Don King hedged his political bets pretty well this time round, with contributions going to Dick Gephardt, George W and Carol Moseley Braun. He is not always so diplomatic.
A couple of years ago I went to the ICA to see an Israeli film about orthodox culture. There was a bomb scare just before it started, so I and half of Golders Green dutifully exited via the rear to Carlton House Terrace.
We’d just commenced the usual terrorism chit-chat when suddenly there was a shouting and and a hollering, and from Waterloo Place emerged a Cinderella carriage drawn by two white steeds and containing Mr King and a very large and aggrieved-looking man wearing pantomime crown and robes and flourishing a gold sceptre from Woolworth’s.
Seeing us gathered dumbstruck on the pavement, the great man’s brain whirled and clickety-clicked to a halt on the well-worn cogtooth labelled PR. As the carriage and accompanying stretches pulled up 50 yards down the road, my brain whirled too and I rushed up to the party.
“Mr King,” I panted, “I’ve always been an admirer of yours. Can I have your autograph?”
Mr King peered through his diamond-encrusted glasses, but not for long.
“Fuck off, faggot,” he said.
And, before I could thank him, he waddled off to stretch no 1, shouting “Mo mo mo, deme mas vino senorita,” leaving his companion, the future heavyweight deputy-champion of the world, to wonder why his manager’s London following seemed to consist almost exclusively of limp-wristed arty-farty Jewboys.
Don data via Tim Blair.
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Don King quote: “He (Julio Cesar Chavez) speaks English, Spanish, and he’s bilingual, too.” He cracks me up.
It says here that he was born in High Barnet, on the edge of Maggie’s old constituency, which might conceivably explain something.