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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.
Hey-ho peeps! How you today? I was bit sad after lose tennis match against Scot-Brit Andy Murray during Olympics, but now I stop cry and feel better. I decide maybe tennis too much for me and change job to review things. Reviews is nice job, plus I get to try stuff for free! Everyone knows that frees are fun! I start off review something that is easy, which is cheese. Cheese is one of my favourite things, especially to eat. It has other uses as well, like playing peeka-bo with the holes or having fun with cheese grater in-between tennis match. I manage to get plenty of cheese-grating practice done during my time at Wimbledon, is why people say I such grate champion. I often sprinkle grated cheese on bathroom floor so I not slip when step out of shower.
Okay, so I have favourite knife ready to cut cheese. I take cheese out of wrapping and… what this? Why there no holes in cheese? Is this work of devil? Tennis racket have holes, cheese grater have holes, so why cheddar no have holes? Let me see what box say… it say is made in Scotland! Bastard Scot-Brit, he come and steal from me again! Why he take my cheesy holes, is no fair. I wonder why box feel bit heavy, it because there too much cheese. Too much cheese at once be dangerous; I remember my granddad say he had lots of nightmares when he has too much before bedtime. I hope I no have bad dream about ugly goblin who mess my hair up, like I did when I was child.
Right, I cut cheese now. Goshness, no-hole cheese is tough! I use two hands, but still I struggle to get a good slice off. I hope it not break my cheese grater, I am down to my last one and shops no open now. Usually I eat cheese in sandwich but I worried about this heavy cheese making me burst. I know, I will cook toast for too long and then scrape off the burnt bits to balance things out. Okay, wish me luck for tasting; I best close my eyes in case it try to jump up and blind me. Hmmm, actually this heavy cheese is quite tasty. Maybe not all Scot-Brits are bad after all.
No, wait. If there no holes in cheese, what I use to keep fingers warm when I go in bed? Why do Scot-Brits want make me cry all time?