Dave remains in a critical condition in hospital.
Apparently his liver is failing, his kidneys are failing, his heart is failing, he’s likely to suffer some kind of embolism or clot which would kill him in an instant.
I have to say I can’t help feeling a little guilty – but there’s no point dwelling on things like that at a time like this. All we can do is keep vigil by the side of his bed and hope he pulls through. He might be a filthy moron but he’s our filthy moron, you know?
Life, while altogether more fragrant, would be far less interesting without him around. I remember the first day I saw him at school, all those years ago. We were outside at break time having a game of football. It was me, Jimmy and Colossus Sheridan (he was 5’10 in 2nd class and he needed to shave twice a week) against the rest. Me and Jimmy had the skills, he had the ability to boot other children further than we could boot the football.
All the kids played football at break time. If you didn’t it meant you were a girl and therefore gay. So it was a surprise to see one young fellow stay away and lurk suspiciously near trees. He sat under them and appeared to just have his sandwich or whatever. One day when the ball was kicked over there I called at him to kick it back.
‘Kick it back!’, I yelled.
He just shrugged. I tried in vain to shout and explain what I wanted him to do but he remained rooted to the ground. I decided I ought to go and retrieve the ball then explain him in the face a couple of times. When I went over I asked him why he didn’t kick it back.
‘I was trying to figure out if I was left or right footed and I couldn’t make up my mind.’
‘What?’
‘Do you think you can tie lots of worms together and make a really, really long worm?’
‘I, erm, I suppose you could try.’
‘Yeah!’
‘Right. I’m going back to play football.’
And I never really thought about it until at home time he came over dragging a steadily shortening length of earthworms, all tied in little knots at the end. His little hands and face were covered in worm slime and other assorted goo.
‘Did it.’
‘So you did’.
‘My names Dave. What’s yours?’
‘I’m Twenty.’
‘You don’t look twenty.’
‘Jesus.’
‘Twenty Jesus?’
In the end I managed to set him straight and later I told Jimmy about this mad kid who was absolutely filthy.
‘Dirty Dave’, said Jimmy.
‘Dirty Dave. Hah’.
Now, all those years later here he is, cleaned up to the best of the hospital staff’s ability, hanging onto life by a thread. Like an Extreme sports bloke who mountain bikes down avalanches and stuff, he’s going to die as a result of doing something really, really stupid.
I have to say if you asked me how he was going to die I’d probably say ‘as a result of doing something really, really stupid’. Now that the time has come though there’s no pleasure in being right. I look at his face. His grotesquely mishapen nose which was perfectly normal until the day he managed to get it trapped in a car door and got stuck for three and a half hours. The mottled skin from years of drinking pints of Southern Comfort and eating a whole battenburg every night for the last 12 years. His hair, normally so greasy, lank and capable of producing a resin that can be boiled down and used as a powerful hallucinogenic, is damp but lacking in the qualities that made it so uniquely Dave.
And those eyes. Not that I can see them as they ‘re closed but I can imagine them open, so hopeful, so full of trust when you tell him something’s a really great idea but in reality it could really hurt him. Like that time I convinced him to let me shave him with the spinning back wheel of a mountain bike. It took him about 10 minutes to realise we were having him on. When he got out of hospital after six plastic surgeries to graft some skin back on his face we had a right good laugh about it.
And there he lies in St James’s Hospital, hanging on. I really hope he makes it through. Good friends are hard to find and he’s a good friend. It’s hard when you don’t get a chance to say goodbye after so many years, despite the ups and downs.
On the other hand I save €400. It’s win-win, really.
Poor old Dave but with that €400 at stake I hope they’re not letting you near the plug for the life support machine
just curious but how many earthworms did he manage to tie together – quite a feat if he did more than five I’d say
You could lodge it in the newly nationalised Northern Rock twenty…
At least 23, Sid.
Safe as houses in there, Anto
Touching story.
I’d send him some flowers but he’d probably ingest them as soon as he comes round.
Send it to me! And your bank details, I’m very rich these days it seems.
Twenty, i need to discuss a delicate issue with you, i know what you might think, but i do feel it is the time to mention it in view of the circumstances! Dave owes me a lot of money! i wont say why as im the sole of discretion, but i have been providing him with stray cats these last four years, what he does with them is his and Gods business but im sure he found them good homes for i never saw them roaming the streets again. He owing me this money, i wonder if it is possible that when you next visit him you might search his clothes and rifle his cabinet for any valuables to help pay of this debt! For isnt it well known that debtors and priests cant get into to heaven. Do his to help ease his soul in case he does pass away through recyled paper poison.
I hope he snuffs it. There’s nothing like a good wake for entertainment. Pissed grannies hanging around saying novenas and talking about what a loss it is when everyone else is thinking, “He was a dirty decrepit blight on the face of humanity. Good enough for him…. Now would it be rude of me to crack open that bottle of Jameson and the packet of buns that I actually brought for the family….”.
Easy. Tell him you created a new bank accoint for him in northern rock.. make up some papers on d’interweb. Give the papers to him after Northern Rock falls flat on his face. You are high and dry.
Don’t want to seem to be jumping the gun, but can we have the business? Those bastards Flanagans will offer you the earth but for 400 quid we could put on a basic but tasteful funeral using our range of seconds. We would throw in a free plastic wreath and a jumbo pack of sauasge rolls for the wake.
I’m hurting — don’t let ‘im die!
23 earthworms! – jeepers twenty, that must be some kinda record. For that reason alone we cannot let dirty dave slip to the other side – what a feat – what a man. And just think about the revenge those dastardly earthworms would have on him when he’s buried in that cold damp earth – doesn’t bear thinking about. No twenty, we must do something.
Are you trying to bump him off so you don’t have to put him in the bewk?
He’s in the book. He’s a vital character.
I just phoned the hospital and they say he was able to take a little Jameson, so things are looking up.
Jenna or John?
Look, let him go the tortured soul. And we will do a catering pack of vol au vents, filled with that shitty curried chicken. An mdf box lined with feminine hygiene products , nice and soft resting place ..all in 350 quid. Far better than the MFI shit Massey is peddling
Really bad period for Dirty Dave.
If they operate on him they might not need to mop up the blood, if one or two have survived intact.
Saving 400 Euro sounds excellent. Though if he comes through you should think of renaming the jammy little blighter.
Twenty, don’t forget to ask the crematorium staff if you can play the theme music from the Tampax advert as he’s taken to his final resting place. “Its my life, stop hurting me, stop hurting me.” Rollerblades are of course optional.
I hope the little scamp is ok!
Is this an extended excerpt from book two, The Gobbet of Ire?
I have heard from the hosp[ital that Dave has passed away – my comisserations twenty
No he has not.
He’s dead, Twenty and it’s your fault.
yeah, how could you twenty – all for a bet, disgusting, you wait, Luciano is really pissed at you
If the truth be told there’s probably fuck all wrong with him. He’s probably just exaggerating like all women do when they have a tampon (or 6) in them
I’m going to hide now
Anything that bleeds from it’s genitals once a month shoudl not be trusted.
Why’d you think Gay Byrne got let go from RTÉ?
Still, at least his place in the buinness book of Records is assured – nobody will ever beat eight!
Incidentally Twenty – this is a wonderful defence of Britney that you might enjoy.
http://www.heavy.com/video/24409
pints of Southern Comfort and a whole Battenburg every day….pfff, that’s what I call a breakfast….
he MUST NOT be cremated.. I will be paid and i know a shop that will take cold meat in any state. If the chizeler has gone to meet the man wih the long beard then after the funeral avoid Muzzies cheap kebabs for at least 2 weeks. you hve been warned.
If the truth be told there’s probably fuck all wrong with him. He’s probably just exaggerating like all women do when they have a tampon (or 6) in them
Class!
Dave will deliver a note to God stating: ” Dear God, I have delivered the Tenner I owed you, Twenty to follow!”
Being prodded and poked by a nurse in a crisp fresh uniform, there’s many a man would give his right arm to be in your shoes, Dirty Dave you’re the envy of Fear na hEireann.
We all know what it’s like when our days of action in Oriental brothels are behind us, they are but distant memories, our thoughts are with you. We feel your pain.