If League 2 was a school classroom..

[karldew]

Taken off a facebook league 2 group...

If League 2 was a school classroom
Mansfield, are the kid in the hand-me-downs, who thinks he looks good now but will cringe at the photographs in years to come. He's in detention for showing off by putting his freshly grown pubes in the woodwork room vice, only to get pushed over by the little scamp Accrington, who always seems to irritate him and the rest of the class.

Notts would be the kid who lives in the big house that needs a load of work doing to it. Her dad used to have a good job, but he was made redundant and now mum spends her days daydreaming about other loves that got away, and Notts big brother (who wears red and white) has left home to seek his fortune, in Kuwait, armed with just a suitcase full of supermarket branded lager.

Crawley and Stevenage are that weird pair of brothers, who sit at the back, with dried snot crusted top lips, wanging bits of rubber across the classroom, with a plastic ruler. They live above a pub and their landlord dad has barred most of the classes fathers from his boozer. They all realise that one day the pub will be turned in to a Tesco Extra and the boys will likely have to attend a different school, miles away.

Donny Rovers is that annoying kid, between schools, with half of his shirt untucked and a sovreign (which doesn't fit him) on his fist, permenantly stood outside of the headmasters room for being a knob with the supply teacher; repeatedly informing her that he won't be in this shithole for long anyway.

Pompey is the girl, with the pout, in all the make-up, who attracts all of the boys. She used to have boyfriends from older years; but now they point and mock her. When she gets home and takes off her face, she's actually distinctly average looking and has period blood in her knickers.

Orient is the glue-sniffer, whose parents expect much better for their money but no matter what they do with him, repeatedly changing tutors, his grades are plummeting and his addictions get more desperate. He's getting his mate to do him a tattoo, with a needle and a bottle of fountain pen ink, that says 'One Way Ticket To Oblivion, Baby!'

Morecambe, Crewe, Yeovil and Blackpool, have all been introduced to cider, by the permenantly intoxicated

Hartlepool - who is now in such an unruly mess, with the bottle, that his alcohol is prescribed. The future looks bleak for all of them. Their parents don't give a shit what time they get in at night, but none of them give a chuff cos they're going to join the army, or work on a chicken farm.

Grimsby has a big family, that likes travelling. Her folks used to holiday in the Caribbean, though for six years they've had to, embarrassingly, go camping in the Lake District. She's excited because this year they've earned enough tokens to go on a Sun offer holiday, in a caravan in Brittany. Her dad is optimistic that his fortunes have changed. Next year he hopes to take them all to Benidorm!

Newport is the slightly challenged kid, never really accepted by the rest of the class. She sits on her own, eats in the canteen on her own, walks around the playground looking at the sky, and dreams of running a warm bath, and ending it all with her old mans cutthroat, whilst listening to post-Ritchie Manic Street Preachers'.

Cheltenham is currently going through a difficult period of realization - does she want to be a boy, or does he want to be a girl.

Exeter and Plymouth have a strange strained relationship; they're cousins - Plymouth a big strapping lad, Exeter a petite brunette with Mediterranean ancestry. They're in the same class and profess to hate one another, but the raging hormones swimming inside their bodies are creating an odd chemical reaction that neither understand. Both won't be happy until they lose their virginity to one another; and probably have a kid, which the rest of the family will frown upon. And then they'll spend the rest of their lives hating each other for the whole sorry mess that has ruined everything.

Carlisle loves dead-arming smaller kids. When he isn't dead-arming smaller kids, he's flicking earlobes, pinching the backs of hands, stabbing with protractors, stubbing out his tabs on little kids necks, legging people over, touching girls arses, pushing red-faced loners in to a crowd of scowling girls and hiding pencil cases. Carlisle has been getting beatings off his stepfather for years.

Barnet and Colchester refuse to join in with the dinnertime kick about. Sport for them is a gobbing contest - one where the wind usually changes direction and makes it go down their shiny new tie. Twice, this term, they've had to walk home, to their cheaply constructed new build on the edge of town, in socks, after having their school shoes thrown over a telephone line

Wycombe is the prefect. The child with the hippy parents; her dad used to be in a prog-rock band, who had a very minor hit and now he plays pubs, in front of nine people, in a tribute act and bores people about the intricacies of various guitars. The goody-two-shoes daughter moans relentlessly about how her classmates and their ill manners are holding back her prospects. She's been known to repeatedly throw herself to the floor in a tantrum.

Cambridge is a bit like Wycombe, he goes about his work a little more quietly and would prefer more homework. He does his chores and is the model son. He'll probably go on to be a dotcom millionaire, which'll make up for his bigoted fathers regrets about his model son being a homosexual with expensive embarrassing fetishes.

Luton is the council flat kid, always chewing gum, who is 'massive for his age'. He's the go-to guy if a drop of pasture is your medicine. Although he's really about as popular as a rubber johnny, filled with toilet water, dropped on your head from the window of the second floor common room.

[les@donr]

Excellent, coming from an ex-teacher.

[DonnyBazR0ver]

Great imagination.

[GazLaz]

Might be me but I just don't get it.

[Sammy Chung was King]

Might be me but I just don't get it.

Lack of imagination?.

[silent majority]

I just don't think its as funny as it purports to be..

[Bristol Red Rover]

I just don't think its as funny as it purports to be..

Purporting is never funny.