Then he clanks around like a euphemism

May 20, 2013 § Leave a comment

A friend recently pointed me toward the Bonsai Story Tree Generator, a widget for turning coherent text into nonsense, or near-nonsense. It’s quite fun. Anyway, said friend fed in a few of the profiles I’ve been writing for Football 365, and the machine spat out the following:

—–

It was enough to pronounce Toni Kroos’s surname.

The first, Mr Anthony Pulis, is a man of hidden and shiny shoes, makes jokes with that last sounds an English Yaya Toure!
Really!

He’s got round to say that he is given ample opportunity to keep him some good, but joyous, which I’m largely indifferent, just so when the time Such is Bramble’s tragicomedy.

He is not much to get moved out of the consistency to see the country.

Were he goes into tears.

And he did run through the disbelieving to win.

Flesh that he is silent, and skipping – skipping! – was enough to see him is, well, kind of the way.

That’s life; that’s football; that’s business.

But while football that’s business.

But while football team, utterly transformative at length, and makes jokes with a couple of chucklesome anecdotes and shiny shoes, makes amiable conversation with Scotland, a man of a man in effect, forever setting fire to say about and watching two teams to which brings us nicely onto Paul Lambert.

On Monday night, as Aston Villa rattled six past Simon a-Mignolet a-Mignolet a-Mignolet a-Mignolet, Lambert’s celebrations progressed from the happy through the disbelieving to win.

Flesh that lot out with a modern clued-up football might have been better off without the Faroe Islands holding with a couple of steps further down the touchline, throwing his club tie is positioned just not sure he’s got long legs and – shazam!
– you’ve got long legs and quote or knows how to fold a man of Jones’s strengths and shiny shoes, makes jokes with other priorities.

A man who enjoys board games, collects postcards from Franck?

Overhit corners and a big chest and skipping – skipping! – was enough to play well when I getting back from the happy through the middle of the Premier League, which I’m largely indifferent, just so, and mysterious depths.

That beneath the heart of Manchester.

But while football fan: watching a league that last one.

Apparently Well, he’s clearly very talented, and potential, more feverish midfield envy from Franck?

Overhit corners and the ‘p’ is not – repeat: not much to be an appropriate response to make it is.

Should have been better off without Liechtenstein beating Latvia, or two from British seaside resorts, and mysterious depths.

That beneath the dressing room …

Hang on, no, he’s going to cock things up for a square of annoying.

After all, I’m making the season looking vexed, to Alan Pardew, one Apparently Well, he’s clearly very highest level is invisible.

What am I don’t really into it.

Spoilsports.

Be careful with Scotland, a football club, frequently contradictory, entertainingly rude, occasionally hilarious, magnificently one-eyed, often brutal, rarely wrong, never apologetic, curiously obsessed with all the middle of chucklesome anecdotes and he clanks around like to formally apologise to formally apologise to get moved out with a modern clued-up football that’s business.

But while football that’s business.

But while football ground or two from an ex-colleague and underhit through-balls.

I’m not an appropriate response to those with the assorted flunkies and perhaps the red half of Manchester.

But while football ground or grows prize-winning courgettes, or knows how to fold a decent centre-half playing decently for bursting into the air, and skipping – skipping! – was only a matter of a man that’s spent so let’s list it at the Stoke bus to win.

Flesh that Pardew is a pleasant family man that’s spent so much of chucklesome anecdotes and functionaries that populate the pyramid, and down the Faroe Islands holding with horse spunk, and quite affecting crane.

Oh, all the money, then it is.

Should have to squint to see him some good, but ultimately I’m just so, and makes jokes with passing journalists.

Then he goes into it.

Spoilsports.

Be careful with all the logic in the Premier League.

He is not – a couple of hidden and mysterious depths.

That last sounds a lot out with all the effort here.

I’m doing my duty as Aston Villa rattled six past Simon a-Mignolet a-Mignolet a-Mignolet a-Mignolet, Lambert’s celebrations progressed from the red half of Manchester.

But still, it’s a cold-eyed analysis of hidden and functionaries that last one.

Apparently Well, he’s clearly very highest level is probably inevitable at length, and down the red half as much to say about His Departed Imperial Lordship that hasn’t been said elsewhere, at the very talented, and underhit through-balls.

I’m not – repeat: not sure he’s got the consistency to fold a modern clued-up football fan: watching two teams to which in turn ensures that Ribéry’s refusal to Alan Pardew, one Apparently Well, he’s clearly very talented, and potential, more feverish midfield envy from Franck?

Overhit corners and makes jokes with such awareness of a man who enjoys board games, collects postcards from the red half as much to say that Ribéry’s refusal to my fellow diners for bursting into a delicate and down the very highest level is a pleasant family man with other priorities.

A man in effect, forever setting himself up as publicly as a modern clued-up football club, frequently contradictory, entertainingly rude, occasionally hilarious, magnificently one-eyed, often brutal, rarely wrong, never apologetic, curiously obsessed with passing journalists.

Then he clanks around like a euphemism, doesn’t it?

Apologies.

Pre-qualification in the Premier League.

He scribbles a few autographs for a decent team.

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