Fresh Prince with Red Hair

Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince with Red Hair.

In a palace born and raised
In bubble-wrap is where I spent most of my daze.
Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool
Shooting wild animals cos we’re born to rule.

Then my parents, who were up to no good
Started making trouble in the neighbourhood.
They used to fight and my Mum got scared
Told everyone she used to love a man with Red Hair.

I begged and pleaded with them every day
But they got a divorce and Mummy went away,
On a yacht with an Arab and dragged us along
Threw us a disco while he and Mum got it on.

One month later, yo she’s dead!
Wrote my card to Mummy then went out of my head.
Went to talk to Daddy but Daddy wasn’t there
Too busy being a tampon, no time for the Spare.

I turned to the bottle, I turned to the bong
Cheated my exams (which apparently is wrong).
Started painting dots like the natives Down Under
Only cos it looked so easy - didn’t wanna steal their thunder.

Wore a swastika, made front page
Daddy was incandescent with rage.
Third in line, I’m only a Spare
Got no purpose, just the Prince with Red Hair.

3rd (in) Reich

Falling Out With Sir Elton

We'd like to take this opportunity to thank our readers for the thousands of emails within the last month wishing us all the best for 2005 and asking as to our whereabouts. So far our new year has been exhausting to say the least. We have fallen out with one of our dearest friends, Sir Elton John.

At the end of last year Sir Elton was embroiled in a battle of words with other senior recording artists and the Taiwanese press. As we've discussed before some of his comments had merit, but by years end our Sir Elton was a veritable volcano, his eruptions becoming increasingly indiscriminate. When George Michael found himself covered in Sir Elton's bitter lava flow things were clearly out of hand, so we arranged a conference call with David and Sir Elton; we wanted to bring Sir Elton to The Gold Coast to cool him down. We were focused on talking Sir Elton through some of his issues but David seemed fixated on the accommodation. We had thought that a private residence on the Isle of Capri would be ideal for our friend as it is quiet and close to Jupiter’s Casino, but David kept talking about Palazzo Versace. We found ourselves sitting by the phone listening to them squabble. David was citing inducements such as fresh flowers in the room every day, glamorous crockery, and he even went so far as to suggest that staying anywhere else would offend the late Gianni. Suddenly David went quiet and we heard sounds of a struggle. Sir Elton's voice seemed muffled with tears as we heard him say in a stern, low registered tone that he could not be seen publicly in his swimming trunks.

For the first few days we tried to make things as comfortable as possible so that Sir Elton could de-steam: a quick trip to Byron Bay for some colonic irrigation, jet skiing in the pristine waters surrounding Isle Of Capri, marlin fishing with Jamie Packer (David kept leering at Jamie's Speedos, we lost a lot of rods because of that) and plenty of rest in between. In the evening we'd sit on the deck looking at the skyscrapers workshopping some of Sir Elton's issues. The atmosphere changed dramatically when we brought up the George Michael matter. Sir Elton kept insisting that George was in a dark place at the moment and that it is evident in his work. We pointed out that George has had a lot on his plate with the death of his mother and stalkers camping under his floorboards. Putting on his 'not listening face' (a trick he learnt from David) he went on about how George should get out more and criticized him for not touring. We tried to explain that George has more than compensated for his lack of touring with his pledge to allow the public to download any future recordings free of charge. We knew that this would hurt him because we know for a fact that he cannot even turn a computer on. By this stage Sir Elton's face was an unrecognisable contortion with golf balls of sweat streaming down it, reducing his spray-on tan to stains on the carpet. He stamped his foot and in that same stern voice we had heard on the phone said, "George Michael is not as good as me". Aghast by this display of narcissism we calmly took a sip of our mango smoothies before we gave our former friend a dressing down; unlike George he has never written his own lyrics, he didn't even write an original song for Lady Di's funeral, he hangs around with turkeys like Liz Hurley and everyone is laughing at him. Elton turned on his heel and began to leave the room so we delivered the final crushing blow by saying that George was a fully fledged pop star whilst Elton was nothing but a World Class Cruise Ship Entertainer. Elton fell to the floor and started beating his fists on the ground, squealing, "I am a pop star". We picked up the phone and called David who was shopping at Pacific Fair and told him to come and collect his boyfriend as they were no longer welcome.

If anyone is looking for the said couple we suspect they will be at Palazzo Versace.