The RAB Factor 2015

Quote: Pumpetypump "Round 2

Saturday 26th December 2015
INSECT BATTLEDROME PREMIER LEAGUE
Stoke v Man Utd A 1-2
Aston Villa v West Ham A 1-2
Bournemouth v Crystal Palace 2-2
Chelsea v Watford H 1-0
Liverpool v Leicester A 1-2
Man City v Sunderland H 3-1
Swansea v West Brom 1-1
Tottenham v Norwich H 3-1
Newcastle v Everton A 1-2
Southampton v Arsenal A 1-2

Round 3

Matt Orford gazed down morosely at the shrivelled Parsnip in his hand. Despite a near fevered bout of scopperloit endeavour, he had come to realise that coaxing life from his lying, contract ignoring wang was the preserve of a nihilarian. It died the day he’d walked out on the Bradford Bulls and no fervent manipulation had been able to resuscitate his stricken Knight. He would have to face the facts; Sir Percy was dead. He lifted his eyes to the mirrored ceiling, cheeks burning with shame. From that angle you could have been forgiven for being unaware that he was a vile portly dwarf with zero scruples, but in his heart he knew that no quirk of reflection could truly disguise his myriad flaws.

He sighed deeply and begin to pace his room in his underpants, around the foot of the bed, past the chest-of-drawers, beyond the blackened area he called ‘Carvell corner’ where he burned his contracts, and back to the bed. He picked up a Rugby League magazine and idly flicked through the pages until his interest was piqued by a two page article about Airships and blimps. He smiled quizzically at the strange notion of a blimp with a face and sat down on the bed in confusion. On closer inspection, the article was in fact a two pager on Nigel Wood. A mistake which Orford, normally one to self-flagellate, forgave himself for.

The general consensus was that any man who’s marketing genius extended to re-naming a Rugby League team “Blue sox” was widdiful and ill-equipped to look after a cat let alone the RFL, but to Orford there was something about that enigmatic smile that pleased him; An allure he could not deny about Nigel’s startling resemblance to a pork pie with limbs. Without realising that his hands had once again strayed, Orford had begun to windmill in a widdershins fashion and to his surprise Sir Percy had risen from the dead. Could it be that walking out of contracts was not in fact his first love? Could it also be that his floccinaucinihilipilification of his sickly protuberance was premature? As his arms pumped viciously like the pistons of an onanistic steam train, he bellowed with great lamprophony “I love you Nigel Wood”.'"