Imagine...

You wake up in the morning, remove the hand busy molesting you from your pants, and whilst neurologically sidestepping the realisation that it was your own hand, you wander over to the mirror, where-upon you realise you are not you. You are faced with some form of giant replication of pre-pubescent genitalia squashed into yesterdays business shirt. Horrorfied, you rush around and find items and clues to your identity, and the final discovery, a SportsDirect birthmark ingrained in your butt, only confirms that you are Mike Ashley...

You realise you got your wish that the haggered old witch (looking mysteriously like Beardo) granted you... You, the collective not-606ers, have one day as owner of SportsDirect.com and Newcastle United...

Each poster on this thread is allowed "half an hour" as Mike to do what they want... Mike is allowed to be returned as financially/healthwise battered and bruised at the end as is wished.

 

Assuming this happens during the transfer window, blow all his savings on a few world class players, keep a few mil to PAY a wealthy owner to buy us, give an order to rip all the sports direct **** from St James' and then finally write myself a check for a few million or so.

Sure I could do all that in a day.

 

I'm the real Mike Ashley and I've opened all my stores and invited football fans from near and far to take whatever item they want and I'll give them £50 with each item they take.

 

Possibly the best sentence ever written!

 

Lose EVERYTHING I own in a bet with simonbh7, who would now control NUFC and sports direct.

 

Mike: Morning Derek. Did I ever give you back that company car?
Derek: Erm. No Mike. You didn't.
Mike: Do you want one again?
Derek: That would be really good.
Mike: Well you'd best f**k off to somewhere else and get one. Your fired.

 

After 29 minutes and 59 seconds I'd kick Tiote in the balls and start running...

R.I.P Ashley