The impotent & sometimes musical musings of Mr. MWS pt2


…Mr. MWS was last observed in a crimson rage on a crumbling curbside in Rio having failed to interfere with the German female volleyball team’s ‘incomparable growlers’. Meanwhile Stronzetto his glue hoofing man-mule had been run over quite thoroughly and thrashed for his efforts…

The blessed relief of serenity these past few months has bluntly been stabbed by the ‘sexual servants’ latest infantile dispatches from the mind garden… Proceed with a shovel of salt

Stronzetto come along at once, why are you walking like John Wayne lumping a hod? “Arse hole so sore, this white stuff so slippy and hard to walk in” You would have fallen at the first hurdle in any decent school my boy, stuffing one’s anus with improbable objects is virtually part of the curriculum. And besides you are my mule and the trifling inconvenience of smuggling half a bale of puro coca up your less than virgin rectum paid off rather handsomely, you received your glue ration did you not? We are free from that infernal favela non? Furthermore the white stuff to which you refer is called snow. As novel as it may be to your adhesive attention, right thinking men see the purity in it and don’t carry on like Colin cunting cream-puff every moment of this glorious day.

“Why my toes turning black ?”

My best guess is along these lines - you are an imbecile stood in sub zero temperatures in what I can only imagine started life as flip flops and a t-shirt you were probably gifted aged seven.

“But why are we here?” I will entertain questions but not insolence you tameless little teat, now stand up straight while I poke your red little eye – Good, we are here because this is the land of the Sami people, they are the key to Christmas, I take it you are aware of Christmas. “Ow Oww, Yes fat man and horney donkeys, he brings soup to the Favela.” I see, and what does the fat man wear? “He wears red shorts and t-shirt and has a big white beard and a bobble hat”. What I am driving at in the middle of the tundra are the particular colours red and white, do you know of their importance? “No’ Then I shall enlighten the matter, Red and white draw their significance from ancient shamanism in particular the shaman of the Sami people and their penchant for the sacred and viciously hallucinogenic red and white Fly-agaric mushroom. The drug is difficult to prepare however the Sami people are most industrious and ascertained hundreds of years ago their herds of reindeer or ‘horned donkey’ can imbibe the the drug with no ill effect. From this discovery it was only a short step of necessity that led them to another astonishing determination, drinking reindeer piss brings on a thunderous psychedelic and erotic journey…and that my sticky little vagabond is why we are here…

Casting pearls before swine, did you listen to my revelations or were you more concerned with the contents of your glue bag? Just as I thought you’ve passed out again, perhaps lighting the stove under your already suffering anus will stiffen your senses? “Ahhhhhh ass aflame” There, two birds with one stone, one awakened manservant and a new appreciation for the wonders of snow. Stronzetto we are but moments away from deeply perverted ‘Noaidi’ or female Shamen known for their filthy contortions and randy incantations.

Soon we will not know which way is up little less care, and I for one am positively erect at the prospect. So if you’ve quite finished extinguishing your derriere we have merry to make and musk to spread…


Huzzah, Mr MWS is back and the world is suddenly brighter.


Wrong 'un


Much obliged


Full on hallucinogenic chubber


There was a time when all that would have made sense to me :wink:


It seems this midlife crisis has ignited the passions of a misspent youth. The symptoms are for the most part tolerable but I must admit to sporadically falling victim midweek to the inner idiot / failed fantasist Mr. MWS.


I could try again, but I’m not sure I could cope with the comedown any more


The day of Boxing and thereafter should be singularly spent grazing. Right thinking gentleman mindfully channel the spirit of Bacchus during this period to gorge most magnificently under the blue Rizla thin rationalization ‘The following days / months will be spent dans le gymnasium.’

This year Mr. MWS has been tangling with yet another woeful hypothesis ‘Is it possible to astral project if dosed sufficiently with cheese’?. Positioned mid buffet opposite a disposable platter of the finest congealed beasts milk (Le’ dairy lea, La baby bell and the pinnacle of sophistication Boursin) The experiment thus far has yielded blurred vision, impaired speech (Any such attempt sounding more akin to a Hindu macaque) and horrifying concerns rising in the bowel. To sooth the scene and energize the fromage fantasist let there be music (Preferably at volume to drown the groaning)

Music to chew cheese Vol 1:


Depending on your point of view the cheese experiment ended rather well. Mr. MWs has been close to coma for at least 12 hrs and (barring evil wind) shows scant sign of life.

Blessed relief vol 1:


Dispatches from the mind garden continued…

Hope thwarted once more! Seemingly death by cheese was a failed experiment. Mr MWS latest and most unwelcome installment picks up where he left off, coated in snow and armed only with stinking thinking and a glint in his eye (Not quite true he also had an itinerant Brazilian with frost bite in his armory of idiot - Ed)

Stronzetto listen keenly - Over this ridge is a heard of psychedelic beasts - Your task is to collect their urine in this pot and bring it back to me as swiftly as your be-frosted trotters will carry you. “Eh” Do not give your self to questioning my man, the task is simple - Go and take the piss.

Watching a man with frostbite and a singular red eye navigate the tundra is not for the faint of heart. Bouncing from boulder to scrub, knocked bandy by arctic winds and hidden crevices would raise concern in the most hardened soul. - Indeed the snow queen can be a mistress most cruel

In moments of precarious a nature, I find it best to fondle away the nerves and so with Stronzetto fighting for life and limb I settled down to masturbatory meditation.
The unmistakable thunder of gunshot roused me from my reverie. Wankus interruptus is the one thing that unites all men in fury! Peering over the ledge I could see Stronzetto. It was a curious sight to behold, indeed I fear it may be tattooed within the kiosk of the mind forevermore. It was clear to see Stronzetto had acquainted himself with the Reindeer by virtue of the fact he was anally impaled on the antlers of quite a magnificent beast. Another shot rang out which reminded me to focus on the real peril of the situation namely: Some bastard has a gun close by and I am fully allergic to bullets.

The conundrum didn’t take too long to solve, echoing across the wasteland via megaphone came the announcement “Park ranger, you are under arrest” - If there are two words in the English language that siphon a mans sap with the quickness it is “Under Arrest” there is only one known antidote to such proclamations and so, as is my want, I reverted to the job in hand… Alas, the biting cold and torturous caterwauling Stronzetto was conjuring added up to a flaccid attempt. Noting the failure and resolving to thrash the adhesive cyclops for his efforts the moment I could get my hands on him it was back to my observation post…The park rangers clearly were right thinking men. They had shot Stronzetto half a dozen times with tranquilizer darts to quieten the din before finally mastering the beast that was wearing him as a perverted hat.
Watching one’s man servant being bundled into the back of a 4x4 with half a well barbed antler protruding from his rectum is a sobering moment and so with only glue to distract from reality I took in a few hefty hoofs from Stronzettos bag before quietly retracing my steps back to civilization. The frosty hike took just shy of four days to the nearest town

Upon arrival a stern phone call to the tundra commission secured the release of Stronzetto from the charges of bestiality and buggery by miss adventure. It wasn’t a difficult to convince the rangers, they simply could not believe their eyes and Stronzetto had subsequently managed to demonstrate he should be released to my expert care having begged to be shot with tranquilizers several times and demanding glue rather than dinner or breakfast most days. That night awaiting Stronzettos arrival from the prison hospital, I relaxed by the fire transfixed and as the flickering flames golden hues pranced around the Nordically well designed cabin. Slowly the sense of ease and comfort lubricated the well rusted doors of the mind garden. Visions most strange came to me that night, many are unspeakable but two things became clear a) I need to learn to play the synthesizer and b) I should enter the world of pop music. A scene bursting with willing, dancing strumpets (The reverie appeared to me something like this)


Genius. :smile:


Ah, just like home :grin:



Hell maybe other people, but are two better than one?


In times where the ‘buffoon is king’, self-preservation spurs the blessed to instruct the backward.
Stronzetto, as you likely ken, is the pinnacle of pillock. His soul as deep as a puddle, his internal impetus a gloopy pickle of adhesive misfortune and Highway code confusion. The essence of the man was once best described in a local crime report as: ‘A man devoid of gorm’

Charitably I have undertaken to instruct my ‘Brazil nut’ in the craft of un-gentlemanly conduct. The cultivation of a well-woven inner life erupting with warped orgasmic panache and honed carnal wisdom in such a specimen may strike lesser men as a non-starter. No so! Time attests ‘le carrot au stick’ has proven it’s worth from the divine to the bovine. As the masters of Eaton maintain, “Buggery and birch bear the richest fruit.”

It is not that Stronzetto is particularly loyal; indeed he who holds the glue bag tethers his soul. Nevertheless, his anus has an unfathomable capacity for concealing contraband and my sentimental side (I note with measured shame) has come to regard his singular damned red eye with somewhat of a shine. Assisting one of nature’s worst wonders to achieve the odd gallop or two is the least I can do. Buddha would approve non?.

Day 1- Assessment:
Stronzetto, what is your technique for seducing the female?
“ Sometimes at 3am I collapse in bushes near the Copacabana, when drunken ladies come, sometimes they wee or sick on me.” A promising start Stronzetto, intoxication is the first tool in the bottom feeder’s arsenal. Where you seem to be going wrong is in all other respects… You conk out in a bush, no doubt glue bag to hand, and get pissed on. “Yes” and this is the extent of your carnal knowledge? “Yes.” Stronzetto I am going out on a limb here, are you familiar with the birds and the bees? “One stings and the other one shits from above”. It could be argued Stronzetto’s synopsis of love is of deep symbolic significance. This would be lunacy, the man is but one evolutionary judder from plankton and as such it becomes clear his tuition will very much begin at the beginning.

Day 2 – Know Your Quarry
A hunter is most efficient if he has the wherewithal to ‘read’ his prey. In translation for the chasm between your ears, identifying the right kind of woman can save you a good deal of energy. Energy you would doubtless wish to spend snuffling from your glue bag. Stronzetto, the eyes are peepholes to the soul, note them well. I will now show you three sets of female eyes and I want you to tell me what you can deduce regarding each woman’s capacity for deviancy.




“I think number one is nice and kind and will make nice cuddle” Oh you do, do you? “Ahoowwww.” Stronzetto I have beaten you with my shoe because number 1 is ‘Femina max maintenance’. The likelihood of prolonged perversions with this woman are minus nil. Her eyes scream ‘Meet my parents, impress my friends, do you like children?’. Do you see?

“Number 2 is very cross, like I glued her bum to chair and stole handbag.” Ah! We are getting closer – Indeed this is the look of a woman who will doubtless get you in a headlock and demand anal as you are no use to no cunt. Know it and understand it Stronzetto this is the look of a woman with a concrete labia – she will hurt and scratch you. This is precisely what you are looking for.

“Number 3 looks like she found me hiding under her bed.” Stronzetto your responses are telling but what I am interested in is do you believe this woman is fit for the tupping? “No, I think this lady will soon shout ‘police’ and run making big screaming” – Marvellous Stronzetto your membership to the secret cervix ebbs ever closer.

Day 3. Mind Control
Stronzetto, once you have determined your sport it is essential to arrest their very being. - Arouse the mind and ungodly nature will conjure the rest. Here is a crayon, you will now write from the bowels of your essence a scintillating poem laced with taboo invitation and seminal excitement!

Stronzetto I am swayed and deeply stirred, whispering such words in the ear of a woman with your adhesively husky tone will send her quim-a- quiver!

Day 4. Music And Prance.
Stronzetto, women folk respond rabidly to rhythm. It is a marked law that lady people believe a man makes love in the manor he prances. Know this! And note this further, the secret instruments designed to excite the greatest rapture are the: ‘primeval drum’ and the ‘ethereal flute’. Combine these sounds with certifiable pumping pelvis avec whispered poetry and you will be galloping at their backsides as would Jehu. Here is a short film, study it well.

Day 5. Meditation
Stronzetto, contemporary clods place great stock in ‘meditation and mindfulness’. They seem to peg wonderment and meaning to such ‘practices’ because they simply do not understand what these words mean. Simply put, they mean ‘Pay fucking attention without getting distracted’. With that said there are some practices that do endow the practitioner with a blossoming inner world. At their height the doors to the mind garden swing akimbo. Stronzetto, “Ahhwwoo”. Step away from the glue bag - I am imparting sacred wisdom that you will barely be able to grasp if you continue to suckle and snort from Evo’s teat! Good, now pay attention. Pranayama breathing is the practice of forcibly inhaling and exhaling fully from the diaphragm at no less than 100 inhalations per minute. Watch this film and follow it’s instruction.

Stronzetto, having observed your practice I am most encouraged, perhaps years of hoofing glue have served a higher purpose – you’re a natural. I could almost hear your destitute gardens song before me.

With Stronzetto’s instruction shaping up so admirably I feel the time will soon come for field-testing. In the mean time I must travel to the mind garden for masturbatory rejuvenation!



You need to write the book


Negotiations with a publisher have stalled following Mr.MWS’s insistence on a pop up book


Didn’t realise that @bmtell was fond of fruit?


Spice! I need more Spice. NOW!!