DozzyMid-Strength Beer is the Tipple of the Feeble
November 13th 2008 02:29
SPECIAL GUEST SCRIBE thesunnymunn
The series is over.
No more Border-Gavaskar trophy.
No more Kumble, no more Ganguly, no more glove changes.
No more debutants scalping the coveted wicket of the Little Master.
No more Polish coke-fiends taking time off from playing the villain in the "Saw" flicks, to snaffle 12/358 (!) on debut.
No more of Mark Nicholas pumping up ...every... ...single... ...delivery... ...as the most momentous in Test history.
No more Sunil Gavaskar reminding any batsman on more than fifty, seen to be playing a positive stroke, that "Test centuries don't come along every day."
And no more of Mark Waugh's Madam Tussaud mug slowly dripping away during the drinks interval.
If Junior covers the aussie summer, he will dead-set end up as nothing but a beady-eyed little puddle seeping through the Fox Sports desktop.
One (1) thing does, however, remain.
The half minute (30 second) inserts of televised muck, between overs.
Six (6) balls down and it's time for the visual equivalent of sprinting backwards through a desert whilst suffering intense jock-rot, nursing a belly-full of viagra and a head-full of acid...
not good fun, man.
Why are we still assaulted by this guff...?
Why are we constantly bombarded in an ambuscade of mid-strength beer commercials....?
Doug Mulray gets dragged within the hour (35 mins), and we've got to endure thirty (30) second slots of this cerebral gunk being shat over our screens all summer?!
No, thankyou.
Where's Kerry when you need him, putting the kibosh on these mid-strength humans and their contrived blokeyness...?
Where's Your Messiah, Now?!
Who are the subnormal numbskulls pitching this puss....?
- "ok, so basically, it'll be a bunch of blokey sort of blokes with nothing better to do than sit around all day being blokey, sipping on mid-strength froth - as blokes - talking about building a boat ....in a blokey sort of way..."
SOLD!
Fuck Off, XXXX Gold!
Fuck.
Right.
Off.
No one likes you.
You and your kind aren't welcome here.
Stay in India, i don't want you here for summer.
New Zealand don't want you.
South Africa don't want you (so we'll probably keep you around for those bastards, just to piss them off...)
Australia does not want you.
You have no (0) mates, XXXX Gold.
None (0).
I Swear, on my combined man-love for VVS and utter contempt for everything else Indian, that if i am forced to sit through another "race-changing moment" from the wheel of Jamie Whincup; i will begin focussing all my attention towards acts of pure evil.
So help me God, i will march straight into the advertising department of Castlemaine Brewery [presumably an old cubby house harbouring two petrified dog turds, a cup of hot fat with a hair in it, and a member of the Fritzl family] and issue anyone within ear-shot a severe "life-changing moment."
These gormless turds are slower than the Australian over-rate.
With the kiwis on our shores as, what should prove to be, pure fodder before the upcoming South Africa series; a long hot summer of cricket is already upon us.
Hard decks.
Richie Benaud.
six-twelve (612AM) on the wireless.
Abusing Andre Nel at third (3rd) man.
It all lies in wait.
And with a little slice of luck-pie, our collective grey matter may just scrape through, without being sullied by anymore of these insipid mid-strength beer commercials....
PLEASE.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's just gone nine (0900) and i have rum to drink and lists to write...
God i loathe losing a Test series.
The series is over.
No more Border-Gavaskar trophy.
No more Kumble, no more Ganguly, no more glove changes.
No more debutants scalping the coveted wicket of the Little Master.
No more Polish coke-fiends taking time off from playing the villain in the "Saw" flicks, to snaffle 12/358 (!) on debut.
Smokin Jase Krejza
No more Sunil Gavaskar reminding any batsman on more than fifty, seen to be playing a positive stroke, that "Test centuries don't come along every day."
And no more of Mark Waugh's Madam Tussaud mug slowly dripping away during the drinks interval.
If Junior covers the aussie summer, he will dead-set end up as nothing but a beady-eyed little puddle seeping through the Fox Sports desktop.
One (1) thing does, however, remain.
The half minute (30 second) inserts of televised muck, between overs.
Six (6) balls down and it's time for the visual equivalent of sprinting backwards through a desert whilst suffering intense jock-rot, nursing a belly-full of viagra and a head-full of acid...
not good fun, man.
Why are we still assaulted by this guff...?
Why are we constantly bombarded in an ambuscade of mid-strength beer commercials....?
Doug Mulray gets dragged within the hour (35 mins), and we've got to endure thirty (30) second slots of this cerebral gunk being shat over our screens all summer?!
Where's Kerry when you need him, putting the kibosh on these mid-strength humans and their contrived blokeyness...?
Where's Your Messiah, Now?!
Who are the subnormal numbskulls pitching this puss....?
- "ok, so basically, it'll be a bunch of blokey sort of blokes with nothing better to do than sit around all day being blokey, sipping on mid-strength froth - as blokes - talking about building a boat ....in a blokey sort of way..."
SOLD!
Fuck Off, XXXX Gold!
Fuck.
Right.
Off.
No one likes you.
You and your kind aren't welcome here.
Stay in India, i don't want you here for summer.
New Zealand don't want you.
South Africa don't want you (so we'll probably keep you around for those bastards, just to piss them off...)
Australia does not want you.
You have no (0) mates, XXXX Gold.
None (0).
Meet the head of XXXX advertising
I Swear, on my combined man-love for VVS and utter contempt for everything else Indian, that if i am forced to sit through another "race-changing moment" from the wheel of Jamie Whincup; i will begin focussing all my attention towards acts of pure evil.
So help me God, i will march straight into the advertising department of Castlemaine Brewery [presumably an old cubby house harbouring two petrified dog turds, a cup of hot fat with a hair in it, and a member of the Fritzl family] and issue anyone within ear-shot a severe "life-changing moment."
These gormless turds are slower than the Australian over-rate.
With the kiwis on our shores as, what should prove to be, pure fodder before the upcoming South Africa series; a long hot summer of cricket is already upon us.
Hard decks.
Richie Benaud.
six-twelve (612AM) on the wireless.
Abusing Andre Nel at third (3rd) man.
It all lies in wait.
And with a little slice of luck-pie, our collective grey matter may just scrape through, without being sullied by anymore of these insipid mid-strength beer commercials....
PLEASE.
Now, if you'll excuse me, it's just gone nine (0900) and i have rum to drink and lists to write...
God i loathe losing a Test series.
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