Elliot Armstrong: Romantacist

It was at the GUM clinic their eyes first met. He was there to have is scrot-rot salved and she was in to have her pube nits fumigated.
Like-minded people have a way of finding each other, and under the fluorescent lights, between the callow sighs of the teen aged girls in for pregnancy tests and over magazines about the woman whose ex ate her daughter's tits they found each other.

Both contaminated both, and both very adventurous.


Back at his place he knew that once she saw his red PVC sofa, to his mind the ultimate status symbol, he would be knee deep in fanny batter because he was a total prick; just like all the men in romance novels and real life. He reclined, took off his shirt and waited. They had discussed food play on the bus over and he had the most erotic of all foods in the oven.

On the menu tonight was copulation with a side order of a plate of chops.

The candles that were obviously there, because this is erotic fiction, flickered as she entered the room; platter of assorted chops in hand. She looked at his hard chest and was reminded of galvanised rubber, hard and unforgiving; to her his abs were like Val Kilmer as Batman spray painted pink and with a bonk on. He confidently took the bone from a chop from the plate, fake fellated it briefly and said "Take your top off honey, lift your skirt and turn around. We gonna make us some gravy."

Nick Griffin Versus The Night

As the country goes to the polls serious politician and definitely not a chob-eyed, racist, dog interferer Nick Griffin, leader of the BNP has launched an eleventh hour campaign that he believes will garner vital votes.

"The debate that only the BNP is willing to have. The problem that none of the main parties have even been willing to mention. The greatest threat to the indigenous British people since Winston Churchill and I used our souped-up space Spitfires to defeat Ali Baba and his squadron of Forty Thieves on flying carpets. That threat is all the damn Draculas.”

At a hastily convened press-conference in front of a giant pile of garlic with the Union Flag draped over it, the totally not-Nazi, chum-faced shitter outlined his sudden and growing alarm at what he has termed “A blood sucking Eastern European menace.”

“I was taking an evening off from putting British people first” The goblin-headed, spam javelin continued “You know, relaxing over a light and bitter and polishing my war medals I was awarded for putting British pensioners first by buying their medals off them, when Bram Stoker’s Dracula comes on the telly. These Draculas coming over here and taking our women outraged me. Proper, hard working decent British people should be able to speak out on issues like this without shrill accusations of “monsterphobia!” and “afraid of the dark” from elitist liberals. Basically, my party will be working toward offering all Draculas voluntary repatriation back to Poland or a stake through the heart.”

It was pointed out to the walking visual obscenity that Dracula is a fictional vampire from Transylvania, a country that he does indeed return to at the end of the story. The pus-brained hilarity gurgled that creepy t*rd’s burp of a laugh he kept doing on Question Time then mumbled something about being too busy being a serious, credible politician to ever watch any films or read any books. The condom full of custard opportunist was also at pains to point out that his new campaign was in no way prompted by watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula in its entirety and being so shitted up that he couldn’t sleep all night. Griffin once again denied watching the whole film. Then he denied denying that he’d ever denied anything ever. The big denier.

Alan Tichmarsh’s divvy cousin then mouth-spaffed on. “I want the old age pensioners of this tiny island to know that we acknowledge and are proud of all they achieved by winning two World Wars and one World Cup.We will close the floodgates. We will put our own old bats and walking corpses first by raising the state pension! Fuck knows how we’ll pay for it. Something about competing for resources and places in morgues and graves or something.”

“I and my party don’t hate anybody. In fact, we recently changed our membership policy to allow members of the British monster community to become token members so we don’t get in trouble with the law. Mr Hyde, and, errrrm, Jack the Ripper immediately joined up because we are the only party that recognizes their concerns over how quickly their community of Victorian London has changed since all Draculas flocked there. And I’m mates with David Duke and he was a grand dragon, in the KKK, an organization well known for dressing up as spooky ghosts. Scared of monsters? It’s safe to say that some of by best friends are monsters.”