My mate Alan, he’s weird. I was sitting there thinking: Alan is weird. And you know Alan Irving? He’s weird too. My teacher, Mr Allen, was pretty weird. I wonder if all Alans are weird? I’m weird…am I Alan?”
Callum held up the soggy joint in his left hand, ash pointing to the greying sky.
“So I think it’s time for you to hear about Alan.”
Callum looked at Neil, who dropped a smile and quickly picked it back up again. He looked me in the eyes as though he was measuring the worth of my soul. He turned back to Callum and nodded.
I belatedly took hold of the joint with my left hand as it passed across our bodies from Callum’s right. I quickly took a chaste drag while Callum adopted an open stance.
“OK so our pal Alan has been a tragic figure. Very quiet, could go a whole night without saying a word. Since we left school, he hasn’t had a job – five years. He’s not in uni or college or anything, hasn’t done an apprenticeship. He’s a true NEET.”
“That’s ‘not in employment, education or training’ in case you didn’t know,” Neil chips in laconically, punctuating with fact the reality of Alan’s situation.
“So we’ve been worried about him.”
“I have been anyway, I used to think he’d kill himself.”
“Like Neil is in a band with him and that’s like the only thing Alan does.”
“Yep, he more or less said that to me. In which case you’d think he’d be a better drummer.”
“At any rate, that was the only way he left the house. He lives with his parents, we kept trying to help him get a job but…nae luck. He stopped going to collect his dole money, so we really did think he was about to kill himself.So there you go there’s his background. To you, Neil.”
“OK so we were on tour with the band and we were in a sex shop in Birmingham. Loads of really heavy stuff. So Gordon turns to us and is like ‘what’s that about?’, gesturing over at the CBT stuff. For the uninitiated, that’s cock and ball torture. We kind of laugh along with him, except Alan, who’s like ‘yeah, no, I get it’.”
“So here’s Alan,” Callum interjects, “giving it all you need to know about cock and ball torture.”
“‘Yeah…I get that. I’m into that.’ Like Alan has had plenty of time to ‘experiment with his body’. He certainly hasn’t been spending the time on anything else. And he gets into his butt plugs, like does he just wear them to wank? No, he’s been to see his grandparents with it in. Been to ASDA to buy some ham. Wore it all day on Christmas – as a gift from Alan to Alan.”
“His next goal, at the time, was to get one with more flange, for reasons of safely stimulating his prostate. To my mind, that is high ambition for Alan. Bear in mind, I’ve known him for ten years, this is the most I’ve heard him speak. Maybe a third of the conversation I’ve had with him, cumulatively, has been about his wanking.
“OK so the gif,” Neil jumped in.
“Yeah, yeah the gif. Amid all this, Alan claimed he could suck his own dick. And we were all saying, you know, no waaay! But…you know…” he trailed off coyly.
“Alan has a massive dick.”
“So you know. Could be true. And so he got out his phone and showed us a perfectly looping gif of him just going down on himself.”
“He was sucking his own dick right enough. Like Ouroboros he was devouring himself.”
“Impressive. But there you go, so here begins the tale of true love.” He pauses and lets the potential hang in the air.
“So the other band that Alan and Gordon are in, not the one I’m in but the other, they were on tour and they played a gig in London. They were going to stay that night in an abandoned school, but the guy they had been talking to who had the keys wasn’t answering his phone. So they rang around, texted everyone they knew, put out pleas on Facebook, Twitter, anything you could think of. And getting towards the time of the gig, finally Alan pipes up. He’s like, ‘I know someone we can stay with’.”
“Now bear in mind, Alan doesn’t know anybody. He’s never been out of Livingston except touring with his two bands.”
“Yeah so they were like…meaning no disrespect Alan, but apart from Callum and Neil, everyone you know is here. Who the fuck do you know in London?”
“Yeah and it turns out…have you heard of IRC? Like it’s this kind of nerdy thing, like MSN messenger but really old and it’s only really for big nerds….bigger nerds than me, and I’m definitely the biggest nerd here,” bragged Callum in an uninformed fashion, “Yeah he had gone on one of those IRC sites and posted the GIF, and some girl LOVED it. She was taken by his unique skillset, and aimed to make use of it.”
“So what happened then, Alan? So he told us about how they Skype and call each other, and he just sucks his own dick and she loves it. So after the gig at 1am, with nowhere else to stay, they were like fuck it – he hadn’t pushed them into it, he seemed really keen. So they went to Whitechapel, where she lived in a grand tradition of psychopathy. They’re walking along the street and they see this haggard bird. The best descriptions we have of her at this point is that she has a red chin and was wearing cargo shorts. Gordon jokes that hey, imagine it was her? And of course, no sooner had he said it, that Alan went up and hugged her.”
“I think that tells you enough, really.”
“Hm. So they go in and crash, and all night long they hear them. From the first ‘oh my god – it’s huge, to the sound of his own cargo shorts slithering to the ground. Then they start beating each other, and it goes on from there. It’s beautiful, really.”
“So if we fast forward a few months, Alan is starting to get pretty flush with cash. He’s moving down to London to be with her. He has no job, no dole, Neil knows he makes fuck all from the band and doesn’t deal drugs. And it’s known that the woman has inherited a fair amount. Not to say these facts are related, but they certainly seem to be. And we can’t find any evidence that he’s been profligate with his intellectual property – Gordon assures me that there is no sign of the gif or a video on the self-suck network. So it looks like he’s found a way in life.”
“But this story has a moral, lest we forget.”
If you get deep enough inside yourself,
you will find true love