"Picture the scene: The other f***in' week there, doin' the f***in' Volley with Tommy, playing pool. I'm playing like Paul-f***in'-Newman by the way. Givin' the boy here the tannin' of a lifetime. So it comes to there, during the last shot, the deciding ball of the whole tournament. I'm on the black and he's sittin' in the corner looking all f***in' biscuit-arsed. When this hard c**t comes in. Obviously f***in' fancied himself, like. Starts staring at me. Lookin' at me, right f***in' at me, as if to say, "Come ahead, square go." You ken me, I'm not the type of c**t that goes looking for f***in' bother, like, but at the end of the day I'm the c**t with a pool cue and he can get the fat end in his puss any time he F***ing wanted like. So I squares up, casual like. What does the hard c**t do? Or the so-called hard c**t? Shites it. Puts down his drink, turns, and gets the F**k out of there. And after that, well, the game was mine."
"That lassie got glassed, and no c**t leaves here till we find out what c**t did it."
Francis "Franco" Begbie
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