Wednesday, 21 December 2011


Karl Henry in makeup for his cinematic debut

12 February, 2012
Most unusual #scenes in the aftermath of the Black Country derby as WBA’s Graham Dorrans, receiving man-of-the-match champagne from Tony Gubba at the end of a post-match interview, has his fibula shattered by Wolves’ skipper Karl Henry’s latest late tackle yet. Henry will start a 12-game ban, which conspiracy theorists point out conveniently allows him to take up the role of Leroy Thornhill in the new Prodigy biopic, Buzzin’ Me Fuckin’ Tits Off. Matter-of-fact honestymonger Mick McCarthy said: “Look, if you want me to stand up here and condone the tackle, I can’t. But if you want me to tell my players not to try and compete for the shirt, I can’t do that either. I’m sorry: it’s a derby game and I guess Carl thought the ball was still there to be won.” After running the footage through Sky Sports’ new, 67% accurate, neuro-mapping MIND-read™ camera, it turns out that Henry had had the initial thought to win the ball somewhere near the end of the 87th minute, when Dorrans had harmless back-to-goal midfield possession. There was simply a very long delay for his perceptual and cognitive apparatuses to communicate with his motor system. “Happen it’ll be all the MDMA powder he boshed for the Prodigy audition,” lamented McCarthy. 

"Get your replica kit off for the girls, get your replica kit off for the girls..."

4 June, 2012
Mike Ashley’s docket of PR gaffes reach a new low when, attending the Newcastle United Supporter’s Club’s Annual Dinner in a mankini emblazoned with the Sunderland crest, several weeks of shoving a smooth-headed Alan Shearer dildo up his asshole catch up with him spectacularly as, halfway through keynote speaker Freddie Shepherd’s ill-judged address ‘Tyneside, Pride, and Have Yous Ever Seen a Canny Fanny so Wide?’, his sphincter gives way and he is forced to blackmail Paul Gascoigne (whose therapy he was paying for) into taking off the Newcastle shirt in which he debuted in 1985 (and is proudly wearing at this fans’ function) so that he can use it to wipe his gaping, shit-covered arsehole. He promptly falls asleep in a drunken, sweaty mound, mumbling something about Sir Bobby Robson being a cunt. The leader in the Chronicle states simply: “Wor Ashley’s mebbes, like, went in a bit strong ’n’ that, y’naaah.”

Stepover King, CR7
17 November, 2012
El Mundo Deportivo reports that new Michael Jackson, the improbable bairn-wielding Cristiano Ronaldo, has gone missing and is “at present believed to be crossing La Mancha en route to the Andalucian semi-desert”. The €80m Madeira fruitcake was “last seen on Saturday driving into the final third at the Bernabéu” and starting a series of elaborate step-overs, at which point there was some sort of neurological short-circuit in his oversized head and he step-overed his way straight down the tunnel, out of the stadium and off down the Paseo de la Castellana, feet moving in a blur like a demented roadrunner, spasming and frothing at the mouth. There are unconfirmed sightings near Ciudad Real some 36 hours later (although satellite images also pick up dust clouds close to the spot where a confused and hallucinating Rafael Benítez now stands, gesticulating at tumbleweed in an effort to have them “stay compact), claiming that the gay icon’s synthetic, oleaginous face was twitching like Harry Redknapp on an 11-day crystal meth bender.

super maRIO: proper mental

18 December, 2012
MUTV presenter Steve Pravda wins Sports Broadcaster of the Year for reporting on the secret Panini-trading rendezvous of Mario Balotelli and Rio Ferdinand. Here’s a transcript:

FERDINAND: “Got, got, got, got, need, got, need, need, got, got, got, erm…got (I fink), got, need, NEED!, got, got, need, got, need, need, need, got, got.”
BALOTELLI: “OK, I swap you N’Zonzi, N’Zogbia, Drogba, Zubar, Pienaar, Ba, Sá, Saha, Diao, Gyan, Dann… Dann… Dann… Dann… Dann… Dann… Dunn, Petrov, Petrov, Petrovic, Vidic, O’Hara, Berra, Grella, Sagna, Silva, Mata, Lita, and Agger for Duff, Cleverley, Given, Young, Krul, Bent, Tonge, Song, Bassong, Frimpong, Mulumbu, Etuhu, Lukaku, Yakubu, Shittu, Situ, Pugh, Perch, Sammon, Gosling, Fox, Ruddy, Puncheon, Brunt, Hoolahan, and Obertan.”
FERDINAND: Cool. How many of my Danns do you want, M-Dog?
BALOTELLI: Just one. It is joke, Rio. You not see I’m Alan Partridge? Don’t you know shit, Rio?

October 2013
In an uncanny convergence of three of the decade’s most popular and deeply embedded cultural trends – banal and narcissistic self-promotion via social media; ill-conceived supra-neckline flesh-ink; neo-simpletonism among footblurghs – non-league side Romford Rovers’ crack striker JColin Craven has the Facebook ‘Like’ symbol tattooed across the entirety of his face, yeah? The FA, however, neither like nor ‘Like’ it; in fact, they rule that it contravenes several extant commercial agreements, not to mention piquing a general autocratic whimsy as to who’s-the-fucking-boss-around-here, and duly pronounce that he must now play in a burkha. When a link to a sympathetic news report in Proud Moron Times magazine was posted to Facebook, JColin tried to issue a statement, but stringing several words together in a meaningful and syntactically cogent form ultimately proved beyond him, so he simply, like, ‘Liked’ it, like, yeah? F’real.

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