neonleon
Player Valuation: £35m
Hello BOYS!*
(apologies in advance for extended and unnecessary gay riff)
As resident wannabe Gay overlord and your rightful Queen and Forum Monarch I thought it was time I spoke to you, my dainty subjects, en masse: so picture me in arseless leather chaps, a handle bar muzzie and a tiara perched jauntily at edge as the result of too many Xmas gins.
Or just use this picture.
Now genuflect before my nail varnished feet, whilst I witter on about something vaguely football related.
This year has been somewhat of an annus holus for Everton football club. No money spent in the summer save the cheap acquisitions of Beckford, Joao Silva, Gueye, the last two naught but twinks. None of them looking like contributing a great deal in the short term. Still early signs were encouraging and confidence was unbounded. Sir Whisky Nose even tipped us to for the murdoch media four such was the anticipation round goodison park. A solid stable unit, kept together, maturing, with an equally stable managerial and boardroom set up was seen as the springboard from which to stake a claim for European football. Sadly the players seemed to have championship aspirations. Moyes had changed everything in his pre season preparations in the hope of breaking the poor start hoodoo. Nothing doing sadly.
It all started with a loss to Blackburn, a game in which we bummed the entire Blackburn team whilst forcing them to make pig noises, like that scene from Deliverance. That was until Howard dropped a greasy cross ball like he was dropping soap in the prison showers and Nikola Kalinic was the first con to pounce on the ‘opening’.
The season then proceeding with dull predictability, our strikers failing to score in a free brothel whilst the midfield flattered to deceive by playing a toothless sideways keep ball that never threatened to open up the opposition. Cracks appeared behind as well, in the shape of wavering form by jagielka and the odd wank performance by Distin (in fairness he’s been a rock since then). Baines and Tim “Superman wears tim cahill pyjamas” Cahill have been the few bright spots on an otherwise muddy backside of a season.
Top sides, seem to struggle against us, and the old Everton seems to appear, full of pride and passion and determination and grit. Against the bog standard sides, we turn into nancy boys, our defenders bending over backwards to give them chances, our strikers as gun shy as a rabbit in rabbit hunting season. The City game only seemed to embellish this view, albeit with gay fancy Xmas baubles; as befits beating the nouveau rich arseholes from eastlands. Its in beating the workmanlike teams that Moyes’s side need to focus on in the new year. If anything that is my crap Christmas message, beat the shitty sides, stay solid at the back, play arteta further forward, attack with more variation and settle on a striker that can make things happen.
I’m gonna end by paraphrasing the real queen’s Xmas speech.
In the parks of Liverpool and on village greens up and down wooly-back land, countless thousands of people every week give up their time to participate in football or simply encourage others to do so, by shouting “For f*cksake Everton wake the [Poor language removed] up. Neville make the f*ckin run! Make the f*ckin run! Jesus Saha dont just stand there scratching your balls, work the channel lad. Man on. Skin him Seamie. Hibbo Shoot!”
These kinds of activity aren’t common throughout the world and don’t play a part in providing a different perspective on life. But they are a laugh and so as your queen, I say this to you.
Get Stuck into em Everton.
Hibbo scores we riot.
COYBBs’.
Its a grand old team to play for, its a grand old team to support and if you know your history...
*unzips and waves thingy about, punctuating relevant points with it thoughtfully.
(apologies in advance for extended and unnecessary gay riff)
As resident wannabe Gay overlord and your rightful Queen and Forum Monarch I thought it was time I spoke to you, my dainty subjects, en masse: so picture me in arseless leather chaps, a handle bar muzzie and a tiara perched jauntily at edge as the result of too many Xmas gins.
Or just use this picture.
Now genuflect before my nail varnished feet, whilst I witter on about something vaguely football related.
This year has been somewhat of an annus holus for Everton football club. No money spent in the summer save the cheap acquisitions of Beckford, Joao Silva, Gueye, the last two naught but twinks. None of them looking like contributing a great deal in the short term. Still early signs were encouraging and confidence was unbounded. Sir Whisky Nose even tipped us to for the murdoch media four such was the anticipation round goodison park. A solid stable unit, kept together, maturing, with an equally stable managerial and boardroom set up was seen as the springboard from which to stake a claim for European football. Sadly the players seemed to have championship aspirations. Moyes had changed everything in his pre season preparations in the hope of breaking the poor start hoodoo. Nothing doing sadly.
It all started with a loss to Blackburn, a game in which we bummed the entire Blackburn team whilst forcing them to make pig noises, like that scene from Deliverance. That was until Howard dropped a greasy cross ball like he was dropping soap in the prison showers and Nikola Kalinic was the first con to pounce on the ‘opening’.
The season then proceeding with dull predictability, our strikers failing to score in a free brothel whilst the midfield flattered to deceive by playing a toothless sideways keep ball that never threatened to open up the opposition. Cracks appeared behind as well, in the shape of wavering form by jagielka and the odd wank performance by Distin (in fairness he’s been a rock since then). Baines and Tim “Superman wears tim cahill pyjamas” Cahill have been the few bright spots on an otherwise muddy backside of a season.
Top sides, seem to struggle against us, and the old Everton seems to appear, full of pride and passion and determination and grit. Against the bog standard sides, we turn into nancy boys, our defenders bending over backwards to give them chances, our strikers as gun shy as a rabbit in rabbit hunting season. The City game only seemed to embellish this view, albeit with gay fancy Xmas baubles; as befits beating the nouveau rich arseholes from eastlands. Its in beating the workmanlike teams that Moyes’s side need to focus on in the new year. If anything that is my crap Christmas message, beat the shitty sides, stay solid at the back, play arteta further forward, attack with more variation and settle on a striker that can make things happen.
I’m gonna end by paraphrasing the real queen’s Xmas speech.
In the parks of Liverpool and on village greens up and down wooly-back land, countless thousands of people every week give up their time to participate in football or simply encourage others to do so, by shouting “For f*cksake Everton wake the [Poor language removed] up. Neville make the f*ckin run! Make the f*ckin run! Jesus Saha dont just stand there scratching your balls, work the channel lad. Man on. Skin him Seamie. Hibbo Shoot!”
These kinds of activity aren’t common throughout the world and don’t play a part in providing a different perspective on life. But they are a laugh and so as your queen, I say this to you.
Get Stuck into em Everton.
Hibbo scores we riot.
COYBBs’.
Its a grand old team to play for, its a grand old team to support and if you know your history...
*unzips and waves thingy about, punctuating relevant points with it thoughtfully.
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