Sir, So farewell then, Bozza. Thanks for everything, and sorry things did not work out. I for one am sorry to see you go. I think it is harsh that you were sacked - who hasn't chopped up a line in the bog at work ? I know for a fact that Priesty is very partial to the old marching powder, fancies himself as a bit of a goalie and has no problems getting fucked up in the office. He has not been sacked for a few years. But I am straying from the point. The point is why do the authorities take such a dim view of cokeheads ? Its not exactly a performance enhancer, is it? It might make you feel like you are being witty and intelligent, but really you are coming out with a terrible load of old tosh. Isn't that right Priesty ? Let's not forget that Bozza is suffering from depression which as a doctor I can tell you is no laughing matter. Bozza needs our sympathy and rehabilitation. What he does not need is the worst goalie in the history of football (Dave "Teflon" Pheasant) giving his two pence worth. Fuck off Pheasant, you useless bitch. I read with interest Ron's comments on spitting. Ron reckons that spitting at an opponent is the single worst thing that you can do on the football field. The second worst thing was diving and the third was making racist remarks. Come on Ron, you white bastard, you should know that racism is worse than spitting and diving put together. Get a fucking grip - let's kick racism out of football ! But don't take my word for it: ask Paul Canoville. So Chelsea are no longer contenders for the league ? I disagree. Come May 11th you will see me and Priesty running round Fulham with our willies hanging out, holding up traffic, spitting (sorry Ron), burning down the Imperial on the New Kings Road and generally celebrating our second championship. If you look at our remaining games we have an easy run-in. I advise everyone of you to get down to Mr Ladbrokes before he changes the odds. While Priesty can put on a brave face I was distraught after the United game. I really despair that we are unable to beat a team that included the Neville twins, Diego Forlan and Silvestre. None of these muppets would even make the Chelsea bench, so how comes we've only taken 1 point off them this season ? It's enough to make you puke. Wankers.
You see my point ?
Dr Les.
Needless to say, I refute all suggestions that I have ever indulged in mind-altering substances. In any case, you are one to talk, you fucking quack. What do I mean ? Let me remind you of just ONE incident of drug-induced deliquency that comes to mind. Picture the following scene: it is a baking hot, August afternoon. Chelsea FC are having an open day. Amusements such as a funfair, etc. have been laid on, presumably to attract small children. The strategy has worked, spectacularly - the place is jam-packed with saucepans, all running about the place like demented chimps. Meanwhile, Dr Les has consumed many lagers and a large handful of ecstasy tablets. He is getting loved up. He spots a long queue of children waiting to have their pictures taken with Stamford The Lion. As his long-suffering friend, Priesty, looks on in horror, Les staggers straight to the front of the queue, scattering small children like nine-pins as he goes. Like the idiot he is, he smiles at Stamford and begins to stroke his arms and paws, incoherently yelling "You're a beautiful person, Stamford !". He proceeds to dry-hump Stamford's leg. Stamford tries desperately to fend off the drug-crazed half-wit, and screaming can be heard from underneath his oversized costume. It is hard to hear most of what he's shouting as it's so muffled, but we can clearly hear "Get off ! I'm no fucking iron !". As you may imagine, this goes down a storm with the parents and kids who are queuing up; traumatised children are screaming in terror, and their parents are shaking their fists at both Stamford and Les. Priesty begins to move subtly in the direction of away. Kerry Dixon, who is standing next to poor old Stamford, tries to grab Les. Les yells "Kerry, mate, I fucking love you !" as the security staff, alerted by the rumpus, detain him with a painful head-lock, march him to the exit and demonstrate a perfect "bum's rush" into the Fulham Road... The moral of this story is, of course, that cunts who live in glass houses should not be throwing stones. You would do well to remember that, Les, you medical misfit. I could tell a thousand more grim stories along those lines, believe me..
© 2003
Priesty's Chelsea FC Refuge.
Following are a few topics that need to be discussed in a rational, mature way. Read on:
