Better Than Sex?

‘“I’M often asked whether scoring a goal is better than sex. For me there’s no contest.”

‘I’d say you were a two-yard tap-in’

The words of David Beckham, footballer, father and thong-wearing accessory and celebrity stepladder to the tick-like Victoria.

But why is it no contest? In the spirit of research, we have taken a good hard look at Victoria and then, with her image fixed upon our mind’s eye, taken a ball to our local park.

Fashioning a goalpost from Dolce & Gabbana’s forthcoming range of jumpers and tracksuit tops, we took the ball and lashed it into the makeshift net, all the while imagining Victoria naked and in the very throes of passion.

And the result is that we concur with Day-vid’s opinion that it is “no contest”: scoring a goal is far more fun and rewarding then playing with La Posh.

And before you say that we don’t really know because we never actually got to bed the former Spice Girl, we point out that neither did we get to score a goal for England in Euro 2004. We only imagined.

But we could have seen what might have been ours had the cameraman who spotted Vicky in the back of the couple’s Bentley unbuckling her husband’s belt and apparently grabbing hold of his manhood only lingered a while longer.

You can tell it was Posh’s hand and not someone else because Dave would never let another women, pig or man touch his golden member, and because it was heavily tanned.

And Posh loves to go brown in town. In “POSH FAKE TAN HORROR” earlier this year we read in slack-jawed terror that Posh had been involved in a truly terrible incident.

While spraying on the fake tan in her Hertfordshire home, Posh had become light-headed from the fumes and passed out on her kitchen floor into a pile of dirty newspapers.

And while a half–coated Posh flayed in the mire, she might have caught sight of tanning engineer Dannielle Heath, saying how she and Day-vid had examined each other’s tan lines.

‘I had been flown out to apply a fake tan and we ended up sunbathing by the pool,’ claimed Dannielle.

‘He complimented me on my figure and I told him I wanted to lose about half a stone. David told me ‘Don’t – you’re perfect as you are.’

‘I was really flattered. He rubbed some cream on my body and started to get aroused. He asked me to go inside to his bedroom and lie down next to him.’

And… And nothing. This story never got any further. In any case, we’d heard it all before. Allegations were that Dave was scoring in Madrid like, well, a footballer.’

Posted: 24th, December 2004 | In: Reviews Comment | TrackBack | Permalink