Motor Home

Motor Home

This new invention was very unique.

Both evil and efficient it solved a few problems.

It’s the mobile death van.

They’re nothing special to look at.

A normal paddy wagon based on a minibus.

Unmarked with a house of horrors inside.

21^st Century style with electric bed, push button drugs and CCTV.

Several companies make them and dozens are in use.

It’s all about the scale of economics.

It’s costly to build execution facilities.

The same applies to sending a condemned prisoner to Beijing.

But don’t worry.

The death van will come to you.

Execute the prisoner where the crime took place.

Popular from 06 the red commie turtles used death vans to kill crims.

Low to high level criminals including corrupt red commie CCP officials who took bribes.

Death by lethal injection as in the USA.

The turtles then have surgeons remove the organs except the heart to harvest them. The organs are sold on to clinics for large sums.

Transplant tourists come and get a new kidney or liver.

It may have belonged to a rapist or fraudster.

The red commie turtles are just like the Nazis.

Red commie CCP turtles.

I can’t wait for them to fall.

Xi the Turtle is the biggest turtle of them all.

Pop him into one of his vans and execute him.

Goat Fucker

Goat Fucker

Erdogan the Goat Fucker has gone fuckin rabid

Just like Putin the Dog and as bad

Cracking down on the media

Locking up tens of thousands

Censoring the public opinion

Controlling the election

Blocking Wikipedia to stifle dissent

Changing the constitution to rule absolute

The greasy fucker has done this and more

Becoming a dictator over night

He blames the failed coup

They had their chance and failed

What a shame they never splashed his jet

Saving Turkey from his rule

Pariah state the next Iran

With many terror issues

Al Qaeda, PKK, Daesh and others

All set off bombs and kill

All want to change Turkey for themselves

Changing this great nation to what?

There will be no more Ottoman empire

Ataturk is dead and his legacy is under threat

What would he think of all these issues?

Putin the Dog's Neo Soviet Russia was hit

A Turk Viper splashed a Fencer

But war was averted

The Goat Fucker licked the Dog's arse

Both are now best pals

Both dictators absolute

Kick Turkey out of NATO

Stop F-35 engine overhauls

Ban them from joining the EU

Let Erdogan the Goat Fucker get fucked in Syria

Bleed his army dry there

The world doesn't need him

Turkey needs democracy

Not dictatorship

Nor Sharia law under Daesh

A nation divided

It starts now

Such a shame...

Click

Come and click my gears baby, put your hand down my jeans. Feel my big cock twitch as it becomes erect under your touch. Pure chemistry babe, not at all pants. My mechanism is yours, for your satisfaction. I'll be your machine with a fully functional tool for your pleasure.

My balls are my gear box and ready for movement, forwards to your pussy. Fuel is beer and you bought me ten pints, all down the hatch. I'm an engine roaring at full power, rampaging into your nether regions.

Of course, you're in charge giving me full technology. I'm roaring away jamming with your body, a prime mover and you're my number. Let's build something together, a planetarium. We'll venture to a geo centric cosmos and run about waving our arms, madly. We're little green men.

Fractional sex, ripping your pussy to bits. Teeth live on my bell end, nip bight eat! Yum Yum you taste nice. X-ray my data baby, let's shed some light together upon a prismatic shape. Inscribe your name on my nipples, science lady baby.

Her

Her
I know her from walking my dog and chatting. She's all I want. It's the short dark grey dress and her tattoo on her thigh and her ankles, no one is like her.

She isn't hostile or evil to me like all the other local girls. Her affect upon me is more than my ex wife. Astronomical. I must buy her some flowers.

My dear angel...

Forever Flying

Forever Flying

My friend and I are both sailors

There at the top of the body pile

He has some wonderful tattoos

There at the top of the body pile

On his chest was a flying eagle

There at the top of the body pile

I don’t know where my friend is

There at the top of the body pile

But then saw him in the moonlight

There at the top of the body pile

For where is my friend?

There at the top of the body pile

Is my friend really dead?

There at the top of the body pile

I recognized him due to his tattoos

There at the top of the body pile

Look at my friend there now dead

There at the top of the body pile

Killed by the stinking Japs!

There at the top of the body pile

I carry the horror of seeing you that way

There at the top of the body pile

You’re always my friend no matter what

There at the top of the body pile

Your eagle tattoo was always the best

There at the top of the body pile

Rest In Peace my friend

There at the top of the body pile

They took your life before your time

There at the top of the body pile

My friend the American sailor

There at the top of the body pile

I remember you in a painting I did

There at the top of the body pile

Never to be forgotten

There at the top of the body pile

HUN 2

Our little biplanes stand at the edge of the ice lake

ready to launch to hit the Luftwaffe, Germany’s elite.

Wind blows down the valley whistling and singing

over our fragile planes. A flare goes up

and we rush to our planes, engines warmed up

by our trusty mechanics. Start up,

taxi over ice, bumpy ride but not too bad.

Just think a hundred and thirty metres of water

under us in the middle of our lake.

Power on, we head for the sky,

not a bad idea – ice lake runway.

When an enemy target? Into the sky battle bound.

Clear blue hangs over us so real it looks false.

Past valley, over another, see the Hun!

Time for battle in our biplane fighters.

Dumpster Town

Dumpster Town

There's a reason why Oldham is a shithole

The local council are total fuckin retards

Dumping thousands of immigrants in ghettoes

People from the West Indies, Bangladesh and Pakistan

Followed by Eastern Europe and other places

Come to Oldham and experience paradise

Get a free council flat, a job, and full healthcare for you and your family

Lose your job?

You get dole, unemployment benefit

What of the white people?

Many are lazy and spongers

Fat female single parents have multiple kids off different dads

White males are often chavs

Council house and violent chav

They fight, are uneducated, take drugs, and do crime

Real fucking bastards

There are rich people in Oldham

Safely secure in their CCTV monitored communities

Nobody intermingles or shares cultures

The town is a dangerous ghetto

Forget its history of cotton production

Buried coal mines don't

matter

Old engineering factories a dream

A ghost town...

What would Churchill think?

Buoyancy Aid

Buoyancy Aid

I remember the Man from Atlantis from forty years ago

I watched his show when I was a kid

The man with webbed hands and feet swimming underwater

He was cool in his aquatic world

But I‘ve an improvement

The Man from Atlantis needs a keel for better buoyancy

Just like a submarine

Increasing his amphibious abilities

Where he can effortlessly rise and fall

He needs a big black fourteen inch cock

When it’s hard he rises

And when flaccid he falls

Other than aiding his nautical escapades the mermaids will love it

That’s if he can find out there to put it!

Other than sucking it off and doing a tit wank

And what of raunchy sex with fish?

Don’t go there coz it’s illegal

At least on land

Underwater, who cares if the Man from Atlantis is a fish fucker?

Who’s gonna stop him?

But he fucks many Red Commie CCCP corrupt turtles

They still don’t know who their daddy is

And thus are all still bastards

There you have it

An improved the Man from Atlantis with his big black cock

Saving the world and pleasuring women and mermaids

Coming to a cinema near you soon

wawa dam and surrounding area

near delph in saddleworth england

north american p-51d mustang crash sunny 8 on castleshaw moor england

walking up rooley moor road to famine road rochdale

motorheadache band live in whittles oldham

motorheadache band live in whittles oldham 2

view from tandlehills country park royton

tandlehills country park royton

broken stereo still rocks hehe rooley moor quarry

zombie squirrel with killer bird!

tandlehills country park royton 2

crompton moor shaw england 2

featherbed moss saddleworth england 2

crompton moor shaw england 2

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 1

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 3

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 3

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 2

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 1

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 4

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 4

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 5

featherbed moss saddleworth england 2

featherbed moss saddleworth england

featherbed moss saddleworth england 2

featherbed moss saddleworth england 2

stick to the path! rough terrain near pule hill, england

on saddleworth moor, england 2

quarry on pule hill, england

quarry on pule hill, england

quarry on pule hill, england

near pots and pans moorland england

on saddleworth moor, england 3

on saddleworth moor, england

reservoirs near saddleworth moors 2

tandlehills country park royton 2

view from tandlehills country park royton

zombie squirrel with killer bird!

crompton moor shaw england 3

crompton moor shaw england 2

crompton moor shaw england 3

reservoirs near saddleworth moors

reservoirs near saddleworth moors 2

quarry on pule hill, england

stick to the path! rough terrain near pule hill, england

on saddleworth moor, england

on saddleworth moor, england 2

on saddleworth moor, england 3

broken stereo still rocks hehe rooley moor quarry

near pots and pans moorland england

near pots and pans moorland england

windmills on rooley moor rochdale 5

My Husband the Whore 3 Jimmy Boom Semtex

My Husband the Whore 3

Jimmy Boom Semtex

When they parted, the lady smiled and commented, ‘Not bad. You’re ok at kissing. I’m Neptune. What did you say your name was again?’

‘Wow, Neptune eh? I’m Joe. You got me there,’ Joe laughed. ‘Thanks on liking my kisses. May I kiss you again?’

‘Yes, you may…’

Joe did so. She didn’t pull back or knee him in the balls. She took Joe on a trip to… Neptune! Or at least that’s what it seemed like while he was in her arms on the dancefloor in the alternative club. The record changes from Metallica to The Cult. They still kissed away and he ran his fingers all over her body…

It was three records later when they stopped. Joe was bright red, all giddy and light headed. He offered to buy Neptune a drink and she accepted, wanting a pint of beer! He wobbled over to the bar and ordered the drinks.

That meeting was a special one, in Joe’s eyes. Neptune was a real lady, alternative, with a good figure, she liked cool bands, was thirty five years old but looked twenty seven; she had some nice tattoos and was single. She was a mature student studying at the Manchester University, doing a course on archaeology and history. This was her third and final year.

Being Normal Is Boring - Broken Aeroplanes, Screwed People, Alternative Writing, :) Kindle Edition

https://www.amazon.com/Being-Normal-Boring-Aeroplanes-Alternative-ebook/dp/B019CWAA7O/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Being Normal Is Boring - Broken Aeroplanes, Screwed People, Alternative Writing, :) is the new poetry collection by alternative author Jimmy Boom Semtex. 

The fifteen thousand words cover many areas in different sections. Aircraft are covered in the first section, people in the second, alternative writing in the third and strange things in the last part. A bonus section includes Jimmy's joint writing project with dark romance author P.J. Reed.

This book compliments and adds to Jimmy's other unique poetry/prose collections.

Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex

Happy Worker

We are the ultimate machine. They make us do all the factory jobs at double speed. Produce this metal product, accurate to a thousand of an inch; bake the cake on an industrial scale; refuel the nuclear reactor with your bloody bare hands. Don't they know there's risks involved here? We can get hurt! All because our boss is mean and wants his profits. Well I'll soon change that. I'll blow his damn factory up and him with it! But before I do, I'll make him the slave. So he can know how it feels.

Word Down

Word Down

All the words turned to air.

Simply disappeared into the ether.

At first we thought you'd stolen them.

Maybe one or two but not three million.

In three thousand four hundred languages.

We want them back so do cough up.

Or you'll go to jail for a very long time.

Do we have a deal?

The missing words for your liberty?

Nice words like beer and books.

I'll give you thirty minutes to decide.

Then it's war with the word police.

You see the blame is on you.

For being uneducated and dim.

Forget the real reason.

Why our words disappeared.

You must be blamed.

And I'll be the hero forevermore.

True Time

True Time

That was the time.

I know it for a fact.

But I can't remember what happened.

Was it something good or bad?

Or nothing at all?

I know you won't help me.

We fell out last Xmas.

You cut down my tree.

The dwarf was mad, sad and homeless.

He cut your hand.

Small retribution.

I share my home with the dwarf.

He's my only friend.

We drink beer together.

Join us.

We'll drink your blood.

And party round your corpse.

Then remember the dwarf's tree.

You join his tree, a memory.

BACKFIRE

BACKFIRE

Soviet Backfire bomber flies high over Europe from its Northern Russian base. Speeding along in the thin air, eleven miles above the ground it hurtles along to the target. Nothing has caught this dark angel on its way to carry out its master’s work, the devil’s deeds. RAF Tornados scream up on twin tails of fire, trying to catch the massive enemy before it’s all too late. Soviet pilot lights his burners and tries to climb higher, using more precious fuel; his plane cant do it, he is at his limit as the Tornado comes shooting by, 65,000 feet. Missile away, Skyflash in the air, radar guided death at Mach 4 – a race to see who can get away first. The Russian nearly makes it but the missile pins him down, huge explosion and the backfire dies, falling metal, burning fuel . Having done his job the Tornado turns for home and England is safe again until the next attack. What if the Blackjack comes along? Will the Tornado be able to get him?

PANDORA’S BOX

PANDORA’S BOX

A dull tarnished box was found out amongst the rubbish. No one knew how it had got there; it could have been lost or stolen, but an old tramp came across it. On a cold night he found it while looking for something to eat. He went down an alley and opened the box up. Inside was lined with gold; in the gold a young girl’s face was reflected. She said I’ll give you three wishes. The tramp’s first wish was for some food, which appeared in front of him as if by magic. His second wish was to be happy and his mood changed in the blink of an eye. His third wish was to be with his dead wife; in a second he was in heaven by her side, to be in a place of love for all eternity. 

A NATION IN FLAMES NICK ARMBRISTER

Unconscious, he soon drowned in the cold sea, the Nazi’s first loss. The doomed fighter flew several more miles out of sight and splashed down in shallow water further down the coast, breaking into three pieces. Desperate radio calls from Black Shark Leader received no answer. Angry at their loss, the leader and his number two scythed down, this time head on, firing at close range into the cockpit area to kill the pilot and front gun position. This was dangerous and had to be done right, a single mistake would be deadly. British tracers shot out from the single nose gun and four upper turret guns, crossing German gunfire which sparked and exploded on the bigger targets. One Halifax swerved to starboard, the pilot having lost his head to a cannon shell, a dead hand on the controls. His wingman saw this too late! He attempted to turn but stood no chance, with a massive bang! Both bombers collided and blew to pieces, nothing remaining but smoke, broken metal and bits of falling bodies.

Aeroplane Poems 2 By Nick Armbrister

Norwegian Hills

Back in 2004 two men met. A unique meeting then, in that year. Yet the event that led up to that meeting, the actual cause, was something else. Do I call it majestic? No.

YOU decide what to call it.

A burning Halifax bomber fell in flames between two hills. Two or three engines on fire. Raped by Nazi gunfire. What happened to the other six men?

So many lost, dead.

I wish I could see the scene the Norwegian man saw. Or not. Did he pull the sole English survivor out of the wreckage?

LOST SOULS

The crime is with the leaders, 
you caused the death of thousands, 
destroyed two cities. 
Cursed your generation 
so it became the guinea pig, 
the atomic generation. 
You all glow in the dark, 
legacy lasting to my life. 
Now more have the bomb, 
ten thousand times bigger than the Hiroshima firecracker, 
that destroyed your city. 
Old people walk happily down the street, 
look them in the eye, they don’t blink. 
See into their soul and witness what they saw. 
Beside them young people holding hands, 
And enjoying each other’s conversation, 
no cares in the world. 
New generation, innocent? 
Children holding their parents’ hands 
and looking happy. 
Will they ever experience those awful scenes and events from sixty years ago? 
What do they think of their relatives who lost their lives? 
Do they think to themselves, what was all that? 
Did it really happen? 
Time moves on 
but one question hangs in the air, 
breathlessly, still poignant: 
Will it happen again? 
Who, what will start the madness, how many will die 
in the next mushroom cloud? 
You, me, my family, our world?

It is a dark poem from my poem book "Dark Delectable Delicious Destructive"-Poems For Goths, Gangsters and Other Mysterious Souls (20 Years of Nick Armbrister's Dark Poems)

Mall Rats

Mall Rats
The naughty teenager stole a bulldozer off a building site. 
He drove it to the shopping mall and went on a squashing spree. 
His victims ran this way and that to escape. 

Some made it, many didn't. 

The heavy metal machine did its master's work well. 
Pulping flesh, severing limbs, twitching nerves, crushing bodies. 

A real fricking blood fest. 

It was a wonderful event, thought the drugged up teen. 
He drove slowly, picked his targets well and got on with it. 
Acrid diesel fumes clouded the air and the revving engine drowned out the desperate shouts. 

Screams of mercy went unanswered. 

God didn't help on this day. 
The wide tracks were slick with blood. 
A trail of maimed and mangled corpses told their own story. 

The mall was a mile long. 

Our dozer killer was only a third of the way along. 
His fuel tank was full, his heart evil and his intent total. 
This was the day he had lived for. 

Slowly squashing hundreds of white meat to death. 

And a few mixed races too. 
Where's the cops when you need them? 
He was the bulldozer killer! 

Coming to a mall near you.

Thai By

Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's. 

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours. 

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait. 

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...

How do you fancy your Chinese?

How do you fancy your Chinese?

It was finally September. The Mediterranean adventure that Joe wanted was here. He went on his eagerly awaited Spanish holiday to Mallorca, the island of beer, wild sex and good times. He had time to himself to do whatever he wanted. Joe saved five hundred quid spending money and his holiday cost another four hundred. He’d worked overtime in the tire factory, including some weekends. Now it was time to rock n roll.

He stayed in Magalluf, the main town on the island. It was full of bars, clubs and other entertainment places. He’d booked his trip with Club 18-30, a company that catered for young people. Travelling alone, he was put in a room with some other English guys. They all got on and went drinking together on the first night. That night set the scene for what was to come. Drink and drink and drink.

Joe liked music so he went to the Hard Rock Café. He went there a few times. On the last occasion, there was trouble of the German kind. Being English, there was a thing about two World Wars and a World Cup. Joe was one man, the Germans were several. He was head banging on the dancefloor when someone tapped him on the shoulder. At first, being drunk, he ignored it. Then he opened his eyes and looked. He saw a chest. And then looked up… There was a Nazi Stormtrooper from Hell! The enemy bastard was six foot four and broad. In guttural English, the kraut shouted: ‘This is our bar! English! You leave now!’

Joe left, the dancefloor, and went to the bar for his beer. He took a drink and ordered a new one. When the first was finished, he started the second and went head banging again. Time passed and songs played, nothing happened. Then there was the same tap on the shoulder; Joe opened his eyes and now three enemy kraut bastards were there. Joe looked at them, at the big glass ashtrays on the bar and then at his beer. He made eye contact, nodded and watching his back, went to the bar. He finished his drink and left the bar. He went back to the hotel to rouse the Yorkshire lads; they were pissed and wanted no trouble. They warned Joe on Spanish jails. He thought fuck it and went to bed.