You don’t want to mess with new Spurs supremo ‘Arry Redknapp. You can SEE his brain working.
Is your cat a little too comfortable helping himself in the kitchen? You need Blender Defender. I’m thinking about getting one in the office for anyone trying to nick me pens.
Goes like a strangled fart.
I think when you walk home tonight, there’ll be a rather embarrassed silence.
The hilarity continues – this time it’s David Beckham getting the Guardian Gallery treatment (number eight).
I’ve entered two competitions this week. There’s the Guardian’s Gallery ‘Photoshop Juande Ramos’ comp. I’m number 22 on the site – I feel so dirty.
They actually had my ‘effort’ on the site’s front page for a while. Sometimes it pays to stick with the bleeding obvious, team.
And here’s my entry in the Dropkicks’ photography comp:
One flicker of Colin Meads’ eyebrows would shut this crappy blog down for good. This is what happens when you take him on.
What does a Spurs fan do after he sees his team win? Turns off the Xbox. Hilarious. Just you wait, fuckers.
Yuppies think they’re so smart. But now the stock market poked and their cars are turning on them.
I could play Stairway To Heaven when I was 12. Jimmy Page didn’t actually write it until he was 22.
5. Dan hogs the strike, eh? He should give someone else a go.
4. Hey, who wants to play ping pong back at the Hotel? Is it still going? Oooh, sorry.
3. Can we get porn on that TV?
2. Geez, that pitch is fucked. Glad I’m out already.
1. Wonder what Bondy’s doing right now? Who’s got his number?
Never get EXTREME, team – someone could lose an eye.
Great sporting losers – All Blacks feature, as do the 1999 Safas. But Brazil 1982 – here they are taking Ray Woolf’s All Whites to bits in a leisurely fashion.
RIP Paul Newman – not only is he a decent pool player, but he had a Volvo station wagon with a frickin’ V8 in it, too.
If you take on the Killeroo you will get your face eaten off.
…so Yoda pulled up in his Ford and says “What the bloody hell are you doing in my wheelie bin?”…
What’s that mate? Cricket? Shiiiiiiiiiit. Cricket’s about as interesting as shopping, I reckon. Shopping that’s not at Bunnings.
How are we going, anyway? We lost to Bangladesh? Doesn’t surprise me. Bloody Black Caps. They’ve got more losers than the Graham farkin’ Henry fan club AGM.
We won the next one? Doesn’t surprise me. You can turn bad form around pretty farkin’ easily when you want to. Reminds me of Smelly Dave’s 21st. He was spewing when we called compulsory six wine skulls, one for each toe on his left foot. He did them alright, but had to go sit quietly in the laundry for a while. Fair enough, it was 8.30am. Still did a 3.19 for the yard, pretty fair effort, that.
Last one’s tonight? We’ll lose. There’s no mongrel. They need mongrel. And Robbie Deans. Robbie’d have that pack of pretty boys performing before you could say “SORRY I BURNED THE TOAST, PREFECT MERTHENS, NOT THE STRAP, NOT THE STRAP!” Ah ha. Yeah.
I might watch the match, but fark, if something else comes up, like a case of Canterbury Draught in the driveway with the dog, forget it. We done? Good.
…so yeah, I don’t reckon the Wallabies’ white bra-stripe is that bad, actually…