Well hello there.
I see you've caught me posing for a magazine cover that doesn't exist. I often do this in discount clothing stores and hospital gift shops to show the Berba-babes in my presence just how erotic real life can be. They usually roll their eyes and walk away, but they always come back for more. Usually with the police accompanying them. Ha-HA!
While you admire my posing ability and try to determine that unusual smell, allow me to inform you of the news that Manchester United beat Arsenal 8-2 over the weekend. ... No, The Berba didn't score any of the eight goals. ... No, I didn't even play in the match. But I was the sole reason we won by such a titillating margin. You see, The Berba doesn't need to be on the pitch to inspire his team to a resounding victory. My musk is so strong that it can seep into the nostrils of my less talented teammates even when I'm on the bench, drawing cartoon women with generous proportions. Also, Wayne Rooney is driven by his jealousy of my hair. Ha-HA!
After the match, Sir Alex complimented the team on doing so well, but I knew his words were really just for The Berba since he looked at me the entire time he spoke. Probably because I was winking at him and holding up my cartoon women for him to gaze upon. He later told me to "put those pervert drawings away or you'll play even less than Michael Owen." He really couldn't resist my sensual art! Ha-HA!
Oh-OHHH! I just realized that this watch I bought from a man on the street is not a real Hublot! Oh, this is terrible! I gave him �30,000 for it since he assured me it was real with a certificate of authenticity written in pencil on the box of a VHS copy of the film Under Seige! Oh, I can't believe this. On the bright side, seeing the question "WhoBlow" on my wrist is far more arousing than the actual time of day.
Join us again next time for another chapter in the life of...The Continental...