Category Archives: Stories

Five Go To Hell In A Handbasket – Part 1

Apologies to all the American readers, to whom none of what follows will make any sense at all. When I was a kid, amongst all the various examples of “nice” childhood fiction (Narnia, Swallows and Amazons and all that), possiby the “nicest” were Enid Blyton’s Famous Five stories. Bison Daughter has now been the recipient of some of these stories, sent by relatives back in the UK, and they definitely bring back memories. It seems a shame, however, that there aren’t any new stories (on account, one assumes, of Ms Blyton’s death) so I thought I’d have a crack at a new one, in the style of the originals. Look, it’s Sunday in St.Louis and I wasn’t going to spend all day watching fucking tennis so I had to pass the time somehow…

George was excited! Her three cousins, Julian, Dick and Anne were coming to stay for the holidays and she couldn’t wait for all their adventures to start. She hopped from one foot to the other as she strained to see down the lane, looking for any sign of the carriage bringing them from the station.

“George” said her mother, “looking won’t get them here any quicker. You’re supposed to be helping me and learning how to make donuts.”

George, whose real name was Georgina, really wanted to be a boy, and her mother was constantly struggling to make her do girly things, like making cakes.

“I know mother.” said George “The first batch should be ready to come out of the pan now shouldn’t they?”

She piled the hot donuts on a plate and was just showering them in sugar when there was a knock at the door. Timmy the dog barked joyfully and within minutes there was chaos in the kitchen as her three cousins dragged their luggage in.

“Hello Aunt Fanny” said Julian “It really is most kind of you to accommodate us for the holidays again.”

“It’s always a pleasure, Julian” replied his aunt.

George hugged her cousins in turn. “Oh Julian, haven’t you got tall! And Anne, you’ve grown too. And here’s Dick. It wouldn’t be a holiday without Dick, would it? Here, help yourselves to donuts – I made them myself!”

Julian took one and munched it hungrily. “I say George, you did do well. These donuts taste just like Fanny’s.”

“Why aren’t you having one Dick?”

“Dick’s not really hungry” said Julian “We were playing the biscuit game with some prefects in our carriage on the train from boarding school and I’m afraid he’s had rather a lot to eat already.” Dick did in fact look rather pasty.

“Well, it just goes to show that you shouldn’t eat too many biscuits!” said Aunt Fanny, who really had no idea how the biscuit game was played. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer an iced bun?”

Dick turned green and ran from the room. “He really needs to work on his technique before next term” said Julian “Why don’t you take him in hand George?”

“Okay” replied George. She desperately wanted a penis of her own, but practicing with someone else’s was the next best thing.

“Why don’t you all have some ginger beer?” said Aunt Fanny, pouring out glasses for all the children. Dick re-entered the kitchen, looking pale. “It’ll be a couple of hours until tea. What are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Why don’t we go for a walk to the harbor?” suggested George. “We can look at the boats, and there might even be some seamen.”

Dick gagged and ran out again.

“What’s up with Dick?” asked Aunt Fanny.

“I don’t know” said Julian, winking at George, “I think he just gets excited at the thought of seeing seamen again!”

To Be Continued, If I Can Be Arsed…

Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison

Wedding Service (Revised)

Now that California has apparently opened the door to homosexual weddings (again) it is about time we confronted our stereotypes and accepted that these unions are going to be a fact of life. We should embrace them and, indeed, go out of our way to make the experience as stress-free as possible for those involved. To this end I thought it would be nice if someone updated the old-fashioned Anglican marriage service to be more “inclusive”, with none of the old prejudices. I couldn’t find a new version so I took a stab at revising it myself – hope it helps:

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Snow White and the Seven Perverts

Once upon a time there was a beautiful young princess called Snow White, who lived in a giant castle with her father, the King. After her mother had died the King had got married again, to a woman with the most fabulous titties in all the kingdom. They were so pert, and round, and full, with nipples like cherries, that none who had seen them would ever forget them. Snow White’s stepmother had a magic mirror and every night when she got undressed she would stand in front of it and ask “Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s mazumbas are best of all?” To which the mirror would reply “Phwoooaar! Yours!” At this the stepmother would go to bed happy…

Carry on reading this filthy adult fairy tale in Mr Bison’s Journal– the perfect compilation of all the best from Mr Bison, farting, toilets, dog penis soup, and planting cress on someones carpet.


Adult Fairytale

Once upon a time eighteen year-old Little Red Riding Hood was at home in her mother’s cottage on the edge of the big wood. She was bored because it was the school holidays, so she was passing the time by pleasuring herself with a rolling pin. Suddenly her mother burst into her room.

Enjoy more of this story in Mr Bison’s Journal the great new book for sale on Amazon


Bombs Away

There’s a motorway junction somewhere in the UK with a small bomb under it. I suspect this because I put it there many years ago. These were more innocent times, when mention of bombs was a cause for interest among small boys, not a reason to avoid Pakistanis with backpacks on buses. Let me explain…

I had this friend called Nigel who led the kind of charmed life that only single children surrounded by lots of space and largely inattentive parents can hope to achieve. He was the envy of us all because he had his own shed in his parents’ huge garden; this was reason enough to admire him – learning that he had shagged a girl called Alison in it was just the icing on the cake. (I still vividly remember him explaining the term “pink meat” to me at a family bonfire party and pointing out how “some dirty sods like to lick it”.) He must have been about twelve or thirteen.

Nigel had also acquired one or two other interesting things along the way, among them an unexploded aircraft bomb. It was about ten inches long, rusty and the front had been pushed in, but he explained that it hadn’t exploded because of these pins in the side that should have been pulled out. Apparently he had had another one and had taken it along to the local aerodrome where they had detonated it. Either he was a lying bastard or the military had a much more relaxed attitude to small boys with live ordnance in the seventies. (I prefer to believe the latter, otherwise I would be forced to confront the possibility that he never shagged Alison at all, which would be a terrible shame.) Anyway, his terminally-relaxed parents had finally decided that he ought to get rid of it so he offered it to me.

I remember proudly bearing it down the hill from his house and presenting it to my mum by the side of a building site, where they had almost finished filling in a pond which was to be covered with a large motorway roundabout. Credit to mum – she didn’t scream, panic or call the bomb squad; she just told me that I wasn’t going to bring it home and to get rid of it. Fair enough – keeping it was always a long shot anyway – so Nigel and I took it over to what was left of the pond where they were pumping out water and threw it in. There, as far as I know, it resides to this day.

There’s something sad about a world in which small boys can’t give each other live unexploded bombs as gifts, or live vicariously through their shed-fornicating brethren. I’m not how many more times I saw Nigel before I moved away, but it can’t have been more than a few. Nevertheless he had a profound impact on my life. From that time on I was in no doubt that if you were ever lucky enough to encounter pink meat you should definitely consider licking it.

Copyright 2007 Edward Bison