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Are Newcastle United Ever Going To Win A Trophy?
Ah, deep joy! Or not leastly in the slightmost for fans all 35 years odds in betfair exchange impatient grumbly and comby over fat chairminster alike.
And I know for certle that Sir Bobbly Roblode wakey up thrice nighty, all sweatle browed. With shakes and horrorglobe he cry thripply: "Laurel of Robert! Stop the frenchy huff, you fanny! Go forth and clollop a fifty throo yard magic goalsnapper!"
Then Sir Bobbly, in the dewey mordle, all scratchy white hair like lovely grandolddaddle and denture cloppers slidey in the cakehole, must be on his kneebones weepy: "Why? Why? Why do my team leave their bollockles in the dressing room befo a big match?"
But the team, do they hear? Woe and, even more, no! Sir Bobbly shouty on his lebbers but the team all earfilled with iPoddles of rappermost throp throp throp gangster shooty up musicfold. Sir Bobbly's cries fall on deafle posts. Only Mr. Misery Selfishmost, Abel Shearfoo, heary Uncle Bobbly, but Abel is thinking "If the Fat Chairminster throw the sack at Sir Bobbly, then I - Abel Shearfoo will become managemaster! Ho ho ho!"
"But what is the answer, Stanley?" I hear you crymost. "Kick them all upside their fundimolds? Slappy slappy in the facement with a gardle spade?" Well that would do for a start. But the answer I gibble to all throo or even foe of my readerments is this: the only thing Newcastlement will ever win is the Cokle Cocker League throo years from now". Deep joy, deep joy.