All Blacks Assistant Coach Holds Emergency Press Conference
Apr 28, 2018 8:34:47 GMT 9
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Post by Sprague Dawley on Apr 28, 2018 8:34:47 GMT 9
All Blacks Assistant Coach Holds Emergency Press Conference
--Stuff--
All Blacks Assistant Coach Ian Foster, having today been volunteered by the Herald to take on a coaching role with the Auckland Blues, has held an emergency press conference.
"There I am aboard the gravy train, eating my mid-afternoon weetbix for brekkie, just prior to hitting the chaise for some leisurely book reading, then a bit of wine before yet another day on 666 Locomotive Easy St winds down, having not been required to do a single stroke of work since that sweet euro junket last November, when I pick up the Herald ond OH SHIT, some rude writer prick is stomping up and down between the gravy train carriages, snooping around for me and yelling about volunteering me for bloody extracurricular work, and worse than that it's at the dogshit Auckland Blues team AKA the resume Death Camp train. When all I have to do here in this world's sweetest gig with the AB's is lay low up here in my tastefully-appointed front carriage, be like Steve, talk like Steve, try and get as fat as Steve, yeah baby, let that glory of the AB's winning percentage accrue on my resume in order for it to wax over my actual head coach resume, then sidle on into the head coach gig and continued tenured residence of Carriage 1, 666 Easy St, destination; paydirt."
"Like. Fuck. You fucken do it."
--Stuff--
All Blacks Assistant Coach Ian Foster, having today been volunteered by the Herald to take on a coaching role with the Auckland Blues, has held an emergency press conference.
"There I am aboard the gravy train, eating my mid-afternoon weetbix for brekkie, just prior to hitting the chaise for some leisurely book reading, then a bit of wine before yet another day on 666 Locomotive Easy St winds down, having not been required to do a single stroke of work since that sweet euro junket last November, when I pick up the Herald ond OH SHIT, some rude writer prick is stomping up and down between the gravy train carriages, snooping around for me and yelling about volunteering me for bloody extracurricular work, and worse than that it's at the dogshit Auckland Blues team AKA the resume Death Camp train. When all I have to do here in this world's sweetest gig with the AB's is lay low up here in my tastefully-appointed front carriage, be like Steve, talk like Steve, try and get as fat as Steve, yeah baby, let that glory of the AB's winning percentage accrue on my resume in order for it to wax over my actual head coach resume, then sidle on into the head coach gig and continued tenured residence of Carriage 1, 666 Easy St, destination; paydirt."
"Like. Fuck. You fucken do it."