DEATH TO THE DARKNESS
Picture this, dear Reader. We have traveled back in time to ancient Rome. A civilization of spendour, pomp, pageantry and debauchery. Here in the imperial senate we see the rich and powerful lounging on comfortable sofas content in the knowledge that grapes will be peeled for them and that electric guitars will not be invented for two millennia. What happens when they see a god bother like Cliff Richards? Why the throw him to the lions like any proper society would.
But hold, what is this coming towards us, bunch of grapes in hand. He seems to want to talk to us but for a fully grown man his voice seems unnaturally high. Why certainly you can peel a grape for me. I won’t harm you, unless unless:
Yes dear readers. I have not traveled back in time. Instead I have imprisoned Justin from The Darkness to be my own personal eunuch. To pamper me, feed me and to never bloody sing again. It all came about quite naturally when I was in the pub the other day. Telling a rather loquacious story about exactly how Robert Palmer had just made my day, I slipped on a wet patch of lager. Flailing out who did I grab to steady myself but the manager, and girlfriend natch of the hirsute singer of the rubbish metal band. He stepped forward with the gravitas of Klinger from M*A*S*H and said in a voice which resembled Pinky or is it Perky.
“Get your hands off of my woman.”
I stared at him. I am not used to being talked to in this way.
“Motherfucker.” he squeaked to roars of derision. It was at this point I utilized my free hand to exert my droite de caveman, and bashed him over the head with a bottle of Glenfiddich and dragged him out of there. He now serves me as my own personal castrato. Peeling grapes, making cocktails and confusing the dogs in the park with his ultrasonic squeal. I explained to him why I was allowed to do this under the Geneva Convention against rubbish metal bands. If he thought I was going to sit idly by while comedy metal threatened to take over the charts he had another thing coming. I believe in a thing called silence, and by god was I going to exercise my right to it.
His hair comes in useful as a J-Cloth too.