Unholy Night

Sam Snort looked on with interest as the citizenry of this benighted isle got themselves all worked up over the lack of taxis going into the festive season. Actually, to say that he has observed with interest is rather to overstate the case; more accurate to say that the Snortian one couldn t really give a flying fuck if you all spend the rest of your dreary lives standing in the pissing rain waiting for a taxi that will never come.

Frankly, only losers take a taxi: this is a truth Sam Snort and his kind hold to be self-evident. Of course, if there was ever such a thing as a limo drought or Jah forbid a helicopter strike, then that would be a very different matter altogether.
Happily, however, things are rolling smoothly on both vehicular fronts which means that on Christmas Eve the countryside near Dublin will resound once again to the whirring of chopper blades and the sleek purr of limos as the great and the good and the people who deal to them gather at palatial Snort Towers for the pre-eminent event of the social and (very) personal calendar: the annual Sam Snort Christmas/New Year party.

Horn Blowing
Our special guest this year will be none other than outgoing President of the United States, Bill Clinton. And a very outgoing man he surely is, as the ladeez will happily testify.
Hilariously, the local political hacks have been spinning the line that old Bubba is coming back here to give the peace process once last push before he retires to stud like the great old hammer-stallion that he is.
Actually, from previous conversations that we ve had, I know for a fact that Bubba cares less about the odd dingbat getting shot in the arse in Crossmaglen than I do; the real reason he s coming back, of course, is to give his valedictory undress at the Snort Christmas do, an event at which he has turned up to blow his horn the last five years in a row. On one memorable occasion he even brought his sax.
Obviously, while he s here, and just for appearance s sake, he ll have to mount a platform in Dublin or Belfast to drawl some sentimental old shite about bright new dawns and the smiles on the faces of the little children but if you notice him rushing through the script that s cos he ll be anxious to get to Snort Towers to mount something rather more rewarding than a fucking platform. Hell, it ll be historic alright and not a little poignant too: Bubba s last chance to wang his dang-doodle in the ould sod. And you can bet the ould sod is looking forward to it too.
From the business they call show, the UN Ambassador that s United Nutters, by the way to this year s bash will be none other than Marilyn Manson, current chief bullgoose loony of pop. Or at least that s how he d like the rest of us to see him. Given his perceived status, Manson will doubtless expect to be installed in the VIP suite with Bono, Robbie, Mick, Madonna, Elton, Britney, Samantha, Ray Lynam et al. However, I have a cunning plan: I m going to dump the lanky, cross-eyed git in the parlour with the traditional musicians.
By thus exposing him to truly gross and frankly unprecedented volumes of drinking, vomiting, fisticuffs, raucous language and horrible caterwauling and that ll be just one of the better-known ballad groups I suspect it won t be long before the self-styled rock devil flees terrified into the night, in all probability persued by a hairy man with a banjo who has spent the evening alternately weeping on his shoulder and telling him that he d put a horn on a snowman .
From MM to Eminem and here too I have a wizard idea for putting the whiteloaf rapper in his place. My plan: a swear box into which Em must pop a one hundred dollar bill every time he mutters anything stronger than damn .
Even by the time the witless waterbrain has deposited his hat and coat in the hall with Scrotum the old retainer, I reckon we should easily have amassed enough money to invest in the taxi market and make the most of the opportunity to put Foghat s unemployed roadies back to work. ( You want to go to the airport, man, yeah? Cool. Inhales deeply on fat cigarette. Hey, lissen, strap yourself in, there s something I want to try. I saw it in a cartoon once but inhales again I think I can do it ).

Fart Finding
Needless to say, certain intimates the Chosen Ones of Sam s acquaintance will require no invitation to this year s event. Not least because they still haven t left Snort Towers since the millennium bash 12 months ago. The roll of honour includes Ted The Fuckin Nuge Nugent, Keef n Ronnie, Lemmy, Slash, the Aerosmith posse and, of course, Twink. Although, come to think of it, the main reason she s here is that she s still trying to win a round of last year s popular party game Find The Fart In The Paper Bag .
Otherwise, it ll be business as usual at Snort Towers this festive season, meaning lashings of poontang, pills, powders and performance art. And if we can t manage the performance art, well, fuck it, we ll just double up on the poontang, pills and powders.
And with the engorged phallus of our gracious host moi splendidly waxed, painted a violent red and royally decked out in holly, fake snow and fairylights, you can be sure that there ll be a long queue to kiss me under the mistletoe. Not to mention the mistlearse and the mistlegroin.
An ah thank the ladeez know jest what ahm a-talkin bout.

Wishing you all a happy and unholy Christmas, I remain
Your ever-lovin Samuel J. Snort Esq