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: Did you bring the cards? Sick Boy
: What? Begbie
: The cards, the last thing I told you was to mind the cards! Sick Boy
: Well, I've not brought them. Begbie
: It's fucking boring after a while without the cards. Sick Boy
: I'm sorry. Begbie
: Bit fucking late, like. Sick Boy
: Why didn't *you* bring them? Begbie
: 'CAUSE I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO BRING THEM, YOU DOSS CUNT! Sick Boy
Francis (Franco) Begbie
: That lassie got glassed, and no cunt leaves here till we find out what cunt did it. Man
] Who the fuck are you? Francis (Franco) Begbie
[kicks him in the crotch
Francis (Franco) Begbie
: It was fuckin' obvious that that cunt was gonnae fuck some cunt.
: Armed robbery. With a replica. I mean, how the fuck can it be armed robbery with a fucking replica?
: No sorry enough for being a fat cunt. Pub Heavy
: Fuck you. If you can't hold a pint you shouldn't be in a pub. Fuck off.
: Picture the scene: The other fuckin' week there, down the fuckin' Volley with Tommy, playing pool. I'm playing like Paul-Fuckin'-Newman by the way. Givin' the boy here the tannin' of a lifetime. So it comes to the, down to the last shot, the deciding ball of the whole tournament. I'm on the black and he's sittin' in the corner looking all fuckin' biscuit-arsed. When this hard cunt comes in. Obviously fuckin' fancies himself, like. Starts staring at me. Lookin' at me, right fuckin' at me, as if to say, "Come ahead, square go." You ken me, I'm not the type of cunt that goes looking for fuckin' bother, like, but at the end of the day I'm the cunt with a pool cue and he can get the fat end in his puss any time he fucking wanted like. So I squares up, casual like. What does the hard cunt do? Or the so-called hard cunt? Shites it. Puts down his drink, turns, and gets the fuck out of there. And after that, well, the game was mine.
[Telling Renton the truth about Begbie's story
: It was Wednesday morning. We were in the Volley, playing pool. That much is true. But, Begbie is playing absolutely fucking 'gash!'
[Cuts to pool hall
: He's got a hangover so bad, he can barely hold the cue, never mind pot a ball. And I'm doing my best to lose, you know trying to humour him like. But it's not doing any good. Every time I hit the ball, I seem to pot something. Every time Begbie goes near the table, he fucks it up.
[Tommy aims and hits the cue balls away from a cornered ball
: Oh, for fuck sake.
[the cue ball bounces around the table but ends up potting the ball he tried to miss
: So he's got the hump, right? But, finally I manage to set it up so that all he's gotta do is to pot the black, to savage a little bit of pride, and maybe not kick my head in, yeah? So he squares up... pressure shot...
[a man at the bar opens a pack of potato chips. The crunching sound putting Begbie off
: And it all goes wrong, big time!
[the same man, eats a potato chip. The even louder crunch noise causes Begbie to rip the table with his cue and knock the cue ball off the table and into Tommy's hand
[Begbie travels over to the man, and cracks his cue over the man's back
: He picks on this speccy wee gadge at the bar, accusing him of putting him off by looking at him. I mean the man hasn't glanced in that direction.
: [In Renton's head, under his bedsheets
] Well, this is a good fucking laugh, ain't it? You sweat that shite out of your system. 'Cause if I come back and it's still here... I'll fucking kick it out. Okay?
: Look, I'm not a fucking buftie, and that's the end of it! Mark "Rent-boy" Renton
: Well, let's face it, it could've been wonderful.
: [to Renton
] You better clean up your fuckin' act, sunshine. Cut that shite out forever. Mrs. Renton
: [Nodding her head
] You listen to Francis, Mark. He's talkin' sense, kid.
Mark "Rent-boy" Renton
: [to Mrs. Murphy
] I'm sorry Mrs. Murphy. That wasn't fair Spud goin' down and not me Begbie
: [to Mrs. Murphy
] Well it's not our fault! Your boy went down because he's a fuckin' smackhead! And if that's not your fault, then I don't know what is.
[Mrs. Murphy turns to walk away
: I was the fuckin' cunt who tried to get him off it.