Day 1107 and 1108. It is another Saturday morning and the Best Owner Of Something He Doesn't Understand Ever is fast asleep in his little bed. He has a little smile on his face. He is dreaming of a football match experience where the stupid ant people are happy. The game is taking place on the pitch. But no one is too bothered with that. Everyone in the crowd has a bingo card, and they are sitting in their seats checking off their numbers. A little jazz is wafting around the stadium from the loudspeakers. Then suddenly there is a goal. And everybody claps politely. It is the other team who are winning, but that's ok. Suddenly, someone shouts "HOUSE!" and the crowd stands and cheers. And now the clowns appear on the pitch and they do funny things. They boot the ball away when it comes near them and everybody laughs. Everyone loves a clown! And as the customers walk away from the ground later, a little weary from all the dancing, they say how nice it was to see a Premiership star of tomorrow get a custard pie in the face from a clown. They say they must come again, the next time they are in town. As the B.O is awoken from his happy little dream, which is a nightmare by any normal standards, he sees a cup of coffee and little amaretto biscuit that is broken in two. He's back to the nightmare. He's still here. Oh fuck.....
Day 1114 and 1115. It is a Saturday morning and The Best Owner Of a Farm Ever is in his shed. Mrs B.O is on her way to give him his coffee and little amaretto biscuit when she is stopped by a cleaner who says nervously : "I thought I ought to warn you,ma'am, he's wearing his Alexander The Great outfit again. The one with the helmet that's a little bit too big for him." Mrs. B.O gives a long sigh. " Thank you, Claudette." she says wearily. She walks down to the shed and enters cautiously. And sure enough, there is the B.O in his Alexander The Great outfit. With the helmet that is too big for him. She says calmly: " Now you're not going to come at me with a spear like last time, are you, darling? I've brought you your coffee." The B.O turns to her dejectedly and yells mournfully : "WHY CAN'T I BE LIKE ALEXANDER THE FUCKING GREAT!!!!" "Well, I don't think he owned a network of football clubs, darling." says Mrs.B.O calmly. " And as for your 'Alexander plan' of hacking supporters to bits who won't dance after they watch their team lose 0-2 to Peterborough, remember we said we just didn't think it was very likely to drive up sales of season tickets." " But I want to be seen as a mighty leader of men! Someone of unique vision and action! I want to be great! Like Alexander the Fucking Great!" he wails. Mrs B.O gazes at him. That helmet really was too big for his little head. He looks up at her mournfully. "What's wrong with me?" he asks. "I'm afraid I haven't got all day!" she replies. "Our little grandson wants me to help him bury the cat." The B.O looks "What, has it died?" he says. "No, not yet..." she replies with a grimace. The B.O looks at his coffee sadly. "Why won't my name be remembered like Alexander the Great eh?" he says quietly. " Well, that sort of fame is not as good as it seems, darling. " says Mrs B.O reassuringly "And anyway in years to come people will still be talking about you. They'll remember you all right. Just like they say 'Alexander The Great'." The B.O looks up at her hopefully. "Will they? he asks. "Yes, to at least 20,000 people you'll be known as 'That Wanker From Belgium'." replies Mrs. B.O with a smile, as she leaves closing the door behind her. Let's leave The B.O staring quietly into his coffee contemplating his legacy. He's still here. Oh fuck....
Day 1114 and 1115. It is a Saturday morning and The Best Owner Of a Farm Ever is in his shed. Mrs B.O is on her way to give him his coffee and little amaretto biscuit when she is stopped by a cleaner who says nervously : "I thought I ought to warn you,ma'am, he's wearing his Alexander The Great outfit again. The one with the helmet that's a little bit too big for him." Mrs. B.O gives a long sigh. " Thank you, Claudette." she says wearily. She walks down to the shed and enters cautiously. And sure enough, there is the B.O in his Alexander The Great outfit. With the helmet that is too big for him. She says calmly: " Now you're not going to come at me with a spear like last time, are you, darling? I've brought you your coffee." The B.O turns to her dejectedly and yells mournfully : "WHY CAN'T I BE LIKE ALEXANDER THE FUCKING GREAT!!!!" "Well, I don't think he owned a network of football clubs, darling." says Mrs.B.O calmly. " And as for your 'Alexander plan' of hacking supporters to bits who won't dance after they watch their team lose 0-2 to Peterborough, remember we said we just didn't think it was very likely to drive up sales of season tickets." " But I want to be seen as a mighty leader of men! Someone of unique vision and action! I want to be great! Like Alexander the Fucking Great!" he wails. Mrs B.O gazes at him. That helmet really was too big for his little head. He looks up at her mournfully. "What's wrong with me?" he asks. "I'm afraid haven't got all day!" she replies. "Our little grandson wants me to help him bury the cat." The B.O looks "What, has it died?" he says. "No, not yet..." she replies with a grimace. The B.O looks at his coffee sadly. "Why won't my name be remembered like Alexander the Great eh?" he says quietly. " Well, that sort of fame is not as good as it seems, darling. " says Mrs B.O reassuringly "And anyway in years to come people will still be talking about you. They'll remember you all right. Just like they say 'Alexander The Great'." The B.O looks up at her hopefully. "Will they? he asks. "Yes, to at least 20,000 peopl,e you'll be known as 'That Wanker From Belgium'." replies Mrs. B.O with a smile, as she leaves closing the door behind her. Let's leave The B.O staring quietly into his coffee contemplating his legacy. He's still here. Oh fuck....
Day 1121 and 1122. It is another Saturday morning and The Best Owner Of Underground Pipes That Aren't Attached To Anything is sitting with his wife in a psychiatrist's office yet again. The young female psychiatrist turns to them and addresses them both brightly. " So, you are with me here this morning, as there are some concerns about -" she looks at The B.O - " your self image, because ...you're a bit upset that you're not..... Alexander The Great.. is that right?" Mrs B. O nods and nudges the B.O who nods miserably too. The psychiatrist turns to him with a smile. " Ok, lovely. So.......let's see, let's have a think about self esteem, then...tell me some good things about yourself. Tell me what you think are your strengths" she says encouragingly. The B.O stares back at her impassively. "Well, I am a fucking visionary and I know everything about everything." he replies. " Oh....I see. " says the psychiatrist, making a note. "Oh....and I can dance." says The B.O and gets up and proceeds to prance around like a demented penguin. " Good grief...." mutters the psychiatrist, covering her eyes and hurriedly writing some more notes. She leans over to Mrs B.O and says quietly: " By the way.....can I ask why is he wearing that helmet? It's miles too big for him!" Mrs B.O shudders slightly. " Best you don't." she mutters grimly. Meanwhile, The B.O has finally finished his ghastly gyrations and has sat down. "Ok. Good." says the psychiatrist, taking a deep breath and consulting her notes. "Now, could you perhaps tell me something about yourself that you would like to be better." "I want people to recognise I'm fucking great, like Alexander the Great, and that I am not just 'That Wanker From Belgium'." says The B.O. " I see." says the psychiatrist, thoughtfully. She turns to Mrs B.O. " Can I ask...do you think he's a wanker?" she asks. Mrs. B.O. stares at The B.O for a moment. " Yes...yes, I do...really ." she says, finally. She turns to the B.O. " In a good way though, darling." She purrs soothingly. " How can you see me as a wanker in a GOOD way!?" snorts The B.O. " Well, you're loaded." she replies. " And married to me.That's what makes it good." The psychiatrist nods sympathetically and makes a quick reminder on her notebook to treble her bill. " So," she says, finally, looking into space thoughtfully, " what we have here, in a nutshell then, is that you think you're really really great.....and everybody else thinks you are a wanker." Both Mr and Mrs B.O nod. " Do you think....you could stop being a wanker?" asks the psychiatrist. Mrs. B.O shakes her head. " I think that's highly unlikely. " she says. " I see." says the psychiatrist gazing at the B.O. " Yes, I take your point. Ok well, I think we have to turn this around for you, and get you to see it from another angle. Let's look for a positive here, and combine it with what you are good at. Let's remove the name 'Alexander' but keep the 'Great'. ..So, I want you to repeat after me.... ." She looks encouragingly at The B.O, who looks at his wife, who nods at him to continue. " I am..." says the psychiatrist. The B.O clears his throat. " I ... am....." he says. "A...GREAT..." says the psychiatrist. "A....GREAT..." repeats The B.O. " Big..." says the psychiatrist. " Big..." says The B.O. " Wanker." says the psychiatrist with a smile. The B.O looks at his wife who motions him to continue. " Wanker." he says flatly. " Excellent!" says the psychiatrist. "We're getting somewhere!" The B.O. looks at them both. " But I can still wear the helmet, right?" He says. The psychiatrist looks at Mrs B.O. with a patient look. " Well, let's stop there for today, we've done very well here." says the psychiatrist. " I'll book you in for next week." So let's leave The B.O. achieving well there on his journey of self discovery and let's have coffees all round. He's still here. Oh fuck....
" I am..." says the psychiatrist. The B.O clears his throat. " I ... am....." he says. "A...GREAT..." says the psychiatrist. "A....GREAT..." repeats The B.O. " Big..." says the psychiatrist. " Big..." says The B.O. " Wanker." says the psychiatrist with a smile.
That is absolute genius. I could picture it happening. Someone should make a film of your scripts.
Thanks for the nice comments Meanwhile - Day 1124. He's still here. Ohhhhhh fuck....
Deadline day he gets a call from Robbo.
Well actually 30 missed calls and 8 voicemails.
"10 million pounds worth of duck tape?....I was thinking of asking to use some of that money to improve the squad seen as where almost on board for a playoff push, boss. By the way I think your a legend"
Comments
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Every day a new adventure.
He's still here.
Oh fuck......
He's still here, like a blight.
Oh fuck....
Oh fuck!
He's still bloody well here.
Oh fuck....
I do hope the snow doesn't cause him problems coming over to see the game
Oh wait, it's not an issue.
He's still here.
Oh fuck..
It is another Saturday morning and the Best Owner Of Something He Doesn't Understand Ever is fast asleep in his little bed.
He has a little smile on his face.
He is dreaming of a football match experience where the stupid ant people are happy.
The game is taking place on the pitch. But no one is too bothered with that.
Everyone in the crowd has a bingo card, and they are sitting in their seats checking off their numbers. A little jazz is wafting around the stadium from the loudspeakers.
Then suddenly there is a goal. And everybody claps politely. It is the other team who are winning, but that's ok.
Suddenly, someone shouts "HOUSE!" and the crowd stands and cheers.
And now the clowns appear on the pitch and they do funny things. They boot the ball away when it comes near them and everybody laughs. Everyone loves a clown!
And as the customers walk away from the ground later, a little weary from all the dancing, they say how nice it was to see a Premiership star of tomorrow get a custard pie in the face from a clown.
They say they must come again, the next time they are in town.
As the B.O is awoken from his happy little dream, which is a nightmare by any normal standards, he sees a cup of coffee and little amaretto biscuit that is broken in two.
He's back to the nightmare.
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Let's hope we don't get to Day 2222.
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
1 Belgian cnut
2 Belgian cunt
3 Bel...
Nope. Still here.... FUCK!!!!
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
Of all the clubs in all the world, he had to walk into ours and turn it into a farm.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
It is a Saturday morning and The Best Owner Of a Farm Ever is in his shed.
Mrs B.O is on her way to give him his coffee and little amaretto biscuit when she is stopped by a cleaner who says nervously :
"I thought I ought to warn you,ma'am, he's wearing his Alexander The Great outfit again. The one with the helmet that's a little bit too big for him."
Mrs. B.O gives a long sigh.
" Thank you, Claudette." she says wearily.
She walks down to the shed and enters cautiously. And sure enough, there is the B.O in his Alexander The Great outfit. With the helmet that is too big for him.
She says calmly:
" Now you're not going to come at me with a spear like last time, are you, darling? I've brought you your coffee."
The B.O turns to her dejectedly and yells mournfully :
"WHY CAN'T I BE LIKE ALEXANDER THE FUCKING GREAT!!!!"
"Well, I don't think he owned a network of football clubs, darling." says Mrs.B.O calmly. " And as for your 'Alexander plan' of hacking supporters to bits who won't dance after they watch their team lose 0-2 to Peterborough, remember we said we just didn't think it was very likely to drive up sales of season tickets."
" But I want to be seen as a mighty leader of men! Someone of unique vision and action! I want to be great! Like Alexander the Fucking Great!" he wails.
Mrs B.O gazes at him. That helmet really was too big for his little head.
He looks up at her mournfully.
"What's wrong with me?" he asks.
"I'm afraid I haven't got all day!" she replies. "Our little grandson wants me to help him bury the cat."
The B.O looks
"What, has it died?" he says.
"No, not yet..." she replies with a grimace.
The B.O looks at his coffee sadly.
"Why won't my name be remembered like Alexander the Great eh?" he says quietly.
" Well, that sort of fame is not as good as it seems, darling. " says Mrs B.O reassuringly "And anyway in years to come people will still be talking about you. They'll remember you all right. Just like they say 'Alexander The Great'."
The B.O looks up at her hopefully.
"Will they? he asks.
"Yes, to at least 20,000 people you'll be known as 'That Wanker From Belgium'." replies Mrs. B.O with a smile, as she leaves closing the door behind her.
Let's leave The B.O staring quietly into his coffee contemplating his legacy.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here. Ffs.
Oh well, let's press on.
OH FUCK.
Here.
Fuck
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Day 1121 and 1122.
It is another Saturday morning and The Best Owner Of Underground Pipes That Aren't Attached To Anything is sitting with his wife in a psychiatrist's office yet again.
The young female psychiatrist turns to them and addresses them both brightly.
" So, you are with me here this morning, as there are some concerns about -" she looks at The B.O - " your self image, because ...you're a bit upset that you're not..... Alexander The Great.. is that right?"
Mrs B. O nods and nudges the B.O who nods miserably too.
The psychiatrist turns to him with a smile.
" Ok, lovely. So.......let's see, let's have a think about self esteem, then...tell me some good things about yourself. Tell me what you think are your strengths" she says encouragingly.
The B.O stares back at her impassively.
"Well, I am a fucking visionary and I know everything about everything." he replies.
" Oh....I see. " says the psychiatrist, making a note.
"Oh....and I can dance." says The B.O and gets up and proceeds to prance around like a demented penguin.
" Good grief...." mutters the psychiatrist, covering her eyes and hurriedly writing some more notes.
She leans over to Mrs B.O and says quietly:
" By the way.....can I ask why is he wearing that helmet? It's miles too big for him!"
Mrs B.O shudders slightly.
" Best you don't." she mutters grimly.
Meanwhile, The B.O has finally finished his ghastly gyrations and has sat down.
"Ok. Good." says the psychiatrist, taking a deep breath and consulting her notes. "Now, could you perhaps tell me something about yourself that you would like to be better."
"I want people to recognise I'm fucking great, like Alexander the Great, and that I am not just 'That Wanker From Belgium'." says The B.O.
" I see." says the psychiatrist, thoughtfully.
She turns to Mrs B.O.
" Can I ask...do you think he's a wanker?" she asks.
Mrs. B.O. stares at The B.O for a moment.
" Yes...yes, I do...really ." she says, finally.
She turns to the B.O.
" In a good way though, darling." She purrs soothingly.
" How can you see me as a wanker in a GOOD way!?" snorts The B.O.
" Well, you're loaded." she replies. " And married to me.That's what makes it good."
The psychiatrist nods sympathetically and makes a quick reminder on her notebook to treble her bill.
" So," she says, finally, looking into space thoughtfully, " what we have here, in a nutshell then, is that you think you're really really great.....and everybody else thinks you are a wanker."
Both Mr and Mrs B.O nod.
" Do you think....you could stop being a wanker?" asks the psychiatrist.
Mrs. B.O shakes her head.
" I think that's highly unlikely. " she says.
" I see." says the psychiatrist gazing at the B.O. " Yes, I take your point. Ok well, I think we have to turn this around for you, and get you to see it from another angle. Let's look for a positive here, and combine it with what you are good at. Let's remove the name 'Alexander' but keep the 'Great'. ..So, I want you to repeat after me.... ."
She looks encouragingly at The B.O, who looks at his wife, who nods at him to continue.
" I am..." says the psychiatrist.
The B.O clears his throat.
" I ... am....." he says.
"A...GREAT..." says the psychiatrist.
"A....GREAT..." repeats The B.O.
" Big..." says the psychiatrist.
" Big..." says The B.O.
" Wanker." says the psychiatrist with a smile.
The B.O looks at his wife who motions him to continue.
" Wanker." he says flatly.
" Excellent!" says the psychiatrist. "We're getting somewhere!"
The B.O. looks at them both.
" But I can still wear the helmet, right?" He says.
The psychiatrist looks at Mrs B.O. with a patient look.
" Well, let's stop there for today, we've done very well here." says the psychiatrist. " I'll book you in for next week."
So let's leave The B.O. achieving well there on his journey of self discovery and let's have coffees all round.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Nice win.
But he's still here.
Oh fuck...
The B.O clears his throat.
" I ... am....." he says.
"A...GREAT..." says the psychiatrist.
"A....GREAT..." repeats The B.O.
" Big..." says the psychiatrist.
" Big..." says The B.O.
" Wanker." says the psychiatrist with a smile.
That is absolute genius. I could picture it happening. Someone should make a film of your scripts.
Meanwhile -
Day 1124.
He's still here.
Ohhhhhh fuck....
Well actually 30 missed calls and 8 voicemails.
"10 million pounds worth of duck tape?....I was thinking of asking to use some of that money to improve the squad seen as where almost on board for a playoff push, boss.
By the way I think your a legend"
RD: you thought wrong (big yellow teeth smile)