The Orange Mocha-Chip Frappuccino Years Read Online Free

like, ‘Have you spoken to her?’ He looks at me like I’m mad and shakes his head. He’s like, ‘You make it sound so easy.’ I’m like, ‘It is easy. Just walk up to her and talk to her, man. Ask her out to the flicks.’ I order two more pints. He looks totally lost, roysh, and we’re talking TOTALLY here. He goes, ‘As if she’d be interested in a scruffy-looking nerf-herder like me.’ I’m like, ‘Christian, you’ve chatted up birds before.’ He goes, ‘Not like this one.’ I’m there, ‘What’s so special about her?’ He thinks for a minute, roysh, then he goes, ‘Her eyes … I might write her a letter.’ A letter, for fock’s sake. I’m like, ‘Not a bad idea.’ He goes, ‘Yeah, that way I can tell her exactly how I feel, like I’ve been waiting for her all my life and shit.’ I’m like, ‘Don’t lay it on too thick, though. You want to knob this girl, but you also want to keep your options open.’ He goes, ‘No, Ross, I don’t. She’s the one.’
    I don’t know why, roysh, but I feel really, like, protective of the goy. I’m like, ‘Christian, I don’t want to see you get hurt here.’ He goes, ‘Hurt?’ and I’m like, ‘Look, are you absolutely sure your old man isn’t – how do I put this – already in there?’ He goes, ‘My oldman? And Zam Wesell? Ross, where the fock do you get your ideas from?’ I’m like, ‘They were seen, Christian. Holding hands. Coming out of The Queens. We’re talking three weeks ago.’
    He goes, ‘Zam Wesell was in The Queens? You’re bullshitting me.’ I’m like, ‘Christian, why do you think the goys call your old man Chris de Burgh?’ He goes, ‘What?’ I’m like, ‘Do I have to spell it out for you? He’s banging the au pair.’ And Christian’s like, ‘Hildegard? I know that. Everybody knows that. What’s that got to do with Zam?’ I’m like, ‘Oh sorry, Christian. Our wires were crossed there. I thought … I thought Zam was the name of the German bird. Who’s this Zam then? Where did you meet her?’ He goes, ‘I saw her for the first time on the cover of a magazine.’
    I’m like, ‘Bull shit . Are you saying she’s a model?’ And he looks me up and down again, like he’s trying to work out what planet I’ve just come from, and he goes, ‘Zam Wesell, Ross. ZAM WES-ELL. She’s the bounty hunter in the new Star Wars movie.’ And he pulls out this, like, movie magazine, roysh, with a picture of this bird on the cover, wearing these purple, like, motorbike clothes, a veil and a focking colander on her head, and she’s, like, pointing a gun at the camera.
    All of this sort of, like, catches me unawares, you have to understand. I want to tell him what a focking spacer he is, but I don’t want to hurt the goy’s feelings. And she is actually a bit of a lasher. He goes, ‘You’re not interested in her yourself, Ross, are you?’ suddenly all, like, worried. I’m there, ‘Christian, I won’t get in your way. I can promise you that.’ He nods. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. He goes, ‘She might have a friend. For you, like. Wouldn’t be as good-looking as her, of course.’ I’m like, ‘I don’t mind. I’d take a bullet for you, Christian.’ He takesa long drink out of his pint and neither of us says anything for ages. I can’t believe I’ve got my best friend back. Best Christmas present I’ll get this year. He goes, ‘You mean laser blast, Ross.’ I’m like, ‘What?’ He goes, ‘You said you’d take a bullet for me. You mean laser blast.’

    Christmas. I do not want to talk about it. It was a real, like, family affair, roysh, the old pair, all lovey-dovey as usual – borf, borf – all presents and turkey and mulled wine and midnight Mass and mascarpone and charades and the Queen’s speech and Baileys and Buckaroo and sherry focking trifle and Noel Edmonds and mind the Waterford Crystal and plum pudding and red candles and BT luxury crackers and You Only Live