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Wednesday, 7 May 2014

Day 966 - THIS IS IT

As Michael Jackson once said, "THIS IS IT"; although in MJ's case, 'it' turned out to be death by 'milk' as opposed to an exciting series of concerts, but as long as Moz doesn't have Boz acting as his personal physician, we should be alright! *I am now really tempted to write an impromptu parody piece with Moz laying in bed a la Michael Jackson, with Boz playing the part of a rock-a-billy Conrad Murray. Should I? Is it a bit too sick? Oh f*** it!*

(The setting is Morrissey's bedroom in some luxury hotel in LA. It is present day. Morrissey is laying in bed. The curtains are all drawn shut. Morrissey's long-time friend/musical director/Guru of the Grape/Polecat/Record Shop Owner/Cross dressing guitarist/Slightly over-weight bod, Martin 'Boz' Boorer excitedly leaps onto the bed, and begins bouncing up and down.)

BOZ: WAKE UP! WAKE UP! This is it, Moz, This... is... IT! (Boz does an extra high bounce on the bed, and bangs his head on the ceiling.)

(Morrissey doesn't stir. Boz rubs his head.)

BOZ: Come on Moz, please wake up, the tour starts today. *starts singing* I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it, I'm about to lose control, and I think I like it.

(Morrissey's eyes remain closed)

MOZ: Whoever you are, GO AWAY.

BOZ: It's me, Moz, Boz! Aren't you excited? We've waited a long time for this day.

(Boz gets off the bed, and sits down at Morrissey's dressing table. Morrissey keeps his eyes closed, and stretches out a hand onto his bedside table, where he blindly feels around. The feeling gets more frantic until eventually Morrissey opens one eye. He then opens his other eye and sits up in panic.)

MOZ: Where's my Omeprazole, Boz? Who's taken my Omeprazole?

BOZ: O-me what, Moz?

MOZ: My Omeprazole, Boz, my acid reducing tablets. Where are they?

(Boz looks down at the dressing table, which has lots of different medicine bottles and packets on it, and picks up a large packet of tablets.)

BOZ: They're here, Moz. How many do you want, two?

MOZ: I'm burning, Boz, burning. Me Barrett's has taken hold. Throw me the whole box.

BOZ: I really don't think you should-

MOZ: -Just throw me the box, you c***.

(Boz tosses the box to Morrissey, who then swallows a handful of the tablets, using a gin bottle by the side of the bed to help wash them down. He closes his eyes again, and rests his head back down on the pillow. 2 minutes 31 seconds pass, and then Morrissey sits bolt up right and looks over towards Boz.)

MOZ: BOZ? I haven't got my contact lenses in yet, so luckily you are just a blur, albeit a rather large blur, but tell me, are you naked?

BOZ: Oh, er, yes Sir, sorry about that, but in my excitement, I forgot to put any clothes on.

MOZ: And what's that in your hand?

BOZ: It's my Herbie Hancock.

MOZ: Well, if you are trying to impress me, you haven't.

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BOZ: I've hardly slept Moz, it's the old nerves. Do you still get them?

MOZ: One has to have feelings to have nerves, Boz.

BOZ: I've been thinking about the setlist Moz. I was thinking Crashing bores, Like You, Camden.

MOZ: Hmm, those ones weren't written by you Boz, were they?

BOZ: Oh, I forget which ones I've written, Moz, but now you come to mention it, I think I did write those three, but that's not why I mention them.

MOZ: "Forget which ones"? You've only written me about five songs in the past twenty years, Boz, and most of those were over a decade ago. Black Cloud has been just about your only decent effort in recent years, and even that was rehashed from Alain's Swallow on my doo dah! Anyway, why are you even thinking about set lists, they are my domain, not yours!

BOZ: I, er-

MOZ: -Of course, what I would really like to be able to do, is make impromptu decisions as to what songs I sing, depending on my mood at the time, but would you and your band be able to cope without a pre-arranged set list?

BOZ: We, er-

MOZ: -Anyway, enough talk of set lists and incompetent musicians, I'm ill Boz, I can't sing tonight, you'd better cancel the show.

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BOZ: Oh shit, I had a feeling that this might happen. Moz, you'll be fine.

MOZ: FINE? I have NEVER been fine in my life, and even if I weren't at death's door, which I am, we always cancel the first night, it just wouldn't be a Morrissey tour if we played the opening night. How many times must I tell you, Boz, it's all about the Mysterious otherness, all about the mysterious otherness.

BOZ: Ok, Moz, I'll go and let everybody know.

MOZ: It's too late now, Boz, you should have cancelled it yesterday, I can't cancel now. I will just have to do my best, but this is your first and last warning Boz, I don't want these sort of mistakes being made throughout the tour. I will also be taking something out of your wage packet this month, to cover the cost of the inconvenience.

BOZ: But, I-

MOZ: -No need to thank me, Boz. Now, tell me what's been written in the press about me this week.

(Boz looks slightly perplexed, and then opens up a lap top that is sat on the desk. A couple of minutes pass whilst Boz searches the internet.)

BOZ: Not much to report, Moz. Some bloke called Lee has been tweeting that you are going to release three singles in three weeks, and some other bod from the Telegraph has written about Mountjoy.

MOZ: Mountjoy? My new song, Mountjoy?

BOZ: Er, yes.

MOZ: Unbelievable, perhaps the British press are not as brain dead as I had thought. Read what he's written, Boz.

(Boz, touches the screen with his right index finger, and starts to read, following each word with his finger.)

BOZ: "so what a thrill, buried towards the back of the new album, right after Kick The Bride Down The Aisle, is track 11: Mountjoy. We will have to wait until its July release to find out whether this is indeed a musical tribute to one of Wales's best-loved snooker players, but the thought alone inspires paro, parox, parox, paroxy-

MOZ: -Spell it out, Boz.


MOZ: Paroxysms-

BOZ: -"paroxysms of relish."

MOZ: What a t***!

BOZ: Your MorrisseysWorld blog mentioned Doug Mountjoy a full two years ago, Moz.

MOZ: I'm not sure that you're totally correct there Boz, old son, but there has definitely been some referencing to snooker players over the years on the old blog. Some of my best writing is hidden in those old articles, you know. Read me the My Live Tour Journal 2011, Boz.

BOZ: I can't, you've closed the blog down again.

MOZ: We can still access the articles, it's just the dreary fans who can't. Go on Boz, read me the 2011 journal, and I might even forgive you for not cancelling tonight's show.

(Boz, clicks a few buttons on the lap top.)

BOZ: What's the password again, Moz?

MOZ: boz, underscore, bores, underscore, em. Boz Bores 'em. All lower case.

(Boz types in the password and then starts reading.)

BOZ: "My Live Tour Journal 2011. July 12th to 18th. These days drifted by like confetti thrown in the blackness of night. The funeral atmosphere around myself and the lads was entirely due to the malicious hate-campaign being waged against me by my own online fans.-

MOZ: - C***s!

BOZ: "I don't think they comprehend how painful it is to dedicate your life selflessly to your fans; and to face such contempt from those whom you have stood up for over the many years - the lonely, the lost, the disillusioned. Each man kills the thing he loves. Perhaps I should accept it as a perverse compliment? A part of my soul faded away during these days. A part of me died."

MOZ: How very true. Thank god I managed to save myself with the Blue Rose Society.

BOZ: But Solow is still going Moz, and once the tour starts, even your Blue Rose fans will feel the need to go there to get the setlist. It's apparently the only reason they go there now.

MOZ: Hmm, you may be right there, Boz. Perhaps I should let that fawning rat have the set lists before Solow get their hands on them. It would liven things up a bit.

BOZ: You could even give him the set lists beforehand Moz, or at least an occasional one.

MOZ: No, there's no chance of that happening, Boz, but perhaps I will give the poor s*d a little snippet here and there. In fact, he's bound to be reading this, so let's give him and his dreary friends a little hint for tonight. Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy. Anyway, forget about the fawning rat, carry on reading my mesmerizing tour journal. The bit about the snooker players is coming up.

(Boz places his index finger back on the screen, and continues to read.)

BOZ: "Stayed in bed for most of the 12th. Watched a DVD of 1970s 'Coronation Street' episodes I'd brought with me. Watched a bit of 'Jim Davidson's Big Break' too but broke down in tears during the pot black challenge with Ray Reardon. I was on my feet cheering as he got down for the pink. Raised a glass as he lined up the black and... same old story. Reminded me of the reviews for 'Years of Refusal' actually. Falling at the final hurdle. He missed the black; I tagged 'OK By Myself' on the end of an otherwise classic album. Like myself, he's another who enjoyed his career peak in the Autumn of his life. A kindred spirit, a late blossomed. He's not quite Judd Trump or Ronnie O'Whitevan, of course, but he's still got it, old Ray. Don't dismiss him just because he's getting on a bit, will you? Cardinal error."

MOZ: There you go, Boz, I told you it wasn't Doug Mountjoy, it was good old Ray Reardon I wrote about.

BOZ: Still very funny, Moz. You aren't half good at the old parody stuff.

MOZ: Yes Boz, you 're right, I am, and my blog really does deserve a wider audience, but I mean what I said recently; unless the BRS get roses to me, and Blue Rose is fulfilled, it's not coming back.


So, there we have it. We MUST get roses to Moz. And what of the clue regarding tonight's set. "Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy." My guess is Well I Wonder, Still Ill and Rubber Ring, or perhaps Asleep. I don't think I've ever been so excited about a concert I'm not attending. If Moz sings either I Know it's Gonna Happen Someday or Trouble Loves Me, I might just abandon my son and his GCSEs, and catch the next flight to LA.

FOOT NOTE - My thanks to Dickie Felton and Boz Boorer for the use of their photographs, and my thanks to Our Mozzer for providing the 2011 Tour Journal piece. Finally, my thanks to Fifi for the set clue.

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  1. Lovely piece, Ratty. I am also curious as to what the set list will be. I saw Fifi lurking last night, stumbling around in her Manolos.

    The new photo is beyond lovely- I hope we get many more in the coming days!

  2. "I must cancel the show" "I'll tell the lads" "No, you should have done it last night, it's too late now"

    Love it - all your own work Ratty? Excellent stuff.

  3. Message from Fifi: "Still alive. Still ill. Still sleepy" was not a clue. There will be a BRS treat but I cannot say any more.

    1. Sounds enticing. We'll be on the lOOkout.

    2. So probably no 'Well I Wonder'? Now that would have been a treat to hear the whole song live. And I'm a little confused: has the Blue Rose been fulfilled since the MW blog is back?!

  4. Very entertaining, although, upon reading, it appears Moz wrote the bulk of it, and others provided the pics. You just wrote the intro and end. You did a fine job on those Ratty!!! You are correct that the start of this tour seems more exciting than some in the past. I imagine it is, for the fans, as if Moz has risen up, like the Phoenix, after the past, dark months, and returned to do what he loves the most. I wish all luck with the tour, and look forward to the set list. Must go now, as we are having a severe storm at the moment and internet could go out at any time. #BRS

  5. The MW blog has just come back! So much for it only coming back if Blue Rose is fulfilled!

    Ray Reardon

    1. M. Reardon, tonight the Morrissey band will play Snooker Loopy in your honour. Or some such balls. Join the cue.

      A friend.

    2. I'll take the cue and pass it on to certain people I know.
      Thank you.

  6. Monsieur M. is asking for you to stop sneaking into his hotel room and recording his private conversations with Monsieur Bozborzem, please. The fact you are a rat is not an excuse.

    Jeanne G.

  7. Well done, Rats. I have to admit I wasn't in the mood for jokes about cancellations, but you managed it well. I love the MW password and I knew that fantastic pic of Boz had to find its way onto your blog. All the best to everyone involved in the tour and, just like Boz, I'm SO excited!

  8. Nice one Rats, very entertaining.

    There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than at the concert tonight. I feel really emotional about it even from this side of the pond.
    Best of luck to anyone taking a rose.

    Love & roses to Moz, the band & Kristeen. x

  9. don't know how you do it rat!!
    another fine example!!

  10. Excellent parody, Mr Rat. I too loved the password..poor old Boz. Mocked from all sides! I just about managed to sit still long enough to read the whole piece.. Very difficult. Too excited, & I'm not even going to the concerts! Also VERY intrigued as to what our little prezzie will be...

  11. Right, I'm off to bed. My final prediction of songs on tonight's set list: I Know It's Gonna Happen Someday, Certain People I Know and Still Ill. Goodnight.

  12. Our Moz, No One Can Hold a Candle to You!! Have a remarkable concert tonight. Even though I won't be there in person, I will be there in spirit with good wishes to all who attend. Have a lovely evening, BRS members!!

  13. The set list is amazing so far! Hand in Glove-never would have expected my favourite Smiths song!

  14. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for our treat.
    How special.

    1. I second your quadruple THANK YOU. *wanders off in a daze*

  15. Blue Rose Society Review May 2014

    Morrissey and his friends sit around a mahogany table in an elegant hotel suite where he is booked for a night on his US tour. The lights are dimmed. The seminal artiste has a mild headache and sits with a damp dish cloth draped over his left eye and his right eye lid drooping down with tiredness.

    "News just in, sire..." says Boz Boorer triumphantly. "The new single charted!..." He says, before stumbling slightly and pausing, clearing his throat: "...83!"

    "83 000?" Asks Morrissey more in the tone of a statement. "Astonishing... that must be a number one in 2014 old friend. Boz is that right? Is 83 000 good enough for a number one single?"

    Boz slides his finger along the page awkwardly, trying to read from the right location. "Just a moment, Moz," he says. "Just one moment, sir..." He studies the page closely. Morrissey rolls his eyes playfully, half-smirking. "Yes Moz! 83 000 would be a number one!"

    "Well it's a Bollinger moment..." announces Morrissey. "Millions of books sold, Penguin Classic imprint.... and now one's first ever number one single... Boz get me some Bollinger from room service old friend. Let's celebrate with some Cilla Black."

    Boz looks worried. "But sir-"

    "-Don't question your employer's personal expenditure Boz. Now do as instructed, kindly."

    Work is a four letter word fills the suite from a rather expensive sound system, as Mikey Bracewell, Jesse Tobias, Julia and the The Tour Cat exchange apprehensive glances every few seconds.

    Morrissey begins clapping along to the song, apparently overjoyed. He looks almost tearful. The Tour Cat slides under a coffee table.

    "Extraordinary..." utters Morrissey.

    Mikey Bracewell gazes at the floor. Boz Boorer knocks and re-enters the suite, having presumably ordered Bollinger from room service. He avoided using Morrissey's personal suite telephone, as per the MorrisseyBand tour protocol and therefore used the one in the corridor instead, to avoid adding unnecessary charges to the iconic star's bill.

    Boz sits down at the laptop computer. He begins perusing the world wide web.

    As the next song begins - Death by Klaus Nomi - a small bead of sweat is seen trickling down Boorer's face, meandering like a small stream between rocks.

    "Sir..." says Boz. "When I said 83, sir-"

    "-Shut up Boz. No speaking during Nomi."

    Boz Boorer nods. Had he been in the rhythm section that would have been an instant fine. Fortunately speaking fines did not apply to the musical director, lead guitarist or keyboard player. This thought provided momentary comfort to Boz as he wondered what to do.

    "Theses number one is amazing then Morr-ee-say," says Jesse Tobias. "Eet is no more than you deserve, my friend. Well with theses amazing words thanks to you, my friend, and this amazing music, thanks to me, this is why you succeed..."

    "Uhm, yes..." murmurs Morrissey with an unconvinced look, He gazes at Jesse and then looks at the floor.

    "Eet is my gift to you Morr-ee-say."

    Morrissey checks the time.

    "Any reviews of my new songs on the world wide dread yet Boz?"

    "Erm... yes, sir... erm.... here's one from one of your longest-serving fans, sire..."

    "Longest-serving, Boz? You make him sound like an inmate... which I suppose he is... of sorts," smirks the artiste.

    "Shall I read it aloud, sir? It sounds very positive from the first few lines.... very fair..."

    "Oh..." says Morrissey, feigning boredom. "Oh.... go on then!"


  16. " In 'World Peace Is None Of Your Business' a multi-millionaire ex pop-star is watching CNN in a luxury hotel suite." Boz Boorer begins: "It depresses him so he writes a polemical lyric advising his cult 'clueless consumer' fans to withdraw from political activity, as politics is pointless. Taxation is also pointless. They are "poor fools". He finds an old cassette tape with a dull leaden thumping track which he absent-mindedly drones the lyrics along to. It takes about 20 minutes to finish, which is good as room service will soon be arriving with his dinner."

    Morrissey's only visible eye closes slightly. "Broken..." he murmurs. Boz Boorer, realising that his master is angry, gulps. He hesitates.

    "Go on.... read out the rest," Morrissey says calmly and firmly. "That s***ing c***" He mutters. "...C***"

    ""Earth Is The Loneliest Planet" A multi-millionaire ex pop-star has switched off the telly in a luxury hotel suite. He notices that he has failed to find love and concludes that the universe is to blame. He is moved to write yet another lyric signalling to his cult 'clueless consumers' that romantic love is pointless and/or unachievable. If they have married and had children, they are misguided. He makes a note to invite Kristeen Young back into the fold as she also has no truck with successful marital arrangements and progeny type stuff.

    "The Bullfighter Dies" A multi-millionaire ex pop-star switches the telly back on in a luxury hotel suite to watch a documentary on bull-fighting but it's in Spanish so he switches it off. His suite has a small library. He flicks distractedly at a poem by Federico García Lorca called "Lament for Ignacio Sánchez Mejías" which was mentioned in the documentary, but it's too complicated and gives him a head-ache. He picks up his pencil and The Muses strike. He writes the definitive lyric about this annoying sport.

    Years later he remembers this astonishing burst of creativity and summons his band to a recording studio. In the limousine he realises he has put the wrong lyric to the wrong cassette. The 'Spanish-y' tune has somehow gotten the lyric about doomed romantic love when he meant to use its faux-flamenco for the Bullfighter one. Then he remembers he was a bit pissed the night he composed these staggering works of heart-breaking genius. He sighs and decides it doesn't matter anyway. His cult 'clueless consumer' fans will lap it up like everything else as they are 'poor fools' who pay taxes. And 'rebel' by purchasing concert tickets and CDs to listen to 'protest singers' in the "Bread and Circuses" economy of collapsing empire:"

    "I'll get that b*****d," Morrissey says. "What name is he using these days Boz?"

    "BrummieBoy, sir."

  17. "Any reviews NOT from my fans?" asks Morrissey with a cynical tone of resignation.

    Mikey Bracewell gives knowing half-smile and a prim nod.

    "Well, sir..." stutters Boz Boorer. " says... Morrissey took a brief respite from making inflammatory statements to announce his new album, World Peace Is None Of Your Business, last month.

    Produced by Joe Chiccarelli (The Strokes, Tori Amos, The Shins), Morrissey is said to be “beyond ecstatic” with the follow-up to 2009′s Years of Refusal. The album is due out in July via Capitol’s Harvest imprint, and we now have the tracklist, via True To You.... Oh this isn't a review, sir-"

    Morrissey rolls his eyes, before remembering a damp cloth is draped over one of them. The cloth falls to the floor.

    "Look what you've b******d made me do now, Boz," blurts out the seminal artiste angrily. "Pick it up and find me a fresh one would you please Julia? There's a nice (italic) friend..."

    "Oh yes, Morrissey, oh yes, let me find you a new cloth, Morrissey," says Julia effusively, before leaning towards the iconic star and hugging him. Morrissey gives an uncomfortable look as she does so, pulling back slightly, but placing his hand on her back, patting it.

    As the hug drags on, Morrissey mutters, "Aren't you forgetting something?" to Julia. She glances blankly at him.

    "The damp cloth...?" he murmurs softly.

    "I almost forgot!" She says.

    Julia leaves the suite.

    "Can't get the s***ing staff these days," sighs Morrissey just after the door closes, licking his lips.

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  19. A knock at the door: "Room service!"

    "Come in" replies Morrissey with English reserve.

    A smartly-dressed gentleman with a fixed smile carries in a bottle of expensive champagne on ice. He grins even more broadly, showing impeccable porcelain, and places several flutes on the table with great elegance. He offers to pour the champagne, but Morrissey places his hand softly over the flute.

    "I'll do that, thanks all the same," Morrissey says. Taking the bottle, he pours a splash into each flute in turn. Then he fills his own flute up to the brim. "This is the life... but of course one doesn't have a number one single in England every day of the week..."

    "You're number one in the British chart?" asks the gentleman with a strong southern twang.

    "Apparently so-" murmurs Morrissey with a self-deprecating shrug.

    "I just wanted to say I really loved Astral Weeks," says the room service bod with a look of admiration in the eye.

    Morrissey grasps his flute of champagne and takes a large mouthful.

    "This bloody hotel..." he mutters.

    Room service turns and leaves, looking offended.

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    3. "Delightful champagne," says Mikey Bracewell, quaffing from the flute.

      Morrissey downs his flute in one. "Well, not bad (not bad in italics)."

      Jesse Tobias hums 'World Peace is None of Your Business' and taps his fingers on his green leather arm-rest.

      Morrissey glowers at him, but Jesse doesn't notice.

      "I notice you've deleted your twitter account and blog again, Morr-ee-say" says Mikey.

      "Yes," mutters Morrissey distractedly, wishing Jesse would cease and desist from humming a classic pop song and UK number one single. "What's the point when the b*****ds all ignore me anyway? More wit than Mr Wilde, more immediacy than Joey Essex, more poetry than Twitter could ever have imagined... all in mesmerizing (italic) 140 character literary outbursts (italic) from Old Bigmouth, yet... it's like I hardly even exist..."

      "I think your fans will only believe it's you if you obtain a blue verified tick on your account," says Mikey thoughtfully. "Unfortunately in a world where people have so little time, they're looking for easy answers and uncomplicated entertainment. Who you are matters much more than what you say."

      "Sir," says Boz, butting in. "... P'raps you could switch over to the itsMorrissey account with your wit and literally genius, sire..."

      Boz looks quite proud of his suggestion, his eyebrows raised in frozen anticipation.

      Mikey Bracewell smiles. "I don't think that's terribly Morrissey (italic) Boz. Morrissey just wouldn't do that-"

      "-It's brilliant, Boz. Yes, yes, yes. Morrissey would never (italic) use a verified account, just as Morrissey would never use twitter, just as Morrissey would never used Americanized spellings in his writing, or wear a blue rose during a live concert... yes, yes, yes.... "

      Mikey Bracewell stops shaking his head and nods softly. Jesse Tobias continues humming his first UK number one.

      "...Sometimes the most Morrisseyesque thing one can do is the last thing Morrissey would ever do," announces Morrissey.

      "But you've already denied it's you, Morr-ee-say," says Mikey.

      "Which would make it even more Morrisseyesque," says Morrissey.

      "Quite brilliant," says Mikey.

      "The old enigmatic otherness factor (enigmatic otherness factor in italics).... doing what Morrissey would never do...outflanking Uncle Scummy... and that man (italics)... who of course both know who to be me far more than I ever could..."

      "Yes, sir, that's right sir, how wise of you to say so, sir," says Boz. "...that doing something unMorrisseyesque is much more Morrisseyesque, sir. Like that time you apologised to Sir Elton John, Moz, so that he'd play at Meltdown Festival, sir, even though he didn't play in the end, but even then only because he had no idea who you were, sire, not because he hated you, or thought your recent songs were rubbish, sir..."

      Morrissey licks his lips.

      "... in fact how would he even have known that your recent songs weren't very good if he didn't even know who you are, sir?..."

      Morrissey continues licking his lip and his eyes close slightly.

      "...But anyway, sir, apologising to Sir Elton after saying you wanted his head served on a platter, just so you could have him at Meltdown and make sure all those empty seats got filled, sir... well, that was a masterstroke sir... so unlike you that it surprised everybody, and showed that Morrissey can never be predicted, just can't be predicted... he can't actually be predicted, there's absolutely no way he can be predicted, it's just not possible to predict him. You see, he's just not possible to-"

    4. "-Boz f*** off."

      Boz Boorer rubs his cheek and sighs plaintively.

      "Still, good news about the number one," says Morrissey. "Let's write a TTY statement, not too triumphalist..."

      Morrissey pauses. He looks irked and brushes his nose with his right index finger. Then he snaps his fingers.

      Mikey Bracewell, suddenly alert to the situation, jumps up and begins searching for a pen and paper.

      "Morrissey is overjoyed at the news of his first ever number one single in England," begins Morrissey, as Mikey gives up looking for paper and begins writing on the back of his hand. "Despite no radio play, zero promotion and a backing band of jaded session musicians..."

    5. NB in the piece above it should read "how to be me" not "who to be me"

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  22. Morrissey19 May 2014 10:41

    Mikey pauses.

    "Actually delete that last bit. Something more dignified.... uhmmm.... Despite no radio play, zero promotion, and a band of talentless c***s."

    Morrissey laughs.

    "No, no no," he smiles, gazing at Jesse. "That wouldn't be fair."

    "Despite no radio play, zero promotion, and the same musicians so widely and unfairly criticised in the music press, Morrissey is once again thrilled to be among the top of the charts and thanks his musicians for all their hard work and..."

    Morrissey gazes pityingly towards Boz Boorer.

    "... and their best efforts in creating a four minute pop gem."

    "I'll email that to Julia," says Mikey.

    "...I've just realised you're NOT Morrissey," says Boz Boorer. "You can't be Morrissey, sir, because everyone knows you said the itsMorrissey twitter account wasn't you, but in this parody story, sir, I notice that you seem to s
    suggest it might have been you after all. So I conclude you aren't really Morrissey, but an imposter and liar, sire..."

    "Boz I've been paying your wages for twenty years, not to mention carrying you musically and socially. I am Morrissey. We met over twenty years ago, old son. Don't you remember, Boz?"

    "But you can't be Morrissey, sir, because the real Morrissey has already announced ItsMorrissey isn't him.... on True To You... in in today's parody piece you lost the suspension of disbeliefness, sir, by saying something that didn't quite tally with true to you, sir... by discussing how you'd use ItsMorrissey, even though True To You said it wasn't you at all. Now, I know True to you is (italic) Morrissey's official site, so that means you can't be Morrissey, sire, you just can't be, because Morrissey wouldn't lie...."

    Boz Boorer looks deep in thought, and rather distressed.

    "Have I been working for a parody for all these years? Could Rosy Mires be right after all? Am I even really in the band that's at number 83 in the British charts-"

    "-Number 83, Boz?"

    "Yes, sir. I tried to tell you earlier when-"

    "-Did you say, number 83? (number 83 in italics)"

    "Yes sir."

    Mikey Bracewell looks at his fingernails with a solemn expression.

    Morrissey spits out into his flute with some force. Then he carefully pours the contents of the other men's flutes back into the champagne bottle, along with his expectorated champagne-infused saliva.

    "Room service!" He shouts. "This bottle is corked!"


    "Room service!"

    Morrissey hurls the bottle of champagne at the wall. Boz Boorer ducks. The bottle smashes, and champagne runs down the wallpaper.

    "Eighty b******d three. Cancel that TTY statement. Someone (italic) will pay for this... b*****d record company... they're all the s**ding same..."

    "I blame Broken, sir," says Boz. "After all, sir, if he hadn't told everyone on Morrissey solo, disguised as BrummieBoy of course, sir, how bad your new songs are, some of them might never have noticed how bad they are, sir.. and then you might have got a slightly better chart position, more fitting for your new song, sir, like forty three or something, a bit like Satan Rejected My Soul, sire, back in the 1990s, the last time you were irrelevant..."

    Morrissey lunges at Boz Boorer.

    1. If you have finished making all those amendments, I shall get on and publish it. I might keep the outtakes for the bonus dvd.

  23. "No Out-takes. Please ensure the spelling and grammar are just so old son. I look forward to your choice of photographs. Don't forget to make the first photograph suitably dramatic and the final one farcical."

    Words spoken by Our Mozzer.



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