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Dashing Bob S
22-09-2009, 07:13 AM
Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...

GreenOnions
22-09-2009, 07:28 AM
:thumbsup: Very good. Do you have a late start this morning Bob?

Ritchie
22-09-2009, 08:07 AM
(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.



:faf::faf::faf:

cheers DBS, just got in trouble from my boss for laughing out loud at my desk!!!!!! :top marks

Hibs7
22-09-2009, 08:14 AM
You should send this to Yogi DBS :greengrin

sadtom
22-09-2009, 08:29 AM
Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...

I just got the image of the bad guy 'big fatso' from the movie (sic) Barb Wire'! - cant find a clip.

Thought Nade was familiar!

MacBean
22-09-2009, 08:38 AM
You should send this to Yogi DBS :greengrin

:agree:

Excellent job mate and a nice way to wake me up on a tuesday morning!

H18sry
22-09-2009, 08:44 AM
:top marks










Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...

lucky
22-09-2009, 08:52 AM
Quality

andyhibs
22-09-2009, 08:52 AM
:top marks
:shocked::shocked::applause::applause: a funny from dbs

HibeeJoxy
22-09-2009, 09:08 AM
Class :faf::faf::faf:

Peevemor
22-09-2009, 09:31 AM
Great stuff DBS. :top marks

Delboy4
22-09-2009, 09:37 AM
:faf::faf::faf:
Aye, very Good...

HFC07
22-09-2009, 09:53 AM
:thumbsup: Lol quality stuff.

--------
22-09-2009, 10:04 AM
You satirical old so-an-so, Bob.

Except I've a horrid feeling it might be word-for-word reportage from yesterday AM at Ormiston....

:top marks

:not worth :not worth :not worth :not worth :not worth

:faf:

brog
22-09-2009, 10:32 AM
Absolute class!! :top marks Nice to be able to laugh at ourselves!

NOLA
22-09-2009, 10:58 AM
some imagination youv'e got there, but brilliant all the same :thumbsup:

Judas Iscariot
22-09-2009, 11:06 AM
Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...

:faf:

:top marks

Vault material :defo:

McD
22-09-2009, 11:09 AM
Truly legendary :faf:

Mister P
22-09-2009, 11:25 AM
may i suggest... we find someone who can draw cartoon strips, just simple oor wullie type (is there no someone who already does the half time section on the front page:dunno:) and make a fortnightly cartoon. DBS can write the material and someone else can do the drawings.

just a thought like.

could even be a fortnightly newsletter for PM:dunno:

oconnors_strip
22-09-2009, 11:36 AM
:faf::faf::top marks:top marks

brilliant DBS, it makes it even funnier to read when I know kurtis' accent and know how he would say things:greengrin

Hibercelona
22-09-2009, 11:38 AM
Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...

Sauce? :cool2:

The Baldmans Comb
22-09-2009, 12:11 PM
Very clever and funny.:greengrin

IWasThere2016
22-09-2009, 12:18 PM
Brilliant Sir Bob - brilliant! :thumbsup:

banarc7062
22-09-2009, 12:40 PM
Just stop laughing.....it's a' true !!

Future17
22-09-2009, 12:49 PM
YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

Elitist.


KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

Ageist.


YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

Racist.


(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

Chauvinistic.


(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

Fatist.


Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.

Realistic.

CallumLaidlaw
22-09-2009, 12:59 PM
Fatist.



Nah, that's Nade! :wink:

Great stuff Bob! :thumbsup:

Phil D. Rolls
22-09-2009, 04:00 PM
:top marks

At least that will put paid to the rumour he is Irvine Welsh. Far too funny for Irivine to have written.

:10/10 smiley was meant to be here:

GodisaHibee
22-09-2009, 04:27 PM
The Dasher does it again .....:top marks


My brother does a GREAT impro of Nishy doing the blowing thing with hands on hips.....it's harder than it looks!

BroxburnHibee
22-09-2009, 04:49 PM
:not worth

Outstanding Bob.

Keith_M
22-09-2009, 05:07 PM
Just a quick tip for everybody apart from the OP, quoting the WHOLE post then commenting on it doesn't make it any funnier than it was the first time....


:grumpy old man smiley:

matty_f
22-09-2009, 05:13 PM
Yogi is taking specialist training for Hibs strikers. Deeks, Stokesy, Benji, Nishy and Kurt are present. Deek’s looks fed up, as does Kurt, Stokesy looks bleary-eyed, Nishy out to lunch and Benji is on his knees facing Mecca.

YOGI: Mornin’ lads.

ALL: Mornin boss.

DEEKS: How does Stokesy get intae night clubs and I dinny?

YOGI: We’re sortin that oot Deeks. Don’t be givin me that spolied Pilton rich kid sulkin: if you’d grown up on stovies n liftin crates doon Leith docks fae the age of five, then you’d have mare tae think aboot that daft nightclubs!

KURT: Me da says oi should only be after startin di game. Dat oim di best stroiker dere is.

YOGI: We’ll see son...but right now, nip roond tae Gregs n git some breakfast rolls for the boys.

KURT: Right boss.

DEEKS: Broon sauce oan mine!

KURT: Right...

(Kurt departs, sprinting towards the exit of the training centre. Yogi notes that Benji is stll on the ground praying.)

YOGI: C’mon Benji son, no finished these mornin' prayers yet?

BENJI: Nearly boss.

YOGI: Your facin' the wrong way for Mecca, son.

BENJI: But Derek tells me Mecca is this way.

DEEKS: Thoat he meant the Mecca Bingo hall. (to Yogi) Howzit thit Benji gets time off tae pray n I dinny?

YOGI: Just pray that I dinny see ya tryin tae get in a nightclub...

(Nishy suddenly collapses onto the ground.)

YOGI: Get up son! Naebody’s near ya!

Nishy stands up, blowin heavily with hands on hips.


YOGI: The strike force could dae wi gettin’ thir fitness up so ah’ve devised a wee train’ routine tae keep youse aw nice n’ sherp.

(Fat lumbering bouncers dressed in black, stand apart from each other like traffic cones.)

STOKESY: Sure, you were sayin to me n Deeks that we could be practisin free kicks instead of all dis runnin around ******...

YOGI: In good time Stokesy. If you were brought up in Leith, you would know what runnin' around was. The polis would chase us aroond all day n night just for battering some raj ootside o’ the chippie...aye, tough days. Just as well I had my shift in the docks to look foreward tae.

DEEKS: What’s these bouncers daein standin there?

YOGI: These bouncers are the only things we could find, outside a' borrowing Christian Nade, and Rod wouldnae authorise spendin’ on the caterin’, that move slower than traffic cones.

(They look ahead into the goals and see a couple of buxom swimsuit models holding frothing pints of lager.)

YOGI: So what youse do is bodyswerve roound the bouncers n get tae the goals, where ye kin drink yir pint n chat up the birds wi one o’ they devastatin' chat-up lines thit they do so well in Pilton n Dublin. Nishy...you first.

(Nishy gets the ball and charges straight into the first bouncer. They fall in a heap.)

YOGI: God save us...sorry, Allah save us. You’re next Benji son.

BENJI: Right boss.

(He looks up to the sun and starts dribbling at speed, but away from the bouncers.)

YOGI: You’re going the wrong way son!

BENJI: Mecca is this way, and I must go and find my passport...

(He leaves the training ground. Yogi becomes inceasingly irrate.)

YOGI: Right! Deeks and Stokesy, the baith o’ youse at once! Now go!

(Deeks and Stokesy’s eyes have never left the buxom girls holding the pints of lager. They set off at sprinters pace, jinking and weaving past the painfully slow bouncers, and reach the goals in a dead heat where they are given the drinks by the two models. They sup their pints and chat up the girls.)

STOKSEY (to Model One): If oi said you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?

DEEKS (to Model Two): You look like a barry ride hen, comin’ doon ma bit later oan likes?

(Yogi charges down towards them, going ballistic.)

YOGI: Youse bloody idiots!

DEEKS: How’s that?

STOKESY: Sure oi taught dat was taught you was wantin?

(Yogi looks at the pile of footballs back down the park.)

YOGI: Try it again, but this time with a ball!

(Deeks and Stokesy look sheepishly at each other, then start to argue about who is taking the next free kick. Yogi sees Kurt come back with the rolls.)

KURT (holding mobile): Me da just called again boss. Says oi should be n di team.

(Yogi is at the end of his tether. He sucks in some air and patiently explains...)

YOGI: I’m yer faither here son. Now go and clean the lavvys.

KURT: Roight boss.

(Kurt sprints off to the trainin centre. As Rod Petrie appears and walks towards Yogi.)

YOGI: Rod...good tae see you. What a morning I’ve had wi those striker bams. Give me Maka and Staka any day...it couldnae get any worse.

ROD: Good news on that front. I’ve bought in a couple of new boys. Got them for practically nothing as their club is about to go bust.

(He looks across to see a white-haired chap driving a forklift truck, on which sits a huge black guy.)

YOGI: That’s it, I resign! I’m off tae manage Nitten in the juniors...


Just a quick tip for everybody apart from the OP, quoting the WHOLE post then commenting on it doesn't make it any funnier than it was the first time....


:grumpy old man smiley:

:agree:

Pedantic_Hibee
22-09-2009, 06:30 PM
Spiffing, Sir. Simply spiffing. :top marks

(((Fergus)))
22-09-2009, 06:39 PM
:faf::faf::faf: