Summer of Savile – Day 4: Jimmy Gets His Fuck On
Jimmy Savile likes to do it. Yeah, it. You know what I’m talking about. You can’t see it, but to demonstrate, I’m thrusting my hips back and forth pretty violently. He likes sex. Being famous, he’s done it lots and lots of times, probably more then ten. I saw a topless woman once. In a dream I had about that Marilyn Manson chick.
Anyway, try reading the following entry in the voice of Russell Brand. Picture him there, all hair and flailing arms, then try and tell me Savile wasn’t some kind of proto-Brand, a spiritual father in terms of being a celebrated living scarecrow who fucks a lot.
Great and momentous times we have had, the ladies and I. Monumental and magnificent. Tender, sometimes touching, but never turbulent. From single situations to team-handed times, girls have taught, trimmed and trained me up to Olympian standards.
There it is, in cold, hard print. Jimmy Savile: “I am great at sex.” He’ll fuck you to a gold medal standard then show you where to hang it. And look at all the places he done it:
From that day to this there have been trains and, with apologies to the hit parade, boats and planes (I am a member of the 40,000ft club) and bushes and fields, corridors, doorways, floors, chairs, slag heaps, desks and probably everything except the celebrated chandelier and ironing board.
Slag heaps?? I’m presuming he means an actual slag heap, and not some Clive Barker style writhing pile of literal slags, stacked from floor to ceiling to serve as some sort of fleshy bedding, like those people who shot that bear then done a fuck on it. Proper romantic that, on top of a pile of junk while seagulls and Argentinian rag pickers peck at your bare arse. Thirty five years have passed since he wrote that, so the chandelier and ironing board are sure to have served as Jizzy Jimmy’s clump-pumping stations by now.
Maybe one day I’ll be as beloved as Jimmy was in 1974 and I’ll finally be able to hold hands with a lady, perhaps atop a slag heap. That’d show those bullies!