Well

Wrothscientists have now proved beyond all doubt that the storms, which most people naturally assume are due to gay marriage or foreigners, are actually an expression of God's displeasure at Hootun playing Snodgrass every single minute of every single game. Of course he could stop doing this, the weather would revert to "changeable; possibly nippy later" and we'd all be happy. But due to the ineffable incompetence of anyone who isn't the wroth poster posting at the moment, things will escalate until there's an apocalypse. There's already been an odd looking chap called "Pestilence" on a horse near Upton Dyke, for example. I'm not sure what the horse is called. Anyway, the world will end forty days and forty nights from now, when forty points will just have become mathematically impossible. The wroth poster posting at the moment is the only human with the knowledge to prevent this. But will the f**kers listen?

Posted By: Old Man on February 12th 2014 at 20:06:16


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