F@*!-ing Rich

As is evident from the lack of activity here at the Arsewiper, I haven't had the luxury of time these days. Notwithstanding this, however, I felt I had to say something today.

Not about our 1-1 draw with bloody Leyton Oriental Supermarket - just what we need, another injury-inducing tie. (I say just thrown the damn tie, man!)

Not the great 1-0 win over Pubis's Stokes. Who says we can't win ugly? Reeeeaally ugly?

And not on the rather poetically apt injuries to Theo and Cesc.

Rather, my story centres on the weird alternate universe of Barcelona FC.

So there's news on us grabbing another 16 year-old kid from the Camp Nou. Some dude called Jon Toral who has an English mother. (This just to stress ultimately that his DNA therefore isn't entirely tainted with red and blue). First, you have to say why. But doesn't really matter, does it? We do these things. Just for fun. Second, though, is how Sandra from Barca has characterised it all:

"We told the Arsenal directors that we knew they were after Toral and we told them we didn't like it - as any president would have said. Legally they have done nothing wrong but it's a little immoral."

Immoral? Immoral??? Pardonnez-moi, and mind the Latin, but fucking immoral??

These fools are out there talking to us about morals? Is there even a word for that in Catalan? Moral?

I suppose then, that having every damn sucker with UNICEF on his shirt talking about Cesc, throwing a Barca shirt on our captain, and all that...is, what? Perfectly moral?

As is clear (from them), morals has got nothing to do with shit in football these days. So, Sandra, you can take your morals and...well, find a nice orifice, and stick it in.

Fool.

So there. Back to the real world. Sunday beckons, doesn't it??

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Cue: Song from Life of Brian.

Anyhows, short one.

I was looking for headlines for some kind of mass suicide among men in red and white (including professional footballers, and one old-ish Frenchman), but it never came.

It must be that despite our best efforts to shoot ourselves in both feet, including the toes, ankles, shins and basically everywhere from out belly-buttons down, we're still only 4 points behind Man U.

Funny.

And I'm going to continue taking it funnily. The alternative would've been the suicide mentioned above. I think I'm strong enough. I'm just about getting over the most embarassing moment of my life, so it should be fine.

Ciao, as I head back under my rock.