Revolting Characters
By Adam Mac
Jan here was depicted by the author as “a thief with filthy habits and a murderer, too if only he had the backbone.” Claims that ever since he was created, he ain't been able to find work anywhere's else. Is it any wonder with a reference like that? A right just grievance, our Jan has, if you ask me. Do ye concur?
Bad as that is, what the penman done to him, he done ten times worse to some of us. Ain't that so brethren and sisterns?
It's truer than you say, old man. The master wrote me down as a gluttonous and perverted moneylender, but—now hold on, hold, let me finish—I'm none of those things, except in his fiction. But you make my point for me. YOU see me as what he created, not what I can be. “Even Shylock would be disgusted by his vile depravity,” that's my reference. So, who do you think is gonna give me a chance for another role? I'm branded, tainted, imprisoned in a plaster cast.
Aye. Maybe what he says is true, but I wouldn't borrow the time of day from im, and I sure wouldn't have im in my house with my wife and younguns, and if I ever seen im in their company I'd kill im.
Mine is ten times worse. I figured prominently in the opening pages of the writer's so-called apocryphal history. It was 18th century France, and he had me play the villain—though I didn't get to enjoy any of the villainy, only the punishment. For three brutal pages, I was drawn and quartered, and my organs were carved out of my belly and thrust in my face so I could witness the progress of my own death. It was gruesome even for those times. The author achieved notoriety and became a minor celebrity. But I was condemned to the world of Hollywood slashers. So, I'm like Sisyphus, only I get cut up and put back together again, endlessly.
Oi. Least you come off looking sort of respectable. I mean people pity you. I'd settle for that. Just look at this face. This unibrow. Who you think's gonna give me a role as some super smart scientist or even an office worker or somethin like that? Or who's gonna let me get the girl—the good looking one, not the one that looks like my sister? Nobody. Cause of the writer I got these looks and nothing I can do.
So, why are we sittin round complaining? Let's get the bastard? Thanks to him, I got dementia, and boy, wouldn't I like to give him a piece of my mind.
Thought you said you lost your mind, old man?
No, you cheeky little snot, but how'd you like to lose those last couple of teeth?
Hey. Easy. Everybody listen up. This isn't the way to settle our grievances. We gotta keep our eyes on the road—
Oi. You mean, 'ball,' don't you stupid?
If I'd meant 'ball,' I'd have said 'ball.' It's a mixed metaphor, and 'stupid' is not a word for you to use, it's a word for others to use when talking to or about you.
Who the f—?
Quiet! Hear that? He's back, and he's watching us.
Let's do it! It's now or never. Get him!
Nurse, how long was I out?
Three days, and we're very glad to have you back.
Did I say anything?
No, but a couple of times you looked like you were struggling very hard against something.
Nurse, one more thing before you go. There's a book here with a note: “Could you make it out to us?” I don't remember writing this book.
Your latest, your friends said. They stopped by and left it for you to autograph when you came to.
Friends?
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
By Adam Mac
Jan here was depicted by the author as “a thief with filthy habits and a murderer, too if only he had the backbone.” Claims that ever since he was created, he ain't been able to find work anywhere's else. Is it any wonder with a reference like that? A right just grievance, our Jan has, if you ask me. Do ye concur?
Bad as that is, what the penman done to him, he done ten times worse to some of us. Ain't that so brethren and sisterns?
It's truer than you say, old man. The master wrote me down as a gluttonous and perverted moneylender, but—now hold on, hold, let me finish—I'm none of those things, except in his fiction. But you make my point for me. YOU see me as what he created, not what I can be. “Even Shylock would be disgusted by his vile depravity,” that's my reference. So, who do you think is gonna give me a chance for another role? I'm branded, tainted, imprisoned in a plaster cast.
Aye. Maybe what he says is true, but I wouldn't borrow the time of day from im, and I sure wouldn't have im in my house with my wife and younguns, and if I ever seen im in their company I'd kill im.
Mine is ten times worse. I figured prominently in the opening pages of the writer's so-called apocryphal history. It was 18th century France, and he had me play the villain—though I didn't get to enjoy any of the villainy, only the punishment. For three brutal pages, I was drawn and quartered, and my organs were carved out of my belly and thrust in my face so I could witness the progress of my own death. It was gruesome even for those times. The author achieved notoriety and became a minor celebrity. But I was condemned to the world of Hollywood slashers. So, I'm like Sisyphus, only I get cut up and put back together again, endlessly.
Oi. Least you come off looking sort of respectable. I mean people pity you. I'd settle for that. Just look at this face. This unibrow. Who you think's gonna give me a role as some super smart scientist or even an office worker or somethin like that? Or who's gonna let me get the girl—the good looking one, not the one that looks like my sister? Nobody. Cause of the writer I got these looks and nothing I can do.
So, why are we sittin round complaining? Let's get the bastard? Thanks to him, I got dementia, and boy, wouldn't I like to give him a piece of my mind.
Thought you said you lost your mind, old man?
No, you cheeky little snot, but how'd you like to lose those last couple of teeth?
Hey. Easy. Everybody listen up. This isn't the way to settle our grievances. We gotta keep our eyes on the road—
Oi. You mean, 'ball,' don't you stupid?
If I'd meant 'ball,' I'd have said 'ball.' It's a mixed metaphor, and 'stupid' is not a word for you to use, it's a word for others to use when talking to or about you.
Who the f—?
Quiet! Hear that? He's back, and he's watching us.
Let's do it! It's now or never. Get him!
#
Nurse, how long was I out?
Three days, and we're very glad to have you back.
Did I say anything?
No, but a couple of times you looked like you were struggling very hard against something.
Nurse, one more thing before you go. There's a book here with a note: “Could you make it out to us?” I don't remember writing this book.
Your latest, your friends said. They stopped by and left it for you to autograph when you came to.
Friends?
- - -
The author teaches ESL and occasionally writes for his dark half.
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