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Archive for the ‘The World Cup’ Category

Hello!

With the World Cup in full swing and with too many matches on TV to allow me to write anything new here is another famous scene from World Cups of yore.

1966 was a great year to be British. Dentistry had been bought in from the cold. Roofs were becoming commonplace and plugs of all varieties were no longer in short supply!

Brown and Bitter was a staple drink of the working classes and not a comment on inner city racial tensions.

On July 37th 1966 England won the World Cup for footballing.

Yet it was a game not without controversy!

The Queen is caught stealing fried onions from the burger bar at half-time but The Establishment cover up her chronic kleptomania.

But there is one moment that still counts as one of the great talking moments in a game of many moments.

Did the chicken cross the line?

This image that proves conclusively nothing at all.

 

England claim success. The referee is unsure. He confers with the Georgian linesman. With a firm nod of his head Dimitri Yashmilli-Vanilli confirms a goal has been scored.

England go on to win the greatest prize in world football. In West Germany there is outrage. So angry are the Germans that they take revenge by developing a sustainable industrial base.

 THE BASTARDS!

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fence2charlessausage

The World Cup Is Here!

Brazil is hosting the tournament.

Prince Charles provides his rounded view of the 32 Nations taking part. Here is his take on the final two Groups (Thank God) G and H.

charles chinstrap copy

Group G

Germany – Leiderhosen laden, oompa loompaing, thigh slapping titanic Teutons – massively hammed to a man – made a few mistakes in the past but who hasn’t? I’d slip Angela Merkel a length! Still have relatives there.

Portugal – Port swilling Latin layabouts obsessed with sardines and hair styling products -World centre for dandruff research.

Ghana – Ex colony (weren’t they all? sigh) – people smile a lot and wear clothes so bright their jumpers are visible from Saturn – cheap place to buy sandals but sadly not brogues for one.

USA – Ex colony – they have a penchant for shooting each other indiscriminately yet keep to a strict oral hygiene regime – invent their own games involving shoulder pads to make sure they win them.  Saved our bacon in WW2 when they finally got their arses into gear! Never forgiven Travolta for dancing with Dia*a all them years ago – no wonder he turned to Scientology (she was barking by the way – in case you weren’t sure).

Group H

Belgium – Mussels, chips and getting invaded a lot – Belgium!

Algeria – Cous-cous chomping nihilists who kicked the Frogs out decades ago – up yer arse De Gaulle! –  not  a fan of cous cous – the bits get stuck in one’s teeth.

Russia – Light hearted libertines with a soft spot for totalitarianism and gay rights – their idea of fun is amoebic dysentery – they burn puppies in the winter to keep warm – the rich ones have bought London.

Korea – Workaholic loons – bastards stole our ship building industry – trapped wind archery is the national sport (use your imaginations – does not make an appealing spectacle).

ENJOY THE COMPETITION!

TTFN

Charlie

QE2

 

 

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fence2charlessausage

The World Cup Is Here!

Brazil is hosting the tournament.

Prince Charles provides his rounded view of the 32 Nations taking part. Here is his take on the Groups E and F.

charles chinstrap copy

Group E

Switzerland – Neutral, Heidi worshipping Nazi gold hoarders who like cheese with holes in – Bastards to a man.

Ecuador – Bandy legged coca leaf chewers and purveyors of silly hats – belching is a national obsession.

France – Shoulder shrugging arseholes who we had to save in World Wars 1 and 2. They still try to shaft us at every opportunity.  Mama still refers to De Gaulle as “That Big Conked French Wanker.” They don’t wash and all smell of garlic. Brigit Bardot though – PHWOARRR!

Honduras – A country with the highest murder rate in the world. Nothing else to do apparently. Apart from sweat. The country only has 7 dentists.

 

Group F

Argentina – Tangoing, cheating Barrio dwellers who have tried to con us out of every World Cup since 1875. The Falklands are British and even speccy Pope Argy won’t get his hands on them!

Bosnia and Herzegovina – Their name takes longer to say than the length of time they will be in the competition. Because of them we have to suffer James Blunt. 

Iran – A land of hairy arsed Yank baiters who hide nuclear waste material down their trousers.Lovely carpets though. Can I have one?

Nigeria – Email scamming juju obsessed con artists who have a problem with educating girls. Bring back the Empire!

 

jose

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sooty

The World Cup Is Here!

Brazil is hosting the tournament.

Prince Charles provides his rounded view of the 32 Nations taking part. Here is his take on the Groups C and D.

charles chinstrap copy

Group C

Colombia – Every crack dealers second team. Likely to sniff victory at the earliest opportunity. Will hug the lines.

Greece – So broke the team had to walk to Brazil. Dearest Father cheers them on. We have to hide the crockery.

Ivory Coast – Big lads to a man – lightweights. Should have been our colony. Frogs got there first.

Japan – Whale butchers and giant lizard fantasists – who WE BEAT IN THE WAR! – You can stick your Honda Civic up yer arse!

 

Group D

ENGLAND – Inventors of football, railway timetables, parliamentary democracy, the concentration camp, trapped wind, eyelash curlers and the long sock – if there’s an Eden it is England. Bloody foreigners. Which one of you fuckers wants some then?

Italy – A car back fires and Rome surrenders – lily livered Latin loverboys who will cheat and bribe their way to victory over our brave lads unsullied as we are by the desire or skill to win at football.

Uruguay – Morose bandy legged corned beef hawkers – two words to say to them Graf Spee and the Battle of River Plate!

Costa Rica – Titchy Central American nation perched on an Isthmus which sounds like someone with a lisp saying Christmas. They don’t have an Army. INVADE! Bring back the Empire!

INGERLAND!

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sooty

The World Cup Is Here!

Brazil is hosting the tournament.

Despite the corruption, riots and on site deaths,  the world will turn its attention to the buttock shaking centre of the Universe for a month.

Yes folks, there will be images of g-string clad, sweaty arsed Favela dwellers shouting,  “GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLL” every time a “sambatastic” player breaks the old onion bag.

Prince Charles provides his rounded view of the 32 Nations taking part. Here is his take on the first 2  Groups.

charles chinstrap copy

 

Greetings – it was most kind of Gingerfightback to invite one to give one’s view of the nations competing in this year’s Roundball Event (more of a Polo man – nothing like riding an old nag –  but enough about Camilla!)

Here are my views of the plebians taking part in the game WE INVENTED!

Group A

Brazil – Any country that has a pubic hair shaving regime named after it is alright by one! PHWOARRRR!

Croatia – People with incomprehensible surnames should never be trusted. They have a tablecloth for a national flag. Dodgy collaborators.

Mexico – Cheese melters and bean squishers mostly propped up against walls asleep under their sombreros. Is Yul Brynner still coach?

Cameroon – Shite Prime Minster from Eton – didn’t realise he was a footy player – had him down as a fag basher from his Bullingdon days.

 

Group B

Spain – Current Champions – Eat very thinly sliced ham – not breaded either – the bastards  – their King has just abdicated.  MAMA! ARE YOU READING THIS!

Netherlands – Clog barmy barge dwellersh finger in dyke typesh – love to shmoke der dope. Tall. Very tall.

Chile – Pan pipe parpers and centre of the world bird shit industry. A country so thin it is the poster child for anorexic Human Geographers.

Australia – Aussies constantly bang on about how great the place is from the countries they are living in. Ex convicts with skin cancer.

 

 

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Goose

Hello,

I hope you enjoyed Part 1 yesterday. You can Read Part 1 here!

Here is Part 2 – Read on……….

Day 41 – Lisbon – scurry aboard Recife bound ship “Obrigado” – the principal cargo is buttock emollient cream, samba costumes and whistles – wriggle into a nice floral headpiece, matching sequinned bra and thong – I blending in with Brazilian culture!

Day 43 – The Obrigado – Unmasked by Boson as not “Hector” the vessel’s happy go lucky First Mate but as a non-paying transgender guest with well-honed buttocks – thrown in the Brig.

Day 43 – The Obrigado – Brought to ship’s captain – he is an unreconstructed romantic who is in a state of high dudgeon after reading the Bronte Classic Jane Eyre – he clutches me to his swelling breast and sobs uncontrollably “Poor Rochester,” he cries – tells me of his loon of a wife – a woman with a predilection for salty old tars – she is sealed away in ship’s bulkhead on account of her madness and “needs”.

Michael-Fassbender-as-Mr-Rochester-Jane-Eyre-2011-michael-fassbender-25911613-1920-1040

Day 46 – The Obrigado – Mass panic as Captain’s wife escapes and ravishes the ships Bursar, First and Second Mate, Boson, Petty Officer, Cook and a lad who happened to be passing in a Tuna fishing boat she spotted on the starboard bow – swam over to and ravished – she is captured and restored to her cell – the Captain sobs – I read him extracts from Wuthering Heights – “Poor Cathy,” is all he says.

Day 50 – Recife – Leave Obrigado – Captain donates lifetime supply of buttock emollient to thank me for my support – his wife ravishes me before I skip ashore – “Poor Cathy,” are the last words I hear.

Day 51 – Trans-Amazonian Highway – Sashay my way towards Belem – my bottom is revered by buttock cognoscenti.

Day 54 – Belem – Join Samba dance band – band rooted in bizarre Marxist theory that believes buttock wobbling in camp outfits will eventually destroy capitalism – I have my doubts.

Day 68 – Mouth of Amazon – Say farewell to my Samba Band colleagues with a toot on my whistle – Capitalism still intact – chop down big tree – shape it into giant clog and paddle towards Manaus.

Useful Tip in the Rain Forest #1 Never paddle in a thong.

butt

Day 71 The Amazon – See off attack from shoal of synchronised swimming Piranhas by dazzling them with my sequin studded brassiere – smear myself in emollient to fend off flesh-eating insects and mosquitos.

Day 75 – Fishing village of Maracaibo – Befriended by Geoff a double glazing salesman from Cornwall who. “turned left at Plymouth instead of right” – barter my whistle with him for a set of triple glazed French windows he happens to be carrying – lash them to clog and sail up the Amazon!

Day 80 – Manaus – Leave clog and trek into Forest – see all types of creatures – Jaguars, Monkeys, Lions, Tigers, Penguins, Polar Bears, even a Giraffe – realise I am in Manaus Zoo and head for exit – easy mistake to make. Turn left at MacDonald’s and find myself deep in the Rain Forest.

Useful Tip in the Rain Forest #2 – Never walk in a thong and stilettos in the Rain Forest.

Day 84 – Rain Forest – Felled by dart fired from blowpipe – fall into delirious fever – imagine erotic romps with Bilbo Baggins.

Day 86 – Rain Forest – Fever breaks and awake to find short lad with big ears and enormous feet next to me! I am in Middle Earth!

Day 86 – Rain Forest – Lad wakes up and smiles – he only communicates by twanging his nasal hairs in complex melodies – I discover his name is Whothefuckareyou? Chief of a long lost tribe who still don’t have a clue where they are – The Wherethefuckarewe?

tribe

Day 86  – Rain Forest – I am the first white man in samba outfit with smooth buttocks the Wherethefuckarewe? have encountered – I am worshipped as their long lost God and christened Wherethefuckdidhecomefrom?

Day 87 – Rain Forest – The Wherethefuckarewe? are a proud people – traditional costume is an Adidas Shellsuit – it is good to see that they have not been tainted by western culture – Whothefuckareyou? organises a feast in my honour!

Day 88 – Rain Forest The feast comprises the traditional Amazonian dish of Burger and Chips washed down with a highly intoxicating liquor made by fermenting the bark of dogs – we partake in a fertility dance with a number of toothless harpies – nasal hairs plucked with much ferocity – Before passing out all I recall is a nasal hair plucking rendition of the Hokey Cokey, followed by Hi Ho Silver Lining……..

Day 93 – Rain Forest – Whothefuckareyou? leads me deep into the jungle – day after day I toil moving ever further from civilisation towards what? I know not – I am wilting – cannot go much further – chafed and blistered – my headgear a bit wonky – Finally he holds out a slightly wonky Light Sabre without batteries towards a clearing in the Forest.

Day 93 – In The Rain Forest – A place of serene beauty – never before seen by a white man dressed in a samba outfit – giant statues – thousands of years old – bearing a remarkable resemblance to the cast of US Sitcom Friends – guard this place – I hear water nearby – Whothefuckareyou? twangs on his nose hair – the sounds tell me that we have reached the source of the Amazon – A washer is needed to stop the dripping – slightly disappointing.

I think of Simon Cowell with a sausage on his head.

simon_cowell goetta copy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Goose

 

Hello,

With the Soccerball World Cup in Brazil  starting next week and football fever building,  here is an old story from our friend  The Tight Fisted Traveller on how he managed to travel to Brazil for free last year.

This is taken from his handy reference book– “The Coke Smugglers Guide to Latin America”.

Chapter 23 – “Brazil It’s An Amazon Place!”

Day 1 – London – Steal bicycle – nip to French mens outfitter’s “Moi?” – purloin traditional French garb of beret, Breton shirt, moustache and string of onions – stare in shop window and practice nonplussed facial expression whilst shrugging shoulders – I am French!

Day 1 – London – Bike ride to Dover hampered by dangling onions – but I am French now so shrug shoulders and blockade motorway to protest.

Day 3 – Dover Harbour – Stowaway on French Minesweeper SS “Mai Oui”.

A Typical Frenchman - well if you're gonna do a cliche do it properly

Day 4 – English Channel – My disguise allows me to mingle with the crew who smoke continually, argue about the true meaning of Sartre and make vegetable soup which is slurped down with Gallic aplomb.

Day 5 – English Channel – The crew take me to heart after Je suis discovered akip in torpedo tube – sing the Edith Piaf classic – “A Citroen Backfires – Paris Surrenders” become overnight internet sensation on Vous Tube.

Day 6 – Cherbourg – no sign of Cher sadly – I am smuggled ashore by crew who wish to continue discussing Sartre and their nation’s affliction for permanent nonplussedness. After emotional farewells involving mass spontaneous shoulder shrugging – I cycle south for Spain.

Day 8 – Cherbourg (still) – Dangling onions still a problem and the false moustache causing further drag issues on Bike – c’est la vie – blockade service station toilets in protest.

Day 9 – Cherbourg (still) – Tour de France sweeps through – Stage 14 to Reims – I join the Peloton – miraculously win the stage and claim the Yellow Jersey. Cite Lance Armstrong and Amphetamine abuse as major factors in my success.

Day 10 Reims – I am uncovered when my dangling onions accidentally throttle leading French rider in Stage 15 – chased by baying mob of French onion loving cyclist philosophers who see this as ghastly “Les Rosbifs” attack on a French sporting institution (but the philosophers ask “is it?”) – Make good my escape by removing the onions from bike and take off false moustache – they’ll never spot me!

Day 10 – Reims- Arrested by French police. Blockade my cell in protest.

Day 13 – Reims – Released – am offered a lift by Heineken sozzled Dutch shykling fansh – Wim and Piet Mine Der Gap who are following the Tour – Their camper van roof sports a giant detachable clog and a windmill – “Krayshee Ja!” Wim and Piet keep saying – I am hidden in Windmill as we pass through the Pyrenees into Espana. Now I know what Anne Frank must have gone through.

Day 31 – The Spanish Pyrenees – Wim and Piet spin on blades of windmill for three days singing the back catalogue of well known Dutch Prog rock band Focus – they swear rotary turbine spinning cures any hangover – I decouple giant clog and slip quietly into the River Sangria and raft to Madrid.

clogboat

Day 33 – Somewhere in Iberia – Sailing by clog surprisingly comfortable – draw admiring glances from Spanish Environmentalists who are protesting about tomatoes being grown in greenhouses along riverbanks.

Day 37 – Madrid – How a Brit, disguised as a Frenchman arriving in a giant clog could be construed to be the famous bullfighter “El Flatulente” is beyond me – but I am – carried shoulder high to Las Ventas for a spot of “Death in the Afternoon”.

Day 37 –  Madrid – Bullfighting clothes very tight on the old knackers – mince my way into the ring – confronted by a livid Bull called “El Mangler” – my bowels loosen – prance like John Wayne with piles – realise my sword is actually a shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries – I have to make the droning noise myself – El Mangler sees the sword, recalls he is part Sith and then does a passable Darth Vader impression – becomes internet sensation on Tu Tube – I am carried shoulder high by adoring fans out of the arena – with only a wonky shop bought Star Wars light sabre without batteries as a trophy.

Day 38 – Madrid – I hitch a lift in a lorry driven by a reticent Serb war criminal, Goran – cargo is artificially grown tomatoes hidden in statues of Picasso.

oil-painting-tete-de-femme-by-spanish-painter-pablo-picasso-7433141 copy

Part 2 Tomorrow! To Lisbon and Beyond……..

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