How to Talk to Girls at Parties

Is she really going out with him?

The Silver Jubilee

marks 25 years of Her Majesty's reign.

- - Oi, watch it!

- I'll fucking kill you! -

Don't come back here, you fucking thieving little git!

- Fuck off! - Fucking bastards!

- All right, John? - All right, boys?

All right, go, go, go, go!

- Keep fighting the machine, boys! -

To the Queen!

- Hip, hip... - Hooray!

- Hip, hip... - Hooray!

Mum, can I have a word?

Can you sub me next week's pocket money?

- You'll be home by 12:00? - Yeah.

A revolution bankrolled entirely by Mum's spare change.

God save the Queen!

- The fascist regime! -

Get off!

I fucked your mum!

I had some fun with her afterwards.

She's a very generous lover.

- - Whoa!

Oi, slow down, mate. Slow down. Come on.

I can't believe you did that. That was so funny.

Thank you very much.

When did they start charging a bleeding pound

for a punk show in Croydon?

Shut it, Vic, all right? We're getting in for free.

- - Up here.

Females await, boys.

- - Don't touch my hair.

Don't touch my hair.

Please kiss my heart and touch my mind. Don't touch me there.

Don't touch my hair.

Don't touch my fucking hair.

Oi!

- Fuck you, bitch! Bitch! -

Whoa, punk really is the greatest thing

that ever happened to ugly people, isn't it?

- Fuck you, Jerry. -

Wait till you see Slap. Wait till you see my boy!

Oi, get the fuck out of here!

Come in the front door, you poofs!

Oh, boys, this place is teeming with proper gash.

Do you not like that word, Enn?

Would you prefer "lady bits" or "front bottom"?

Fuck off.

God, those braces are clinging on for dear life, ain't they?

I think the one with pink hair is Shirley from school.

Yeah, I know her. She's Boadicea's right-hand bitch.

Go and talk to her then. Get us into the after party.

Hey, who's the twat in the turtleneck?

Must be another label sniffing around The Dyschords.

You know, Boadicea should be reading our fanzine.

Yeah, he's right. She could put us on the map.

- Get us an intro then. - I don't want to.

Talk to Shirley. You went to school with her.

- Sod off. - Aww, are you a virgin?

- Fuck off! - Go on!

The chick is leaving the nest.

I was in Despair,

and now I'm in another band called Lipstick,

which was formed from the remnants of Despair.

Hiya!

It's Shirley, right?

Uh, we went to school together.

The name's Spinning Jenny.

Nice. I'm Enn.

Uh, we did that show together? Do you remember?

Baa Baa Black Sheep?

I was a bag of wool, and so were you.

And we had that duet together.

Go on, give us a tune then, "Shirley."

- Piss off. - Um...

I do remember that song we did though.

Let's sing it.

Oh, come on. You start.

Don't pay any attention to that.

Oi, oi, oi. Bunch of boob-sniffing fucks!

Ever get the feeling your invitation was lost in the mail?

Who could imagine you lot out here

- in a shithole like Croydon! - Fuck off!

In the world of quantum mechanics,

punks are everywhere at the same time.

Until, observe.

Let me welcome you to the leaders of the Party go Punk revolution!

The incredible Dyschords!

Yes!

Fuck off! Fuck off!

Suck him off!

Stop!

- Fuck off! - Piss off!

Virgin Records!

- Fuck you, yeah! - Oh, oh, oh, oh!

- -

Get off!

There's your seven-inch.

You stupid fucking pillock.

- We had him. We had him! -

And then you had to go and fuck it up!

What are you, suicidal?

Ahh!

- You remind me of my mum. - Good!

Bo, I'm the golden goose!

You haven't laid the golden egg yet, have you?

- I've had it, Slap! - So where's the after party?

Wadeson Street. And you!

- You are barred! -

I can't bear it if they sign to a major, though. So wrong.

Well, The Clash signed to CBS.

They're dead to me. I've written an editorial in the new issue.

- Did you put my Slits review in? - Some of it.

- What did you take out? - The epic fucking poetry.

Oi! Rimbaud was a symbolist.

You want to forget the artsy crap next Tuesday, John, mate.

Where are you going to take her?

- Who? - My impending date.

When did you get a date? Who with?

- Tracey. - What? Tracey the Slag?

Tracey the Magnanimous.

"Now, boys, you can touch one of them.

Left one's bigger..."

"...right one's nicer!"

So I was thinking, do I save up and take her into town?

The Roxy maybe? I mean, she's not a punk...

Nah, some mafia queer runs the place now.

Don't know if he'll let you fuck her in the toilet.

That is genuinely sad to take advantage.

Not as sad as being the guy at the party who ends up in the kitchen,

talking to someone's mum.

"Oh, lovely shade of blue, your balls."

Yeah, that'll be the shade of your mum's lipstick, mate.

- -

- Come on, boys! - Tonight, all that changes

- at the after party! -

- Do you know where we're going? - Yeah, Wadeson Street.

- Which is which way? - Just down the road around the corner.

I trust you implicitly, Vic!

I absolutely know where we're going.

Ugh, again.

Why don't we go for a bit of a swing in the kids' park instead?

- Fuck me! - I'd hurt you, Enn.

How about this, right?

Why don't we finish our beers and decide on the Virys run tomorrow?

- - Enn?

Enn?

What's that music?

- What music? - Shh!

I've almost got it.

- - Now I hear it.

Never doubt me again.

That music is amazing. Is it German?

I feel like I've heard it before.

You never heard nothing before me, mate.

- Shut it. Let's get laid. -

Hello.

We're friends of Boadicea.

She manages The Dyschords.

There is no discord here.