Zero G Bopara, and Paul Nixon, the Great Anchor

As you can tell, Cow Tse Tung isn't the happiest chappy around, after Australia's dismal losses to the Pommies and the Kiwi. No more Pom jokes. I'll even spare the sheepfuckers. And definitely no Aussie players on this blog for a while. Yes. Aussie cricket boycott.



Right, first, we see the supposedly athletically challenged Monty Panesar, on cloud nine. Paul Nixon tries to emulate the new Flying Sikh (with all due respect to the real Flying Sikh, Milkha Singh) but fails miserably. 'White men can't jump', they say. Also, this might be because of the "heavy water" within Nixon. As you can see, he is clearly a Chernobyl survivor. His teeth say it all in the above picture. He's like a beacon behind the stumps, guiding the bowlers using his neon glow.



But this guy Nixon, he might be a shit batsman and a radioactive freak, yet is a great motivator. He's utilizing the Indian connection to the maximum, as next on, another player of Indian origin, Ravi Bopara is caught defying gravity, and Nixon seems to be the driving force behind him. The roles have reversed. The Indians are seeking spiritual guidance from the West, and gurus like Nixon are helping us curries levitate. ARGH. I don't find any humor in cricket since Australia lost. Sobs. Goodbye pretty world.

Grunt Moans Bitter In Victoria

I've been really busy playing massive DJ mixes to myself and my goldfish. In the time I've been away, I find that other cricket blogs are now using the same image distortion techniques as myself to try and match my notoriety. Look mates, cricket blogs are meant to be dignified, with this one being the sole exception to the case. Cow Tse Tung very angry. But that's another story for another day.

Today, we see England's extraordinarily ordinary wicket-keeper, Grunt Moans, in his new role as beer-keeper for the Barmy Army. His luck has finally run out on him, as has Coach Dunkin' Stretcher. So, as he watches the English squad prepare for the 4th Ashes Test, Geraint, bitter in Victoria, holds a Victoria Bitter (possibly the worst tasting beer on Earth, excuse my patriotism). I'd distort and twist and make even more fun of Geraint Jones' name, but I don't really know how to pronounce it. Ignorance is bliss and a whole let less work w.r.t. compiling posts like this.