Cast your mind back to March of this year and Scott Brown celebrating Celtic’s victory over Neo-Gers at Celtic Park. The Peeppul were desperate to get their hands on him and nearly killed their own disabled supporters in the process. Of course, they blamed Brown and so, predictably, did the agnivores. Incredibly, Brown was called before a disciplinary committee to answer for his ‘crime’. A different story now, eh?
El Guffalo scored at Tynecastle and immediately ran toward the Hearts fans. Of course, they weren’t too happy about it and it looked like one old geezer shouted something racist. I’m no expert lip reader, but it certainly looks as if El Guffalo was called a ‘black bastard’. I wouldn’t swear to it in court, though. It might well have been ‘fat bastard’, which, as well as not being racist, happens to be true. Besides, Morelos himself wouldn’t have been shocked or insulted; the cunt still can’t speak fucking English!
Imagine if Ryotaro Meshino had run up to the Huns and one of them had racially abused him. We wouldn’t be reading about the abuse, but how Meshino had nearly caused a riot. Will El Guffalo be called before the beak? I doubt it.
Did you see Pat Nevin on Sunday Morning Live, going on about wanting racism stamped out in football? This is the man that supposedly stopped going to Celtic matches because somebody shouted, “IRA.” He’s gone on about this for years, but never seems to notice the anti-Irish bile coming from The Peeppul. Mind you, he looked a bit uncomfortable on the programme. I’m guessing he’d rather have been over at Channel 4, on Sunday Brunch. At least they’d have given him some soup.
I see the victim of that deranged stalker, Maggie Paton, has written a book about her experience. She’s changed the names so things won’t be too obvious. Maggie becomes Megan, while Steve has become Stuart. God, you’d never be able to tell who it’s about, would you? The foreword has been written by Andy Goram, who, it seems, is shocked and horrified by tales of people being stalked. Well, unless they’re being stalked by some Loyalist gunman, that is!
“Jist yous fuckin’ wait tae ma book comes oot. Chris Jack’s writin’ it iz wae speak!”
It wasn’t too long ago that The Peeppul were predicting that Celtic supporters would be turning on their players. What a difference one game makes. They’re all on the DR Hotline raging about the Neo-Gers players. You wouldn’t think that their team is only one goal behind Celtic. The agnivores as well are all doom and gloom. What the hell are they expecting – ten points ahead or something at this time of year?
“What the fuck ur yez moanin’ it me fur? Ah’m jist here tae take penalties. It’s no’ ma fawt the referee didnae gie iz any!”
Meanwhile, I was impressed with Jeremie Frimpong in the Celtic game. He’s got some skills and he reminded me of Jimmy Johnstone the way he was able to send players the wrong way and the like. He’s only eighteen as well!
I notice the Daily Record is slipping a bit when it comes to explanatory pictures. They’ve got a story-cum-advert for a massive ten-pun bar of Toblerone, which they say is heavier than a new-born baby. They have a few pictures of the diabetic coma inducing bar of chocolate but none of a new-born baby! How are we supposed to know what a new-born baby is if they don’t have their usual picture? Are there no editors left at this rag?
“Christ, Ah shot ma load when Ah seen the size-y that hing!”
What the hell’s that all about with Always removing the female symbol from its sanitary products? Apparently, it was all down to letters from folk, including one Ben Saunders, who wanted them removed. What? Is he going to use them? Another character said, “There are non-binary and trans folks who still need to use your products too you know!” What, in the name of fuck, are these clowns on about? They really are their own worst enemies and I’m expecting a backlash sometime soon.
“Well, Ah’ll bae needin’ thum if Ah see any mair pictures-y thon Toblerone!”
Meantime, the search for funds goes on:
“Ah happen tae be the long-lost son of Harry Hood. An’ Ah’m that Babestation model an’ aw!”
About that Watt Brothers store, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it – I must have walked past it hundreds of times. The thing is, I remember loads of shops that disappeared long ago: Graham and Morton, Cantor’s, Goldberg’s, Agnew’s, to name but a few. The reason is that I remember the adverts on the telly. Watt Brothers obviously just relied on word-of-mouth. Didn’t work very well, did it?
“Awright, troops? What the fuck wiz that aw aboot oan Sunday? Imagine gettin’ bet wi’ a fuckin’ shite team like that! Stull, Sellick ur only tap cozzy alphabetical order. That disnae make any sense tae me – surely ‘R’ comes before ‘S’? Anywye, aboot they fanny pads; Ah buy theym aw the time. When ye’ve goat a huge arse like mine, ye need wan doon the back-y yer drawers tae save thum gettin skid marks. It means ye only need tae chynge yer drawers wance a fortnight. An’ they wings ur brullyint it stoappin’ the hings slidin’ aboot!”
If you’d care to read some books that show no discernible literary ability, you can find details here:
Billy’s magnum opus is here:
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