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- RT @TheTopoftheD: As the Women’s World Cup starts this week, I’ve written this for @TheHockeyPaper. I suspect it might not be as popular… 1 month ago
Regular updates of sarcastic and irreverent nonsense.
Hey there, fans! T-Blairs here. It’s probably been a while since you last heard about me, so now is the perfect time, for a spot of the old catch uperoony. My life is far more exciting than yours, so it’s better if I do all the talking. The fact that I have a tan, and you’re still wearing the slippers you got for Xmas, proves that.
As you know, Dubya Bush is a good pal of mine, and I recently discovered that the sun, quite literally, shines out of his arse. He’s like Superman, Batman, and a tanning salon, all in one! It’s a bloody good job that he did mange to skive out of going to Vietnam, heaven only knows how I’d cope if he’d got himself killed, before I ever even met him!
The whole thing came to a head last year, when we were visiting the bigwigs, up on Wall Street. That place is power-walking central, and public benches were abolished way back in 1983. No doubt the pesky things were stopping the wealth from trickling down.
After a while, Dubya needed a rest, so I sat down on the floor, and told him to sit on my shoulder. It wasn’t long before I felt my face getting warm, and when I turned to look, there it was! The sun, gleaming right at me! Not wanting to spoil the moment, I just sat there, beaming my big, happy smile that everyone loves so much. Anyway, after a few minutes, Dubya must have had a funny tummy, because I heard him do a little bottom-burp. As it turns out, his farts smell of strawberries, so I was more than happy to just sit there and let Dubya relax. I just closed my eyes, basked in the warm sun, and relished the fruity aroma. In fact, it wasn’t too dissimilar to being in the hospitality suite, for the tennis at Wimbledon. All that was missing, was some whipped cream, and a large crowd, impotently cheering as Tim Henman is once again thrashed by Andre Agassi.
These past few days, I’ve been watching the Paralympics, and I have to say, some of the stories behind the British athletes have been awe-inspiring. Whether it’s the RAF pilot who got hit by some rocket shrapnel, or the army captain who went too close to a road-side bomb, it makes me feel proud to know that I’m at least partially responsible for their achievements. Every, single, ex-military Paralympian who had their arms, legs, or intestines blown to smithereens by Al-Qaeda, has me to thank, for their gold medal. It’s also a nice ‘up yours’, to all those silly liberals who protested in London, opposing my decision to start wars in far-flung places, that no-one cares about.
I think it’s safe to say, that I had the last laugh there.