I ken this guy right, his names Dezza, he drinks in ma local. He’s a sound enough guy, one o they guys who tends tae go unnoticed places, he’ll be there no really contributing, jist laughing at the patter. Anyway, me and ma mates were all stood aboot yin Friday night having a pint and watching the Man U game on the muckle pub TV.
Dezza was hanging about wi us watching it tae, he nudges me and mouths “watch this” nodding at the telly. A kind o looked at him, like “didnae even Ken ye were here Dezza” and look back at the fitba. He nudges me again and says “WATCH”. Wi ma attention on him, he looks up at the TV and does this big exaggerated blink at it, kinda like he’s tryin tae stick the nut on it. Right as he does it, the TV gans off.
Big Stig behind the bar starts going fuckin mental. Big Stig o the Dump – he got his name from his uncanny ability tae block a toilet – he’s no having any of this. He’s a big Man U fan and he cannae even stand if some cunt speaks too loud when they’re playing.
One time we watched Big Stig take a bottle o Becks tae some poor Yank cunt that walked in just as Liverpool scored against United, shouting aboot wanting tae see the “Liverpool versus Manchestershire” game. He wudnae have seen much ever again efter Stig was done wi um.
Well, Big Stig starts shouting and balling at awbdae asking whae pit the telly off. I look at Dezza and he’s standing there looking aw smug wi himsel, shoogling his heid and smiling at ees. “Nae cunt is it?” says Stig. “Wankers” he spits tae naebdae in particular and pits the fitba back oan.
“Absolutely Nae way that was you” a Whisper tae Dezza making sure nae cunt heard us. If they did, Stig would be ower tae take aes revenge on whae ever denied him 5 crucial minutes o Man U v Norwich. “sure was big man” he says tae me, smiling that same smug smile. “a can dae it tae anyhin” he says. “fuck off ye jackanory” I says and turn ma attention back tae that flashy cunt Pogba aboot tae rifle a row z special intae oblivion. Dezza sniggers away tae himsel and mutters somethin aboot showing me a jackanory. A ignore um, a’ve spoke tae him more in this last ten minutes then a ever have and a’ve worked oot how that is now, he’s a fuckin looney toon.
A hink nothing else o it until half time and we aw turn roond and have a wee seat whilst Gary Neville and that scouse slaver talk pish aboot the game. Big Stig takes the opportunity tae dae a bit stocktake whilst the fitba’s at a 15 minute standstill. He’s up on a wee wooden ladder, restocking aw his spirits above the bar when Dezza emerges frae the toilets. He looks across the bar at ees and winks. A shake ma heid at him like “whit?” and he laughs. He pulls his heid back again like he’s gontae stuck the heid on somebdae again and blinks at Stig. Pare bastard Stig, the ladders disappear oot fae underneath um and he slams face doon ontae the flair. The pub is deid silent wi awbdae trying to work oot what happened, Deid silent that is except for this maniac Dezza laughing his heid off. Hes hauding his stomach and pure killing imsel laughing.
Stig pulls himsel up and politely enquires who inside the pub found hilarity at his expense. Well, it was suhin like that anyway. This cunt Dezza is still stood there laughing and pointing at Stig. Through a bloody mooth and nose that now resides half way across his pus, Stig screams at Dezza and limps tae the wee bar door and, like a wounded animal, makes his way ower towards um.
“see!” shouts Dezza ower at me and my mates “am no a jackanory!”
Just as Stig makes his way tae try get his hands on Dezza, the cunt turns back tae him and blinks at him. Aw we can see is Stigs heid and top half dissappear behind the bar but the slap o skin on sticky fake wud floor is unmistakable. “whit the fuckth goan oan” says ma mate Thuckit. That’s no really his name by the way, he’s got a lisp and we ayeways take the piss oot him for it, yin night he’d had enough and tell us aw tae “thuckit” and wi that a beauty o a nickname was born. Dezza turns and blinks ower at Thuckit, poor cunts lifted off his feet and gauns crashing through the windae, lands oot on the main road in front o the pub. He’s just lay there sparko’d.
Next hing a ken my other mate, Zippy, so called cos his step dad Geoffrey was ayeways a bit fuckin weird when oo were kids, grabs a bottle o vinegar sat oan the table next tae aw the condiments and starts dousing Dezza in it. Well, was that no jist the stupitest thing onny cunt could have done? Dezza, unable tae see, starts blinkin his eyes aw ower the place. Folk are fleeing aboot the pub like a fuckin Jackie Chan movie. Folk crashing intae the bar, intae walls, through windaes. The place is destroyed. I manage tae hide masel behind the bar and wait oot the carnage. As the last poor cunt gauns heid first intae the TV, I pull masel up and take a look ower the bar.
Dezza is stood there smiling at ees wi aw this carnage roond aboot um. “telt e am no a jackanory eh?” he says. I can only mutter a half arsed reply to agree wi um. “aye, that’s eh, that’s quite the talent Dezza” a say tae him trying no tae anger um.
Just then he starts tae crinkle ees nose like a mad Rabbit. A ask what’s wrong wi um and he starts moaning aboot allergies. He’s allergic tae cats e says. Now he’s rubbing ees eyes and scratching his nose, moaning like fuck. A look up at the top o the bar and Stigs cat, Goldenbaws, is slowly prowling along it above us. “aw for fucks sake” a mutter tae masel as a see Dezza’s hands oot, poised tae clasp at his vacant pus as he prepares for a muckle sneeze.