Carlton, Senior Listed Player, 2009, Ryan Houlihan
Ryan Houlihan, next to a buckeful of miscarriages, is one moderately handsome fart-blower. Next to a bucket of the aforementioned travesties of aesthetics, this player, stuttering and fretting, is full of wind and, furry.
The Hair: there are teeth with better. Lacks a body. Rudely plucked from the flank. Acts like a wind-sock. Socksless marriage. Escaped from a jar. Carries a coat-hanger. Lives in the cupboard. Runs on the smile of a naily rag.
The Teeth: to be perfectly blunt. Blinding light. Chewed through the cord. Bit his mum's face off her head. Disembowelled her head. Ate the nose. Runs like a girl. Follows the rest into the truck. Swallows the whole lot. Cover your rears.
The Skin: goes well on boots. Wears well. Rubber soles. Falls apart at the seams. Seams, madam. Gives you blisters. Skinned a live one. Made a noise like this. Never remember it. Sticks in your head. Shit for brains. Makes for good stock.
Sigmund Freud says: "Past her prime though she was when I head-butted her, my mother is still the best unconscious woman I've ever laid down. She had a problem seeing for a few days, but I soon reached into the very bottom of her and pulled out her prostate. Needless to say, she never knew she had parts of her that are rightfully mine."
