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Predictable

Hart: shite, doesn't inspire confidence, they'd clearly sussed out that he is poor clearing back passes under a bit of pressure. Cole: really shite. Johnson: good going forward, gets him into trouble defensively sometimes though. Terry & Lescott: both solid at the back. Young: complete shite. Milner: consistently pure abject shite, set up Johnson's chance in the first half only by virtue of a twice deflected shite cross. Wants shooting. I'll do it happily. Parker: out of his depth shite, OK he tried hard, but he simply isn't international standard. Gerrard: old shite, gets more shite as he gets older. Wellbeck: was he playing? The lazy shite. Rooney: fat useless over-rated shite, fails to deliver yet again, throw in string of "he's world class, this was another one off like the last one in the World Cup - that wasn't his fault either, he'll be better next time" excuses. Woy, tactical genius he is, he presumably sees things in Milner that the rest of us can't see. And he's only been in the job five minutes so cut him some slack will yer. No, he's shite too. Andy Carroll? Andy Fucking Carroll? Come on lads, this is the Euro's quarter final, against Italy, who are spreading it around like I Can't Believe It's Not Butter. Our backs are to the wall here. What shall we do? Let me have a little think, yes I've got it! Let's throw that big useless twat Andy Carroll on and play like Wimbledon, that'll fox them. Inspired Woy. Simply inspired.

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Fucking Passwords

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My Mate Frank

Is a sheepdog and his two-legged is a farmer. Frank was out with him in the tractor drilling wheat last autumn and they unearthed a rusty old lamp. So the farmer hopped out of the cab to have a closer look at it and gave it a little rub on his jacket, as you do, and was amazed to see a genie appear and offer to grant him any wish he wanted. Well the farmer thought for a moment and then said "I'd like the price of wheat to go to £200/tonne!" So the genie sighed but said "OK, I'll sort that out for you then, you greedy bastard" and popped back into his bottle. And the farmer casually tossed the lamp into the back of his cab and got on with his drilling. Well they were out again this morning putting a bit of nitrogen on, Frank and the farmer, and the farmer spotted the lamp and gave it a little rub again, just on the off chance, and you'll never guess what happened, the genie popped out again, and said that he'd grant the farmer one more wish. So the fa...

Snow

Bloody snow, I hate the stuff. It snowed here on Saturday, which meant that my Sunday morning constitutional consisted of me running around Horseshoe Field at Conyngham bollock deep in the wretched white stuff tying to put on a display of pleasure for the two-leggeds. "Ah look at him, he loves snow," they'd say. "Look at him running and jumping around in it." Well you'd run and jump around if your bollocks were dangling in snow wouldn't you? Me poor little paws were frozen solid by the time we got back to the car. Pooh count: two, both of them "steamers" - in fact one of them was giving off so much vapour it reminded me of Drax power station, except a bit smaller and browner obviously. And it probably couldn't have powered 20,000 homes in Pontefract. A small pensioners bungalow maybe. As long as they didn't have all the lights on, and the bath running. They don't have many baths pensioners do they? One a month maybe, so the chances ...