Twitter

[BennyCake]

Register with an email not containing your real name -> Don't put a profile pic or your real name up, use BennyCake or something less clear -> Also set your tweets to private (nobody can see your page unless you approve).

Bob's your uncle.

Cheers Don. I didn't know you could make your Twitter private.

I didn't know you knew my Uncle Bob 

[Hardy]

If you could make your private twitter, I'd really be impressed.

[muppet]

Here is a Liverpool supporter who likes to tweet famous people. (not for the easily offended)

http://twitter.com/#!/Jackb199

[ziggysego]

Here is a Liverpool supporter who likes to tweet famous people. (not for the easily offended)

http://twitter.com/#!/Jackb199

Kinda pathetic after the verbal abuse, he asks them to retweet it :/

[muppet]

Here is a Liverpool supporter who likes to tweet famous people. (not for the easily offended)

http://twitter.com/#!/Jackb199

Kinda pathetic after the verbal abuse, he asks them to retweet it :/

Only Phil Neville from what I saw retweeted.

This was the gist of his message to @UsainBolt Linford Christie would smoke you around the 100m metres you twat. RT

He obviously didn't know the 100m was run in a straight line.


Edit: He seems to be banned now.

[Tony Baloney]

They post some shite in the Irish News twitter page on a Saturday...

[5 Sams]

They post some shite in the Irish News twitter page on a Saturday...

...and most other days...

[LeoMc]

They post some shite in the Irish News twitter page on a Saturday...

A dig at Tony or is that directed at another poster on here?

[Tony Baloney]

They post some shite in the Irish News twitter page on a Saturday...

A dig at Tony or is that directed at another poster on here?

*taps side of nose*

[Don Johnson]

Big Sam is the funniest thing on Twitter, possibly even the whole Intenet. Some of his highlights:

About the Leicester match:

Just saw a dead fox by the side of the road. Can't help but feel it was a rather foreboding sign of things to come for Leicester tomorrow.

I stopped in a lay-by, lifted the corpse of the beast high above my head and screamed with an almost paranormal intensity.

"I am Big Sam," I roared. "And this is what awaits you, you sly c**ts."

I tried to tear the beast apart with my own hands but rigor mortis had set in. It was as stiff as a c**k nestled inside an attractive fanny.

So I just threw it at the windscreen of a passing Fiat Cinquecento. Any c**t that drives that abomination deserves roadkill launched at him.

About the Brighton match:

In the dressing room. John Carew has just put his long, slender hand in the air. "Is it true that this Brighton place is full of the gays?"

"It is true, son" replied a scheming Big Sam. "And if you don't score tonight, son, they're all gonna bum you into retirement."

Hat-trick guaranteed.

2 hours later...

Job done. Big Sam has once again straddled the magnificent steed of tactical bravery and rode it majestically into the sunset of victory.

Random one:

Doing the Haka in front of the wife. She's f**king terrified. My c**k looks so silly flopping about all over the place.

Training pitch:

Ran onto the training field this morning where the lads were gathered and launched straight into 'Wonderful World' by Sam Cooke.

Eventually a confused-looking Carlton Cole said: "What you doing, boss?" So I took my belt off and beat him around the head & neck with it.

I carried on with my rendition of a genuine soul classic before Robert Green put up his hand and whispered: "Is this real? I'm scared."

I took his sweet, simple head in my hands and kneed him repeatedly in the face until he became limp and lifeless. Then I carried on singing.

Before too long, the entire squad was crying and shaking - but singing along to 'Wonderful World' with their master, in perfect harmony.

There's not a f**king chance these c**ts will lose this weekend. I'm moulding f**king machines here. Big Sam innovates like a motherfucker.

But then I remembered we don't play until Monday night, so I just sent the entire squad home to recuperate. They were in absolute bits.

As I watched them crawl off the pitch, though, I knew I'd instilled a fire in them that has long been burning inside me. A hunger. A desire.

Big Sam grabs the very essence of 'mind games' by the hips, and fucks it deep in its quivering arse.

About Karen Brady:

Had a meeting with Karren Brady today. She kept shuffling around in her seat. Eventually she said: "Ever had a big thumb up your arse?"

"Does my sexuality make you uncomfortable, Big Sam?" she purred, before plunging a big dildo into a sachet of 'Dip Dab' and sucking it off.

Big Sam is a confident and aggressive sexual combatant, but I won't lie - this woman f**king terrifies me.

I've passed her office three times now and seen her sucking her own tits. I've never known such a voracious appetite for self-gratification.

Papa Bouba Diop:

If there's anyone who can manufacture more beautiful sounds from a lute than Papa Bouba Diop, I'd like to meet them. Just sensational.

He played 'Green Sleeves' for me the other day, his foot perched upon an old stone like some ancient storyteller. A truly incredible moment.

I began to cry. I blamed it on the Libyan crisis but big Papa knew. He knew it was his sweet, sweet melodies pulling at Big Sam's emotions.

He brushed my cheeky gently and whispered something in French. I don't even want to Babel Fish the meaning. I want the mystery to remain.

Once he finished playing the lute, he ran onto the pitch, shouted "mark up!" and smashed Mark Noble round the head with it. Outstanding.

Home and Away:

I'm trying to keep my cool here, but I'm watching 'Home and Away' and the amount of trouble those River Boys cause makes me f**king sick.

Big Sam was in a gang back in his youth - The Dudley Death Deliverers - and, yeah, we were pretty roguish. But we had a code. We had honour.

Apart from that time we kidnapped that baker. He had it coming though. Him and his shit buns.

I feel sick to my corrugated stomach watching 'Home and Away' recently. This gang warfare is going to tear Summer Bay apart. Mark my words.

Sami X Factor:

Big Sami is on X Factor now, she's a big unit. She could do a job for me on corners.

Home and Away Part 2:

Another day, another furious bout of scurrying across the Internet, checking the ages of girls from 'Home and Away'.

She's 20. Get. The. f**k. In. Operation: Bigsamthinkseroticthoughtsaboutacheekylittleantipodeanprincess can commence.

Bristol City:

"Bristol Cities - Big Fat Titties". I wrote that little poem at half-time tonight. Short, hilarious, provocative and sublime.

Unfortunately, it proved to be the single glittering highlight of an otherwise spunk-drenched, w**k-rag of a game.

Was there any late goals? I stopped paying attention by the 75th minute. I was too busy seeing if I could eek out a secret flaccid w**k.

By the way, I thoroughly recommend flaccid w**ks. I patented the idea in January 1997 and I've never looked back. They are extraordinary.

Granted, it takes Big Sam-levels of mind control to achieve orgasm during a flaccid w**k, but what is a man if he dare not dream? f**k all.

Just imagine squeezing a big wallop of toothpaste out of its tube really slowly. But with the sure-footed assurance of a mountain lion.

Now imagine the tube is attached to your balls and as the last dollop of paste plops onto the floor, your body is quivering with ecstasy.

That, my friends, is the unending, endorphin-spanking magnificence of the Big Sam Flaccid w**k.

Mortal Kombat:

One of the 'Mortal Kombat' films is on TV. I'm the f**king master of that game. Once beat Emma Forbes 27 times in a row. She had no answer.

She got all stroppy about her humiliation, so Big Sam switched off the SNES, laid her down by the fire and made love to her until she cried.

I should point out - her tears were a result of the tenderness and sheer magnificence of my intercourse. Not terror. Full consent was given.

Before she reached climax, I hilariously roared "finished her!" Then once I'd done the same, I stood up and declared: "Big Sam.. wins!"

In all honestly, though, I don't think she got the references. Which kind of made my record 27 victories feel a little bit hollow.

f**king hell, there's a woman in this film with four arms and a cracking pair of tits. That's just magic in anyone's language.

How she has time to get into fights is beyond me. If I had four arms & great tits, I'd be at home in front of a mirror. Destroying myself.

About the wife:

A few bottles of Brooklyn Brewery Summer Ale, 11 Wagon Wheels, my Medisana Comfort Footspa and Warren G's 'Regulate...G Funk Era'. Bliss.

The wife has just interrupted my chillaxing by coming into the room uninvited, pointing at her minge and saying "fill her up, guvnor".

If she thinks I'm getting out of this bean bag to go anywhere near that f**king thing, she's even thicker than she looks.

Millwall Preparation:

Big Sam is ready. Ready for Millwall. Ready to take the Lion by the minge and finger it into submission. By Christ, Big Sam is ready.

How am I motivating 'em? By standing in the centre of the room - topless - punching a slab of beef that's hung from the ceiling. That's how.

Fergie's 25th anniversary dinner:

What a night celebrating Sir Alex's 25 years as king of football. And talk about pussy. I'm still wiping the fanny batter off my cufflinks.

Dancing with Sir Alex, Mike Phelan and Terry Christian to 'Intergalactic' by the Beastie Boys is a memory I'll take to my grave. Joyous.

At the end of the night, Sir Alex & I dressed up as the Snowman & the boy as we glided through the air to the sound of 'Walking In The Air'.

It was all done by strings and harnesses, of course, but the effect was undoubtedly magical. I had a smile as wide as a queer's cravat.

Sir Alex is my mentor. My guide. My lighthouse. But on this occasion he let me take the lead as the Snowman. That's the calibre of the guy.

As we landed on the ground we embraced. Sir Alex looked into my eyes and said softly: "The sun will never melt you away from my life."

Usually I'm nervous when the word "melt" is uttered in front of Simon Weston, but Westy was busy spit-roasting some slag with Roger Daltrey.

Fave moment? When Sir Alex & I stole five minutes away from the rest, locked ourselves in a cupboard and felt like the only people on earth.

It was like that bit when Teen Wolf and Boof were in that wardrobe at that kick-ass party and get all intimate and close and shit.

Although, Teen Wolf got a bit pushy in the wardrobe and was a bit too rough with Boof. I can't stress enough that Sir Alex is a gentlemen.

Perhaps the gentlest gentleman who ever lived. Christ, I know he hates when I get all gooey, but what's Big Sam meant to say? He's my rock.

The Wife again:

The wife just says to me: "Hey Sammy, guess what song I've got in my head?"

Quick as a wheelchair down a ramp, I reply: "Is it 'When's My Dinner Ready?' by The Getbackinthefuckingkitchens?"

Big Sam 1-0 International Women's Day.

Neighbour:

"Here, Big Sam," my neighbour shouted with a muffled giggle over the garden fence. "You fancy the Egypt job now it's available?"

"No," I replied with a steely glare. "I f**king hate Africans. Don't you?"

Straight away I'd turned the tables & put him on the back foot. He shuffled and mumbled "I guess so... I mean, I guess I don't trust them.."

"I'm only messing," I interjected. "They're a marvellous people. Full of joy & courage. Surprised at you though, Ray. Bit of a racist?"

He tried to be smart & I exposed him for the disgrace he is. I left in triumph, leaving him caught up in a wreckage of shame & humiliation.

Random ones:

I'd like to see Fabio, Valencia & Nani line up in a defensive wall. It'd be like looking at the different stages of Michael Jackson's life.

Just hearing about Tevez. Can you imagine if he'd tried that shit on Big Sam? He'd be getting sexually abused in the showers right now.

I love swaggering nakedly towards the wife, singing that 'Here Come The Girls' tune, but changing the lyrics to 'Here Come My Balls'.

Robin Hood took from the rich and gave to the poor of Nottingham. Big Sam just looted the entire f**king town. Shagged it to f**king bits.

Look at Johnny in the 'X Factor' now. Rocking out like a right rascal. He's such a great role model. AIDS doesn't mean the end, people.

Noel Edmonds once offered me a Volvo 440 in exchange for a suck on the wife's tits. The man is scum. The car only lasted me a f**king week.

Callum McNaughton:

Disgusted with the lads. Pushed them into the showers & made them watch Wally Downes w**k himself off with a milk bottle. That'll learn 'em.

"Maybe it's me," I muttered to myself. "Maybe Big Sam just isn't good enough."

Then I saw Callum McNaughton taking a piss and thought, "Nah, it's that c**t's fault".

I launched at McNaughton like a mardy mountain cat, scratching at the back of his big ginger head and enveloping him in terror.

I wanted to hurt him. I grabbed his c**k and yanked it with all my might. "Get off my dick, boss!" he squealed. "f**k off!," I roared back.

"This is totally inappropriate!" he whimpered. tears forming in his panicked, bewildered eyes. "I have rights!"

"You have the right to pain!" retorted a magnificent Big Sam, as I dropped his dreadful c**k & ripped off a clutch of pathetic ginger pubes.

I left him weeping in the urinal, crushed and battered. He's just a boy but he needs to learn that Big Sam is whirling windmill of terror.

I won't hold grudges, though. I'll bring him in some of my lemon torte tomorrow, cuddle him and make him feel ten foot tall. Psychology.

After training:

Look, I'm not a pervert or a poofter or whatever, but I really do love watching the lads take a shower after a hard training session.

Watching the soapy suds trickle down those heavenly bodies like rivers on a map is just so relaxing.

It's like watching a lava lamp.

I try not to look at the genitalia - of course I do - but Big Sam is a curious being. I bloody love nature too

One thing I have learned, however, is you don't look at Papa Bouba Diop's penis. It looks at you.

Setting the managerial pace:

In times of duress, few things relax me as well as a buzz about on this electric wheelchair and the second Meat Puppets album on vinyl.

Singing 'Oh, Me' in a Stephen Hawking-style voice is one of life's simple pleasures. Doesn't erase the pain of defeat but it's still fun.

Might give the wife a good loafing while sat in my wheelchair. She has to wait a few seconds between each penetration, but it's so worth it.

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm f**king angry. Pretending to be a sophisticated cripple & tearing into the wife's cavernous muff won't cure that.

I'm going to poison a member of my useless squad tomorrow. Haven't decided who, but I'm totally serious. I'm gonna poison one of the plum.

Mancini meekly says Tevez won't play again after refusing to come on as a sub. Big Sam murders one of his lads after a last-minute defeat.

Big Sam, yet again, setting the managerial pace.

Hull City:

Leaving Hull with three points. The three points is a bonus - the fact I'm leaving this f**king place all that matters. Good lord.

It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror... horror has a face.

And that face is Hull city centre.

I hear the whores are good up here, though. I won't hear a bad word against any town with a nice, fluid supply of top-notch whores.

[Minder]

I aurally think the Big Sam is hit and miss.

[imtommygunn]

http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com/the-rundown/article/9008/

[muppet]

RealTimeWWII: Livetweeting the Second World War, as it happens on this date and time in 1939, and for 6 years to come.

Well worth following.



N.B Stew and Tyrone's Own should wait a couple of years before following.

[Olly]

It really pisses me off how up their own arses Celebrities are.

I joined twitter about 3 weeks ago and twittered about 100 celebs. I focussed mainly on John Cleese and sent him about 500 tweets in 2 weeks. Never ONCE did he reply. Yesterday I told him 'Hi John, just up. Had a shower and now eating Cheerios in my boxers. What you doing?'. Now, that doesn't ask for much like. I didn't ask him something personal or for money etc. He NEVER replied. Stuck up bastard.

Demi Moore is another. I asked her about Ghost and if she thinks Patrick Swayze is watching her right now or even in the bed at night etc. No reply. Only once did someone reply. I asked Cheryl Cole if she thought Kant's ideas on utilitarianism were outdated and in fact insulting to modern society. She replied 'no'. Fair play to her.

[mc_grens]

It really pisses me off how up their own arses Celebrities are.

I joined twitter about 3 weeks ago and twittered about 100 celebs. I focussed mainly on John Cleese and sent him about 500 tweets in 2 weeks. Never ONCE did he reply. Yesterday I told him 'Hi John, just up. Had a shower and now eating Cheerios in my boxers. What you doing?'. Now, that doesn't ask for much like. I didn't ask him something personal or for money etc. He NEVER replied. Stuck up b**tard.

Demi Moore is another. I asked her about Ghost and if she thinks Patrick Swayze is watching her right now or even in the bed at night etc. No reply. Only once did someone reply. I asked Cheryl Cole if she thought Kant's ideas on utilitarianism were outdated and in fact insulting to modern society. She replied 'no'. Fair play to her.

Tremendous, just tremendous.