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As the outbreaks of bombings increase in frequency and severity, The Pariah has sent oddball reporter BOB JOHNSON on a fact-finding mission in Oman, to discover how preparations are forming for an all-out ground assault on the Taliban's regime.
Meeting up with GERI HALLIWELL and that true-stepping welshman 'H' en route...
As my first out-of-office commission, I was of course delighted to be sent away from my omnipresent editor to review a nice, all-girl tantalizer (you'll find H and Lee are big girls, once you've seen Steps rehearse) for the troops in Oman. However, what I now report will not only shock you, but it will force you to question the very essence of stardom, and more specifically where all those listless, C-List celebrities go. The performance was at its usual mediocre level, with Geri performing her patent croak, and Steps showing just how versatile white fabric can be. I was struggling to keep my attention and force a review onto my Thinkpad. So I stopped and, remembering the words of my editor ('Get the *uck out there, and bring me H's head on a bamboo-shoot'), was washed over with a wave of inspiration.
What I needed was something different; scandalous; fresh; but not involving the muzak that was threatening to break out in a full plague at any second.
So I waited, and hid, and snuck in and out of small crevices until finally, at 03:00 in the morning, as the troops finished mopping up after the eye-candy's musical mime-fest, it happened. From out of no-where stepped Geoffrey William Hoon, the Secretary of State for Defence, blocking the flinching 'superstars' path to their waiting Airbus with two armed guards.
For reasons of personal safety, I can't reveal what happened next, except that Geri's small, walking, barking shit-rag is no more - it was destroyed by several tracing rounds, fired from a rogue artillery unit on the hillside. Leaving behind just a simple bloodstained representation of Brian Sewell's Sunday wig.
Two days later, after intensive brainwashing (or hypnotherapy, depending on the amount of brain per head), the former musical genius that had graced a stage in Amman was now trained to kill.
Don't believe me? So where's H going, with a ruddy great rifle? What's Geri doing with a piece of military hardware so advanced that it has a toilet seat attached to it? The most disturbing site, which was apparent throughout the miming wonders, was the fixed, psychotic smiles that the six ex-pats now wore. Clearly battle-hardened, these dancing dangers are now on the front line and, rumour has it, are personally seeking O.B.L. and will sing (-and no-doubt perform some pretty fancy dance flicks) on site.
While this reporter will stay with the Once Were Sorry-Stars as long as possible, I fear that if I see too much, I'll be the next tragedy to come in this, now very bitter war.
Uniformed or uninformed, the choice is yours...
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