By Terry Ott

Yes, you heard it here-and most likely nowhere else-first.

The tore of the century, the Billy Spears as Paul McCartney with Friends and Enemies exitstravaganza, will kick off this April 1, at the Sportsplex, in Yonkers NY.

Tickets are modestly priced at $64,000, for the first 30 rows, and first 10 sides, with obstructed view seats available for $10,000 on a first come, first served basis.

Joining Billy/Paul will be Britishney Spears, Baby Myron Beatlestein Spears, Ringo Star, and very special guest, Ms. Yoko Oh No.

Reached at his winter home in Newark, NJ, Billy/Paul sounded pumped. "We will be recreating the entire Sgt. Pumpers album, as well as crowd faves like Why Don't We Blow One In The Road."

Ms. Spears will do Your Mother's A Ho, and Myron, My Dear, and Myron Spears will sing, Baby, It's Poo.

Ringo will perform some of his songs, if he can recall the lyrics, and Yoko will fart in a bag, mixed in quad sound. "Ah-eeeeeeeeeeeeee," she said in an interview, four times.

It was first reported that Billy/Paul (the real Paul passed away in 1966) would forsake the When He's 64 run because his children had warned that it would "not be cool."

But Billy brought them round when he gave them all a free tore t-shirts, an ounce of high quality organic reefer, and also told them to "shut up, you wankers."

In any event, this does seem to be the mother of all farewell shows, as we have learned exclusively that this may be Billy/Paul's last tore, as long life does not run in the family. And besides, the dream, is over, already.

At first, I wondered about this story, but then I got a hold of the individual who e-mailed me, claiming that he could channel John Lennon and George Harrison.

Evidently, when this guy asked John about the 64 Tore, Mr. Lennon remarked, "that bastard."

George, meanwhile, said, "I'll play whatever you want me to play, or I won't play at all. Whatever it is that will please you, I'll do."

This, is really gonna be Something.

NB: if you think this is trippin', e-mail me and I will send you a National Lampoon Beatles spoof that will REALLY tea up and blow yer mind.

The New York Times House & Home section of all places recently had quite a revealing story on artiste Sam Havadtoy, who was described from news accounts in the story as Ms. Yoko Ono's "boyfriend, companion,spokesman,partner,manager,assistant, business administrator and secret husband." In other words, a Jack-Sam of all trades.

The story quotes from an Andy Warhol diary entry. "I can't figure out if its (Sammy) her boyfriend or what," it recounts. Hissssssssssssssssss.

The Times piece also sez that the Y&S team were together from 1981 to 2000, with the possibilty that Sam Boiskietoy got a substantial stippend when the couple split up with the caveat he keep his mouth shut about the relationship. Now. apparently, the two do not even speak. Walking on cold, deep, ice, paying the price, I guess.

(Previous reports have suggested that Yoko used Sammy as poker chip to keep JL in line, and back in the spot light going back to early 1980, but who knows?)

However, I doubt very much that the deal will hold when/if Ms. Ono ever joins John Lennon in rock and roll heaven.

So, could that mean that the most telling and exciting book about the Beatles in the next 10 years may not come from Mark Lewisohn?

Man/woman can you even Imagine the shit that olde Sammy would know?

He was there during the Lost Lennon Tapes and Anthology periods, and even if he was incurious about the Beatles, he would sure have picked up a thing or two. Perhaps even there when Macca got busted in Japan for pot, if you know what I mean.

I could even suggest a title for his book: And Your Hungarian Can Sing.

Got a real good laff out of the recent revionist reports that the "real" reasons the Fabs split Sexy Sadie and India in 1968 was because the little Yogi kicked them out due to drug use.

Bollocks, I say.

Oh, yeah, maybe the mystic was ticked off that the boys kept all the best stuff for themselves, but as far as that little runt kicking the most famous people on the planet off his compound when he was looking to ride their fame, no fricken way, Jose.

Beach Boy Mike Love was there, as was Cynthia Lennon, and to my knowledge never said nothing about no drug cock-up.

Little Mia Farrow may say today that the M-Y was a great guy, but that is really a non-denial-denial about what has been understood for 38 years to have been the case that is, that her sis got a fondling from the little hairy guy.

Hell, if the new version of events is true, a lot of the White Album will have to be recalled and withdrawn!

No, I think Deeprictk has been having tea, you know, the kind the Supreme Court just said is legal for religious ceremony.

Yet up till now, the "real" story has still not been told.

As I understand it, the "real" reason the boys took off in a tizzy was that they had received confidential information from the British embassy in Bombay that Stig, er George, fed up with Beatlemania, was about to join Air India, because "it's all too much," he complained, bitterly. "Not guilty," he was heard to wail, multiple takes.

A clue for you all would be the jet noises in Back In The USSR, which was originally entitled, While My Plane Gently Screech.

Reached at his villa in Monte Carlo, Ringo said, "yeah, you got us on that one. Plus, the food sucked."

So there you have it, another Beatle "truth," blown to bits and the real story served up to you all on platter.

Hare, hare.

Got an e-mail from someone at BPNACAWLEY@aol.com who described your dear correspondent as "a sack of shit."

Of course this anon person is a raving and drooling Macca Madhatter, a mad dog group that has for some time now not graced my inbox but when they sense I have insulted their favourite billionaire pop star, they re-emerge like a stubborn STD.

Yes, many of the MMs are totally insane, so being called a shit sack is probably the least of my worries.

Many of these nuts are total creepy cowards, hiding behind e-mail non de plumes, and some of them regularly try to entice me into opening up e-mail attachments with a virus on board because, well, they are fricken' morons and a step away from being criminals. Then, there's the downside. They've probably gone off their meds.

Still, like I have noted before, these crazy idiots are sometimes good sport, so I kind of miss them them when they scatter like cockroaches across the WWW, and don't hound me for months at a time. Perhaps they are institutionalized for that period, or in jail. Maybe even abducted by aliens, or God willing, hunting covey's of quail down in Texas with the Veep.

Apparently what set one of the MMs off badly this time was my referrence to Billy and baby Myron Beatlestein Spears at the recent Grammy awards, but it could have been anything really because like what we learn in psych class, these people are fruit loops.

And this MM ended our brief e-mail exchange with the comment that not only was I a "sack of shit," but said MM had better things to do than corresponde with me, namely, like making dinner for the family.

Given this MM's use of excrement for saucy adjective, if I was at that table,I would worry what said MM was putting in the family grits.

Yes, a mind, and some ka-ka, is a terrible thing to waste.

But then again this particular MM's e-mail did have some "CAW" in it.

I was holding this back, but since Coach Steve came up with what seems a credible source of what went on at the Grammy awards, I must come forward.

After laying in bed for a week, chanting the I-Ching, and exsisting on nothing but macro-biotic drugs, I channeled meself into the body of Sly Stone-well actually his mohawk- and was actually here, actually there, and actually everywhere at the award show. Actually.

Therefore, besides wanting to take you higher, I saw first hair wot the bloody 'ell was really going on.

First, Paul was not even at the Grammy Awards. Rather, as everyone knows, Paul was killed in a flash fire in a waterbed store in Esher in 1966.

The Macca imposter-Billy Spears, brother of Brit-stood in for the real thing, and any boorish, wankish, twitish, or any other fricken' ish was due to Billy's recent upset about the media hounding his sister and her baby Myron Beatlestein Spears.

(Spears media PR weasel Elliot Muinster, would brook no comment.)

But in any event, it is pure rubbish that "Paul" did anything wrong, because he has been dead now for nearly 40 years. The only thing he done, was yesterday, I'm afraid.

So now there, you have the final word on this stupor, and here's another clue for youse all: The walrus was Saul.

Look out, she comin' fast, etc.

All right; enuf already!

This non-stop wanking over what Sir P may or may not have done at the stupid Grammy awards has got to stop.

Word is that Dirk (and with a nod to a reader who pointed out I should not refer to Him as Sir Dirk, as Dirk was only MBE'd) snubbed the great and friendly Carlos Santana and the very pompus Boned from U2 after Dirk crapped out in his nom for the aptly titled Chaos album track.

Now, with props to my main man (expletive deleted) who works for (affiliate deleted), we must remind our little minds that the reports of snotty upper class twit misbehaviour by Paul did come from FOX News, leaders in unfairy and slightly off balance reportage.

But, as they said at Woodstock about the brown acid, it's your own trip, so be my guest.

According to my highly placed sources, Dirk DID NOT claim to be bigger than Carlos or U2, or even Jesus. In fact, I was told that Jesus Has Just Left Chicago, and the walk will take him at least a month to get to LA.

Far too late to get involved in this cock-up.

In any event, I hope this latest outrage spurs SPM on to great heights, and perhaps even a good new album, just in time for the When I'm 64,64 1/2 Tour.

Then, he can make like Marlon Brando or George C. Scott Patton, and win a Grammy whilst sitting at home with an organic reefer, a veggie burger and a wheat stout, all the while wishing the Grammy people a weed up their arse.

And Give Ireland Back To The Irish! Mull The Olde Kintired!

Now THAT, would really be something!

Got a very polite e-mail suggesting that as it was obvious that I had "no respect" for Paul McCartney, I should just turn the BB emporium into a John Lennon thang.

First off, I want to state for the record that I do not have no respect for Dirk.

Secondly off, this is not 1966 anymore, and we have -or should have-all grown up a bit, and that includes Beatles. In fact, some of us and them have not only grown (old), but some are no longer with us, the ultimate end game of years passing.

And thirdly, it is hardly for anyone to grow old gracefully, let alone mega superstar ex-Beatles.

As one reader said to me, Dirk's rapping of Yesterday at the Grammy's was an "embarrasment."

I agree. But this does not mean I have "no respect" for Paul, but rather I cherish the "olde days," and as Clint Eastwood so excellently observed, "a good man's gotta know his limitations."

So, you don't see old Clint at 70 something riding horses and shootin' off 44. mags any more, and Paul should start to see his "limtations" as he quickly closes in to one year before social security territory.

Ever(y) dog-and Beatle-has his day, and Sir Dirk's has come, and gone.

He may be able to pull off the When I'm 64 Tour, but after that, it should be the stud farm for the Macca man, before people start laughing.

Geez, the man was(is) great. Go out with some damn dignity.

PS: As for your hate mail, in the words of W, "bring it on!"

Excuse me for the lateness of this post, but I was up all night crying my eyes out over my hero, Paul McCartney, getting the shaft at the Grammy awards last night.

First of all, he should have been mominated in WAY more than just one category. In fact, he should have been nomed in EVERY category. That way, he would have been a lock to win something.

And then, not content to just rock the damn house down with Charlie's song, Helter Skelter, Sir Dirk wanted to play with Mista Sly Stone, who is to cool, what Mac is to lukewarm.

In any event, I hear that Macca was turned away by Sly who reportedly said to SirM, "who the hell are you, boy?"

Now, I understand that Dirk will be going back to his roots of the Punk Floyd, and getting a Mohawk, just like Mr. Stone's.

Also, Macca is said to have a single already in the can entitled, "Everyday Billionaire People," which should score big during hot fun in the summertime.

There, now I feel better, even though yes, it seems I long for yesterday.

In response to BB374, most of you wrote to say that yes, Paul McCartney's 2005 Super Bowl show was "better" than the Rolling Stones in 2006 in Detroit.

But at least one reader reminded that Macca's performance was sound "sweetened," just in case his billion dollar pipes failed him at the wrong note, or scream.

As far as any one can figger, old Mick and Keef were liver than you'll ever be, especially for $2 million bucks for 3 numbers. Nice work, if you can get it.

One reader complained that Mick was "just shouting," something echoed by my 81 year old mother, who denounced the Stones as "terrible."

ABC edited out "You make a dead man come," and "cock," from Start Me Up and Rough Justice respectively, but hey, that's showbiz! Too bad MicK didn't pull a Sullivan and roll his eyes when they cut his mic during the offending passages.

Good God, ABC would have got a stroke if Mick has repeated his line from the September 1969 Madison Square Garden concert, captured for prosterity on Get Yer Yas Yas Out.

"I think I bust a button on me trousers. You wouldn't want my trousers to fall down now, would ya," he teased. As if!

Ah, the good olde daze.

So in any event, the fans-at least the Beatles fans-have spoken and the Fabs are still kings.

It may be only rock and roll, but we still like it, just some more than other.

Well, what do you think was better, Mick and Keef, or Macca?

Although I love the Stones, I have to say that on balance, Paul McCartney's 2005 Super Bowl half time show was "better" than the 2006 RS tongue fest.

Perhaps the Stones gig was of a bigger buzz(bang), but methinks that McCartney with his amazing light show, fireworks and enthusiastic performance, was the ace-est.

Now, the only thing that can top the last two years is the additon of Mr. Richard Starkey during the When I'm 64 Tour late this year.

It would be the hottest ticket in town, perhaps even surpassing the game itself, regardless of who is in it.

So, yes, please do tell me who you think was better, Stones or Mac?

And could a Macca/Starr reunion even be possible?

Finally, I hope none of you took my advice and backed the Seahawks.

Better stick to the Beatle bets.

Texas Beatle Barb e'd today, the day after Ground Hog Day, to say that Sir Dirk McQuickly would be playing the Shammy Awards this year for the first time.

Sir Dirk will be introduced by Ellen DeGenerate, and I am so thrilled, I nearly wet my Depends.

In any event, the other bit of real Macca newz that caught my eye appeared in the Feb. 3 edition of USA Today.

The paper reports that after Macca played the Super Bowl last year-ageless geezers the Rolling Stones do this year- something of phenom happened with McCartney and Beatles music releases.

Sales of Macca's Back In The USA went up 542%, All The Best, 246%, Wingspan, 175%, and Band on the Run, 80%, and Dirk's solo debut, The Punk Floyd at 8%.

Beatle albums also were affected, with 1 increasing 72%, Rubber Soul, 66%, Let it Be, 54%, The White Album, 43%,Magical Mystery Tour, 40%, The Capitol Albums, 38% Revolver, 37% Abbey Road, 34%, Sgt. Pepper, 30% and Meet the Rutles and Twist and Rut, tied at 16%.

Pretty darn good if I-and Dirk-don't say so me and they-selves.

I'd bet Apple, EMI and Capitol were not at all annoyed either.

So this can only mean one thing: expect to see the When I'm 64 Tour touch down at Super Bowl XLI next year, if for no otther reason that the Beatles were always bigger than the Stones, and Dirk must top Mick.

BTW, I like Seattle to cover the point spread, although they may or may not win out-right.

You know it is dawning on me-yes I know I am slow-that the vast playground that we know and love and hate known as the Internet, or WWW, is kind of like Apple Corp in 1968.

Recall how the early efforts of the fruit company to try a new form of capitalism ended up in many of the hair brained schemes being blown up, especially the Apple Boutique, which was eventually closed with a going out of business sale that featured all you could grab for free. Then, Nasty, blew it up.

In any event, the Internet reminds me of Apple because during the crazy daze from 1968-69, Apple was losing money faster than the British government-yes, I know I nicked that- and quite a few things were also being nickeded.

Well, one of my things got nicked recently, an interview I did with Tony Bramwell legally posted earlier on AbbeyRd, that got posted illegally on RMB, and credited to "The Fireman," of whom I haven't the foggiest.

Oh well, I guess that's showbiz!

But whilst reading some of the posts on RMB, I came across some delicious psychotic ramblings from a poor sick soul who, responding to the question of who Terry Ott was, replied, "Terry Ott is a Canadian snake," who "pimps for Steve Marinucci."

Too bad this nut does not reside in Canada, because a journo friend of mine who was libelled not even a fraction of this was just awarded $400,000 Canuck bucks. (That's $300,00 real dollars.)

If we could force mental cases like this RMB polluter into court, normal people like Coach Steve and I could recover damages to our fine reps, suffered during the outrageous arrows of slings and fortunes, and snakes and pimps.

But you know what, sticks and stones may break me bones, but nuts can never hurt me, and the sue me, sue you blues is got bad instant karma, and lawyers bills.

Or sumthin' like dat.