Before I start, don't you think Martin should audition for a part in Invasion of The Body Snatchers?Can't complain, eh? A couple of weeks where we have undoubtedly gained more than we deserved. Jam comes to those who make it, I say. I was somewhat distracted during the Sunderland game last week, but did manage to catch the little trickler from Darius. Today was even better. A David James screamer and one in off the hamstring of big Sol, then the Herman Munster sending off and a little bit of class for Mruwuwari's clincher. Two points behind the Pompey now, and all to play for.
The best bit, of course, was the sight of that old Rag lag losing his rag. I remember the mythology around him and Gordon McQueen when I was a kid, and it was pleasing indeed to see him spitting out his dummy over the young lad Sam Williamson's challenge.
Get tae fuck!
3 comments:
Whoo-hoo RAYNERS! We are the champignons! AWAY you GO!
But look, why would Mr Martin audition for Invasion of the Body Snatchers? This stops making sense more than someone who has gotten older!
You see, if Mr Martin were genuinely to audition for said movie he would surely find himself on an empty lot at Allied Artists Studios, for the auditions finished over 50 years ago! For fairness, and general socialist principles, I know he could be auditioning for the Andy Kaufmann re-make in 1979 but that still requires some kind of CONTRAPTION OF CHRONOS or suitable quantum of solace miracle.
Here, here, we cannae change the laws of physics! Nor can we do much with the truth of toungage which insists that gorgeous Meg's version is: Body Snatchers, and Nicholas Kidman's vergine is INVADED.
Honestly Indian! One would think that you WANT Mr Martin on a wild wild west chase.
You're a sweet kid, Kim, and I'm sure you woulda had a big future in pictures. With a face like yours? Are you kidding? I just can't get over the fact that you just assume there isn't a new version of BODY SNATCHERS in the pipeline as we speak.
Listen, this is gonna be the best one ever. In an empty parking lot in Crumpsall, several of Mancaster Rovers' finest ball players have just finished a ball game or something and are heading for their Lamborghinis so that they can hit the Cheshire plain and start partying down with their WAGS and Xboxes, when a strange light appears above their heads and they become possessed by the alien spirits of the owners of their firece rivals, Tranmere United, George Gillette, Paul-Michal Glazer and Wilkinson Sword. They open their mouths real wide and point at people before leaving their empty husks lying on the floor. It's a chiller thriller all the way in. A box office smash? You bet!
LIGHTS, CHIMERAS, ACTON!
Thanking you, Mr Of One Thousand, for your delicious titty-bit about the upcoming new vagina of Invasions of the body Stretcher.
Never in my dreams did I imagine that Mancaster City would be involved with such a kinematic treat. This will surely be one better than "The Arsenal Stadium Mastery" that I enjoyed so many in my youth. In fact it maybe, hands up, beat the CD of "The Highbury Wanking" that is on heavy rotation on celestial radio.
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