“Soooo I almost forgot I need to go to Iceland on the way home can we detour for like three million one hundred and—”

“Yes five will be fine—”

“So tell me the whole life story thing while we—”

“No—”

“Come on I feel like we bonded—”

“We did not bond you’re an asshole—”

“So’re you—”

“I am a motherfucking LADY—”

…

…

…

“Mozart?”

“It’s fucking Rossini—”

“Iceland is definitely up from here—”

“Which of us knows navigation?”

“I am right now looking at Google Maps though—”

“Fuck you Jack that’s bullshit let me see that—yeah no you’re right hang on—”

“I am?”

“Of course you’re fucking not don’t be absurd.”

—

Mr. Friday is the not-boss of Poltergeist. He likes fishing and Scandinavian art-house cinema and he has exquisite taste in hair liniment. When he speaks he sounds like Santa Claus if Santa was increasingly concerned about the role of the Global South in the production of cheap plastic Christmas toys. He abhors violence and has strong views on social responsibility and he is totally calm even when his BFF is putting an iron spike in someone’s brain. Be like Mr. Friday. Do not be like the person with the double-vented head parts.

Doc says that I get along with Mr. Friday on some kind of deep psychological level she does not think is rational. Doc says that some aspect of my self-expression speaks to Mr. Friday’s suppressed desires and he responds to my wishes in ways he would normally refuse to contemplate.

I do not think this is true but Doc has charts so it must be that is science.

Mr. Friday stands in front of a smoking hole in the ground, which is evidently his house. I say:

“This was absolutely nothing to do with me Friday hand on heart.”

Mr. Friday looks round.

“O Hallo Mr. Price! I had heard that you were now deceased.”

“I have also heard that but I do not think it is true.”

“Oh ho ho oho yes oh oho.”

(Do not laugh like Mr. Friday. That laugh is just fucking creepy like going to an empty house in a storm and the woman who owns it is entirely hairless and dresses in black net and she says to come in and that’s when you notice she’s had that thing done where they bifurcate your tongue and you can never quite see her feet and when you wake up you find a man-size-shed snake skin on the second bed. Which is completely unfair on Mr. Friday who I think is a genuinely moral person in an imperfect world.)