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And as the impotence of those days faded into memory, grim desperation took hold of his sex-crazed mind. His post-junk libido, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamine, taunted him remorselessly with his own unsatisfied desire. Begbie: Armed robbery. With a actors replica. I mean, how the fuck can it be armed robbery with a fucking replica? Begbie: You sorry enough for being a fat fucking cunt? Pub Heavy: Fuck you. If you can't hold a pint actors you shouldn't be in a pub. Fuck off. Begbie: Picture the scene: The other fuckin' week there, doin' 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 there, during 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' fancied himself, like. Starts staring at me. Lookin' at me, right fuckin' at me, as if to say, "Come ahead, square go."
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