these are rejected scripts/roughdrafts from the book/sitcom, The Lazyboys, I've given them the above title and turned them into a short story of some sort. Hope you guys like it, though it's not edited, Ive just conjoined the scripts into some sort of continous prose.


Part 1

Saturday night, in a pub in Enfield, England, swigging the odd beer down the oesophagus. Sue me for being sociable.

‘So how old do you think she is then?’
‘I don’t know dude, late 20s, early 30s, definitely older than 26’. James scratched the back of his head. I had to ask him because I wasn’t sure of her age. Maybe she had a boyfriend and he’d just nipped to the toilet. But she’d been sat there,  at the bar, on her own, for the past fifteen minutes. Either her boyfriend had mad diarrhoea or constipation, can’t ever rule out constipation,  or she didn’t have a boyfriend at all. Fingers crossed for the later of course.

The subject at the crux of our conversation was this woman who was sat at the bar, which was located behind where me and James were sitting. I had my back on her and James was facing her direction. She had long black hair, possibly a weave from which she kept tracing strands out with her right hand, at the same time exposing her shapely cheek bones,  Her complexion I would say, coffy brown, a bit like Pam Grier in the seventies,  blue jeans and what seemed to be a black top. I couldn’t really cloak it because she had her brown leather handbag cradled on her lap.

‘Her face suggests mid 20s, but her hands, dude, they are flagging thirty-two years of age and rising’ James was still trying to crack her age.
‘What do you mean by that’
‘Come on dude, look at them’

I turned around and briefly zoomed at her hands which were clutching on to her handbag. James hadn't stopped brainstoriming and mocking.
‘I know a woman who has hands like that, checkered skin on the outside and palms so hard you can light a matchstick on them. Dude, that woman, is my mother, and she is bloody 52, go figure’

‘Man, you’re so cynical, who cares about her hands anyway. By the way, there’s nothing good old cocoa butter can’t correct. She looks nice man. She has that classy beauty going on and I like that. I bet she is all brainy.  I want her to be my wife James’

‘Hey, if you want her, go ahead and ask her out then.

‘Well, technically I can’t really ask her OUT, because we’re already OUT, but I get your point anyway’
‘There he goes again, technically bla bla. You know what you are? A geek. That’s what you are, dude. A short, four eyed chubby faced, trousers and shirt wearing geek’

‘No need to be personal James. I’m well aware of my inflated face but you never know, she might actually fancy a pinch on my cheeks in a sort of adorable way people do to cute little babies,  and then I’ll be in business. Who’ll have the last laugh hey’.

  James is an ass sometimes but he’s my mate, and we enjoy the odd banter.  We’ve known each other since university where we shared a flat, the ‘boom boom shake’ we called it. No fumes implied in the name, just the sound of uni girls twats being pounded,  true only in James’s case,  because while he kept himself busy licking off strawberry yoghurt off girls’ writhing naked bodies, I was cracking my cranium with pharmaceutical codes. I still can’t believe he managed to get a first class degree in business studies. I suppose the course is designed for thickos.


‘So who’s caught your eye tonight then’ I sighed.
‘Well me? Na, I’ll pass dude. Got an early tomorrow, anyway’
‘Is that because there is no white women in here’
He started grinning. ‘I thought as much’ I said.
James swore he would never go out with a black woman in England, even though he himself was blacker than Wesley Snipes. Long story, will become clear later.

‘Anyway, I ’ll finish this drink first and then go up to her’
‘Stop stalling dude. Every second counts. Get in there before some idiot stills your idea’

I had a another browse around the pub to see any possible competition. ‘No chance of that man, this place is full of pensioners.’ I uttered with confidence.And then I noticed a tall black guy who was sat, on the double sofas next to the jukebox,  with a white bloke who looked like he had down syndrome. Possibly, a fellow immigrant clocking up the shift hours in the boozer with a client, waiting restlessly to get that timesheet signed. He wouldn’t leave the client to go chat up my woman would he? If he did, I would set social services on his ass,  that should slow him down. But they could take hours to react and by then he would have acquired her phone number and probably a kiss. And if they did fire him, she might find it SWEET that he lost his job for her love and will end up  marrying him and have rampant sex while I keep hiring those adult dvds to curb my loneliness and urges.  Hell, I can’t let that happen, I better go before this chancer peeps me to it.  I quickly got up and tucked in my shirt.

‘Are you going now, thought you wanted to finish your drink’
‘ I can’t let someone else take this chance from me, I’m getting in there right this moment’.
‘Nice one dude, go and rock her world’
If only I knew how to talk to women. I seem to have a creeping sense of dread every time I’m in the presence of a gorgeous female. The ugly ones I could chat away like a politician, but it’s those beautiful ones that made me stutter like a rape victim. James knew I was hopeless. That’s why he was wearing a smug look on his face.  Back at uni he’d slided a few minxes into my room, but I just couldn’t master the artistry of switching a conversation about pop music into sex talk. No wonder I’m still a virgin. Virgin at twenty six.  I should get a medal for that right? Perhaps not in this society where the tabloids put pressure on kiddies to pop their cherries before they even grow a shade of armpit hair. A society that also mocks gents like me who go out on the town wearing a trousers and a shirt. I mean whatever happened to dressing smart like the good old days of pleated baggy trousers and long sleeved shirts. Gosh, my head was all over the place.  James couldn’t stop grinning. I turned once more towards where the woman was sitting and my heart started beating faster than a Mapouka drum.

‘By the way, James, could you lend me one of your pick up lines I can throw in her direction? Something funny and witty. I want her to laugh, hoping in that hysteria she might accidentally kiss me or wrap me in an embrace and then the ice will be broken,  and my ship will sail through so to speak’ I pleaded.

‘Gosh, I thought you’d ask. Alright then’, he said having another swig of his beer, milking the moment of course.  ‘Go and tell her that you want to lick her bucket clean. Women like that’, he uttered flicking his tongue out.
‘Huh, what the hell is that?’ Need I remind you, James, that this is a proper black woman not some white-’
‘Careful dude’ he interrupted me.
Alright man, let me go' This was going to be a challenge, and then some.



‘

this is some great story. very, very hilarious, i suspect it is coming from a very critical mind, anyway great writers have critical mindset. What are u doing about making a book out of this? very, very, very, very contemporary stuff. thumbs up. got me laughing my ribs to shreds.

The book behind this is called The Lazyboys, should be out 2010 February. The book is so contemporary and shocking, some people will find it offensive, some will find it extremely hilarious. Im part of a trio of writers called Terrentius Ashwell, and we are working on a lot of scripts for TV sitcoms and one book which is The Lazyboys, all coming out next year. Thanx for the review, by the way. Our blog should be ready in a few days, we'll be putting The Lazyboys promotional scripts and short stories. This one is one of them.

Also before we put out The Lazyboyz Book, we're gonna put out the The Lazyboyz Comic Book, one of the character pics is on my profile display.