Well, I’m right in the soup and no mistake. Some people just have no sense of humour whatsoever and totally fail to appreciate WORLD CLASS BANTER TM in action. What’s getting me, though, is that this is for something that happened ages ago, and now it’s all over the papers. It’s even taking the heat of Delon for his citing for that pathetic piece of failed DOMINATION against the Jocks.
Turns out there was no need for Poet Laureate Haskell to step up and DOMINATE the motivation, still, better safe than sorry and I’m currently reading Henry VIth to put myself in a proper patriotic mindset for the French. I could have sworn the battle Of Agincourt was in this one, but no sign of it yet. Maybe it will be at the end.
I suppose in the interests of full disclosure, I need to reveal what happened as if I can’t do it to my own diary, then I can’t do it at all. This is it: we were fresh from the field of battle and feeling pumped up and frisky. Myself and Dylan attempted to burn off the energy in a Greco-Roman wrestling fest in the gym, but after a prolonged session of putting the DOMINATION on Dylan and his anger monkey, I was still stuck with a diamond-hard rod-on. So, being all men together we went back to my room for a shower and shared meditation. I was fucking horrified to find Chris already there eating a takeaway, but still, he’s like that, although he does become even more incomprehensible when his mouth is full.
Anyway, on the way up, I picked up a walkie-talkie I found in the lift. After an entertaining few hours sitting on my bed shouting “Bandit, We’ve got to get this clam chowder to Boston by sunset tomorrow” pretending to be Snowman from Smokey and the Bandit, I was obviously bored. So, Dylan emerged from the shower and I said, “Suppose we’d better give this back, then. Anyone know who it belongs to?”. Dylan and Ginsters checked the back, and well, blow me down if she hadn’t written her name on it.
Being a properly raised English Gentleman, I put in a call to reception and asked whoever it belonged to to come and get it. Meanwhile Dylan decided to watch some smut on my TV. (The sponsors pick up the tab for this sort of thing, so you may as well order as much as you can).
So, we were still getting ready when she arrived, and I, in a piece of quality WORLD CLASS BANTER TM cracked a few jokes with her that she seemed to seriously appreciate. I do like it when people understand WORLD CLASS BANTER TM.
Well, bugger me sideways if the next thing that happened was that the poor love took offense. I was horrified at this, so put on my best pair of budgie smugglers and immediately went down and apologised, sincerely and from the heart.
At training the next day, I could tell that someone had already told Jonno. There was a look of pure rage on his face, and I could swear that the sky darkened behind him. What happened next was not pretty, and I’m in no doubt now who the real DOMINATOR in the set-up is: it’s the Dark Overlord Jonno. After he crushed me like an empty beer can, I now realise that in comparison to him, I am merely an Orcish General, whereas he’s one of the Uruk-Hai. Or possibly even a frost giant from Norse mythology. I bet he does a mean haka as well.
On the game, well, it was as expected, really. It’s a bloody shame that we keep drawing attention away from our DOMINATION by doing silly things off the pitch.
Still, France next, and they’re all over the shop at the moment. I’m looking forward to putting the DOMINATION down on them and sending them back to Frogland with their tails between their soundly spanked arse-cheeks.