Gentle Giant My Ass

So I am considering turning BP into the unofficial Peter Crouch appreciation site. I can’t help it. Ok, so it’s mostly because of late I have had nothing going on in my life, especially in the love department, but all that aside, I truly do no know what to do. The only thing keeping me from stalking the poor guy is a small little detail known as the Atlantic Ocean… also a few little minor provinces to the east of me, but mostly the ocean. And money… OK, so three things, but all quite major obstacles along the path of uniting me with my one true love. So what if he is like 6 years younger than me. It’s not like I have never dated a guy several and I do mean several, years my junior… and to wonderfully amazing consequences… just ask my boobies… Anyway, I digress…

During Wednesday’s game, some Jerky McJerk decided to be a jerk to my Peter. And my Peter doesn’t stand for that kaka. Granted the poor guy is all skin and bones and his arm would more than likely snap off were he to get physical with a foe… but why would he even bother with the physical? Why would he bother when he can turn around and simply scare the living sh*t out of those who choose to underestimate the awesomeness of the greatest thing to hit Liverpool since The Beatles?

The answer?

He doesn’t.

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