Forum | Non-Football Related

The vagaries of the Internet frame work and back bone never cease to amaze, and as such it should not be surprising that some spaced out hippy in server land decided to upgrade the sever on boxing day! Anyway, we are back and with extra sever space and speed now! Apparently they are going to name the sever AC due to it's amount of down time! - Ed Roll on the Saints

Thursday 24 December 2015

Rush Green…..08:37.….’Nam….Dag’nam….

The clouds loped by, resembling bath bubbles, some fluffy, some gradually succumbing to the water…..broken, transparent. Scars of white streaking the sky as aircraft eagerly bid to reach their destination. Pockets of blue intermingled with threatening dark cloud. A mixed bag if ever there were one.
Slav surmised this scene from his office window. The sky mirrored his team. So much potential, glimpses of brilliant light, yet the dark side never far, threatening to ruin it all.
Removing his left eyeball, he dropped it into a glass of neat vodka. The harsh London air had been playing havoc with his eyes these last few week, causing soreness and swelling around the eyelids. At the same time another 3 hairs drifted from his head onto the desk. He knew that soon he would have to contemplate shaving his head. He made a note on his phone to consult Jules.
Slav clicked onto his favourites from his browser page and went to the club site. At the same time he put his eyeball back in and downed the shot of vodka from the glass. Taking his 14th cigarette that morning he perused the title pages to see what the headlines were. “12 days of Christmas”. This intrigued him, to see 3 of his players in a video clip.
He clicked on it.
The sight of his Goalkeeper, Captain and new signing dressed up and signing with fans angered him. “Fools”! he smashed his fist on the desk.
No time to earn 9 points over the last 3 games, but time to sing a ridiculous song, with lyrics written, evidently, by a demented 90 year old.
This would not go unpunished…..

Sully Towers…..09:09…..Somewhere tasteful in Essex…..
Across town Sully Towers was in full Christmas mode, preparing for the big day.
Sully’s show maker “Gock” was in residence, resoling 3 of the esteemed leaders 7inch Cuban heels.
“Marta”, the housekeeper of questionable heritage, was fluffing Sully’s hats and applying goose fat for the impending cold weather to the lining of Sully’s coats.
The cheeky Sully boys were regaling the twitterati with some hilarious tales and providing the begging public with some of their expert football knowledge and insight.
Upstairs, the “Do not disturb” sign was on Sully’s bedroom door. The household knew to never go near when this was in place.
The sounds coming from that room would chill a hardened SAS veteran. Screaming, whaling, power tools, lashes. Marta rolled her eyes and knew the clean-up job would be immense.
Around the same time Brody’s Benz’ pulled across the mammoth gravelled drive.
The crunch under tyre caught Sully’s attention, even though he was wearing a gimp mask and snorkel. Years of experience to hear predators at the door had honed his sense. He leapt to the window, forgetting the chain that was tightly affixed to his scrote, “ARGHHH” came the yelp, “Yew bleedin arfwit, wos’ up wiya?!” snarled Mrs S, who herself was struggling to contain the Goat and Hamsters. Sully reached for the curtains and saw the shapely toned thigh of a Russian Shot-putter emerge from the back seat, “Damn, what’s she doin’ ere!” cried Sully, “Quick , get this lot away, quick quick!” yelled sully. Feathers and lubricant scattered everywhere as Sully dived into the bathroom.
Brody knocked on the 16 foot medieval drawbridge door (replica). Brody rolled her eyes at the tackiness. It wasn’t a trip she had particularly wanted to make on Christmas Eve, but she felt the time was right to announce her departure from the club. She had completed the task asked of her. Stadia secured, now was the time to take the money and run before criticism ensued about the suitability of the stadium as a football venue, and the looming price increases despite earlier promises. She didn’t need that hassle.
Sully Jr, baseball cap on back to front smiled (a secret crush always bubbling under the pre-pubescent surface) opening the creaking monstrosity, “Erm, oh Hi Mrs Brody” came the broken and trembling response. “Is he in?” Brody curtly retorted, “Er, yes, er, he’s upstairs, I’ll get ‘im now”. Brody choked back a small bit of bile that rose in her throat. She knew what was happening if Sully was upstairs and Mrs S was nowhere to be seen. She just hoped there were no animals involved again….
Sully rushed down the stairs, dressing gown struggling unsuccessfully against the portly frame, his todger flapping hopelessly between milky thighs. Brody put her gloved hand to her mouth and turned her head to wretch. “My dear lady, to what do we owe this pleasure?” cheered a breathless Sully.
At the same time the traumatised goat had seen the door ajar and had made a similar bid for freedom. With a Santa’s hat strapped its head it lunged for the staircase, not caring for Sully’s precarious position mid stair flight.
Days later Sully would recollect flashbacks, occasional glimpses from those few seconds. He recalled a cold slimy feeling between his buttocks, and a snorting noise, before he then began to fly through the air. It was the aftermath that would cause the serious problems.
When brought round by the clubs physio, it became apparent he had landed on Brody’s head. His undercarriage straddling her face. One of her earrings had slashed his member, though luckily not deep enough to cause fatal damage.
Brody would be in a secure unit for weeks for the mental scarring.

Rush Green…..09:32
Slav had just returned to the office after a 4 hour beasting of the 3 aforementioned players. Nobel had been vomiting such was the physical demand placed on him, carrying The Spanish smiler on his back for 2 hours. However, the Spanish smiler was just as distraught. Slav had deleted his Instagram account and banned him from Twitter for 24 hours. The man was a mess. As for the 3rd guilty party, Slav couldn’t even remember his name, and this was insult enough to the poor lad.
Picking up the phone it was the physio. “Boss, 2 more casualties I’m afraid”, Slave smashed his first through the 60 inch LED screen on his wall “What da f**k?!” he screamed, “How can this fooking be???”….”No boss, you don’t understand, I’m at Chateau Sully. Its Sully and Brody, she’s’ unconscious with her head, literally, up Sully’s arse. His todger, well, let’s just say its a mess, god knows what she’s done to them. Mrs S is on the stairs dressed like a footballer, crying her eyes out, and as for the Goat and Hamster, Jesus boss I’ve never seen anything like it…..”
Slav’s gripped on the phone was no longer strong enough…it fell to the ground with a thud. All his energy and strength had shot to his brain, trying to scramble and make sense of what he had just heard. At the same time Mariah Carey struck up in the background describing how all she wanted for Christmas was “you”.
Slav looked back to the sky. The clouds were now dominating the skyline, their overbearing and weighty presence smothering all before them. He knew it was time to take drastic action. He lit his 34th cigarette of the day and picked the phone back up. Terminating the existing call he then dialled “3”….after just 2 rings it was answered with silence.
Slav knew this to be him, “My frend…it has been a while no?....”….silence again….”It is time my friend, it happens now” Slav’s gravelly and husky tones dripped into the mouth piece….”Yes my friend” came the calm response. Slav dialled off.
It was all he needed.
It was time.
They would now see the true power……………..

Merry Christmas ya’ filthy animals
x