Brian ([email protected])
Wed, 19 Aug 1998 22:29:56 +1000
This is something Sunnie sent me... She found this article from a Sydney
newspaper back in 1993........
Just thought id share it with y'all
>TALL TALES OF A TRYING TRIO
>MADONNA, BONO, MICHAEL JACKSON
>It happened in late November 1993. Two superstar performers, already in
town, >were joined by a third who had entered the country secretly after
spending time >at a "health club" somewhere in Europe.
>They met in a Sydney restaurant to talk over what could have been an
historic >deal. Only now, through tapes made on a video recorder hidden in
the roof, can >we reveal what really happened when a member of the world's
biggest band met up >with the world's biggest solo superstars.
>Bono (chewing on cigar): "Y'know, you're much smaller than I thought."
>Madonna (surrounded by a security guard the size of a gridiron player):
>"Yeah, well you try getting around with these guys and see how big you look
- >and what's with those stoopid sunglasses? By the way, aren't we
expecting >someone else?"
>Bono: Yeah. I'm not sure who, though. I was told to look out for a skinny
guy >with a black handkerchief tied around his face. Who do you think it
>Just then, a third guest is escorted to the table. It is Michael Jackson.
>MJ (in a slightly audible, high-pitched whisper): "I'd just like to say
that I >love you all."
>A waiter approaches and takes the drinks order.
>Madonna: "Gimme a macrobiotic tomato juice with three sticks of celery,
hold >the salt. And make it quick or I'll have Rocko here deal with you."
>MJ: "I have my own, thank you." (Pulls from his top pocket a Donald Duck
cup >containing purified Peruvian spring water).
>Bono: "I'll have a large Pepsi."
>Frank Bolter, an Australian record company executive at the head of the
table, >orders a triple bourbon and coke, skulls the schooner of Fosters in
front of >him, checks that his ponytail is straight and nervously pats down
his bald >spot.
>"Righto, now you've all agreed to write one song each, without knowing the
>reason. What we're gonna do is pick the best one and you're going to form
the >world's biggest supergroup and record it. Whaddya reckon?
>Madonna: "Only if I get top billing."
>MJ: "I won't do any press."
>Frank B: "All right, now let's take a gander at what you've come up with.
>Let's start with you, Maddsy."
>Madonna (reaches into her Jean Paul Gaultier handbag and removes a
cassette): >"OK, I think this one is really good. It's called Outrageous
Sexual Boasting. > It's a very personal song and it comes straight from my
>Bolter loads the cassette into his boom box and presses the play button.
The >air is filled with the sound of a deep, throbbing bass - line and
mult-layered >female moaning. The song begins with Madonna gasping in a
>Give me a boy or give me a girl
>I don't care which, I'll make their toes curl
>I can do it more than 10 times a night
>You feel insignificant?
>That's right, that's right.
>Frank B (after the song has reached its climax and faded out): "Whoooo,
that's >great, Maddsy. Waiter? Bucket of ice over here thanks, mate. That
song's a >definite consideration. Your turn, Bongo."
>Bono: "Guns N' Roses stole this from Charles Manson; I'm stealing it back.
No, >sorry, just joking." (Picks up a battered acoustic guitar lying under
the >table). "I wrote this one as I was lying in a tenement shack somewhere
near >the war-torn hills of El Salvador, listening to a live radio broadcast
out of >the blood-strewn streets of Sarajevo. It's called Fun."
>He begins to strum meaningfully, but the cigar still dangling from the
corner >of his mouth makes singing difficult.
>Her eyes were like crisps in a pool of stale Guinness
>He rolled the dice twice but it still came up sixes
>Their cries hit the town like a blood-stained tornado
>Sha la la la, hey-o oh hey-o.
>Frank B: "Hmm, not bad. I think we could really work a stadium with that
>sing-a-long line, Bongo. Do you think you could incorporate a Mexican wave
in >there? Anyway, that also deserves some strong consideration. Now, Mick
ol' >son, what have you got up your sleeve?"
>Jackson reaches down and lifts to the table a sparkling new Home Alone II
>souvenir school case. After opening the lid he quickly covers a stack of
>blurry black and white photos and gropes around for a cassette.
>MJ: "Um, here it is. I hope you like it."
>The cassette is played and the sound of traditional 12-bar blues emerges
from >the boom box speakers. Jackson begins to sing - no, wail.
>Don't like being awake/so I just try to sleep
>I've got them blues bad/I'm goin' in deep
>My life is a mess/it's all full of muddles
>I only have Liz/and my dear old pal Bubbles.
>Frank B: "Geez, that's a bit different, Mick. Do ya reckon you could put a
few >yelps in there or a bit of crotch-grabbing or something? Still it's
worth a >thought. Well, thanks for coming down today, I'll weigh up all of
your fine >contributions and my secretary will get back to you.
>The three superstars leave the building. Madonna is joined by six other
>bodyguards and they form a bizarre scrimmage which makes its way down the
>Bono leaps across the roofs of parked cars, arms outstretched, singing a
Frank >Sinatra song.
>Jackson takes a couple of white pills and simply vanishes.
>In the restaurant, Bolter silently shakes his head and reaches out for his
>"Is that you, darl? Yes, I'll be back shortly. Can you get me William
>Shakespeare, Little Patty and Ted Mulry…"
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