Ex Drummer Page #2

- I'm going to check Pa.

Go and check him then.

And you know there's no smoking indoors!

- Don't tell me!

Tell him...

- Go and see Pa, you filthy slut!

I've had enough of you!

Don't you want anything to drink?

- No, thanks. What's up with your pa?

Pa's not well. Now and then we have

to check that he hasn't hurt himself.

Hurt himself? Could he hang himself?

With an extension lead or something?

Come outside. I'll show you something.

Have you lived here long?

Of course, you can't compare it

to where you live.

And your pa is upstairs?

We rehearse here.

We can make a row here.

Shall I play something?

- Yes, go on.

This is a bar.

A bar?

- Yes, with all that beer.

Right.

- We play here. Just a minute.

Where did you learn that?

- Dunno. Just tried it.

Just tried it, f***ed around.

How's Pa?

He'd sh*t himself again.

- Again? The filthy old bugger.

I hear you can't play the drums?

- No.

Is there something you can do?

- Yes.

I can see from a long way away

if someone is wearing a wig.

Get out!

- Do something about your fridge, slut!

Take him outside! Outside, I said!

I'm going. My arm! Calm down.

- Get out of here!

F***ing whore!

- Shut your face!

Her wig is a bit of a sore point.

- She doesn't always wear it.

What's up with your pa? Is he ill?

Eh?

- Yes, he's...

Haven't you got a job?

- I'm on the dole.

I get money like that.

So why get a job?

Got a light?

- What?

Got a light?

- Hang on.

Give that here.

We thought about doing

a cover of Devo's Mongoloid.

Mongoloid? That goes with our image.

- Mongols, handicapped.

Because we are, aren't we?

- I'm not a mongol.

Isn't that the same thing? Handicapped

or mongol, that's the same thing. F***!

What's going on?

F***!

My head, man!

- Take it easy!

What about that cover?

- Devo's Mongoloid, man!

Who?

- Mongoloid.

Oh, right.

Where's that f***in' Moroccan?

How long have we been here?

How's your pa?

- What about my pa?

How long has he been there like that?

- Don't know. A long time.

I feel sorry for your ma.

- Yes, so do I.

She's some crazy babe and

she's stuck with your pa.

How long since she's had sex?

- Don't start, eh? Don't start.

How long?

- Please don't start.

I'm not starting. I'm just asking you

a question, that's all.

Eh?

- I don't know.

I think she's some crazy babe.

- You'd know that better than me.

I wouldn't mind f***in' her.

Her big tits really turn me on.

Shut your kisser!

No, I won't shut my kisser.

I think she's one hot b*tch.

I wanna shoot between her tits.

- F*** off, man.

You f*** off!

- You can get it yourself.

Don't laugh like that, man.

- I was doing OK, wasn't I?

Sing a bit quieter. I can't hear myself.

OK. Three, two, one...

I don't know the lyrics,

you'll have to sing.

F***ing hell, man.

Can't you sing a bit quieter?

That's quiet, isn't it?

I can't hear myself, Ivan.

Can you sing a bit quieter?

Sing on your own.

- That's not so difficult, is it?

Mongoloid, he was a mongoloid,

happier than you and me,

Come on, again.

- Do I have to sing?

Shut your kisser! May I?

- Shall I sing?

OK. Three, two, one...

F***in' hell, man!

I wanna f*** you.

Not now, Jan'll be home any minute.

You mustn't.

Come here.

- Hey!

Calm down!

I wanna poke my dick in your p*ssy.

- Leave me alone.

F***in' hell, come here.

- I said no.

Come on, Jan's not here. Don't go on.

F***in' hell. Come on.

No!

- Come on!

I'm really gonna give you one.

- And what'll you do if Jan comes home?

Let me have that p*ssy! You've got

a sexy stomach. F***in' hell!

What a sexy f***in' stomach!

Will you stop it?

- What a sexy stomach!

Get off!

D'you want a kick in the balls?

Bad drumming doesn't come easily.

Of course not. You can play the drums.

- Yes, but I can't do it.

It's really difficult.

And the number?

They're pleased.

- Are they?

Yes, it's a good number.

- But can those guys play?

They're fantastic musicians.

You wouldn't say so to look at them.

They look like a bunch of mongols.

Well, they really are

fantastic musicians. All of them.

They're good. Really good.

We're doing well.

Who's that?

- What?

What is he doing here?

- He's come to watch.

Chuck that f*ggot out!

- He's come to watch.

Verbeek, chuck that pansy out.

- But he's just come to watch!

F***, are you asleep again?

- I was just dozing off.

You mean you've been asleep all day!

- Yeah, sure!

Get him a beer! I'm going to

get some cigarettes. Hurry up!

I'm doing it!

- Jesus!

Not for me, thanks.

- No?

What does he do for work?

- He just messes about. Fucks around.

Just fucks around.

Is it a boy or a girl?

- Hasn't got a cock or tits.

So it's a little girl.

- Yeah.

What about you? Are you that writer?

- Yes.

Haven't read any of your books.

- Can you read?

I'm not really interested in reading.

Did you go to school?

- Until I was 15.

So, yeah. Got a cigarette?

Yes. Here you are.

Thanks. I stink.

- Yeah, you do.

My c*nt does too.

- Your c*nt?

Yeah. Offish. Rotten fish.

Are you happy about that?

What can you do about it? If it stinks,

it stinks. It's probably rotten.

We used to have a gardener

and his cock was all sticky.

He stank of pigeon sh*t,

the whole thing did.

His cock stank of pigeon sh*t?

- Yeah. And it was all sticky.

What are you talking about now?

Are you moaning again?

- No.

Do you have to moan, the one time that

we've got a visitor? Aren't you happy?

Yeah, yeah.

- We'll be on stage together next week.

Yeah, right!

- Drop dead first.

What?

- I'm off. Bye.

Say hello to Lio.

Who's this?

- This is Christine.

Christine is

the Minister for Hygiene's daughter.

Hygiene? Then your vagina

won't stick of rotten fish, will it?

Hello. Dries speaking.

Hello Dries. It's Christine here.

From yesterday. We slept together.

Yes. I know who you are.

What d'you want?

I rang to ask something.

If it's for sex

you'll have to wait until Lio's home.

I only have sex with other women

if Lio's there.

No, it's not for sex.

Well, that's not the main reason.

I want to ask you something.

- Do you? What?

I'm in the middle of writing my thesis

and I'm doing a survey.

What kind of thesis?

- For my sociology degree.

The title is Collective Sorrow.

Good title. I'm mad about titles.

Ask your question.

What were you thinking, I mean,

I'd like to know where you were,

what you thought and

what was the first thing you said etc.

when you heard that

King Boudewijn had died?

Well, well. Sweet Christine

with your inspiring tits and

a c*nt you can drink honey out of.

So you think that

events such as the death

of His Majesty King Boudewijn the First

lead to collective sorrow?

Darling. Firstly,

collective sorrow doesn't exist.

Secondly, it'd only happen

if the price of petrol or bread

suddenly shot through the roof.

But not when someone dies.

Certainly not a moronic arsehole

like King Boudewijn.

OK, for the first few days

after something like that

there may be

a sort of collective surprise.

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