Dimitar Berbatov puts Fergie under his spell. (Getty)
Well hello there.
I see you've caught me in your office, bearing the gift of my presence and my musky, Vin Diesel-like scent. ... Who am I? Judging by my decidedly unsexy lack of playing time, I thought you might have forgotten. I am Dimitar. Dimitar Berbatov. Or, as all the Berba-babes call me: "What Are You Doing Under My Sink?!" Ha-HA!
You're surprised I'm still with the club? Again, I assumed as much. After all, a manager of your pedigree would never knowingly leave his club's greatest ever scorer of erotic goals on the bench for months at a time. Especially in favor of someone who was so jealous of my widow's peak that he had a pubic wig affixed to his head and a child with 1990's hair and the same number of goals as me but in twice as many matches. ... See, you cannot explain this. Or you've just spotted the mayonnaise overflowing from my coat pocket like creamy champagne from a clogged hot tub filter. ... I'll take that disgusted look to mean that you're suddenly regretting your decision to overlook me. And that you're jealous of my mayonnaise pocket. Ha-HA!
Since we're both busy men -- you with managing the 19-time league champions and me with painting nude self-portraits -- I'll get to the point of my visit. If I am to stay with this club, I require more playing time. I also require a VIP lounge installed in the shower room and all of my kits to be made of silk. Should you fail to deliver these requirements, I will have no choice but to seduce a gorgeous woman who looks exactly like you. I bet you're feeling jealous of me already. Ha-HA!
Oh-OHHH! I have just realized that you've been ignoring me this entire time! Oh, this level of disrespect is only slightly arousing and completely expected considering the fact that I've been speaking at a volume that I hoped you could not hear. Once you see the painting I put above your mantle, I'm sure you will decide to meet all my requirements on your own.
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...
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