Chaotic Thoughts

According to a local tabloid, surveys show that 40% of young people lost their virginity before the age of 18. This marks an astonishing 100% increase, from the 20% score found in a similar survey a decade ago. It is heartening to know that our young people, who are often criticized for being apathetic, have answered our regime’s call for greater efforts towards increasing productivity. Surely, the future of our nation is in safe hands.

In Toffeeweb news, President Gaddafi has been spotted in a fish and chips shop at Goodison Road. Everton chairman Bill Kenwright, affectionately known to his Evertonians as ‘Billy Bullshit’, ‘Kenwrong’, and ‘Kenshite’ is said to be in takeover talks with the soon-to-be ousted Libyan president.

President Gaddafi is keen to invest his ill-gotten gains from his 42 years of totalitarian rule of Libya. He also brings to the table his expertise in silencing dissidents - a skill much valued by the increasingly beleaguered club chairman.

A source close to Gaddafi says that this is ‘a match made in heaven’ and ‘a historic landmark in the relationship of two great countries’.

There is this bloke who keeps asking me on Facebook about the effects of stretching and adrenaline rush on physical performance and the prevention of injuries. I don’t get what this joker is trying to do. I have already explained to him what I know, and he still asks me more questions. He should also brush up on his reading comprehension skills; he asked me on what I have already answered. I am losing my patience with him. Maybe I should refer him to Doctor Soo, and not necessarily for the purpose of helping him improve his medical knowledge.

A Few Thoughts

On Friday an ex-gulag mate went on Facebook Chat and invited me to his wedding. This dreary ceremony will take place on the 15th of May and will feature other ex-gulag mates and friends and relatives of the happy couple. Why are people so eager to tie the knot? My friend is 27 this year and his wife-to-be is probably a bit younger. I feel a bit sorry for him but for his sake I shall take the trouble to attend his rites.

My left ankle was slightly twisted in a tackle yesterday. I really should thank my mates for leaving the defending to me and hanging me out to dry. Unlike the expatriates we have, Shitholer males do not play contact sports the right way. In my esteemed opinion, you have no right to be playing a contact sport when you fear being roughed up, and you have certainly no right to play team-sports when you cannot be arsed enough to support your teammates. The only sports most Shitholers can probably play to some level are in most ways 'elitist' or 'comfortable': golf, pool, and bowling. Pathetic.

A bloke, whose old man used to own the convenience store down my block, recently married a vcspec. Now he is a proud father. Word has it that his old man was desperate for him to carry the family line and seeing that his lowly-educated son might have difficulty getting a sgspec for his wife, decided to take matters into his own hands and arranged for a marriage (read: daughter-selling transaction) with some peasant family in Vietnam. I do not begrudge the bloke - the son, not the father - for getting a wife in this manner. He has his own needs and our local specs can be quite.... choosy. However, this sort of thing leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It is modern-day slavery. The spec has got little choice but to go to a strange country, allow her cunt to be invaded by a bloke whom she has no real feelings for, bear his child, just so that her family can have a bit of dough and existence for them is for a while at least, more tolerable.

Back to this vcspec, she speaks Mandarin, but not English. In this English-speaking shithole, I do not think she can get a decent-paying job - I use the word 'decent' loosely, as our meager wages have been stagnant for a decade, no thanks to our trade union, which is in reality a supermarket - and being lowly-educated (my assumption) certainly does not help her one bit. Their family relies on her husband's pittance of a salary and the savings of the old man, which contributes massively to their maintenance. Had it not been for his old man's sponsorship, the poor bloke might have had to take his pleasure with a lady of virtue every now and then.

Anyway, this spec stays at home all day long to look after her baby. She has no friends here. She does not go out to town. She is merely a child-bearing machine cum maid cum bed partner, compelled to satisfy the needs of her husband and his family at the expense of her own. I feel sorry for the poor girl. I wonder how she really feels. I can never understand why people who claim to have compassion can also claim belief that there is a kind and loving god, a power who rewards the just and punishes the wicked. Where is this deity? Is it dead? If it is not, what has it been doing? Is such an entity worthy of worship? The answer is simple. There is no god, and if there is, we ought to commit deicide.

FA Cup 4th Round

FA Cup 4th round result:

CHELSKI: 1 EVERTON: 1

(0:0 after full time; Everton 4:3 on penalties)

GO TO THE HELLS YOU OBNOXIOUS TWATS FROM LONDON!

Rants are Back!

Spurs beat AC Milan in the San Siro last night. It just gets better and better for the London club in their maiden season in the Champions League. Pienaar starred in this historical win and he certainly enjoyed it after suffering at uninspiring Everton. Although there is still much to play for in the return leg, Spurs fully deserved their victory. They have demonstrated yet again that when you go out and attack, there is always a chance to win. Please take note, Moyes. 'Arry' face may resemble melted wax, but his team is much more entertaining than your dour, cumbersome, and negative Anichebe-driven joke of a football team.

Moyes out. Holloway in.

Chicken and his wife were watching some local variety show when the lady commented, 'Why are your [country's] artistes so ugly? How come even these people can be artistes?' My friend immediately thought of me, smiled, and replied, 'If only The Philistine were here! He would have agreed wholeheartedly.' With that, they laughed and probably continued to gawk in wonder at the unsightly creatures on the telly.

Such an intelligent woman! Chicken is one lucky bastard.

Fuzz Car messaged me on Facebook Chat: 'SSOF. Why you never picked up my calls?' (For the uninitiated, SSOF stands for sek si or fan, meaning in Cantonese, 'eat shit shit rice'.)

I thought he was a bit rude and I went one better by ignoring the pathetic failure of a man and a disgrace of a xtian, this time on Facebook.

Another reason why I am going for foreign specs. Look at the teachers they have! Our teachers? The whole lot can go fly kite!

The Last Books of H.G.Wells

The Last Books of H.G. Wells contains H.G Wells’s last two works: ‘The happy turning: a dream of life’ and ‘Mind at the end of its tether’. Although they are only as long as pamphlets, their power to captivate is not diminished in the least. The mood in these two pieces, which is in stark contrast to the other, is simply fascinating.

‘The happy turning: a dream of life’ is cheerful and filled with optimism. Taking a secret path, the protagonist meets Jesus of Nazareth and begins a conversation with him In a matter-of-factly manner, the reputed Son of God narrates an comedy of errors in a ridiculous odyssey that culminated with his crucifixion and subsequent deification.

Delightfully blasphemous, the narration will outrage religious fundamentalists and leave atheists chuckling at its irreverent humour. The best part of the pamphlet, for me, is the ‘A hymn of hate against sycamore’, in which Wells curses at the hated sycamore in Biblical prose. Rarely have I read a rant so funny.

Nihilistic and depressing, ‘Mind at the end of its tether’ is shocking in its incoherence and fatalism. Written in the third person, the pamphlet is more a product of Wells’s denial of his impending demise than it is a serious work of literature. Convinced that mankind is going extinct and that ‘there is no way out or round or through’, Wells argues his view vehemently by bombarding his readers with meaningless rhetoric. He soon realizes his initial arguments make no sense, starts anew and expounds on evolutionary principles and warns of the dangers of ‘gigantism’. Despite his feverish efforts, he fails to convey fully the thrust of his arguments and as a result, the rest of the pamphlet descends into barely disguised desperation.

His natural optimism shines through the bleakness in the end, however. Wells makes a heroic and ultimately futile stand in the last sentence of this work: ‘…that small minority which will succeed in seeing life out to its inevitable end.’ Whether this line reflects his hope for a medical miracle or an acceptance of his terminal condition we will never know. ‘Mind at the end of its tether’ is surely the best eulogy ever penned by an author for himself.

To conclude, The Last Books of H.G. Wells is an emotional roller-coaster. One story elevates you to the Elysian Fields and the other plunges you into deepest Tartarus. Truly wonderful!

Rating: 4/5

Bamboo Goalposts

Join Rowan Simons as he recounts his two decades in China and his struggle to teach its masses to love The Beautiful Game. Inconceivable but true (and not without irony), the football revolution has swept to every corner of the globe – except the land of its inventors. Indignant as only an Englishman could be, Simons sets about his own football revolution in a country where it was illegal for more than ten people to congregate for even sports without official approval.

More than just being ‘another football book’, Bamboo Goalposts charts China’s sociocultural and economic evolution and the catastrophes which have prevented Chinese football from taking root and flourishing. Simon’s frustration is all too palpable as he fights what is often a lone battle against the incompetence of sports officials and the antipathy of the Chinese people towards the sport. Although Bamboo Goalposts is depressing in parts, Simons’s optimism and British wit pull the book from the chasm of despair and injects it with such verve that it becomes irresistibly compelling.

Unlike many foreign writers on China, Simons is not a mere dabbler; he immerses himself heart and soul in his adopted culture. His insight into the Chinese way of life will astonish both Chinese and laowai readers in the way his determination to bring football to China is inspiring to all.

Bamboo Goalposts is a must read for all football and China aficionados. Go get it today!

Rating: 5/5

A Few Sexy Commercials

Time for some sexy commercials!

Random Jabbering

Despite being offered an improved contract, Pienaar had decided to leave Everton for Spurs. While some fans are criticizing him for his apparent lack of loyalty, I cannot blame him. If your company (gulag if you will) is going nowhere and a rival company which is on the up offers you a job with better pay and perks, would you choose to stay? As far as I am concerned, Pienaar had been a consummate professional during the time he was with us and I wish him well.

If the blame game is to played, the finger should rightly be pointed to our despicable and incompetent chairman and his equally despicable and incompetent cronies on his management team. Why is it that despite ‘looking for investment 24/7’, Everton has not found a rich benefactor or investor to take us forward while ‘lesser’ clubs like Sunderland and Villa continue to outspend us? The only additions to our squad are loanees and it seems we have to sell before we can even borrow. This depressing situation does not bode well for the club. In a couple of seasons we may be vying for the title in the Championship. It is hard to love Everton, even harder to want to love it.

The Student and I met with the Praying Mantis Master’s wife two weeks ago. Over slop we discussed the viability of her husband setting up a martial arts school in this shithole. The lady told us that during the first year the master would come over and teach a group of dedicated students. They will practise on their own for a few months each time until he comes back.

I was not convinced about this model but she was confident of its chances. She said that they have been doing quite well in Australia and with the population size and growth rate in Shithole, they should have no problems getting students. Moreover, they will be offering classes to all age groups and people with different intents and interests. I suggested we draw up a business plan first before staking it out. In business, nothing is certain. A model which works in one country does not mean it will work in another. They are counting on their customers to be proactive and enthusiastic on their own and my experience setting up atheist groups have taught me that people are inherently lazy, selfish, and unmotivated. The teaching of different martial arts to many age groups, customer types, and so forth is essentially a mass-customization strategy. Without sufficient resources, it is simply impossible to be implemented. They also neglected to look at the costs and marketing.

Although the lady assure me that the first year is a ‘testing’ year so no expenses would be incurred, then what about the airfare of the master and the rental costs of training grounds? With regards to marketing, they did not seem to have any plan in place. While they may have won many trophies in Australia, how will they measure up to their competitors, which are made up of new age gyms and traditional martial arts schools? I don’t know if the Student feels the same way, but I dare say he will just plough on ahead. He is idealistic and not realistic. Unless they come up with a strong business plan, I am not going to invest too much of my time (assuming I do deign to do charity work here) into this venture.

Day by Day Armageddon Beyond Exile

The second book of the Day by Day Armageddon series continues the tale of a ragtag band of survivors of a post-zombie apocalypse.

Written in diary form, it describes with vivid details the struggles of the protagonist, a U.S. naval officer, and his band as they seek to survive in an increasingly bleak world swarming with new and dangerous threats. Radiated zombies and raiders blight the desolate landscape; the remnants of military vie for power, and the need for supplies grow ever more desperate. With every turn of the page, the reader is assaulted by the desolation of the ravaged landscape. The narration brilliantly conveys the hopelessness and fear the protagonist feels as he fights his way across miles of zombie-infested wasteland.

Although the military jargon may confuse non-military readers, its inclusion imparts flavor. A U.S. naval officer himself, J. L. Bourne puts his military knowledge, tactical mindset and imagination to great effect, creating realistic scenarios beyond the ken of many would-be zombie writers.

Although an absorbing read, Beyond Exile pales slightly in comparison to its prequel in terms of sheer adrenaline pumping action. The story gets awfully slow at certain points; the tedium perhaps an unwanted effect of drawing emphasis to the mental turmoil the protagonist suffers. Bourne is a relatively new writer and he will improve with practice. I cannot wait for the release of his third book: Into Dragon’s Maw.

Rating: 3.5/5

Derby Day Draw

The Merseyside derby:

SHITE: 2 EVERTON: 2

Trailing by a goal in the first half, we came back in the second half and battered them. Moyes grew a pair and started with two strikers. Cahill, Pienaar, Jags, and Saha were unavailable and fucking Dalglish still can't get a win under his belt.

The Shite will win NOTHING this season!

A Couple of Good Cats

I saw this darling while waiting for my friend.

This kitty can be found down my block.

First Post of 2011

Last Saturday my mates and I played football in NUS. A group of Vietnamese students challenged us to a game. We accepted and duly lost. They were prepared to get stuck in and we were not.

It was always going to be difficult. My mates, who are not known for being physically fit and mentally competitive, were outrun, outthought, outfought, and outclassed from the first minute. I yelled at a couple of my mates and they were not too happy with me. They probably thought I was being too serious about a ‘friendly’ kickabout. Well, our Vietnamese opponents were also being ‘friendly’ but that did not stop them from battling as a team and battering us. Our tackling was virtually non-existent. When it came it was half-arsed. Too often I found myself defending against two or three opponents without my teammates showing even the slightest inclination to fall back and help out.

It could have been a humiliating rout; my heroic efforts turned it into a mere loss. If any women were watching our game, they would have concluded that Shitholer males are pathetic. Two years in the army and a bunch of young lads could not even play a football game without huffing and puffing like they are going to suffer an asthmatic attack any moment. A few years of playing together and they play like they barely knew one another from Adam. More than a few years of kicking a ball around and a few cannot even execute a pass farther than five metres without bungling the job.

In conclusion, Shitholer males are physically weak and I have no intention of being associated with that ilk.


My wayward friend Fuzz Car told me he is going for a job interview at some semiconductor firm next/this Thursday. He wanted to know what questions the interviewer may ask. I gave him a few pointers and he replied saying that he ‘knew’ this and that. If he had known these things why did he ask me in the first place. Seriously, knowing that some of his church mates are professionals, it might be better for him to consult them. Chicken said that our friend ought to be re-educated and I could not agree more. What have they been teaching him? I guess that since he is a carrot to Thai whores it is a reasonable assumption that his church mates have been treating him the same way.

The Holy Land is the best place for slop, as Chicken and I discovered long ago.

Forget about the French and Italians! The Chinese are the best cooks!

Predator

I am going to terrorize my prey.

Going Random

Several Premiership games were cancelled in the past fortnight due to the deep freeze. Word has it that it is the worst winter in fifty years. Perhaps this is a sign that the world is ending soon and the next generations may well be the last of a civilization that will soon be reduced to dust. No big loss there. Nature would be better off without this particular parasite.

Chicken told me that one of his colleagues injured himself while lifting a tow bar. This pathetic specimen slipped and scraped off the skin off his hand. For a staff sergeant to make a hush of such a simple task is laughable. My friend’s next statement was sobering though. He said that while we dismiss local specs as inferior, they are not wrong in their criticism of us either. “If they were on the scene, “ he went out, “What would they think of us local guys?” He had a very good point. I refuse to be associated with my ilk.

My martial arts practice will only resume after the Chinese New Year. This leaves me with little opportunity to practise my skills, for the area in my neighbourhood is not secluded enough. It is hard to concentrate when some riffraff and stray animals are gawking at you with a noticeably lack of intelligence. Maybe I should join XH, assuming his master allows it. This arrangement comes with its own difficulty, as our styles are as disparate as day and night in many ways. I will have to locate some dark location.

It appears that many people are catching the flu these days. I am not surprised. The weather in this shithole is about as predictable as a emo woman on premenstrual syndrome. One moment the sun is out, the next a drizzle, and then it is sunny again. Even the sun does not give out as much warmth as it used too. The winds are another phenomenon. Gentle as they are, they chill the bones and with the sun reduced in intensity, it is all too easy for disease to spread. We may yet witness a plague in this shithole. It would be quite….entertaining.

Xmas Eve

While the rest of the world were partying the night away in the city area, Chicken and I spent an hour or so in the Holy Land. The merchandise were out on display, thanks to the fuzz having the good graces not to spoil the festive mood. I noticed that business was brisk. It is not uncommon on other days to see many shoppers but few buyers, but obviously with the year end bonuses and the joy that comes with sharing and giving, consumers were willing to indulge themselves and so boost the economy.

Fuzz Car wanted to join us in the city area but opted out at the last minute. His phone message to us, although short, was straight to the point and betrayed his secret need: “I won’t be joining you. If halfway you want to go to GL (the Holy Land), call me.” This was not the first time he ‘launched airplanes’ on us and it certainly would not be the last. Chicken and I cursed him vehemently. This is a bloke who professes to believe in his invisible sky fairy, goes to his church and puts on an act with the fellowship thing, and indulges in gambling, goldbricking, lying, and whoring. A hypocrite and a pathetic one at that.

Unlike our wretched friend, the staff in the Holy Land stuck to their tasks. They knew they had a job to do and in spite of the holiday, still provided entertainment to needy consumers. I have nothing but respect for these ladies of virtue, who could teach the slackers in the military and government sectors a thing or two about diligence and professionalism.

Chicken and I sat down, had coffee, and shot the shit. He fantasized about catching his boss in the act of soliciting a lady of the night and getting rich persuading him of his worth. We guffawed at the joke, at the same time admiring the statuesque beauties a few yards from us. I would have enjoyed our little chat even more, but for the fact that my stomach was clenching uncomfortably from some slop I ate. I believe it was caused by that horrible swill which the Brain and I had the misfortune to order when we ate at Thai Express. I had been stricken with flu, am suffering a cough, and become more susceptible to stomach aliments. I need lots of Chinese slop, in particular holy meat, to restore me to health.

The Great Escape!

A miracle has occurred: I have escaped relegation! So despondent was I in my belief in my relegation that I dreaded this very day. But no! The Lard and the Almighty Curve had deigned to deliver me from my endless trials and tribulations and by Their Glories – praise be Their names – I shall no longer be compelled to endure hostile scenery and work with retards both garden-variety and functional.

The farewell lunch my gulag mates treated me felt like my last meal. I trudged towards my gulag, trying to delay the inevitable – for it had seemed like a confirmation of my collapse – but I knew I had to face it sooner if not later. I sat down on my seat, worked on some issues, thought of logging on to check, decided not to. And so I tallied, until I decided to get it done and over with and then go to the holy temple to assuage my depression by dumping.

I logged on, but the connection was shaky. Obviously many desperate people were clogging up the system. When I got the page, I realized to my chagrin my password had been rendered invalid. I attempted to reset it but to no avail. I called up their technical support and miraculously someone actually answered the call! I could barely contain my surprise as I told the support staff to reset my password. She said it would take thirty minutes to an hour. I asked her why and she replied it was because they reset passwords by batches! Batches! I had never heard of anything like this and told her in no uncertain way what I thought of their infernal IT system. Of course, since she was quite professional I added that it was not her fault of course. It was just that their system sucks. I thanked her for her help and ended the call.

So I settled some issues and toyed around with my own IT system for a while and about forty minutes later I tried and true to her word, I was able to log on. I went straight to the ‘Exam Results’ button. As the page refreshed, I braced myself. For all I knew it could be a straight three defeats and bottom of the table.

It was not to be! Imagine my shock when I saw that I have escaped to victory! I could barely believe my eyes! Like Iniesta who kneeled and threw up his arms to the heavens upon the final whistle of the World Cup final, there I was, both my arms raised, fists to the ceiling as I leaned backwards in my seat. I looked at the screen again. No. My eyes had not deceived me. Just to make sure, I clicked on my ‘Academic Profile’ and they showed me the same results. My GPA was not too bad either – by the standards of my school my overall grade should place me in the ‘second uppers’ tier.

I printed out my Course Offer Letter; it displays my results for this season. I messaged the Brain of my deliverance. Still shell-shocked, I returned to my seat, stood, and started muttering to myself. My gulag mate, who was sitting behind me, asked me what happened. I told her the news. She offered me her congratulations. I thanked her, walked aimlessly around the gulag, decided yet again not to go to the holy temple, got a cup, walked to the water cooler, filled it with cold water, rinsed my face, and then splashed the water into my stoned face twice. My gulag mate saw water dripping off me and was quite amused. I told her I needed to make sure I was sober. I then ambled to the big room where my other gulag department mates were, and then one offered her congratulations. The other two followed suit and I told them it was a miracle and how relieved I was. When told that I could now concentrate on getting a better job, I said my immediate aim is to sleep the next month away to make up for three years of sleep deprivation. Some new graduates buy themselves gifts, others party away the night. Me? I sleep.

As I have to wait until the middle of next year to receive my hard-earned piece of paper, I will need to write in to get my attestation letter. I do not know how much they will charge me. My ex-senior said she was thinking of attending her graduation ceremony she missed due to work commitments. It is nice to put on that robe but the thought of going to see hostile scenery does not appeal to me. Regardless of my decision, I am delighted to leave that Gehenna with a piece of paper I richly deserve.

Miracle on Saturday Night

A miracle occurred:

CHELSKI: 1 EVERTON: 1

We were negative in the first half, deservedly trailed, but came back roaring in the second half and battered the vulgarians. The excellent Baines weaved past four defenders on the left flank, whipped a cross into the box, Cahill beat his marker to head it back across goal, and Beckford made no mistake from close range. A beautiful goal!

Beckford has been lampooned for missing a host of sitters against Sunderland and West Brom but at least he was enterprising enough to get into positions to squander them. Contrast him to Saha, who looked like he could not be arsed, and I cannot remember the last time he scored. On current form I won't mind if we ship him out and free up some wages.

Despite struggling in the first half, the central midfield pairing of Fellaini and Rodwell recovered to boss the middle of the park. It was a blessing in disguise that the out-of-form Arteta was suspended. Heitinga, who is definitely no Makelele, did not play. We should just persist with Fellaini and Rodwell when we play the Pie-Eaters next weekend.

More Moans

There is much hullabaloo in the local media about a Caucasian bloke French-kissing a sgspec on the train. Apparently they were petting heavily for six stops, seemingly oblivious to the glares of their fellow passengers.

I do not understand what the fuss is all about. Some condemn their actions, arguing that Shithole is an Asian country and such behavior is simply unacceptable. Others lament that local blokes are losing their women to foreigners. While it is certainly true that our overpriced women no longer give a damn about us, I do not see it as a big loss. Insofar as the local specs are concerned, these gwailos can take them all. Just leave the cnspecs alone.

I remember Chicken telling me that the Thai blokes hate having us in their country. We go to Thailand and have our way with their women while they helplessly look on. I do not blame them. Sometimes I feel exactly the same when I see a gwailo pawing an attractive cnspecs or sgspec with impunity. It makes me wonder why the Hell we have to waste two years of our existence serving this miserable cuntry so that foreigners can come here and fuck our specs. It is, of course, pride talking. Most sgspecs (who are not up to mark anyway), should just be carted off to the gwailos. I should thank them for doing us a good turn.

I believe I may have been banned on www.toffeeweb.com for being too strident:

“Michael, I am offended by Oakes’s language too.

HE’S BEING TOO MILD!

A rag-and-bone man will actually give you a few coins for your trash, but with Kenskint you’ll be lucky if he does not charge you for waste disposal! Why in the Hells is a beggar like that fat twat running a Premiership club? If he had any decency he should just put the club up for sale and shut his smelly trap about seeking investments 24/7 and not finding anyone to buy the club. He clearly cares NOTHING about the fans except to think that we are all retards. That skunk should be thrown in a gulag in North Korea and re-educated.

As for that ginger-furred mongrel, he can join Kenshite in North Korea and take Osman with him. Overrated, overpaid, uninspiring, tactically staid, obstinate he is; watching Everton play is about as entertaining as watching paint dry. I wouldn’t mind if we swap managers with the Shite. Hodgson made no excuse for his team’s dismal showing; all that ginger twat could say in defence was to blame a fucking water bottle. A fucking water bottle! Why, it’s that fat Spanish waiter blaming the beach ball all over again!”

Most of my subsequent comments were not approved, even though they were on other topics. Everton is a shite club and even its fan site sucks. I curse the day I support the Toffees.

Everton Horror Show

David Moyes play 4-6-0 against Chelski. Everton ship four goals in first half and two more in the second. The final score? 6:0.

Anichebe and Hibbert start on the right flank against Chelski. All six Chelski goals come from that flank.

“Feed the Yak and he will score,” the fans chant. A well-fed Yak puts on the pounds while his teammates lose weight from covering for him. Besides, on current form, the Yak cannot even score in a brothel.

After hearing Heitinga’s declaration that he would cycle to Barcelona to join them, the reigning Spanish league champions send him a stationery bike.

David “Golden Balls” Beckham rejects a loan move to Everton to play for S-League outfit Tampines Rovers.

Barcelona score after stringing 30 passes. Everton concede a goal after stringing 29 passes and then making the 30^th pass to the opposing striker.

Everton drop into the relegation zone following their dismal collapse at Stamford Bridge.

Former British prime minister and interfaith dialogue facilitator Tony Blair reveals he supports Everton. The news does not surprise the Everton faithful, who have been subsisting on faith that Moyes will grow some brains.

In a desperate move to solve his players’ striking woes, Moyes takes his squad to a Merseyside brothel for team-building over the weekend. The Blues duly lost the game the following day 10:0, citing exhaustion and learning from the ladies that “since we are cunts, we might as well behave like cunts and surrender our cunts.”

Excellent Videos!

Some excellent videos!

This is one cringe-worthy commercial. The spec is good though....

This must be one of the best army recruitment commercials ever! The song is catchy too. For the slightly less inspiring version, click here.

Forget "My Boyfriend Our Army". This is the real deal!

It is like watching Everton.