If there is anything less interesting to me than sports, it’s the personal lives of the cunts who participate in it. Unfortunately, the news has been infested with a spat between two footballers whores, whose lives are even more insignificant than their ‘famous’ husbands. One, the long suffering spouse, or too well off to really leave, of a simian like simpleton, who if it wasn’t for the benign talent to kick a ball in a certain direction, wouldn’t be able to pull a muscle, let alone anything remotely female looking. The other, a bloated, cosmetic surgery failure, who appears to be continually pregnant by some skeletal looking chav, who again, if not for being able to kick a ball and feign injury at the slightest opportunity, would probably still be fucking the same tart, but in a bus stop instead of a mansion.
And it’s not only football. Now, there’s cricket and golf, even rugby, where these blatant gold diggers follow their partners around, wearing more makeup than battered wives in the seventies used to cover up the previous nights disagreement.
Fuck off the lot of you, and take your tottering slappers with you.
Nominated by Gutstick Japseye




