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107. Tin Pan Alley

Posted on: May 16th, 2010 by Colonel Crabtree-Smythe 2 Comments

It’s a funny old game life when you think about it… at my time of living I don’t think too much about the big sleep and I try not to think about the old grim reaper. That particular visitation I don’t look forward to for obvious reasons. The truth is – I’m pretty much dead already and the fear is in me because the thought of having the book read to me by some judgmental self righteous, pompous, sycophantic, pedantic Jesus freak angel who has only just got his wings is not at all appealing and irritates me to the point of wanting to commit serious violence with a flick knife and claw hammer. How dare you judge ME you self serving, winged fool?

I mean I could run away from my karma like Ronnie Kray but I suppose you can’t run forever and I have to add that at times it is an appealing thought. So I ask myself, could I do such a thing? Point is – it would entail stealing another’s body… a nice youthful buckish chap hung like the loose cannon Emmanuelle Adebayor the ex-Arsenal man. I suppose I could steal the body of the green figured Dimmock tickler Alan Titchmarsh for he has a great head of hair for one so olde… or I could steal the body of the fine military man Sir Graham Eric Jock Stirrup… the choices are endless. However, this way forward from the void, from the the abyss may suit the villainous Ronald Kray but to run around in a stolen body while wearing an old Marks and Spencer’s floral dress I am just not so sure.  So I think I will obey the law of cause and effect and face the “Guardian of the Threshold” when my time comes.

Moving on ladies and gentlemen … I think that my point is that I do sometimes feel a tinge of guilt when I think of some of the bad things I have said and done towards Sage. Yes it shames me somewhat when I think of my insensitivity towards to man Macorkadale. After all, he can’t help being a repressed monochrome of a man, but you see I can’t help saying it as I see it.  I suppose I must carry on being me but try to temper my outbursts in the future.  Problem is it’s coming over me again like a rush of sexual energy… the need to say something about Sage’s nature and idiotic, simplistic, facile, shallow view of the world.  In truth Sage is a halfwit ninny twit with delusions of grandeur and it makes me shudder. The whole idea of putting Sage in his place is addictive to me. Perhaps I should smoke a nice skunk spliff laced with heroin, I suppose I could replace one addiction for another.

Ok, I will try to temper my writings my friends – I will try to curb these over emotional outbursts and my almost robotic need to focus on Sage’s many faults as a human being.  But I must say this and it is a truth and a metaphor at the same time: Sage still believes in the olde Tin Pan Ally way of getting things done in the music industry. Once again proof of his naivety is that he still thinks that you can write a song and take it up the West End of London to get it published and released.

Point is, his most heinous contradiction of all is that he thinks Simon Cowell is a positive presence in modern culture. He added at that point that The Knob Brothers should get a slot on the X factor or Britain’s Got Talent and that way we would know if they really had it or not and that if Amanda Holden gave them the thumbs down we would know for sure as to whether or not I was wasting my time trying to get them some exposure. He then added that he would love to have a show like that of Cowell to try to uncover the newest chat show talent to replace Jonathan Ross on the Friday night slot, he said that he could find the new Robin Day or Alan Yentob… like I say Sage is a cretin.

Another point to be made with regard Sage’s naivety is his continual down on my wonderful song-writing duo The Knob Brothers. He said that the song Falling Down made him want to commit suicide and that music should be uplifting and he also added that he hated British melancholy and that pop music should be more like a sunny picnic in May with Christian teenage American virgins and less like a Gulag.  I have to say that I almost gained respect for Sage when he said that he liked the song “Shivering like a Monkey” (a Knob Brothers classic may I add) but the ignoramus Sage spoilt himself by saying that he too had shivered like a monkey when he had the gastric flu and fluids were heading for the exits like intelligent Jewish people who left Nazi Germany before the shit really hit the fan. “Never again” was the eternal cry a mistake never to be repeated.  Unlike the halfwit Sage who keeps repeating his mistakes over and over again. I mean Sage would have probably tried to reason with the Nazis as they were stuffing him on to an already over packed and crowded train, “tough shit mate, you should have got out when you had the chance.” Like my Great Uncle Sydney “the nose” Goldberg who smelt a rat straight away what with his probing proboscis, yes, he made his way with due haste to Woods the tailors in the Kingsland Road where he worked happily standing in the window as a tailors dummy with a pin in his ass for thirty years. So much for loyalty when after thirty years in advertising mode he gets a free suit and a meal from Tubby Isac’s of jellied eels fame, and then sent on his way. Whatever next? When I say whatever next, I’m referring to Sage’s negative attitude towards the great Sir David Frost and this has become the biggest bugbear in terms of my feelings towards Sage.

The fact is it gives a true insight into Sage’s true maniacal and diverse nature.  What could be so bad as to upset thee? You may well ask…  I shall explain myself my good people, for there is little doubt you will get anything from Sage.  So allow me to explain what has really stuck in my craw. When I said “whatever next” with regard to Sage’s vile ways I was referring to was Sage’s gross whimsy. I mean to call the wonderful interviewer David Frost “Frosteratu” because the man is a night bird and has a sanitary towel fetish, yes to say that he Frost has lost his proverbial marbles, well it’s not on Sage it’s just not on and actually makes me loose utter respect for you.

Listen… I know and am perfectly aware that Frost’s habit of collecting used tampons and suckling on them in the dead of night shows a human frailty that is somewhat beyond the farmers pail.
It shows to the world that Frost is damaged mentally and psychologically but to mock him further and say that Sir David Frost has a polyp on the end of his nose and one up his anus that both need to be fed nightly well I mean Sage this is very cruel and cutting and if you had polyp up your ass would we laugh? I say most certainly not.  I say leave “Frosteratu” alone… he may grow out of his car park fetishing and his so-called polyp might only be a sebaceous cyst that a visit to the great philanthropist and surgeon Otis Van Strapon would no doubt sort, Frosteratu indeed, I think it all boils down to Sage being jealous of the Frost Knighthood.

I feel Sage would do anything to see Frost shamed in public so to have the said ‘Sir-ship’ rescinded… that is the sort of petty man Macorkadale is. Although I have to say – once while sharing a lift with Frost at the BBC I had a mild nose bleed due to the fact that Alan Sugar had just punched me for something he said I had said, that he had taken offence to  (I had said “so fucking what” when Sugar had said “I am offended by what you have just said.” then Sugar punched me). So like I say – I was bleeding as I entered the lift and I suppose Frosteratu got the blood lust and he went berserk he came over in a cold sweat took off his trousers put them on his head then he cowered in the corner, I left him there thinking he must have had a bad night on the booze or something akin. So perhaps Sage has a point, but I won’t be reloading his ego with any praise whatsoever.

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2 Responses

  1. RONNIE KRAY says:

    David-Frosteratu-Frost is a dirty bastard …

  2. Great Site! I was wondering if I would be able quote a portion of your site and use a few points for a term paper. Please email me whether or not its ok or not. Thanks

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