• If you're referencing a news story in your post, it's better form to paste a link to the story rather than copying and pasting the whole story into your PROC post. It's fairer to the entity that produced the content that they get the click on their website. Nice one.

Roy Keane rant-fiction

It's a little known fact that I'm a huge music fan. Dexy's Midnight Runners. Duran Duran. Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Rick Astley. They all rank amongt my favourites. Seasoned pros,one and all. Due to my love of music I often stop and listen to buskers. I'll occasionally throw one 50p. If they're not a talentless cunt.

One particular incident that stands out in my mind happened during a trip back to Cork. I was walking down Paul St. with my brother Johnson. About to go on the lash. I had the thirst.

I heard the faint strum of a guitar.

"You hear that, Johnson?"

"I do, Roy."

"Lets check it out, yeah?"

We walk up to the busker. He's singing a Bob Dylan song. Badly. I hate that wanker Bob Dylan. The answer is blowing up your hole, you fucking prick. Bad move, pal.

He finished up his song. That was useless, I thought. Some other onlookers started to clap. Typical Irish. Celebrating mediocrity. Glorifying shocking underachievement.

"Thank you. You're all too kind" the busker said. Smug fucker.

"Play some more Dylan!" some prick that looked like Ian Dowie with long hair and better personal hygiene shouted from the crowd. Fucking arsehole, I though out loud.

The busker obliged. He was brutal. As I've said I'm no Dylan fan, but at least he had some fucking balls. Gravel voiced revolution, you know? This busker was purring like Giggsy's sister-in-law getting a seeing to from the Welsh Wizard himself.

I snapped.

"What in the name of fuck is that supposed to be?"

The busker stopped playing and gave me a dirty look. Fucking hard man, is it?

"You're supposed to be conveying the existential angst of the anti-Vietnam war movement. You sound like a child laughing in delight. Fucking mockery."

The busker said nothing. I took that as a huge sign of disrespect. At least be man enough to speak up for yourself. Pansy. Rock and roll is a mans game. No room for these limpwristed balladeer crooning sissys.

I went for him. Lead with the elbow. A move I learned from my many clashes with that personification of overratedness Shearer. I landed my shot square on his side of his head. He hit the deck like a sack of shit. I picked up his guitar and smashed it off the ground.

"You don't deserve to be playing this axe. You yellow bellied prick".

The crowd looked on in shock. No one dared speak up. Spineless pricks.

Johnson took me by the arm.

"C'mon, Roy. We'll go down to Sidetrax there. Have a quart, like."

"No, Johnson. I'm done. I can't take this level of incompetence. I'm going home."

Johnson went to the pub. I went back to Mayfield and smashed Mossy's records collection.

Do I regret it? Kind of, yeah. Did I apologise? No. They were fucking terrible records.
 
I used to pop in to the Costa coffee on the M62 when I was at Sunderland commuting up from Manchester. They had a nice lad working there, Mariusz was his name. Good solid pro, delivered when it counted every morning double latte, extra hot, no foam. Then one day he wasn't there anymore. Replaced by some lad called Carlos. From day 1 I hated him and he hated me. There was something I didn't like, but I just couldn't put my finger on. Maybe he reminded me of Carlos Quieroz who fucked everything up for me at United. Before him it was just me and Alex.

Anyway a sort of uneasy truce reigned between me and Carlos. He did the job, I paid my £2.99, but there was no warmth, no affection. I grew to hate the way he'd wink at the old ladies. Who does he think he is, Wayne Fucking Rooney?

It all came to a head one morning when he hands me a cappuccino. This was it. Cappu-fucking-cino. Something had to be said.

"Carlos what's this all about? I ordered a latte"

"I am so sorry, Mr.Roy. I make your latte now, and give you two extra stamps on your loyalty card"

I'd had enough of his shit. I snapped. "Loyalty?!!!! Loyalty????!!!! Don't you fucking stand there talking to me about loyalty you fucking cunt. You had one fucking job the boys at costa brought you in to do and you can't fucking do it. Where was the fucking loyalty for Mariusz? Same place as it was for Raimond van der Gouw" I fucked the coffee at his face. He squealed like a bitch. You'll look like another Carlos now, Carlos Tevez" welcome to Manchester, you cunt.

People go on about me like I'm some kind of thug going around starting fights with people. I can sense it when I'm in a room. I have a laugh to myself though, what would they have thought of Cloughie?

:lol:
 
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Truly unbelievable scenes.
 
I went in on the beans hard. they were covering half the fucking plate like. the big legume. look at me, I'm a vegetable, I'm good for you. no you're not you cunt, you're covered in fucking tomato ketchup and sugar. and you leave your fucking mess all over the sausages and rashers. I may mix you later, but I want that to be my choice. I moved onto the sausage next. it was crinkly and limp looking. no spine. I fucking knived it half and swallowed it in two bites. the scrambled egg was a similar case. sloppy, not properly mixing with the butter. where's the urgency? fuck the egg, I spooned it out and fucked it on the ground. I had bigger fish to fry. I took two rashers at the same time. why the fuck not? never could understand these single rasher eating idiots. you have two inches on your fork. use them. every inch counts. I finished the black pudding by spreading the fucker on toast. gave me extra time to sort out that tomatoe hiding in the corner. I see you, you cunt. what am I, a fruit or a vegetable. I had no time for shoegazing food. you were on the plate to do a job, that's all you need to know you red twat. every victory is vital. roy? ya Theresa? go to work will you ffs.
 
I went in on the beans hard. they were covering half the fucking plate like. the big legume. look at me, I'm a vegetable, I'm good for you. no you're not you cunt, you're covered in fucking tomato ketchup and sugar. and you leave your fucking mess all over the sausages and rashers. I may mix you later, but I want that to be my choice. I moved onto the sausage next. it was crinkly and limp looking. no spine. I fucking knived it half and swallowed it in two bites. the scrambled egg was a similar case. sloppy, not properly mixing with the butter. where's the urgency? fuck the egg, I spooned it out and fucked it on the ground. I had bigger fish to fry. I took two rashers at the same time. why the fuck not? never could understand these single rasher eating idiots. you have two inches on your fork. use them. every inch counts. I finished the black pudding by spreading the fucker on toast. gave me extra time to sort out that tomatoe hiding in the corner. I see you, you cunt. what am I, a fruit or a vegetable. I had no time for shoegazing food. you were on the plate to do a job, that's all you need to know you red twat. every victory is vital. roy? ya Theresa? go to work will you ffs.

Absolute gold
 
I went in on the beans hard. they were covering half the fucking plate like. the big legume. look at me, I'm a vegetable, I'm good for you. no you're not you cunt, you're covered in fucking tomato ketchup and sugar. and you leave your fucking mess all over the sausages and rashers. I may mix you later, but I want that to be my choice. I moved onto the sausage next. it was crinkly and limp looking. no spine. I fucking knived it half and swallowed it in two bites. the scrambled egg was a similar case. sloppy, not properly mixing with the butter. where's the urgency? fuck the egg, I spooned it out and fucked it on the ground. I had bigger fish to fry. I took two rashers at the same time. why the fuck not? never could understand these single rasher eating idiots. you have two inches on your fork. use them. every inch counts. I finished the black pudding by spreading the fucker on toast. gave me extra time to sort out that tomatoe hiding in the corner. I see you, you cunt. what am I, a fruit or a vegetable. I had no time for shoegazing food. you were on the plate to do a job, that's all you need to know you red twat. every victory is vital. roy? ya Theresa? go to work will you ffs.

Lozzy - this thread was built for you bah :lol:
 

Carmona

Full Member
Lads, some of these are pure class alright .'Twould be some job picking a top post in this thread already. Will we try doing it in a month or so?
 

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