The Times
According to Hugo Rifkind
In the name of the Humblest, the Most Merciful, the Boss, the Top, the Tip, the Indisputable Leader of the Gang, Top Cat, I am His Most Excellentness Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the democratically elected dictator of Iran!
And, in order to give your Acclaimed Christmas Channel 4 Massage, have I been learning the full grasp of the humorous English idiom? Fan-dabby-dosey! Welcome to the jungle, we’ve got fun’n’games! Oh yes! For I am only the second Middle Eastern Gentleman to be entrusted with this task, I learn, following in footsteps of one by the name of Ali Gee. But.
With the Acclaimed Christmas Channel 4 Massage, it turns out my bosses are most displeased. “Mahmoud, baby,” said the one with the goatee, “this is not what we wanted, at all. Too moderate. Too restrained. Where was the fire? Where was the thunder? Where was the hate?” “Reuben is right,” agreed the other, a She-man. “There was barely anything offensive in there at all. The Daily Mail probably wasn’t even watching. We’ll never be controversially appointed anywhere, at this rate. You’ll have to do another one for new year. Otherwise the deal is off.” “You mean . . .?” said I. “Yes,” declared goatee producer. “You will never be invited on to Countdown.” Woe! Woe and fie! And so, in spirit of getting a consonant a consonant a vowel a consonant a consonant, even without Carol Vorderman, I have agreed to make second Massage, putting in all the bits that goatee boss and the Hairy Lady were so annoyed that the last one left out.
The Gays
The Short-haired Lady She-man says I must disparage The Gays. Which seems odd. Considering. But hey-ho. Mine is not to cookie crumble. Although we have none of the gays in Glorious Iran, I am aware that they are beasts, they are vile, and they must be made to wear humiliating hats. All in all, I am in entire agreement with your Pope. Happy new year.
The Jews
“Seriously?” I said to Reuben goatee, who seems no Bagel-Dodger, if you catch my Drift. “Absolutely,” was his retort. “Cockroaches, drive them into the sea, no Holocaust, all that. Don’t hold back. It looks like we might be up against Dancing on Ice.”
The Kidnapped British Sailors
“Mention the suits,” chortles the Short-Haired Lady. “Yeah. Everybody thought they were hilarious.” This, I cannot begin to understand. But for Countdown, anything.
Nuclear war
“Couldn’t you threaten it?” says Goatee who looks tired. “Or say you aren’t afraid of it? Or at least drop some hints? You’ve got the fourth largest oil reserves in the world. You don’t need nuclear power.” “Our nuclear programme is entirely peaceful,” I tell him. “We have no desire to make nuclear weapons. Not by the hair on my Chinny chin Chin. We just haven’t properly thought things through.” This Goatee producer-type, he is close to Pulling out of his Hair. His Friend of Sapphos suggests creative subtitling.
America
But I have already mentioned America! In my original Massage, did I not say that, if Christ were alive today, he would stand against bullying, ill-tempered and expansionist powers? “Nobody was listening by then,” says the Short-Haired-Lady. “Frankly, that was the point at which we realised we should have had Russell Brand.” “Hold on,” says the Jew. “Did we ever call Andrew Sachs’s granddaughter?” The Ladyfellow closes her eyes. “Damn,” she says. “Do you think it is too late?” And from my lips they drew the Hallelujah. Bibbly, bibbly, bibbly BONG.
M. Ahmadinejad, Iran (President of)
