Occupy All Streets

You know what to do.

Between vaccuous shit for brains pond life and their doomed to a life of insignificant banality progeny and morally bankrupt, I’m alright jack, selfish, blinkered to the real problems we face scumbags in government and media alike I could quite easily watch a large hydrogen bomb drop down and wipe out every disgusting human being off the face of this planet until all that remains are cockroaches and the shells of drive thru burger bars.

As this post nuclear holocaust utopia is only in fact a figment of my wildest dairylea squares (the best cheese) induced dreams I’m destined to meander through life as one of the forgotten feral youth the daily mail would have you believe is suitable for no more than smashing shop windows and scarpering off with a 42″ plasma telly from Dixons while the whole world looks on in disgust, according to government figures released today there are more of me the number of 16-24 year olds not in employment education or training is 1,163,00, so look out you bunch of bastards were coming to nick all your stuff and piss on the Hydrangeas.

1,163,000 That’s almost enough people to fraudulently claim the reported £1 billion the taxpayer is paying out in wrongful benefit claims, it isn’t however enough to pull off swindling the government out of the £15 billion a year in tax evasion currently practiced by those nice 1%ers who just happen to control the media and government responsible for regulating and exposing these kinds of corrupt practices. There’s a loaded deck if I ever saw one, it’s like giving a bank robber the combination to the safe then phoning the police because the student out front stole a pen.

Meanwhile another group coming under flak from a prime minister who called Margaret Thatcher mother are the public sector workers planning to strike on the 30^thof November to protect the pensions they already agreed to cut in the past because instead of asking the 1% (there’s that word again) to pay their taxes the burden will be placed on those less able to cope with it. To put it into context they are trying to save £500 million from this pillaging of the pre-agreed pensions pot. Do this 30 times and they could match that tax avoidance mentioned above.

Remember that nice man Nick Clegg from the tv debates who promised not to raise tuition fees or cut the NHS? you know the one who backed his mate Dave when he raised tuition fees or outlined plans to cut the NHS, well he seems to think the one day strike will have such a detrimental effect on the economy that jobs will be lost, although his coalition government has to be fair admitted that the strike will have no greater effect than that of a one day holiday for the Queen’s birthday. It’s almost as if he doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s talking about isn’t it?

Not forgetting Dave of course, he’s been busy urging people to cross the picket lines and bring their children into work to help beat the strike, if that wasn’t bad enough he’s urging people to do this in a column in the (not worthy to wipe your shitty shoes on rag that routinely prints tits on page 3 and lies on every other page) Sun, yes the same paper owned by that weird-looking half vampire half giant testicle Rupert Murdoch, you’d think people would be wise to him seeing as his other companies hack dead schoolgirls phones (notw) or routinely racially abuse the president across the pond (Fox).

Speaking of across the pond the occupy movement now has entrenched itself into the psyche and conversations of America’s newsmen and women, hell even fox “news” are talking about them after spending the first few weeks denying it existed. The same station, who by the way have hired two of the most gruesome harridans ever to have appeared on television in the guise of Gretchen Carlson and Megyn Kelly, spending 5 minutes in either of their company would presumably drive anybody to agreeing Barack Obama is a socialist, Kenyan, communist, Marxist, Muslim just to stop them reading from the teleprompter that’s probably been written by satan himself. Watching them makes me want to bleach and wire brush my own eyes. Anyway when they finally did admit to knowing about the occupy movement they classed them as America’s most dangerous enemies, only a few months after hailing any right-wing nut with an ‘Obama is a Nazi’ sign as a hero ready to take their country back.

For any kind of sense and balance on the American political climate you have to rely on a comedian, Jon Stewart has consistently been on the attack of the politicians who give him more material than he’ll ever need on a weekly basis . the Republican parties’ front runners consist of a Texan millionaire who  owns a hunting ranch that used to be named n*****head, a fat toad of a man who divorced his wife as she was going through treatment for cancer and the owner of a pizza corporation who is currently embroiled in a scandal that has seen him pay more than one woman off to keep quiet about the times he has sexually harassed them. All the while the most sensible of their candidates is dismissed by the media and voters alike because he believes the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were illegal and seems a little too liberal when it comes to drugs.

By far the most sensible and likeable of the players in the US Senate is the independent from Vermont Bernie Sanders, his recent speech defending the occupy movement was a welcome sight for the movement if ever there was one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nG6YlLf98FU

 So yeah about this nuclear holocaust, maybe there is actually some hope yet.

Johnny Helzapopin

Thou Shalt Think For Yourselves

Big Brother is watching, so look busy.

Now as you will all have probably gathered from my previous posts, I’m an angry person at the best of times and even the tiniest of things will send me into an un-controllable rage. Having the misfortune of seeing Piers Morgans fat smug face on my television makes me scream obscenities at the screen like a bertie cursing a last-minute winner for United, again, or having to listen to football fans spout their stupid fucking opinions on my football club when they clearly have no fucking clue what they are talking about makes my blood boil. But if there is one thing that truly sends me into a Hulk style pants-ripping fury it’s the return of Big fucking Brother, yes one of the worst T.V shows to ever have been broadcast alongside The X Factor and Geordie Shore is back, all of which pander to the general public, or as I like to call them, gullible conforming fucktards.

But the worst thing about this abomination of a show returning when they had promised us it was gone forever the lying cunts, is the fact that it isn’t desperate wannabes going in to try to get their 15 minutes of fame this time round, it’s so-called celebrities desperately trying to cling onto their very own 15 minutes in the limelight, scrambling to get the last drips of adulation and money out of the fucking brain-dead morons who care about them and their pointless little lives. Now back in the old days of Celebrity Big Brother you could at least say they had some actual celebrities involved for instance Jack Dee, Mark Owen and Chris Eubank have all appeared in the show and have all worked hard towards getting their fame and fortunes, but let’s take a look at the latest batch who will be clogging up my news feed and taking up countless pages in shit publications such as The Sun and the News of the Wor…oops sorry Mr. Murdoch.

Kerry Katona- a cokehead, Jedward- two absolute fucking whoppers, Amy Childs- famous for being a slut from Essex, Paddy Doherty- a gypsy famous for being, well for being a gypsy and six other talentless vacuums consisting of the house of commons speakers wife, a washed up actress, a paparazzo, two male models/actors and The Hoffs ex-wife. Most people will say they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel like usual but truth be told the barrel was scraped clean a long, long time ago and the most depressing part about it all is knowing that the mindless fucking drones will continue to plant their fat ugly arses down on their couches, greasy kebab in one hand and the phone in the other ready to spend their hard-earned money/dole on voting for whichever cunt makes their triple chins wobble the most with laughter.

Now in continuing with the theme of people being brainwashed, as you should all know Big Brother is a title that was first heard of in George Orwell’s seminal novel ’1984′, it was depicted as a faceless master ruling over the world dictating how they should talk/think and act keeping a constant surveillance over the inhabitants of Oceania making sure they all toe the line helping to coin the now well-known phrase, ‘Big Brother is watching you’. This is how the show itself is run, being told what to do and when but it’s not just the contestants who are being controlled it’s the public who are being spoonfed this tripe, being told that this is what they should watch or do because it’s what everybody else is doing, effectively turning them into putty ready to be moulded into what the system wants them to be – submissive servants.

Now I’m pretty sure that when Orwell first started writing about a society ruled over by an Oligarchigal dictatorship known as the party, who were kept in the dark by the Ministry of Truth and kept in line by Big Brother, he would have had no idea that in the future we would actually be living in the totalitarian nightmare for real. A future in which the proles were indeed ruled over and told what to do by The (conservative) Party, kept in the dark by the media baron who works for them i.e Murdoch, and kept subdued and silent by Big Brother which in this case could be classed as the increasing rise in reality/talent shows that keep the masses in their collective vegetative states helping to make the rich even richer and helping to keep the whole torrid cycle going.

Anyway back to my original point, went off on a bit of a tangent there in true RRF fashion. My point is, until the masses wise up and start thinking for themselves then the future of the human race is in serious jeopardy and before you know it the country will be sat on its morbidly obese arse powerless to choose for itself, spitting out equally as fat and sweaty kids to join them in gorging on a curry whilst watching the 38th series of The X Factor. But the process has already begun, the amount of times I’ve had to sit and listen to a group of barely even 24 year olds waffle on about how they stayed in on a Saturday night and watched whatever pointless talent show is on without even showing a flicker of regret or shame on their faces makes me sick. This country is in serious danger of becoming just like Oceania, nice and submissive ready to do what it’s told like a good little pet in the hope their master will throw them a juicy bone and tickle their tummy.

WAKE UP PEOPLE! put down the phone, turn off the X Factor and go out and enjoy your short lives on this planet or go out and buy Mad Men on DVD and treat yourself to some intellectual television, stop being one of the crowd and think for your fucking selves, you absolute fucking twats. Oh, and if any of you cunts attempt to ask me who I think will win the X Factor I swear to the all-knowing and all-powerful Big Brother I will forcefully castrate you.

Spuddy

Manchester will never die.

The true faces of Manchester

I’m sure you’ve all witnessed the craziness that has been happening in the major cities all over England, the rioting looting and arson that has been spreading like, well like wildfire through London, Manchester and Birmingham, and also through the less important places that were shitholes anyway, i.e Liverpool and Bristol, sorry Lee. Now if like me you were disgusted and saddened at some of the pictures that were being broadcast through the usual channels such as Sky News and the BBC of windows being put through and shops being looted and in the more extreme of nights burnt to the ground by kids no older than 14 in some cases not only in London, but also in the most important city on Earth, Manchester then you will hopefully agree with what I am trying to put across in this post.

Unike most of the posts you will have read on either here or A Fine Lung this one won’t be pointing fingers or trying to place the blame, no my dear friends, this will concentrate on the few shining beacons of hope that have pierced through the darkness of the last four days. The moments that have made your hearts swell and given you a little bit more pride in your fellow men, women and children of this city and this country. The reasons that make Manchester such an amazing place to live and the reasons why community pride is something that will never be defeated by whatever is thrown at it, which in this case just happened to be bottles and bricks.

As I sat on the tram approaching Market Street on Wednesday morning I found myself looking out of the window wondering what sort of vandalism and chaos would greet me as the tram trundled in, wondering how many people would have turned up to help clean up the city they reside in and love and wondering if Manchester would ever be the same again. I had no reason to worry though as the sight of nearly 400 mancunians stood in Piccadilly Gardens was there to greet me, all carrying brushes and bin bags ready to help clean up not only the streets but the businesses that were affected, the likes of Diesel and Footlocker which had been looted of at least 90% of their stocks and especially Miss Selfridges which had been firebombed during the major flaring up point of the riots.

Unfortunately by the time I arrived most of the operation had already been dealt with by the Manchester City Council who had done a fantastic job overnight, not often you can say that, but also by the volunteers of whom many had been there since 9 and in some cases before 8am to make a start with the clean-up. The windows that mere hours before had lain shattered and strewn across the street were now boarded over and the remnants of the night before swept up and disposed of, the streets looked as though nothing had even taken place and the businesses and workers were getting on with their routines as if it was just a normal Wednesday morning.

The sight of so many proud and true mancunians lining the streets ready to do anything they could to help, no matter how big or small is one that will always stick with me and acted as a proper show of defiance and strength to the morons who had tried their hardest to destroy not just the shops and businesses that occupy manchesters streets but also the spirit and pride that mancunians have in our city. The best thing is it wasn’t just in Manchester where this had happened, in Clapham 150 local residents turned out to help clean up their streets, in Birmingham three young asian muslims tragically lost their lives as they tried to protect their streets from the looters and in Southall, west London, hundreds of Sikh men stood guard outside their temple and patrolled the streets on Tuesday night.

Every single story shows the good side and the bad side of each community, the people who are proud to say where they are from and the people who just want to cause trouble. Now I know you will all still be waiting for me to start with the accusations and trying to place the blame at either the government and Cameron for being inept and shit, which lets face facts they are or blaming the idiots who went out looting and causing mayhem for being cunts, also true. But I’ll leave that for the conversations I have over many beers with the RRF and at FC, cos in my eyes even if it’s only for a day, I want everyone to concentrate on and be proud of what your fellow people can do in the face of adversity, knowing that when push comes to shove the true spirit of a city can rise like a pheonix from the ashes and put a smile back on your face.

It’s this pulling together of people from so many different backgrounds and ethnicities that shows us that humanity isn’t dead regardless of what we’ve endured and watched over the last few days, sure questions have been raised about how the upper classes treat us working class and yes they need answering but for once lets just delay the anger and vitriol that we are aiming at both parties and just show some pride in knowing that we will always survive any hardship. Manchester survived the I.R.A bombings and we’ll survive this, Manchester will never die as long as we have people there to fight for it and doesn’t that make you proud to call yourself a mancunian.

Spuddy (Rhyme-master Extraordinaire)

P.S. Cameron is still a cunt though.

Panic on the streets of London

If I hear or read one more bell-end claim that the disturbance in London isn’t political but just about nicking and greed, I’m going to kick their windows in and nick their flat screen and all their shoes.

I have a vested interest in this. The Greggs that went up in Peckham? That’s my Greggs. That’s where I get my ham, cheese and pickle bloomers and sausage and bean melts from. It’s a ten minute walk from my door. The bus that got set on fire is the bus I take home from work. When the violence spread to East Dulwich you would have been able to hear the smashing of glass and the bleeping of Blackberries from my front room.

Luckily for me I’m not there. I left London last Friday for a break back up North with the family, leaving the cat to push the dresser up behind the front door on her own. Watching the news is a doubly surreal event for me, because I’m not sure whether or not I’m going to go home to a burnt out shell of a flat, or just general post-apocalyptic savagery. But this is the Peckham border-lands remember. Post-apocalyptic savagery is the norm.

But of course this is more than kids just nicking. It isn’t about greed. Just because an act doesn’t have political aims, doesn’t mean this act isn’t politically motivated. The long term marginalisation of the British youth has led them to feel oppressed, ignored, and hopeless. And if you make a section of society feel like ostracised outsiders, they’re eventually going to act like it. No respect for their community and their city? Well when have the community and the city ever showed them any respect?

Don’t believe me? Well look at how these rioters have been described. Some wanker from the Telegraph referred to them as an underclass. Feral has become the adjective of choice to describe the teenagers of London. Many are seriously, without irony, calling for the deployment of the army on the capital’s streets. The continued and aggressive dehumanisation of the youth that kicked all this mither off continues unabated.

What you’re seeing in London, and Birmingham, and Liverpool is a mass outpouring of directionless anger. Anger at the institutionalised racism of the Metropolitan Police (Black youths are six times as likely to be stop and searched than whites, Asian youths twice as likely) and at the lack of opportunities available to them. As Ken Livingstone (funny how the former mayor managed to be in the city, and the present, floppy haired, ex-Bullingdon club cunt of an incumbent didn’t) said, this is the first time the younger generation have fewer opportunities than their parents.

I’d never defend the arson, and the lootings, and beatings, and destruction of property and livelihoods. But I’d also never seek to condemn the perpetrators without at least trying to get a sense of what has caused their dissatisfaction. One rioter, shortly after the media dropped the term protestor, was asked whether he thought rioting was the best way to express his discontent. “Yes.” The lad replied. “You wouldn’t be talking to me now if we didn’t riot, would you? Two months ago we marched to Scotland Yard, more than 2,000 of us, all blacks, and it was peaceful and calm and you know what? Not a word in the press. Last night a bit of rioting and looting and look around you.”

The government’s response to the trouble has been worse than pathetic. Cameron sunned himself in Tuscany for three days before even thinking of coming home. Boris Johnson has mercifully remained absent so as not to make things worse by dicking about looking and acting like a twat. No government representative could be found to comment on Newsnight. Just who the fuck is meant to be running this country?

But sadly I fear this won’t lead to the downfall of the government, but instead enable them to sneak in draconian and even more right-wing laws to control and kerb meaningful protest. A rightward swing of public opinion, egged on by the Daily Mail and the rest of the gutter press, will see to it that if anything the Tories will strengthen their position.

Already the odious Nick Griffin is using the riots as a way of furthering his disgusting political party, fingering ethnic minorities as the trouble makers. Meanwhile in Dalston members of London’s Turkish and Kurdish community lined the streets to protect their homes and businesses and to chase off any potential rioters. Similar was happening in largely Asian areas. While the police struggled to maintain order across South London, elsewhere normal, working class people were pulling  together to protect each other. As a philosophy it’ll never catch on.

Whether or not this trouble will spread to the streets of Manchester remains to be seen. There are rumours flying about that it has started already as I write this, but the news of two burning cars in Salford sounds more like business as usual than man the barricades.

I could, if I was being trite and trying to forge a neat ending with a microcosm of this story, link all this in to FC United and our role in Moston and beyond, but I’ll leave that for another time. Instead I’ll just quote Martin Luther King Jr., who once said that a riot is the language of the unheard. Well they’ve been heard now, but is any fucker listening?

By Jodrell Banks

Chuffin’ Chuggers

For those of you fortunate enough to have already come across this website (or unfortunate enough depending on your disposition; though if you’ve been reading the articles on here and you’re back for more then it’s highly probable it’s the former), you’ll know it’s a bubbling cauldron of anger and hatred, infused with a liberal sprinkling of profanity. And so it fucking should be, what with the state of modern football, the fact the Tories are running public services into the ground and the fact that my local supermarket doesn’t stock my favourite lasagne. The bastards.

So now it’s been established this is an outlet for angry minds to unleash their opinionated tirades onto an unsuspecting public that quite frankly deserves everything it gets, it’s time to introduce a new feature to the website that I like to call: “The section of the website where people rant about things that make them really angry, so angry it makes them want to pull out each nasal hair individually”. Or maybe just “RRF random rants”, though I’m sure that can be discussed at a later date.  Anyway, for the inaugural rant, I’m going to talk about a relatively modern phenomenon: A creature known as a Chugger. And what exactly is a Chugger, I hear you ask in that inquisitive tone that suggests you want me to go on (what’s that? You don’t? Well tough; we’re on this journey together and we’ve got to see it through to the end now). Well apparently, according to the in-depth research I conducted (Google search), a Chugger is a charity mugger. Or put more simply: a charity collector. You know the sort; they can be found most days on Market Street, weaving in and out of the crowds (minus a collection box), waiting to pounce on unsuspecting members of the public  before attempting to extract their account details using their two main weapons of choice: flattery and guilt. Now before I go on, and you think I’m some sort of evil, charity hating twat, I should point out that I’m not averse to charitable acts; far from it in fact, it’s just I don’t appreciate people jumping into my way and trying to get me to give out my bank account details when I’ve only been acquainted with them a mere matter of seconds, all the while acting like we’re the very bestest of friends ever in the whole wide universe.

Hey, if you can spare me a minute of your time, I want to annoy the fuck out of you

But they’re not that bad! I hear you cry as you rush to defend these good men and women from my downright cynical attack on them. Well firstly, they’re doing this as a job; they work through agencies who will regularly rotate which charity they collect for, straight away leaving you to question their commitment to whichever cause they’re collecting for at any given time. Now admittedly, they’re not on commission as some people believe, but they do have targets to meet all the same, and this comes through so obviously when they attempt to get people to sign up, it verges on the painful. But I suppose they can be forgiven for all this: After all, they need the money, and it’s not their fault the charities choose to employ agencies as a means to collect funds. No, they can be forgiven, for their true crime lies in the manner in which they go about extracting money from people. I’ve witnessed them descending on their prey many times, and it’s not a pretty sight, bounding over to people lost in their own thoughts as they go about their daily routine, before crashing uninvited into their daydreams and calling to them as if they’re on first name terms. And that’s when it hits you: They’re students. And they don’t quite understand Manchester and its sons and daughters, especially if they think they can skip over to people and start a conversation with the word ‘Hey….’

Yes, the people who descend on this city in all their naivety, the ones who leave their small, provincial towns to go and see where the Gallagher brothers used to swagger around whilst being mad fer’ it, and swiftly learn that you don’t actually go round mocking ‘Man U’, as (shock horror), the media perpetuated myth that Manchester is blue is far from the truth, these poor souls are the ones unwittingly inflicting misery onto shoppers, commuters, idlers and anyone else going about their business. And that’s the sad truth of it all: they’re completely oblivious to what they’re doing; unaware that they should probably leave people alone, people who are happy to give to charity in their own time, people who don’t want to be taken on a guilt trip by someone with targets to hit (except the ones who succumb to the flirtatious collectors, though it could be argued they get everything they deserve, the weak minded fools), people who see a student with a big grin on their face wandering over to them and think ‘fuck off and leave me be you annoying get’.

So that, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, is my rant. There’ll be more rants coming soon.  Or maybe there won’t be; it all depends on what mood we’re in. If you wanted you could even submit your own; I can tell you now it’s a cathartic experience that’s left me feeling cleansed and ready to view the world with a renewed sense of wonder. Until something else pisses me off anyway.

Oh, and if you’re wondering what the best method is to deal with these Chuggers then don’t ask me. I’m here to rant, not to provide answers.

J. Walter Weatherman

I hope you die in your sleep you cunt.

Viva La Revolución

Another day and yet another quote from Mr. David (Debt is the Road to Ruin) Gill regarding the Glazers ownership of United, this time he’s been praising how they played so outstandingly on the pitch and helped us to another league title last season, ok, so maybe not those exact words, but near enough. If you’ve not seen the quotes yet then take a look here http://www.guardian.co.uk/football/2011/jul/31/david-gill-manchester-united.

Now we all know what sort of person Gill is, he’s a shameless, self-serving and pathetic excuse of a man, that’s a given, but it’s the sheer and utter cheek of him which really sticks in the throat, the exact same person who was coming out with quotes such as, “The level of debt required is not in the best interests of the Club” and “You know that if I wasn’t in the position I’m in, I would be behind the barricades with you” is now bigging the Glazers up at any given opportunity. He doesn’t give a fuck about what the fans think, all he knows is that if he keeps his tongue inserted firmly and deeply into Malcolms tight little rim then he’ll keep his cushy little job with all the money he can gobble up, like a hungry fucking hippo.

Yet, as I was reading through all the usual cringeworthy bullshit, Gill had un-intentionally made a good point, “The green-and-gold campaign has not disappeared completely, but it has died down dramatically during the past season and we move on.” Yes, the green and gold protest has lost momentum, which let’s be honest, thank fuck for that, because if I had to see another fucking tourist on tv stood there with a brand new home shirt on and a megastore bag with a fucking green and gold scarf wrapped around his neck I’d go out and punch a baby, but the real protest is gaining momentum, becoming more organised, and, more importantly, it’s becoming increasingly more appealing to fans who hate what United and top-flight football is becoming and it’s one that will never die down or go away.

Tucked away in a grotty little corner of a town known as Bury, the revolution is growing and becoming a hell of a lot louder, Gill knows it, Fergie knows it and you can be certain that the cretins currently residing in Florida fucking know it, the fashion statement of green and gold may not be a threat to you anymore, but we are, FC United is, and we won’t rest until you and the rest of the money-grabbing leeches sucking the soul and lifeblood out of United are gone, for good. Not just primarily the Glazers, but you, yeah that’s right you Gill, you odious, arse-licking cunt, you’re one of the major things that is wrong with United and modern football in general these days and you know it. People like you, who see a football club as a business to be raped and pillaged, are a disease that eats away at the core values of any football club, until all that is left is a hollow and frail shell of its former self.

You and the rest of the parasites that are content with suckling at the teet of Murdoch and Sky, whilst systematically ruining football for the people it was made for, will get your comeuppance Gill, it might not be today, or even tomorrow, but you can be sure it’ll be soon, and when it does come, myself and the countless other clued up football fans in this world will be there to celebrate your collective demises’ and reclaim the game for the people it was made by and for, the working classes. The men, women and children for whom football is a way of life not something to make money out of, the very same ‘customers’ that help pay the players and your own obscene wages, but that gravy train won’t last much longer, because the revolution is coming to the people and it won’t go away quietly, so be warned Gill, cos you’ll be the first up against the wall.

The time to reclaim your game is now people, but only you can do it, so don’t just sit back and wait for others to do it for you, get off your arse and protest, stop paying obscene amounts of money to watch the team you love and fight to get whichever team you support back into the hands of the people it belongs to, the fans.

Hasta la victoria siempre.

Want to become a part of FC? or a member of MUST? then click these links you lazy twats.

http://www.fc-utd.co.uk/membership.php

http://action.joinmust.org/index.php/content/splash

Spuddy.

Read this you divs.

Who wants some you cants!!

Do you know what’s really wrong with the world of football today? It’s not sky or money or even soccer am’s unique brand of bantertainment with added Chris Kamara.The answer to this question is rather more simple and disturbing. It’s you buddy. Just look at the evidence I’m about to drop on you and work it out for yourself. As a football fan you probably fit into one of a few categories;

The customer
The “casual”
The armchair slob

Now if you happen to find you belong in one of these categories it is a bad place to find yourself but fear not dear reader by the end of this article you’ll be in no doubt as to what you are because you’ll have felt an odd twinge in the pit of your stomach, don’t worry this is just a coincidence and as a modern football fan you’ll have been devoid of this for most of your life, but it won’t trouble you much in future.Anyway to business! Do you, when attending your football competition of choice feel drawn to the gaudy warmth of the overpriced nirvana that is the club shop? Do you feel great when you put on your skin-tight, ergonomic, top of the line official club shirt/track suit combo with the official league 2 twat badges on the arms (don’t forget your shin pads, who knows you might get a game. It doesn’t matter that you’re overweight middle-aged and have the hand eye co-ordination of a drunken toddler on a bouncy castle.)

 

If this sounds like you then you are a customer, well done you now have priority to all tickets and if the footballing gods (sky) deem you worthy you might draw Man United in the league cup and you can take part in a rousing chorus of “We support our local team” or “who are ya!” how fun it must be for you to break the monotony of making passionless awkward love to your spouse once a week when you can mix it with the working classes in primordial yet fully supervised and politically correct rage.

 

Although you do look like a dick offering out a couple of hundred travelling away fans in your white socks bedecked in an England flag.

 
Or maybe you saw football factory or green street once and decided  sitting on the play station all week wasn’t enough excitement in your life, you begged and bawled all week until your Mum agreed to take you out to buy some clothes from your local identi-kit  shopping precinct . You look really flash in your new Adidas spezials and ill-fitting jeans, when topped off with an OAP baiting stone island goggle jacket you’re ready for the heady world of football hooliganism.

 

Now you need a “firm”. Well you know the kind of people who can’t be trusted on away trips to Hereford and Torquay, this isn’t alton towers with school (that’s next week) you pick your hardest mates,  Trevor once mugged a single mother at knife point he’s definitely in. All that’s left is to call yourself the Bury interchange crew and to head away and find the police escort so you can hide behind it and claim a result against one of the big boys of the hoolie world (Rochdale).

 

Oi! You, the one breathing heavily wondering whether to have a kebab or a pizza for tea tonight, close the other tab you have open on your internet browser because I don’t want you watching some kind of depraved activity involving a Japanese lady with a pixellated vagina and a squid whilst you read my words, sicko. You think you have it all worked out don’t you, why go and experience the world of live football when you can have it beamed directly into your brain along with the utterly incoherent ramblings of Jamie Redknapp in 3D? His cock admittedly does look marvellous in H.D nestled in the unusually tight crotch area of his shiny pants and his tie with a knot bigger than his big empty head doesn’t look at all distracting. You know exactly the problems with Fabio Cappelos’ England selections because you read it in the Sunday Mirror, what they need is a real lion-hearted saint i.e. John Terry to lead those lions into battle. Who needs Xavi and Iniesta when you can have Stevie Gee and Frank Lampard in the middle?

 

Maybe after the match you can listen to more opinions you can recite to the other lads at the factory to make you sound like a real football sage over your 15 corned beef sandwiches and bag of prawn cocktail crisps at dinner. Maybe top it off with a disgusting wank over the day’s page 3 girl who definitely wouldn’t find you  a pathetic, husk of a man with absolutely no redeeming features whatsoever.

 

Now if you’re feeling slightly disappointed about being one of the main reasons football is dying don’t worry there’s an alternative, ditch the half-baked theories of muslamic ray guns, put down that bottle of Alco pop and check out FC United. It’s like a utopia, except it’s currently in Bury and nobody wants to be there (it’ll be back in the Republik soon enough though so it aint all bad) and the people are nice, the football is entertaining and best of all, there isn’t much chance that by partaking you’ve somehow given the go ahead for the likes of Rupert Murdoch or Malcolm Glazer to carry on molesting our national pastime.If you knew all this anyway, which you probably did because you’re reading a blog about FC United and donkeys, forward this onto your friends and acquaintances because you’ll get extra credits for when you pass onto the ethereal plane of your choice after you cark it and leave the mortal world.

 

You make me sick,
Helzapoppin

 

All people represented in this article are completely fictional, except the Bury Interchange Crew, they’re a bunch of bellends.