Shaking his head menacingly toward Jonathan, Ewan said bitterly while loudly interrupting Jonny Lee, “That what he told you, then? That fucker is lying! I paid for the belt.” After a second he added in absent curiosity, “How’s it fit then, you enjoyin’ yourself?” Watching as Jonathan tripped over his own feet he, naturally, started cracking up and throwing insults that included the ever famous ‘have a nice trip?’ and ‘perhaps you should try walking once in awhile, you fuck', while also catching the mobile. He’s that cool.
Blinking a few times in confusion at the plastic bag remark, Ewan arched a brow toward Miller, "Well, you see, we have to find the driver first and then I need to find a loo, what you expect me to do? Shite in the motor? I hardly think that's good food for thought, and I seriously doubt you lot want to be present..."
As McGregor was giving one of his brilliant speeches, the driver pulled up with a mechanical grin plastered on his face and dark red lipstick smeared against his cheek. Slurring out a slu of inappropriate phrases toward the sheepish driver, Ewan marched onward with a, "If you lot can actually manage to walk..." before nearly tripping over his own feet as well.
"I wouldn't know since I have no fucking plans of wearing it. Ever." He came to that conclusion after examining the restraining device and all the metal clamps that came along with it. Deciding he'd rather avoid permanent bit damage, he shoved the belt back in it's box and stuck it at the very back of his wardrobe, effectively cutting off any closet remarks.
Rolling his eyes at the over-used infantile tripping insults, he was tempted to throw out the ever famous 'say it, don't spray it, you cunt' but even he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant thought of anyone taking a shit in a closed up car, he was about to protest vehemently when he saw Ewan trip up too. Practically cackling, he shoved past him and slid in the car first, rummaging around to find another bottle of unopened whiskey and grinning in triumph when there was not one or two bottles, but three.
Pausing to take a piss behind the nearest bush, Jonny Lee slid into the car after Ewan and Jonathan. Immediately pulling out a pack of cigarettes, he offered them up to the other two, "And before you make some snarky remark - yes, I actually paid for these myself."
Eyeing the oh so swanky driver, he leaned forward, draping his arms over the seat, "So mate, could you drop us off somewhere? I have the address." He slid a crumpled piece of paper into his hand, "Drop us at the bottom of the street."
He turned back to Ewan and Jonathan, swiping one of the whiskys, "The shitting in the auto had been vetoed as of right now. Jude lives near the target. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you and your arse dropping a few brown babies off at the pool. For the good of mankind or sommat, right?" He smirked, downing the bottle in one go.
Ewan started snickering, his entire face scrunching up in laughter, “The target!” Uncapping one of the bottles he took an unnecessary large drink, sputtering a bit as he leaned over to rummage through a box of supplies. After a second of silent counting he said allowed for the others to hear, “Newsprint chunks check, shaving cream check, bag for shitting check, and plenty of pretty little unborn chickens in a sleeve check. Womans knickers…how’d that get in there?” He sneered at the back of the Hawaiian shirt clad driver.
After another round of loud laughter at the brown babies’ remark, Ewan was about to make comment on just how much said brown babies needed to be released before he screeched a very Jonathan like screech, “WAIT!” Startling the verra lurvely driver into swerving toward the left a bit, let it be know that he, too, was a shit (intended) to the wind.
Turning his head around Ewan yelled, “Did you see that back there? The bloke with the tire iron? I believe that was Radiohead igit himself, Thom Yorke! I’d recognise that cockeyed bastard anywhere!”
He was in mid-drink, and nearly choked on laughter at the checklist. Wiping his chin with his sleeve, he shook his head and took a bigger, proper drink straight from the bottle, and promised to make himself busy with other things when the actual act of bagging shit came to play.
Feeling more than pleasantly blurry, Jonathan slumped back into his seat, all but fondly cradling his bottle to his chest and not even bothering to hold back a constant drunken chuckle at nearly anything and everything. His first inclination was to wave off Ewan's outburst, but curiousity got the better of him. Hearing Ewan and Jonny Lee's chattering as if through a filter, he curiously turned his head and peered out the window.
"I think you're right," he said, uncharacteristically understated. "Maybe we should give him a lift or sommat." He paused, taking another long pull of his drink, before asking in a musing tone, more to himself than anyone else, "He can't still be angry about Finland, can he?"
Thom had been driving home from a long day of recording. His little Rover 45 was trundling down the side streets at a moderate pace; not the highways for him, no, there was no need for such haste. Unnecessary consumption of gasoline, too. He'd had a nice hybrid engine installed in this one a few years back just to prevent that very thing.
The traffic light a few yards ahead blinked yellow. Thom carefully slowed to a stop, looking out at the deserted road. Suddenly, the engine made a distinct gurgling noise and came to rest. He stared at the dashboard uncomprehendingly. "What?" he said aloud. He tried the ignition a couple of times with no results. "Oh, bloody hell." He sat back in his seat for a moment, then sighed and got out of the car.
The neighborhood was residential; there were no stores or public locations of any kind to inquire assistance from. Nothing for it but to call for help. He reached in his pocket and took out his mobile, only to have it give loud beeps of protest once he began pushing buttons. He gazed at the display, which read LOW BATTERY. "Oh, no!" Thom said, alarmed. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me." He looked around the street again. What on earth was he going to do? At that moment, the sound of an approaching vehicle could be heard. As he saw headlights in the distance, Thom considered his options for a moment, and then began to wave, his hands above his head.
Jonny Lee rolled down the window, a fag hanging from his lips, "Oi, Thom Yorke." he leaned out, "Having some troubles? Can we offer you a ride?" He suddenly fell forward as Ewan kicked the door open, his body suddenly splayed out half in the door and half out - "You fucking arsebitch." he peeled himself off the kerb and offered a limp hand to Mr. Yorke. "Honestly, we're all about good deeds here."
Crawling back into the car after their newest accomplice, he lit up again, "So lads, in honour of Thom here, I propose a toast and Ewan I swear to christ, wipe that smirk off your face because if you're doing the deed already I will kill you." Holding out the bottle in the Radiohead's direction, he collapsed against the door. "Oi, you know, I'm thinking .. well I don't know what I'm thinking. Jonny, be a dear and give us what's left in your bottle."
Thom's eyes widen as the car pulls up and he sees its inhabitants--first in recognition, then in alarm. "Oh, er, um--" he stammered, looking back at the defunct car and around at the still-deserted road. He turned his head back to the car's passengers and began waving his hands frantically. "Oh, no, no. Never mind, really. Everything's quite all right. Sorry to trouble you." He began backing towards his Rover. "Really, just go on ahead and forget you ever saw me. Please. I insist."
Glancing from Thom’s motor to Thom a few times, Ewan gave him a look that meant ‘how dare you lie to us you bastard’. Moments later, after a small drunken powwow, Ewan and Jonathan had pulled a flailing Thom into the Bentley, shutting and locking the door behind them so that he had no means for escape.
Resettling into the car, Ewan Looked Thom over with a predator like smile, eyes glittering mischievously as he said with total disregard for the poor mans mortified stare, “Thom, old man! Long time no see! When was the last time, huh? Finland, wasn’t it???” Looking over at Jonathan with a secret smile, he furrowed his brow in thought as he addressed Thom again putting on his best sober act, “So what happened to you, huh? Car break down? That’s the pits. We’ll give you a lift.” Keeping the barracuda grin stuck to his face, Ewan leaned forward to hide the box from Thom’s view, nudging Jonny Lee a bit with a slight laugh in his voice, “We just have one stop to make before we can drop you off…”
Blinking a few times in confusion at the plastic bag remark, Ewan arched a brow toward Miller, "Well, you see, we have to find the driver first and then I need to find a loo, what you expect me to do? Shite in the motor? I hardly think that's good food for thought, and I seriously doubt you lot want to be present..."
As McGregor was giving one of his brilliant speeches, the driver pulled up with a mechanical grin plastered on his face and dark red lipstick smeared against his cheek. Slurring out a slu of inappropriate phrases toward the sheepish driver, Ewan marched onward with a, "If you lot can actually manage to walk..." before nearly tripping over his own feet as well.
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Rolling his eyes at the over-used infantile tripping insults, he was tempted to throw out the ever famous 'say it, don't spray it, you cunt' but even he couldn't bring himself to say it.
Wrinkling his nose at the unpleasant thought of anyone taking a shit in a closed up car, he was about to protest vehemently when he saw Ewan trip up too. Practically cackling, he shoved past him and slid in the car first, rummaging around to find another bottle of unopened whiskey and grinning in triumph when there was not one or two bottles, but three.
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Eyeing the oh so swanky driver, he leaned forward, draping his arms over the seat, "So mate, could you drop us off somewhere? I have the address." He slid a crumpled piece of paper into his hand, "Drop us at the bottom of the street."
He turned back to Ewan and Jonathan, swiping one of the whiskys, "The shitting in the auto had been vetoed as of right now. Jude lives near the target. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you and your arse dropping a few brown babies off at the pool. For the good of mankind or sommat, right?" He smirked, downing the bottle in one go.
Reply
After another round of loud laughter at the brown babies’ remark, Ewan was about to make comment on just how much said brown babies needed to be released before he screeched a very Jonathan like screech, “WAIT!” Startling the verra lurvely driver into swerving toward the left a bit, let it be know that he, too, was a shit (intended) to the wind.
Turning his head around Ewan yelled, “Did you see that back there? The bloke with the tire iron? I believe that was Radiohead igit himself, Thom Yorke! I’d recognise that cockeyed bastard anywhere!”
Reply
Feeling more than pleasantly blurry, Jonathan slumped back into his seat, all but fondly cradling his bottle to his chest and not even bothering to hold back a constant drunken chuckle at nearly anything and everything. His first inclination was to wave off Ewan's outburst, but curiousity got the better of him. Hearing Ewan and Jonny Lee's chattering as if through a filter, he curiously turned his head and peered out the window.
"I think you're right," he said, uncharacteristically understated. "Maybe we should give him a lift or sommat." He paused, taking another long pull of his drink, before asking in a musing tone, more to himself than anyone else, "He can't still be angry about Finland, can he?"
Reply
The traffic light a few yards ahead blinked yellow. Thom carefully slowed to a stop, looking out at the deserted road. Suddenly, the engine made a distinct gurgling noise and came to rest. He stared at the dashboard uncomprehendingly. "What?" he said aloud. He tried the ignition a couple of times with no results. "Oh, bloody hell." He sat back in his seat for a moment, then sighed and got out of the car.
The neighborhood was residential; there were no stores or public locations of any kind to inquire assistance from. Nothing for it but to call for help. He reached in his pocket and took out his mobile, only to have it give loud beeps of protest once he began pushing buttons. He gazed at the display, which read LOW BATTERY. "Oh, no!" Thom said, alarmed. "Oh, you've got to be shitting me." He looked around the street again. What on earth was he going to do? At that moment, the sound of an approaching vehicle could be heard. As he saw headlights in the distance, Thom considered his options for a moment, and then began to wave, his hands above his head.
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Crawling back into the car after their newest accomplice, he lit up again, "So lads, in honour of Thom here, I propose a toast and Ewan I swear to christ, wipe that smirk off your face because if you're doing the deed already I will kill you." Holding out the bottle in the Radiohead's direction, he collapsed against the door. "Oi, you know, I'm thinking .. well I don't know what I'm thinking. Jonny, be a dear and give us what's left in your bottle."
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Resettling into the car, Ewan Looked Thom over with a predator like smile, eyes glittering mischievously as he said with total disregard for the poor mans mortified stare, “Thom, old man! Long time no see! When was the last time, huh? Finland, wasn’t it???” Looking over at Jonathan with a secret smile, he furrowed his brow in thought as he addressed Thom again putting on his best sober act, “So what happened to you, huh? Car break down? That’s the pits. We’ll give you a lift.” Keeping the barracuda grin stuck to his face, Ewan leaned forward to hide the box from Thom’s view, nudging Jonny Lee a bit with a slight laugh in his voice, “We just have one stop to make before we can drop you off…”
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