*

Here, this is the best one yet:

Paddy says to his wife, my arsehole really hurts.

Ring sting, she says.

Paddy says, what the fuck does he know about it?

*

The plan was to hide out round the back of the garages across the road from The Celt’s Head and for Shorty McCann to come out the pub and to let us know who was in there and what their positions were and then we get in there ourselves, cause chaos, strike fear into their hearts, break them up for good etc., and get away with Danny Whitaker in a headlock. Then it’s down to that bad bastard Mad Frank Marby to taking care of business. How will we know what one is Danny Whitaker? I says to Jimmy McNulty. Sure, he’s got the sandy hair like you, and the eyes, he says to me. I’ll point him out as soon as we get in there, he says.

Shorty McCann comes swanning across the road. Cunt is obviously half-blocked. You, you wee cunt, Jimmy McNulty says to him, you need to keep the fucking head. Sure, it’s not a problem, Shorty McCann says to him, sure this is deep fucking cover for me, he says. Anyroads, Shorty McCann says, they’re all in there, lads, and they’re all blocked out of their suffering skulls. Where’s Whitaker? I says to him. In the snug at the back, in the last booth. He’s in there with Benny and that cunt from Meath, your man McPheat. Alright, boys, Pat Allardyce says, and he gives the order to get the ballys on. Then he looks round at me and he winks. For the good times, he says, and I pull a chatsby out of each side of my trousers and all five of us walk calm as you like across the road and through the front door of The Celt’s Head. Then all hell breaks loose.

Any concept of a plan is out the window. Mad Frank Marby starts shooting blind, just tearing the place up as soon as we’re through the door, shouting and acting ferocious and screaming at everybody. The rule in these cases was always total silence. Do not speak. Do not give yourself away. I can see by the look in Pat Allardyce’s eyes that he’s fucking losing it over Frank Marby but what can he do, things just escalated. He starts to plugging away himself.

Two guys sat on stools at the bar hit the floor like skittles. This big jet of blood is shooting up into the air out of one of their chests like it’s a fucking geyser. Mad Frank Marby steps on it like he’s trying to stem the blood and then shoots the cunt straight in the face. Everybody’s screaming and there’s a bottleneck of guys trying to get into the back room but there’s no rear exit, and we know it, we’ve got them all fucking trapped in here.