Chapter 4 - Npw it gets odd
Dan bit his thumb hard, checking to see if he dozed off himself; on the off-chance that the common doubts of the first-time father hadn't manifested themselves as a Freudian mightmare. The pain was all to real, as was the copper taste of blood as his teeth broke the skin.
And as real as the laughter.
Dan cradled his chewed digit as the disembodied voice wheezed, coughed twice, and finally, awfully, spoke.
"Well, someone's in the fuckin' bad books, aren't they?"
The voice was croaky, tar-flecked, and for some unfathomable reason, recognisably Glaswegian. It was also fairly muffled.
Beginning to doubt his sanity, Dan, after a lengthy pause, finally spoke.
"Erm...what?"
The voice swiped back, louder this time.
"Ah said, 'Someone's in the bad books, aren't they?'" then addes, almost as an afterthought;
"Deaf cunt!"
"What are you talking about? Who the fuck are you? I can't hear you very well!"
The voice responded to Dan's litany impatiently.
"Look, if yer havin' trouble hearin' the VERY simple I'm sayin', stick a fuckin' funnel up the bitch's twat or sumthin! Hang oan a wee minnit!"
There was a faint, sloshing sound from Karen's stomach, accompanied by various curses. Dan was slowly resigning himself to the fact that the foul-mouthed, tubercular voice was that of his unborn son. The son that was currently performing a very ill-tempered three-point-turn in his mother's amniotic fluid.
The voice spoke again. Dan subconsciously classed it as an 'It'. Surely nothing he could have spawned could be so foul?
It was clearer, more distinct, and coming from between Karen's legs.
"That better? Echo....echo.....echo! Ha! Fuckin' cool; it's like a sub-woofer or sumthin'!" The horrid voice then broke into some *boom-tish* beatboxing before laughing uproariously and ended with a coughing fit.
"Look," said Dan, for want of a better alternative, "Are you, like, my conscience or something??"
"Conshins? Do ah sound like Jiminy Fuckin' Crikkit, Dumbo?"
"I just thought..."
"I am your SON, moron! I'm here to tell ye a little sumthin' aboot whit ye can look forward tae' a wee try-afore-ye-buy if ye like?"
After five seconds of silence, the voice took Dan's lack of a response as aquiescence. Clearing his throat loudly and causing a Doppler-echo from Karen's vagina, the voice began.
"First off, ma name's Quentin. That bitch's idea; yoor too much o' a soppy cunt tae argue. You'll try tae justify it tae yer mates by sayin' ahm named efter Tarantino,"
Karen and I haven't even discussed names", Dan countered.
"Ha! There'll be nae fuckin' discussion aboot it. She'll tell ye efter ahm boarn.
"She'll have big plans my friend, mark my words. Only the best fer her wee angel. Firm believer in nurture versus nature, that yin. Breast, not bottle. Designer baby clothes. She's have me eatin' pureed fuckin' caviar if they'd thought tae shove it in a Heinz jar!"
"Is it such a bad thing to want the best for your child?" asked Dan.
"Ah, don't get me wrong, DADDY!" that name spoken with enough bile and phlegm to stick to a wall,
"You'd be a good Dad, but she wud be a fuckin' nightmare! Nothin' you could dae wid eb guid enuff fer her wee saint! She thinks she's gettin' Noam Chomsky, Thomas Aquinas, Mother Theresa, Shakespeare, and fuckin' Bono rolled into one. I intend to prove her so very, very wrong!"
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Sun 6 Jul 2008, 19:52, Reply)