Freofalcon
Born from an egg on a mountain top
- Jun 20, 2011
- 27,139
- 59,101
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- West Perth, Hajduk Split, West Ham
The longer you keep us waiting, the better it has to be.
Or there has to be sex. Lots of it.
Off-topic Big Dog II
- Thread starter El Dubya
- Start date
- Tagged users None
Or there has to be sex. Lots of it.
- Banned
- #177
I'm ready coach! Let me out there!
El Dubya
Song contest commissioner in exile
- Thread starter
- Banned
- #178
Chapter VII
Big Dog collapsed onto the couch in his office.
“Heya Big Dog!”
It was the Nerd, his co-host. Big Dog acknowledged the Nerd with a glance and fished his flask from his pocket he sculled from it there was heat coursing down his esophagus
“Mate, do you want to hang out tonight?”
“I’m not sure.”
‘Mum’s doing a curry!”
Big Dog considered his options. Free food was so very alluring to him, however what of having to spend an evening the the Nerd and his presumably obese mother. He wanted that food he lived for the food.
“Will there be booze?”
“Oh, I’m not sure mate, mum isn’t big on booze.”
“Oh the ****ing forget it!”
“Aw nah mate, we can grab something on the way, I’ll give you a ride.”
No, it wasn’t going to happen. He remembered he had money. He didn’t need the Nerd’s booze or food. A KFC bucket and a drive by the bottle-o and he’d be comfortable for the evening.
“It’s ok, I want to plan for the Hird decision next week.”
“Mate they’re going to get done I’m sure.”
“It will be the greatest injustice in the history of the game if he does.”
“Have a good night Big Dog.”
Forty five minutes later Big Dog was reclined on his leather couch with greasy chicken bones piling atop his gut like a gristly Aztec pyramid.
What if Browny was right? What if Essendon weren’t successful? Browny knows what he’s talking about, he’s a footy legend, not just some flog on Big Footy.
But it’s just so unfair on the players. How can Browny not see that?
He fed some chicken to Albert.
Browny can’t be right? Surely. You’re the Big Dog, man of the people. You know what it’s like on the streets. You’ve been there. You’ve seen it. Everyone wants the players free,
“I’m the ****ing Big Dog!”
“I know what’s going on! No one else! I listen to the people, I’m the man of the ****ing people!”
Albert scattered as Big Dog leapt to his feet. The fastest he had moved in months.
His pudgy finger spread grease across his iPhone screen. The number for the Boardroom appeared and he desperately dialled.
“No!” a woman shrieked through the phone.
“You are not allowed to use our services anymore. Find a fetish club you sick ****!”
Big Dog hurled his phone at the window.
“****!”
He looked down and saw the back page of the previous day’s Herald Sun, his Golden God’s face smiling and waving.
Minutes later the Golden God’s face looked like a creamy Jackson Pollock.
“**** yes!”
Freofalcon
Born from an egg on a mountain top
- Jun 20, 2011
- 27,139
- 59,101
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- West Perth, Hajduk Split, West Ham
Freofalcon
Born from an egg on a mountain top
- Jun 20, 2011
- 27,139
- 59,101
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- West Perth, Hajduk Split, West Ham
Freofalcon
Born from an egg on a mountain top
- Jun 20, 2011
- 27,139
- 59,101
- AFL Club
- Fremantle
- Other Teams
- West Perth, Hajduk Split, West Ham
Like I said, sounds like my life.
El Dubya
Song contest commissioner in exile
- Thread starter
- Banned
- #186
Chapter VIII
Browny strutted downstairs. A chauffeured car picked him up and drove him to the hotel he was staying in whilst his media duties kept him in Melbourne.
He opened a beer from the minibar and sat in the lounge chair. He turned on the TV and found Fox Footy.
There was a promotional image of him.
Damn I look tough.
I was a bloody good player.
I was bloody tough.
You don’t get to be a triple premiership player without being bloody tough.
Except Andrew Mackie, he looks like a girl.
Bloody tough I was. Bloody tough.
He stared at the TV screen.
Bloody tough.
His phone began vibrating in the suit jacket he’d thrown on the bed.
“That’ll be the ankle biters then.”
“Hullo.”
“Hi dad!”
“How’d you go today sprog?”
“Good thanks dad, did you do good on TV?”
“Yeah mate, looked good and tough.”
“Love you dad.”
“Love is for the ladies son, you respect your dad.”
“Respect you dad.”
“Good job mate, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
He sat back down in the lounge chair and resumed staring at the TV.
Bloody tough.
JustaBattler
Everyone Looks Better In Blue
- May 31, 2012
- 28,725
- 67,359
- AFL Club
- Carlton
He is a lot lot smarter than that ED.
El Dubya
Song contest commissioner in exile
- Thread starter
- Banned
- #188
Chapter IX
Big Dog awoke to a loud buzzing sound.
“See the Bombers fly up, up!”
He scrambled around his couch throwing a semen stained newspaper across the room.
“Hello, it’s Big Dog.”
“Hello Big Dog it’s Paul. I have a job for you.”
Big Dog began to mumble a reply.
“Shut up Big Dog. Meet me at the usual place.”
**** thought Big Dog, I have to drive to ******* Tullamarine.
“Don’t whine you chose the place.”
Big Dog began to salivate driving into the carpark of Jerry’s Burgers ‘n’ Shakes in Tullamarine.
“It is ****ing good here. I reckon I’ll bring back a burger for Albert.”
Big Dog sat down and ordered a milkshake and two burgers.
“Have you topped up your shake with bourbon yet?”
“Nah mate. Just taking it down a little bit first.”
The Gremlin sat down and sipped from the milkshake.
“Goodness. That’s a pretty darn good milkshake.”
“It sure is.”
“The announcement is coming Big Dog.”
“Let me stop you right there. I’m an independent journalist. I write the truth. I’m not bound by my love of the Essendon Football Club or James Hird or the players. I am-”
The Gremlin caught Big Dog’s eye with a malicious glare freezing him mid sentence.
“You are nothing but our lap dog.”
“But I-”
“Stop. You are nothing but our lap dog. You do as we say. You are a limy muckraker who achieves nothing of value unless he is completely supporting our organisation. You ply your trade as the man of the people because we let you. You are nothing. Look at me. You are not going to be an independent journalist. You are going to do the job we give you. You are my pawn. James is my pawn. You may think you are acting of your own volition but you act for the greater good of the Essendon Football Club or I will strike you down with all the power at my disposal.”
Big Dog looked up from his burger. The Gremlin wasn’t angry or flustered at all. He was so calm. Big Dog looked back down at his burger and fumbled in his jacket for his flask. He poured it all into the top of his milkshake. Muttering to himself. As the bourbon began to overflow from the glass he drew the flask to his lips.
The Gremlin stood up.
“You are nothing Big Dog. I will send an e-mail with my instructions and you will follow them. Goodbye.”
- Banned
- #189
He sounds mean. I can see where this is going. Prior to Little and Hird, Big Dog was Big-Fitness-Dog, a clean living good eating health nut who wouldn't go near bad food, let alone alcohol. He even ran for the state over 400m and was considered the brightest young journalist in his year. Nek minnit, along comes James Hird...
- Banned
- #192
You're saying I wasn't close with my prediction that big dog was once an elite athlete???
