Read Online Daft Wee Stories by Limmy - Free Book Online

nothing came out. Nothing. And he stayed like that, speechless, as the motor was dropped into the big machine that squashed his vehicle and girlfriend into a one-metre cube of metal, plastic and sludge.
    â€˜Claire! Oh my God, Claire!’ he shouted, finally finding his voice. The guy in the hard hat ran from the crane; he didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he soon worked it out. Him and Marty ran over to the bleeding block of steel.
    â€˜Claire,’ said Marty quietly. He didn’t know what to do. What was he to do now?
    He turned to the guy in the hard hat, slowly.
    And smiled.
    The hard-hat guy started getting worried. Very worried.
    But it was all right!
    Because what the crane guy didn’t know was there was this programme called
Jinxed
. It was a hidden-camera show, a bit like
Candid Camera
or
Beadle’s About
or
Punk’d
. They’d do a big practical joke, then the film crew would appear at the end, along with the presenter who’d say, ‘You’ve been jinxed!’
    Claire and Marty had watched it the other night. It was another one that Marty didn’t quite get. He just wasn’t sure about one or two things. Pretty fundamental things, as it turned out. He was going to ask Claire at the time, but he didn’t want her to take the piss again. Anyway, he reckoned he got the gist of it and how it all worked.
    The guy in the hard hat ran away to phone an ambulance. And the police. Marty glanced around for the film crew. They were nowhere to be seen.
    â€˜You’ve been jinxed!’ shouted Marty.
    But still no film crew appeared. And where was Claire? He hoped this didn’t take too long. They were supposed to be going for a meal.
    Daft Marty.
    The amount of shite that went over his head.
    It was hysterical.

STEVIE
    I’m in a shop. An electrical shop. The kind that sells tellies and cameras and things for your computer, that kind of place. And I’m at the counter being served. I won’t bother telling you what I’m buying, you wouldn’t be interested. I’m not even interested. You buy stuff, hoping it’ll make you happier, but it never really does. Well, it does a wee bit, but not as much as you were hoping for.
    Anyway, I get served by the guy. Looks about twenty-eight. And his wee name badge tells me his name is Stevie.
    â€˜All right? Let me take that for you, mate,’ says Stevie, and gives me a smile and a wink.
    That did something, that. What he did there, that smile and a wink. I don’t know what it was exactly, but that did something. It wasn’t a big, giant smile. It wasn’t a big fake Disneyland smile where we’re all pretending we’ve worked everything out and nobody dies any more. It was just a wee smile, that kind of smile where you keep your mouth shut and tense up your cheeks. Friendly, but considerate. Considerate of my feelings. He thought I’d maybe want a smile, but he was considerate enough to not ram his joy down my throat with a cheesy Cheshire-Cat grin.
    Then there was the wink. In case the smile seemed too reserved, the wink made up for it. But it wasn’t too bold. It wasn’t the kind of wink that puts you on the spot. Sometimes a wink can do that, it can make your brain freeze, you don’t know what to do. But it was just a quick wink. Then he looked down to the counter, that’s the important thing. Immediately after winking he looked down to the counter, right away. He didn’t stay looking at me waiting for a reply wink or to see what I thought. He just gave me it. He gave me that wink with no expectation of anything in return, like a gift. Then he looked down.
    And he called me ‘mate’. He could have called me ‘sir’. Some people like being called ‘sir’ or ‘madam’, it makes them feel like they’re being treated with respect, like they’re a member of the royal family coming to look at a factory or launch a ship.