I've hesitated over this many times while a bit lubrricated.
The best owner of several football clubs and their associated ants was listening to the digital wireless today.
He had been feeling slightly odd since that mushroom omelette his new chef, 'RedMushroon' had cooked for him that morning. Never the less he was feeling good, seeing the sounds around him and totally on a good trip.
Then Bob Marley comes on over the gramaphone and the best leader ever, part way through his happy time hears:
'Until the philosophy, which hold one race superior, And another, Inferior, Is finally, And permanently, Discredited, And abandoned, Everywhere is war Me say war.'
The cold sweats begin as Roland has heard of WAT, and the last thing he wants is to see it close to home.
There is no respite and the track continues:
That until there no longer, First class, and second class citizens of any nation; Until the colour of a man's skin Is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes; Me say war
Tony Keohane's head explodes at this point allegedly and without prejudice. Oh, no maybe there was some prejudice.
'That until the basic human rights Are equally guaranteed to all, Without regard to race - Dis a war. That until that day The dream of lasting peace, World citizenship Rule of international morality Will remain in but a fleeting illusion to be pursued'
And now, it seems it is hardly even a goal for many. I do not understand why not.
Day 1142 and1143. ( he's having his shed fortified this weekend, and having mines laid under the lawn in preparation of an invasion, so let's leave him wearing a tin hat gazing suspiciously out the window at every sound) He's still here. Oh fuck....
Day 1149 and 1150. It is another Saturday morning and today The B.O is in his shed. And he is very upset. It's full caps lock on stuff. Let's tune in : " THE UTTER BASTARDS!! WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ME ??!! WHY??? I SPEND MY MONEY ON A FOOTBALL CLUB, I GIVE THEM GREAT STUFF LIKE PULLED PORK IN A BUN AND A SOFA, HOW WAS I TO KNOW THE SUPPORTERS WERE SUCH A LOAD OF FUCKING IDIOTS!! THEY KEEP GOING ON ABOUT SHIT, LIKE RESULTS, THE LEAGUE AND WINNING THE OCCASIONAL GAME , WTF, I'M TRYING TO RUN A FANDANGO BASED FOOTBALL CLUB HERE! AND THEN THEY BANG ON ABOUT THE HISTORY! WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT THE STUPID BORING HISTORY OF THE STUPID BORING CLUB, I DIDN'T BLOODY OWN IT THEN, DID I !!! AND NOW A LOAD OF THESE SHITTY SHIT PEOPLE, THESE POXY ANT SHEEP BLOODY THINGS ARE COMING OVER TO MY OWN PERSONAL VILLAGE TO RUIN EVERYTHING!! IN FRONT OF MY OWN LITTLE VILLAGE PEOPLE! THE FUCKERS!! MY SOCIAL LIFE GETS FUCKED!! FOR WHAT!!?? HOW CAN I HAVE A GOOD DANCE AND PRANCE ABOUT LIKE A DEMENTED PENGUIN UNDER THOSE CIRCUMSTANCES?!! IT'S A FUCKING DISGRACE, AN OUTRAGE!! IT'S JUST LIKE NAZI GERMANY!! AND THEY'RE ALL LED BY THAT BITTER EX EMPLOYEE ADOLF BLOODY EVERITE OR WHATEVER HIS BLOODY NAME IS!! AND THEY'RE ALL BRAINWASHED WITH FAKE NEWS BY CARD!! WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT IS!! FOR CHRIST'S SAKE WE'RE FLYING HIGH AT 13TH IN THE TABLE, WE'VE GOT THE BEST SET OF UNDERGROUND PIPES THAT AREN'T ATTACHED TO ANYTHING, IN THE WHOLE LEAGUE, AND ONE OF OUR FORMER PLAYERS IS DOING REALLY WELL IN THE PREM, WHY CAN'T THEY JUST BE HAPPY FOR HIM!! AND ME!! WHAT MORE DO THESE COCKSUCKERS WANT!!" There is the sound of something breaking in the shed. And then there is a bit of banging around. And then someone appears to be yelling at his lawnmower. Meanwhile, the gardener passes by whistling outside just as Mrs B.O is walking up the path to the shed with the B.O's coffee and little amaretto biscuit. The gardener stops and listens to the shouting for a moment. "He's a bit lively this morning. Is he all right?" He says. Mrs. B.O gives him a reassuring smile. " Oh yes he's fine, he's just preparing his latest press release. Don't worry, I've laced his coffee. He'll be out of it in about 10 minutes for the rest of the weekend." She says. " Ah lovely." says the gardener with a nod. There is the sound of more things being broken in the shed. " Anyway," says Mrs B.O, "best press on." And with a smile she proceeds to do a small but important piece of work for the local community. If only it were that simple. In the meantime, he's still here. Oh fuck....
Day 1156 and 1157. It is another Saturday morning and The B.O is sitting in his shed. It has been converted into a bunker complete with sand bags and a direct line to the "front." Wherever that is. He is wearing a tin hat. It is a bit too big for his head. And he is staring warily out the window, binoculars at the ready. He knows they're out there. Somewhere. They are coming. And it's now a waiting game. He licks his lips, his mouth feels dry, as he tries to keep his composure, and resist a terrible urge rising in him to call someone stupid. But he knows today he must try and desist. There might not be much dancing today. The coffee and little amaretto biscuit may remain untouched. And perhaps, as the day unfolds, as he witnesses a momentous effort by so many good people, he might just reflect on how things could have been oh so different. He certainly should do. But don't bank on it. He's still here. Oh fuck....
The best owner of several promising property developments with a sporting theme feels slightly unwell.
It must be something he ate. It certainly wasn't the humble pie he was offered because he made very sure he didn't touch that.
He is worried he may have a vinegar allergy, or perhaps a very alkaline stomach himself leading him to be the vinegar pisserS
This is not going to plan.
The BOSPPD decides he will deal with the ants later and goes to watch his favourite dance club filling local sports team. At least the ants won't get in there as special measures have been taken. The dancing will go ahead as planned.
BOSPPD unwraps an amaretto biscuit in anticipation.
What's that during the game? Surely not the ants singing about not wanting BOSPPD?
He takes the biscuit and grinds it under his foot while tapping frantically on his phone. 'I THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS WAS FINE, THEY ARE HERE AGAIN, WHO DO WE SACK NOW'
No answer.
The BOSPPD cancels his dancing until a suitable pest control agent can be identified.
He wakes up the next day refreshed and heads to his shed. His wife has fitted him a TV so he can relax with his favourite cut price shopping channels
Unfortunately, his daydream where the ants all die after a giant Roland pours boiling water in them all solving the world's problems is broken by some local TV news.
The ants really did build a marionette of him, they mentioned his Domme Mensen quote and told him to fuck off! This is just getting worse and worse.
www.rtl.be/videos/categorie/rtl-sport/3512.aspx
He breaks several panes of glass in the greenhouse and for the first time in years goes off to cry himself to sleep.
Best owner in the whole world ever was over in the UK and while not attending the Charlton game on Saturday having better things to do, needed some food.
He treated himself to a classy fish supper at the golden chippy http://thegoldenchippy.com as advised by trip advisor.
He was expecting a reasonably priced top quality affair.
Everything was going well until the question came in:
'Salt and vinegar with that sir?'
At this point the best owner in the world lost it, he totally lost his cool.
'These fucking vinegar pissers are ruining my dancing. They are sooo f**king stupid. Marieke, where is the big tin hat with the wings on, I need it right now'
The fish and chips were left uneaten as Roland the not so Great stormed out, hungry and once again feeling he had been made to look more than a little foolish.
Comments
The best owner of several football clubs and their associated ants was listening to the digital wireless today.
He had been feeling slightly odd since that mushroom omelette his new chef, 'RedMushroon' had cooked for him that morning. Never the less he was feeling good, seeing the sounds around him and totally on a good trip.
Then Bob Marley comes on over the gramaphone and the best leader ever, part way through his happy time hears:
'Until the philosophy,
which hold one race superior,
And another,
Inferior,
Is finally,
And permanently,
Discredited,
And abandoned,
Everywhere is war
Me say war.'
The cold sweats begin as Roland has heard of WAT, and the last thing he wants is to see it close to home.
There is no respite and the track continues:
That until there no longer,
First class, and second class citizens of any nation;
Until the colour of a man's skin
Is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes;
Me say war
Tony Keohane's head explodes at this point allegedly and without prejudice. Oh, no maybe there was some prejudice.
'That until the basic human rights
Are equally guaranteed to all,
Without regard to race -
Dis a war.
That until that day
The dream of lasting peace,
World citizenship
Rule of international morality
Will remain in but a fleeting illusion to be pursued'
And now, it seems it is hardly even a goal for many. I do not understand why not.
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
( he's having his shed fortified this weekend, and having mines laid under the lawn in preparation of an invasion, so let's leave him wearing a tin hat gazing suspiciously out the window at every sound)
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here, doing what he does.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
It is another Saturday morning and today The B.O is in his shed.
And he is very upset.
It's full caps lock on stuff.
Let's tune in :
" THE UTTER BASTARDS!! WHY DOES EVERYONE HATE ME ??!! WHY??? I SPEND MY MONEY ON A FOOTBALL CLUB, I GIVE THEM GREAT STUFF LIKE PULLED PORK IN A BUN AND A SOFA, HOW WAS I TO KNOW THE SUPPORTERS WERE SUCH A LOAD OF FUCKING IDIOTS!! THEY KEEP GOING ON ABOUT SHIT, LIKE RESULTS, THE LEAGUE AND WINNING THE OCCASIONAL GAME , WTF, I'M TRYING TO RUN A FANDANGO BASED FOOTBALL CLUB HERE! AND THEN THEY BANG ON ABOUT THE HISTORY! WHY SHOULD I CARE ABOUT THE STUPID BORING HISTORY OF THE STUPID BORING CLUB, I DIDN'T BLOODY OWN IT THEN, DID I !!!
AND NOW A LOAD OF THESE SHITTY SHIT PEOPLE, THESE POXY ANT SHEEP BLOODY THINGS ARE COMING OVER TO MY OWN PERSONAL VILLAGE TO RUIN EVERYTHING!! IN FRONT OF MY OWN LITTLE VILLAGE PEOPLE! THE FUCKERS!! MY SOCIAL LIFE GETS FUCKED!! FOR WHAT!!?? HOW CAN I HAVE A GOOD DANCE AND PRANCE ABOUT LIKE A DEMENTED PENGUIN UNDER THOSE CIRCUMSTANCES?!! IT'S A FUCKING DISGRACE, AN OUTRAGE!! IT'S JUST LIKE NAZI GERMANY!! AND THEY'RE ALL LED BY THAT BITTER EX EMPLOYEE ADOLF BLOODY EVERITE OR WHATEVER HIS BLOODY NAME IS!! AND THEY'RE ALL BRAINWASHED WITH FAKE NEWS BY CARD!!
WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT IS!!
FOR CHRIST'S SAKE WE'RE FLYING HIGH AT 13TH IN THE TABLE, WE'VE GOT THE BEST SET OF UNDERGROUND PIPES THAT AREN'T ATTACHED TO ANYTHING, IN THE WHOLE LEAGUE, AND ONE OF OUR FORMER PLAYERS IS DOING REALLY WELL IN THE PREM, WHY CAN'T THEY JUST BE HAPPY FOR HIM!! AND ME!! WHAT MORE DO THESE COCKSUCKERS WANT!!"
There is the sound of something breaking in the shed. And then there is a bit of banging around. And then someone appears to be yelling at his lawnmower.
Meanwhile, the gardener passes by whistling outside just as Mrs B.O is walking up the path to the shed with the B.O's coffee and little amaretto biscuit.
The gardener stops and listens to the shouting for a moment.
"He's a bit lively this morning. Is he all right?" He says.
Mrs. B.O gives him a reassuring smile.
" Oh yes he's fine, he's just preparing his latest press release. Don't worry, I've laced his coffee. He'll be out of it in about 10 minutes for the rest of the weekend." She says.
" Ah lovely." says the gardener with a nod.
There is the sound of more things being broken in the shed.
" Anyway," says Mrs B.O, "best press on."
And with a smile she proceeds to do a small but important piece of work for the local community.
If only it were that simple.
In the meantime, he's still here.
Oh fuck....
The weekend posts are comedy gold
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck.....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
It is another Saturday morning and The B.O is sitting in his shed.
It has been converted into a bunker complete with sand bags and a direct line to the "front."
Wherever that is.
He is wearing a tin hat. It is a bit too big for his head.
And he is staring warily out the window, binoculars at the ready.
He knows they're out there.
Somewhere.
They are coming.
And it's now a waiting game.
He licks his lips, his mouth feels dry, as he tries to keep his composure, and resist a terrible urge rising in him to call someone stupid.
But he knows today he must try and desist.
There might not be much dancing today.
The coffee and little amaretto biscuit may remain untouched.
And perhaps, as the day unfolds, as he witnesses a momentous effort by so many good people, he might just reflect on how things could have been oh so different.
He certainly should do.
But don't bank on it.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
It must be something he ate. It certainly wasn't the humble pie he was offered because he made very sure he didn't touch that.
He is worried he may have a vinegar allergy, or perhaps a very alkaline stomach himself leading him to be the vinegar pisserS
This is not going to plan.
The BOSPPD decides he will deal with the ants later and goes to watch his favourite dance club filling local sports team. At least the ants won't get in there as special measures have been taken. The dancing will go ahead as planned.
BOSPPD unwraps an amaretto biscuit in anticipation.
What's that during the game? Surely not the ants singing about not wanting BOSPPD?
He takes the biscuit and grinds it under his foot while tapping frantically on his phone. 'I THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS WAS FINE, THEY ARE HERE AGAIN, WHO DO WE SACK NOW'
No answer.
The BOSPPD cancels his dancing until a suitable pest control agent can be identified.
He wakes up the next day refreshed and heads to his shed. His wife has fitted him a TV so he can relax with his favourite cut price shopping channels
Unfortunately, his daydream where the ants all die after a giant Roland pours boiling water in them all solving the world's problems is broken by some local TV news.
The ants really did build a marionette of him, they mentioned his Domme Mensen quote and told him to fuck off! This is just getting worse and worse.
www.rtl.be/videos/categorie/rtl-sport/3512.aspx
He breaks several panes of glass in the greenhouse and for the first time in years goes off to cry himself to sleep.
She saw the marionette and has had to lock herself in the rest rooms until her giggling subsides.
She texts her friends 'If only he were as smart as the effigy lol'
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here. Depressing isn't it.
Oh fuck.....
He treated himself to a classy fish supper at the golden chippy http://thegoldenchippy.com as advised by trip advisor.
He was expecting a reasonably priced top quality affair.
Everything was going well until the question came in:
'Salt and vinegar with that sir?'
At this point the best owner in the world lost it, he totally lost his cool.
'These fucking vinegar pissers are ruining my dancing. They are sooo f**king stupid. Marieke, where is the big tin hat with the wings on, I need it right now'
The fish and chips were left uneaten as Roland the not so Great stormed out, hungry and once again feeling he had been made to look more than a little foolish.
Here's hoping.
But for now he's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck....