Sinister: F***in' Monkeys

[Williams Adam (Mr A)]

May I just say that you're all a bunch of bastards. Utter bastards. Well not
all of you. In fact I think most of you are really quite lovely. But there
is an utter, utter bastard in our midst, oh yes. I know not whom, their name
evades me, and even if I did know I wouldn't say because Mummy taught me
that it's rude to point. Even at utter, utter, UTTER bastards. Who smell of
wee.
  Yes, someone last week mentioned the TOTP gorilla. Again. I avoided the
list at time of said incident out of self love and not wanting to hurt my
delicate thespian feelings, but just as one feels it's safe to peep over the
parapet the monkey is mentioned. DO YOU NOT KNOW HOW I COVETED THAT ROLE?
Why not just mention the Sc***ish pl*y and PISS ON MY GRAVE?
  I'm sorry to disillusion those of you who thought that Stuart and Co
whisked up the monkey idea in a fit of high-jinks spontaneity, but it was a
cleverly considered scheme from Sell-Out Central Corp. I answered the Ad in
Stage sometime in February, attended a plethora of auditions (I, as ever,
showed them my Willy Lomax to gasps and coos of admiration, costume fittings
and the like and was nigh on assured that the part was mine. Off then I
went, plunged into an arduous regime of bananas and David Attenborough
videos in my dedication to 'The Method'. I even spent a week with Keith
Harris' hand up my arse. Although strictly speaking that wasn't related.
Oh yes, if a part's worth doing, it's worth doing well and never let it be
said that I, Adam Aloysius Slinky III (the list surname is a Nom de guerre
sop to the Welsh Ethnic thing my agent foisted upon me back when Cerys was
cool) am less than 100% committed to my craft. No, sod it, 115%. That covers
my agent's cut as well.
  Anyway, I digress. Suffice to say I was royally shafted at the last minute
in a way that would make Prince Edward blanch. No reason was given, just
half-hearted apologies and the promise of 'future work'. Yes, yes. That old
chestnut. Don't call us...
  It's not my only knockback of late either. I flew into Glasto a couple of
weeks hence to assume my usual role of Bowie's squirming shame and
somnambulism. "Sorry Slinks", he says, "But I won't be needing you today,
I've decided to go back to being a God again."  
I began to plead with him "But, Dave..."
"That's Dame David to you now Slinks." he sneered. "Now on your knees and
kiss my velvet boot."
  I was so dented I had to spend extra time with my support group. Lovely
lad, he is. Works from a flat off Wardour Street.
So now it's to you, dear list, that I turn. And please do not consider this
list abuse, for I am part of the list and to act in so brazen a way would be
to act against my self. Although, as such, I am not entirely averse to self
abuse. 
But onwards with my plea. I'm available. All parts considered. You must have
seen me in the Shake n Vac ads back in the 70s, but my most sparkling work
has been in the pop and rock community. Gaz Coombe's sideburns, Brittney's
pert chest (pre-op. Got kicked off the role in favour of Brummie fraud),
Damon's ego. Etcetera. etcetera. Hold on, my mobile's vibrating...

Well must dash. That was my agent. I've got to go and pile pounds on in a
way to make De Niro look like the skinny freak he was in Raging Bull.  I'll
see you all on tour sometime soon. Wave to me do. I'll be playing Isobels's
arse.

Mwah mwah. Ciao.
a.

PS. I could say I love Baxendale. But i would be saying it with irony.
PPS. I can say I hate Bis. Tradition demands it.
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