Date: 10th June 2010 at 7:44pm
Written by:

Tonight, Frank Worthington Holds The Bolton (And 23 Other Club’s) End Up.

Intro: Photo of, apparently, one of Frank’s classy birds.

First quarter:
Razor Ruddock meets another classy bird. And signs her breasts.

Frank’s opened minded. NSS.

Razor’s missus. Blonde and breasts. Let’s hope Frank doesn’t meet her. And he appears to be cooking in his pyjamas.

Frank’s reading Razor’s menu in a strip joint. Oh yes.

Razor’s naked. Is this before the watershed? And he’s getting the drinks served by The Gimp.

End of part one. Frank winning on sartorial elegance. Carlton Palmer seems to have been beamed in from somewhere. Apparently Fashanu’s catchphrase means something, but he doesn’t know what. And we had to go through five years of it on Gladiators. Muppet.

Fash has a go at Razor’s weight. Hello Mr Pot, this is Mr Kettle.

Second quarter:Frank makes out like he knows what Eggs Florentine means. He probably met a bird from Florence once.

Turns out the classy bird at the beginning was a photo of Razor’s missus.

Razor’s burnt something. A bridge somewhere, no doubt.

Frank’s a great believer in sex before a game. Probably with Neil McNab’s missus.

From what I can tell, you put could two tins of double cream onto a can of Pedigree Chum and Frank would give it a 9. Which is what he gives Razor’s meal.

Frank’s never had chocolate for a pudding. Probably because by the time he got to the pudding, the chocolate was on his partner.

Fash is doing Prawn Cocktail. Any minute now Gene Hunt is going to kick his door in and drag him back to 2010.

Fash don’t drink alcohol. Unless it’s sweet wine. Which is alcohol.

Frank’s wearing the same jacket he wore to the play off final. And while he’s looking at the interviewer it looks like he can see two of him. Bottoms up.

After two meals, Razor’s in the lead. Frank’s next.

Third quarter: Frank lives in a terraced house in Huddersfield. Meanwhile Fash is getting a massage.

Mrs Worthington helps Frank make jelly.

Frank’s making Spag Bog for mains. Razor, in between his 8th and 9th pint, has a go at the simplicity of it all. And for starters, avacado in vinegar. Maybe Razor’s right.

Apparently Frank asked his teacher out when he was 11. Go Little Frank.

The theme is Elvis night. Frank has come as Phil Taylor, Razor as a scouser, Fash as Fash and Carlton as god knows what, but he looks more like Elvis than anyone.

Surely with all those signing on fees, Frank could have afforded a bigger house. Oh. Right.

Frank cracks a joke. Apparently there’s not mushroom in the pan. My pants nearly wet.
Franks missus confirms that she was going out with Duran Duran’s manager when they met. Hungry Like The Wolf.

A jelly food fight puts Frank above Fash but below Razor. Which is never a nice place to be.

Carlton’s menu is full of stuff he can’t even spell. Frank peruses it on the golf course, quite near the 19th.

Frank has come to Carlton’s in a Brazil kit. Fash makes sure that Carlton’s menu is all his own work by making him swear on a photo of the England side of 1992, Waddle mullet and all.


Frank and Fash have a, literal, battle of words. Carlton has some girls come clear away. He had to employ them. Frank wouldn’t have had to stoop so low.

Fash thinks that people laughed at him because he once wore red boots. Someone tell him, please.

Razor licks his plate clean. He can do anything, you know?

With no women about, Frank makes an over enthusiastic play for Fash after they win table football. There is no stopping this man.

Carlton wins. Frank is third. A worthy attempt by our hero. Still a God in my eyes.


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