Hugo realising he misplaced an apostrophe on page 700“Hey, that’s my t-shirt!” shouted H, grabbing the yellow medium from P. “You know I haven’t made my numbers this week and you’re trying to steal my stuff!”
“I don’t give a fuck whose t-shirt it is,” snapped P. “Take it if you want. You think I want more fucking t-shirts?”
“I have taken it and even if you wanted it you couldn’t make me give it back.”
“But I don’t want it back. It’s a moot point.”
“It is fucking not moot. You know you’re not as strong as me and you’re not prepared to admit it.”
“Pretty much everyone’s stronger than me and I don’t give two fucks.”
“You do give two fucks. You’d like to be stronger.”
“Not enough to actually bother doing anything about it. Anyway, I’m faster than you.”
“As if that matters."
“Well why does strength matter?” said P, straightening up, having folded his 400th t-shirt of the day. He sealed his fourth box with brown tape and pushed it across the table to Rancid. Rancid carried the box to the warehouse where the trucks would pick them up later that evening.
“Fucking hell,” said H. “You finished your fourth already?”
“Yeah, because I don’t stand around whingeing about everything all day like some fucking moron.”
“I haven’t even finished my third.”
“Oh well. I’m off. I’ll see you back at the flat.”
“Don’t go yet! Help me with the rest of mine and then we’ll finish quicker.”
“What do you mean ‘we’, white man? I’ve finished mine and I’m going home for cigarettes and a bottle of wine.”
“You selfish cunt!" creamed a suddenly panicky H.
“Fuck you.”
“When’s fucking Vince arriving?”
“Vince? Who the fuck’s Vince?”
“Your mate, Vince.”
“I don’t have a mate called Vince. I don’t have mates for that matter.”
“Fuck off. You know, Vince. The cunt who fucked up the lighting during my play.”
“You appear to be senile.”
“Oh, not Vince. Arne!”
“Arne?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean Earl?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know when he’s arriving. Sometime between March and December he said.”
“So he’s really narrowed it down.”
*
“I bet you can’t read Les Miserables in one sitting,” said H suddenly, putting down his newspaper and looking across the filthy room at P.
“Why the fuck would I want to?”
“I didn’t say you’d want to, I just said I bet you can’t.”
“Of course I could. Anyone could. As long as you’re allowed to get up for food, water and a shit.”
“Ok, you’re on.”
“What do you mean? I’m not going to do it.”
“You just said you would!”
“Balls I did! I said anyone could do it.”
“You couldn’t.”
“Of course I could, fuckwit. But who could be fucked?”
“I’ll put money on it.”
“How much?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Not enough. It’s days out of my life.”
“No it isn’t, you’ll be reading classic literature. You want to read it anyway don’t you?’
“Yeah, in my own time, relaxed, without you watching over me.”
“I won’t watch you.”
“How will you know I’ve done it?”
“I’ll quiz you on it.”
“Two hundred bucks?”
“Ok. Go!”
“Go? You want me to start now? I’ve got work in three hours.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
“I dunno. Fifty hours.”
“Are you an imbecile?”
“It’s 1000 pages!”
“No it isn’t!”
“At least.”
“Let me get it.”
H left the room and returned directly, clutching the penguin classic edition.
“It’s 1232,” he announced.
“Well, even if you could read a page a minute, that’s 1232 minutes.”
“Well calculated.”
“Which is about 20 hours.”
“Uh huh.”
“Am I allowed to sleep?” asked P.
“No. And anyway, I reckon it’s a minute and a half per page at least, maybe even two. It’s small writing.”
“So up to forty hours! I can’t do that without sleep!”
“Just read fast.”
“I might die.”
“I’ll allow naps. Three one-hour naps. But you have to finish in thirty reading hours. That’s the bet.”
“Two hundred?”
“Yep. The only breaks are for the naps, eating, drinking, pissing or shitting. But try to piss and shit at the same time.”
“So with each break you’ll stop the clock?”
“Yeah, it’ll be like time out.”
“Ok. I’ll start on Thursday when I have three days off.”
“Ok. Do you think Lou will arrive soon?”
“Lou? Who’s that?”
“Your mate Lou from Melbourne.”
“Earl?”
“Yeah.”
*
“Jesus Christ, I gotta go to that fuckhole of a factory tomorrow and fold those infernal fucken t-shirts,” cried H suddenly, throwing down his empty can of beer. It settled amongst a pile of identical cans. “What a fucked up job.”
“Not me,” said P, cracking open another can. “I got three days off.”
“Yeah so you keep fucking telling me you fucking clock.”
“Yeah except I’ll be spending it reading fucking Hugo.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Whaddya mean? You bet me two hundred bucks!”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”
“Oh, what’s the alternative? Hand you cash and drink beer for three days?”
“That’s what I’d do.”
“Well I don’t have two hundred to spare. I can’t afford to lose the bet so I’ll have to read it. Wait a minute. How will you be able to ensure I stick to the rules?”
“Fuck the rules! What difference do the rules make? You either read it over thirty hours or you don’t. I’ll be able to decipher that in the quiz. I know the book intimately.”
“Fucking nerd.”
“When are you starting the read-a-thon?”
“Tomorrow morning first thing. I want to get a good night’s sleep before I start. I’ve bought a heap of coffee and cigarettes, I won’t drink, and I’ll fucken show you what a fucking intellect I am.”
“Intellect doesn’t enter into it, cock. You read it or you don’t. You don’t have to understand it. Just relate the plot in detail.”
“Well, while I’m reading the fucking tome I may as well appreciate it.”
“Fine, whatever.”
“Have fun folding t-shirts, you cad.”
“Suck this, fuck-top,” concluded H, flopping his dick out.
“That repulses me.”
*
“Let’s go,” said P, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah I’m fucken ready,” answered H, stubbing out a cigarette on P’s copy of Les Miserables and picking up his bag.
“Hey, it was a good bet, a real contest. Well done. A fine challenge! Your mistake, however, was to believe that I’d take two minutes per page. A miscalculation to be sure but them’s the breaks.”
“Fuck off.”
“Look, I’ll spend some of the money on stocking up the beer fridge when we get to Rhodes.”
“You’d fucken better, you ball-less hack.”
“You’ll get over it, piss-face.”
“What time’s the fucken ferry leave?” asked H, shaking his watch which hadn't ticked since 1987.
“In two hours so we’d better fucken hurry.”
“It’s just over at Pireus. Seven kilometres away.”
“We’d better get a cab,” decided P.
“Hey, what if Evan arrives when we’re away?”
“Who the fuck’s Evan?”
“Evan! You never know who I’m talking about you dim-witted rake!
“You mean Earl?”
“Yes! Earl!” shouted H.
“I’ve left a note and a map with Maria.”
“But he was expecting to work at the t-shirt factory wasn’t he?”
“He knows nothing about the t-shirt factory.”
“I told you numerous times.”
“Even if you did, which you didn’t, why should I have told him?”
“Making small talk?” suggested H.
“Anyway, he can get work at the restaurant at Rhodes. Much better job.”
“Washing dishes?”
“Think of the women there.”
“T-shirts pay better,” pointed out H.
“I’d rather eat shit than fold another t-shirt. He’ll thank us for it.”
“Alright, let’s get going you pin-dicked wonder.”
Posts
29 comments:
You've captured marriage perfectly Bob. One long squabble-fest until you stop speaking.
I thought Perseus was going to be telling this story? You're beating him now two posts to one.
I know this has been "humoured up" for our benefit, but did you guys actually relate to each other like that? With the word fuck inserted into almost every sentence?
This is a coincidence only. I started posting this fictionalised version a few months ago, before Perseus announced his intentions. I therefore thought I'd bring it to a quick conclusion to get it out of the way before he started.
And H isn't me. It's another guy. I'm Earl. And the swearing? Nah. This isn't really representative of P and H at all. Their story just gave me a starting point and some story ideas. In fact, the adventures of P & H are tangential asides to the main story, which revolves around my own squalid ambulations across Europe. That story will not be posted here.
Bloody hell. Using words like tangential and ambulations this early on a Sunday. You clearly had less to drink last night than I did.
It's piss funny, don't stop now.
Not too much to drink, but I did eat half a sheep at our local Turkish restaurant last night - despite my previously stated disdain for the creature. Of course, doner is only barely recognisable as meat.
Well, I got a big sense of deja vu reading that. How odd that all those years ago, in another city in another country, Perseus was being challenged to read a particular literary tome for a $200wager when years later, a group of bloggers pledged all manner of reward if he could do a similar read-a-thon (War and Peace) over a long weekend.
IT DIDN'T HAPPEN.
And I suspect this one won't as well. It's true that some things just never change.
And one question. Is it possible for a man to pee and poo at the same time? I've sometimes wondered. Women can do it; sometimes it's unavoidable.
Melba, all I can tell you is as far as I know, this particular bet did take place (it may or may not have involved a cash incentive) and as far as Perseus claims, he read Les Miserable in one 'sitting'.
As to pooing and weeing at the same time, firstly it seems we're willing to discuss anything here and secondly, yes, it's possible.
Interesting. Thank you Bob. I didn't just come up with that question though. It was in the dialogue.
Yes I know. But you'd thought about it before. Anyway, physiology is very interesting.
As to pooing and weeing at the same time, firstly it seems we're willing to discuss anything here and secondly, yes, it's possible.
But ...
how?
I don't understand.
I've clearly led a sheltered life.
Bob, I'll leave it to you, unless you'd like me to have a crack at it?
Well one of you needs to.
How will I sleep tonight if I don't know? Hm?
Well I reckon you'd be sitting on the loo, and just tuck the penis inside the toilet bowl and then you could wee and poo at the same time.
It's the only way.
I guess logic would tell us that.
I honestly can't think of another way it could be done.
I honestly can't understand why you're discussing it.
Fuck it was hot in Sydney today.
I started 'Les Mis' on Friday night, finished it Sunday night. It had something to do with France.
I got a coffee, not $200.
Bang on, Melba. Can we move on now?
I know from personal experience that it's possible to poo and vomit at the same time.
Now, let us turn to more uplifitng matters.
My work here is done.
Next thread!
PS Perseus, wouldn't you even like to know what my pledge was going to be to you for reading W&P in a long weekend?
A bad op shop seascape, just the way you like your art.
I honestly can't understand why you're discussing it.
Because it's there.
We could always discuss your love life instead, if that'd make you less queasy Wari.
I'm more than happy to leave the poo/wee thread in the past now that my curiosity has been sated.
Have you noticed that dogs and perhaps even cats wee and poo as separate activities. And they have great flow control.
We could always discuss your love life instead, if that'd make you less queasy Wari.
Let's not go there EMS. It's a squalid, squalid story.
Have you noticed that dogs and perhaps even cats wee and poo as separate activities. And they have great flow control.
I dunno, I met a cat once who chose to do both activities at the same time.
It did get skittled by a truck on the highway in the end though, so perhaps we shouldn't live by it's example. Poor little bugger.
Let's not go there EMS. It's a squalid, squalid story.
How squalid exactly? Don't tease.
Fuxache Wari,
You've been dropping hints about this for weeks now!
Ok, so it's squalid. So what?
It may have escaped your attention but sordid tales of moral turpitude are what made Perseus what he is today.
You too can be an emotionally shattered recluse living in a God foresaken Coastal backwater!
Carpe Diem!
It involves one departing my premises today actually. Me going back to Asia on December 12 and returning not necessarily alone a week later. It involves Perseus' comment about a picture I sent him. And I quote, "It looks like a picture of a middle aged guy with two hookers" To which I replied, "It IS a picture of a middle aged guy with two hookers". It involves my thoughts on prostitution and the nature of relationships in general, and I have lots of experience, unfortunately. Not with hookers, just relationships.
It is a work in progress and I will deliver. Well I'll deliver it to Perseus, as I don't have posting privileges of course. He'll no doubt then decide whether it is a tale worthy of gracing this hallowed piece of cyberspace.
this hallowed piece of cyberspace
I guess by hallowed you mean debauched.
Pretty well Bob, pretty well.
I'm talking like that after watching The Castle last night. Fuck me, what a classic. How such a dag can be such a good bloke.
Jesus, I was logged in as Rachael again!
It's me really, she was allowed on the computer for 5 minutes to check gmail and I post like a dickhead without checking the identity.
I could have deleted and and re posted but who could be bothered? I did it once before.
Thanks Rach.
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