29 September 2010

Montgomerie a dirty old bastard?

Montie in Prague earlier in the year?

So it looks like Colin Montgomerie's world is about to implode as well as his colon and not just as a consequence of a sound defeat by the US of States in the Ryder Cup. From various gossiping type sources on the internets it seems he's a kinky old duffer and is investing thousands of monies in lawyers to keep pictures of himself dressed in various S&M get ups out of the tabloids (or specifically the News of the World). Stuff that makes the gimp suit in Pulp Fiction look like formal evening wear.

If the rumours are to be believed he actually has a sparrow loose in his arse as we speak, which was inserted by Lady Xtreme in a brothel dungeon in Prague some four months ago, but which Montie has been unable to evacuate.

Montie denied these pictures existed in an interview in the Mercas in August and insisted the only birdies he wanted to discuss are the golfing sort as he fidgeted uneasily on his chair and a muffled tweeting noise was heard. Interesting exchange however with one of the golfing journo's:

"Q.: Monty, I don't know if you're aware, your old friend, Feherty went on a nationally syndicated radio show yesterday and talked about the existence of a super injunction in the U.K. that would bar some potentially embarrassing personal photos, wonder if you want to confirm, comment, deny the existence of those and how it might affect your captaincy at all.

CM: Yeah, obviously I listened to that radio show and I know a lot of you are having a lot of fun right now at my expense.

Let me clear this up, though, that I can categorically say that there's no injunction against the News of the World. I'm really not going to discuss this any -- any further. All I can say is categorically there is no injunction against the News of the World regarding anything.

I apologize for this, that you have to bring this up, but at the same time, no further -- no further comments from myself on that matter."

Notice, the reporter doesn't actually mention the News of the World by name. Just that there's a super injunction taken out. It's only Montie who mentions that paper specifically. Clearly then it's all true. Dirty bugger.

The legal bills will cripple him financially, yet ultimately there's very little he can do to stop these snaps from appearing in the News of the World eventually so these legal wranglings make no sense to me.

The fact is he just looks like someone that has some appalling sexual fetishes anyway, so any evidence confirming it is no biggie really. Just a case of..meh, thought so.

Aside from this though, if he's prepared to wear some of the sickening daywear Ryder Cup teams are expected to sport, what's the beef with the world seeing you in a leather vacuum suit attached to an unidentified cellmate by rubber testicles hand-cuffs in a bespoke sexual dungeon in someone's basement?

We all have our unique sexual eccentricities. I myself am turned on by [female] newsreaders and sometimes by really really fat women if I've had a lot to drink and not much to eat, but I'd much rather be pictured licking custard of an obese newsreader than snapped waiting to tee off in a beige tank top with salmon undershirt and greenish piss smelling tweed slacks and you can quote me.

28 September 2010

This is how it should be done

When a loony-toon goes on the rampage with automatic weapons in Texas they don't coax him out of his rage with the promise of sandwiches and a fair trial. It's a far more direct if less sympathetic approach.

A dude today took guns to school at Texas University. While the students all ran for cover and the locals ran home to get their own guns, the poo-leese set about apprehending the suspect. From the pictures it's clear they had all never felt so alive. Sadly, the same cannot be said for the gunman.

Job done

Omens and irony

Football is all about omens, superstition and ironies. The outcome of games has very little to do with who is the best team elsewise Arsenal would win every week. They out play teams every Saturday and yet still finish third come the end of the season. Well if that's what you call football, you can keep it, I'm not playing there again...

...no wait,

What I'm saying is, you can keep all your facts, stats, trends and form. Give me paradoxes and prophecies every time. Let us consider Manchester United's fixture tomorrow against Valencia. Valencia are not in anyway a match for Manchester United on paper. But as Brian Clough would have said, football isn't played on paper so who gives a fook.

Valencia are priced at 2.7..this is of course an incredible price. A few weeks ago if you recall, the player Valencia busted up his ankle playing for United. Now Valencia will bust up United's chancing of qualifying from the group stages of the Champion's league. See? Easy.

Valencia therefore are the first selection of my cheeky trixie wager that will make me rich beyond my wildest dreams. I will have Arabian virgins bring me my sandwiches at lunch time on gold plates from my very own branch of Subway Sammich installed in my new house which will make the hotel's in Dubai look like the inside of a heroine addicts arse.

The second selection of the bet that will finally elevate me above the law is of course the US of States to beat Europe. I don't know much about Golf. I know if you want to wear shorts on the course at Burford golf course you have to wear a belt with it, but other than that I'm totally ignorant.

I know however, that if Colin Montgomerie is sporting the captain's armband you better be on the other team. He remains the predominant reason I've never played golf. I have a deep loathing of sportsmen and transvestites who have an arrogance that exceeds their ability by a considerable distance.

He is also the living breathing sweaty embodiment of the snootiness and snobbery of golf. The Jeremy Bates of golf if you will, only with a belt around his shorts and access to the world's media. He is currently in hogs heaven with all this attention and it's a toss up between him and Nick Clegg as to who I want to fail the most. Possibly it's Colin Montgomerie as he should have more of an appetite for humble pie.

I digress...given how much he is enjoying the lime light, this weekend must surely represent his most spectacular failure as Mrs Doubtfire is clearly a born loser.

My final selection is a draw between Ajax and AC Milan and this of course is because I get bored with thinking and just click stuff.

27 September 2010

Cobra found on tennis court

Just a few more days now until so many potential disasters are realised before an audience of literally hundreds. I speak not of the European team's Ryder Cup capitulation, but of course the Commonwealth Games.

Today's series of t'internet scaremongering stories include a Cobra being found on a tennis court and a dead scorpion found in an athlete's shoe. Scorpions must have a shocking sense of smell if they couldn't detect the sweaty pungent odour of an athletes trainer.

I get nervous when I come across a harmless UK house spider, only the lord our Gah knows what sort of venomous beasties these people will find in their living quarters over the next few weeks. A dude has already found what was described as "a large snake" in his room.

A large snake in the UK might mean 6-12 inches. In India if a snake is described as large it's probably visible from space. I bet there's wild monkey's all over the place and cockroaches the size of dinner plates. Awesome. It's exactly what you need after a hard day's competition; to come back to your room and find a rabid monkey on your bed eating pizza and channel hoping while flinging his shit about the place.

I hope the BBC don't try and ignore this stuff. It's all part of the Indian experience after all. Just like the World Cup in South Africa where they went deep into the townships to patronise the locals, I hope they have a series of special reports examining the many ways you can die in India without even really trying.

I'd like to see Denise Lewis with a python wrapped around her for example, while that irritating twat in the BBC bus attempts a series of challenges emailed in by viewers along the lines of sitting in a ditch for 20 seconds and then negotiating the traffic on a bicycle to the nearest medical facility before his skin rots away.

26 September 2010


Very little going on as we speak. It is the Pigeon's quiz tonight however which of course is a bit of fun so I haven't studied. I'm hoping the answers just come to me, I'm sure they will mostly via the medium of the others players in my team.

When I say I haven't studied that is not strictly true because life is one big learning experience isn't it. So in that respect I'm constantly studying so if there's a question tonight about whether it's worth getting up before 11am in order to be at Subway sammich while they're still serving the mega-feast breakfast sammich I will have the answer to hand, which is no.

This is also the answer to "do I need an iPad"...let's just hope they don't ask "will I buy one anyway" as I just simply don't know the answer people. I just don't know. It's far too early to tell.

Umm...so anyway see you later

24 September 2010

Colbert testimony today

We don't do politics here in the mouth of the cave, we talk only of sandwiches and failed wagers. But since this involves Mexicans and Merca's hysterical fear of them crossing the border to do America's beggars jobs, we'll make an exception on this occasion. Plus we love the Colbert Report.

23 September 2010

It was never going to be a success

The Commonwealth stadium in a couple of weeks

I had no idea the Commonwealth Games was about to start, but thanks to a series of safety concerns ranging from the threat of terrorism, to the threat of the the various venues collapsing because they were all built by a team of child labourers with bricks made from wet newspaper and elephant dung, I can't wait for them to begin.

Let's face it now, we all have a morbid fascination with disasters. Any news story containing the words "stampede" or "crush" or "death toll" has a guaranteed captivated audience. I suspect in fact that these safety issues were all dreamed up by the organisers to boost the ratings for a games which surely would have been largely ignored, and also to give the local athletes a chance of not coming last in every event if they can get almost all other nations to pull out.

I for one will tuning in each day hoping to witness an horrific disaster. I could Sky+ it all, but it's not the same unless it's live is it. The best action I hear should come from the weight lifting venue where the roof has been constructed with a newly discovered metal heavier than plutonium, while the walls are made from a planks of wood held together with selotape.

I'm not sure whose bright idea it was to award the games to India in the first place. A country with a worse rail network than England's, where the Bubonic plague is still rife and almost entire villages can be wiped out when someone burps, is surely not the ideal environment for finely tuned athletes or teams from the Commonwealth to exhibit their talents.

The high speed rail link from the athletes village to the stadium. A journey of four miles
which would usually take two days will now only take 18 hours.

I'm sure India are doing their best and will find a way to make the games a success. After all, this is a country where 99% of it's population seem to live in conditions that make a ditch in Glasgow seem like the lobby of a five star hotel in Dubai, but also some how has financed a Space program. A country of contradictions is putting it mildly.

It'll be difficult for the athletes to perform at their peak if they've been up all night shitting blood and sweating out Madras sauce and panicking every time they hear a creak in the ceiling, but if anyone can make these games a success in the face of such adverse conditions it's India.

With this in mind, I'm betting the spread on death tolls; under 5500.5 for spectators at 6/5 and for athletes under 25.5 at 11/10

21 September 2010

My punishment is greater than I can bear

The Gods are testing me again, I can't take it anymore damn it. They're prodding me, pushing me and I don't like to be pushed. The last second goal against Sunderland, the cracked Aces, mouldy bread when I wanted a sammich last night and now Arsenal have to play Totterington.

The Carling Cup is of little consequence. But losing to Sperz under any circumstances is incredibly disagreeable. Their fans don't distinguish between competitions you see. To them beating Arsenal is beating Arsenal whether it's the Premier League or this tin pot nonsense playing a team of children who only very recently learned to use the big toilet. It's like Christmas to them,...or the best ever Matzah ball whatever these people do on Christmas day.

There is a possibility however that the Gods may throw me a freakin bone here. Tottingham may believe that just because they have sneaked into the Champions' League they can put out a similarly inexperienced team and still progress. But of course, they can't.

Arsenal's reserves team is far and away the best in the country. Tott'numb's first team might win comfortably, but if Harold Redknapp thinks he can empty his creche and compete with Arsenal's wee ones he's very much mistaken. At a price of 3.30 Arsenal must surely be value if both teams are fielding second elevens. In all other circumstances I shall refuse to even recognise this game ever took place.


19 September 2010

WSOP Europe Event #3 £1,075 NLH

A picture says a thousand words, but in this case it's just one word. Fuck.

It was the perfect spot. Poker Christmas if you will. A short stack of about 1,200 shoves from early/mid position, a dude a couple seats down executes an isolating shove for 5,500 and I am in the Big-Blind simply waiting to announce call at which time I shall launch my brace of rockets at my two hapless combatants and destroy them both, ah ah ahahahahahahahahaha.

I scoop the 13,000 pot to add to the 3,000 I have back and I'm in such a comfortable position with the blinds only at 100/200 I couldn't be any more comfortable if I was at home in my slippers with a hot cup of drinking chocolate while my testicles were gently massaged with a warm soapy flannel by the WSOP girls.

Only I don't scoop the pot. There's a seven on the river you see, so all I scoop up are my hopes and dreams and pop them in a bag for another year. Poker is a cruel mistress.

It was all going so well. I had no one scary at my table, at least no one I recognised apart from a Mercan chap sat two to my left who looked familiar but I couldn't recall his name. He was constantly discussing with newly bracleted Phil Laak, ridiculously sized pots he'd won and lost on t'internet, so I knew he was someone, but his name eluded me.

He had a superb quiff like a wave of hair rolling over his bobble hat of sorts. I wondered between pots whether his hat had to be in place in order to blow dry the quiff into shape or whether the hat was neatly pulled into place afterward. I chose not to ask.

I've since identified him as Justin Smith, recent winner of the WPT London high roller event for a not insignificant £140,000 pay day and 2nd in the WPT at the Bellagio in July for $550,000...so he can play a bit and not short of a few quid. Strange then I felt, that he should bring his own sandwiches. I know they're expensive in London casinos, but that's kind of tight isn't it? Although they did look nice. If he can do that then I'm taking a flask next time.

After a nice lunch: the Where's Willy quiffed Justin Smith yesterday

Some other notables arrived later in the shape of Richard Ashby - why is he called "Chufty"? Isn't that slang for a c**t? - He seemed like such a nice chap to me, but a chufty plug is a tampon no? Again, I chose not to ask. Jeff Kimber also showed up later and I since nicknamed him Chufty.

A chufty plug yesterday

Nothing else of note occurred. I played ABC poker for the most part and saw no reason not to. I attempted one bluff which was met with a straight flush, so I decided not to do that anymore. In truth, I had no need to. The proper pokering would have come much later. As it was, what came later was just my bus back to Oxford.

Well now

"I will be treble-sinewed, hearted, breathed, And fight maliciously; for when mine hours Were nice and lucky, men did ransom lives Of me for jests; but now I'll set my teeth And send to darkness all that stop me." -- William Shakespeare

WSOP Europe Event #3 £1,075 No-Limit Hold 'em

18 September 2010

Delusions of grandeur

Those those, the lemon bon bons, the whole jar please: Sam Alladyce in a sweet shop yesterday

We here in the Cave's mouth have a standing hatred of Sam Allardyce. We frown upon pie eating northerners as a rule (with the exception of cousin Johnny), we find anyone with Arsène Wenger as their bête noire to be both loathsome and xenophobic and we have no time at all for people with ideas above their station. Finally and specifically in Sam's case, we think he's an 'orrible cunt.

Apparently he fancies he'd win the league every season if he was manager of Chelsea or Manchester United and would have no problems managing Real Madrid. Even for Fat Sam this is hubris bordering on lunacy.

Apart from the fact that no manager anywhere ever has managed this feat, his first attempts at managing a "big club" ended after about six months when he was sacked as Newcastle manager having only won 8 games from 24. And I really can't see the likes of Cristiano Ronaldo being happy strolling about in midfield watching the ball sail above his head on it's way to Jason Roberts.

This is surely the most absurd speech since David Icke claimed he was Jesus. More so in fact as it is surely far more likely that David Icke is Jesus than Sam Allardyce ever being allowed near the big chair at a legitimately big club let alone him actually winning something once he got there. Even if Fat Sam was the son of God he'd still only finish mid-table. I think it's best to just dismiss this little sermon. Perhaps it was a sugar rush from all those medicinal sweets he eats to control his "diabetes".

Now if you'll excuse me, since I'm up early for no apparent reason I shall use the morning to put together a quite magnificent wager thus limiting my liability on tomorrow's WSOP attempt to practically nothing.

David Icke yesterday

17 September 2010

The three Bs

So I just executed what I like to call the three Bs; bank, barbers and bakers. I withdrew my buy-in from the bank for this WSOP nonsense and I have to say it was the most painful withdrawal I've experienced since that time I had to pull out of that "Irish" waitress in Boston in a hurry after calling her by the wrong name.

"Are you buying anything nice?" inquired the cashier who I assume couldn't give a toss really and was just making small talk. "Hopefully eventually, but this is to play poker with," I replied sheepishly. "Oh OK," says she with a look on her face like I was a clot in her menstrual blood. Poker still not quite recognised as a legitimate vocation then.

Welcome to LLoyds-TSB: unless you're a
degenerate gambler in which case fuck off.

At the barbers I do the gentlemanly thing and allow a young miss with her son to enter before me. I shouldn't have. No more being a gentleman for me when it comes to entering the barbers. The boy was maybe four or five judging by his appalling vocabulary and fidgeting. Sat in the chair he immediately begins crying. After some time his mother ascertains that the apron thing they wrap around you is the wrong colour and too big and he does not like it.

Instead of beating him within an inch of his life for being so pathetic and embarrassing her, she just holds him near and tries to persuade him that the apron is a nice colour, but it would be OK if he didn't want it wrapped around him. Some twenty minutes later as I was fixing to cuff the little fucker around the ears, she announces she is to walk him to the nearest sweet shop and will be back later.

It's enough to make you weep. When I was a kid you had to have snapped your spine before you were allowed to cry in public. I would never have cried in a barbers like this at that age anyway because I wasn't paying for hair cuts until I was at an age where I'd lost interest in lego in favour of tits. I'm quite sure my hair was trimmed by my mother with a knife until then. Kids today don't know they're born.

Thank the lord I have a nice sammich to eat to take my mind off the desperate state of the country and my bank account.

This makes me feel quite nauseous

WSOP Europe and other news

It's fair to say I've often found Phil Laak to be quite disagreeable, but I think it's only when he's with the other fella Antonia Esfandiari. They're like a sort of American Ant n' Dec only 15-20% more annoying and many times I've wished nothing but ill fortune on them.

It also baffles me what in the world he or any ones sees in Jennifer Tilly apart from her gigantic tits. I've always felt she looks like Cupid Stunt, but to each their own.

Anyway despite all this, I found I was pleased he won the Six-Max event at the WSOP Europe a few hours ago. When I win my bracelet next week I want my winners picture to be as good as Mr Laak's. I don't want to bust myself up in a car accident nor noffin, but the cast looks quite cool. I might get a fake one applied and get someone to paint a Mexican flag on it. Casts could become a fashion accessory. I might email in to someone about this.

My plans for the £1k event incidentally appear to be changing by the hour. As we speak it looks like I'll be whizzing over there to play day 1c, which isn't ideal as it means I'll have to endure three straight days of getting up early and I'd miss the Pigeon's game. Of course, I'll almost certainly not miss the Pigeon's game, but one must think optimistically.

In other news, I've just heard tell of a World Cup bid by Doha! I'm choking for this bid to succeed. I love the idea of a World Cup played in the desert in the summer. One of the highlights of the German World Cup was watching Beckham vomiting. With highs in June and July of 44˚c it should be a hurl-tastic four weeks.

The artists impressions of some of the stadiums they want to build are both typically spectacular and hilariously tacky. I love how they think their man made palm tree islands and other enormous crap you can see from space are classy and awesome and not at all gaudy and ridiculous like Vegas. At least Vegas knows what it is. Or, I think it does.

I see no problems either why FIFA might be sceptical of Doha's proposed attempts to blend the social habits of several hundred thousand drunks from the world's under-classes with the strict sacred dictates of Sharia law.

It's clearly a match made literally in heaven. The natural beauty of Doha with it's turquoise waters, sandy beaches and palm tree lined spotless streets are surely a home away from home for the likes of the Millwall bushwhackers from Bermondsey and the other competing nations' equivalent brick throwing hooligans. Doha gets my vote.

15 September 2010

Cooling your Jets

This is young Inés Sainz, the Mexican reporter for Azteca TV who "took exception" this week at a New York Jets practice to some comments made to her by a few of the players. This picture was taken at the very practice in question.

Now call me chauvinistic, call me cynical, but if you have an ass like that and you wear jeans that are so tight they look like they were sprayed on and strut about in the locker room of an American football team where 50 enormous naked men pumped full of testosterone are within licking distance, then the very least you can expect from them is lurid comments. This after all is the very same reporter who last year took out a tape measure and asked wide receiver Steve Breaston of the Arizona Cardinals if she could measure his biceps. I think it was biceps.

Quite frankly I don't envy the task of whoever is in control of keeping the players cool when there are strumpets like Ms Sainz strutting about the place like the very definition of 'cock tease."

And anyway, I think it's fair to say Mexican TV is not perhaps the most progressive of environments in terms of sexual equality. Mexican TV weather girls for example are essentially soft-core porn stars. I have a feeling Ms Sainz is a seasoned pro when it comes to dealing with chauvinism. She's no shrinking violet - a google image search of her name is testament to this, so I think her sensibilities are robust enough to cope with this sort of thing.

Perhaps she's a Giants fan and just making mischief, but if she was genuinely offended I find this astonishing. Good luck to her if she ever shows up at the Pigeon's game dressed like that with Neal in one of his moods.

14 September 2010

Champions League

I erm..yes...tricky fixtures in the Champions League, but I fancy Tott**ham to draw 2-2 with Werder Bremen after taking an early 2-0 lead. I also fancy Rangers to eek out a 0-0 draw with a thoroughly defensive performance with lots of strong tackles, which may cause a serious injury to one of the United players, but they will get the job done.

Meanwhile, I will also be betting on Rubin-Kazan to lose narrowly to Copenhagen probably 1-0 causing the Cheeky Girls no sadness as they have nothing to do with this fixture and finally Inter Milan will probably draw with the might of FC Twenty.

These are of course just rough guesses, but hopefully I'll be right with some of them.

There's usually a surprising result somewhere that makes Richard Keys wonder "what the odds were of that result chuckle"..and on this occasion I fancy it'll beeeee....Auxerre to beat AC Milan in the San Siro, so I might just have a few shillings at 10.0 just for shits and giggles.

Shits and giggles!? Who coined that phrase and why? Good luck with all your bets.


13 September 2010

This is the week that is

So, instead of discussing this afternoon how awesome it felt to land an eight game mug acca this weekend, which I didn't come anywhere close to landing thanks to Newcastle being useless and Man City being not much better, let's discuss my new bread bin instead.

It arrived today. It's a Nigella Lawson one and I tell you what, when I took possession of the box from the UPS man I might have been excused for thinking she was in there. You know, cause it was heavy, not cause it smelt of buxom sex. I'm off out in a minute to buy some bread to put in it. FUN!

Also today I took delivery of some shaving cream that has cocoa butter in it or something! I just thought I could always eat it if I had nothing in...OK and it has my initials on the toob so it looks like I have my own brand.

I buy stuff quite often in the wee small hours of the night that I really don't need, it's a hobby really. Later on tonight I should think I'll probably struggle not to buy one of those retro-arcade machines. I saw a refurbished Out-Run machine on the Ebays recently for just £400 and was very tempted. I used to love that game, never finished it.

In other news, it's the WSOPE this week. As of course we know, I didn't make it to Vegas this year as I decided to have a couple of weeks in the big house instead, but I had promised myself I was going to play a World Series event this year and be damned so, I owe it to myself really to get up early doors on Friday or Saturday and head to the smoke for to drop a thousand pounds in about 30 minutes and be home in time for tears and biscuits.

The issue here in terms of my attendance are two fold; First of all, this is beyond what I am comfortable paying for a single poker tournament. It's beyond what I'm comfortable paying for a car really. While it's true the only things I ever really spend my money on are sammiches and household brick-a-brac, if I suddenly had a thousand pounds less in my bank account I'd still have cause for sadness...this could after all finance almost an entire year of Subway Sammiches or an Out-Run and a Space Invaders machine.

The 3,000 starting chips is really a measly stack for such a big buy-in also. Even if the first level of blinds is 25/25, I'm used to having people shoving 5,000 starting stacks in with quad Jacks in the first level with only 125 chips in the pot, I don't know how to manoeuver a stack like that in a grown ups tournament through the initial stages and build it up to something playable.

ALL-IN!: Quad Jacks yesterday

Secondly - and to be fair, this is the real issue for me - I really struggle to get up before about 3pm. I mean really struggle. I'm all full of good intentions when I change into my nightwear in the evening and sometimes I even set my alarm, but when it goes off and I'm all sleepy and everything, there's very little life has to offer that seems enticing enough to remove myself. I often wonder if I'd be able to even move if Jenny Agutter was waiting for me somewhere in her Logan's Run costume all moist and literally choking for it, like she can hardly breathe for wanting me. It's a tricky one.

But anyway I digress, despite the very real possibility and almost inevitability that I would bust out with a couple of hours, one still has to put ones self in the way of opportunity in life doesn't one, elsewise we're all just little pieces of drift wood floating about on life's currents no? And while this event may boil down to being nothing more than a substantial tax on the stupid imposed by the poker Gods, busting out with nothing to show for my time there than a dirty face from London smog is still preferable to harking back to this time having not played and wondering what might have been. Sort of.

12 September 2010

NFL on Channel

Hoorah NFL back on Channel 4 where it all started. They should have Nicky Horne on and Gary Imlach with his awesome wavy hair and also that dude who couldn't read from an autocue,.. Mick Luckhurst?


10 September 2010

No woman no Kai

Inspired by a poker playing chum who landed an eight game acca this mid-week, the final selection of which being Scotland who won with a 97th minute header against Lichtenstein who's population is just slightly above the capacity of Goodison Park - I will be placing an equally outrageous wager this weekend and selection number one will be an Everton/Manchester United draw tomorrow lunchtime.

Wayne Rooney may play tomorrow, but one has to assume what passes for his mind will be elsewhere. Having been banished to the spare room and his access to paid strumpets temporarily closed off, he'll surely be playing like someone with lead in his boots. Without access to his medicine à la Tiger Woods he will be heavy of balls and his fleet of foot gone.

No goals from Rooney is not always an issue for Yooonited, but young Chicharito has had an exhausting time of it himself during this international break. Two very long plane journeys, two games in two days and after the win against Colombia a party which by all accounts Wayne Rooney would have swapped a kidney for an invite.

This leaves Berbatov, who may have found a bit of form recently, but he still looks like Andy Garcia and Berbatov has never scored at Goodison Park. I actually made that up, but I bet he hasn't. Either way this must end in a draw. It must.

Elsewhere I'll be relying on Celtic, Rangers, Manchester City, Newcastle and Arsenal - possibly a couple of others. A seven or eight game acca for a bullseye and why not? This wager registers 8.5 mugs on the mugoscope, a very high probability of failure. Good luck with all your bets.


Friday horoscopes

A friend in need is a friend indeed or is it a friend “in deed?” Beware of offering to help close friends today, as they may want you to dispose of a body.

Financial worries will ease this weekend as a serious health condition will come to light putting everything in perspective.

Concerns over a serious health condition will ease today as you realise you’re facing bankruptcy after a trusted business partner embezzles company funds and begins a new life for himself and your wife in the West Indies.

Love is in the air today, quite literally the open air…an especially bountiful Friday in store for keen Cancerian (!?) doggers.

Cause for celebration as you are 10% more awesome today than yesterday.

A romantic evening could be on the cards followed by some detailed rape role playing so don’t forget to remind your partner of your “safe” word.

If you love someone set them free. Isn’t it about time you released your daughter from your basement dungeon?

With Jupiter and Saturn still not being as big as your wife’s arse there’s little comfort in it being the weekend for male Scorpions today, however, soon be Monday!

If your knees are now wider than your thighs, it’s time to start eating cakes again.

It's not too late to turn yourself in.

If there’s hair on the wicket let’s play cricket…young Tracy across the way is having a party tonight as her parents are away, why not pop over with a couple of bottles of Diamond White and see if she needs anything. Even if she doesn’t, give it to her anyway, she'll never remember.

Perhaps it’s time to see your GP if the swelling has not gone down and the burning sensation when you urinate is still making you cry and setting off the smoke alarms.


6 September 2010

Goodness gracious me


Jeremy Simpson 41, from West Yorkshire known as Jezza to his online friends, one of the famous Cub Scouts who hilariously tried to eat their lunch while riding a roller coaster on the Jim'll Fix It show in 1979 came to a grisly end on Saturday when he ate himself on the very same roller coaster that made him a minor child celebrity.

A suicide note posted on his Facebook page explained how he endured more than just one sickening ride as that ten year porky cub scout and how Jimmy Saville was not the pleasant uncomplicated regular guy he appeared to be on TV.
Now then now then,

I can't go on. I can't escape my demons. I've had me innocence stolen haven't ah and us got no choice but to end it all. It's for t'ut best. I want the world to know warr appened that day though so no other bastard 'as to go through it.

After Jim'll had given us our badges and the cameras had stopped filming he whispered into my ear that he had a "special something" for me and to come and see him in his dressing room after the show. I were nervous. His dressing room was down a long corridor. I approached from the north and as I got nearer I could here a really strange noise getting louder and louder, like a mix between Tarzan of the apes and an old man's orgasm.

I knocked on Jim'll's door and I were shaking. He asked who it was and I said it were Jeremy. He sounded out of breath and told me to come in quickly and shut the door. I were a bit shocked when I got inside cause Jim'll was dressed in a shiny pink leather frock that had been pulled up over his waist and he had what looked like a steel spring clamp on his bollocks.

He gave me a funny tasting milkshake to drink and everything went dark. I woke up four hours later in the back of my Dad's Datsun Sunny approaching junction 39 for Leeds and Wakefield with my underpants on backwards and a burning pain in my backside which turned out to be a cigar.

I keep telling myself it weren't my fault, but was it? I'm so alone.

Good bye cruel world


In a phone call with Jezza's mother earlier this morning she explained how her son's experiences with Jim'll changed him forever;

"He were never the same after that day. He never told us what happened with Jim'll in his dressing room..he just used to sit by the window and dribble. I used to come home from work scrubbing floors and find him in the dark watching himself on TV on that roller coaster over and over again. I got the shock of me life when I found his diary, it had 'Jim'll fixed it for me' written over and over again..400 fucking pages there were."

It were,.... it was not long before his school work began to suffer and Jeremy began experimenting with pastries and exploring his appetite for sado-masochistic sex with transvestites, as his father Albert, a 67 year old retired welder explained, "he were a dirty little begger."

"Jezza" enjoying a sex holiday
in Cambodia in 2008

"We found only a chewed cigar and a pair of sandals" explained acting Chief Constable Barry Crumble of the Lancashire Constabulary who confirmed a 41 year old male was eaten on Saturday afternoon after boarding the roller coaster and they are not looking for anybody else in connection with the repast.

A wild stomach churning ride and the roller coaster
on which Jeremy Simpson ate himself on Saturday


What a surprise

Andy Murray has just lost and is sulking as we speak. Annabel and Greg are perplexed. They don't understand how he just lost or what just happened. They of course don't read this blog. As we alluded to in my post on September 4th: here, we have all the info on Murray; we know why he messed up today and it was of no surprise to us when he suddenly suffered a mysterious injury after being a set up and 3-0 up in the second set and ultimately bombed out of the tournament to a no mark dude with a massive name. All will be revealed shortly.


4 September 2010

Told you..I'm best

Exclusive my arse...excuse me News of the World, I broke this story about a week ago on this very blog.

If I could just direct you to this post: Another Premier League Scandal

Save your 50p or however much these comics cost these days, I've got all the news you need right here.

I've got another story currently being verified by my sources involving a certain bad tempered Scottish tennis player which makes for very interesting reading indeed and probably won't appear in the papers until the player himself has revealed all in a best selling ghost written autobiography entitled "Juice" or something and serialised in the Sun after his retirement. Makes Agassi look like a tee-totaller.


Half-price already?

So I'm back from Waterstone's and my attempts at making mischief were only half successful. I was able to place Tony Blair's memoirs in the Fiction section, but a second attempt at placing another copy in the Self-Help section failed as I was rumbled by a member of Staff.

"Shall I put that back for you?" she said as I was fixing to take a photograph. "No, it's OK it's fine where it is" says I. "It doesn't belong here" says she. "Course it does, Self-Help..can I just take a picture?" I pleaded. "No."

I suspect they're getting a bit tired of this game at the Witney branch of Waterstone's. Anyway, I grow tired myself, I'm due a snooze so I'll bid you good-day.