Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Paul Bower
Paul
Paul Bower, the defender of all things worth defeaning, gives one the impression of some famous person you've never heard of, which is quite embarrassing. If given the chance, he'd take you off mercilessly, whipping you to shreds.
The Hair: what can you say about the most disgusting head of hair in human history that hasn't already been said? You should start by checking your facts, because I think you'll find that Paul's hair is really rather fetching, indeed I do.
The Teeth: it's not unkind to say that Paul's teeth, rotten to the core, are, if my facts are anything to go by, all rotten to the root. If he ever smiles in your general direction you'll know what they mean when say that he's better off not.
The Skin: you've probably seen old cups of coffee with nicer skins than the one Paul's soul lives in, until such time as he falls off and pisses into the next. If you do see my coffee, don't touch it, or I'll rip your head off and use it as my own.
Seve Ballesteros says: "I'll never forget the first time Paul introduced himself to me in the gents'. I nearly fell of my stool. He was claiming to be able to tell the future by looking into my arse. He said the arse was the window to the soul. Bollocks!"
