THE VAULT

Can’t Buy Me Hate
October 23, 2006 by The Colonel

Really, Love. Don't touch me.

Acrimonious divorce proceedings are nothing new in the world of celebrity. But every now and then, a separation becomes so nasty, so venomous, that it becomes legendary. Divorces such as, Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger, Charlie Sheen and Denise Richards; Liza Minnelli and that one creepy guy have become infamous all around the world. But this week, a divorce continued which may prove to be the worst celebrity break up of all time: Sir Paul McCartney and Lady Heather Mills-McCartney.

The stakes of the break-up involve custody of the couple’s two-year-old daughter, Beatrice, and Sir McCartney’s estimated 1.57 billion dollar (825 million pound, 1.21 billion euro) fortune. If a child and a vast fortune wasn’t enough, Sir Paul’s reputation as a peace-loving hippy is now at risk, with Lady Mills stating that he was “physically aggressive” during the marriage. Reports include claims that he forced her to crawl on all threes (as she is missing a leg from an auto accident) to the bathroom, rather than assist her with a bedpan, and that he denied her want to breast-feed–repeatedly crooning, “Those milk-makers are mine, love.” He has also reportedly penned a song about it.

Perhaps the final nails in the songster’s coffin are that Lady Mills alledgedly has both audio and video recordings, which chronicle the downward spiral. While alleging is all well and good, this Slantmouth reporter thirsts for the ice-cold elixir known as Fact. This is why, in our indefatigable efforts to bring you the most ingenuous news nuggets on the interweb, Slantmouth presents the transcript of the audiotape of the final fight between Sir James Paul McCartney and Lady Heather Mills-McCartney.

(tape clicks on)

Heather: Oh, tell me this bloody thing is recording…

Paul (in the background, coming closer): Peggy! Where’s me stash, love?

H: I told you not to call me that, dammit! It’s insulting.

P: Well, then tell me where me stash is. You haven’t hidden it in your leg-compartment again, have you?

(scuffling)

H: I haven’t touched your stash, Paul. I don’t know where it is. You probably forgot it where you put it again. Are you sure you’re not going senile on me, Paul? Should I have the butler break out your nappies?

P: It was ONE TIME, Linda-ONE TIME!

H: Stop calling me Linda! That’s worse than Peggy.

P: I’ll call you what I like, you haughty shrew!

H: You don’t respect me anymore, Paul.

P: Well, after I saw those softcore shots of you in all of the news magazines, I hardly think I should.

H: Please, I was young. I had my head in the clouds and my feet on the ground.

P: Foot on the ground.

H: I had two legs back then, you bastard!

(sound of glass shattering)

P: Oh, no, love, that’s the porcelain bong that the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi gave me!

H: I don’t give a damn about that Yogi or you!

(sound of one foot hopping, a prosthetic leg wildly swinging)

P: For the love of John, woman, put your leg back on!

H: I’ll kill you, you cockneyed bastard!

P: Don’t force me to defend meself, Linda!

H: I’M NOT LINDA!

(sound of a bang, bang, [like that of a silver hammer] then a thud)

H: You… you hit me!

P: You know, you’re right, love… you’re no Linda. She could take a right cross.

H: We’re through, Paul. We’re through.

P: It’s fine, Peggy. I didn’t expect it to last. You only wanted me money and to breastfeed a baby. I hope I don’t have to sue you for custody of those milk-makers.

H: I’ll see you burn, Paul.

(more screaming, indistinguishable)

This messy divorce will no doubt go down in history as one of the messiest. True, no one died, the reputation of one of the world’s most beloved musicians may be tarnished forever. Despite the claims of spousal abuse, possible drug addiction, and cold-hearted name-calling, Slantmouth wishes to remind both Sir Paul and Lady Heather to do as The Beatles so aptly advised: Let it Be.

~The Colonel