February 28, 2011
Well hello there.
I see you've caught me preparing for this week's match against Chelsea. ... Yes, I prepare for big matches by flashing my chest at attractive women and sitting in front of a mirror and a painting of a fat horse. Does this excite you? Because it should. Ha-HA! ... You are, of course, correct. Other footballers actually train before big matches, but as the greatest goal scorer in Manchester United's history, The Berba doesn't require such silly exertions. I do, however, require cuddles from you.
Before you roll your eyes again and spray me with the bear mace I know you carry in your bum bag, you should know that if you agree to touch me, I will mention you when I am presented with the Premier League trophy, the Golden Boot award and the nude statue of me that will be built outside Old Trafford. I can't promise I'll get your name right because there are so many Berba-babes that I have come into erotic contact with over the years, but- ... No, I won't name the other right now. ... No, not even one. I feel you are focusing on the wrong aspects of what I'm saying here. Perhaps we should just get to the cuddling? I have an old jar of mayonnaise here...
Oh-OHHH! Oh, what was that?! Oh, did you just have Ashley Cole shoot me with an air rifle?! Oh, that stings so much! Please, tell the press that blood is profusely trickling out of my pelvis and if he had shot with a weapon that is actually deadly, I would surely be dying a very sensual and erotic death at this point. Oh, I don't know if I can handle this mild and quickly lessening pain. Now, please...you should feel obligated to kiss my small wound until it begins to scab over.
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...
Photo: OK Magazine