David Beckham wakes up one morning, showers, and puts on his best
tracksuit ready for another hard day's work of being an over-
privileged little shit.
Catching sight of himself in the mirror he thinks, "By god, Dave,
you're looking good this morning." He admires the fine cut of his
outfit and the neat trim of his bum fluff, and flexes his biceps.
"Feeling good, too," he notes proudly at the firm swell of muscle
underneath the "Red Shites" kit he's wearing.
He enters the kitchen downstairs and Posh, hands him a bowl of
cornflakes. "You're looking fit this morning, Dave."
"I certainly am," says the thick pillock appreciatively. "I feel good
as well."
"But you're not smelling so good, mind," comments his beloved. Dave
takes a sniff. "You're right there," he says worriedly, "I am smelling
a bit rough."
He eats his cereal, downs his coffee, and sets off for Old Trafford.
"Good morning to you, sweetie," he grins at Alex Ferguson.
"It's a fine morning Dave," says Alex, "and you're looking really
good."
"Why thank you. I look good, and I feel pretty good as well," says
Dave flexing both arms for his benefit.
"Christ, Dave!" winces Alex in disgust, "you smell awful!"
Worried, Dave visits his doctor.
"Doc, I've got a problem. I look good, I feel great, but I smell
awful."
The doctor reaches down his medical dictionary. "You look good..." he
mutters as he scans down the page, "feel great... but... smell awful.
Hmmm, yes... It's quite simple, Dave..." the doctor says.
"Well, what is it?"
"You're a cunt."
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