Stop making censorship

Right, before I get properly started here, I’d like it to be known that Samuel J. Snort has a serious bone to pick with the Hot Press subs.

And when I say ‘subs’, I mean the subeditors, not that trio of PVC-clad gimps that Stuart Clark keeps in the mini-dungeon just behind the bookshelf in his office (rumour has it that they’re some failed X-Factor wannabes he won off Louis Walsh in a bet; thus Clark’s nickname for them: ‘Triple X’).
Anyway, last fortnight’s fabulous column originally kicked off with the truly memorable opening line, “Lick my creamy cum off your girlfriend’s peachy bum.” As these were to be Sam’s first published words of 2007, I had spent quite some time working on them and, personally, I was more than a little proud of the finished result.
You had the whole peaches and cream thing there, not to mention the ambiguous sexuality of the image (was I addressing a lesbian or a bisexual male?). Pure genius! And all done in just nine words. Which was, of course, a subtle nod to Michael Winterbottom’s fine porno flick Nine Songs.
Yet, all of this obviously flew straight over the head of some red-pen wielding madra-fucker in the hotpress office. To my shock, horror, bafflement and general fucking annoyance, these nine words were missing from the published text. Frankly, when I first saw it, I felt the way John Wayne Bobbitt must have felt that fateful morning when he woke up to discover that his enraged spouse had made an editorial cut to his nether regions.
Then, just to make matters worse, bloody Seamus Heaney takes the TS Eliot award. I’m sure I would’ve been in with a chance with my rhyming couplet. None other than Jerry Hall – Mick’s former flame – presented Famous Seamus with the award. A wasted opportunity...
So note to subs – Sam Snort has no time for your petty moral objections to my work. I’ve been writing this column for the past 30 fucking years and I think I know what the readers want – nay expect – at this stage. They want filth and they want rhyme. Every time. Sublime.
Seriously, they want my column to open with something like this: Award me a Masters Degree in orally stimulating gee, but ... Actually, butt. Award me a Masters Degree in orally stimulating gee and butt. Ha, ha! [Anyone touches that one and I’m sending Ernesto and Raul around!]
Speaking of academic qualifications, Sam Snort has a number of qualifications to his name. And that number is two. I never finished journalism school, but only because I never started it. However, I am a registered tour guide at the Jack Daniel’s distillery in Tennessee. Truth be told, I have absolutely no idea how this happened. I visited the place only once and fell at the first whiskey tasting. Yet, months later, a scrolled parchment arrived in the mail. This is now framed in my office. I also have a blackbelt in bukkake, but we’ll discuss that some other time.
Anyway, enough nonsense. What’s been happening in the world?
I suppose the big news has to be that Jade Goody turned out to be a Baddy, and has been unceremoniously evicted from the Big Brother house for making racist remarks. Silly girl! The TV show that made her rich and famous (one of the 25 most ‘influential’ people on the planet, according to some idiot newspaper poll) has now eaten her alive. Or maybe not. It wouldn’t surprise me if this was a double-bluff. Whatever happens, Jade won’t fade.
Apparently, it was the most complained-about show in the history of broadcasting. Given that the only way to complain was to send an outraged text, presumably the programme-makers have made millions from all the controversy.
Besides which, I’d thought that the most complained about show in the history of broadcasting was Charlie Bird’s recent whingefest about travelling down the Amazon.
Elsewhere, I see that China has just destroyed one of its own space satellites – shooting it down with a ballistic missile. This is hardly good news for the Americans. They should’ve listened to my old buddy Phil Lynott when he warned us to beware of the ‘Yellow Peril’. No wonder President Shrub was pictured crying in the newspapers recently. He’s probably scared that the Chinese are gonna take out the Baseball Channel satellite.
In other US news, I see that David Beckham and Skeletor are off to Los Angeles. Forget about the soccer, the big question is, could this pair of chancers succeed in Hollywood? It could happen. After all, Vinnie Jones and Stan Collymore both made the transition from being brutal on the pitch to being brutal on screen.
Sam Snort has had the dubious pleasure of interviewing Victoria on two unmemorable occasions. That was back when she was with the Spice Girls. Which one was she again? Oh yeah, Nosh Spice. Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see what develops. Expect the worst!
Staying in La-La Land, I see that Justin Trousersnake has split up with Cameron Diaz after four years together. Obviously, Cam gave him his Sexy back.
On a more local level, I see that Pat Rabbitte is being all coy with the media over the question of whether or not Labour will go into coalition with Bertie’s gang. What a fucking joke! Rabbitte’s a politician – his whole raison d’etre is to get into power. He knows that if he doesn’t plug his party in at the next election, Brendan Howlin will oust him in a heartbeat.
Not that I’m running out of material or anything but, speaking of Howlin, the weather needs to be mentioned. Bloody hell! It’s windier than Gerry Ryan’s underwear at the moment (for those of you who may have missed it, my good buddy Jim Carroll recently described G-Ryan as “the elephant farting in the corner of 2FM” in his Irish Times column). Half of the tiles of the roof of Snort Towers have blown off. Fortunately, my hydroponics growing system in the attic hasn’t yet been affected by the elements.
Still, it’s cold, wet, miserable and January. No sign yet of the promised ‘hottest year ever’, but we live in hope. However, if the inclement meteorological situation doesn’t improve soon, we’ll also be living without dope. And what a Jade Goody-sized disaster that’d be!