chapter 1 part 2

‘Well I’m sorry but I haven’t got any money. And anyway, you shouldn’t be wasting your time in those dance halls; you should be at home looking after your Mum.’ Finding it hard to believe Mrs Pitts didn’t have any money when considering the palace she lived in, Barry thought it an insult his hard work was only deemed the worth of a can of Coke and a packet of Jelly Babies. Still, he was thankful for at least something, it being more than he usually got. Arriving back at his home, Barry felt that familiar despondent feeling that often followed a night of collecting from his window cleaning round. ‘How did it go?’ asked Maggie. ‘Usual. Terrible.’ ‘Well you go and read one of your comics, that’ll make you feel better.’ Comics were a welcome psychological massage for Barry: an escape from his many failings as a human being. The prized and substantial collection he owned would often be shown to visitors. Jimmy the Genius was one of the few non-pornographic ones he liked. It charted the life of a young prodigy who’d a habit of creating incredible inventions that’d invariably foil the evil Professor Perilous. Of course, one disagreeable consequence of the foiling of the evil professor was that humanity would invariably be saved. But Jimmy the little cherub wouldn’t stop at just supervillain foiling: in his spare time he’d wrestle with chimpanzees. After reading for a while Barry lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
Jimmy the sodding Genius still wants to help the world, forget it. And forget humanity
as well—because there’s nothing human about it.
4 A loud roar startled Barry, shattering the silvery silence that had been wrapped around his head. The sound came from a vacuum cleaner, a noise he’d always found unbearable. ‘Turn it off Mum, not when I’m here, you know I hate that sound.’ ‘Don’t be so soft yeh lil baby.’ Barry took refuge outside. He found loud unexpected sounds insufferable for some unknown reason. In fact this was only one of the ways in which Barry differed from regular people, there were others—hidden away inside of him that even he wasn’t aware of. Friday night arrived and it was time to let the hair on his balding head down. Not having much money to spend from his paltry window cleaning collection, Barry was still determined to at least attempt the enjoyment of his life.
I wonder how many birds I’m gonna pull, he thought, knowing deep down he’d be going home alone to watch Home Alone for the ninety-third time. Down at the local nightclub—Euphoria—a place that smells like sweaty feet and doesn’t look much better, Barry wore his best threads and danced with a level of skill rarely seen on the grubby establishment’s dance floor. The general decay of the discotheque combined with Barry’s shoddy dancing were a depressing sight for anyone of a sober disposition. Other revellers danced with an almost-equal incompetence to Barry, it resembling a kind of dreary unimaginative zombie shuffle—as if their shoes were lined with lead, while systematically they suckled at the glass teats held in their hands. Having spent a tenner on a book called The World’s 1000 Most Awesome
Chat-up Lines, Barry was slightly more optimistic he’d have a good night for once.
5 On the back of the book he read:
Women will be unable to resist your charms, no matter how ugly you are. These
chat-up lines are manna from heaven, positively guaranteed to get you into the
knickers of your dream girl. The book even came with a health warning.
Beware, use these drops of gold too often and you may find your penis falls off from
overuse!
Goodness, thought Barry. Managing to memorize a few of the lines within this book, he felt more confident than usual about his chances of striking it lucky. After strutting his stuff on the cattle market, performing such classic numbers like The Funky Chicken, The
Swim and The Monkey, Barry approached a hot-looking young lady. ‘I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I bet I can still make your bed rock.’ ‘Get lost creep,’ said the girl, pulling a canister of pepper spray out of her handbag. Abruptly scarpering, Barry was undeterred by this initial setback, but did require a couple more drinks before plucking up the courage to try another line. ‘If you were a hamburger at McDonalds, you’d be McGorgeous.’ ‘What did you say? I didn’t hear you,’ replied the woman Barry was now trying it on with.
6 Her friends, intrigued, closed in to see what this overweight and balding man had to say. Barry looked nervously around at the enquiring women. ‘I er—if you were a —er hamburger you’d be called—McGorgeous.’ The women broke out in laughter. ‘But that’s pathetic.’ A tenner spent and the receipt for the book lost, Barry was feeling very annoyed, he decided the best plan was to drink his mind into oblivion. Once heavily drunk he started trying his lines on anybody who walked across his path, male or female. He tried one he thought couldn’t fail, shouting it above the loud music in what he imagined might be the evil voice and sardonic laughter of Professor Perilous. ‘Inheriting eighty million pounds doesn’t mean much when you have a weak heart.’ It didn’t work. To a girl with bullet nipples that could cut glass, he said: ‘Is it cold in here, or are you just happy to see me?’ This received, as you can imagine, a look of disgust. Getting more intoxicated now, the lines began to take on a more forward approach before becoming downright insulting. ‘Do you sleep on your stomach?’ ‘No,’ replied a young man. ‘Can I?’ ‘No.’ ‘Hey baby, wanna dance?’ ‘No thanks,’ replied a Medusa lookalike, realising this man’s motor skills were far too impaired for dancing.