Do not hope this story gets better from here....
...I don't want to disillusion Barb but will keep things real...
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Princess Laetitia And Palace Intrigue
- Thread starter thehangingtree
- Start date
...I don't want to disillusion Barb but will keep things real...
Pedigree means more than a bunch of mouldy pictures in the stairwellOr owned such an expensive retro-looking wrist watch.
Pedigree means more than a bunch of mouldy pictures in the stairwell
One of the perks though is a well-equipped dungeon in the cellar 
Kathy
Terra Nova Tramp
View attachment 503794 Oh great, he brougth along my friends to
Siss and I were promised that we would have our choice of your meat , take a guess what we want to try .
It might be Rolex... I'm sure it was gift from the UMV. He's too cheap to buy one out-of-pocket!!!Or owned such an expensive retro-looking wrist watch.
2:30 PM Brampton Daylight Time… 9:30 AM Eastern daylight time…
“No, no, no!!! This will not do! We negotiated with the FCC to show a naked condemned cunt on the broadcast channel and you want her to look like such a sympathetic cunt! Get those irons off her and bind her wrist and elbows behind her back! I want to see perky tumescent tits here!” I watch as the irons are removed and my elbows and wrists are cinched tight behind my back. If they want ‘perky’ breasts they have them. The air conditioning (that I never knew they had) is cracked down to 60°F.
“I am the producer of remote broadcasts” he explains to me. “I have no interest in you besides ratings. Let’s get this done and I can go home to my boyfriend, OK???”
Great, the producer is a flaming faggot and my tits hold no spell on him! The camera man sets this HD digital camera on a heavy tripod and takes light settings while a technician places a flat-screen monitor so I can see who I am talking to and does a sound check with New York. He explains they rented a fiber DS3 trans-Atlantic connection so there would be no satellite delay for the interview.
Whatever… let’s get this done!
10 AM EDT…
Chis Wallace appears on the screen.
“In just six days Professor Barbara Moore will be hanged then spit-roasted. The United State does not have a diplomatic relationship with the city-state of the diocese of Brampton. Next up is the condemned American Professor of the University of the Virgin Martyrs Barbara Moore. She will be hanged this Saturday and has the left and the right scratching their heads with the right believing she should be hanged and the left torn that she is being persecuted while others believe the separation of Church and State must be preserved even if it costs Barb her life. In a moment we will interview Barbara Moore.”
Fuck me to tears… I watch a Viagra advertisement waiting for the interview to begin.
“In this first segment we talk with Professor Moore who by this time next week will have been hanged, roasted, and eaten. Good morning, Professor Moore, how are you?”
“Just peachy” I reply “Are my tits being ‘pixelated’ back home?”
“No Professor Moore, we have an educational waiver from the FCC. Six days from now you will be hanged, spit roasted, and by this time next Sunday your body will have be consumed, your entrails and waste parts will have been fed to the boars and your bones will have been dried in an oven and ground into fertilizer. Tell us what you are thinking.”
“You are a fucking asshole” I reply.
I think I am cooperating…. I am certainly being sincere…
-Barb Moore
Tree
“No, no, no!!! This will not do! We negotiated with the FCC to show a naked condemned cunt on the broadcast channel and you want her to look like such a sympathetic cunt! Get those irons off her and bind her wrist and elbows behind her back! I want to see perky tumescent tits here!” I watch as the irons are removed and my elbows and wrists are cinched tight behind my back. If they want ‘perky’ breasts they have them. The air conditioning (that I never knew they had) is cracked down to 60°F.
“I am the producer of remote broadcasts” he explains to me. “I have no interest in you besides ratings. Let’s get this done and I can go home to my boyfriend, OK???”
Great, the producer is a flaming faggot and my tits hold no spell on him! The camera man sets this HD digital camera on a heavy tripod and takes light settings while a technician places a flat-screen monitor so I can see who I am talking to and does a sound check with New York. He explains they rented a fiber DS3 trans-Atlantic connection so there would be no satellite delay for the interview.
Whatever… let’s get this done!
10 AM EDT…
Chis Wallace appears on the screen.
“In just six days Professor Barbara Moore will be hanged then spit-roasted. The United State does not have a diplomatic relationship with the city-state of the diocese of Brampton. Next up is the condemned American Professor of the University of the Virgin Martyrs Barbara Moore. She will be hanged this Saturday and has the left and the right scratching their heads with the right believing she should be hanged and the left torn that she is being persecuted while others believe the separation of Church and State must be preserved even if it costs Barb her life. In a moment we will interview Barbara Moore.”
Fuck me to tears… I watch a Viagra advertisement waiting for the interview to begin.
“In this first segment we talk with Professor Moore who by this time next week will have been hanged, roasted, and eaten. Good morning, Professor Moore, how are you?”
“Just peachy” I reply “Are my tits being ‘pixelated’ back home?”
“No Professor Moore, we have an educational waiver from the FCC. Six days from now you will be hanged, spit roasted, and by this time next Sunday your body will have be consumed, your entrails and waste parts will have been fed to the boars and your bones will have been dried in an oven and ground into fertilizer. Tell us what you are thinking.”
“You are a fucking asshole” I reply.
I think I am cooperating…. I am certainly being sincere…
-Barb Moore
Tree
Siss and I were promised that we would have our choice of your meat , take a guess what we want to try .[/QUOTE]
Barb-ecue ????
May I beat Barb to the punch here???
No need, I got it
Thank you Barb, and no, your tits weren't 'pixelated' and yes we have TV in NW Arkansas and even the 'undisclosed secret location' Dick Chaney went to (it is a Walmart in Springdale- who would look for him there???)View attachment 503816 Oh Shit! Not him!!!!!!
Very clever writing Tree
You managed to make me both laugh and cry!
Were my tits really pixelated back home?
Do they have TV in NW Arkansas?
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Has anybody ever been spanked by food?Barb-ecue ????
There is only one precedent, known as 'Gioni's Revenge'. In Italy a Gioni’s condiment bottle came to life and spanked its consumer.
Barb was interviewed for the first half of the hour of the Sunday show. She would tell of the inquisition she suffered, graphically describing the strappado and the horse that forced her confession and that they put her on a Judas Cradle after she confessed. Exasperated she told Mr. Wallace that as recent as yesterday she had been whipped in Little Brampton’s town square.
After the bottom-of-the-hour news update Monsignor Repertor is interviewed. Wallace asked him about the claims Barbara Moore had made. He handles the interview quit well.
“Sir, I suspected the witch Moore would try to make such claims which is why I faxed your producer a copy of her confession and asked him to have a handwriting expert compare her signature to other documents she has signed and to assess if the signature was that of woman tortured so extensively she would sign a document that would surely result in her execution” the monsignor says.
“We received and three independent experts compare the signature of Miss Moore’s on the confession and only one said there might be some stress knowing what she was signing though it could have been a the result of a cheap ball-point pen.”
“I would suspect the latter. The French are known for their fine crucifixion wood but their BIC pens are pure crap… forgive my Lord” Monsignor Repertor says. “May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly!”
“I know you are in Washington, DC- how you do this I don’t know- but ask your cameraman here did her tight little looked like it had been whipped yesterday?”
“I don’t know all about the technology but she looked in remarkably good shape including her tight little” Chris replies with a chuckle.
“So have I satisfied your questions? I can stay longer” Monsignor Repertor says.
“We would love to have you on longer but this only but this show is limited to one hour. Thank you, Monsignor Repertor!”
In my cell they gave me the raw feed of the Repertor/Wallace interview. Goddamn I came off ass fucking lunatic and that prick buries the truth in logic (Tree is good at that). While Archbishop Wragg is pleased with Repertor’s performance he was less than happy with mine. I am brought out to his courtyard where I am whipped mercilessly with them knowing the elixir will hide what I suffer before I am hanged…
-Barbara Moore –so screwed!!!
She is, really
Tree
After the bottom-of-the-hour news update Monsignor Repertor is interviewed. Wallace asked him about the claims Barbara Moore had made. He handles the interview quit well.
“Sir, I suspected the witch Moore would try to make such claims which is why I faxed your producer a copy of her confession and asked him to have a handwriting expert compare her signature to other documents she has signed and to assess if the signature was that of woman tortured so extensively she would sign a document that would surely result in her execution” the monsignor says.
“We received and three independent experts compare the signature of Miss Moore’s on the confession and only one said there might be some stress knowing what she was signing though it could have been a the result of a cheap ball-point pen.”
“I would suspect the latter. The French are known for their fine crucifixion wood but their BIC pens are pure crap… forgive my Lord” Monsignor Repertor says. “May I ask you a question?”
“Certainly!”
“I know you are in Washington, DC- how you do this I don’t know- but ask your cameraman here did her tight little looked like it had been whipped yesterday?”
“I don’t know all about the technology but she looked in remarkably good shape including her tight little” Chris replies with a chuckle.
“So have I satisfied your questions? I can stay longer” Monsignor Repertor says.
“We would love to have you on longer but this only but this show is limited to one hour. Thank you, Monsignor Repertor!”
In my cell they gave me the raw feed of the Repertor/Wallace interview. Goddamn I came off ass fucking lunatic and that prick buries the truth in logic (Tree is good at that). While Archbishop Wragg is pleased with Repertor’s performance he was less than happy with mine. I am brought out to his courtyard where I am whipped mercilessly with them knowing the elixir will hide what I suffer before I am hanged…
-Barbara Moore –so screwed!!!
She is, really
Tree
"So screwed" is right. Reperator gets to make an ass of himself on the news asking about the condition of my ass (aka my tight little), and I get ass whipped in the courtyard!NO FAIR !!!!!!!
I read the site rules and there is nothing about being fair. I have to get back to Hooker, Oklahoma, and see what is going on at the Reparations Farm!!!View attachment 504052 "So screwed" is right. Reperator gets to make an ass of himself on the news asking about the condition of my ass (aka my tight little), and I get ass whipped in the courtyard!
NO FAIR !!!!!!!
Tree
Stop playing with your dinner. Civilized people have manners.
We worked very hard to get an authentic confession, suitable for framing.
rb1956
Lone Wolf
so sad..but very nice!!The Hangman.
Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame on the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime,
That Hangman judged with the yellow twist
Of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead;
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raise the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope on the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief.
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down,
On roof and street in our quiet town
And, stark and black in the morning air,
The gallows-tree on the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike,
And his air so knowing and businesslike.
And we cried: "Hangman, have you not done,
Yesterday, with the alien one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed:
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch the rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried, "Murderer!" One cried, "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"With him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm,
And we shrank back in quick alarm,
And we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of fear of his hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise,
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took — we had all heard tell —
Was a usurer and infidel,
And: "What," said the Hangman, "have you to do,
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out: "Is this one he,
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
To try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched out comfort hard and long;
And "What concern," he gave us back,
"Have you for the doomed - the doomed and black?"
The fifth.The sixth. And we cried again:
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said, "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score;
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide,
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came
And called in the empty streets my name -
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall
And thought: "There is no one left at all,
For hanging, and so he calls to me
to help pull down the gallows-tree."
And I went out with right good hope
to the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down,
To the courthouse square through the silent town,
and supple and stretched in his busy hand,
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap
And it sprang down with a ready snap—
And then with a smile of awful command,
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me, Hangman!" I shouted then.
"That your scaffold was built for other men.
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman, foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in his buckshot eye:
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said,
"Not I. For I answered straight and I told you true:
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
"For who has served me more faithfully
Than you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others that might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered; and amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me;
"First the alien, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky,
None had stood so alone as I -
And the Hangman strapped me, and no voice there
Cried "Stay" for me in the empty square.
—Maurice Ogden
For what it's worth...
rb1956
Lone Wolf
poor poor Barb everyone wants to watch you die !!! an even eat you...though i would rather my tongue was used.