e (65 page)
Authors: Matt Beaumont
I am about to step into the boardroom for a very important video-conference with Jim Weissmuller on Coke. I know David is with our lawyers at the moment, but when he’s back could you ask him to join me? Thanks.
 | Liam O’Keefe – 1/12/00, 3:57pm |
| to: | All Departments |
| cc: | |
| re: | gag |
Got the first e-joke of the 21st century. True story apparently. Enjoy:
ATTACHMENT
Father Conor is walking by the Shannon when he sees one of his congregation fishing. He stops for a chat, and mentions that he’s never fished before. “It’s a doddle,” says the angler. “Take a rod and give it a go.”
“Well I suppose the blessed Saint Peter himself was a fisherman. Perhaps I’ll try my hand,” says the priest.
Father Conor sits down and casts his line. After a few minutes he gets a bite and reels in a fat ten-pounder. He’s pleased as punch as his parishioner slaps him on the back and says, “That’s a great big fucker, Father!”
“Language!” replies Father Conor. “I am a priest.”
“No, Father, this fish is called a fucker,” explains the angler, thinking on his feet.
Laughing at the misunderstanding, the proud priest takes his catch home and finds the bishop waiting in his front room.
“That’s a splendid looking fish, Father,” exclaims the bishop.
“Aye,” replies the priest, “it’s a great fucker.”
“Please, Father! Such language,” says the bishop.
“No, no, Your Grace,” replies the priest, “fucker is the name of the fish.”
It being Friday, the reassured bishop suggests they repair to his residence for a fine fish supper. Once there the bishop goes to the kitchen to clean and gut the fish. They are then joined by the mother superior of the local convent. Being no great cook himself, the bishop says, “Reverend Mother, would you mind poaching this fucker for us?”
“Bishop, you cannot say that in the house of God,” gasps the horrified nun.
“You misunderstand, Reverend Mother,” explains the bishop, “this fish is called a fucker.”
Calm again, the mother superior sets to cooking the fish. Shortly they are joined by the Pope who is making a surprise visit (as he does). Delighted, the bishop invites him to supper.
They sit down at the table and the Pope says grace. Then the mother superior brings in the fish on the finest silver platter. Eagerly the three of them await the opinion of God’s Mouthpiece on Earth.
“That is a fine fish,” remarks the impressed pontiff.
“That it is, Your Holiness. I caught the fucker,” says the beaming priest.
“I cleaned the fucker,” adds the bishop.
“And I cooked the fucker,” chips in the mother superior.
The Pope sits back and stares at them for a moment. Then he plants his feet on the table, lets out a huge fart and says, “Know what? You cunts are all right.”
| David Crutton – 1/12/00, 4:03pm |
| to: | Zoë Clarke |
| cc: | |
| re: | where is Harriet? |
I’ve phoned her but she’s not answering. As soon as you’re back at your desk, find her. Tell her there are pressing legal issues to discuss.
| Nigel Godley – 1/12/00, 4:07pm |
| to: | Liam O’Keefe |
| cc: | |
| re: | gag |
I myself am a regular churchgoer and like many others I am highly offended by your tasteless and insensitive idea of a “joke.”
And as for it being a true story, I know for a fact that the Pope’s heavy schedule, as well as his need for a constant security presence, would preclude him from making a “surprise visit.” You don’t have me fooled for a moment.
Nige
| Zoë Clarke – 1/12/00, 4:10pm |
| to: | David Crutton |
| cc: | |
| re: | where is Harriet? |
She’s in the boardroom doing some video-conference. I don’t think she can be disturbed. I’ll grab her as soon as she’s out.
| [email protected] 1/12/00, 4:14pm |
| to: | [email protected] |
| cc: | |
| re: | LOVE |
David, it was good to see you even in troubled circumstances. Since you left I have had a chance to solidify my thoughts and it would help if I put them in writing.
As I said, I do not believe there is much you can do at the moment apart from wait and see. No judge would award an injunction against the
Sun
to withhold the story. Involving as it does potential criminal charges, it is unarguably in the public interest.
At this stage you are correct not to cut yourself loose from LOVE, yet neither should you tie your own fortunes too closely to theirs. When the story breaks the fallout may necessitate going to the mattresses.
As far as any civil action that Ms. Trump may pursue, the target of this would probably not be Miller Shanks, since none of your employees appear to have had direct involvement in the alleged offence. That said, I should hate to be in Mr. Sinton’s shoes tonight. If I were Ms. Trump’s lawyer, I’d be putting down a deposit on a ski lodge in Aspen in anticipation of many happy days in court.
In the meantime I suggest the wall of silence be strictly enforced and that we await the
Sun
and pore over every word, comma and colon of their report. Only then will we know how the land lies.
I will come to your offices immediately after the ballet tonight armed with the First Editions – about 11:00pm. If you have any questions or there are further developments before then, please feel free to contact me – you have all my numbers. I will risk the wrath of Darcy Bussell and leave my mobile on.
May I take this opportunity to thank you again for taking such good care of James. Every time I see him he has nothing but praise for you. He could not wish for a wiser or more benevolent teacher.
Best wishes, Max
| [email protected] 1/12/00, 4:24pm (8:24pm local) |
| to: | [email protected] |
| cc: | |
| re: | LOVE update |
So David has appointed you Crisis Monitor. You get all the best jobs, you lucky darling! Well here is my first official report for you to digest, regurgitate and do with as you will. I apologise in advance for any tangents – you know what I’m like.
First, I made it my mission to seek out la Trump and make whatever reparations were necessary. I found her in the hot tub and approached with caution. She was understandably frosty so I made great play of the ridiculous resemblance that one and all think we share. This warmed her up a little, so I excused Frank Sinton’s crass behaviour as mistaken identity, pure and simple. I told her that the man was mortified with guilt and even as we spoke was being talked down from the hotel parapet (a wicked lie, but entirely justifiable in the circumstances). She bought this and said she would drop charges in return for a written apology and the immediate repatriation of Frank.
Oh, I did mention to her entirely by the by that we were looking for a spokeswoman for our exciting new Freedom Mail Order TV campaign and that she was tailor made for the role. Do we have an exciting new Freedom campaign? If not, I suggest we write one pronto and that it begins “Open on Ivana Trump.” An $800,000, one-year network buy-out may also have been alluded to.
She is a thoroughly charming and decent lady (a resemblance after all). I took my leave only after she’d given me the number of her hairdresser – well, you never know when I might be shooting in LA. Task one completed, I had myself a well-earned Scotch and American and my first fag since Dec 31st (you could probably omit that from your report to David) before informing Dan and Frank of the glad tidings. Relief was palpable.
