High life
God save the King (and the Zulus)
Taki
This Palumbo problem got me thinking. If newspaper reports are correct, grandfa- ther Palumbo has smelled a rat and asked his son ,Peter, to give none of the moolah to young James. The old boy suspected something Old boys always do. My own father asked that his will be opened only by me — which it was, in front of lawyers and my older brother, however. In it he decreed that my brother receive ten percent of his fortune, something he was entitled to do, having made previous arrangements (as he stated in his will) with my sibling.
Alas, in a theatrical gesture, I agreed to go 50-50, and now I speak to my brother through lawyers. As the cliché says, 'no good deed goes unpunished.'
James Palumbo (or Peter for that mat- ter), I have never met. But words such as ghastly and grotesque crop up with young people I know . What I do know is that his nightclub, The Ministry of Sound, is grotesque. The one time I went there, for a private function, I found it surreal in its dreadfulness, full of punks zonked out on Ecstasy, and not a drink in sight.
I hope the judges in the Hague do the right thing as far as ex-King Constantine is concerned. I've said it before and say it again. What's the use of the British tax payer subsidising the bureaucrooks in Brussels, not to mention the gangsters run- ning the birthplace of expropriation with- out compensation, while the individual as in the case of the ex-King — is left out in the cold? The Greek Socialists have been caught cheating time and again, but the bureaucrooks do as much about it as Clinton did in Vietnam.
This week, Ali Babandreou and Big Tits are on a state visit to Washington. The mauvaises langues have it that this just might be the first time that wife-swapping takes place in the White House. Personal- ly, I do not believe it. What amuses me, however, is that two of the biggest bullshit artists will be taking the salute on the great lawn, and a guard of honour will be inspected by an ex-male nurse from Flori- da and a draft dodger. Oy veil!
This is the bad news. The good news is that I'm going down to the nation's capital all in a cast, mind you, for the White House correspondents' dinner, and look forward to going to the Greek embassy, where Ali Baba and BT are staying. The last time I attended the dinner I sat next to Fawn Hall. Now there's a shredder par excellence, a beautiful girl who was not afraid of the crooks in Congress and told them outright that she had shredded and that they could go to hell.
Now I know it sounds dangerous, what with being covered in stitches and wearing a soft cast while facing the twin dangers of being hit by the bazookas of Greece's first bimbo, but the alternative was worse. I had planned to go to South Africa with John Aspinall and give moral support to the Zulus, but, frankly, I'm in too much pain to travel and move around. Being hit by Mimi's mammary glands must be less painful than an ANC necklace. All I know is that the Left has finally had its way. The West's desire to pander to radical black totalitarians will now turn South Africa into Rwanda/Burundi. Africa, in fact, is one big Rwanda/Burundi, with the excep- tion until now of South Africa. The Zulus and the whites must be allowed to have their independent sovereign states. Any- thing less means genocide. But I shall not be holding my breath for the bureaucrooks who run our lives to do anything about it.
`What did you watch in the soap wars, Grandad?'
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