Discussion in 'Cardiff City Forum' started by Whitts Left Peg, 12 May 2019.
It was class but alas I don't have it saved.
Big kids came and took it.
The one I vaguely remember I think it involved colonel and croesy but I may be wrong but definitely croesy involved where it went from you don’t know how I feel to depression to suicide and other mental shit must have been 10 pages within the hour but I can’t remember the full story I’m sure lecter was involved every now and then just pouring more petrol on the fire
Yeah it was so strange, someone had clearly put a bit of work into it and it was intended to be joyous and celebratory but it came out like it had been filtered through the brain of a cold war era Czechoslovakian abstractionist on his final days as a death row inmate.
Well fuck me, thanks for shoving my name into that.
I did say I might be wrong it was croesy being well croesy but it was a mad multi pager of full on arguments
Was on holiday in Alicante one year, relaxing at the poolside bar when this chap sat next to me. He seemed perfectly pleasant, a family man with a 9 to 5, company car, modest home in the suburbs, played badminton on the weekends and helped out the local church with Sunday fund-raising events. The conversation turned to football and we chatted about Cardiff City for a while and then I asked him what team he supported.
"Well I sort of support Mansfield Town when I can get down there." he replied nonchalantly, as if it were no problem, as if a mention of Cardiff's hated rivals Mansfield wouldn't make the blood of any self-respecting city fan boil within their very veins.
It never fails to amaze me that someone can appear so normal and friendly yet under that veneer lies a cold, black beating heart forged from the excreta of Satan's anus, a heart so bursting at the seams with evil that it would leave the likes of Hitler and Alan Tate quivering in awe at its majestic, destructive malevolence.
I played it cool. I even engaged in some light chat with the man through gritted teeth for another 30 minutes whilst struggling against the urge to vomit in his face. I wanted to lull him into a false sense of security so this filthy Mansfield bastard wouldn't suspect what was coming.
Through our conversation I learned he was staying at the same hotel as me and as I bade him goodbye I managed to temporarily distract his attention while I swiped his hotel room key. "Cheerio!" he said. "I suppose I'll see you around". Yes you certainly will, I thought to myself as I walked away, thumbing the key in my pocket.
The rest of the afternoon was a blur of activity for me as I quickly devised and set up my strategy, just managing to pick up the tools I needed from the local hardware store before they closed. The remainder of the evening was spent assembling the utensils I'd need to teach this turd a lesson about Cardiff City fans he wouldn't forget in a hurry. Shit was on like Donkey Kong.
CHAPTER TWO - ATONEMENT
It was nearly midnight when he returned to his room in a state of cheerful inebriation. I stood motionless, out of sight behind the curtains at the patio door, looking out onto the Mediterranean. The lights from the beach-side bars cast awkward, crooked shadows across the hotel courtyard like the spectres of death awaiting their ghoulish bounty. "Soon" I whispered to them.
As the man and his wife clucked and clattered drunkenly about, casting their loathsome shoes across the room, dropping handbags, Euros and mobile phones onto bedside tables, I steeled myself for the impending crusade.
"I thought my keys would be in here, I still can't find them anywhere" said the beast to its wife. She replied, "Don't worry love, you put the kettle on, I'll pop down to reception to get a replacement". As she exited I watched him slither around the room like an obnoxious toad, nonchalantly filling the kettle as if he was just a normal man like any other. He picked up a newspaper and sat on the bed. The time for redemption was finally at hand.
I launched myself from the shadows at him, screaming wildly, my arms held aloft with a handful of salt blessed by a local priest earlier that afternoon. When I got close enough I threw the lot at him but his years of badminton had sharpened his reflexes and even in his drunken state he was able to avoid it all. With my momentum I stumbled over the bed and fell in a heap on the other side.
Like a flash he ran to the kitchen area and grabbed the biggest knife. As I grappled to my feet he hissed "I should have known you'd be back, Cardiff scum!" and he ran at me with the blade.
My grandpappy always taught me "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail" and I silently thanked him for those words of wisdom as I reached into my pocket for the remote detonation button and pressed it as hard as I could. The knife in the hand of the Mansfield mutant instantly exploded, sending pieces of his hand and lower arm in all directions around the room. He let out a terrifying shriek and as the flesh hit the walls, ceiling and floor it began to fizz and dissolve everything it touched.
I realised too late a fragment of meat and bone had landed on my chest and it instantaneously burned through my kevlar jacket, I swiped it away quickly but the scar remains with me to this day as a constant reminder of that fateful night.
As he stood screeching at the bloody stump that had once been his arm I took the opportunity to grab another handful of holy salt from my pocket and launched it at his face. The salt landed in his open mouth and in his eyes and his entire face spontaneously caught fire.
He turned to the patio doors, flung them open and ran toward to the edge of the balcony. We were on the 7th floor but the hotel pool was directly below and he was making a bid for it. Luckily I had strung a line of thin but razor-sharp garrote wire across the balcony in preparation for this very occurrence and as he ran at full pelt with the remainder of his face dripping to the floor, he was cleanly sliced in two at the waist.
His momentum was enough to send his torso hurtling over the balcony and as he tumbled down in slow motion he emitted a noise that sounded like a syphilitic pig being roughly circumcised with a rusty table spoon. He missed the pool by a couple of yards and hit the ground with a splat, spilling his lungs and entrails over the clean poolside tiles.
"Clean up on aisle three" I sarcastically remarked to nobody in particular as I looked down on the flaming blob of mess. At that moment I was glad nobody was around to hear such a poor line but as I turned to leave I saw the beast's wife at the patio door, mouth agape in horror at what she had just witnessed.
I expected her to scream in terror or to run but a smile spread across her face and she said "Thank you stranger, for freeing me from the tyranny of that evil Mansfield turd-wrangling scaghead".
The hotel apologised for the noise and turmoil and upgraded us to the penthouse suite. We made love for 3 days and nights to the sweet noise of the Medditeranean lapping at the shore. On day four we reclined in bed, exhausted from our marathon love making session. I turned to her and asked if she was a footie fan. "Oh, I try and catch Leeds when they're on the telly" she replied.
Needs this at the end..
I post on CCMB and read it most days. It is usually my first port of call. I have a lot of time for Mike Morris (and Sludge).
I also post on Annis' board now and again - but that is much harder work with all the EDL luvvies who make Goslow look like a camp, muesli-knitting, pacifist! There are a few good posters though.
This board has been a great addition to the Cardiff messageboard-sphere, and has a really good feel to it. At the moment it seems to be the healthiest of them all.
My tribe is Cardiff City. I'm happy to co-exist with (and sometimes contribute to) all the boards that support the club.
Tbf, there some cracking threads on there. Who could ever forget:
The scouse bird
The West Indian lady
Don't forget the beef dripping one.
The Ford Focus one made me laugh, especially the opening post. I couldn't tell if the poster was a genius or just lacked self awareness.
I also liked the kid that got the tattoo. It was so funny. The kid took it well in fairness, think he was only about 19 at the time.
Agreed. He's a good sort and he still posts on here.
Wasnt that "Under the Splott Light" ?
Yes, him and Goalie When, and The Alien took offence, bless him.
What the fuck is this all about then?
How did I miss this lunacy first time around?
An absolute highlight from back in the day.
Croesy and the colonel arguing over who was the fattest was my favourite.
Pretty sure it started off as a thread about the weather.
Show us the pictures Gareth.....