154. Shorn Shank Redemption.

I say, “Penny for your thoughts, Dave?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks thoughtful. He’s not your quintessential deep thinker, to be fair, although he has moments of blinding revelation and insight. Those who live a life less ordinary can often impart great wisdom, regardless of their basic mental capacity or lack of education.
In balance I reckon I’ve learned more from the uneducated than from those with degrees and expensive educations, although I’ve rubbed shoulders with the former a great deal more than the latter. Uneducated doesn’t necessarily mean stupid – never make that mistake.
All I’ve got is a C pass in GCSE Woodwork, in case you wondered.
I place myself firmly in the ‘self educated’ category.
Whenever I see Fucking Amazing Dave looking thoughtful I make a point of finding out what’s going on between his ears. I know there’s a good chance I might learn something.
So I say ‘Penny for your thoughts, Dave?’ and Fucking Amazing Dave pulls himself from his revery, turns to me and sighs.
“Mornin’ Luci. I was just thinkin’ that I always saw meself as something of a free spirit, you know? Not easily influenced by fads and shit. I mean, I didn’t do the ice bucket challenge an’ I don’t play none of that Farm Heroes on Facebook, yeah? I wouldn’t touch that Coca Cola Life crap with a barge pole. I do my own thing.”
I nod. “I know it, Dave. Whenever a collection for someone who’s leaving comes round you always make sure to pay in if it’s for someone you like. You’re not shy of telling them to fuck off if you don’t like them.”
“Aye. I don’t often pay in to a collection, if I’m honest.”  He leans forward, conspiratorial. “There’s a lot of cunts in this place, Luci. A lot of cunts. You might already have noticed.”
I nod. “I have Dave. I’m glad to say you’re not one of ‘em”
“You neither, mate.” We bask momentarily in the glow of our mutual admiration.
And it’s funny but I notice that Fucking Amazing Dave isn’t a kid anymore. In my head he’s a permanent twenty five year old with a bright smile and thick hair, spunking his wage every Friday on tinnies and fags, permanently skint but carefree and young. But it dawns on me that Fucking Amazing Dave is older, maybe mid thirties. His hair is no longer lustrous, his teeth stained by tea and fags. Everyone I see as kids at work are kids no more, and to them I probably look ancient.
We’ve all got older.
I say, “What’s got you in this mood, Dave?”
More deep sighs. He scratches vigorously at his groin. “Right, it’s like this. The other morning our lass Paula had gone out to work and I were on the late shift so I got busy doing what every shift worker does when they’re home alone.”
“The washing up?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks baffled. “What? Nah, fuck that, man! Got to get your priorities straight! I was WANKING!”
“Surprise surprise.”
I know what you’re thinking. It does seem a commonly occurring theme here.
Everyone I work with seems to be either pissed or wanking, often both. I don’t know why.
Look at chimps in the zoo. Either slinging shit about or tugging themselves daft. Give them a few dozen cans of Tennant’s Super and you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the chimps and half the people I work with.
The devil makes work for idle hands, I suppose.
“So I’ve got our lass’s laptop open,” continues Dave, warming to his story, “and I’m scrolling through the usual stuff because we all have our favourites, don’t we, Luci? Eh? Eh? We do though, don’t we?”
Fucking Amazing Dave is waggling his eyebrows at me, nudging me, his tongue lolling like a dog’s.
I say, “I’m still not going to tell you what kind of porn I watch, Dave. We’ve been through this before. It’s not going to happen.”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks briefly disappointed. “Spoil sport. Well, I’m not shy. Man o’ the world, me! I like a big arse, I do. Weren’t so fashionable a few years back, but it’s all the rage now! Trend setter, I am. Nowadays lasses wi’ skinny arses are getting arse implants! I reckon a few o’ them arse doctors ought to be thanking me, y’know.”
Dave looks smug.
I say, “Wait. Are you saying that it’s you who drove the present fashion for big arses? Not… like… Kim Kardashian or Jennifer Lopez or… say… even Carol bloody Vorderman! It all started with Dave the factory worker from Leeds? I suppose those big booty’d megastars owe you a few quid in commission too!”
Fucking Amazing Dave gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “They can keep their brass, Luci. I know I played a part in their meteoric careers – it’s all the thanks I need.”
“How the hell did you do that then? How did you singlehandedly catapult a generation of big arses onto the global stage?”
“Click rates.”
I blink at him. “What? What the hell are click rates?”
“It’s some thingy on the internet that shows how often someone has watched a film or seen a picture or somesuch. You click somethin’, somethin’ counts what that somethin’ is you’ve clicked, the click rate goes up. Easy.” Dave rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ hell, Luci! Here’s me telling you how internets work and I’m a thick cunt! I thought you worked wi’ computers!”
I feel a bit defensive. “I do, but I don’t work online. I fuck about online, but I don’t do any work online. There’s a difference.”
“Whatevs, Luci. Anyway, I’ve been clickin’ pictures of big arses since internets were invented and that’s a fuck of a lot of clicks, my friend, a fuck of a lot of clicks. See that callous, there on my finger? That’s my big arse click finger, and I don’t use it for nowt else apart from big arse clickin’. THAT’s how big arses got famous, mate, and you can’t deny solid gold evidence like that!”
Fucking Amazing Dave is triumphant.
I say, “If you got a callous on your finger from big arse clicking I dread to think what your dick looks like. Anyway, back to the point. You were looking at porn and something made you a bit introspective. Care to carry on?”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks puzzled, then he remembers, snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah! So I was looking at a bit of blue on the old laptop an’ I see this champion swordsman giving it to this lass big style.”
Fucking Amazing Dave does the obligatory mime show – deftly gyrating his hips and biting his bottom lip, shaking imaginary sweat from his hair, blowing hard and whispering, ‘Yah! Yah, das ist gud!”
I look around, hope no-one is watching.
“An’ naturally I’m yankin’ away, chuckin’ meself around the bedroom, but then I look at this bloke’s cock an’ it’s all tidy an’ sleek an’ smooth an’ it looks as long as a baby’s arm holding an apple. I’m no gayer, Luci, but I got to give it to the lad, he’s got a fucking impressive wanger swingin’ away between his legs. Majestic, it were.
“Then I look at mine. A right scruffy mess. You remember how Freddy Mercury were a shit hot singer, yeah?”
I’m a bit thrown of but I go with it. “Erm… yeah?”
“Right, an’ without him the rest of Queen would have been up shit creek, yeah?”
“Yeah… I suppose…”
“And without Freddy Mercury they’d have tried an’ tried to be famous but would have failed an’ mebbe fallen on hard times an’ that, an’ would have probably been sleepin’ rough all that time, yeah?”
“Right. Imagine you’re in the park an’ Brian May comes up beggin’ for a quid for a cuppa but he were really gonna spend it on Spesh Brew, yeah?”
“Where are we going with this, Dave?”
“Well, my cock and bollocks looked like a homeless Brian May.”
My eyes involuntarily drift down to Fucking Amazing Dave’s groin. He’s scratching vigorously again.
He says, “So anyways, I gets an idea. I thinks to myself, if this ‘ere Herman Gelmet on the internet can whip off the old pubes an’ look like that, I thought, why can’t I? So I jumps up an’ goes to the bathroom.”
I close my eyes. “Oh dear God…”
“I start with a tidy up first, yeah? Clip off the long stuff wi’ scissors, you know, the sideburns. An’ guess what? It looked alright! This gave us the courage to just go for it, so I fills the sink, gets the shaving foam out and gives the whole lot a right lathering.”
Fucking Amazing Dave gave me a dirty wink.
“Here’s a tip, Luci. Go for the menthol stuff. Don’t half give you a tingle. Fizzed me up summat chronic. Anyway, I’m all lathered up an my meat and tatties don’t look like a homeless Brian May no more, they look like a cross between Santa and Pinocchio. I get busy with the razor, going really careful, like, but it’s only like havin’ a shave like normal… only… shaving someone else… someone really small… at waist height…”
Fucking Amazing Dave looks a bit bewildered.
“Are you all right, Dave?” I say.
He gives his head a shake. “Yeah, fine, just having a bit of an… epi whatsit.”
“Epileptic fit?”
“Epiphany. It’s kind of like a face down there… an’ it kind of controls what I do… an our lass says me brains are in me bollocks… an I’m giving this face a shave…”
Fucking Amazing Dave shudders. “Freaky. Anyhow, I get shavin’ an’ the balls are a bit tricky, you know? Slippy as fuck an’ you kind of have to squeeeeeze them to get all the wrinkles out before you go at them wi’ the razor coz I reckon I’d have freaked out if I’d cut my knacker sack open. Got to be careful. Did you know you got this seam running right round them, right through the middle? Weird. Goes right under. Like we’re two halves kind of crimped together, like a Cornish pasty. Why don’t that seam thing run round the whole body? How come it don’t run down the middle of me head?”
My mouth kind of moves but I can’t answer.
He carries on. “Well I got my cock and bollocks all shaved but then I couldn’t decide where it should stop, so I shaved up a bit, to where me undies usually finish, but then I have a feel underneath an’ it’s a right fucking mess under there, so I think ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ an’ I cream the lot up an’ get cracking on that lot too.”
I say, “Wait a minute. So you’ve shaved your cock and bollocks, now you’re doing everything else. You know, the lot. The Lot.”
“Yeah. The Lot. But believe you me, Luci, it’s not an easy task. More of a two man job, if I’m honest. You don’t want to be wavin’ a razor around where you can’t see. You might cut the communication cord or somethin’.”
“Communication cord? What the fuck is that?”
“Dunno. But I tell you what, I don’t want to cut it. So I have a think an’ I realise I need a mirror, so I gets the mirror from our bedroom, the one our lass does her hair in, an’ I prop it up, an’ I lay down, an’ sort of pull my legs right up, an’ I get a view of the lot, you know, The Lot, an I cream it up an’ shave that lot n’all.”
“Jesus, Dave. I mean… Jesus.”
Fucking Amazing Dave lets out a huge sigh. “Dead right, Luci. You said it. I’m nearly done, thinkin’ how fuckin’ sexy I am, then I catch a glimpse of me own face in the mirror. All red an’ sweaty, hair all over the shop, eyes bulging, tongue stickin’ out wi’ concentration, legs in the air an’ baldy knackers flappin’ all over the place while I put the finishin’ touches to shavin’ me fuckin’ arsehole in the mirror on a fuckin’ Wednesday morning.”
Fucking Amazing Dave hangs his head. “An’ I think, ‘Is this what I’ve been reduced to?’ Some dumb cunt wi’ nowt better to do wi’ himself than wank his knackers flat all day and run a razor round his ringpiece for pervy kicks? I were ashamed, Luci, ashamed. I couldn’t fuckin’ look at meself. I washed of all the soap and I looked at me wiltin’ cock an’ it didn’t look sexy. you know what it looked like?”
I shake my head. “No mate, I have no fucking idea what your freshly shaved cock looked like.”
“The last chicken in the butcher’s window. The one no fucker wants. That’s what it looked like. Shockin’. And then it occurs to me. How do I explain this little lot to our Paula? I’ve got fuck all hair down there from arsehole to breakfast time, an’ she’s gonna wonder what the fuckin’ hell I’ve been doin’ while she’s been graftin’ all day!”
“I knew you should have done the washing up.”
Dave nods. “True, Luci. So true. There’s a simple dignity to doin’ the washin’ up. There’s no dignity in a bald knob.”
“So how did you break it to your Paula then? Has she seen it yet?”
Fucking Amazing Dave nods. “Aye. I decided to come clean, so to speak, which is kind of ironic considerin’ that were me intention that morning. So she comes home from work an’ I gets her a glass of rosé an’ I sit her down an’ I says to her, ‘Paula love’ I says, ‘Paula, I got a bit bored this morning an’ I’ve gone an’ done summat foolish. Now, don’t be angry,’ an’ I drops me joggers an’ wi’ tears in me eyes I show her what a fuckin’ idiot I’d been.”
I take a moment to picture the scene. It’s almost biblical, a bizarre revelation in my mind. I can’t quite erase it, like looking into the sun for too long.
I say, “What did she say, Dave. How did Paula take your bald bollocks?”
“When I looks at her, she were cryin’. Tears all over the place. I tried to explain that it were a moment o’ madness, that it wouldn’t happen again, but then I realised she were pissin’ ‘erself laughin’. I’m stood there, bearin’ me fuckin’ soul, an’ she’s laughin’ her tits off! Well, I were a bit put out at first but then she says to us, ‘Well, Dave, you can’t do much right, but the reason I love you is coz you still know how to make us laugh.’ An’ then we had a crackin’ fuck, right there on the couch.”
“All’s well that ends well, eh?”
Fucking Amazing Dave shrugs. “I dunno about that, Luci. You know that feeling round your neck when you haven’t shaved for a week? Well, imagine that in your arse crack, an’ all round your bollocks. It’s fuckin’ purgatory, I can tell you.”
“I reckon you’ve learned a lesson there, Dave.”
Fucking Amazing Dave climbs onto his pallet truck, ready for the off. “Aye, I have,” he says. “Next time I’ll wax the fuckin’ hair off, like Elton John an’ his man wife Furnish do. They’ve got the right idea. See ya, Luci!”
“See you, Dave.”


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