Peckerwood Manor

Welcome, Manor Hors, to The Roving Pecker, where we present the latest episode of "The Tales Of Peckerwood Manor" by our very own Kombitcha! Any resemblance to actual Manor Hors is intentional, except when it's not. Enjoy! TITLE: “Garden Party Pandemonium” EXT. PECKERWOOD MANOR – GARDEN – DAY The camera zooms in on Bree, who’s battling a pile of costume pieces, preparing for the fancy-dress garden party. Nearby, Raincoaster is scribbling in her notebook, pondering the mystery symbols, half-focused on the chaos around her. Kombitcha is anxiously eyeing a suspicious bag labeled “Glitter Galore.” BREE (whispering to herself) This garden party is more chaotic than a cat in a room full of laser pointers. (alarmed)  Is that glitter?!  KOMBITCHA  Glitter is the herpes of the arts and craft world. You can never get rid of it. BREE (grimacing) Let’s set up a no-glitter zone. For the love of sequins, I refuse to turn this place into a disco ball of doom. And speaking of sequins, wh...

A very Happy Caturday Eve to you all, my dears! Today we're pawing through a few old photographs of celebs and their pussies - you know which ones™  (BaconSlut). Which one makes you purr the most?

Welcome, sloots, to the latest edition of "Who's This Week's Thirstiest Ho?" Today's trio are particularly embalmed and in need of moisture.  First, we have Tori Spelling, so go ahead, cue the "Tori" gags, i.e. "SupposiTORI" and "Sob sTori" and "Barely AmbulaTORI," etc. Now that we've got that out of the way, brace yourselves, because the press are once more delivering urgent missives (fed to them by Tori). And, yes, I eagerly read them all, 'cause she's the low-hanging, Tupperware-tittied Dumpster fire I've long adored and I shan't apologize for it.  This never-ending slop-tart saga seemed to reach a nadir when Tori packed up her chirruns and left sleazy, money-grubbing Deaner.  But lo, Tori's opus continued to offer delirious twists and turns. This included an extended stay with her crotch-droppings at a mangy RV park, then at several dilapidated, $100-a-week roadside hotels. And this was after tox...

Theft, brutal assault, vicious name-calling, you name it. Peckerwood pussies Bette and Boo are well-known to be fierce antagonists who battle for food, cuddles, garden sun spots, and lately, for the romantic affections of Nubs, Peckerwood's newest feline sensation, who, so far at least, has tried to be Switzerland, since he's far more interested in giggling and getting stoned on the 'nip with his human familiar, Ms. BaconSlut.  Though really, don't count out Nubs. He may be new to these parts, but he stands firm when he needs to. Just yesterday, he gave Boo a wallop when she tried to steal his stash, and last Saturday, gave a firm "Tell it to the hand paw" gesture when Bette tried to engage him in smack-talk about various Peckerwood pussies. Tread carefully, Bette and Boo. Nubs is here to stay and has no time for your miscellaneous malarky. 

Behold Barney, Peckerwood Manor's newest piglet! Barney has revealed himself to be a strict carnivore - no clover or zucchini for our Barney - as evidenced by his attempt last weekend to eat Darlene the Dog. Nice try, li'l  fella! We admire your audaciousness.  Sadly, Barney is no longer with us, since Peckerwood Manor's esteemed resident, BaconSlut, took one look at him and exclaimed, "Bacon bit!" after which she roasted him for a light snack of Italian Porchetta, then used his spotted fur to make a fetching beret. No murder charges are being filed against BaconSlut, for as every Manor hor knows: put a piggy before her, expect chorizo. Or, the sun rises, the sun sets, rain will fall, the tide will flow. Such is the tao of BaconSlut and Peckerwood Manor.