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Subject: [Non-NT] Nanook
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jonandabby [del] to
All
Note - I have been encouraged by Certain Leaders of the English Sokker Community (CLESC for short) to expand my longstanding determination not to accept the role for NT coach for the US into the UK, presumably because the CLESC recognize that I am equally unsuited for a leadership role here as in the case of Your Younger American Cousins' Team (YYACT). To that end, I shall be promoting my lack of capabilities toute suite forthwith and all that other immediacy stuff on this thread. Any mods thinking about deleting this - please talk to Gibby. It is his fault.
I recognize that you have all been impatiently awaiting my decision about whether I shall run for coach of your NT. I have received literally ZERO emails begging me to continue not to run for this esteemed position. Well, let no one suffer undue misery caused by unneeded malcontent. I hereby announce that I will continue to be unwilling to run for NT COACH of the English team.
(I now pause to await the thunderous applause from you all that will surely cleave the heavens in twain, and to await the inevitable "Huzzah, Huzzah" chants that are already springing up.
In the true style of the US, I am hereby publishing my campaign platform explaining why I am unsuited to be NT coach of your team as well as the American squad.
1) Mediocrity rules, so every team gets ties in every game;
2) Everyone gets a new pair of cleats, because looking good is critical to success in life.
3) A chicken in every pot (hopefully, an American out there recognizes that quote).
4) Universal good healthcare only for players I like. Players I don't like get rusty scalpels and used bandaids.
5) Brits like cleanliness, so I’ll provide all players with Extra Strength deodorant. I will also force the … hygienically challenged … to shower after every game.
6) I plan to be a particularly environmentally concerned NT coach. I believe in alternative fuels. I therefore plan to feed the teams baked beans smothered in heavy cream. The resulting flatulence will poower the team bus. Each player will be given a motorless go-cart, which will be able to be attached to the back of the bus and dragged hither and yon.
7) I am unconcerned about funding. I will ensure that there are a fair share of goons on the team. I have a healthy respect for the usefulness of a butt-kicking or two to win a game. The Hansen Brothers from Slapshot are my heroes. I will therefore use said goons as my personal "Anti-stench" unit. Their main job in this role will be to go out to a middle-of-nowhere drug store wherever the team plays (or some other drug store in less civilized nations), beat the crap out of the counter clerk, and steal enough deodorant as is necessary to maintain proper odorous decorum.
8) I believe that the Swine Flu actually is the beginning stages of an invasion from little aliens from the planet Flugenspaskie. To that end, I believe that any NT team that I am not running should in any event form the vanguard of the newly formed Earth Planetary Environmentally Consciencious Appropriately Impressive Defense Establishment (EPECAIDE for short). The Team should be prepared at any time to drop their shorts, raise their shinguards proudly in the air, and wiggle their ... parts ... at invaders, terrifying the intruders with the team's impressive manliness. Once the aliens are aware of our pulchritude, they will run, taking the Swine Flu with them to terrorize the Martians.
9) I am of the unshakable firm belief that the NT should be required to wear spandex undergarments that have special locks precluding their removal. See, there is no question that players try harder when motivated. Motivation can come in many forms - money, booze, drugs, rock and roll, rusty scuppers, and of course, navel lint.
10) However, there is one factor that I believe will get players to try harder - gonad pressure. Let's say that we make the team wear spandex underwear that is waaaaay too tight. The squeezing will be uncomfortable. And of course should they lose the game, the shorts stay on, making them all chafed and desperate to urinate for a week, which should lead to much leaping about by the team and amusement from the rest of us.
11) Cheese. That's right. Cheese. It comes in many colors - yellow, white, yellowish-white and green from mold (well, forget that last one, as it is clearly not a good role model for cheesiness). I believe that a consistent diet limited to all forms of cheese will make the team's digestion work improperly, causing them to omit flatulence uncontrollably. The smell will distract our opponents, and the force of the ejected air will add 1/2 level of pace to their normal, cheese-less stats. Cheese. Make them eat it. Yes.
12) I firmly believe that Sokker Players should be forced to wear the cheerleaders' (who, by the way, should be ugly to forestall hanky panky) spiked heels when playing. This will inevitably cause the team's heels to sink into the mud and get them stuck. You might think that this is a bad idea, as it would clearly slow them down to, well, no pace at all. But NO, I say. This would strangely help their performance. You see, the opposing team will obviously start taking us for granted, and likely will break into hysterics. When this happens, we will strike. We will jump out of said spiked heels, and run randomly around the pitch in our socks screaming "Where, oh where have my spikey heels gone. Where oh where are they?" When the Poles/French/New Guineans (in honor of my guinea pig dying yesterday, I put that as a country) fall over, we will run up to them, fart on them, and then score.
I recognize that you have all been impatiently awaiting my decision about whether I shall run for coach of your NT. I have received literally ZERO emails begging me to continue not to run for this esteemed position. Well, let no one suffer undue misery caused by unneeded malcontent. I hereby announce that I will continue to be unwilling to run for NT COACH of the English team.
(I now pause to await the thunderous applause from you all that will surely cleave the heavens in twain, and to await the inevitable "Huzzah, Huzzah" chants that are already springing up.
In the true style of the US, I am hereby publishing my campaign platform explaining why I am unsuited to be NT coach of your team as well as the American squad.
1) Mediocrity rules, so every team gets ties in every game;
2) Everyone gets a new pair of cleats, because looking good is critical to success in life.
3) A chicken in every pot (hopefully, an American out there recognizes that quote).
4) Universal good healthcare only for players I like. Players I don't like get rusty scalpels and used bandaids.
5) Brits like cleanliness, so I’ll provide all players with Extra Strength deodorant. I will also force the … hygienically challenged … to shower after every game.
6) I plan to be a particularly environmentally concerned NT coach. I believe in alternative fuels. I therefore plan to feed the teams baked beans smothered in heavy cream. The resulting flatulence will poower the team bus. Each player will be given a motorless go-cart, which will be able to be attached to the back of the bus and dragged hither and yon.
7) I am unconcerned about funding. I will ensure that there are a fair share of goons on the team. I have a healthy respect for the usefulness of a butt-kicking or two to win a game. The Hansen Brothers from Slapshot are my heroes. I will therefore use said goons as my personal "Anti-stench" unit. Their main job in this role will be to go out to a middle-of-nowhere drug store wherever the team plays (or some other drug store in less civilized nations), beat the crap out of the counter clerk, and steal enough deodorant as is necessary to maintain proper odorous decorum.
8) I believe that the Swine Flu actually is the beginning stages of an invasion from little aliens from the planet Flugenspaskie. To that end, I believe that any NT team that I am not running should in any event form the vanguard of the newly formed Earth Planetary Environmentally Consciencious Appropriately Impressive Defense Establishment (EPECAIDE for short). The Team should be prepared at any time to drop their shorts, raise their shinguards proudly in the air, and wiggle their ... parts ... at invaders, terrifying the intruders with the team's impressive manliness. Once the aliens are aware of our pulchritude, they will run, taking the Swine Flu with them to terrorize the Martians.
9) I am of the unshakable firm belief that the NT should be required to wear spandex undergarments that have special locks precluding their removal. See, there is no question that players try harder when motivated. Motivation can come in many forms - money, booze, drugs, rock and roll, rusty scuppers, and of course, navel lint.
10) However, there is one factor that I believe will get players to try harder - gonad pressure. Let's say that we make the team wear spandex underwear that is waaaaay too tight. The squeezing will be uncomfortable. And of course should they lose the game, the shorts stay on, making them all chafed and desperate to urinate for a week, which should lead to much leaping about by the team and amusement from the rest of us.
11) Cheese. That's right. Cheese. It comes in many colors - yellow, white, yellowish-white and green from mold (well, forget that last one, as it is clearly not a good role model for cheesiness). I believe that a consistent diet limited to all forms of cheese will make the team's digestion work improperly, causing them to omit flatulence uncontrollably. The smell will distract our opponents, and the force of the ejected air will add 1/2 level of pace to their normal, cheese-less stats. Cheese. Make them eat it. Yes.
12) I firmly believe that Sokker Players should be forced to wear the cheerleaders' (who, by the way, should be ugly to forestall hanky panky) spiked heels when playing. This will inevitably cause the team's heels to sink into the mud and get them stuck. You might think that this is a bad idea, as it would clearly slow them down to, well, no pace at all. But NO, I say. This would strangely help their performance. You see, the opposing team will obviously start taking us for granted, and likely will break into hysterics. When this happens, we will strike. We will jump out of said spiked heels, and run randomly around the pitch in our socks screaming "Where, oh where have my spikey heels gone. Where oh where are they?" When the Poles/French/New Guineans (in honor of my guinea pig dying yesterday, I put that as a country) fall over, we will run up to them, fart on them, and then score.
13) For lucky number thirteen, I shall promote my to-date least likely to be effective strategy for British international dominance.
We need to change the logo on the team's uniform. It is NOT scary enough. Heck, it isn't even really very interesting in a fashion or functional sort of way. Our jersey MUST have an impact, if nothing else so we can look imposing as we continue our international "futbol" futility. My plan:
Black background - the team will sweat more, resulting in body odor (see #6). The greasy shirts will also make it harder for those damn polish NT players to cheat the way they do by grabbing on and dragging us down. The bastards.
NO names- Our players aren't good enough yet to deserve them. The names get added one letter at a time, based on performance. That way, we'll have players running around the field with names like "A Bog" and "Out"
Logo - Chuck Norris' face leering in anger. The fear, nay, petrification our opponents will experience can only be imagined. Can you picture some Estonian imaginary player gazing at Norris' rictus, and recognize they he is DOOMED? For those that do not know, here are some of the newly discovered facts about Himself that will inspire our foes to wet themselves:
a) Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
b) Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because he only recognizes the element of surprise.
c) Chuck Norris puts the "laughter" in "manslaughter".
d) Chuck Norris died ten years ago, but the Grim Reaper can't get up the courage to tell him.
e) Chuck Norris can have both feet on the ground and kick ass at the same time.
f) Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
14) As many of you know, soccer fans (or Futbol if you are one of those Spanish speaking people people) tend to sing and chant during games in support of their heroes. I believe that the imposing nature of the home crowd can provide amazing support for the US NT team. I am therefore proposing that we mandate that our supporters include a few specific songs and chants in their play list during our games. The additional energy provided to the players will help overcome my coaching inadequacy. Some of the required content will be:
a) La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin may not scare them, but they'll start to dance uncontrollably. Especially the teams from south and central America.
b) Anything from the Bee Gees - Everyone else disco. If the crowd can shimmy a bit when singing (wearing spandex gets extra credit), then all the better.
c) "Ma Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder. We have to give out sunglasses to all of the fans. The put them on, and wobble their heads as they sing. Oh, the exquisite agony.
d) "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." A more soul-stirring chant I cannot imagine.
15) Locker facilties. We need better ones, and need to get more aggressive when we go to visitors stadiums and see inappropriate facilities.
First of all, we will not accept bidets in those freaky French stadiums. Those are odd and very confusing. I have seen them, and get upset every time I am near them. I mean, turn on a fawcett to shoot UP at your butt? No wonder Europeans from the continent are so odd. We shouldn't have them, and should have our supporters admitted to any locker room that does in order to destroy them immediately.
My #5 platform plank requires good hygiene. I did not specify in #5 what form that would take, beyond mandating showers and deodorant. I shall elucidate further now.
a) Toothpaste should be used before every game and every half. Cavities can be distracting. However, we will be a "green" team so everyone will brush with branches coated with homemade toothpaste (baking soda, salt, hydrogen peroxide, peppermint oil and stevia). After using said concoction, we'll likely be sick, and then we can vomit all over our opponents WHILE HAVING GOOD TEETH. Excellent.
b) Poops should be made in bags, and we should make frequent use of the roman vomitoriums I'll have installed next to the toilets. We can bag the combined refuse (vomoop or poomit - I'm not sure what to call it) into bags to give out to our rabid singing (see above) fans. They can then throw the bags at the best players of the other team (preferably while singing disco - everyone loves disco). Given some of the geographic sources of our NT opponents, hanging out in poop may not be so upsetting to them, but getting clobbered by bags of fecal matter floating in vomit should at least distract them.
c) Our team locker room will need to turkish baths. We can invite the more winsome British NT fans in to join the squad. We may not win (actually, given my ineptitude we certainly will NOT win), but at least we'll have fun after the game.
16) All players must wear two left shoes. There are several reasons:
a) Nothing "right" is allowed to have any affiliation with the team. No intelligent person likes anything "right" (e.g. George W. Bush) so in order to avoid the appearance of blowhard idoicy, we need to stay "left."
b) My theory here is similar to #10 (Gonad Pressure) above. See, if the players are wearing uncomfortable shoes, they'll be pissed off. I'll cut them a deal - if they get a 3 goal lead, I'll let them be subbed out for bench players. Once they sit down, they can take off the mismatched extra left shoe and rest their little tootsies. The added incentive will provide a performance boost that will surely propel us to victory (unless I otherwise manage to mess it up).
17) Can someone tell me why there are all these single shoes and sneakers lying all over the place? You could be driving down the road, and see on the shoulder a converse sitting forlornly in a puddle. You can walk through a subway station, and see some ratty loafer sitting on the side. WHERE DO THESE INDIVIDUAL PIECES OF FOOTWEAR COME FROM? Do people loose their shoe, not notice, and continue walking on their merry way, never noticing that they have just stepped, unprotected, in rat feces????
Inquiring minds want to know, dammit!
(edited)
We need to change the logo on the team's uniform. It is NOT scary enough. Heck, it isn't even really very interesting in a fashion or functional sort of way. Our jersey MUST have an impact, if nothing else so we can look imposing as we continue our international "futbol" futility. My plan:
Black background - the team will sweat more, resulting in body odor (see #6). The greasy shirts will also make it harder for those damn polish NT players to cheat the way they do by grabbing on and dragging us down. The bastards.
NO names- Our players aren't good enough yet to deserve them. The names get added one letter at a time, based on performance. That way, we'll have players running around the field with names like "A Bog" and "Out"
Logo - Chuck Norris' face leering in anger. The fear, nay, petrification our opponents will experience can only be imagined. Can you picture some Estonian imaginary player gazing at Norris' rictus, and recognize they he is DOOMED? For those that do not know, here are some of the newly discovered facts about Himself that will inspire our foes to wet themselves:
a) Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.
b) Chuck Norris destroyed the periodic table, because he only recognizes the element of surprise.
c) Chuck Norris puts the "laughter" in "manslaughter".
d) Chuck Norris died ten years ago, but the Grim Reaper can't get up the courage to tell him.
e) Chuck Norris can have both feet on the ground and kick ass at the same time.
f) Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
14) As many of you know, soccer fans (or Futbol if you are one of those Spanish speaking people people) tend to sing and chant during games in support of their heroes. I believe that the imposing nature of the home crowd can provide amazing support for the US NT team. I am therefore proposing that we mandate that our supporters include a few specific songs and chants in their play list during our games. The additional energy provided to the players will help overcome my coaching inadequacy. Some of the required content will be:
a) La Vida Loca - Ricky Martin may not scare them, but they'll start to dance uncontrollably. Especially the teams from south and central America.
b) Anything from the Bee Gees - Everyone else disco. If the crowd can shimmy a bit when singing (wearing spandex gets extra credit), then all the better.
c) "Ma Cherie Amour" by Stevie Wonder. We have to give out sunglasses to all of the fans. The put them on, and wobble their heads as they sing. Oh, the exquisite agony.
d) "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." A more soul-stirring chant I cannot imagine.
15) Locker facilties. We need better ones, and need to get more aggressive when we go to visitors stadiums and see inappropriate facilities.
First of all, we will not accept bidets in those freaky French stadiums. Those are odd and very confusing. I have seen them, and get upset every time I am near them. I mean, turn on a fawcett to shoot UP at your butt? No wonder Europeans from the continent are so odd. We shouldn't have them, and should have our supporters admitted to any locker room that does in order to destroy them immediately.
My #5 platform plank requires good hygiene. I did not specify in #5 what form that would take, beyond mandating showers and deodorant. I shall elucidate further now.
a) Toothpaste should be used before every game and every half. Cavities can be distracting. However, we will be a "green" team so everyone will brush with branches coated with homemade toothpaste (baking soda, salt, hydrogen peroxide, peppermint oil and stevia). After using said concoction, we'll likely be sick, and then we can vomit all over our opponents WHILE HAVING GOOD TEETH. Excellent.
b) Poops should be made in bags, and we should make frequent use of the roman vomitoriums I'll have installed next to the toilets. We can bag the combined refuse (vomoop or poomit - I'm not sure what to call it) into bags to give out to our rabid singing (see above) fans. They can then throw the bags at the best players of the other team (preferably while singing disco - everyone loves disco). Given some of the geographic sources of our NT opponents, hanging out in poop may not be so upsetting to them, but getting clobbered by bags of fecal matter floating in vomit should at least distract them.
c) Our team locker room will need to turkish baths. We can invite the more winsome British NT fans in to join the squad. We may not win (actually, given my ineptitude we certainly will NOT win), but at least we'll have fun after the game.
16) All players must wear two left shoes. There are several reasons:
a) Nothing "right" is allowed to have any affiliation with the team. No intelligent person likes anything "right" (e.g. George W. Bush) so in order to avoid the appearance of blowhard idoicy, we need to stay "left."
b) My theory here is similar to #10 (Gonad Pressure) above. See, if the players are wearing uncomfortable shoes, they'll be pissed off. I'll cut them a deal - if they get a 3 goal lead, I'll let them be subbed out for bench players. Once they sit down, they can take off the mismatched extra left shoe and rest their little tootsies. The added incentive will provide a performance boost that will surely propel us to victory (unless I otherwise manage to mess it up).
17) Can someone tell me why there are all these single shoes and sneakers lying all over the place? You could be driving down the road, and see on the shoulder a converse sitting forlornly in a puddle. You can walk through a subway station, and see some ratty loafer sitting on the side. WHERE DO THESE INDIVIDUAL PIECES OF FOOTWEAR COME FROM? Do people loose their shoe, not notice, and continue walking on their merry way, never noticing that they have just stepped, unprotected, in rat feces????
Inquiring minds want to know, dammit!
(edited)
18) My friends, I had not intended to discuss this controversial subject at this particular time. However, I want you to know that I do not shun controversy. On the contrary, I will take a stand on any issue at any time, regardless of how fraught with controversy it might be. You have asked me how I feel about whiskey. All right, here is how I feel about whiskey.
If when you say whiskey you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.
But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman's step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life's great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.
This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.
19) I believe that children are the future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside! And then give them lots of sweets, cause diabetes and childhood obesity, and kill them off. Good plan, America.
20) Boogies are gross. They come in all different colors. WHY do the come in all different colors? Why are the sometimes runny, sometimes thick, and even more bizarre, sometimes even chunky? Why is it so gross to eat them with your finger, yet so necessary to hock them from your nose into your mouth to spit them out? I mean, if you had a really thick one that needed to be ejected from your mouth, why not simply go a'diggin, and then spit it at your target, rather than walk around making stupendous noises, likely getting an ear infection at the same time, for the purpose of accomplishing the same goal?
21) I’ve been doing some serious thinking about shoes. Ever notice shoes? Everybody wears them. Just look down. There’s so many different kinds. A lotta shoes sound like what they are. Oxfords, work shoes, loafers. I guess the good thing about loafers is you don’t have to tie them. Space shoes, boots! You know what’s annoying? When that little plastic thing on the end of your shoelaces falls off and gets frayed at the end, and you can’t get ‘em through the holes, and you gotta start licking and spitting and biting to try to drag them through the hole. But it is too hard to find new laces, so you do it anyway. Or you go barefoot, which is kind of difficult if you are hiking through a thicket of brambles with broken glass on the ground, and spikes and whatnot sticking up to impale your a$$.
22) Sokker balls should be replaced with ... other kinds ... of balls. I am Green, you see. The imaginary-real balls used in this game are very environmentally unfriendly. They are typically made of synthetic materials, and stitched with polyester thread. None of those are natural, and all result in significant carbon emissions and other harmful environmental impacts (such as waste water, detritus from the manufacturing process, and other manner of gas unrelated to baked beans.) I therefore recommend a substitute ball be used - swollen testicles. That's right. Swollen testicles. We need to immediately start canvassing the internets (plural intended) to find folks with Orchitis. Those monsters can get plenty big. We then cut them off (since they are too big to do their natural business), clean and wax them to make them roll through the grass on the pitch, and away we go. No environmental impact, no machinery (except perhaps the knife or scissors used to do the excision of the offending gonad.)
If when you say whiskey you mean the devil's brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.
But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman's step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life's great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.
This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.
19) I believe that children are the future. Teach them well, and let them lead the way. Show them all the beauty they possess inside! And then give them lots of sweets, cause diabetes and childhood obesity, and kill them off. Good plan, America.
20) Boogies are gross. They come in all different colors. WHY do the come in all different colors? Why are the sometimes runny, sometimes thick, and even more bizarre, sometimes even chunky? Why is it so gross to eat them with your finger, yet so necessary to hock them from your nose into your mouth to spit them out? I mean, if you had a really thick one that needed to be ejected from your mouth, why not simply go a'diggin, and then spit it at your target, rather than walk around making stupendous noises, likely getting an ear infection at the same time, for the purpose of accomplishing the same goal?
21) I’ve been doing some serious thinking about shoes. Ever notice shoes? Everybody wears them. Just look down. There’s so many different kinds. A lotta shoes sound like what they are. Oxfords, work shoes, loafers. I guess the good thing about loafers is you don’t have to tie them. Space shoes, boots! You know what’s annoying? When that little plastic thing on the end of your shoelaces falls off and gets frayed at the end, and you can’t get ‘em through the holes, and you gotta start licking and spitting and biting to try to drag them through the hole. But it is too hard to find new laces, so you do it anyway. Or you go barefoot, which is kind of difficult if you are hiking through a thicket of brambles with broken glass on the ground, and spikes and whatnot sticking up to impale your a$$.
22) Sokker balls should be replaced with ... other kinds ... of balls. I am Green, you see. The imaginary-real balls used in this game are very environmentally unfriendly. They are typically made of synthetic materials, and stitched with polyester thread. None of those are natural, and all result in significant carbon emissions and other harmful environmental impacts (such as waste water, detritus from the manufacturing process, and other manner of gas unrelated to baked beans.) I therefore recommend a substitute ball be used - swollen testicles. That's right. Swollen testicles. We need to immediately start canvassing the internets (plural intended) to find folks with Orchitis. Those monsters can get plenty big. We then cut them off (since they are too big to do their natural business), clean and wax them to make them roll through the grass on the pitch, and away we go. No environmental impact, no machinery (except perhaps the knife or scissors used to do the excision of the offending gonad.)
Right, that's it. I'm giving my non vote to you for sure!
Wow Jon, you actually won my vote for Non-NT coach. You run a very good Non-NT campaign.
I have been running to avoid being NT coach for several years. Despite the high regard I have for My British Cousins' attention span, I decided to cut and paste the highlights rather than every random post. Trying to give them more time to drink their way better beer than is available here.
I am for taxes in general. Because I do ridiculous amounts of trades, I pay ridiculous amounts of taxes on sales of players. I do not believe that the country needs roads or police or decorated light poles adorned with tinsel and red, white and blue ribbons and whatnot. Taxes on sales are only used by lesser politicians wastefully. Starve them of funds, I say, and they will waste away. Or become lobbyists.
That said, I am wholly opposed to child selling taxes. Selling children can lead to no good - they'd just be bought by people, who would likewise have to support them, clothe them, feed them, shelter them, and listen to their mewling and incessant requests for Ipods and Nintendo DSi's and whatnot. I myself present a different option for your consideration.
The main question is how this growing country, which is fast becoming a third world economic power, shall provide for its children. Under the present situation of affairs, this is utterly impossible by all the methods we know. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing, till they arrive at six years old, except where they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier, during which time, they can however be properly looked upon only as probationers.
I am assured by my economic team of advisers that a boy or a girl before twelve years old is no salable commodity, so no taxes could be thereby generated; and even when they come to this age they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half-a-crown at most on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriment and rags having been at least four times that value.
I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by my nutrition specialists, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout. Parents who cannot feed their children should instead offer to sell them to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter. I have reckoned upon a medium that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, increaseth to 28 pounds. Surely that could feed many starving families.
So tax not the children. Bar-b-que them instead.
I am for taxes in general. Because I do ridiculous amounts of trades, I pay ridiculous amounts of taxes on sales of players. I do not believe that the country needs roads or police or decorated light poles adorned with tinsel and red, white and blue ribbons and whatnot. Taxes on sales are only used by lesser politicians wastefully. Starve them of funds, I say, and they will waste away. Or become lobbyists.
That said, I am wholly opposed to child selling taxes. Selling children can lead to no good - they'd just be bought by people, who would likewise have to support them, clothe them, feed them, shelter them, and listen to their mewling and incessant requests for Ipods and Nintendo DSi's and whatnot. I myself present a different option for your consideration.
The main question is how this growing country, which is fast becoming a third world economic power, shall provide for its children. Under the present situation of affairs, this is utterly impossible by all the methods we know. For we can neither employ them in handicraft or agriculture; we neither build houses (I mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a livelihood by stealing, till they arrive at six years old, except where they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments much earlier, during which time, they can however be properly looked upon only as probationers.
I am assured by my economic team of advisers that a boy or a girl before twelve years old is no salable commodity, so no taxes could be thereby generated; and even when they come to this age they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half-a-crown at most on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriment and rags having been at least four times that value.
I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will not be liable to the least objection. I have been assured by my nutrition specialists, that a young healthy child well nursed is at a year old a most delicious, nourishing, and wholesome food, whether stewed, roasted, baked, or boiled; and I make no doubt that it will equally serve in a fricassee or a ragout. Parents who cannot feed their children should instead offer to sell them to the persons of quality and fortune through the kingdom; always advising the mother to let them suck plentifully in the last month, so as to render them plump and fat for a good table. A child will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends; and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish, and seasoned with a little pepper or salt will be very good boiled on the fourth day, especially in winter. I have reckoned upon a medium that a child just born will weigh 12 pounds, and in a solar year, if tolerably nursed, increaseth to 28 pounds. Surely that could feed many starving families.
So tax not the children. Bar-b-que them instead.
You must think starvation is funny. The only person I know that doesn't need to eat is Chuck Norris. He doesn't need nutrition - he suffices on his own. Rather, food hides in his belly for protection.
at least your last post was only 2 lines long almost died from boredom reading the other posts. But im so nosey i had to read them all
Acknowledge, if you please, that an interest in poetry completely precludes me from consideration as your NT coach. Herein review the evidence and marvel at my incompetence.
One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back-to-back they faced one another,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came and shot the two dead boys.
A paralyzed donkey walking by,
Kicked the copper in the eye,
Sent him through a rubber wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.
(If you don't believe this lie is true,
Ask the blind man -- he saw it too!)
Speaking of shooting (see italics above), did you know that Chuck Norris can shoot down laser beams by pointing his finger and saying "Bang!"
One bright day in the middle of the night,
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back-to-back they faced one another,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
One was blind and the other couldn't see,
So they chose a dummy for a referee.
A blind man went to see fair play,
A dumb man went to shout "hooray!"
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
And came and shot the two dead boys.
A paralyzed donkey walking by,
Kicked the copper in the eye,
Sent him through a rubber wall,
Into a dry ditch and drowned them all.
(If you don't believe this lie is true,
Ask the blind man -- he saw it too!)
Speaking of shooting (see italics above), did you know that Chuck Norris can shoot down laser beams by pointing his finger and saying "Bang!"
please run for NT. Someone with a modicum of sense has to do it !
Think you might have missed the point of the thread ;-)
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