Lumpy Gustard

Thats what a mate of mine said the other day when we were watching the rugby. It was really funny. You can now either skip to the end to see why this was so funny, or you can read about my Sunday morning and my thoughts on rugby, and then find out. I don’t give shit.

I don’t normally watch rugby - I find no enjoyment in seeing a group of fat men in silly hats cuddling each other and fondling each others nuts - unless it’s on a big screen in a pub and you get to watch Ireland fail heroically in front of a braying mob of shit haired jocks. I like it then.

However, Sunday morning saw me and my hard drinking mate wake up on a couch after a night of Jaegermeister fuelled shenanigans. We decided that we needed breakfast. Opening the fridge and seeing nothing but a solitary can of Budweiser and some vegetables, we decided to knock around to one of the lads, who would doubtlessly be overjoyed to see us at such an ungodly hour of the afternoon and would reward us with comfy seats and beakfast rolls. Or something.

We bought some cans of cheap Polish lager and hit the road.

Anyway, after arriving unanounced, eating all his food and dropping cigarettes on his new carpet, he flicked on the rugby. The Munsters were playing the Samaratans or something, and it was apparently a big deal in egg chasing circles.

There was some dude playing for one of the teams with a stupid name. Actually there was quite a few dudes with stupid names, but one of them was called something Gustard.

Anyway, this being Rugby, someone stood on his face after a few minutes, and left him with a massive lump on his forehead. Like on of them yokes Tom and Jerry dish out on cartoons.

So this bloke was on camera with a massive lump on his head and his name came up on the screen.

“Lumpy Gustard” my mate said.

And we all laughed.

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