Speaking at the Savoy hotel after another all night orgy with some slapper groupies he dug up from under a flyover in Hackney, the copiously rich former comedian went into full Russell mode in front of shocked guests in the tea room yesterday.
“Here, ‘ave you read my bookie wookie, it’s a Penguin classic? Na listen ‘ere I’ve had a paradigm shift in my perception. I’ve made a million or three from being a performing paradigm monkey, yeah, I’ve milked the system, I’m part of the banking culture myself. I did it all for money. It’s all about making money and shagging as many birds as the tiddler can take. But ooh, I’ve had a pang of socialist paradigm conscience innit. I was sipping champagne with my mate Ed Miliband in his 2.6 million pand mansion and it hit me in the f*cking face, my paradigm conscience wonshunce reared it’s ugly head, you know like a morning stiffy after a hard night sniffing coke from wads of freshly stacked paradigmous fifty pand notes straight from my bank account.”
By this time, Russell Brand was frothing at the mouth and shaking with anger such was the vitriol with which he delivered his empty soliloquy.
“This is why I’m going to give all my money to all the poor people innit. I’m going to go and live in an ashram somewhere in India and practice yoga all day long. Forget my positively heaving bank account the spoils of which I reaped from being a corporate whore. No more I tell you. And look at me, I am a pretender. I dress like a rock star thanks to my expensive stylist, but I can’t even play a single note on an instrument, it was all fake. My cocaine speaking style, at a thousand miles an hour, however is not fake. That is of course the only real thing about me.”
After his speech, Brand then took out an elastic band and wrapped it around his arm, gently teasing out a syringe from his jacket pocket he flicked the end, smiled then spiked a vein exhaling in relief, sighing in abject ecstasy. O how he has dreamed of this moment, he is back home once again.
