Hamburger Pimp

Increase the peace, lil' homie.

Hats off to Northumberland's Gary Robson, knocking out the latest Dutch wonderkid in an epic first round battle.

Tyche only sells rubbishy 1980s style clothes, doesn't it? A bit modern for your tastes.

Happy birthday and that, Miss Vic.

Happy New Year, y'all!

Tough crowd. Maybe the swinging, shaking, upbeat, bopping sound of by Paul Nicholas will bring a little joy to your wintry souls.

Unorthodox refereeing

Thank you all for your kind words.

Heidi, hi! (ho de ho!) I reckon she loves owt like that, having never heard it before.

No, I've seen her and she definitely is a girl.

Giddy up!

Courtesy of this non work safe website, I have viewed the video footage of the Sunderlando footballers enjoying dealings with a young strumpet who loved, not wisely, but too well. Frankly, the harrumphing and pouting that has taken place is wide of the mark. Sex is not a crime, it is a beautiful, loving act between five or more consenting adults. If we're honest, which one of us here hasn't stood around in a blue jumper, proudly thrashing away at our pride and joy while two of our bestest chums are bumping and a-grinding at opposite ends of a tidy young boiler? Sort it out, Ian Porterfields!

The Toon to nick a narrow 2-1 victory. Martins and Emre to notch.

Maybe not that good, though.

Toon 3 Spurs 1. Martins 2, Sibierski.

"I read a book once. Green, it was."

Never mind that tommyrot, get some milk of magnezya, milk of magneesia, milk of manganese... Get some Resolve down your neck and get your !*!@# down the Sun this afternoon.

I think I've worked out a way around this £125 malarkey. You park your vehicle in the Tavern car park, to save the legwork involved in walking an extra fifteen yards to buy a fabulous rig-out from Tyches. As you return from your shopping spree and approach your car, all clamped up, you happen to catch a glance of Barlass and the slavering, unwashed booze-users who get in the Tavern, gawping and a-leering out the window at your plight. You go into the pub and order a drink. I know, I know, you'd rather not, but you can't make omelettes without breaking eggs. After forcing down your drink, you buttonhole whoever is behind the bar and say to them "My good lady, would you be so kind as to get your security Johnny to unclamp my car, and make it pronto, Tonto!". Since you're a patron, they have to release your car and you can walk out of there into the cool, clean air conscious of having fought the good fight and put one over the dark forces of capitalism. How do you like them apples, eh?

Have a good one, Pete.

Ex-actly!

Don't be a silly, it's the Futureheeds tomorrow.

They would be playing Iron Maiden songs. They'd be a rubbish version of Iron Maiden. The pub would be full of stinking longhairs in faded denim, bad tatts and unorthodox facial hair. There'd be loads of scraggy old women... ...Ah, I see what you're getting at now.

And modest. Oh.

Sectarian bigotry now, is it? Nice.