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Friday, February 18, 2011

Little Spuds on the Prairie

The tale of the Spud family as they travel across the vast wilderness of London towards their idyllic new home in the east, narrated by the youngest daughter Luka Spud.

I do love the prairie this time of year, all meadow green and cornflower blue. Time for the animals to git fat after the long hard winter, everyone just wishin' and hopin' for better times to come. The air is full of a kinda promise, you know, every little thing so fresh and clean. Even Pa seems happy, he don't seem to be twitchin' as much as he did in Winter, 'tho sometimes he gives one of the horses a beatin', yellin' 'bout how they ain't trackin' back and all, Ma just says thats Pa bein' Pa and how he ain't happy if he ain't got nuthin' to twitch about. Just yesterday he told my brother Jermaine to chop some wood, and when Jermaine said he couldn't find the axe, Pa plumb flew into a rage and started into whoppin' him with his belt and a yellin,
"Tax, I'll give you tax",
Ma calmed him down and told us all that these were trying times for poor Pa, what with the move an' everythin', and how nobody was to mention the 'tax' word ever again.
Later that night we gathered 'round the fire and Pa played the fiddle and everyone was happy again. Ma hugged me close and said,
"Ain't nobody can fiddle like your Pa".
Later we all fell asleep under that big prairie moon, full of hope and thoughts of the promised land to come.

Early next mornin' Pa took me up to the rocks overlookin' the camp, and as we looked down to the prairie below, we could see hordes of Indians all painted up red and white, ridin' hard towards us.
Pa said they was Woolwich Apaches, the most blood thirsty and cruel savages, and how as long as we were here, we'd be forever in their shadow.
We fair hightailed it back to camp, hitched up the wagons and got movin' east toward the sun.

We rode hard all day and pitched up at sunset. We'd used up the last of the cornmeal and Pa had to slaughter a couple of the old horses, King and Woodie, so we all had a fine supper.
Ma said how the old horses would be sorely missed, but Pa just said they was old and weren't doin' no work anymore on account of them always havin' some ailment or another.
Lucky we found an old horse the Woolwich Apache had abandoned even though he seemed in fine health,if a little sulky. We named him Willie, and Pa turned him out with the other horses and soon he was frollickin' merrily with Daisy and Ned and Blossom and Assou-Ekotto like as how he always belonged to us.

The damned Apache struck at dawn. They swept into our camp a hollerin' their bloody war cries "50 Years!" and "One team in London!", we tried to shoot as many as we could but they was just too damned quick. Luckily at the height of the battle some of them started to leave, and soon they all drifted away leavin' us to lick our wounds.
Ma said how we should have circled the wagons, but Pa said he was sick of them always runnin' rings 'round us. Then Jermaine said as how our security was a bit 'lax' and I just handed Pa his belt!

Late mornin' we finally made it to the promised land and what a sight it was all spread out in the valley below, all golden in the mornin' sun. Ma said it was a mite peculiar the houses were so  far away from the meadow and how you'd need binoculars to see the livestock, but Pa said the railroad had said they was goin' to fix all that, and with that we rode hard down to that valley below.

Afternoon and Pa was in a rage, turned out the railroad already promised the land to someone else and we'd come all this way fer nuthin'. I think the other family was blacksmiths or farriers or somethin' on account of Pa cussin' about hammers and irons and the like, but no doubt we was all sore and wonderin' what to do next.

In the evenin' a posse rode up and the Sheriff took away poor Pa. Last we saw of him they was draggin' him off and he was cussin and a screamin' 'bout how they was '"ungrateful bastards", and how he'd "won 'em the FA Cup for fuck sake".

Poor Ma gathered up the clan and we all headed back they way we came, just a hopin' those damn Apaches ain't goin' to be layin' in wait for us and we're goin' to end the year empty handed again!

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Transfer Deadline Day A Shakespearean Tragedy

> Hail! Fellows and well met.
   What stories shall we hear today,
   In noble comfort, from January's rasp
   Which proud Princes today shall fall,
   To mammons greedy grasp?
   First to fair Emirates field we go,
   Has noble Wenger, the purse strings loosed,
   What say you fellow?

> Hail all and welcome to this proud Arsenal,
  Nay, nary a stir, no bolster for the ramparts sought,
  Neither approaches for the Spanish Prince,
  To take up cunning Catalan throne,
  Just Carlos Vela, out on loan.

> Aye, the coffers safe, so onward a league or more, we go
   To leafy Lane, and mischievous Harry's realm,
   Pearl of England, scourge of the French,
   Upon whose wisdom we earnestly wait,
   What cunning stratagem does he plot,
   Tell all, Comrade.

> Alas there's nary here to tell,
   'lo temptation may be great
   None have taken up the call'
   To succour now this vale of tears,
   Of honours bereft, now fifty years!

> Fie and fie again!
   May foul Redknapps corpse be racked,
   And split and spoilt, then,
   For carrion upon the gibbet hung,
   I thought old Harry liked a bung?
   But hold, whats this I hear,
   Oh proud English, away, away
   To fair Anfield and tumultous news, what news
   I prithee?

> Aye, tumultous indeed,
   No sooner hath King Kenneth, that noble Scot,
   Secured the biting tumbler, squire of Amsterdam,
   Who hath foiled proud Nubian, with crafty palm,
   Now treachery!
   Doth every subject cry,
   For London doth Prince Fernando fly.
   Upon a pyre
   Is his bloodied armour thrown,
   And every squire and son doth wail and moan,
  "A plague, a plague upon our house"
   And with bloody shriek and racking cough,
   Proclaim,
  " He took the cash and buggered off"!

> Hold there man,and calmed be,
   For we hear glad tidings from the north,
   Ye have the nettle grasped, and have
   A champion for champions worth,
   Tall and brave, fearless who,
   Was the scourge of the old division two,
   We will away now to the Tyne,
   What say you now Sir?

> Lord Pardew in his house is shocked,
   For nary a whisper did he hear,
   Of foul Astleys cunning plan,
   Nor ere suspect that he a pawn
   For mightier men and strategem,
   Assured of funds this coming spring, would wait,
   And blocked and vexed would be,
   For Robbie Keane and Thierry Henry.
   For now 'tis him, his squires convince,
   That Barton be their lordly Prince
   And avoiding relegation be
   Their one remaining strategy.

> Yea! words of wisdom said.
   But now to London we must fly,
   To that foul Russians odious lair,
   Where kissed and rubbed the sheckles be,
   And eyebrow arched so cunningly!

> Hail all fellows and welcome made,
   'tis Prince Fernando who doth stride,
   Through old Stamford's verdant glade, and
   We gathered here at Carlo's gate,
   Wonder how, accommodate
   Anelka, Drogba and Torres be
   In an offensive 4-3-3!

> So here we endeth be!
   And to our banquet we repair
   To mull the days portents with mutton
   Chop and turkey leg,
   And wine and whiskey be cask and barrel!
   35 million for Andy fuckin' Carroll!!

   Exeunt all.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Wake up Big Sam the Matrix has You!

Brrrrrrrh...click....

> Hello!
> Hello Sam.
> Its fookin 4 am this better not be a championship team.
> Sam, you know who this is, don't you?
> Morpheus?
> Yes. I know you've been looking for me but I've spent my entire life looking for you. You see Sam you are the One!!
> I fookin knew it!!
> Outside in 10 minutes.
> Ok! I'll be there Mr Morpheus.

Interior of car..Sam pulls up his shirt revealing corpulent white belly..

> Don't you want to check me for bugs luv?
> Er no thanks!
> Oh well, suit yourself. Did I ever tell you about the time I won the Irish 1st Division with Limerick....?

Some time later Sam is ushered into Morpheus's presence, the great man is standing in the middle the of room, cool in long black leather coat and those weird clip on shades.

> Mr Morpheus why do you fold your arms behind your back like that?
> What?
> Well most people fold their arms in front of them!!
> Look never mind that now, do you know why you're here?
> Yes I want answers!!
> Do you really Sam! Or are you here because of the question? You see it's always there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. You know what the question is, don't you Sam!
> Yes. Why didn't I get the England job?
> Er no..
> Why doesn't the long ball work?
> No! Try again.
> Oh yeah! What is the Matrix?
> The Matrix is all about control.
> Ball control, thats for pansies!!
> No Sam, you see your whole world, your reality is a lie. In this world you are a vastly underrated manager in charge of piddling little teams. Whereas in the real world you are the hugely successful manager of Barcelona. You have won 8 La Liga titles and 6 Champions leagues.
> See, I fookin knew it? I am a Legend!
> Indeed. So Sam time to make a choice. Take the blue pill and you wake up in bed. Take the red pill and we'll see how deep the rabbitt hole goes, and you fulfill your destiny.
> Gimme!!

Sam wakes up ...

> What a weird dream...Wait a minute...Fook it I was supposed to take the Red pill.....Bollocks!!