Testosterone Rob aka The Terminator
I was sitting in the pub with my mate Testosterone Rob for a Sunday morning opening time pint. Testosterone Rob started badgering me to lend a hand on this project he was working on. At first I told him I wasn't going to be able to help as I was going to be too busy watching television later that afternoon.

Testosterone Rob put his pint down, looked me squarely in the eye, and said:

"Why don't you want to help out, Spanky? I mean, these people need a bit of a lift to get them back on their feet. They just need a boost in confidence, most of um. And what I'm doing will do that. I just need someone to run the line."

I should explain the origins of Testosterone Rob's nickname. He is a fucking full-on mental fucking all-man freak of fucking nature. If there's a mountain, he'll climb it. If there's a cave, he'll shoot down it. If there's an incredibly dangerous new-fangled adventure sport where he could end up with every fucking bone in his body broken, he'll try it out - blindfolded.

Grudgingly, after another pint, I agreed to help out. Sometimes its easier just to give in than put up with a whinging twat that early in the morning - especially if that whinging twat can rip your arms off and feed them to you.

So, later that afternoon I'm down at Finsbury Park. I'm wearing shorts and a t-shirt and shivering against the cold. It was December and the wind was blowing a bastard across the open spaces.

Testosterone Rob is there too, dressed in the latest designer training gear, looking like a complete and utter twat-bag.

And there's also a motley collection of men aged between 18 and 45, kicking a few footballs about and generally looking a bit sheepish. This was Testoterone Rob's latest and greatest project. He was running a Sunday league footie team for the local job group. All these unfortunates were on the dole and currently looking for work.

Rob sidles up to me and enquires if I know the off side rule. I say: "Of course I do, you fuckwit!" And I start warming up, ready to run the line. Over on the otherside of the pitch the opposition are getting ready. They look like primed athletes, all muscular and super-fit. I look back at Rob's lot. They look like flumps on stilts. This is probably going to be a bloodbath.

Rob nods at me: "Good, Spanky - I appreciate you helping me out. And remember; this is about giving these lads some confidence. A bit of fresh air in their lungs, a bit of male bonding, that should help them out no end."

And off he trots to gee up his troops. And off I slouch to run the line. I didn't even know who was going to be the ref, I had a feeling this wasn't going to go well.

Eventually, an old fella with a limp turns up and says he's the ref. The game starts. And after five minutes Rob's team are three-nil down.

I'm running the line just infront of Rob and that's when the shouting started.

"PHIL YOU FAT CUNT!!! MARK THE FUCKING MAN, MARK THE FUCKING MAN!!! IF YOU LOST SOME FUCKING WEIGHT YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO MOVE A BIT FASTER, YOU FUCKING LOSER!!!" reasoned Rob.

A few moments later:

"DOUGGIE - YOU ARE FUCKING USELESS!!! OH, FOR FUCKS SAKE, MAN!!! CAN YOU FUCKING DO ANYTHING RIGHT?!?"

And few more moments later our intrepid boys have let in another goal; its now four-nil.

And Rob screams over my shoulder: "WHY DON'T YOU USELESS FAT FUCKERS LEARN TO FUCKING PLAY FUCKING FOOTBALL?!? ARE YOU MEN OR FUCKING WOMEN?!? ARGHHHHH!!!"

And it went on like this for the remainder of the game. At halftime Rob refused to talk to his team. He went on a fucking jog instead, his face bright red, a big vein throbbing in his temple.

I went and had a bit of a chat with the fellas. They looked pretty low.

"Its only a game, mate," I said to one of them.

"Yeah, we know that - but try telling the fucking Terminator over there."

Oddly enough, I never helped Testosterone Rob out with his project again.
( SpankyHanky, Tue 7 Apr 2009, 11:12, 2 replies)

Spanky
is all over this QOTW like a bad case of Aids.
(jackhiggs no longer a v!rgin as of..., Tue 7 Apr 2009, 11:38, closed)

This chap
sounds like an arse.


But I don't think I'd say that to his face. I will click your story though.
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 7 Apr 2009, 14:11, closed)