I'm pretty sure I can hear a dull thud from the east... *thud, thud, thud*
No, it's not Avram's betty swollocks thumping against the pert bottom of a Thai masseuse, oh no... it's better than that. It's sound of hammer against nail. Nail against coffin. My word, there's an abundance of nails already dutifully banged in and now there is only a few to go. Now we just need to stuff this vile, stinking football club into it's final resting place and we'll have ourselves a rap, ladies and gentlemen.
It appears TB's latest publicity stunt is purely a futile gesture to placate a very dim audience. Sure, a few more of woken up and subsequently identified the steaming hot cup of Joe but there is a still a few around who refuse to acknowledge blame, let alone the seriousness of the situation.
Another pointless charade, much like the trialists trip to Spain.
In a way, the actions of the club remind me of someone in a desperate situation telling you that everything really is OK when in reality, it's not. It really, seriously is not. Through the thinly-veiled act, you can see them squirming for a way out, praying that you buy their tall-tales and fantasies.
"I'll pay you tomorrow, I promise". Another empty, fruitless plea.
It's time for the dealer(s) to cock the revolver and put it to the forehead of this worthless sack of misery... and pull the trigger.
The almost lifeless body of football's biggest junkie is in it's final throes. I believe it's made one of it's last desperate pleas, but the dealer(s) not having any of it.
I hope I wake up soon and find what little brains this absurd and tiresome entity has painted across the pavement of a dark alley. That said, I hope they can survive long enough so that as they lie there in a gutter and the turds nestle beside them, they have a little time to think about their disgraceful actions.
WTFILN
