if i say now, said sponge, that’s it for the year it’ll be seen as one of those jokes one used to crack as a child: i shall not wash again for the yearshall not shave again for the year or mother not wanting to cook again in this year, jokes ill-perceived just one or two days later, but that’ll be it, it for the year and no joke.
this will be quick, said sponge. he pointed at the sparse interior. no politics, he said, or breaking news. no father of two slaughtering a mother of three with a sixty year old grandmother of eight from donegal. no cabaret. this will be over when i’m finished with my tea. which is now, almost.
we’re almost done, said sponge. fnnnnnnnn. what do you say to that? that’s annoying me now, he mutters. he punches the presenter. punch kapoww whazz thudd arrgglll whaddyarggh tchttr kashll kapowww zoing zack pow thuddz thokk. i shall feel very sorry about this tomorrow but right now i am under the influence of that marriwannabeer which apparently makes you extremly aggressive. and horny, but that is for that for the evening part when the mammies are still going and the children are in bed. fuck sake i should have said that.
tea, said block of wood.
YOU’VE BEEN FISHBURGERED (a note said that).
you don’t find capital letters too often these days, said sponge.
that brings me back actually, said breadroll, wonder what fishburger is doing.
how he is doing, said block of wood, how is he doing?
what’s this fishburger lark all about, said sponge.
nothing, said breadroll.
special, said block of wood and a silence bubble burst.
just a lust to ridicule religious symbols, said breadroll.
this is the day when we are all fed up with each other, said breadroll, and beat each other up and down the road.
this tradition was founded by a geezer called stephen who was a dubious character who loved beers with the word crown in the name: king’s crown, crown castle, crown & down, etc-rown. he also loved other things but he never spoke about it. once or twice perhaps but not often.
it’s christmas, christmas, chartmas it is indeed, said sponge. he waited for reply.
happy christmas then (the reply), happy christmas for it’s christmas. let’s make a point and point it out: it’s christmas.; crisscross crustmas.
buy your own copy if you haven’t got one yet. only limited number available, offer must end 26th.
so you weren’t invited then?
i don’t care if you give me presents, said the child who had called in for surprise and to be cute, i shall have enough from the fat man.
at least one child’s soul saved for the faith, sponge thought.
there’s a picture of a bearded man in the paper, said sponge, and he does not look happy.
he’s not supposed to, said breadroll, he’s a hate preacher. the government gets them out for christmas to make people aware of global conflicts.
very well, said sponge, we shall engage in propaganda then. is there a policy or just a procedure?
there is breakfast first, said breadroll, most minorities are starving and therefore, i order to obey minimum standards of decency chocolate croissants should consumed before ridiculing said minorities.
“more taxis, less brag”, the people cried, “more taxis, less brag”, as the general election were nigh, and politician were generally nice and promising, almost rock’n'roll but not quite but rock’n'roll is flexible and in the move. getting there.
more taxis would have helped us during the motion ban, said sponge, much more than actually did and certainly more than the government is bragging about.
which explains the public opinion. that’s what sponge said who shares an opinion on these things.
ti, sponge, that’s it backwards. much better — preferable; less offensive that way as there could be breasts all over the place. it’s, that swings tits in it, doesn’t it. [pause. in a perfectly clean breakfest scenario breadroll and block of wood are having breakfast. a healthy breakfast not a stealthy one as a man needs to do a man's day work] —– it’s, you’d see them swinging, wouldn’t you. that would not be right.
that’ll be, said breadroll, it. (sharply spoken t, like and explosion).
it, said block of wood, sucks. (spoken as x for an s).
fnnnnn fnaabb fnnabbb. we strive for variance, the producer said.
q: this is your special time to tell us all about you.
a: your ass.
q: has been amputated as a result of a violent assault that turned out to be a big misunderstanding of snorts.
a: sorts or snots.
q: of snorts indeed.
this was supposed to be my interview, said sponge, my little space in time but alas — it was not meant to be. did not happen.
empty street, grey day, wind blows a plastic bag across street, plastic bag gets caught, struggles in wind; tough being, no doubt.
poor me. poor me. poooor poor, me.
what happened? why this outburst (strong word!) of disappointment (devastation rather; self pity), this sudden outbreak of devastated morale (we mentioned devastation; repeating and rephrasing sentences without apparent reason or narrative need used to be a quality of writers paid by the word.).
sponge’s hopes of being able to present an interviewer his insights in a finely crafted conversation, headed and tailed and fullbodiedly connected in between had been spoilt by a series of events that partially have been reported already or will be — in non-chronological order — told in due course, alternating between points in time but not in this episode which is — to utterly confuse the reader — set in the here and now.
whenever, said breadroll, he makes the fnnnnn sound my skin goosepimples.
there is no such word, said block of wood.
so what, said breadroll, the fnnnnb sound drives me honkers instead.
let’s discuss it now, said breadroll.
what, said block of wood.
that’s what i hate at times, said breadroll, one tries to be all serious and open to discussion and some-one appears to be the unbriefed, pretending to have no clue.
well, said block of wood, let’s discuss it ten.
discuss what, said breadroll.
a: would i be, i, that’s me, be, better focused?
q: focused better. fnnnf.
a: focused better? no. i wouldn’t say so if you asked me.
fnnnnb. they discussed it in further detail.
they sat in a circle, waiting for something.
that is how quickly innovations crumble, said breadroll.
we should all line up for friday and wait, said breadroll. he smirked; he thought the line was hilarious.
i wanted to explain the meaning of th word quagmire and why it ended up as a title for an episode but i reckon i won’t, herr brekst said and spread this aura of depression again. one should invent a spray or something against that.
well now, said breadroll, the presenter is scared now.
fnnnnf.
q: would you say you can focused better in a world where stimuli are rather rare?
a new sound, said breadroll, a subtle variation. what was it i wanted to say?
no idea, said block of wood.
something about the poetry, said breadroll, of sound but nothing i assume i haven’t said before.
this consistence is what i love, said block of wood.
on second thought, said brekst and grew silent again.
he wanted to tell about his depression which was not accompanied by insomnia and feeding frenzy but he did not. a slim and slender man in his best years, well rested and depressed. it goes without saying that he could not continue the episode for the moment.
30 December, 2005 