A.V.W.D. - Herb Skew (100 best novels of all time txt) 📗

WHY?! WHY?! WHY?!

 

Snoo:(snorting part of the huge line.) Well, I said that we’re ready. He put me off. Simple. It happens

 

Rupio: (suspiciously.) You sure Bunty’s real?

 

Snoo: I’m sure! I’m not being weird to anyone. Not anymore. I’m not like that, am I? (Beat.) He works in theatre. He’s a cleaner, and he said he knows people. People in the theatre.

 

Rupio: What’s going on now then? It took me hours to get into this. Now I look a prat.

 

Snoo: We’ll use this time as a dress rehearsal. Than we can take Virgil to hospital.

 

Rupio: Fuck it, let’s get trashed. It’s lunch time and I’ve had a long day. I don’t think I’ll get paid for that show. I’m fucking pissed off.

 

Snoo: No, we have to do this! (Having a tantrum.) IT’S IMPORTANT TO ME!

 

Rupio: Shall we do a show for Cranston then? We can throw in some more sex - that’ll keep them interested!

 

Snoo: I’ll blow you, then you can bum-fuck me. I'll fist you then you can fist me, but use the marmalade lube. Then, I’ll use Virgil as a dead person and fuck him. Actually, Rupio, are sex toys still shocking? I could use a Lambrini bottle as a sex toy? (Virgil has stopped struggling; he has died or passed out.) You can film it too. Don’t worry, you can fuck Virgil as well, if you play the soldier.

 

Rupio: Can I get the puppets in on this?

 

Snoo: No, stick to the script! This has to be serious. (Rupio looks confused.) I’m not having fucking puppets in my show. They're not cool, and they don’t say anything about the bigger picture.

 

Rupio: Right...What’s the bigger picture?

 

Snoo: I don’t know yet, I haven’t finished constructing it - let’s just make it up. If you film it well we can watch it in HD. That’s quite a good picture. We’ll have to go round Virgil’s mum’s though to watch it.

 

Rupio: Where’s the camera?

 

Snoo: I don’t know - use Cranston’s. He won’t care.

 

Rupio: I think he will.

 

Cranston enters, wearing a red velvet suit and a kipper tie. He carries an antiquated projector. Boris follows him accompanied by a women called Kara. She looks depressed and has cropped hair and is dressed in black. Boris carries a tray with tea cups and a plate of biscuits on it.

 

Cranston: Okay, people, your time is up: we’re watching a Grierson film.

 

Boris: (putting the tray in the pram.) Don’t be rash, Cranny, what are they doing?

 

Snoo: We’re rehearsing my play - Staple My Brain.

 

Boris: (excited; sips his tea.) What a queer title! Hello, I’m Boris. This is Kara. (Kara snorts.) Are these the people you live with Cranny?

 

Cranston: Unfortunately. These retarded rejects are the ones who call themselves artists.

 

Boris: Done anything well-known?

 

Snoo: I was a cleaner at the National and I got picked to play Kaa in The Jungle Book. At school.

 

Boris: Oh, I see. This was at the National?

 

Snoo: No, it was regional. I was still at school, right? Think it's all filmed. And my teacher thought I’d, like, be good. I mixd cough syrup and acid before the first show. Made me feel snakey. But I went a bit hyper with the poison; I like poisons.

 

Boris: 'Kay. (Laughing it off.) That’s acceptable when you’re a kid, I suppose.

 

Snoo: Luckily I only got manslaughter, then rehab; but that was being lucky. And the judge liked me - I sucked him off in the car park and filmed it.

 

Boris: How shocking! You’ve led rough lives, it's fascinating...You're on TV? Some pointless reality show?

 

Snoo: Nope - I wish. I didn’t kill anyone. On purpose. And it would have helped if I was a Yardie or something. But I got onto smack while I was in prison. That was cool. Have you been inside?

 

Cranston: (offended.) Snoo: none of my friends have been to a prison, okay. Can clear your crap and let us-

 

Boris: Well, I went to prison once. (Laughing.) Not that I was an offender. My Dad thought it’ll be fashionable to see prisoners, so I can understand what life is like. Oh, sorry people, I forgot to introduce you to Kara, didn't I? (They all shrug not caring about Kara; Kara snorts.) She’s doing a Masters in stagecraft.

 

Snoo: What’s the point - just do it, girl?

 

Kara mumbles something, then slurps her tea and takes a whole bottle of pills.

 

Snoo: What the fuck? You ODeeing? Don't be selfish, you're nearly a doc - go on share those beanies!

 

Boris: She’s feeling depressed. Shame really. She’s very good, a real poet. She also likes Deejaying. Is that what you urban-folk call it?

 

Snoo: One of my troupe is a poet.

 

Boris: Oh, good! What do they play?

 

Snoo: A dead person.

 

Boris: Interesting.(Turning to an embarrassed Cranston.) Cranny, you never told me you live with such fascinating people. (Excited.) They’re cultural revelations!

 

Cranston: No, they’re not. They're dull deprived cunts. Shall we leave, we can watch-

 

Boris: Don’t be a poopsie, Cranny, we can watch them rehearse!

 

Snoo: (excited; begs to Cranston.) Oh, please do! PLEASE! I think you’ll find it interesting.

 

Boris: I hope so. (Laughs; Cranston struggles a smile.) You better watch Kara though - she might rip off your ideas!

 

Cranston: I doubt she will. You like Chekov don’t you, Kara?

 

Kara just mumbles and messily scoffs a biscuit, and smiles suddenly; but it's a scary smile, full of biscuit. Cranston wipes the sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. Boris sits on the sofa, and realises it’s covered in excrement. He smiles with wonder, sniffing his soiled hands. Cranston tries to set up the projector, but leaves it in the pram with the tray.

 

Boris: Wow, it smells very realistic. What’s the piece called?

 

Snoo: Staple My Brain. Take notes.

 

Boris: What a jolly good title! That’s blasting that is! I crave that sort of realism - I find it cleansing. I might have to bash one out later. I really do feel cleansed though, something I've craved for a long time. You’ve really worked on the awfully immersive set. You’re transporting us to another ghetto world, but it’s in this world!

 

Snoo: Yeah, it’s a classic post-modern style. We’ll go from the top.

 

Cranston: No, go from the end! We have a schedule and-

 

Boris: Don’t be a Hitler, Cranny! They’re giving us a private show! Kara doesn’t mind, do you?

 

Kara: (drooling.) Water.

 

Snoo: Fuck that! Rupio, get the vodka!

 

Boris: Ooh, it’s a week day as well! It’s only half one! I don’t think I’ll do anything if I start drinking.

 

Rupio: (producing two bottles of vodka from under the sofa; he swigs some then hands it to Snoo. He opens the other and swigs some of the other bottle.) / Here, I’ll top you up-

 

Cranston: (annoyed.) That’s my vodka for special occasions! Snoo, you can’t touch my vodka! SNOO! THIS IS NOT RIGHT, YOU CAN’T DO THINGS LIKE THAT!

 

Boris: (tugging on Cranston’s cuff.) Calm down, dear boy, let’s enjoy. Pour yourself some. This must be a little bit special, Cranny?

 

Cranston: I’ve still got tea left.(Rupio pours vodka into Cranston’s cup anyway.) You vermin; I’m going to report you for this invasion of-

 

Boris: Stop whining, Cranny! It’s only a play, what harm can it do? And they said my poem was too gay. Shame on them! (Rupio pours vodka into Boris’s cup; Rupio hands Kara the bottle. Kara gulps some down.) Thank you - sorry, I didn’t catch your name?

 

Rupio: Rupio.

 

Boris: Are you an actor?

 

Rupio: No, but I like puppets.

 

Snoo: (throws a can of Stella at him; it splashes everywhere. Cranston rushes to mop it up.) Get fuckin’ ready, Ruppy!

 

Boris: (laughing; nudging Kara.) Hey, get that, Kara, the vindictive director - I like that stereotype. She throws the lager! How crazy; really wacky! That’s how you should be!

 

Kara doesn’t respond, she just gulps some more vodka. Rupio hides behind the sofa. Snoo exits, swigging the other bottle of vodka. Boris is sitting on the sofa still.

 

Snoo: (off; aggressively.) Oi, Bozza, move it, you twat! You’re on the fuckin’ set!

 

Boris: Ooh, I’m so sorry. You hear that, Kara, she called me Bozza. Bozza! That’s a new one isn’t it? Very urban, too, I must be with it!

 

Boris moves, Kara steps into the corner and slumps over. Boris kneels on the floor, unaware he is covered in excrement. He has a condom stuck to him. He takes out a pad, and pencil and waits for the start. Cranston is still mopping up the spilt Stella Artois. He stops and sits near Boris.
There is a long pause, as we feel the scene is being set. Rupio takes a desk lamp from behind the sofa and positions it, as if a spotlight. Rupio then hides behind the sofa again.
Snoo enters, staggering. A syringe is lodged up her nose.

 

Snoo: I AM THE REPITILIAN FAIRY PRINCESS!

 

She moves towards the pram and strokes Virgil’s TV head.

 

Snoo: (over-the-top despair.) Why my baby has died! This war has wrecked my land! I need something. Not this TV world, but a real world. Of happiness. Of life. But I’m all alone. ALONE! ALONE!

 

Boris: (making notes; Cranston huffs.) Interesting concept.

 

Snoo: (Over--The-Top despair.) I’m alone. I thought too much - now I’m going to die.DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! My brain hurts. Loads! It’s unreal. The Lizard Fairy Princess of Kubarro needs to be loved - or fucked. Fuck me or love me. I need a soldier!

 

Rupio: (appearing from behind the sofa dressed as a butler, in a cloak, but wears a crude papier-mâché soldier’s helmet.) You called your majesty?

 

Snoo: I’m alone.

 

Rupio: So am I. Fuckeefuckee? Suckeesuckeefuckee?

 

Snoo: Fuck me or love me. Love me or fuck me. Or both.

 

Rupio: Or more?

 

Snoo: More? HOW?! STEADY ON SOL'JUR! (Trying to whisper.) That’s not in the scr-

 

Rupio starts to force himself onto Snoo; Snoo screams, struggling.

 

Snoo: (really shocked.) What the fuck do you think you’re doing?-You mad fucker! YOU’RE FUCKED!

 

Rupio: What? What? I’m not doing anything wrong? We should eat the baby!

 

Snoo: But… but the …

 

Rupio: The King is dead and the Queen will cop it shortly. (Goes to strangle her, while trying to kiss her. Snoo knees him in the groin.) That’s not right - I don’t remember re-

 

Snoo smashes the bottle of vodka on Rupio’s head glass flies everywhere. Kara screams. Cranston tries to clean up the glass, and Boris applauds. Rupio slumps to the floor, unconscious.

 

Snoo: (kicking Rupio aggressively.) I may be alone in my world, but it’s my world and I want to be left alone! I wanted you to know it. YOU FUCKER! I KNEW YOU WERE A FIGHTER! BUT I LOVED YOU! LOVED YOU ALIVE AND DEAD! But it wasn’t right; I don’t know what is.

 

Cranston: (to Boris.) This is such a clichéd piece of-

 

Boris: (engrossed.) Shh Cranny! I almost came in my briefs!

Snoo: Alas, I die in Kubarro, alone and-

 

Kara screams loudly again; Cranston goes to comfort her, but Snoo curls up into a ball, then, after a pause, loses it, trashing the place. She pushes the pram over, and smashes the projector on Rupio’s head.

 

Cranston: No! That’s my projector! And you’ve broke the teapot! NO! (Scrambles on the floor to pick it up, searching for the lost parts. He looks at the rug, noticing the blood.) Is there a body in this rug, Snoo?  SNOO! We should call-

 

Boris: IT’S THE POET! THE FUCKING POET, CRANSTON! (Kicks Cranston violently, Cranston falls on top of Rupio.) Get the fuck off stage, you poopsie!

 

Snoo: (rolling around on the floor, then crawls up onto the sofa.) Oh, I see Kubarro, my land destroyed! DESTROYED! I’ve destroyed my own land! MY OWN PLANET! GONE! GONE! I must cleanse my souls: I’ll be fucked and loved! FUCKED AND LOVED!

 

Snoo swallows the bag of cocaine she took off Virgil. She then grabs the vodka and guzzlesit down. A winded Cranston writhes on top of Rupio, and thinks he is trying to fuck him. Rupio is out cold, it is all in Cranston’s mind.

 

Boris: This is amazing! Very cutting edge, it so much more poetic. I like the syringe up the nose, instead of just left in the arm. In my opinion that’s dated. But yours…well, that takes imagination! But it’s fucked.

 

Snoo: I need to piss!  (Rubs her cheeks rapidly, she pulls funny faces. ) I’m a