Written by Dogooder Dave
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Topics: Big Brother, Charity

Friday, 6 January 2006

image for Big Brother Baghdad Babe George Galloway Slips In Quietly
Publicity shy George confirms limit of ten magazine deals

Self effacing recluse and patron of gentleman's outfitters charity, Suit You Sir, George Galloway, confounded his critics yesterday by locking himself away from the prying eyes of the public for a period of purdah which may last as long as twenty three days.

George (51) was born in Dundee, famed for its fetish of dressing herring with nifty little outfits, the likes of which could bring a yellow streak to the hair of fashion guru, Boris Johnson.

A childhood spent scavenging Dundee's gutters for remains of pies, bridies and roll ends of hand finished cloth, developed a strong social conscience in our hero. This led to a brief dalliance in glamour modelling for his local newspaper, who also commissioned him to write a cookery column for its growing community of students and literati, giving rise to perhaps his, greatest claim to fame, as inventor of the Cow Pie.

The somewhat shallow and anonymous life of celebrity chef for The Beano, failed to sate George's desire to change the world and in a move, reminiscent of his political hero and former MP for Dundee, Winston Churchill, George stunned locals by buying a cigar and a wee dog.

He soon became a weel kent man about town as he strutted round, wreathed by clouds of Havanna smoke, leaving little piles of doggie keech up and down the highways and byeways of Dundee's marmalade paved streets. The sweet aroma of success billowing around him, belied the fact that George, as a man of only five foot two, had in fact, no real purpose in life and it was at this point he decided to enter the political arena.

As a man of integrity he was welcomed with open arms into the bosom of Dundee's Labour Party where its grandees educated him on the value of financial probity at all times. Tragedy struck however, when allegations of monies being salted away for purposes, other than those intended, coincided with a conflagration in the local Labour Party offices.

Said inferno, set a pattern that was to bedevil George's life for years to come, in that, virtually all that was consumed in its flames were the financial records in question which had been held in a locked safe but thankfully, causing no damage to George's, by now, extensive wardrobe, or his own, comfy chair.

Hurt by local gossip that the fire, had in fact, been an attempted insurance scam to replace his, somewhat downmarket, Burton suits with raiment more in keeping with his developing dandy status, George turned his back on the city of jute and jam for the more refined tailors and clubs of dear old Glasgow town, becoming MP for its Hillhead constituency.

In a remarkable act of service, George gave of his little free time away from the political arena, to serve as General Secretary of poor person's charity, War on Want, by enabling others to aspire to his abilities to rattle through £21,000 in travel and entertainment expenses. Luckily for the ladies, George also managed to find time to serve, on a more personal level, bringing many a smile to their pretty little lips and earning for himself, much to his embarassment, the appendage of, Gorgeous George.

Years of self denial in public service followed, with George moving on to represent the people of Bethnal Green under the silver handled, neatly rolled umbrella of, man about London town, political party, Bespoke, as George sought to educate others on the need for upholding the principle of, equality for all but a little bit more for some.

Cruel suggestions that George was far too close to former Iraqi leader, Soddem Hussein, brought George back into the limelight. The scurrilous allegations followed him being allegedly spotted indefatigably carrying a jerry can from an all night filling station with tenners falling out his top pocket when he, in fact, was humbly sitting on a lounger atop the verandah of his modest Portugese hideaway on the outskirts of Bethnal Green at the time, sipping Perrier with a hint of lemon.

Life has been cruel to George and his new self imposed exile to the Big Brother house is being seen as one last attempt to confound his critics who accuse him of being an arrogant, moustachioed, self aggrandising, verbose, publicity seeking man of cloth.

Whether his latest venture will succeed is yet to be seen. Its eventual conclusion, to remain a mystery until he emerges back into the public glare as a man of new found dignity or a wet rag, floating face down on the pool of human frailty, so often the outcome of swimming against the tide with disgraced television game show hosts.

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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