All this "Oh all my mates are dead good Blues, go all the games, I want them to win it for them bollocks." Fuck off, I want to rub their noses in it at every opportunity and remind them that they we're put at the bottom of the food chain as soon as they were born and their dad's gave them middle names like McKenzie, Ball and Jeffers, bouncing them on their knee whilst mumbling "And if you know your history...." between the only two teeth they've got left in their head, giving it the "Is right Moysey lad" as their pale, ginger, incoherent, Scottish, Gollum lookalike of a manager snuggles up to the local press, giggling "Well of course we're the People's Club, stop anyone on the street in Liverpool and they'll tell you they're an Evertonian". Well yes, out of every hundred you go to stop 90 will do a fucking u-turn thinking "Im not talking to that deluded twat" while the other 10 who have travelled from Rhyl to purchase spare parts for their Waltzers, resplendent in blag Chung Everton shirts, Ennesse tracky bottoms, lick the pavement with elongated tongues as they trudge, knuckles scraping one hand, fingers pointing at the retreating sane 90, screaming murders.
I hope you get spanked. Badly.