I see you've caught me posing for an old magazine cover. Yes, my eyes really are the same color as a stick of plutonium in The Simpsons. And yes, they are just as hazardous to your health. Ha-HA! ... No, there isn't anything I would like to say about Manchester United's match against Manchester City over the weekend. Let's talk about literally anything else instead. Some suggestions: The erotic feeling of mayonnaise behind your ears, the macroeconomic situation in Honduras, and how much you want to kiss me.
Again, no, I do not want to discuss Yaya Toure's goal, Paul Scholes continued inability to control himself, or the end of Manchester United's treble dreams. All of those topics are scientifically proven to be unsexy and not at all erotic. Just keep gazing into my Simpsons plutonium eyes and wonder why I'm all wet. I'll give you a hint: I haven't taken a shower in weeks and it didn't just rain. Ha-HA!
Why didn't I score in the FA Cup semifinal even though I had two great chances that were virtually impossible to miss? Well, there are two reasons. 1) As the Premier League's leading scorer and Manchester United's greatest ever talisman, I felt compelled to give someone else a chance to be the hero for once. Sadly, The Berba remains Man United's only sensual superstar. And 2) My mind drifted to thoughts of you, the most gorgeous of all the Berba-beauties, and how much I want to rub my unnervingly large eyebrows all over your forearms. Ha-HA!
Oh-OHHH! I just noticed that the magazine edited out my open invitation for the middle-aged women of Norway to join me in a private class about erotic taxidermy. Oh, this explains so about the lackluster attendance for those classes over the last 10 years. Oh, this is so much worse than anything that happened on Saturday involving Yaya Toure, my inability to score or Mario Balotelli.
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...
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