The Feds Must Think I m A Proper Charlie

Readers may be surprised to learn that Samuel J. Snort Esq wears underpants. But, hey, as I said to my pal Bill Clinton only the other day, guys like us need something to keep our ankles warm.
Needless to say, I was on a secure line to Bubba in the White House just as soon as I heard the result of the Senate vote. As you can imagine, The Prez was in fine form. Thanks for keeping schtum about that night in Houston with the Riverdancers, Sam. Jeez, you wouldn t see more legs in a bucket of chicken, he chortled, as champagne corks popped in the background and the distinctive sound of a zip unfastening came loud and clear down the line. That s Bubba for ya the man who put the blow in blower is back on the case.
Meanwhile our own Feds have once again been getting on Sam s case, wasting everybody s time trying to work out how, back in the 80s, a freelance rock journalist could maintain the lifestyle of a renaissance prince at a time when even a pristine Nik Kershaw review copy would get you no more than a paltry two quid down at Honest John s Record & Tape Exchange.
In particular, the Feds are asking silly questions about how someone who reviewed records for a living was able to run his own fleet of helicopters. Does it never cross the minds of these morons that a man with as lofty a reputation as Sam Snort possesses in the industry of human happiness might not be able to secure some legitimate investment from his friends and admirers? I mean, why do people always have to think the worst about their fellow human beings?
Frankly, as a stand-up citizen of this state, I have been anxious to be of assistance to the Feds in their inquiries, which is why I instructed my trusted accountant and friend of many years, Oscar The Fink Goldstein, to respond promptly to their written request for details of my financial dealings in the early 80s.
Snort Choppers
By way of demonstrating my nothing-to-hide sincerity in this regard, I would like now to make public some portions of that correspondence, beginning with what I m sure you ll agree is an unneccessarily rude and threatening letter from the Feds.
Dear Mr Goldstein,
It has come out our attention that your client, Samuel J. Snort Esq, was making a modest living as a rock critic in the late 70s, reviewing albums and concerts, and occasionally supplementing his basic income with assignments such as writing the liner notes for Foghat s eponymous debut and their follow-up (since deleted) Birds, Beers n Boogie. However, it has come to our attention that by the mid-80s, your client had purchased a 104-room mansion in Co Meath, a Lear jet, a yacht, shares in Siren s - The Gentlemen s Escort Agency, a fleet of helicopters ( Snort Choppers ) and a villa in South America. We would be very interested not to say, in all probability, greatly amused to hear your explanation for this apparently dramatic turnaround in your client s financial fortunes.
Yours etc,
The Feds
Although perturbed by the letter s faintly derisory tone (there was really no need for that since deleted bit), I immediately instructed my accountant to reply with a full and frank account of my financial situation. Indeed, I personally dictated the letter myself. Here it is:
Dear Feds,
Sam says, Trust me, it s cool .
Yours etc,
Oscar Goldstein
pp Samuel J. Snort Esq.
PS Sam also says that your boys are welcome in Siren s anytime.
Imagine my disgust when The Feds responded with an even more threatening missive in which they demanded a minute breakdown of all my financial transactions in the early 80s, including details of any financial contributions your client may have received during this time.
Although, I already felt stripped bare by this humiliating ordeal, in the interests of public service, I again instructed my accountant to comply fully and comprehensively. Once again, I personally dictated the letter.
Here it is:
Dear Feds,
My client is most grievously wounded by your apparent reluctance to take him at his word. However, as a man of honour, he has instructed me to furnish you with the following complete record of gratuities he received from named donors in his capacity as a rock journalist during the years 1980-1885:
Spandau Ballet Tour Jacket (from record company)
Bar Of Soap In The Shape Of Elvis Presley (from deranged person in Memphis)
Signed copy of triple-album Live Fog (from members of rock group Foghat)
#1.75p for signed copy of triple album Live Fog (from Honest John s Record & Tape Exchange)
Blowjob (from drunk groupie who mistook my client for the bass player in rock group Budgie)
Another blowjob (as above)
And another (as above)
Punch in the gob (as above, when groupie sobered up)
37 assorted triangular sandwiches and 168 cold beverages (at various music business receptions)
Small wodge of dope (from Lemmy of Motorhead)
Yours etc,
Oscar Goldstein
pp Samuel J. Snort Esq
P.S. Sam says you boys should really check out Siren s some night. There s a girl there called Venus who does a thing with a ping-pong ball that you would not believe.
Doggy Style
Readers, I ask you is it humanly possible for a man to reveal more of himself short of standing naked on O Connell Bridge at midday with his pecker painted orange? Apparently, the Feds think not. Having practically prostrated myself at their feet, the bastards had the gall to write back with a whole series of ludicrous new allegations with which I have no intention of boring you here. Just a few phrases will suffice to give a flavour of the hideous conspiracy that s afoot . . . CIA photos showing your client relaxing poolside in Bogota with the Mendoza brothers Manuel and Raul when he was supposed to be a guest speaker at a seminar in the Ballyfermot Rock School . . . airport x-rays showing bongo-player of rock band Foghat with 25 condoms full of cocaine shoved up his arse . . . letter signed by Mr Snort advising leading politician that he has video of him doing it doggy-style . . . briefcase stuffed with unmarked bills left for Mr Snort at reception in Dail Eireann . . . Mr Snort seen leaving vicinity with pair of pliers on night floodlights failed at Premiership football ground . . .
I trust you get the picture. Not since ol Bubba himself was set up by the ratbag Right, has a man had to contend with such a viper s nest of poisonous bile. However, not being one to shirk a fight, I immediately instructed my accountant to gather up all available documentation in Snort Mansions, board a chopper and fly directly to Dublin to meet with the Feds mano a mano.
Sadly, it is my solemn duty to inform you now, that my beloved friend, Oscar The Fink Goldstein, did not complete that journey. In fact, he had barely started it when the chopper in which he was travelling, and in which was contained the only existing copies of all my financial and personal papers, was devastated by a mysterious mid-air explosion.
What a pisser, ehh?
Yours sincerely, Samuel J. Snort Esq.