Sam Snort's rollercoaster fortnight
In which our columnist gets his grubby paws on some of Michael Jackson's yardsale junk and says goodbye to an old comrade.
Sam Snort, 05 Jul 2006
Fuck me sideways with Eminen’s rusty old chainsaw, but it’s been a rollercoaster of a fortnight for that lean, mean, shagging-machine affectionately known to his many friends and fans – not to mention his own personal bevy of Swedish masseuses – as Samuel J. Snort (i.e. moi).
On the upside, thanks to some extremely crafty manoeuvering on my part, I am now the proud owner of Michael Jackson’s rollercoaster from Neverland. Looking out the window into the vast gardens surrounding Snort Towers, I can watch as it is assembled by a team of Foghat’s roadies. They assure me that it’ll be up, running, twisting and turning by the end of next week. I told them for fuck’s sake to make sure that they didn’t trample on the grass, and so far they haven’t – though for some reason, they look a little smaller than before the job started.
On the downside, The Boss is dead. But we’ll come to that in moment. First, I want to explain why I am inviting Shayne Ward around to Snort Towers. Ah, yes, Shayne with a ‘y’. No, I am most certainly not asking him along to join me for a spot of group sex with the aforesaid masseuses but rather to thoroughly test my latest acquisition (no offence to Foghat’s roadies, but they can barely construct a decent joint). Once I know the roller-coaster safe to ride, I’ll set the hounds on bounder. And if it isn’t safe, and he kills himself, I’ll be onto ebay straight away top see how much I can get for the personally autographed mint condition copy of the CD Shayne gave me as a token of his gratitude for the fact that I actually spoke to him once. But I digress...
So how the hell did I manage to become the proud owner of the Neverland rollercoaster? Easy. I got somebody else to buy it for me.
I had, in my usual sensitive way, been thinking about how I might cheer my old buddy Paul McCartney up. He’s been feeling a little low these days with all that messy – and much worse costly – divorce business in the air. Plus, he’s still a wee bit sore about Jacko buying up the rights to the Beatles back catalogue (pipping his Apple, so to speak).
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