Day 1663 and 1664 Well, its been a busy week for the B.O. and this Saturday morning he’s in his shed, asleep beside his bench, with his coffee getting cold, and his little amaretto biscuit untouched. But let’s give the guy a break because it’s really not easy coming out with that amount of clap trap in just one week. It really takes a bit of doing. And as we listen to that gentle snoring, we must all appreciate that talking utter bollocks takes its toll on a fellow, so in the spirit of bonhomie, or even bonjovi, let’s all all live on a prayer and hope that this situation gets resolved before the sun fizzles out. He’s still here. Oh fuck...
Edit: In the light of the news elsewhere about the bonfire night mocking of the Grenfell tragedy, I do not wish my anti-Dtchatelet adaptation of a traditional Guy Fawkes rhyme to be misinterpreted, and have removed it.
Edit: In the light of the news elsewhere about the bonfire night mocking of the Grenfell tragedy, I do not wish my anti-Dtchatelet adaptation of a traditional Guy Fawkes rhyme to be misinterpreted, and have removed it.
Come come N01, a pathological hate of Belgian misers is wholely excusable in the circumstances...
Now I know the fucker is going to be in his shed tomorrow, or maybe Sunday.
Not to belittle those involved in real versions of this, but we have (shhhh no talking, keep the cloth on the shovel you fool) been working slowly and gradually to build a tunnel under the shed.
Hope he hasn’t heard us and we have the direction and distance correct even if not the exact date (7 June 2017) this being more a remembrance of what has been done and what we have left to do,
Early in the morning around 3am, the BO shed and the cold coffee, the unopened amaretto biscuit, are blown apart by the detonation of a significant amount of explosives placed by tunnel just underneath the shed.
Arghgh, BO wakes up after a terrible dream, he remembers what has gone before and what should go after, he thinks of wars and phony wars. And he decides finally that his life would be better spent devoting his time to the betterment of humanity by asking someone who understands this to spend his money for him.
Happily for Charlton, he puts £200m in escrow to be drawn down on if required up to £40m a year for the next 5 years and hands the keys to the club 100% to a rejuvenated CAST having written off the debt.
BO sleeps well in the knowledge that he has actually become Best Ex-Owner Ever and, ultimately remembered that we are nothing without those who have come before and those who will come after.
I was watching a program on tele the other night. It was set in Belgium and there were trenches everywhere. Everyone was making the absolute best of an absolute shit show whilst taking pot shots at some johnny foreigner.
No Roland though, even though i believe his teeth have been carbon dated to 1917...
Comments
Well, its been a busy week for the B.O. and this Saturday morning he’s in his shed, asleep beside his bench, with his coffee getting cold, and his little amaretto biscuit untouched.
But let’s give the guy a break because it’s really not easy coming out with that amount of clap trap in just one week. It really takes a bit of doing.
And as we listen to that gentle snoring, we must all appreciate that talking utter bollocks takes its toll on a fellow, so in the spirit of bonhomie, or even bonjovi, let’s all all live on a prayer and hope that this situation gets resolved before the sun fizzles out.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh fuck..
Will no-one rid us of this plague called Roland?
In the light of the news elsewhere about the bonfire night mocking of the Grenfell tragedy, I do not wish my anti-Dtchatelet adaptation of a traditional Guy Fawkes rhyme to be misinterpreted, and have removed it.
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...
Nice win last night
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh post bin collection fuck...
Thanks for the bin reminder. I must do some autumn pruning to fill my green one ready for tomorrow's collection. See - Roland does have a use!
He’s still here
Oh fuck bang wallop
Not to belittle those involved in real versions of this, but we have (shhhh no talking, keep the cloth on the shovel you fool) been working slowly and gradually to build a tunnel under the shed.
Hope he hasn’t heard us and we have the direction and distance correct even if not the exact date (7 June 2017) this being more a remembrance of what has been done and what we have left to do,
Early in the morning around 3am, the BO shed and the cold coffee, the unopened amaretto biscuit, are blown apart by the detonation of a significant amount of explosives placed by tunnel just underneath the shed.
Arghgh, BO wakes up after a terrible dream, he remembers what has gone before and what should go after, he thinks of wars and phony wars. And he decides finally that his life would be better spent devoting his time to the betterment of humanity by asking someone who understands this to spend his money for him.
Happily for Charlton, he puts £200m in escrow to be drawn down on if required up to £40m a year for the next 5 years and hands the keys to the club 100% to a rejuvenated CAST having written off the debt.
BO sleeps well in the knowledge that he has actually become Best Ex-Owner Ever and, ultimately remembered that we are nothing without those who have come before and those who will come after.
He’s still here.
Oh what a lovely fuck...
He’s still here
Oh dreary Monday fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh even drearier Tuesday fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh tiresome Wednesday fuck...
No Roland though, even though i believe his teeth have been carbon dated to 1917...
ba boom tschhhhh
He’s still here.
Oh Thursday fullness of bin fuck...
( which may well qualify for the strangest sentence I have ever typed
He’s still here.
Oh flatulent Friday fuck..
He’s still here.
Oh surly Saturday fuck..
Day nnnnn
He's still here
Oh sixties hippy song fuck!
Please?
Pretty please?
Just do everyone a favour, Roland, give us the Christmas present we all want, sell the club and GO!
He’s still here.
Oh almighty fuck...
He’s still here.
Oh fuck...