Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Silver tongued, slick toupe, dashing tanmeister Terry Wogan, now there's a handsome fella. He's been at the top of his game for decades. But what makes him stay a notch above the rest?
I think he's connected. I reckon he owns three quarters of London, probably Britain, if not the world or even half of France. This dude could click his fingers and get you knee deep in cement at the bottom of the Sheaf (or Thames, i reckon Dave Basset owns Sheffield).
I can imagine Tezza sat in his chair in his dressing room, scantily clad bitches queuing to suck his wrinkly member while he orders the next cull of radio and TV stars edging closer to his super stardom.
Well, thats what i reckon Mr Wogan is a Tony Soprano. He smacks his wife but respects his uncle.
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