2nd December 2011
I’m so sorry that I have been absent for so long and would like to thank everyone who has written to me out of concern for my health and to check on my well-being. Those of you who addressed the envelopes “c/o Barry Island” have been struck off my Christmas card list and lost your complimentary Muck FM membership to the Camel Toe lapdancing club in West Croydon. I’m fine, don’t worry, but have had so much going on in the last few months that I’m sure you will forgive me when I tell you about the reasons for my absence. Apologies to those whose shows I’ve missed, for not having done a show myself for ages and the general disrepair the station has fallen into. I know the paint is peeling from the walls and that the toilets are a disgrace (Handy’s work no doubt). I also know that a crack den has formed in the back room and at least a couple of types of racket are going on upstairs (Sandy’s work no doubt). My money’s on gambling, prostitution and child labour, although I wouldn’t rule out people smuggling, skunk factories or illegal moonshine either.
So where do I start? Well, the biggest news is that myself and Mrs Muck are to be parents. Thank you to all of you who already know the news and have offered congratulations. It was a tough job but I managed it, and there have been high fives all round in the studio at my fertility ever since we found out. Mrs Muck seems to get irritated by that for some reason though, not least when I keep reminding her that “my work here is done” which is always accompanied by a quick dusting of the hands and followed by a evening-long binge down the pub. Our little Muckette is due in March and being the good responsible parents that we are have already made plans for her to enrol in our Muck FM geisha/lapdancing academy under the tutelage of Fifi, with a view to one day taking over her role as head geisha and madam to the other girls. No, you are right, geisha-ing isn’t the most lucrative of businesses, and the hours of servitude can be long and hard, but the wages can always be bumped up with private “dances” out the back for a bit of extra pocket money, although 90% of any money comes to me as commission of course. I’m trying to run a business here remember, although I will put some into the little one’s college fund. If college fund means the Red Lion’s fruit machine.
As if that wasn’t news enough, we are also in the process of moving Muck FM HQ to bigger studios a little way down the coast, to make space for the new addition (an Acme King Dong sub woofer) as well as the fact that Mrs Muck is knocked up and will be clothes shopping at Milletts soon. The new Muckingham Palace is only a matter of weeks away from being fully renovated and refurbished, and ready for the new generation of the Muck family as well as live shows, soirees and bunga bunga parties. As much as we will be sad to leave Brighton behind, we are nevertheless going to be located in another throbbing south coast metropolis, a den of sin, excess and debauchery where the parties never end, and Brighton will quickly become nothing more than a distant, if pleasant memory. Yes, we’re moving to Worthing.
It’s all very exciting, but it has meant that everything has been put on hold until we move, as all the furniture and baby stuff which we have bought is now piled up from floor to ceiling throughout the main studio, down the hallway and even in the boudoirs upstairs. I can longer see the decks, let alone reach them, and my monthly allowance (Mrs Muck runs a tight ship here) is being spent on nappies and breast pumps instead of exotic substances and new tunes. I wouldn’t say it’s been a long time since I bought new music, but the last purchase I made was on vinyl not mp3, and the speed of the cutting was 78rpm. I have the special edition Technics 1210 with the ear trumpet attachment, and my headphones and mic are in the style of a two piece 1930s telephone. Thank God for the Red Eye Player and the latest downloads of the Muck FM DJs who have graced the airwaves recently. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed listening to the shows I’ve missed, and hope to be ready to broadcast myself over the festive period. Which reminds me of the joke about Tampax launching a special Christmas edition with a rolled up cracker joke inside each tampon “for the festive period” but I digress. Respect to all of the mucky DJs, and keep an eye out on the homepage for news of several new additions who as we speak are being groomed for their debuts after new year.
Thankfully it has been very quiet here in other respects recently, because I don’t think I could have handled the stress of Jamal and the twins with so many other things to concentrate on and the lack of space. For the last few months here it has been just myself, Mrs Muck and the geisha girls. As the geishas’ quarters are out of action at the moment due to warehouse duties (strategic genius on my part, even if I do say so myself), all of the girls have had to squeeze into bed with Mrs Muck and myself at night, but that’s another story and I’m sure you’re itching to know where the boys are instead.
Which is a nice, if slightly unpleasant segue into telling you that Handy is down at the STD clinic getting his monthly check up, now that he has begun a career as a porn actor under the stage name “Handingo”. When Jamal found out he muttered “well he’s the biggest cock I know fo’ sho'” and “bloody batty boy innit”. When I reminded Jamal of his weekly appointment with Hasan at the Rainbow Boys sauna where he is massaged, scrubbed and “finished off” he dismissed me, saying “eh that’s different, is just my weekly ethnic cleansing innit”.
Once finished at the clinic, Handy will be back on the road, on his way to the airport to continue the series of films he is starring in which spoof popular culture “bukkake style”. He has just returned from the States where he has made such classics as Fist Of Fury (he’s still smarting at losing his wristwatch) and Gangbangs Of New York, which has a particularly distasteful finale with Handy dressed as Osama Bin Laden continually moaning “Allah Akhbar” while throbbing twin towers explode over his face.
He turned down Lube Actually though, saying “lube’s for pussies”. I’m not sure if he was referring to the people or the body parts, but I guess the outcome is the same either way in his case. For us though his new trade (excuse the pun) has meant his tantrums and Kenneth Williams impressions are but a distant memory, although he has promised he will be back for Christmas as it’s the one time of year he likes to see a bird getting a good stuffing.
Meanwhile, Sandy and Jamal are both in prison. Unfortunately they too are due back just before Christmas, which this year I’m starting to dread. They were both arrested during the riots back in August and each sentenced to six months inside. Sandy was fucked out of his skull on crystal meth and broke into Jamal’s camel farm at West Croydon, mistaking it for the Camel Toe lapdancing club next door. He released several of the herd into the streets, and at least a couple perished in the fire at the furniture store while grazing on fluffy sofas in the warehouse. Some say the smell of charred ungulate could be smelled as far afield as Tulse Hill, but this is just conjecture. Several more had to be put down due to stress (vetinary term: having the hump) and the remainder have been declared barren for the rest of the season as a result of shock. When Jamal found Sandy pleasuring himself in the middle of now empty camel pens he attacked him, and after the brawl spilled out onto the street he threatened a police officer with a pair of camel tongs before stealing a meat wagon to try and run Sandy over as he fled down the street. They both may have got away with it if it hadn’t been for veteran BBC correspondent John Simpson passing by at that exact moment with a camera crew doing a report on the local dubstep scene. They filmed the whole sorry episode which was subsequently beamed into every home in the country. You may recall seeing the footage of Sandy being led away spitting and screaming abuse, naked as the day he was born, a scene we had to sit through again in court, with Sandy shamefully smirking and winking at the women in the jury every time his pixellated genitalia appeared on the screen. Jamal then dropped his trousers in the dock to prove he has a bigger pula than Sandy, at which point a slanging match broke out between them, and so contempt of court was swiftly added to the long list of other charges, and their fate was sealed. It’s a terrible thing to say, but I think I speak for all of us when I say a feeling of huge relief and dare I say it, euphoria, swept through us as the foreman of the jury returned the guilty verdicts and they were led away to jeers from the gallery, profanity from their mouths, and front page notoriety in the tabloids. It was shortly after this that Handy announced his intention to become an adult film star “because there’s no way those two are getting more cock than me.”
I had better stop rambling and get ready as we are going to friends for dinner tonight. Nice to get out of the cramped studio for a bit, and the lovely thought of the geishas waiting in a warm bed to look forward to later. I’ll keep you updated on the progress of our move and Mrs Muck’s bump, and in the meantime will savour the last few weeks without the boys around. This truly is the calm before the storm coming our way in 2012. Scary but brilliant.
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