Akabusi stepped out on to the balcony of his £10 a night luxury apartment and watched as the sun went down on the horizon like a missus looking for new shoes or Charlton. Regis had spent the afternoon throwing waterbombs onto guests below, 346 to be exact and was now curled up on the shag sleeping like a baby in the Algarve. Black was cutting the air with the sounds of his knife sharpening. Everything was as it should be.
Except Busi was bored. The last few weeks had been sh*te since the boys had gone up in the vomit comet with Stephen Hawkings over in Florida. What with Stephen and poor old deluded Regis it had been like looking at floating vegetable soup but the "kids" had had fun and Kriss had been fascinated by the gush of hot knacker suds he'd ejected into the air when the flying air hostess had pierced his NASA dungarees and slipped her index up his april. Busi just wished she hadn't been wearing so many rings.
Since then Busi had opened eight JJB Sports and one Maplins after giving a motivational speech to some young offenders in Guantanamo Bay. "Don't let the f**kers get you down" was the core message as he pumped his fist and shouted some of John Fashanu's slogans. However Busi wanted to Git Mo.
Get more pussy. His sloppy black anaconda hadn't tasted clunge custard for 8 days and his balls were heavier than Murat's conscience. Only the night before he awoke in a sweat and was sure that his onyx plonker had been trying to strangle him. When he ficked on the light, the pussy pounder had been whistling nonchalantly at the end of his walnut effect kingsize. This was a worrying development.
This morning Regis had walked in with some tarty piece from the docks and offered her up to Busi as a sacrifice. She was rougher than a main road in Blackburn, Lancashire and when unwrapped and held up to the light had a fanny like Louis Armstrong's face after a punch up. Busi and Regis couldn't even get to semi status and Black had barged in and chucked her over the balcony. Into the pool. Or into the car park. They hadn't checked.
To cap it all Regis had become addicted to Facebook, stalking old primary school friends and his fellow inmates at the Norris McWhirter Celebrity Day Centre in Mitcham. He currently had no friends or pokes but had hit F5 84,970 times. One step (avoiding cracks in the pavement) at a time.
Busi slipped into his crisp tuxedo dungs letting the cool evening air from the Croisette slip bewtixt his ebony mainframe and the silk lining encircling his big twig and big berries like pikeys around something burning. They were all in Cannes for the premiere Akabusi's latest grasp, stab or snatch at celebrity - a caper movie called "Lotions 13". Featuring Busi, Black, Regis and a gang of other athletes turned motivational speakers it was "disgraceful romp" about a robbery on a JD Sports in Letchworth run by Shadow from Gladiators. It was unmitagated sh*te and a "disgraceful mess" but Harvey Goldenblum, Busi's agent and accountant, had promised huge tax dodges and that was enough for Kriss.
Busi and his entourage hit the narrow streets down to the waterfront with all the swagger and cocksurednessness of a pack of bulls heading to a china shop convention. Apparently the Palais cinema was booked for a film called "Ocean's 13" starring Brad Pitt and John Fashanu or Benrie Mac so the glistening premiere of Lotions was at a small sex kino in a back alley of a back alley called Sinstadts. If all the suds had been cleared from the floor and walls they might be in with a chance of not catching anything.
The two foot of red carpet, which Busi knew was just lino covered in blood, was packed with one photographer and that gobby c**tbag Carla Romana who looked like Fagin's skeleton wrapped in roast chicken skin. "Have you got a quote for GMTV, Mr Akabumbusiki?" shrieked Carla. "Yeah,Carlo" roared Busi with all the might of 299 Spartans and Rusty Lee on a stag weekend in Hades. "If I had one bullet and a gun, I would shoot June Sarpong MBE through the head...as long as you were right behind her". Within seconds Romana had disappeared and Roger Black had a smile wider than Jodie Marsh's arsehole.
The cinema was sticky. But full of German buyers who loved anything with a hint of scat or with athletes. Akabusi and the gang stepped onto the revolving stage that only minutes before had featured an act with a banana, a basketball and a litre of Durex Play. As Harvey, still attached by handcuff to Met Police officers, announced the film and the numerous tax packages included Busi noticed someone enter the cinema with sunglasses bigger than a huge mutant sunbathing fly.
Angelina Jolie had shot a small cameo for "Lotions 13" - she was in a scene with Jonathan Edwards and Iwan Thomas at a Brantano megastore in Hemel. Busi never shared the screen with her and it hurt his cock and balls like a rendition flight from Poland.
Angie joined Busi on the revolving and they air kissed with air kisses more loaded than Reed on Aspel. Busi could feel his plonker filling with more blood, cum and vinegar than a gay knife fight outside a chippie van. He was harder than a thaldomide playing baseball and he knew beneath her lush yellow dress from Mark One was a pair of bristols like two Moby's with half cooked quails eggs frying onto of them and a clunge hotter than the poop deck on the Cutty Sark.
"What about Bart, Ange?" cried Busi as he slipped out of his tux dungs and let the sausage breath of the assembled krauts swirl around his chassis like novelty towels on sunbeds. "Brad is dead to me, Krisstopher. Once you've had Ak you never look back" slurped Angelina with a drawl as sultry, hot and full of danger as a curry in Tarrant's local Indian.
She dropped her drawers and the sex Olympians stood opposite each other naked, Busi like a chocolate Palme D'Or and her like a naked movie star with a glistening axe wound wetter than Ellen McaArthur's blog. Kriss leapt on her like Sky News on anything with a glass eye and tore into her creamy whiteness like Womb Raider II.
Within hours Busi was on his Oscar winning violent vinegars and let fly with such a gush of ball cream the German buyers thought they were watching the parting of the Red Sea in negative. On the miniscule screen "Lotions 13" had only got to the scene where Tanni Grey Thompson was set alight and pushed into a Barratt's shoe shop in Penge. It had nothing to do with the plot but the crowd didn't mind. This film was going to be bigger than a gigantic Jesus. People were already murmuring about MTV Movie Awards.
Akabusi hopped off the revolving stage and slipped back into his sodden dungs, placing his battered dickie back into it's bag and called to his gang of 13 athletes. They were all going to see the new Wong Kar Wai film at the skin cinema next door.
Kriss looked down on the twisted pile of matted brunette hair, creamy white tits, problems with her father, brown orphans and a clunge like a burst beanbag, knelt on his powerful black knee, whisphered "Awooga" in her ear and patted her on the fanny.
The End.
Re: Kris Akabusi stories (NSFW)
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