WEEPING POTATO-MAN THRASHED BY MONTENEGRANS (WHO..???)
ENGLAND'S SIX MILLION POUNDS WOP COACH SAYS; EESA GOOD BOY, JUSTA NEEDA FUCK AN OLDA LADY, A-LIKEA HEESA MOMMA, OR MAYBE HEESA GRANMOMMA.
England's manager last night was said to be a hundred per cent behind failing striker, Wayne Potato, after the Scouse dummy was kicked all over the pitch, last night, by part-time amateurs, Montenegro, a team which started playing football in January. If we could only pay him another hundred grand a week and maybe arrange to have a coachload of old prostitutes, standing in their underwear behind the opposing goal, then we'd see flashes of the old mashed potato, said an aide translating for the moron, Capello, who can neither speak English nor, unsurprisingly, manage the English football team. Also, maybe if the manager could have another six million pounds, for being sacked, that would help, too. It was the great English manager Sven Erikkson, wasn't it, who was also shit, who said It iss a game off two haffs, in the firsst haff you get paid millions off pounds for losing everything and in the ssecond haff you get millions off pounds affter you haff been ssacked ffor being sshit.
Wayne Potato's doxy. Karen Potato, described as a model and entrepreneur said, screech, screech,, screech, I'm a model, me, so youse can all fuck off, screech, screech, screech, see that Victoria Beckham, she's a slag, she is.
3 comments:
This country just gets worse.
A few months back I went to smart industry dinner in central London. I was sat next to a bloke who had had a front row seat during six months' of negotiations that saw South Africa go over to majority rule.
He had watched - and assisted - De Klerk and Mandela face each other for zillions of hours.
He now works in industry. He is the very acme of urbane sophistication.
He turned to me and said.
'You Brits seem to be very good at talking yourselves up. Maybe its a leftover of Empire.'
Translated: 'You lot survive on celeb and hype and couldn't find your own arse with both hands. This country is fast forwarding to oblivion.'
This country just gets worse.
A few months back I went to smart industry dinner in central London. I was sat next to a bloke who had had a front row seat during six months' of negotiations that saw South Africa go over to majority rule.
He had watched - and assisted - De Klerk and Mandela face each other for zillions of hours.
He now works in industry. He is the very acme of urbane sophistication.
He turned to me and said.
'You Brits seem to be very good at talking yourselves up. Maybe its a leftover of Empire.'
Translated: 'You lot survive on celeb and hype and couldn't find your own arse with both hands. This country is fast forwarding to oblivion.'
Given that we had talked of the footie only that day, I watched a bit of the second half. Jesus wept. It could have been 1974 (was it?) and the Polish "clown" goalkeeper. Give it all up. Meanwhile real men fought and won in India - being paid relative pennies - and sent Ricky Ponting, as good a cricketer as ever picked up a cricket bat, sent him home never to have won or to win a Test Match in that country. Hurrah. Fantastic cricket by the Indians. Not everything is quite ruined yet.
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