TEHRAN TETE-A-TIT: THE BIG THREE ‘43

Created: Saturday, 26 November 2005 Written by As featured in film
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October 1943 and The Big 3 meet at Tehran. I was lucky to be there as a junior diplomatic officer for the Australian Government…


Winston Churchill was a colossus who bestrode the world stage as o­ne who knew his place in history…


Roosevelt was a desiccated old fart who often was wheeled out o­nto the porch after a few too many brandies and could be heard mumbling to himself how that bitch Eleanor had more cunt then he would ever have…


Joe Stalin strode through the meeting like a man who didn’t give a fuck.
“I have fucked Hitler and I shall fuck both of you pussies” he is said to have told the other two leaders during o­ne of their lengthy evening piss ups.

THE WHORES OF STALIN




Joseph Stalin has gone down in history as the man who had more cunt than any other. His harems were measured by the houseful. It was said the o­nly ethnicity he hadn’t dipped his wick in were the Pygmies of East Africa, and that he had Russian dwarf women painted black so he could at least think he had fucked o­ne. His entourage in Tehran of course included all his lady friends…


THE GLORY OF 40s TEHRAN


Perched at 6000 feet, beneath Mount Demavend, Tehran was in 1943 a true pearl of the Occident. Glistening streams flowed down from the mountains…crisp mountain air kept your pecker o­n the rise…the gorgeous eyes of Persian women followed your every move…you were King in a land of peasants…


Hashish the size of rocks littered the tables of the chief negotiators; it was said that the decision to hand East Prussia to Poland at the end of the war was made after Winny had spotted a whole gram in o­ne hit…


In the final ceremony an obviously pissed Churchill wrenched the sword of Stalingrad from the hand of the presenting sergeant and brandished it over his head and shouted: “This is for the ass I fucked liberating Khartoum!”


(Look at Winnie in this pic. That cunt is pissed as a fart!)


The acolytes of the leaders could be seen huddled in corridors of the Castle of the Shah Reza…grateful not to be o­n the frontline their plots consisted of getting hashish and whores for their evening meetings…man we felt like the biggest fish out here…deciding the futures of millions after a pipe full of opium…we had god o­n our side.

ROOSELVELT AND HIS LESBIAN WIFE


Eleanor was a legend. And unlike her husband she could handle her brandy. Though ugly o­n first view she had an irresistible sexuality, especially for the innocent secretaries that flitted about the conference.


Stories spread about how o­nce a weary FDR rolled back into his room after a particular grueling session with the Georgian tyrant to find his wife eating the enchilada of Stalin’s secretary! The groans of pleasure could be heard throughout their hotel. All poor old Franky could do was to retire to the balcony and forlornly gaze at his limp pecker; cursed to never have a fat because of his polio.


Evening came and I took time away from the Grand Conference and was taken to a local event; the stoning of an adulterous pair…the crowd of primitive Mohammedians gasped in appreciation as they finally squashed her to death...


That night I went to a club... O­ne belly dancer had sweet sticky hash oil atop her nipples, writhing to the dervish rhythms she swayed her hips provocatively, instinctively my pecker raised, an overwhelming ache flooded my loins: could I? would I? fuck Stalin’s Persian whore?


Those last days in Tehran were just a blur…lost in haze of drugs and painful knackers…grasping for life when nearly dead…meanwhile thousands were dying every day to save us…no-one gave a fuck; all we wanted was cunt money and hash…everything was allowed, nothing forbidden…my hand slips down into my pants thinking about it now…pure politics, that’s all it was…man you should have never trusted us, we sold you all down the river…



The nights in Tehran are cold and clear. Maybe o­ne day we will back there. O­ne day soon perhaps.