Sunday Caption Competition

[Trigger]

 

[Mendoza]

I can see myself in my shoe, dont i look good

 

[OzMike]

'I don't know what the problem is, would have been business as usual at 'Boro!'

 

[DJ Leon]

The caption I want to see: Former England Manager Steve McClaren leaves the pitch after the gutless draw wih Israel which cost him his job.

 

[Beach Hut]

Strawberry blondes have no fun

 

[Ernest]

Steve McClaren contemplates whether to accept the Brighton managers job next season.

 

[Mendoza]

is that ronnie o sullivan in the green bid, im SURE i didnt pick him

 

[ezmally]

Just f*** off McClaren.

 

[withdeanwombat]

And it's nil- nil at the pocket billiards,too.

 

[withdeanwombat]

.....or,I guess that was nothing to feel cocky about.

 

[NMH]

Michael Carrick; "Do any of you see his footballing brain? He SAID he brought it with him, but I haven't seen it anywhere....he says it might be on the pitch somewhere, but no-one saw it "

 

[pasty]

McClaren thinking "Hmmmm, job well done there. That ought to keep the press off our backs for a while"

 

[Jimbo26]

f*** the result. Where are my beautiful teeth ?. Clem can't see them either !!

 

[Biscuit]

"Better call Becks"

 

[Statto]

" I think they said the dole que was this way".

 

[tedebear]

"Bloody lucky these shoes were a freebie, I'm not going to have a job come next week to pay off the credit card bill"

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

 

[Meade's Ball]

'I had a thought the other day about the squashability of certain vegetables and fruit. At the moment, i am wearing some rather weak shoes, whose soles aren't so surely in place that they could allow me to tread on a recently pelted corn on the cob right now and no parts of them would crack and i wouldn't slip and let my ankle snap. Ideally, i'd be on a fully boiled sprout. The petals each so soft. I imagined the flesh inside, but this green orb would just be petals forever opening and each more tasty and fulsome than the last. If it were a pea, i'd barely notice it in this thick, slippery grass, stomp on it and not hear a single cry from its one-of-many being, or the anguish from it's podding mother. The sprout i'd feel, most definitely. My worst fear, obviously, is the bananaskin. Or a tomato from the crowd. They wouldn't be thinking about the confusion between the tomato being fruit or vegetable, and arguments breaking out over who is sure of the truth in this matter. I know. It's a bloody fruit. A seedy one. If it were fresh and struck me on the face, i reckon it wouldn't burst. But it would hurt a bit. A black eye, i'd get. Not one of the peas. If it were a sprout in the face, i'd nod it to the ground and walk on top of it. I do like sprouts. Puberty was my first love of them. Each one i ate, i thought, made a little hair come out of my groin and that bag i had later sucked as my lovely wife was at home working on the kids. So, no more sunday roasts with sprouts for me after i told her what i'd considered about my body, my baldness and recent betrayals. I miss that big dinner. The gravy. A big bit of meat. A hair in it all. Always a hair there. I knew whose it was though. Mine. Bloody baldness.'

 

[Yorkie]

I can't even blame the pitch.

 

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

'I had a thought the other day about the squashability of certain vegetables and fruit. At the moment, i am wearing some rather weak shoes, whose soles aren't so surely in place that they could allow me to tread on a recently pelted corn on the cob right now and no parts of them would crack and i wouldn't slip and let my ankle snap. Ideally, i'd be on a fully boiled sprout. The petals each so soft. I imagined the flesh inside, but this green orb would just be petals forever opening and each more tasty and fulsome than the last. If it were a pea, i'd barely notice it in this thick, slippery grass, stomp on it and not hear a single cry from its one-of-many being, or the anguish from it's podding mother. The sprout i'd feel, most definitely. My worst fear, obviously, is the bananaskin. Or a tomato from the crowd. They wouldn't be thinking about the confusion between the tomato being fruit or vegetable, and arguments breaking out over who is sure of the truth in this matter. I know. It's a bloody fruit. A seedy one. If it were fresh and struck me on the face, i reckon it wouldn't burst. But it would hurt a bit. A black eye, i'd get. Not one of the peas. If it were a sprout in the face, i'd nod it to the ground and walk on top of it. I do like sprouts. Puberty was my first love of them. Each one i ate, i thought, made a little hair come out of my groin and that bag i had later sucked as my lovely wife was at home working on the kids. So, no more sunday roasts with sprouts for me after i told her what i'd considered about my body, my baldness and recent betrayals. I miss that big dinner. The gravy. A big bit of meat. A hair in it all. Always a hair there. I knew whose it was though. Mine. Bloody baldness.'

Winner. Fact. Thread closed.