Tueartsoverhead kick
Well-Known Member
Thats a coincidence we have the same user name except for a space and i live in Moston !!!tueartsoverheadkick said:
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mancunian born
- Thread starter sir malcom
- Start date
Born in Crumpsall Hospital in '56, the bastard son of the 14th Earl of Collyhurst. I was raised in Blackley and left in ’75 just before it was twinned with Gaza. I then toured Germany and Holland for 4 years, with a Von Trapp Family Tribute Band (Gunter). I hung up the Leiderhosen in Amsterdam, after an acrimonious break-up when my recreational use of pharmaceuticals became too much for the other members of “The Family”. By then I was up to 2 bottles of syrup of figs a day. I later found out it wasn’t so much my behaviour when “using” that they objected to, it was more the onstage farting they couldn’t take. On my last performance, the owner of the Club said the Alpine horn was drowning out the melody to the Lonely Goatherd. Deep inside I kind of knew it was curtains after that, up until that point, we had always been acapella. It also didn’t help matters that the troupe Leader, Captain Von Trapp (Steve, a Pakistani from Doncaster) was bandwagon scum. The next 18 months are a blur and I finally hit rock bottom when I came to, hitchhiking in a blizzard in Budapest with no idea how I'd got there or how I'd lost my strides and drawers. It was then I decided to reclaim my life, and in an act of salvation, I went back to my first true love…DANCE! After what seemed like the fight of my life, I got off the S.O.F. cold turkey, and I finally got into the magnificent shape I am today, by adhering strictly to the Joe Corrigan Diet. 15 pies,2 buckets of peas and 12 pints of Holts' a day took dedication, but my focus was total. My Instructor Gerhard, was a tough task master and insisted on nothing short of absolute dedication. To this day I can still hear him screaming in that heavy Bavarian accent “ NEIN, NEIN ,NEIN, YOU DOO ZER HOKEE COKEE UND YOU TORN ARRROUND! Do eet again Du Sheizen-Hauser!!” It wasn’t long before word of my prowess on the floor was doing the rounds and word was spreading about the new kid on the block. Suddenly I was the toast of the town and everybody wanted a piece of the Golden Boy. Here is a write up from a leading critic of the day, for my leading role in the all male revue of Brigadoon in the East Fife Liberal Club. “Although the story line strayed from the original from time to time, the show was saved by the young lead dancer El Testosteronio( My stage name at the time) Though somewhat puzzling as far as the context of the show, his startling finale of full splits over a live 3 lb lobster, wearing only a Sporran and Tam O’ Shanter for protection, stole the show. It really was well worth the one shilling and fourpence admission fee by itself, although I did find the intermission mutton pie to be a wee bit too salty.” wrote Duncan D. Sorderly, Arts Correspondent/Assistant Janitor, Dumbarton Bugle. There was only one place left for me after that. The bright lights of Broadway beckoned.
After several soul-destroying months of unemployment due to the national leotard makers’ strike of ‘86, I wound up masquerading as a Mexican in order to obtain a job on Long Island. My life was fast spinning out of control again, and came to a head when I woke up in a room full of snoring, flatulent Chicano’s. To my horror, I found myself laying on the floor in a foul smelling sticky pool with a sore bum and 300 pesos. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s never go into a chili pepper eating contest in your best strides, without putting a cork in your…er…pocket and a toilet roll in the fridge. Recuperation was slow and tortuous. Fast forward several years and I’m dancing in a sleazy “Ladies Only” club in the East Village, were I WOW them every night with my signature move, “The Corkscrew’. It’s a risky move which consists of sticking my thumb up my arse and spinning on my elbow while a blindfolded naked midget jumps over my Legs as they go aound. Unfortunately after paying the dry cleaning bills for most of the audience, there wasn’t much left to live on. Some said I shouldn’t do the move, it was too radical, too dangerous, too…disgusting. Call me crazy, but I will NEVER compromise my art, even if a few accidents do happen from time to time. It was around about this time when I met my guardian angel, Ruthy. During my time dancing at the Ramrod, I had enjoyed the company of many, MANY Ladies. But something about Ruthy was different. No it wasn’t the hump, the balaclava. the Tooth or the bandy left leg, but more the way she looked at me, or rather, my hands. One of the hereditary features passed down from the 2nd Earl of Collyhurst all the way down the line to present day apart from the finely chisled features and massive hampton, was his disproportionately tiny hands. I normally work with padded gloves but that night one inadvertently flew off my free hand during my corkscrew crescendo. Ruthy, having talked her way past the strict security to get back stage, was fascinated by my teeny digits, ironically the thing that turned most women off, consumed this gal. It turns out Ruthy was a big wheel in advertising, and her major client was the fast food chain McDonalds. “You stick with me kid and you’ll be farting through silk”, she said, obviously oblivious as to whom she was talking. Fast forward again 10 years. I am now doing very nicely indeed, thank you very much to my darling Ruthy and the jobs she gets me as a hand model in print and film ads. My main gig is holding Big Macs in my Lilliputian hands. I have recently been offered huge money from the porn industry, but life would have to turn full circle for me to consider going into business with an aardvark, Siamese twins known simply as Neil and Bob and a 73 year old Thai Grandmother who can fire ping pong balls 60 feet from one orifice while simultaneously smoking a cigar from another while playing trumpet from yet another. So despite all odds, life worked out after all. The 14th Earl might not have left me much, but thanks to him I’m earning a fortune, though people all over the world continue to be disappointed when they buy their first Big Mac, and as such in my own small way, I feel I am doing my bit to help save the Planet, or the whale or something to do with the north pole. Oh and by the way, Ruthy was right, I am farting through silk. I destroy upward of 6 pairs a day, and loving every minute of it.
Ruthy was sued by MCFC for false advertising shortly after coining the phrase “good in the air” when describing Antione Sibierski, and Jon Maken as a “striker” to footballs Mr know nowt King Kev. however she was cleared of all charges after describing Blobby Fouler as a big fat lazy turd, to the Cardiff City Board when a judge said he saw no evidence to the contrary and the daft bastards went and signed him anyway. So yeah I'm from Manchester, why do you ask?
After several soul-destroying months of unemployment due to the national leotard makers’ strike of ‘86, I wound up masquerading as a Mexican in order to obtain a job on Long Island. My life was fast spinning out of control again, and came to a head when I woke up in a room full of snoring, flatulent Chicano’s. To my horror, I found myself laying on the floor in a foul smelling sticky pool with a sore bum and 300 pesos. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s never go into a chili pepper eating contest in your best strides, without putting a cork in your…er…pocket and a toilet roll in the fridge. Recuperation was slow and tortuous. Fast forward several years and I’m dancing in a sleazy “Ladies Only” club in the East Village, were I WOW them every night with my signature move, “The Corkscrew’. It’s a risky move which consists of sticking my thumb up my arse and spinning on my elbow while a blindfolded naked midget jumps over my Legs as they go aound. Unfortunately after paying the dry cleaning bills for most of the audience, there wasn’t much left to live on. Some said I shouldn’t do the move, it was too radical, too dangerous, too…disgusting. Call me crazy, but I will NEVER compromise my art, even if a few accidents do happen from time to time. It was around about this time when I met my guardian angel, Ruthy. During my time dancing at the Ramrod, I had enjoyed the company of many, MANY Ladies. But something about Ruthy was different. No it wasn’t the hump, the balaclava. the Tooth or the bandy left leg, but more the way she looked at me, or rather, my hands. One of the hereditary features passed down from the 2nd Earl of Collyhurst all the way down the line to present day apart from the finely chisled features and massive hampton, was his disproportionately tiny hands. I normally work with padded gloves but that night one inadvertently flew off my free hand during my corkscrew crescendo. Ruthy, having talked her way past the strict security to get back stage, was fascinated by my teeny digits, ironically the thing that turned most women off, consumed this gal. It turns out Ruthy was a big wheel in advertising, and her major client was the fast food chain McDonalds. “You stick with me kid and you’ll be farting through silk”, she said, obviously oblivious as to whom she was talking. Fast forward again 10 years. I am now doing very nicely indeed, thank you very much to my darling Ruthy and the jobs she gets me as a hand model in print and film ads. My main gig is holding Big Macs in my Lilliputian hands. I have recently been offered huge money from the porn industry, but life would have to turn full circle for me to consider going into business with an aardvark, Siamese twins known simply as Neil and Bob and a 73 year old Thai Grandmother who can fire ping pong balls 60 feet from one orifice while simultaneously smoking a cigar from another while playing trumpet from yet another. So despite all odds, life worked out after all. The 14th Earl might not have left me much, but thanks to him I’m earning a fortune, though people all over the world continue to be disappointed when they buy their first Big Mac, and as such in my own small way, I feel I am doing my bit to help save the Planet, or the whale or something to do with the north pole. Oh and by the way, Ruthy was right, I am farting through silk. I destroy upward of 6 pairs a day, and loving every minute of it.
Ruthy was sued by MCFC for false advertising shortly after coining the phrase “good in the air” when describing Antione Sibierski, and Jon Maken as a “striker” to footballs Mr know nowt King Kev. however she was cleared of all charges after describing Blobby Fouler as a big fat lazy turd, to the Cardiff City Board when a judge said he saw no evidence to the contrary and the daft bastards went and signed him anyway. So yeah I'm from Manchester, why do you ask?
Boff
Well-Known Member
jonesie said:Born in Crumpsall Hospital in '56, the bastard son of the 14th Earl of Collyhurst. I was raised in Blackley and left in ’75 just before it was twinned with Gaza. I then toured Germany and Holland for 4 years, with a Von Trapp Family Tribute Band (Gunter). I hung up the Leiderhosen in Amsterdam, after an acrimonious break-up when my recreational use of pharmaceuticals became too much for the other members of “The Family”. By then I was up to 2 bottles of syrup of figs a day. I later found out it wasn’t so much my behaviour when “using” that they objected to, it was more the onstage farting they couldn’t take. On my last performance, the owner of the Club said the Alpine horn was drowning out the melody to the Lonely Goatherd. Deep inside I kind of knew it was curtains after that, up until that point, we had always been acapella. It also didn’t help matters that the troupe Leader, Captain Von Trapp (Steve, a Pakistani from Doncaster) was bandwagon scum. The next 18 months are a blur and I finally hit rock bottom when I came to, hitchhiking in a blizzard in Budapest with no idea how I'd got there or how I'd lost my strides and drawers. It was then I decided to reclaim my life, and in an act of salvation, I went back to my first true love…DANCE! After what seemed like the fight of my life, I got off the S.O.F. cold turkey, and I finally got into the magnificent shape I am today, by adhering strictly to the Joe Corrigan Diet. 15 pies,2 buckets of peas and 12 pints of Holts' a day took dedication, but my focus was total. My Instructor Gerhard, was a tough task master and insisted on nothing short of absolute dedication. To this day I can still hear him screaming in that heavy Bavarian accent “ NEIN, NEIN ,NEIN, YOU DOO ZER HOKEE COKEE UND YOU TORN ARRROUND! Do eet again Du Sheizen-Hauser!!” It wasn’t long before word of my prowess on the floor was doing the rounds and word was spreading about the new kid on the block. Suddenly I was the toast of the town and everybody wanted a piece of the Golden Boy. Here is a write up from a leading critic of the day, for my leading role in the all male revue of Brigadoon in the East Fife Liberal Club. “Although the story line strayed from the original from time to time, the show was saved by the young lead dancer El Testosteronio( My stage name at the time) Though somewhat puzzling as far as the context of the show, his startling finale of full splits over a live 3 lb lobster, wearing only a Sporran and Tam O’ Shanter for protection, stole the show. It really was well worth the one shilling and fourpence admission fee by itself, although I did find the intermission mutton pie to be a wee bit too salty.” wrote Duncan D. Sorderly, Arts Correspondent/Assistant Janitor, Dumbarton Bugle. There was only one place left for me after that. The bright lights of Broadway beckoned.
After several soul-destroying months of unemployment due to the national leotard makers’ strike of ‘86, I wound up masquerading as a Mexican in order to obtain a job on Long Island. My life was fast spinning out of control again, and came to a head when I woke up in a room full of snoring, flatulent Chicano’s. To my horror, I found myself laying on the floor in a foul smelling sticky pool with a sore bum and 300 pesos. If I’ve learned anything in life, it’s never go into a chili pepper eating contest in your best strides, without putting a cork in your…er…pocket and a toilet roll in the fridge. Recuperation was slow and tortuous. Fast forward several years and I’m dancing in a sleazy “Ladies Only” club in the East Village, were I WOW them every night with my signature move, “The Corkscrew’. It’s a risky move which consists of sticking my thumb up my arse and spinning on my elbow while a blindfolded naked midget jumps over my Legs as they go aound. Unfortunately after paying the dry cleaning bills for most of the audience, there wasn’t much left to live on. Some said I shouldn’t do the move, it was too radical, too dangerous, too…disgusting. Call me crazy, but I will NEVER compromise my art, even if a few accidents do happen from time to time. It was around about this time when I met my guardian angel, Ruthy. During my time dancing at the Ramrod, I had enjoyed the company of many, MANY Ladies. But something about Ruthy was different. No it wasn’t the hump, the balaclava. the Tooth or the bandy left leg, but more the way she looked at me, or rather, my hands. One of the hereditary features passed down from the 2nd Earl of Collyhurst all the way down the line to present day apart from the finely chisled features and massive hampton, was his disproportionately tiny hands. I normally work with padded gloves but that night one inadvertently flew off my free hand during my corkscrew crescendo. Ruthy, having talked her way past the strict security to get back stage, was fascinated by my teeny digits, ironically the thing that turned most women off, consumed this gal. It turns out Ruthy was a big wheel in advertising, and her major client was the fast food chain McDonalds. “You stick with me kid and you’ll be farting through silk”, she said, obviously oblivious as to whom she was talking. Fast forward again 10 years. I am now doing very nicely indeed, thank you very much to my darling Ruthy and the jobs she gets me as a hand model in print and film ads. My main gig is holding Big Macs in my Lilliputian hands. I have recently been offered huge money from the porn industry, but life would have to turn full circle for me to consider going into business with an aardvark, Siamese twins known simply as Neil and Bob and a 73 year old Thai Grandmother who can fire ping pong balls 60 feet from one orifice while simultaneously smoking a cigar from another while playing trumpet from yet another. So despite all odds, life worked out after all. The 14th Earl might not have left me much, but thanks to him I’m earning a fortune, though people all over the world continue to be disappointed when they buy their first Big Mac, and as such in my own small way, I feel I am doing my bit to help save the Planet, or the whale or something to do with the north pole. Oh and by the way, Ruthy was right, I am farting through silk. I destroy upward of 6 pairs a day, and loving every minute of it.
Ruthy was sued by MCFC for false advertising shortly after coining the phrase “good in the air” when describing Antione Sibierski, and Jon Maken as a “striker” to footballs Mr know nowt King Kev. however she was cleared of all charges after describing Blobby Fouler as a big fat lazy turd, to the Cardiff City Board when a judge said he saw no evidence to the contrary and the daft bastards went and signed him anyway. So yeah I'm from Manchester, why do you ask?
someone do me a summary as I lack the attention span
Born Hope Hospital 1956
Lived in Bond Street Higher Broughton until 10
Moved to Alkrington went to Alky Moss school then to Durnford St school
Aged 15 my dad got a job as head buyer for Mace supermarkets which meant a move to LIVERPOOL
(Totally gutted)
Moved shortly afterwards to Formby
Now living in Southport.
First City game V Birmingham April 30th 1966 won 3 - 1 Bell Young & Crossan the scorers.
Never forget the first sight of the pitch from the Kippax, a feeling that I still get everytime I go to the match.
So born and bred Salfordian to a rag family but City till I die.
Lived in Bond Street Higher Broughton until 10
Moved to Alkrington went to Alky Moss school then to Durnford St school
Aged 15 my dad got a job as head buyer for Mace supermarkets which meant a move to LIVERPOOL
(Totally gutted)
Moved shortly afterwards to Formby
Now living in Southport.
First City game V Birmingham April 30th 1966 won 3 - 1 Bell Young & Crossan the scorers.
Never forget the first sight of the pitch from the Kippax, a feeling that I still get everytime I go to the match.
So born and bred Salfordian to a rag family but City till I die.
MCFCTrick
Well-Known Member
Born Beech Mount, Harpurhey.
First year in Newton Heath, just off Ten Acre Lane, then rest of childhood/teens/early twenties still in NH, but near Brookdale Park (Street next to where BP High School was)
Ten years just across the border in Failsworth, and now on Costa del Roch (Marland)
First year in Newton Heath, just off Ten Acre Lane, then rest of childhood/teens/early twenties still in NH, but near Brookdale Park (Street next to where BP High School was)
Ten years just across the border in Failsworth, and now on Costa del Roch (Marland)
The Beast 111
Well-Known Member
Born in Wythenshawe and er.....moved to Wythenshawe :)
Jonesie that is very funny. It entertained me for as long as long as it took the transfer forum to refresh with the latest none-news.
Born in Stretford memorial hospital. Lived on the 8th floor of Pickford Court, part of the Seven Sisters blocks that split the old Hulme bullring from the Moss Side shopping Centre.
Taken to watch City in the early 70's by my Dad and Grandad. Players I remember most are Dave Watson, Dennis Tueart, Peter Barnes, Kenny Clements, Tommy Booth, Gary Owens and Asa Hartford.
Living in the Cheshire countryside now and looking forward to exciting times ahead.
Born in Stretford memorial hospital. Lived on the 8th floor of Pickford Court, part of the Seven Sisters blocks that split the old Hulme bullring from the Moss Side shopping Centre.
Taken to watch City in the early 70's by my Dad and Grandad. Players I remember most are Dave Watson, Dennis Tueart, Peter Barnes, Kenny Clements, Tommy Booth, Gary Owens and Asa Hartford.
Living in the Cheshire countryside now and looking forward to exciting times ahead.
Barcon
Well-Known Member
Gaudino said:Born Beech Mount, Harpurhey.
First year in Newton Heath, just off Ten Acre Lane, then rest of childhood/teens/early twenties still in NH, but near Brookdale Park (Street next to where BP High School was)
Ten years just across the border in Failsworth, and now on Costa del Roch (Marland)
Fuck me. My first year was just off ten acres, Staplehurst rd. 1963, then off to Failsworth until I was 15. I don't know of any other rd. that comes off 10 acres, although I never crossed Briscoe lane or the canal. I went back to that house to spread my some of my Dads ashes in the backyard and on the reck. What a fucking disgrace that has become.
citygirl77
Well-Known Member
- Joined
- 3 Jul 2009
- Messages
- 669
Citygirl is a pure manc born and bred manc, born ardwick live droylsden, my dad worked where Coms is, it used to be johnsons wire works.