Dimitar Berbatov is…The Continental

Brooks Peck
Dirty Tackle

Well hello there.

I see you've caught me casually standing around in my new Fulham kit. I know it's been far too long since I last came around to seduce you with my cousin Timitar Berbatov ready to film it all from angles only seen in medical documentaries, but that's only because I've spent the summer teasing football clubs across Europe with the chance to get a taste of Berba-bilities. Of course, several clubs were upset when they lost out on the chance to tie down my wanton and refined, yet alluringly animalistic style of being. This was to be expected and is surely a feeling towards The Berba that you have also experienced. Ha-HA! ... No, I'm not flexing right now. This is natural definition.

So after a very sensual and liberated courting period, I have decided to return to London and sign for this club that I will eventually remember the name of. Why? Mostly because they presented me with a shirt that says "SexPro" across the front. You should find that obvious revelation quite exciting. ... Oh, it doesn't say "SexPro," you claim? Well it will once I find a red marker. Ha-HA!

I also joined this club so I could be reunited with Martin Jol, who has the finest collection of 1970s erotic Dutch watercolors on his street. If you like, we can drop by for a private viewing and then retire to a railway station to spend the night laughing at strangers? I'll take your exaggerated gag reflex as a "maybe."

Now that I have finally broken free from the unarousing restraints of Sir Alex Ferguson, I feel full of vigor. I feel reborn -- and it's not just because I'm inexplicably sticky right now. He refused to play me. He told me I was useless. And I told him his wife didn't agree. Ha-HA! But in all honesty, I didn't say goodbye to him and I don't even know if he has a wife. If he does, she probably finds my sideburns quite attractive, though. Judging by the way you keep backing away from me, it appears you do too. Ha-HA!

Oh-OHHH! I just realized I left several pairs of mayonnaise filled gloves back in Manchester and another on the plane that was supposed to take me to Florence and three more in a KFC bathroom. Oh, this is terrible! Oh, what will I- OK, I just realized you walked away several minutes ago. I will prove my charming patience by waiting here for you to return. Please bring me back a Fanta.

Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...

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