What's a flex?"I was the bully" isn't really a flex mate!
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Showing off or boasting about one's accomplishments.What's a flex?
I thought it was the plural of Fleck as in 'there are two John Flex'.Showing off or boasting about one's accomplishments.
I imagine it comes from gym goers and roid heads who "flex" in the mirror showing off their veins
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Number 1, is John Fleck, Number 2, is John Fleck..... we all dream of a team of John Flex, a team of John FlexI thought it was the plural of Fleck as in 'there are two John Flex'.
Dear SaddlebrainsBet you were Bullied at school
Anyway, I'm going to have to go into hiding now, I've drawn the curtains and everything incase Doug rolls up with loads of CBS stewards to put me in tittle tattle prison
Hope some of you guys write to me in my incarceration
I hope you asked AI to do that for youThey gave me the file on a Wednesday. The paper smelled of stale lager and regret — standard issue in Coventry these days. Name on the front? Just one word, scrawled in shaky biro: Saddlebrains.
I lit a cigarette I didn’t want and poured a whisky I couldn’t afford. I knew this gig would be trouble.
See, most leaks in this city come from pipes. But this guy? He leaks starting elevens, contract clauses, secret medals. Like clockwork. Like he’s got a mole under every cone at Ryton.
The bosses say he's dangerous. That he’s destabilising the club. That he’s got “connections.” Funny. That’s the same thing they said about my ex-wife.
I started sniffing around — local pubs, shady message boards, some bloke in Nuneaton with a burner phone and a tattoo of Callum O’Hare on his back. Everyone had a theory. No one had a face. Just the name, passed around like a myth. Saddlebrains.
They say you can’t catch a ghost. I say ghosts just need the right bait and I’ve got a client who wants him. Bad. Rich guy. Flashy. Calls himself Mr. Bling. Owns the club now. Wears sunglasses at night and signs forwards like he's collecting Pokémon. Doesn’t like surprises — especially the kind Saddlebrains drops like firecrackers at a kid’s party.
"Find him," Bling said. "End it. Publicly."
And just like that, I was on the payroll. The watch was real gold. So was the threat.
I don’t care if Saddlebrains says he’s doing it “for the fans.” That’s sentiment, and sentiment don’t pay my bills. What pays is dragging that keyboard prophet into the light, tearing the mask off, and letting Mr. Bling do the rest.
So yeah. I’m coming for him.
Im petrified now tbh cant believe someones going to tell the teacher on me.
What i might do actually is not post any info in the thread but just constantly DM the OP with every single nugget of even pointless info I get given, just to see more meltdowns
Also, 'twitter twat'funny you still keep thinking that
Anyway, I've got more info today on the left back we're close with, but il keep it quiet incase Mr Sensitive cries
Wow, are you making a film based on this book?They gave me the file on a Wednesday. The paper smelled of stale lager and regret — standard issue in Coventry these days. Name on the front? Just one word, scrawled in shaky biro: Saddlebrains.
I lit a cigarette I didn’t want and poured a whisky I couldn’t afford. I knew this gig would be trouble.
See, most leaks in this city come from pipes. But this guy? He leaks starting elevens, contract clauses, secret medicals. Like clockwork. Like he’s got a mole under every cone at Ryton.
The bosses say he's dangerous. That he’s destabilising the club. That he’s got “connections.” Funny. That’s the same thing they said about my ex-wife.
I started sniffing around — local pubs, shady message boards, some bloke in Nuneaton with a burner phone and a tattoo of Callum O’Hare on his back. Everyone had a theory. No one had a face. Just the name, passed around like a myth. Saddlebrains.
They say you can’t catch a ghost. I say ghosts just need the right bait and I’ve got a client who wants him. Bad. Rich guy. Flashy. Calls himself Mr. Bling. Owns the club now. Wears sunglasses at night and signs forwards like he's collecting Pokémon. Doesn’t like surprises — especially the kind Saddlebrains drops like firecrackers at a kid’s party.
"Find him," Bling said. "End it. Publicly."
And just like that, I was on the payroll. The watch was real gold. So was the threat.
I don’t care if Saddlebrains says he’s doing it “for the fans.” That’s sentiment, and sentiment don’t pay my bills. What pays is dragging that keyboard prophet into the light, tearing the mask off, and letting Mr. Bling do the rest.
So yeah. I’m coming for him.
Wow, are you making a film based on this book?
Can't wait.
They gave me the file on a Wednesday. The paper smelled of stale lager and regret — standard issue in Coventry these days. Name on the front? Just one word, scrawled in shaky biro: Saddlebrains.
I lit a cigarette I didn’t want and poured a whisky I couldn’t afford. I knew this gig would be trouble.
See, most leaks in this city come from pipes. But this guy? He leaks starting elevens, contract clauses, secret medicals. Like clockwork. Like he’s got a mole under every cone at Ryton.
The bosses say he's dangerous. That he’s destabilising the club. That he’s got “connections.” Funny. That’s the same thing they said about my ex-wife.
I started sniffing around — local pubs, shady message boards, some bloke in Nuneaton with a burner phone and a tattoo of Callum O’Hare on his back. Everyone had a theory. No one had a face. Just the name, passed around like a myth. Saddlebrains.
They say you can’t catch a ghost. I say ghosts just need the right bait and I’ve got a client who wants him. Bad. Rich guy. Flashy. Calls himself Mr. Bling. Owns the club now. Wears sunglasses at night and signs forwards like he's collecting Pokémon. Doesn’t like surprises — especially the kind Saddlebrains drops like firecrackers at a kid’s party.
"Find him," Bling said. "End it. Publicly."
And just like that, I was on the payroll. The watch was real gold. So was the threat.
I don’t care if Saddlebrains says he’s doing it “for the fans.” That’s sentiment, and sentiment don’t pay my bills. What pays is dragging that keyboard prophet into the light, tearing the mask off, and letting Mr. Bling do the rest.
So yeah. I’m coming for him.
the needy, self righteous, twitter twat that keep leaking everything keep his flappy trap shut from now on?
Contact will be made to club officials if this nerd keeps boosting his ego whilst being a detriment to the club.
The leaks stop here, no more drips.
If Saddle could write prose like Diogenes then Andy Turner would be out of a job.In all seriousness the issue for the club isn’t saddle, it’s the person leaking club news out. If it was Turner with the telegraph you wouldn’t go after him for getting information out of the club.
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