I just want you to know that I am really looking forward to the World Cup. I love nothing more than pubs full of shouty violent men or the shock of waking at 2am to the scream of fists in the street. To be honest I’m surprised that so few people enjoy this spectacle of coiffured ball booting, preferring instead to spend their time watching Doctor Who or hugging lambs.

Not me! I will be celebrating our second national game by stripping naked and painting my every hole with the cross of St. George. Then I will run through the streets shouting and punching anybody who looks foreign. Well it’s the World Cup, isn’t it? You’ve got to hit foreigners during the World Cup. After all, it’s what the Palestinian St. George would have wanted if he had actually killed a fictional lizard, like he actually did! It’s in the bible or something, which makes it true.

England never wins, but I’ll be by their side in a pub, shouting things like “pull him off” and “inside”.  Then I’ll patriotically push my glass into the face of my fellow compatriots, just like St George would if he were real.  He would!

I am a bit knackered at the moment. I’ve spent all morning constructing a giant flag of the definitely real St. George on the roof of my house with ten thousand tiny flags of St George (real). Not to mention the seven hundred on my car. It makes it difficult to drive in a straight line, what with all the fluttering and that but you have to swerve erratically around the road during the world cup. It’s what the Queen (fictional) expects from all of her subjects.

Ha! Did you see what I did there? That is proper satire, that is. If Ian Hislop were still alive, he’d give me a job on the Private Eye comic.

World Cupping

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