Frankie Crisp

Llangollen.

If you’re reading this on your phone, put it in your mouth and try to bite through it. That’s what eating those hash browns was like.

2/10. Shite.

Imagine if Reigns goes over, though.

Just a reminder for anyone who hasn’t yet voted but wants to - polls close on Wednesday evening.

350 yards.

Aside from the mess they’ve made, this just made me laugh.

Putting out a 90-second video to hype the press conference with their big boys and my only takeaway was Paul Heyman getting off the plane like a dad who had too many drinks on the flight and doesn’t know if he’s landed in Las Vegas or Lanzarote.

29 minutes ago, Loki said:

At the risk of sounding boring, the login issues are also why the Ouija thing doesn't really work - even if their account was set up to email them when they're mentioned, it's an account they presumably forgot all about and hence couldn't log in.

 

True and a good point, but they could also receive an email if they did set up the alerts and whilst they may not choose to follow up or be unable to - for whatever reason - it may give them a lift knowing people are concerned for/asking after them.

I think it’s why @Undefeated Steak has been tagged in this thread a few times. I don’t think he was connected to other forum members via socials so when he stopped posting, nobody could check in on him on behalf of the forum. I know he had some problems around the time he last posted so I really hope he’s okay.

4 minutes ago, SuperBacon said:

@Tommy! @Butch2000 you good lads?

I'm seeing Butch on Sunday for Superbowl beers so I'll pass on your regards if he doesn't pop his head in here.

Everyone knows about Mike Parry, right?

He did this as if it was genuine - trying to up his online presence - but was understandably bubbled for it being a work.

Thank fuck he’s from Chester so he can’t claim he’s one of ours.

Double Jimmy.

5 hours ago, SuperBacon said:

Well, sit next to him on a bus to Birmingham at least.

It’s why I lit it, @gmoney!

Double post crank, but I’ve had two JFCs today.

1. I’ve been in this flat for two days and have already blocked the toilet twice

2. I’ve just recommended gingerbread-scented candles to three different human beings

I don’t know which is worse.

Blaze Foley - Sittin’ by the Road. It flies by and is wonderful.

I moved into some temporary digs on Sunday whilst my bonehead building managers sort out issues at home. I’m ashamed to say it’s taken me 48 hours to visit the chippy which is 350 yards away. 

It’s meant to be the best chippy in Toxteth, but I wanted to be the judge of that.

They may be right, because that was tremendous.

The sausage isn’t anaemic, it’s just under the kitchen light. The pie was exactly as it should be - piping hot and soft but with a firm crust - and the peas, chips and gravy were a dream. Less than a fiver, too!

It’s my duty to try all of the other locals, but this will take some beating.

350 yards, though. This might be the boost the Cardioace shareholders have been waiting for.

I had a couple of dalliances with the bizzies in my late teens/early twenties.

One was when I was with my first serious girlfriend, when we were having a night out with her mates in the local boozer. She had a male mate who’d come out a few months earlier and we chatted for ages about how brave he was - this was 2000 so it wasn’t as acceptable to many in society as now. He was about 18 so I thought the world of him for his decision, which turned a lot of his college mates against him.

Prior to this night out, my then girlfriend told me she’d been out bra shopping and this kid and he’d been telling her which were and weren’t making her tits look good. I wasn’t arsed about that, but fast forward to this night out and one of her mates overhead him saying he wasn’t gay, but was using that as a line to get near to girls. I flipped.

At that age, I wasn’t a big fat get like I am now and a set of scales would have barely recognised me. But this lad was smaller! As we were outside, my ridiculously insecure masculinity convinced me to handle him. I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and put him up against the Kwik Save window. The intention was just to scare him. The window shattered. I didn’t have any strength but I’m convinced they went out of business because they scrimped on glazing.

Anyway, we legged it. Everyone just scattered and we all lost contact. I rang and rang and rang my girlfriend’s phone and she kept buttoning me. This was when you had a PAYG phone and it cost an extra 20p to go over the character limit on text messages, so my pleas asking her to forgive and contact me were fucked.

There was no way I was knocking on at her house. Her Dad was a bizzie and an awful prick, but one of her mates messaged me and said they’d gone to hers. I walked up, thinking I was going to have a big cuddle and cry and heart-to-heart, but instead I got there and the coppers were waiting. Setup.

I got put in the car, was taken to the local station and got the full treatment. They took the laces out of my trainers so I didn’t hang myself. After the biggest bollocking you could imagine, they let me go but I had to agree to meet their colleagues at the Kwikkie the next morning to apologise and agree to pay for the damage. As a temp on a shit wage, I spent the next three years funding a new window in a shit supermarket. 

The other one. Christ. I went to Uni in Sheffield and within a few weeks I met the girl who would take my virginity and start a love/hate relationship with for a number of months. I threw up on her during sex once, so she had good cause.

We were a nightmare. Sex, love, arguing, falling out then petty acts to piss each other off. Rinse and repeat.

There were plenty of incidents of us winding each other up after an argument - taking each other’s CDs, padlocking wardrobes shut, emptying fridges etc. But one time, after a major bust-up and when she owed me a few quid, one of my mates who was her housemate, let me into her room.

I took her telly.

I left a note along the lines of ‘you’ll get your telly back when I get my money back’ and then gleefully walked down Ecclesall Road with a telly with a massive arse, thinking I was the business. It didn’t do much for the Liverpool stereotype. It was a mile walk home and I was fucked when I got there.

Smugly waiting for a call or text to resolve it, there was a knock on the door. Plod. I had to explain the whole story to these two knobheads who told me to take it back and they’d forget the matter. I asked them for a lift, but as Scousers and South Yorkshire Police didn’t exactly get on back then, I had to walk all the way with it only to be greeted by these two pricks and the on/off girlfriend who couldn’t hide their joy.

I was humiliated and raging, but my final interaction with her was a few weeks later. She bounced into the Roxy nightclub at the end of the night, bumped into me and immediately put the lips on me, after apologising for how she handled it.

Little did she know, I’d just been on the stage and had been fed a tin of cat food by Reg Holdsworth, so my breath tasted like death.

Glory days.

Requesting adoption at 44. Didn’t see that coming.

Okay, this might be a bit of a ramble but I’ll hopefully get there in the end.

The husband of a near life-long friend of mine was diagnosed with MND just over 18 months ago. As you can imagine, it’s completely devastated and destroyed their day-to-day lives. Shortly after his diagnosis, Fraser (Frae) started a campaign to raise awareness via his incredible artwork but also to raise money for the Irish Motor Neurone Disease Association (IMNDA), which he, his friends and family have done and then some.

I last saw Frae in May, at which point he was in his bed and just about able to communicate with his own voice. It was tough to talk with him but he managed to get a few words out - laid up in his bed - and despite being utterly trapped in his body, he told me how happy he was that I’d met my girlfriend. Told me ‘it’s about time and you deserve it’, in the weakest possible voice. I wished him farewell and absolutely lost it outside.

Since then, they sourced some EyeGaze technology which - despite Frae being locked in a bed and a body - allowed him to use his eyes to design and set up a clothing and art brand. The man cannot physically move and he’s done this, with proceeds going to the IMNDA. 

So, the point of this post? Frae wanted to reward his close friends who have been invaluable in keeping the family going. They have 24-hour support and are burning through cash to provide it like you wouldn’t believe. But they have some friends and family who’ve kept them going through this ordeal. They have a little girl who is trying to comprehend what’s happening to her Dad and what will be next.

Frae wanted to thank a particular group of friends who have kept them going. The days when they think he’ll take his last breath, they’ll ring these friends and they’ll immediately drop everything to go round, do what they can and take their daughter away from the potential end.

These friends are Liverpool fans and Frae wanted to box them off with a ticket to the match. He wanted to say thank you to them before he passes. They only wanted to watch the match. Phone calls and emails happened and because of Frae’s story, the club arranged for these friends - the ones who’ve kept his family going throughout this cruelty - to go to the match on New Year’s Day. But with a full stadium tour, big meal and the best seats in the house. The live video of their mate and his kids having the time of their lives, thanks to a dying man, will stay with me forever.

Today, though, Frae’s wife sent me a message showing that Jurgen Klopp had written him a very personal letter.

I’ve blurred it because the internet is a weirdo, but this has genuinely made him, his wife and child feel a million dollars as they prepare for his passing.

In the last few days, Frae has lost his core strength so is now 100% lying in a bed. He’s not left his house in 7 months and is able to breathe and swallow, but nothing else. He can’t talk or hold his daughter.

I don’t think for one second anyone on here would be tribalistic about this, but Liverpool FC have helped a man who cannot move provide a dream day for their friends and their manager has gone out of his way to write a personal - and bloody emotional - letter that has probably given that family the boost they needed.

It made me smile, more than I have done in years.

Yeah, too late for this set of awards but we can finish the Tory next year.

Cark Weathers.

I think we need to prepare ourselves for Conor Bradley becoming the best right back in the world.

Also, the @SuperBacon derby won me twenty three quid!

7 minutes ago, Hannibal Scorch said:

People voting for Nick Aldi’s over anyone in this list (especially RJ City) is proof of how Brexit happened.

Nick Aldi’s makes me think of JTTS with some cheese at self-checkout.

You could have at least called her Grammar Foggy.