FUCKING ASSHOLE SPEAKERS REDUX

otherwise known as FUCKING ASSHOLE ELECTRIC CABLES.

Note: go here if you want to read the tale of the fucking asshole speakers.

Seriously, I saw Y-Fronts, aka the Speaker Guy, last night (note: I actually saw him last night, while the first part of the story came from two or three months ago, although the date I posted that part up on suggests otherwise). The circumstances weren't quite as totally fucking insane as the last time, so I can't promise a tale that's quite up to the standards of the fucking asshole speakers, but hey, it's Y-Fronts. And where there's Y-Fronts, there's some crazy shit about to go down.

I'm just hanging out at the back of the store when I see him go past: no awkward/terrifying alleyway encounters this time. I look up from the cardboard airplane I've been constructing (good way to pass the time during a slow spell is usually to make airplanes out of the pizza boxes, once I managed to make one that flew all the way across the store and out the front door, which was probably my best day of gainful employment ever) to see a figure in an anorak hunched over a shopping trolley.

It's a bit odd that someone is pushing a shopping trolley up the high street, but not that odd. I mean, I've certainly seen odder. Y-Fronts, for example. He was pretty odd, with his incomprehensible hatred of electronics...

The shopping trolley is full of electric cable.

Huh. Could it be? I mean, it could, it's not very far fetched at all, stands to reason he'd live in the area... but really? Is it him? I think before yesterday's second sighting I'd managed to convince myself that Y-Fronts and his speaker rage were some kind of urban legend. Granted, they were an urban legend that I'd seen for myself and been scared out of my pants by, but that's what they were nonetheless.

As it turns out, Y-Fronts is quite real. Although he wasn't wearing Y-Fronts this time. A red anorak with the hood thrown up over his head is the new style, and it's for this reason that I'm not sure the electric cable carrying figure on the other side of the high street is actually him. I mean, it certainly could be, but... there are a lot of nutters walking the high street at night. Sure, not all of them are luddites of the most destructive kind, but who's to say this fellow on the pavement is on his way to destroy that trolley full of cable?

It really is full of cable; I feel I should clarify that at this juncture. It. Is. Full. Of. Cable. Imagine a shopping trolley, one of the big ones that have the little folding out bit near the handle where you can neatly slot your baby in if it starts to piss you off and you can't take any more of its shit (disclaimer: I am not a parent). It's one of those bad boys, a true monster truck of the shopping trolley world... and it's totally fucking crammed full of electric cable. I don't know exactly what kind of electric cable - I don't know what it's meant to plug into - but there's a lot of it, anyway, that's the point I'm trying to get across.

What would one anoraked man want with a whole trolley full of cable? I ask myself, slipping smoothly into detective mode (I have a bunch of modes, and also a kung fu action grip). The answer to the question is not much, I guess. I mean, unless you lived in a house that was basically made out of televisions and computers and speakers...

Speakers.

Is it him? Could it be him?

Regardless, there's not much I can do about it. Anorak is nearly out of my field of vision, and according to the computer I've got a drop due out of the oven any second. I quickly finish up my cardboard airplane and have a brief competition with Ben to see who can get their plane the closest to the supervisor's head.

Ben wins. Ben always wins.

My car is down the alley, and as I climb in I notice something a little way up the road, casually abandoned in the middle of the pavement ten yards or so away from where I am. It's the shopping trolley.

The shopping trolley full of electric cable.

A nervous giggle bursts out of my throat and I drive off, repressed memories flashing behind my eyes. Was it really happening? The return of Y-Fronts... would he get revenge on the electric cables for the way his job on the speakers had been interrupted? Just what the hell did he have against electronics anyway? Was it his job, or something, destroying faulty electrics?

Yes. That's right, his job is to drag expensive electrical equipment down a back alley and destroy it using available materials. That's a pretty common job, after all. I remember how they created a lot of positions in that industry to combat the rampant unemployment our local psychotics were suffering.

When I get back and park up the trolley of cable is unmoved. Unmoved... but not unchanged. A red anorak lies casually strewn atop the trolley, which means one of two things:

1. Anorak is not actually Y-Fronts at all, but simply an owner of a copious amount of electric cable, who has removed his anorak to cover the trolley in case of a sudden downpour while he goes inside his nearby flat to collect some more cables.
2. Anorak is actually Y-Fronts, and the disrobing has begun.

Thing is, there's no one around to be seen, so if the disrobing has begun, the only evidence for it thus far is the discarded anorak. As I walk up through the alley and back to the store, I consider that perhaps an absence of evidence is not the worst thing that has ever befallen me.

But it's not something that befalls me for long. It is, in fact, something that is quite remedied when I go out on my next drop about five minutes later.

As I step out of the alley onto the street I hear a familiar noise of frustration and sorrow. Sort of like the roar of a retarded baby dinosaur, I guess.

"These are mine! Can't you leave me alone? These are all mine!"

It's Y-Fronts, and he appears to be in some amount of distress. He also appears to be shirtless and shoeless, which is an interesting deviation from last time's dress code. I'm just happy he's still wearing his trousers. Y-Fronts might be quite a catchy handle, but there's really no need for him to remind me why I gave him that name.

He is also flanked by two policeman, who look just as frustrated as Y-Fronts. One of moves to take him by the arm but he dances out of reach, all the while keeping one hand on his trolley of cables. I guess he has something in store for them; something the local law enforcement are obliged to try and prevent.

I'm impressed by how quickly the police were called this time. The thing with the fucking asshole speakers must have unfolded over something like two hours, and no sign of the po-po throughout. This has been about half an hour, tops. Electronic serial murder is, apparently, is something the county has decided to crack down on.

As I stand, holding a pizza in one hand and dumbly watching, the same officer tries to grab Y-Fronts again. Again our titular mentalist dances out of reach, but this time he does more than that: he fucking legs it.

Well. He does his best, but is somewhat hampered by the fact that he can't bring himself to let go of the trolley. I don't know if you've ever tried escaping the law while pushing a shopping trolley full of electric cable - it's certainly been a while since I have - but from the evidence presented to me last night, I have concluded that it is not something I would recommend.

It takes about ten to fifteen seconds for Y-Fronts to be apprehended, and he's promptly marched in my direction. I take this as my cue to get back to work, and casually complete the journey to my car as if I'd never stopped to rubberneck in the first place. As I open the door and climb in, lamenting the swift downfall of the scariest man I've ever seen in just pants, I catch what I'm sure was just the beginning of a highly fruitful discourse:

Y-FRONTS: Fuck, you can't just leave my cables there like that, someone's gonna fucking steal them!

OFFICER: Right. Only, that's sort of what you did.