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sooty

 

Ginger Sooty filed this from Copacabananananana Beach last night.

Hello,

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Philipp Laum Lifts The Sausage Of Destiny

Germany Won The World Cup!

Philipp Laum held the FIFA Golden Banger of Destiny aloft in the Maracana last night and proclaimed, “V R der Champs Ja!”

Their win had much to do with the inventive attacking play of midfield dynamos Glock and Spiel and the extremely strong ankles of Bastein Shcweinsteiger who took a pasteing from the leery Latin layabouts of Argentina (who should have won).

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The Germans wonderfully coiffed Coach, Joachim “Me Dye My Hair? – Never!” Louw can now relax and work out the final piece of his masterplan for footballing dominance – the reintroduction of the mullets.

Holland beat Brazil 3-0 in the 3rd place play off game and this probably means curtains for Brazil coach “Big” Phil and his team of wailing God botherers.

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So well done to Germany.

My highlights revolve around two moments involving the Dutch team.

Firstly there was Arjen Robben’sh,”I tripped ova der Mexican’sh shaushage to earn der penlti,” incident.

 

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And then Robin Van Persie’s dive-volley header against Spain which marked the beginning of the end of a wonderful Spanish team. This is even more extraordinary when you consider RVP had a meat pie on his head at the time.

rvp pie copy

 

Other Things You May Have Missed

Darth Vader has mad himself available for selection for Germany.

British PM Cameron relaxing at home

On Me Head Luke!

Sadly,  Buddha has announced his retirement from international football.

 

Benedict Cumberbatch announced that England would never win the World Cup, “Until we play 3 at the back.”

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Thank God It Is Over!

 

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shakespeare copyBecks_ginger

Hello,

  • Out of the World Cup
  • Walloped in the Cricket
  • Allowed predatory paedophile TV Stars to sustain child abuse in plain view
  • An incompetent Prime Minister stiffed by the Europeans
  • An Establishment clique exposed in the Courts as contemptuous of The People
  • A nation governed for the benefit of Bankers.

the puppet master

Even the Scottish may show them the finger!

Pity England…..

England gifted the world – Football, Rugby, Tennis, giggling, The Rule of Law, the tank top, Pleurisy, pleated skirts, sandwiches, Parliamentary Democracy, trapped wind, the concentration camp and poorly drawn international boundaries. Oh and Margaret Thatcher.

As Shakespeare wrote, “Tis, Twas, Aforesaid herewith are we not yet more than but could we be? Advance yonder light and rest upon my girded goatee.”

The nation is down in the dumps. What is the answer?

New games gifted to grateful foreigners – but fear not in another 100 or so years England will be crap at these too!

Hooray! Hooray!

SOME GAMES THE ENGLISH CAN GIVE TO THE WORLD! GRATIS! FREE!

1. Formation Immolation – Team arson has never been so much fun!

2. Pillow Dribble Staining – Dribbling and sleeping – the perfect combo! 

3. Donkey Dangle – hang limply from a donkey without food, water or “natural break”. A sport that combines endurance, pointlessness and chafing in equal measure.

4. Pluckery –  Competitors are blindfolded, nailed to a wheel and spun for 24 hours – they are then asked to come up with a cogent argument for the continued existence of Piers Morgan.

This is Level 1 of Pluckery – “The cruel and unusual test of pointless endurance”.

5. Gibber – A sport with a training regime like no other. Drinking, smoking, tottering, poor bladder control, teeth staining, sitting in pubs talking cobblers and eating greasy food of dubious quality on the way home, whilst talking more nonsense.

Every day. For decades.

“I think therefore I gibber.” D’escartes.

6. Octogenarian Bollock Drop and Roll Ball – You will be aghast at the stretchy tessies elderly gentlemen possess.

7. Bouncing Bards – Poets hop around a running track and recite poems written by local halfwits.

8. Sado-Masochist Balls –  Teams of S & M types –  line em up against a wall and rub them feverishly with sandpaper – ALL OVER.

9. Sausage Pocket – Throw a sausage – from distance – into a team mate’s pocket – The Javelin meets Lacrosse using a savoury meaty snack.

10. Nervous Team Titter – The game for those who react to pressure by giggling – a team of titterers seek to score “giggle goals” in a variety of embarrassing situations.     

R Kate - What A Day!

Come On Kate – Get Pregnant!

"Keeeeep Dancing!"

Sweet Jesus

 

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sooty

 

Ginger Sooty filed this from Copacabananananana Beach last night.

Hello,

suarez copy

 

What a World Cup!

We are through the group stages now and Spain, Italy, Portugal, Russia and England are on the dreaded “plane back home” to vilification and derision.

Well done to the USA, Algeria and Costa Rica in particular for making it through to the knock out stages. The Algerian man of the tournament must be their supporter who shone a laser into the Russian keeper’s eyes moments before they equalised to send them through. Cheating and modern technology in perfect harmony.

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The Russian trainer, the granite jawed Capello faced a crisis when his hair dye ran for a longer period in one match than his star centre forward Igor Knickersov. Pity Capello (not) for selecting a goalkeeper who had more chance of catching a mackerel in a shower in Dar-Es-Salaam than the ball when it approached.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s dodgy knee meant that his rhinestone duffel bag was the only Portugese item to shine this year.

2 Ghanaian players were sent home after assaulting a member of the Ghanaian FA in a dispute over wages.  The President ordered $3,000,000 cash to be flown to Brazil to pay the Black Star Stars. They lost.

Belgium, many people’s dark horses (what would a bright horse be? Also you have a Ruthless Streak but not a Ruth Streak?) would be my outside tip to win the thing now. Remember you read it here first.

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The Tussel On Brussels

Here on Copacabana Beach it is hard being a glove puppet – the sand gets everywhere –  but the obsession with the buttocks in this country is so overwhelming that I am having a thong made so I can shake my booty sister!

 

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Other Things You May Have Missed

The Ivory Coast players were covered in custard for their do or die match against Greece. They lost.

Two of the players from Ecuador had panpipes up their arses when playing. This brought a lovely soothing quality to the teams play and we all warbled a Simon and Garfunkel tune without knowing why. (I’d rather be a nail).

Argentina’s talisman and genius Lionel Messi was named after Lionel Blair

Australian Prime Minister Tony “Abbo” Abbott blamed an over reliance on slip on shoes amongst Australian men to explain the teams early exit.

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Enjoy the World Cup!

 

 

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sooty

 

Ginger Sooty will keep you up to date with all the shenanigans and goings on in Brazil 2014. He filed this from Copacabananananana Beach.

Hello,

“Up comes Carlos Alberto on the right….” Ah yes 1970, the greatest football team ever assembled win the World Cup for the 3rd time and entrenches Brazil as the spiritual home of football.

So with the competition for 2014 in Brazil what could be better? I even donned me Carnival outfit and sashayed to Costa’s for a celebratory decaffeinated coffee – harder than you think when you are a glove puppet.

And why are grown men collecting Panini Stickers? – Got – Got – Need – Need indeed

The opening week has been brilliant.

Every game has had something to drool over, excessive saliva production is common amongst native Portuguese speakers. In fact so much spittle has been produced in Brazil that giant sponges are being used to mop the streets of Rio.

And boy oh boy is obesity popular amongst Latin Americans!

Their have been fine wins for Holland (shaliva shpectaculer) Brazil, Chile, USA, Mexico and Italy.

England managed to string 3 passes together on more than one occasion in their game against Italy but still lost to the Latin Layabouts. The only worry is Wayne Rooney – he looks like he has been partying with some Papua New Guinea head shrinkers such as his bonce diminished from the Oirish spudhead look.

Better Than That Welcome Mat On His Head!

Better Than That Welcome Mat On His Head!

Let’s hope we can beat Uruguay tonight to stay in the competition. If not INVADE this corn beef sweating arse end of South America!

Ahem.

Germany look good but the real shock has been the early demise of reigning champions Spain who lost last night to Chile and are out of the competition.  It’s a shame when a truly great team comes to the natural end of its cycle but boy they were good, possibly the greatest since Brazil 1970. This glove puppet for one will fondly look back on their brand of football inspired by Rudyard Kipling.

Yes Riki Tiki Taka Tava football changed the way we play the game. Forever.

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Other Things To Ponder

We all love Iran now – They are not evil nutters hellbent on lobbing a nuclear warhead at us – they are avuncular chaps with beards and a deep commitment to parliamentary democracy. Crap at footie though.

Is the Swiss goalkeeper really made of cheese as some reports suggest?

The Japanese team play ancient Japanese folk melodies on nose flutes to celebrate scoring a goal.

Lionel Messi – the world’s greatest footballer – collects burglar alarms and has over 250 in his shed.

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Enjoy the World Cup!

 

 

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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.

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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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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.

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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.

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

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You Have To Hand It To Him!

You Have To Hand It To Him!

Azteca Stadium – Mexico City, Mexico- 1986

He was small,  stocky and had a lovely mop of hair. He had it all. And he did it in tiny, shiny shorts. He was Diego Armando Maradona.

England. Sturdy. Yeomen. Thick.

It was a clash. Not only of cultures and values but also hairstyles. England still trimmed by Mum; Argentina mulleted bandoleros. Boy, did they give the volumizer a bashing at half-time.

A war had divided the two nations. But one thing united both teams. Exceptionally tiny, shiny shorts.

As Peter Reid, the doughty Liverpudlian midfield enforcer, said about Maradona, “I just couldn’t get near him, me shorts had cut of the blood supply to me knackers. I can’t have no kids ‘coz of dem shorts laa.”

England could not cope with the titchy Buenos Aires Barrio boy. Diego was that good. But he was also a cheat. A cheat who drew inspiration from God.

THE HAND OF GOD.


As these photos display the infamous first goal, when he punched the chicken into the net over the head of English goalkeep, the perma-permed Shilts to put his Tangoing team ahead.

From a different angle the chicken looks suspiciously like a boiled ham. If that doesn’t scream Ham Ball we don’t know what does.

You’ve Got To Ham It To Him!

We'd Get Him In The End!

We’d Get Him In The End!

The result? Argentina won the game and went on to lift the World Cup of Footbally Bally.

Shiny shorts are still banned in England to this day.

Diego is now Pope.

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1966 was a great year to be British. Dentistry had been bought in from the cold. Tinned fruit and 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 and the nation survived the great Barber lockout in March of that year. Long hair however was born amongst young men. And with it fancy ideas.

Yet there was more to 1966 than all this happy joie de vivre type stuff. For on July 37th in 1966 England won the World Cup for footballing.

Yet it was a game not without controversy!

Firstly, England coach Alf Lamb-Shank selected The Sound of Music Singin’ Sensation Julie’s Andrew in goal. Secondly, Her Majesty Queenie is caught nicking fried onions from the burger bar at half-time but once again The Establishment covered up her chronic kleptomania.

But apart from these moments. There is one moment that still counts as one of the great talking moments in a game of many moments.

No, we are not talking about the moment Franz Beckanbauer picks up a stray rasher of bacon from the sacred Wembley turf and claims a ham ball. We are of course talking about this talking point.

Did the chicken cross the line?

Gingerfightback has recently unearthed a new image that proves conclusively nothing at all.

The picture below shows the chicken moments after the German goal attendant Hans Knees-Andbumpsadaisy has been beaten by the power of Geoff Hurst’s shot and can only watch helplessly as the fowl fly’s towards the goal.

Did The Chicken Cross The Line?

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. OUCH!

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To cheer England rugby fans this weekend watching the Rugby World Cup final between France and New Zealand, gfb wants to take you back to Australia 2003 when a nation’s sporting hopes were finally realised.……

 

Jonny’s Fowl Drop

 

Jonny “Cauliflower” Wilkinson drop kicked England to Rugby World cup victory in 2003 to scotch the dastardly Aussie’s evil plan to win the game. The Antipodeans still cry fowl when they talk of the moment.

The Chicken Gets A Kickin'

To celebrate the team undertook upon their return home, formation vomiting off Tower Bridge. The projectile vomit impression of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers had to be seen to be believed!

That was a great Rugby team. “Cruncher” Johnson the captain (seen below lifting the Webb Ellis Chicken aloft in victory), “Tank” Thompson, “Egg Bound” Dallaglio, “Pounder” Lewsey, “Laicised” Dawson and “Hermaphrodite” Hill to name but a few.

Enormous knees to a man with halitosis of such virility it could strip bark from a weeping willow nestling beautifully by a babbling brook where no doubt donkeys freed from their harsh labours cavort happily.

It's Coming Home, It's Coming Home, It's Coming, Chicken's Coming Home

Across the country, young lads tingling with excitement would steal their mother’s roast chickens and merrily practice fowl dropping in parks, sports fields, back gardens and on train tracks until they had perfected their technique.

The craze swept the nation. Three teenagers lost their lives as a result and the nation’s roast chicken population was put under house arrest for its own protection.

Finally, the Government outlawed the activity through the 2003 Dangerous Flying Roast Chickens Act (Miscellaneous Provisions), driving the sport underground.

Dropping is now undertaken in disused factories and warehouses by men ill-suited to a law abiding lifestyle and pennies are gambled on a single chicken drop or “fowler” to give it its proper term.

Cage Fowl Dropping is the world’s fasted growing non-contact chicken martial art. Advocates hope it will be an Olympic event in London in 2012.

If you haven’t seen it, make sure you do.

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