So ManYoo have won the Premier League again with a (shock) debatable penalty earning them a draw against relegation faced Blackburn, and Man Shitty have bought the FA Cup with a streaky 1-0 win against lowly Stoke. Hoo chuffin ray. Hardly the stuff of giants is it? Pooh count: four, more excitement there than watching those overpaid ladyboys running around kissing each other. Ya Ya, what sort of a name is that? Two hundred grand a week he's supposed to be on the lanky streak of piss. Tevez, the dirty cheating Argy bastard, said he needed a cortisone injection in order to play the second half, and Ya Ya pipes up with "well if he's having a new car I'm having one too Boss," the thick get. Hanging's too good for them. And Rooney, he's not exactly the brightest biscuit in the barrel either is he? And is it just me or is that Balotelli gadger complely and utterly cack? If that's the best team you can put together for fifty squillion billion then we're all in a sad state. You can say what you like about Hitler, but at least he made the buses run on time. Woof.
You couldn't make it up could you. I spent much of the weekend dozing on the sofa watching telly. Glastonbury was on, although sad to say there was no Snoop Dog, Bone Jovi or any other canine related artists. The big news seemed to be the lack of female headliners and now we know why as one scored a spectacular own goal. She missed her slot cos she was doing her hair. It takes ages she said. Why NOT start doing your hair well before your show time. Aaagh no where's my handbag I've left it in the car, I've got to back to fetch it.