This is how rumours start:

John, a disgruntled hack of too many decades was sitting in the pub near Watford station waiting for his old mate Phil from a rival press publication. He angrily flicked through the papers and snorted in derision at the column inches the young and in his mind; naïve journalists fresh out of university were filling.

“Jordan screws a troupe of acrobatic dwarves!” he bellowed at no-one in particular as his voice reverberated off the stained walls. “Who cares! Who the **** cares!”.

A slightly dishevelled chap sitting at the bar turned around and gave a toothless grin before slurping at his half of stout when the door opened and Phil strolled in. To say that Phil looked annoyed would be an understatement. He wore his anger like a neon sign and all around him were aware instantly that this fellow was not the type to invite in light hearted banter.

“John you fackin cant! You want a beer or what!” Phil ground out aggressively between gritted teeth.

John lifted his glass in reply and returned his attention to the papers. “Big Brother? Who the **** cares about Big Brother?” he continued in his self obsessed rant.

“**** em” Phil grunted from the bar as he waited for the now hurried bartender to comply with his order.

“You ain’t even a celeb! You’re just a thick bitch” John resumed in his criticism of the journalistic standards and content of today.

“All a bunch of cants” Phil replied and slammed the beers on the table.

“The worlds gone insane”, John sighed as he sipped his new drink after raising it in Phil’s direction.

The two hacks looked at each other wearily from across the table and sighed. They were resigned to their new assignment as the North East’s football correspondents,

“Still. Look on the bright side.” Phil groaned. “We don’t have to live with them cants up North!”

“So. You want to pick a name from the hat first?” John intoned as he nodded his head in appreciation

“Sure. You pick the clubs after and then we’ll just make up a price.”

They had the two hats on the table and Phil placed his hand in it before picking out a scrap of paper.

“Jose Enrique” he stated.

John scribbled the name down before reaching into the other hat “Liverpool” he declared and scribbled it down.

“Hmmm” Phil wondered allowed. “How about £12 million?”

“Whatever.” John agreed and wrote the figure down before draining his pint. “Another one?” he offered to Phil who accepted as he placed his hand in the hat to pick another player.

“May as well. **** all else to do.” He read from the scrap of paper, “Joey Barton”

 

Nice one OT, but I suspect that this is worryingly close to reality.

 

I have to say OT, 'John' the disgruntled hack sounded remarkably like me in an earlier rant on the same topic earlier...

was I your inspiration? you even said Jordan screwed a midget, and mentioned big brother which if i'm not mistaken I had also said...

I never really thought of myself as a muse. more just a contankerous old bastard.

 

Alas Pipe4Life I cannot reveal my sources.

P.S. Royalty beer is in the post

 

as Mark Twain once said research is 99% plagarism!!!!

 

News just in from the Middle East.

10,000 Egyptian troops have entered Jordan.
She didn't bat an eyelid.

 

Like pushing a finger of fudge down the Suez Canal...

 

Would you ? Would you have a go on her oT ? I bet she knows a trick or two.

 

I bet it's like a bill posterer's gum bucket!!

 

I'm very happily married and after seeing the videos of her online I fear it may be as sensual as waving a flag in space.