A point of contention with the modern QPR is going to be their Mrs Doubtfire haired acute cuntflute of a manager in Mark Hughes. Now granted it wasn't a marriage between club and player in the Walter Smith days when he played for us but he's turned into a condescending [Poor language removed] since landing the plum job at City a few years ago. That didn't go to plan. On top of being an odious bell of a man he’s cursed with an unusual affliction where his chin protrudes north by three degrees every calendar year. By sixty years of age his whole jarg Spitting Image face is going to turn in on itself like a facial calzone when that chin reaches his forehead.
Better photos than words I'm afraid this week.
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