well.. i wasn't wrong... England made it to the European championship final... coming against Italy... but wait a minute... wait a minute: in what style! oh yeah... it's just screaming: Gieves & Hawkes!
how can this English team win against all that's gusto that's STYLE: that's ******* Gucci... once upon a time growing up in England i managed to spot a few pedagogic pillars...
everything has to be made fair for everyone partaking... meritocracy is key... racists have smaller brains than non-racists... ha ha... these days i don't know how to tell apart racists from anti-racists... which is always fun: ethno-masochism is going to stick to me like a leech...
what style? if all that's English is all Locke and not Rousseau... the team that plays for... scoring goals as flukes... and later with no imagination... has a runner dribble the ball into the penalty rectangle and... win by... not a penalty shootout... but a penalty in extra-time?
the "home" of football where: it's not about playing football... it's about winning... whatever the hell that means... cheaper wines have more sulphites... i can taste the smoothness of my laughing bird cabernet sauvignon... naked after the kookaburra... 2016 vintage...
this team for all its passing prowess... the dull football that is better known as the north sea derby...
you can't win a championship while the entire throng of support is... gasping for air with the words: IT'S NOT FAIR! PENALTY! PENALTY!
it was almost amusing to watch the entire Danish team stand firm and clap at the English team "taking the knee": i once went to catholic mass... since i went to a catholic school: lo and behold... i am yet to be confirmed: since i read a little bit of the Gnostic texts.... like Źιźek once made the observation: ****** spoke... waited... and engulfed all that came with the people subsequently clapping... he wouldn't clap... Stalin... subsequently: clapped with the audience he addressed...
it could have be seen that "taking the knee" was a good-luck charm? for what... ethno-masochism? you can't win a football match playing without a hunger for a goal... you can't just run into a penalty area dribbling dribbling: drooling at the legs playing for a penalty... without... say... shooting from outside the box for the Gucci glamour...
when i look at the Union Jack i think about... Elizabeth I... i have to... what weight of the world on this woman's shoulders... that woman's shoulders... what genius... she instigated the union... she was playing the role of ol' aunty Lizzy... so that her cousin's son would become the future King of England and have leverage to craft the union... whether she lost her virginity: i get to **** prostitutes: i'm not too bothered about the body... but like i noticed: reciprocally... self-hygiene is important... now wouldn't be apprehensive having ****** ******* with the freed women of Fred... sorry... the Vest... if i might catch a ******... or gonorrhoea?
at least in the brothel... i'll put some acacia confusa bark in my mouth... i'll work at an ******* then pinch off the excess *****... then i'll shave the whole region... i'll shower... i'll slobber on some mint-cream: ah, refreshing... on the barely touched regions... i'll shower... shampoo... squat... stand-up... squat again... bench-press my body-mass with press-ups... cycle up to the brothel... i'll scrub my hands with some fenugreek seeds... a total **** of scents... she'll make sure by wiping my working part completely clean before turning into a liver-eating nymphomaniac ******... i'll be fine with that... i'll ask her if i can photograph her face in the mirror...
perhaps in the olden days: there was this fear of visiting prostitutes and catching... syphilis... where is that... at? these days? you have more chance of catching "something": from the freely available flesh market of dating / hook-up apps... prostitutes are harem born... cleanliness is: a white linen niqab... if men of...
oh we know what the Arabs have become... docile ***-mad perverts: you give an Arab a sip of wine... he turns the entirety of the desert into... something manageable... you give an Arab too much of what he already supposedly has: subsequently imports from the core of the mythological blonde persuasion: the same of the same old...
how else doesn't it "work"? madonna's la isla bonita: the mythological blonde... coupled up with either Tarzan or King Kong... blonde Danes are excluded from her fantasies... good... this bartablondine is looking for a Turkic ol' raven haired mystery of the orient: this is where we part... a woman's fetish for the exotic can be matched... i'll be looking for my Constantinople brothel beauty... i'll be rummaging in Romania alongside Dracula... anaemic beauty to begin with... slugging white and all that's timid toward the sun... copper-skinned serpent come summer... i too can reply... Turkic ol' raven haired tinged with a tease of black-blue... to hell with these hypocritical-nuns!
i best keep them as the mythological blondes that they are: African ****-leeches... toward adventure! bring the crab-bucket to the fore! i'm not going to go as far as as the English skins preference for the Thai-surprise... nope...
you can't win a football match with the sole focus of ballerina tiptoeing via herr stiletto Grealish or: "dupka": pristine buttocks: RA'HEEM... SH-terling... running into the box for a penalty: the worst way to win a match... not lasting to the penalty shootout is... is making a grift.. the proper: "English" way: it's not about the football: it's about the ******* silverware!
if they win: they only achieved being in the final by: a fluke... not chance: by fluke... fluke is: plumbing per se... not chance not fate not luck: if fluke is plumbing per se: then all the other nouns and noun-stressors exfoliating within the designation of adjective are: foam like ****... there's no style... let alone: honour winning a football match by having the crowd pressure you to pressure the opposing team to subsequently pressure the referee to give you a penalty: play should have been stopped... there are two footballs on the pitch... i must be ******* blind!
oh... the English can fathom preaching to the choir... come to think of it... they don't care about the beauty of the game... they care much more about the queen's jewels... it's not even about: how you win this championship: it's only about: winning it...
i cling to the elder gods: surprise me with something more profound than: oculus per oculus... seems thirsty enough... thirst is all there is: and the many tiers of hunger...
you can't win a football match without scoring goals... running into the box hands extended: taking the knee: screaming: IT'S NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR! isn't going to cut it... for ****'s sake...
i like watching sports without chanting... watching sport allows me the only: perhaps the "lost" avenue of exercising objectivity... i can measure out what's: fair... contra... what's blatantly itching me... England "won" the game against Denmark... not because they played better... the English just want the silverware... they don't want to entertain the crowd with football: they want to WIN... they might be playing footbal: no... i think they're gambling on a curriculum of teasing poker...
that wasn't a penalty... it should have been a shootout... plain and simple... Italy will make England want: a deserved: thrashing... i look at sports: esp. teamed events and i think about whatever happened when the Judgment of Solomon happened...
the English: so centrist so middle of the world so: sensible: so awe-inspiring... can't ******* win a football match without having to pressurise the opposing team into making a defensive pseudo- "faux pas"... if silverware is all you want... **** it... throw as many pearls into the mud for the pigs to screech while gobbling 'em up!
i've made my peace... i've just said it... England does not deserve to win... amore! amore!