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173. First Of The Gang to Die / A Play On Words

Posted on: August 3rd, 2014 by Colonel Crabtree-Smythe No Comments

Hello Morrissey Cartoonladies and gentleman how are you? I hope life finds you well and peachy? Anyhow I have had a rough time over the last few weeks having to deal with the issues of the day and the troubles in Palestine and Crimea, but enough of such tedious affair.I wish to tell of the time when I met the wonderful Morrissey. He didn’t know it was me as I was disguised as the famous Suedehead knowing full well that if I wasn’t incognito Moz would see me as part of the establishment and poo poo me, dismiss me, send me packing, without giving me the benefit of the doubt regarding my credentials, belief systems and political leanings. Point is I no longer wish to bash the socialist I for one am all for counter culture. The return of it at least, Jesus please save us from retardation.

I even told him that I wasn’t a fan of the Berkeley Hunt I whispered it in his ear, but he was having none of it as he look down and sneered at my leather slip ons, if anything I think he became irritated by my presence, he kept shifting around in his plastic seat.I don’t think he bought my wig either he kept looking at it with a face of contempt that only a high court judge could compete with, or perhaps I should say he told me that my syrup of figs was “vile, a true disappointment to all those in the know” and that if it had been him he would have left it in the shop where it still fucking belonged.I told him it was a mohair wig and that made him shudder he nearly fell on the floor, then I showed him my hat full of hollow, he didn’t like that either I felt that was my best chance and getting to invited into the inner sanctum of Moz but in fact if anything it was back to the olde house for me as Morrissey just yawned at my meagre attempts to impress. I wasn’t making much head room I must say.It was quite embarrassing really.

So anyways what happened was, I in my best Smiths garb made it backstage that night at the Brixton Academy all those years ago.Now I was working under the covers at the time supposedly tracking down a Russian operative called Clarence the Gun who was also a Moz fan he loved the tracks Sweet and Tender Hooligan and Rubber Ring he was wanted by the British government for surreptitiously smuggling priceless art across the Bering strait into Alaska and string them in a igloo for a later date.As for me though I wanted to get close to the man who sang “Your The One For Me Fatty” and of course “The More You Ignore Me The Closer I Get.” Very Apropos I must add because I am a fan!

Anyhows after dealing with Clarence the Gun.I gave him what for in the staff lavatories.I think he is still there now, stuffed into a metal locker for a rainy day but then again he may jump out at christmas.I hope not, as it would cause a hell of a stir during the annual panto.

So as so, I made my way to the VIP area post gig.Point is I feel that I misjudged the whole kit and caboodle, the whole the situation early doors. I’d got it wrong and had it been a field operation with men dying by the dozen at the hand of enemy fire strikes, I think I would be up in front of the Court Martial for negligence and for “acting like a crashing bore” as Morrissey later expressed to me as I was escorted from the building and thrown out onto the Brixton Streets for trespassing.

All hell had broken loose misunderstanding was all I saw and World Peace is none Of My Business, apparently!!!

I made my way home first stoping off in Soho for a drink, my word how things have changed blood yuppies on bikes drive me mad, as did the bloomin Hare Krishnas with there god irritating bells. Nevermind… The Coach and Horses was having a knees up and there is where I lost myself.

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