Gulliball
Active Member
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2015
- Messages
- 359
- Reaction score
- 185
- Points
- 43
- Supports
- Torquay United
Good day to you.
My name is Kalman Kittenberger. You may have heard of me from having been alive between the years 2014 and 2044, during which I elevated myself from humble beginnings to become the greatest living person in history. I also won quite a lot of football trophies for the town of Levice and went to bed with more than seven Lion Girls.
When I last updated of my progress, I had just retired, aged 60, having led Levice to the crown of European Champions and England to the crown of European Championship quarter-finalists. Having retired immediately after EURO 2044, I went to Brazil for a much deserved holiday with as many Lion Girls as would accept my very generous offer of paying for everything during the trip in exchange for pretty deviant sexual behaviours.
Having had such an exalted career, I made contact with Hollywood to sell the rights to the story of my life. Coming from humble beginnings to become the greatest person in the world ever is a story that needs to be shown to the world, to inspire the next generation of peasants to follow my lead.
There was obviously no-one within the acting community fit to portray me on screen, because Hollywood shunned my proposal. I admired their stance on the issue – I didn’t want some nobody to portray me.
I then sent my memoirs to all the big publishing houses, and it was only due to an international ink shortage that affected the entire industry that I ended up publishing them online. A few of the bigger names in the media bulked at the controversial issues that I addressed in my volumes. The Times, The Independent, The Levice Gazette, The Guardian and The Daily Mirror all refused to pay my asking price for their online editions. A deal was nearly reached with thefootballforum.net, but it turned out to be a cruel April Fool’s Day prank. In the end, I resorted to typing “two bit, tinpot football community” into Google, and my exploits can be read here:
http://www.onefootballforum.co.uk/index.php?threads/life-in-levice.784
Anyway, that is all now well in the past. Having extended my very generous offer of an all-expenses paid trip to Brazil to all thirty-seven of the Lion Girls, I took to the skies with Andrea and Simona to enjoy the spaciousness that a chartered 747 plane has to offer. I didn’t join the mile high club but did purchase a few items that aren’t available on the high street. All in all, a mixed bag if I am honest, given what I had paid out.
It turns out that giving £10m to a man for two years of doing practically nothing as England Manager isn’t as good as it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you can charter planes and hire yachts and proposition women online, but if only two women accompany you on this adventure and neither of them will sleep with you, then reality soon bites.
I was in London collecting my final pay cheque from the FA when I made one final advance at a woman standing on a street corner. I unwound my window and told her that I had a £9.7m fortune, a large sexual appetite and very generous nature, would she like to come to bed with me?
Four months later, having endured tortuous negotiations with their government, I had indeed purchased all the tea in China. But when I returned to her street corner armed with 138 heavy duty trucks filled with PG Tips she still refused me.
A seven month legal wrangle followed, which concluded with the appeal court’s judgment that she had not in fact entered into a legally binding contract with me and thus could not legally be forced into following through on my advances.
I tried my best to carry on with my lifestyle – but millions of pounds in cash wasn’t enough to wetten the knickers of any woman I came across, so what was I to do now that my fortune had been turned into PG Tips? I spent many hours calculating just how many pyramid bags would have to be slipped into the G-String of a woman before she twigged that I was the real deal, but unfortunately I never got the chance to find out the answer as it turned out that slipping them into the top pocket of the door staff does not in fact even gain you admittance to even get near to them.
Aged 61, Kalman Kittenberger committed suicide soon afterwards, and in one final defiant gesture to the world I left my entire collection of £9.4m worth of PG Tips bags to the monkey who does their adverts. I was dead long before I realised that he was fictitious.
As it turns out, this was not actually the end. I had been a pretty lapsed Christian, not having been to church since I was seven. Even so, it was a shock to find out that reincarnation is actually real.
I wasn’t really paying attention to what went on. I had only just begun to nap in the garden of eternal tranquillity when I was faced with the reincarnation jury.
It turns out that Hindus may be correct, but are very bad judges of character, because they condemned my soul to be tortured in the afterlives as penance for all my misdeeds on Earth. I don't think they paid attention to how evil Trencin actually were.
After much deliberation, it was Vishnu himself that decided my fate. I was to be sent back to Earth as the lowest creature in existence.
I don't know who wrote that press release. I actually told them that Slovan were the devil and I would rather have my knackers cut off with garden shears than manage them. But once it's in the papers, it must be true.
Personally, this has all come as a bit of a blow to me. Still, I have taken advantage of my recently found knowledge of the afterlife, and have started a twitter fued with Hugh Heffner. I’m not sure if they’ll see through it, but just in case, it’s worth a try.
My name is Kalman Kittenberger. You may have heard of me from having been alive between the years 2014 and 2044, during which I elevated myself from humble beginnings to become the greatest living person in history. I also won quite a lot of football trophies for the town of Levice and went to bed with more than seven Lion Girls.
When I last updated of my progress, I had just retired, aged 60, having led Levice to the crown of European Champions and England to the crown of European Championship quarter-finalists. Having retired immediately after EURO 2044, I went to Brazil for a much deserved holiday with as many Lion Girls as would accept my very generous offer of paying for everything during the trip in exchange for pretty deviant sexual behaviours.
Having had such an exalted career, I made contact with Hollywood to sell the rights to the story of my life. Coming from humble beginnings to become the greatest person in the world ever is a story that needs to be shown to the world, to inspire the next generation of peasants to follow my lead.
There was obviously no-one within the acting community fit to portray me on screen, because Hollywood shunned my proposal. I admired their stance on the issue – I didn’t want some nobody to portray me.
I then sent my memoirs to all the big publishing houses, and it was only due to an international ink shortage that affected the entire industry that I ended up publishing them online. A few of the bigger names in the media bulked at the controversial issues that I addressed in my volumes. The Times, The Independent, The Levice Gazette, The Guardian and The Daily Mirror all refused to pay my asking price for their online editions. A deal was nearly reached with thefootballforum.net, but it turned out to be a cruel April Fool’s Day prank. In the end, I resorted to typing “two bit, tinpot football community” into Google, and my exploits can be read here:
http://www.onefootballforum.co.uk/index.php?threads/life-in-levice.784
Anyway, that is all now well in the past. Having extended my very generous offer of an all-expenses paid trip to Brazil to all thirty-seven of the Lion Girls, I took to the skies with Andrea and Simona to enjoy the spaciousness that a chartered 747 plane has to offer. I didn’t join the mile high club but did purchase a few items that aren’t available on the high street. All in all, a mixed bag if I am honest, given what I had paid out.
It turns out that giving £10m to a man for two years of doing practically nothing as England Manager isn’t as good as it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you can charter planes and hire yachts and proposition women online, but if only two women accompany you on this adventure and neither of them will sleep with you, then reality soon bites.
I was in London collecting my final pay cheque from the FA when I made one final advance at a woman standing on a street corner. I unwound my window and told her that I had a £9.7m fortune, a large sexual appetite and very generous nature, would she like to come to bed with me?
Four months later, having endured tortuous negotiations with their government, I had indeed purchased all the tea in China. But when I returned to her street corner armed with 138 heavy duty trucks filled with PG Tips she still refused me.
A seven month legal wrangle followed, which concluded with the appeal court’s judgment that she had not in fact entered into a legally binding contract with me and thus could not legally be forced into following through on my advances.
I tried my best to carry on with my lifestyle – but millions of pounds in cash wasn’t enough to wetten the knickers of any woman I came across, so what was I to do now that my fortune had been turned into PG Tips? I spent many hours calculating just how many pyramid bags would have to be slipped into the G-String of a woman before she twigged that I was the real deal, but unfortunately I never got the chance to find out the answer as it turned out that slipping them into the top pocket of the door staff does not in fact even gain you admittance to even get near to them.
Aged 61, Kalman Kittenberger committed suicide soon afterwards, and in one final defiant gesture to the world I left my entire collection of £9.4m worth of PG Tips bags to the monkey who does their adverts. I was dead long before I realised that he was fictitious.
As it turns out, this was not actually the end. I had been a pretty lapsed Christian, not having been to church since I was seven. Even so, it was a shock to find out that reincarnation is actually real.
I wasn’t really paying attention to what went on. I had only just begun to nap in the garden of eternal tranquillity when I was faced with the reincarnation jury.
It turns out that Hindus may be correct, but are very bad judges of character, because they condemned my soul to be tortured in the afterlives as penance for all my misdeeds on Earth. I don't think they paid attention to how evil Trencin actually were.
After much deliberation, it was Vishnu himself that decided my fate. I was to be sent back to Earth as the lowest creature in existence.
I don't know who wrote that press release. I actually told them that Slovan were the devil and I would rather have my knackers cut off with garden shears than manage them. But once it's in the papers, it must be true.
Personally, this has all come as a bit of a blow to me. Still, I have taken advantage of my recently found knowledge of the afterlife, and have started a twitter fued with Hugh Heffner. I’m not sure if they’ll see through it, but just in case, it’s worth a try.
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