Hello. I am Paul Sorrenti. How do you do?
This is weird. I’m not sure I’m very comfortable with writing in a first-person narrative anymore. You see, writing for hecklerspray this past six or seven months has made me lose all sense of individuality. The concept of ‘I’ is totally alien to me now.
I can barely remember the man I used to be. Once I had passed the strict audition process I was led into a dark room by one of Lord Heritage’s henchman who sat me down and cuffed me to a chair. Then, after pinning my eyelids back, he turned a projector on.
I’m told that before I joined hecklerspray I was an avid fan of Paris Hilton and that I used to wax lyrical about the genius musicianship of Ricky Wilson. Lord Heritage wasn’t happy about this, understandably, but he had spotted promise in my writing and had faith in me, and so it was that I was forced to sit through a week long video montage of Paris Hilton’s face, cut up to the tune of ‘Ruby’.
Suffice to say, come the end of the week, I was enlightened. Suddenly there was a flash of light and Lord Heritage appeared. The way he smiled at me…I have no words. You had to be there. He released me from the chair and put some drops in my frazzled eyes, then kissed me on the cheek before saying “I am your friend. I am your friend”.
He congratulated me on my progress before getting me to sign some legally-binding contracts that divorced me from my family and married me to hecklerspray. I was told I could never see my mum or dad again.
Mum, Dad… if you’re reading this, I’d like to let you know that I’m fine. He feeds me every day. I’m not allowed to see the sun anymore, but he describes it to me in great detail. Do not weep for me; I am in better hands now.
And so, here we are, six or seven months later, and I have reached level five of the induction process, which basically means I am now allowed fiber in my diet but, more importantly, that Stuart can afford to go on a well-deserved two week holiday safe in the knowledge that his website is in trustworthy hands.
And, after all that, I’m only here for today, before passing the reigns to the equally well-groomed Shawn Lindseth (seventh in line to the throne of the Swazi Royal Family, don’t you know?) and the always gorgeous Ian Dransfield, both of whom will be carrying you through this Heritageless fortnight.
It’ll be fine!
Oh, who am I kidding? I miss him already. Come back Stu! What have you done? I’m not ready for this responsiblity yet! What the fuck do all these buttons do? I can’t remember a thing you’ve taught me.
Mum, Dad…your baby’s coming home!
gir says
Heritage gone? But he is a man consumed by jealousy! Talent, money, there is no start to his virtues! He is driven by his need to belittle his betters! Like Lindsay Lohan. What will Stuart do without writing a story about how Lindsay Lohan is a flaming train wreck of a person while grinning and masturbating???!?!?!
Stuart Heritage says
Oi, watch out. Gatwick departure lounge has internet, you know. Turns out they’re not huge fans of grinning and masturbating, though. One or the other, they say. But I’ll show them…
gir says
Those fucking Gatwick fascists. I hear Heathrow has a special Grinning and Masturbating lounge where the TVs are always tuned to TMZ and the internet serves up hot steaming Perez Hilton 24/7.