Another year older and still alive kind of
Forgive me, darlings.
Sorry about the scare. The rumours of my demise were only partially true. I know Craig Kilborn has been weeping non-stop since I failed to appear on his show. I sent him a bottle of the finest wines as well as a handkerchief soaked in my feverish sweat as an apology. I hope they made their way to him properly.
Here's hoping they don't end up on ebay.
So yes. I've been ill, and it was due in whole to the raging kegger I threw in my own honour. I know how to party hearty darlings, especially when the party is all about me and contains nothing but the finest riff-raff.
The festivities began, as usual, with me hiding in my room crying while everyone arrived. My maid, Maria Consuela Conchita Esteban-Morrissey answered the door with her usual enthusiastic "HOLA!" and took my place as host while I fixed my mascara. Yes, I adult adopted her because of greencard issues, but mostly because her last name is "Esteban" and that means "Steven" en Espanol. I can't help liking myself.
The guests began to arrive, and like a frightened kitten, I slowly crept down the stairs to greet them.
It helped that two of the first to make an appearance were Jonny and Judy. They were at it again. But it was my party, and I would cry if I wanted to. They were covered in flour and crushed velvet attire. They brought a cake. The icing was questionable, but creamy and delicious. Jonny also brought me a wax doll from Madame Tussaud's. Imagine my surprise when I realized I spent the latter half of the evening hitting on it rather than the real mccoy. At least it was anatomically correct.
Dave Rowntree not only brought me a loofah, but he agreed to school me on the skins. We began my apprenticeship that night. He told me that I was a natural on the gong.
My fiance' took me to the boxing ring in back of my house, brought over from London (remember that kiddies?) and we went a few rounds. This too may have led to my near demise. She's a firecracker, and not just in the sack.
Martin, god bless his soul, had a bit of a brain fart and brought me my old dear friend Johnny Marr (tied up in the back of his vehicle). Martin, baby, I only wanted the autograph, though it's the thought that counts. For a few hours there, my party was a bad John Hughes movie, until we decided to fill Johnny with some IV drugs and deposit him on a streetcorner near Salford Lad's club.
I appreciate the chartruese shoes Kate, and the soup fit for a king, Kels but the piece de resistance was A certain travelling hobo showing up live via satellite (previously recorded) wearing a kilt and a smile. He waggled some keys (among other things) at me and promised that I would have my own driving lessons and my own bike to learn on when he returns from Mars or wherever the bloody hell he is this week.
If you do get injured, Ewan, please make sure it's nowhere that counts. We like your pieces where they are.
Damien and Joey teamed up and got me...something. But I won't go into that. I'm truly sorry to hear about your loss.
Once everyone was properly drugged drunk, I took them to the roof and Michael and I sang "Somewhere Out There" which brought a teat tear to Jude and Jonny's eyes for some reason. I think I saw them mouthing the word "Ewan".
When Lucy scaled the wall and joined us, I knew the party was a smashing success. She brought "neutrality", which I will attempt to utilize as soon as possible. Others were there as well and if I missed anyone, sod off.
It took me days to recover. I'm still trying. I have a show in Belfast on Friday but I feel that bombs are the least thing I have to be worried about.
Anyway, thank you all for coming.
BUY "YOU ARE THE QUARRY" OUT IN SHOPPES NOW IT'S MY BEST SELLING ALBUM EVER AND I LOVE MONEY!!!
Sorry about the scare. The rumours of my demise were only partially true. I know Craig Kilborn has been weeping non-stop since I failed to appear on his show. I sent him a bottle of the finest wines as well as a handkerchief soaked in my feverish sweat as an apology. I hope they made their way to him properly.
Here's hoping they don't end up on ebay.
So yes. I've been ill, and it was due in whole to the raging kegger I threw in my own honour. I know how to party hearty darlings, especially when the party is all about me and contains nothing but the finest riff-raff.
The festivities began, as usual, with me hiding in my room crying while everyone arrived. My maid, Maria Consuela Conchita Esteban-Morrissey answered the door with her usual enthusiastic "HOLA!" and took my place as host while I fixed my mascara. Yes, I adult adopted her because of greencard issues, but mostly because her last name is "Esteban" and that means "Steven" en Espanol. I can't help liking myself.
The guests began to arrive, and like a frightened kitten, I slowly crept down the stairs to greet them.
It helped that two of the first to make an appearance were Jonny and Judy. They were at it again. But it was my party, and I would cry if I wanted to. They were covered in flour and crushed velvet attire. They brought a cake. The icing was questionable, but creamy and delicious. Jonny also brought me a wax doll from Madame Tussaud's. Imagine my surprise when I realized I spent the latter half of the evening hitting on it rather than the real mccoy. At least it was anatomically correct.
Dave Rowntree not only brought me a loofah, but he agreed to school me on the skins. We began my apprenticeship that night. He told me that I was a natural on the gong.
My fiance' took me to the boxing ring in back of my house, brought over from London (remember that kiddies?) and we went a few rounds. This too may have led to my near demise. She's a firecracker, and not just in the sack.
Martin, god bless his soul, had a bit of a brain fart and brought me my old dear friend Johnny Marr (tied up in the back of his vehicle). Martin, baby, I only wanted the autograph, though it's the thought that counts. For a few hours there, my party was a bad John Hughes movie, until we decided to fill Johnny with some IV drugs and deposit him on a streetcorner near Salford Lad's club.
I appreciate the chartruese shoes Kate, and the soup fit for a king, Kels but the piece de resistance was A certain travelling hobo showing up live via satellite (previously recorded) wearing a kilt and a smile. He waggled some keys (among other things) at me and promised that I would have my own driving lessons and my own bike to learn on when he returns from Mars or wherever the bloody hell he is this week.
If you do get injured, Ewan, please make sure it's nowhere that counts. We like your pieces where they are.
Damien and Joey teamed up and got me...something. But I won't go into that. I'm truly sorry to hear about your loss.
Once everyone was properly drugged drunk, I took them to the roof and Michael and I sang "Somewhere Out There" which brought a teat tear to Jude and Jonny's eyes for some reason. I think I saw them mouthing the word "Ewan".
When Lucy scaled the wall and joined us, I knew the party was a smashing success. She brought "neutrality", which I will attempt to utilize as soon as possible. Others were there as well and if I missed anyone, sod off.
It took me days to recover. I'm still trying. I have a show in Belfast on Friday but I feel that bombs are the least thing I have to be worried about.
Anyway, thank you all for coming.
BUY "YOU ARE THE QUARRY" OUT IN SHOPPES NOW IT'S MY BEST SELLING ALBUM EVER AND I LOVE MONEY!!!