Yo, Pee Flynn! Yo, mighty man of the West!

Yo, you big, brawny, brazen, bollocks!

Sam Snort was taking a keen interest in Pee’s appearance before members of the European Parliament, who were trying to find out whether Pee is a total fucking caveman, or whether he is just pretending.

You see, Big Sam is on the Euro trail himself, and has decided that the European Commission desperately needs his inimitable input. Since most of the babes of Western Europe have already had eighteen inches of his input, it’s about time that the political system also came under the Snortian thunder.

They’re a dreary fucking lot over there in Brussels and Strasbourg, and it’s high time that a man emerged who would give the punters a bit of value for money, a man who would give it a bit of fucking welly. That man is your man – Samuel J. Snort.

So I was obviously very interested in Pee’s interrogation indeed, because next time around, my ass will be plonked in the same swivel chair as his – though naturally, I will not make such a fucking pillock of myself.

Pee’s brief, you see, is my brief. Women’s Affairs. The Affairs of Women. The Charter for Chicks. The Plight of Poontang.

So Sam Fucking Snort will take the stand, proud and erect, ready to offer his vision to the wee-men of Europe. This is what to expect . . .

PUBLIC SERVICE

Naturally they will all stand and applaud at my grand entrance, with the sounds of ‘Mustang Sally’ pounding through the arena: “All you want to do is ride around, Sally, ride, Sally ride. Many of the women will sing along with this paean to sweet leurve, and a lot of them will probably hurl their knickers in the general direction of Commissioner Snort.

In scenes reminiscent of Vegas-era Elvis, I will distribute scarves embroidered with the number of my private line to the audience on my triumphant march to the podium. I expect that one or two of the assembled ladies will faint, and have to be dragged out by the heels.

Then it will be down to business, and a few friendly questions to get my balls rolling.

“Commissioner Sam, could you autograph my ass after the show?”

“Mr. Snort, the girls and I were wondering if we could sit on your face rather than bore you with our nonsensical questions?”

That sort of thing. Banter. Repartee. Lust. Babes on the loose.

Of course, certain formalities will have to be observed, and uttering fulsome apologies, Ms. Nel Van Dyke will lay a few steamy questions on me. “Hey, like I always say, I never met a Dyke I didn’t like,” I will tell her, to calm her down a bit. Then she will begin:

“Commissioner Snort, what are your views on opportunities for women in Europe?”

In reply, and to a chorus of oohs and aahs, I will whip out my crawling king snake and whack it down on the table, all eighteen inches of it, and that’s only when I fold it in half. (Thanks for that one Mr. Subscriber in Switzerland – Sam) (Would you get on with it, Sam? – Ed) (Surely you mean would I ‘get it on’, Ed – Sam). (Get back to your word processor or you’re dead meat, Sam – Ed). Surely you mean or my meat is dead, Ed – Sam) (Where’s my gun – Ed). (OK, OK, I get the message, Ed – Sam)

“Well, ladies, all I can say is that you gals are getting a pretty major opportunity right now to appraise the Snortian pecker,” I will trumpet. I would like all women to have this opportunity, and by the time I’m finished, they will. My motto is public service. Is that not what public servants are for? To service the public? Especially babes?”

After a standing ovation lasting ten minutes, with chants of “me, me, me,” Ms. Van Dyke will continue.

“Oh mighty one, what are your plans for Equal Rights for Women?

WICKED WAY

“Well, Nel, I’m glad you asked me that question,” I will say, smiling “because in my eyes, all babes have an equal right to avail of my mutton dagger, but naturally those with big garbonzas have a more equal right than others to stand at the head of the queue.

“Nonetheless, I will get around to everyone eventually, and vindicate their rights in the way that only Sam Snort knows how. To each poontang, its own Snortian pecker. To all the women of Europe, my porksword is your porksword. Subject to availability.”

Nel Van Dyke will probably take a breather at this stage, and go for a bit of a lie-down, and then Mary Banotti will get her chance to joust with Sam, by asking me about my views on feminism.

“Well, Mary, that’s a fucking good one. You’re on song today, little lady. Now stop blushing and I’ll tell you.

“Feminism is fucking great. I mean, what is feminism about if it is not about freeing up babes from the evils of the convent education which warned them to give the pecker of Sam Snort a wide berth? Feminism essentially says that you have nothing to lose but your lousy virginity. Go for it, gals. Grab your share of rumpy-pumpy while you still have your health. Go forth and fuck.

“Yes, Mary, I can dig feminism. It has been good for poontang everywhere. I salute it.”

At this stage, the audience will be getting unruly, with babes converging on the stage, baring their breasts for Snortian inspection. I am sure that I will be hoisted shoulder-high and borne out of the auditorium to more comfortable surroundings, where the female MEPs can have their wicked way with me.

There’ll be no democratic deficit under Commissioner Snort. It will be Access All Areas.

Zooropa, here I come.