And the BB Bastard C, why don't you just put a sign up at the back of the fucking Match Of The Twatting Day studios that says "Everton supporters go to bed now"?? "Well that last match was so shite, imagine now poor this next (and last) one is going to be? It's got nil bastard fucking twatting nil written all over the fucker this one. I feel so fucking bastard sorry for the fuckers that have avoided the fucking result all bastard day in the vain hope that their team has won that I'm going to tell it to the sad fucking twats now and completely urinate on their chips. I'm fucking so bastard glad that I never played for the Toffees, if I had I'd have completely erased it from my (admittedly limited) memory banks. I played for Barcelona you know." The jug eared twat.
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.