Ex Drummer

I've got to say, I can cope with

lots of different feelings at once.

I can be totally happy

yet quite ill at the same time.

I'm really consumed with doubts about

life and also a disregard for death.

This combination is perfectly possible

if your spirit is strong,

if you're robust. I mean, for someone

who wants to fight to the bitter end

and is as cynical as the King of Siam.

Someone like me.

I've got that in me,

that doubting and moods that change.

I'd even go as far as to say that

those feelings dictate my work.

Apart from that, I just blunder along.

Looking to see

which way the wind is blowing

and making sure I don't crack up.

That's all.

The price of fame?

It's a strange phenomenon. I make no

secret of the fact that I live in Ostend

and people do come and bother me

now and then.

Some even go as far as ringing the

doorbell and asking for an autograph.

Sometimes there are young chicks

who think I'll want to f*** them.

Strange people, strange visitors.

Like yesterday. Three handicapped guys

came round yesterday.

Real losers.

And they were handicapped as well.

They had a rock band without a drummer

and they were looking for a drummer.

I asked how come they'd come to me

and the first one said

that his mother had thought of me.

The second one shouted that

he'd heard I was good at drumming.

The third one didn't say anything.

He just sat there, staring at my girl.

Dangerous guy. He was the singer.

And his handicap was a speech

impediment. He spoke with a lisp.

Usually you can't really refer to a lisp

as a handicap but in his case you could.

He'd also been to prison for assault.

More than once.

He said that he kind of specialised

in assault at the time.

Koen De Geyter

mainly used to beat up women.

The arrogant f***ing b*tches.

I'd like to drag their kissers open,

if you get me.

The way they take a drag on a cigarette.

You ever seen one take a drag?

Eh? Have you?

- Yes, every day.

How they suck on it with their stupid

lips. I'd like to drag them open.

Get what I mean? Get it?

Watch 'em next time. I've seen 'em.

I'm not taking that!

And how they always

step in the puddles when it rains.

Never round them, in them.

As if they don't see the puddles.

No, can't say I've ever noticed that.

And how they use the phone.

Ever noticed that?

How they use the phone?

A b*tch on a phone...

I'd like to beat the hell out of her.

I'd like to shove the phone

down their kisser.

And when they park...

They're finally parked OK

and then they go forward a bit.

And backward a bit.

And then forward again.

And backward again. And forward again.

And backward again.

And then they're parked OK.

The second one had a stiff arm.

Well, he had an arm he couldn't bend.

He was gay, although

he didn't really look like a f*ggot.

He was the one

who kept on about his mother,

which made me decide that

his interminable mother complex

could be regarded as a handicap.

His name was Jan Verbeek, the only

child of Gaston and Suzanne Verbeek.

His future looked bright

in a world like this one.

And the family bathed in bliss,

as it were.

But then it all went wrong.

And how come Jan's got a stiff arm

and his mother is bald

I don't know.

But Koen says that

it's to do with Jan's first love.

Apparently it was

a traumatic experience.

My arm! My arm! Go away.

One day, mowing his grass

became too much for Pa Verbeek.

From then on Jan had to do

the household jobs.

Loser!

The third one was almost deaf.

Even though, at first glance,

he looked blind.

His name is Ivan, he was the guitarist

with the band without a drummer.

Ivan thinks being deaf is the most

ridiculous handicap someone can have.

Ivan wanted to become a rock star.

Deaf people don't become rock stars.

"You're better off blind," he said.

"You've got more chance.

A blind man playing is so pathetic

you're behind him,

even if it's only out of pity."

He was married to Marleen

and they had a child, Mia.

Look! What's this?

What's this?

I can't play without taking something.

- I know, it's the same every week.

What?

- It's the same every week.

I'm telling you,

it's gonna be my day today.

The guys were at the door.

I just let them in.

What a bunch of losers!

They're handicapped. Just look at them.

- Smell them. They stink.

Fantastic, eh? Three handicapped guy, s

with a rock band without a drummer

looking for fame. And success.

- They want your success.

That's obvious, isn't it?

- Darling, we'll use them.

There's a story in this.

What do you want?

We've been fans for ages. We've seen you

on TV... your books... interviews.

You're quite well known, eh?

- We read that you could play the drums.

What?

- He can play the drums.

Yes, we need a drummer.

But I think there's a problem.

Is there? What?

- Eh?

What problem?

- You're not handicapped.

The fourth band member

also has to have a handicap.

But you knew I wasn't handicapped.

Doesn't have to be much. A mole or

a wart or something that you can't see.

Dries, you haven't got a handicap.

- What? What did she say?

That's it then, guys.

No handicap, no drummer in your band.

Yes, but...

Can you play?

- He doesn't want to.

Can't he play the drums?

- I'll think about it. Come back later.

What?

He'll think about it. We'll come back.

- Tomorrow?

Right.

I told you.

- We're off.

He's much too clean.

- I could only ask, eh?

You can see he's much too clean.

- Come on. Now isn't the right time.

Dries speaking.

- De Geyter here. I forgot something.

What?

The band's only going to perform once.

Just one performance and that's it.

OK. Now I've got you on the phone,

I will join the band.

Really? Great! What about the handicap?

I've got a handicap, quite a

conspicuous one. I can't play the drums.

Oh. OK.

- And I've got a good name for the band.

The Feminists.

- The what? Feminists?

Yes, four handicapped guys

are just as good

as four feminist b*tches? Get it?

Oh. Yes. OK. See you tomorrow.

Say hello to Lio.

OK. See you tomorrow.

Who was that?

- Koen De Geyter.

What a sucker! You say you can't play

the drums and he just believes you.

I can't play the drums.

- You can.

And you can speak perfect French.

Why d'you absolutely want to play

with that f***ing band?

I don't really know. I think

I want to step outside my happy world.

Descend into

the depths of stupidity, ugliness,

obtuseness, unfaithfulness and fake.

Latch onto the life of losers

but without belonging to that world

and in the knowledge

that I can always return

to my own world.

And to you.

Ma?

Ma?

Ma? Have you gone deaf?

Why don't you answer?

Is that the next step?

Are you going deaf?

This is Dries Vanhegen. This is my ma.

Are you the famous author?

I haven't read any of your books.

A lot of people say that.

That's the price of fame.

You haven't got a drink. Want a beer?

- No, thanks.

Are there any beers?

- You know where the fridge is.

Yes. And where your stupid head is.

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