Luck made a pussy out of you

Things okay. Everything is normal. Just walking through from the car park through to the studio entrance. There is Sanjeev. Hey Sanjeev.

Use the pass card to make the light go from red to green periodically. Hear the door click and push on it and watch the light go back to red as I go through the door.

Things okay. Feeling a bit better being out of the house. Long weekend. Waking up in the morning having slept so much my old spine feels compacted in from the top down into the middle. Still got it though. Still can tap dance.

Do a little tap dance as I walk the hallway between studios and hear the clippity clop go all the way down in front of me. Hot dog.

Get that smile ready. Use it like a quick draw. Wallop people with my smile. Bang. Bang. Take that. You seen an old dog with teeth this white? Not in your lifetime you haven't you young hot piece of arse. Shit the young women get my sperm doing butterfly stroke down in my testes.

You got teeth like these tell you what you don't need to worry about dirtying up your hands for nobody. EG your teeth are so frikken clean you shoot right to the top of any damn hierarchy. Take this as a piece of advice - someone comes telling you they can fix your teeth up on the cheap through a series of easy to pay instalments you take that hand and you shake it right there and then. Hot dog I did and I never looked back or asked questions and look where that got me? To the top of the business is where. You wouldn't even guess for me as a kid I had what the dental team called 'crowded teeth'. Shit I had people's hands all up in my mouth for weeks on end some times longer just jabbing and spraying and gassing and me just sat there all teary eyed looking at the ceiling thinking about well this will be over some time soon so just pretend that you are there already in a place where this has happened weeks ago.

Things okay. No need for to think about the death. Cause look at me I'm alive. And look at this I seen stuff in my time. So an old dog can't be too concerned with doom and gloom. My legacy is a strong one. I got in front of a camera here and there. And as long as you're in front of a camera, or behind the damn thing – then at least that's something you done that will last forever. Because I seen people who never even thought about the camera or the microphone. Idiots. They'll die and drop off the radar. My signal will always be strong. No matter what. Cause I got inside people's homes and spoke to them all and inspired emotions in their kids. That's infiltration. Some of those kids probably think about me more than they think about Jesus.

And you think I would have had my big break with a crowded mouth? Yeah no chance is what you're thinking and I don't blame you. No one in TV has a crowded mouth. That is for the Johnny and Mary at home just working like normal folk dirtying up their hands. Not for me. Not for the big dogs. That's not for Frank and Sammy. Sometimes it is for an actress. Sometimes one of those comedy actresses who is unlikely to get a handsome perfectly toothed man but in the end gets him in to marry her - sometimes it is for them. But only once or twice a decade. So no way. That's not for me.

Oka-Doka. Coming on up to my dressing room. Here goes nothing. Pretty pumped. Get it happening. Get those legs nimble. Walk on my toes. That's the ticket. And here is my dressing room and here is David?

Dave? What are you doing here?

Good afternoon Lucky, how are you?

I'm well Dave. I'm well. I'm getting ready for the show. Thought I'd get in early you know for the show?

I see Lucky, that's fine, that's just fine.

I know it is.

Yeah, well Lucky, the thing is, that's not really fine? That's not really fine in terms of that's not actually a thing you need to be doing anymore.

I'm just staring at Dave now on account of not really knowing what to say to that.

Lucky, you're not on the air anymore. You don't work here anymore. You shouldn't be here. In fact, I don't even know why Sanjeev let you in. I've told Sanjeev not to allow you access – and on top of that, I told fucking Sarah to deactivate that pass of yours. In fact -

He unclips a radio from his belt and speaks in to it.

Sarah, are you there?

Yeah I'm here Dave what is it?

Can you get down to 51B, we've got a situation here.

No can do, I'm up in 35A – big problem with the diabetics.

What? What the fuck is the problem this time?

One of them is, I think, dying.

What? What from?


Jesus Christ. Well do you have a minute?

Not really, like they're really, like, dying. They're all blue and sweaty and just shaking all over the joint.

What the fuck do they expect green lighting an operation like that? Fucking Fuck.

Yeah, well, either way I've got to keep these cameras rolling.

Dave is looking at the wall at a poster that says 'Athletic Diabetic: How long will they last?' and just, I think, thinking.

Sarah, you still there?


Just quickly, what is happening with Lucky's pass card?

I disabled it.

Yeah, well the thing about that is, he's right next to me? So you must not have fucking disabled the card enough?

Hey, Dave, go fuck yourself, you know how long that guy was working here? Sixty-Five years. Thirty-Five of those were during the pass card era. So he's probably got like fifty of the things just sitting at home in a shoe box or some lonely shit like that. So don't fuck me around, I can only cancel them one at a time, besides which, I've got more important shit to do than lock out some senile old shit from coming in to the studio, besides which he only really comes in here to tap dance in the cafeteria. Which when you think about it, is that really hurting anyone?

Can't you like change the code or something so all old cards don't work?

Yeah, right, and then what Dave, just buy a shit load more cards for everyone? You know how many people watch TV these days? Like none. So go figure where to get the money for that kind of pass card revamp job. Because I certainly am not going to bank roll an operation like that you fucking cock dog.

Ah you go fuck yourself you fucking god fuck you, shit.

Dave slams the radio down on the table.

And then he just stomps out of the room keeping eye contact with me until he is out the door and it is just me again by myself.

Things okay. Back on the old stomping ground. Tell you what I fired up in here on many occasions. Getting ready for the wonderful world of television. Hmm but not now. Evidently. Based on what Dave said about me not being on the air anymore. Well that's a way to take the air out of a fellow's wings. Now I'm just me again. And I can't even think of what to do next – on account of me being a flop. Like my brain is just stopped.

I got nothing. Go into my pocket and get my tablet out. Take look at the web. Looking at other people on the web, in my old dressing room. Finding a seat. Got a seat now. Looking through all the other people's photos. Here's one. I knew her mother. Jesus she's got the real big titties. I wonder if there are some photos of her with big titties out and about like at a beach. Jack pot. They got titties on this young hot piece of arse. Shit, the little thing is just smiling at the camera. And here is me, some croak just ogling away guilt free. That's not how it was back in the day. But that's how it is now. Shit yes. You seen these titties? Yeah I seen em. They fucken big as all hell. And she is in a bikini. Next photo. Next photo. Next photo. At dinner. Smiling at dinner. Next photo. Hugging a man? Boyfriend man? Not my problem. His problem – that there is me, ogling his girl. If it's even her boyfriend. Next photo. Another boyfriend? Different guy. Fucken bring the titties back. Next photo. Next photo. School memories? Fuck that. Although. Titties aren't as big when she was in school. Not for me. I'm not some sicko. Though my hand is on my penis.

Just then Sanjeev comes in through the door.


Sanjeev. Yes, good to see you. Just the man I was looking for.

Lucky? Were you just masturbating?

No, no shit no Sanjeev, what ever gave you that impression?

Your hand was down inside your pants and it was moving around rapidly.

Hmm. That's not the way I remember it.

And then another coloured comes in.

Lucky, this is Fahaad.

Hello Fahaad.

Hello Lucky.

Anyway, we've been told to come and get you and to take you out the back and wallop you a bit and tell you to fuck off and never come back.

Sanjeev? Are you shitting me? That is brutal. You are Pakistani. You are not a violent people.

I am Indian.

Well, like, are they a violent people?

Not as violent as the Pakistani.

Oh. Then what am I thinking of?

Bangladeshi. They are a passive people.

Ah. And Fahaad, where might you hail from?


I see.

So Lucky, we can do this the easy way or the hard way.

Look Sanjeev, Fahaad -

No 'look' at me Mr Lucky.

Fahaad is looking pretty fired up.

I thought you were a straight up and down guy Sanjeev. I mean, it's me, Lucky. Remember when Dave was going to fire you for racist reasons? And I said that's not right Dave. No way that's just not right you can't be racist to minorities, or colours. Remember what I said?


I said racism is not a party that I blow balloons for. And I put my job on the line. And now here is you just coming at me with this whole walloping story? Not very straight up and down of you Sanjeev. Not very straight up and down at all.

Lucky, Dave covers my family's health insurance. He's not all bad. If only a little racist. So weigh that up. We'll be waiting for you at the exit. And then, we will wallop you. Let's go Fahaad.

And they do go. Out of my dressing room door. And I am just left thinking well shit.

You got a guy like me? You take what I think and put it on the Television? Well it's got me hosting it. That's one. And I've got my old band back in form. Shit hot motherfuckers playing big band numbers like they're earning their pay or else. And it's got questions with big name actors, real talented sons of bitches. Golfers. People who vote for Pete's sake. And they stay and do a song with me. And then they got these young girls. Oh yeah they got em real young but a real nice guilt free type of young. And they are just primed up real tight but with a couple of loose ones in case that's your racquet. And you can just forget about what they are wearing. It is something of an outfit that gets a man just fuming wanting to fix his car and mow his lawn and fucken have a stern chat with his family about how that's not the way men were meant to lead lives. And fair enough they started a family, but now it is time for that family to make do, while him, the man, goes off and finds a new younger woman for to make another family with. Like the women on my show. They are wearing very little is what I'm saying. That's my kind of show. It's got nothing to do with a stack of Diabetics on exercise bikes just going for it clocking up digital numbers on a screen and the winner gets a Hyundai.

Things okay. I am deflated though. In terms of my mood. It's pretty down in the dumps. This is the pits. But what's this? Dave left his radio here and there is a noise coming from it? Grab the radio. Take a listen.

It's a girl with a shaky voice saying 'please.'

Is she a diabetic? Probably. Does she need my help? My money is on a green light.

Get up. Take a few paces around the room still listening to the shaky diabetic just breathing and gargling. I think in my mind of a blue woman on the ground in a singlet with the studio's insignia. She is dying. And I can hear the soundtrack. It is not a slice. This is no good. This is a time where I should intervene. Like that time I heard Dave saying he wanted to fire Sanjeev for being a 'smelly rat'.

It's time to use my skill set.

Pretty quick and nimble for an old dog – see the data tapes of my performances on Saturday Night Bonanza and you will understand when I say that the spirit never dies. Here I go. Big show-biz strides all the way down the hallway. And there is Sanjeev. And there is Fahaad. Hello Sanjeev. Hello Fahaad. Don't look so upset. Don't be so angry. You never stood a chance against an old dog like me. And my big rings. Bones got nothing on gold. Fucken absolutely nothing evidently based on I have really given them a big walloping. It's all real clean before they hit the ground. And down they go. They didn't expect this. Fahaad hits his head on a steel handle and is lying still on the ground with a pool of blood spreading his thoughts for all to see. Sanjeev is nursing a broken bone and he has coughed up a bit of his stomach liquid. He yells out 'You fuck'.

But the job is not done. Still I go. Faster and faster still. Down the hallway between studios. Things okay. And here is Dave yelling at Sarah. He is calling her a stupid bat shit. I approach them and he turns to me like you fucken old dog. And I am just thinking yes. It is me. I am the devil. And I fuck him right up. I grab the nearest thing and pour it in his face. It is hot coffee. He is screaming and asking what the fuck my problem is? But he can't see right anymore and I give him a real walloping and he goes down pretty hard. I flash my smile at Sarah and she is clearly taken back by the whiteness of my teeth. She looks quite thankful and also intrigued. She has obviously realised for the first time how handsome I am. I tell her that there is no time. I need to see the diabetic girl.

Sarah directs me to the studio, struggling to keep up with my fast, long strides. She is observing more than directing. Understanding what all the fuss was about. Grasping my legacy. Knowing me more than she ever knew Jesus. Like all those little children. Sitting at home. Looking at their Television sets. At me. Waiting on my every word. Looking back at their parents to validate their laughter. Congratulating themselves for their own comic awareness. Thanking me for teaching them.

And here we are. Side of stage. And the cameras are rolling. And the red light says 'Live'. And there is the diabetic girl. Blue as I imagined her. Frothing as I imagined her. Gargling away. Flopping around and shaking. And the lights heat the set as they beam down on her. I straighten my tie.

Show Time.