In which Alli worries herself into a coma.
D'accord mes soeurs ca va? Rush job cos sans Paddy et Ralph my beloved Arse are about to take the stage and I must prepare in the traditional fashion.
Firstly, tell self that we can’t get beaten by Rosenborg as their season finished weeks ago and therefore it will be a miracle if they can even remember what a football looks like. And because we are the mighty AFC.
Then tell self ohmigod my poor babies. Flamini and Hoyte and sweet sweet Cesc. And that goalie who name is so reminiscent of aluminium that I can’t remember what he’s actually called. Having to play with those rough Norse boys. Gah.
Wine open. Fags handy. Stroke imminent (and not the nice kind).
While we wait, let’s spam someone. Step forward Dorian. You win my angel. Turn and face your eager public. We NEVER tire of spamming you : )
Let’s start with The Love That Is Smithy & Kells. It’s not all kissing y’know. Sometimes what a boy facing relegation really needs is garrotting. Oh sorry. I mean “a warm hug from a team-mate.”
Scratch that. I did mean garrotting after all. Ah bless. *weeps* Blondness. Non-blondness. One leaves. One stays. *weeps*
The hills are alive. With fairy English princesses it seems. Thisfaraway from joining hands to form a dainty circle before settling down on the dew-strewn turf (dew-strewn? wtf?) to twine daisies in each other’s hair.
Darren Fletcher wants to eat Dorian’s face. I think he’d taste of gingerbread meself.
Dear Sir Phil. Swooping in, halo gleaming, to rescue the innocent Dorian from the fletches of the evil Clutcher. I mean…oh you know what I mean : )
Being pretty and flat-haired with Mikey.
You must have been thinking it. “But it’s Alli for fuck’s sake. Where’s the Neviller? They go everywhere together.” Yer got me. Rear-end snuggling courtesy of the brains of the Becks/Nev outfit. This picture disturbs me. *grits teeth* Why? Because….theylooksomadeforeachother. Gah. *sighs*
And finally just to crush us all. Why I LOFF him. Posted again. Sorry Leeds fans but he’s beautiful in his pain.
Firstly, tell self that we can’t get beaten by Rosenborg as their season finished weeks ago and therefore it will be a miracle if they can even remember what a football looks like. And because we are the mighty AFC.
Then tell self ohmigod my poor babies. Flamini and Hoyte and sweet sweet Cesc. And that goalie who name is so reminiscent of aluminium that I can’t remember what he’s actually called. Having to play with those rough Norse boys. Gah.
Wine open. Fags handy. Stroke imminent (and not the nice kind).
While we wait, let’s spam someone. Step forward Dorian. You win my angel. Turn and face your eager public. We NEVER tire of spamming you : )
Let’s start with The Love That Is Smithy & Kells. It’s not all kissing y’know. Sometimes what a boy facing relegation really needs is garrotting. Oh sorry. I mean “a warm hug from a team-mate.”
Scratch that. I did mean garrotting after all. Ah bless. *weeps* Blondness. Non-blondness. One leaves. One stays. *weeps*
The hills are alive. With fairy English princesses it seems. Thisfaraway from joining hands to form a dainty circle before settling down on the dew-strewn turf (dew-strewn? wtf?) to twine daisies in each other’s hair.
Darren Fletcher wants to eat Dorian’s face. I think he’d taste of gingerbread meself.
Dear Sir Phil. Swooping in, halo gleaming, to rescue the innocent Dorian from the fletches of the evil Clutcher. I mean…oh you know what I mean : )
Being pretty and flat-haired with Mikey.
You must have been thinking it. “But it’s Alli for fuck’s sake. Where’s the Neviller? They go everywhere together.” Yer got me. Rear-end snuggling courtesy of the brains of the Becks/Nev outfit. This picture disturbs me. *grits teeth* Why? Because….theylooksomadeforeachother. Gah. *sighs*
And finally just to crush us all. Why I LOFF him. Posted again. Sorry Leeds fans but he’s beautiful in his pain.