The Problem of Evil
I was just about to go into this cafe this morning, when the bloke coming towards me on the street turned to go in there too, so we sort of bumped into each other. He goes, “Watch it, I’m a gangster you know.” I sort of chuckled a bit. He goes, “No, I am. Ask anyone.”
I goes, “I’ve not heard of a gangster announcing himself as a gangster before,” and I laugh through me nose. So he grabs me by the throat and bangs me head against the ajar door.
“I’m a gangster – end of, like,” he says.
I says, “Nah, you’re not a gangster.”
He says, “Aren’t I?”
I says, “No.” So he punches me in the stomach, I go down, and he kicks me in the side of the head. I goes, “How does that make you a gangster?” So he picks me up by me hair, knees me in the nose, blood starts gushing out, I start to have an out of body experience. As I drift I just manage to say, “Gangster my arse.”
So he gets this Stanley knife out of his pocket, slashes me left hand open, blood everywhere, then he kicks me in the bollocks. The chef comes over and he says, “Lee, shall I call the police?”
The other bloke goes, “I wouldn’t if I were you, I’m connected. I’ll have your place burnt down.”
I says, “He won’t, he’s crap. He thinks he’s a gangster.”
The bloke says, “I am.” And at that point he pulls a junior hacksaw out of his coat pocket and starts trying to saw me head off. It’s hard to get a purchase of course – he probably got the saw from Wilkinsons. He gives up on that and twists me arm up round me back, and he says, “Say I’m a gangster or I’ll break your arm, pal.”
I says, “I could say it if you like, but I’d still be thinking you’re not a gangster ’cause you ain’t.” So he breaks me arm and throws me through the window.
Then he comes out and he says, “Last chance.” I shakes me head with me eyes shut – all smug, like. So he starts kicking me in the head, then he picks me up by the hair again and starts ramming me head into the window frame. Then he storms off.
I love winding people up like that.