Work! Consume! Die!

by Frankie Boyle

  A room containing John Terry, Wayne Rooney and Steven Gerrard was taped. There’s nothing on there about England’s training methods but a fascinating discussion about Carl Jung’s theory that the human psyche is religious by nature. Insiders say the sound quality is very poor – apparently, it makes everything Wayne Rooney says sound like garbled nonsense. The tape could reveal vital tactics, like which member of the team distracts the husband while John Terry gets ‘in the channel’. One revelation from the tape is that Fabio Capello is looking to experiment – he’s going to try breeding a horse and a window cleaner’s ladder in the hope of creating another Peter Crouch.

  In a different leaked video, Lord Triesman suggested there were rumours that Russia and Spain might bribe refs. These were the words of an old man trying to shag a woman 30 years his junior. I should think he’s grateful it’s just a tape of him slagging off football officials and not of him sobbing that Mr Binky promises to stay up this time. Old rich guys – worried that your mistress might be untrustworthy? You can carry round a simple implement to help you decide. A mirror. If you, like Lord Triesman, look like a moulting giraffe with hay fever, that young girl probably isn’t really enjoying bouncing around on you.

  Triesman commented that Melissa Jacobs had beautiful eyes – I didn’t notice the eyes because all I could see were the teeth like a vandalised graveyard. At least I don’t have to worry about a mistress telling the world my secrets, not unless someone’s teaching her English in that basement.

  FIFA lunatic Sepp Blatter has agreed to look into the allegations of bribery, for 50 grand and an OBE. All the fuss over bribes means that England will have lost out on future opportunities to bribe for the World Cup. Blatter has appointed opera singer Placido Domingo to join their council. I’m sure that Domingo would be most people’s first choice for rooting out corruption in a global footballing organisation, now that Pavarotti is dead.

  Actually, Blatter put paid to accusations of corruption with his re-election, bagging 260 of the 240 available votes. Sepp thanked delegates and then explained he wouldn’t see protesting officials … not now, not ever! As he was having his eyes plucked out and replaced with shimmering rubies. Even Wayne Rooney expressed alarm when the story was explained to him, by changing the word ‘money’ for ‘whore vouchers’. What could be less dodgy than having an election contest with only one candidate? It’s a system that works across Africa and the Middle East, and no one ever kicks up a fuss about it there.

  FIFA’s Ethics Committee just doesn’t sound right – it’s like finding out Al-Qaeda have a health and safety department. I feel sorry for England. You gave football to the world. If only they hadn’t gone and spoiled everything by being loads better at it. At least you can be proud of the England bid. What better person to demonstrate the virtues of a fair voting system and the scourge of easy money than Prince William?

  FIFA officials would never take a bribe. They paid me to say that. I’d like to see the World Cup being held in a Third World country that could use the tournament to improve their facilities, develop better players and create much-needed jobs. Which is why I was backing England’s bid.

  David Beckham said that he believed passionately in bringing the World Cup to England, as then he can spend a month 5,000 miles away from where his wife lives. Beckham said, ‘We have everything in place to hold the World Cup.’ Yep, psychotic riot police and a solid industry of multi-lingual prostitutes.

  There was the ludicrous story of Beckham being involved with a hooker. Victoria would know if David had been unfaithful, as when he was writing his diary he’d have to come to her to ask how to spell ‘prostitute’. Beckham was described as ‘furious’ but ‘calm’ – that’s exactly the stage directions I would give to someone if they were trying to do a Frank Spencer impression.

  Apparently, footballer infidelity is now so commonplace that in parts of the North-West ‘yo yo knickered party orifice’ is one of the options suggested to female school leavers by careers teachers. It’s Beckham’s kids I feel sorry for. I’m most worried that this business could rob their children of their innocence and, what’s more, disrupt the launch of 9-year-old Romeo’s sportswear accessories line. Brooklyn has reached the age where he understands what’s going on. He’s just completed the ‘prostitute wrangling’ module of his youth football team.

  Can David Beckham still be a role model to young boys? Of course. If there’s one life skill I’m sure they’ll all need it’s strenuously denying you’ve been with another woman. I also feel for Victoria. She’s uncomfortable enough watching him play for LA Galaxy, because the club’s named after a chocolate bar. Sadly, despite her pleas, he just won’t sign for the San Diego Rice Cakes.

  The culture of using prostitutes is so ingrained in football that when Wayne Rooney scores he instinctively leaves money on a chest of drawers next to the goal. The revelations came, as you’d expect with Wayne, thick and fast. I suppose the attraction for a woman is there’s a chance that half way through he might just be replaced by Joe Cole. If the stories are correct, then we can certainly see that Rooney has a type. Whores. I always thought Wayne Rooney and Peter Crouch would have to pay someone to sleep with them, but I just assumed that it would be their partners. Wayne’s carefully nurtured a family-man image – well, he has since the last time he fucked some hookers.

  Wayne’s getting smarter because, although he left evidence by way of sex texts, at least he didn’t leave an autograph saying ‘I fucked you,’ like last time. Coleen’s family say the days of her being humiliated are over. I’m guessing she’s not told them about the job modelling jewellery for Argos. Her parents said they’ll never let him in their house again. They’ve even removed his special flap from the back door. Coleen can’t very well turn round and have a go at Wayne for his sexual habits – she’s the one fucking a monkey.

  At the time, Coleen was pregnant and she did get suspicious. Every time she asked Wayne if he wanted a girl he said, ‘Yes, please’, and pulled out his wallet. In his defence, maybe Wayne didn’t realise a woman can have sex when she’s pregnant. It’s fine, which was great news for my girlfriend – she was worried she wouldn’t be able to keep up her half of the mortgage payments.

  A well-known footballer is being blackmailed with a film of an orgy in Las Vegas. An orgy’s quite classy for most footballers. If you’re wondering, it’s basically a gangbang with grapes. Apparently, the three players spent the evening playing the slots, then left the hotel room and headed for the casino. There’s an easier way of getting money out of top footballers. Just find one who’s about to retire and tell him you need a partner in some shit nightclub somewhere. Premiership players often film hotel-room sex. Especially the foreplay. Basically, the girl with her hand on a Gideon Bible saying, ‘I consent.’

  So are we going to dedicate an entire front page to every Premiership footballer who’s had an affair? ’Cos we could just save the hassle and photocopy a Panini album. Of course, I’m doing them a disservice. I’m sure the vast majority of Premiership players still believe that sex is just a beautiful thing that happens between two, three or more people. You’ll never get a Scottish player caught giving bundles of cash to a prostitute. They’d be much more likely to try and palm them off with coupons.

  How the hell did Ryan Giggs think he could keep an affair with Imogen Thomas a secret? She was on Big Brother! This is a woman whose idea of keeping a diary is sitting on a gold throne in front of a TV camera! You do wonder how Giggs was able to do it but, in fairness, at his age you tend to be up in the night a lot anyway. Personally, I didn’t expect this of him – mainly because I couldn’t imagine a man could manage to pull with the physique of an under-nourished monkey and the unemotional stare of a cat looking at a penis.

  What is it that tempts these men to have sex with attractive, big-titted, sexually available young women? Imogen said, ‘He didn’t know who I was at first but on the way back to the hotel he said, “It’s just clicked – you’re Imogen from Big B
rother.”’ She thought it was true love from the moment he found out her name a couple of minutes before they had sex. I feel sorry for Imogen – what married footballer would want her now?

  Although she said she would never date another footballer. Interesting it’s not the fact that he’s married that she has found stressful. And she reckons the scandal turned her lesbian. Presumably, she’s not acted on it yet because of the current low profile of women’s football. Apparently, Imogen’s so upset by this new twist she’s barely keeping things together at work, even having to ask for help ice-cubing her nipples before FHM’s ‘A Thong for Europe’ special.

  Giggs was attempting to imprison people for talking about him, and Ashley Cole shoots people for fun. Footballers are quickly becoming like powerful concentration-camp commandants waiting to pick us off from their balconies. Thousands of fans were chanting his name on the terraces. They say you can’t silence a crowd. They’ve obviously never been to a Partick Thistle game. If Ryan Giggs was so desperate to keep himself out of the papers and television news he should just have changed his name to Miliband.

  It does seem unfair that Imogen Thomas couldn’t say what MPs and journalists were saying – but those are the pitfalls of a Welsh education. The papers kept describing her as a ‘Welsh beauty queen’, which has to be pretty much the definition of a backhanded compliment. Still, it’s nice to see two Welsh people on the front cover for something other than a mineshaft disaster.

  One of the penalties of fame is that you don’t get to have sex with whoever you like. Oh no … that’s marriage. People on Twitter liked chatting about Ryan Giggs because his short name didn’t use up their precious characters. Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink can pump who he likes.

  Are the front pages of the tabloids to be controlled by what’s been talked about on Twitter? Expect in-depth reports into the quality of the pub some bloke you don’t know is in, and how nice seeded bread is when toasted. TV presenter Lizzie Cundy proudly took up her mantle as freedom fighter by stating we should be able to ‘say what we feel’ and ‘being imprisoned for stating a name is crazy,’ which is why I’m sure she won’t mind my feeling that I need to say Lizzie Cundy sucks the tiny penises of random farm animals.

  I’m unimpressed that people on Twitter could describe what he did to Imogen Thomas in only 140 characters. If I’d spent the night with her, it could only then be described in a 4,000-verse vision-quest poem handed down from father to son. Twitter users have been told that they will face legal action next time they break privacy laws. Trouble is, unless this was announced in a blog about Dr Who, none of them will have read it. The law courts don’t want social-network users to think they can break the law. I think we went past that point when people on Facebook started grooming and killing teenagers. But nice to see a story about a footballer having sex finally bringing about some regulation.

  Ryan Giggs also cheated on his wife with his brother’s wife. This is Giggsy at the top of his game – he’s always clinical from close range. It’s going to make Christmas Day a bit awkward in the Giggs household. Awkward and sexy. What I want to know is how on earth did Ryan Giggs find time to have all these affairs when he works a 90-minute week?

  Giggs had insisted there was nothing more important to him than his family, clearly forgetting to add the words … ‘not finding out’. He’s has been called the Welsh Tiger Woods – you might think that’s a lazy comparison, but having a mundane, eight-year affair with your brother’s wife in an unfurnished flat is the direct Welsh equivalent of banging a silicone-pumped porn star in the car park of a waffle house.

  This must be a real kick in the teeth for Rhodri Giggs. He’s spent his whole life with his brother being better than him at everything, and now that includes having sex with his wife. Rhodri said that Ryan won’t be able to understand the humiliation. Of course he does – didn’t you see him against Barcelona? I can understand how Rhodri must be feeling right now. I used to get annoyed when my brother stole my Action Man. And I really used to love sticking my dick in that. He ruined that for me.

  I think Giggs can rebuild his family-man image, providing we don’t get too fussed about exactly which family. Poor Rhodri. First the betrayal, then you have to spend a few days with that bloke out of Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps. Is Will Mellor the right person to help cheer you up? The last eight series of Two Pints would suggest not.

  Stacey and Ryan went to Marbella to try and sort things out, while his balls are taking a well-earned break in the Maldives. The Giggses are an odd-looking couple. She could fit both his eyes into her mouth. They say a lot of Man U fans are turning against him. I can’t confirm that though, as my Urdu/Swedish/Hungarian/Cantonese/Filipino/Arabic/Swahili/Kurdish/Inuit isn’t what it was.

  Rhodri has warned his brother to stay away from his wife, but Ryan doesn’t care. He’s shown time and again that he’s capable of bending it in from 30 yards. It emerged that Ryan paid for his sister-in-law to have an abortion. Ever the crowd pleaser, Ryan put a smile on the face of the staff at the clinic. When they pulled the foetus out, he did a couple of keepie uppies before volleying it into the dustbin.

  I think these revelations are just a clever move on Ryan’s part. He’s had a great playing career, but he’s getting old. I reckon he’s just hoping to get put out to stud. He just wants to end his days siring Wales’s 2034 World Cup squad. He could be in for a shock. The realities of stud farming mean he’ll probably just end up being shuffled by a bumpkin with a glass jar and marigold gloves, after being tricked into mounting a pair of fake plastic buttocks.

  Forget all their shagging about, the real story about the Giggs brothers is why are they ageing at four times the rate of normal humans? Rhodri Giggs looks like Ryan Giggs has been dead for a month. Giggs spent £30,000 on hair treatments. He can afford to treat himself now that Travelodge prices have gone down. He spent £30,000 on a machine to prevent hair loss. Which sounds like a lot of money for something totally useless that doesn’t work, but pretty good value compared with a super-injunction.

  Wayne Rooney also decided to have a hair transplant. Someone ought to tell him they can do faces now, too. It seems a shame to jeopardise all that hard work they put in training him to stop fighting his reflection. Surely, the one advantage of paying for sex is you really don’t have to bother about your appearance. Coleen wanted Wayne to have a hair transplant before they tried for another child – because she doesn’t want to risk having another bald baby. The other United players are already bantering with Wayne – Rio Ferdinand’s bet him he can’t last ten days with a ponytail without being shagged by Ryan Giggs. Was Wayne even going bald? He might have just been losing his winter coat. Part of the operation was done with lasers. The smell in the surgery must have been lovely. Fresh chips.

  Still, good to see that Rooney’s found a better way to cover up his bald patch than paying two women to sit on it. He tweeted, ‘I was going bald at 25 why not.’ You’ve got an IQ of 25 but at no point have you ever considered reading a fucking book.

  Think of the advantages of a bald head for a Premiership player. They’re always getting done for speeding. You could just polish it up to a shine with Nivea then, if you were flashed by a camera, just claim an angel stole your car. It must be great being bald. So low maintenance. You just get up, have a quick half-hour cry in front of the mirror, and you’re ready to face the afternoon. Rooney has been warned not to have sex until his hair transplant takes root. It was massive relief for Coleen, but for some other women it meant missing out on a major source of income.

  Apparently, Wayne Rooney initially refused to sign a new contract with Man U. Come on, Sir Alex, is it really that hard to forge an ‘X’? He hardly scored at all last season – as Coleen had moved his hutch into the spare room. When Sir Alex Ferguson heard about Rooney’s insubordination his face was bright red, so it was impossible to tell if he was upset or not. Wayne should remember no one’s got the better of Fergie, who even bounced back after those crystal m
eth problems in the Black Eyed Peas. Ferguson wasn’t speaking to Rooney for a month. I should think he’s run out of things to say – there’s only so many ways you can rephrase ‘run after the ball, kick the ball’.

  What can a man like Wayne Rooney possibly do with a quarter of a million pounds a week? Shred it to make a nest? Sir Alex has finally got to the age where people decide to leave all their money to a pet. He was overheard saying, ‘I want to leave Manchester United’ – but that’s simply how Wayne orders a taxi. A quarter of a million a week and he’s only 25. Then again, we mustn’t forget that’s nearly 60 in human years. This is the thing – you can give Wayne and Coleen as much money as you like, but they’re always only one more missing tooth away from appearing on Jeremy Kyle. Is it immoral for one man to earn £250,000 a week when in Haiti the children of dirt-poor peasants have their coffins carried on the backs of battered motorbikes? Maybe, but on the flip side, what about that goal against Arsenal last year? I mean, wow.

  Rooney was punished for swearing into the camera after he scored a goal earlier in the year. This sort of thing doesn’t just bring the Premiership into disrepute, it tarnishes the entire spit-roasting community. Swearing’s actually the safest celebration option for Rooney, as when he pulls his shirt over his head, he believes the world ceases to exist. I may sound unfashionable but I happen to think using the ‘F’ word on TV is unacceptable. Unless, of course, your blowtorch has run out of gas half way through caramelising a crème brûlée. Now Wayne may have to attend anger-management classes. Which will involve wiring a plastic banana up to a 9-volt car battery. I don’t think shouting ‘What do you want?!’ at the viewers of Sky Sports should incur a ban – I think it makes him one of Britain’s greatest moral philosophers. In Wayne’s defence, it must be very easy to get ‘delight’ muddled up with ‘furious violent rage’. It was strange to see a player yell obscenities into a camera that wasn’t being held by a terrified apprentice right-back filming an orgy. The Man U board are furious at the ban. After seeking legal advice, they said it was ‘really not on’ and a ‘jolly poor show’.