew was just lino covered in blood, was packed with one photographer and that gobby c**tbag Carla Romana who looked like Fagin's skeleton wrapped in roast chicken skin. "Have you got a quote for GMTV, Mr Akabumbusiki?" shrieked Carla. "Yeah,Carlo" roared Busi with all the might of 299 Spartans and Rusty Lee on a stag weekend in Hades. "If I had one bullet and a gun, I would shoot June Sarpong MBE through the head...as long as you were right behind her". Within seconds Romana had disappeared and Roger Black had a smile wider than Jodie Marsh's arsehole.

The cinema was sticky. But full of German buyers who loved anything with a hint of scat or with athletes. Akabusi and the gang stepped onto the revolving stage that only minutes before had featured an act with a banana, a basketball and a litre of Durex Play. As Harvey, still attached by handcuff to Met Police officers, announced the film and the numerous tax packages included Busi noticed someone enter the cinema with sunglasses bigger than a huge mutant sunbathing fly.

Angelina Jolie had shot a small cameo for "Lotions 13" - she was in a scene with Jonathan Edwards and Iwan Thomas at a Brantano megastore in Hemel. Busi never shared the screen with her and it hurt his cock and balls like a rendition flight from Poland.

Angie joined Busi on the revolving and they air kissed with air kisses more loaded than Reed on Aspel. Busi could feel his plonker filling with more blood, cum and vinegar than a gay knife fight outside a chippie van. He was harder than a thaldomide playing baseball and he knew beneath her lush yellow dress from Mark One was a pair of bristols like two Moby's with half cooked quails eggs frying onto of them and a clunge hotter than the poop deck on the Cutty Sark.

"What about Bart, Ange?" cried Busi as he slipped out of his tux dungs and let the sausage breath of the assembled krauts swirl around his chassis like novelty towels on sunbeds. "Brad is dead to me, Krisstopher. Once you've had Ak you never look back" slurped Angelina with a drawl as sultry, hot and full of danger as a curry in Tarrant's local Indian.

She dropped her drawers and the sex Olympians stood opposite each other naked, Busi like a chocolate Palme D'Or and her like a naked movie star with a glistening axe wound wetter than Ellen McaArthur's blog. Kriss leapt on her like Sky News on anything with a glass eye and tore into her creamy whiteness like Womb Raider II.

Within hours Busi was on his Oscar winning violent vinegars and let fly with such a gush of ball cream the German buyers thought they were watching the parting of the Red Sea in negative. On the miniscule screen "Lotions 13" had only got to the scene where Tanni Grey Thompson was set alight and pushed into a Barratt's shoe shop in Penge. It had nothing to do with the plot but the crowd didn't mind. This film was going to be bigger than a gigantic Jesus. People were already murmuring about MTV Movie Awards.

Akabusi hopped off the revolving stage and slipped back into his sodden dungs, placing his battered dickie back into it's bag and called to his gang of 13 athletes. They were all going to see the new Wong Kar Wai film at the skin cinema next door.

Kriss looked down on the twisted pile of matted brunette hair, creamy white tits, problems with her father, brown orphans and a clunge like a burst beanbag, knelt on his powerful black knee, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Shaggy
16-06-07, 02:46 PM
Akabusi was in the shower. Crying. And w*nking. In fact there was liquid coming from every orifice. He hadn't felt this bad since he'd watched an hour and a half of Britain's Got Talent. It was that bad. He had travelled to Los Angeles for the funeral of international businessman Vincent MacMahon who had tragically and spectacularly exploded on an episode of some wrestling show.

Busi had done a lot of work for the WWF back in the day - once arranging a fight in a skip near Luton between Hulk Hogan, Sir William Regal and an endangered panda. The panda had sh*t moves and had taken a severe beating from Regal leaving it with two black eyes. Busi had withdrawn his support of the wrestling/animal charity not long after.

The funeral had been a sombre affair. Live on cable. Many of the wrestling world's best wrestlers had carried MacMahon's walnut effect coffin and then chucked it into the grave. Mourners then ceremoniously smashed a metal chair or bin onto the coffin as Journey played soft rock classic Don't Stop Belie-

Whilst eating a Powerade vol au vent at the wake at a titty bar Busi's agent had called him with the news that "Lotions 13" had been creating quite a buzz. Mainly because it was a big steaming pile of sh*t but also due to the fantastic tax dodging opportunities it offered. The producers of Hulk II were interested in speaking to Kriss about greening up to play Dr Krisstopher Banner. If the money and tax breaks were right Busi was in but he wanted to play it black and not green so the production company told him to stick it up his arsehole and offered it to John Regis or failing that Jonathan Edwards.

Black and Regis were out in LA with Busi and the entourage had been tearing up LA like Portugese coppers in brush land. Regis' rampant OCD was exactly 873 times better and out here in LA LA land Regis was considered a balanced individual. But a black one. Black had been hooking up with his crew from the Rollin 60 Neighbourhood Crips, although out here they called them chips Busi had learned. Black had put more caps in arses than George Michael on tour and the heat had forced the Busi posse to take refuge in the Mondrian.

So here Busi was in the hot stream of a Hans Grohe struggling to get blood into his ebony pussy pestle as his massive hands moved quicker than an Albanian at a Presidential walkabout. To make matters much much worse, his onyx boa inflictor hadn't felt the sweet touch of a lady's tight white clunge piece since he'd surprise sexed the Virgin Atlantic stewardess as she given him Reiki over Newfoundland. Busi had it all. But he wanted more. More pussy.

To cheer himself up and get Regis out of the wardrobe, Roger Black had arranged for Busi to deliver one of his magnificent and hugely expensive motivational speeches at a local prison. A woman's prison. As Regis towelled down the sleek, jet black chassis of Mr Krisstopher Akabusi, the thought of pumping his fist and shouting slogans at a room full of caged heat was too much to take and he had hit John in his eye with his inflated helmet. Just like Barcelona in 92. Maybe he would get some LA gear after all, Busi mused as he slipped into his Armani dungerees he snagged from TK Maxx.

As Busi, Black and poor demented Regis pulled up to the Century Regional Detention Centre in Lynwood in there hired convertible Corsa they could all smell the accrid stench of unpounded pussy and the sweet aroma of women slipping more fingers and tongues than a professional stamp sticker. Busi wanted to high ten but choose a five to appear cool.

They checked in, received some prison issue mirrored shades and waited in the back stage area whilst Busi ran through an arm pump, an Awooga and a Awwwwwiggght in front of Black's sunglasses. Regis had totally covered himself in a map of the prison but he was too scared to get a Schofield so he had transfers. In the LA heat he now looked like a panther who had rolled in a Hello Kitty collection.

The crowd were baying for Busi and when he emerged in his ermine dungs wearing his Olympic medal the place erupted like Palestine. He hadn't seen this many women with tats, piercings and buzzcuts since he went to the Melanie C comeback concert. There were "women" here rougher than Barrymore's chair leg and just as dangerous. Regis was sweating so much he was now standing in a pool of ink and Black kept his hand firmly on his ivory handled Glock.

Many of the deep C divers were touching themselves and others whilst Busi spun out his usual brand of David Coleman anecdotes and lispy bullsh*t. By the end of the 5 minute speech the gang of tail didn't even clap, they squelched. And that was enough for Busi. He let slip his dungs and felt the fabric slide past his smooth toned thighs. He stood there for a moment looking like a beautiful chocolate elephant with it's back legs and torso chopped off. Then the riot started.

With two women dead and fourteen guards severely raped the posse took refuge with the prison padre Father Ignatious O'Reilly. "Mr Akabumbum. Despite your naked torso causing the biggest riot since that Ikea opened in Edmonton I would like you to visit one of our poor prisoners on Death Row. I think she would appreciate your kind words...and your giant cock".

Prisoner 9818783 or Paris Hilton as she was know around here, cowered in her cell as the riot took off. Busi stood at the bars his grumbling fire hose twitching like Lubbock after a belly flop. Busi knew that beneath that Gucci orange jump suit was a pair of tits so small that her cell walls were jealous and a clunge as well thumbed as the lingerie section of a Freemans. Her stylist and PR let Busi into the cell and Paris dried her eyes with a silk do-rag. Kriss knew that The Hilt had seen more mileage than the McCann European Tour but he still wanted in. Up to his ginormous nuts.

Paris knew the drill. She peeled off her Gitmos and exposed a tanned torso that had seen more action on the internet than Pete Townsend and Leslie Grantham put together. Apart from the golden mane that topped her pin like head there wasn't a hair on her body. Busi thought he was looking at a shaved kitten and in a way he was.

Blood filled his plonker quicker than Simon Weston turning on the cold tap. He leapt on her like Hamas on Gazza and thrust his penal colony right up to her stapled stomach. Busi thought he heard a "prison break" somewhere down below but he liked a bit of blood with his pudding. Hilton was open for business and all her rooms were kingsize.

Within hours Krisstopher was on his violent vinegars and let fly with such a stream of knacker lava that Paris's spray tan was stripped from her boney body and for a brief moment the prison riot was quelled - a little in awe and a little in disgust.

Busi rolled up his heiress aerator and watched as the last of his giant spunks flipped and flapped around on the cold stone floor of Lynwood. Regis and Black had gotten a call from Robbie Williams to play football against Rod Stewart up in the Hills. Busi knew that the buffet at these things was always quality so they had no time to lose. And the prison was on fire.

"Good luck Hilt. You f**king idiot. Do your time with some dignity and don't bend over in the showers. Or the internet. Peace out" roared Akabusi with all the might of Brian Blessed with his nuts caught in the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

Busi looked down on the twisted pile of matted blonde hair, hotel reservations, dying tadpoles, rice and tiny tits, bent down on his powerful Olympian knee, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Joe Le Toff
18-06-07, 11:09 AM
Blood filled his plonker quicker than Simon Weston turning on the cold tap. He leapt on her like Hamas on Gazza and thrust his penal colony right up to her stapled stomach. Busi thought he heard a "prison break" somewhere down below but he liked a bit of blood with his pudding. Hilton was open for business and all her rooms were kingsize.

Superb :haha::haha::haha:

Shaggy
09-07-07, 09:49 PM
Akabusi was trapped. In the storeroom. Of a JJB just outside of Luton. And he had just farted. The fragrance of his arse bomb was stronger than a Glaswegian Ramp Assistant and the smell would have pulled the skin back on his plonker if he hadn't already pulled it back. To pass the time.

Harvey Goldenblum, Busi's agent and confidante, had always told him that he was a potential target for extremists. People were jealous of a man who unzipped his dungs and instantly broke paving stones. So when a copper had burst into the grand opening of this palace of tracksuit bottoms and Gola trainers and announced that a suspect package was outside, Busi hadn't been surprised. He had always known this day would come.

The last few weeks had been omnious. Regis had spent exactly 5678 minutes building Krisstopher a Busi size FleshLight out of a stainless steel bin and some stolen ballistics gel. Regis had modelled the clunge piece on Mick Jagger singing Gimme Shelter and the clit had been fashioned from a mould of Judi Oakes in competition mode. All in all it was a fucking mess but Busi didn't want to disappoint poor OCD riddled Regis so he got some blood into it and within in seconds he was sweating like a doorman at Tiger Tiger.

Of course the ballistics gel was shitter than a Concert for Diana and Busi was stuck solid. For three long and hard hours he looked like he was attacking Oscar the Grouch with a cock like five brown babies' arms wrapped together in angry veins. Eventually Roger Black had pulled out his ivory handled Yarborough and slashed through the gel quicker than Vanessa Fletz goes through men of colour.

Busi had been laid up for a week in his £127,874 one bedroom mansion as his ebony pussy pestle had recovered. In the meantime he had to lay off the clunge suds and his balls had gotten so huge that he was sure the Branson and Per Lindstrand would try to fly one of them across the Atlantic unsuccessfully. To pass the time and to keep the blood resolutely in his brain and not in his slumbering onyx sauce bottle he wrote 18 motivational books, recorded two videos on how not to piss or shit yourself in public and poked Tanni Grey Thompson on Facebook so hard he burst her tyres. And her bubble.

Whilst Kriss was out of action the gang resembled a fanny that had just been kicked. Busi had sent Regis to buy some tartan paint from Homebase and he hadn't come back. It had been three days. Black had been asked to head up the new Justice Ministry in ol' glass eyes new cabinet. Of course he was too busy to take the job - he had 18 Maplins stores and one Cotswold Outdoor to open. In a week. Roger had left only one directive - have Derek Redmond shot or stabbed. Or both. As long as he was harmed.

Black had eventually found Regis in Dunfermline mixing paints in a B&Q and for awhile the gang played Bean Flicker on Busi's Wii and sank Jagerbombs until the sun scraped over the horizon near Hemel. The doctor, who for some reason had a mask over his face and C4 strapped to his chest, had given him the all clear. The news sent a bullet train of blood into Busi's sleeping hymen humper and it twitched like a burning man. Krisstopher Akabusi was back.

As they had entered the JJB near Luton Akabusi's pussy levels were instantly raised to clitical and a jet black crack attack was imminent. The musty rarified air of the discount sports store crept into his silk dungs like Shrek into an apartment in La Luz and caressed his giant genitals with all the vigour of Argus speed reading the new Argos catalogue. As was the protocal at official openings Busi let slip his dungarees and proceeded to the cutting of the ribbon his meat Brabantia swinging like Benoit from a multigym. But the numptys who ran this new store had forgotten the Liz Duke scissors that only Busi could use. So Busi went backstage to find them.

And that is where he found himself now. Naked, hornier than Paul Gadd in a fringe production of Bugsy Malone and hotter than a couple of fellas pulling up to Glasgow Departures. Busi peeked out into the store. A robot that looked like a cross between Tanni Grey and Ultra Magnus was approaching his Corsa. On closer inspection it was actually Stephen Hawkings who the Bomb Disposal team used on occasion to diffuse bombs or open fetes. Or diffuse fetes.

Hawkwind was great at sums and theories but he was shit at opening things. So Regis washed his hands 26 times with carbolic and opened the boot. The suspect package was a mangled pile of steel and a congealed spunk. It was Regis' FleshLight. The police reopened the street and released the grip around some Asian's necks. Busi composed himself and strode out onto the shopfloor as proud and upstanding as Venus William's micro penis.

"The only controlled explosion in here will be in her face!" roared Busi with all the might and passion of Thor fucking Odin and not giving a reach around. "Her" was the smokin' hot chief of Luton Bomb Disposal who was trying on some steel cap Green Flash. Busi knew beneath the crisp white flak jacket were a pair of bristols like two Bruce Willis's fighting and tucked into those crisp black combats was a clunge that would detain you for up to 90 days without charge.

Busi instantly became thicker than a wrestler's neck and his giant ebony pears lifted into the attack position. His retractable cum roof revealed a jap's eye as large and steely as Gordon Brown's glass golf ball. Kriss stood there looking like an overweight chocolate Pinocchio lying his arse off.

The chief pulled at her heavy clothes and whipped off her kevlar G with aplomb. She was wetter than coke near Cork and her fanny glistened in the strip lighting of the JJB. She had a clit like Keith Allen's penis. Busi stalked her like a black cat playing with a mouse. With tits. He wanted to get in her box and cut the red wire. Or the brown one.

Krisstopher lept on her like the McCanns on a plane and before she could take a breath, Busi was up to his nuts in the law. His hands were all over her and she wasn't shy either. He felt a thumb slip up his bum disposal unit and he knew this was going to a heavy one.

Within hours he was on his violent extremist vinegars and let fly with such a gush of ball broil that several newsagents in South Yorkshire got the sandbags out again. The store was ruined but his empty knackers echoed their approval and as he pulled his dying mickey out and slipped on his dungs Busi knew that this JJB was well and truly opened.

The emergency was over. Busi had gotten his oats and the chief was busily scoffing up the remnants. Black honked her horn in the Corsa. Regis has pissed and shit himself. He'd not watched the video. And he was a borderline ****. But he was family. And he made Busi look good.

Kriss looked down on the pile of flapping spermazota, matted fuzz, mobile phone detonaters, hazard tape and a clunge that looked like a boxer's ear, bent down on his powerful black knee, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

cadmium
10-07-07, 01:20 PM
Good one Shaggy, nice to see a new Akabusi story

donpisci
10-07-07, 04:43 PM
Just found this site http://krissakabusistories.blogspot.com/

Some quality stuff on there.

I_Funked_your_mum
11-07-07, 12:58 AM
It was quarter to ten in the morning and the rumble of Kriss Akabusi's Corsa tickled his arse in a way that made him grin a grin he would only grin if Fash sent him a humourous text, which he incedentally he hadn't done for ages. He heard a ring. It was his top of the range pay as you go nokia 3210 with a tas mania facia. He thought it might be Fash with an amusing text but instead it was a text from his agent saying that he better get over to Itv studios as fast as possible because Itv where very interested in getting a black presented to front the new series of Kids say the funniest things. Busi despised children; his own where in the boot of his corsa behind his over sized jock strap as he sat there. He realised then why he hadn't heard from Fash or Linford Christie in a while. They had been tipped off about the gig. And even though Busi hated kids he had come accustomed to a certain lifestyle. A one bedroom luxury mansion with it's own lock up doesn't come cheap and Busi was already begining to feel that his motovational speech's weren't packing quite the same punch they once did. And so with this is mind he headed off to itv with all the speed of Stan Collymore after the window of his motor had just been tapped at asda car park.

Driving down the motorway reaching the corsas top speed of 85 miles an hour Busi suddenly became very worried. His smart Dungs where in the wash and he was only wearing his summer ones and he had a big cornetto stain on the front of it. It was then he made a decision. To do it in all his glory standing proud like a midgets coat hook. But he had a trick up his sleeve. Busi, having gone to brighton with the lads the week before had awoken with a prince albert penil piercing. He didn't really rate it much and so opted not to wear jewlerry in it. He was out to impress today though and luckily for him a group of local spastics got him a Liz Duke diamonte hoop for motivating them in the only way he knew how; with a toothy grin an awooga and a slip of the dungs. He took one hand off the steering wheel and reached into the glove box where he took out the ring. As he awkwardly attatched it to his goliath plonker making it resemble mister t after a weight watchers diet. Disaster struck. A siren sounded and Busi new he was rumbled for speeding. He already had a few points on his license and couldn't risk a suspension. He had a JJB to open in reading next monday and he couldn't miss that. He would need to talk his way out of this one. He looked in the rear view window and blood filled his plonker faster than a black man leaving a bnp fancy dress party. It was a saucy little red head police woman. Busi liked a woman in uniform, but he knew that uniform wouldn't be on for very long and as she ordered him to roll down the window he knew exactly what was about to happen.

The officer took one look at his decorated staff of power and lunged through the window. Busi in one foul swoop ripped off the uniform ordering her to keep her helmet on. Why? He just felt like it. He threw her to the back seat and in no time at all the windows where steaming up. Onlookers could merely see a corsa shaking like it's never shook before and could only here the muffled whimpers of two very scared children and the mighty grunts of a man doing what he does best.

Within hours he was ready to unleash his mighty load of man chicken. And his target was in sight. The helmet clad head of P.C Perfect. He blew his load and opened up the back door letting her out. He looked at his watch. Realising he had no chance of getting to itv now. He didn't care though. Let Fash get the gig. Nothing could spoil his mood now. He leant out the front door and he said, "I don't suppose you'll be needing my license and registration." He let out a mighty laugh and bent down and said awooga softly into her seamen covered helmet. Patted her on the fanny and went to catch Greggs before it closed.

Shaggy
11-07-07, 11:05 AM
It was quarter to ten in the morning and the rumble of Kriss Akabusi's Corsa tickled his arse in a way that made him grin a grin he would only grin if Fash sent him a humourous text, which he incedentally he hadn't done for ages. He heard a ring. It was his top of the range pay as you go nokia 3210 with a tas mania facia. He thought it might be Fash with an amusing text but instead it was a text from his agent saying that he better get over to Itv studios as fast as possible because Itv where very interested in getting a black presented to front the new series of Kids say the funniest things. Busi despised children; his own where in the boot of his corsa behind his over sized jock strap as he sat there. He realised then why he hadn't heard from Fash or Linford Christie in a while. They had been tipped off about the gig. And even though Busi hated kids he had come accustomed to a certain lifestyle. A one bedroom luxury mansion with it's own lock up doesn't come cheap and Busi was already begining to feel that his motovational speech's weren't packing quite the same punch they once did. And so with this is mind he headed off to itv with all the speed of Stan Collymore after the window of his motor had just been tapped at asda car park.

Driving down the motorway reaching the corsas top speed of 85 miles an hour Busi suddenly became very worried. His smart Dungs where in the wash and he was only wearing his summer ones and he had a big cornetto stain on the front of it. It was then he made a decision. To do it in all his glory standing proud like a midgets coat hook. But he had a trick up his sleeve. Busi, having gone to brighton with the lads the week before had awoken with a prince albert penil piercing. He didn't really rate it much and so opted not to wear jewlerry in it. He was out to impress today though and luckily for him a group of local spastics got him a Liz Duke diamonte hoop for motivating them in the only way he knew how; with a toothy grin an awooga and a slip of the dungs. He took one hand off the steering wheel and reached into the glove box where he took out the ring. As he awkwardly attatched it to his goliath plonker making it resemble mister t after a weight watchers diet. Disaster struck. A siren sounded and Busi new he was rumbled for speeding. He already had a few points on his license and couldn't risk a suspension. He had a JJB to open in reading next monday and he couldn't miss that. He would need to talk his way out of this one. He looked in the rear view window and blood filled his plonker faster than a black man leaving a bnp fancy dress party. It was a saucy little red head police woman. Busi liked a woman in uniform, but he knew that uniform wouldn't be on for very long and as she ordered him to roll down the window he knew exactly what was about to happen.

The officer took one look at his decorated staff of power and lunged through the window. Busi in one foul swoop ripped off the uniform ordering her to keep her helmet on. Why? He just felt like it. He threw her to the back seat and in no time at all the windows where steaming up. Onlookers could merely see a corsa shaking like it's never shook before and could only here the muffled whimpers of two very scared children and the mighty grunts of a man doing what he does best.

Within hours he was ready to unleash his mighty load of man chicken. And his target was in sight. The helmet clad head of P.C Perfect. He blew his load and opened up the back door letting her out. He looked at his watch. Realising he had no chance of getting to itv now. He didn't care though. Let Fash get the gig. Nothing could spoil his mood now. He leant out the front door and he said, "I don't suppose you'll be needing my license and registration." He let out a mighty laugh and bent down and said awooga softly into her seamen covered helmet. Patted her on the fanny and went to catch Greggs before it closed.

:shake:

You can tell that's not written by the original (and best) author Rofl Lundgren.

So many people have attempted to jump on the bandwagon and write their own (rip off) stories. Not funny.

simey85
11-07-07, 02:13 PM
:shake:

You can tell that's not written by the original (and best) author Rofl Lundgren.

So many people have attempted to jump on the bandwagon and write their own (rip off) stories. Not funny.

:shake:

My mate sent me one aswel, it was a very poor attempt this stuff should be left to the professionals!

cadmium
11-07-07, 02:32 PM
Wonder if Akabusi knows about these stories?

donpisci
11-07-07, 02:40 PM
Wonder if Akabusi knows about these stories?

Yeah- I wonder if he's commisioned them all! :haha:

cadmium
11-07-07, 02:56 PM
Yeah- I wonder if he's commisioned them all! :haha:

Maybe they're autobiographical?

KK07
11-07-07, 04:05 PM
:haha: :haha: :haha:

Can't believe I missed this thread!! :sigh:

Now I get all the "Awooga" and "pat her on the fanny" references posters make!! :haha:

donpisci
12-07-07, 08:51 AM
Maybe they're autobiographical?

It's a possiblity, many authors use aliases.

I_Funked_your_mum
12-07-07, 07:54 PM
I think we should get the author of the stories to write a pilot for bravo or men and motors. I think Kriss would do it, he surely needs the work. The erotic misadventures of Kriss Akabusi. In between "real slags" and "men who shag all the time". Friday nights at 11 o'clock.

Can this be arranged?
I know i would watch it.

donpisci
13-07-07, 08:16 AM
I would too.

Do you think Cyril Reris and Roger Black would play their own characters too?

There must be someone on here with 'insider' knowledge and contacts in the TV world!

I_Funked_your_mum
15-07-07, 03:05 AM
I think we could get as many athletes of yesteryear. Or it could be like a traditional sitcom. Kriss and Andi Peters living together in an odd coupe kind of scenario. Odd because Andi gets absolutely no poontang and masturbates into Ed the duck where as Kriss is up to his powerful athletic neck in it.

Somebody must write this pilot and send it off to Akabusi's agent. Even as a joke. Just to see the reply.

I_Funked_your_mum
20-07-07, 09:01 PM
Akabusi hated trains. They made his balls ache. And they were about the only land based thing he had ever seen that was as long, hard and powerful as his dribbling beef ionic. He looked out the steamed up window at the blurry countryside as the vibrations of the journey went right up his toned onyx legs up to the recently weaved bush covering his monstrous sud carriers.

Before long Busi's meat and two f**king huge veg looked like Kevin Keegan impaled by a giant bum cigar and for a brief moment he passed out as every drop of his Nigerian blue blood shuffled into his genitalia quicker than Gray Thompson on black ice. It would be a shame to waste this god given erection but there was a gang of snotty kids in the same carriage so he got poor OCD riddled John Regis to pinch the end.

Two hours later the beast had been tamed and Akabusi went back to his well thumbed copy of his biography "f**k Me, That Kid Can Run" by Michael Crick. Regis continued playing iShylock on his portable Wii and so far had collected £4763 in rent and just over a pound of flesh or 0.498 kilogrammes to be exact. Which Regis always was. It was just a shame that the carriage had so many germs. Or 8,763,229 to be exact. Regis would scrub his shovel like hands until they bled tonight.

Roger Black wasn't on the train. In fact Busi hadn't seen Blackie for a few days since he had gone up to Cheshire to collect some gambling debts from the Katonas. What a pair of tits! Her and her husband had been. You borrow from Busi you will get burned and Black gets the Vig by any means necessary.

Busi put down his biography after he had read about the infamous Cirque de Soleil incident from 98. Busi liked circuses or circi as much as the f**king next man but he hadn't paid 200 nicker to see some frog in a leo tarding around to pan pipe moods. A circus "should include cruelty to animals, French fellas farting onto talcum powder and clowns dressed as Chris Langham". Good times. Good times.

Krisstopher wiped down the window. They were here. Hogsmeade was a f**king dump. Full of ropey old brass flashing grannies that looked like Gordon Ramsey's chin and Albanians selling shrooms and day trips. Busi laughed as he recalled the time he made Regis drop acid. It had gone right through his Gola trainer and the little bleeder had screamed louder than Hagrid bumming Blessed.

Busi was in town to deliver a motivational speech to some poxy students in their final year of the school up on the hill. A technical college or something, Busi didn't give two magic sh*ts. He was getting ten K for this and all the pussy he could eat. It would have taken 28 JJB openings and 2 Maplin's closures to make that kind of cash and that made Busi harder than a 10 year old gyppo riding on the back of a waltzer.

As Busi and Regis waited for the carriages up to the college they saw a queue of weirdos waiting outside the Hogsmeade Bookshop for the next Rofl Lundgren Sex Story. f**king idiots. Busi knew what happened. It always ended the same way. Clunge carnage.

Turned out the school was a bit huge. And full of "special" children. Not window slurpers or self harmers but magicians and elf harmers. It was like a ****** soup with magic croutons. And owls. Apparently the big man on campus was called Billy Bunter or Barry Norman or something. But Busi was here now and he would give the little f**ker a run for his money. He was going to enjoy his time at Hogtarts.

As he walked onto the stage for his 89 second motivational he felt the cool air of "that what should not really be talked about much" - sex - slip into his Gryffindor dungs and circle his massive hymen hurta and hairy snitches like spirits around Derek Acorah. Mainly gin. He looked down on the 17 year olds and could sense that most of the birds and a few of the owls wanted a piece of the Busi sex pie. And it was just about legal.

There was a ginger tard winking at him up front. Kriss was glad the kid from Mask had lost weight. His mum Cher would be pleased. Next to him was berty big bollocks or Terry Grotbags. He really didn't care what the squeaky little f**ker was called. He just knew he had a much bigger penis and that is what mattered to men. And Busi. As was Busi's wont he let slip his dungs at the climax of the speech and let his slythering pranny pounder fall to the heavy stone floor like their old headmaster - Professor McClusky. He stood there like a chocolate centaur standing on his hind legs about to enter Desert Orchid. Dead or alive.

"Enormous erectionanus!" shouted a voice from the back of the hall. Busi's instantly became harder than blood diamonds and just as shiny. He filled the room with a gigantic meat chimney that Fred Dibnah would have had trouble blowing up. Especially as he was brown bread. A small figure stepped forward.

Hermoine Granger was definitely 18. Maybe even 17. But she was definitely 18. And she was smokin hot magma formed into the shape of a six former. Busi knew beneath that tight jumper was a pair of bristols like two O2 Arenas fighting and a clunge tighter than two jocks on an early morning Easyjet flight to Palma. Busi's offal wand quivered as he was drawn towards Granger, helmet first.

And boy did Busi have helmet thirst. His japs was gasping like Hiroshima residents for eye drops. "Clothus flingoffus" roared Busi as he landed near Hermoine. And they did. She stood there like a beautiful female greyhound with a tits like philosopher's stones and areolae as bumpy and as hot as a landing at Sao Paulo.

He dug in. And lept on her like chocolate leaping frogs. His hands were all over her like Cerberus on three scouse kids. She wasn't shy and Billy Rotter looked over at Krisstopher with a wink. She'd been around the school more times than nits. Within hours Busi was on his vigorous vinegars and he let fly with such a gush of nad sauce that Voldermort was knocked clean out and all the kids started laying into him. He was a f**king dead man.

Roger Black appeared out of nowhere in a flying Corsa. Turns out he was Sirrus's younger brother and sh*t. Regis piled in. Busi rolled up his seven volume saga and slipped on his sodden dungs. He always knew how this would end.

Krisstopher Malcolm Akabusi looked down on the twisted pile of giant spunk bubbles, long matted hair, smashed in back doors, Dark Arts and a clunge wetter than a plunge pool on the Titantic, knelt down onto his powerful black magic knee, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Shaggy
20-07-07, 09:43 PM
:haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha: :haha:

RoadEnd
20-07-07, 11:22 PM
http://www.awooga.com/


What a wasted opportunity for a website.

I_Funked_your_mum
21-07-07, 03:36 PM
I haven't checked but I'm sure www.fannypattingkriss.com Is still available so we could be o.k. after all.

Parm
21-07-07, 04:03 PM
hahah, so funny

btw link doesnt work

Laz
26-07-07, 11:24 PM
Saw this thread a and it reminded me of a strange site I was sent the link to ages ago. Anyway, I finally found the site again. It's basically about Roy Orbison and cling-film. This is the type of thing on there.

It always starts the same way. I am in the garden airing my terrapin Jetta when he walks past my gate, that mysterious man in black.

'Hello Roy,' I say. 'What are you doing in Dusseldorf?'

'Attending to certain matters,' he replies.

'Ah,' I say.

He apprises Jetta's lines with a keen eye. 'That is a well-groomed terrapin,' he says.

'Her name is Jetta.' I say. 'Perhaps you would like to come inside?'

'Very well.' He says.

Roy Orbison walks inside my house and sits down on my couch. We talk urbanely of various issues of the day. Presently I say, 'Perhaps you would like to see my cling-film?'

'By all means.' I cannot see his eyes through his trademark dark glasses and I have no idea if he is merely being polite or if he genuinely has an interest in cling-film.

I bring it from the kitchen, all the rolls of it. 'I have a surprising amount of clingfilm,' I say with a nervous laugh. Roy merely nods.

'I estimate I must have nearly a kilometre in the kitchen alone.'

'As much as that?' He says in surprise. 'So.'

'Mind you, people do not realize how much is on each roll. I bet that with a single roll alone I could wrap you up entirely.'

Roy Orbison sits impassively like a monochrome Buddha. My palms are sweaty.

'I will take that bet,' says Roy. 'If you succeed I will give you tickets to my new concert. If you fail I will take Jetta, as a lesson to you not to speak boastfully.'

I nod. 'So then. If you will please to stand.'

Roy stands. 'Commence.'

I start at the ankles and work up. I am like a spider binding him in my gossamer web. I do it tight with several layers. Soon Roy Orbison stands before me, completely wrapped in cling-film. The pleasure is unexampled.

'You are completely wrapped in cling-film,' I say.

'You win the bet,' says Roy, muffled. 'Now unwrap me.'

'Not for several hours.'

'Ah.'

I sit and admire my handiwork for a long time. So as not to make the ordeal unpleasant for him we make small talk on topical subjects, Roy somewhat muffled. At some point I must leave him to attend to Jetta's needs. When I return I find he has hopped out of my house, still wrapped in cling-film. The loss leaves me broken and pitiful. He never calls me. He sends no tickets. The police come and reprimand me. Jetta is taken away, although I get her back after a complicated legal process.

There is only one thing that can console me. A certain dream, a certain vision...

It always starts the same way.

:confused:

cadmium
03-09-07, 07:19 PM
Bump

Shaggy
10-10-07, 03:51 PM
Busi had had enough. His agent, Harvey Goldenblum, was a downpour in a shower of shites. He had only opened eighteen JJBs and one fucking Maplins last week. The £127,987 one bedroom mansion in Luton didn't clean itself. How was he meant to keep Regis full of pills and Black full of murderous rage on these buttons that Harvey was tossing his way? Busi had no idea. That's why he had an accountant. But his accountant was Harvey Goldenblum.

He looked around at the other black men sitting in the green room sipping jasmine tea and thumbing Stanivslaski. His big meeting with Harvey last week had been a mess. They should never had met in Chariots Spa. But you couldn't get the giant front wheel out of there. Krisstopher had laid it on the line. He wanted more acting work. The DVD of "Lotions 13" had been shifting units all over the shop. The commentary by poor old OCD prone John Regis had become a classic and a standard text for all psychologists. The time was right for Busi to have his own show. A cop show. A cookery show. Any kind of fucking show.

So here he was. In the green room of the Letchworth Police Station. About to "appear" in a line up for a suspected rapist in the area. As he applied his rouge and ran over his lines with Adrian Lester he thought of Harvey's garbled words as two Brazilian boys had placed their copas in Goldenblum's capana. "If you want to be a black actor you have to do rep. Police line ups. Crimewatch. The Bill. Maybe a Trial and Retribution. Oh God, that's good." Busi wanted to be the black Bond. The chocolate Columbo. The onyx Oprah. But he needed walnut effect flooring. A job is a job.

Busi was useless though. About as useless as a fanny on Anne Widdicombe. He kept fluffing his lines. And pumping his fist in the line up. And shouting Justin Fashanu's catchphrase "Awooga". It was clear he wasn't the rapist. Or the granny murderer. He was just a very loud ex sportsman with a taste for clunge custard and monstrous trouser cobra. Two cases had been thrown out of court in the last hour. No one wanted Krisstopher Malcolm Akabusi to graduate to reconstructions on Crimewatch more than the Thames Valley Police. Except maybe Busi himself.

Chief Inspector John Stalker took Busi aside after the rapist lineup. Kriss had made sure that the woman had fingered Adrian Lester instead of the real fella. One less Ophello on the Crimewatch market.

Stalker was a tough man. When he wasn't fitting up Irish people for playing with cards and making bombs he was fitting electric awnings. But everyone in the force knew that Drummer, his ever present lab, was the brains of the outfit and Busi wanted to speak to the monkey not the organ grinder. Or the monkey man. Or the grinder man. He was confused. He just wanted to speak to someone who knew what he was talking about.

Drummer motioned for Busi to take a seat in his walnut effect office. He offered a Cuban. But Kriss wasn't here to fuck a Latino. Or was he? Drummer used his hind leg to itch his ear whilst he laid it out for Busi. He couldn't do line ups anymore. He was a worse black actor than the former head of the UN - Bernie Mac. But he had a special job for him. Down in the remand cells.

Amy Winehouse was a fucking godawful mess. He'd seen more meat on a burnt chip. She had a nose that you break ice with, a hairdo that looked like something a giant cat would hock up on the duvet and teeth like pikey paving. Busi knocked on the glass wall that separated her from him. She stirred.

Now Busi liked pussy as much as the next man. As long as the next man was George Best or Julio Ingelellisas. But this bag of bones was beyond the pale. But Regis needed medication. Medication. Medication was all he needed. He felt the hot blood rush into his stone cold meat parcel. He was ready.

He knew that beneath the tatty LBD was a clunge as uninviting as a HSBC in Chandlers Ford and a pair of tits as lifeless as Samanda. It began to speak. "A showbiz reporter once came to interview me. I ate his liver with some brown. And a can of Tennants. SHShsususushhshs". Krisstopher felt vomit form in the back of his throat but he sucked it up.

Busi let slip his acting dungs and the fetid air of the cells swilled around his giant cocoa rugby balls like mouth wash in an alcos gob. His diamond cutter pierced the glass and he entered the cell. Drummer ran in and started pulling at Winehouse's dress. Soon they were both naked. Busi like a proud Nubian warlord and Amy like Steptoe with tattoos.

Akabusi leapt on her like the Daily Express on a new Diana theory. Busi packed more into her clunge than a Renault McCann boot and was leaving as much DNA. To her credit her pussy was juicier than Kate's diary and soon they were rocking it up against the cold stone.

Within hours Busi was on his virulent vinegars and let Winehouse have a mouth full of protein for the first time since Hanukkah 2003. He rolled up his Biltong pillbox and slipped on his acting duds. He tried to persuade her to go for a kebab. But she said "No, no, no." "Suit yourself you scrawny ****" roared Busi with all the might of a bear not giving Brian Blessed a reacharound in the showers.

His pager bleeped. It was Harvey. He had an audition to play understudy to Adrian Lester as a rapist in Crimewatch. Work was work. Busi looked down on the sloshing pile of flipping, flapping spermazota, needles, black eyeliner, Drummer's hair and latkes, knelt down on his muscular knee, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Neil Young
10-10-07, 03:54 PM
I know I said elsewhere I try to refrain from commenting on such things these days but there is some truly shocking spelling in there.

Shaggy
10-10-07, 03:57 PM
I know I said elsewhere I try to refrain from commenting on such things these days but there is some truly shocking spelling in there.

Funnily enough I was just about to edit the spelling mistakes myself. I noticed them too. He writes well, this bloke….he’s funny, but his spelling is rubbish.

Shaggy
10-10-07, 04:03 PM
By the way, Neil, just in case you didn't know - words like Iglesias are deliberately and routinely spelled incorrectly. :handshake:

kendoddsdadsdogsdead
10-10-07, 04:08 PM
I have no desire or drive to read such lurid filth which relies upon racial and sexual stereotypes to raise cheap laughs from its audience. My MP will be hearing from me shortly and I am well within my rights to contact Mr Kris Akabusi and make him aware of these libellous and slanderous diatribes. I am sure that his athletic cohorts will also be relieved to know that not every member of the internet surfing public stoops to such levels of depravity in search of comic distraction. Some of us do have standards to maintain and lead by example, don't you know. :handshake:

Shaggy
20-02-08, 05:06 PM
BUSI UPDATE!

http://bp3.blogger.com/_eJt2_vJJlJQ/R0LaHeVmtkI/AAAAAAAAAAM/tfE21rVG568/s1600-h/lundgren+cover.jpg


And, a couple of months late, here's the festive effort...


Busi was cold. He was so cold he had killed two brass monkeys and wrapped their pelts around his ebony carriage leaving him all furry looking like he'd rolled around on a crusty's front room. His clunge plunger had retracted as far as it could go but it was still over a foot long and his shaved chestnuts needed to be roasting on an open fire or failing that resting on a slit arses chin.

All in all he was f**king freezing. To celebrate a good year Busi's agent Harvey Goldenblum had sent the boys to open a JJB in Lapland with a jumbo full of Make A Wish slurpers on the strict condition no tards got killed or maimed or kicked to pieces by nutty reindeers. Busi, Regis and Black had begrudgingly accepted the challenge - deaths were always a possiblity on these trips and reindeers were an unknown quantity. Black was very keen to visit the country that had given us the Lapdance and poor old OCD riddled Regis planned to count every drop of snow he could get his giant hot hands on.

The plane journey had been a nause and a half. 200 nose dribblers jumping up and down, setting off alarms, punching trolley mollys and shouting the word "bomb" continuely. Busi had put on his new iPatch and listened to the audio recording of "Rofl Lundgren's Erotic Stories for Men (and, to a lesser extent, women) History Edition" read by Brian Blessed. He noted from the cover that the book version was out in Janurary 08 and would be available from Lulu.com but he wasn't sure why he had noted that so carefully. Maybe it was spam...

The last few months had been busier than Amanda Knox's imagination. Busi had opened 28 JJBs and one Maplins in Penge, gotten married twice and divorced three times, appeared on Dragon's Den selling his new scat video "2 Guys Wassup" and skating to victory in the Nigeria version of Deal or No Deal on Ice. Regis had been in his penthouse urinating into empty bottles of Tizer and collecting the pixels on his new HD telly so his OCD was officially 2456 times better than it had been 678 hours before. Black had killed eight men. With his bare hands. So all was good in the hood for the jolly boys.

Except that Busi's fleshy hood had retracted less often the Millenium in Cardiff during winter. His veiny parnassus hadn't tasted the sweet suds of any of the five available holes on a woman and his rampant zota were backing up like Christmas Eve traffic. He was carrying so much knacker cracker spread Busi was pretty certain that he was turning white and once woke up on his walnut effect sheets wondering if he was growing one of those sperm tails. He prayed to every god in the book that he would go in up to his nuts on something in Lapdanceland or whatever the f**k it was called.

Black loved whipping huskies, Busi roared to himself with all the gusto of a turkey and sprout fart from an eighty year old relative. They were speeding through the epic white nothingness of Lap towards Santa's Grotty. A few leos had already fallen by the wayside, sliced under the blades of Regis' nasty b*stard sleigh or eaten by wild artic scouse rotts but Busi had told Harvey he never failed to come back from an ouward bound thingy without blood on his meaty cock like fingers.

Busi's sled kicked up more white dust than a leper skipping as he pulled up at Santa's joint. It was a propa big drum with a Maccers, the biggest JJB he had ever seen and a large warehouse that no one was allowed near. Ever. At all. Santa came out to meet Busi, Black and Regis as well as the handful of Tesco packers who had survived the ardous three day trek. He was a nice fellow. Smelt a little of sherry, a bit of reindeer meat and a lot of dried p*ss.

Mary Christmas showed them to their rooms and instantly Busi's plonker started twitching like an epilectic at a gabba night. Santa's missus was hotter than two volcanos wearing no factor on a a week's holiday in Sharm El Sheik. She had long blonde hair that looked like the arse p*ss of some heavenly Greek god and blue eyes that spoke a thousand words. All of them "trouble" and "pre-cum".

Busi knew that beneath the red velvety cloth and lush white ermin was a pair of epic bristols like two missing disks containing 25 million titw*nks and downstairs was a clunge tighter than Scrooge on Ryanair, booked months in advance. "Mr Akabusboi, stop looking at my arris" she purred like a cat that had just got the cream and then found it was on top of a tuna steak and that was nestling on a bed of mices cooked in catnip. Busi laughed. And at that instant he knew he'd ruin this broad before this day was done. He felt a jet of exploratory blood shoot into his resting yuletide log and his balls dropped an inch into their attack position. She'd keep.

After they unpacked and the kids had been locked up for the week Santa and his missus toke the Busi Boys on a tour of the facility. It was huge. Funded by a conglomerate of Halliburton, Mothercare, Poundland and a few other key military industrial corporations it pumped out dolls, guns and Simpsons merchandise at a rate of knots. All built by primordial dwarves and out of work Ewoks, Santa exclaimed as Mary Christmas darted Busi a look that would pull the skin back on a cock at twenty paces.

Regis was getting a bit antsy. He hadn't been able to clean his hands for the required four hours after meeting Santa and his cocktail of pills had been eaten by Donna or Blitzkrieg or wahtever the f**k those dopey c**ts were called. When he swung open the doors of the huge warehouse they all heard Santa's april squeak like a loose balloon flying across the room. The warehouse was packed with children of all colours, creeds, disabilities and nervous tics toiling away in the biggest sweatshop Busi had ever seen since he had "mistakenly" gone to GAY with Biggins and Cilla. "You nawty greedy cahnt" shouted Busi with the force of 12 angry men in a quandary as to what to buy in La Senza for Christmas. Black waisted no time in punching Santa in the mouth and blood streamed out his fat kisser into his white beard. Regis ran at him and pushed him into a big vat of boiling plastic which would later make a novelty socks for BHS. The big fat heap of dirt was toast. And now they ran the show. Black and Regis got the little ankle lickers back to work as Busi turned his attention and his cock towards Mary.

He wasted no time as he pulled the heavy garments from her back. She had tits like two Christmas puddings covered in cream and topped with a walnut effect whip. Her pussy hair was carved into the shape of a Christmas tree and her labs were wetter than a drowned canoeist in a pool in Panama. Busi rose to attention like a Daily Mail reader during the Queen's speech and his brass monkey hair dungs tore off his torso as violently as a misguided box stunt on a Noel Edmonds show. Krisstopher wanted to get his stuffing inside this tight bird and he didn't care about the giblets. She needed roasting.

He set about her and before long he was pushing her across the snow like Tanni Grey Thompson chasing a departing blue bus on black ice. "Santa's coming!" roared Busi as he got right amongst it and felt Mary gasp as their bodies smashed together like the inevitable Chritmas plane crash or earthquake. Within hours Busi was on his violent, vigorous vinegars and he let spray with such a gush of globe lube that when his grog froze he looked like black Ice Man. He looked at his giant sperm screaming in suspended animation like Hans Solo's spunk and gave them a cheeky w*nker sign. In the distance he heard an explosion from the huge sweatshop and a hot jet of fire rose into the clear black sky. Regis had f**king touched something.

Busi looked down on the slushy pile of matted blonde hairs, dead reindeer, a clunge that looked like turkey leftovers and a vicious looking brass monkey, slipped on his new red Santa dungs, bent down on his powerful Nubian knee, whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Subby
20-02-08, 10:43 PM
:whatever:


I don't know why this is so amusing...I mean did he fuck an animal hence the animal stuff or what's the joke :eyebrow:

redmacca
21-02-08, 11:28 AM
i really do not get this at all :confused:

Shaggy
21-02-08, 02:25 PM
This is officially the funniest thread ever. Just read it again. :haha:

I cannot believe you two (above) don't get it! Ah well.

BUSI BUSI BUSI! :haha:

Dan
21-02-08, 03:44 PM
:haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:fuckin hell, what a thread

:haha:

Subby
23-02-08, 08:30 PM
:whatever:


I don't know why this is so amusing...I mean did he fuck an animal hence the animal stuff or what's the joke :eyebrow:

right re-read the whole fucking thread....25mins!!!:rant:


...but now I get it....quite funny :D

Jaymo
24-02-08, 11:55 AM
i remember reading these on the Raotl.co.uk forums

quite funny :)

Harv
25-02-08, 02:27 PM
:rock:

love that Amy Winehouse one

Shaggy
07-04-09, 03:48 PM
Just been invited to a conference called ‘Arrival of the Fittest’ and one of the guest speakers is Kriss Akabusi! :rock:

The blurb in the brochure says ‘Kriss is best known for his achievements in athletics…’

I beg to differ! :haha: :haha:

PTP
07-04-09, 05:14 PM
:haha: quality!

Angryred
10-04-09, 11:19 AM
Just been invited to a conference called ‘Arrival of the Fittest’ and one of the guest speakers is Kriss Akabusi! :rock:

The blurb in the brochure says ‘Kriss is best known for his achievements in athletics…’

I beg to differ! :haha: :haha:
Wonder how many fannies he gets to pat at this conference...Awooga!

Vermilion
10-04-09, 12:46 PM
ha ha, forgot about this thread.... quality reading material if ever there was.:haha::haha: :rock:

Vermilion
10-04-09, 12:56 PM
Just been invited to a conference called ‘Arrival of the Fittest’ and one of the guest speakers is Kriss Akabusi! :rock:

The blurb in the brochure says ‘Kriss is best known for his achievements in athletics…’

I beg to differ! :haha: :haha:

:haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:

First time i've felt like laughing since the game.:handshake:

RoadEnd
10-04-09, 12:58 PM
Just been invited to a conference called ‘Arrival of the Fittest’ and one of the guest speakers is Kriss Akabusi! :rock:

The blurb in the brochure says ‘Kriss is best known for his achievements in athletics…’

I beg to differ! :haha: :haha:

If you go - you must shout "Awooga" at him. His resulting expression will tell you everything!

Vermilion
10-04-09, 01:00 PM
If you go - you must shout "Awooga" at him. His resulting expression will tell you everything!

He's got to go, he must, to see what he can glean from the man himself, maybe even shake 'that' hand. :haha:

Reece
27-07-09, 02:33 PM
Bump

Reece
27-07-09, 02:33 PM
Just been invited to a conference called ‘Arrival of the Fittest’ and one of the guest speakers is Kriss Akabusi! :rock:

The blurb in the brochure says ‘Kriss is best known for his achievements in athletics…’

I beg to differ! :haha: :haha:

Did you go to this? :D

Shaggy
27-07-09, 02:46 PM
:D Haha no I didn't. Couldn't be bothered. I grudgingly accepted that the reality would've been very different to the sordid, depraved conference I had in mind.

Reece
27-07-09, 02:52 PM
:D Haha no I didn't. Couldn't be bothered. I grudgingly accepted that the reality would've been very different to the sordid, depraved conference I had in mind.

Aye you would have been sat there just wishing he'd whip his king size plonker out :haha:

Shaggy
27-07-09, 02:56 PM
Yep...would've been dying to stand up and scream 'AWOOOOOOOGAAAAAAA!'. Just wouldn't have worked.

Rich
27-07-09, 05:48 PM
Yep...would've been dying to stand up and scream 'AWOOOOOOOGAAAAAAA!'. Just wouldn't have worked.

You'd have got a rise out of Kris though.

kingfunk
28-07-09, 12:23 PM
Richard Blackwood's Funeral:

Akabusi tightened his black tie around his bare neck as he wiped down the splashback from 3 Muller Rices he'd demolished from his jet black dungerees. He stood in front of the mirror and examined himself. He felt so sexy he was sure that it was only a matter of time before Lynx named a spray after him. Ebony? Clunge buster? Fanny Patt? Or just simply Akabusi. He made a note in his Psion to call his manager when he got back.

Kriss heard John Regis downstairs checking all of the window locks and counting the pixels on Akabusi's new 14" plasma. The OCD had gotten pretty bad after the "incident" and to help daft Regis through it Akabusi had bought him the first of the "Build your own Bismarck" collection. Only the first one mind, the rest were too expensive. This had kept Regis occupied for about a minute before he'd crushed the fourth rear engine with his mighty hands and eaten it. War is hell.

Akabusi jogged down the stairs of his £126,970 mansion, cleaned up Regis' face with a wet wipe and they left the house and waited for Roger Black to pick them up in his Corsa.

Akabusi could feel the fresh air of the cul de sac racing around the base of his sleeping sliver of pork and encircling his giant hanging balls like dipping a hot hot dog and two cum filled scotch eggs into a pint of Stella. He really wanted to let slip the confines of his dungs and let his hymen hurter find a wet place to live. But in the distance he could see Black cutting corners like the architect in the Towering Inferno. It was time to hit this funeral harder than Boycott on Moore.

There was an awkward silence in the motor on the way. Black had been f**king decent enough to provide sausage rolls, mini kievs, little pizzas, cherryade Panda Pop and a pack of bourbons for the 5 minute journey. Akabusi hated funerals, they made his angry cock wilt and retreat within his bristling ebony frame and it could often only be coaxed out by the prospect of surprise sex or w*nking on religious iconography. What made this funeral even harder was he hated the c**t so much.

Richard Blackwood had been killed during Operation Trident last week in Clapham. The Operation had been introduced several years ago to murder Blackwood with a piece of gladiatorial weaponary after Richard claimed he was ready for a comeback. Attmepts with iaculum and manicae in various parts of South London has proved fruitless until an increasingly unhinged Derek Redmond had cornered Blackwood in a "Cummin' Up" kebab house with a trident and skewered the b*stard until he was deadened. Redmond was likely to serve the rest of his life in a maximum security prison or be made a Mayor of London - it was that close.

As the rain started pelting off the collection of sportsmen, minor celebrities and Richard Blackwood fan at graveside, Akabusi could feel a stirring within his dark loins that felt like the beginnings of a beautiful and fulfilling erection. His sagging testes tightened like two fists being formed by a market trader on his one night out. Akabusi was confused. Although it was Richard Blackwood's funeral, people were still pretty depressed and there was certainly no pussy worth abusing. Or was there?

No. Turned out there wasn't. He'd spotted June Sarpong MBE leaving the funeral just before Vaz Blackwood (no relation) stepped up to rap a eulogy. She was a c**t of the highest order - Akabusi had described her as a black bin bag stretched over a skeleton on his blog - but he would have loved to slip his meat python down her throat and then pull his own cock out of her sealed up arsehole. Maybe at the TV Quick Awards.

As Kriss, Roger and John kicked dirt onto the coffin the crowds dispersed and the pimped out Corsas started collecting the guests to bring them to the afterparty at the ice rink in Streatham. Akabusi peeled off from the gang and returned to the grave. He was busting for a crap and he knew this was a great opportunity to finish the day.

Before he positioned his big toned arse over the edge of Blackwood's grave he let the shackles of his funeneral dungereess slip and exposed his naked onyx chassis to the dead people who lay all around. He felt like a Titan - more vital and alive than anyone around. Who were all dead. As he felt the turtle rising he roared with a laugh so loud, dark and evil corpses turned in their graves ever so slightly.

As his giant man size plop hit the walnut casket, the impact smashed the coffin to pieces. As Akabusi check wiped he looked down at the twisted form of Richard Blackwood entwined with excrement, splintered wood and copies of his "single" which he had demamded be buried with him - "for the ferryman, man". Akabusi was so aroused his plonker filled with so much powerful, dangerous liquid he knew what it was to be George Best's liver. The erection was so intense it had drawn all the colour and life out of his body so he looked like Mr Bean impaled on fresh lumber.

"Mr Abbakumi, what the f**k are you doing sh*tting onto the coffin of my deadened cousin?" said a voice from behind him. The accent was as rich and as false as Lady Madonna of Gloucestershire. As Busi turned slowly around his Malteser eyes rested on the skeletal form of supermodel and nut job Naomi Campbell. Akabusi knew that this was about to become the biggest black on black crime he'd ever witnessed.

He knew that beneath the impeccable styling, giant sunglasses and lady like demeanor were a pair of cracking black bristols and a clunge as filthy, dangerous and inviting as an inner city canal. Akasbui wanted to throw his shopping trolley of love into her as quickly as humanely possible. And it seemed Campbell agreed as before he could tear the Gucci from her back, Naomi had a PA carefully remove her garments and fold them up.

Akabusi plunged into her like a caretaker into a bombing campaign. It wasn't long before he was so far into the mouthy bitch that his balls slipped into her leg cavities. His hands were all over her and the friction caused by these two jet black specimums would surely burn this graveyard to the ground.

Within hours Busi was on his big vinegars and pulled out a diamond encrusted mobile phone which he repeatedly hit Campbell around the head whilst he came so hard he thought he was in a pussy car wash. "See how you like it, you jumped up f**king clothes horse" Kriss roared as Naomi's PA returned with twelve mochas and a Wispa bar with all the bubbles taken out for Campbell.

"Run free you stupid c**t" shouted Kriss to the PA as he pulled out his Andre cock out of the shattered floppy torso and slipped his dungs on. He better get to that after party before Regis sunk his Bismarck into the punch.

He looked down on the twisted pile of giant spermazota, magazine covers, shiny tits, a copy of her "novel" swan and clunge suds, bent over and whispered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

Shaggy
18-04-10, 10:25 PM
He's got a book out! :rock:

http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-(and-to-a-lesser-extent-women)/6553999

Dear Busi fans....

The messiah has returned! That's right, the creator of the busi stories is back with a vengence! Rofl Lundgren has been away for a while, but he has been working on a new book, of which is filled with more of the same side splitting humour.

http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-%28and-to-a-lesser-extent-women%29/6553999

Please buy Rofl's new book, "Rofl Lundgren's Erotic Stories for Men." All proceeds go to Macmillan Cancer Support. It costs just £3.50.

So get involved show your support and get ready to laugh your genitals off.

Rofl Lundgren brings you a collection of comic erotica or comrotic or eroticom or whatever you what to call it. All profits go direct to Macmillan Cancer Support. Lundgren takes you (and, to a lesser extent, you) on a journey through history. "Lundgren, after weeks of painless research, starts with our humble beginnings as cavemen and delivers us with the skill of a craftsman at the top of his game at significant and perilously erotic points in the annals of time".

Vermilion
18-04-10, 10:31 PM
:haha: Nice one Shaggy, :rock::rock: Great cause too...brilliant, and fair play.

http://static.lulu.com/product/item/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-%28and-to-a-lesser-extent-women%29/6553999/thumbnail/320

Shaggy
18-04-10, 10:37 PM
Damn, just realised it's an e-book or in PDF format. :( I want a real book.

Pablo
18-04-10, 10:48 PM
Is it? That's a bit shit. It would make an immense coffee table book for when guests visited :rock:

Shaggy
05-10-10, 03:07 PM
Bump :haha:

Shaggy
05-10-10, 03:10 PM
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.

This slays me every time :haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::h aha:

Shaggy
05-10-10, 03:22 PM
Akabusi sat in his Vauxhall Corsa eating a corn beef and horseradish bloomer from Greggs with all the gusto of an Ethiopian at a Harvester salad bar. He looked out the dirty window at some pigeons fighting and f**king in the strong beams of the low winter sun. He roared with a laugh as loud, dark and hollow as a Lenny Henry comeback tour. What did these animals know of the art of f**king love making?

The thought sent a quiver down Akabusi's ebony frame to his purring pussy pounder. It hadn't tasted the sweet suds of a clunge for at least eight hours and it was getting restless and hungry.

FLMAO! :haha::haha:

Alex
05-10-10, 03:25 PM
Just read this thread, its bloody hilarious.

"Wispered Awooga in her ear and patted her fanny"

:haha:

Assassin
05-10-10, 03:27 PM
"A fanny more hairy than Richard Keyes back" :chunks: :haha:

Frenchie
06-10-10, 02:18 PM
It hadn't tasted the sweet suds of a clunge for at least eight hours and it was getting restless and hungry.

hahaha show us yer clunge missus....

Leyton388
06-10-10, 08:11 PM
AWOOGA!

http://photos.bizarremag.com/images/front_picture_library_UK/dir_41/bizarre_magazine_20770_12.jpg

Kenneth
06-10-10, 11:40 PM
:haha:

Lee
07-10-10, 03:57 PM
Akabusi was in the shower. Crying. And w*nking. In fact there was liquid coming from every orifice. He hadn't felt this bad since he'd watched an hour and a half of Britain's Got Talent. It was that bad.

:haha: :haha: :haha:

cadmium
07-10-10, 06:44 PM
A classic thread, the Clunge buster is on twitter @krissakabusi

Lee
07-04-11, 05:27 PM
Haven't seen this one yet :haha::haha::haha:

Akabusi had had a shit day. He'd spent the morning with his accountant Harvey Goldenblum and to put it bluntly he was fucked. He had made some very bad investments in the last tax year - a bus tour for Tourettes sufferers to the Vatican had ended in an international situation and his collection of dildos modelled on his own gigantic black cock had gone into raw materials problems.

His plans to put on a production of Towering Inferno on Ice with Colin Jackson in the lead role had been dashed. Two people drowned in rehearsals and the family were after him for compo.

After a runwank in the park he decided to go to the zoo. He loved the zoo, it was full of animals throwing their own shit and spunk around. It reminded him of home.

He wandered around the near empty zoo, his denim dungerees gently rubbing up against his slick, toned jet black skin and making his veiny python twitch like Ali at an Olympic opening ceremony.

He bypassed the chimps, they disgusted him and he made his way to the elephant enclosure. When he got there he spied that there were no punters around so let slip his dungerees and exposed his naked skin to the cool air of this January afternoon. As he stood there looking like a chocolate tripod, an observer may have mistaken this figure for a baby elephant. With two legs. And who was black.

As per usual, he hopped over the railings, briefly feeling the barb wire scrape his heavy ball sack like nails down a blackboard. As he landed he heard a voice "Oi, you. Get the fuck out of the elephant enclosure, you fucker".

Akabusi had only been caught at the zoo once before when he had sat in the reptile area and had several unsuspecting nuns stroke his throbbing colossus. As he turned he saw a female games keeper, her coarse khaki shirt and shorts clearly concealing epic bristols and he hoped at least one usable hole.

"Oh, it's you, Kriss" she said in a voice as smoky as Roy Castle's lungs. As she told him off, Akabusi knew she was looking at his pumped torso and his increasingly engorged black magic. He knew also that she was becoming more turned on and wet than a homosexual at a Barrymore pool party.

"You better put that away" she said pointing her rake at his cock. "It's making Mumbles the elephant jealous".

Within a split second he ripped open her khaki shirt to expose two huge tits that were so hard and muscular you could put them on a nightclub door and there would be no trouble. "Why don't I hide 'this' up your clunge!" roared Akabusi like a black panther with his nuts caught in a slammed Tom Clancy novel.

The zookeeper let slip her shorts letting the air attend to a pussy so hairy it looked like a mammoth with labia for legs. Peeping out from the bush was a clitorus so big and meaty it wouldn't have looked out of place hanging on a hook in Smithfields. Akabusi hadn't seen anything like it since he'd been "surprised sexed" by Judy Oakes.

Within seconds his ebony trunk became more full of blood and muscle than the aftershow at Britain’s Strongest Man.

Akabusi took a deep breath and plunged into her hole like Albanians through the Chunnel. Her skin was so rough it was like having angry sex with a sander going at full pelt, but Akabusi loved it. He loved it rough. And this was rough.

Around the zoo animals scurried for cover, some even choosing to leave and join the circus with Jeremy Beadle, as Akabusi and the zookeeper’s cries rocked the trees and cages like a bunch of Jews at an adulterer trial.

Within a matter of hours it was all over, the zookeeper’s body lying strewn on the straw, a pile of spunk, hair, muscle and animal feed. The zookeeper mustered her last remnant of strength and rolled up her clit and crawled away from Akabusi.

Akabusi bounded to his feet, his spirits enlivened by this classic intercourse. “Fuck the tax man!” he thought. If he wanted to fund another musical based on the life of Daley Thompson he fucking would. He wrestled his seeping cock back into place as he pulled his favourite dungarees on. He caught up with the escaping keeper by following her trail of clunge suds and bent down and whispered “Awooga” in her ear and patted her on her fanny.

The End.

Kenneth
12-05-11, 10:09 AM
YouTube - Tower of Wankers - A Shredded Mess of Manfat, Baby Oil, Matted Hair & Rice

Leyton388
13-05-11, 08:53 PM
:haha:

TJJ
22-05-11, 07:24 PM
Akabusi opened his front door to let his manliness sway gently in the cooling autumn breeze. As he did he was surprised and horny to find the doorstep already occupied by a pair of spectacles, two bristols whose landmass more than lived up to their namesake, and what he could only assume was a clunge dripping with goose fat.

"Awooo-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mr Akabusi," said the face he'd only just noticed beneath the spectacles. "I am here to serve you with a £756,000 sexual harassment lawsuit." The lawyer had all the sex appeal of a shaved tigress on heat whose babies had just been eaten.

As he came to grips with the situation and, inevitably, his shaft, Akabusi's world began crumbling like a leper kid on a bouncy castle. "But have you seen my fine pinstripe dungarees?" he asked hopefully.

"Let me assure you, Mr Akabusi, that I am one of the few women for whom your dungarees hold little interest," she said, eyeing his dungarees with interest.

It was then that Akabusi knew that he owned this woman in the most Joseph Fritzel of fashions. He had only to slip out of his dungarees and lay down, there and then.

The lawyeress leapt onto him, hiking up her skirts in midair, and plunged down onto his manliness like Excalibur in reverse. Somehow she manhandled his moustache in just the way he liked and he came faster than he ever had before.

Five hours later, when it was over, he pulled out and proceeded to wipe the tip of his manflesh on the legal documentation. Finally he bent down, whispered "Awooga," in her ear, and respectfully slid the rolled up documents into her still quivering fanny, giving them a fond pat home.

She stared at him like the scientific marvel he was as he closed the front door behind him. "Awooga, Mr Akabusi," she whispered, "Awooga."

Frenchie
22-05-11, 09:20 PM
who writes this shit....lol?

Shaggy
22-05-11, 09:30 PM
Akabusi opened his front door to let his manliness sway gently in the cooling autumn breeze. As he did he was surprised and horny to find the doorstep already occupied by a pair of spectacles, two bristols whose landmass more than lived up to their namesake, and what he could only assume was a clunge dripping with goose fat.

"Awooo-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mr Akabusi," said the face he'd only just noticed beneath the spectacles. "I am here to serve you with a £756,000 sexual harassment lawsuit." The lawyer had all the sex appeal of a shaved tigress on heat whose babies had just been eaten.

As he came to grips with the situation and, inevitably, his shaft, Akabusi's world began crumbling like a leper kid on a bouncy castle. "But have you seen my fine pinstripe dungarees?" he asked hopefully.

"Let me assure you, Mr Akabusi, that I am one of the few women for whom your dungarees hold little interest," she said, eyeing his dungarees with interest.

It was then that Akabusi knew that he owned this woman in the most Joseph Fritzel of fashions. He had only to slip out of his dungarees and lay down, there and then.

The lawyeress leapt onto him, hiking up her skirts in midair, and plunged down onto his manliness like Excalibur in reverse. Somehow she manhandled his moustache in just the way he liked and he came faster than he ever had before.

Five hours later, when it was over, he pulled out and proceeded to wipe the tip of his manflesh on the legal documentation. Finally he bent down, whispered "Awooga," in her ear, and respectfully slid the rolled up documents into her still quivering fanny, giving them a fond pat home.

She stared at him like the scientific marvel he was as he closed the front door behind him. "Awooga, Mr Akabusi," she whispered, "Awooga."

:haha::haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:

Kenneth
26-05-11, 10:51 PM
They're back:haha::rock:

little dave hedgehog
26-05-11, 10:57 PM
particularly love how she comes into his house, and then at the end he leaves and she stays.

Fivex
26-05-11, 11:30 PM
Best debut post I've seen :haha: :haha: :haha:

Victor
30-05-11, 12:33 AM
Oh my god these are fucking awesome.

:haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:

jonnygrunter
02-09-11, 08:36 PM
is on celebrity come dine with me now, awooga

Angryred
06-09-11, 12:07 PM
Haha...love em all!

Pablo
06-09-11, 12:28 PM
His book is available to download free: http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-%28and-to-a-lesser-extent-women%29/16320851

:rock:

Shaggy
06-09-11, 12:35 PM
I emailed him a while back to see if there's gonna be a physical copy. Said he was working on it. I want one for my coffee table :rock:

Lee
06-09-11, 01:53 PM
His book is available to download free: http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-%28and-to-a-lesser-extent-women%29/16320851

:rock:

Thanks mate. :handshake:

I can't wait to have a gander through this. I'm going to print it off and bind it together with treasury tags. :rock: :rock: :rock:

Pablo
06-09-11, 02:05 PM
I emailed him a while back to see if there's gonna be a physical copy. Said he was working on it. I want one for my coffee table :rock:

I don't even have a coffee table right now but still.......:handshake::rock:

Angryred
06-09-11, 02:17 PM
His book is available to download free: http://www.lulu.com/product/ebook/rofl-lundgrens-erotic-stories-for-men-%28and-to-a-lesser-extent-women%29/16320851

:rock:

Good man, Pablo!

KK07
27-07-12, 08:02 PM
With the Olympics starting and all there's only thread for it!!

Awooooga!!

-V-
27-07-12, 08:04 PM
:haha:

2 years later

Leyton388
27-07-12, 08:05 PM
The only man that would put the shits up Purple Aki!

-V-
28-07-12, 08:21 PM
Akabusi is on channel 4 right now, waiting for a shot at the million pound drop

paulg
29-07-12, 10:33 PM
Did he pat anyone on the fanny?

GuadalupePorter
26-04-13, 02:38 PM
Akabusi was in the shower. Crying. And w*nking. In fact there was liquid coming from every orifice. He hadn't felt this bad since he'd watched an hour and a half of Britain's Got Talent. It was that bad. He had travelled to Los Angeles for the funeral of international businessman Vincent MacMahon who had tragically and spectacularly exploded on an episode of some wrestling show.

Busi had done a lot of work for the WWF back in the day - once arranging a fight in a skip near Luton between Hulk Hogan, Sir William Regal and an endangered panda. The panda had sh*t moves and had taken a severe beating from Regal leaving it with two black eyes. Busi had withdrawn his support of the wrestling/animal charity not long after.

The funeral had been a sombre affair. Live on cable. Many of the wrestling world's best wrestlers had carried MacMahon's walnut effect coffin and then chucked it into the grave. Mourners then ceremoniously smashed a metal chair or bin onto the coffin as Journey played soft rock classic Don't Stop Belie-

Whilst eating a Powerade vol au vent at the wake at a titty bar Busi's agent had called him with the news that "Lotions 13" had been creating quite a buzz. Mainly because it was a big steaming pile of sh*t but also due to the fantastic tax dodging opportunities it offered. The producers of Hulk II were interested in speaking to Kriss about greening up to play Dr Krisstopher Banner. If the money and tax breaks were right Busi was in but he wanted to play it black and not green so the production company told him to stick it up his arsehole and offered it to John Regis or failing that Jonathan Edwards.

Black and Regis were out in LA with Busi and the entourage had been tearing up LA like Portugese coppers in brush land. Regis' rampant OCD was exactly 873 times better and out here in LA LA land Regis was considered a balanced individual. But a black one. Black had been hooking up with his crew from the Rollin 60 Neighbourhood Crips, although out here they called them chips Busi had learned. Black had put more caps in arses than George Michael on tour and the heat had forced the Busi posse to take refuge in the Mondrian.

So here Busi was in the hot stream of a Hans Grohe struggling to get blood into his ebony pussy pestle as his massive hands moved quicker than an Albanian at a Presidential walkabout. To make matters much much worse, his onyx boa inflictor hadn't felt the sweet touch of a lady's tight white clunge piece since he'd surprise sexed the Virgin Atlantic stewardess as she given him Reiki over Newfoundland. Busi had it all. But he wanted more. More pussy.

To cheer himself up and get Regis out of the wardrobe, Roger Black had arranged for Busi to deliver one of his magnificent and hugely expensive motivational speeches at a local prison. A woman's prison. As Regis towelled down the sleek, jet black chassis of Mr Krisstopher Akabusi, the thought of pumping his fist and shouting slogans at a room full of caged heat was too much to take and he had hit John in his eye with his inflated helmet. Just like Barcelona in 92. Maybe he would get some LA gear after all, Busi mused as he slipped into his Armani dungerees he snagged from TK Maxx.

As Busi, Black and poor demented Regis pulled up to the Century Regional Detention Centre in Lynwood in there hired convertible Corsa they could all smell the accrid stench of unpounded pussy and the sweet aroma of women slipping more fingers and tongues than a professional stamp sticker. Busi wanted to high ten but choose a five to appear cool.

They checked in, received some prison issue mirrored shades and waited in the back stage area whilst Busi ran through an arm pump, an Awooga and a Awwwwwiggght in front of Black's sunglasses. Regis had totally covered himself in a map of the prison but he was too scared to get a Schofield so he had transfers. In the LA heat he now looked like a panther who had rolled in a Hello Kitty collection.

The crowd were baying for Busi and when he emerged in his ermine dungs wearing his Olympic medal the place erupted like Palestine. He hadn't seen this many women with tats, piercings and buzzcuts since he went to the Melanie C comeback concert. There were "women" here rougher than Barrymore's chair leg and just as dangerous. Regis was sweating so much he was now standing in a pool of ink and Black kept his hand firmly on his ivory handled Glock.

Many of the deep C divers were touching themselves and others whilst Busi spun out his usual brand of David Coleman anecdotes and lispy bullsh*t. By the end of the 5 minute speech the gang of tail didn't even clap, they squelched. And that was enough for Busi. He let slip his dungs and felt the fabric slide past his smooth toned thighs. He stood there for a moment looking like a beautiful chocolate elephant with it's back legs and torso chopped off. Then the riot started.

With two women dead and fourteen guards severely raped the posse took refuge with the prison padre Father Ignatious O'Reilly. "Mr Akabumbum. Despite your naked torso causing the biggest riot since that Ikea opened in Edmonton I would like you to visit one of our poor prisoners on Death Row. I think she would appreciate your kind words...and your giant cock".

Prisoner 9818783 or Paris Hilton as she was know around here, cowered in her cell as the riot took off. Busi stood at the bars his grumbling fire hose twitching like Lubbock after a belly flop. Busi knew that beneath that Gucci orange jump suit was a pair of tits so small that her cell walls were jealous and a clunge as well thumbed as the lingeries (http://www.robustbuy.com/womens-clothes-lingerie-sets-c-1083_1085_1088.html) section of a Freemans. Her stylist and PR let Busi into the cell and Paris dried her eyes with a silk do-rag. Kriss knew that The Hilt had seen more mileage than the McCann European Tour but he still wanted in. Up to his ginormous nuts.

Paris knew the drill. She peeled off her Gitmos and exposed a tanned torso that had seen more action on the internet than Pete Townsend and Leslie Grantham put together. Apart from the golden mane that topped her pin like head there wasn't a hair on her body. Busi thought he was looking at a shaved kitten and in a way he was.

Blood filled his plonker quicker than Simon Weston turning on the cold tap. He leapt on her like Hamas on Gazza and thrust his penal colony right up to her stapled stomach. Busi thought he heard a "prison break" somewhere down below but he liked a bit of blood with his pudding. Hilton was open for business and all her rooms were kingsize.

Within hours Krisstopher was on his violent vinegars and let fly with such a stream of knacker lava that Paris's spray tan was stripped from her boney body and for a brief moment the prison riot was quelled - a little in awe and a little in disgust.

Busi rolled up his heiress aerator and watched as the last of his giant spunks flipped and flapped around on the cold stone floor of Lynwood. Regis and Black had gotten a call from Robbie Williams to play football against Rod Stewart up in the Hills. Busi knew that the buffet at these things was always quality so they had no time to lose. And the prison was on fire.

"Good luck Hilt. You f**king idiot. Do your time with some dignity and don't bend over in the showers. Or the internet. Peace out" roared Akabusi with all the might of Brian Blessed with his nuts caught in the Complete Works of Shakespeare.

Busi looked down on the twisted pile of matted blonde hair, hotel reservations, dying tadpoles, rice and tiny tits, bent down on his powerful Olympian knee, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.

The End.

Pretty exciting story. Yes it is old thread but I thought it was worth of praise the effort. Thanks for sharing it :)

Chazza
26-04-13, 02:39 PM
:haha: :haha: :rock:

Lee
26-04-13, 02:49 PM
:haha: :haha:

WTF?! :D :confused:

Shaggy
26-04-13, 02:52 PM
WTF :haha::rock:

Gibbo
26-04-13, 03:02 PM
:haha::rock:

Welcome :rock:

Tee
26-04-13, 03:04 PM
Akabusi was in the shower. Crying. And w*nking. In fact there was liquid coming from every orifice.

:haha: :haha:

Lee
26-04-13, 03:13 PM
That line is brilliant. :haha: :haha: :D

dom9
26-04-13, 03:37 PM
:haha:

GuadalupePorter

:haha:

Tee
26-04-13, 03:38 PM
:haha:

GuadalupePorter

:haha:

:haha: