Please, for once and for all, clear up this urban legend about your fight with Bruce Lee? It’s bullshit, right?
Far from it Jim. Bruce and I had wildly differing philosophies on fighting, and things came to a head in 1969 outside a Greenwich Village café. I’ve always believed in the element of surprise, so I marched straight up to Lee and punched his wife in the face. This seemed to infuriate Bruce, and his sensitive wife. Magnanimously, I extended my hand and offered a draw, but Bruce insisted on continuing the bout.
I told him it was his funeral, and launched into a jumping, spinning, reversal roundhouse kick. As luck would have it, I pulled my groin in mid-air and landed in a wheelie bin. Needless to say Bruce rained punches into the bin until I was a bloody pulp. He then antagonised an alley cat before throwing it in on top of me and closing the lid, which I felt was excessive.
Bruce and I became firm friends after our duel, and laughed about it for years afterwards. Not his wife though. She never saw the funny side. Some people are just born sour.
I saw what you were doing to that horse last Friday night. What the hell is wrong with you?
That was actually a donkey Jennifer, though I can see how you’d make that mistake. A donkey is smaller than a horse, with rounder ears.
You sick fuck. I nearly crashed my car when I saw what you were doing to that mule on Friday.
That was actually a donkey Tony, though I can see how you’d make that mistake. A mule is the sterile offspring of a donkey and a horse. Generally, it is smaller than a horse but larger than a donkey. The ears will be rounded, but not so round as a donkey’s.
I swear, I’d pull the mickey off you.
Don’t you threaten me Sandra, unless I’ve misread the situation and you’re actually coming onto me, in which case work away.
You famously threw a half-eaten Curly Wurly at Prince Charles backstage at a Royal Variety show. Why?
To prove a point Derek. Today a Curly Wurly, tomorrow a hatchet. I sought to expose deficiencies in his security detail, and I believe I succeeded. It’s the exact same reason I stitched Nelson Mandela a loaf in 1998, set fire to Des Lynam in 1996, and fired Bett Middler through a plate glass window in 1992. And how did they all thank me? With lawsuits. There’s your modern gratitude.
Did you really invent the Rubik’s cube?
Yes and no Lucy. I invented the ‘Flann Spike’ in the early 70s, a mechanical puzzle that tasked players with colour-coordinating moving squares upon a razor-sharp metal spike. What I hadn’t considered, was the puzzle’s suitability as a weapon.
News reports of the time commonly featured quotes such as “…autopsies revealed the man had been Flann Spiked in the abdomen…”, or “…detectives speculate the victim was either gored by a herd of African elephants, or felled by a single blow from a smallish Flann Spike.”
From the embers of my failed puzzle, some jerk called Erno Rubik swooped in, refined the design into a cube and never credited me. A year later he himself was Flann Spiked in a darkened alley, and ironically, only survived by hurling a Rubik’s Cube at his assailant, who was never identified or caught. As an aside, a Rubik’s Cube fired into the temple of a man my exact size and weight (for example), can knock him clean out.