The Millennium Dollar Bash

PICTURE, if you will, the scene that will unfold in the massive dining hall of Snort Towers as the hands of the great clock tick down to midnight on January 31st, 1999.
Friends, family and Foghatters will gather 'round the warming hearth to roar in the new millennium in suitably Snortian style. "One thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven," they will shout. "One thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight. One thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. TWO THOUSAND!".
At this very second, my good self and my female companion will simultaneously and explosively complete the rites of poontang on the bear rug in front of the fire, before rising, naked as the new-born century itself, to accept the acclaim of the gallery. Yes, indeed, Sam Snort's Great Millennial Project - to do the third leg boogie two thousand times in 1999 - will, almost literally, have come to fruition at the stroke of midnight.
Leurve Action
Of course, my disbelieving legions of weak-kneed devotees will immediately and loudly exclaim: "What? Only two thousand leurve actions in 12 months? Is Sam unwell?" To which I reply, "Thank you for your kind thoughts but be not concerned - the old black 'n' decker is, as ever, in tip-top drilling order."
No, the truth of the matter is that when wee Seamus Brennan asked me if, as Ireland's Roving Ambassador Of Rock 'n' Roll, I could contribute something to the nation's frankly pitiful attempts to see in the new millennium, I saw straight away where a major sacrifice on my part would be required to give all you lazy bastards the necessary good example.
Thus the bold, painful and truly selfless decision to restrict my porkswording activities to a measly two thousand outings for the year that was in it - an act of such iron self-discipline that it must have caused poor Johnny Muttondagger to think he'd been lopped off at the root.
A sensitive, self-aware kind of dude, I have, of course, communed with my own inner being on this matter and duly apologised to my tool for the terrible year it was forced to endure. Normal service, I have assured my nether regions, will resume in the 21st century.
As will so much else because, despite all other predictions to the contrary, Samuel J. Snort Esq is here to tell you that that the apocalypse is not about to come down the turnpike any time soon.
Frankly, Sam and his swarthy South American associates guffawed loudly when they first heard the phrase 'Y2K' because it sounded so much like the traditional punchline to one of our business meetings in Bogota. As in: "So how much of our fine self-raising flour would you be considering importing, Mr Snort?" "Why, 2k, Mr Carlos". And before you know it the old mule train is lumbering over the hill en route to some music awards shindig in a far-off, distant land.
BLOW OFF
Sam sees no reason at all why this fine state of affairs shouldn't continue merrily on into the future, despite the spoilsport antics of Feds who like to poke their fingers where the sun don't shine, if ya get my drift. Sam also sees oodles of poontang looming over the epochal horizon as anxious boys 'n' babes finally get sense and decide to blow off that pre-millennial tension in one big fucking bang of frankly cosmic proportions. And needless to say, Uncle Sam will be there or thereabouts to ensure that any blowing off that needs to be done is done to the satisfaction of one and all.
Most of all though, Sam sees a return to core rock 'n' roll values in 2000. And why not? The kids have had enough of monotonous dance, repetitive hip-hop and whingy pimple-squeezers like Radiohead. Probably not since Whitesnake released the elegant Slide It In, Steven Tyler was gobbling vast quantities of drugs and Ted "The Fuckin' Nuge" Nugent was displaying intensity in ten cities, has rock 'n' roll spoken to the young people about the things that really matter in their lives. And believe me, people, that's not Third World debt and fucking oak trees.
Nope, what the kids really wanna know about can best be summed up in four little words: wang, dang, sweet poontang - which, let's speak frankly here, is not an expression you'll frequently hear emanating from the mouth of Kofi Annan. Mix a little hooch and a pinch of snuff in with that old tang of poon and, right there, you've got Sam Snort's recipe for a happy new year.
Put it another way: the year 2000 will be the year of . . . Foghat! Remember where you read it first. n
* Your ever-lovin' Samuel J. Snort Esq.