darren fletcher – nee felcher. born in the outer hebrides, darren was scottish through and through. just like his family. haggis for breakfast, then an hour of bagpipe practice, haggis for brunch, 20 minutes of family caber tossing, one that young darren excelled at, haggis for lunch, an afternoon of singing flower of scotland in rounds with his siblings, followed by dinner, consisting entirely of haggis, all washed down with irn bru and scag. it was then this typical scottish family entertained their darkest desires. one passed down through generations of the felchers. the one thing they were truly good at. felching. an evening ritual lasting many hours, the felchers would engage in their lewd sex act over and over again, never growing tired of this filthy practice. darren excelled at football, some say due to the passing down of good sperm and a protein rich diet, all courtesy of his dad and a direct result of felching. at the scottish academy of scottish football academy darren received ridicule over his unfortunate surname, fearing the fans would latch on to this also he changed his name via deed poll to darren fletcher. from that day on his life took a turn for the better. the calls of darren the felcher stopped and he was able to ply his trade at the greatest club in the land. after a rocky start people grew to love him as a big match player. some say when he changed his name, darren left the world of felching behind him. others say it’s what gets him up for a big match and why he is a big game player. darren felcher. midfielder.
poster origins
- Thread starter rimaldo
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great new twist, rimmy.
The Hargreaves one is brilliant !
anderson – brazilian for “feck, feck, feck” and boy anderson did. blessed with the look of the predator from hit tv novel “predator” anderson never had problems getting girls. or animals, vegetables or minerals in fact. anything anderson came into contact with he soon came over. born in the amazon he was orphaned by his young parents, too scared to raise a child of their own. they took him deep into the jungle and left him for the wolves. the wolves were intrigued by this little bundle of skin with natty dreadlocks and a caring mother took him in as a cub. he was raised as one of their own. predictably anderson adapted to the life of the wolf and this was all he knew, eating raw meat and mating. eventually the civilisation of man came back into anderson’s world as loggers crept deeper and deeper towards his den. at the age of 16 he was discovered by one such group of portuguese loggers. as soon as anderson laid eyes on the men his instincts took over. he bolted towards what seemed the alpha male of the pack and tried to devour him, he harried and pounced until his victim was destroyed. with a full stomach he turned to the only other thing he knew, mating. he jumped on the closest tree faller and began dry humping him senseless “manny, watch out, he is trying to feck you!” came a call from behind the canopy. anderson’s ears pricked up on hearing the word feck and his wild brain latched on to it and remembered it. he was eventually over powered and encaged by the loggers and driven back to the land of men, porto in portugal to be precise, where he would be forced to assimilated back in to society. to this day anderson has never forgotten his roots. he still eats raw meat, still likes humping, and the only words in his vocabulary are “feck, feck, feck” which he repeats on a constant loop around females.
nani - for a long while nani made a comfortable living for himself as a michael jackson impersonator, after dinner speaking, supermarket openings, bar mitzvah’s, the lot. some even say he is the alleged 15th* son of the great entertainer (*figure may or may not be correct due to infinite number of people now claiming to have been sired by jacko since his death) due to his uncanny likeness to mj. some say that it was nani himself that was going to be performing at the o2 for the 50 “this is it” tour dates. others claim he isn’t any of these. since the untimely death of jacko, nani has been forced out of work as an impersonator. the only mj related route left open to him was the route of tribute act. nani did not like the sound of this and turned to his other great passion in life. inconsistency. one day he’d wake up and be brilliant and people would proclaim his as talented yet rough around the edges. the next he would infuriate people to the extent they’d quite happily punch his zombie featured face in. is there a place in our hearts for an inconsistent mj lookalike? aome are prepared to give him another year to prove himself, buoyed by recent good performances in the far east, where news of jacko’s death has not yet reached them due to the unfathomable distance between america and the rice fields and he has been performing consistently well as mj himself. others would like a replacement act brought in asap. nani. mj is dead, long live the nani.
ryan giggs – born and bred in wales in a little knowing mining community of llggwthaflathyergy, ryan grew up playing in the abandoned mines, mimicking his childhood hero, indiana jones. ryan would watch his favourite of the films over and over again, the last crusade. he’d go to bed dreaming of the whip and hat, dreaming that one day he’d find the grail his hero searched for and found. for his 11th birthday one of his wishes came true. his parents brought him a hat and whip, he was never seen again out of them. he’d go to bed wearing them and play all day with his newly gained attire, practicing whipping at things and swinging merrily off tree branches using it. playing down the mines became more realistic and soon ryan would be missing for days at a time. some say he would be training for united, others that he was searching in the mines for the holy grail. until recently this search seemed to have been fruitless and the grail was never found by ryan in the mines. it’s only recently people have begun to think that maybe he did eventually find what it was he searched for. how can a 35 year old man continue to defy footballing logic and seemingly get better and better every year like a fine wine? why would he suddenly stop looking for that he did seek after years and years of searching? We can only guess that ryan did actually find the grail, we can only guess that he used it. how else would he continue to seemingly be in the best form of his life year on year? how can he seem to get increasingly better? some say he still wears his indie costume under his united kit when he's playing. ryan giggs, indie fan. immortal.
my brain is now dead. will come back to this later if i can think of anything to do with players yet remaining. think i may have run my imagination well dry for now.
As good a thread as I have ever read
Rimaldo, what are you on?
I think we all need some of it, anyway.
You're wonderful.
I think we all need some of it, anyway.
You're wonderful.
mainly orange lucozade at the minute. 2 or 3 a day stops the need for sleep and makes my head work over time. i recommend it to anyone with nacrolepsy or a fear of dieing in their sleep.
that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. thanks.
Best one yet!
paul scholes - ginger alcoholic. for many years paul scholes has had to battle his demons. his two demons to be precise. at birth he was cursed with the devils hair. his gingery follicles were nothing more than a hindrance, a shame. it forced paul to live a life in exile. he grew tired of the playground clichés taunting him. "carrot top" came some of the cries, and at others the all too familiar sound of "ginger faced orang-utan bummer" although this happened the length and breadth of the country in every playground paul felt so alone, so isolated. he looked for solace in many places, his close friends and family, the internet, phone lines, dedicated to helping the unfortunate sun burners who walk amongst us, their pale skin to the sun as a red rag is to a bull. no such solace was found. it was then scholes turned to the drink. unbeknown to him the one demon in his life was the cause of a second, slightly less serious one. alcholism. paul would turn up to training and matches and play with such style and technique, but as soon as the game was over he headed to the nearest park bench and set up stall, stopping off at wine rack on the way. he sits and drinks and drinks until his stomach and liver physically can't take anymore. some say he once drunk so much he suffered terrible double vision which stopped him taking to the field for many months. others that you can fry an egg on his fiery hair. paul scholes, a technical wizard, raging alcoholic.
I'm seriously impressed with how you keep churning these out rim.
Not a bad one yet!!
michael carrick - geordie slapper. born in newcastle to typically geordie parents, michael grew up the stereotypical geordie, loving his broon and his magpies. and like most gerodies, chances are if you're out in newcastle on a friday night you'll come across michael. possibly across his chest or maybe even his face. he'll be the one off his face on blue wkd's, his skirt hitched up over his knickers, stumbling in and out of clubs, periodically falling over before exclaiming "wi aye man me legs av all turned ta jelly like, i need a big stroong man to get between them and shore me up like" michael symbolised the binge drinking culture of today's youth. one britain was not comfortable with or particularly fond of. the famous merman of redcafe, leading manchester united forum had this to say "michael is all that's wrong with the world today, he symbolises all that is bad, if only he believed in god his life would be so much better and it would end all of the world’s problems" upon hearing the comforting words of merman michael vowed to make a change. he'd take up football of a weekend instead of drinking til he could no longer stand and then entertain the long walk of shame home, warm semen dribbling down his thighs. michael carrick, water carrier, slapper.
cheers buddy. it's getting a bit harder with every one but as long as i get a half decent idea i can run with it for a bit and pad it out enough to make something.
I'm seriously impressed with how you keep churning these out rim.
Not a bad one yet!!
That's one of the best yet. Michael Carrick dressed as a woman with semen dribbling down his thighs is a deeply troubling image mind. Great thread you twisted genius!
Some good stuff in here.
Great - but verging on libellous maybe. Paul Scholes, alcoholic. this is all just alleged by sources close to the club.
michael owen - or mo7 as he is better known. suave, sophisticated, debonair, spy. for many years michael has led a double life. he balances his work on the field with his work off it. half footballer, half spy. inspired by the works of sean connery in octopussy, michael sought work for the secret service, unperturbed by the fact at no stage in the film a woman with 8 vaginas was present. he soon found he was pretty good at it too. a magnet to women and a lightening quick wit, with lines such as “it is a title decider. but it's not going to decide any titles just yet” michael was a natural. he soon poached his way to the top of the secret service but this had a terrible side effect. as the most prestigious spy in her majesty's service, michael was required for longer and more complicated missions. to balance his life as a footballer and spy became more difficult, so an elaborate rouse was constructed. michael would feign a serious injury whilst on the field or shaving or washing his car or cleaning his teeth, this would invariably lead to him needing months out of the game, months where he could go on his long secret missions to russia and china and wheedle out other spies or take out potential enemies. some say that he can spontaneously combust, others that his tendons are made from glass. mo7, fox in the box, spy.
dimitar berbatov - born in bulgaria, dimi was never one to rush anything or expend any of his vital energy unless it was absolutely necessary. dimi was the kid from your school who always had a note from matron that excused him from p.e. dimi was never one to conform to society. he first made his sporting bow during a hundred meter sprint at his school's sports day when he was just 7. as the other kids shot off like rockets at the sound of the gun, dimi meandered slowly up the track, smoking a cigarette as he wandered slowly towards the finish line, ironically. dimi's father was slightly shamed by this and dragged him out of school to work in the textile business he'd grown from scratch. dimi's lackadaisical ways made him far from the perfect worker. he'd turn up late and smoke all day. that was until horror struck. one day he dropped his smoke and it rolled under one of the machines, just out of reach of his hand he decided to use his legs to hook the smokey stick back from the underworld of the fabric weaver. as he leant on the contraption for purchase he accidentally turned it on. his feet were immediately entwined in silk as they became trapped under the circular movements of the machine. dimi quickly turned the machine off and removed his feet from underneath the tool. something had happened. he was now agile and nimble, his feet felt like that of a ballerinas. he took to football with his new found skill and soon found his touch on the football to be unbelievably good. angels would cry as the ball dropped over his shoulder and he caressed it on his foot and brought it under his spell. he could do anything with the ball at his new found silky feet. still not fond of running dimi never quite changed his old ways. his touch was a sight to behold though and behold it we all do. dimitar berbatov, silken footed smoke magnet.
I like that one
i like the Berba one
wayne rooney - once upon a time in a land far, far away, bill kenwright had a dream. a dream to create the perfect footballer. he spent millions researching the project and discovering the best genes he could splice from all the inhabitants of the world to create this footballing demigod. eventually his research was complete and he had his formula. the silky movements of a figure skater, the strength of an ox, and rather more puzzling, a potato. he set up an illicit three way between a young, virile bull, a russian mover and the knobbly vegetable. the experiment would begin in earnest in a seedy travel lodge on the outskirts of the mersey. some say bill watched on from the corner as the three of them went at it. some say he touched himself. this is all conjecture of course but would explain why his hair alarmingly turned grey overnight. 9 months on the project was born. a veritable 100% calculated success. he was born exactly as you see him today. the russian figure skater didn't survive the birth. truth be told it was a miracle she survived the conception. bill was overjoyed. his perfect footballer. the poise and grace of the figure skater, the strength of an ox and the head of a potato. wayne was thrown straight into first team action, a forged birth certificate had his age at 16 rather than the actual 3 days he had spent on the planet. wayne rooney. the perfect footballer with the head of a potato.
thread closed.
I'm making this a sticky for a while, before it heads for the classics.
well with such a prestigious honour i will do my best to keep going until i really feel out of ideas.
honest john is next on the list.
honest john - moustachioed used car salesman. born in salford in the late 1950's, honest john always had a shifty look about him. his mother didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, 12 feet her personal best. at primary school honest john was largely unpopular with most of his school mates. his moustache twitched menacingly whenever he spoke and his eyes could never stay still, they darted this way and that with every fib he fibbed. He spent the majority of his youth conning the gullible children around him out of their milk money and puddings with his snake like tongue. Honest john was always destined for a career conning honest people. politics could have beckoned, work as a solicitor perhaps? but one profession stood out more to honest john, one where he could really con clueless people out of vast sums of money. the wonderful world of motor trade. at 17, the moustachioed bandit set up “honest john’s car lot” he’s been conning people put of their money ever since. some say he has the exact same genes as a weasel. other’s that his moustache twitches once for the truth, twice for a lie. honest john. used car bandit.
yep, right on the money
cheers rim
You've done a great job there rimaldo, very creative mind, I've read all of them, well done!
duffer - irish sick note. since conception duffer has never been free of illness. many problems ailed him during his entombing in his mother’s womb for 9 long months. some say it was a bad genetic make up. others his dad repeatedly poking him in the face with his member as he still demanded sex 4 times a day off his ever ballooning wife causing the lengthy list of sickness. including the disease known as ugly. duffer is not the most facially gifted of men. his eyes are not level, his nose bulbous, his palette cleft and presence of only one of his eyebrows all lead to a face not even a mum could love. growing up was not easy for duffer, string after string of illness blighted his every move. first came the flu, then meningitis, gonorrhoea was to follow after an unfortunate bathroom incident. in time his immune system began to improve. his nostrils felt the cool air rush through them for the first time as his congestion cleared, his face felt the warmth of the sun after years of sun burn forced him to shield himself from the harmful rays. hope springed eternal for duffer. perhaps his blight was over. perhaps his illness had vanished. as the weeks passed duffer became slowly better and on the 31st july 2009 duffer awoke to find for the first time in his life he was completely healthy. his long suffering was at an end. at last. 3 weeks later he died of aids. duffer - r.i.p. we hardly knew ye.
I've not been done yet. Get it together rimaldo ffs, you're so slow.
i apologise for my tardiness. i have no excuse. your one is on its way.
sincher – arabic for “captain pugwash’s seamen stains” born in southampton in the 1980’s sincher was an outcast. hated by his parents he was dumped on the steps at a local orphanage. a letter accompanying him claimed they were loving parents who’d tried for a child for years and were so happy to finally conceive after 5 attempts at ivf had failed. they just felt something wasn’t quite right about him. a terrible loner sincher found making friends hard and largely kept himself to himself. whilst the other children flushed in the loving care of the foster home, frolicking merrily in the gardens and laughing until they could no longer breath, sincher would be found behind his favourite tree at the back of the garden, hands firmly encased in his pockets, fiddling violently as was his want. at 16 sincher left the orphanage and hopped from job to job, looking for his calling. call centre phone monkey wasn’t it, neither was mechanic. he quite enjoyed his time as a snake handler though. it’s member like body appealed to him but the rough scales didn’t give him the thrill he desired. it was then he found what he ached for. found the acceptance and warmth he desired. one day he strolled along the docks during his lunch break and was approached by a lonely shore man on shore leave for a couple of weeks, fresh off a boat that had been traversing the atlantic for years at the order of the us navy. john was his name. john asked sincher for mouth relief for a fiver. sincher couldn’t be quicker to oblige after initially enquiring as to just what mouth relief was. sincher went home that night and his head was filled with john, he’d not even swallowed the semen, ever swirling round his mouth, he twisted it this way and that with his tongue, savouring the bitter taste. every day of the next two weeks sincher returned to the docks to give john hand relief. some say he even took each of the lonely sailors that adorned the promenade there, one after the other in a line. each shot in the mouth bringing him to life. as qickly as it came the the two weeks passed and john had to board his ship and continue the life of a sailor. sincher was crushed. every day from then on sincher could be found in the exact same place he met john, he’d be knelling down, eyes shut and mouth open. just waiting for john’s warm, salty wang. as the seasons changed sincher would still remain. rooted to the spot, never flinching, never not assuming the position. his appearance grew more and more dishevelled as the years ravaged him. his story nothing more than an old wives tale, a myth, a legend. some say you can still find him there, waiting for his lovely john. others that he realised he could fulfil his tallywhacker desires elsewhere. sincher, homo orphan.
i have something to tell you.That's eerie. It's like you've been in my head all through my life.
i'm your john. and there's someone else. i'm sorry. it's me, not you. you deserve someone better. i don't know what i can commit to a relationship right now etc.
Wow, stickied. It's well worth it though!
kinell just came across this!!- Status