Rentboy, behind the wheel of the rag bandwagon as it ambles haplessly along life's highway, stopping every now and again to pick up another drooling, sycophantic misfit, desperately looking for somewhere, anywhere, where he will be able to finally fit in after years and years of being shunned by a society who collectively take a dim view of portly, middle-aged men in urine-soiled corduroy trousers, wearing faded '1997 Spice Girls European Tour' tee shirts over a curiously distended belly that appears not to have made contact with soap and water since Margaret Thatcher resigned from political office.
Rentboy brings the bandwagon to a shuddering halt and beckons the slack-jawed troglodyte over.
RENTBOY: Where are you going, young fellow?
DIMWIT: Wodga mean?
RENTBOY: I mean, depending on your planned destination, perhaps I could give you a lift?
DIMWIT: (Scratching his head confusedly)
Wodga mean?
RENTBOY: (Sighing wearily as it dawns on him that he's found yet another one).
Look, I am the manager of the rags. You know? The rags? The most hated club
in the universe (well, alongside the dippers, naturally)?
DIMWIT: Wodga mean?
RENTBOY: (Muttering under his breath: 'Fuck me, the English can certainly breed some morons')
Look, I am a football manager -or at least that's what it says on my job description.
The club I manage has been haemorrhaging support lately because we are all absolute
dogshit. Would you like to jump up on the bandwagon and be a part of a club
that was famous many years ago? Please? We need all the support we can gather?
DIMWIT: S'port ushited? Wodga fink I'm fuckin' stupid or summat?
The corduroy-wearing cretin continues on his way, shoulders hunched against the cold and the wind.
A downtrodden, mentally deficient, troubled man. Fearful of the path that lies ahead he somehow - despite having the mental prowess of a piece of seaweed - knows that he is alarmingly ill-equipped to deal with the world at large.
But suddenly, a broad grin breaks out on his face, revealing a row of stumpy nicotine-stained teeth. His smile grows and grows and then, totally out of character, he laughs! He releases the largest belly-laugh mankind has ever heard because it dawns on him that, despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune that have dogged him his whole wretched life, it dawns on him that...HE IS NOT A RAG!