"Ah, Mr Docherty. I've been expecting you". A large leather swivel chair was placed in the centre of the dressing room. It swung round to reveal the smirking face of Richard Littlejohn, a huge white cat ensconced in his lap. "In fact I've been fingering my pussy in anticipation". He said stroking the large feline. Hawkeye sniggered.
"Enough" he started "Now it's time I revealed my darker purpose". "Do your worst Littlejohn. Little Adidas would die for me". Docherty said. "A-ha". said Littlejohn "That is where you are wrong. Why would I ever want to hurt my HALF SISTER!?" Docherty reeled in shock. "Yes Alex. Look within your heart. You know it to be true. You are my father" Docherty stammered: "But..But... How?" Littlejohn wandered slowly around the dressing-room toying with a discarded sock here and a greying jock-strap there. He went on calmly: "The bomb which ended the life of my mother, tea lady Maisie McStrocher also, ironically, began mine. I was torn from my mothers womb prematurely but, in a weird twist of fate, I survived as I suffer from the rare medical condition - Accelerated Growth Syndrome." The assembled team, arriving for morning training, gasped. Littlejohn ignored them as he continued: "In the space of a mere two weeks I had the body and mind of a 48 year old tabloid journalist. And now I intend to use my grotesque form for one purpose and one purpose only. To destroy the man who brought me into this world!" The team looked on in appalled fascination as Littlejohn produced a gun from under his stomach. "And now, Mr Docherty, I expect you to DIE!" "NEIN!" Kurt Hitler yelled, picking up the magic sponge bucket: "Take this Englischer Sweindhunt!" "No!" Littlejohn screamed "If you strike me down I will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine!" With that the semi-reformed National Socialist threw the bucket of water over the Refugee baiting journo. "Arrrgh!" Screamed Littlejohn "What have you done, you nasty Nazi!. I'm melting! Melting! What a world, what a world" The anal sex obsessed hack began to disappear until only his head remained in a pile of sports casual clothes. "You couldn't make it up!" He wailed and was gone forever. Docherty turned to the stereotypical German: "You've saved my life, Kurt. You're a hero" "Perhaps not" a frail voice spoke up from the assembled crowd. A small Jewish man stepped forward. "My name is Simon Weisanthal. That bloke who catches Nazis and that. And I'm here to arrest Kurt Hitler for crimes against humanity!" ----------------------------- Will Hitler be led to Tel Aviv to answer for his crimes before he can play in Brigadoon's vital league clash with Raith Rovers? How many more will die in a story with a bigger body count than Idi Amin? Is anyone else related to anyone else? Can I keep this up much longer? Will there be any actual football? Next Episode - Brigadoon Rovers vs Raith Rovers. To be continued... | |||
Editorial Team Ger Harley (ger@scottishfitba.net) |
