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It's All True - The Paper Says So

24 May 2001
James lives in headline heaven.

After his brief spell of international acclaim as the 'new James Dean', actor Mickey Rourke has hit hard times. He went back to ply his hand at his original trade, prize fighting, but suffered a series of injuries that meant he could no longer enter the ring. He now leads a very modest life in New York, anonymous to the crowds, his best friend being Hank 'Monkey' Jackson, 47, a car mechanic. His lavish past has left its mark financially, and the creditors are now tightening the metaphorical noose. This, on top of a pathological inability to accept his failure and put his star-studded past behind him, led to an eating disorder and he almost doubled his body weight in four months. The only thing that reminds you now that this huge poorly-clothed slob was once a respected actor and heartthrob to a generation of college students is the wry crooked smile that won so many over. This tragic story has taken a turn for the better over the past months. Hank, seeing his friend needed something to give his life focus, got Mickey a job in a nearby cutlery wholesaler as a sales manager. Mickey now says that once he has paid off his debts, he will try to lose all the weight and re-enter Hollywood through the back door. This man's saga continues.

Corker! Rourke's a New Yorker fork hawker porker

Little is now known of the scandal surrounding a junior minister in the War Office during the late nineteenth century. Many men of fighting age were sent thousands of miles away from home to do battle Michael Caine-style against thousands of rampaging Zulus. There was increasing discontent at home as stories gradually returned home of the brutal and graphic savagery suffered on both sides, not least of the ritual disemboweling of captured prisoners. The minister in question, one Cecil Hoare, 53, was caught by police in the act of orally stimulating a rather exotic and popular lady of the night of Native American origin, one Nelly Raging-Face. He had recently received the nation's sympathy after fracturing his mandible in a freak baking accident. Naturally, these risque actions reflected poorly on his department, and public approval for the military effort was greatly damaged.

Phwoar! Bore Hoare on the floor gnawing the squaw with 'sore jaw'. The Law saw and tore down the adored whore's door. Furor over the Boer War. Nation shaken to the core - gore galore.

A bizarre story from the sub-continent: About fifty or so miles outside the town of Nagpur, India lies the small hamlet of Sevegram which recently witnessed a scandal that rocked the local establishment and revealed bizarre, although quite cruel, local customs. The local economy relies almost exclusively on the expansive mung bean plantation that surrounds the village. Naturally, this situation leads to a high level of corruption between the plantation owners, the local government office, and the suppliers. Caught in the middle of all this are the local Sevegramese, being paid a pittance of their loyal labour, and sometimes, if the crop is bad, not paid at all and beaten for their trouble. The trouble came when a crafty businessman moved to the village and saw an opportunity for an easy buck. After the terrible droughts of 1994 and 1995, followed by the floods of the subsequent year, the harvest was ruined and the plantation was running at a loss. The businessman, who must remain nameless as he is still in hospital, owner of the ladder factory in Najpur, wanted to buy the plantation for a pittance and monopolise the region's bean production. This type of deal, as it affects so many rural lives, requires official approval from Najpur province, and so the necessary hands were grease to seal the deal. All appeared to be going smoothly until the businessman let slip his plans to fully automate the farm with new machinery, and flatten the village (which would be on his land) to make room for more mung during a drunken frog golfing afternoon. Word soon got to Sevegram, and the locals decided to punish the businessman the old-fashioned way. They stormed his house in the middle of the night, dragged him outside and staked him naked and spread-eagled in one of his fields, wedged his mouth open and tied cord tight around the base of his tongue. He was discovered by helicopter two days later, but the tongue could not be saved.

Loose tongue wrung, after rungmonger's mung bung.


Previously on upsideclown


Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
1 December 2003. George writes: Charm
27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
20 November 2003. Dan writes: Rights Management
17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

Also by this clown:

27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
16 October 2003. James writes: Jakesy's School of Urban Driving
24 September 2003. James writes: Chapter One
4 September 2003. James writes: The Silicon Soul
14 August 2003. James writes: A Room With 100 Seats
24 July 2003. James writes: English For Beginners
3 July 2003. James writes: Coldplay are crap. Discuss.
9 June 2003. James writes: It Takes All Sorts
22 May 2003. James writes: Lesson 2: Buying his Gran for a tenner
1 May 2003. James writes: Rosencrantz and Leytonstone
10 April 2003. James writes: Character Building
20 March 2003. James writes: So This Is It. What Are We Going To Do About It?
27 February 2003. James writes: Street Level Zero
6 February 2003. James writes: Reference: James Noteworthy
16 January 2003. James writes: Kissing George Clooney for just £99!
26 December 2002. James writes: Hongkong In Four Tableaux
5 December 2002. James writes: We Are Your Idea
14 November 2002. James writes: The Knight Of Spring Fervent
24 October 2002. James writes: Go On, Be Honest
7 October 2002. James writes: Cold Comfort
12 September 2002. James writes: Peas In A Pod
22 August 2002. James writes: Seed Investment
1 August 2002. James writes: We Are QPR
11 July 2002. James writes: The Road to Ossuna
20 June 2002. James writes: Pret A Teleporter
27 May 2002. James writes: A Play On Words
2 May 2002. James writes: Labour Saving Device
8 April 2002. James writes: Beggaring Belief
14 March 2002. James writes: Small Things
18 February 2002. James writes: Drop Dead Letters
24 January 2002. James writes: High-Rise Rhapsody
27 December 2001. James writes: My drift's too hip to resist.
6 December 2001. James writes: My Lord Has No Nose
12 November 2001. James writes: A Job For Life
18 October 2001. James writes: Which is the cleverest animal?
24 September 2001. James writes: Interview With An Automatum
30 August 2001. James writes: Each To Their Own
6 August 2001. James writes: An Escape, In Sonata Form
12 July 2001. James writes: Truckloads Of Goodies
18 June 2001. James writes: There's No Such Thing As A Coincidence
24 May 2001. James writes: It's All True - The Paper Says So
30 April 2001. James writes: A Letter From Prisyn
16 April 2001. James writes: I Quit
15 March 2001. James writes: An Essay In Procrastination
15 February 2001. James writes: Confessions Of An English Sand-Eater
22 January 2001. James writes: The Future And The Pasta
28 December 2000. James writes: Never drink with men in red
4 December 2000. James writes: The Underground
9 November 2000. James writes: Right answer. Wrong answer
16 October 2000. James writes: The March of Proudfoot: Part I
21 September 2000. James writes: You haven't got a chance
28 August 2000. James writes: Bad, man. Wicked
24 July 2000. James writes: I play games with street lamps

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