Well hello there.
I see you've caught me staring off into the distance as I wrap up my glorious Summer of Berbatude. While less debonair footballers labored in the hot Brazilian sun, I continued to leisurely traverse the globe on my never-ending erotic adventures, which I will now share to make you feel jealous. Ha-HA!
We begin at a beach resort that has firmly requested I not mention their name ever again. I assumed this resort, like most, was on a bottomless beach. But several unnecessarily agitated people claiming to be employees of the establishment attempted to argue that this wasn't the case. I explained that I only brought sunglasses, a trilby, a shirt with the top seven buttons undone and a wide array of socks, so their policies were irrelevant. Yet they insisted on being unreasonable and demanded that both I and my cousin, Timitar Berbatov, leave the premises immediately. Coincidentally, Timitar caused a severe hair clog in the resort's hot tub, so we were ready to move on to a facility with heartier drainage system anyway.
Inspired by the artistic genius of our time, Shia LaBeouf, I hired out a New York City art gallery and spent several weeks sitting on a leather couch holding this exact pose. Timitar would invite people into the gallery free of charge to view the "art" and once inside, they would find The Berba in black and white, beckoning them towards me with a wink I later realized was obscured by my dark sunglasses. Most people left as soon as I would shatter the silence with a sensual "Ha-HA!" but once word of our project spread throughout the local vagrant community, a good time was had by all.
Through several rounds of trial and disastrous error, I have discovered that inflatable ice baths can also be filled with clarified mayonnaise and fondue. Feels divine, tastes even better. Ha-HA!
Throughout the summer, I sent several hundred selfies of me wearing sunglasses and Monaco apparel to various club officials in a subtle effort to get them to let me wear my eye dimmers during matches this season. None of them replied and a few changed their phone numbers, but I remain hopeful that my wish will be granted.
Since joining Monaco, Prince Albert has, of course, become a dear friend. In fact, our bond has become so strong that, unbeknownst to him, I often use his palace as a set for experimental films when he's out of town. After taking this selfie, I offered him a role in one of my films and he pretended to be very upset, making unprovable accusations of ruining several of his carpets with mysterious stains. But this is just how princes like us joke with each other. The next time he finds a plus-sized mannequin dressed as a genderless pleasurebot in his pool, he will laugh. And then I will come out from behind the curtains and laugh. And Timitar will emerge from under a soiled rug with his camera, but he will remain silent because he has not laughed since he was three.
The eventful and exhausting Summer of Berbatude is over now, though. It is time again to buckle down, score mesmerizing goals, seduce you, score more goals, sit in an aging fondue bath, and all while exerting the least amount of energy humanly possible. You can't see it, but I'm winking at you from behind my sunglasses. And if you could see it, it would make you feel rather saucy. Ha-HA!
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...
- - - - - - -