Token Audience Participation Segment

The Weak In Sport with Some Drunken Fuck would like to announce a couple of All New Intermittently Regular Features, which YOU, the humble reader, are invited to participate in. You see, here at The Weak, we're all about YOU. And if you believe that you'll believe anything.

Our first new segment is:

MAN OF THE WEAK
Nominees are called for the position of Man of the Weak. Nominees need not be either men or weak, involved in sport, alive, or even remotely interesting. Inaugural winner Tokyo Sexwale did nothing to win other than have a remarkably stupid name; that in itself is worth celebrating. After all, we're not about rewarding achievement here at The Weak In Sport. We're about slagging vaguely famous bastards off for no apparent reason. Any similarity to the Friday Fuckwit pedalled by the scabies-infested half of Frenzal Rhomb on Triple Jay is unintended, but inevitable.

Our second, not entirely unrelated, new segment is:

MAN-LOVE MOMENT OF THE WEAK
(aka the Symonds-Clarke Perpetual Trophy)
Yeah nah yeah mate ay. Australian cricket's most affectionate pair (that image of Symo vigourously spanking Pup in super-sloooow-motion from earlier in the summer still defies attempts to bleach it from the brain - might be because I'm using Speights as a disinfectant) have inspired our second new segment. I would figure this is largely self-explanatory. We will seek to find images of allegedly heterosexual sportsblokes in suitably humiliating positions of 'engagement' and put them in the interweb for the sake of a truly juvenile snigger at their expense. Of course, should we find images of allegedly heterosexual sportschickies in similar orientations, then that will go in an entirely different, yet-to-be-commissioned section of the site which will require users to have both a subscription and the ability to type one-handed. Of course, submissions (descriptive or imageric) for either category are welcome - just keep it vaguely clean, kids, this is a family site. I'm not entirely sure where this is going to go - probably downhill faster than a skeletoner on Propecia - but it seemed like a good idea two Speights ago. Given that proceedings will inevitably reach Smut Factor Nine regardless of my noble intent, I choose to blame Appleby in advance.


Oh yeah, and since your neo-Luddite correspondent has finally figured out that he doesn't need to wait to the end of the month to cram all his least worst ideas into one communique, this debacle may even get updated more than twelve times a year...