In an alternate universe, part 2.

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Kozzy_is_my_Dad

"No excuses, no dickheads".
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In an alternate universe, we sit and watch as this summer becomes an absolute nightmare.

But, it's oddly familiar and not too far a stretch of the imagination, as we think back to Jagielka moving to Everton, Deane and Fjortoft being sold, the Kyles going to spurs after yet another playoff final defeat, Maguire moving to Hull as we fail to get out of League One and Brooks moving to Bournemouth to continue his development.

In an alternative universe, as the season draws to it's climax, we fall off the pace and don't last the distance. We fall into the playoffs and stumble to a more experienced West Brom side. We watch as Hendo returns to Man U and lines up a Prem loan for next season, with Norwich - adding salt to the wounds. But we tune in to MOTD each Saturday night, wishing him well - "he'll play for England one day, that lad" we say.

We grow frustrated as the summer begins and the court case rumbles on. We berate the two owners, the clowns have derailed everything that was happening here. Dismayed, dejected, pissed off and heartbroken, Wilder struggles to reject overtures from the league above and takes over the Brighton job. Brighton and Hove bloody Albion above United and more established?

The bids come in the summer, Fleck moves to Burnley to bolster their midfield and looks comfortable in the division - it was never in doubt. We're sad but can't begrudge him the move - the undisclosed fee is an utter slap in the face though. We look to Vaulks to replace him.

Eventual playoff winners Villa come in for Enda, who returns to his old club and plays swashbuckling wingback football in the Prem - along with a second bid for Jack O'Connell, who again looks at home at that level, as Villa replace their previous loaner centre halves.

We stumble along to midtable at best, but hey, at least Billy gave us a few more years, signing a new contract and Didzy is still a class act. Let's get this ownership sorted and bring in investment. Our day will come, but it feels a way away, for now.

...

...

...

AND RELAX. It didn't happen.

This time is our time, we did go up, we are mixing it with the big boys and what a journey it promises to be. Whoever comes and goes, we know that Wilder and Knill will take us every step of the way, we will play on the front foot and we'll have a bloody good go. No fannyin' abaht.

Wilder will win plaudits with his interviews and we'll become the humble sweethearts of the division, shoving it up a few ignorant, overpaid pundits along the way.

We'll sing John Egan's song, watch our Billy get his chance in the big time, we'll have stripes on the back of our shirts (hopefully) and win, draw or lose - we'll get on the fucking booze.

The alternative universe didn't happen, and now we're going to enjoy every moment.

We're going on a journey, to the ****ing Prem! Not bad for a side that wouldn't stay up in La Liga, eh?

"Allez, Allez, Allez..." ⚔️
 



Aye, but William S. Burroughs is shitting himself.

“Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk?
His whole abdomen would move up and down, you dig, farting out the words.
It was unlike anything I ever heard.
Bubbly, thick, stagnant sound.
A sound you could smell.
This man worked for the carnival,you dig?
And to start with it was like a novelty ventriloquist act.

After a while, the ass started talking on its own.
He would go in without anything prepared...
and his ass would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time.

Then it developed sort of teethlike...
little raspy incurving hooks and started eating.

He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it...
but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street...
shouting out it wanted equal rights.

It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags.
Nobody loved it.
And it wanted to be kissed, same as any other mouth.

Finally, it talked all the time, day and night.
You could hear him for blocks, screaming at it to shut up...
beating at it with his fists... and sticking candles up it, but...
nothing did any good, and the asshole said to him...

"It is you who will shut up
in the end, not me...
"because we don't need you around here anymore.
I can talk and eat and shit."

After that, he began waking up in the morning with transparent jelly...
like a tadpole's tail all over his mouth.
He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands...
like burning gasoline jelly and grow there.

So, finally, his mouth sealed over... and the whole head...
would have amputated spontaneously except for the eyes, you dig?

That's the one thing that the asshole couldn't do was see.

It needed the eyes.

Nerve connections were blocked...
and infiltrated and atrophied.
So, the brain couldn't give orders anymore.

It was trapped inside the skull... sealed off.

For a while, you could see... the silent, helpless suffering
of the brain behind the eyes.

And then finally the brain must have died...
because the eyes went out...
and there was no more feeling in them
than a crab's eye at the end of a stalk.”

If you've read all the way to here, you're just as fucked up as I am....
 
I don’t know where people get these crazy ideas from..
 
What if William Clegg had received a missive from his young Lady friend that night back in March 1889,come quickly Mater and Pater have gone to the theatre,my heaving bosom awaits you Willy.He thinks,sod forming a new football team,I have a bodice to rip,and a ankle to see,non of us would be here
 
Don't worry Dr Brian Cox next tv series for the beeb will be called the "The Blades Btypestars Cosmos"...coming soon...
🌖🌗🌘🌑☄❄
 

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