Max Rufus Hound-dog Mosley (born 13 April 1940) is a prominent international dignitary and trained barrister best known for helping relieve Anglo-Saxon tensions through organising motor races and light bondage sessions.
Mosley is the son of Oswald Mosley, former leader of the British Union of Fascists, a tag that barely interfered with his highly successful diplomatic career until toilet-paper manufacturer News of the Screws caught him with his pants down. He has since stepped down from the diplomatic scene, quite gingerly and with a almost-suppressed expression of pain emanating from his body.
The Boring Formula One Bit
In the aftermatch of the Second World War, Mosley, then aged 10, felt the opportunity was ripe to create a new international sport that could help distract Europeans from the fact they'd blown their continent to smithereens. Traditional 20th Century sports such as football, swimming and internet gambling were suffering from a post-war downturn so Max had to be innovative, and in a tasteful 1950s fashion. He realised the public, most still suffering from shell-shock, wanted something dangerous so invented Formula One motor racing.
No-one really understood the purpose of the sport but most people went along with it. Mosley ensured the sport was incredibly dangerous, ensuring large crowds turned out in the hope of seeing Jonny Foreigner be killed in a horrible fireball.
In the 1960s and 1970s everyone got a bit twitchy, what with the Cold War and all that, so Mosley went in search of someone to relieve his tension. Whilst bending over (to tie his shoelace) he bumped into a money-grabbing leprechaun with no fashion sense, Bernie Ecclestone. The two shared many beliefs and tastes, not least tall dominant women, and went into a business partnership. Formula One was instantly transformed over a period of ten years from mechanised bull-fighting to the world's second most glamorous sport, after professional darts. And was about as equally as dull. He Also Likes A Good Spanking
The Other Thing
Mosley noticed the post-war tensions between England and Germany had not rescinded despite the efforts of fellow statesmen such as John Cleese, Boris Becker and Bobby Moore. Despite his busy international
globetrotting Formula One schedule, Mosley made time each week to visit a German delegation in London, in complete secrecy. Using some of his father's old collectables, he made the German delegation feel at ease and would often indulge in some light role-playing to break the ice.
When leading bog-roll manufacturer and generally nice people the News of the World accidentally misinterpreted these events and splashed them all over pages 1, 2, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14 (plus comment on page 15) of their weekly unbiased view of world events, Mosley cracked his whip and took them to court, winning infinity billion pounds in damages and a quarter-page apology on page 92. Mosley was furious that his attempts at improving relations had been thwarted and retreated to his basement for six months. Emerging visibly shaken, he announced he was going to step down from international diplomacy and quietly retire to Amsterdam.