Oh Idiots!

Everton may well add on to this video when we play Chelski this weekend. We are a joke!

Click here for the original link.

Ramblings

Everton were humiliated 4:1 at home to mighty West Brom. Next week we are away to Chelski and it is a pity that the local bookmakers are not opening odds on the Toffees playing in the Championship next season. It is not exactly a bad idea if you think about it. At least we will get to lift some silverware for a change. Maybe.

Chicken told me he is having the flu. I urge him to drink more water and ogle at superior specs more often. Studies have shown that men who stare at big boobs live longer in general. Who are we to argue with science?

It seems that more women are taking up dancing these days. Given my lack of scoring opportunities, I think I should start learning. What worries me, however, is that with my two left feet, I will end up doing Peter Crouch’s horrendous ‘robo dance’ goal celebration routine. I don’t think I’m being able to score even in a brothel after the dance instructors refer me to the comedy troupe down the road.

Children should receive the right kind of education. Chicken and I agreed that we should impart to his son the importance of hitting on the right kind of specs. It would be a tragedy if he comes back with a sgspec who wants to be a man. Worse, he might follow Uncle Police Car’s footsteps and be an unwitting carrot to some thspec or vcspec. As guardians we have a sacred duty to our next generation. We shall have slop at GL more often.

Barcelona annihilated Real Madrid 5:0 at the Nou Camp and in the process, inflicted Mourinho’s worst defeat in his managerial career. This is a great result for decency and football. Real are where they are now only because they are allowed to run up huge debts that would have put any other club into administration. Such is the ineffectiveness of their youth academy that without their highly paid foreign mercenaries they would just be on par with neighbours Atletico Madrid.

Contrast these vulgarians to the their conquerors on Monday night. While it is undeniable that Barcelona boasts less than exemplary financial management, their playing style, steeped in history, driven by a passion for aesthetics, powered by the brilliant products of their wondrous youth setup, and ably supported by their talented foreign contingent, is breathtaking to behold. A well and deserved victory for Barcelona!

And Messi is still better than Ronaldo.

My head has been pounding the entire day. I have to learn to take things easy. People are asking me funny questions and half the time I ignore them. This gulag is getting from bad to worse. Sooner or later some champion will step off a ledge. One old staff told me that she saw a pair of legs without nothing above in the storeroom. I do not believe in ghosts but I do think that the longer you stay in this gulag the likelier it is to start seeing ghosts

Need for Strength

My shin is a bit sore after the ball game I had. This is not normal. I don’t remember getting kicked or involved in a clash tackle so why is my shin slightly bruised? Are the years finally catching up with me? On second thoughts, perhaps it would be more accurate to assert that my three stressful years in UniShit have finally caught up with me, for during this time I have never enjoyed the best of health and fitness.

Now that my torture is over – or at least until I receive confirmation of my relegation! – I have a month to do whatever I want. I fully intend to bulk up my emaciated frame, for although I retain a measure of physical superiority over many people a decade younger, my competitive edge is becoming blunt from disuse and the ravages of age. My loss of speed is irreversible I fear, and for this deterioration I have no remedy save to compensate it with faster thinking and the anticipation that comes from experience and intuition.

20 pounds of solid muscles will more than compensate for my weaknesses. With greater strength I hit harder. With enhanced endurance I can afford harder hits in situations where speed and anticipation fail. These superior attributes can only be gained through a brutal eating and weight regime, the former to defeat my furnace of a metabolic system, and the latter to accommodate my physical system to the exertion of greater power.

Such Lovely Friends....

I have had some bad advice over the years. Before I enlisted in the army, one sod (whoreson A) told me to put total effort in my training and not to be a goldbrick. Another (whoreson B) got me to sign on the military, saying that it had all kinds of benefits. An ex-gulag mate (whoreson C) encouraged me to enroll in UniShit, believing we would be receiving a good education.

It would have been better for me if I never had such friends in the first place. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions but in my case, these intentions were guided more by ignorance rather than morals. I was posted to an infantry unit and spent the next two years or so suffering like a dog while the rest of my friends had an easier time at better units and earned better slave wages. Whoreson A, due to his ‘delicate’ constitution, ended up in a 8-to-5 military unit, a bloody holiday camp.

I suffered some bad shit when I was a military regular and all I have to show for my five years are regrets and five bloody wasted years. Whoreson B, who was with the fighter squadron, rejected his chance of an overseas attachment in the States and had since left the military. It felt like a kick in the teeth for me, since I always wanted to work in the States.

I suffered three years in the aforementioned paper mill for a piece of paper that has lousy branding. The textbook and assignments were riddled with mistakes and poor English; I had to do group assignments with idiots and scum; overworked, I lost much of my health and fitness; and to cap my misery off I had to flunk my last paper (and possibly a couple others) in my very last season. Whoreson C dropped out during his second season in order to tend to his business.

With these kind of friends, who needs enemies?

Relegation

My reward for slogging through the entire year is relegation. I stared at the paper and the goddamn paper stared at me back and in the end we did not know each other. I answered the first question, scribbled whatever my desperate mind could conjure for the second, wrote a few lines for the third, and copied some paragraphs I found in my course notes for the last. The seat next to my left was empty, and the one to my right was occupied by a bloke who was just as sorry as I was, only that unlike me, he could not really give a rat's ass about the piece of shit in front of him. I flipped through my notes in a kind of feverish delirium only those who have lost all hope could understand. I looked left and right at my fellow course mates, sneaked furtive glances at the clock in the examination hall (more like a torture chamber) every now and then. In the end, I could only bitterly rant and struggle to keep myself from taking out my pain on some unfortunate sod.

To come so far only to suffer a collapse at the final hurdle. Such was the wretchedness of my performance that even The Curve cannot save me this time. It was insane, this accused paper. Two hours to analyze a case study, no time to think and less time to write and articulate your jumbled thoughts on paper. While my peers will celebrate the festive season knowing that they have graduated and that their torture at this detestable paper mill is at an end, I would be cursing and sweating and contemplating what to write in my appeal letter, should I decide to spend over $50 on what would probably amount to a meaningless gesture.

It had been a fatal mistake, working with my friends on preparing my case notes for my capstone module. Too much time was wasted on asserting our opinions and arguing who was right. In terms of understanding the concepts, we were a pathetic bunch. The definitions in the textbook was in plain English and clear enough but even with my repeated explanations, it took a Hell of a time getting my friends to even understand them. We were so concerned about getting our English right in our preparation notes that we spent more time proofreading than analyzing the case. I kept insisting to one fellow that this was a Business examination. We did not have to write in perfect Shakespearean English. As long as they could understand what we were trying to express, it was good enough for them and what was good enough for them would certainly be good enough for us! Sadly, we had to make concessions to two guys whose English is not as good, and to be honest, even our designated typist's command of English is inferior to mine. After writing our script, we further spent another two days to proofread and compile, to make everything perfect, to make our stupid report deserving of our final examination and fit for posterity, something to show our fucking grand children. I still do not see what is so glorifying about the shit we wrote. Seriously, if it were up to me alone, I would never have given a flying fuck about the English in my report. I would have written most of it in point form and if necessary I would just convert them into complete sentences during the examination. Big fucking deal. I could have finished the fucking analysis an entire week before my other two papers, giving me considerably more time and energy to prepare for them. Maybe I might have survived this season instead of writing this and bemoaning my fate. As it stands, I cannot even be sure that I won't end up flunking all three and going through the same shit next season.

For the umpteen time I find myself wondering why I did not take up Arts instead. The course work is light, and the best thing is, since the assignments are done individually, I do not have to waste my precious time and energy poring over other people's patchwork English to try to make sense of their balderdash sufficiently for me to turn it into something coherent. It is not my fault that some people have poor linguistic abilities. I suck at numbers but never have I made anyone suffer for my weakness so why should I be made to suffer for the inadequacies of others? Why can't they pay instead?! I have had enough of this bullshit. Since my supplementary paper is six months away, in the meantime I can only use my lousy and useless diploma to seek employment and getting shite pay and this is provided that by some miracle I do manage to land a job!

This is it. I better stop ranting. I might just burst an artery and bleed to death. Not a bad thing in itself perhaps, but I do not deserve to die in this shithole. I am simply too good for it. I deserve better!