Why you ask.....?
Let's smash em on Saturday and show them who's boss.
The Official f*** Carlton thread
The Official f*** Carlton thread
f*** I hate this mob. I hate em more than the Saints, Collingwood and the Hawks put together.
Why you ask.....?
Let's smash em on Saturday and show them who's boss.
Why you ask.....?
Let's smash em on Saturday and show them who's boss.
Last edited by Madden on Mon Apr 11, 2011 5:30 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
That is one shocking collection of pics :-&
"You can quote me on this... He is gawn" - bomberdonnie re Hurley's contract status 25 February 2012
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Look at em and get fired up Swoods! The more you hate them the sweeter it will be when we destroy them on Saturday.swoodley wrote:That is one shocking collection of pics :-&
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Ha, John Elliott. Below is a thoroughly entertaining read from The Age. My now wife was one of the ladies John was serenading.
Raising a glass to getting away with it
Naked City
By Virginia Trioli
July 17, 2004
When Liberal MP Andrew Olexander apparently passed out in drunkenness behind the wheel of his car last weekend and careened into three parked cars, the silence that surrounded him was not only the black, still night of Melbourne at five in the morning.
While Liberal sources this week called Olexander a marked man - "watch this space" - the heavy silence from colleagues and from opponents had the whiff of relief about it: "There but for the grace of God goes me and my car."
Piety about episodes of public drunkenness is in short supply because petards on which to be hoisted are only a barstool away.
But if only someone had looked a little closer, I'm convinced we would have spied - crouching in small, nervous knots behind the concertinaed cars - the public figures, the elected officials, the managers, the media mouthpieces, the stars and sportspeople whose epic drinking episodes have become the stuff of amusing legend.
You know the hypocrisy: you're a well-known person; you get drunk and fall down; half the room laughs, the other cleans it up, and no one mentions it again. You can save the knowing frowns about drink-driving for the TAC ads, and if it all gets a little out of hand - well, who's to criticise?
Here's a case in point. On cobblestoned Bank Place in the city, a short stagger from the Savage Club, is a former banking chamber and now elegant wine bar, Syracuse - a favourite Friday night gathering place for city workers and rushed Docklands football fans.
Last Friday, an astonishing sight greeted those who dashed in from the cold - one-time corporate high flyer and now suspended company director John Elliott holding court with four young, attractive women. All heads turned in his direction, not only because it was amply clear that Elliott had been enjoying himself all afternoon and was in full sail, but mostly because, as various blokes commented, age just doesn't seem to weary the charm and power of some.
But there were a couple of things wrong with this picture. One was that Elliott was apparently an uninvited guest at this table, and the women, along with management, had been urging him for some time to move on. On closer inspection, the women's tight, fixed smiles betrayed the very end of patience. Fortunately Elliott did move on, only to return - once, twice and then three times - in what became, over the course of a bizarre evening, a subtle struggle between management and an oblivious Elliott.
The other little problem was that Elliott was neglecting the person who seemed to be his real guest, the curiously familiar man who had passed out at a table on the footpath outside: the former national president of the ALP and ACTU official Greg Sword. One of the bar's owners, Charlie Sirianos, along with his perpetually smiling and unflappable maitre d', Ben Knight, had been trying for some time to rouse Sword, who resisted all requests that he go home and sleep it off.
It was a tricky one. Charlie and Ben moved smoothly from strategy meetings near the bar to the footpath outside, which they discreetly screened with a plush, velvet curtain. In the meantime, Elliott continued his rake's progress around the amazed room, returning several times to another table, this time of more mature women who seemed slightly more forgiving of his intrusions. Did he at least buy them a drink? "No," one smiled ruefully. "The whole thing's just a bit sad, really."
Outside, Greg Sword was not moving. The bar staff urged him into his coat, upon which he was extravagantly sick, and then, before they could stop him, he scrambled in the door of the bar and into the toilet - the women's toilet. Now they were snookered.
When Ben finally managed to stop Elliott and ask him to take his friend home, Elliott called faintly at the toilet door: "Greg? Hey Greg? C'mon, Greg." Then, red of face, dark of eye, Elliott barked "he's not my bloody problem" at Charlie and rolled off down Bank Place, around to Collins Street and into the night.
For the next half hour, they tried to coax Sword out - gently ushering around those clients who needed to use the facilities - but Sword said he didn't want to move, did not want to go home and, according to Charlie, was in no state to do so anyway.
An ambulance was called. The officers snapped on latex gloves and pushed into the toilet. They re-emerged with pinched faces. Was there no one to take him home? Well, they had better call the cops.
Staff at the Savage Club told Charlie that Elliott and Sword, along with some others, had enjoyed a long and well-bottled lunch, but staff believed they were heading home when they departed late in the afternoon. In the fraternal sympathy of those who serve those who drink, one Savage Club staff member was heard to mutter to Charlie: "Jeez, I didn't know they were coming across to you afterwards - sorry about that."
As Sword was strapped into his stretcher and wheeled into the ambulance, Constable Allemand asked just who he was, and who was with him. Well, no one now, said Ben - his friend left him.
"Is there anyone who would know of this guy?" asked the constable.
"You could try the Premier," Ben said, brightly.
Constable Allemand stopped, stared and rolled his eyes. It would be a long night.
Greg Sword tells this column he doesn't usually drink, and on that occasion didn't really drink that much anyway.
"I had one glass of wine with lunch, and then about five or six of us shared three bottles of red after lunch - but I just shut down."
Asked how he felt about his mate Elliott abandoning him, Sword said he barely knew the former Carlton football club president, but Elliott had called him the next day to ask how he felt. "I said, 'pretty silly'."
Sword spent a few hours in the Royal Melbourne before his wife collected him.
John Elliott did not return Naked City's call.
Syracuse co-owner Charlie Sirianos said this week that he'd heard nothing from Sword except that he'd survived his adventure, "but an apology to the staff for the two hours they spent cleaning the bathroom would be nice".
And tables 40 and six, whose gracious occupants had long tolerated the perambulations of a serenely unnoticing John Elliott?
Thanked by the affable Syracuse staff, they sailed into the night with smiles that said, like the rest of us, they had seen it all - so many times before.
Raising a glass to getting away with it
Naked City
By Virginia Trioli
July 17, 2004
When Liberal MP Andrew Olexander apparently passed out in drunkenness behind the wheel of his car last weekend and careened into three parked cars, the silence that surrounded him was not only the black, still night of Melbourne at five in the morning.
While Liberal sources this week called Olexander a marked man - "watch this space" - the heavy silence from colleagues and from opponents had the whiff of relief about it: "There but for the grace of God goes me and my car."
Piety about episodes of public drunkenness is in short supply because petards on which to be hoisted are only a barstool away.
But if only someone had looked a little closer, I'm convinced we would have spied - crouching in small, nervous knots behind the concertinaed cars - the public figures, the elected officials, the managers, the media mouthpieces, the stars and sportspeople whose epic drinking episodes have become the stuff of amusing legend.
You know the hypocrisy: you're a well-known person; you get drunk and fall down; half the room laughs, the other cleans it up, and no one mentions it again. You can save the knowing frowns about drink-driving for the TAC ads, and if it all gets a little out of hand - well, who's to criticise?
Here's a case in point. On cobblestoned Bank Place in the city, a short stagger from the Savage Club, is a former banking chamber and now elegant wine bar, Syracuse - a favourite Friday night gathering place for city workers and rushed Docklands football fans.
Last Friday, an astonishing sight greeted those who dashed in from the cold - one-time corporate high flyer and now suspended company director John Elliott holding court with four young, attractive women. All heads turned in his direction, not only because it was amply clear that Elliott had been enjoying himself all afternoon and was in full sail, but mostly because, as various blokes commented, age just doesn't seem to weary the charm and power of some.
But there were a couple of things wrong with this picture. One was that Elliott was apparently an uninvited guest at this table, and the women, along with management, had been urging him for some time to move on. On closer inspection, the women's tight, fixed smiles betrayed the very end of patience. Fortunately Elliott did move on, only to return - once, twice and then three times - in what became, over the course of a bizarre evening, a subtle struggle between management and an oblivious Elliott.
The other little problem was that Elliott was neglecting the person who seemed to be his real guest, the curiously familiar man who had passed out at a table on the footpath outside: the former national president of the ALP and ACTU official Greg Sword. One of the bar's owners, Charlie Sirianos, along with his perpetually smiling and unflappable maitre d', Ben Knight, had been trying for some time to rouse Sword, who resisted all requests that he go home and sleep it off.
It was a tricky one. Charlie and Ben moved smoothly from strategy meetings near the bar to the footpath outside, which they discreetly screened with a plush, velvet curtain. In the meantime, Elliott continued his rake's progress around the amazed room, returning several times to another table, this time of more mature women who seemed slightly more forgiving of his intrusions. Did he at least buy them a drink? "No," one smiled ruefully. "The whole thing's just a bit sad, really."
Outside, Greg Sword was not moving. The bar staff urged him into his coat, upon which he was extravagantly sick, and then, before they could stop him, he scrambled in the door of the bar and into the toilet - the women's toilet. Now they were snookered.
When Ben finally managed to stop Elliott and ask him to take his friend home, Elliott called faintly at the toilet door: "Greg? Hey Greg? C'mon, Greg." Then, red of face, dark of eye, Elliott barked "he's not my bloody problem" at Charlie and rolled off down Bank Place, around to Collins Street and into the night.
For the next half hour, they tried to coax Sword out - gently ushering around those clients who needed to use the facilities - but Sword said he didn't want to move, did not want to go home and, according to Charlie, was in no state to do so anyway.
An ambulance was called. The officers snapped on latex gloves and pushed into the toilet. They re-emerged with pinched faces. Was there no one to take him home? Well, they had better call the cops.
Staff at the Savage Club told Charlie that Elliott and Sword, along with some others, had enjoyed a long and well-bottled lunch, but staff believed they were heading home when they departed late in the afternoon. In the fraternal sympathy of those who serve those who drink, one Savage Club staff member was heard to mutter to Charlie: "Jeez, I didn't know they were coming across to you afterwards - sorry about that."
As Sword was strapped into his stretcher and wheeled into the ambulance, Constable Allemand asked just who he was, and who was with him. Well, no one now, said Ben - his friend left him.
"Is there anyone who would know of this guy?" asked the constable.
"You could try the Premier," Ben said, brightly.
Constable Allemand stopped, stared and rolled his eyes. It would be a long night.
Greg Sword tells this column he doesn't usually drink, and on that occasion didn't really drink that much anyway.
"I had one glass of wine with lunch, and then about five or six of us shared three bottles of red after lunch - but I just shut down."
Asked how he felt about his mate Elliott abandoning him, Sword said he barely knew the former Carlton football club president, but Elliott had called him the next day to ask how he felt. "I said, 'pretty silly'."
Sword spent a few hours in the Royal Melbourne before his wife collected him.
John Elliott did not return Naked City's call.
Syracuse co-owner Charlie Sirianos said this week that he'd heard nothing from Sword except that he'd survived his adventure, "but an apology to the staff for the two hours they spent cleaning the bathroom would be nice".
And tables 40 and six, whose gracious occupants had long tolerated the perambulations of a serenely unnoticing John Elliott?
Thanked by the affable Syracuse staff, they sailed into the night with smiles that said, like the rest of us, they had seen it all - so many times before.
Like sand through the hour glass, so are the days at the Essendon Football Club.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
The only good thing in this thread was Glenn McGrath's arm, so it's fitting that it was removed.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Hall of shame. f*** I hate them too Staggy. JohnG and Dodgey wont be able to sleep this week. It's time to put these c**** in the place they belong.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
This. I hate them with a passion. I hate them nearly as much as I love Essendon. They have cheated everything they have ever achieved.robbie67 wrote:Hall of shame. f*** I hate them too Staggy. JohnG and Dodgey wont be able to sleep this week. It's time to put these c**** in the place they belong.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
I hope Glenn Manton dies of Aids.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
not only do i want a belting of this joke of a club i want some hurt carlton players after they play us, remember the titans type of stuff!!!!!
at the very least mess up their hair a bit, f****** princesses
at the very least mess up their hair a bit, f****** princesses
Kakadu Kangaroos
Captain of the first BomberTalk International Test Squad
BT Soccer World Cup Champion
Captain of the Bombertalk Reds 3rd with 4 wins - 108.30%
(6 games) - 65 kicks, 33 marks, 52 handballs, 4 tackles, 3 Hit Outs, 2 goals
Captain of the first BomberTalk International Test Squad
BT Soccer World Cup Champion
Captain of the Bombertalk Reds 3rd with 4 wins - 108.30%
(6 games) - 65 kicks, 33 marks, 52 handballs, 4 tackles, 3 Hit Outs, 2 goals
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filthy2
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
The hatred of Carlscum goes back generations in my family.
I was raised on stories of Casper belting the boils on Coleys neck time after time and when he retaliated and got 4 weeks it cost us the 52 Flag.
Building a platform at Poofters Park so Pig Iron Bob could drive up and watch the game from his Rolls.
Their constant cheating.
Paying Bradley to see out our Form 4 so he could go to them.
Pinching Justin Madden.
Stealing the lower teams better players and paying them under the table.
Their salary cap cheating that rewarded them with Judd ......aambassador for the environment at Visy......pullease....the bald headed turd is illiterate......and Kruezer, Murphy and Gibbs.
They are scum and their supporters who dont own Fish N Chip shops et al are cheating Stock Brokers and so called respectable "businesmen."
As Hop said elsewhere, if they played it straight along with Collingfilth, we would have about 22 Flags.
Ask Jeff Blethyn what he thinks of Jeff Crouch (cheating maggot) and Wes Lofts (well dressed crook).
hate, hate, hate.
I was raised on stories of Casper belting the boils on Coleys neck time after time and when he retaliated and got 4 weeks it cost us the 52 Flag.
Building a platform at Poofters Park so Pig Iron Bob could drive up and watch the game from his Rolls.
Their constant cheating.
Paying Bradley to see out our Form 4 so he could go to them.
Pinching Justin Madden.
Stealing the lower teams better players and paying them under the table.
Their salary cap cheating that rewarded them with Judd ......aambassador for the environment at Visy......pullease....the bald headed turd is illiterate......and Kruezer, Murphy and Gibbs.
They are scum and their supporters who dont own Fish N Chip shops et al are cheating Stock Brokers and so called respectable "businesmen."
As Hop said elsewhere, if they played it straight along with Collingfilth, we would have about 22 Flags.
Ask Jeff Blethyn what he thinks of Jeff Crouch (cheating maggot) and Wes Lofts (well dressed crook).
hate, hate, hate.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
I hate Carlton's guts. From the old wogboy days (Christou/Kouta), Fat Bastard (Whitnall), Fraser "get a ****** haircut" Brown, Stephen "nice teeth" Kernahan, Glenn "I'm ****** awesome" Manton, through to giving us 'The Rejects' (Matty Allan, Justin Murphy & ****** Campo). And let's not forget a thoooooooooousand No.1 draft picks from tanking & cash-filled brown paper bags that lured Juddy.
Absolute ****** dog starvers!!
(Still not as bad as Collingwood mind you, wait for the rant next week)
Absolute ****** dog starvers!!
(Still not as bad as Collingwood mind you, wait for the rant next week)
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filthy2
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
He has got so many studs in his body, where would his boyfriend put it?robbie67 wrote:I hope Glenn Manton dies of Aids.
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
I can begrudgingly respect, to a point, how Collingwood goes about their business.Gimps wrote:(Still not as bad as Collingwood mind you, wait for the rant next week)
I can't respect Carlton.
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Malky
- Regular Senior Player
- Posts: 2284
- Joined: Wed Aug 30, 2006 11:53 pm
- Location: Wherever I May Roam
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Reasons why I hate the scum:
Their "theme song" - makes me want to hurl and fall asleep all at the same time
"Money Bags" Judd - No, you don't give a flying f*** about the environment, you cash hungry twat (apologies to twats!)
Murphy, Gibbs, Kreuzer et al. - plenty of draft picks, still a shitbag of a club!
Fraser Brown - I heard my father drop the F-bomb for the first time ever when describing this c***
Justin Murphy dancing around like he'd won a flag - at least he didn't get to win one - and never hit a target when he played for us
Scott Camporeale - midfield coach extraordinaire - single handedly put our club back 10 years - oh and he's a c***
John Elliott - cannot believe he could possibly have the same DNA structure as the rest of us
Ian Collins - ditto in a collared shirt
2nd game 2010, breaking the run - we'll lay the blame squarely with M. Knights for that one - c***!
Koutefidies, Christou, Camporeale, Silvagni et. al - dirty, greasy...
The swagger
You're going nuts coz we're 8 goals up with 5 minutes to play, giving shit to their c*** players, and some guido from 6 rows back comes down and whacks Staggy, demanding to punch on - what a c***!
Reasons why I love the scum:
Mil Hanna - still hasn't woken up, probably for the best
Stephen Kernahan - still wondering how he kicked it backwards into the Southern Stand
Owning their asses - 6 in a row with all of their stars and draft picks on the ground!!!
Ryan Houlihan - it's like playing with 19 on the ground!!!
1993!!!
They still haven't come yet...
Silvagni pleading with the goal umpire - as if you were going to ever deny one of the great goals of a Grand Final!
They're supporters are so dopey they mistake me - who was going nuts coz we're 8 goals up with 5 minutes to play, giving shit to their c*** players - for Staggy!!!
Scotty Lucas suddenly turning into Silvagni's team mate... beating the c***s by a point!!!
Beating the c***s by 12 goals, losing my voice and unable to go to work for 2 days!!!
L4TM
Let's turn Lygon Street Red and f***in' Black on Saturday!!!
Their "theme song" - makes me want to hurl and fall asleep all at the same time
"Money Bags" Judd - No, you don't give a flying f*** about the environment, you cash hungry twat (apologies to twats!)
Murphy, Gibbs, Kreuzer et al. - plenty of draft picks, still a shitbag of a club!
Fraser Brown - I heard my father drop the F-bomb for the first time ever when describing this c***
Justin Murphy dancing around like he'd won a flag - at least he didn't get to win one - and never hit a target when he played for us
Scott Camporeale - midfield coach extraordinaire - single handedly put our club back 10 years - oh and he's a c***
John Elliott - cannot believe he could possibly have the same DNA structure as the rest of us
Ian Collins - ditto in a collared shirt
2nd game 2010, breaking the run - we'll lay the blame squarely with M. Knights for that one - c***!
Koutefidies, Christou, Camporeale, Silvagni et. al - dirty, greasy...
The swagger
You're going nuts coz we're 8 goals up with 5 minutes to play, giving shit to their c*** players, and some guido from 6 rows back comes down and whacks Staggy, demanding to punch on - what a c***!
Reasons why I love the scum:
Mil Hanna - still hasn't woken up, probably for the best
Stephen Kernahan - still wondering how he kicked it backwards into the Southern Stand
Owning their asses - 6 in a row with all of their stars and draft picks on the ground!!!
Ryan Houlihan - it's like playing with 19 on the ground!!!
1993!!!
They still haven't come yet...
Silvagni pleading with the goal umpire - as if you were going to ever deny one of the great goals of a Grand Final!
They're supporters are so dopey they mistake me - who was going nuts coz we're 8 goals up with 5 minutes to play, giving shit to their c*** players - for Staggy!!!
Scotty Lucas suddenly turning into Silvagni's team mate... beating the c***s by a point!!!
Beating the c***s by 12 goals, losing my voice and unable to go to work for 2 days!!!
L4TM
Let's turn Lygon Street Red and f***in' Black on Saturday!!!
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Nice one Malky. Particularly like the use of the C-Bomb when describing them =D>
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Windy_Hill
- Champion of Essendon
- Posts: 12859
- Joined: Thu Aug 31, 2006 10:23 pm
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
robbie67 wrote:I hope Glenn Manton dies of Aids.
AIDS cannot live in this low life - they have standards you know
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Windy_Hill
- Champion of Essendon
- Posts: 12859
- Joined: Thu Aug 31, 2006 10:23 pm
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
Hey Gimpo, have you still got your Blue Heaven fan site membership. Might be time to resurface. They may still remember your all so subtle trolling from last year
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
I can't remember my login.. ah well, theres always time for a new one.. Talkingcarlton will get the once-over. Won't take up too much of my time, will get booted off within a couple of days when the douchbags realise I am taking the piss out of them.Windy_Hill wrote:Hey Gimpo, have you still got your Blue Heaven fan site membership. Might be time to resurface. They may still remember your all so subtle trolling from last year
Re: The Official f*** Carlton thread
I f****** hate these pricks. f****** cheating scum that don't deserve to be in the same stadium as us.
When I was 17 in 2003 a group of adult scum started having a go at me, threatening to fight me, etc. Dad got out of his seat and told them to "F*CK OFF" and luckily for them they f***** off!
When I was 17 in 2003 a group of adult scum started having a go at me, threatening to fight me, etc. Dad got out of his seat and told them to "F*CK OFF" and luckily for them they f***** off!