In the year 1500. Reginald Pole was born, he went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury . He is the great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grand father of Graham Pole who like his relation, Would play the 3 card trick. Oh fuck the Douchebag is still here .
May 24th, 199 years ago today Queen Victoria was born. Although disputed, she is often remembered with saying "We are not amused" had she been alive today she would have added "He's still here. Oh fuck"
Day 1503 and 1504. It is another Saturday morning in the shed and the B.O is sitting there in the dark. He has been in darkness for a week. He has his eyes closed and an intense look on his face. At this point, Mrs. B.O walks in with his coffee and biscuit. She tuts and switches the light on, which makes the B.O tut, and they both tut in turn until she walks over to the bench and studies the pained frown of concentration on his brow. “ Has the old trouble returned?” She says wearily. “ No, my good woman, I am in the middle of an epic experiment!” replies the B.O, keeping his eyes closed. “ I am trying to move the city of Antwerp...to the Bahamas....with just the power of my mind!” “ Right, where do you want this coffee, then?” says Mrs. B.O with a sigh. “ Anywhere. “ snaps the B.O, impatiently. “ I’m trying to concentrate here!” “ I’ll put it on the bench then.” She says. “ Yes, yes.” replies the B.O, irritably, with a crumpled frown. Mrs. B.O studies him for a moment then, puts the coffee on the bench. “ So have you sold de kloob yet?” she asks. “ I no longer have any interest in small things like football.” He says. “I have moved to a different level of existence, a higher plane of consciousness, as the true fucking Visionary does! “ He sits there with his eyes closed. His wife folds her arms. “ So, how’s the move coming on? Is Antwerp any closer to The Bahamas?” She asks. “ It is only a matter of time!” whispers the B.O, his face a mask of intense focus. “ So, how do the people of Antwerp feel about moving to the Bahamas, then?” Says Mrs B.O. “ I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! I’M A BIT TIED UP TRYING TO MOVE THEIR POXY CITY WITH JUST THE POWER OF MY MIND!! I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING, CAN I ?” He yells. He opens his eyes. “Oh. It’s gone for the moment.” He says wearily. “But we must check! Because I think I may have moved the whole city an inch to the left!” Mrs. B.O scratches her head. “ Why don’t you start on something a little smaller?” She says. The B.O looks up at her for the first time. “ What do you mean?” “ Why don’t you try moving your coffee cup up to your fat face using only the power of your elbow?” She says. The B.O tuts, and closes his eyes. Mrs. B.O eyes him dryly. “ This is like the time when you said you had stopped an earthquake in Tibet with your mind control.” She says. The B.O opens his eyes. “ I did stop an earthquake in Tibet with my mind!” He says indignantly. “ But there wasn’t one there!” Says Mrs. B.O. “I know! “ yells the B.O. “ Because I stopped it!” There is a pause. “ Well, that’s funny, because I think I may have the same skill.” She says with a little smile. The B.O looks at her in surprise. “You do?” He says. “ Yes, I believe that there are a lot of people who would rather like to come into this shed and knee you right in the bollocks.” She says. The B.O looks round in alarm. “ Oh, don’t worry, I have stopped them all using the power of my mind.” She says walking towards the door. Well, let’s leave Mrs B.O protecting the B.O from the savage hordes for now, and pray to God something happens soon. He’s still here. Oh fuck...
He's very busy today, Arsene, he's in his shed staring intently at his little ameretto biscuit, trying to turn it into a halibut. He's best left there, I think, for the moment.
He's very busy today, Arsene, he's in his shed staring intently at his little ameretto biscuit, trying to turn it into a halibut. He's best left there, I think, for the moment.
Bit of luck the ameretto biscuit will turn him into a halibut.
( with more than a nod of acknowledgement to The Two Ronnies )
This morning we are pleased to feature an exclusive interview with the B.O. Unfortunately there was a slight technical hitch in transmission causing a time delay in his answers so that each one is for the question before.
Well, much for us fans to digest and interpret in that incisive interview, in the meantime let’s hope we get some good news very soon. He’s still here. Oh fuck....
Not only was 1517 a bad plague year, but also there was an autumn epidemic of a mystery illness called the English sweat, which had a high mortality within 24 hours. Roland may be taking a bit longer to kill our club, but he is certainly a plague to be fought with all available legal means, including ridicule, until he effs off. And if he is still here in the autumn, let’s hope the English ROT can get him sweating a bit!
Comments
Reginald Pole was born, he went on to be Archbishop of Canterbury . He is the great great great great great great great great great great great great great great grand father of Graham Pole who like his relation,
Would play the 3 card trick.
Oh fuck the Douchebag is still here .
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..
Every day lately I get to thinking is this the official day he goes?
But he’s still here.
Oh disappointment on a daily basis fuck..
It is another Saturday morning in the shed and the B.O is sitting there in the dark. He has been in darkness for a week. He has his eyes closed and an intense look on his face.
At this point, Mrs. B.O walks in with his coffee and biscuit. She tuts and switches the light on, which makes the B.O tut, and they both tut in turn until she walks over to the bench and studies the pained frown of concentration on his brow.
“ Has the old trouble returned?” She says wearily.
“ No, my good woman, I am in the middle of an epic experiment!” replies the B.O, keeping his eyes closed. “ I am trying to move the city of Antwerp...to the Bahamas....with just the power of my mind!”
“ Right, where do you want this coffee, then?” says Mrs. B.O with a sigh.
“ Anywhere. “ snaps the B.O, impatiently. “ I’m trying to concentrate here!”
“ I’ll put it on the bench then.” She says.
“ Yes, yes.” replies the B.O, irritably, with a crumpled frown.
Mrs. B.O studies him for a moment then, puts the coffee on the bench.
“ So have you sold de kloob yet?” she asks.
“ I no longer have any interest in small things like football.” He says. “I have moved to a different level of existence, a higher plane of consciousness, as the true fucking Visionary does! “
He sits there with his eyes closed.
His wife folds her arms.
“ So, how’s the move coming on? Is Antwerp any closer to The Bahamas?” She asks.
“ It is only a matter of time!” whispers the B.O, his face a mask of intense focus.
“ So, how do the people of Antwerp feel about moving to the Bahamas, then?” Says Mrs B.O.
“ I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! I’M A BIT TIED UP TRYING TO MOVE THEIR POXY CITY WITH JUST THE POWER OF MY MIND!! I CAN’T DO EVERYTHING, CAN I ?” He yells.
He opens his eyes.
“Oh. It’s gone for the moment.” He says wearily. “But we must check! Because I think I may have moved the whole city an inch to the left!”
Mrs. B.O scratches her head.
“ Why don’t you start on something a little smaller?” She says.
The B.O looks up at her for the first time.
“ What do you mean?”
“ Why don’t you try moving your coffee cup up to your fat face using only the power of your elbow?” She says.
The B.O tuts, and closes his eyes.
Mrs. B.O eyes him dryly.
“ This is like the time when you said you had stopped an earthquake in Tibet with your mind control.” She says.
The B.O opens his eyes.
“ I did stop an earthquake in Tibet with my mind!” He says indignantly.
“ But there wasn’t one there!” Says Mrs. B.O.
“I know! “ yells the B.O. “ Because I stopped it!”
There is a pause.
“ Well, that’s funny, because I think I may have the same skill.” She says with a little smile.
The B.O looks at her in surprise.
“You do?” He says.
“ Yes, I believe that there are a lot of people who would rather like to come into this shed and knee you right in the bollocks.” She says.
The B.O looks round in alarm.
“ Oh, don’t worry, I have stopped them all using the power of my mind.” She says walking towards the door.
Well, let’s leave Mrs B.O protecting the B.O from the savage hordes for now, and pray to God something happens soon.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...
Quality
He’s still here.
Oh lightning fuck..
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...
A down under fuck.
He’s still here.
Oh waterlogged fuck..
He’s still here.
Oh ffs fuck..
He's still here.
Oh no good fuck..
He's still here.
Oh long time fuck...
He's best left there, I think, for the moment.
Bollox!
He’s STILL here.
Oh why fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh failing fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh conclude it fuck...
Bins out, Roland out. Collection, please.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..
He’s still here.
Oh life on Mars fuck...
Have I said that before ?
Oh fuck.
( with more than a nod of acknowledgement to The Two Ronnies )
This morning we are pleased to feature an exclusive interview with the B.O.
Unfortunately there was a slight technical hitch in transmission causing a time delay in his answers so that each one is for the question before.
Well, much for us fans to digest and interpret in that incisive interview, in the meantime let’s hope we get some good news very soon.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck....
Not only was 1517 a bad plague year, but also there was an autumn epidemic of a mystery illness called the English sweat, which had a high mortality within 24 hours.
Roland may be taking a bit longer to kill our club, but he is certainly a plague to be fought with all available legal means, including ridicule, until he effs off. And if he is still here in the autumn, let’s hope the English ROT can get him sweating a bit!
He’s still here
Oh come on fuck..
He’s still here.
Oh let’s have a historic handshake on it of our own fuck..