WHO KNEW WHAT LAY IN THREE COCKS

The Society was founded in the year of Our Noodleyness, 1778 by Canadian

Pierre Poutine-Ignatieff-Sajjan-Saks, also known as Pierre Piss, Pierre or just Mr. Piss. Pierre was a gold-certified Failed Merchant, Open pen tuna farmer and Bigfoot explorer. In his free time, he liked to go to places where wolves could live and convince the local's wolves did in fact live there. He achieved this by prancing in the woods to make wolf prints, handing out bulletins he scribbled on bark with coloured ink and howling like a wolf. He never convinced a local these fake wolves were real, most just thought he was nuts. 

​

Before founding our noble Society, Mr. Piss attempted to be a merchant in Canada. He began in the province of Manitoba which was experiencing a boom with the hot and steamy Manitoba Nights. Pierre thought he could cash in on this boom by selling his mother Margaret's pizza bagels. This was an abject failure. Shortly after this failed endeavour, Mr. Piss heard the call of Ottawa and was seduced by its tone. (For those who have never heard this call, it's a high-pitched whine and twang with subtle notes of failure and hypocrisy.) Mr. Piss hopped on his shiny pony and rode off into the cold-ass winter night desperate to make it big in the Nation's Capital. Upon arrival, Pierre again tried to be a successful merchant and partnered with a man named Dave Bunker who peddled overpriced hot tubs. The relationship quickly soured after Dave informed Pierre that his dead cat would be made partner over him and if he had a problem to consult the spirit world for advice. Pierre was officially bestowed the title of Failed Merchant in 1776.

 

Times were tough for Pierre at this moment. The only work he could get was as a clown on Sparks St. where kids and adults would bet on how much snortable mustard he could ingest. It was one such encounter with a Welsh man named Sir Efrog Morthwyl Cadwalader (this name was definitely not made with the first Welsh name generator Google gave me). He liked the liquid quality of Pierre's eyes so he hired him to come and work on his open wild tuna farm in Three Cocks, Wales.

​

Pierre turned out to be quite the excellent open-pen tuna farmer. He would watch the tuna as they would roam the fields and play festively with each other. One day however a gate was left open and thousands of wild tuna escaped. Worried the tuna would expire and go bad, Pierre set out to find them. After much roaming, he found himself in the Brecon Mountains where he stumbled across an incredible site. Not only had he found the missing tuna (all dead) he found Bigfoot living in the mountain range. He followed behind Bigfoot and found he had a cave where he would sleep, eat and entertain himself. Pierre discovered through his observations that Bigfoot had a torrid love affair with Jason Khenny, a local politician. Bigfoots love politicians. While Bigfoot was out on one of his midnight trysts with Mr. Khenny, Pierre snuck into his man cave (using the backdoor) to explore. Upon entering he found erotic fan art painted on the rock interior, a detailed journal, and hidden in clay jars that for whatever reason just can't be explained for being there, Pierre found approx. 870 scrolls on a collection of animal skin, copper and papyrus. These scrolls told Pierre the story of WFUCAC and its history behind every tradition. Pierre moved these scrolls to his house in Three Cocks so they could be properly written and recorded for the world. After transcribing the scrolls Pierre was too lazy to penetrate Bigfoot's man cave so he hid them in jars on a delivery truck. The jars were marked for delivery to a small hillside town on the Northern Shore of the Dead Sea in the West Bank.

 

After getting rid of the scrolls and feeling confident they would never be found or heard of again, he created this Historical Society to ensure the origins, Canon, and Lore of WFUCAC is forever memorialized and carried down through the ages for the whole world to either enjoy or be fucking terrified of.