SLEAZY TIGER’S BLOG OF SLEAZE LITERARY INSTALLMENT: PART THREE - DR STRANGETIGER, OR, HOW I LEARNED TO LOVE LIKE A BOMB

“The First World War was the last remnant of my old style of life. The political nous that I had honed in the courts of Europe came to the fore as I enjoyed the last war that would remind me of the classic warfare style of the Middle Ages. An entire generation of good men were sacrificed and all because I convinced the Kaiser that competing with the major world powers would make up for him having a tiny dick. I spent the war in Russia where I had found a kindred soul in Grigori Rasputin. He exerted control of the Tsarina of Russia and used it to manipulate Russian politics, he claimed to be a faith healer, he cavorted with prostitutes and he generally lived the bad life. It was a shame he had to be removed, but I couldn’t let someone live who might conceivably claim to my throne as King of Sleaze. Don’t believe the myth that history tells you though, he’s very much alive. It’s my own fault really. He might have actually given up the will to live after being stabbed, poisoned, shot, clubbed, castrated, drowned and frozen were it not for the fact that I wrote ‘Rasputin was a fairy’ on his dead forehead. This insult was enough to bring him back to life and spend his afterlife chasing me around the world looking to exact revenge. That is one of the reasons I never spend too much time in one place. That and the paternity suits. And the lynch mobs. And the bar bills.”

“The Cold War was the most magical time. One man really represented the entire period for me, and that was John F. Kennedy. It’s a little known fact that I was with him from the start. We were at the movies and this stunning blonde came on screen. JFK turned to me and in his Massachusetts burr said: ‘ST. I believe that this man should commit himself to achieving the goal, before this decade is out, of hitting that seven-ways-Sunday.’ Ten years later, he was President and was banging Marilyn Monroe whenever his brother or I weren’t. Johnnie knew how to have a good time. I remember with fondness the day he told me he was going to bait Khrushchev over the business with Cuba. At one point he sent a telegram message to Moscow. As I remember it went something like this: ‘BWUKBUKBUKBUK STOP COME ON STOP LAUNCH THEM YOU PUSSY STOP.’ He was a great man and was sadly missed. Though not by me. I did tell him I could hit a moving target at 200 yards but he refused to believe me.”

“...and so I told LBJ, resign now, Ho Chi Minh will cut a deal and you’ll forever be remembered as the President who ended the Vietnam War. You should have seen the look on his face when he realised I was shilling for Nixon. Good ol’ Dick. He wasn’t anywhere near as much fun as JFK or as easy to annoy as LBJ but he sure knew how to be a hated. It might surprise you to know that I had nothing to do with any of his sins. Bombing North Vietnam back to the Stone Age, invading Cambodia, shooting students, bugging the Watergate hotel and lying about it, all him. Were it not for the fact that the man couldn’t get a woman to sleep with him had he covered himself in Prada shoes stuffed with $100 bills I’d have had to deal with him Rasputin style.

Yep, ‘Tricky Dicky’ just couldn’t hit the big leagues. That’s why I always voted Democrat, they knew how to conduct extra-marital affairs. It’s also how I found myself drifting away from politics in the early 90s. Bill Clinton had been amazing. But then he apologised. Never apologise. Never. I knew this was the beginning of the end. Politicians were suddenly accountable. The days of the press ignoring your mistresses were over, the ingrained habit of taking vast sums of dirty money was no longer acceptable, and the amusing occasion on which you spent the gold contents of the Bank of England on a night of rabble rousing causing the devaluation of the pound was suddenly a national outrage. I handed in my resignation and went looking for my next big opportunity.”

SLEAZY TIGER’S BLOG OF SLEAZE LITERARY INSTALLMENT PART TWO - THE ANCIENT HISTORY YEARS:

“...after showing my new Scandinavian friends the meaning of the words ‘rape’ and ‘pillage’ and giving them directions to Lindisfarne, I set off to find a party worth attending. The world at this time could be pretty dull on a small scale. Misdemeanours at a local level were limited to getting steaming drunk on the local ale and then nicking your neighbours goat. Which is fine for a Tuesday night but when you want to create some real chaos it can be a little uninspired. However, what the Middle Ages were good for was a proper war. War these days is all electronics and IEDs, guerrilla warfare and Americans prematurely claiming victory. But in those days they had proper fights. Two nations would line up all the oiks they could conscript from the countryside on opposing sides of a field, give them sharp objects and then massively redecorate the colour of the grass.

To facilitate such events I became a Diplomat of Fortune. I’d spread rumours, create problems and in some cases just mention that the French were getting uppity again. Generally it took little more than a few well placed sentences for me to be able to set up a chair, sit back and watch the land bleed. As much as I enjoyed making wars happen I did like to get into the action every now and again. For instance, I remember playing a hilarious practical joke on King Edward II when I asked him if he thought that object in the sky was an arrow or a bird. We both had a good laugh over that one. Before he bled to death. A great one was when I convinced a servant girl from France that I was God and that she should lead her people in a fight against the English. A little harsh I’ll admit, but I’ve never found a better way of ensuring that a lady can’t get in contact with you after sleeping with them than having them burned at the stake.”

“...but as time wore on I found it all too easy. You just made sure heirs to thrones married into other royal houses and the inevitable succession disputes led to any number of conflicts whilst the inter-breeding led to rulers with the mental agility of turnips. After a while I did begin to wonder if I was becoming too predictable. I felt I needed to become more underhand in my dealings and to circulate a brand of sleaze that would last longer than any King or Dynasty. So I took myself off to Italy to ponder my next move. I met a young wheeler dealer while I was there who would ask constant questions on my new form of rulership and made copious notes. Had I known he was going to nick all my ideas and write a book that would be considered the authority on political bastardry to this day I’d have given him a high-five and then thrown him off the top of the Vatican.

However, I’d become rather enamoured with the drinking culture of that was developing. Champagne, whiskey and other fine intoxicants were becoming popular and I was riding the tide of fashion. This period of my life came to a head in 1550 when I went out for a quiet drink with the Pope Julius III to celebrate his ascension to the role. He brought along a young chap he introduced as ‘Cardinal-Nephew.’ I might have started a rumour that night that the two were an item, but I find it hard to distinguish between the many lies I’ve told about the Catholic church (don’t tell anyone, but without my many sordid stories they’d be known as a really nice group). Anyway, one thing led to another and I woke up with a rather beastly hangover the next day to find it was 1914. Whether I spent this time sleeping off the heavy night or going on one 350 year bender I’ve never been able to figure out.”

SLEAZY TIGER’S BLOG OF SLEAZE LITERARY INSTALLMENT: PART ONE – ST’S INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD

Welcome to the first of four instalments of STBO’s exclusive look at Sleazy Tiger’s autobiography: “I F**ked You’re Mum: the life of Sleazy Tiger.” In this review we will provide an exclusive look at key sections of work.

“Until now my early life has been a mystery to even those who know me well, namely the Police and the Judicial system. It has been something that I have not willingly divulged for reasons that I forget, but I’m sure make perfect sense. When I was but a mewling cub torn cruelly from my mother’s breast I was orphaned at the doors of an ancient monastery in the mountain regions of Nepal. Though this was an unusual situation, as there was a perfectly serviceable Children’s Home in a nearby low-lying village that was far easier to get to, the monks were not surprised. Their entire order had been founded around a prophesy from the mystic text ‘The Kabbalah’. The tale claimed that because everything must have its opposite, unless an ‘Anti-Christ’ arose the world would eventually lose its balance, tip over and spill humanity from its edge. This was of course from the time when the entire human race were a bunch of s**t-wits who thought the Earth was flat and the centre of the universe.

The plus side of religious fanaticism however was that they brought me up to be as bad as I possibly could. From as soon as I could speak I was uttering curses that would make a sailor blush. As soon as I could walk I was taught to strut with the arrogance of a fallen angel. As soon as I had strength enough in my upper body I was taught the correct way to carry stolen items. These were just the tip of the improper iceberg. As I think on it now I realise that those Monks must have done some living before they joined the order, as the subjects they educated me on took some experience. For instance, the lessons with Brother Huwang on the proper method of setting up a Child Sex Ring was impressive and gave me a new found respect for the elderly Crèche Manager.

I spent the first fifteen years of my life in the monastery and enjoyed every moment. But all things must end. In this case, it was when I left town with the charity money intended for the local poor whilst leaving evidence implicating that the monks had spent it on whoring. I was reliably informed that the Monks died at the hands of the lynch mob with the smiling faces of those who knew they were doing God’s work. I walked away with the satisfaction of having stitched up a bunch of idealistic idiots who I had taken for all they were worth. The year was 790 AD and I was young, sleazy and rich. The world was my oyster.”

Sleazy Tiger’s Blog of Sleaze Literary Report:

From the STBOS Literary Columnist:

In a series of staggering news stories in recent months the value of a historian’s word as beyond reproach has been remarkably damaged. First, Stephen Ambrose, the writer of numerous historical books, including the blood ‘n guts and male bonding fest that was Band of Brothers, has been accused of lying in his biography of Dwight D. Eisenhower.

The American General turned President was supposed to have met with the author for ‘several hundred hours.’ However it has been alledged that Ambrose in fact had only 'hours of contact' with the ex-President (a similar situation arose when Evil Joe claimed to have spent time with the great Australian pace bowler Dennis Lillee at his Fast Bowling Clinic, a falsehood that was quickly exposed when he was asked to open the bowling for the First XI) and this quite massive fib has destroyed the credibility of the biography (Evil Joe’s fib destroyed his credibility and his bowling figures). With any other historian this would also have irredeemably tarnished his career, but Ambrose was already known as the kind of sod who would tell you that Dinosaurs were the key naval landing craft in the D-Day landings if he thought you could make a profitable TV series out of it.*

[*This is of course complete tosh. It was the X-Wing squadron led by Wedge Antilles that decisively turned the tide for the Allies on June 6^th.]

This was followed by the equally incredible (but far more hilarious) story involving Orlando Figes the notable Cambridge scholar who graduated with a Double Star First which is also known as the ‘too f**king clever by half’ class. His monumental intellect was matched only by his monumental ego which led him to post glowing reviews of his own books and scathing attacks on his contemporaries’ works on Amazon’s customer reviews feature. The Professor’s ingenious pseudonym of his first name and the University College he worked at was unsurprisingly cracked without the use of an Enigma machine or the need to resurrect Alan Turing.

The sins of these two respected (a bit of a stretch for Ambrose but we’ll allow it) historians came as a shock to us here at STBOS. A greater surprise came when our own Sleazy Tiger was slandered by a reputable historian. Sleazy Tiger’s autobiography has recently been published, entitled: “I F**ked You’re Mum: the life of Sleazy Tiger.” The work provides fans of the wayward rebel a detailed look into his past and the experiences that made him the massive waster he is today. However, noted academic Professor D.O.A. McDull, PhD, MA, BA, WLTM VGL FB, has cast aspirations on ST’s Magnus Opus. In an interview with the Times Literary Supplement Prof. McDull called Sleazy Tiger “...a liar, a cad and a reprobate.” and labelled our role model as a “...falsifier of that which the historian holds must pure, the truth.” Sleazy Tiger responded to this attack by thanking McDull for the kind words but declined to comment further.

STBOS felt that this was an ideal opportunity for an exclusive look (the TLS has already given the work a brief review, the shortest in its one hundred year history: ‘Pure S***e’) at ST’s work. Short passages from the book will be printed in four installments that give insights into the history of our fearless leader and the incidences that made him the Tiger he is today. Sleazy Tiger himself declined to join the discussion of his work. He said he was happy for his words to stand alone and felt they needed no defending: “Unlike Ambrose and Figes” he proclaimed “I have told nothing but the truth. Except in the parts where I didn’t.”

Sleazy Tiger’s Official 2010 ‘British General Election Drinking Game’

In honour of the momentous Election Night that is to come tomorrow and, more importantly, to honour the joyous fact that the Election Campaign will finally be over and the levels of bullshit in the world will become remarkably lower, Sleazy Tiger has printed the ‘British General Election Drinking Game’ rules. Every year, ST produces an updated version of this fine tradition to reflect the current political situation and to adequately get the participant absolutely pished. The origins of the ‘British General Election Drinking Game’ are lost in the mists of ST’s various transgressions, but he believes it started when he was forced by circumstance to follow the 1922 General Election and found it so mind numbingly boring that he took to chugging double G & T’s anytime the radio announcer giggled at the name ‘Bonar Law.’

He has since continued the practice and often invites the candidates along for the fun. So far, the only main party candidate to take up the offer has been Winston Churchill. After drinking the party dry he then went on a joy-ride down the Strand in one of the tanks named for him. The shadowy powers that control World Politics from behind the scenes deemed his actions to be objectionable and stripped him of his rightful election victory. And that’s why the Conservatives surprisingly lost the 1945 election.

The rules of ‘British General Election Drinking’ are simple. If something happens, you take a drink. The substance and quantity of the drink is especially tailored to reflect the significance and character of the result that has occurred. It’s also fun game for all the family* to enjoy in a style that optimises the value of family espoused by the Tories, the boost to the economy championed by Labour and the alcoholism enjoyed by former party leader and current Lib Dem MP [correct at time of writing] Charles Kennedy.

*Note: Children often cannot hold their liquor. Sleazy Tiger blames bad parenting and asks that all small humans who have not been brought up to be able to down 10 shots of Sambuca be excused from the festivities on the grounds that they are wusses.

Drinking concerning the Election outcome:

For every Labour MP elected:

take a drink.

For every Liberal Democrat MP elected:

take a drink [Participants in previous editions of the ‘British General Election Drinking Game’ will have noticed that this is a reduction from the double of previous years].

For every Conservative MP elected:

have your butler pour you a glass of the Château Cher Vin Pretentious and enjoy in your leather wingback with your dogs in front of your roaring fireplace in your country pile. If you don’t have any of these things, take a drink of whatever cheap swill you have and weep for your future pleb.

For every British National Party/English Democrat Party/National Front MP elected:

take a drink, then organise a lynch mob.

For every United Kingdom Independence Party MP elected:

take a drink. Not wine, it’s foreign European muck. Not Leffe, its Belgium. Bloody Brussels, taking all our money. Heineken? Are you having a laugh?

For every Green Party MP elected:

if you did not vote for them, take a double of whatever you like. If you did, take a drink of Camomile tea and get a haircut you damn hippy.

For every Trade Unionist and Socialist Coalition /Socialist Labour Party/Worker’s Revolutionary Party/Communist Party of Great Britain/Communist League MP elected:

take a drink of vodka Comrade and follow me to the Odessa steps!

For every Official Monster Raving Loony Party MP elected:

stop taking acid, take a drink.

For every Sleazy Tiger’s Party of Sleaze MP elected:

down a bottle of Absinthe.

Drinking concerning Election Minutiae:

For every time Gordon Brown looks genuinely happy:

no drink required, not going to happen.

For every time David Cameron tries to play down his poshness:

drink a bottle of Stella in a salute to ‘Dave’.

For every time Nick Clegg makes out that it is a three horse race:

take a drink and laugh at his optimism.

For every time the BBC interviews a celebrity for their opinion:

take a drink and repeat until you pass out and are spared from the torture.

For every time Jimmy Carr looks smug on the Alternative Election Night:

take a sip of water [This is a rehydration rule aimed to keep the participant in the Game all-night long].

For every time David Mitchell says something witty, insightful or clever on the Alternative Election Night:

take a sip of water [See above rule].

For every time the BBC use a fancy graphic to illustrate what they are saying/predicting:

if the graphic is informative, take a drink. If it is not, take a double. If it is utterly pointless, drink in proportion to how utterly pointless it is.

For every time someone mentions ‘Bigot-gate’:

take a double and describe yourself to anyone in earshot as a ‘penitent sinner.’

For every time someone mentions a ‘hung Parliament’:

mix various drinks together and down. Unlike an actual ‘hung Parliament’ this will actually be able to do something. Most likely, causing you to go blind.

You have played the ‘British General Election Drinking Game’! If you’ve made it to the final result, congratulations. You are now horribly drunk and thus ready to face whatever catastrophes the new government will no doubt create.

Sleazy Tiger supports drinking responsibly. Remember, wine then beer, never fear. Beer then wine then whiskey then vodka then amaretto then rum then port then bourbon, never fails.

Sleazy Tiger goes to Downing Street

On the news that the British General Election is to be held on the 6th May, the leading candidates began their election campaigns. On hearing the news a new contender threw his hat into the ring. This character slipped under the radar due to his insistence on holding his Press Conference in a Beer Hall, claiming that he was honouring his favourite political leader. He addressed two reporters (who had happened to be in the bar having an eye-opener at the time) and had this to say:

"Ladies and Gentlemen. As members of the Paparazzi, and therefore some of the lowest and most distasteful forms of life, you've probably heard the name Sleazy Tiger. A name currently known only to a select few individuals, who in other more forward thinking societies would have been 'dealt with' at birth. I intend to change that. The candidates in this election make up a weak field. We have the world's dullest man Gordon Brown, David 'Call me Dave' Cameron (or Tony Blair Mark II turned Blue) and a Lib Dem who is so anonymous you couldn't pick him out of an empty room. These are not the kind of leaders the British people should have to choose from.

More so, the British people are sick and tired of the current crop of Politicians. They decry the moral reticence at the heart of Government. They complain bitterly about the lies and spin. Well I am here today to say: No More! No more flim-flam. No more manipulation of the facts. No more betrayal of trust. Sleazy Tiger's Party of Sleaze is here to cut through the political talk and cut straight to the point.

Do you want a party that has your best interests at heart? Do you want a party that will conduct itself with decorum and honour? Do you want a party that will work tirelessly and selflessly to make Britain a better place for John & Joan Smith?

Dream on! There is no such party. Politics is exclusively the preserve of imbeciles driven by desire for power, influence, two Jags, a second home, an expenses account and a shaggable secretary. No one is in it for the betterment of their fellow citizens. You might ask "what's the point Sleazy Tiger? If all we are going to get is the same brand of interest groups and cash for (insert suitable political phrase) scandal, then why vote at all?

Friends, there is now an answer. I could claim that I as an outsider to Politics I am immune to such filthy practices. But my criminal record would quickly prove otherwise. No, you the people deserve the unvarnished truth. I, Sleazy Tiger, therefore launch my campaign to become Prime Minister with this slogan:

"We won't lie. We are going to F**k you over."

My manifesto is simple. "Keep it Sleazy." My position on the key issues is just as clear cut:

-Drugs: All legalised. All free. All the time.

-The NHS: Darwinian principles apply.

-Pensions: You're all on drugs and there is no healthcare. You don't need to worry about a pension.

-Banks: No bail outs. If bankers want to live in the lap of luxury at the expense of the common man, they can become MPs like we all had to.

-Abortions: A necessity in Sleazy Tiger's Britain. Number 11 Downing Street to become a free clinic to cater to its next-door neighbour's needs.

-Prisons: Sleazy Tiger is tough on crime. A wall, a cigarette and a blindfold style tough.

-Global Warming: I support anything that will lead to bikinis in November.

-Alcohol: The standard unit to be increased to a triple of current standards. Free drinks for attractive females.

-Same-Sex Marriage: To be banned. As will traditional marriage. Monogamy is for pussies.

-Governmental Corruption: Will henceforth be known as 'How we do Business round here.'

Of great importance to any successful government is its Cabinet. My backroom staff has been hand picked for their enormous experience and their suitability to stay on message. They are:

John, Robert and Edward Kennedy

-Three powerhouses of American political history whose knowledge, calm assurance and political acumen is only tempered by their all being dead. But their collective achievements make them unmissable: individually they stole a Presidential election, cheated on their wives with the same woman, drove a car off a bridge killing a young girl and yet still managed to be viewed as all-American heroes. True legends.

John Prescott

-Every party needs a strong hand to keep the members in line and a man willing to throw his not-inconsiderable weight about would make the ideal political attack dog. Needs to work on his jab if he is to really become a real heavy-hitter. Has done sterling work in the Secretary boffing stakes however.

Margaret Thatcher

-With the Russian threat growing stronger every day (growing comparatively with the number of homo-erotic photographs released by Vladimir Putin) a Cold War Warrior is required to play a strong hand against the Old Bear. The Iron Lady not only provided a bulwark against Soviet aggression during the 80s, but also managed to piss off virtually every element in society. Fine effort. For a girl.

Prince Philip

-Perfect for diplomatic duties. Can offend by race, sexuality, gender, creed or even musical ability. A true aristocrat of the old school, best deployed when you need someone to declare war on you. If George Bush and Tony Blair had sent him to meet with Saddam Hussain pre 2003, there would have been no need to invent that WMD fairy tale.

Sarah Palin

-Far too entertaining not to have on the political scene. For best results place in an interview situation. Unprepared. If however you want some real substance, hire Tina Fey to portray Palin. That way you actually get some political nous to go with the glamour.

I would hope that you, the British People, can see that Sleazy Tiger's Party of Sleaze is the only choice in the 2010 General Election. A vote for Labour is a vote for incompetence. A vote for the Conservatives is a vote for rightism. A vote for the Lib Dems is a vote wasted. A vote for Sleazy Tiger is a vote for chaos. But at least we don't pretend otherwise."

Vote Sleazy Tiger (Sleazy Tiger's Party of Sleaze) on 6th May. Because he can't be much worse than the alternative.

Sleazy Tiger and the Holy Grail

As Sleazy Tiger looked out over the world that he had not created because he couldn't be arsed but was more than happy to take credit for, he felt pride. Everywhere he looked he could see reflections of himself. In the brothels of Nevada he saw himself. In the gin palaces of Soho he saw himself. In the poppy fields of Afghanistan he saw himself. In the Parliament of Westminster he saw quite a lot of himself. This was pleasing to Sleazy Tiger, as he had not laboured long and hard for six days and six nights to create such a fertile land. But yet, Sleazy Tiger felt that something was missing. In this near imperfect land there was something less than sordid. Sleazy Tiger felt it in the hole where his heart should have been. And lo! The answer came to him in the white hot flash of a sparked reefer.

One of his disciples was much holier than thou should have been and was failing to spread the word through deed. Sleazy Tiger looked down on this apostle and was displeased. EVIL JOE SPURNS THE LOVLIEST OF THE THINGS I DID NOT CREATE, THE WOMAN. Sleazy Tiger thundered. IN DOING THIS EVIL JOE FAILS TO HONOUR ME PROPERLY. HATH I NOT GIVEN HIM ALL HE COULD WANT? A JOB IN A PROFESSION DOMINATED BY WOMEN? A POSITION IN A UNIVERSITY WHERE THERE ARE MANY NUBILE YOUNG FEMALES? I EVEN MOVED HIM TO THAT LAND OF PLENTY, ESSEX!

Sleazy Tiger was greatly angered and considered vengeance against the renegade disciple in the form of a plague of STDs. Eventually his wrath cooleth. NO. Said Sleazy Tiger. EVIL JOE HATH BEEN A GOOD SERVANT TO ME. HE HATH SWORN. HE HATH STOLEN. HE HATH DRUNK TILL HE WAS LEGOED. HE HATH PUSHED AN OLD LADY UNDER A BUS. I MUST DO MORE TO GUIDE MY SON (Paternity Suit Pending) IF HE IS TO FIND HIS WAY. Sleazy Tiger decided this, and it was good.

Sleazy Tiger then appeared unto his most loyal and favourite disciple, Tristan the Rock, in the form of a burning bush. I AM SORRY TO DISTURB YOU MY SON, BUT I HAVE A DIVINE TASK FOR YOU. Sleazy Tiger charged his disciple to come up with 10 chat-up lines for Evil Joe at the British Juggling Convention. FOR IF HE CAN NOT PULLETH THERE, WHAT HOPE HAVEETH HE? Tristan the Rock agreed and sought Sleazy Tiger’s patience to allow him to finish what had been interrupted. Sleazy Tiger assented, but insisted that Tristan might want to get checked out after that burning bush. Tristan did so, and it was not good.

Tristan the Rock made a pilgrimage to the holy castle of Nottingham and stayed forty days and forty nights in the caves beneath its mighty walls, surviving only on Ale and Pork Scratchings and waiting for inspiration. On the forty first day he emerged, and with him he naught but a biblical hangover and stone tablets proclaiming the 10 chat-up line commandments of Sleazy Tiger. They read thus:

I - Want to see my Two Ball Mess?

II - You look like you’ve got experience in handling a long staff.

III - Come on, what better offer are you going to get round here? Aside from him. And him. And him.

IV - I’ve always loved a girl in a Hula Hoop.

V - You do realise random underage girl, that I could buy you booze & fag?

VI - I’m a unilateral American invasion force and you’re Afghanistan. Prepare to be liberated!

VII - Yet another drink?

VIII – I’m like Saddam Hussein. Well hung.

IX - You look like a supermodel. Yeah, one of those plus sized ones.

X - I’ve always thought Poi could just as easily be used as restraining chains.

Sleazy Tiger read of the commandments and was pleased. He ordered Tristan the Rock to deliver them unto Evil Joe. Tristan did so, and was rewarded by Sleazy Tiger with Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, which were their stage names.

Sleazy Tiger also sought out another apostle, James the Just. JAMES, YOU HATH USED YOUR STAFF SKILLS TO PULLETH A FINE JUGGLING WOMAN. YOU MUST GUIDE EVIL JOE THROUGH THE TRIALS THAT ARE TO COME. LET HIM NOT FALL INTO THE TRAP OF THE UGLY, THE OBESE OR THE INSANE (THOUGH GOOD LUCK FINDING ANY SANE JUGGLERS). YOU WILL BE REWARDED FOR YOUR SERVICE WITH THE STAFF OF MOSES, WHICH CAN DO SOME REALLY SWEET STALLS. James heard Sleazy Tiger’s proclamation, and vowed to follow it faithfully.

The Romans came unto James and offered him thirty pieces of silver if here were to ruin Evil Joe’s chances. James the Just considered their offer, but deemed that, whilst getting crucified was the closest Evil Joe would get to being nailed, it was not worth it for less than fifty. The Romans offered forty, then forty five pieces, but demanded a 30% share of the betrayal. James the Just would not give away more than 25%, and so decided to go it alone. James was pleased with his resilience, and declared that he would not deny Evil Joe three times before his cock could crow. Sleazy Tiger blessed this statement and stated that he held great hopes for a Second Coming.

Sleazy Tiger supports prayer. Specifically, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God Yes, Yes Yes Yes Yes!