Have you actually kept this going? time to read back over far too many pages to check.
I started it last year, and then added on the days that had already gone. It's been a lot of days....it would be nice to think it won't be too many more, but who knows with this lot.
I have a dream that one day this Charlton will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Addicks are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the hills of South East London, the sons of former trainspotters and the sons of former South Eastern employees will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Belgium, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that our back four will one day work in a fashion where they will not be judged by the paucity of their marking but by the content of their clean sheets.
Roland, please fuck off. I mean right off. I mean right off to where nobody has ever been before. And when you get there, fuck off again. Keep fucking off so even you don't know where you are. And then fuck off again.
Roland, please fuck off. I mean right off. I mean right off to where nobody has ever been before. And when you get there, fuck off again. Keep fucking off so even you don't know where you are. And then fuck off again.
Please.
Glad you added please at the end. You was brought up right.
I'm going to sound like a right prick now, I hate What Roland has done to our club and I've told him so to his face.
However, he is a surprisingly charismatic man and if I didn't support a football club he was involved in, he appears to be a good guy to have a chat with.
The problem is that he is a liar, and he's still here (well not here but you know what I mean)
I'm going to sound like a right prick now, I hate What Roland has done to our club and I've told him so to his face.
However, he is a surprisingly charismatic man and if I didn't support a football club he was involved in, he appears to be a good guy to have a chat with.
The problem is that he is a liar, and he's still here (well not here but you know what I mean)
I could never have a a chat with someone that always says huh.
3blokes you have made me both laugh & cry at your count(up)down posts...but you know it makes sense that I'm really hoping that v soon,& it seems to be going that way (we can only hope)...that u get that well deserved lay in,when you can close this thread for the final time...& give the B.O. a very well deserved send offski...!!!
Day 1196. Yes as Northheath Addick with his kind words puts it, this thread may soon become an ex thread ( "it's not dead, it's just resting") But for the time being - He's still here, doing what he does. The reign of Roland is not over yet. Oh fuck...
Day 1198 and 1199. It is another Saturday morning and as Mrs B.O walks up to the little shed with the coffee and the little amaretto biscuit she notices there is a sign on the shed door today which says:
SALE - Everything MUST go.
She steps inside and there is the B.O standing behind an old table, upon which there are a few carefully priced items. She notices with a sigh he has put the helmet on again. He greets her excitedly. " Come in and buy something!" He says eagerly. She looks at him then down at the small selection of wares. "What's the bloody point me buying it, I live with you!" she says in exasperation. "Anyway, I'm not buying any of this old shit." "Old shit?!!!" fumes the B.O " Old shit??!! This 'old shit' is worth a fortune!!" She stares at him blankly, and then looks at the goods on offer. "Really... ok, well, what have you got here? Some old rivets that you found by the river? A selection of garden screws you took from the neighbour's fence? And what's this ? A tin of baked beans? Who's going to buy a tin of baked beans from 2014! They're not worth anything, you old fool!" The B.O stares at her in disbelief. "Are you mad? I'm asking £40 million for that tin! Look at my little sign next to it!" Mrs B.O surveys the sign. 'As owned by a Fucking Visionary, now worth £40 million'. Oh I see. " she says, dryly. She looks round the table. "And what's this lot? A couple of toilet seats and a load of old toilet rolls? " she says. "All new, none of them have been used!" counters the B.O. "Oh this was when you were planning to open a network of toilets, weren't you? You bought up a load of the local khazis and you had the vision that wanted to make them places where people could meet up socially." The B.O nods. " Yes, I had loads of really great ideas like my 'Dump For A Fiver and bring the kids along!' There was the sofa by the hand driers and an innovative 'season ticket' idea. And not forgetting the dance floor too!" Mrs B.O. sighs. " Yes it brought a whole new meaning to the term Flash-dancing." She looks at the B.O " You really have had a lot of crap ideas, haven't you?" She says wearily. "Well I did with the toilets!" beams the B.O. proudly But Mrs B.O has had enough. She puts down the coffee and amaretto biscuit on the table. "Just sell." She says and she turns and leaves. That sounds like a jolly sensible idea. I rather like her. So let's all hope the boot sale goes really well. He's still here. Oh fuck....
Btw think it's actually Day 1205 and 1206. (The old chronometer was playing up )
It is Saturday morning once more and there is a man standing outside the shed where there remains a little sign hanging on the door. The sign reads:
CLEARANCE SALE, YOU BASTARDS - Everything MUST go
And from inside the shed, the man can hear the voice of the B.O. For yes, floating gently on the breeze is the sound of our hero trying to clinch a sale with his usual effortless charm:
"WHAT'S THE FUCKING MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE??!! YOU FUCKING PLEBS!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T WANT TO BUY A TIN OF FUCKING BAKED BEANS FROM ME? ARE YOU INSANE?? THESE BEANS HAVE BELONGED TO ME YOU KNOW!! FOR 3 WHOLE YEARS, YOU UTTER KNOBS!!"
A man comes out of the shed shaking his head. He looks at the man standing there. " Don't go in there, mate." he says "He's just been trying to sell me a tin of beans for £40 million quid!" " What ?"says the other man. " He just shouted some shit at me about how he was a fucking visionary and there's been an improvement in every bean every year. And then he went mad, shouted " CARD!" and squirted me with ant killer!" " Blimey..." replies the other bloke. He watches the man walk off down the path. The man by the shed now turns back, takes a deep breath and then wanders rather hesitantly into the shed. As he enters the B.O screams, jumps back and squirts him with ant killer. "Oi! What you doing!?" splutters the man. When the B.O. realises he is not actually facing a giant ant, he quickly tries to be more accommodating to the potential punter. " Ah sorry! Come in, you scummy pleb!" He says "Come and have a look round and be amazed at the incredible wares on offer!" The man now looks round thoughtfully for a few moments at all the items scattered on the wall papering table. " Well, what do you think?" says the B.O proudly. " Mmmm." mutters the man, not appearing to be too impressed. " Oh...well... what are you looking for?" says the B.O. slightly irritated. "Look, I've still got a couple of unused toilet rolls here! And look, there's this very nice book on Do it Yourself Cobbling!" The man gives a small shake of his head. " No, I was sort of hoping you might have had a football club for sale here." he says. The B.O shakes his head and gives a dismissive grimace. " No, sorry, haven't got one of those..." he says rather impatiently. Then he stops for a moment and thinks. " Hold on...wait a minute....actually I think I might have an old one under here somewhere..." He fumbles under the table for a minute in an old drawer and then brings out a dusty box. He brushes off some of the dust quickly, and opens the box and shows the man. " Yes, there you go. De Kloob. I forgot I had this old thing!" he says, gazing at the contents. The man studies it for a moment. " How much do you want for it?" he asks. "I'd take £40 million quid for it." says the B.O. The man looks at him for a moment. Does it come with the box?" he asks. The B.O gives an outraged snort. " Fuck OFF does it come with the box!!" he says with a scowl "What, did I say I was giving it away or something??!! You cheeky fucker!" And with that, the outraged B.O picks up the ant killer and sprays the man relentlessly with it, till he flees the little shed. Then when he's sure he's finally gone, the B.O mutters "Cocksucker!" and chucks the box back in the drawer to gather more dust. He gives an impatient tut as he looks down the garden path. Where the fuck was his coffee and little amaretto biscuit? And somewhere in deepest Kent, a man looks at his keypad wearily for a moment as he realises unfortunately he might still be doing a certain thread for quite some time yet. Because he's still here. Oh fuck...
Comments
He's still here. Why us?
Oh fuck...
I have a dream that one day on the hills of South East London, the sons of former trainspotters and the sons of former South Eastern employees will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Belgium, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that our back four will one day work in a fashion where they will not be judged by the paucity of their marking but by the content of their clean sheets.
I have a dream today!
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
Please.
However, he is a surprisingly charismatic man and if I didn't support a football club he was involved in, he appears to be a good guy to have a chat with.
The problem is that he is a liar, and he's still here (well not here but you know what I mean)
He's still bloody here.
Normal service resumed next week
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
Whether they've ruined my football club or not.
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
Nice one & respect to ya...
Yes as Northheath Addick with his kind words puts it, this thread may soon become an ex thread ( "it's not dead, it's just resting")
But for the time being -
He's still here, doing what he does. The reign of Roland is not over yet.
Oh fuck...
Oh fuck.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
It is another Saturday morning and as Mrs B.O walks up to the little shed with the coffee and the little amaretto biscuit she notices there is a sign on the shed door today which says:
SALE - Everything MUST go.
She steps inside and there is the B.O standing behind an old table, upon which there are a few carefully priced items.
She notices with a sigh he has put the helmet on again.
He greets her excitedly.
" Come in and buy something!" He says eagerly.
She looks at him then down at the small selection of wares.
"What's the bloody point me buying it, I live with you!" she says in exasperation. "Anyway, I'm not buying any of this old shit."
"Old shit?!!!" fumes the B.O " Old shit??!! This 'old shit' is worth a fortune!!"
She stares at him blankly, and then looks at the goods on offer.
"Really... ok, well, what have you got here? Some old rivets that you found by the river? A selection of garden screws you took from the neighbour's fence? And what's this ? A tin of baked beans? Who's going to buy a tin of baked beans from 2014! They're not worth anything, you old fool!"
The B.O stares at her in disbelief.
"Are you mad? I'm asking £40 million for that tin! Look at my little sign next to it!"
Mrs B.O surveys the sign.
'As owned by a Fucking Visionary, now worth £40 million'. Oh I see. " she says, dryly.
She looks round the table.
"And what's this lot? A couple of toilet seats and a load of old toilet rolls? " she says.
"All new, none of them have been used!" counters the B.O.
"Oh this was when you were planning to open a network of toilets, weren't you? You bought up a load of the local khazis and you had the vision that wanted to make them places where people could meet up socially."
The B.O nods.
" Yes, I had loads of really great ideas like my 'Dump For A Fiver and bring the kids along!' There was the sofa by the hand driers and an innovative 'season ticket' idea. And not forgetting the dance floor too!"
Mrs B.O. sighs.
" Yes it brought a whole new meaning to the term Flash-dancing."
She looks at the B.O
" You really have had a lot of crap ideas, haven't you?" She says wearily.
"Well I did with the toilets!" beams the B.O. proudly
But Mrs B.O has had enough. She puts down the coffee and amaretto biscuit on the table.
"Just sell." She says and she turns and leaves.
That sounds like a jolly sensible idea. I rather like her.
So let's all hope the boot sale goes really well.
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
Quality
He's still here.
Oh fuck...
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
He's still here. If only we could vote Leave.
Oh fuck....
All talk ?
He's still here and not a kangaroo in sight.
Oh fuck....
He's still here.
Oh fuck....
It is Saturday morning once more and there is a man standing outside the shed where there remains a little sign hanging on the door. The sign reads:
CLEARANCE SALE, YOU BASTARDS - Everything MUST go
And from inside the shed, the man can hear the voice of the B.O.
For yes, floating gently on the breeze is the sound of our hero trying to clinch a sale with his usual effortless charm:
"WHAT'S THE FUCKING MATTER WITH YOU PEOPLE??!! YOU FUCKING PLEBS!! WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T WANT TO BUY A TIN OF FUCKING BAKED BEANS FROM ME? ARE YOU INSANE?? THESE BEANS HAVE BELONGED TO ME YOU KNOW!! FOR 3 WHOLE YEARS, YOU UTTER KNOBS!!"
A man comes out of the shed shaking his head. He looks at the man standing there.
" Don't go in there, mate." he says "He's just been trying to sell me a tin of beans for £40 million quid!"
" What ?"says the other man.
" He just shouted some shit at me about how he was a fucking visionary and there's been an improvement in every bean every year. And then he went mad, shouted " CARD!" and squirted me with ant killer!"
" Blimey..." replies the other bloke. He watches the man walk off down the path. The man by the shed now turns back, takes a deep breath and then wanders rather hesitantly into the shed.
As he enters the B.O screams, jumps back and squirts him with ant killer.
"Oi! What you doing!?" splutters the man.
When the B.O. realises he is not actually facing a giant ant, he quickly tries to be more accommodating to the potential punter.
" Ah sorry! Come in, you scummy pleb!" He says "Come and have a look round and be amazed at the incredible wares on offer!"
The man now looks round thoughtfully for a few moments at all the items scattered on the wall papering table.
" Well, what do you think?" says the B.O proudly.
" Mmmm." mutters the man, not appearing to be too impressed.
" Oh...well... what are you looking for?" says the B.O. slightly irritated. "Look, I've still got a couple of unused toilet rolls here! And look, there's this very nice book on Do it Yourself Cobbling!"
The man gives a small shake of his head.
" No, I was sort of hoping you might have had a football club for sale here." he says.
The B.O shakes his head and gives a dismissive grimace.
" No, sorry, haven't got one of those..." he says rather impatiently.
Then he stops for a moment and thinks.
" Hold on...wait a minute....actually I think I might have an old one under here somewhere..."
He fumbles under the table for a minute in an old drawer and then brings out a dusty box.
He brushes off some of the dust quickly, and opens the box and shows the man.
" Yes, there you go. De Kloob. I forgot I had this old thing!" he says, gazing at the contents.
The man studies it for a moment.
" How much do you want for it?" he asks.
"I'd take £40 million quid for it." says the B.O.
The man looks at him for a moment.
Does it come with the box?" he asks.
The B.O gives an outraged snort.
" Fuck OFF does it come with the box!!" he says with a scowl "What, did I say I was giving it away or something??!! You cheeky fucker!"
And with that, the outraged B.O picks up the ant killer and sprays the man relentlessly with it, till he flees the little shed.
Then when he's sure he's finally gone, the B.O mutters "Cocksucker!" and chucks the box back in the drawer to gather more dust.
He gives an impatient tut as he looks down the garden path.
Where the fuck was his coffee and little amaretto biscuit?
And somewhere in deepest Kent, a man looks at his keypad wearily for a moment as he realises unfortunately he might still be doing a certain thread for quite some time yet.
Because he's still here.
Oh fuck...