Turbonegro

          The way my clerks have a go when I ask for time off you’d never know I was supposedly self-employed. Alright, I haven’t exactly been the model barrister in the last year, but I’m entitled to be that way. This morning I pushed the boat out and informed them I was taking up to a month off.

            “It eeez an amusing joke,” replied my head clerk, putting on an estuary French accent. “Eeeee cannot be serious.”

            “I think he is, Roger.”

            “No! Eeet cannot be!”

            “I am serious.”

            “I see.” He stared at me for some considerable time, appraising me. “So be eeet.”

            At least he was joking about it. I think.

 

*

 

            “I had a dream!” Ed said, as I walked in this evening. His last song adventure had resulting in our agreement that his next dream would lead us to the next song. “I was on a train with some of the other teachers from my school…”

            “So you do have a school then?”

            “…and I very nearly shagged one of them.”

            “How disappointing for you.”

            “Exceedingly.”

            We went online and searched Google for appropriate song lyrics. We found a band called Turbonegro who’d done a song called ‘Train of Flesh’ which seemed to be pretty much about needing a shag.

            “Well clearly…” Ed began.

            “I know what you’re thinking, Ed, but I can’t help noticing how circular this is. You dream of sex on a train, upon which we base a lyric search, which yields, guess what: a song about having sex on a train. You think this licenses you to go have sex on a train don’t you?” He nodded and grinned. “I don’t think so; the Rules would not approve.”

            “Fuck the Rules, mate.”

            “Dude! Check this out.” I’d found further information about Turbonegro. “A Turbonegro is a large, well-equipped, armed black male in a fast car, out for vengeance. We are his prophets.”

            “Sweet!”

            “Okay,” I said, “here’s how it’ll go. Every time you get on the train from now on you have to look for a chance to shag someone. If, and when, you succeed, you must afterwards say to the girl (or other life form): ‘Thank you. You should know that I did that in the name of the Turbonegro, a large, well-equipped, armed black male in a fast car, out for vengeance. I am his prophet.”

            “It’s on.”