Killing Bono Page #4

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in full effect.

- Do you want a Bono pin-badge?

- Do I bollocks?

Well, would you

look at that, Maureen?

A rare sighting of our

most elusive scribe, hmm?

How's the work allergy?

Hey, Niall, don't come all

proddy work ethic with me.

I'm not the one

pretending to be disabled.

Hey. The insurance pay-out

on this little baby pays your wages.

So where have you been, Lord Byron?

Fannying about penning poetry again?

Actually, I've been in the studio,

yeah? Laying down some new tracks.

Besides, I've already filed

my article for this week.

Yeah, but it was meant for last week.

Lucky you can write,

that's all I can say, hmm?

"In his search for the singular identity

in the landscape of the bland,

Adam Ant has somehow evolved

into a post-punk,

Dick Turpin with a pirate fetish".

I like that.

"Landscape of the bland".

Yeah, well, I thought it preferable

to "a sea of sh*t".

Are you giving it the cover?

No, I think Ireland's hottest band

just pushed it out.

What? Gary's U2 piece?

It's only Gary's U2 piece

'cause you turned it down.

You picky bastard.

Thanks, I am standing right here,

you know?

Yeah, and I didn't want

to give it to a rookie.

- Yeah.

- Well, it's weird, but I...

It's weird,

but I didn't really much fancy

talking to my old school mates about

how brilliantly amazing they are

and how much hot sex they're getting,

you know?

Yeah, there's a little bit more to it

than that.

Yeah, I bet. "U2 are brill.

And hasn't Bono got lovely hair.

And he's dead good at singing

and that".

You're just jealous 'cause no one

writes about your poxy band.

Oh, really?

Ah, Jesus.

Neil, not more f***ing demo tapes.

You've already carpet-bombed

every poor bugger in my address book.

That's not true, actually.

I've only gone up to P.

Look, look.

I know the owner of a place in town,

and I could get you a slot if...

If you cover the Horse Slips gig for me.

Quid pro quo.

No way. Their singer still wants to

murder me after that last piece I wrote.

Where's the venue?

- McGarrety's.

- F*** off!

- F*** off!

- I hope you said yes.

Of course I said yes, it's McGarrety's.

Legends are born in the place.

- When is this?

- Next Saturday.

Hold on. That's the day

the Pope is in town.

- I'm sorry?

- The Pope?

Wears a big popey hat.

Drives a popemobile. He's the Pope.

Who's gonna go and see the Pope?

It's only the Pope.

- It's not like it's anyone good.

- I'm going.

I'm an altar boy.

F*** off!

Eric, who do you wanna be

in ten years time, eh?

Keith Moon? Rocking out

with the biggest band in the world?

Neck deep in girls and booze

and drugs, yeah?

Or a piss-poor,

who sits in at the weekend

and pulls his winky?

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