As they say in China. I hope you have all had a bootyful Christmas, I know I have, and i thought I would make a quick Keister post to bring in the new year. And it is a brief one, as I need to gety I self ready to go on the lash, This week I have decided to go a bit arty, with a moody black and white pose (above) and this trippy, acid style one. I do love the colour, even though I am not the biggest fan of tattoo's on the fairer sex. A little bit old fashioned on that score I'm afraid. Still damn fine keisters though...
Which brings onto our gratuitous ass shot for the week. This one is not as, ahem, in your face as previous entries, in fact you could say it is almost tasteful. The lighting on this shot is most sexy, but judging by the goose pimples on her arse, it must have been taken in a freezer...
Bender of the Year It is that time again, the end of year of review and awards post. This year was not a banner year for Benders, although it did serve up one of the greatest, and we had the biggest Bradford piss up in decades. First up our Dusseldorf odyssey. It had been planned for months, paid for, and discussed at length. As the days counted down, we began to build a quiet excitement, but just days before we were due to fly, and I mean like a day, a volcano in Iceland spewed millions of gallons of shit into the air. These being the days of Health and safety, all flights were grounded. Myself and Fromagio kept a news vigilance, praying that the ash cloud would change course, but with just hours before we flew, it looked grim. An executive decision was made, and a Hire Van was arranged. Road Trip! We traversed over 500 miles in a VW Transporter, and cut loose on the German city. But the adventure did not end their. We were kicked out of our Hotel after a "discussion" between Trigger and Fromagio got out of hand. This meant that still pissed, we were on our way to Koln. A moment of clarity saw us turn back, and a Holiday Inn was found and booked. Our epic Dusseldorf adventure was back on. The major made a great effort, five hours by train, and Shouty cemented his legend with a drinking feat that will be dealt with later. The ride back was not as packed with incident as on the way out ( on the way out we took a piss stop at a Belgian lay-by that appeared to a hot spot for gay Truckers looking for a bum.) but we still had a fair old hoot. The main contender to this trip was our Good friday Bender around the dive bars of Bradford town. Child Catchers phone was given a couple of beer baths, which ended up with him and Fromagio scuffling on the deck outside the Boy and Barrel, much to the amusement of the lesbians smoking outside. He also managed to wind up a Jamaican chap, who was not best pleased when he hid his grub from him. It was indeed a champion night, but not quite up there with the 'Dorf. Honourable mentions are Izzys head wetting. Boxing day with the Major and Mad Friday Christmas do in Bradford.
Winner- Dusseldorf Runner Up-Bradford Dive night
Squad Member of the Year
Even in a quite year, and even though he was struggling with his finances, nobody provided the entertainment value of the Right Honourable Shouty. His Yard of Killepitsch exploit is pure legend. This after he had been on the razz for nigh on 28 hours. Of course he was fucked afterwards, but I'd like to see you try it. This was not all he did to earn this award, but it sure went a long way towards it. Even more impressive was the next day. He may have gotten off to a sticky start, but come 8:30 on Monday morning, he was still standing (shakily). A truly legendary performance.
If Shouty proves a worthy winner, there can be no doubting that the fella who ran him closest for Member of the year, is a stand out runner up. He earned the silver medal for antics that are the Polar opposite to the guy who beat him into second, but without him, there is a strong possibility that we would still be stuck in Germany, living rough in the gutter. Dr Shotgun first came to the rescue on our first morning, after being booted out of our accommodation. All of us were still arsed from the night prior, and our Transporter needed moving. But the German police insisted we could not drive unless one of us could pass a Breathalyzer. Luckily I knew such a man, and Alfredo was up to the task. If der Coppers were not enough to contend with, we all told him to go several different places at once, in a Foreign country with no Sat Nav. The second instance of his heroics was the drive home. Once again the van was stuffed with still pissed Muppet's, but this time a 536 mile journey spread out before us. He struggled to get us out of Dusseldorf (he managed on the third attempt) but considering I couldn't get the GPS working on my phone for an ages, it was a good effort. When we finally got the mobile working, we were out of town in a breath. Which is just as well, as my phone ran out of charge almost as soon as we broke out on to the Autobahn. The last 50 miles must have been the hardest, as the rest of us flaked out in the back. Honourable mentions go to Sandro, Dr. Shotguns Shotgun driver, and devourer of Pork sandwiches. Fromagio, who helped organise the transport, and wound Child Catcher up so well. And lastly, to Major, who has travelled not once, but twice to be out on the lash. We will be making the trip to Basel some point this coming year, as the favour needs returning.
Winner-Shouty Runner up- Dr Shotgun
Newcomer of the Year There is only one chap in the running from 2010. He wasn't even supposed to be there, but he got stranded in Germany. Big Dessi was due to be back in Blighty for some Rugby do, or something, and just happened to miss his connecting flight. In Dusseldorf. The stars aligned, and a new squad member was born. I liked him instantly, as the first night out he duffed up Sprocket, which amused me no end. Of course it could have been all so different. He was not the only fella to get stranded. Unfortunatly for Chubs, he got stranded at work, and couldn't get away in time. The flight was an evening one, and when it was cancelled we had to set off before 10 in the morning, which meant the poor lad missed out. One door opens, another closes, as the saying goes. I think. Still Chubs has made it out on a few shindigs since, and is hopefully to become a regular fixture on our outings.
Winner- Dessi Runner up-Chubs
UK Pub of the Year This pub wins hands down, for me any way. Fanny's Ale House has been an excellent starting point for all of our Saltaire evenings this past twelve months. Which are quite a few, as it is a decent night at the moment. It has always had plenty of Real Ales, and enough strong Belgian beers, but it scored even higher this time round as it now has Kolsch on offer. Runner up, if only for it's Karaoke, is the Boy and Barrel. A classic Dive bar in every sense of the word, it has a most eclectic of clientele. From butch lesbians to the City Ointment, it has it all. I couldn't go every week, but as a once in a blue moon pissup, it is well worth trying.
Winner-Fannys Ale House, Saltaire Runner up-Boy and Barrel, Bradford
International Bar of the Year A limited field, as we only left these shores, as a unit, once this year. I reckon if you have read this far, you know where that was, so here is the winner and runner up. The winner is Bannerman 6 a club/bar in the Aldstadt. I am not even sure that's what it was called, but it was three stories of drinking madness. Is it a cool spot? No, it is a cheese fest, complete with a dancing cage. It even plays German drinking songs at sporadic intervals. Think of a friendly Pile Bar with better looking women. Runner up, by a smidgen, is the Red Lounge on Carlsplatz, in the same city. A mucho laid back joint, perfect for quaffing Kolsh on a warm spring afternoon. The bartender also had the most impeccable teeth you are likely to see this side of Hollywood. It was also the scene of Shoutys immortal drinking exploit. Honourable mention goes to some
So Farewell to 2010. A funny old year. Not as bleak as first suspected, but there was a definite tightening of purse strings. Next week I shall post a preview of what we hope to achieve next year, Till then, have a happy New year!
Yet more festive Buffoon points. Gareeeeee got off the mark, and has earned himself a name change in the process. He threw down the gauntlet, by making a bold claim the Adolf Hitlers real last name was Schicklgruber, and said if I called him out, and he was proved right, that I would get four points. Of course this meant that if he was wrong, those four points would be chalked up against his name. As you can guess, due to the fact that he is now known as Gruber ( Schicklgruber was too much of a mouth full) that I was yet again right, and he was hopelessly wrong. Adolf's dad was born Schicklgruber, but changed his name to Hitler in 1878, a full 13 years before the mad Austrian Despot was born. Crespo also racked up a point, although I can not for the life of me remember what for. Also John the Don is bound to have done something worthy of a point. There was probably much more earned later in the evening, but we were all far too pissed to remember.
The odyssey continues for Super Barry Conlon, who is once again looking for gainful employment at yet another club. Big Baz was dumped by Stockport County, his twelfth club, after being caught by the rozzers at twice the legal drink drive limit. Naughty Boy. The Irish lummox may struggle this time, as his age and injuries are starting to catch up with him. Can he wangle himself another signing on fee at a struggling lower league team? I wouldn't bet against him...
The weather has put paid to the football on Boxing day, but we are still set fair for a good ole booze up. Destination Saltaire, meeting the shoutster around five in the Victoria on Leeds road around 17:30. If you are stuck with family, nip to the bog, fashion an escape rope out of towels, and we will see you there.
Merry Christmas ass fans. Its just gone midnight, so while Santas trying to squeeze himself up the Elsters chimney, I thought I would pass the time by posting a trio of Yuletide Yass. The one above would indeed have no problem hitching a ride, which is just as well, cause dressed like that she'd soon get a chapped arse, which would be a damn shame. Much cosier is the fine little helper below, who is suggestively striking a pose near a bed. Naughty or Nice? You decide. A fine keister mind.
Of course what would this thread be without the obligatory "Gratuitous Arse Shot?" Nothing, that's what, and after extensive, ahem, research, I have found these Curvy Christmas Cheeks too warm the cockles. Merry Christmas to one and all.
The Buffoon blizzard continues to blow, this time big JohnnyM picks up a brace. At first they may seem harsh, but when thought through, are deserved. Now running out of petrol when you are 19, having cruised round your local village, with all your yahoo mates is a right of passage, and has been committed by one and all. But a 38 year old on his way to play a football game he has arranged? Muppet! To top it all, it was on a motorway. He then rang up his trouble and strife, told her his predicament, and asked her too fetch him some motion lotion. She turned up with a bottle of oil! Would have loved to have seen that one.... In fact, it's a three pointer. A bender is on the horizon, plus a Jannetta New year, so I reckon this is not the last haul of the festive season by a long shot.
I know it is after the Lord mayors show and all, but time has been hard to come by this December. Works do's, SammyJ's party and the like have meant our annual Bender Squad Xmas Shindig has been over looked. Well not exactly over looked, as lacking a date. So our main gathering this year will be Boxing Day, after football, from five onwards around Saltaire. Now I know Boxing Day is a family day for a lot of you, so apologies for not pulling one's finger out earlier. For those of you who can turn out, my phone will be on, and we are out late. Hopefully we will be hooking up with the Major and Duggy, who are on a flying yuletide visit from Switzerland. Hope to see you there, and if not, have a great Christmas.
That was one fucking long weekend. Beer ion Friday. Hangover, Beer and curry Saturday. Beer on Sunday. Where does the time fly? This does not excuse my idleness for last Wednesday and Thursday, but hey. What ya gonna do? Have caught up little bit, and shall endevour to catch up fully tomorrow.
To be stupid. As predicted the festive season has wrought much buffoonery. First up is a full ten pointer, my very first. For legal reasons I cannot elaborate any further at this moment, but all ten are well justified. Also from the same evening are 2010 champion Triggers first points of the season. His are harder to compile, as they cover a cornucopia of different events, not all that can be openly reported. A sample is of his continued request for me to give him a cigarette. When i told him I quit several years ago, he nodded sagely, and called me tight for not giving him a tab! A provisional seven pints to the reigning champion. Lastly is the tale of Dessi. Working abroad, he got drunk on his second night, couldn't find his hotel, and ended up walking into a site supervisors bungalow, and climbing into bed with him. Imagine the poor chaps astonished look to find a big lump of a stranger in his pit. He couldn't rouse him, and had to call security to get him up. This resulted in suspension, a quick trip back home, followed by a final written. Yet another ten score. And it is only the 20th. Still plenty of legs in the yuletide yet.....
This week we go all retro, with the wasp waisted Dita von Teese. Famed for her burlesque style strip shows, she has always been a personal favourite. I have always been a sucker for all that old school suspender belt/basque malarkey. There is one major mystery surrounding her though. How the chuff did Marylin Manson bag her? He must be hung like Indian Elephant, one can only assume.
She sure does the wrinkled stockings look better than Nora Batty. In fact I may require a moment................................................................................ That's better. Which brings us nicely onto this weeks gratuitous ass shot. A different pose to the usual bent over, just slip it in one that has been de rigeur of late. Of course I am sure you won't be disappointed, as this is perhaps the hottest post of all. Perfect shape, panties maintaining just right amount of mystique and finished off with thigh length socks. Pure heaven.
Buffoon Update: Just got off the phone to Crespo, booking train tickets for London. The muppett couldn't believe how much the fares had gone up, almost £100! Until he realised he was being quoted for four people not one, and when you divided the cost it was the same. One point, sir!
As we near the festive season there is no great stupidity to report, but I thought I best update all the same, as Christmas usually proves to be quite a fertile time for idiocy. First up I need to report my first scores of the year. I thought the first was a bit harsh. I came home arsed, rung up a bunch of grub from the local Chinese take away, and then passed out. The only reason I knew about this was the seven missed calls I got from Tim, the local purveyor of all foods from China. Actually, reading that back, it is a definite point. Good news is that Tim has forgiven me, and has said I need not worry about any "special" sauce in my next order. My second point is for the truly half arsed job I have just done wrapping up the Elsters Chrimbo pressie. In fact it was so bad I shall award myself two points. The next points are on the basis of hearsay and rumour, so may well be expunged, but we have our first "Munich Incident" of the season. Word on Facebook is the Geester has pooped his pants, an automatic three pointer, if memory serves. The last score to report goes to the Mighty Crespo. This weekend just gone was SammyJ's 40th birthday party, which had a seventies theme. As he always does, Lobon made a great effort, and dressed up as Jimmy Saville to do the DJing. He did the whole "Jewelery, Jewelery" schtick, and walked around the party sporting a large cigar, and offering to "Fix it" for one and all over the mic. He did this for about two hours, at which point the pretty one turned to the Mercenary and uttered the sentence "Here, is it me, or does Mick look a bit like Jimmy Saville?" A two pointer for sure.
This weeks post is in honour of the larger bottom. Not fat rippling large, but firm round and gravity defying. The kind you could bounce a coin on. Now this kind of ass seemed to have disappeared from the mainstream, to be replaced by wafer thin birds with flat bony backsides, which is just wrong. So much Respec' to Jennifer Lopez, who almost single handily bought the much riper butt back into vogue. The scene in "Out of Sight" where she gets it on with George Clooney is most bonerific. The only fear with this shape of posterior, is the fine line it treads between fine and fat. A couple of cheese burgers and it's all over...
Staying in the same vein, this weeks gratuitous ass shot is most curvy. Mmmmmmmmmmmm nice......
All my plans for today were thrown into disarray, after a visit to the local boozer last night. Once again a seasonal ale was laying in wait, to ambush me yet again. This time it was Rosey Nosey. I was lulled into a false sense of security by the benign looking Santa Claus on the pump. The smiling fella does not look like he is hiding an ABV of 4.9%. I didn't feel it too much at the time, but after guzzling a good gallon of the stuff, it was no pain time. The pain came the next morning, which meant I was not functioning properly till gone one, at which point Crespo showed up and took me off to the football. A quick detour via the greasy spoon, and I was as good as new. After the football it was to the Fighting Cock for a medicinal Kriek beer. Time to do some blogging? Afraid not, as I am now dressed up and ready to head for a 70's shindig. Tomorrow? Hangover permitting....
Is paved with good intention, as my favourite proverb says, and this week has seen an epic bout of procrastination from yours truly. I have plenty to post, including regular posts such as "Killer Keister", but have been smitten by yet another bout of chronic idleness. Combine that with my recent purchase of Gran Tourismo 5, and my eyes have well and truly been taken off the job in hand. Good news though. Tomorrow is a day off, and I shall be making every effort to get back up to speed. Of course I could do it tonight, but I am off to the pub. Good Health!
A fat Irish shouter. A vanilla crooner who can't grow a beard. A teary teenage Cole clone. A scouser with a fantastic voice and all the charisma of cardboard. Welcome to the Bland Factor.
There is taking the piss, and then there is Sepp Blatter and his FIFA cronies. He lead the FA a merry old dance. Got his boys wined and dined, and their arses kissed, and when the dust had settled they granted us a single vote. One. (We did get two, but seeing as one was from the English delegate it hardly counts) Monsieur Blatter, as ever, got what he wanted, and the World Cup in 2018 will be pitching it's tent in Russia. The fact that Russia won doesn't really bother me too much. As I posted earlier, I think England, and the Spanish/Portugese/Holland/Belguim bids were naive to think that it would be going any where else. Sepps mission is to take the Cup to fresh fields, and had made clear for months his preference for the Russians. But at least they have some football pedigree. They have provided some great players through the years. Yashin, Blockhin, Bellanov and Arshavin to name but a few, They were also European Champions in 1960, and have been runners up twice. They were also semi finalists in the 1966 World Cup. So fair enough, they deserve a shot at it. But then along came the 2022 announcement...
Which is that Qatar will be the host nation for the World Cup. This is a nation of some 1.6 million souls (roughly the same as manchester), a tiny outpost on the Arabian peninsula, whose football team is currently ranked 113 in the World. They have gotten about as close to qualifying for the finals as Bingley Juniors, and did not even enter the competition till 1978. It is the equivalent of awarding the Olympic games to Keighley, and holding them in February. And then outlawing the sale of alcohol. In fact, in Qatar, it is is an offence to be drunk in public. I think myself, Fromagio, Shouty, Helmet and the rest of the Squad need to be giving this one a wide berth. It is difficult to know who the World Cup of 2022 will be for. The Dutch? Far too liberal. The Germans? Hell they like beer even more than us. The Brazilians? Way too much skin on show. Scotland? Yeah right, they wish..... So the beginning of the end of International football is even nearer than I thought. Who will really give a toss about a tournament that inhibits fun, is played in a desert, and will be won be a host nation that will miraculously find that a new FIFA law allows them to buy players from whoever they want. As the video below shows, if they are relying on the local talent pool they are in big trouble. Even the good Doctor Shotgun would have buried this one..
As for England hosting a World Cup? Let it go, it ain't gonna happen in our lifetime. And to be honest, if it means we don't have to kow tow to a bunch of jumped up little pricks from the backwaters of the footballing globe, I hope we never even bother trying.
مرحبا ، كيف تفعل كل شيء؟ This message is for all my Arabic visitors, whose numbers have rocketed since I introduced the Killer Keister thread a few weeks back. In fact my visitor numbers have exploded since it's introduction, from all corners of the globe. Whether they actually read any of this nonsense is open to debate, but hey, who doesn't like to look at pictures of damn fine asses? Following on from the double entry of Ms Brunei last week, I have decided to incorporate another double helping. This time it's one of England's finest, the ever so lovely Kelly Brook. In fact her only purpose seems to be to pose provocatively for the camera. She has tried her hand at acting, presenting and even reality TV, but to be frank she sucked. So it is good to see her back at what she does best, which is too look hot. It is good to have her back, i am sure you are all agreed. Also as part of the evolution of this ongoing piece, I am also posting a weekly "Gratuitous Ass Shot" as they are also insanely popular. So from here on in it is a hat trick of delight I shall be providing on a weekly basis. Enjoy, I know I will...
A combination of icy cold wintry weather and man flu (sandwiching a hangover) lies at the heart of why there has been a lack of action on me old blog. I have picked up a chest infection that I can't quite shake, and working out in the elements has induced yet another bout of chronic idleness. Of course the shindig on Saturday went ahead, but only myself and Shouty went out for the duration. Of course the game was called off due to a frozen pitch, which meant I ended up in the boozer all day with the drinking champion of Europe. He was also suffering with a bit of illness, but unlike myself managed to go late into the night/early into the morning. There was still a decent turnout, but as usual when I am left supping with the Shoutster, I ended not as El Presedente, but more El Pissed-as-a-rat-te. Shotgun put in an afternoon shift, and Geevers, Crespo, Chubs, Clogs and Big JohnnyM all showed up late afternoon. Of course my recall is a bit sketchy from there on in. I know the Big Man got me home for around 11, at which point I rang the local Chinese and fell asleep. I know this because of the five missed calls I got from the purveyor of said grub when i failed to arise. Anyway, that means it should be a steady-ish weekend coming up. Which is just as well, because from there on in it all gets a bit hectic. First up is SammyJ 1970's birthday bash. Then an Away Day to Crewe followed by a works do, and then it's Chrimbo. This years Bender Squad X-fest is going to have to be Boxing day, which is a bit after the event, but it ties in well. Both Duggy and the Major are over from Switzerland, and City are at home, which means there will be a few of us out and about any way. Our destination of choice, to start out anyway, is Saltaire. I will follow the plans up later,when I am not feeling a shitty as i do now.
It was my birthday this week, and I have decided to treat myself, and all regular per users of this blog to a gratuitous keister shot. I know what's she's maid for, and it ain't dusting.....
There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, I have something to celebrate and yesterday was pay day. It is time for the Pub. An all day session I think, interspersed with a game of football and a trip to the bookies. First stop is the Candia for meatballs and Peroni, with a slight detour to the Fighting Cock for something Belgian (and I ain't talking waffles) Hopefully I shall make through till the morrow, where I am hoping, age and hangover permitting, to go for a few Sunday afternoon pints of Guinness. Nice.
He is a weaselly little fuck, who wears platform shoes, hates the British, Americans and I suspect he ain't really down with the Bosch either. Nicholas Sarkozy is the embodiment of every oily, garlicky, arrogant Frenchman that we all love to hate. And to top it all, he gets to bone Carla Bruni. Just how the fuck did that happen? Most World leaders have to contend themselves with some worthy lawyer type, but the Sark Man bags himself an ex-super model, with legs up the ya-ya, and a keister to die for. No wonder all the presidents, prime ministers and generalissimos beat a hasty path to his door on election. In fact she is so fine, that I am honouring her with two pictures in the "Hall of Ass" Right where did I put that box of tissues......
On a proper count down. Only a day and a half till we start the Festive run in with a jolly good piss up in honour of yours truly, El Presidente for life Euro Bri. Tis ones birthday shindig, and a few of us are off for meat balls early doors, and then on the lash. Some are going to take in the FC Halifax Park Avenue derby match, and then we are all out till we drop. Not all are expected to be out for the duration, but if you can make a P.A. it would be grand to see you. The plan was to head into Brighouse, but Big JohnnyM says there a bunch of inbred retards who will be hankering for a scrap, so we will probably hang fire round Wibsey/Horton Bank/Great Horton, where the bloodlines tend not to be as contaminated. As I say, even if just for a couple, get yorself out.
A big thank you to the Mercenary for spotting this nice little deal currently on at Aldi. As Christmas approaches, and you get asked what you from your kids (well if they are still at home/school any how) you know you have to be a bit realistic. After all the little Blighters will only be spending your brass anyway. So this little Leffe gift tube is just right. A damn fine beer, along with a spiffing glass, all for just £3.99. Sure beats a pair of socks any day.
A week today FIFA will announce the country that has won the bid to host the 2018 World Cup. From a seemingly strong position as one of the favourites, the England bid has drifted out, and is in serious danger of being cast aside in the opening round of voting. Now a lot of folk are waving their hands in the air and bemoaning the skulduggery afoot that has been uncovered by the Sunday Times, and an imminent airing of Panorama on the Beeb. "We should have kept a lid on all these shenanigans till after the vote" is the common consensus. But I disagree, and disagree strongly. In fact if I were put in charge for just one day, I would waltz into FIFA HQ, look each and everyone of them in the eye, and tell 'em to stick it up their arse, and withdraw with immediate affect. Enough of this pandering to a bunch of self serving, corrupt bureaucrats, whose only instinct is to further their pointless careers governing a game they plainly have no idea about.
Take a long look at the process to be awarded the event. Two members of the select committee were forced to step down, and had their votes revoked over allegations that their votes were for sale. Now if this is not bad enough, figure this. Why on Earth are two guys from Nigeria and Tahiti doing with a vote in the first place. Nigeria does have some football pedigree, granted, but is also recognised as one of the most corrupt countries in the world. And Tahiti???? Do they even have a football team? It appears they do, ranked a mighty 184 out of 203, nestling right behind Mongolia. A real superpower in the World game, I am sure you'll agree. Their input will be sorely missed. No seriously, according to one of their peers, South Korea's Chung Mong-Joon, the punishment meted out was too harsh! The South American representatives are primed behind Spain/Portugal and there are allegations of the Qatar and the Iberian bid have colluded to favour each other in a straight swap for backing the Middle Eastern countries 2022 bid, decided at the same meeting. Oh and lets not forget Mr Jack Warner, another vote caster, from Trinidad and Tobago, who once again sticks two fingers up at the FA, and has them scrambling to insert their tongues up his arse.
So I say, "Fuck 'em" Take your precious tournament to another footballing back water, where you will see empty seats, and outside touts will gouging the honest fans who this is supposed to all in aid of. They will kill of the goose that laid the golden egg, I am sure. Already it is showing signs of mortality. Witness the dullfest in South Africa, where a modest team of cloggers from the Netherlands tried to kick their way to the world title. How many games were stultifying bores, with some no hope country sticking 11 players behind the ball, in the hope of forcing a penalty shoot out? The fact is that even the eventual winners Spain, who are indeed a fine team, would probably struggle to get past the quarter final stage of the Champions League. And this, my friends, is where the real problem lies. International football is not the best standard any more. Judging by some of the performances by the elite players in Africa, they could care less about pulling on their nations jersey. "Yeah? But what about the Germans smart arse" I can hear you shout. Well let's wait and see just how great they are in four years time, when the likes of Ozil and Khedira have millions in the bank and a life style to match. Lets see how important that German shirt is to a super rich Turk. So Mr Blatter, take your jamboree to Russia or Spain and Portugal, hope you enjoy it. You've been a right laugh, now Fuck Off!
Having a spot of bother with my Firefox browser, so have been unable to post owt for a couple of days. My laddo has managed to download a virus, and it's fucked me PC up, but super Geevers worked his magic, and all seems set fair now. As long as I use Explorer anyhow. So it looks like I shall be busy later this evening, as there is a fair bit to catch up on. Ciao for now.
It really makes no ends. Stay in and put up with the lame shenanigans on Children in Need, or go to the pub and be pestered for your cash by a bunch of folk dressed as bananas. It really is a no win situation. The fact that there is a mondo creepy fog outside means I shall be "enjoying" the wacky capers of soap stars and celebs that I have never heard of, from the comfort and safety of my own sofa. I know it's tight, and that it appears I have never had it so good, but I shall be keeping my hand firmly in pocket tonight. Bah and indeed Humbug.
After a skip through first the 1970s, and then the 1980s, I promised last week to try and find some hot hippy ass from the 1960s. This endeavour proved to be fraught with with danger. As you are probably aware, I just scan the interweb with Google and the like, armed only with a search phrase. Hippy chicks, brought nothing but extremely hairy beavers, and men who looked like they had not bathed for a whole century, never mind a decade. I am not a massive fan of the current craze for Brazilian shaping in the female nether region, but I will take it any day over the plethora of rain forests I waded through in a vain attempt to unearth a picture worthy of re posting here. To be fair to the decade, perhaps hippy chicks did not do it a service, so I may trawl the net again in search of a bottom that will do it justice. I did find this cute little cartoon, and that was about it. There was plenty of hardcore arse shots, but I shall leave them for you to discover on your own, as these sites tend to be very much a solitary kind of thing. Still, all is not lost. Posted below is the magnificent Stacy Keibler, who has legs up the ya-ya, and a killer keister to booty. She first came to my notice as, of all things, a wrestler on the WWE shows. I suggest you search her name on YouTube, where you will see the delectable minx get up to all kinds of mischief.
With G-Spots total still awaiting validation, pre-season favourite, the Child Catcher opened his account last night. There was a few close shaves from our tapioca headed young ragamuffin, but he finally sealed a point for his Royal Wedding offering. ITV were still in the midst of their wall to wall coverage over their over blown nuptial announcement, when the little larakin piped up to me "Your generation will be well looking forward to the wedding. Give you chance to put up a matching plate to the Charles Diana plates you all have on your walls." Now I will grant him the fact that I may well look a bit older than I am, but even a blind Welshman in a dark room wouldn't confuse myself, or any of my peers for an eighty three year old, blue rinsed widower. Plates on a wall indeed. Even my parents age group didn't go in for all that malarkey. So the prime candidate has opened his account early doors, and believe me, the way he was waffling on, he flew close to another two or three. Battle has truly commenced.
I do believe it is the sound of somebody singing. A woman in fact. A big fat blubbery one to be precise. That's right amigos, the valiant JMF comeback is dead in the water, as the Righteous Euro boys finally put down the gaylords rebellion. The boys in white took control early on, and as the gap in scores widened, the nerves began to get the better of the MoFo. In fact they became down right frayed at times. Dead Eye complained about a stone cold penalty, that was clinically dispatched, and Jamon vented his spleen about the treatment doled out to him by Big Phil the Octopus. This didn't mean it was a cake walk by any stretch of the imagination. At one point the pendulum seemed to swing in their favour. It a wall of crimson tide, vainly searching for an equaliser. But gaps were left at the back, and with three quickfire strikes, the game was afoot. You could visibly see them wilt. So 2010 is at last officially the Year of the Righteous, as the Euro Elite reclaim the title of Wood Champions.
Apologies to Clogs, I don't have a picture to doctor.
JMF- Big JohnnyM, Luklear War, Dead Eye, King Dave and Jamon
EURO E- Euro Bri, Clogs, Shouty, Big Phil the Octopus and Crespo
That's right, I succumbed to the latest edition of Call of Duty. Hopefully this won't suck up all my spare time as the prequel, and signs are good that it will not. For a start I am on here tapping away, instead of being mutilated by spotty teenagers, knifed by pre-teens who trash talk in an octave just above soprano or dole dossing weed smokers, who really need to get a girlfriend. Make no mistake, it is a good game. The graphics are good, and game play is top notch. But to be honest, it is a bit of a muchness to last years Modern Warfare 2. In fact, I think it slightly inferior. So fear not my friends, I shouldn't become the PS3 hermit that I became last time round. That is until I get a copy of the soon to be released Gran Tourismo 5. One of these days I really will grow up, but till then just call me Peter. As in Pan.
As unelected Grand Poobah for life of the little known Bender Squad, I have taken it upon myself to nominate Wagner as the official X Factor choice of our rag tag collection of border line alcoholics. Over previous years I would not have given a monkeys forehead about any of the contestants, never mind a winner, but the cold fingers of the current economic down turn have found me parked in front of the goggle box on a Saturday more often then I care to be The prolonged exposure to this gaggle of over blown karaoke singers has sucked me into its grasp, and I would love to see the tuneless Brazilian granted a million pound contract by the bemused Simon Cowell. As I have alluded, the guy couldn't carry a note in a hessian sack, but compared to the soulless, bland troupers that gouge every octave for all it worth, he is a breath of fresh air. yes Louis picks all the wrong songs, and has turned him into some kind of Latin Liberace, but what do you expect from an over grown leprechaun that unleashed the truly God awful Westlife upon us. And don't be fooled by Mr Cowell, lest we forget it was he who gave us the musical musings of Robson and Jerome. And as for the two charisma free bints employed to give their opinion? Just show us your baps lassies, we really don't care to hear what is going on inside that empty receptacle you call a head.
This post was originally going to report on the dearth of stupidity at the moment, but just as I was constructing said piece, news winged it's way to me concerning the first scoring of the year. It is a bit of a tease I fear, as for legal reasons I cannot publicly furnish the full details. Safe to say it involved beer, but that is the only information I can furnish you with. In person, and under the full "Quod inter amicos accidit, inter amicos manet" oath of allegiance, I shall share the gory details. It was a minimum 7 pointer, which I have provisionally awarded, but upon further scrutiny from a panel of veteran Benders, could yet be increased to the maximum 10. The recipient is G-Spot, who opens his 2011 account with a flourish. This should herald a flurry of scores, as we are fast approaching silly season, with Xmas shindigs and various get togethers being pencilled in daily. The 27th is our Park Ave, and Hail to the Chief shindig. We have yet to agree upon a Christmas get together (I propose December the 4th) but boxing day is all systems go. Of course there is Old Years night, and even Crespos London jaunt is hovering into view. could get messy....
"What the chuffin 'eck is going on?" I can hear all the younger arse aficionado's wail, at the sight of the picture to the left, but believe it or not, there was a time when this keister, belonging to one Anneka Rice, was a bit of a national obsession during the mid 1980's. I know, and I agree whole heartedly, that a jump suit, especially a bright coloured polyester one, is perhaps the worst material known to man for accentuating a posterior. The fact is, it became famous solely for a show called "Treasure Hunt" in which Ms. Rice ran around collecting clues for some studio bound contestants. Her backside rose to fame not because of its fineness, but due to the fact the camera was always following close behind, and seemed to be always focused on her bum. Now it ain't a bad arse, but compared with the others featured in the ongoing series of posts, it lags, if you pardon the pun, well to the rear. But it is a good example of just how pitiful things were in the 80's, a dull decade indeed. Next week I shall delve into the psychedelic decade, the 1960's just to see what the hippies had to offer. But for this week, I can not bear to leave you with such a disappointing offering, so please as a way of apology please enjoy the gratuitous ass shot shown below;
Yaaarggggggghhhhh! It be I, McEuro, back from thar grave. As I be laying McShipwrecked in a McArid land festooned with Burger Kings, it McSeemed thar be never McClapping eyes on thar Golden Arches again. But after McStrapping together a couple o' passing sea horses, and McRiding me way to freedom, I am McBack. To be sure though, I made the McMistake of investing all me McPlunder into thar US Sub Prime Mortgage fiasco, so find me McDouloon stash McEmpty. This McMeans thar be no McPrize for this weeks McPoseur, which me as McWell, as it be McFrigetingly simple. I shall trying to McSteal some doubloons fer the to be McWinning but fer now it just be fer McFun.
So ye bottom feeding McCrustaecans can thar be figuring' Where Be McEuro????
I be McFearing the McTightness of me 1860 shirt!!! A McDiet fer McEuro may be McNeeded. Or more McLikely a bigger McShirt!
That's what the nefarious JMF held on by last night down the Wood, in another last ditch attempt to hold off the Righteous Elites claim to the 2010 title. Yet again, there was a prevalence of substitutes, and it was the MoFo whose replacements gelled the quickest. For the first quarter of the game it was very much tit for tat, but at around the twenty minute mark, the boys in white imploded. All shape was lost, and the luckless Shouty found himself at the mercy of the shirt lifters, as the score line ballooned in the MoFo column. Another goal keeping change failed to stem the tide, and with Dead Eye doing his best Scmichael impersonation, the advantage swelled to eight goals. With little over 15 minutes remaining the game seemed lost, bit at last the Righteous found some form. At first it looked as though the white tide would just make the final scoreline respectable, but with the clock ticking down, Shouty managed to get the Elite back to a single goal in arrears. Could the greatest come back in Wood history be completed? No it couldn't, as just before the net ballers staked their claim to the court, a Luklear strike dashed any hopes of a reprieve for the manly Elite, as the MoFo limped home to a two goal win. It was an epic game, that ebbed and flowed, and apart from a lucky strike by each side, featured some great strikes from just about everybody on court. The JMF dream still lives and breathes, and now stands at six down with seven to play.
JMF- Dr Shotgun, Luklear War, Dead Eye, Big JohnnyM and Jamon
EURO E- Euro Bri, Clogs, Shouty, Big Phil the Octopus and Crespo
So far we have two definites, myself and Shouty, plus two maybes, The Mercenary and Dr Shotgun. I appreciate that circumstances have prevented a few of you being able to commit, and that some of you were a bit skint. but I have been knobbing around on the old interweb tonight, and I have come up a very tempting price for our 1860 pilgrimage to Germany. I have worked out a cost of a mere £200 for flights and three nights accommodation in Berlin over the last weekend in April. With the collapse of our Oktoberfest trip, this is surly a bit of a tempter for those who were favouring the delights of Munich. The digs I have found are apartment style, and sleep four to a flat. It is a couple of miles out of the city centre, but the area it is in has a good selection of bars, many of the open into the small hours. So the question is "What are you waiting for?"
We remain in Belgium for the next entry of "Whose Booze." This time we are sampling a Trappist beer. These beers may only be called after the brewing monks if they are brewed within the walls of a Trappist monastery, and as such there are only seven authentic brews in the world. we shall, in the course of time sample them all. Today it is the turn of Rochefort 8, one of three styles brewed at the abbey that gives it it's name. They are all brewed the same, and are numbered by alcoholic content, the green number eight, pictured above, weighs in with an ABV of 9.2%. Considering it's potency it is quite smooth, with a light fizz, not unlike Guinness export. Compared to industrially produced beers, it is chock full of flavour. And floaty bits. It has a bite, and I wouldn't advise driving after a bottle of the stuff.
So which member of the squad does it most resemble? For a start, the whole concept of a bunch of monks brewing a beer this strong, is slightly insane. Four or five bottles would produce a fair amount of wobbliness, and it strikes as me as being a clever drink, that likes to get drunk. It is a bit difficult to put my finger on who this beer is most like, as to be honest, I think I could align this brew to three or four of the lads, but I keep coming back to one. I think it is because, although it a brash tasting brew, there is still something a little restrained to it. So I am going to go with my gut instinct from the start, and dedicate this beer as being most like the Bender Squad very own palindrome............
Decided on a classic for this weeks entry of Killer Keisters. I first saw this famous shot back in the szeventies, when I was at a very impressionable stage of my development. In fact it may well have some bearing on my penchant for fine posteriors. Next week we shall see what the Eighties had in store.
Off to meet G-Spot Geevers for a couple of swift one's at the Cock of the North in Hipperholme. It has it's own brewery on site, and has piqued our curiosity for quite a while now. We can't stay long, due to other commitments, but if it comes up to scratch may be added to the "Session Pub"list that I have yet to compile. In fact I need to come up with a snappier name than that. Session Pub? Sounds well lame.
Have had my organizing head on today, trying to sort out our trips to London and Munich. The good news is that the London trip is practically done and dusted. The not so good news is the Oktoberfest. The first problem is the reason we were going. Crespos 30th is no where near the date, and the Boy dazzler is umming and ahhing, which isn't good. The next problem is the hotel. Anywhere in Munich that is available for the dates we are looking at is expensive. Eye wateringly expensive. Yes, they are all 5 star joints, but £500 plus for three nights, per person is pretty bleeding rich. The alternative is to stay a ways out of town, about 16 kms, or to split up the group. I am even considering consulting with a travel agent to see what they can come up with. I haven't yet checked out the specialist sites (and I don't mean the ones featuring naked Dutch women and horses) but I am beginning to wonder if we shouldn't be looking at some alternatives. As it stand we are looking at, with flights around £500. Each. Before spends. Now don't get me wrong, I love the Oktoberfest big time, and I wasn't really on the ball when it came to booking some rooms. But I haven't had a lot of people committing definitely to going, and shy of a lottery win tonight, I cannot afford to just cough up untold amount's of cash on a "maybe."
So that's as it stands at the moment. I can either just book for the definite, and pass on the details to the maybes, who can book on their own, or we can start thinking about alternatives. For the prices I have so far checked we could go for a long weekend to New York, or get a week in Greece. If we went into the former Eastern Bloc countries of Europe we could probably party all weekend, and still have change for what we would spend in Munich. Even Western Europe, excepting Italy, would a more economical choice. There is much to discuss, but at the moment, Oktoberfest 2011 is looking a bit of a long shot.
A lack lustre Euro Elite were easily defeated down the Wood on Wednesday. It was a strange game, as apart from Crespo and Doctor Shotgun, the lady shy MoFo didn't play a whole lot better. But better they did, and the final five goal victory was well deserved. The boys in white never got of the traps, and this means the score tally now stands at seven, with eight to play. Highlight of the night was Big JohnnyM's goal. It was a fiendish method of scoring, as he volleyed the ball flush into Big Phil the Octopus's testicles, and then calmly poked the rebound past the prostrate Phils frame. Quality. Sorry for the brevity of the report, but I am on lates, and am a bit knackered.
JMF- Dr Shotgun, Luklear War, Crespo, Big Phil the Octopus and Jamon
EURO E- Euro Bri, Clogs, Shouty, Big JohnnyM and The Mercenary
After last years tight finish, which was won by Helmet in a vote off, the 2010 race for Le Maillott Jaune was something of a procession. The combination of age, babies and a lack of funds meant there were not as many gathering as in years gone by, and our sojourns were limited as well. These have always proved the most fertile grounds for idiocy and the like, so anyone who put in a proper shift on one, or possibly two, was going to be hard to overtake. Which is, what in effect happened. A memorable outing around Bradford, combined with a stellar effort in Dusseldorf, saw this member win at a canter. In fact he hasn't scored a single point since April, but no one else really got close. So put your hands together for a first time winner, as we crown Le Grande Buffoon 2010 as..................................
TRIGGER!!!!!!
The last couple of months have seen little movement. John the Don gets 8 points for being John the Don. Garreeeeee earned himself a late 4 pointer for insisting that his favourite Leeds United player of the late seventies was not Arthur Graham, but that well known spiv Arthur Daley. Shouty picked up a four pointer for managing to get whacked on the bonce by a parking barrier at InnitWorld. And that is about it. The final standings are thus;
Trigger 50 points
Child Catcher 28 points
Euro Bri 26 points
El Grande Queso 21 points
Crespo 15 points
Shouty 15 points
John the Don 11 points
Funky Messiah 10 points
Gareeeeeee 8 points
Big JohnnyM 6 points
Tony Helmet 4 points
Sprocket 3 points
Dr Shotgun 3 points
Mikey D 3 Points
Dessi 2 points
San 1 Point
Major 1 point
So from today the slate is wiped clean, and the race is on for the 2011 Yellow Jersey winner. The points system seems to be holding up quite well, so we shall retain it with no tinkering. A few nights out are planned between now and Chrimbo, so it shouldn't be too long before we see some early scores on the doors. The bookies make young Child Catcher a slight early favourite, but a soon to be solvent Shouty should prove to be a threat. The last two winners are new/about to be new fathers, which has lengthened their odds considerably, especially in the case of Trigger, has been tagged and put on a very short leash. Helmet is always but a Bender away from a good score, but is a bit mellower than he was in his prime. I expect him to be off the pace, though a trip to the Oktoberfest in the early Autumn should see him contend. Then there is my good self, Fromagio and Crespo, who always seem to flirt with lead, but manage to just avoid capturing the crown. Remember. Points can be scored at any time, so be vigilant. Once again all nominations will be considered, and be scored accordingly by a panel of peers.
Previous Winners
2009-Tony Helmet
2008-Shouty Paul
2007-The Funky Messiah
2006-John the Don
2005- Jamon
Who will be next to join the Hall of Fame? Tune in next October to find out....
This may, or may not be, the start of a random thread concerning our favourite thing in the world. Beer. Now I know a few of you young bucks will argue for shagging, and although it does have it's merits, in the long run it just cant compete with ale. You'll understand when your older, and some old bint has tied you down and turned off the tap. Plus beer lasts all night and you can do it with your clothes on.
Anyway, I have begun to ramble, and wish to return to what I was on about. Beer, that's it. This year me and Brother Shouty have embarked on a mission to sample as many of the different ales, lagers, porters, Pilsners, bitters, stouts, lambics, Trappist, Abbey, bocks, IPAs, kolsches, Dortmunders, Alts, Weissbiers, Wheat, doppelbocks, and whatever else kind of beer that momentarily slips my mind. I was going to create some form of checklist, but thought that might be a bit anal, so decided against it. I will let Shouty do it instead, as he has a greater propensity than I to be a nerd (even if it a beer nerd). So instead of collating some kind of list I thought to try and convey the spirit of the beer (did you see what I did there?) be comparing it with a member of the Bender Squad, so you can get some idea of it's essence. So with out further ado, let's get on with the first one.
Palm Speciale, is a dark ale, brewed in Steenhuffel, Belgium. It is a cheeky little number, with a dark hue, and a slightly fruity taste. At 5.4% it is fairly mental, but not full lobotomy style. A subtle and laid back tasting effort, it is ideal for sitting around in a boozer watching the football results come in, and bemoaning the fact that Shrewsbury town have just cost a grand. It comes in a smaller sized can, not unlike a coca cola can, and if it were a Squad member it could only be the King of the Pixies himself, Sandro.
A strange start to the season indeed. Blackpool win at Anfield. WBA flirting with the top four. Liverpool in the relegation zone. And Crespo at the top of 2010/11 bendership table. Even stranger is Lobon in second and fourth, sandwiching Aki in third. These three clowns have never had a sniff of success in our annual fantasy footie league (Lobon won it a few years back with a team picked for him by his brother) so to find them leading the way at this stage of the season is more than a little surprising. Especially as Crespo took the "pick and stick" option (cheapskate) and was unable to transfer out Valencia, who is more or less done for the year. Will it last? I can't see it in Crespo case, but Lobons second placed team, combined with his ability to do transfers, is looking like it could take some beating. Still nowt is won before Christmas...
No the game went ahead as usual, but the chance to put the 2010 season to bed was spurned by the Righteous Euro boys. It's no that we didn't play well, we did, but it has to be said that there was more desire on the side of evil, and a late burst of goal action in the final quarter saw the toss pots home. There double substitutions on both sides this week, a couple that could be long term, as both Two Scoops and King Dave are nursing knocks. But the sides seemed to be evenly matched, and for the majority of the hour played this was borne out by the closeness of the score line. The major highlights of this period of play were both provided be the MoFo Queen Jamon. First up was his clinical half volley, that swerved past goalie into the top corner of the netting. Shame it was against his own goal keeper. His next moment of buffoonery was to hit the cross bar, with a gaping unattended goal at his mercy. Luckily his blushes were spared with a goal scoring spree from the most unlikely of sources. Dr Shotgun stashed his blunderbuss, and racked up the goals, alongside the ever reliable Dead Eye. In fact, there was good call to nominate him as man of the match. Further to his cause was the brave save he made from Crespo, blocking full thundered shot with his face. At least there could be no damage done. So there we have it. A chance to be crowned "Kings of the Wood" in record time was blown. Still, the Shirt Lifters will have to remain unbeaten for the rest of the year to prevent the seemingly inevitable. They can not even afford to have more than one draw.
JMF- Dr Shotgun, Luklear War, Big JohnnyM, Dead Eye and Jamon
EURO E- Euro Bri, Clogs, Big Phil the Octopus, Crespo and The Mercenary
Have a Happy New Rear!!!!
