Worst. Person. Ever(59)

Stuart piped up, “He’s a B-unit cameraman.”

“Where is he slated to stay?”

A guy with a clipboard volunteered, “South island camera camp B.”

“Wrong. He’s staying on the yacht,” said Shelley.

Stuart was taken aback. “The yacht?”

“Yes. In room seventeen.”

“Ahhh …” Stuart smiled. “Perfect. Oh, and by the way, people, this is also the pinhead who spelled the ‘Harry’ in ‘Harry Potter’ with an ‘e’.”

“I can’t believe anyone could be that stupid,” Shelley said.

A chant began: “Pot-ter. Pot-ter. Pot-ter.”

Scott was in the driver’s seat and the bus belched forward. Fuck these people. I was sick of them and hungry, too. “Neal, we never had a proper dinner in the end. Is there anything to eat on this fucking bus?”

Always prepared, our Neal. He tossed me a cardboard meal box that contained a vacuum-wrapped cheese block manufactured 60,000 miles away in a Republican cheese factory in Nebraska, a cellophane packet of saltine crackers, an unripe banana and a—dear-fucking-God, surely not. My brain couldn’t absorb what I had just seen—and once seen, it could never be unseen. There in the box was a …

A knork (the “k” is silent) is a hybrid form of cutlery that combines the cutting capability of a knife with the spearing capability of a fork in a single powerful utensil. The word “knork” is a portmanteau of “knife” and “fork.” Typically, one or both of the outer edges of a knork are sharpened to allow the user to cut food.

An advantage of the knork is that people with one arm can use it easily. It is also sometimes known as a Nelson fork, after Horatio Nelson, who used this type of cutlery after losing his right arm in 1797.

“Look, Ray—it’s a knork!”

I was speechless.

Neal prattled on, “I’ve always wanted to see one in real life. It’s sister cutlery to the spork, and it’s sometimes called a Nelson fork, after Horatio Nelson, who used this type of cutlery after losing his right arm in 1797.”

“Fuck me with a power tool, I would end up saddled with a living Wikipedia.”

“Nothing wrong with displaying a bit of knork spirit, Ray.”

I could feel my eyes bulging from my skull. “Neal, for fuck sake, if you keep on discussing hybrid cutlery, I’ll have you ball-gagged and tossed off the yacht like a Belarussian hooker.”

“I’m just saying, Horatio Nelson was a smart man, Ray. But okay, then, seeing as you’re being ungrateful about your snack pack, maybe you’d like some trail mix instead.” He took my box and handed me a foil packet.

“That’s very gracious of you, Neal.”

I grabbed the bag, ripped it open and chugged its entire contents, having only millionths of a second to think the two fateful words that mar my life on earth: macadamia nuts.

“Whoops!” said Neal. “My mistake. Sweet dreams and do try to be a bit nicer to me when you wake up.”

Blackness.


3. I’m sure these days they’re now called something horrible like “U.S. Power Tweens.”





37


When I oozed my way back into consciousness, I felt a rotating motion gently scrubbing my gentleman’s region. God bless the South Seas!

The warm, smooth finger teased its way towards my mangina—ahhhh. My eyelids squidged open a bit, and the truth was revealed: Billy, Fiona’s assistant, last seen the previous week in her Covent Garden offices, was giving me a sponge bath wearing rubber gloves and using a foam scrub brush with an extended handle like they use in prison kitchens filled with all those rapey-looking cooks.

“What the fuck! Billy, get your hands off my nether bits!” My head felt like two train cars colliding.

“Oh. Good morning, Raymond. I’d like to point out that my hands aren’t touching you. All the tea in China couldn’t—well, whatever. Not to worry. Fiona and I drew straws, and I got the shorty, so here I am playing Nurse Jackie. Had a nice little coma, did we?”

“How long have I been out of it?”

“Maybe two days.”

“Where am I?”

“The luxurious TV network yacht, obviously.”

I tried to reach for a towel to cover my nether bits, but an IV line got in the way. “Jesus, Billy, why are you washing me?”

“If you must know, darling, you gave birth to a bowling ball of fecal matter a few hours back, and its odour got into the ventilator shaft and began to … infuse the racquetball court next door. People were retching.”

“There’s a racquetball court next door? A yacht has a racquetball court?”