I remember years ago doing a children’s novel with one of my reading groups. It was called Flat Stanley and was about a boy who got flattened when a cabinet or something fell on top of him. He had a great time being flat, being used as a kite by his brother, visiting far-flung relatives by being posted to them in an envelope and even pretending to be a painting to catch some art gallery crooks. In the end, he got fed up with being flat, so his brother used a bicycle pump to inflate him to his former size.
I was reminded of this book when I read about El Guffalo finding somebody under his car. I doubt anybody but Flat Stanley could have accomplished this feat.
If somebody was under the car, it’s probably El Guffalo ran some poor bastard over and dragged him, stuck under the Lamborghini, all the way home. The guy, covered in cuts and bruises, managed to struggle out once the car was parked and limped away. Morelos gave chase and would have caught the guy easily if he hadn’t encountered a white line on the road. His Auchenhowie training immediately kicked in and he threw himself to the ground.
Of course, there’s more than a hint of Jabba-Jabber about this story, especially since the Daily Record’s account includes the details that El Guffalo
“…has hit 28 goals already this season and is one of the most valuable players in Scottish football.
The hitman is top scorer in the Europa League and is a regular in international squads.”
Now, that sounds like a sales pitch, which it probably is. Our media have been trying to sell the cunt for years now with stories about phantom bids from China and top-name clubs ‘considering’ him. The Peeppul lap all this kind of pish up and honestly believe that the fat thug is up there with the best. The most ridiculous story was that Barcelona were interested in him, seeing him as on par with Luis Suarez. The truth is, of course, that El Guffalo is just a big fish in a small pond and only seems able to score against diddy teams. Suarez, on the other hand, prefers a bigger challenge; something he can get his teeth into!
So, what’s the point of this implausible story? Well, this comment on Twitter gives the game away.
“I love Alfredo Morelos but if he slaps a transfer request in to get the fuck out of Glasgow, how can anyone blame him? Some fuck followed him and his pregnant partner home to crawl below his car in a attempt to cut his brake cables. What a special human being you must be.”
It’s no secret that Neo-Gers are desperate for cash, but I doubt anybody’s going to bid for Gerrard’s rejects, like Jordan Jones. Neither is anybody gullible enough to even consider bidding £20m for El Guffalo. It looks like they’re going to accept a lot less for the thug, using the story that those ‘Dirty Feenyin Basturts’ chased him out of Glasgow.
The police have taken the car in and are on the case; as if they didn’t have enough to do. Crime doesn’t take a holiday just because Jabba wants to make a big deal of things. The polis in East Lothian, for example, are dealing with a criminal mastermind that stole two kebabs from women in a pub in Musselburgh. And, no, it’s not a joke.
A Police Scotland spokeswoman said: “We received a report of two kebabs being stolen from a premises on the High Street in Musselburgh around 1am on Sunday, 26 January, 2020. Enquiries are ongoing.”
For fuck’s sake! Is nothing sacred anymore? The Daily Record helpfully shows a picture of the stolen item.
“If anyone tries to sell you this item, please contact Crimestoppers.”
The rozzers are going to have their work cut out on Friday, right enough, when, as Hector said, Alastair McConnachie and his faded Union-Jack jacket are organising a Brexit jamboree at George Square in Glasgow. He wants folk to turn up at 10.30, by which time they’ll be well-oiled. God help anybody foreign-looking once the clock strikes 11, signalling that the UK is leaving the EU. Who’d want to bump into a pile of triumphant Peeppul and assorted racists? I think anybody normal should maybe give Glasgow City Centre a body swerve this weekend.
“See, what you’ve got to understand is that I’m a massive prick and this is the only way I can get some folk to like me. Okay, all the ones that like me are Huns and Nazis, but beggars can’t be choosers!”
I see the Tories in Scotland have been moaning because a debate was held at Holyrood about keeping the European flag flying outside. “Get on with the day job!” they cry, while their colleagues at Westminster debate about ringing bells to celebrate Brexit. And then they moan about signs in Gaelic, spouting stuff about dead languages. I wonder if they say that when their kids are learning Latin at their fee-paying schools. I also wonder what they thought about their esteemed leader talking shite in Ancient Greek on the telly.
Sticking with Brexit, there are many reasons to object to the commemorative ten-bob bit, but author Philip Pullman’s has to be the most ridiculous. He’s got nothing against the hypocritical message on it, but thinks there should be a comma after ‘prosperity’. So, ‘Peace, prosperity and friendship with all nations.’ should read, ‘Peace, prosperity, and friendship with all nations.’ I was always taught that the commas stood in for the conjunction in a sentence, so there was no need for one between the second-last and last items in a list. Replacing the commas with conjunctions in his version would give you, ‘Peace and prosperity and and friendship with all nations.’ If he wants to show off, why doesn’t he try to explain the two children having sex in The Amber Spyglass? I wonder how the BBC are going to approach that on in their serialisation of His Dark Materials.
Neo-Gers have issued one of their famous statements, this time about a referee, who, according to the Daily Record, ‘mocked Jermain Defoe as he was carried off the pitch.’ I had visions of the match referee leaning over Defoe as he lay on a stretcher, pointing and laughing. It turns out that the guy referees kids’ games in Scotland and his ‘mocking’ was in the shape of Tweeting a picture of Defoe being stretchered off, with the comment, “Things you love to see.” Okay, it was in poor taste but it’s not as if Defoe was at death’s door or anything. Neo-Gers and The Peeppul are demanding an enquiry by the SFA. Strange, but nobody wanted an enquiry when a certain Cheatin’ Beaton was pictured at a certain pub. And the Huns still moan about Hugh Dallas being sacked for his ‘joke’ about the Pope. The Daily Record, meanwhile, explains everything in one sentence, “According to Brodigan’s Twitter profile he is a native of Ireland who has been living in Scotland since 1996.” Well, obviously he’s a terrorist-supporting, benefit-claiming, UK-hating, Fenian bastard! Fortunately for the Huns, he’ll be out on his arse with the rest of us after Friday, won’t he?
The DR has a screaming headline saying, “What can you do if you think your neighbour is smoking cannabis?” Mind your own fucking business, I’d have thought, but the Record goes into detail about how to get the polis and landlords involved while sleekitly avoiding being identified. Now, I can understand reporting a clan of drunken louts, out fighting and pishing everywhere, but dope smokers tend to be a quiet lot. I mean, they’re not doing their neighbours any harm, are they? The DR begs to differ. “Most people won’t be bothered by what they are doing in their own home but the smell can make living nearby unpleasant.” Now, I can stomach neither the taste not the smell of fish, so can I phone the polis if my next-door neighbour is frying kippers? Please say yes; I can’t stand the old cunt!
“An’ the smells thit come oot that hoose, Jessie! Ah’ve heard thuv been smokin’ the fish fingers!”
I’ve just read that an anti-Brexit group are holding a torchlit meeting at Donald Dewar’s statue at the same time as McConnachie’s stormtroopers are meeting at George Square. For those unfamiliar with Glasgow, Donald Dewar’s statue is just around the corner from George Square. Who thought that would be a good idea?
“Aw, fur fuck’s sake! That means ma specs ur gonnae get it again!”
Most of the ‘New Year Resolution’ adverts have disappeared from the screen. You know the ones I mean: the ones about giving up fags and going on diets. I think most of these companies realise that if your resolution doesn’t make it past the first week in January, then they’re wasting their time. Strangely, though, the adverts for gym membership are still running. Why? Who are they aimed at? They even try to make it seem like fun for all the family. I’ve never attended one but I’ve seen those that do and, usually, it’s just folk that already look fit and healthy and want to show off their bodies that go.
“Ah’ve made loads-a new pals!”
“Awright, troops? Ah’ve only jist fun’ oot thit it wiz Naismith thit scored against us when wae wur cheated last Sunday. Ye’d never huv seen Ally McCoist ur Ian Durrant daein’ sumhin’ like that. Mind when they played fur Kilmarnock an’ hud tae bae takin’ aff fur refusin’ tae score against Raynjurz? That’s what ye call Real Raynjurz Men; no’ like Naismith, who left us when wae wur illegally relegated tae Division 3! Me an’ Betty ur lookin’ forward tae Friday night. Thur’s a crowd-y iz frae the ludge takin’ a big kerry oot wi’ iz an’ some-y the wives ur comin’ an’ aw. Ah’m lookin’ forward tae bangin’ intae some-y they anti-Brexit cunts an’ shovin’ thur torches up thur arses. This country’s gonny bae great again wance wae get rid-y aw the foreigners an’ Feenyins an’ that. If ye cannae speak God’s English proper then ye shouldnae bae here!”
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