Ah’ve worked oot thit if ah achieve five orgasms a day till ah’m thirty ah’ll huv hud a roughly average sex life. Cannae make number five though, that wid require chemical assistance, cause ah fair shoot ma load ay gravity-assisted spunk intae her. That’s whit gaun oan top does fir ye!
Sleep hits ays like a sledgehammer. Ma last thought as ah drift under: Ballingry? Whaire the fuck’s that!
Whin ah come to, thir’s still nae sign ay ma faither n it’s dark outside. My eyes are blurred wi too much sex-sleep, that comatose state when yir plunged right doon intae deep sleep n come up quickly, like a diver thit gits the bends. Ah kin make oot the digital crystal display oan the cloak:
8:57
— Wake up, Jen, ah shout in panic, — we’ve goat tae be up the Welfare!
She rolls ower. — For fuck’s sake, Jason, give me five minutes to revive!
But ah gits right up and whips oan the keks, strides n then the rest ay the clathes. Fair play tae her, she follays suit. Ah’m watchin her gittin dressed n it turns ays oan that much ah feel the wee fellay risin again, but ah decide tae hit the bog n gie they choppers a brush tae git rid ay the scum ay sleep.
Ah cannae believe ma eyes whin wi git up the Welfare, Ambrose oan the leash. The place is mobbed n thir’s a big banner up, a sheet wi words in black paint which spelclass="underline"
Aw ah kin think is thit one’s the auld man’s name n the other’s the name ay Kravy’s ma! Muh freaky speculations git confirmed whin she waltzes ower drunk, n flashes a ring oan her engagement finger. The auld cunt’s been oan that bus tae Dunfy visitin HM Samuel, the hoor!
— Spur ay the moment, homes, the auld boy says a wee bit coyly, his airm roond Kravy’s ma. — Thir hud ey been a spark, but we wir eywis baith involved. Then ah stoaped leavin the crib… the auld boy involuntarily touches his foundation-poodired puss.
— Thoat this stallion had broken ootay the stable n taken the high road, Kravy’s ma, Frances ah’ll need tae start callin the hoor, goes. — It wis only whin Ally came back, n she smiles through hur tears, — thit eh telt me thit yir faither wis still in toon!
Ehs mates hud a whip-roond, aw the auld miners, n pit oan a rare spread; aw different sannies, sausage rolls n a karaoke wi tons ay booze. Ah cracks open a can ay lager, n Jenni does the same. — This is great, she sais, — my family would never do anything like this!
Ah dinnae think she kens her auld boy aw that well. Big Tam wis never shy aboot pittin ehs hand in ehs poakit, n eh’s no bad company oan a night oot. That wis a guid yin at Starkers, ah’ll gie the hoor that.
A nice buffet, but, ya hoor. As a sweet-tooth, ah’m fair taken by the big Black Forest gateau, so ah cuts masel a piece ay thon action. Ah pick up a fork n lift a wee stodgy chunk ay nirvana intae ma gob. Jenni smiles at ays. — I need to pee, she says, risin and headin fir the bogs as ah clock that erse feelin like ah’m in Eden.
Jist then a viper enters paradise. That big cunt Monty comes in n looks aroond. The punters that notice him are a bit wary, but maist ur jist absorbed in ma auld man’s mate Alec’s rendition ay ‘The Green Green Grass of Home’. Big Monty comes up tae me, n bends doon, stickin ehs face in ma ear. — Hear you’ve been makin insinuations aboot dugs, eh sais, ehs breath stinkin ay something. — Lit’s step outside, the hoor threatens softly, — or I bring some ay the boys in. It wid be a shame tae see this happy occasion git ruined, eh smiles, lookin doon at perr Ambrose in disgust, whae’s under the table, chowin oan some quiche.
Ah cannae really say that much, as ah’ve goat a bit ay gateau in ma mooth. Ah forces it doon n turns tae the Duke whae husnae heard what he said but whae looks awfay unhappy. — Jist sortin something oot, ah explain wi a wink. — it’s aw cool, ah’ll be back in a minute.
N ah gits up n the big cunt n me baith start walkin tae the door, mair like wi were best mates thin gunfighters.
The funny thing is thit ah realise that ah dinnae feel scared at aw. Ah’m jist ready tae take a slap, n that’s aw it wid be here, wi aw they cunts around; mibbe a couple ay digs. Ah’ll go doon, listen tae the hollow threats n thir honour will be restored n the perty willnae be disrupted.
Whin ah gits outside ah see that Pars cunt Klepto’s thaire n aw. The hert’s flutterin a wee bit now. A big cunt like Monty’ll jist gie a wee cunt like me a couple ay wee digs. Eftir aw, honour will only be compromised by a sustained liberty-takin dwarf massacre. A vicious wee bastard like Klepto though, that hoor will go slutty oan ye. Ah actually feel masel shrinkin fae him, movin taewards Big Monty like eh wis ma protector, hopin eh unloads first tae pit ays oot ma misery. Eh susses muh game, steppin back, littin that Klepto cunt take ower. — Ye obviously didnae git the message, jockey, you n that Chinky mate ay yours, the hoor sneers, n eh pushes ays in the chist, workin up the boatil tae dae something mair. Ah takes a step back, jist as Richey the Assaultee comes oot the Welfare tae stand by ma side.
— Whae the fuck ur you? Monty asks incredulously.
Richey goes, — Look, this is a very good friend of mine, n ah hear Monty laugh behind ays.
Ah’m aboot tae tell the daft hoor that ah’ve everything worked oot and that ehs blowin it aw n eh should go inside, when Klepto says tae Richey, — What the fuck ur you sayin? Eh? Eh?
But the daft cunt stands ehs groond. — Ah’m jist sayin thit this is a good friend ay mines. I think we all need to calm doon here, eh sais, straight oot that ScotRail staff trainin manual, the chapter oan diffusin violence, written by so-called behavioural experts whae’ve never faced a radge doon in thir puff.
Of course, it disnae impress the Klepto fellay. — What…? eh gasps in outrage, like Richey hud accused um ay shaggin ehs kid brother.
Daft hoor thit Richey is, eh’s still puffed up, rooted tae the spot. — Look, mate—
— Ah’ll fuckin mate ye! Klepto roars, n eh rams ehs nut intae that ginger puss. N as Richey faws tae the groond ah’m sure thir’s a big smile playin acroas ehs lips.
— Whae’s next? Klepto says in excited satisfaction, lookin right at me. — You want some then, ya cunt? Eh?
Ah glances roond at Big Monty, almost in appeal, then at perr Richey, lying spreadeagled. — Nup, ah goes.
This sort ay stops Klepto in ehs tracks. Eh disnae really ken what tae say fir a bit, so eh opts fir, — Shitein cunt!
— Sorry, mate, ah’m no much ay a fighter, ah explain, stickin ma mitts intae ma jaykit poakit, soas eh kin see ah’m no aboot tae swing. Ah feels something blunt and metallic in thaire. It’s yon fork. Ah dinnae even mind ay slippin it in thaire. Probably no very sherp, but.
— Whaire’s yir posh wee burd then? She no here tae look eftir ye? eh goes, pushin ays in the chest. — Wee hing-oot wis—
Blunt or no, eh shouldnae be giein it loads tae a tooled man, n ah whip the fork oot n ram intae ehs puss. N fuck me, it’s no that blunt, like a silver bullet oan a vampire, ya hoor! It’s stickin oot the side ay ehs face, embedded in ehs imitation Fife cheek. Ah backs away, but ehs paralysed wi the shock. Whin the hoor finds ehs tongue, it’s like a bairn greetin, — Eh chibbed ays! Eh fahkin chibbed ays!
— It wis jist a fork, ah protest, stepping back. Ah looks at Monty whae’s jist standin thaire. — Ah telt um that ah cannae fight. What else am ah meant tae dae? ah appeal again.
Monty’s aboot tae drop-kick ays when thir’s a cry fae across the road n a healthy mob ay the local Young Team led by yon big Craig, wi some lassies in tow, aw come chargin ower. — That’s the big cunt, Soakin Wi Rain points at Monty. — Gied ays a bairn n did a runner! The CSA’s gittin tae ken you’re in Dunfermline, son! she screeches.