RICHARD DAWKINS
Richard Dawkins is in The Old Blue Last on a Saturday night. The place is rammed. Fucked Up are playing here tonight. Dawkins is pumped. Fucked Up are Dawkins favorite band at the moment. Dawkins had a beer and a shot at 4:30 and has been knocking them back ever since. It is now 9:30. He is feeling boisterous, drunk and excited. He thinks about how stupid all religion is and laughs to himself loudly. He thinks about hearing some sweaty hardcore experimental punk. He thinks about how good Fucked Up were at ATP last year.
“Fuck yes” Richard Dawkins is thinking. “This is going be amazing. I’m going to lose my shit.”
Dawkins looks out over the upstairs area of The Old Blue Last. There is a man with an expensive-looking camera taking a picture of a girl and a guy. The girl is pulling her left breast out of her top and sticking her tongue out and snarling. It is all part of the ‘crazy time’ everyone is having here tonight. Dawkins is sweating. He wonders how much longer it will be until Fucked Up play.
Dawkins turns back towards the bar. He waits with other sweaty people and then orders a beer and a shot. He downs his shot and grabs his beer and decides to go and find a good spot for when Fucked Up come on stage because it probably wont be long. The place is incredibly full. He pushes through clammy bodies towards the front.
Dawkins gulps down 1/3 of his beer. He is feeling incredibly pumped now. He looks towards the door over the heads of the crowd and sees The Pope walk in.
“What the fuck is that prick doing here?” thinks Dawkins.
The Pope is with a few friends. He sees Dawkins but pretends not to notice him. The Pope goes to the bar with his friends. Dawkins is watching him, feeling drunk and belligerent when the crowd starts cheering. Fucked Up walk out on stage and immediately start playing ‘Magic Word’. This makes Richard Dawkins go completely mental. He drinks another 1/3 of his beer and throws the rest at the stage. He starts running on the spot and punching the air. Other people are stomping around and punching the air too.
Fucked up finish their song. They play another song.
People are jumping around, running into each other.
Fucked up play another song.
Richard Dawkins is jumping as high as he can and at the height of each jump he is kicking the air and shouting ‘yes!’ in a very shrill voice.
‘Yes! yes! yes!’ his face is red, his head could explode at any minute, he is drenched in sweat.
Fucked Up finish another song.
“What’s up, London? We’re Fucked Up.” says the singer. People cheer.
The singer is talking.
“I need a motherfucking drink” Thinks Dawkins.
He goes over to the bar. The Pope is still standing at the bar with his friends.
“Yeah” the pope is saying to his friends “they were shit at ATP and they’re shit tonight too. I’m only here because this blog wants me to write about it and stuff.”
Dawkins’ blood is pumping.
He leans drunkenly over the bar and shouts towards The Pope. Fucked Up start playing another song. It’s incredibly loud.
“Why don’t you fuck off?” shouts Dawkins.
The Pope and his friends try to ignore Dawkins.
“Oi!” screams Dawkins. “I’m fucking talking to you.”
The Pope looks slightly agitated.
“Cunts!” shouts Richard Dawkins.
“What?” says The Pope suddenly. He starts pushing through some people towards Dawkins.
“Ahhh, fucking hell, come on just leave him.” says someone.
The Pope approaches Richard Dawkins.
“Did you say something, mate?” he asks.
Dawkins is swaying from side to side and sweating profusely. He fixes The Pope with a wild look. He picks up someone else’s beer from the bar. It is in a glass bottle. He downs the beer. The Pope watches.
“I said fuck you.” shouts Richard Dawkins, and he smashes the bottle over The Pope’s head. The Pope goes down, he hits the floor like a sack of potatoes.
Richard Dawkins laughs maniacally as he is wrestled to the ground.
(Peter Bloxham writes stories, plays folk songs and edits a magazine for young contemporary british writers called 'other' which is 'coming soon' in May. He sometimes interviews people, has a blog (http://www.lesspermanent.com) and writes a blovella.)