Dear Flann: Readers’ mailbag
Anybody who’s ever written an unofficial biography about you has died in mysterious circumstances. Why is that?
Fred,
Dungavin
I don’t like what you’re implying Fred. Sally Wheeton (author of ‘Portrait of a Monster’) was adjudged to have died in a freak Spaghetti Bolognese accident; Mike Snowden (author of ‘Deconstructing a Maniac’) is technically missing, not dead; and Terry Wise (author of ‘Flann: 100% Psycho’) drowned in his own sink, which could happen to anybody who accidentally stabs themselves twice in the back of the neck.
You also ignore the fact that Bill James (author of ‘Celtic Genius’) is alive and well.
You were stripped of your World’s Strongest Man crown in 1979, though you always vehemently denied taking steroids. That famous interview on CBS when you broke down, and swore your innocence on the graves of your late parents, still reduces me to tears. I never doubted you for a second. Are you still bitter about the injustice?
Collin,
Brussels
Actually Collin, I stopped denying that late last year. Truth is, I couldn’t have taken any more steroids if I tried. Sorry for the confusion.
Why did Madonna take out a restraining order against you in the 80s?
Joanne,
Salthill
Pure misunderstanding Joanne. I thought we were in love, whereas she held the opinion that we’d never actually met. I learned a valuable lesson that summer: when a woman finds a deluded stranger lying on the back-seat of her car holding a cloth and a bottle of chloroform, flattery simply does not come into it.
No offence, but your book on the origins of the universe is a pile of shite.
Dave,
Belfast
I take it you disagree with my theory that the universe is a figment of my imagination, and that I am the only thing that actually exists? Do you have a better theory? Well? Because if not, quit your bellyaching.
For the last time, stay off the west side. Next time we take your thumbs.
Vinny,
Dublin
That coin has two sides Vinny. I catch your goons on the east side again, they’re coming home without pinkies.
You duetted with the legendary Scatman John in the 70s. That must have been a terrific time for scat. What was he like to work with?
Justine,
Tullamore
Actually, we worked together more than once Justine. We scatted together on Sci-ba-di-ba-di-ba-bo, the second single off his first album, and again on Scu-bi-da-bi-da-bo-bo, which was the third single from my second album.
Frankly though, I couldn’t stand the prick. Overrated as a man and a scatter. Sure, he was a media darling, but his scatting was not well regarded among the scat community. It was sloppy, and he often forgot his lyrics live, like when he infamously scatted sci-ba-di-ba-di-bob-boo instead of sci-ba-di-ba-di-bob-doo at the Royal Albert Hall in 1974. The place nearly erupted in a riot, and he didn’t scat live again for over a decade.
You’ve always been a keen advocate of whaling, and Youtube footage has recently emerged of you clubbing a family of seals. Aren’t these outmoded practices to endorse in this day and age?
Jake,
Nottingham
Not at all Jake. Whales, or ‘sea rats’ as I call them, are a filthy scourge upon our majestic oceans. And what do they even look like? Ignoring the general shape of their body, I defy anybody to take a pen and draw a whale’s face. Why is that? What are they trying to hide? I suggest we whale them to extinction and ask questions later.
As for seals, or ‘ice rats’ as I call them, have you never tasted Seal Stew Jake? It is a delicacy, and I contest that stew made from clubbed seals is clearly tastier than seals euthanised by lethal injection. I proved this conclusively in a Pepsi-style challenge a few years back, when I successfully picked clubbed stew in 51% of cases.
Jaysus, I’m bollixed,
Phil,
Thurles
Sure what can you do Phil, hah?
Hola Flann!
Is it true that you was provide fashion tips to J. Edgar Hoover? And also marksman tips to Lee Harvey Oswald? I have seen photos that which place you in Havana in October 1959.
Besos
Manuel
Still no comment about the whole Cliff Richard Ice cream saga I see?
Flann,
Job done, Vinny can now only count up to eight with both hands. Forget the used notes.. brown envelope.. usual place, this one’s for free. You now run the east and the west side, but stay out of Glesga, it’s no safe for you’se with me still in it.
JB.
Hey Manuel. No, my links to Oswald are far more prosaic than my detractors would have you believe. I was merely his rifle salesman. Now, how someone can take a harmless bit of unlicensed rifle selling and link it to a crime so heinous, is beyond me.
As for Hoover, I only met the man once. And it wasn’t until an hour into our meeting that I discerned him as a man. I believe The Crying Game covers that type of revelation better than I could ever recount.
Galwaywegian, myself and Sir Cliff have not spoken since ‘the unpleasantness’ in 1992, also referred to as ‘that of which we do not speak’. I don’t want to say too much, but a Tequila session attended by myself and Messrs Cliff Richard and Daniel O’Donnell resulted in a robbed liquor store, and two innocent people languishing in the clink to this day.
I once touted the possibility of us confessing, at which time O’Donnell threatened to — I quote — “…cut me”. Cliff also dragged his finger across his throat for emphasis. I tell you, when those two get together, they are far more than the sum of their parts.
Mr Bastard, understood. There’ll be no incursions into Glesga by myself or my associates. On a human level, I’ll lament the loss of Vinny’s thumbs though. If there was a concert pianist who could play a finer Beethoven’s 5th, I never met them.
I can only hope his enormous and tireless work for charity brings him comfort, with his piano now probably being loaded into a skip. If there’s any justice, his wife might finally emerge from her 6 year coma. I mean, her medical bills are the only reason he involves himself in shady deals anyway.
Still, you did the right thing Mr Bastard. I salute you.
And what do they even look like? Ignoring the general shape of their body, I defy anybody to take a pen and draw a whale’s face. Why is that? What are they trying to hide?
Oh dear God. I never thought of it that way, but … Oh, dear God, you’re right. I’ve never even had a whale look at me head on. How can you trust that which you can’t face up to?
Exactly Sweary. They’re a shifty bunch, the whales. Born as humans, they’d undoubtedly be the folk who lurk in shadowy lanes, wearing readily shed-able trench coats.