Werewolf Clinkers

I'm a lazy c-unt and love nothing more than coming in to work and doing f-uck all, whilst it piles up around me. I've spent years cultivating an image, whereby I can project an aura of industry, despite doing nothing more than waiting for lunch from 9am onwards. One of the side affects of this practice is that I end up having some unusual and pointless conversations with an equally workshy colleague, who writes as URFA on this means.

This mornings topic concerned last weeks Doctor Who which featured a werewolf terrorising Victorian Scotland. My point was that a Werewolf's diet must leave it massively clinkererd up at the end of a nights hunting. When he wakes up in the morning in the middle of a forest in the bollocky buffters, it must be quite a distressing experience. Recounting the nights activities through vague dreamlike memories, he must be torn by guilt.

"What have I done? I must end this horror. I ate a child last night. I'm more animal than human. What is to become of me?? And, OH MY GOD!!!! I've got sh-it all over me arrse"

URFA contended that surely, when the metamorphosis from beast to man took place as the sun came up, the clinkers would simply fall off with the hair. This gave me pause for thought. In werewolf mythology in both film and print, you never see any of the villagers saying.

"Look theres been a werewolf here."

"How dost thee know, Ezekiel?"

"There is a large pile of hair on the deck, and some of it is fair dreadlocked up with tagnuts, Jacob."

"What type of tags?"

"I believeth that one of those dangleberries has a human tooth in it."

"Fcuk me, that must have hurt coming out of his hoop."

"No wonder they fcuking howl so much, eh?"

I am interested to hear of other ARRSERS opinions on such a topic worthy of serious debate. I suggest that the hair simply retreats into the body, leaving the sh-it to adhere directly to the skin of the werewolf in his human form.

convoy_cock said:
"What have I done? I must end this horror. I ate a child last night. I'm more animal than human. What is to become of me?? And, OH MY GOD!!!! I've got sh-it all over me arrse"
youll find many HUMAN men say that every night, they are on "the list"
Well, my understanding is that your average 'changeling', as they are known in some parts, undergoes a transformation from within during certain lunar cycles. In the seminal lychanthrope documentary "Teen Wolf" (1985 Fox M.J, Griffen L. et al) we can clearly see that the hair grows from inside his body and his senses are internally enhanced (incresed sense of smell, wicked bad basketball skills) as if being 'unlocked'. Compare such an internalised transmogrification with the external 'gift' type metamorphosis seen in He-Man's "Power of Grayskull" (transferred by a lightningbolt). It stands to reason that the werewolf's transformation from rip-mawed night stalker to, for example, wayward spam backpacker ("American Werewolf in London") would be a reversal of that process - as Convoy has rightly stated, no one ever finds a pile of fetid fur and thinks: 'either the wife has done some emergency minge maintenance with my philishave, or my misfit, crap-at-basketball son has become a creature of the night".

With that in mind, if the hair is drawn back into the body, it must take at least some of the wolf dangleberries with it. This is most unhygienic and would cause the kind of spotty arrses rarely seen outside a Tank Transporter driver's cab. I'm talking big red and green plukes that ooze tagnutty puss with the slightest massaging. The kind that muster at the edges of a fat lass's bikini line like a battle-shocked gaggle of tiny Redcoats. If you ever see anyone with whiteheads the size of old 50p's on their jacksie, maybe with a half-devoured eyeball or human molar floating in the middle, chances are they're a were-wolf. Run.
Normal night out in my opinion....

(edit - child for a Kebab!)
I have come to the conclusion that after much ripping out of throats, sniffing of the occasional werewolfs arrse and the once a month end away with the slut of a Yorkshire Terrier down the street. The clagnuts on the arrse of said werewolf surely would drop off, they being covered in to much wererwolf fluff to adhere to the humans arrse. The hair retracts pulling a few tufts of werewolf hair with it this causes the werewolf/human to let out a final howl, oooowwwwwwoooooooooooooooooooo!!! Ooo yu fcuker! Before falling unconscious. The resulting clinker is thought to be a delicacy in some parts of the World where werewolf activity is at it’s highest. This is backed up in the film, “American Werewolf in London” when the bloke who becomes the werewolf and ends up shagging Jenny Agutter, walks into the pub in the Yorkshire Dales. If you look over the right shoulder of the Landlord you’ll see a strip of Big D nuts, a strip of Pork Scratchings and a strip of Werewolf clagnuts.
Are they the ones that come on a hairy card... and slowly reveal the prone naked blood spattered body of the changeling as you eat the tag nuts..?
RTFQ and URFA, your comments have made me think a bit.

Since whacking up the first post, i've been thinking about clear evidence for my theory. It's probably not enough to just say that if the villagers didn't spot the clinkers then they couldn't be there.

Flicking through a copy of Gaston Leroux's Penny Dreadful earlier, I noted a passage that referred to a Werewolf attack in the village of Milverton, Somerset in 1846. The attack was unusual in that the victim, an 18 year old milkmaid called Alice, survived the attack and was able to give an excellent first hand account of both the assault and the werewolf's subsequent behaviour. I quote:

"I tell 'ee truthfully, sir. I had just fallen to sleeping, dreaming dreams of Young Will, the farmers hand, when I heard a tapping at my window. I thought it was the old beech that grows near my window and ignored it. When the tapping grew louder, I looked in fear towards the glass and had the fright of my life. It hurts me to speak such vile terms, but a monstrous animal was scratching its arrse up and down the bricks outside my room. I let out a small squeal that alerted my presence to the beast. It leapt through my window with a roar and attacked me with great violence. It struck me with its huge paw. When I glanced at its fangs, I fully expected to be devoured and prayed to my Lord Jesus for deliverance. As I waited for the fatal blow, it became apparent that the monster was not intent on food. Indeed the blood around its gaping maw indicated that it had already fed that very eve. It searched around my room frantically, howling like a demon from hell. When it spotted a thick blanket, it grabbed it and rolled it into a long sausage shape. Then holding one end with each hand, it stepped over the blanket and dragged it back and forth in a sawing motion. The beast stopped howling and began to let out low growls of satisfaction. It may be my fevered imagination but i'm sure it spoke and said "Oooohhhh llllllovelllllly." Once he'd destroyed my blanket whilst dredging his undercarriage, he leapt from the room in a single bound."

At the time, Alice' story was discounted as the prattlings of a silly girl. Indeed her father dismissed her story as fabrication, claiming

"My Alice, has the hairiest female ringpiece in all of Somerset, and if she thinks werewolf tales will stop her getting billed for bedding, she hast another think coming."

But now i'm beginning to wonder. Hmmmmmmm!!
Feck me, you arty types with yer fancy book learning

The answer is simple:

1) Full moon
2) 12hrs of slaughter
3) Howl
4) Quick crap
5) Lick bollacks
6) quick self-administered ring dhobi
7) jobs a good 'un
8) shag jenny aguta
Indeed, this broaches another point .....

Licking your own ring piece clean is indeed an option open to the werewolf, i would be suspiscous of anyone under the age of 60 that needs a hip replacement, and whose breath stinks of sh1te...

and who c0cks their leg to p1ss.
shortfuse said:
Indeed, this broaches another point .....

Licking your own ring piece clean is indeed an option open to the werewolf, i would be suspiscous of anyone under the age of 60 that needs a hip replacement, and whose breath stinks of sh1te...

and who c0cks their leg to p1ss.
Are you implying that MDN is a werewolf?
Dear God licking your own arrse is surly the holy grail of all Skiffers. Could it be that only those who attain the ability to make nose to anus contact turn once a month into a werewolf?
I’ve been doing a bit of research on this subject and came across this on t’internet….

In 1598 Jack Rollet was tried for killing and eating a boy of fifteen. He was known as the werewolf of Barford St. John. When he was found in the woods, he was half-naked with long matted hair and blood covered hands. He was seen in a sitting position dragging himself along the ground with his legs elevated either side of his arms with a grin that dogs have when laying cable. At his trial he described how he had slaughtered various people, including a number of lawyers and bailiffs. And was reported to state, “The resulting clinkers from the remains of said lawyers and bailiffs played havoc with me ricker, the only relief I could summon was to plough a clinkered furrow with me clagnuts”.

So it looks like this has been a common problem within werewolf circles since records began

I notice that you've placed a picture of Enrique Fablon, the famous Spanish werewolf. There was an article that accompanied the picture, in the Werewolf journal, where Enrique pointed out some of the practical drawbacks to being a werewolf. He offered advice in the defecation area.

"As we all know, snapping one off without the subsequent adherence of faecal matter to the hair round the anus is almost an impossibility for our kind. I have however, stumbled on a technique that may offer help, and restore dignity to our kind. I attacked and ate a doctor at my local hospital last week. He was performing open heart surgery at the time. After killing him and his patient, the adrenaline rush left me in urgent need of a BFT sh-it. Desperate not to sh-it up my fur at an early stage of the evening, my eyes lighted on the rib-spreaders the doctor had been using. By sticking them up my bum and cranking them to their limit, I was, for the first time in my lupine life, able to achieve a splay full enough to pass from my ricker to the deck, without encountering one arrrse hair."
I once came back early from ex on the plain. Thought I'd surprise my girlfriend by turning up at her house early. It was a misty night and as I walked the 500m or so from the station to hers I felt strangely burdoned by the maudlin fog as it glistened in the full moon. It may have been the cam cream stubbornly clinging to my ear holes, but I was sure I heard someone folowing me. A church bell issued its portent in the distance, the nape of my neck chilled.

I arrived at the lass's door. It's heavy oak panneling, depicting Vlad The Impaler's murderous reign of Monrovia, seemed to dance as clouds skittered across the face of the moon. I reached for the doorbell and as the Emperor's March from Starwars rang out, the door slid open, unmoved by human hand. I could hear a feral... oh chr1st, a feral, monstrous noise coming from upstairs. I moved inside and trod the stairway silently, petrified lest I attract that harbinger, that hated demon's ire and fetch it upon me before I reached the landing.

The muffled screams, the snarling, ripping cacophony. I placed my daysack at my feet, wondering if there'd be enough of my girlfriend to do my dhobi that weekend.

I pushed the door to her room open and collapsed in a rictus of shock and fear. On the bed a howling, four-legged fiend covered by girl's naked body. I screamed, for the lost humanity, the triumph of The Beast.

Sharon pulled the ball gag from her mouth, looked over her shoulder at me, past the gurning doberman, and in her cutting essex accent said: "it's alrart, Dimitri 'ere says e's a where-wulf". She pointed to the mustachio'd man with the greasy mullet who stood in the corner behind a camcorder and bipod. He grinned and gave me two thumbs up. She always was a gullible bint.
Perhaps the insertion of a tube, as made famous by those that claim a certain Mr R. G.(name deleted on the grounds of supporting evidence only comes from the tabloid press) and instead of releasing a small furry rodent into the tube, releasing a massive turd in a neat and perfectly round form.
it was always my understanding that wherewolves had evolved a hairless "baboon" style arrse, for that very reason


stet said:
it was always my understanding that wherewolves had evolved a hairless "baboon" style arrse, for that very reason
Going off at a slight tangent, what the fück is it that chimps eat to give them such angry looking arrses? I took the junior cpunk's to London Zoo last Christmas for our traditional Yuletide caged animal taunting session, and the chimps there all looked like they'd been featuring in some heavy gonzo anal porn extravaganza. Do you suppose this is why Tarzan always wore that red loincloth thingy, as a way of disguising his screaming ringpiece on film? Or - just a thought - perhaps as higher primates they've developed a way of waxing their tagnuts, possibly using a primitive tool made from a honey coated stick? I bet that would sting: I'll ask David Attenborough...
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