Friday, 3 October 2014

Michel Twattini is a Cheat


This Person is Getting On My Nerves

It isn't true that cheats never prosper. Cheats are always prospering. I cheat all the time and I would recommend it to anyone. Last week, I stole £35 worth of magazines from supermarkets and profited because I didn't have to pay for any of them and yet still got to read lots of interesting articles. Hence I cheated and yet I prospered and I do this every week. Sometimes I pinch sirloin steak, sometimes it's baked beans; sometimes it's dog food, (though I have had to tell my analyst that I have no personal insight into why anyone would shop lift dog food when they don't have a dog on account of the fact that they are needy animals and as thick as two short planks).  It's still free, though, just as it is when I occasionally syphon off petrol from my neighbour's cars in the middle of the night and take the milk off their doorsteps. I used to help myself to loads of vodka as well, until the greedy owners of supermarkets started putting their paranoid little security tags on booze bottles, thus ending that particular gravy train. This was unfortunate but such is life.

Still, all this cheating and nicking is as nothing when compared to the epic piss-taking of the UEFA Cheater-in-Chief, Michel Twatini. This is because the lying bastard antics of this anti-football arse-hat are unprecedented and unrivalled in all of history,

City have one point from a possible six because of him. I have just now emailed those power-crazed segments of skunk snots, UEFA and hurled a load of mindless abuse their way. I am urging my fellow supporters to do likewise. The content of your email to them should be along the following lines:-

Dear French Clown & assorted UEFA Dickheads


There was a debacle of a 1-1 draw between Manchester City and Roma at the Etihad the other night and I have seen fit to place the entire blame for my team's insipid, performance on you, as opposed to the team; its manager or even Yaya fucking Toure. I was at the game. It was a waste of money and I demand a refund. I should have bought a load of reefer and watched it on TV instead, just like Paul Scholes said to do. We were shite and this was because of you, Twatini, and the UEFA cartel you rode in on. You'd better not ever set foot in the Colin Bell Stand because I swear to God, I will have a psychotic break at the very sight of you and will refuse to be held responsible for the public lynching that would inevitably ensue.

I hope you are fucking satisfied now that the champions of England are yet again practically out of the rabid dog with fleas competition that you are pleased to call the 
"Champions League" . Why are you even calling it the Champions League? It should be called the “Hardly a Fucking Champion in Sight League - Except in City's Group. I have reported you to the Trades Description people; Consumer Focus and the BBC Watchdog television programme for this. I have told them  you are  total morons and should be removed from the face of the planet. Hopefully they will see to this request with all due urgency and thoroughness.

Look at what you've done, you essence of baboon fluid. They were pleasuring themselves in such a demented and protracted fashion on Talk Shite Radio after our failure to beat Roma that it registered on the Richter Scale. This tossing off fest even spilled over into the following day. Some people began to worry that the Rapture had begun. Meanwhile, the pundits were all acting like they'd just personally won £6 million each on the Euro Lottery. Thank fuck the Red Scouse lost to Basel 24 hours later. It gave the media agenda merchants someone else's misfortune and shitness to masturbate about for a bit. I could only lie down in a dark room when I got home after the Roma game and couldn't bring myself to eat anything. I only came out from behind the couch once it was certain that the Red Scouse had been beaten. I am grateful to them for being crap and acting as a decoy, even if this was a bit belated.

What is the meaning of Balotelli's hair, btw? Be advised that I do not like it. I am depressed enough about yet another international break coming up after this weekend and I cannot cope with Mario's hair on top of this. UEFA need to write to Brenda Rodgers and tell her it wants sorting.

But enough of the candle burners. We should be talking about the shameless and compulsive cheating that has been going on in your stupid CL tournament for years now. You only have to look at how the draw operates. Year in, year out, it is the Bent Fest in Geneva Show. Or is it the Bent Fest in Zurich Show? I can't be bothered to look up the location and it doesn't even matter. Whichever part of the world you hold your annual cheats are us orgy, we can be sure that the whole thing will have taken place in a hotel where the cheapest nightly tariffs are never less than £3,000 and the restaurant has at least three Michelin stars and at least one of the Roux brothers is cooking on the premises at any given point in time. Bastards. No doubt the Cheater-In-Chief Twatini booked himself into the penthouse suite for the draw and is still there now. I have to assume he is using the wages we saved on loaning the Beast out to finance this little jaunt of his, including all the skiing and fondant eating he is no doubt managing to fit in along the way.

Speaking of the draw, what is all this rubbish about pots? What the fuck have pots got to do with football, you robber baron freak of nature. You are a stupid bastard and this is lunacy. Pots are for cooking or smoking. They have nothing to do with sport. Also, why don't you ever wash your hair? Is it a cult thing you're involved with or something? If you are going to steal City's money, at least do something useful with it, like buying some shampoo and getting the occasional wash cut and blow at Supercuts.

And anyway, I would rather City won Miss World or the Eurovision Song Contest than win your stupid trophy. In fact, I would celebrate City winning a throw-in more than winning any of your pox infested silverware. Popeye the Sailor Man means more to me than your cheap tin can trinket of a "Look at Us, We Are Not Even The Fucking Champions League" Trophy. Fuck off.

Does Twatini have a wooden toilet seat? If so, I will varnish it and I will trick him into sitting on it before it dries. He will then  get stuck on there all day long, like the little turd he is. This accidently happened to my grandfather once, so I know full well that it is an entirely feasible scenario.

Incidentally, what is the brain cell to pony faeces ratio currently occupying that section of Monsieur Twatini's fat head that he does all his so called thinking with? He is a medical marvel. In fact, how exactly was it that his brain got converted to at least four parts horse excrement in the first place? Did his mother cross-breed with something equestrian? Is this the reason for his useless existence? Nothing would surprise!!! I only hope that at some point in the not so distant future I get the chance to photograph him and all of you others in compromising circumstances so we can ban your arses from the UK forever and get you all the sack.

Just you wait. You have NOT heard the last of this. None of you have. 

You are loads and loads of bastards. WTF and die.

Mrs 1 Liesalot

October 2014