What have Roy Keane and trains got in common? They both go in and out of Victoria. One day, Roy Keane had to go and buy some more nails. "How long do you want them?" asked the hardware dealer. "Oh, I need to keep them" replied Keane. Roy Keane is ill, so Alex Ferguson offers to go shopping for him. While in the local supermarket, he bumps into Gerard Houllier. "Hello, Alex, what are you doing here?" "I'm getting a bag of potatos for Keano." "Sounds like a fair swap to me!!" How many Roy Keanes does it take to change a light bulb? One -he holds the bulb and the world revolves around him What's the difference between Roy Keane and God? God doesn't think he is Roy Keane. What's the difference between BSE and Roy Keane? BSE got to Korea. What do you get if you offer Roy Keane a penny for his thoughts? Change. A little boy says to his mother: 'Mammy, Mammy, when I grow up I want to be like Roy Keane' She replies, 'You can't do both, son'. Roy Keane was recently quizzed by police about an alleged, unprovoked attack on a pregnant woman. When asked why he attacked the woman, he replied: "I didn't realise that she was pregnant, I thought that it was a 50-50 ball that she had up her jumper!!!"
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The Gospel According To Roy Another extract in our serialisation of Roy Keane's new autobiography written by someone else... It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago. All the family were over for the weekend. The night before, there's a problem. Auntie Betty's postal order hasn't turned up. One of the paper hats is torn. We have to drink our Asti Spumanti out of plastic cups. I go and see Auntie Betty, quietly, in the kitchen. She says that Uncle Mal was supposed to pop it in the postbox on his way to the shops last Tuesday. I say: "Do you think Jimmy-Floyd Hasselbaink's waiting on a f****** postal order the night before his f****** birthday?" She tries to fob me off with a game of pass the parcel. The game starts. The music keeps stopping and starting, Uneven, disorganised, just like musical chairs four years ago. I just laugh. But then I think: "Where's the f****** kids?" Theresa goes: "They're in bed Roy, it's nearly midnight. They're tired." "We're all f****** tired. It's the day before my f****** birthday. Could they f****** not have f****** played pass the f****** parcel?" I ask her. I try to get something to eat. Uncle Ken's had all the mini Kievs. So I have to prepare for the biggest day of the year with just a packet of mini Cheddars and a sausage roll. Theresa had the power to put it right, she knows how to use the microwave, but she just stands there. I phone the gaffer on his mobile, and he agrees it's ridiculous. Next morning, the postman finally arrives. Of course, the postal order isn't there. He apologises. Keep calm, Roy, I tell myself. Don't play into his hands. Right in front of the whole family, he says to check if it's not slipped under the mat. "I'm very sorry, Mr Keane, I really am, but I still haven't got your postal order," he says. Goading. Humiliating me in front of everyone. I'm calm, but I'm starting to feel it. He mentions the time that I lost that postcard behind the fridge that cousin Sue sent from Malta. There's no way: anybody who knows me knows that I would never drop something down the back of the Zanussi. He's dangled the carrot, and I've had a big wet bite. I say to him: "Well, f*** you then. You're a f****** crap postman, you were a f****** crap painter and decorator before that and you're a f****** crap person. You can stick your f****** postal order up your bollix. I have no f****** respect for you at all." I go and sit in the garden for a bit, then I go and see Nan and tell her that's it. I'm spending my birthday in the shed. He set me up, saying that it might be under the doormat, and I went for it. They've wanted me in the shed for years. Of course, they're saying to me: "Roy, this is your birthday. The biggest day of the year", but there's just no way I'm having anything to do with a postal service like this. Nan tries to get me to stay, but my mind is made up. And I don't think you need to guess who it was that apologised to the postman: so-called nice guy Great Uncle Derek. Maybe I'll come out of the shed for my next birthday. But not if Uncle Mal's going to the postbox.
ANTI-MAN U TOPSITES
