CC 49: Offer to Disembowel Comedy from Within

‘Where are those boys over there from?’ asked Noely Farron, with a sniffy sort of tone.  He was talking about the two men who’d just come in to get away from the rain.

‘I’m not sure.’

‘They look foreign.’  There was an ugly disapproving ring to how he reeled off the word foreign.  It didn’t surprise me however.  I wouldn’t have put a pinch of bigotry past Noely Farron in any century.

‘Too many of them around these days,’ he started.  ‘Everywhere you look.’ 

I wanted to shovel more information out of him so I chose not to entertain that particular brain bile of his.  There was some prejudice to be found in the many booths of this town.  You just had to be careful which booth you went for.  With increasing varieties of colour and tongue to be seen and heard on the streets, there came also little monsters next door wielding knives that they must have been concealing all along because I certainly hadn’t noticed them as we said Hello to one another in passing each day.  Not real knives, don’t get it jumbled.  Thought-knives, you know, the knavish and hateful red eyeballs of the cocooned and cowardly.   They were the people you grew up with.  You saw them at church when you were a kid.  You met them in the shops.  You’d kicked your football into their backyards and climbed over to get it without them knowing.  You’d fancied their sister for a few years before she got wind of it and pulled your trousers down in front of everyone for a chuckle.  You’d cleaned their gutters for bob-a-job week as a boy scout and scratched your arm badly on their windowsill.  Anyway.  These people.  You’d spent your life with these people.  And suddenly you woke up one day and they were all a bunch of fucking goose-steppers.  Some of them, not all, don’t have me wrong here.  Best to let the sappy gobshites sit by themselves and scowl in their own heads until their insides were rotten from it – that’s the way I looked at it.

‘What happened to McNamee anyway?’ I asked, a bid to distract the filthy racist with the ego-lift of my attention.  ‘I heard he’s dead.’ 

‘Well,’ said Noely.  ‘Yes…….(he pauses and looks at his drink for a moment and then says)  Yes,  I think so.  Yep’

 (I tilt my head up a little to show that I’m curious about the manner of his response and say) ‘You’re not sure if he’s dead?’

‘Well,’ (he takes a big swig from his drink, swallows, and then says) I’m sure that he’s not with us anymore.’

(I also take a drink and continue) ‘I thought people would know if he was dead or not.  I mean, deceased, like.’

(Noely, in a dubious dither now, replies) ‘No, he’s dead.  I got a little mixed up about it, that’s all.  I didn’t know him that well, you see.  Someone told me he died.’

 

Taafe let out a shriek at the bar.

‘What’s up with ya?’  asked McDaid.

‘Stuck with one,’ replied Taafe, feverishly running the lucky pen through his hair.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Boris Becker.

‘Crossword,’ grunted Taafe.

‘Want some help?’ said the beard.

‘Nah, I’m good.  It’s the cryptic crossword.  A bit hard.’

‘Try me,’ smiled the beard. 

Taafe was usually very protective about his cryptic crosswords, and it was rare that he’d allow anyone to participate in the tricky journey, but he must have been having difficulty with this one for he opted to share it with them.  Some fresh ears and eyes might do the trick.

 

OFFER TO DISEMBOWEL COMEDY FROM WITHIN (7)

 

There was a moment of silence as the two foreign strangers looked at one another.  The bearded man began to turn his candy floss beard into a windmill with his fingers as the thought processes got under way.

 

OFFER TO DISEMBOWEL

 

COMEDY

 

FROM WITHIN

 

OFFER

 

‘Do you want to see it written down?’ asked Taafe.  ‘Easier.’

‘No,’ said Boris Becker.  ‘He likes to do it this way.  Imagine the words in his head.  Good to practice English.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Taafe.

 

OFFER

 

FROM WITHIN

 

DISEMBOWEL COMEDY

 

FROM WITHIN

 

OFFER

 

FROM WITHIN

 

OFFER

 

DISEMBOWEL

 

COMEDY

 

After some time, the bearded man leapt out of his stool and cried, 

 

‘WELCOME.’

 

‘Huh?’ 

 

‘Welcome is the answer.  From within.  That means that the word is inside the sentence.  The end of disembowel is ---wel--- and the beginning of comedy is ----come---- and then of course the word offer.  Welcome.  Offer is like welcome.  Welcome is the answer.’

‘That was fast,’ laughed McDaid.  ‘You’ve found some competition here, Taafe.  This chap will show you a thing or two.  You should buy him a pint.’

‘Thanks,’ said Taafe.  ‘Good one.’

‘You’re welcome,’ said the bearded man.

Everyone laughed like a pack of hyenas.  ‘You’re welcome.’

 ‘Let’s all get drunk together,’ boomed Boris Becker. 

The bearded man rushed over to Noely Farron and myself sitting down on the seats, all blaring noise and joy.  The hostility in Farron’s old face went as he turned pink then purple then white with fear.  The foreigner held his drink out to Noely with a toast on his mind and delivered what could have been the answer to every question on that rainy day in Murphy’s.

‘Welcome.’