dundeebarry

I've been working under that same assumption. I found myself worryingly pleased when I recognized a guy featured in a documentary I was watching recently and thought, "Ah! It's the boy from one of Swampy's old avatars! So that's who he is, eh?" I probably spend too much time on here.

Good song, VT. Morton are very much on form at the mo. I was most pleased to see them make a comeback today. My gambling profit margin thanks you for your efforts.

Our flexible friend's lucky she doesn't go to the same club as this wee chancer: Boy would be at her gash like a dug at a garden tap after a 10 mile walk.

Time you arriving in Dundee, cunto?

That lassie's inside the boundaries, whatever it is. She's what, no more than four months? Complete guess there like, but it sounds about right.

I'd rattle them all until the neighbours complained about the smell. Including the one that's up the duff - she's not that pregnant.

This is true, Fifer. I'm a weapon dancer. You can bust out some moves youself, right enough. I've seen you get kicked out a club for endangering fellow groovers. Some might say that was due to the Klingon battle sword you were swinging around, but I reckon your fast feet and snake-like hips were a factor too.

I've suffered from it myself, lanky. It's a terrible affliction, equalled in the disco pain stakes only by the notorious Ecto Jaw. You ken how that works: such is the ferocity of Ewok-log-weapon-swing of the Ecstasy-enhanced jaw, it locks in place at an angle that leaves you looking like an extra from the Thriller video. It doesn't stop you dancing, but it hurts, and makes you look like a Warrior. Actually, the more I think about it, getting the Ecto Jaw isn't such a bad thing. Keep on keeping on, lanky.

The medical term for it is Ecto Claw.

This lassie clearly kens whaur the perty's at. You can tell by the way her tongue's hingin' oot. Now, I'm no matchmaker, but if that girl's eyes should ever cross the dancefloor and meet.... .........then duck and fucking cover, people, because there will be fireworks that will make Sydney Harbour Bridge on NYE look like a mink with a sparkler in his back green.

At first glance I thought this was the legendary Tacheman himself, and was deeply impressed at the fact he's pulling better looking woman week-on-week, but after further scrutiny I don't think it's him. He's too young and not sleazy-looking enough. There are no traces of slime on his seat, or indeed the young lady who can run, but can't hide. It might be Son of Tacheman though...........

Leishman looks like he just realised the photographer's the guy he sucked off in a dodgy sauna the previous week. Stay calm, Leish. Pretend you've never met him. Pose for the photo then get out of there as fast you can.

The eyes indicate he's no stranger to drink and drugs, the hat suggests he was already gubbed when he went shopping for a new outfit for the weekend, and the arms-aloft pose leaves you in absolutely no doubt that it is fucking Perty Time. If this fireball and Tacheman ever get together for a night out I want to be front and centre on the dancefloor so I can frolic in the foam of their combined hedonistic force. Wild.

You're asking the kind of questions that suggest you're game for taking a length off him, forehead. Fair play to you. If you get a self-portrait shot of yourself nuzzled into Tacheman's moob on the morning after the night before, I'll finance the bronze statue myself.

I'd be happy to chip in for a bronze statue of the P&B member who can pull this off. If a female member wants to take it a step further and get a photo of the club's resident moustachioed lothario holding their pants aloft, I will dedicate the rest of my life to worshipping her like a female Tommy Coyne.

Aye, you look much bonnier for that drawing on your pus, sugar-tits.

I get the feeling fiction wouldn't do him justice. Send in a documentary maker, I want to find out how this boy goes about his business. Any money you care to wager says he has a "trophy room" featuring the most despicable collection of woman's underwear ever seen.

Man, that boy's in there every single week. Look at the nick of the burd he's hours away from pumping there - he's fucking roofied her! No need for that, fella, you've clearly got that moves to reel 'em in without prescription drugs as your wingman.

The noises coming from the central heating system as it wound down for the night did not help my post-Ghost Watch fear. Scared the piss out me so it did.

Ghost Watch (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghostwatch) did it for me in my youth. Though the ending was somewhat farcical and the logical part of my brain told me it was a fake, it did nothing to quell the irrational fear that kept me awake and suitably terrified for several nights thereafter.

Start locking the food cupboards and fridge for a kickoff. Cheeky bitch wouldn't be getting a free feed off me.

+1 Check the size of her pupils, she's pure wired. I like that in a girl.

The guy appears to be aiming for the smooth, lounge lizard look but is coming off more "How much for the little girl?". He seems to be keeping his lady friend happy right enough. Possibly because she senses another ring in the works. She has one on every fucking finger! She's like a hand jewelry version of Mr T.

Can I handle that? You already know the answer to that one, Biggie. Having shared this little corner of cyberspace together for the past three years or so you'll have a pretty good insight into how I go about my business. You're down with my modus operandi. You ken the score. Can I f**k throw tea cups at walls, ya daft c**t. Years of reckless masturbatory activity have left me with forearms like Popeye and wrists like Jim Duffy's knee. They're weak to the point where I've had to hire a small South East Asian boy to carry out day-to-day tasks such as shaking hands with well-wishers, shaking an angry fist at the sky and typing shit on the internet. The wee man's punching out these very words as I dictate, Biggie! Christ, I've only made about 500 posts on this site, the rest were that deranged wee b*****d! I fucking despair at the ridiculous nonsense that's been written in my name, the boy's a fucking fruitcake. Still, for all his faults he can yank the old love crank like a champion, so I keep him on the payroll. He can probably fling cups like a fine china ninja too... And so we reach a refreshing alternative to the suggestion that I throw things at walls to spur on the Dee: the wee man will do the physical work while I make the bad noise that will surely see Dundee turn many a contest round in the second half. It was right there in front of us the whole time, Biggie. I look forward to working with you, gaffer.

How did you get on with this, Biggie? If you were successful in your application - and as we're talking about the merry-go-round of madness that is Dundee FC it wouldn't be that surprising - I'd like to wish you well as we wake up to the dawn of a new era. If you're looking for a right hand man to assist you in the new regime, you know where to find me. I've got my coaching badges and shit, it's nae bather.