Birthday Keister

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.....

Pub, Pub, Pub, Pub, Pub......

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.

Killer Keisters

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......

Roll on Saturday

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.

Kinky Pixie

Something about Shaun Ryder just dawned on me. After watching him over the last week or so, he don't half remind me of Sandro.

Stocking Filler Idea

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.

Let 'em Have it

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!

Service will Resumed Shortly

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.

In or Out?

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.

Killer Keisters

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.

The Start of a Flurry?

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.

2011 standings

1. G-Spot 7 points
2. Child Catcher 1 point
   

Whats the Noise?

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

2010 Season

JMF wins - 18

Euro Elite - 25


Draws - 1

COD Almighty, where does the Time Go?

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.

Squad Factor

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.

And There Off!

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....

Le Grande Buffoon 2011

1. G-Spot 7 points
   

Killer Keisters

"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;

Land McHoy!!

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!

Fingertips

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

2010 Season

JMF wins - 18

Euro Elite - 24


Draws - 1

Anybody Else Tempted?

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?"

Whose Booze?

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............

Mad Adam

Killer Keisters

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.

Cock of the North

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.

Change of Plan?

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.

JMF Fight On

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

2010 Season

JMF wins - 17

Euro Elite - 24


Draws - 1

And the Winner is............................

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;

1. Trigger 50 points
2. Child Catcher 28 points
3. Euro Bri 26 points
   
4. El Grande Queso 21 points
5. Crespo 15 points
6. Shouty 15 points
7. John the Don 11 points
   
8. Funky Messiah 10 points
9. Gareeeeeee 8 points
   
10. Big JohnnyM 6 points
    
11. Tony Helmet 4 points
    
12. Sprocket 3 points
13. Dr Shotgun 3 points
    
14. Mikey D 3 Points
15. Dessi 2 points
    
16. San 1 Point
17. 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....

Explains A Lot