Man U rant

All you Mancs bastards will be excited about Sky's proposed new channel. It's a general sports channel but will make references to Manchester United as much as possible, even when the story is not really related. Plus, in their live football coverage, Gary Neville (son of Neville Neville) will now be a pundit AND commentator on EVERY game just so they can ask him for a Man U anecdote and talk a bit more about Man U even during Norwich vs Wigan. This new channel is to be called Sky Sports News and will be broadcast on channel 405...oh...hang on...

I've got man flu. Man flu is a term invented by women because they think that men can't handle illness and always exaggerate just how bad it is. Well, both girls had a bug this week which they shook off quite well but then I started with similar symptoms, aching legs, sickness, man flu, and really aching fucking legs. This only meant one thing. Polio. Had to be. Just had to be. Therefore the above Man U rant can be excused as I have polio and, ergo, I'm not happy.

Back to Man U. The media big them up big time. It's their personal propaganda machine. They really do bring Man U into any story they can. Cunts. Man U are bigger cunts. Yesterday across the bottom of the screen came "Athletico Bilbao lose 2-1 ahead of their game with Man U". Big news! But at least a chance to bring Man U into it.
Let's look in the paper, I'll find something... I will....

...right, found one. It's easy. Swansea 1 Man City 0 write up in the Sun. What's the headline? Surely something about a great win for Swansea? Or the really very good football they've played since they've come up? What about the way they still try to play football even against the big sides? Or the excellent job that Rodgers is doing there? No. None of that. It reads:

"Luke who's a hero for United"

with reference to Luke Moore who scored the winner.

To illustrate Man U propaganda I give you this. Beckham was voted runner up in the World Player of the Year in 99. All the Mancs sucked each other off and shouted about King Becks being the second best player on the planet. I asked a few of them, "so who's the best player at Man U?"
"Erm...probably Giggs....or Scholes".
"Who after that?"
"Schmeichel. Then Stam then probably Beckham".

So Beckham is around the fifth or sixth best at Man U but he's the second best in the world?

Upside down Ollie is laughing right now cos he knows what I'm like with Man U. I think I can rest my case.

Rant over. Back to being poorly.

"But have you anything to tell us about birds or birding? Anything at all" shouts the frustrated audience reading a supposed birding blog.

No. Not a thing.






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Darkies. There I said it.

I talk a lot of predictive text on here but today threw up a strange one. I was texting Nicola something and used the word 'earlier'. So I spelt 'earlier' and it was going well until the last letter and it gave the word 'darkies' as the first option! Now picture Kyle's mom off South Park saying 'What what WHAT?'. So really, how in god's name has the word darkies darkened the halls of Nokia HQ? It's a strange thought but when Ian Nokia was designing the new smart Nokia N8 (I'm flash as fuck, me) and thinking of functions and that, when he got to the predictive text section he must've asked himself 'Now what words should we put in, we can't put them all in?' and he's added darkies and earliest. Darkies? What the fuck is he doing putting darkies in? Ha ha ha ha is he one of those racialists? You see, he didn't even add the word 'racialist' mainly due to the fact that it's not a real word (I'm posting from my phone again which is why you've not had any childish pictures at the end of every post just lately). So, darkies! I couldn't quite believe it. Darkies! Darkies? I'm gratuitously writing the word darkies just because it's the first time I've ever been allowed to use the word darkies without fear of being labelled a racialist.
Anyway, it amused my tiny mind for most of the day.

I've just watched a cat 'stuck' up a tree. It was quite high and was clearly looking for a way down. There was no way down. I envisaged a short trip to the van, which is parked outside a corner shop owned by those earlier people, to get my ladders to rescue said cat. Cats get stuck up trees right? The fire brigade rescue them right? So how come this one just shimmied down the trunk using it's...erm...cat-like...claws? Easy. It just got down. It moved a bit like Catwoman and what would you do to her eh? Fuck me. There's a cheap pussy joke in there somewhere but I'm not going there.

Catwoman, fit as she is, is not the fittest fictional character/super hero out there. No way man. What about Wonder Woman? Now you're fucking talking. And what about Jessica Rabbit off Who Framed Roger Rabbit? What would what you do with her/it?

You fucking know you would you sick cunts.






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Birdforum

You can't say a lot on Birdforum without being:

a) shot down in flames
b) misconstrued
c) called a hoaxer in public
d) pulled about some dodjy spelling
e) pulled about some dodgy grammar'
f) called a sicko just for posting some 'artistic' pictures of naked ten year old boys.

I've been on the Yorkshire thread just lately and can actually understand how things do get twisted. The written word can sound harsh and can certainly be misconstrued. Oh I love cooking apples.
'What? You love the fruit the Cooking Apple? You're weird and a hoaxer'
No I just love the act of cooking some apples. You see? How many times has a text sounded a bit shirty yet the sender meant it all in good spirits? Never? Oh well fuck you all then.

Then I started having dreams. I had a dream like Danny Dyer's in Football Factory. I dreamt I'd just been in a massive off with Millwall (pronounced Miwow in the facking sarf) and got my head stoved in under an underpass. As I laid there half unconcious, a hoody type walked up and asked me if I was alright.
'Been better. How about you?'
'Me? Oh I'm dead mister' he said without showing me his face. I woke up screaming every time.
This same dream continued every night until one night the hoody type revealed his face. It was Bill Oddie. I woke up screaming again. This continued for some time until one night Bill Oddie spoke to me. He whispered 'Never try to be funny on Birdforum'.
Aaaaaarrrrrghhhh! What the fuck does that mean? I woke up screaming again and smashed my monitor with the nearest thing to hand, a copy of Razzle and half a pint of diluted orange in a pint glass from two days ago. This was it. What did Bill Oddie mean? Why didn't I use some other lame celebrity like Keith Chegwin to try and get just one single cheap laugh?
Do I go to Miwow? Should I dig the Forest Hills out and start towken facking cockney innit? I did neither. I care not about Miwow, it's Leeds at home in a couple of weeks. That's the one. Keep it tight City. Kev once told me; 'don't have any more than 4 pints, have a tiny dab of Billy, then wait til you see the whites of their eyes and fire at will'.
Sorted.
Bill Oddie walked upto me in the dark underpass. Blood trickled from my lip. And nose. He removed his hood to reveal his face and said in a 10 year old girls voice 'you alright mister? Never try to be funny on Birdforum'. Alright, alright I get it. From that very night I never tried to be funny on Birdforum again and the Bill Oddie dreams stopped. Well, not quite. I'm still in the underpass and a hoody still walks upto me but now it's Jo Guest before she got fat, she strips and I eat blueberries from her naked hand.
'you alright mister?' she says.
'Facking right I am' I say and look down at my Trimm Trabbs.






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Language of the mad.

Drink up, shoot in, let the beatings begin, distributor of pain, your loss becomes my gain.

Arrived at Woodhall services a little late due to time passing as normal instead of passing around 33% slower than normal. I did not take this anomoly into account and on arrival the Secret Twitcher, who had already slaughtered a fox with his car by this time, had left me, thinking I was still sleeping in my slumber. We rearranged the meet for the next services on the Motorway1. This is important to the day's story so hold this thought.

We arrived at Pagham Harbour and got pretty cold and had very very great tickable flight views of the Paddyfield Warbler from a distance of 4 miles through the optical aid that is 8 x 42 binoculars. Hmmm, Dog's bollocks! And I do NOT use that phrase as a superlative. Mr Secret killed a bog standard, basic Rat with his car to which he was neither happy nor sad.

Onto Calshot in Hampshire. I picked out the Spanish Sparrow and got the few people present onto it... for a whopping 3 seconds. A lot of searching ensued yet we saw nothing more of the bird. Big Elephant's Cocks.

Into the New Forest. The Secret Twitcher had murdered an innocent Badger with his car much to his delight and shortly we found the site of the Slate Coloured Junco. It wasn't there and hadn't been seen. Hairy Pigs' hairy Slots!

'What a Big Horses Fat Vertical Bacon Sandwich' I said to Mr Secret as he dropped me off at the wrong side of Motorway1. He'd killed a small pony with his car and was licking the blood from his radiator grill.

I clambered my way over Motorway1 and found my facking mowta. Going the wrong way down Motorway1 I had to turn round. I turned round but the extra mileage used getting to the further services then onto the junction to turn round had used up most of my stored diesel. Big Donkey flanges!

Never mind, I've get enough to get me to the next services. Only just. A sign then adorned Motorway1: No Diesel at next services. Bull's Bells! Oh shit. No really. Shit. Off at the next junction. Found a garage immediately! Deep joy! No diesel, Sheep flaps. A distant Otter cried out in pain as Secret's car stoved it's fucking head in. Onwards. Really need a garage and where the fuck am I? Finds a garage in the nick of time. Dieselled up to fuck I set off. I'd travelled minus 5 miles in an hour and a half! Big *insert animal* hairy *insert genetalia euphemism*!

I missed my girls today which is an unusually soft and tender moment here on Q@Spurn and is a much needed respite from the stupid animal genetalia euphemisms that have afflicted this post thus far.






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Just a Valentine's message to my beloved...

When you get in from work you best suck this you bastard. There.

Ham per sure tomorrow. Target species include Knot, Nuthatch and Slate Coloured Junco. I once questioned why its name had been changed on Birdforum and suggested that, perhaps, it's not officially PC to use the word 'coloured'. I was called a racist and told that they were sorry the BNP didn't get the vote over there in England! And that was from someone in the deep south! Sorry I spoke. Tomorrow's totally PC target species:
Darky Eyed Junco.
Spic Spaz.
Slanty Eyed Chinko Rice Picking Warbler.

Honestly, I got a right slating for it. Fucking great, Birdforum.






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t

Our feathered friends are having it tough and no mistake about it (what does that mean?). Today I was driving along First Lane which is not far from Benedict when I noticed a Heron spp perched atop a relatively small Alder type tree in some crazy Boothferry estate back garden. It must've been looking for Corned beef. Take note that First Lane is a pretty mother fucking busy road and the Heron spp was only metres away from my car as I screeched to a halt to find that it was just the expected Grey Heron. Why do I tell you such shite? I don't know...
All I know is that it must've been pretty desperate for food to land and hunt from a branch/tree like that.

Hants on Monday for all sorts of action. Jesus holy Mary mother of god.




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My new friend.

I made a friend today. I'd never met him before and was only introduced by our 7 mutual friends. We got on well from the off, he showed me some pictures of him and his family so I showed him some of mine. He said he likes this. I told him what I was having for tea, fish tonight which he liked. He said he was having Chilli with rice which I said I liked. We got on so well even though I'd never heard of him before today that he invited me to look round his farm. I liked this. So I went and he had a really good set up with rows of crops and fields of barley and 80 cows. He watered his crops. Later we played poker with some of our mutual friends and ended up laughing my fucking arse off! It was great fun and everyone laughed out loud after EVERYTHING that ANYBODY ever said. We even ended up rolling around the floor laughing. I got some more requests from his friends to be my friend which I confirmed even though I'd never even heard of them before. They said hi and laughed out loud when I said anything. 6 other friends liked this for some reason. I said What the Fuck when my new friend tagged me but he just laughed out loud. My new 6 friends were all farmers too coincidentally and they asked me to look round their farms. This I disliked. And when 37 of my new friends' friends requested that they wanted to be my friend and asked me to look at their fucking stupid farms I decided that enough is enough and just ignored them. That'll show them, laugh out loud. Now they won't ever know exactly what I'm having for tea on any given day.





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