Why I Hate The F*cken Team / F*cken Coach / F*cken Locality: See, I'm old-school. When Manly were $hit a couple of years ago, and some f*cktard appeared on my television screen saying something colon-explodingly stupid like "people don't hate Manly as much any more" I wanted to teleport to his location so I could F*CKING KUNG-FU KICK HIS F*CKING APPENDIX OUT THROUGH HIS PI$$-HOLE.
I. HATE. MANLY. What a f*cken ironic name. They're anything BUT.
Special F*ckwit Watch:
Oh, I have a special little warm place in my colon, filled with quietly $hit-bubbling hate, for Jamie "Queenscliff Is Too 'The Bush'!" Lyon.
Because while thousands forget, I F*CKEN REMEMBER.
*I* f*cken remember how poor widdle Jamie couldn't handle them folk in the big city, it was all too busy and scary in the big smoke, and Country-Bumpkin Jamie needed to get back to wide open spaces where you can f*ck a sheep in the back paddock in broad daylight and wave to Farmer Jones when he toots on his way past in the truck, and you don't even have to wipe your d1ck before coming in for dinner. So poor widdle Jamie ran away from the Eels, so far far far away into the country so they could never find him, because he went SO FAR INTO THE COUNTRY that he discovered a tiny little country hamlet just over THE F*CKEN SPIT BRIDGE.
About the only thing I could smile about while watching the Melbourne Scum win the Grand Final last year was the supreme tingle of satisfaction I had in my anus, knowing this little f*ck-stain didn't win. Even his own fans voted him "most over-rated". And that was probably at f*cken Wee-Waa.
And here's a selection of other tossers I'd like to have in a room when I toss a $hitbag into the fan:
- Brent Kite - A mate of mine once took 17 minutes to drop a turd that was about 1 and a half feet long. It had more footballing ability than Brent Kite.
- Steve Menzies - has spent a career being called a "second-rower" when his actual position is "laze around 1 man in from the f*cken sideline, catch the last pass and fall over the try-line". F*ck off Steve Menzies. What do you need head-gear for, there's more chance of the f*cken boy in the bubble making heavy contact than you.
- Every single Manly forward - F*ck you all, you f*cking bunch of girlish jessys. It's YOUR fault the Melbourne Scum are champions, and in case you can't tell, I DON'T FORGIVE. So F*CK YOU. F*cking chicken-$hits. F*ck off.
- Geoff Toovey - even as a f*cken TRAINER running on and off the field he has a wonderful head you could just smash with a f*cken cricket bat ALL DAY LONG and NEVER get tired of it.
- Manly lose every single game, including two 175 nil losses to the Eels, one of them being Steve Menzie's farewell to Brookvale game.
- It rains* on Steve Menzie's farewell to Brookvale lap of honour.
- (*Rains hailstones the size of Volkswagens.)
- Matt Orford goes for a 40-20 and succeeds in kicking the entire Steeden right up Glenn Stewart's ar$ehole, putting him out for the season. Fifteen operations later, they still can't remove the ball. But they find a f*cken platypus, an espresso-maker and an LCD PC monitor up there as well.
- Luke Williamson gets a f*cken HAIRCUT.
- The Daily Telegraph runs a story about a Manly player, and DOESN'T INCLUDE A F*CKEN PICTURE OF THEM WITH A SURFBOARD. It CAN BE DONE.
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