Owen Croft Filth

About Owen Croft Filth

Born in the middle of 1970 in a damp, pokey back-to-back stone terrace house in Mossley, Greater Manchester – the sort of house where the toilet was outside, the wallpaper peeled itself in protest, and the front door opened straight onto a cobbled hill steep enough to give a mountain goat vertigo. School? Nah, not for Owen. He clocked early that it smelled like cabbage and stale farts, so he gave it a swerve. Instead, every morning he’d be at the gates flogging gingernuts, gobstoppers, flying saucers, and knock-off Wham bars to the same kids the teachers were trying to “educate”. Made more money before registration than the headmaster earned in a week. Considers that his proper education – supply, demand, and how to hide contraband in your socks when the dinner lady’s on the prowl. While other lads were doing detention, Owen was at home hammering out stories on a battered Imperial 66 typewriter he’d nicked off his uncle for a fiver and a packet of Jammie Dodgers. Poetry, filthy limericks, half-arsed sci-fi, shopping lists that turned into novellas – anything and everything got written down. He’s still got boxes of the stuff mouldering in his attic: spiral notebooks full of teenage smut, margins packed with doodles of tits and monsters, and one epic 398-page fantasy novel written entirely in green biro when he was fifteen. Life got in the way for a few decades – factory shifts, dead-end jobs, hiking the Pennine hills in all weathers just to stare at sheep and clear his head, the usual northern rite of passage. But he never stopped writing. The notepads piled up like unpaid bills. Typewriters gave way to knackered laptops that smelled of lager and joss sticks, yet the words kept coming. Now, finally, in his mid-fifties and with the patience of a man who’s watched too many sunrises over Saddleworth Moor, he’s dragging the best (and filthiest) of those decades-old manuscripts out of the cupboard, dusting off the sheep shit and the sarcasm, and actually publishing the bastards. First came the notorious BUMBLECOCK books – the ones your mum pretends she hasn’t read in the bath. More are stacked up behind them like planes over Heathrow. Owen still lives within spitting distance of where he was born, still walks the same accent you could scrape off a mill wall, still allergic to authority, still convinced school is a brainwashing factory (now with Wi-Fi). These days he splits his time between writing depraved comedy, trudging up hills in the pissing rain, and occasionally frightening tourists by shouting “NOW THEN” at them in the local Co-op. He has no qualifications worth mentioning, no literary prizes (yet), and no plans to start behaving himself. Just a lifetime of stories, a typewriter that still works if you hit it hard enough, and an industrial-grade contempt for taking anything too seriously – especially himself. Welcome to the mad bastard’s library. Mind the language. It bites. Owen Croft (https://owencroft.com).. Don’t blame me! OWEN CROFT’S FILTHY DISPATCHES (https://owencroft.com/owen-crofts-filthy-dispatches/)

Publisher

Owen Croft

Category

arts · comedy

Language

en

Explicit

Yes

First episode

27 Nov 2025

Latest episode

17 May 2026

Latest episodes

10 episodes in the feed.

1. 

   17 May 2026

   SHITHAWK by Owen Croft , introduction to the book

   This ain’t your grandpappy’s Western. SHITHAWK is a rancid, blood-soaked fever dream of the real 1878 frontier—the one the postcards burned and the songs forgot. No white-hat heroes, no virtuous widows, no noble last words under a blood-red sunset. Just dust, dysentery, and the kind of miracles that leave you bleeding, laughing, and questioning every life choice that brought you here. Follow Silas “Shithawk” McGraw: one-eyed, syphilitic ex-undertaker with a parasitic twin named Little Ezekiel sprouting from his shoulder like a filthy, talking tumor that rhymes dirtier than a dockside whore on payday. He’s dragging a crumpled map to “miracle gold” that supposedly cures everything—pox, bullet holes, broken souls, and the mutiny brewing in his own crotch. Along for the ride: Dolores “Leadheart” Ramirez, a Mexican prostitute so full of lead she pisses bullets and laughs harder when she’s bleeding than when she’s coming; Clarence “Two Mutts” Whitaker, a white conman in redface whose spirit-animal coyote (he calls it Grandfather) humps saddlebags and shits on clean shirts with philosophical gusto; and a rotating cast of lunatics, cannibals, exploding nuns, and defrocked preachers who fuck rocks and call it exorcism. They’ll ride through dysentery canyons, ghost-town orgies, hallucinogenic mines, and cannibal picnics where the only thing talking to God is the vulture overhead, waiting for the punchline. No redemption. No moral. No mercy. Just the West—cruel, absurd, filthy, and grinning like it already knows how this ends and you’re the joke. Explicit. Depraved. Disgusting. And the funniest goddamn thing you’ll hear all year. If you’ve got the stomach for it, saddle up.  If not, close the feed now. The vultures are already circling. Visit https://owencroft.com/ for updates on the release date of SHITHAWK and other books

2. 

   17 Dec 2025

   Dive into the INTRODUCTION of Tarquin the 3rd: The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick

   WARNING: Contains explicit language, royal filth, and zero smelling salts Dive into the INTRODUCTION of Tarquin the 3rd: The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick The darkest, filthiest "biography" you'll ever hear (because reading it might require therapy and a stiff brandy). Meet Tarquin Archibold Barnaby Wilfred the Third: dumped at birth in a black bin-liner because his face made the midwife scream, the Queen retch, and even the corgis back away, whimpering. "Too fucking ugly" for the palace, but perfect for orphanage beatings, council estate hustles, jizz-mopping in nightclub bogs, and a tragic OnlyFans wank in a royal-crested sock. Narrated in Tarquin's own foul-mouthed goblin voice, this audio snippet is just the royal dump – the full book gets even darker, twistier, and more depraved. If you laughed, winced, or reached for the bleach... smash that LIKE button, SUBSCRIBE for more ugly bastard storytime, and grab the book if you dare: Available soon from Indigo Ink Books (or wherever they hide the vulgar stuff) Visit www.OwenCroft.com and sign up for the latest releases and other filthy stuff. No corgis were licked in the making of this video. No royals were warned. Viewer discretion advised – especially if you're posh. #RoyalFamilyParody #RoyalReject #UglyBastard #CorgiNightmare #BritishRoyals #RoyalScandal #WorkingClassComedy #NorthernComedy #DarkComedy #BlackHumour #BritishDarkComedy #Satire #BritishSatire #RoyalSatire #AntiRoyal #DarkHumor #TwistedComedy #FilthyComedy

3. 

   15 Dec 2025

   Tarquin the Third The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick : Afterword

   Tarquin the Third The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick. By Owen Croft Afterword by Lady Arabella Featherstonehaugh-Cholmondeley, Viscountess of Lower Snodbury, Honorary President of the Society for the Suppression of Vulgarity and Authoress of The Proper Deployment of the Asparagus Tongs in Polite Warfare This book will be released in early 2026. For updates, sign up to Owen Croft's Filthy Dispatches

4. 

   15 Dec 2025

   Tarquin the Third The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick : Foreword

   Tarquin the Third The Royal, the Corgis Refused to Lick. By Owen Croft Foreword by Sir Reginald Bentinck-Fitzmaurice, OBE, Royal Literary Patron and Occasional Equerry to His Majesty This book will be released in early 2026. For updates, sign up to Owen Croft's Filthy Dispatches

5. 

   30 Nov 2025

   Crisis on a Biscuit Chapter 2

6. 

   30 Nov 2025

   BumbleCock - Chapter 2 : The Viagra Heist – Six Pills, One Cock, Zero Dignity [ FILTHY 18+ ]

   BumbleCock: The Limp Legend of the Layby A fucking stupid comedy by Owen Croft buy the eBook $1.50 on Smashwords.com 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

7. 

   29 Nov 2025

   The Day the Country Ran Out o’ Coppers (Both Kinds)

   Crisis on a Biscuit FREE eBook How Britain Went from Empire to Empire State of Total Bastard Collapse By Big Bastard Bob (Owen Croft) – a six-foot-four Barnsley bastard who's proper had enough This isn't a book. It's a full-blown Yorkshire heart attack on paper. Big Bastard Bob (ex-pit, ex-foundry, ex-give-a-shit) has watched this country go from ruling half the bloody map to not being able to empty the bins without a six-week consultation and a diversity officer. He's paid taxes since Wilson were in nappies, fought for Queen and country, and now gets a pension that buys him 47 tins of beans and a packet of Rich Tea if he shops clever. In these pages you'll get no graphs, no "on the one hand" bollocks, and definitely no hope. What you will get is the unvarnished, brass-necked, John-Smith's-fuelled truth about: Politicians who couldn't run a bath never mind a country. An NHS where the waiting list has its own waiting list. Potholes so big they've got their own postcodes. Energy bills that make you nostalgic for the three-day week. Farmers taxed till the cows come home (and then taxed again for the cows). Free speech that's only free if you whisper it in the dark. Benefits that pay more to sit on your arse than Bob ever earned breaking his back down t'pit. And a government so detached they think "levelling up" means buying a spirit level from Screwfix. Fourteen months of Starmer, twenty years of Tory clowns, forty years of promises, and we're still skint, sick, and sinking faster than the pound after Truss opened her gob.. This is the rant you'd hear in every working men's club from Barnsley to Berwick if the country still had any working men's clubs left. It's grim up north. It's bloody grim everywhere. And Big Bastard Bob is here to tell you exactly who's to blame, how they did it, and why nobody's coming to save us. So grab a brew, crack open the biscuits (the cheap ones – we're not made of money), and prepare to nod, swear, and despair in equal measure. Because the Empire's gone, the industry's gone, the pride's gone, and all we've got left is a crisis… on a biscuit. Let's be havin' you. Big Bastard Bob – still standing. Just. For more books by Owen Croft visit www.OwenCroft.com

8. 

   28 Nov 2025

   Crisis on a Biscuit the intro

   Crisis on a Biscuit Intro We’ll cover the lot: Pensions that vanish faster than a politician’s principles An NHS that couldn’t cure a paper cut Benefits that reward the idle and punish the grafters Roads that look like the surface of the moon Bills that make your eyes water harder than a raw onion Farmers taxed till they’re sellin’ the family silver (or the family farm) Free speech that’s only free if you agree with the right people And a government so sleazy they make the last lot look like altar boys By the time you finish this, you’ll either be laughin’, cryin’, or loadin’ the shotgun. Probably all three. So crack open a John Smith’s, pull up a chair that’s seen better days, and let Big Bastard Bob take you on a tour of Broken Britain, 2025 edition. It’s grim up north. It’s grimmer everywhere else. And it’s only gettin’ worse. Let’s be havin’ you. www.OwenCroft.com

9. 

   27 Nov 2025

   Crisis on a Biscuit How Britain Went from Empire to Empire State of Total Bastard Collapse

   Crisis on a Biscuit FREE eBook , download today from Smashwords How Britain Went from Empire to Empire State of Total Bastard Collapse By Big Bastard Bob (Owen Croft) – a six-foot-four Barnsley bastard who's proper had enough This isn't a book. It's a full-blown Yorkshire heart attack on paper. Big Bastard Bob (ex-pit, ex-foundry, ex-give-a-shit) has watched this country go from ruling half the bloody map to not being able to empty the bins without a six-week consultation and a diversity officer. He's paid taxes since Wilson were in nappies, fought for Queen and country, and now gets a pension that buys him 47 tins of beans and a packet of Rich Tea if he shops clever. In these pages you'll get no graphs, no "on the one hand" bollocks, and definitely no hope. What you will get is the unvarnished, brass-necked, John-Smith's-fuelled truth about: Politicians who couldn't run a bath never mind a country. An NHS where the waiting list has its own waiting list. Potholes so big they've got their own postcodes. Energy bills that make you nostalgic for the three-day week. Farmers taxed till the cows come home (and then taxed again for the cows). Free speech that's only free if you whisper it in the dark. Benefits that pay more to sit on your arse than Bob ever earned breaking his back down t'pit. And a government so detached they think "levelling up" means buying a spirit level from Screwfix. Fourteen months of Starmer, twenty years of Tory clowns, forty years of promises, and we're still skint, sick, and sinking faster than the pound after Truss opened her gob.. This is the rant you'd hear in every working men's club from Barnsley to Berwick if the country still had any working men's clubs left. It's grim up north. It's bloody grim everywhere. And Big Bastard Bob is here to tell you exactly who's to blame, how they did it, and why nobody's coming to save us. So grab a brew, crack open the biscuits (the cheap ones – we're not made of money), and prepare to nod, swear, and despair in equal measure. Because the Empire's gone, the industry's gone, the pride's gone, and all we've got left is a crisis… on a biscuit. Let's be havin' you. Big Bastard Bob – still standing. Just.

10. 

    27 Nov 2025

    A Bloke’s Guide to Saving Money How to Be Skint, Stingy and Strangely Satisfied

    A Bloke's Guide to Saving Money: How to Be Skint, Stingy and Strangely Satisfied By Owen Croft – the same cantankerous, twice-divorced, sofa-duct-tape enthusiast who wrote The Blokes Cook Book Buy the eBook today on Smashwords Listen up, you glorious tight-fisted heathen.This isn't some shiny-suited, latte-sipping finance prick telling you to cancel Netflix and invest in avocado futures. This is a proper, no-bullshit survival bible for the common man who considers £2.60 a "big night out" and measures wealth in how many days he can go without turning the heating on. Owen Croft – a man who's been skint since the day he was born, proudly wears jeans older than most TikTok influencers, and once tried to return a half-eaten kebab because "it didn't taste proper" – has distilled four decades of professional poverty into one glorious, sweary masterpiece. Inside these sacred pages you'll learn: How to terrorise the supermarket into giving you food for pennies (yellow-sticker warfare tactics that border on performance art).Why designer clothes are the biggest con since your ex said "it's not you, it's me".The ancient art of turning a twelve quid Tesco wardrobe into a lifestyle that says "I've given up, but I look oddly confident about it".How to date, drink, and occasionally wash without accidentally acquiring a bank loan.The joy of eating beans so often you start to feel emotionally attached to the tin.Why "treat yourself" is the battle cry of the financially damned. And most importantly: how to be absolutely brassic, completely unashamed, and weirdly bloody content about it. This book won't make you rich.It'll make you the kind of broke that comes with dignity, a full belly of reduced chicken, and the smug satisfaction of knowing you've outlived every flash bastard who laughed at your 16 quid trainers. Perfect for: Blokes who check the price of milk like it's the bloody stock marketLads whose idea of interior design is "wherever the duct tape looks least obvious"Anyone who's ever cried in a car park clutching a 19p cauliflower like it's their newborn child. Warning: May cause uncontrollable nodding, involuntary cackling, and an overwhelming urge to cancel your gym membership because "walking saves petrol". A Bloke's Guide to Saving Money – because being skint never felt so bloody triumphant. Now sod off and start saving, you beautiful, miserly legend. Pop over to Smashwords.com , search for Owen Croft , A Bloke's Guide to Saving Money .. Enjoy

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