Posted by: docdenbow | February 4, 2012

Jog Around A Windswept Manchester Field


There has been a tribute to DocDenbow blog launched. I assure you it is not of my making, but as I understand it is the work of Gianfranco Da Vinci and Josephina Thomassina. These two delightful young Italians are keen followers of me and love me for all that I am and all that I blog.

Well, the “tribute” blog is generally there to take the piss out of me and my hardworking efforts to keep you all amused and reading the random thoughts of a deluded chap of 53 who really isn’t aware of his impending mortality and doom as perhaps he should be. The look of the “tribute” is the same as the “real thing” and this tribute really consists of taking an alternative, or exact opposing view or standpoint of what I have written about. The authors of this blog are both big fans of  Doc Denbow, Simon Cowell and Little Mix. Gianfranco, who I have had occasion to have never met on several occasions is apparently a screaming heterosexual and Josephina has beauty beyond compare although I have yet to clap eyes on her. I am told she looks good in a dark room with a searchlight behind her. But enough of them, let’s write about something really interesting – me.

Well, if I was a truly interesting man then would I be sitting here writing a stream of consciousness blog? If I was a drinker or a fan or narcotics or opiates I would think, reading this back, that I was under the influence of something – so disjointed is the subject matter here. You see I think that it is quite a skill to write several sentences, or even a paragraph or two ,or more, without actually getting to the point of what you’re writing about and without once even skirting onto the subject matter in question. I truly don’t have that kind of gift as I had very few gifts for Christmas and at my age you don’t wish to be reminded of your birthday so no gift came on that day either.

As you may gather then, this a posting about which I have little idea or no conception of what I want to say. My thought processes are as fractured as Carlos Tevez’s mirror. £200,000 a week and he’s not had plastic surgery or retrogressive dental work – then clearly the man is an oaf. However, I am envious of his employment status which consists of having a half assed jog around a windswept Manchester field and taking a footswipe at the occasional ball. Ah, it must be heavenly to awaken in the morn’ and look forward to your day doing just that. Yet he has a lot in common with me does Carlos,oh yes, he’s just as ugly – I know it – and his manager at work hates his guts.

Talking of the hating of guts, and no I’m not a vegan, I wonder where the term comes from. I mean, guts are not exactly on view when one takes a glance or more than a glance at a fellow human. So why would you hate someones guts as opposed to hating the back of their head or elbows or toes? Mind you, the hating of guts offers a real visceral sound and allows no little amount of aggression when one utters forth an oath regarding the hating of guts. Also consider this. If the guts of an individual are so despised then why on earth would any one wish to use them to suspend hosiery? Anything that I hate with that kind of passion would certainly encourage me to fight shy of encoiling around the naked, nude flesh of my thighs or even lower legs the aforementioned guts.. The very thought send shudders, shivers, shakes and something else beginning sh… (schweppes?) coursing through my veins. To use someones innards as a clothing accessory leaves me puzzled and nonplussed – even nonminused.

So where do we go from here? Well I have really bugger all to say today except Wolves beat a largely 10 man QPR I am looking forward to seeing all 6 seconds of highlights on MOTD when Hansen will no doubt assert that the raising of hands by Cyril Cisse means he had to have a red, and Alan She Ra Princess of Power will sit nodding sagely and muttering in a North East Of England accent, whilst slowly, but inevitably, fighting a losing battle with male pattern baldness.

Ah yes such happy halcyon days are these, when a Government can be rocked by a geezer done for that heinous crime of driving his car too fast and then not taking his punishment like a man. But although this inability for him to take it like a man leaves ample and many opportunities for some doses of sexual innuendo, I will resist the temptation for fear of legal action.

All I will say is that if Chris Huhne had just took the ban, if one was forthcoming, and paid the fine then several tons of newsprint would have been saved and thus newspaper. Which given that he was in charge of the ozone layer as Secretary of State for Energy and Climate Change does add a certain frissance to the whole sorry situation.

Ciao For Now My Tributaries

Denbow

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