What a weekend of football, a veritable feast even. If you have a moment it was a: stupendous, scintillating, showcase sandwiching sleep.

Or something to that effect…

It all started off rather depressingly as Rangers vacated the Scottish Cup with barely a whimper. Seriously, if Mohsni is a professional footballer then so am I!

Looks like that childhood dream might one day actually happen…

*misty eyes*

Mackenzie drifts past his man, onto his right foot and


What a strike from the Rangers right-back.

And as they climb the stairs to lift the famous trophy…

Oh callous vagaries of fate.

To actually have to be good at something to succeed. Oh cruel world, why do thee mock me so?

Not stopping Mr Mohsni though, is it?

Taxi to France please.

I never got told that growing up. All I got was you can be anything you want to be.

Well strictly speaking that’s not completely true, is it? What if I wanted to be a penguin or master of the universe?
I mean I appreciate the statement and all but lets not lie to each other here.

I think perhaps you should go and speak to your father Douglas.

Hey Dad, got any fatherly advice?

Well hello son. Do you like my mustache?

Yes it’s pretty impressive and I wish one day to grow a similarly herculean upper lip warmer but it does not really…

Mustache mustache mustache mustache

I think I’ll go and speak to Catherine…

Darkness of the soul radiates outwards enveloping all as the flowers shine prettily in the garden of DEATH!

Walkies Lucky, walkies.





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