Welcome to Moscow

The BBC World Service reported yesterday on the unease that remains in Chechnya. Mothers lament the disappearance of their sons. Prisoners endure torture. Life in the Russian controlled region is generally a fucked up proposition. Contrast that with the AIG wearing cocksuckers that will travel to Moscow for the Champions League Final - supreme scum of the football world, the cunts of cunts, Manchester’s finest, happier than queers with moose-cocks up their arses.

I pray that somewhere in the Caucasus Mountains, that there’s a rebel stronghold armed to the teeth and waiting for that perfect moment to drop in on their Muscovite comrades. Oh let that day be 21 May, 2008. I’m no Barcelona fan, but yesterday I would’ve given good money for a Thierry Henry (or a Rio Ferdinand own goal) equalizer on 2 minutes 59 seconds of injury time. That would’ve been better than sex.

They say the odds of being in a plane crash are roughly 1 in 500,000. The odds of being bitten by a bat, twice, are probably greater but no less what I want to happen to that red-nosed bastard who cannot die a long and painful enough death for my satisfaction. Diptheria has some of the most uncomfortable symptoms of any treatable disease. What are the odds of the entire squad of Manc scum catching it? Too fucking long, that’s what they are. And what about some super powerful dormant strain of the plague, left over from the post Mongolian era, finding its way from Georgia to Moscow to greet Nani and the rest of those mother-fuckers upon landing!?!? John O’Shite, Anderson, Giggs you fucking hairy twat, Ronaldo you cock-sucking queer, welcome to Moscow.

And one last word on that cunt Tommy Smyth; if I saw him on fire, I’d do my best to put it out…WITH A FUCKING AXE.