That's right bitch, go to sleep.
I obviously couldn't sleep last night as it's Wimbledon today and my whole year revolves around Wimbledon. Of course, when I say 'revolves,' what I mean is...I found out yesterday accidentally that it's Wimbledon today.
So on the strength of a random post I saw on a poker message board I've had a £150 on some bloke to win the mens' tournament who I'll Google in a minute as I can't recall his name and also I've had £25 at 12/1 on one of the Williams' sisters to bust out in the second round. Forget which one, the one who's been ill or something.
Novak Djokovic, that's who I bet on. And Venus* to bust out - although not literally I hope.
Andy Murray of course will never win a proper tournament of the tennis while his mam is still following him around along with that musty stench of incest that hangs over them like a cloud of filthy sexually deviant smog.
The raging jealousy in that woman's eyes at the presence of Murray's girlfriend is enough to put the fear of God in anyone. She makes Norma Bates look like Olivia Walton. It's no wonder he loses his concentration.
Update: *Serena Williams not Venus Williams. The one who cried.
"It's me he thinks about when you make love, you know that don't you."
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