NEW: Loyal White #1
It’s been a while since we spoke. Times have changed and I’m now a fully-fledged resident of the “Sunshine Care Home for the Old & Knackered” – or whatever the fuck they call it.
Like I say, things are different these days. I don't hate United any more. How can you hate them? It's got nowt do with the counselling or cutting back on the ale, I still try and get the porter to sneak me a 4-pack of Tetley in from time-to-time, but let’s keep that our secret. There's just nowt left to hate. I pity them.
Come on then tell me what's left to hate? Well there's that rat-faced bastard Gary Neville I suppose but that's nowt new is it. It's a long time since that day when I smashed up our telly when he first turned up on a SKY panel. Nowadays I don't even bother turning him off in the common room. Just call him a rat-faced knob and satisfy myself with that, which gets me a a few poisonous stares from the ‘backgammon club’ over near the garden room.
Fridays and Tuesdays are my ‘One hour internet access’ days. Whilst the rest of the blue-rinse brigade are chatting shit with their relatives down under, or wherever, I can’t help myself just having a quick ruck on some reds’ forum. Drop the odd bomb into a thread and then let the rags fester for an hour or two as it implodes on them.
“I still have the ability to frighten the crap out of any red who comes within spitting distance.”
I do think I should put an end to the rumours that I'm a distant cousin to the Glazer family. It's true that they've done a better sabotage job than I could ever have done but I've had no influence. They have achieved it all themselves. Have you noticed they've got rat-faces though?
Oh it's still deep down inside of me and I still have the ability to frighten the crap out of any red who comes within spitting distance. Like owd Terry from the second floor. Fucking rag. Not to mention his snotty-little weasel of a grandson who comes to visit the piss-stenched rag. It's just muscle memory these days though.
I've definitely lost my edge with age. I remember this first happened when Moyes was their manager. A walk around Irlam to shout abuse at all the rat-faced rags brought all my feelings flooding back but I reckon not even that would work these days. Laughing in their faces is good but it doesn't get the old juices flowing.
Righto, Marjorie the lovely care home assistant is on her rounds now, got my meds to take before I knock-off to sleep. Did I mention my dream last night? I stole a light-aircraft from Barton and flew over the Theatre of Shite before feeding my catheter out the window. I woke with a pleasant smile.
LOYAL WHITE (BWFC)