Chapter One: One Step at a Time

"When Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer"

I had just finished receiving oral satisfaction from a girl of questionable morals. I was sat in my luxury apartment, eating a Cadbury's Drifter. All seemed perfect. I turned to my concubine and asked her what she thought of my opulent abode. She left the room to look up both "opulent" and "abode", she returned to give hear seal of approval, "Quality, innit?"

I detested her lack of intelligence. Her ignorance on almost all matters of substance sickened me. I was sickened. But she was young, malleable and tenacious in the bedroom, which is good because I liked to push the envelope of what was sexually acceptable, and she was quite willing to join me. Sorry, I forgot, my lawyers advised me to say that she was more than willing. That's more than willing to join me.

It's an odd feeling being in such a position of power at such a young age. In many ways I was still developing as a man, but I had already achieved more than men twice my age. I think it was this confusion over my position that lead to the incident that changed my life: I lost my leg (the good one).

On my twentieth birthday I received a large endowment from my trust fund. Once I had the money the first thing I wanted to do was to show my parents that I was my own man now. I wanted to make a statement. The first thing I did was to commission an artist to make a statue of me with an enormous erection, the statement being, "Holy shit! That's a huge erection" - In many ways it was a success. The second thing I did was to buy my own house with a large swimming pool. I figured that property is always a sound investment and it would show that I was sensible and mature, though in retrospect, the one mistake I made was filling the swimming pool with a great white shark. At the time I was like, "Yeah. It's a fucking great white shark", but my initial excitement suddenly turned to, "Jesus Christ! It's got my leg. Oh my God, my fucking leg!"

It's hard to explain to you how I lost my leg because, looking back, I did make some foolish mistakes. If given my time again I probably wouldn't put a great white shark in a domestic swimming pool. But if I did, I would definitely put a guard rail around the pool this time. And, when asked whether I want a clear perspex walkway to float across the water then I would say no, or at the very least I'd insist on slip mats this time. Who knew that clear, wet perspex could be so slippery?

So, here's how it happened. In a lot of ways it way just a normal Tuesday night. I had some friends over for a get-together. Tuesdays were my "Red Meat. Bare Feet. Margarita Party" - Me and several hundred friends would get together, eat beef carpaccio and drink margaritas without any shoes on. I had drunk a margarita or thirteen and I was doing the moonwalk on the perspex walkway above Leroy's pool (Leroy was the shark). My guests didn't seem so amused by this, so, ever the entertainer, I had a guest give me some carpaccio for me to dangle over the pool. I thought the sight of Leroy eating quality, raw beef out of my hand would be quite a sight and give my guests much enjoyment - Again, looking back this sounds very stupid. Anyway, I tried this for fifteen minutes or so but Leroy was having none of it. I threw the plate of carpaccio away.

Later in the night I stood, barefoot, on the broken plate that I had discarded earlier. I cut my foot pretty badly. One of my friends told me to dip my foot in the water to clean the cut. Having had several more margaritas and knowing nothing about sharks I decided to do so. I now know that a shark can smell one drop of blood in 25 gallons, needless to say, it had no problem detecting my gushing foot in a 50ft swimming pool. And that's how I lost my leg.

Not a day goes by that I don't think about that night, and the series of errors that lead to that horrific incident. All I know is that I learnt more in that one night that I had done in years at private school. I know that you have to be careful when barefoot around a swimming pool. I know that drinking fifteen or twenty margaritas near a swimming pool isn't a good idea. And most importantly, I now know that a shark is not a pet. The very next day I returned Leroy to the guy I bought him from. Actually, the guy had a strict returns policy on great white sharks so I just exchanged him for a white tiger. He's called Marbles. Luckily Marbles was impeccably trained by two Las Vegas magicians so he's completely safe to have around the house - I've learnt my lesson.

Foreword by Jack. T. Hammer

Foreword by Jack. T. Hammer

What are you supposed to write in a foreword for an autobiography? Anything interesting about Richard should be included in the book itself. Although, I have noticed a few omissions that he's made, probably just to protect his loved ones. Well, I can't in good conscience let this book be printed knowing that Richard has purposefully omitted certain salacious information just so that he doesn't have to explain to his young children what a "transexual prostitute" or  a "half 'n' half" are. This book is supposed to be the truth. Unfettered. Unfiltered. Un....boring. The people love filthy, celebrity secrets. I already had to knock £250,000 off of his advance because he's never been sexually abused. I know it's disgusting, but you can't sell a book these days unless someone has been sexually abused, or had cancer. Publishers are having a nightmare.

Anyway, to bump up the sales, here are certain truths that I know about Richard that he doesn't want you to know:

- He once came second in a Vanilla Ice impersonation competition.
- His mother is not from Indonesia. In fact, I'm pretty sure he made "Indonesia" up. She's from China, or Japan, something like that.
- He can't swim.
- He is allergic to latex body suits.
- Me and him once "accidentally" killed a prostitute and pinned it on a friend of ours. He is now in prison for a long time.
- He's never been to Scotland.

I had the brilliant idea of Richard writing a book after I read Lance Armstrong's book, Winning is Nothing Newticle to Me. People love stories about someone having to overcome difficulties and coming out the other side a better, richer, more famous person. All I needed was the right public figure.

I had known Richard Howarth for quite some time. We ran in similar circles, had similar hobbies and had made love to a lot of the same women, sometimes even separately. He was known for being an extremely private person, even at the mass orgies at his home he would insist on everybody wearing a mask. Getting him to divulge all the intimate details of his life wouldn't be easy, but I'd give it a go.

I picked up the phone to my assistant and had her pick up the phone to Richard.

"Richard, it's The Jack Hammer" I said.

"Who's this?" He replied.

That surprised me, my name is very distinctive. I have only ever known one other Jack Hammer and he, sadly, is no longer with us. He was a fine gentleman, he made top quality pornography. He lost his leg to a viscous STD and was later run over by an ice cream van. But I digress.

"Don't be silly you motherfucker, it's me, Jacky Boy, The Juggernaut, White Chocolate, The Hammer of Love" - I continued in this vein for quite some time before realising that my assistant had connected me to my father-in-law, Reverend Richard O'Sullivan, it was extremely awkward for me, but it was an honest mistake on her behalf that I will, of course, ruin her career over.

I got my old assistant to hire me a new assistant before she left. Then I got my new assistant to ring around all the agencies to make sure she'd never work again. I then sent her some flowers to show that there were no hard feelings.

When I finally got through to Richard he wasn't as reluctant to write the book as I thought he would be. We came to a mutual understanding, he likes large sums of cash and I have some. I wrote him and cheque and told him to write the book. I only had three caveats:

He would have to ask me to write the foreword.
He would have to complete it in less than 7 months because I had third quarter targets to meet.
It would have to be about sexy vampires having sexy sex with young women.

Naturally, Richard agreed to meet my first two conditions without any fuss (it was an honour for me to be asked to write his foreword), but he fought me on the third point.

"This is supposed to be a book about me, a successful businessman, and how I attained my position of power", he said.

"Change the word "businessman" for vampire and "power" to missionary and you've got a deal", I said with the authority of a man confident in the size of his penis.

I spent hours trying to convince Richard to write about vampires. I told him how all new books have to be about vampires. That I'm even re-issuing old books with the titles changed to attract new readers (The content is the same but I just put a photo of Robert Pattinson on the front and change the title. They sell in the millions. My biggest seller last year was Jane Austen's Vampire Pride, Vampire Prejudice & Sex with Young Women. Genius). Richard just plain refused.

So, I'm here to tell you that despite the fact that there is a photograph of a sexy vampire on the front of this book, there will be no further mention of sexy vampires having sex with young women anywhere else in it. I understand your disappointment. It's pretty much a story about a man who was raised by wild animals, won the lottery, lost a leg, married a model and shot Osama Bin Laden. BOOOORRRIIIIING. But you've bought the book now so you might as well read it anyway.

Enjoy

The Jack Hammer.