High life | 28 December 2012

The horror at Newtown, Connecticut put a damper on the unending rounds of end-of-year parties. And that includes my own Christmas blast at the Boom-Boom room in honour of Lindsay Lohan and some of the prettiest girls in the Big Bagel. At times I think I missed my vocation: Protector-Confessor of fallen women or those about to take the plunge. My only salvation lies in good old Helvetia, where the mother of my children will whip me back into shape in no time. No booze, no sex — just salads and mineral water. Ugh! Mind you, I’m not so sure about my marriage to Miss Lohan. Too many cops around her, and they make me nervous. My party began at nine in the evening and eight hours later was still going. My bill was bigger than the Greek debt, and then some.

Ironically, I had driven by Newtown the day before the massacre of innocent children on my way to Newport Rhode Island to inspect a sailing boat up for sale that was once owned by my father. (The brave and extremely fast Nefertiti, built by Ted Hood for the America’s Cup in 1962, back when racing boats were elegant and beautiful, and vulgar hustlers like Larry Ellison — the present holder — were eating out of garbage cans. Daddy never lost a race with her.) One person dies every 20 minutes in America from gunshot wounds, and children in America are five times more likely to be murdered with guns than in any other country of the industrialised world. What I would like to know is what a mother and housewife was doing owning four semi-automatic assault weapons? Especially with a weirdo of a son, who probably spent his days watching violent DVD games and listening to rap music by people whose lyrics glamorise violence and glorify murder.

Yes, I’ve read all the stuff about guns, but no one is going to take them off the street, certainly not Obama, a man whose only talent lies in fooling all the people all of the time.