Beckett Gets Stabbed

“Who goes there? Show yourself!”
“Alright, alright. It is I, Prudent the Pimp.”
“What kind of a name is ‘Prudent’ for a pimp?” Beckett chortles, trying to steady his breathing.
“Well, sir, it is called irony. You do have a sensibility for irony?”
Prudent grasps the knife in his pocket, visibly agitated. Beckett detects the change in his manner and, realizing the gravity of his situation, tries to defuse it.
“I beg your pardon, of course I have a nose for irony. I was merely startled by your sudden appearance. I resort to bad jokes when I am nervous.”
“What an unfortunate habit, sir.”
“Yes, I agree. Again, I apologize.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Prudent relaxes his grip and his frame.
“What is your name, sir. You are English, n’est-ce pas?”
“Irish. Beckett.”
“Would you like to get a drink, Beckett?”
“Very kind of you, Raymond. I wouldn’t mind a drink for it is quite cold outside.”
“Why did you call me Raymond?”
“Je ne sais pas, Monsieur. Je m’excuse.”
“I shall have to stab you for that.”
“If you must.”
Prudent grasps the knife in his pocket, visibly agitated. Beckett detects the change in his manner.

2 Responses to “Beckett Gets Stabbed”


  1. 1 timruane24 February 6, 2012 at 21:23

    This is the coolest stuff I’ve seen in ages.

  2. 2 nonvisedvoce February 6, 2012 at 22:38

    Thanks. I’m enjoying your poetry which I’m reading in a fairly random and undisciplined manner. “I could tell by her buttocks that she too should be mine” is a great opening line for a love poem.


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