Some faniciful musings have been posted about the events of last sunday and I thought that regular readers might appreciate the true events of Box on the Docks 6. I arrived at the venue to my normal reception: red carpet, topless 18 year-old scattering rose petals at my feet whilst trumpeters play Trumpet Voluntary to announce my arrival. I was hastened to my dressing room (complete with a bowl of red M&M's and iced Evian) to await proceedings. Flamengo continually tried to call me but I was able to avoid his desperate attempts to join the in-crowd. Unfortunately during the night I had to make use of the toilet facilities and there I spotted a desperate looking chap who looked like a cross between the Lords of Flatbush and Baldrick from Blackadder, clearly turning tricks for $5 a 'head' if you get my drift. Noticing the IBO badge on my Studio Italia suit which is more than likely worth more than the car that this poor schmo drives. It was unfortunately Flame who then asserted all his influence to get himself seated next to the involuntarily bulemic head of another organisation who acquanted himself by puking all over Flames $2 service sneakers. A great night of fights, met some great people as well as Flame who quite obviously is a bigger **** than Leon
As I just explained to Flamengo - some scurrilous person has hacked my account and posted the above... in the words of Shaggy "It wasn't me!"
Luckily an anonymous source has just emailed me Phils first draft rescued from a bin so I shall be posting it up a little later.
Folks... To clarify things further, Phil Austin did arrive in formidable style... the Handicap Bus must have felt luxurious with only one window licker onboard?? Dressed in the finest of suits, shoes, hair combed back, steely grin and pleasent manner, the re-enactment of a typical funeral was a likely scene... Feeling slightly concerned about future happenings through the night, and ill internally, I was to follow him into the Shed 14 venue... seek him out with terrible failure.. ring his mobile again and again without answer, all in the attempt to warn him of a single relevant FACT relating to my seating position for the night!!!! Having no success in finding Phil, the obvious choice was to assume he'd been kidnapped by the '***** Eye for an IBO Guy' squad. Assuming Old Mans seat at ringside, the evening flowed as smoothly as the blood from Houmono's nose... With dinner served, conversing with the Head of one of the finer governing bodies was disrupted by a sudden look of disbelief on his face, a paled exterior and the gurgling sounds of "Hideous ****ing Tie That ****s Wearing...." as he violently threw up, whilst pointing towards the other side of the ring.. In direct line at Phantom Phil Austin. It appears Phantom Phil had been to the local phone booth to change into his IBO costume.. complete with underpants on the outside.. No pants could cover underpants that size anyway..
Good to see you made it home after having your vagina waxed pal! I see that having been 'trained' by entire crews of visiting US warships has left both your eyesight and memory a little the worse for wear! That's OK I'm sure your mum still thinks you're special - or would have done had she not left you in a dumpster as child as the phrase "A face only a mother could love" was disproved once and for all
Mum did leave me with a farewell letter.. in the form of a postcard recieved 18 years later... "Having a great time, wish you were here.." No address supplied.?? I cant work it out...
