Renton

Rules are fucking rules. Where are we without rules? Trump's America, that's where.

Right, what the fuck happened there? Dazzler starter, me in attendance, D1 in attendance who is on match 30 without a single loss. We were fucking destroyed. Our passing was atrocious, our press non existent, we fell over at every opportunity and never had any flow. Set pieces awful other than the corner. Bournemouth were superb, so efficient. Best team I have seen at SJP in a while. Is this a blip or the start of a familiar malaise? Hopefully the former but it's shocking how quickly it flips for us. Although in truth, there were some clues in what was to come in the Wolves game. Oh, and a fair amount of people streamed out after the Isak free kick when it was still 1-2. Wankers.

Dazzler to face the fate of the best deities. Fucking shit, match report to follow.

Howay lads, the mackems match thread on us has already overtaken us. Let's try to beat them today.

It's a funny old game ya ginger twat.

They really fucking hate Don Goodman on there as well. All this hate can't be good for them.

Post at the top of the page. There's plenty of red faced English patriots who would welcome them with open arms.

I was going for the gif where one little girl slaps another but I think we can all agree this is better.

How are pensioners fucked? What sleaze? What's the crack with PIP (honestly, I don't know). I think we know who wrecked the economy despite having 14 years to fix it. And ruined the NHS and much else, even Kemi admitted it this week. And you expect Labour to turn it round in 6 months? Anyway, seems an odd time for you to bring this up because most indicators this week have been good. FTSE hits 8500 (all time high) Bank Rates set to fall faster Inflation lower Debt cost dropping Economy growing Wages rising NHS waiting lists falling Just today, IFS upgraded UK growth predictions I mean, things are still fucking shit for the average Joe, don't get me wrong, but we all - even you I bet - know who got us here. Stick to the funnies mate.

I love our high brow political discussions btw. We were born to adjourn to the smoking room with a glass of Port.

57. Understandably, he charged a fiver extra for CT.

Sucking cocks. He got some baccy too like.

PL only drives a white van.

Villa being exceptionally small time again. Apparently we are fuming. Erm, why exactly? Mackems and Villa.

Really sorry to hear that strawb. Don't know what advice I can give. Maybe just take every day at a time, initially the necessary preparations will probably keep you busy. But don't neglect yourself after that, keep mindful. Sometimes grief can act in strange ways and fuck you up the arse months or even years later. Take care. This board will always be here for you, surprising how much unloading and being listened to helps.

You have no fucking idea. We didn't have pornography at the click of the button. We had to use our imagination. Or hunt around in bushes for the shredded remains of a porno mag which were inexplicably everywhere.

It feels like the first cult TV show I can remember. Best sound track ever too. Oh, and the bank material on that show was off the scale.

You should see her without the wig. Only kidding Claudia love.

Not that bothered. Don't think she was ever in the bank whilst Charlene was around. Relieved it isn't Frostup who very much was in the bank.

They're literally waking themselves silly. Imagine living your life vicariously so you celebrate a Man United win over Southampton. Sad Mackem Bastards.

Mackems equalised I see.

Okay, Keith, the story. Keith’s Last Stand Keith Fuckwit sat in his dimly lit bungalow on the outskirts of Sunderland, nursing a lukewarm cup of instant coffee in his prized possession: a battered mug emblazoned with the Sunderland crest and the words 1973 FA Cup Winners. It was his daily reminder of a simpler, better time when men were men, footballers didn’t dive, and Sunderland reigned supreme—for one glorious afternoon at Wembley. Keith was 54 but retired. His official reason? "The bloody EU ruined everything!" Despite Brexit being nearly a decade behind him, Keith still blamed Brussels for his early exit from work as a forklift operator. "It’s all the immigrants and the regulations," he'd mutter to anyone who'd listen, which was mostly the crowd on the SMB (Sunderland Message Board), where he served as an overzealous moderator. The Glory of SMB On the SMB, Keith was king. From behind his keyboard, he enforced forum rules with an iron fist, banning “wronguns” and Newcastle fans with glee. He spent hours typing up rants about how "the Geordies are ruining football" and "Nigel Farage is a bloody genius." When he wasn’t banning users, he was making bold predictions about Sunderland’s future: "Promotion is nailed on this season, lads!" or "Newcastle’s bubble is about to burst, mark my words!" Unfortunately, Keith’s words were rarely worth marking. Every prediction he made fell flat. Sunderland had languished in League One longer than he cared to admit, while Newcastle soared, backed by their controversial Saudi owners. But Keith didn’t care for facts. "It’s all fake news," he declared. "Sportswashing, that’s what it is. They’ll implode." The Breaking Point It was February 2025 when Keith’s world came crashing down. He had reluctantly tuned in to the League Cup Final, muttering about how Newcastle would “bottle it” as they faced Liverpool. Deep down, he feared the worst but kept his ritual of bitter hope alive. And then it happened. Newcastle won. A thunderous 2-1 victory at Wembley, complete with a last-minute screamer from their star midfielder. The black-and-white stripes lifted the trophy, their fans erupted in celebration, and Keith… well, Keith erupted too. He stared at the TV in stunned silence, his face flushed with fury. His trembling hands gripped his 1973 mug. "Traitors! Cheats! Bloody Geordie-loving media!" he roared. Then, with a primal scream, he hurled the mug against the wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces, just like Keith’s dreams. The Final Shutdown Keith turned to the SMB for solace, but the board was ablaze with trolls and rival fans mocking Sunderland’s plight. He read a particularly cutting post from a Newcastle fan: "Cheers for your predictions, Keith. You’ve been wrong for 10 years straight! How’s the Chamionship treating you?" That was it. Keith snapped. Fueled by rage and his inability to cope with reality, he announced in a now-infamous post: "Due to new data protection regulations, the SMB is shutting down indefinitely. Blame Brussels!" It was a lie, of course. Keith simply couldn’t bear to face the ridicule any longer. He clicked the button to deactivate the board, his finger shaking with the weight of his delusions. Aftermath With the SMB gone, Keith retreated further into his bubble. He spent his days ranting at the TV, muttering about how the world had gone to the dogs. His only solace was his Brexit mug—a replacement for the one he’d shattered (bought from a man from Etsy based in Boldon) —bearing the slogan "We Got Our Country Back." But even Keith couldn’t fully escape reality. Sunderland were relegated to League One, Newcastle thrived, and his neighbors—former SMB members—whispered about his meltdown. In the end, Keith was a man defeated not by the world but by his own inability to change. For Keith, the 1973 mug wasn’t just a relic of Sunderland’s glory—it was a symbol of a life spent clinging to the past. And once it shattered, so did Keith’s delusions. Keith’s story is one of stubborn pride, self-inflicted isolation, and a deep hatred of change. Somewhere, Terry Fuckwit would surely nod in approval.

A bit too nice, but still. Thing is if I had time I would just make some manual edits, as it is, this is ChatGPT's work. Keith, the Legend of the SMB There’s a man named Keith, with a Sunderland scarf, He’s middle-aged, retired—though it makes people laugh. How he earned it, no one’s quite sure, But Keith swears his wisdom is always mature. He moderates the SMB, a forum so grand, Clicking and typing with sausage-like hands. An enemy of Newcastle, he spits at their name, Declaring them doomed to eternal shame. “Oh, Isak’s a waste, just look at the fee! He’s slower than me, and I’m fifty-three!” “Gordon’s a flop, he’s all hair, no skill, And Bruno’s just hype, not worth the bill.” “Joelinton’s a joke, can’t hit a barn door!” Keith said it all with a confident roar. But the Magpies soared, their stars shining bright, While Keith sat fuming on SMB each night. His predictions are bold, his opinions are loud, He’ll preach to the masses, drawing a crowd. “Trust me,” he says, with a confident grin, But his forecasts? They never quite win. Unintelligent, sure, but earnest and proud, Keith's still adored by his Sunderland crowd. He’s a Terry Fuckwit, a fool with a heart, A comedic misstep in football’s grand art. So here’s to Keith, the SMB knight, Wrong about everything, yet still a delight. For what would we do without his bold claim, And his endless devotion to Sunderland’s name?

FFS, I was just looking for a bulk SMS provider based in Hyperabad, thought my luck had changed when a kind poster pointed me one out, and now some over zelous mod has deleted it. Does anyone else know of any bulk SMS providers based in India I can use?