SAINT TERESA OF COSTCUTTER

It’s amazing how alike the England national team and Neo-Gers are. Bigoted, racist, thuggish supporters. Check. Arrogant, superior sense of entitlement. Check. Amenable authorities. Check. (Fixed so they play practically all their games at home.) Team full of cheating bastards. Check. Dodgy match officials. Check. Fans trying to influence the match. Check. No wonder the Huns all support England!

That game was a fucking disgrace. All the English pundits are going on about how the team deserved to win because of how they were playing, but the whole idea of the game is to get goals and the only way England could get a winning goal was by cheating. Why the hell wasn’t Sterling’s dive checked by VAR? And that business about a laser being shone in the Danish goalkeeper’s eye – if that had happened to the English goalie, we’d never have heard the end of it. Now that the England team has taken to diving, Sunday’s final is going to be interesting. The Italians are renowned for diving as well, so the match will probably end up looking like a fucking game of crab football!

There’s been quite a bit online about what Big Ange is doing at Celtic. Microsoft News, especially, has daily updates about what’s going on, with Celtic supporters reportedly ‘ecstatic’ at each piece of news. The problem is that none of these updates are anything to do with signing players, only the ones that Big Ange is getting rid of. There are comments galore about how useless each player’s been and how nobody ever liked the cunt anyway. But, alas, no new signings as yet. Not that it matters much anyway. The powers-that-be will be determined to ‘prove’ that Neo-Gers’ win this season was no fluke and we’ll see another league campaign where the Ibrox team get no red cards and no penalties given against them. And, with an Orangeman put in as Compliance Officer, you can be sure that there’ll be no retrospective action taken against the likes of El Guffalo this time round. I hope I’m wrong, but I think whoever took over as manager at Celtic was on a hiding to nothing right from the start!

I had to laugh at some stupid, stupid Hun (© Monti) on the Daily Record’s Hotline saying that Celtic have been trying to punt Odsonne Edouard for years. Er…no they haven’t, and you’ve got some bloody nerve the way El Guffalo’s been in the shop window gathering dust for a few seasons now. The truth is that nobody wants an overhyped thug with a weight problem as well as a serious attitude problem. Even the Colombian national team don’t want him and he’s only picked for the squad to make up the numbers. Our media would have us believe that he’s a prolific goalscorer at the highest level, yet he’s spent the whole Copa America competition scratching his fat arse on the bench.

Already, the agnivores are doing their best to get him sold. This year, it’s Porto’s turn to be in the frame. We’ve been told they’re interested and that Neo-Gers are holding out for more money. Stand by for a few weeks of intense bargaining, stories about El Guffalo being on his way to Portugal and then things not quite working out. It’ll end up that Neo-Gers ‘managed to hold on to him’. It’s the same thing every fucking year!

“Surely some stupit cunt’s gonny buy ye this time roon!”

Back to England, and we’re never going to hear the fucking end of England’s victory against a poor German side. And the England supporters have shown themselves to be utter cunts the way they’ve been going on about that wee German girl that burst into tears. They’ve been online, calling her a slag, a slut etc. even though she looks about five or six. Somebody even said that her grandfather probably murdered Anne Frank! Do these arseholes have any concept of time at all? There’s no way that wee girl’s grandfather was even alive during WWII! Meanwhile, another child whose relatives were closely involved with the Nazis looked distinctly unimpressed.

WILLIAM: “Cheer, ya wee fucker!”

GEORGE: “Ah’m confused. Ah thoat we wur German.”

WILLIAM: “Wae ur, but wae don’t waant aw these stupit cunts tae stoap giein’ iz money. Noo, get up aff yer fuckin’ arse an’ cheer!”

GEORGE: “Ah waant Nanny!”

Prince Wullie appeared in the news again, accompanying Granny on a tour of the Irn Bru factory. Unfortunately, Hurmaj didn’t try the stuff since she was scared that her falsers might fall out in front of everybody.

“Don’t worry, your majesty. We’re sending a few lorry-loads over to Holyrood Palace, so you can drink your fill in private.”

“What wiz that ye wur sayin’ aboot Phil, ya cunt? Ye tryin’ tae come fuckin’ wide?”

He’s been a busy man has Oor Wullie. As well as watching football matches and drinking Irn Bru, he and his brother unveiled a statue of their mother, Saint Di. Well, that’s the impression the statue gives, with Di obviously giving solace to three barefoot urchins. What a fucking patronising display; I’m surprised they didn’t stick a halo on her napper. She was a real caring individual, as long as there was a camera around to witness it. I mean, what did she actually do? For all her moaning, she knew full well what she was getting into and was well paid for being a baby machine. And now we’re supposed to accept that she cared for the poor while swanning around wearing enough jewellery to eradicate poverty any time she wanted. It turns my fucking stomach!

Of course, there were long queues to get in to see the statue and these two fucking reprobates, as you might expect, were first in line. They probably camped out for days to make sure of it. You might remember this pair standing fingering baby dolls when Oor Wullie’s third wean was born.

“Wull yez fuckin’ hurry up an’ let iz in! This Viagra wae took so wae kin spunk aw ower Di’s statue iz startin’ tae wear oaff!”

Speaking of statues, in Canada they’ve pulled down statues of Queen Victoria and Auld Lizzie. The Peeppul, and other right-wing arseholes, are moaning like hell about it. It’s in protest at what happened at Native American schools, where children were brainwashed, beaten and worse. Mass graves have been found at school sites and people are angry. “But that’s not Queens Victoria and Lizzie’ fault,” argue Express readers and The Peeppul. Don’t they realise that pulling those statues down is symbolic, a bit like burning effigies and flags on giant bonfires. The only difference is that removing the statues actually means something.

Have you seen the latest shite about asking babies and toddlers if you can change their nappies? And you’ve to ask your toddler if he wants his nappy changed instead of just telling him and doing it. The chances are that wee Johnny will say, “No” because he’s too busy playing. How long do you let that go on? Wee Johnny could be walking about for days with the shite clinging to his arse. You’d be easily able to spot him in the local swing park. He’s the one that the other children won’t play with and his only companions are the flies buzzing around his arse. You can also easily spot the parents. They’re the ones that everybody else’s parents are shouting and swearing at because wee Johnny used the chute and shite from his overfull nappy is smeared all down it. Meanwhile, the pish in his nappy is burning wee Johnny’s wee genitals. He still doesn’t want his nappy changed, though. Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?

I see George Galloway’s gone full Donald Trump. He’s refusing to believe that he was beaten fairly in the recent by-election and is ranting about being cheated, demanding recounts and threatening legal action. What next? Is he going to get gangs of Brexiteers to storm Westminster? The guy’s completely lost the fucking plot.

George Galloway, yesterday.

As usual, when I’m not sleeping, I’ve been watching telly. The other night, on Sky Arts, they were showing a Sex Pistols concert from sometime in the past few years. I thought I’d give it a go, but was to be sadly disappointed. Before the band came on, they played There’ll Always Be An England over the PA. The audience, mostly composed of fat, old, skinhead Brexity types sang along lustily. When the band came on, Johnny Rotten thanked them all for joining in. I know Lydon has always been a bit of a tosser, but he overdid himself this time. I turned over there and then.

“I am a Brexiteer. I am a Trump-eteer…I wanna beeeee-ah an MBE!”

After seeing all the trailers for Anne Robinson presenting Countdown, I’ve refused to watch the programme. She gives me the fucking creeps. She’s had so many facelifts that she must have a big knot tied in the back of her head and her fanny must be above her navel by now. It’s a good job she’s hardly got any tits or they’d be sticking out of her cheeks like a bad case of mumps. Her face hardly moves when she talks, and that fucking wink…! She reminds me of that creepy ventriloquist dummy in Dead of Night. She shouldn’t be on daytime TV, frightening the weans!

Anne Robinson, yesterday.

With marching season well under way, I was reminded of this thing that I saw on Twitter. It’s not a spoof; it’s actually real and even the Belfast Telegraph had an article about it. You get a free mini wooden pallet to rest your candle on. You probably get a pencil rubber as well, which you can burn to recreate the smell of burning tyres. Christ, I think I’d rather have one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s fanny candles burning in the house!

Finally, all our thoughts and prayers, rather belatedly, are with the family of Bertie Auld, who has been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. It’s strange how it always seems to happen to good people, which makes me think that it is, in fact, a blessing. It’s not too nice for the family, but the sufferer is spared the fear of death that afflicts the rest of us. Der Fuhrer’s mother was a saint and she ended up not knowing what was going on, including when she died. Der Fuhrer’s father, on the other hand, was a selfish, old bastard and he lived in utter terror of dying when he started to go downhill. It’s hardly scientific, but it’s something to think about.

“Awright, troops? Wi’ aw the excitement aboot England bein’ in the final-y the Euros, thur’s sumhin’ thit evrybdy’s overlooked: how come Alfredo’s no’ been takin’ part? Ah mean, his national team, Columbus, should bae in this compatition. Wi’ world-class players like Alfredo in the team, how kin they no’ bae there? It’s pyoor discrimination, so it is. Aw Ah’ve heard aboot Columbus lately is sumhin’ tae dae wi’ a hing called Copa. What the fuck is that? It sounds like a fuckin’ Barry Manilow concert ur sumhin’. Anywye, aw the best tae England in the final. An’ Ah don’t know what aw the moanin’ cunts ur gauin’ oan aboot. So the Denmark goalie goat a laser shined in ays eyes. It must’ve been shined frae far away, so it could hardly dae any hairm, could it? Ah mean, Ah’ve goat a big, powerful torch an’ even it widnae dazzle emdy that far away. It’s jist fuckin’ Feenyins makin’ trouble again!”

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