Well, that was hard going yesterday and it certainly gave all the greetin’-faced cunts something to get their teeth into. It’s a difficult enough job when faced with eleven men rarely moving out of their own box, but when Cheatin’ Beaton is officiating, it makes it doubly hard. A Dunfermline player does exactly the same as a Hibs player did last week against Neo-Gers; one gets sent off, while the other’s done nothing wrong. You’d call it strange if you didn’t know better. There was nothing but relief on the Celtic players’ faces when Forrest scored. If they’d run about celebrating, they’d have been pilloried for it. Because they didn’t, there’s suddenly ‘unrest in the changing room’. Get a fucking grip!
I know a lot of folk avoid the Daily Record like the plague, so they won’t be aware of what they had on their website (and, no doubt in the paper copy as well) yesterday. They had a story about Bob Allan, the child molester that worked at Motherwell FC. Apparently, a young lad reported him years ago while on a trip in the US, but Allan was found not guilty in court. The boy took his own life when he was 29. Here’s the picture that accompanied the story:
Now, what message do you suppose that’s meant to convey? In the actual article, it says, “The player, who was later signed by Motherwell before being released at 19, won two caps for Scotland schools and played against stars such as Celtic’s Stiliyan Petrov.” Fuck off! If that had been any other ‘star’ there would have been a separate picture. Instead, they play to the Hun gallery, intimating that any child sex abuse in Scottish football has to be linked to Celtic. Cunts.
On the same subject, the family of another victim of child sex abuse, Andrew Gray, don’t do themselves any favours. In one of their latest tweets, it’s said that Celtic have ‘blood on their hands’ because the man died a couple of years ago. Unlike the man in the DR story, however, Andrew Gray died in a drowning accident. They’ve also been attacking Celtic supporters for being angry about how their team performed on Tuesday. Apparently, we’re supposed to only direct that anger on behalf of the victims of Celtic’s ‘paedophile ring’. That’s what happens when you surround yourself with bitter Huns; any anger about what happened to Andrew Gray, and other victims of child sex abuse, gets lost in the campaign to single out Celtic Boys Club as the only place where perverts preyed on youngsters.
The Huns, as everyone knows, couldn’t care less about victims of abuse; only about harming Celtic in any way possible. A couple of posts on Follow Follow reveal their true agenda.
“They should now be the subject of major sanctions – including demotion.”
“It’s up to us to start a petition and get a few teams on board that want to fight for that second spot.”
Meanwhile, Barry Ferguson appears to confirm what a lot of us have suspected. The headline says it all, “Steven Gerrard is following the Dick Advocaat Rangers blueprint and that’s bad news for the rest.” That explains everything. We were all wondering how Neo-Gers have been able to afford to buy new players, or even to pay the ones they’ve got. When Advocaat was there, wasn’t the ‘Rangers blueprint’ a tax-dodging scheme? I rest my case.
Neo-Gers’ new tax adviser, Boabby Everard.
You’ve got to laugh at The Peeppul on Hun Media and Follow Follow, they’re all full of their usual, misplaced optimism, based on getting a lucky win against Kilmarnock, beating Hibs with the help of Cheatin’ Beaton and triumphing over a couple of shite teams in Europe. No team, it seems, is going to be able to stop them. One character, with a perfectly straight face, says,
“Not even the refs can stop us.”
That statement, of course, started an avalanche of complaints about how hard-done-by they are. The referees, the compliance officer, the whole of Scottish football and even the media…sorry, mhedia…are all ranged against them. Why, the Scottish press has already nailed its colours to the mast by making all manner of excuses for Neil Lennon! Christ, what kind of drugs are these clowns taking?
The staunch Mr. Beaton, ready to ensure Neo-Gers get nowhere near any silverware this season.
I saw something advertised on the telly that seems like a good idea, but really isn’t. It’s a set of cameras around your house that connect to your mobile phone, so you can see and hear what’s going on when you aren’t there. You can even speak over the phone to anybody that turns up at your door. Great, eh? You can go out with complete peace of mind, knowing that you can keep an eye on any comings-and-goings at home. The only thing is that if you have a night out you’ll spend the whole time staring at the screen on your phone in case anybody tries to break in. And as soon as you put it in your pocket, you’ll worry that you’ve missed something. Nobody in the whole pub would be talking; they’d just be sipping at their pints while staring at their phones. And going on holiday would be a complete and utter waste of time. You’d probably worry less if you left your teenage son or daughter in charge!
“Who ur yez an’ what d’yez waant?”
“Hiv ye heard the good news aboot Jesus?”
“Aw, bugger off!”
“We’re gauin’ naewhere, pal. Wur gonny staun’ here an’ read the hale New Testament tae ye. An’ thur’s no’ a hing ye kin dae aboot it”
I know this’ll sound bad, but bear with me. If there’s a song I can’t stand, it’s that one that goes, Celtic! Celtic! That’s the team for me. Celtic! Celtic! On to victory. The thing is, I remember when I was wee (I’m talking about P1-3) there was a boy in my class and that was the only song he knew. If you had one of those class parties and the teacher asked for a song, that’s what he’d sing. If he came to your door at Halloween, that’s what he’d sing. He’d sing it while we were playing in the playground or outside. It drove everybody mental. He had a speech impediment as well, so he’d sing, Heltic! Heltic! That-h the team fur me… Whenever I hear that song, or I see it mentioned, that boy’s voice echoes in my head, even after all these years. I’ve got a nasty feeling about what’s in store for me in Purgatory!
Another ridiculous story in the DR concerns a young couple being thrown out of Asda in Livingston because they had a puppy. There are actually folk that think the couple are in the right because the puppy’s ‘so cute’. The couple themselves indulge in a bit of whatabootery, pointing out that other folk take their dogs into the store. Fuck right off! There shouldn’t be any dogs, other than guide dogs, in any supermarket and especially young pups. Why the hell should other customers have to put up with sliding about on pish and shite?
Sticking with the DR, and shite, for that matter, the story about Elvis’s death reminded me of the hilarity some of us had about the subject when I was at university. I don’t know how the topic came up, but I mentioned that he’d died on the lavvy, trying to ‘crush oot’ a shite. Everybody found this hilarious and when I asked what they called it, they said ‘squeeze oot’ a shite. I found this equally funny and we were all practically in tears. So, which one do you say – squeeze or crush?
“Awright, troops? Brullyint news aboot Sellick hivvin’ tae pye oot tae wan-y thur paedo victums, intit? The flood gates’ll open noo an’ the cunts’ll hiv tae haund ower mullyins. Thull hiv tae sell aw thur players an’ even thur fancy lights an’ thull end up boattum-y the league next May. Wull need tae dae aw wae kin tae encourage victums tae go tae solicitors. Watch, though, in case any cunt tries tae sue Raynjurz. Emdy thit wiz abused bae Neely ur Dunn kin fuck off; it wiz thur ain fawt!”
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