Jebiga Page #5

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When I was younger,

I was a little wild, I admit.

Now I'm a nice, mature guy.

Mature?

You keep making faces.

But I've got beautiful eyes.

I think I'm actually

one of the best-looking people

in the world.

And you're fat.

Do want another scar

on your face?

No, I don't. Give me a little

heart on my shaven head,

because I am in love.

As soon as we get there

I'll cook you some fish.

Yeah, sure. As soon as

a bloke gets to the seaside,

he opens a beer.

When Misko gets to the sea,

he opens a bottle of wine.

Fish and wine,

it's a kind of law.

Except I can't eat much,

supposedly I'm fat. I'm dieting.

I love fatsies. I might even

make you fatter at the seaside.

And we're going to sleep

in the car?

No, in a house.

I'm not saying anything else.

Ah, we break into some

weekend house.

I see, crime and all that.

And why do we have to go

tomorrow, exactly?

Because school starts.

When I was young I went to school.

You had no choice, you know,

and the first of September

was always bad, disgusting,

screwed up, f***ed up

and a totally shitty day.

And I swore thus: that when

I was big, and now I am,

I would, on every first of

September, go to the seaside.

Full stop.

I don't have any more holiday.

Full stop.

Frida.

- You can go, you can go.

Since there's no one in this

f***ing salon, anyway.

My bloke gets killed

and after two weeks

I go to the seaside with

another one. So I'm a whore.

No, no and again no.

You've made a slaughter-house

out of my bar.

Look, there still blood

on the floor. Now tell me something.

Do you know anyone,

anyone who likes coffee

served next to a dried up

pool of blood? Well?

This is no good for business,

for business, this is bad.

What shall I do now? What?

Coat the floor with asphalt,

or slaughter myself, maybe

hara kiri, something weird,

some ritual stuff.

No one comes here anymore anyway.

But how can you be so cold-hearted

after two months of sailing?

You made my workers suffer,

mentally and physically.

You'll get nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing,

nothing and nothing.

Is that clear, is that clear?

I hope that is now finally clear.

Nothing, no credit,

no drinks, nothing.

Your time will come,

don't worry, we know the type.

Anyway, why am I wasting

my time with you?

Frida, do you want to come up

to the terrace for a while?

Luka. A lost c*nt never

comes back. Right, guys?

Go on, then they took

a picture of you, x-ray.

Oh yeah, sure,

let me finish.

Then they find that I have

a small bump, a small tumour,

which pushes on the centre,

so I see all kinds of stuff.

Like I explained to you,

right?

Oh, yeah. Like from left,

right, up, and down?

Yeah, right.

And now they want to give

me bloody chemotherapy,

f***, and tomorrow, too.

Look, I have it already marked.

You know what that means?

Operation. Laser, though. Now they

can do it just with one ray.

But the worst thing is that

after that I won't have any need

to get drunk, wasted, stoned.

That would be a tragedy.

Yeah, you'll have to look

at this from all angles.

You know how bored you will be

if you're suddenly normal?

You'll go completely mad.

Oh yeah, that's my brother.

I just came back from the seaside.

Crazy, man, crazy.

Has he got the same

problem as you have?

No, he gets drunk.

He likes it.

Where did you get

this tattoo?

This is not good.

Mom will not be happy.

From Misko and Baza.

Hm, and then they lived

happily ever after.

But I always thought

that she was a bit fat.

Hey, where's that guy, Quiet?

Oh, you don't know?

They beat him to death.

Some blokes, for nothing.

Apparently they broke

five of his ribs, broken spleen,

blood spilt into his brain,

cracked skull, broken jaw,

both eyes spilt out,

his balls f***ed up,

both ear-drums torn, broken leg,

God knows what else.

Just like that? For nothing?

Just for the fun of it?

Where'd you hear that?

- I heard it.

Well, wrong info,

it seems. Thank God.

We heard that they beat

you almost to death.

We heard that they beat

you almost to death.

F*** it, right?

F*** it, eh?

Yeah, but a beer

would be quite nice now.

What beer? What beer,

what beer? No beer at all.

I won't even give you a glass

of water for the rest of my life.

The whole town

knows this place now.

And those photos, colour,

over the whole page, lovely,

from all angles, professional

stuff, great, great, thank you.

Do you know what

they called it, my pub?

No, you don't know.

Slaughter-house, yes.

No wonder, no wonder,

since I have

a dried up swamp

on the asphalt in front of the pub.

Shall I call a bulldozer to clear it

all up, or what shall I do?

And then you want a beer,

and a cold one, too, I s'pose.

Who asked you anything,

anyway? We'll think of something.

Hello? I'm calling from

the Patos company.

We have a lovely prize-winning

game for shop assistants.

The prizes are really lovely...

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