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The Inverterbrates are coming aren’t they? The Lizards. The men that have no soul. The War Pigs. I’m walking the dogs down the road to the canal and a van goes past and some comedian shouts something about Wolves with Fuck words and hand signals and he nearly fell out of his van. I had my wolves scarf on. The Lizards.  We’ve got a stick and we are poking their shitty little nests of cash they hide in. Allo? Allo? It’s us…..Wolves…poke poke poke.

Now these motherfuckers are starting to show their horrible little faces. The Coaches from other teams have things to say, things to do with us. We occupy their minds now and they are threatened. They are starting to make contingency plans for us. There in their little pea heads the plans stew and cook like bitter flavour for their bitter little lives. I am happy. What’s the remedy troops? How do we respond to this in the interwebz. We inform these motherfuckers of the truth thats all. Define your arguments, research your facts and bombard the ignorant with our thought and our intelligence regardless of the insult and the cack gif warfare. We must respond in the way our team does in matches, with skill and with reasoned debate…kind of, well not debate but maybe…I dunno. You know what I mean.

Cheeky bastards. ‘Let them have their day in the sun’ one said. A Cockney Red. Two words that make your throat feel like it’s got a fucking frozen fish finger in it. They make you look at your kids wondering if they are really yours, like walking past a cemetery while there’s a funeral going on. Day in the sun my arse, who the fuck do you think you are? You’ve had your day in the sun pal, spunk 90 million squid on a player. Oh God I can’t even talk about them and I know motherfuckers who used to drive up to Old Trafford to watch Manchester United from Wolverhampton. They were ‘Wolves fans who just liked to watch good football’ they said, The fucking animals. Now they keep popping up talking about Wolves a fucking lot. Lizards man, they could be standing next to you right now.

It’s going to keep happening as well and I’m not looking forwards to it. It’s going to be intense on a packed train and some lollipop having ‘banter’ says ‘yer well you’ve bought the title haven’t you?’ and theres no red mist, no getting your skin ready and thinking about where you are going to chop him.

It’s cool man. Because we are the fucking big monkey now. We are the big rich smelly ape on the squashiest, comfiest bit of the shitty jungle. We are the ones that are sitting in the sun while some underling (BCFC) picks the fleas off our ball sack. Being the Big Fucking Monkey B.F.M feels good and positive to me. Yeah it was dark in the jungle with the rest of the mange ridden outcasts trying to get a shag before Big Fucking Monkey saw us….well F.B.F.M (Former big fucking monkey) ie the current Premiership sides, their fans aren’t happy. The little monkeys are gibbering in fact and it’s disturbing our happy time in the sunlight chilling. Their gibbering is loud and soon the Big Monkey is going to get pissed off and he’ll make sure the little monkeys never get a chance to pick his ball sack ever again.

The JAMS and their little monkeys eh. I can’t wait to smash them in their own grounds. Watch their sad little faces file out all glum and miserable while I’m laughing half pissed with two hookers in an executive box because I sold loads of tshirts and books and stickers and now I’m rich and lads and lasses I swear I’m not going to waste a penny. My life.