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#11
May 25th, 2008, 13:20
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The Great Train Robbery...
Interview with Bruce Reynolds  14, March 1996 Escape! Adventure! Limitless cash! Bruce Reynolds, the Great Train Robber, now 65, had it all. But his quest for freedom led to frequent and lengthy spells inside. Was it worth it? Maybe … IDLER: Were you ever interested in conventional jobs? REYNOLDS: I started off with a regular job, I was a messenger boy at Northcliffe House, where the Daily Mail was, at fourteen and a half. Then I got a job in the accounts department, and it was basically filing invoices. There must have been 100 people working in there, in long lines and all graded. You start working as a junior and get moved up. I used to look up and see the old boy who was head of the department. He was about 50 and I thought, I don’t want to be like that. I was doing a lot of cycling at that time and I thought, that’s what I want to do. So I left the job I was doing and got a job at a cycle firm. They had an independent team. I was more or less a bike bum. Me and a couple of other guys, we lived on nothing, we used to run up and down on the coast. And then I met what you might call my nemesis in the shape of a wide boy, then I got educated. I didn’t know any criminals as such. And the life of the young outlaw appealed to me tremendously. Till I got nicked. IDLER: How long were you locked up for, the first time. REYNOLDS: I got three years, but you could be out in nine months theoretically, if they thought you was the right material. As an outlaw, I thought, “I’ve got to escape”. We had compasses, iron rations, which was chocolate stolen from the kitchen, and three of us escaped. I was the only one that got away. I left the other two out ‘cos they wouldn’t swim the river. I was home for about three or four days before I got nicked then I went to what was familiarly known as the Hate Factory. It was very, very tough. You could only talk to other prisoners on a Saturday afternoon. You had three library books which you couldn’t change with the guy next door. And of course there was no radios then, it was 1949. The whole thing was supposedly to teach people a lesson, but what it actually did was make people harder. What do people care about society if society’s never cared about them? I mean it’s total nonsense, all it ever did was brutalise. As soon as I got back to borstal I was away again. Then they put me in a closed borstal. I escaped again. the thing was, all throughout history, all heroes have escaped at some time. Escape… it’s magic, romantic. And the only thing you can do on the run is a bit of crime. At the time that was basically smashing shop windows, nothing particularly skilful, but I didn’t know any different. I was in London, staying in various people’s places, and we got nicked on burglary charges - putting in a whole front window. I did go back into the army once and of course I ran away again and then when I got nicked, they said three years imprisonment, which was a very heavy sentence then. I went to Wandsworth. what you get of course, is you going from prep school to university. From smashing shop windows, I was talking to people who had blown safes. IDLER: Did you get a reputation at that point? REYNOLDS: No, not really. The way you actually get on in the criminal world is to make a reputation for yourself and basically I had more bottle than anyone else. I got nicked for shoplifting and while I was away I got a contact and he said: “I’ll have you go into safeblowing”. So when I came home I had this in mind. My closest friend at the time had moved up the criminal circle and I realised that there was a circle within the circle. I thought, that’s where I gotta get. IDLER: Were you making money at this point? REYNOLDS: Not really, no, but that’s when - this is 1954 - I got introduced into the country house business which is called ‘climbing’. That means you went round a house found a ladder and opened the window. I was game for anything. If someone said they had a safe to blow I said yeah, but because you were a jewel thief your self-image was a little bit different from smashing a window. I was mixing with an older crowd at that time, who dressed well, had nice cars and I had some excellent mentors in this respect. Everything was new: I got my first car, it was a Triumph TR2 and then an Aston Martin, and I was having suits made in Saville Row. IDLER: How much money were you making at that time? REYNOLDS: At my peak, which was just before I got nicked, I had three cars, including a Zodiac convertible, and I was paying about six quid a week for a flat in Streatham, which was quite a bit of money. IDLER: When you were going in and out of prison, was there ever a moment when you thought, I’m going to get out of this? REYNOLDS: No. By this time I was committed to it and knew that this was where my destiny lay. I’d met enough people to see that you could make a business out of it, and that a lot of these people didn’t have any brains at all. You put a little bit of skill and little bit of research and a little bit of expertise… IDLER: Did you have regular hang-outs? REYNOLDS: We had one pub, the Star in Belgravia, which at that time was a bit of a hangout but all sorts of people came there. Once your reputation started then you start getting invites to things and people think oh, good worker, and also the great thing was, everyone wants to be with someone who’s lucky, who is successful and if they see you’re successful they think it’s going to rub off on them. IDLER: If you were running away from the police and you got caught, would the police beat you up? REYNOLDS: Oh yeah, badly. You bash a policeman up, they’re going to bash you up. I mean that will always be the case. I had a very hard time during that three and a half years locked up. The girl I was with had an alliance with a friend of mine, who subsequently killed himself as a result of what was gong on. She disappeared to America or Canada and I haven’t seen her since. And this is when I had this plot to try and get some time back and had a gun brought into the prison. IDLER: What do you mean “try to get some time back?” REYNOLDS: Well, the old king of the underworld, Billy Hill, whilst he was serving his sentence, he got a pal of his to attack a screw and then Bill rescued the screw from his pal and he got six months off. So I knew that had been done a couple of times, I thought they won’t wear that, but if I have a gun brought in, and make out I was disclosing an escape plot… anyway, it went wrong, because the weekend I did it, the governor was off-duty, so when he came back Monday, the deputy governor had got all the kudos for discovering this plot. He didn’t like that, the governor, so he suggested it could be a plot. To prove it wasn’t a plot, I had to get someone to stab me. They moved me to Durham prison, which made me tougher, a lot more bitter. So I thought when I get home, there’d be no more messing about. Of course in that period, things had changed, the criminal climate had changed and I realised that the old ways was out. IDLER: What’s it like, the contrast going from expensive cars and champagne to being in prison? REYNOLDS: You never get used to it. When you’re first nicked, you literally want to cry. Because it’s all gone, you’ve lost everything, the women generally, and just a bare cell. IDLER: Can you get over confident? If you have a string of successes… REYNOLDS: You think “I can’t go wrong” and that was bullshit, you get drawn into it don’t you? You think I can do that, I can do anything”. And that’s how you get nicked. So that’s what really started the confrontational aspect and then I realised that we had to organise; in other words we had to have other people with us. Initially we weren’t too successful, I think we were waiting about for something and we waited too long. IDLER: So you’re out in 1960? REYNOLDS: I’m out in 1960 and I’m fully active. I had money. I went straight over to the south of France. IDLER: What about the money? Did people keep it for you. REYNOLDS: I had bank accounts. They never used to look in the bank accounts like they do now. When I got out in 1960 I had ��20,000. When I came home, I went round to see a friend, and he’d just found a piece of work that was as easy as anything. Someone was selling a house, they had an au pair girl in the house. They were away, she was there but the house was also up for sale so it’s just a case of ringing up as someone who wants to look at the house. She opened the door, showed us around. I opened a cupboard and said “What’s in there?” She said, “nothing.” I said, “Well there is now,” and pushed her in and shut the door. There was a safe upstairs. We got ��20,000. It was so easy. IDLER: In between doing jobs, what was your lifestyle? REYNOLDS: Basically, living as expensively as I could. All the restaurants at the time. You’ve always got The Caprice, not so much The Ivy; all the big hotels. We all used to like to go to the south of France, you’d have two or three months in the south of France. IDLER: A holiday? REYNOLDS: Yeah but we always used to justify it as research or planning. And of course I loved that. Cary Grant, it’s just like To Catch a Thief IDLER: Did you feel the Great Train Robbery was really going to be the big one? REYNOLDS: Yeah I did. To the extent that it was my Sistine Chapel. And really everything went right. The only problem was the fact that Mills got whacked, Mills the driver. Everyone was under orders that he mustn’t be touched because we needed him to drive the train even though we did have our own driver with us. IDLER: How did he get whacked. REYNOLDS: Well, I wasn’t there. I was further up the track, identifying the train. The train stopped. The signalman stepped down to phone the signal box, leaving the driver in the cab. So all it needed was someone to say “What’s going on mate?” and get up on the cab and just get hold of him. But this guy anticipated a move and instead of him getting hold of him physically, he whacked the guy. People are nervous. He reacted. No-one could really blame him and at the time Mills was perfectly all right. He drove the train so it wasn’t that bad and there was no other gratuitous violence. The whole operation went well and we had approximately 30 minutes to unload. We had a trouble-free drive back to the farmhouse. I went to bed and Buster woke me up a couple of hours later and he said, “It’s two and a half million mate”. I said, “How do you feel about that?” He said, “Oh I think that’ll do nicely”. I said, “Yeah, that’ll do me”. IDLER: Did you feel at that point that you could do anything you wanted? REYNOLDS: Oh yeah. What we’d done was a challenge really. The highest authority was the country, and we’d challenged the country. But none of us envisaged the wrath that was going to fall down upon us. IDLER: Was it because the establishment had been humiliated? REYNOLDS: Yeah, there’s all of that plus you’ve got to remember the government then was suffering under the Profumo scandal and they was really in a f~~~~~g state of f~~~~~g disarray. But it’s 1963, it’s the first televised crime. By this time television had just about become universal in most homes and of course they could follow it day by day: “Oh, another one’s been nicked.” Then there was money found in bills, which created a great treasure hunt. IDLER: So what did you do with the money? REYNOLDS: This was a big problem because it was a vast amount of money. Everybody you knew was liable to be searched. Eventually I got a friend of mine to buy the lease of a mews house down in South Kensington and I moved and stayed in there until the passport came through safely, about six months. IDLER: What was it like to have pulled off this amazing thing, to have all that cash somewhere, but not be able to go out? REYNOLDS: I had some freedom as I had two guys helping me. I used to give them my shopping list at Harrods. I had a weekly order at Christophers - used to be in Jermyn St - and I’d have a dozen bottles of champagne and a dozen bottles of what he’d recommended, plus a little barrel of bitter. I blew up to about sixteen stone. A friend had the rest of the money, he was putting it through to Switzerland. Which was a standard procedure, you pay 10% I think. So I was imprisoned in luxury in this mews place. My friend had flown from Elstree to Ostend to test out an escape route. There was no customs, no passport control. I’d had an introduction to someone who supposedly knew the president of Mexico. Mexico was the place to go. IDLER: You were planning to get out and stay out? REYNOLDS: Oh yeah, we had the money. So Mexico. We landed at Ostend and he said “You go through that gateway there.” I walked through the gateway. There’s no officialdom whatsoever and another one of my guys stepped out from behind this Mercedes that he’d hired and he had a white trench mac on. The Man From Interpol - that’s who he was playing that day. We drove into Brussels, spent the night there, flew to Toronto, spent the night there and the next day, Mexico. I’d already worked out I was going to stay in The Hilton because that was central. I walked in there and had a couple of days looking around, just familiarising myself with the place. I liked it. Soon I just walked into this tailor’s and the guy said “Yes I speak English, I am English.” He’d been born in Manchester of Syrian Jew parentage, he was multi-lingual so we got talking and I made a friend. He introduced me to all the right people - all the politicos, because they used to use his store and as such I was virtually above the law even if things had gone wrong. I had a lovely name - Keith Clement Miller. I had six Cadillacs in Mexico City. IDLER: How did you get the money to Mexico? REYNOLDS: It was in Switzerland so all you needed to do was telephone through and get it in a bank in Mexico. And when you’re abroad you’re more accepted because culturally they accept people who speak like I speak. When you’re traveling abroad, they don’t know the class thing. If you’re staying in the Metropole Hotel, same as them, you must be the same as them. We left Canada and I thought there’s only one thing left to do - go back to the South of France. A good excuse. And we get a place there and work out what the next move is going to be. IDLER: Didn’t you still have enough money to retire? REYNOLDS: Not then. If I’d decided to retire when I got to Mexico, yeah, for sure. I suppose I thought to myself that the money would always be there. I was just living for the moment as much as I could and I’d always had a supreme confidence that something would turn up. I came back to this country and I didn’t have very much money. We had unlimited champagne before, now we were eking out a bottle of vodka. IDLER: Where was the money? REYNOLDS: We’d spent it in about three years. Then I did have a bit of luck. We had another big score and got fifty grand. My plan was to go to New Zealand. I knew Ronnie Biggs was in Australia and there was another group of fellas that was on the run and they was in Australia so I didn’t want to go there. But I was out on something, came home, got nicked the next morning. ‘68. When I was nicked in Torquay I had about three grand - that’s what I was down to. IDLER: Literally three grand in the bank, that was it? REYNOLDS: Hardly even that. So, Butler, who was in charge of the case, he said we’ll do you and I said, “Well, it was all those years ago, you can’t”. He said: “Bruce, we got your fingerprints on all the labels, all the equipment, that was down at the farm.” I did buy all the equipment. Naturally I burnt all the receipts. How they got duplicates, I don’t know. Not only that, he also said, “Your wife’s nicked, your dad’s nicked, your stepmother’s nicked” - and a great woman friend of mine who had been looking after my son Nick - “she’s nicked. And Terry your best pal. They’re all nicked for aiding and abetting and passport offences”. that’s the deal he presented me with: plead not guilty and they’d all be nicked. I gave him the look; he gave me the look. I got 25 years. IDLER: That must have been the longest stretch you’d had. Were you able to adjust to it? REYNOLDS: Of course. I went straight into maximum security. who’s in there? Charlie Richardson doing 25 years, four or five others doing life. So you’re all in it together, I didn’t feel that much different. In a way we’re f~~~~~g different from other prisoners. We’re doing in effect, longer than life sentences. Really and truly, I don’t think anybody thought they were going to do that sort of time. It was outrageous, it’d never been done before. It was a crime with a minimum of violence. OK it was a lot of money but murderers were doing ten years for really violent murders so it was definitely a political thing handed down to teach them a lesson. IDLER: So what year did you come out? REYNOLDS: In 1978 and you are totally institutionalised after 10 years in prison. Your whole life’s been laid out for you. You don’t have to worry about food and things like that. It’s all done for you - you’re pampered really. If you’ve got a position, which I had in the nick hierarchy, you get things done for you. I never wanted for anything really. I wasn’t into drugs. I started smoking cigarettes while I was away. That’s one bad habit. I wasn’t interested in booze. I finished off at Maidstone, which is a good prison. I had a year in the library there and a year as a gym orderly when I used to run 10 miles a day, play badminton and then swim. f~~~~~g marvellous life. All my aggro with my wife had gone so I didn’t have any women worries. As we used to say, we had the best looking girls in the world. I’d swap my Mayfair with his Fiesta and that was it. Everyone had photoboards and put up pictures of their wives or girlfriends. Frank my mate used to say “She’s nice isn’t she?” and “Do you want to see my photographs of my wife?” and we’d swap them for the night. It’s what we called wife swapping - only a joke. I got into smoking dope there which was a revelation. It was an absolutely marvellous time. Those two years were the happiest years of my life. IDLER: Really. REYNOLDS: Because I had no contact really with the world. I used to have visits. A pal of mine used to fetch me up a girl so I’d be groped on visits just to make sure you were still alive. Other times, my son Nick used to come and see me, that was a different type of visit, but in the main I couldn’t wait for the visit to be over to get back to my pals when we’d sit down and smoke a bit of dope in the evening. The governor of the prison used to come round and push the doors: “Oh it’s a bit smokey in here.” He was very liberal. When I came out I was alienated from the people that had been my friends before because I had ten years living with different buddies to the buddies they lived with. with my oldest and best friend - at one particular time I would have died cheerfully for him and he for me - it was totally different. I had nothing in common with him. I felt really lonely. I used to walk the street at night. I used to think, “How can I get back in prison without making it look as if I’ve volunteered myself to go back?” IDLER: So you felt freer in prison? REYNOLDS: Ostensibly. One of my friends was in the textile business and another one was partners with him. That was it: I was going to go straight into the business but within two months of my coming home, whether or not I was the grit in the oyster I don’t know, but they started to row very badly and the partnership split up. So that lost me my safe position in the textile business. Then I didn’t know what to do. I was 46 at the time, what can I do? Drive a car. I never saw myself as a mini-cab driver. Some people that I’d been away with came up and said “We’ve got a bit of work. Are you interested?” It involved a major train shipment of money to London Airport and it was half a million each. So I said yeah. Looking back on it there was no hesitation. I thought “That’s it, cause half a million could set me up and if I get nicked I don’t give a f~~k anyway.” updated by ..........Bennythedip
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#12
May 25th, 2008, 18:28
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Just found out !!
I was trying to find out about flight cost's, when someone told me (nothing to do with the flight ) that women with silicone implants run a high risk of them exploding at high altitude
 I wont be sitting next any women with big tit's then  benny 
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#15
May 26th, 2008, 22:03
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Strange thing dream's, they seem so real, a sense of "Dajavue" as if i'd been there before......oh ekkk maybe thats why i keep getting sore throats !
 WILD HIGHWAY Being the memoirs of wild hearted Black-Arsed Jack, by himself, in gaol, awaiting the rope at Plymouth, for Mutiny, Piracy and crimes against mankind. As discovered by Mark Manning in a bin in Clerkenwell …. I make no excuses for my life beneath the Jolly Roger. Sacking, raping and murdering on the wild highway that is the Spanish main. Piracy, Privateering, call it what you will, to me it was simply freedom and a hazy dream of Libertalia. A land where men were equal in each other’s eyes and the law took care of itself. Where fortunes were taken by the brave, and the lapdogs of the perfumed and powdered nobility were treated with the contempt that they deserved. At my trial, the judge - that effete, bewigged sodomist - called me a callous, murdering, brutal enemy of mankind. The list of crimes I was accused of meant nothing to me. The Admiralty’s pompous captains and buggerous officers that we fed to Neptune’s handsome guard of black eyed sharks was no crime in our eyes, but sport. We fed those thrashing beauties one extremity at a time. Revelling in the horror on the faces of these fine Naval officers, as they watched hands that once caressed lovers and feet that carried them through the green fields of childhood feeding the ocean’s most gruesome and efficient predators. We rovers are not without our own brand of bloody humour and style. In mine and my fellow brothers’ eyes we were above the laws of our European oppressors and their ridiculous circus of judges and powdered clowns. The tide was in their favour this time, but tides turn and in their frightened eyes you could tell that they knew this as well as we. I laughed loud and hearty as the judge donned his black cap. We gentlemen of fortune understand the symbolism of terror as well ?� if not better ?� than those fools. A man only has to take a look at laughing King Death, beneath whose bony face we frolic, to see that. I was sixteen years old when I first became the Captain of a Pirate Ship. I set sail as cabin boy aboard a Merchant trader with the Devil himself for a Captain. The bugger signed his own death warrant when he anointed my behind with a dollop of Jamaican snake oil and rammed himself into the main brace. I took the scarred old sodomite’s life with his own cutlass, slid the steel into his lungs like cutting into butter. In an inspired frenzy I hacked off the pig’s head and strode out onto the quarter deck holding my dripping trophy aloft, warm brainblood splashing onto my face. I dare say I cut a Hellish dash, awash in that devil’s blood, my long black hair dressed in tar and whipped by the wild wind. The men, as one, cheered and set about the terrified officers, clapping them in irons. Like their Captain they were a bloody bunch of bastards, all of them far too fond of the Cat and buggery. The men themselves turned out to be as brave and as wild in the heart as mine own self. We set about the rum and grog immediately, celebrating our liberation and toasting the wind in communion with our fellow outlaws on the high seas. We knew our lives were to be short, but ah, with what sweetness they would be lived. I helped myself to a bottle of fine Madeira from the Captain’s quarters and shared it with the waves. On that sweet and bloody day, my life truly began. The only problem now was what to do with the officers. Would it be the plank? A taste of their own beloved Cat? Keelhauling, or death by Sodomy? Strapped to the mast and buggered all the way to hell. “Death by Sodomy!” I shouted, my arse still smarting from the Captain’s surprise attack from the rear. “Death by Sodomy, Master Jack?!” Shouted Onan Sam. “I reckon those bastards would enjoy that, why they’d probably more’n choose it themselves given half the chance!” “You’re right there, Sam!” I agreed. w~~~~r Sam was the one-legged ship’s cook, and f~~~~~g useless he was as well. All the best vittles he reserved for his onanistic self and his buggerist Captain, for which he was loathed almost as much as the officers themselves. “Not with the Sodomising I have in mind,” I said, as slowly as a snake in the slow hours of its venomous morning. “Irons for the w~~~~r Mr Gimpo!” I called to the able-bodied seaman who, grinning like Roger himself, had the unpopular, masturbating, one-legged cook bound and shackled in under a minute. The most hated of all the officers, Midshipman Hornsmoker, loved the Cat more than any officer I’d ever seen. He always watched with the upmost glee, hands in his pockets up on the quarter deck, pants tented up like a Big Top. He was first to go. We layed his backbone bare with his beloved cat and then stuffed his arse with enough powder to scupper a Galleon. The Gimp lit the fuse and we laughed like madmen as his arse exploded all over the main deck. His fellow officers dripping blood and shite screamed for mercy as they realised the nature of their transportation to Hell. How we laughed at their pleas for mercy. My God. What sorry cowardly bastards they were, stood there pissing their dainty breeches. The men were in a riotous mood, stoked up on rum and laughing till their ribs ached as we blew those fuckers’ arses to kingdom come. All of us were drunker than cross-eyed skunks when old Israel Hands called up my name for the post as Captain. The men roared with approval, and carrying me on their shoulders, placed me on the quarter deck and allotted me the Captain’s quarters. Old Grindhorn the sail mender had finished our rough and ready flag, that grinning terror the Jolly Roger. How my heart sang when King Death’s head was hoisted high amongst the sails cracking in the cloudless blue skies. “What now shipmates?” I called to my brave hearties, knowing full well the answer. As one they shouted out “Panama!” Tossing their rum into the air. “Get ourselves fucked up and sh~g those Spanish whores!” Roared Scottish Bill, brandishing his scarred purple reptile like a billy club. “Drink till we’re blind, and kill everyone we see!” Shouted Fat Arsed Pete, not the brightest sailor in the world but with a heart as true and big as a lion. The whole company roared their approval. Sammy the Shagger grabbed his accordion and started squeezing out some ass-kicking sea shanties. We shantied, drank and danced till the stars came out, revelling in our new found freedom. We were playing for high stakes now, but with the rum, the whores and the gold, we didn’t give a flying f~~k at a rolling ship’s biscuit. Since I was knee high to a cockroach my father, God rest his roving soul, had schooled me not only on getting fucked out of my head on rum but on that occult mariner’s skill, Dead Reckoning. Celestial Navigation. Finding your way round these oceans and wild seas with only the stars and gut instinct for a guide. It’s not as hard as it seems, it’s harder. You must know in your blood, not only how to read the stars, but how to read and understand the different winds and the strange currents that run like invisible highways around our watery world. Dead Reckoning: it ran in my veins, like rum. We arrived in Panama a week later. We struck old scary bones and hoisted Spanish colours, no point in warning those oil-drinking Papist bastards that early in the game. Those black-haired sons of Spain were raping the Americas of Aztec gold, and by force of arms and the rights of our balls of steel we planned to take what was ours. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein was the only f~~~~r amongst us that could speak any Spanish, so we loosed a small boat and sent him to check out the lay of the land. There were three ships in the cosy, sheltered harbour, one a Galleon, a square-rigged beauty packing forty two guns. I eyed it jealously through my eyeglass. To take command of a Galleon. One of the most beautiful wooden worlds on earth: now that, shipmates, that would be paradise indeed. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein returned before sunset. “The Galleon is loaded with gold,” he said eagerly. I had half-suspected as much, the ship sat enticingly low in the water. “Her crew are a bunch of hornsmokers,” he added. “We can take them easy.” Of that I had no doubt. “Sails tomorrow, forty two guns.|” We would have to move quickly, under cover of night, when her crew would be drunk and useless. Around midnight, daggers in our teeth, pistols hung around our necks like jewellery, we slid silently across the silver water. A full moon hung high and beautiful, stars like diamonds spattered in their millions across the Prussian blue infinity. Sounds travel quick and far on a calm sea; we held our breath as we slipped alongside the galleon. Two boats stoked with death and murderous intent we were. Thirty five men, seventy balls as big as Mars. “No fire,” I whispered, as quiet as a rat. “I want this ship.” The watch slid silently to the deck as Gimpo slit his throat. We padded barefoot on to the deck. Like cats we were. Seventy men met their maker that night. Not one man woke as our steel bled their death. We set sail on a midnight breeze waiting till we were well clear of land before dumping the corpses. The dawn rose gloriously as able- bodied Gimpo repainted the name of the ship. We called her “The F~~KER” - a jibe at those inbred inbeciles who claimed sovereignty over free men by accident of birth. A righteous name for a righteous ship. This surely had to be the most wonderful morning in the world. Then it got better. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein had found a couple of women hiding in the hold. An old hag and a Spanish beauty. She could speak a little English, and pleaded, “Please Captain Black-Arsed Jack, do not rape me, I am with child, the father is Don Assholio, he is very important man in Madrid, he will pay you much money. Please do not rape me.” A ripple of lecherous laughter danced across the decks. “What made you think we would rape you?” I said grinning and undoing my leather belt. After the last one of us had fucked the Spanish bitch’s brains out, she didn’t look that good anymore. We threw the pair of them overboard, it was bad luck to have women on board, every horny-fisted salt knew that. The sharks who lunched on the officers were still with us. Which was odd indeed, usually it’s those gay porpoise that trail a ships wake. We took it as a good sign. ‘The F~~KER'’ trailed a guard of great whites. We hoisted The Jolly Roger just to see it flapping in the wind. Ordinarily you don’t fly her until you wish to strike terror and force your adversary to surrender. If the prize ship’s Captain does not strike his colours immediately, the blood flag is hoisted. A flapping sheet of scarlet. It means that no quarter would be given, that every man, woman and infant were to be slaughtered with relish and glee. ‘The F~~KER’ was an awesome vessel. I couldn’t wait to smash the shit out of another ship. Any ship. I didn’t have to wait long. On the horizon was one of John Companies’ ships, slow, loaded with spices and assorted trade goods. Ordinarily we wouldn’t bother with such a vessel, the prizes being of little value to a vessel of our intentions, but I just couldn’t wait to smash the f~~k out of any thing that moved. The ship struck her Portugese colours immediately. We didn’t give a f~~k, up went Laughing King Death as we let fly a massive salvo of cannonfire. Most of the shot missed of course, we were too far away to cause any real damage, but one lucky piece of flying iron took down the spice trader’s main mast, which meant it hadn’t a snowball in hell’s chance of escaping our satanic intentions. We smashed the living shite out of them with our Spanish guns and boarded an orgy of gore. Decks awash with blood. The crew of the spice trader were a cowardly bunch. Lying in bits all over the ship groaning and blubbing like women. Legs and arms, heads and so much blood, it splashed around our ankles as we leapt aboard. The surviving officers were hiding in the hold, all pleaded for mercy. f~~k that. I beheaded a couple and took the rest aboard for some torture fun on our long journey back to the Caribbean. Now that we were gentlemen of fortune we no longer had the pointless chores most sailors have to put up with, so we had much spare time. There were five of them. We decided that they were to be slaves and treated them accordingly, cursing them and treating them worse than dogs. We slaughtered them one at a time, when we were heavily soaked in rum. After traditionally hacking off a limb at a time and tossing the severed extremities to our loyal troops of sharks we roasted their still living torsos like pigs and ate them. Cannibalism was an accepted form of nourishment for sailors on long journeys. Even the Queen’s Admiralty were partial to the odd roasted cabin boy with their boiled hams. Mind you, it wasn’t talked about much in front of lubbers, they couldn’t imagine how hungry a man gets sailing these cruel waves. We arrived at Port Royal, the wickedest place on Earth, early in the morning. News of ‘The F~~KER’ and its boy captain travelled faster than a bosun after cabin boy chutney. The whores greeted us like conquering heroes as we leapt ashore ready to f~~k and drink like madmen, our pockets jangling with bloody doubloons. Gimpo couldn’t wait and payed a cute little Mullato girl to suck his pizzle right there on the street. I got loaded on fine Jamaican rum and took my turns on the women. One of these predatory slatterns tried to get me to fall in love with her, a dark beauty she was, how she loved her diamonds and French Champagne. ‘Oh, Master Jackie, why do you have to leave so soon?’ She cooed in my ear. I could smell my pubescent nad jam on her breath and stood up quickly. “We’ve been here over two months, the loot’s gone, we have to set sail for Panama again!” I told her. Madame Jean Duvall’s attitude changed from sex kitten to frosty bitch in less than a second, “You are not the only sixteen year old pirate captain in ze world you know!” She hissed, naked apart from the diamonds I had bought for her. We did have quite a stash of gold left, but my roving desire was stronger than all this pointless debauchery. I longed for adventure and violence. I punched the mendacious f~~~a in her face and ripped the diamond necklace from her long neck. She went wild: “Those diamonds are mine!” she screamed, before cursing me in French. The stupid f~~k. I was only sixteen but my father had taught me well about the ways of women. Drain a man of his sperm and money, then make his life a living hell until at last he collapses and gives her everything, just to leave him be. We caught a good wind and set sail for Panama the following morning. We had to the man fucked, drank and gambled away almost all our booty in just over a month of total and absolute pant-shitting debauchery that would have shamed Caligula. To the man, we longed for high seas and scarlet violence. We were anxious to blood our new cutlasses and pistols. This time Panama was waiting for us. A Spanish man-of-war with more than eighty guns lurked behind the Mandings Straits as we sailed into Portobello. I was an older, but no wiser, seventeen. We were held in awe by most other pirate captains, mainly because of our unrivalled ferocity and cruelty. Our capacity for debauchery was legendary. Midshipman Gimpo cut a dashing figure in his blood red silk shirt, Scottish Bill was also a handsome figure of a man in his gore stained kilt. And I with no false modesty was a most outstanding and dashing young Captain. Whores all over the Caribbean threw in extra free sex for me because of my big-cocked ability to make those jaded crib kittens come like waterfalls. Of course, news of the theft of one of the Spanish King’s ships was not taken lightly. The Santa Bellender hit us with forty guns, our beloved galleon was fucked, main mast and hull damaged beyond repair. We hoisted the Jolly Roger and sailed to within boarding range of the enemy. Man, was that a sea rumble and a half. The Spaniards were as stoked on rum as we. Swords clashed and bellies spilled open, the decks of the Bellender swilled with blood and rum. We were outnumbered but winning the battle. What we lacked in numbers was made up for by our outstanding savagery. The Spaniards were paid to fight for their King and Country, whereas we fought because we loved violence and bloodshed. Part of the appeal of being a pirate is to spit in the eye of established authority. The rum, rape and pillage came a close second but what any pirate worth his weight in rum and spunk loved more than anything else was the old sea-borne ultra violence. We soon finished our mad slaughter and started hacking into any moaning pieces of Spanish dog shit left alive, throwing pieces of them to the sharks. We kept a couple of cabin boys to sodomise and eat later; their young flesh was as tender and sweet as veal. Not one of my savage shipmates had fallen. There were plenty of non fatal wounds but the old sawbones in Portobello could cauterize and fix us up. Shitfaced Sam, a good sailor, seemed to have recieved the worst injury, lost his right leg from the hip. Bog-Eyed Frankenstein, as usual, was in a real mess, bleeding from three deep wounds, all about his face. It didn’t bother the old sea dog, he knew that women liked scars on a man. His entire face had been re-arranged by so many cutlasses over the years it looked like a demented child’s jigsaw puzzle. One eye socket beneath a patch was a good four inches above the other one, his nose lost in some low dive, fighting over a woman with a drunken French sailor. To those not accustomed to hand-to-hand combat, to pikes, pistols and swords, it is impossible to convey the sweetness of this close up slaughter, savouring your foe’s last breath upon your face. All of the men seemed to enjoy murder on the high sea as much - if not more than - sport with whores and rum. I know I certainly did. Before my thirty third summer I had sent over two hundred men, women and whores to lie with the fishes. Black, white, yellow, red - I showed no prejudice and killed the lot of them, regardless of age, colour or creed. Life on the waves was worth swinging for. A gaoler here in Plymouth asked whether I’d do it all again. I smiled contemptuously at the landlubber and laughed. What a stupid question. I swing tomorrow, I shall meet death with as much courage and defiance I showed in my raging fire of a life. I am 33 years old, but I tasted more than half of those years far more sweetly than many a landsman has experienced in twice that amount. A priest asked if I wanted confession, I told him I would die as I lived: laughing in the face of the Devil with a request for him to do his worst. Death, gentlemen, as that other famous boy pirate, master Peter Pan himself said, will be an awfully great adventure. With no regrets, yours in blood Viva Libertalia! WILD HEARTED Black-Arsed JACK Plymouth 1667 updated by Benny. "hmm my throats better now thanks"
Last edited by bennythedip2; May 26th, 2008 at 22:21.
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#16
May 28th, 2008, 21:32
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here's one
A class of five-year old schoolchildren return to the classroom after
playing in the playground during their break time. The teacher says to the first child 'hello Becky, what have you been doing this playtime?' Becky replies ' I have been playing in the sand box' 'Very good' says the teacher 'if you can spell "sand" on the blackboard, I will give you a biscuit' Becky duly goes and writes 's a n d' on the blackboard. 'Very good' says the teacher and gives Becky a biscuit. The teacher then says 'Freddie, what have you been doing in your playtime?' Freddie replies 'playing with Becky in the sand box' 'Very good' says the teacher. 'If you can spell "box" on the blackboard, I will also give you a biscuit' Freddie duly goes and writes 'b o x' on the blackboard. 'Very good' says the teacher and gives Freddie a biscuit. Teacher then says 'Hello Mohammed, have you been playing in the sand box with Becky and Freddie?' 'No' replies Mohammed, 'I wanted to, but they would not let me. Every time I went near them they started throwing sand at me and calling me nasty names' 'Oh dear' says the teacher. 'That sounds like blatant racial discrimination to me. I tell you what, if you can spell "blatant racial discrimination" I will give you a biscuit' "what"....
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#17
May 28th, 2008, 21:41
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hahaaaahhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
The boss wondered why one of his most valued employee had not phoned in sick one day. Having an urgent problem with one of the main computers, he dialed the employee's home phone number and was greeted with a child's whisper.
'Hello ? ' 'Is your daddy home?' he asked. ' Yes ,' whispered the small voice. May I talk with him?' The child whispered, ' No .' Surprised and wanting to talk with an adult, the boss asked, 'Is your Mommy there?' 'Yes.' 'May I talk with her?' Again the small voice whispered, 'No .' Hoping there was somebody with whom he could leave a message, the boss asked, 'Is anybody else there?' ' Yes ,' whispered the child, ' a policeman '. Wondering what a cop would be doing at his employee's home, the boss asked, 'May I speak with the policeman?' ' No, he's busy ', whispered the child. 'Busy doing what?' ' Talking to Daddy and Mommy and the Fireman ,' came the whispered answer. Growing more worried as he heard a loud noise in the background through the earpiece on the phone, the boss asked, 'What is that noise?' ' A helicopter ' answered the whispering voice. 'What is going on there?' demanded the boss, now truly apprehensive. Again, whispering, the child answered, ' The search team just landed a helicopter .' Alarmed, concerned and a little frustrated the boss asked, 'What are they searching for?' Still whispering, the young voice replied with a muffled giggle... 'ME' ... ........
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#18
June 3rd, 2008, 17:46
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.....
A man met a beautiful blonde lady and decided he wanted to marry her
rightaway. She said, 'But we don't know anything about each other.' He said, 'That's all right, we'll learn about each other as we go along.' So she consented, they were married, and off they went on a honeymoon at a very nice resort. One morning they were lying by the pool, when he got up off of his towel, climbed up to the 10 meter board and did a two and a half tuck, followed by three rotations in the pike position, at which point he straightened out and cut the water like a knife. After a few more demonstrations, he came back and lay down on the towel. She said, 'That was incredible!'  He said, 'I used to be an Olympic diving champion. You see, I told you we'd learn more about each other as we went along.' So she got up, jumped in the pool and started doing lengths. After seventy-five lengths she climbed out of the pool, lay down on her towel and was hardly out of breath. He said, 'That was incredible! Were you an Olympic endurance swimmer?' 'No,' she said, 'I was a prostitute in Liverpool but I worked both sides of the Mersey
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#19
June 7th, 2008, 20:22
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........
Mick met Paddy in the street and said, 'Paddy, will you draw your bedroom curtains before making love to your wife in future?'
'Why?' Paddy asked. 'Because,' said Mick, 'all the street was laughing when they saw you making love yesterday.' Paddy said, 'Silly buggers, the laugh's on them". "I wasn't home yesterday". !!!!!
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