Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ. Rik Mayall
Чтение книги онлайн.

Good afternoon. You know how like when you’re writing a book, loads of great ideas come to you. Well that’s what’s happening to me. And you know how you’re at the beginning of this book reading this now, well so am I, so it’s like we’re locked together, you and me, you know what I mean. Not like that, obviously, not dirty front bottom style, although we could be if you wanted, especially if you’re a jugged-up kind of bird who’s up for it. In fact, thinking about it, only really if you are a jugged-up bird who’s up for it^*. Anyway, the thing is, here we are together, you and me. Except no, we’re not really, are we? Because I’m writing this bit now and it’ll be a different time when you’ll be reading it, won’t it? I mean, you know, think about it, it could be millions of years from now that you’re reading it. I mean my now, not your now. Your now would be right now, wouldn’t it? See, I was right. About both nows. You might even be someone from another planet. Or someone else from that planet. Or someone from a completely different planet. Or both of them. Or something. Or, oh forget all that. (Unless you are someone from another planet, in which case. Hello. Good afternoon to you too.)

So, basically, no one knows when or where you are reading this. So that’s kind of cool isn’t it. You know. Mysterious. I mean, this might be written on a cave wall some time after the next apoca-lyps. I just thought of that. Or somewhere else. Or not even there. But the thing is that none of this really matters so don’t worry about it because it’s not important because what I’m saying is, loads of people have written loads of books but the thing to remember about this book is that it’s better. A lot of books are just a load of old wank so they can fuck off. And if you don’t believe me, you can fuck off too. In fact, if you want a fight, I’m there. I’m pretty good at fighting so you’d better watch out. Better-watch-out-he’s-pretty-good-at-fighting is my middle name. Always has been. No it hasn’t. That’s bollocks. This isn’t working. Let’s start again.

Good afternoon. You know how—oh just forget this fucking page. It’s shit.

INTRODUCTION

In the beginning was the word, and the word was Rik Mayall. Do you see what I did there? That’s the kind of guy I am. Unconventionable. And don’t say that I’m not because I am. And my career as a showbusiness legend spans decades and all of them (the decades that is) are choc full of successful movies, theatre events in the West End (and other places), cutting edge comedy television formats, number one hit records, funny and challenging chat show nonappearances and, most importantly, a string of highly inventive and genre-bursting (make that exploding and with some serious megatonnage as well) commercial television and radio product endorsements. People do not, and I repeat not, shout “fat unfunny has-been” at me in the streets. That has never happened—read my lips—ever. A lot.

Now, you know me, I’m a nice guy. You can ask anyone. So that’s proof. Anyway, I want to tell you what happened to me the other day. Things happen to me all the time. That’s what it’s like if you’re big famous. And I’ve always been down with my ordinaries^*. Did you see that footnote? I wrote that. Anyway, when I say “down” with my ordinaries, I’m not saying, down with them as in “down with Thatcher”^*, I mean down as in that expression “down with the kids” meaning happening and cool and groovy not, you know, like, you know, anything else. So, I like to think that I’m down with the kids [maybe change this]. What I’m trying to say is that I like children. Oh fuck, look just erase all this, forget about it. What I’m really trying to say is that I like you a lot and I’m down with you—actually, I need to stop saying “down with”. I’m “in with” you—oh God that sounds as though I want to get your stuff all over my fingers. Look, just go to the next paragraph. I didn’t mean it and it’s all shit.

What I’m really definitely trying to say here and now is that I AM THE RIK MAYALL. Good. That’s sorted. Moving on. We’re really getting somewhere now.

Picture the scene. Maybe it’s a Tuesday afternoon—fuck it, it is—this is my book. This happened, right. It’s last Tuesday. I’m in a crowded pub, having the third of three halves—I’m quite a big drinker^†—when bang! It hit me straight between the eyes! I say it, it was more of a he—a big hard bloke with tattoos—you know the type. What had happened was that I had accidentally stumbled penis first against the arse cheeks of his girlfriend as I hurried to the Gents toilets to not take drugs. At first, I thought it might be one of those sudden unscheduled violence workshops that my great showbusiness mates^‡ often spring on me which look to all the world like they’re beating the shit out of me but which are, in fact, all part of the acters’ craft. Anyway, it wasn’t. So forget about that. So, back to last Tuesday, and the next thing I know is I’m carrying out an emergency landing on the pavement outside the pub which is when a small pale man in a red overcoat came up to me.

“You’re Rik Mayall, aren’t you?” he said to me.

“I am he,” said I^*.

“Rik Mayall! No, no, I can’t believe it! You are The Rik Mayall! You must be some kind of God, The Rik! The son of God or something! You have СКАЧАТЬ

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FOREWORD

INTRODUCTION

Bigger than Hitler – Better than Christ. Rik Mayall
Чтение книги онлайн.