Originally Posted by
Organ Morgan.
Dai, you've been round long enough to know whatever his idea of great happens to be is utter shite to anyone with an IQ above 70. He has a special predilection for long-haired herberts who knock-out crap music while making a terrible din.
I'm somewhat relieved to see him posting again though because when I saw him a week ago he was in a very dark place. That was last Tuesday. He opened his front door looking more miserable than a pallbearer. His hair was all over the shop, there were prominent bags beneath both eyes and the shirt he was wearing was so crumpled I'd have been unsurprised to learn he had kipped in a wardrobe. "Are you okay?" I asked quite innocently.
I soon wish I hadn't because he went into an extraordinary moan-fest. "How, how, how can a team defeat unbeaten, top-of-the league Man City one week, while sticking four goals past them, somehow lose to bottom-of-the-league Swansea twatting City in their very next game?!" Before I had an opportunity to reply, he kept wailing: "how, how, how?!"
His monologue became even more bizarre when he launched into another tirade. "Catherine Zeta Jones, Harry Secombe, Dilyn Thomas and that chopsy sergeant major off of It Ain't Half Hot Mum are pikey bastards. They can all feck off!" he raged.
He was snorting like an out of puff rhino by then but once he'd gotten a second wind he resumed his angry rant by placing both hands against a living room wall while headbutting it. Slowly at first then increasing the tempo with every "how?!" that accompanied each. His head was going so fast at one point it became a blur. Fair play to him, his was a great impression of a human woodpecker.
I eventually managed to becalm him by pretending there was a tidy foreign flick on Film 4 later that evening with plenty of tits out bedroom action along with a fleeting glimpse of some tart's pubes.