Following yesterday’s Tabloid revelation that Celtic, for once, never got their way over the execution of Dunfermline chairman John Yorkston, the east end of Weegieville was positively booming with the sound of irate knuckles being dragged towards keyboards.
Our inbox is bursting at the seams with semi-literate complaints from irate Timz, objecting to us highlighting what a sour faced bunch of humourless baboons they are. But worst of all seems to be our failure to worship the Divine St Martin O’Neill (peace be upon Him) as the new messiah and supreme leprechaun of all
“Yous are ol just hun basturts wi nae bus fehr!” (Daniel O’Donnell)
“You wee huns think yer funny but yous urny. Yous
“Mghhh…kill….basurs….mghhh…mammoth” (Ug the Wine Grape)
“Aye, you’s gerrit right up they fenian bassurs n’at. We arra peepel!” (Billy Burberry)
“How dare you! How dare you! I hope you go down, I really do. No-one, and I mean no-one, insults Celtic FC and gets away with it. A plague upon you and your town. I hope you all die in a freak yachting accident. Oo Ah up the RA” (M.O’Neill)
So there you have it. Poke a monkey with a stick, and it will bite, the evidence is here for all to see. Wrap it in a Tricolour or Union Jack, inside it’s still an ape struggling to walk upright, desperate to understand what a lightbulb is and how to use a knife and fork without hurting itself.
The Daily Tabloid would like to apologise to all the tribes of green cave-dwelling bigots offended by yesterday’s story, particularly for insinuating that Martin O’Neill (peace be upon Him) is not, in fact, divine, and that the world does not revolve around him and his club.
We would like to, but we’re not going to bother. So get it right up ye.