Sinister: bollox

[abrupt to the point of rudeness]

Yeah, seagulls exploding, yeah, that’ll be grand. Possibly we could use them
as bombs the next time sinister fc play nme fc, yeah, that’ll be grand. You
know this reminds me of when I was a kid we CRASH, what the...
Hang on a second; something’s just hit my window... Wait a minute, no it can
’t be, the pungent smell of strong cannabis, the sickly stench of cheep root
whisky, accompanied by a faint whiff of death, and, oh God it is as well.
Well look what the cat dragged in.

ME: Where the hell have you been ay?

PP: Squawk! Fuck me. [brushing off suit]

ME: I’d rather not

PP: Fucking hell! Where the hell haven’t I been? It all started about eight
months ago. I was having a nice little break in Colombia, you know, sun,
sand, sangria, trill, the works, nice little holiday. Anyway, it was the
last night and you know me, I decided to go gambling, well, while the cat’s
away.

ME: What?

PP: Mrs PP wasn’t there so

ME: You didn’t take your wife with you, you cheep bastard.

PP: Fuck off! [right wing slammed onto desk] I’ve been to hell and back and
the last thing I need is a lecture from a shitty little wank stain like you
okay [pointing index feather].

ME: Sorry, it’s just that

PP: Well, all I ask is a little respect that’s all; I used to work my arse
off for you bastards and all I ask, the one thing I ask for you to give a
little respect to me.

ME: Wasn’t that a line from a Jimmy Somerville record.

PP: Are you taking the cunting piss pall? I mean, do you think I’m some sort
of mug, some sort of fairy [right wing raised and end feathers made to go
limp], I’ll tear off your ugly fucking head and shit down your ugly fucking
hole you ugly fucking bleeding arse squirrel. Listen pal, one more smart
arse bollock from you and [reaching into jacket and removing a Stanley
knife] I’ll introduce you to my friend Stanley, do I make myself - crystal -
fucking - clear.

ME: Yes I’m sorry.

PP: Good. Anyway, I was surrounded by these double hard bastards, real ugly
motherfuckers; anyway, I show my hand and fuck my uncle if it isn’t a Royal
flush. Well, I’m quid’s in.

ME: Great, so you cleaned up?

PP: Well sort of, I stood up to draw in the mountain of cash on the table
and half the deck fell out of my sleeve.

ME: Crumbs, I can imagine what your face looked like, so what did you do.

PP: What?

ME: What steps did you take?

PP: Fucking great big ones! I shot out of there like shit off a shovel. I
tell you, you couldn’t see me for dust, and I was gone man, solid gone!

ME: So what happened next?

PP: Well, I tried to skip the country but every port was closed, well not
closed but as it turns out the people I was playing with got connections
with the government and as a result there were hundreds of people at
airports, sea ports whatever looking for me. I tell you, it was a bitch. I
managed to lie low, cleverly disguising myself as a care worker in an animal
hospital.

ME: Oh, like Rolf... er, never mind.

PP: That’s a lovely smile - do you want another one? I told you, no more
wisecracks. No, not like Rolf fucking Harris, just a humble animal lover.
Man, I gotta tell you, there’s some sick fuckers out there. Like this one
time, I had to look after some penguins that came in at about two in the
fucking morning or some god dam bastard hour. It’s not their fault but two
in the fucking morning, for fucks sake. Anyway, they’d been used for
internet porn. I mean Jesus and his rubber twat bomb! Can you believe that
somewhere, in cyberspace there’s a picture of some sicko with his pr - pr -
pr - prick up a penguin. Anyway, I managed to get smuggled out in a coffin.
I know, but when the Devil vomits on your house you have to take the first
council house outta there. Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, I took the
suit from the stiff in the coffin; I thought that it was a good idea to take
his suit so

ME: You’re wearing a dead mans suit?

PP: Yeah, so they wouldn’t recognise me, anyway, I need to hold up here for
a few days, is that okay?

ME: Well, err.

PP: Good, [puts legs upon newly polished coffee table]

ME: But I need a poem though.

PP: Oh for fuck sake, don’t I get a moments rest, okay, stick this bastard
up your arse:

THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS - CHRISTOPHER MARLOW

Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?
And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?
Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss:
Her lips suck forth my soul, see where it flies!
Come Helen, come, give me my soul again.
Here will I dwell, for heaven is in there lips,
And all is dross that is not Helena.
I will be in Paris, and for love of thee,
Instead of Troy shall Wertenberg be sack’d;
And I will combat with weak Menelaus,
And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;
Yes I will wound Achillis in the heel,
And then return to Helen for a kiss.
O thou art fairer than the evening air,
Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars:
Brighter art thou then flaming Jupiter,
When he appear’d to hapless Semele;
More lovely then the monarch of the sky
In wanton Arethusa’s azur’d arms;
And none but thou shalt be my paramour.


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