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BumbleCock: The Limp Legend of the Layby
A fucking stupid comedy by Owen Croft
Darren "Daz" McFloppy has one dream: to be remembered for something other than his Greggs loyalty card and a Vauxhall Corsa held together by hope and cable ties.
Unfortunately, the only one part of him ever gets remembered-and it's the part that refuses to stand up when it matters.
Meet BumbleCock: Britain's most reluctant anti-hero. A flaccid folk legend born in the Dog & Duck car park when Daz's sad little worm flopped its way into viral infamy. What starts as a standard night of dogging, Tesco lube
…mehr

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Produktbeschreibung
BumbleCock: The Limp Legend of the Layby

A fucking stupid comedy by Owen Croft

Darren "Daz" McFloppy has one dream: to be remembered for something other than his Greggs loyalty card and a Vauxhall Corsa held together by hope and cable ties.

Unfortunately, the only one part of him ever gets remembered-and it's the part that refuses to stand up when it matters.

Meet BumbleCock: Britain's most reluctant anti-hero. A flaccid folk legend born in the Dog & Duck car park when Daz's sad little worm flopped its way into viral infamy. What starts as a standard night of dogging, Tesco lube and crushing humiliation quickly spirals into a blue-pill-fuelled odyssey of Olympic-level wanking, industrial-strength erections, and a cock that eventually declares independence from its owner.

From stealing his nan's Viagra stash to accidentally weaponising his knob at the inaugural Dogging Olympics, Daz's quest for respect ends in a Slough airfield, ten pills, one helicopter crash, and the most traumatic amputation the NHS has ever seen.

Think Viz magazine shagged The Inbetweeners in a layby, then finished off on a stolen mobility scooter.

Crude, outrageous, and wrong in all the right ways, BumbleCock is a love letter to broken Britain, broken dreams, and the one bit of broken Britain that just won't stay down.

Warning: contains scenes of extreme penile misbehaviour, projectile semen, and a gear stick that will never be the same again. Not suitable for anyone with taste, dignity, or a functioning gag reflex.

"Like Irvine Welsh writing Carry On Dogging after twelve pints and a fistful of knock-off sildenafil."

- Definitely Nobody


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Autorenporträt
Owen Croft was forged in the relentless drizzle of Manchester's backstreets, where the Irwell murmurs secrets to the stone warehouses and the city's heartbeat thumps like a faulty piston. Born and raised amid the red-brick sprawl of the North, this unassuming bloke traded the roar of Friday night lock-ins for the hush of forgotten moors, where he could finally hear his own thoughts without the din of the world crashing in.

By day, Owen's a ghost in the machinetinkering with words in a creaky attic studio overlooking the Pennines, far from the pixelated frenzy of social scrolls and siren calls. He's the sort who brews a pot of builder's tea strong enough to strip paint, cracks open a dog-eared Philip K. Dick or Raymond Chandler, and lets the pages pull him into alternate realities where Manchester's canals twist into wormholes or its cobbled alleys hide syndicate shadows. Writing, for him, is less a craft than a quiet rebellion: a way to wrestle the chaos of cyber-noir heists, gene-spliced grudges, and temporal double-crosses onto the page, all laced with that wry, rain-soaked Northern grit.

When he's not chasing plot twists through the ether, you'll find Owen hiking the wild fringes of the Peak District, notebook in hand, scribbling fragments inspired by the wind-whipped heather or a sudden squall. For Owen Croft, the best stories aren't told; they're unearthed, one sodden boot-print at a time. Escape with him. The world's mad enough as it is.