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All-year Round Shorts Enthusiasts (ARSES)
By Phil Thornton
There I am wrapped up warm against the sub-zero Arctic blizzard and up walks a fellar in a pair of fucking Everton shorts and a jarg Emporio Armani t-shirt. What is with these whoppers? Are they trying to prove something, like those bare-chested beauts at places like Newcastle and Portsmouth, where men are men and women are sat at home watching Jeremy Kyle repeats on ITV87+5? ARSEs tend to fall into two categories;
fellars who look like Paul Jewell and no doubt manage a local kid’s footy team under the impression that they are a blend of Jose Mourinho and Neil Warnock. Part master-tactician and part-sergeant major, they command the utmost respect of the under 11s under their command. They don’t wear shorts all the time to show off their pale, blotchy fat legs but because they’re always prepared whatever the weather, whatever the season or time of day for a quick game of five-a-side and a bloated, heavy breathing sprint in and out of knocked off traffic cones. He’s there in the 24 Hour garage at half two in the morning filling up his rubbish strewn Beamer, buying 20 Bennies and a copy of tomorrow’s Star. He’s there on Christmas Day walking his staff in the park at 7.30 in the morning. He’s there at weddings giving away the bride in a pair of paint splattered Barcelona shorts and a bargain bin school uniform blazer from Baron Jon. Shorts are his life, they tell you everything about him; the fat mouth in the alehouse always screaming abuse who’s not been to a match for twenty odd years because ’it’s a rip off now, the games not for the likes of me and you is it lad?’ No, it isn’t, thank fuck.
Fellars with calf muscles like two turtles shagging. They’ve worked hard on those calf muscles, down the gym or on the road, Fitness fanatics; runners, cyclists, rowers, they are lads with pretensions and pension plans as solid as their finely toned legs. Bizzies, squaddies, amateur league footballers, half-marathon charity bores. It’d be a shame to put all that good work to waste under a pair of tracky bottoms or jeans eh? These lads don’t go for the baggy, possibly spunk stained almost to the knee footy shorts of the Paul Jewell crew but much prefer the shorter, more athletically cut model, all the better to show off their well tanned, well oiled thighs. These nuggets are constantly looking at ’the ladeez’ to check out whether they’re looking at them. And who wouldn’t look at them, mooching around the Trafford Centre as though they’d just completed the Great Northern fucking Run or whatever it’s called. Look lad, we know you’ve spent many long and painful hours to get your pins in that kind of shape in order to give off a signal of sexual power. I bet you can go all night without breaking sweat but I prefer to woo the ladies with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice and a sausage dinner.
Shorts were made for a purpose; to play sports in or to wear when it’s sunny. These should be the only time men should wear them. Not to shop in when it’s minus 10 degrees or to pose in whilst walking around a fully air conditioned shopping mall. Even schools have got rid of em apart from the kind of schools that encourage participation in the scouts and we all know why that is.
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