John Travolta’s Vincent Vega returns from a stint in Europe doing some important gangster business on behalf his boss Marsellus Wallace, only to find some nimrod keyed his beloved Malibu just days after it came out of storage.
Vincent’s bespoke drug dealer Lance says the perpetrator: “Should be killed. No trial, no jury, straight to execution.”
Of course, if Priti Patel takes a run at Number 10 in the next few weeks and lands the top job, expect that to be enshrined in law by this time next year.
Anyhoo, the reason I mention it is because a furious and upset Daughter #1 called last week to say someone had keyed her car and left a three feet go-faster stripe along the driver’s door while it was parked outside her student house in Liverpool.
Now, being the wind-up merchant that she is, yours truly has the experience to know not to jump in with both feet.
A few weeks ago she called in a panic to say a garage had charged her £100 for ‘premium oil’ during a routine service and she was so shocked she just paid up and left, leaving us all dangling for a minute before laughing her head off.
There was a thing doing the rounds on social media where gormless students rang their startled parents to moan that a rip-off garage had seen them coming and charged £100 for ‘premium air’ for their tyres.
But she had worked out I wouldn’t fall for that one after I had taken the precaution to show her how to pump up tyres herself.
So she sent me a picture. And indeed, some little ****house had keyed it. Like Vincent said back in 1994: “Boy, I’d have given anything to catch him doing it. It’d be worth him doing it just so I could’ve caught him doing it.”
I’d have liked to have left a three feet scar along the little scrote who keyed it, either that or take the Boy Scouse for a visit to that monkey tattooist you can book on the dark web. DM me for details.