Well hello there.
I see you've caught me pointing to a Berba-babe after scoring an erotic backheel goal. Let's hope she's not an undercover police officer like the last one. Ha-HA! But seriously, I don't have eyes for any Berba-beauties except you. And her. And maybe her. Actually, no, not her. That's a Santa Claus.
As for the obvious matter at hand, yes, my widow's peak is looking tremendous and my hair is standing erect because The Berba is reborn! Ha-HA! And because I took a handful of male enhancement pills before the match. ... No, not because I need them. The Berba is always full of vigor. And a wide array of jams. I take them because they help me pass the time while I sit on the bench and text message humorous anecdotes followed by my name to Sir Alex Ferguson just to remind him that I exist. But no more! After playing the final 13 minutes in a 5-0 match and scoring with a sensual backheel, I will surely regain my place as the most important and effortlessly cool member of the starting XI. And once that happens, I just might let you show me your classiest edible lingerie. Ha-HA!
Oh-OHHH! The stunning Berba-babe I've been pointing to for the last 17 minutes straight just turned around to show me that she's wearing the name "Giggs" on her back! Oh, this is a blow that will torment me for the next five, maybe six seconds! Oh, I'm pretty sure that's not even a real Manchester United player! Oh, this is terrible. So what's your car phone number?
Join us again next time for anther chapter in the life of...The Continental...
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