When this prostate-wretch
debates literature with his old bag, it usually takes these horrifying
turns:
-I've been thinking about releasing a collection of poems,
but unfortenately poetry-collections are very difficult to flog. The
publishers hardly even wanna touch them, he said to her with a great deal
of melancholy in his voice.
-The other day I read a collection of poems by Kristina Lugn.
Do you like her?
-The only kind of poets who can get their poetry published
are precisely the likes of Kristina Lugn.
-Yes, do you like her?
-And Tomas Tranströmer!
-Yes, but do you like Kristina Lugn, I asked you - twice!
-And Artur Lundkvist. And Jacques Werup. And Sonnevi and such
geezers...
-Yes, but HEY!
-Yes, what is it? Oh, sorry! Did I happen to wet your
bathroom carpets again?
-No! It wasn't that!
-Excuse me, honey. I must learn to...
-NOO! You didn't piss on my rug again! I asked if you like
Kristina Lugn!
-What?
-DO YOU LIKE KRISTINA LUGN?
-Who?
-KRISTIIINAAA LUUUGN!!!???! ELL-U-GE-ENN! LUGN!
-...I've got my lungs in order. Whereas I think your
lungs seems to be a little on the loud side...
-No, no, no! And no, again! I asked if you can appreciate
Kristina Lugn!
-Have you seen where I put my sandals last fall... I can't
find them anywhere...
-So her poetry doesn't appeal to you then, right?
-Whose?
-KRISTINA LUGN'S!!!
-Don't you think we should get a cat? I think it looks so
cosy. It gives the house a warm and friendly atmosphere...
-Allright! So you don't like her then, huh? Nop!
-I've never said that!
-Well, do you like her poetry then?
-Whose?
-Kristina Lugn's! Kristina Lugn's! KRISTINA LUGN'S, for
FUCK'S SAKE!
-What is it about her?
-I've asked you a houndred times at least, what you think of
her!
-Oh, yea?
-Yes... Well??!
-Well, what?
-What do you think of her?
-What I think of her?
-YES! WHAT YOU THINK OF HER?
-What I think of her?
-YEEESS! What YOUUU think of her! Is it really that fucking
difficult to...
-What I think of her?
-YEEE!!!
-What I think of...
-Yes, now listen! Either you'll answer this question, or I'll
swear to God I'll kill you...
-What question?
-WHAT YOU, YOU FUCKING SLACK-DICK, THINK OF THE FUCKING
THIRD CLASS WHORE KRISTINA, KRISTINA LUGN!! L AS IN LOWLIFE! U AS IN
URINE! G AS IN GONORRHOEA! AND N AS IN »NOW-I'M-GONNA-KILL-YOU!»
-Why?
-Because you never answers the easiest of my questions. Ever!
-What question?
-This is incredible!
-What?
-You! YOU are incredible!
-Why?
-Because... OAAH!
-What's with you today? Is something the matter...
-Now I'm gonna pick up the first hard object that comes and
throw it right on your head! Like this!
-Ouch! That hurt! It is not very polite to throw books in
the head of people! Why did you do that?
-Oooo, now I'm leaving!
She leaves. The Prostate-wretch sits down in a comfy chair,
picks up the book from the floor and starts to read.
-What fucking book is this? (He doesn't know it, but
all of you readers has already guessed it.) Oh? Kristina Lugn's latest!
I have already read that and I thought it was... aaah!
And then he died...