*Super mega-gigantoboilk*
Not sure that I really have a great deal to say this morning. Too much Guinness and Havana Club and Jaegermeister has pretty much done me in. I went out with a full wallet and now my wallet is empty.
A Sunday linkfest is about as much as you’re going to get.
The Observer profiles Mathieu Flamini. Sign the deal, Mathieu. Just fucking sign it. I’ll burp a Jaegerburp into a jar and send it to you if you do.
Tomas Rosicky talks about the injury that has everyone flummoxed. It appears a hamstring transplant is the only way to go. There’s an offer on the table from the Man from East Lower but perhaps we can find some hamstrings that might actually be better than the ones he’s already got.
William Gallas talks about the honour of being Arsenal captain. I hope he uses that honour in the shape of a footballistic sword today and slams it repeatedly into the guts of his former team mates.
That’s about it. Head hurts too much to continue. Everything that needs to be said about the game has already been said. We know how important this game is, we know how much we want to kick Ashley Cole in the testicles, we know that the three points is vital, we know we need to improve on our last performances, we know that we know all this stuff so we know that there’s no need to actually say that we know it and some cunt making it quite obvious how much we know what we know is pointless. We know!
Come on you reeeeeeeeds. Let’s kill these cunts today.
