The Skankbags (762 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.57 on 23 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by TechnoRatty (View user info) at 2007-10-15 15:22:48 EDT
'Senga, my dear,' said Mr Skankbag to his beautiful lady wife, the strong-smelling Mrs Skankbag, 'since it is our wedding anniversary, I have booked us a table at your very favourite restaurant!'
'Oh Shuggy, my beloved, you do not surely mean Monsieur Minge's?' gasped Mrs Skankbag. 'It is so terribly expensive! Are you sure we can afford it?'
'For you, my angel, no expense is too great. Go and put your filthiest clothes on and we shall have a truly wonderful night out!' he declared romantically, kissing her unwashed cheek tenderly.
And so they got all dressed up in their very filthiest old clothes. Mr Skankbag's suit was crumpled and amply stained with unmentionable human and animal bodily fluids and Mrs Skankbag's dress was torn and stunk of stale sweat and urine, an exotic combination which drove Mr Skankbag wild with love and lust. They threw Cindy, their pet pig out of their car and off they went to the famous Monsieur Minge's.
They were welcomed at the door of the restaurant by Monsieur Minge who was dressed impeccably as always: he was wearing a beautiful white linen suit on top of a crisply ironed pink silk shirt. His jacket was unbuttoned, the better to display his bright green Italian silk tie with its hand-painted picture of a giant steaming dog turd.
'Ah, M'sieur and Madame Skeenkbeeg! I am zo very 'appy to see you again! Would you like your favourite table, ze one next to ze toilets?'
'Oh Mr Minge, how clever of you to remember.' trilled Mrs Skankbag.
'While you peruse ze menu,' said Monsieur Minge suavely, leading them to a table with a direct view of the toilet facilities, 'perhaps you would accept today's special cocktail as an apéritif, with my compliments?'
'That would be wonderful!' exclaimed Mr Skankbag as he plumped his repulsive arse down on the priceless Louis XIV chair which the waiter, Mr Flatulent, had pulled out for him, adding 'What is the cocktail of the day?'.
'Champagne aux vomissements de chat,' replied Monsieur Minge, adding by way of explanation, 'A glass of the finest Cristal champagne with a spoonful of puréed cats' vomit.'
The service at Monsieur Minge's restaurant was faultless and the two apéritifs arrived in a twinkling, together with an amuse-gueule of battered cat puke lumps. Mr Flatulent, the waiter, farted graciously as he placed the drinks on their table. He let another one fly as he made a little respectful bow.
After examining the menu for a few minutes and cooing over the exquisite taste of the appetisers, Mr and Mrs Skankbag agreed that the à la carte choices were too daunting: there were simply so many wonderful things on offer that selection was impossible. They decided to opt for the chef's special "menu gourmet surprise", even though it was outrageously expensive at £2,000 each.
'A very wise choice, Meester Skeenkbeeg,' murmured Monsieur Minge discreetly, 'ze chef will be delighted you have put yourselves in his hands. You will not be disappointed, that I know.' Monsieur Minge recommended that a bottle or two of Château Pisse de Cheval 94 would be ideal. 'Eet has a full Chardonnay flavour weeth just a heent of horse piss,' he intoned.
As they sat back to relax in the sublime luxury of their surroundings, Mr and Mrs Skankbag gazed at the rows of empty tables in admiration. It was always so peaceful at Monsieur Minge's - in all the years they had been going there, they had never ever seen another customer.
Mr Flatulence soon arrived with their first courses. 'Cream of Asparagus Soup with Roasted Toads' Eyeballs,' he explained, setting down the two bowls of green frothy liquid before them with a gentle fart. Mrs Skankbag picked up her soup spoon, eager to try some, but Mr Flatulence interrupted her
'Please wait a moment, madam, the dish is not quite complete,' explained Mr Flatulence. He then leant forward and, with one finger blocking his left nostril, expelled the complete contents of his right nostril into Mrs Skankbag's soup. He repeated the process with a dexterous change of nasal fingering, emptying his left nostril into Mr Skankbag's plate in turn. 'I think you will find that adds a certain je ne sais quoi,' he whispered conspiratorially to the admiring couple.
And he was right, the soup was utterly delicious now. Mr Skankbag and Mrs Skankbag agreed the soup was a truly ravishing gustatory experience. 'Mmmmmmmmmmmmm,' they chorused in unison to Mr Flatulence who farted at length in gratitude at their appreciation.
Mr Flatulence left their table but soon returned with two elegant silver bowls on a platter. 'I took the liberty of bringing you some spittoons, sir,' he said. Mr Skankbag was gratified to see they were full to overflowing with phlegm, including a couple of classic thick green lumps per person.
After they had eaten the wonderful soup, a different waiter removed their plates. They recognised Mr Gross from previous visits and Mrs Skankbag noticed that, as usual, Mr Gross's large flaccid penis was hanging out of his trousers. 'Enjoy your fucking soup, did you?' enquired Mr Gross cordially with a loud burp.
The next course was served by Monsieur Minge himself. 'Eet eez ze chef's speciality: ravioli all vermi. Inside each ravioli of home-made egg pasta you weel find a leetle baby earthworm cooked to perfection weeth just a touch of coriander,' he elucidated.
'And the sauce, Mr Minge?' asked Mrs Skankbag cautiously
'A blend of melted butter and rare pregnant yak's urine, naturellement,' smiled Monsieur Minge with some pride. 'We import it specially from Tibet.' Mr Skankbag urinated in his drawers very slightly in anticipation.
After they had wolfed down the pasta, Mr Skankbag rose to his feet. 'I'm bursting for a shite, dear,' he explained as he headed for the nearby toilets. Mrs Skankbag could see an ominous damp stain on the back of her husband's trousers so she knew he might already be too late. How she loved him.
During the ten minutes of Mr Skankbag's absence in the lavatories, Mrs Skankbag took a gulp from her spittoon and was astonished to find its contents were all in one piece, so she had to drink the whole lot. She heard Monsieur Minge laughing at her surprise. Another chef d'oeuvre.
When Mr Gross came and removed the empty plates, she couldn't resist patting his penis as he was about to bear them back to the kitchen. 'Wanna suck it?' Mr Gross asked, but Mrs Skankbag declined after a moment's consideration as she felt Mr Skankbag might have considered such behaviour inappropriate on their wedding anniversary. Mr Skankbag returned to the table and wiped his fingers on the hitherto pristine tablecloth. 'No toilet paper again,' he observed casually.
The main course arrived after only a short delay. It was served with some ceremony by Monsieur Minge, flanked by both Mr Flatulence and Mr Gross. Each waiter held an enormous blue china plate surmounted by a silver dome which they removed with simultaneous flourishes.
'Ze chef's newest creation,' explained Monsieur Minge excitedly. 'Roasted whole unborn baby giraffe, with womb-lining sauce and a confection of assorted exotic vegetables, all served on a bed of creamed rhino shit. I think you will find it exquisite
And it WAS exquisite, a pungent yet delicate masterpiece of the demented chef's bizarre art. Mr Skankbag was overwhelmed as he chewed on the tender meat of the giraffe foetus' leg, the uterine sauce dripping down his jowls.
After they had finished the sophisticated main course, Mr Flatulence announced, between a delightful series of tiny farts, that the chef would prepare his most famous dessert, Crap Suzette, at their table and that this should be considered a great honour. Mr and Mrs Skankbag were very impressed as the trolley with its 19th century shining copper cooking equipment was wheeled over to their table.
Mr Flatulent suggested a dessert wine would best accompany the Craps Suzettes: he strongly recommended the rare 1946 Greek Muscat from the beautiful Greek island of Shittos and Mr and Mrs Skankbag were up for that.
Then the chef, Mr Nudist, appeared. He was, naturally, totally naked (except for his traditional chef's hat and a pair of golden Egyptian slippers). He had shaved every hair off his body in the interests of kitchen hygiene and his vast belly had several angry-looking burn marks, no doubt incurred by bumping against his stove during the preparation of the Skankbages' repast
Monsieur Minge appeared and revealed the secret of the chef's celebrated Crap Suzette: the dish involved lovingly frying wafer thin slices of dried elephant dung in twelve year old goat butter, the result then being flamed in the fabled and extraordinary 1905 Napoleon VSP XXO cognac. Finally, Monsieur Minge announced, shaved flakes of chilled dried raw human foreskin were to be scattered over the plate for artistic effect.
Mrs Skankbag gazed in awe as Mr Nudist, the internationally acclaimed prize-winning chef, created the most renowned dessert in the Western world. Mr Nudist wisely kept his huge erect penis and mighty hairless bollocks well clear of the red-hot pans and, immediately the glittering plates had been placed before the admiring diners, rushed into the lavatory, his pendulous buttocks trembling like two mighty raspberry jellies. 'He has tropical dysentery as the moment,' explained Monsieur Minge sympathetically.
All too soon, the memorable meal was over, the enormous bill paid, hands shaken, the chef congratulated on his staggeringly original and ground-breaking cuisine. Mr and Mrs Skankbag left the restaurant in a state of near-euphoria as Mr Gross started masturbating frantically in the corner of the dining room and Mr Flatulence blew out a giant one in farewell to the happy couple.
Monsieur Minge looked sadly at the ruined upholstery of his beautiful Louis XIV chairs where the Skankbages had leaked incontinently. It was a fucking hard life being a top notch restaurateur he mused, picking his nose philosophically.
User Reviews
Submitted by Paralyzed_By_Hope (user info) at 2007-10-16 11:29:31 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2007-10-16 09:56:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
eh
Submitted by Val (user info) at 2007-10-15 20:51:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
One of my patients always smells like burnt hair. I found out today he owns 12 cats. So I don't really know what goes on over there.
Submitted by TheGoat (user info) at 2007-10-15 19:40:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Badlands woot!
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2007-10-15 21:14:37 BST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Director (user info) at 2007-10-15 18:48:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by orphelia (user info) at 2007-10-15 17:13:25 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I sometimes wish I was one of 'those' people.
You know the kind? They don't seem to brush their hair or teeth, always wear something with a Disney character emblazend across the front.
I once saw an entire family with almost matching fleece jackets on. Dads was decorated with wolves, mums with tigers, the son had husky dogs on his and the young girls had kittens.
They look so blissfully unaware it made me envious.
I <3 Techno Ratty.
Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2007-10-15 17:10:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
prettygood
Submitted by HurtByTheSun (user info) at 2007-10-15 17:09:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Fuckin' awesome.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-10-15 16:41:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
.
Submitted by TheUniter (user info) at 2007-10-15 16:41:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by skrapmetal (user info) at 2007-10-15 16:39:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Wasn't there a Monty Python sketch that included the characters Mr. and Mrs. Ratbag that was similar to this?
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2007-10-15 16:14:37 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Crudite (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:58:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Deliciously nauseating.
Submitted by HateMudkips (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:54:57 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
You know, I just found out that it IS possible to shoot carbonated beverages out of one's nostrils while laughing.
My nose, it burns!
:)
Submitted by triangle_man (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:41:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:35:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
As often as I can...but I'm presently in the middle of some golf book. That's got me covered probably through my next 20-25 smashes.
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Good Shit!!!
18 Holes
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:35:19 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
As often as I can...but I'm presently in the middle of some golf book. That's got me covered probably through my next 20-25 smashes.
Submitted by DudeThatsBOSH (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:34:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
everybody poops
Submitted by triangle_man (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:33:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I will read this to my kid tonight.
Schlongy...print it and read it when you take a dump.
I presume you dump?
Submitted by ChaosJester (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:32:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
This was...foul.
Utterly and gloriously so.
I actually had to stop eating my slice o' cherry pie midway through.
How can I NOT +2 that?
Submitted by Wompom (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:32:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Unappealing, yes. But at least everyones organs remained in place.
Submitted by ilikesteak (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:32:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I read this post in lolcat format. Twas funny. In lolcat format.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:31:33 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Well, I liked the title but I'm surely not going to read all of that.
Submitted by rorrim (user info) at 2007-10-15 15:26:58 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Lion king = auto +2.