"Who the fuck are you" asked the stranger infront of me.
"Pumpkin sheepshanks, and you are..." i replied expectantly
"Not important. what a stupid name, it sounds like bumpkin weepwanks..." the stranger replied with a smile on his face. Continuing to talk at me despite no interest shown, I tried to continue my walk around him when he shoved me.
"What's your problem?" I asked, noticing the rest of the pub had now been attracted to the commotion. I looked back at the table i had come from, a couple of friends and their partners oblivious to the commotion a few feet away. I looked over to his table where he had his football team friends staring quite intently at the scene.
"You are, weepwanks" the stranger took a step closer with a face that begged to be hit/cut/spat on/stamped on.
"Why, I dont even know who the fuck you are and your getting up in my foice" my voice changed a little to a chicago mob boss at the end, I didn't know why at the time but I later realised that it was the great chicago mob boss Al Capone possesing me through the ether.
"the girl I liked liked you bumpkin, thats my beef, so now I will hurt you, to make me feel better" the stranger replied most pathetically.
"dude, thats seriously lame, come on, hear me now, I dont even know this broad who apparently likes me, but im a drug addict, I have no sex drive, I am no threat, I havent had a hard on in four years." i was bullshitting through my teeth, but i did it for a living so was quite natural and this seemed the best way to diffuse the situation.
"I dont believe you" said the stranger still sizing up to me, "When you were talking you eyes kept on going in a down left direction, that to me communicates your bullshitting" the was only about a foot between me and him.
"what the fuck man, are you the eye police or something" i was pissed he sussed me so quickly, but reasoned what ever i had said he would of dismissed it as bullshit, such was his animosity towards me. Realising speaking was a suckers sport i spat in his face and as he went to wipe the gob from his face i suckered him with a meaty right hook, twisting my body to create maximum force through body dynamics i brought me knee up to his face i had grabbed and begun to bring down. his nose made a cracking sound, blood began pouring as the sound of a dozen chairs being emptied resonated over from where his friends had been sat.
"little cunt" one of them said as he grabbed me and threw me to the floor, sending a table over as i landed. four of them took it in turns to kick and jump on me. i lay there for a while expecting the pain to be greater than remembering the chunky line of k i had done in the toilets from which i was returning had probably kicked in, and it would hurt when that had worn off. finally they were pulled off me by bouncers and escorted off the premises. i looked around whilst laying on the floor, noticing the strange red hue that wasn't there before. i tried to stand up but immediately fell back down. my friend came over and helped me up on to a chair.
"have you still got my k" my friend asked. i had a rummage around my pockets and nodded. "are you ok pumpkin?" i nodded again.
A few tables had been pushed over and glasses had smashed. mine and the strangers blood was being mopped by one of the bar staff. the footballers had left a bag containing a load of balls, which i motioned to my friend to collect so i could keep it as a prize.
"what do you want with a bag of balls pumpkin?" one of my friends girlfriends asked when i hopped back to the table, "it looks like you broke your ankle so cant see you using them."
"one mans balls is another mans gold" i replied, thinking i was being humerous/philosophical but probably just coming over a twat.
"Do you not want to go the hospital?" my friend with the k asked.
"manana manana, ill just have another line of your k for now if thats alright" i replied, lounging back across the built in sofa pina colada in hand.
"can you even make it to the toilet?" one of the group asked.
"ill just put the note in the bag, whats the worse that can happen?" i smiled, knowing my broken ankle meant a few weeks off work.
"Pumpkin sheepshanks, and you are..." i replied expectantly
"Not important. what a stupid name, it sounds like bumpkin weepwanks..." the stranger replied with a smile on his face. Continuing to talk at me despite no interest shown, I tried to continue my walk around him when he shoved me.
"What's your problem?" I asked, noticing the rest of the pub had now been attracted to the commotion. I looked back at the table i had come from, a couple of friends and their partners oblivious to the commotion a few feet away. I looked over to his table where he had his football team friends staring quite intently at the scene.
"You are, weepwanks" the stranger took a step closer with a face that begged to be hit/cut/spat on/stamped on.
"Why, I dont even know who the fuck you are and your getting up in my foice" my voice changed a little to a chicago mob boss at the end, I didn't know why at the time but I later realised that it was the great chicago mob boss Al Capone possesing me through the ether.
"the girl I liked liked you bumpkin, thats my beef, so now I will hurt you, to make me feel better" the stranger replied most pathetically.
"dude, thats seriously lame, come on, hear me now, I dont even know this broad who apparently likes me, but im a drug addict, I have no sex drive, I am no threat, I havent had a hard on in four years." i was bullshitting through my teeth, but i did it for a living so was quite natural and this seemed the best way to diffuse the situation.
"I dont believe you" said the stranger still sizing up to me, "When you were talking you eyes kept on going in a down left direction, that to me communicates your bullshitting" the was only about a foot between me and him.
"what the fuck man, are you the eye police or something" i was pissed he sussed me so quickly, but reasoned what ever i had said he would of dismissed it as bullshit, such was his animosity towards me. Realising speaking was a suckers sport i spat in his face and as he went to wipe the gob from his face i suckered him with a meaty right hook, twisting my body to create maximum force through body dynamics i brought me knee up to his face i had grabbed and begun to bring down. his nose made a cracking sound, blood began pouring as the sound of a dozen chairs being emptied resonated over from where his friends had been sat.
"little cunt" one of them said as he grabbed me and threw me to the floor, sending a table over as i landed. four of them took it in turns to kick and jump on me. i lay there for a while expecting the pain to be greater than remembering the chunky line of k i had done in the toilets from which i was returning had probably kicked in, and it would hurt when that had worn off. finally they were pulled off me by bouncers and escorted off the premises. i looked around whilst laying on the floor, noticing the strange red hue that wasn't there before. i tried to stand up but immediately fell back down. my friend came over and helped me up on to a chair.
"have you still got my k" my friend asked. i had a rummage around my pockets and nodded. "are you ok pumpkin?" i nodded again.
A few tables had been pushed over and glasses had smashed. mine and the strangers blood was being mopped by one of the bar staff. the footballers had left a bag containing a load of balls, which i motioned to my friend to collect so i could keep it as a prize.
"what do you want with a bag of balls pumpkin?" one of my friends girlfriends asked when i hopped back to the table, "it looks like you broke your ankle so cant see you using them."
"one mans balls is another mans gold" i replied, thinking i was being humerous/philosophical but probably just coming over a twat.
"Do you not want to go the hospital?" my friend with the k asked.
"manana manana, ill just have another line of your k for now if thats alright" i replied, lounging back across the built in sofa pina colada in hand.
"can you even make it to the toilet?" one of the group asked.
"ill just put the note in the bag, whats the worse that can happen?" i smiled, knowing my broken ankle meant a few weeks off work.
I've given up looking to edit your pieces, they're always beautifully written and genuinely compelling, I think punctuation and grammar might ruin your style mate, another great piece of outsider literature.
ReplyDelete