Barry's Magic Trousers - Chapter 1

Written by Jesus Budda

Sunday, 30 May 2010


The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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Barry Nubbins was just your ordinary, everyday fat, lazy bastard with a comb over.

Barry wore brown shirts. No, he wasn't an avid National Socialist, but it was simply down to that fact that his entire wardrobe was full of shite brown clothes that were outdated and crap.

"Want to see how big my cock is?", he roared in a coarse country accent.

He walked up to the other man at the table and slapped his own cock down on the weighing scales.

"Thats a fine looking animal you have there, Mr. Nubbins", said the other man.

The Cocksend Cockerel Championships was the most prestigious of all the cockerel championships this side of the Black Arse river.

Barry had attended each year since he was a lad.

Last year was his greatest as he triumphed with his prize-winning cockerel Percy and took home the coveted Cocksend Cup and a bag of sausages provided by the local butchers.

"You're sure to win again this time, Barry", said the other man as he tucked his own feeble-looking cock back inside his coat.

Barry nodded. There was no denying the fact that he had the premier cock in all of town.

He walked over to the preparation tents were the other breeders were carefully grooming their cocks.

As Barry majestically walked amongst the others, head in the air, chest puffed out, he made sure that Percy's fine plumage and glassy eyes were put centre stage.

"Evenin', Barry"

Barry pauses and, upon turning around, is greeted by a tall, thin man with a waxed pencil-thin moustache, in a top hat and tails, smoking a reed pipe.

Barry looks the man up and down without saying a word. There is something recognisable about the man but he can't put a name to the face.

The man extends a slender hand in greeting.

Barry looks at it suspiciously and holds Percy tight to his body, protectively.

"You don't recognise me, do you?", the man grins.


The man removes his top hat and reveals his shiny bald scalp.

Barry gasps and covers the eyes of Percy the cockerel.

"Holy fucking cock shit!"

"Yes, Barry, it is I....Sebastien Penisbreath".

The man tweaks the ends of his moustache and cackles maniacally then peels back his cloak.

Inside is Kevin, the hooded cockerel, his beady wicked eyes peering out with venom at Percy.

Barry's bottom lip quivers and his legs begin to tremble violently.

All those previously blocked out memories begin to flash through his tiny mind.

He truly believed that he had seen the last of his nemesis during that battle atop the abandoned quarry in Cocksend all those Summers ago.

He still has the scars on his belly from where Sebastien Penisbreath's male hen slashed with it's taloned claws with such ferocity.

And now, here at the annual Cocksened Cockerel Championships, he comes face to face with his tormentor once again...


The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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