Daggers

LCFC Culture: a whinge about phone signals and a desire to grass up more people at matches. Yeh, figures. Six pages of absolute shit.

6/6 pints Absolute wank.

5/6 pints We're shite.

They will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience

A true six pinter against the Yeltz tonight. It’s the only way I’ll get through it.

Does she like sex shows?

Ok. Vance is on the lawn to wave off the orange twat. Wiggy climbs on board the helicopter, waves back and says something about being the best President. Vance clearly can’t hear this, he thinks he’s being invited to give a talk about vaccines on the flight. Orangehuman thinks the dim one is trying to get the best seat by the window, they struggle on the steps like two doughy schoolboys slap fighting over a donut. Somehow, the little flag badge on the lapel of one of them flies off. A special service officer looks at the light glinting from it as it arcs. Then a ding is heard as it connects with the tail blades and it’s fired back at the speed of a bullet. Fortunately for the thickest pair of politicians in the world, the special service officer leapt in front of them; the badge condensed most of his brain as it passed through the left eye socket. Vance pukes. Donald, this being the first time he almost died because it wasn’t an obvious set-up, shits himself. A river of fast food slurry pours out of his man-nappy, down his trousers and cascades down the steps. Vance slips in it. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The Donald turns, pushes his way to the best seat. Sits down and grins. He doesn’t notice the sensation or smell because this is an everyday experience for him. Airfarce One takes off. Orange bloke, still covered in his own excrement and some splatters of Vance’s puke decides he can fly the helicopter best. The pilots retch, they’ve never smelt anything like this. Vance stands up; this was definitely not how he’d seen his day going when he woke up. He’s confused. That’s more like it, he thought, I’m feeling more normal again. One pilot has blacked out. The co-pilot can’t stop retching…then he pukes up his insides and dies. Airfarce One heads back to the ground. Don grabs a stick - **** me, he can fly this thing. He arrests its groundward plummeting, crashing on its side back on the White House lawn. A fragment of main propellor breaks off, hurtles away, slicing Vance in two. Now the fat, orange paedo cvnt has a heart attack and dies. Better?

No, I was hoping I would be the one to die from a heart attack, thereby ending pitting up with his shit.

Under four years to go, barring a welcome myocardial infarction.

Ridiculous article. Clearly agenda-driven, Blackwell doesn't mention once that the club used to be in League 1.

You misspelt Luton.

Cumming third in a two horse race takes on a whole new meaning

Dog is awesome <3

Circulating oil through the engine before applying stress. Plus advertising the joys of bikes to you heathens.

Everything was pretty decent bar the mud from fields

Summer declared

Wrong all men are not on the spectrum All men are in Spectrum

Starting to feel grateful for the ailment that has kept me away from matches for the last month.

No I’m not. Either they’ve never had a decent season in the top flight or age has deteriorated their ability to perform in the Prem. RVN has PL experience, doesn’t mean he’d be able to give a good 90 minutes every week. No manager would get a tune out of him. Not a hope in hell is the squad Premier League standard. That was clear the second Chelsea. bought the only decent player and Cooper spunked his cash on geriatrics. RVN was a very poor choice, he’s not got what it takes - but no one would get a tune from this squad. Both things can be true.

By christ there isn't. This is a squad of gash. Absolute gash.

Empty seats is the only way. Stop giving KPFC your money - stop giving KPFC your support.