[Ed: If ever a Hollywood sleaze story deserved a share, it’s this one! Absolutely unbelievable! Hold on to yer… whatever].
In a move that will shock many fans and devotees of the IHIC (Inspirational Hollywood Intellectual Community), stellar film producer Rick Earle has been arrested in London’s red light area.
Earle told BBC guest hosts Keith Vaz and Roger McSplodger:
Just like every other Hollywood film producer in history, I’m completely innocent of any wrongdoing. I was merely sat talking with a lady in my car, when a policeman tapped on the car window and asked me what I was doing with my trousers around my ankles.
I told him I was a Hollywood movie producer, searching the streets of London for a singer to audition for the role of Julie Andrews, in a remake of ‘The Sound Of Music.’
“She can’t play Julie Andrews, she’s wearing dentures,” said the officer.
I said, “Officer, I’m not prepared to reject this lady’s vocal talent, just because when she sings ‘Doe, a Deer, a Female Deer,’ her dentures may fly out and hit a child in the earlugs, leaving the poor sod with permanent ear damage.”
“A female deer? What’s that?” He asked.
“What do you mean, a female, female, FEMALE-FEMALE dear, what’s that? Isn’t it obvious?” I replied.
“What’s a female, dear?”
“A female… deer, deer, deer, deer-deer-deer, what’s wrong with you, deer? How many times…”
“Be careful, he’s using that word again,” the other officer noted.
“A deer, you know, it’s like a deer, only with, you know, they have these things that they, er, um…” I stuttered.
“Kind of like a male deer, only…?” the main interrogator frowned.
“Well yes, isn’t it obvious, I mean, deer? A female deer!” I snapped.
The officer glanced at his partner, looking mildly confused.
Turning to me again, he said:
“She can’t play Julie Andrews mate, this girl is vastly overweight. How did she even manage to get in your car? Did you have to stick your foot up her arse and push it?” said the officer.
I said, “Officer, please don’t be so crass. For I dare not besmirch this most estimable lady’s vocal prowess, merely on account of her entirely non-non-undiscreditable physical imperfections. (Even if that does mean having to drag her by a tractor and rope through cow shit, to the hilltop so she can sing ‘I’d Climb Every Mountain!)'”
“Can’t play Julie Andrews, bruv. Got a tattoo of a sandwich on her neck!” said the officer.
I said, “Officer, well you really are a superficial individual now, aren’t you? And if I may say so – even prejudiced. Have you no imagination for the arts? Do you mean to tell me there is simply no market whatsoever out there for a bold, bright, brave, bodacious Julie Andrews with a cheese, ham, tomato, lettuce, onion, pickle and cucumber sandwich tattoo on her neck?”
“She can’t play Julie Andrews, she’s about sixty years old,” said the officer.
I said, “Well alright then, we are SELF-EVIDENTLY playing Julie Andrews when she is 60 years old. That makes the Von Trapp children about 40. So what? Age is all in the head, that’s what the advertising industry are telling us all the time. Anyway, there’s an old Irish saying that many a good tune can be played on an old fiddle, and that most certainly includes singing la Marseillaise while valiantly storming the barricades of East Brixton (well that is an Irish thing, isn’t it?!)”
“Let’s hear this audition then,” said the officer.
I said, “Certainly, officer – ‘The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music’ please, my good lady, in your own time.”
The lady told me she couldn’t sing.
I said “What? You Can’t Sing? You can’t sing? Right, get out of my car now then… You toothless, tattooed, pestiferous old lump!”
The policeman accompanied her away.
Not to the car though.
I suspect they maybe had an alternative police car parked about two miles away.
…
I daren’t ask any intrusive questions.
Nor did the BBC, as it happens…