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Jokman's Corner

Scottish Arsenal fan, suffering from an over-estimation of wit. Wispa Gold saviour. Fanshare. Aspiring commentator.

Usmanov: Arsenal's Saviour Or Dangerous Scoundrel?

Usmanov, that wobbly-jawed, walking Rouble, first came to most Gooners attention in 2007. This was the year he breached the previously impenetrable group of shareholders. The people who technically owned our club were part of an illustrious group that still held the values of Arsenal aloft to the rest and showed that a successful team could still be maintained without a major foreign-investor. The dusty, mahogany-filled boardroom, much like Ron Burgundys house, was an example to all clubs. It was serene, untouched, untroubled. Fans never really had cause for concern in that regard. We were in fact, proud that the traditional values were still in place. Until 2007.

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An Arsenal Legend... For want of a better word...

In the early days of social networking, my attempts to integrate with the indigenous fauna were laughable.  I had tweets regarding biscuits, work dross and morose bobbins.  Mostly though, I was on a warpath with morons who were bastardizing the English written word.  The Queens English being repeatedly punched full force in the face, like Dale Winton Vs Mike Tyson in his pomp.  I took to the cyber-streets, criticizing unwanted abbreviations and giving typed lashings to vagabonds who fell into the snare of internet-speak.  ROFLMAO my f*cking ballbag. 

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Where would we be without The Arsenal?

I've been sans phone for a week. Phoneless. Without my sleek, metallic, personality-bereft friend. No bulky weight in my pocket (easy ladies!) to remind me of the exciting potential and window of wonder that is my mobile.  It has been ridiculously tough. Why? I hear you cry in your sarcastic, I really-don't-care, tone. Well, I'll tell you. I'm a 20-a-day smoker. I used to be 6"4 before I started ( Zing! ), but seriously, I do enjoy a cigarette. I've found though, that the nicotine hit that is supplied by these small, pencil-sized cancer bringers is supplemented by my phone. Hold your equine-based creatures for an iota. Not for a second am I suggesting that phones are the harbingers of death, oh no, we let The Big Guy decide all that stuff. No, what I was trying to say, is that the feeling that is supplied by the cigarette and it's combo of noxious chemicals is aided, boosted, by my phone in my hand.

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