Sunday, September 5, 2010


I’ll never forget my trip to Yellowstone Park. I was being shown around by my guide and we were deep into the wilds when a sudden panic came over his face. We were standing right behind a huge mother grizzly and her two cubs.
‘Don’t move, don’t even breathe,’ said my guide, ‘if she thinks we are a threat to her offspring she’ll tear us to pieces.’
Well, I resented that a bit. I mean, we had as much right to enjoy the environs as she did and I said as much to my guide.
‘You don’t get it,’ he said, ‘this is a sensitive situation’.
‘Oh, come off it,’ I exclaimed loudly, ‘they said that about Iraq and everything turned out grand there. I’m continuing on’.
‘No Mr. Fugger, please don’t,’ begged the guide, ‘she’ll kill us both.’
I was disgusted by his willingness to appease the woodland bully and decided I wasn’t having any of it. Defiantly, I stormed out from the undergrowth and booted one of the cubs firmly and squarely up the arse. Kapumph! The creature lifted into the air slightly and emitted a yelp. Then the mother turned, fixed me with an irate look and growled. I folded my arms, smirked and stared back at her, in a ‘what are you going to do about that’ kind of way. Then she roared and charged forward. Her claws, fangs and massive frame hurtled toward me at an astonishing speed so I did what any of the rest of you would do: I pushed the guide toward her and, as she ripped the screaming man to bits, I climbed a nearby tree. Ha! That tricked her. Being a dumb animal, she presumed that I had fled the scene so she wandered off with her young into a dense thicket. ‘Go on you furry gobshite,’ I whispered from the branches, ‘go on back to your shitey cave and eat some manky berries.’

Shortly after that, I realised I had no one to guide me back to civilisation. There wasn’t a Spar for miles and miles, or even a Centra for that matter. ‘Well, fuck this,’ I said and, taking a lighter from my pocket, I started an immense blaze that reduced my surroundings to ashes. That attracted the rescue copters and I was soon saved. I reported the bear and insisted she be tracked down and destroyed. I got a lot of press attention and wrote a book (Fugger – A Journey of Carnage and Death, published by Hutchinson). Then I went on Oprah and cried a bit as I recalled the bravery of my guide and the disproportionate touchiness of the bear. (I was advised omit the parts about my kicking the cub up the arse and ‘encouraging’ the guide to confront the mother as these details hindered the thrust of the overall narrative.) Eventually they made a movie of my ordeal starring Matt Damon and he won an Oscar and dedicated it to me. Of course, the usual chronic malcontents left demented internet posts about how I was the architect of my own misfortune but, let’s face it, a lot more people bought my book than read their blogs so I had to laugh really.

So, there you go, another triumph for perception over reality and one in the face for the tyranny of Mother Nature going forward.
A rough sort that puts me in mind of a Dickensian villain has 'insisted' I inform you of his two new comics that have gone up for pre-order, click the link:
from his site. . .
He's a talented lad and Fugger will vouch for his excellent work but I can't shake the feeling that it will all end for him in some kind of police pursuit through foggy London.


Matt Pidgeon said...

This story is barely credible! I think you'll find that there are Spars dotted at regular intervals all over the globe - not just in deforested areas. This is proof - as if any were needed that your entire story is idle minded fabrication!
For Shame!!!

Fugger said...

My handlers have advised me not to entertain your accusation and to stick the narrative. "STICK TO THE NARRATIVE!" they roar.

I'm so weary of this promotional tour. Trapped in the back of limos, being shuttled from one media event to another. Seeing normal lives being lived beyond the car window. Maybe I have not had the last laugh after all, trapped in a gilded cage that was constructed for me by a f***ing bear.