The Pyjama Girl.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/16/writing-challenge-dialogue/

The Weekly Writing Challenge was: Dialogue.

The Pyjama Girl

Martina Barrister: You’re a scumbag. Get off the streets! You offend me.

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Dee Du: I just need to get by madam, please.

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Bernard Barrister: You’re a lazy dole-sponging scrounger. Take those pyjamas off or we’ll do it for you over there in the park!

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Dee Du: I can’t. I’m late for a poetry recital in The Shack. Please?

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Martina Barrister: Who gave you permission for that?

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Dee Du: I didn’t know I needed permission from Barristers to recite poetry. I’ll get it next time madam, I will. Please. I’m reading Ginsberg’s Howl today.

Ginsberg youngjpg

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Martina Barrister: Ginsberg! You’re nothing but a whore. Your type have caused this whole recession. You make me sick. Hold her Bernard.

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Dee Du: Please let me go. I’m begging you!

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Martina Barrister: We own most of the houses in Janey Macken Street now, little Miss Pyjamas, so we run things now.

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Bernard Barrister: Look at that crease on my trouser there Miss Scum. You could slice turnips on it. Those smiling sun pyjamas should never had seen the light of day.

(Martina pours a can of Dutch Gold lager down the front of Dee Du’s pyjamas and punches her in the gut).

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Dee Du: Please! I’ll ask next time. I swear!

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Martina Barrister: Punks. Good for nothing punks ye are!

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Dee Du: Punks? (Stands up straight) Yes, we’re punks. I am punk. More punk than punk itself.

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Martina Barrister: Junky!

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Dee Du: You’re middle class, you’ll never understand. The most avant-garde statement of the past two hundred years and you see nothing.

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Martina Barrister: Lazy bastard!

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Dee Du: I’m bigger than Duchamp’s urinal I am!

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Bernard Barrister: Pyjamas? You’re fucking joking.

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Dee Du: Yes, pyjamas outdoors. I’m getting the same reaction the first punks got on the Kings Road in London. More so. Junkies! Scumbags! Lazy scroungers! You say! Like Duchamp!

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Martina Barrister: You’ve slept in them like an animal.

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Dee Du: It’s that immense! Up there with punk! I am urinal!

(a bell sounds)

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Bernard Barrister: Martina, quick! To the tribunal!

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Martina Barrister: You’re lucky Missy. If there wasn’t money to be robbed you’d be dead now and lying naked in the park.

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Dee Du: No. I think I’ll read my own poem today and scrap Ginsberg. Actually.

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Martina Barrister: Stop talking about poetry – you’re not allowed poetry – that’s for us. Bitch!

(Martina punches her gut).

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Bernard Barrister: It’s probably not poetry at all. It’s probably rap.

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Dee Du: Chocolate Charlie is playing today in The Shack. He’s the chocolate poet of Landon Road. He writes all his words down in a sketch pad with a chocolate pencil. Recites them. And then licks his notebook clean afterwards. Thus, eating his own words every time. He has no ego.  And this makes sure.

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Martina Barrister: You bitch!

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Dee Du: My name is Dee Du.

(A bell sounds even louder)

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Bernard Barrister: Martina come on! Time is money.

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Martina Barrister: We’ll be back later with switchblades – and accountants!

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Dee Du: Charlie has no ego but he teaches people how to swagger. Like Noel and Liam Gallagher.

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Martina Barrister: Bernard, she wants to swagger now. I’m getting sick. Bernard just one kick please, I’m begging you? In the balls!

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Bernard Barrister: No. We’re going. Into the fucking car!

(They get into a car and drive away)

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D Du: Ladies and gentlemen, my poem.

Ginsberg flower

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