THE Prince of Darkness is angry - very angry. He can't understand how the WAGs (footballers wives and girlfriends to the uninitiated) can be so thick. He was ranting about this last night to anyone who cared to listen.
"My youngster Felix knows more than these women," he stormed. "How can they be so stupid?"
Apparently what had evoked the Prince's ire was a recent television programme called WAGs boutique where these beautiful but mentally challenged individuals go to great lengths to prove how distanced they are from the real world.
"Who is the leader of the Tory party?" One was asked. "John Prescott," she ventured hopefully. In all, the Prince dictated about six of these questions in an irritable grumble. I could hear him filing his teeth in the background. There would be blood on the carpet before long.
And he wasn't reserving his anger just for the WAGs. Who on earth would want to date them? What were these footballers thinking of?
He put the argument succinctly. "Two months of sh***ing like a monkey, and what do you talk about when that's over?" And as his bitterness reached full flow he asked another rhetorical question, which would not have been out of place as an answer on Marje Proops' problem page. "It's alright when you're in bed, but you can't f*** her up the a*** in a restaurant can you?!"
By this time the Prince of Darkness reminded me of one of the self-righteous brothers out of those old Harry Enfield scripts. "If that Coleen walked in the room, dropped her kecks and offered it on a plate, I'd have to say 'COLEEN... NOOO!'