Typical content: "Everyone was against us, moan moan, blah blah, but we won the league again, nyah nyah. And another thing, this erstwhile friend/associate _____ is a *****r because he dared to criticise me in public/private/ever. Then next week, I told David he had to play against Villa even though Victoria's boil had gone putrid. Hah!"

Snore. Watch out, Nobel literature committee, there's a new star on the horizon (and he's wearing a new kit).

In today's gripping installment, the florid one has his knives out for AW and Ken Bates. Typically, AW's stature is increased relative to Fergie without Wenger even lifting a finger. All he needs to do is relax, as Taggart froths himself stupid on page after page, trying pathetically to get the last word over a myriad perceived and petty slights, all in an amazingly juvenile fashion (hardly an error: the MUFC demographers have done their market research, no doubt).

And wasn't this tripe serialised months ago anyway? How much more must we endure, Arseweb asks?