Six Shooter

I'm sorry, Mr Donnelly...

but your wife passed away at 3:00 this morning.

Would you like to see her?

Oh. Yes. Please.

Thank you.

I'd like to stay with you longer, Mr Donnelly,

but we're awful busy.

Are you run off your feet, you are?

Two cot deaths and a woman.

Her son shot the poor head off her.

No! Is she alive or is she dead?

Ah, dead, dead.

She had no head left on her, like.

I'll leave you to it.

I don't know what to say to you, babe.

I don't know what to say.

I brought you the photo of David.

I don't know what to say.

I don't know where you are now.

Anyone sitting here?

Oh, aye, there's hundreds of fellas, like.

Look at them.

- It was a simple question.

- It was, aye.

Them are the best type of questions.

It's them hard f***ers I can't stand.

You! Here, you!

What's the matter with you?

- You seem a bit down in the dumps, like.

- Just mind your own business.

Do you hear this one?

Sure, I'm only after a bit of a chat, like.

- Chat with someone you know.

- I don't know anybody.

I haven't a friend in the world.

He's a bit huffy.

Hey, fella?

Why is it you never get tall jockeys?

Huh?

Why is it you never get tall jockeys?

They're always sort of midgety sort of fellas.

- The weight.

- I know "the weight"!

Jesus, the weight, eh?

The weight.

But what do you do if you're a tall fella

and you want to be a jockey?

It isn't fair on you, so it isn't.

Me mam always used tell us

that everybody could grow up

to be anything they wanted to be.

Now, in the case of tall fellas who want to be jockeys,

that's patently f***ing untrue.

- You could show jump.

- You could show jump!

You're just clutching at f***ing straws now.

You could show jump. Jesus!

You could show jump!

Dressage. There's another c*nt

that gets on me f***ing nerves.

Would you mind watching your bloody language?

Eh? This fella...

Jeez.

Well, I'm off to the buffet car

to get away from ye dull yokes.

Anybody want anything?

Cry Baby? No? Old fella?

- A cup of tea?

- A cup of tea, uh-huh.

No, don't get your money out 'cause if you think

I can be arsed lugging cups of tea

up and down for you,

you've got another think coming, boy. Oh, aye.

- Are you okay?

- No, I'm not okay.

Is anything the matter?

- Our son died last night. Cot death.

- Yeah. Tell everybody.

I'm sorry.

I cannot believe the gall of the ginger little b*tch.

- Oh, how much do I owe you?

- Skip it.

- No, really.

- I said, skip it.

Where's the old smiley twins?

- Their son died last night.

- Did he?

Oh, my God!

Did they kill it?

- No, they didn't kill it.

- Maybe they banged it on something.

It was a cot death.

That's what they all say.

I'll bet they banged it on something.

I would if I had a kid.

Just keep banging it, like.

On something.

If he was getting on me nerves, like.

Like Marvin Gaye's dad.

I'd have shot Marvin Gaye

if I'd been Marvin Gaye's dad.

Get the c*nt to shut up.

I'm surprised mams and dads

don't kill their kids more often.

'Cause most kids are f***ing rotten.

I certainly am. I'm a f***ing rotten kid.

- Have you got kids?

- No.

Will you have?

In the future, like?

'Cause it doesn't matter

how old you are nowadays.

Tony Curtis, he's f***ing ancient

and he's still having kids.

Not Tony Curtis, who? Rod Steiger.

I'm always getting them c*nts mixed up.

Rod Steiger, aye. And he's f***ing 100, like.

Ah, sheep.

Did you ever shout at a sheep?

No.

Oh.

Oh, aye, here's Fred and Rosemary.

- Where are you headed? Dublin?

- Dublin, aye.

The city that never sweeps.

See, I needed some heroin and a shite accent,

so I thought I'd head straight to the source, like.

If you use that language one more time,

I'm going to come over there

and beat the sh*t out of you.

What language?

Sure "shite" isn't swearing.

- It is.

- It's f***ing not, like!

- Pato!

- I'm not taking any more of this sh*t today!

Sure, let him hit me.

I don't give a f***, like.

- Move somewhere else.

- You move somewhere else!

- I was here before all you spas.

- Pato, sit down.

Just one more crack. One more!

Listen, I'm not defending you no more, okay?

I've got me own troubles.

Here, I've this great story

about a cow with trapped wind,

- do you want to hear it?

- No! Jesus!

Ar, ye's are no fun.

- You're not supposed to go up and down, no?

- No.

Do you have Pringles?

No. We got no call for fancy crisps round here.

We've Taytos or we've Ripples.

- You don't sell spirits, no?

- It's 11:
00 in the morning.

Oh, did I ask you what time it was?

What I thought I asked you was,

"Do you sell spirits?"

- Don't you be getting ratty with me.

- Yeah, well, don't you be getting ratty with me.

- How was I getting ratty with you?

- Your general face was ratty.

- Me face?

- Your general manner was ratty.

Well, would you like to work on a train?

Well, is it my fault that you have a shite job?

I didn't say I had a shite job.

I was saying it wasn't all I'd hoped for meself.

Are you getting me my booze

or am I just going to stand here, like?

Are you not supposed to go up and down, no?

- What can I get you?

- A couple of teas, please.

Would he be retarded, do you think?

The young fella?

I wouldn't have said retarded, no.

He knows what dressage is.

No harm in him?

That's what I was trying to say to you, like.

Is that your dead kid? Give us a look.

He looks like your man off of Bronski Beat.

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