The footage they didn’t want you to see

Still reeling from the controversy surrounding the recent prime time television documentary about life in my Beaverland ranch, made by the high profile, so-called investigative journalist Martin ‘Celebrity’ Basher, Sam Snort has finally been forced to respond in the only way left open to him – by revealing details of the footage the odious Basher doesn’t want the world to see.

As readers will know, the original documentary, Living With Sam Snort, made a number of serious allegations about the life of the world’s leading rock journalist and brain chemist, among them, that I have undergone penis enhancement surgery; that I never let members of Foghat out in public without masks; and that I allow women to sleep in my bed.

This latter slur I contested immediately, and on camera, pointing out that it was very damaging to the credibility of one who works in the business they call show, to suggest that women might sleep in his bed. Au contraire, I told Basher, there are many things women might do in and around the Snort mattress but sleep is definitely not one of them. Basher laughed long and loud at this, repeatedly slapping his thigh, then mine, all the while shouting, “You the man, Sam.”

Readers will not be surprised to learn that this enlightening sequence failed to make the final cut, being replaced instead with a lingering, fuzzy, wobbly and vaguely sinister black and white shot of my waterbed, accompanied by some doomy Aphex Twin soundtrack and a solemn Basher voiceover suggesting that, from this location deep in the loins of Beaverland, I was entirely responsible for the spread of genital warts on the eastern seaboard.

Circus freaks

Similarly, Mr Basher’s televised upbraiding of me for insisting that my friends in Foghat never appear with their faces exposed in public, contrasts sharply with his off the record comments in my own documentary. On Living With Sam Snort, over footage of the ‘Hat rambling around the zoo in Beaverland, their faces covered in veils – and, in the case of bassist Manmountain Dense, a muzzle – a scandalised-sounding Basher attacks me for treating “like slaves and circus freaks” a band whose “greatest crime” was merely to inflict on the world “some of the lamest southern-fried boogie ever made”.

What viewers didn’t see was an earlier sequence when Basher and I are filmed flipping through publicity shots of yer Fogs from various stages in the course of their 85 year-long career.

“Snort: I think it’s fair to say that the road isn’t so much etched on their faces as drilled into ‘em with jackhammers.

“Basher: Jesus H. Christ, it’s like looking at auditions for the Elephant Man. How wise of you, Mr Snort, to insist on their being covered at all times; not only is it in the interests of the
common good but it is also – and here I must salute you – an act of Christian mercy towards these poor, unfortunate, grizzled boogiemeisters. Indeed, when we’re filming in the zoo today, it might be a good idea to add a muzzle to Mr Dense’s voluminous burqa – otherwise there might be an unfortunate incident with the young impala.”

Now we come to unquestionably the most damning accusation of all – the claim that Samuel J. Snort Esq is not, shall we say, entirely his own man. That the Crawling Kingsnake has been cosmetically enhanced. That my mojo works – but only up to a point. That my hunka love mutton is partly dressed as lamb. In short, that Sam Snort’s weapon of mass distraction has an artificial war head.

Fortunately, this grotesque slander is flatly contradicted and disproved by no less an authority than – Martin Basher himself. In another telling edit from the finished product, the top investigative journalist is shown wiping his brow, sniffing loudly and sipping a glass of water, after we have just jointly emerged from my private sauna in Beaverland.

“Basher (struggling for words): Awesome… just spectacular… a beautiful sight… frankly, Sam, it made me weep to see the relationship you have with your manhood. Thank you so much for allowing me a moment of such trusting intimacy with you and your absolutely, mindbogglingly enormous and entirely natural (my italics) schlong. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

There is nothing more to be said. The defence rests its case. Reputation intact, I remain,
Your ever lovin’ Samuel J. Snort esq