Horror d’oeuvres

Welcome Ladies and Gentlemen

Can I tempt you to whet your appetite with a little something from the Horror d’oeuvres platter?  Sweet and sticky perhaps, or would you prefer something raw and wriggling to tickle the taste buds as it slips across the lips. What ever your preference feel free to dip into our distasteful little mouthfuls. Nothing you fancy at the moment?  No worries, the selection platter is updated every week so be sure to call back and check out our  newest additions.

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Some marry for love. My wife and I married for mutual alibi’s. My husband was home with me all night officer. My wife and I were enjoying dinner together officer. A young man tortured to death you say. How shocking.

Losing my job at the slaughterhouse was a real blow. It was really me you know. Floated my boat big time surrounded by fear and death. Oh well. Back to torturing stray dogs in my shed I suppose.

After a five hour operation to reattach my severed penis. I am mindful of the old saying. “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Friend of mine is big on gaming. Every waking hour, guns blazing away in a fantasy world of war and destruction. Not for me. I am a hands on sort of guy who likes his kills fresh and wriggling.

Years ago I used to be a patient in the old mental hospital.  Been empty for years, yet the screams and shouts of the tormented still filled every room. Even when the walls collapsed and the roof fell in I could still hear screaming. Not sure if it was inside the hospital or inside my head.

A lie is the stale smell of deceit on a persons breath. The halitosis of truth corrupted by the evil of the liar. A knife in the back of honesty.

A constant diet of indifference will break anyone’s spirit. Nothings ever good enough. Nothings ever bad enough. After a while you stop trying. Nothing gets you nothing so you become nothing.

I found a packet of Condoms and my husband’s boxer shorts, in the glove box of my best friends car. I didn’t make a scene, or lose my temper and scream. I simply punched her in the face, and stabbed him when I got home.

Some people love their gadgets, their toys, their mobile phones. I just love skinning people, so I can play games with their bones.

I never worry about the consequences of my actions. I don’t care. Means nothing to me the suffering of other’s. I just do as I please and to hell with you all. No good looking to me for remorse. Could be a small town in Mexico as far as I’m concerned.

 

 

The witch I mugged cursed me to suffer. I laughed in her face and stole her money and mobile phone. I know she has a new phone now. I can’t stop sending her video clips of me cutting my own fingers off. Every night the bloody stumps re-grow. Ready for me to cut them off again in the morning.

The children have gone back to school again for the Autumn term. All of them except for one little boy. He killed himself rather than face the incessant bullying for another year.

Autumns on the way, and I for one can’t wait. All that lovely darkness to hide in on those long dreary nights. For one of my nocturnal murderous calling, its happy days are here again. Or nights, if you get my meaning.

I never realised how stretchy condoms are till I caught my girlfriend with another man. Did you know you can strangle two people with a condom, and not use up all its stretch?  All I can say is, heaven help the woman who meets a man, who can use up all a condoms stretch.

Susan Lemon thought no hair was sexy. So she shaved her head every week. Her husband thought long hair was sexy. So he was unfaithful every week. I hear Susan stopped shaving when her husband disappeared. Maybe she hid her razor in his curly, blood soaked hair.

Maurice Pyle looked like an idiot because he was an idiot. The day he died he died surprised, but I suppose idiots don’t know anything about dying. So why wouldn’t he be surprised.

You can say what you like about witches. But you’d better make sure they don’t hear you.

My husband and I are having separate holidays this year. He is going to twelve different locations at once.  I am going to where ever they don’t have an extradition treaty with the UK.

I really like the River Cottage cookery programmes repeated on television.  When I butchered my unfaithful husband into sixteen different joints of meat, and assorted offal.   Hugh Fernley Whittingstall had it covered. Casseroled, smoked, brined, roasted, fried, au-tartare.  I ate every shred of evidence, and loved every mouthful. Thanks Hugh.

I would often hear them screaming when the wind was in the east. Noises from the hospital. like roaring, wounded beasts.

 

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