Better the (Red) Devil you know…

When I first started out on B3ta, many of my posts featured a good friend of mine who goes by the name of ‘Furious D’ (FD). I can’t believe it’s taken this long for this story about him to rise to the surface like a particularly unflushable turd.

Disclaimer:

Despite how it first appears, this is NOT a football story…really. Even if you don’t like football, don’t be put off…please read on.

Furious D and I are both football fans but are Coventry boys (contradiction in terms I know), yet due to his folks being spectacularly successful, he had to move to the well-to-do area of West Bridgford, Nottingham. We stayed in regular contact, as good friends do, and by the time we were old enough to drive we would visit each other for a weekend’s heavy drinking, followed up by vain attempts to fire in to any available young ladies at each other’s hosting city.

I say ‘vain’ attempts…what I actually mean is that my attempts were always in vain. FD, however is a good looking, charming spazmo of a man whose personality seems to be the perfect blend between sophisticated upper-class cad, and dangerous bed-wetting lager lout who would drop his pants by the pool table and dangle his bollocks into the pockets. Strange as this may seem, this combination was like catnip to some of the finest blart this side of the Outer Hebrides.

One fine spring day and we’re out on the thrash in Nottingham, drinking copiously before going to a gig at Rock City. We were keeping ourselves to ourselves, talking shitebiscuits and getting pleasently twatted, when who should walk into our pub?

None other than the ‘legendary’ Roy Keane. With his young, rather attractive (then) girlfriend.

Roy was playing for Nottingham Forest at the time and was fast making a name for himself. Although I’m not a particular fan of Mr Keane, or Notts Forest, I recognise a talent / famous face when I see one, even if it was one ‘in the making’. The couple got their drinks, sat in the corner of the mildly busy pub and were instantly approached by a few fans, waving match programmes, beermats and various bodyparts to be signed.

At this point, FD’s eyes lit up in a peculiar way and he whispered to me: “Hey, Pooflake, go and get his autograph will ya?”

I weighed up my options and replied nonchalantly: “Nah, cock off, I’m not really bothered.”

“Ah, go on, you fuckspot” FD pressed further “Just have a chat with him, he’s meant to be a bit of a cunt – see if you can find out what he’s really like?”

Well, because I was pissed interested by this challenge, I dragged myself up from my seat and staggered wearily over towards them.

“Hello” I announced cheerily and extended my hand for a hand shake.

Almost immediately, his girlfriend got up and left the table.

“Hmmm” Roy huffed, refusing to shake my hand and grunting nasally: “I suppose you’ll be wanting an autograph then?”

I thought for a moment then replied: “Erm…no, not really, thanks anyway…”

…

At this point we both became completely lost for words. With my pint in my hand, Roy and I just stared at each other. Him with a quiet, intimidating presence, me with the slurry sway and squinty eyes of a really quite pissed fellow.

Eventually, I broke the silence.

“Soooo erm… are you looking forward to the match?” I asked him, then having a mild internal panic attack when I realised that I didn’t know who they were playing, where, and when, if at all, and what was at stake…if anything.

I thought to myself: ‘What have I gotten myself into here? I am such a megatwat…this conversation is not going to end well for me…’

Instantly however, Roy launched into an almost pre-rehearsed ‘media-interview mode’ with the vigour he usually reserved for his trademark vicious two footed tackles. He started talking in clichés about ‘games of two halves’, ‘mountains to climb’ and ‘all to play for’ etc. I could tell that football was quite important to him (although I wasn’t really listening).

We chatted for a few more minutes and although I must admit he seemed like a bit of a moody git, he was generally ok, and when his girlfriend arrived back I made my excuses and left them to it.

When I returned to my table it was empty. Furious D then rapidly approached me from around the corner looking rather sheepish, red-faced and out of breath. He simply said:

“We’d better go…”

We quickly downed our drinks and I knew not to ask questions. As we trundled along to the next pub I was regaled with the lowdown on what had transpired.

It appears that Furious D had *ahem* ‘made the acquaintance’ of Roy’s special lady in a club a couple of weeks previous…Of course, at the time, she had neglected to notify my mate of her ongoing attachment to the psychopathic midfield general…(or perhaps he just couldn’t hear her confessions as he was nostril deep into her clopper at the time)…

Thusly, when she and Roy entered the pub we were in, and she had spotted FD and I, I was promptly despatched to scuttle along like the ignorant, naive Patsy I am to distract Roy, whilst the girlfriend and FD met up to discuss the awkward situation they were in.

So whilst I was totally oblivious, talking inanely with Roy about such matters as ‘off the ball movement’ and wotnot; FD and Roy’s girlfriend were having a brief yet intense discussion which included the following lines:

“Fucking hell! - I didn’t know you were going out with Roy Keane?...”

soon followed by: “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?...”

followed by: “We really shouldn’t be doing this…not here….mmmmmm”

…followed by a fruity firkling and knee-trembling quickie in the ladies’ bogs.

Aghast with disbelief at hearing this revelation, I asked him how he felt about having just spaffed up Roy Keane’s missus. AGAIN.

He replied: “Not that special…everybody’s had a go on her apparently!”

It’s weird now when I see Roy on the telly.

So anyway…in keeping with the QotW…Furious D, you are my hero...I’m your biggest fan…and the great thing is, I get to meet you all the time, and the only lengths I have to go to is to call you up and let you know that it’s ‘Booze o’clock’…

Cheers mate.


*I say (then) girlfriend…she’s now his wife.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:05, 10 replies)

Glorious!
Especially like the term megatwat; I will now have to steal it and use it as my own.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:14, closed)

So Roy K got FD's sloppy seconds?
That's worth a click just for that alone!
(Capo, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:14, closed)

"nostril deep into her clopper at the time"
This caused the Tea Keyboard moment... Many thanks
(Bonzodog29 is an unemployed sponge of the worst kind, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:57, closed)

Theresa
Doyle?
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:41, closed)

Looks like it...
Makes this article seem quite funny
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 15:11, closed)

That...
...is cocking ace.

You've been an unwitting wingman to a celebrity shagger's shagger.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:53, closed)

Glad you are back, Spanky has
had to post enough for the two of you (although that doesn't seem to have been a real problem for him). Great post!
(MichaelS wasn't picked again, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 17:46, closed)

*clicks*
With much mirth at "nostril deep in her clopper" :o)
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 21:03, closed)

*clickage*
Especially cos I hate the cunt.

Expertly told as always!
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sat 18 Apr 2009, 0:26, closed)

Expertly spun
I like this
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 20 Apr 2009, 4:18, closed)