Ebola, it’s an enema

My test results have come back.

I’ve failed the Ebola test. I’m not quite sure how this has happened. I revised & revised and took so many mocking tests, listened to the audio diarrhea that is X-Factor, but no. I’ve failed my Ebola test.

Disappointed is not the word, although it is a word. As is ‘Astrology’, yet Astrology means the same as diarrhea, the result is the same, runny result that it’s always been.

The way that the Forest back four played on Saturday, you could be forgiven to think that they all suspected each other of having Ebola, and of keying each others’ motors. Disjointed, no cohesion, massive spaces in between, no communication only in a frosty silence way.

No cohesion, we’re back to diarrhea again. In a Halloween weekend brightened by my brother-in-law passing out noisily in our bathroom and mangling our washing basket, football has given me little to cheer about, so I thought I’d have a grumble on here, because it’s cathartic, because talking about it helps, because I want to.

And while I’m at it, I’m not sure that this place should be simply a rant about how poor a football team has been for the last 9 games, I’m looking for some inspiration to rant about something, or to simply get a point across, or for contributions. I don’t mind letting someone else take the reins for a little bit. But not for too long mind, it’s my petrol in this car.

So, comments are encouraged, yeah, even abusive ones. Your mum.

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