Why We Fought

And so it begins. The only time of the year that sees the monster Lawwell quaking in his boots, if he’s wearing any considering how he’s taken to going naked since our time on the island. The only time of the year when a hush falls over Celtic Park and everyone steps carefully lest the dreaded word is spoken: poppy.

Okay, so it’s a tad early this year but it seems to be appearing on the lapels of some people so Lawwell called in a select few and told us, ‘This is a task of supreme importance so I’ve chosen only the most loathsome of the Scottish press; only the most insidious journalists who are willing to risk their reputation and moral standing…’
I looked around, there was only me.
‘In order to come to the aid of the Celtic party at this, our most crisis ridden time of the year.’ He was clothed when he began but I noticed that once talking, he began to strip off his Hugo Boss grey Schutzstaffel suit until he was standing in his shirt and nothing else.
‘Of course our policy of pandering to the extremists among our support means no member of the Celtic family can be seen wearing a poppy but we also don’t need a repeat of last season’s vilification when the Green Brigade broke free of their reins and embarrassed us nationally for the second time running.’
I looked at his cock and trembled as his speech seemed to be exciting him.
‘So Spiers, your task is this, I want you to begin to ridicule the wearing of the poppy, make it seem it’s perfectly normal to object to wearing one and perhaps people won’t think it’s just the preserve of the Irish republican Catholic mindset peculiar to Celtic.’
‘Yes sir,’ I said, making my excuses and leaving quickly, citing eagerness to get to work on my latest project and start tweeting something appalling before Lawwell in his excitement does to me what he did to Mark Daly on the island.