16th April 2003 If you were to press for my opinion on the general situation vis a vis the league standings, my carefully considered reply would be that Newcastle are a spent force and will be lucky not to be relegated; that I agree with Santa that Arsenal cannot afford Winston Bogarde, let alone John Terry; that both United and Arsenal are also spent forces and that the title is ours for the taking. I think you will therefore agree that silence can often be golden, especially in my case. Toodle Pip ! 1st April 2003 Before I forward this latest slur on my integrity to my solicitors, Messrs Carnt & Mudie of Fulham, I will give my readers another chance to see for themselves the horrifying incapacitation of the mind that affects a man who, accustomed to a never-ending round of wood alcohol, opium and ten dollar hookers, is suddenly subjected to the sordid reality of soiled nappies, projectile vomit and sleep deprivation. Read on if you can face it.. 14th March 2003 Frankly I found myself dealing with intellectual pygmies, and the whole exercise proved to be a waste of time, but in order to salvage what I can from a hopeless situation I will print the article here, as I believe that some of my readers may appreciate it, and thus my time will not have been completely wasted. Incidentally, the story is mainly true, i.e. only slightly embellished.. Good day. My nephew, George, attends the same school in Oxford as Martin
the Neanderthal's kid. I will be frank with you: George had been something
of a disappointment to me until recently, exhibiting worrying transvestite
tendencies, going on about doing the washing up and generally behaving like
a cissy of the highest order. When I was his age I was roaming the streets looking for pensioners to mug,
but George is very different; he refuses to join his Uncle in swearing
contests, and doesn't like football. I was beginning to think that nothing
could save the kid from becoming another Quentin Crisp. I had occasion to change my opinion of him, however, when I attended the
school's sports day during the summer. I immediately spotted the lout
Keown, who was watching the egg and spoon race, and decided, as anyone
would, to get his angle on a few of his more notorious on-pitch exploits. As I got to within a couple of feet of Mr Keown, George's blasted mother,
who it turns out had been keeping an eye on me, materialised at my side and
pulled me away before I could say anything. Now I admit to having had a
couple of sherbet dabs and a tot or two of Pimms, but I absolutely refute
the suggestion that I was drunk, or even merry, for that matter, so to
discover that I was being secretly chaperoned by my own sister was, to say
the least, galling. I protested, of course, and Keown looked round to see what the fuss was
about. I just had time to yell that I wanted a word with him, and would see
him later, before my sister hustled me away. In the ensuing madness of wheelbarrow racing, cream teas and Pimms I clean
forgot about Keown, but as I was taking a fond leave of George that
evening, he winked at me and said "Don't worry, Unc, we'll get Keown's kid
later. I've already taken a dump in his walkman headphones, and a few of us
are
going to pin him down and put toothpaste in his eyes after prep." The most intelligent replies I have received from the denizens of the Arsenal Message Board are "did any1 actually read dis crap" and "Shut up you cunt". I rest my case.... 11th March 2003 Some of my sharper readers will have noticed that I have made no mention of the fact that we have yet to meet Arsenal in the replay, but I thought it not worth mentioning due to the fact that it is a foregone conclusion that Chelsea will win. Arsenal are clearly a spent force. In fact the only prize I can see them winning this season is the inaugaural Laughable Excuses Cup, sponsored by Welsh badger-worrier Ron Davies, upon which they have an almost unassailable hold due to French surrender-monkey Arse's constant griping. I would like to make it quite clear to all my readers that there is absolutely no truth in the rumour that Arse is a paedo. Speaking of perverts, Dr Les has been in contact and is not too happy with Francis Jeffers - in fact it is true to say that he is spitting mad to the point where he has even neglected to have a go at yours truly. His letter is so full of poison that in fairness I must advise my readers that on no account should they follow this link. 21st February 2003 You would think that life could hardly get better, but before we could draw breath we were confronted with the best news of all: the FA Cup draw against Arsenal. The only cloud on the horizon is that all this rumpus has awoken the beast - yes that's right, Dr Les has emerged from the hole where he has been suckling his progeny, Osgood (cue scary music). His latest diatribe bears all the hallmarks of a sick mind, and should be viewed with extreme caution. Do not say I didn't warn you..
4th February 2003 In the sea of madness that comprises this depressing scenario, the one island of sanity is that, in an all-too-brief lucid moment, Les decided to name the kid Osgood. It brings me little pleasure to reflect that with the parenting skills of Dr Les the unfortunate Osgood will almost certainly be banged up for crack dealing within ten years. Interestingly, I recall that only a few short years ago Les was a surly, spotty youth with a "fuck off" haircut, who went round claiming to all who would listen (nobody) that "no bitch will ever tame me". How the mighty are fallen, and all that... 29th January 2003 Speaking of bitches, I've received another panful of putrid effluent - ludicrously masquerading as common sense - from that ingrate Dr Les. This time he has added slander (or is it libel ? who the fuck cares ? My solicitors will work it out !) to the long list of crimes that he has committed against yours truly. Fear not, he will get his soon, and it will not be pretty. Read on, as I need all the witnesses I can get... 20th January 2003 I don't see this as anything to worry about in the long run. Although losing the game in the dying seconds was painful, we should take comfort in the fact that we had previously been privileged to watch Chelsea achieve ninety-three minutes of almost complete domination of a team that is supposed to be the only credible challenger to Arsenal's title. So you will not be hearing any defeatist talk on this site. I've never seen Chelsea play better as a team than they are at the moment. Claudio is God, Gallas is King and Cudicini is the best keeper since Bonetti, ignoring a couple of uncharacteristic howlers recently. Do not write off Chelsea's chances of snatching the title either. In fact, I am off down to Mr Ladbroke's emporium right now to put Dr Les' shirt on it... 17th January 2003 Dr Les, unfortunately, seems to have got his nappy in a twist about the fact that I have been keeping my own counsel, and has taken it upon himself to condemn my silence in the strongest possible terms. I will say nothing, other than it will add considerable grist to my solicitors' mill. Read on if you must. 9th January 2003 "Hi Priesty, I'm 16 and have been a chelsea fan for as long as I can remember. I just had to email to tell you that this is the best Chelsea website I've found so far on the web - I mean the official one is good for getting tickets etc., but it's too busy trying to sell stuff to you." On a less vain note, it occurs to me that Dean Windarse is a complete tosser, as well as being a donkey of the highest order. I wonder if this has occurred to any other Chelsea fans ? 6th January 2003 Shame on all the doubters who are boring everyone who will listen with dire predictions that it is all over for Chelsea's chances of the title. I see it as my duty to inform these contemptible quitters that their jaundiced worldview is singularly unwelcome chez Priesty's. On an even more unsavoury note, my erstwhile friend and colleague Dr Les is also up in arms, mostly for the usual piffling and inappropriate reasons, but this time he has gone too far. Quite apart from his normal nonsense, Les has seen fit, with hugely misjudged bravado (due, no doubt, to a frightening intake of drugs and alcohol) to make defamatory allegations pertaining to my recent absence from the site. This charlatan seems to imagine that he is immune from the laws of libel and slander, which is good news for my solicitors, Messrs Carnt and Mudie of Fulham, who have been instructed to pursue Les in the courts until he makes a full retraction of these malicious allegations and pays me considerable compensation. Meanwhile I will let my readers judge for themselves the sanity of this odious quack, but I should warn you that it will take a strong stomach. Previous rants
© 1996-2003
Priesty's Chelsea FC Refuge.
They Also Serve Who Stand And Wait
The fact that there has been no update for a while should not be construed as anything more than that I am waiting for something to happen that is worth writing about. I am acutely aware that Dr Les will have his own views as to the level of interest generated by current footballing events, but I like to think that I am a lot older, if not wiser, than the excitable quack.
Sex and Drugs and Dr Les
The execrable Dr Les is up to his old tricks again, this time in some style. Once again he is flirting with legal suicide as he continues his slanderous attempts to link me, Priesty, with recreational drugs. I can categorically assure my readers that, apart from a regrettable Gripe Water overdose at the age of six months, I have never been rendered insensible by any drug, which is a good deal more than you can say for Dr Les.
Priesty In Hostile Territory
In a recent quiet moment, I decided to attend the BBC's laughable 606 Arsenal Message Board, in order to size up the opposition. I shouldn't have bothered, really; the board in question appears to be inhabited solely by cretins of the first water. I nevertheless placed an article on the board to see whether there was even one person of wit with whom I could have a bit of banter. No, don't laugh..
Jeffers Goes Down Quicker Than Kings Cross Brass Shocker
An excellent match at Arsenal on Saturday, made all the better by the look on Arse Winger's face at the end - the classic "mouth like a cat's arse", normally practised so effortlessly by Lord Fergie of Old Troughford. What's more, we are to entertain Sheffield United in the semi-final, meaning of course that the Cup is as good as ours once again. In fact I have already booked my seat on the 11:00 Paddington - Cardiff on Cup Final day, and would advise you to do the same - we will have a knees-up on the way.
Doctor Who ?
It's been a cracking week for Chelsea fans: first the serene progression into the quarter-finals of the FA Cup, courtesy of plucky Stoke, then the on-pitch, rollerball-style shenanigans during the first ten minutes of the game at Old Trafford, followed closely by Obersturmführer Fergie's sadistic beating of the boy messiah Becks in the dressing room.
Sign Of The Beast
Regular readers will be horrified to hear that Dr Les' long-suffering wife has given birth to a child. Even worse, Les claims that it is his, although this seems unlikely when you consider that he hasn't been able to find his house in over two years, due to the combined effects of alcohol and Class A narcotics.
Spanking The (Northern) Monkey
A sparkling performance from Chelsea last night, twice allowing Dirty Leeds a glimpse of hope before cruelly slamming the door in their faces at the last minute. I am unashamed to admit that I derived disproportionately huge satisfaction from watching the northern monkeys' faces at the final whistle. Bitches, all of them. You couldn't ask for a better outcome. Fuck off, Leeds !
Jam Rags
The game against Man U at Old Trafford on Saturday provided us Chelsea fans with another healthy dose of reality, which is that our boys can be relied on to build us up to the heights of ecstasy, shortly before kicking us in the bollocks by throwing away a match that had hitherto seemed impossible to lose.
Dr Les Gets Shirty Shocker
Regular readers will know that I religiously follow the belief that if you haven't got anything to say then you should keep your trap shut. I didn't mention anything about the match against Charlton because I didn't feel that any comment was necessary, preferring instead to let the press and a few other halfwits do the talking. And what a job they did, banging on about how bad the pitch was, a national disgrace, six months in the army would do them good, etc.
Priesty Gets Testimonial Shocker
I don't often blow my own trumpet, but... I received an email today from a Chelsea fan which typifies what a lot of people say about the site, and makes it worthwhile continuing in spite of having far less time to spend on it these days:
The Return Of Dr Les
A Happy New Year to all my readers. Having surfaced from the Christmas break, blinking and retching in the unaccustomed sunlight, I am surprised but not disappointed at the points tally (two out of twelve) that was the best Chelsea could do from their exertions over the festive period. This is, of course, all part of Don Ranieri's master plan for world domination, and all will become blindingly clear in due course.
