Fuck 'em! The death rattle is sounding loud and clear over at the swamp and they know it. The arrival of that eye-gouging, Portuguese ponce and his stagnant, putrid, long-ball style saw the crumbling of the myth that has been perpetuated over the years by the likes of Neil Custis, Oliver Holt, and all the other slimy reptilians employed by the tabloids. The fucking so-called 'Un*ted Way' crap. If it weren't so serious it would be hysterically funny, watching BT, Sky, ITV, BBC and all the others slavering with unbridled sycophancy over the latest mutterings from the deluded one. Trying to kid everyone that all is rosy at the swamp despite the whole world seeing that Shrek has (once again) held them to ransom. That the signing of Pogshit was not the calamitous fuck-up everybody else sees. That despite his alleged 'retirement' the Pisscan is still in charge there, glowering like fucking Jacob Marley's ghostly apparition over the theatre of debt. That despite spending record-breaking sums of money (that they can ill afford) they're basically a Sam Allardyce/Tony Pulis team.
The footballing equivalent of the Grim Reaper is on his way to the swamp, and I hope to fuck that we administer the embalming fluid to the cadaver in the next derby.