asphyxiates; his head hangs to one side and piss streams down the inside of his leg.
The camera is positioned above the TV screen; its cold, mechanical eye dispassionately observing everything. The apparatus is set up on RECORD . It keeps running as the body hangs limp, turning gently towards a complete stillness. Then the tape runs out without saying THE END , but that is what it is.
A BLOCKAGE IN THE SYSTEM
Knoxie wis hoverin in the doorway; ehs face set in that kind ay expression thit cries out fir our attention, whin eh kens thit every cunt'll ignore um until eh speaks. Then will git some bullshit about how eh'd telt Manderson tae stick ehs fuckin joab up ehs erse whin the truth is thit the cunt's shat ehs fuckin keks again.
— That cunt Manderson, eh wheezed.
— Trouble at mill? ah asked, no lookin up fae ma cairds. This wis a shite hand. Ah turned tae gie ma foreman ma undivided attention, as a conscientious employee. A null n void declaration by Knoxie here wid suit ays doon tae a fuckin tee, the shite ah'm hudin.
— Wuv goat tae jildy. Thir's fuckin chaos doon at the flats.
— Hud oan the now, Lozy sais nervously. Obviously this wide-o's goat the maist tae lose.
Pickin up ehs anxiety, Calum flings ehs hand in. Ah follay suit.
— Duty calls, Calum laughs.
— Fuck sakes, ah'm oan a fuckin straight run here, ya cunts! Lozy whinges.
— Tough titty then, cuntybaws. Yir peyed good money by the council, that's the fuckin poll-tax peyer tae you, tae dae a joab ay work, no tae sit oan yir erse playing fuckin cairds aw day, Calum smirked.
— That's right, Knoxie said. — It's a pure bastard ay a joab n aw, boys. Thir's a blockage doon at Anstruther Court again. An auld boy oan the first flair goes through tae ehs lavvy fir a wash n shave. Aw they cunts oan the flairs above uv been shitein oot thir weekend curry n lager this mornin; one ay they near simultaneous flushin joabs. Aw the shite faws doon, n remember wir talking twinty storeys it Anstruther Court, hits the fuckin blockage n comes back up it the first available space. Yis ken whair that wis.
Wi collectively screwed up oor eyes and sucked in smoky air through puckered lips.
— Aw the shite came ootay the auld boy's pan wi such force thit it hit the fuckin roof. We've goatay sort this oot.
Lozy wisnae too chuffed. — Sounds like it's the drains ootside the flats tae me. Mair like a joab fir the Region, no us.
— Dinnae gies that shite! Call yirsels tradesmen? Tell ye one thing, if we dinnae fuckin shape up, will aw be doon the fuckin road. Ye ken how much money the DLO's losin?
— Ah bit that's no the point, Knoxie. We're oan the council now, no workin fir a private contractor. Thir's a nae redundancy policy.
— Wir under fuckin compulsory competitive tendrin. If we cannae git oor act the gither wir fucked. Simple as that. That's the governmint, that's the fuckin law. It disnae matter a fuck whit some fuckin toss in the Labour Party thit gits ehsel voted oantay the council sais. Wi dinnae dae the business, wi dinnae win contracts. Wi dinnae win contracts, thir's nae Direct Labour Organisation. Endy fuckin story.
— Naw it's no endy story, Lozy continued, — because the union boy wis sayin . . .
— That's jist some cunt thit gits made rep because nae other fucker wants the job. These cunts talk through thir fuckin erses. C'moan! Lit's move it.
Ah jist shrugged, — Well, as one anarchist plumber sais tae the other: smash the cistern.
We jumped intae the van. Knoxie's been deid nippy since eh came back fae that Supervision Part Two course up the City Chambers. They seemed tae fuck the cunt's heid up thair. Eftir Part One, eh wis aw sweetness n light tae us. Wisnae Knoxie. Made us right fuckin suspicious. Ah goat a deek ay the notes they gave the cunt. Went oan aboot the motivation ay staff in an action-centred leadership framework. Sais tint it's no the supervisor's joab tae dae the work, it's the supervisor's joab tae make sure thit
The camera is positioned above the TV screen; its cold, mechanical eye dispassionately observing everything. The apparatus is set up on RECORD . It keeps running as the body hangs limp, turning gently towards a complete stillness. Then the tape runs out without saying THE END , but that is what it is.
A BLOCKAGE IN THE SYSTEM
Knoxie wis hoverin in the doorway; ehs face set in that kind ay expression thit cries out fir our attention, whin eh kens thit every cunt'll ignore um until eh speaks. Then will git some bullshit about how eh'd telt Manderson tae stick ehs fuckin joab up ehs erse whin the truth is thit the cunt's shat ehs fuckin keks again.
— That cunt Manderson, eh wheezed.
— Trouble at mill? ah asked, no lookin up fae ma cairds. This wis a shite hand. Ah turned tae gie ma foreman ma undivided attention, as a conscientious employee. A null n void declaration by Knoxie here wid suit ays doon tae a fuckin tee, the shite ah'm hudin.
— Wuv goat tae jildy. Thir's fuckin chaos doon at the flats.
— Hud oan the now, Lozy sais nervously. Obviously this wide-o's goat the maist tae lose.
Pickin up ehs anxiety, Calum flings ehs hand in. Ah follay suit.
— Duty calls, Calum laughs.
— Fuck sakes, ah'm oan a fuckin straight run here, ya cunts! Lozy whinges.
— Tough titty then, cuntybaws. Yir peyed good money by the council, that's the fuckin poll-tax peyer tae you, tae dae a joab ay work, no tae sit oan yir erse playing fuckin cairds aw day, Calum smirked.
— That's right, Knoxie said. — It's a pure bastard ay a joab n aw, boys. Thir's a blockage doon at Anstruther Court again. An auld boy oan the first flair goes through tae ehs lavvy fir a wash n shave. Aw they cunts oan the flairs above uv been shitein oot thir weekend curry n lager this mornin; one ay they near simultaneous flushin joabs. Aw the shite faws doon, n remember wir talking twinty storeys it Anstruther Court, hits the fuckin blockage n comes back up it the first available space. Yis ken whair that wis.
Wi collectively screwed up oor eyes and sucked in smoky air through puckered lips.
— Aw the shite came ootay the auld boy's pan wi such force thit it hit the fuckin roof. We've goatay sort this oot.
Lozy wisnae too chuffed. — Sounds like it's the drains ootside the flats tae me. Mair like a joab fir the Region, no us.
— Dinnae gies that shite! Call yirsels tradesmen? Tell ye one thing, if we dinnae fuckin shape up, will aw be doon the fuckin road. Ye ken how much money the DLO's losin?
— Ah bit that's no the point, Knoxie. We're oan the council now, no workin fir a private contractor. Thir's a nae redundancy policy.
— Wir under fuckin compulsory competitive tendrin. If we cannae git oor act the gither wir fucked. Simple as that. That's the governmint, that's the fuckin law. It disnae matter a fuck whit some fuckin toss in the Labour Party thit gits ehsel voted oantay the council sais. Wi dinnae dae the business, wi dinnae win contracts. Wi dinnae win contracts, thir's nae Direct Labour Organisation. Endy fuckin story.
— Naw it's no endy story, Lozy continued, — because the union boy wis sayin . . .
— That's jist some cunt thit gits made rep because nae other fucker wants the job. These cunts talk through thir fuckin erses. C'moan! Lit's move it.
Ah jist shrugged, — Well, as one anarchist plumber sais tae the other: smash the cistern.
We jumped intae the van. Knoxie's been deid nippy since eh came back fae that Supervision Part Two course up the City Chambers. They seemed tae fuck the cunt's heid up thair. Eftir Part One, eh wis aw sweetness n light tae us. Wisnae Knoxie. Made us right fuckin suspicious. Ah goat a deek ay the notes they gave the cunt. Went oan aboot the motivation ay staff in an action-centred leadership framework. Sais tint it's no the supervisor's joab tae dae the work, it's the supervisor's joab tae make sure thit
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