New revelations concerning the demise of flamboyant, lying, pig-eyed rambunctious manipulating crooked shit bag and alleged loony, Flavio Briatore have recently been revealed, it has been revealed.
In an interview for the Italian edition of Fallen Dictator! the wobbly-faced, philandering, narcissistic criminal revealed that far from the accepted wisdom Nelson Piquet Jr was the whistle blower on the recent Crash Gate schandal, the real culprits behind the Roman perma-tanned babbling shitstream’s fall from grace was the direct result of the investigative actions of a small number of plucky American teenagers, writes our mystery solving correspondent, Ogilvy Mather.
Who’s laughing now, eh Flavio?
Carefully barking more detail into the journalist’s ear, the Cornetto fuckwit revealed that he had been startled one night whilst partaking of his favourite form of evening relaxation; scaring crows off his land by lumbering around with his arms held stiffly above his head in an effulgent monster’s outfit, moaning and roaring.
Whilst doing this one Wednesday evening just before the start of the Hollyoaks Omnibus however, he found himself startled by a band of youngsters, consisting of a large Great Dane, 2 men and 2 women, one of which was quite a tasty redhead and one he definitely wouldn’t have, who had inadvertently stumbled upon his avian bothering antics.
It transpires that the group, via a curious motion of failure to move their upper limbs whilst the background rapidly repeated itself in a parallax optical illusion, initially ran from the scene, believing erroneously that the lumbering temperamental fascistic ignoramus was a hideous ghostly apparition.
But upon talking to local townsfolk who themselves were petrified of the monster, they became suspicious when it was revealed that Briatore himself had offered to buy their apparently haunted land at a knock down price with the corpulent mumbling tosspiece agreeing to deal with the inexplicable luminescent beast himself.
Briatore executioners: but who were they?
Smelling an Italian shaped rat however, the group bravely chose to return and investigate the mystery and in so doing sealed the fate of the bullying Roman egomaniacal cock-twat when they stumbled upon an alien mask, some luminous paint and a memory stick containing Nelson Piquet’s car telemetry from Singapore 2008, the signed confession of the driver and a tape recording of the great big Italian bell-end congratulating himself loudly at the brilliant plan he’d hatched all by himself once his engineer and driver had explained it all to him again for the fifth time.
It was then only a matter of literally minutes before the screeching incomprehensible impresario was caught out using a Heath Robinson type contraption which simultaneously tripped up, disarmed and unmasked Italy’s answer to Peter Stringfellow, issued him with a writ to attend the WMSC Council, a Renault P45 and a lifetime ban.
“Nelson didn’t do nuttin’”, the money grubbing cradle snatcher informed Fallen’s reporter whilst bellowing loudly and banging the table, “it was dem damn kids an dat goddam dog that foiled me,” his mouth moved up and down randomly whilst a voiceover shrieked.
For their part meanwhile, the gang of 5 refused to take the applause for the terrific bit of utterly contrived sleuthery; finding instead that some frankly unconvincing chuckling whilst watching their scruffy looking bearded member eating a practically implausible sandwich the dog was momentarily convinced was his, apparently sufficient reward; fade-out; credits; next up, Emu’s Pink Windmill.
