Stuck On A Mobius Strip

Oi, give it - gissitere - revolver, the pistol! Then under my chin . . . no hesitation . . . the trigger, I pulled it - BANG!!!

RUN. RUN. RUN: you flee the scene . . .

Out in the street - you screaming, Oh my God - HELP!

The cylinder - I span it. One slug. One bullet. A leap of faith. Oops - a mop and bucket!

Things're, well, um - a little lopsided. Lost half my face - need to get my bearings.

Dunno. Am I . . . a zombie?

I'm at the entrance of the building - having just used the stairwell. Lot of noise. Whole neighbourhood's pointing in my direction. Patrol cars. Alarmed cops shouting: Hey, pal, stay where you are - don't move!

Guys. (I speak louder): GUYS - I'm not on bath salts. Relax!

Fox News. Cameramen. Microphones. Sorta strange, folks - OMG, now he's . . . dancing!!!

I'm dead. Very dead. But alive and kicking - WOW! And they're all freaking out 'cause I'm doing the MC Hammer you can't touch this! To the left. Back to the right. Brah, I got swag. I'm bringing it real cold. A teevee star and str8ght-to-veeaitchess home view - certificate X - innit, home boy!!!

Sir, you need to calm down!

Where's my girl . . . ? Oh, there she is - oops - wiping my brains and make-up off with a handkerchief. Sorry, babe! Messed up again. Russian roulette and arrogance are like two opposing magnets: diametrically opposed in every way to illustrate one final outcome - BANG BANG YOU LOSE!!!

What day is it? Friday izzit - yes . . . TFI Friday. Garss-on, garss-on . . . I want a Pisco Sour and Mary for all this blood-and-thunder, goddammit!!! Oh, not again - spin the cylinder - it's now or never . . . day-zhah voo gone mad: BA-ANG!!!!!!