Tuesday, 7 June 2011

The Great Grace Jones Bum Juggling Act of 2011

150 FIFA delegates sit in a grand conference hall to witness the arse of Grace Jones wobble, to witness the arse of Grace Jones bobble, to witness the arse of Grace Jones weave a merry tale that questions the laws of physics. 
“I say,” speaks one delegate to another, pointing to the slack butt cheeks of Grace Jones ”do you think you could perform such a trick as that,”
“Only, my dear boy,” replies the other, “if I attached a weighted spring to each buttock,”
“I say,” speaks the first to the second, “Do you think she’d be up for a merry dance later…say, on my willeeee?”
“Only,” says the second, “if you payed her.”
“Well,” says number one to number two, “that’s the way it’s done around here!”

Next day, the first sits in front of his ballot paper, chewing the end of his pen, deliberating over the endless possibilities of the vote.  Does he go for Don Corleone or does he make a statement and leave his ballot paper blank?  Does he vote for the family or does he risk losing all that money?  All that lovely money that, last night, payed for Grace Jones’ arse to wobble up and down on his willy; that two nights ago payed for a young girl’s firmer buttocks to bobble up and down on his willy; that three months ago guaranteed his vote for Qatar in the World Cup?  He searches his morality circuits but finds them useless; he searches his friend’s morality circuits but receives the response, “sorry, this is a secret ballot!”  Finally he sees the Don’s face and the Don’s face sees his and he knows what to do.  To the Don he must speak.
“My dear delegate,” The Don’s face all wrinkled with love, “We have known each other many years, but this is the first time you’ve come to me for counsel or for help. I can’t remember the last time you invited me to your house for a cup of coffee, even though my wife is godmother to your only child. But let’s be frank here. You never wanted my friendship. And you feared to be in my debt.”
“ I didn’t want to get into trouble.”
“I understand,” replies the Don, his hair glowing in the stage lights, “You found paradise in FIFA. You had a good trade, you made a good living. We protected you, as an organisation.  So you didn’t need my close friendship. Now you come and say “Don Corleone, give me counsel.” But you don’t ask with respect. You don’t offer friendship. You don’t even think to call me “Godfather.” You come to my conference on the day I am to be re-elected and you ask me to do murder – for money.”
The delegate shocked, “Murder, Godfather?”
“Just forget it, just put a cross next to my name and forget it!”
Unbearable tension broken; vote in; count complete; Don Corleone rising to the stage to accept his trophy.
“Today, there are some who have struggled to vote for me despite a lack of a viable alternative.  Today, I say to those people, you have had your struggles and I shall not seek vengeance as we have all had our troubles.  But if, one day, it is discovered that somebody has opened his mouth to the press, that somebody has refused a bribe, that somebody has called me a bad name, then I’m going to blame some of the men in this room,” turning towards the English, “and then I shall have my vengeance.  But, that aside, let’s say that I swear, on the souls of my grandchildren, that I will not be the one to break the peace we have made here today.”
And with the round of applause, and with the standing ovation, the anthem of FIFA rings out and the delegates open their lungs to the world and sing, “Corruption and bribery, that is in our souls!”  And when all is died down and quiet again; and when all the little “children” have gone to bed, Don Corleone, with his wrinkled face and his graceful smile, receives the arse of Grace Jones to wobble and bobble upon his willy.

No comments:

Post a Comment