C
CyberKev
Guest
Its impossible to be a fair dinkum football tragic and not have to endure (to varying degrees, depending on your team) those dreaded moments when the boys go awol on the paddock, the opposition runs amok, and your new name becomes Henny J Penny as the blackest of cloudy skies comes crashing down on your sorry head!
There are many varied ways in which an aggrieved individual can respond to such occasions and I'm wondering what the preferred anguish reaction mechanisms (arms) of forum members are?
Perhaps you could be the type of loser who takes personal responsibility for any loss suffered by the team... This type of arm demands ruthless masochism and is best exemplified by driving around the seedy neighbourhoods looking for whores... Not just any whores, mind you, as they have to be "professionals" of the most unprofessional kind; guaranteed to charge inflated prices for the right to laugh themselves sick at your trifling willy while you indulge in self abuse to the uncivilised soundtrack of Ozzy Osbourne humping a Tall Boy... That's a tall boy of the furniture variety and not a tall boy of the organic type, assuming that it even makes a difference either way...
Or maybe instead of taking it personally, you prefer instead to take it PERSONALLY... Declaring a jihad on the offending opposition and its scumbag supporters before taking to the angry streets armed with a cache of stainless steel bread & butter knives and a CD player thumping demonically with the strains of bootlegged Simon & Garfunkel...
Then again you could be the mellow type who prefers to fall back on your "comforts"... Until, of course, the realisation dawns that the only comforts worth a toss in such moments are bottles of the Southernvariety... One thing leads to another and in a (decidedly irregular) heartbeat you find yourself awakening in a puddle of vomit... Just in time for the televised morning sports wrap, just in case the fleeting fluids may have somehow erased the previous day's abject humiliation from the memory banks...
Or it could be that you're one of those hopelessly existentialist types who's deluded enough to think that if you walk aimlessly until a natural process evolves starting with the loss of your bearings, leading to the loss of control over your bladder function (its not uncommon to combine this arm with the one above), moving to the loss of your sense of being, escalating to a merciful loss of memory, ensuring that the whole sorry incident never really happened... To wit - in your head you were neverreally there...
Personally, I've partaken in all of the above... With the obvious exception of the first one, as its hardly possible to pull that one off when you're toting a tockley that's eerily reminiscent of the pendulum on a bloody great Grandfather clock... Yeah, that's right, a clock... But I certainly entered disturbingly new arm territory on Saturday arvo (just gone) when I found myself so brutally traumatised by Hawthorn's horrific capitulation that I spend two solid hours cleaning and vacuuming the house... Of my own volition!!!!
Crushing defeat, its perversely inhumane!
CyberKev
There are many varied ways in which an aggrieved individual can respond to such occasions and I'm wondering what the preferred anguish reaction mechanisms (arms) of forum members are?
Perhaps you could be the type of loser who takes personal responsibility for any loss suffered by the team... This type of arm demands ruthless masochism and is best exemplified by driving around the seedy neighbourhoods looking for whores... Not just any whores, mind you, as they have to be "professionals" of the most unprofessional kind; guaranteed to charge inflated prices for the right to laugh themselves sick at your trifling willy while you indulge in self abuse to the uncivilised soundtrack of Ozzy Osbourne humping a Tall Boy... That's a tall boy of the furniture variety and not a tall boy of the organic type, assuming that it even makes a difference either way...
Or maybe instead of taking it personally, you prefer instead to take it PERSONALLY... Declaring a jihad on the offending opposition and its scumbag supporters before taking to the angry streets armed with a cache of stainless steel bread & butter knives and a CD player thumping demonically with the strains of bootlegged Simon & Garfunkel...
Then again you could be the mellow type who prefers to fall back on your "comforts"... Until, of course, the realisation dawns that the only comforts worth a toss in such moments are bottles of the Southernvariety... One thing leads to another and in a (decidedly irregular) heartbeat you find yourself awakening in a puddle of vomit... Just in time for the televised morning sports wrap, just in case the fleeting fluids may have somehow erased the previous day's abject humiliation from the memory banks...
Or it could be that you're one of those hopelessly existentialist types who's deluded enough to think that if you walk aimlessly until a natural process evolves starting with the loss of your bearings, leading to the loss of control over your bladder function (its not uncommon to combine this arm with the one above), moving to the loss of your sense of being, escalating to a merciful loss of memory, ensuring that the whole sorry incident never really happened... To wit - in your head you were neverreally there...
Personally, I've partaken in all of the above... With the obvious exception of the first one, as its hardly possible to pull that one off when you're toting a tockley that's eerily reminiscent of the pendulum on a bloody great Grandfather clock... Yeah, that's right, a clock... But I certainly entered disturbingly new arm territory on Saturday arvo (just gone) when I found myself so brutally traumatised by Hawthorn's horrific capitulation that I spend two solid hours cleaning and vacuuming the house... Of my own volition!!!!
Crushing defeat, its perversely inhumane!
CyberKev
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