retired_hamawandi

April 14th 2012

Chez Dawson

Maniacal laughter swept through the grandiose corridors of Michaels large and overly spangly home.

A large parsnip rolled slowly down the hall, before dropping down the stairs.

Thump
Thump
Thump

Until it reached the bottom.

The maniacal laughter rang out again, and a small onion came wobbling down the hallway before dropping down the stairs in close pursuit of the parsnip.

Thump
Thump
Thump

It became clear that in the frenetic race between the vegetables, the parsnip was king.

The maniacal laughter grew louder and Michael arrived at the top of the grand staircase, ran down and confirmed on a little clipboard that the parsnip had beaten the onion. He sat on the bottom step and contemplated his life at the most rudimentary level.

It struck him.

He had no friends, which was illustrated quite clearly by the fact he was holding a vegetable race for the sake of amusement.

Why did he have no friends?

The answer came to him quite simply. Because he was too distant.

This was a situation to be rectified, and he decided that the first thing he would do upon resuming full training tomorrow would be to bond with his shamefully neglected team mates, who he'd met twice since his move.

Then there'd be no more vegetable races, and Michael would be popular again.

Would he?

retired_hamawandi

May 20th 2012

Chez Dawson

The curtain had closed on the season a few days before and Michael sat gazing out of the window. He noticed a familiar face staring back at him through the glass. He got up and walked slowly towards it, before realising it was a mirror.

Back in his seat he considered what had happened in the frenetic end of season survival race. After the win at Lincoln, he had been drafted straight into the first team for the next match against 13th placed Portsmouth, and had set up the only goal. This was the catalyst for the final three games, in which Spurs remained unbeaten, registering two draws and a win, enabling them to finish in a shameful, but better than relegation place of 16th.

He had to look forward to the next season now, as it looked unlikely that he would be picked for the European Championships.

Michaels eyes barely blinked when the roof of his sitting room fell in and two Bengal tigers locked in a death grip came careering down from the floor above. He sighed, and flicked a switch to reveal a secret opening beside the fireplace. The two tigers, confused, entered and found what they had been longing for, for weeks. Michaels secret Hippy Stash.

He closed the secret door, closed his eyes, and calmly fell asleep to the bloodcurdling sounds of Hippies being ripped to shreds.

retired_Kemp

Yeah, it's back

retired_hamawandi

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Doctor Who:
Yeah, it's back <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Cheers! Yes its back, but not for long as it is nearly finished!

Rich

retired_hamawandi

July 5th 2012

A Small Damp Bedsit in Clapham

Michael was sitting in a small damp bedsit in Clapham. He didn't really know why. He had gone out the night before to celebrate England winning in the European Championships. He recalled having a drink or two, and dancing on a car. Then he remembered a flah of light, and the uncomfortable smell of an unwashed beard.

He sat upright on the bed and thought about the last few weeks.

He hadn't been disappointed with his non-inclusion in the England squad, as he had reluctantly admitted that there were also other good players apart from him who could play at centre back. Instead, he had watched keenly as England thumped their way through the group phase before meeting Holland in the Quarter Final, who were dispatched on penalties after a tense 5-5 draw. The Semi Final brought in Romania, who were sent on their way with a 6-1 thumping, with Wayne Rooney notching his 98,99,100 and 101st England Goals. The Final wasn't the tight game that was anticipated, and the 'local derby' between England and Wales ended with a 4-0 victory to England.

Boy, he had a hell of a headache. What was making it worse, was that somewhere in the distance he could hear the song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, when the Dwarves return home from the Gold Mine and get scared by a bunch of stupid animals.

He put his boxer shorts on and looked for his clothes. What made the situation slightly awkward was that he seemed to be in possession of a small painted car, three matching socks, and a plastic jelly mould. These items perplexed Michael, and he tried desperately to put it all together but to no avail... The damp bedsit in Clapham, the lack of clothes...?

The door opened, and a small man with a large beard poked his head round the door.

Cor Blimey guv'nah, you still 'ere? You must be rich... do you want me to send another one in?

Another what? Michael retorted, I cant find my clothes by the way.

Another Dwarf, silly. You got through 5 last night, there's only Bashful and Sneezy left. And you pawned your clothes for an extra session with Dopey. I don't know where all that crap came from.

Oh poo, he was in a Dwarf Brothel. Gathering his plastic jelly mould, and other possessions, Michael ran out of the damp bedsit, hailed a cab and sped home.

He hoped vainly nobody had seen him, except that wasn't likely as he had quite clearly seen about 40 photographers standing outside the Brothel taking pictures. He prayed that they had been looking at something else, like the small heap of dog turd that had been festering under a nearby tree.

retired_jkat116

Wow. Enough said.

Actually maybe not - great stuff, I've spent time recently reading and catching up with it. A fantastic story.

KUTGW :thup:

retired_hamawandi

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by cantonaisgod:
Wow. Enough said.

Actually maybe not - great stuff, I've spent time recently reading and catching up with it. A fantastic story.

KUTGW :thup:<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Thanks for the compliment. I'm going to round it all off soon, so the story has a beginning, middle and an end and the circle can close.

Rich

retired_hamawandi

July 6th 2012

Dawson caught in Dwarf Brothel. Dopey Changes Name to 'Painful'

Yesterday, in the wake of Englands success in Euro 2012, Michael Dawson was spotted leaving a Dwarf brothel in the early hours of the morning. The recently revived centre back didn't comment on the incident, the manager, Doc said that he had run off without paying, and would be sending the Evil Stepmother and her team of bailiffs around in due course to extract the owed cash from Mr. Dawson. This is only the latest in a series of scandals that have beset Mr. Dawson over recent years, of which the most famous is his interruption of the Second Coming Of Christ, which was in no way his fault, but we'll blame him anyway.

Continued on every other page, in every newspaper, all week, in every country in the world.

B.Broomstick

retired_hamawandi

August 2012

planetfootball.com season predictions

Spurs have a wonderful history of mediocrity dotted with some occasional good bits. A few years ago they unexpectedly raged their way to the Premier Division title, and then... lost it. Nobody has been able to explain it exactly, apart from several journalists at The Daily Rhetoric who point to the malaise settling in when Michael Dawson joined the club from Valencia several years ago. The truth is, Mr. Dawsons off field headlines have severely damaged the credibility of Spurs, which may be a reason for yet another sharp decline. The latest Dwarf sex row has engulfed Dawson in another unwanted piece of media spectacle Spurs are keen to brush off.

Having made a few summer signings, such as Elliot Flint, a 21year old striker in the Michael Owen mould for £3.5m acquired from River Plate, and Helio Mariana, a defensive midfielder who can play on both sides, bought for £7.75m from Sporting Lisbon.

Perhaps Dawson will be the key. A charismatic operator off field, there is no doubt that he is a good defender, after all he was the catalyst for Spurs' escape from the drop zone towards the end of last season. It all depends heavily on him staying injury free, and not being assassinated/ getting caught with sexy dwarves/having celebrity girlfriends etc etc

planetfootball.com prediction: 14th

retired_hamawandi

May 2013

Chez Dawson

It had been a long old season. Michael had expected it to have been of a more rounded, or even ovaltine nature. Everyone else expected it to rather akin to the shape of a pear. Someone who didn't get that particular joke pretended that he did, and made a quip about it maybe being the shape of a small Pineapple. Nobody laughed at him, and as punishment he was sent to death at the Tower of London, where he is still waiting to be beheaded. This is because the executioner got the wrong bus, and then got the tube which stopped at Stockwell for a few hours before going back to South Wimbledon. Someone also lost the axe.

All this is by the by though. Michael sat with his new contract. A couple of years more he had earned with his sterling form this season. After fears of relegation the previous year, Spurs managed to finish a fairly creditable 5th. The defensive partnership of Dawson and Cross was rarely interrupted, and shockingly Dawson had been injusred only once, with a two-week hiatus for a groin strain. The report said it was suffered in training, but the papers all had pictures of him at the Dwarf Brothel again. He hadn't denied it, and was known to be one of the celebrity elite who enjoyed 'Dwarfisfaction'

His record for the season read

Played: 40 (2)
Goals: 3
Assists:9
MoM: 6
AvR: 7.66

It wasn't bad.

Michael sat back and threw another Butler in the fire. It was this new 'thing' he had. Ever since Hugh O'McScottish had eventually perished in an avalanche of Digestive Biscuits, Michael had felt an urge to burn people in crisply ironed suits.