Alas, dear Father Roland, will you not fall on your sword ? You have brought shame on the house of the Duchatalets. why did you go to a foreign land where you were not wanted ? Retreat dear Father, retreat back to the bosom of your family. Jettison this project, leave the factory farm to another. They are heathens and Philistines who don't understand the ways of young Thomas in his bedroom with a laptop. We tried to entice the men from the Valley by sending in the young wench Daisy, at first we thought it had succeeded as many men had selfies after encountering the Flemish Meire. To be or not to be ? Alas dear Father, It wasn't to be, as we couldn't tame the shrew as her nose grew longer then the Pardew in Surrey. Sell to the Middle man Varney of Gravesend. Let them go forth and multiply. We have More Fiiiiish to fry in Euro ponds. We must CEXIT.
(Seasonal adjustment - Day 1005 - he was still here oh fuck)
Day 1006. Mark it in your diary as one to note, folks - it's the day after we lost magnificently at home to Crawley. We are his children. It's a unique fan experience. He' s still here. Oh FUCK...
Man with trousers that have holes in Deep pockets, yet has short arms, Can't feel cocky but should sell to man with needle. ( hope this is the right thread)
Day 1009 and 1010. They were out there, he knew they were. Just waiting for the moment to strike, waiting for a momentary lapse in his concentration, a slight drop in his guard. And then they would pounce mercilessly upon him. He must show them no weakness. He must be ready for them when they came..... This morning we find The Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever in his shed. His coffee is there. His little amaretto biscuit is there. But something is wrong. He sits motionless. He can wait. Then out of the corner of his eye he spots a slight movement in the dark lonely shadows of the shed. Slowly, imperceptibly, he reaches for the Tesco Ant Killer. Because there is a black ant in the shed. Probably a member of CARD. Whatever that is. He is just about to strike the death blow when his phone rings. In the ensuing confusion, the moment goes, the prey slips back quietly into the darkness. Another victory for the those bastard black ants, he rages, but he shakes his fist at it savagely, his day would come! He picks up his phone angrily, and sees it is the manager, Brussell Sludge. Oh ffs, what did he want NOW? " CONGRATULATIONS, boss, you did it!" comes the familiar tones of his manager. " No, I didn't! The little bastard got away! Because of you!" fumes the Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever. " What do you fucking want?" " Oh....er...." says Sludge, slightly confused. " I just rang to say congratulations on your 1000 days at the club !" " Oh. That." says The Best Owner flatly. He narrows his eyes. Was that something black moving by the galvanised rivets? Meanwhile, Sludge ploughs on: "Er, anyway, boss, me and the lads wanted to give you a surprise! It's something we've been working on in training all week! What we are going to do during the match on Saturday is we are going to give you our personal tribute. We are going to exactly mirror the great way you run the club, by charging around in circles like headless chickens for 90 mins!" "What, just like normal then ?" says The Best Owner, grimly. " Hey, be patient, we're going to be top six !" yells Sludge. But The Best Owner is not listening any more. He has spotted a black ant on his bench. He drops the phone, stalks the hostile invader on his knees for a moment and then leaping up with a war cry of triumph, he squirts half a bottle of Tesco Ant Killer at it, and whacks it several times with his duck taped shoe. Just in case. Let's leave The Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever dancing and celebrating in his shed over the lifeless body of his victim and we won't mention the 20k of black ants that are creeping up behind him.... He's still here. Oh fuck......
3blokes, hope you don't mind if I ask, are you in fact 3 blokes doing this on a rota? Top work btw.
I have a whole production team on it, including set designer, continuity, camera crew, sound engineer (total pisshead), and make up dept. No, just me but I'm terribly keen...
3blokes, hope you don't mind if I ask, are you in fact 3 blokes doing this on a rota? Top work btw.
I have a whole production team on it, including set designer, continuity, camera crew, sound engineer (total pisshead), and make up dept. No, just me but I'm terribly keen...
So when I meet you i only have to buy you one pint not three.
One day I will come on here and see "HE'S FUCKING GONE!!" and I will cry with joy!
What will herald the first clues to his departure?
I envisage something like the last days of the American Embassy under siege in Saigon with a helicopter sent over from Belgium to whisk Meire away from the centre circle whilst the remaining blue jacketed stewards form a cordon trying to hold back a sobbing and increasingly hysterical Sue Perks as she makes a desperate grab for the copter's running skid before it lifts off.
Comments
will you not fall on your sword ?
You have brought shame on the house of the Duchatalets.
why did you go to a foreign land where you were not wanted ?
Retreat dear Father, retreat back to the bosom of your family.
Jettison this project, leave the factory farm to another.
They are heathens and Philistines who don't understand the ways of young
Thomas in his bedroom with a laptop.
We tried to entice the men from the Valley by sending in the young wench
Daisy, at first we thought it had succeeded as many men had selfies after encountering the Flemish Meire.
To be or not to be ?
Alas dear Father, It wasn't to be, as we couldn't tame the shrew as her nose grew longer then the Pardew in Surrey.
Sell to the Middle man Varney of Gravesend.
Let them go forth and multiply.
We have More Fiiiiish to fry in Euro ponds.
We must CEXIT.
oh fuck.......
That you should always have at least one fuck ?
oh fuck.....( that's two)
He's still here, like a traffic light that doesn't work and we're all just sitting there waiting for it to go.
Oh fuck....
Thought for the day. Some of those traffic lights you have to drive up closer to in order to get them to change...
Man and Woman with decent trainers will march till they reach the promised land.
Man with duct tape will eventually lose his soul.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
( there will be a seasonal adjustment Pope stylee tomorrow to bring the count to official accuracy.)
But if this means an adjustment which adds another day(s) then Oh fuck!
Day 1006.
Mark it in your diary as one to note, folks - it's the day after we lost magnificently at home to Crawley.
We are his children. It's a unique fan experience.
He' s still here.
Oh FUCK...
He's still here, running us down.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
Man with trousers that have holes in Deep pockets, yet has short arms,
Can't feel cocky but should sell to man with needle. ( hope this is the right thread)
oh fuck........
But there is another side to this ...we are one day closer to getting rid of him.
Needle then optional.
They were out there, he knew they were.
Just waiting for the moment to strike, waiting for a momentary lapse in his concentration, a slight drop in his guard. And then they would pounce mercilessly upon him.
He must show them no weakness. He must be ready for them when they came.....
This morning we find The Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever in his shed.
His coffee is there.
His little amaretto biscuit is there.
But something is wrong.
He sits motionless.
He can wait.
Then out of the corner of his eye he spots a slight movement in the dark lonely shadows of the shed.
Slowly, imperceptibly, he reaches for the Tesco Ant Killer.
Because there is a black ant in the shed. Probably a member of CARD. Whatever that is.
He is just about to strike the death blow when his phone rings.
In the ensuing confusion, the moment goes, the prey slips back quietly into the darkness.
Another victory for the those bastard black ants, he rages, but he shakes his fist at it savagely, his day would come!
He picks up his phone angrily, and sees it is the manager, Brussell Sludge.
Oh ffs, what did he want NOW?
" CONGRATULATIONS, boss, you did it!" comes the familiar tones of his manager.
" No, I didn't! The little bastard got away! Because of you!" fumes the Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever. " What do you fucking want?"
" Oh....er...." says Sludge, slightly confused. " I just rang to say congratulations on your 1000 days at the club !"
" Oh. That." says The Best Owner flatly. He narrows his eyes. Was that something black moving by the galvanised rivets?
Meanwhile, Sludge ploughs on:
"Er, anyway, boss, me and the lads wanted to give you a surprise! It's something we've been working on in training all week! What we are going to do during the match on Saturday is we are going to give you our personal tribute. We are going to exactly mirror the great way you run the club, by charging around in circles like headless chickens for 90 mins!"
"What, just like normal then ?" says The Best Owner, grimly.
" Hey, be patient, we're going to be top six !" yells Sludge.
But The Best Owner is not listening any more.
He has spotted a black ant on his bench.
He drops the phone, stalks the hostile invader on his knees for a moment and then leaping up with a war cry of triumph, he squirts half a bottle of Tesco Ant Killer at it, and whacks it several times with his duck taped shoe.
Just in case.
Let's leave The Best Owner Of A Football Club Ever dancing and celebrating in his shed over the lifeless body of his victim and we won't mention the 20k of black ants that are creeping up behind him....
He's still here.
Oh fuck......
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Nope, the feckers are still here...
We can hope and pray.
No, just me but I'm terribly keen...
What a relief
I envisage something like the last days of the American Embassy under siege in Saigon with a helicopter sent over from Belgium to whisk Meire away from the centre circle whilst the remaining blue jacketed stewards form a cordon trying to hold back a sobbing and increasingly hysterical Sue Perks as she makes a desperate grab for the copter's running skid before it lifts off.