Dave: where've you been chief? Up the park again?
Mark: Nope, that woman I was following has stopped jogging for some reason; the lazy fat cow. I've been to see my personality doctor.
Dave: Therapist eh? What's the diagnosis this week?
Mark: No change. I'm still a cunt apparently. What've you got there?
Dave: A report.
Mark: Report for what?
Dave: That course the boss sent us on?
Mark: What the one about not raping things? That sensitivity training bollocks? With
that cunt and his pc, do-gooder, liberal no smoke without fire brigade ideas. That
arsehole buggered belief.
Dave: Remember when we buggered that beggar?
Mark: Isn’t that why the judge ordered us to take that course? Well that and my thing with that car, but in all fairness to me, I fucking hate cars and that garage was locked; those two cleaners had no business just barging in like that.
Dave: Obviously. Anyways, this is the final report from that course the boss sent us on to be better radio presenters. The guy has listened to a few shows post course to evaluate how well we’ve done with his advice.
Mark: Oh yeah I remember that dude, nice guy. Gave us all that meat flavoured
Yogurt. What does he say?
Dave: Well he seems happy enough with me chief. He says I’ve a voice and a presenting style very much in the mould of John Peel, but without the good taste in music. Apparently I give off a fusty, benevolent uncle vibe; and then for some reason he’s written “Not the kind of uncle that diddles your underlings when Ma and Pa go out!” in big red letters.
Mark: Weird, but splendid work chief. How awesome did he think I am?
Dave: Not good news I’m afraid. He says your constant use of foul language betrays a tiny vocabulary and low intellect.
Mark, Well? What does the cunt expect? I left school at sixteen. Is that all?
Dave: ‘fraid not. He wants you to stop addressing the listeners as “You people”, boasting about how you have plenty of money, threatening to rob your local post office on air because you got another letter from Christian Aid asking for money, claiming we have a surprise guest and then playing that recording of that time you strangled a puppy; and you can’t do any more outside broadcasts from the local Off Licence or promote them in any other way to get free booze. Oh, and you’re to stop opening the show with the phrase “Ayup cuntybollocks.”
Mark: Ayup cuntybollocks is a term of endearment between me and the listner. And I’ll have you know that the Drink Stop carries the finest selection of fancy booze, fags and dried meat snacks in all of Hertfordshire. It’s a site of local cultural importance.
Dave: That’s not all. You did that Agony Uncle thing when I was on holiday that time. He heard it. Apparently some poor kid called up to ask advice about his over-bearing mother; you called him a “punk-ass bitch” and your advice was that he “put a beatdown on that honky ho she won’t forget, you feel me?” This guy reckons you are nowhere near middle class enough to get away with being a faux-mie.
Mark: Faux-mie? Fuck him, I’d been watching episodes of The Wire back to back that week. Some of the language is bound to rub off on a G. Did he report anything else?
Dave: Now remember dude that these are his words not mine. Well, not even words exactly. He’s finished up by drawing a picture of you with a turd poking out of the corner of your mouth and then next to that is one of those less than signs from maths, and then next to that is a picture of George Lamb, except he’s drawn a vagina on Lamb’s face instead of a mouth. Next to the picture of Lamb is another less than sign and next to that is a photo of some rancid prawns in a rusty bucket. On top of the prawns is some sick. Under your picture in big red letters he’s written “Actually shitter than George Lamb!?!”
Mark: Fuck me…
Dave: On the plus side the likenesses of you and Lamb are pretty good…
Mark: I think I need to call my personality doctor…
Dave: No need for that, this’ll cheer you up, it’s something I was thinking about while you were out. We could talk about it on the show if you like. You know how Protestants talk about “No Popery?”
Mark: If you are going where I think you are going with this, please stop.
Dave: What have they got against those little bowls of nice smelling dried bits of plant that your nan has scattered around her sheltered accommodation?
Mark: I really do need to call my personality doctor now…
Dave: It’s not that bad chief, cheer up you miserable bastard.
Mark: I’m not down at all; I’m just supposed to call my personality doctor every time I feel like doing knife-crime on some shit pun making div-kid.