You’re a striker. You haven’t scored in 15 hours of football for your new club. Your mate wins a penalty, and up you step, gamely placing the ball on the spot. The Portsmouth keeper has no chance, we reckon.
Sigh…..tomorrow’s gonna be such a hard day for us sports lovers. We could, realistically, spend the day drinking beer and watching telly – wives beware!
So this one lady from work starts complaining about how people are modernising this whole asking out women issue – she said guys have this “faster faster model”.
A couple of chaps have criticised me for having a sort of traffic-circle scenario with my ex-girlfriends. Apparently I rotate without ever leaving the circle, and really should pick my ass up and move on down the road. Huh?
What the hell is wrong with people? Hamudi kuona vamwe vachifara, nhai? Why can’t you jes’ let others be happy in their relationships without trying to get a piece of the action.
So ManUre beat Chelsea, eh? I watched the highlights, and it looks to me like Les Bleus just didn’t have a clue on how to play them, especially Ronaldo….well done.
Going out of town today for my gran’s funeral. Those who miss me can look me up in the phone book. I’ll only be away for a couple of days, so don’t worry, I’ll be back soon enuff.
This is to clarify a very important point. Because, I assume, of recent comments and posts on this website, some people are beginning to think I am heavily biased against ManUre. Oops sorry, Manchester United.
I know it’s wrong to kick a man when he’s down, and I know it’s trouble to rejoice in the misery of others. Oh, feck it – ManUre, you suck!
Something shocking happened to me this afternoon, and I’m not sure what to make of it? There I was, standing on the side of the road hiking to work: along comes a half-empty ZUPCO, which happily chugs past and leaves me to sweat it out in the midday sun!
..and the earth did shake with that thunder. This is a line from a book by Steven King, The Gunslinger. Lord Perth was a great king who fell in a long-ago battle, and this is from a poem in his honour. What’s the relevance, you say? Read on, dear friend.
Here I am stuck at work on a Saturday morning, when every sane person out there is either A: nursing a hangover or B: planning a hangover!