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SAVE THE FACKIN' CLUB

impsTALK TO SAVE PILGRIMS IF IT MUST

Boston United FC are in trouble. Big trouble. Big, big trouble. Big, big, big trouble. At the moment, it appears as though it’s a question of when – not if – it all goes belly up at York Street. There’s no saviour in sight. More people would rather see the club die than survive. The Trust can’t save the club. Not even David Conn can save it.

But YOU might. Yes, that’s right: YOU - sat slouching over your desk in your pants, all goggly-eyed, rendered a dumb mute as you enter your 52nd consecutive hour of senseless internet surfing, dribbling into your cornflakes. YOU can make a difference! How? Let’s tell you a story…..

Last week, the incumbent Big Boss, chairman David Newton, ordered vice-chairman and United janitor Neil Kempster into his office, presenting him with further orders to make three cups of English Breakfast tea. Kempster duly obliged, as he dare not disobey Big Boss, and, having brewed the requested number of cups, sat patiently as Newton thrashed out a plan to salvage the pitiful remnants of the once proud Pilgrims from the scrappers yard. Newton toiled for 87 minutes. In the end, he couldn’t think of anything.

"Neil, my child" he announced. "We’re fecked. Feck feck feckity fecked. There's nothing we can do. Except drink more tea. So mine's nine sugars. Pronto. Then let’s do one to Andorra."

"Coming right up, boss," Kempster said. He returned with more tea and placed it in front of Newton, who was headbutting his polished oak desk in frustration. "Permission to speak Big Boss?" Kempster asked. Permission granted by Big Boss, Kempster audaciously perched himself on Newton’s desk. "Call me crazy," he ventured. "Call me a loony. Call me a demented mentalist. But I have an idea. Perhaps we could get the fans involved? We could get the fans to write letters to the tax man, putting forward the case for the club’s survival. After all, the club IS the fans – right?"

Suddenly, Newton leapt from his seat, knocking boiling hot tea over Kempster. "I’ve got it!" yelled the Chestnut Homes head honcho. "We’ll get the fans to write letters! To the tax man! Yes! I’m a genius! I’m a genius! OBE for the chairman! Clean the tea up please, Neil."

With the floor duly scrubbed, Newton ordered Kempster to pick himself up, run the third degree burns under the cold tap for five minutes and mow the pitch while he wrote a press release pleading with fans to ask HMRC spare the club the wrath of the revenue’s brutal henchmen.

But letter writing is not, frankly, everyone’s forte. In fact, most letters read like the infantile ramblings of, ah, an infant - or a Steve Evans post-match interview. So impsTALK, in the spirit of community action and with a granite fist raised in solemn solidarity with Tibet, child soldiers, Australian farmers, Afghan poppy dealers and the plight of a hapless non-league football club, has helpfully prepared some ready-made templates that you may copy, amend as applicable, and send to the Revenue.

Let’s save this goddamn club. Yeah!*

*DISCLAIMER: Letter writing may not save club

The Father Ted letter
The Inland Revenue certainly weren’t shy of using this technique to bully tax payers into subsidising the outrageous public expenses of MPs seven years ago – after all, those cocaine-addled Latvian sex slave handjobs and gold-plated billiard tables don’t pay for themselves. Unfortunately, Boston United didn’t quite get the message and failed to cough up their share of the public purse. But perhaps it might work on HMRC…..go on, give it a go. Go on, go on, go- you get the idea..... DOWNLOAD

The threatening letter
Scare the living bejesus out of HMRC and whichever unfortunate civil servant receives your letter with this sinister maniac cut’n’paste missive. Guaranteed arrest by armed police three days after posting – or your money back!*…… DOWNLOAD

*DISCLAIMER: Free download. No monies owed in event of armed coppers not smashing your back doors in

The begging for your life ‘please-oh-god-please I-have-a-wife-and-seven-kids for-the-love-of-god please-spare-me’ letter
Stockholm syndrome! It’s every terrified hostage’s dream: you stop fearing the knife wielding, funny-in-the-brain-noggin psycho nutjob holding you in a basement - and actually start to love him instead. It's win-win! He's got a hostage to use as a bargaining chip in tense negotiations with expert police officers, and the hostage has an unexpected date.

Remember, some cargo ships that sail into Boston without beaching themselves on enormous mudflats, or crashing into piers in Norfolk after the captain has had a pint or two of Absinthe, come from Sweden, which is of course something to do with Stockholm. Tenuous link? Not a bit of it! Try and empathise with the monolithic HMRC juggernaut with this pitiful, dignity-free, grovelling-in-the-shit tear jerker, and with any luck HMRC will give into your doe-eyed affections and relent….. DOWNLOAD

The ‘web warrior incoherent upper caps stream of consciousness bullshit’ letter
Fairly self explanatory, innit?.... DOWNLOAD

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