Cuban Fury Page #5

with your shitty dancing.

- I was doing the steps.

- Doing the steps?

Any prick can do the steps.

That prick can do the steps.

Where's the f***ing heart?

Where's el corazn?

- I don't know.

- What's that?

- I don't know.

- You don't know.

Well, in that case, why don't

you piss off back to the bar,

grab yourself a pint of bitter and

watch like all the f***ing losers?

Don't.

Scrub it off of me.

This filthy tan.

- Big news, ball bag.

- What?

Shift. When you were at home last

night making love to your hand,

guess who went disco dancing with

the sexually-frustrated lady boss.

- Who?

- Me. I did.

- Yeah, got that.

- Oh, my God. She can move.

And the sweat dripping off of her,

it was like a waterfall

of babies' tears.

Mm, poetic.

Ah, I think we all know

where this is headed.

Inside of her.

- You know what I mean?

- Yeah.

- Why are you telling me all this?

- Don't be a virgin.

- I know you made a play for her.

- No, I didn't.

A mix tape? Are you

f***ing John Cusack now?

You took it.

I didn't want you to be embarrassed.

She'd laugh in your face.

I made it for her car.

- Just give me it, will you?

- Your big arms are too slow.

- Hey, guys.

- Hey, Jules.

- How's it going?

- Really good. Really good.

Last night was fun, right?

- So much fun.

- Yeah, it was good.

Helen was obviously trying

to hustle us all, but...

Yeah, it was a good night.

How are your little footsies?

- You know what? Pretty sore.

- I'll bet they are.

We, uh, stopped off at a

club on the way home.

That's right.

I'm going to go.

I've got things to do.

- See you later, Brucie.

- Bye, Bruce.

Drew! Ow!

Oh, sh*t.

Oh, sh*t. Oh.

- Are you all right?

- Yeah, just having a manicure.

- This came. Will you sign for it?

- Sure.

Can you... Sorry.

- Thank you. Cheers.

- Thanks.

Can I, um...

Oh, this is bad.

Help.

- That was so fun.

- Yeah.

- We should do it again.

- Yeah, maybe.

What's erm... What's with the tape?

Oh, shoot.

You caught me.

Er, it's for your car.

Oh, my God. You made an inlay.

Yes, I did.

Nobody makes inlays anymore.

Yeah, it's just a silly, little

touch I thought you'd like.

That's really...

That's really nice.

Now I feel like I have

to get you something.

That would be so cute.

That's really nice. Thank you.

- How was your bubble bath?

- Ha-ha!

- Was it rejuvenating?

- That's classic, Gary, classic.

Listen, I love the craic.

One might say I'm

addicted to the craic,

but right now I just

want to get my head down

and plough my way through this

bucket of balls, all right?

Yeah?

I think we've got a new heading

for our weekly roundup.

Unexplained homoerotic encounters

with rugged foreign males. Mickey?

- Nil.

- Me, nil. Brucie?

Ah, f*** the weekly roundup.

F*** it.

Oh, dear. What's wrong with her?

Come on, Bruce. Who was he?

- What are you hiding from us?

- Nothing.

Aw.

Did the sexy sultan's rich bath

milk irritate your sensitive skin?

- F*** off.

- Oh!

Hey, are you all right, Gary? Gary?

- I'm sorry. Are you OK?

- Yeah, fine mate.

- Yeah, forget about it.

- Hey, hey, hey. Don't go.

Yeah, this is the one, the

trusty arsehole wedge.

Hey, hey. Don't... Gary, don't...

Stop it. Stop. Oh! Gary! Oh!

Gary, don't!

- You keep running!

- Gary!

- Right.

- Help me!

Par three!

- Argh!

- Or should I say par arsehole!

I didn't mean to hit

you, Gary! Please!

Keep running!

Ah!

Oh! Oi!

- Stop it!

- Ah!

Argh! Oi!

- I dance!

- Fore!

I dance, all right?

Please stop hitting balls at me.

Wee!

Salsa?

- With the little shoes?

- Yes.

Yes, salsa with the little shoes.

Why?

I was doing it for that girl.

- What girl?

- The... the butterfly.

The eponymous butterfly

from the "Tale of the

Butterfly and the Parsnip".

- The parsnip, the butterfly.

- Oh.

What, you thought the parsnip

would win the butterfly

by doing a bit of

tiny shoe shuffle?

Yes. I know. It's stupid, isn't it?

And then there's Drew.

Do you remember Drew?

Oh, yes, that horse's arse.

Yeah. Well, he likes her, too.

He might be a horse's arse, but he's

better at all this than I am so...

I might just let him

get on with it.

Yeah, mate, just...

It's probably for the best.

Just... just forget about her, eh?

He's back.

Jesus Christ, Ron.

You f***in' made me jump.

Who is she, Bruce?

Mm?

The girl in the club the other

night, she's the one, hm?

- It doesn't matter.

- No, of course, it doesn't matter.

That's why you've got a

face like a dropped scone.

It's just stupid. I wanted to

make her fall in love with me.

Mm... and then along comes this other

fella... tall, better looking...

Let's face it. His dick

couldn't be any smaller.

That's why you came back.

La doa, the woman.

It's salsa, Ron.

- It's always about a woman.

- Mm-hmm.

I just wanted you to make

me good enough for her.

Why don't you just keep standing

in front of that mirror

and do what you did in the

club the other night?

- Do me a favour and do that.

- What?

Oh, come on. You know

what you did. You felt it.

- You want me to do it now?

- Come on. It's just us girls, Brucie.

I don't want to.

- Oh, he bottles it.

- Bottles?

What a surprise.

- Where are you going?

- Come on. We got work to do.

What kind of work?

We're going to get sh*t-faced

and play board games.

- Eye piece for one eye?

- Monocle.

Mm.

Sorry, why are we doing this again?

- Sits on top of a Christmas tree?

- A fairy.

No, a star.

- That's time.

- Oh, all right.

- That's for you.

- Go.

OK, they ate this much to God's

annoyance in the Garden of Eden.

- Apple.

- Apple is correct.

Oh, OK, he... Um, he's a an actor.

- He does films.

- It's a purple one.

- Yeah and?

- You have to do an impression.

I'm not doing an impression.

- Well, you have to.

- No.

- Do the impression, Bruce.

- No, I can't.

- Just do the impression.

- No, I'm not doing an impression.

- What are you so scared of, eh?

- I'm not.

- Just do the impression, then.

- No, I'm not doing...

Why are you so afraid of

what people might think?

Why can't you put

yourself out there?

- I mean...

- So do the impression.

- It's almost time.

- Do the impression.

- That's it. Time.

- Do the f***ing impression!

- Why are you always shouting at me?

- Because you f***ing quit on me.

- I did not quit.

- You had the world at your feet.

- I did not quit.

- And you walked away, didn't you?

- No, I didn't.

- Oh, yes, you did.

You keep swanning back in

here and swanning out again.

- Swanning back in...

- They broke me. All right?

If you want to know, the night of

the competition, they broke me.

A gang of kids, bullies, they just...

they broke it out of me.

- I didn't want to do it anymore!

- Some big boys gave you a shoeing.

You're a male dancer.

Do you think I never took any sh*t?

So what are you going

to do about it, eh?

Are you going to hide away,

or maybe crawl under your duvet

and watch "Bridget Jones Part

Two" with some white Maltesers?

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