Where was Odious Creep when the splendid Rangers chairman, Alastair Johnston, was giving his press conference on Friday?
Was he enjoying brunch with Cardinal Keith O’Brien at a secret convent somewhere?
Or indeed supping communion wine with Stewart Regan and Peter Lawwell whilst plotting his next anti-Rangers story?
I decided that I must find out, and took to the streets of the East End of Glasgow, where surely Creep was lurking.
Was he propping up the bar in Bairds, drinking Oirish ale and regaling stories of time spent in the old country?
Or maybe visiting a housewife, her husband working hard in Govan, trying to get into her bedchamber using his slithery ways, discarding his corduroys of hate as he goes?
To walk the streets of the East End, I would have to don yet ANOTHER disguise, and it would have to feature the green of Ireland, which would burn my Presbyterian skin, but it would surely take me to Creep.
Where better to find a suitable garment, that the Celtic Park shop, where I cold peruse the sales rack, as I am a tight old bastard.
The only thing in my price range, was a pair of Celtic pyjamas, so I made my purchase, and set off into the street, to relentlessly pursue the Odious one.
It started to pour with rain, but I felt it strangely cleansing my burning skin, so I removed my pyjama top, and started to dance in triumph, for I knew Creep was within my grasp.
A white van approached – was this Creep, travelling with the head of the Roman Catholic Church, saying mobile masses?
Two men jumped out, with a large net, and bundled me into the van. Were they followers of Creep I asked?
They told me that any questions, I had, would be answered, at the institution we were heading to!
A guest at Ibrox at last – stick that in your incense burner and smoke it, Creep!
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