Athletico Mince - Ep. 97 - Christmas Mince Part 2

Episode Date: December 24, 2019

Adrian samples the Slaughters Christmas menu, Neil Hunt fends off two more customers, there’s WAVs from Dyche, Lawrenson and Omsk, Santa pops in, and we hear a festive Scottish tale. Become a member at https://plus.acast.com/s/athleticomince. Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

So, Andy I was up at the Ali Pali, watching where the darts could be played. The darts were on here. Obviously, I checked in the sloters to have a look at their Christmas menu, Sam Pleyton. Right, it's nice. It does sound nice. It's done at a course, Adrian's there, sitting in a throne, like a Christmasy throne they're putting in for him. Christmas meat king.

He's earned that, Arekken. Arekken, anyway, I sat down in the booth by the door. Okay, and this is basically what I heard. Here it goes. Welcome along, Sir, to our tirade of festive f***, an angry assault on our lessonces, delivered with a dash of yielded glee. Oh yes, strap me in and ram it right up my face, hall. Allow us to lead you on a sleigh ride up to the condemned cellar of the grotto of fuck and back again. Before we start, sir, would you like to wear this festive paper crown?

Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes, I'm very much wood. Here you go, put it on. Oh, it feels a bit waxy, and you know, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very's actually bear from the dried skin of a chew, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. All right, okay. It was made by a body, sir. It feels right. This isn't just for Christmas, is it? No, it is fucking nuts, sir. What's on this Christmas menu then?

You pervert of scour flesh. Well, for starters, sir, you can try the hospital bed pan filled with pigs in blankets. That sounds a bit forking conventional for my sorted days. Well, the pigs in question are actually us a lot's anal passages, stuff with boiled, wild, beast tit. What made that's indecent and what about the blankets? I'm not a living either day, village about the blankets. What's the face, a caesor? Santa Claus has got one less elf.

Help him out, there's Christmas. Oh, for-for-for, bring me that bed, Pan right away, and I'll have a side order, fried bread, and a separate bed pan. Would you let your man come with it as well, sir? Of course I would, would you think I am? Foggin' Nigel, foggin' Slater. As you, foggin' wish, sir. The man is turkey with our litrimans.

With trimmings? Yes, it's been chiseled with liquefied nerves from a really, really big mouse. Example, as always, and what's the desert? The desert, jolted with its popular alas Christmas, with rod back the fresh dog egg, doused in creamed pus, from one of Ron Cracks' wounds. Oh, did you hear my sweaty tits leap to attention and start to hook in bag just turn? Yes, don't you think so, sorry?

I'm not that just then. Yes, sir, I very fork in did. I think I need to triple doors of that abominable treasure you terrible fork. Right, well, Ron says if you'd like the assemble it in advance, you'll come out and you can gently lap it as wound. No need, I trust John's, John's judgment, like I trust the perpetual revolving of my own rancid guts. As you thought on a chair, look I like a self-separated leader dear, oh!

Just mountain in the all on my lap and bring a massive fucking ladle. Or is there anything for me sent, Bernard? I've still got the Willoughbeast to rib cage, I've put it down in the car park from the road around inside and so on. He'd like that. I'll go out and join him once I've finished in here. Yeah, you're short. And then the wearer went off to the kitchen, but Andrew, to be honest with you,

I had to leave shortly after that, because of the stench. I'm not surprised. It sounds quite... Very intense... intense, rich smells coming from Ron's kitchen. Yeah. I wasn't quite up to it. To rich for your... Tastes. Yeah, I found my end point, you know.

Good. So, but I'll be back after Christmas. Of course you're back to the normal menu. Okay. up to Chris of course you're back to the normal menu. Okay. We had a message on the Flatigal Passnips from one of our listeners Jonathan Tears and he asked if Mark Lawrence would rank the 10 best Christmas presents. Oh that's question. We didn't have that at the time we've got it now so here it is. Hello Mark Lawrence in here with the top 10 Christmas gifts I've received from my lovely wife Barbara over the years. Number 10, a snorkel prevention face mask, still box cheeky.

Number 9, a barbecue apron with license to grill written on it. Number 8, Yuri Gellers autobiography. Number 7, a trickle-a-pin badge for the victims of Paris. Number 6, some sponsored bees. Number 5, very best of food fighters, LP. Number 4, some kind of crossword helping computer device. Number 3, a hip flask designed by Kevin Costner. Number two, a belt from Harrods. And number one, a personalized pack of playing cards with my face on the back of each card and also as the king of each suit.

Thank you for those lovely gifts Barbara and very Christmas, my love. There you are. Do you agree with any of that? I agree. Do you know why I agree with that? You know, more agree with that? You know why I agree with that?

You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that?

You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that?

You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? You know why I agree with that? Little Aston is an affluent area in the district of Lichfield, some 7 miles north of Birmingham. There are around 1000 properties in a village of which some 20% are valued at over 1 million pounds. Unsurprisingly, it is an enclave for professional footballers and celebrities and frequently referred to as Millionaires Row. In the the nearby town of Stretley, just off the high street, is located a small nonsense pottery owned and run by Mr. Neal Hunt. On the 28th of October 2019, this pottery was to be seen of an infamous and horrible crime.

The day started as usual with Mr. Hunt taking delivery of a batch of fresh clay and some replacement brick liners for his kiln. There you go mate, 250 grams of buff-throwing clay, 5 litres of transparent glaze and... Hold on! Let me just stop you there. Did you just call me mate? Did you just assume that we were somehow friends? When all that's actually going on here is a simple nonsense pottery business transaction! Oh it's just a figure of speech mate! You did it again! You just had the fucking gall to slap a mate on me after I just indicated

to you that it was inappropriate. Do it again and you can stick this delivery up your shit pipe and take a fuck off notice back to your boss. So what's it going to be? Go on, I dare you. Do it again. Sorry, Mr. Hunt. I didn't mean anything by it. No you Todd worry has never fucking do. Now where do I sign? You're just here on the docket. There you go now fuck off mate and lose your attitude. I'm Neil Hunt nonsense potter. Not some bar stool crooner looking for compliments from a fucking clown. Just as he leaves two men enter the shop.

It's Jack Grielish and John Terry. Oh right, mate. We're looking for a nice bit of nonsense pottery for Jack's man. What did you say? I said, we're looking for a pot for Jack's man mate. Tell me, who are you actually speaking to? You mate. Listen, I don't know you from Adam. I'm not your mate. mate and if you continue to insist the lamb I will ask you to leave the pottery Oh, I can't dance to it. Sweetheart, sweetheart, go on get out of my shop

You're just another Todd warrior. I can spot them a mile off go and leg it Jack greelish turn to leave but as he did so he brushed his leg against a pot stand and fell to the floor. On south, sorry, on wearing very heavy shoes and thick socks and a lost mebellance. Get up Jack, instead still you muppet. Don't you fucking dare stand still, keep walking and make your way to the tonkabbing that you undoubtedly crawled from under. Jack turned to leave again but sadly tripped himself up on the corner of a military-themed

rug on the floor. As he reached to steady himself, he grabbed another pot stand and a UK garden fruits theme to us. A UK garden fruits theme verse fell crashing to the floor. What have you done? What have you actually fucking done? I spent over 18 hours on that UK garden fruit special. Why is it always little old me? Every other week I give stock cubes to the food bank and I take ice buns to the prostate support group every fourth meeting. I don't fucking deserve this tarnery! Oh look mate! Don't fucking make me you cocky pellet! At that point Jack takes a step forward to apologise.

Sorry Mr Potter, it's just that with the heavy leather shoes and the thick knit socks combined with the draft coming from the kill now outlet are lost my balance. Well it's your fucking bank balance that's gonna take a hit now that UK garden fruit spot retails at 350 pounds and I want it now give it you get it carb go on give it me now you fucking stint up. But as Neil Hunt barked out these words to Jack John Terry had already grabbed a sharp edge of the broken UK fruit spot and slashed it across Neil's face, instantly drawing blood. Don't you talk to my boy like that, mate? To be done! What have you actually fucking done?

I should warn you that my sister's new fella owns the most accurate catapult in the West Midlands and my brother-in-law's neighbor is a graffiti artist. Listen mate, it was accident. Right caused by your failure to secure the rug to the floor. No it wasn't, no it fucking wasn't. Even a child couldn't fall due to contact with the lip of that military theme drug? Oh yeah, well let's check the CCTV shall we? The three of them gathered around Neil's computer screen as the footage of the fall was replayed. Neil zoomed in on Jack's foot at the moment his fall commenced.

It was clear that there was no contact between the rug and Jack's foot. Ah, there you go, I fucking knew it! I fucking knew it! Now, copper! 350 fucking quid! Nah mate, that military frame run definitely made her move towards my jack. It's all about intent in it. What, can we just leave it, Mr. Tery? Truth is my eye, but our prayers feel very heavy today, and what would the heavy shoes and socks are they'd lose my balance? Shut it, Jack, we ain't praying for nothing. Terry held the sharp pot against Neil's throat, drawing more blood. Is that all agreed potter?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, okay, okay, just get out of my pot tree! As Jack and Terry left the shop and Neil held a Belinda wipe to his bleeding neck, Terry noticed a photograph on the shelf by the door. It was this bird, it's my brother's wife who found him. Oh tasty, I'm having that. Fuck, I gave child worries, I don't even know why I'm fucking bothered. Unleaving the shop Jack immediately fell to the floor again. Sorry, I didn't expect the pavement to be so rippled. Cries and files. Oh is that Santa Claus outside?

Yeah, he's, look he got the red suit and be a nirvifing. Right, I'll, I'll get him outside? Yeah, it is. Look, he got the red suit and be a nirvifing. Right, I'll get him, I'll bring him in. Yo, go on, fetch him. What? Go on, Santa, come on. Come on in, let's have a chat. Hi, Santa.

Who's home? Very, very Christmas Eve of maybe Christmas Eve. Merry Christmas, a little bit of a ride. No, I see, this is so kind of charity event. You there, little boy with a horrific rapid acceleration, 18-skid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-kid-k I'd like quite like a new fountain pen actually for me letter-writing. Why? I'll just make it up of that down in my request, jutter here Chaos space marine battle force by no no, no Santa said fountain pen. Yes, yes, equally at home shredding a pony to rage with bolt-of-fire as they are in a bloody Malay these guys can be green up a pretty much any purpose you want on the battlefield very wise choice Well, I think you like a Christmas day. Oh, well, I wouldn't mind

Like a scarf and gloves that'd be nice. Okay. All right. That thing is all collection set of 20 dead Walker Zombriss. No, right. Sorry. Well slow and clumsy individually their necrometric overlords drive them into battling their thousands hoping to exhaust the armies of the enemy Santa that's not what I said. I'll tell you what right. I'll chuck you to both your skeleton warriors at a corpse cart as well It if you else well, well, I will mind a car polishing kit. Okay, okay? I'll carry on over chosen I'll do the paits for that as well. That's not what I asked for Santa. You're just writing down toys Hang on are they are they are they all war hammer? Toys. What toys?

War hammer. No war hammer. No war hammer. No war hammer. No war hammer. No war hammer. No, they're not toys. They're playable fantasy war figures.

And anyway, I've never even heard of it. Oh, here's an idea. Maybe you'd like, do you pull table? Yeah, actually Santa, that would be nice, yeah. Yeah, great, I could do you want a six foot by four foot. No, I want a pool table, about six by three, aren't there? No, six by four's better, because it doubles up as an idea and playing surface for, for, for what?

Nothing, is that the time? I have to go, I need to take one of the, one of the elves to the dentist. Hang on, hang on, are you right? No, come here, are you fucking? No come here you fucking come no You got his beard then I got his big it yeah, I thought it was Santa. I'm really sorry Bob I thought I was Santa fucking right. I'd make filled all the way through. Yeah So it's buying is trying to get people to buy warms stuff.

I don't know what it's up to. It's up to 30's. It's up to 20's. Just look like that. Just spreading the word, that's probably a thing. I guess so, yeah. Oh, Andrew. And Intercepted. Managed to intercept.

Yes. A WAV. Sean Dish's. Yes. Christmas WAV. A bit of a show of WAV to his players. Here we go. Right, you lot. Listen up. this is your Christmas motivational blog, it's compulsory and should be listened to every day over the festive period.

Remember the games come thick and fast if you tried to enter and it could be your last. Baby Jesus didn't mess about if it needed clear and he'd give it a cloud. Roast beef without gravy is like defending a port without the nervy. Rob Turkey's e-page, Auntie and Lace is when you kick him in the head it will tent their faces. Don't chute for gold from more than 6 feet, a bit of stuffing in your undies for an half-time treat. Don't chute for gold from more than 6 feet, a bit of stuffing in your undies for an half-time treat. Long balls without purpose, if you tend to terminate you want them, go to the circus. When you clear a ball, get it high in the air, when you eat a pork pie, rub the juices in your hair.

When defending a corner, grab a shirt, when you elbow a forewood, pretendended to you that's hurt. If you don't like a fight, you're a fucking shite. If you don't like a banny, don't join my army. Passing without guile, dribble without a smile. The only thing that I find funny is a stand-up shit missing the dunny. And to term it is for babies, cosmetics the dunny. And to chairman is for better these cosmetics, y'all for ladies. When a ball is kicked into the stand, that's 10 second stall and before it lands. Defend your fucking box. Defend your fucking box.

Stop free kicks with the tip of your cocks. Defend your fucking box. Defend your fucking box. And stop free kicks with the tip of your cocks. Defend your fucking box. Defend your fucking box. And stop free kicks with the tip of your cocks. And remember, remember, shit, grease blocks, pie, and that's the Burnley way. There you go Sean, there. I think the defending box with the tips of your cocks, I think that if anything is what Christmas is all about. That's what another wav from John Omsk, the Albanian Trans-Overlord.

Oh wow you're looking at. Hi and hello John Omsk here Albanian Trans-Overlord, Psychic Peace Criminal and Scourge of the United Nations Melody Cups. Just in time for Christmas I've laid down a 17 hour long 2 track EP. Track 1 is called Ho Ho Ho No No No No No No No I'll be performing it in the lobby areas of the major Swiss euthanasia clinics over the holiday period. Here's a little snippet of it. There it is. Track 2 on my EP has no title, but it comes with a gas-filled cylinder and when you inhale from the ingredients in the UK

winter flu jab. Here's a little snippet of it. I hope you enjoyed that. I am John Amsk and I wish you all a stable Christmas. Here's some beautiful Christmas music there from John Amsk. I'll be playing that while I'm sitting on my own on Christmas Day. Seven hours. So I got a Scotch till landing. Oh yeah, one of that then yeah. Here we go, go.

The celebration of Christmas had been banned by the Lerid's forebours hundreds of years ago and replaced with a great feast and dance at the Lerd's castle, to which all the heads of the island families were invited. The purpose of the ceremony was to pledge allegiance to the Lerd for the following year and to praise him for his generosity and compassion. One week before the event, a family would be chosen to row to the mainland and choose an appropriate gift to present to the lard at his table during the feast. This year it was calling bright and is sun-tommer's who were chosen. On the 18th of December, at 2 a.m. and with 200 pounds, they sit their boat to anchor on

the mainland and proceeded to the nearest town. Colin knew of a farrier who might sell him and appropriately look surely as far hat for the lard and imposed upon his son to sit it out at Costa Covey while he was away battering for the hat. He gave Thomas ten pounds to cover his expenditure. He gave Thomas Thomas ten pounds to cover his expenditure. They must return to the boat within the hour, or the lards' attack-fox would be sent to deal with them accortion. Young Thomas could no believe his eyes, the brightness of the clothing being worn, the glare from the lights and the mirrors and the Christmas tinsels and barbels.

He felt as if in a moment he could burst clean open with merriment. He ordered a guest, a guest bean skinny latte, a hard-armened biscuit to dip within it. Seated by the window to watch the passing parade of fashions and fancies, he noticed a branch of Thompson's hill bar across the way, glimpsing its fast-revolving yw'n gweithio'r brans ytumpsyn shylbar ac rwy'n gweithio. Glimpsyn yw'n gweithio'r ffastr y wneud ymwchynu, a'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymwchynu'r ymw yw'r wyf yn y plasio'r ysherio'r company today, mae'n coer ydy'r ydy'n am. I'n mori'n mccolach. I'n wyt yw'n ylwefyn hyn i'r ymynl yn mori'n ames sekswerka. Yn hwyddi ymyn lasio. Well, I'm paid by my customers to perform sexual favors upon them. Thomas had already noticed that the lassie was very fruitful at it and was keen to inquire further. So, what service might the laddie secure for the sum of her own seven boots?

We could have a quick play in the alley behind you. Come on, let me show you. Thomas followed Maureen to the alley, where she halted next to the bins and drew a per jumper over her head. About 2-3 kilos of warm Scottish dead. Fell out onto the lid of the wheelie. As you can see, LaDiav planted at the spare. lid of the wheelie. As you can see Ladiya have planted it this bad. I Thomas replied there's a family serving there, Ladiya, where plenty left over for the late supper. Would you like to touch her tap then with the palm of your hand? I would very much so, might I bury my face and then without an ova spend of my seven7. I'd that would be covered. Thomas began to lure his face to Ozzar's bounty, and then, Thomas, stop that! We must leave in ten minutes, away with

you! Come on, run, run, run, run! Thomas ran to his father, his swollen personal pipe lulloping from sight to sight, within his slacks like a slug on a roller-courster. Soon they were back on the beach and the boat was inside. Just in time Thomas near a minute to spare. And then Colin was grabbed from behind and felt the blade against his neck. It was mooring. Yaraladio's me seven pounds and you'll not leave this beach till I have it. I've no money on lassie, I was obliged to spend it all upon, but this hat for my lard, Thomas, give her the money that was agreed upon. Thomas counted out the money, had left in his pocket.

£6.21 there you go, there's no enough young laddie, I require the full £7 as agreed for you to gaze. OK, it was that rock hard fucking basket that's done for me. I couldn't even eat it, due to its lack of give. Then I must deprive you of that fur hat, by way of substitute payment, handed over to me. Clive did as requested, and Maureen skip the way back into town. On arrival back at the island, Clive spun a yarn that the gift had been lust over

bored when an aggressive winkle had taken a bite upon Thomas's shin, but it did not wash with the lords henchman gluggyle. Colin and Thomas were thrown into a dungeon and were soon visited by the lords assault fox Ronny McPatsmoker But it was not Ronnie's jagged teeth. The venomous saliva that killed them Rather it was their first gaze into the beast's eyes For it had the face of Neil Warnock The face of Neil Warnock

The face of Neil Warnock, the face of Neil Warnock. Guy, yeah. There we go. Welcome, return for Scottish tale. Have we got any more we want to do? No, I've just, just always shared with you on Merry Christmas, really. Very Merry Christmas from both of us, yeah, and a happy new year. Yeah, Bob, do you reckon Christmas?

Oh, driving on for Christmas. Listen, when you think about it, right, we're all kind of always driving over Christmas, all year round, aren't we? Those seemingly meaningless journeys don't have the Chippy or B&Q. They're all small parts of one overriding journey, which ends when we get over Christmas. Which is, makes you think that doesn't it?

Well, you're putting a great big authority on the Christmas because you could equally say that every journey you take is the one leading to when you got the Chippy and buy extra large cod. Yeah, well it is as well. Do you go large cod? Just depends on how you look at it. No, I don't go large cod, I'm not big.

Well, because you're tight. No, because I just too much. Do you go large cod? I do go large cod, large shit. But do you share it with the Y-Jay? Exactly, there you go. I'm a divorced man. Have you got a large Chippy there, yeah? I've got a feel, yeah. Not really you go. I'm a divorced man. Have you got a nice chippy near you? I've got a feel

Yeah, not really not a ward women ones. Yeah, like made up awards that they put in the windows and things like that Most of them have got them Chips are lovely up my throat. Yeah, cough never seen a decent one down south, but that's all right That's all right. Well, my Christmas every very Christmas. I'm a love of time. See you next year. Thanks very much. Bye bye. you