Hi 3blokes, your stories are now entrenched in my brain!
Looked out the window this morning and the image of the old scrote sitting in his shed popped into my head. Apologies for the plagiarism and for not being up to your high standard:-
He was wearing an old greyish shirt with a dirty brown tie; from whch, his scrawny head protruded without touching the sides. Much like a turtle poking his head out of his shell. His cold breath hanging like fog around his spittle covered mouth.
Suddenly, the door swung open and his wife walked in carrying a small cup of coffee.
"Shut the door love, it is cold in here" said the turtle.
"Put the fucking heating on then you tight old git" she says whilst banging the cup down and spilling most of it.
"Do I still own that ROT party thing dearest?"
"IT IS CHARLTON ATHLETIC FC YOU FUCKING MORON, AND YES YOU DO", "Twat." (She added unnecessarily.).
"Oh Fuck"
The last words she did not hear as she had already left, leaving the door wide open.
He got up and gently closed the door, and then started a futile search for a little biscuit that was not there. He did a lot of futile now.
When this is all over it won't end there. If i see or hear anything Belgian after that point i will feel like Terry Waite everytime he walks past a radiator!
For me, every time I think of him, it will be his cheery joyous little face and that happy go lucky look when he came to visit the Valley on a rare foray to SE7. That, and the word fandango, and any sort of AWFUL dancing....
Hi 3blokes, your stories are now entrenched in my brain!
Looked out the window this morning and the image of the old scrote sitting in his shed popped into my head. Apologies for the plagiarism and for not being up to your high standard:-
He was wearing an old greyish shirt with a dirty brown tie; from whch, his scrawny head protruded without touching the sides. Much like a turtle poking his head out of his shell. His cold breath hanging like fog around his spittle covered mouth.
Suddenly, the door swung open and his wife walked in carrying a small cup of coffee.
"Shut the door love, it is cold in here" said the turtle.
"Put the fucking heating on then you tight old git" she says whilst banging the cup down and spilling most of it.
"Do I still own that ROT party thing dearest?"
"IT IS CHARLTON ATHLETIC FC YOU FUCKING MORON, AND YES YOU DO", "Twat." (She added unnecessarily.).
"Oh Fuck"
The last words she did not hear as she had already left, leaving the door wide open.
He got up and gently closed the door, and then started a futile search for a little biscuit that was not there. He did a lot of futile now.
For fucks sake I’ve finished now for Christmas and the miserable old Scrooge is still waiting for the ghost of Christmas decency to arrive and give him a sound booting.
Thanks to the Belgian twats again for my usual Saturday evening of trying to block out one of lifes real passions for me. Never felt so unbothered by everything Charlton.
The only thing i have left is a disgust and hatred for the ineptitude of Roland Dutchelet and Katrien Miere. Please go fuck yourselves... not my football club!
Day 1346. Now I’ve got the flu and he’s still here. Oh poorly fuck...
Get well soon mate
Thanks, mate, the one year I have the flu jab, two weeks later I go down with the worst bout of flu i’ve had for years!
Likewise when I had a flu jab a few years back. I suppose at least you know you're going to get it rather than worrying in case you do. Worriers logic.
ever thought of doing a sweepstake for what day number he actually fucks off on? Those interested could pledge a fiver and the Museum or Upbeats gets the benefit.
ever thought of doing a sweepstake for what day number he actually fucks off on? Those interested could pledge a fiver and the Museum or Upbeats gets the benefit.
my guess - 1388 (31/01/2018)
That’s not a bad idea, Large, will have a think on maybe setting that up over the weekend
It is Saturday morning and today the B.O is not in his little shed with a nice coffee and a little amaretto biscuit. No, this morning, he is dressed as Father Christmas and he is sitting in a little grotto about to share some Christmas magic with the children waiting patiently in a line outside. The B.O adjusts his big white beard a little, which is beginning to irritate him already. He turns to the elf next to him. “ And you’re absolutely sure there was no one else in the whole town who could have done this? I thought everyone hated me!” He says with a frown. “ Yes, they do ” replies the elf with a smile, “ But every other available male in town has got flu, so it is all down to you, today. Don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll be fine!” The B.O gives a disgruntled grunt, and fiddles with his beard some more. “ Oh.” He finally says with a deep sigh, “Well, you’d better send the first unit in, then.” The elf looks at him. “ Do you mean....child?” She says. The B.O looks back at her with a frown “Yes, that’s what I just said!” He replies. “ Get on with it!” The elf goes over and opens the door and the first child walks in nervously. He stands there gawping at Santa in amazement. “ You’re not very tall, are you?” Says the B.O. The elf looks at him. “ Santa, I think you mean to ask him what’s his NAME?” Says the elf quickly. “Oh ok, all right, what’s your name then, ?” Says the B.O, scratching irritably at his beard some more. “ Arthur.” Says the boy. “ Good. “ Says the B.O. “at least now we’re finally getting somewhere. Right, Harry, what do you want?” The boy just stares at the B.O, open mouthed. The B.O glares back at him for a moment and gives a tut. He turns to the elf. “ What’s the matter with him!! He’s not working properly!” He exclaims. Arthur, meanwhile, looks at him in wonder. “ Are you REALLY Santa?” He says in a whisper. “ WHAT?!! NO, OF COURSE I’M NOT, YOU IDIOT!” Yells the B.O. “HE DOESN’T EXIST, YOU DELUDED LITTLE TWERP! GET A GRIP!! NOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR BLOODY CHRISTMAS!! I HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY!!” Arthur looks at him bewildered. “ I.....I...... don’t know.” He stammers. The B.O gives a tut. “ Well that’s not really a lot of help is it?” He says, fixing him a glare. “ Well, just stand there and have a damn good think, then!” The boy shuffles awkwardly for a few moments. He looks round at the elf who looks over at the B.O. “ Perhaps....er....Santa could come up with a few suggestions for Arthur? Santa?” she says, nodding encouragingly at the B.O. The B.O gives a shrug. “ Well, I dunno...” He says, vaguely. “Er...... how about a pencil?” Arthur shakes his head. “ I’ve got one, thank you.” He says politely. “Oh, “ Says the B.O. with a grimace. “What about.....a burger? Or some plastic shit?” Arthur suddenly remembers. “ I know! I want a model of the Mercedes AMG!” He says, excitedly. “ Ah ok, that works, that’s fine, then. “ Says the B.O, with an efficient nod. “Excellent, Harry, we can do that, no problem. So...that will be £50 then.” The elf looks at him in amazement. “ What, Santa?” She says. “£50.” Says The B.O. “ it’s perfectly simple, you stupid elf!” “ Sorry, that’s.....not quite....how this all works..er... Santa.” Says the elf. “ And, anyway .....they only cost £29.99 in Argos!” Exclaims Arthur. The B.O glares at him. “ Well, there’s got to be something in it for me, hasn’t there!” He hisses. “ I’m a fucking visionary! This stuff doesn’t all happen by magic, you know! And you get the bloody thing delivered straight to your door, you ungrateful little unit!!” And then the B.O lets out a little squeal, stands up and pulls his beard off. “ And I’ve had enough of this fucking annoying thing! It’s going straight in the bin!” He yells. He turns to Arthur. “ Are you STILL here? Right, go and get the money off your mum, and then see if she wants to have a fucking dance with me.” Just then another elf comes in. “Santa, there’s a card for you here.” She says. “ it’s from CARD” The B.O. takes a step back in alarm. “ A card from......CARD??” He says, hesitantly “But...but.... that’s not possible!!.......they don’t exist!! Do they?” Gingerly, he opens the envelope and takes out the card. He opens it up. Inside it says :
To The Fandango Kid, Why don’t you just FUCK OFF? Love from CARD
“ I just didn’t believe in them!” He whispers, sitting back down on his chair.
Well, lets leave the B.O there with that timely Christmas message and pondering what he chooses to believe and let’s hope we all have a Happy New Year. In the meantime, he’s still here. Oh fuck...
Comments
Looked out the window this morning and the image of the old scrote sitting in his shed popped into my head. Apologies for the plagiarism and for not being up to your high standard:-
He was wearing an old greyish shirt with a dirty brown tie; from whch, his scrawny head protruded without touching the sides. Much like a turtle poking his head out of his shell. His cold breath hanging like fog around his spittle covered mouth.
Suddenly, the door swung open and his wife walked in carrying a small cup of coffee.
"Shut the door love, it is cold in here" said the turtle.
"Put the fucking heating on then you tight old git" she says whilst banging the cup down and spilling most of it.
"Do I still own that ROT party thing dearest?"
"IT IS CHARLTON ATHLETIC FC YOU FUCKING MORON, AND YES YOU DO",
"Twat." (She added unnecessarily.).
"Oh Fuck"
The last words she did not hear as she had already left, leaving the door wide open.
He got up and gently closed the door, and then started a futile search for a little biscuit that was not there. He did a lot of futile now.
That, and the word fandango, and any sort of AWFUL dancing....
He’s still here.
Oh never ending fuck..
But it's very soothing.
Hopefully it won't be needed much longer.
Fuck (-ing arsehole)
Le weekend. Not long till Christmas.
But he’s still here.
OH FUCK...
( and what makes it harder is they’re not my cows
The only thing i have left is a disgust and hatred for the ineptitude of Roland Dutchelet and Katrien Miere. Please go fuck yourselves... not my football club!
Monday morning, icy and cold out there, and he’s still here.
Oh slippery fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh mince pie fuck...
Now I’ve got the flu and he’s still here.
Oh poorly fuck...
The one year we get a Euro billionaire as an owner and we get the worst bout of penny pinching incompetence we have had for years!
He’s still here
Oh seasonal fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh fuck....
my guess - 1388 (31/01/2018)
This brings his death into the running which gives the pessimists something to think on and cheer up the optimists even more.
I wonder if he has had his flu jab?
It is Saturday morning and today the B.O is not in his little shed with a nice coffee and a little amaretto biscuit. No, this morning, he is dressed as Father Christmas and he is sitting in a little grotto about to share some Christmas magic with the children waiting patiently in a line outside.
The B.O adjusts his big white beard a little, which is beginning to irritate him already.
He turns to the elf next to him.
“ And you’re absolutely sure there was no one else in the whole town who could have done this? I thought everyone hated me!” He says with a frown.
“ Yes, they do ” replies the elf with a smile, “ But every other available male in town has got flu, so it is all down to you, today. Don’t worry, i’m sure you’ll be fine!”
The B.O gives a disgruntled grunt, and fiddles with his beard some more.
“ Oh.” He finally says with a deep sigh, “Well, you’d better send the first unit in, then.”
The elf looks at him.
“ Do you mean....child?” She says.
The B.O looks back at her with a frown
“Yes, that’s what I just said!” He replies. “ Get on with it!”
The elf goes over and opens the door and the first child walks in nervously. He stands there gawping at Santa in amazement.
“ You’re not very tall, are you?” Says the B.O.
The elf looks at him.
“ Santa, I think you mean to ask him what’s his NAME?” Says the elf quickly.
“Oh ok, all right, what’s your name then, ?” Says the B.O, scratching irritably at his beard some more.
“ Arthur.” Says the boy.
“ Good. “ Says the B.O. “at least now we’re finally getting somewhere. Right, Harry, what do you want?”
The boy just stares at the B.O, open mouthed.
The B.O glares back at him for a moment and gives a tut.
He turns to the elf.
“ What’s the matter with him!! He’s not working properly!” He exclaims.
Arthur, meanwhile, looks at him in wonder.
“ Are you REALLY Santa?” He says in a whisper.
“ WHAT?!! NO, OF COURSE I’M NOT, YOU IDIOT!” Yells the B.O. “HE DOESN’T EXIST, YOU DELUDED LITTLE TWERP! GET A GRIP!! NOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR BLOODY CHRISTMAS!! I HAVEN’T GOT ALL DAY!!”
Arthur looks at him bewildered.
“ I.....I...... don’t know.” He stammers.
The B.O gives a tut.
“ Well that’s not really a lot of help is it?” He says, fixing him a glare. “ Well, just stand there and have a damn good think, then!”
The boy shuffles awkwardly for a few moments. He looks round at the elf who looks over at the B.O.
“ Perhaps....er....Santa could come up with a few suggestions for Arthur? Santa?” she says, nodding encouragingly at the B.O.
The B.O gives a shrug.
“ Well, I dunno...” He says, vaguely. “Er...... how about a pencil?”
Arthur shakes his head.
“ I’ve got one, thank you.” He says politely.
“Oh, “ Says the B.O. with a grimace. “What about.....a burger? Or some plastic shit?”
Arthur suddenly remembers.
“ I know! I want a model of the Mercedes AMG!” He says, excitedly.
“ Ah ok, that works, that’s fine, then. “ Says the B.O, with an efficient nod. “Excellent, Harry, we can do that, no problem. So...that will be £50 then.”
The elf looks at him in amazement.
“ What, Santa?” She says.
“£50.” Says The B.O. “ it’s perfectly simple, you stupid elf!”
“ Sorry, that’s.....not quite....how this all works..er... Santa.” Says the elf.
“ And, anyway .....they only cost £29.99 in Argos!” Exclaims Arthur.
The B.O glares at him.
“ Well, there’s got to be something in it for me, hasn’t there!” He hisses. “ I’m a fucking visionary! This stuff doesn’t all happen by magic, you know! And you get the bloody thing delivered straight to your door, you ungrateful little unit!!”
And then the B.O lets out a little squeal, stands up and pulls his beard off.
“ And I’ve had enough of this fucking annoying thing! It’s going straight in the bin!” He yells.
He turns to Arthur.
“ Are you STILL here? Right, go and get the money off your mum, and then see if she wants to have a fucking dance with me.”
Just then another elf comes in.
“Santa, there’s a card for you here.” She says. “ it’s from CARD”
The B.O. takes a step back in alarm.
“ A card from......CARD??” He says, hesitantly “But...but.... that’s not possible!!.......they don’t exist!! Do they?”
Gingerly, he opens the envelope and takes out the card. He opens it up.
Inside it says :
To The Fandango Kid,
Why don’t you just FUCK OFF?
Love from
CARD
“ I just didn’t believe in them!” He whispers, sitting back down on his chair.
Well, lets leave the B.O there with that timely Christmas message and pondering what he chooses to believe and let’s hope we all have a Happy New Year.
In the meantime, he’s still here.
Oh fuck...