The Unexpurgated Code

by J. P. Donleavy

  There is nothing quite like the relief felt when one puts a gentle foot on solid ground after difficulties encountered staying up in the sky. And there’s no end to the resolves and gratitude you’re willing to give to anybody to get safely delivered from a big stricken motor bird. At such times it always helps to hold tight, but it is often distracting to other passengers to pray too loudly and above all don’t grab your fellow passenger’s arm, leg or neck for comfort as he’s got his own limbs to think about and is liable to struggle unscrupulously. But god knows if a charming female is next you, it’s easier somehow to die in her embrace. But be sure it’s going to be a non survival crash otherwise you could be later hearing from her lawyers concerning the matter of assault and battery. And your only crazy chance of a counterclaim may be the damage her screams did to your eardrums.

  Much debate accompanies the premise of whether it is safer to bring your own personal parachute with you and jump out of a crippled aircraft or come down with it on the off chance of a miraculous landing. It is argued that as the worst happens, folk with their own parachutes pushing and shoving to make for the emergency exits, might end up in the aisles struggling with jealous unparachuted passengers which with angry hair pulling would incite to a chaos of bloodcurdling ferocity. Coupled together with folk’s frantic efforts to retrieve top confidential business papers flying all over the cabin, the whole scene could be most disagreeable. And many is the man who because of the last second pursuit of a business file never required its need again.

  Exiting into the slip stream is the next mad horror. Accompanied as it may be by the possible loss of every stitch of clothing on your back even including your long winter woolly underwear. Landing like this out of the sky right on the podium at some outdoor religious convention could really set you as an unholy cat among a lot of devout pigeons. That is if you manage to miss being segmented by the rear tail-wings of the aircraft or sucked in and expelled as a gaseous mince by the jets. In which case your suffocation from the lack of oxygen in descent is no problem. But landing on a crowded highway and having to dodge a bunch of speeding cars is. However, providing you miss high voltage electric cables, one of the lousiest pieces of bad luck of all is coming down on top of an oil refinery chimney and getting your arse scorched. For all these reasons it may be, just as the good people of the airline usually suggest, prudent that one descend along with the motor bird.

  Fortunately in most air disasters you don’t know what hit you and you’ll hardly recall even being out of the comfort of your seat. Yet this does not deter those unpleasant people you meet in plenty who feel their lives should be saved before anyone else’s and who desperately seek certain seating accommodation in the fervent belief that it will ensure their necks in preference to the expendable necks of others. And my god how they can be spotted in the departure lounge before boarding the plane with one foot kicking their briefcases ahead of them edging a sneaky way into position with their revolting pretence at nonchalance.

  Make these kind of folk suffer. Sweep them up and down with glowering obtuse glances. Don’t, when they are sitting next to you as they usually are since it’s only sensible to take a safe seat yourself, let them read over your shoulder or borrow your latest magazine. Their heinousness is to be shunned with glacial implacability. And in the case of an emergency when you really do see an opening, make for it first before this bugger does, with a headlong lunge. Resting on ceremony often provides that sheer agonizing instant in which you get landed into heaven where you eternally regret ever having let that son of a bitch get in front of you. And you might warn him.

  ‘Would you mind awfully, my good chap, if I sat here next to the emergency exit, I tend to gouge people’s eyes out if they get in front of me.’

  The Drunken Lout Loose in the Aircraft

  First make sure the lout is not an insane person. These latter need sympathetic treatment as they react badly to flying and are apt to shake, tremble and rub their noses or beat their knees in paroxysms. Generally the drunken lout can be identified by his loud declarations and behaviour prior to his finally getting up roaring out of his seat to go lurching and shoulder slapping down the aisles, leaning on elderly ladies, knocking over folk’s cocktails and generally giving acute displeasure to other passengers as well as looming right up to their faces asking each if they have any objections.

  It is quite proper for all able bodied passengers in the vicinity to jump him when his back is turned. However, wait until he’s heading up to the cockpit to take over from the pilot and on the way momentarily pauses to lean in towards some feeble mild tourist persons in order to scare the wits out of them. Don’t be afraid to put plenty of fracturing umph behind your kicks and punches. If the boor has hair, pull it goodo out in lumpfuls. Due to the tight squeeze of seats your footwork will be restricted but since your adversary is footloose this will slow his movements so that you can get in some deep punishing body blows at close quarters.

  The more your chap is pummelled and confused the sooner the fight in him will be quelled. In his final subjugation it is best to get him spreadeagled on his back in the aisle and put two passengers standing on each one of his limbs. A wet towel stuffed in his mouth usually shuts him up. But always make sure to rip the lapels, pockets and at least one sleeve off his shiny blue suit. This helps keep him identified for later when you want the glowing satisfaction of witnessing any relatives meeting him. Which alas, is unlikely.

  Such airborne incidents although irksome, build up a nice little camaraderie among those who successfully landed kicks or punches on the poor devil. And really shorten the trip. But the other worse thing about such lopsided louts is they always choose to sit right next to you. And it’s best to say straight off.

  ‘Shut up you gorp or I’ll bust your face.’

  Upon Being Hijacked

  Should the passenger sitting next you exhibit any suspicious behaviour such as rapidly turning the pages of a magazine without being able to concentrate on any one article, keep your eyes on him. This is not a time to take chances and if his curious behaviour continues with him examining a second periodical in the same manner, jump him, making sure to stifle his cries in case he tries to alert any accomplices. You’ll be amazed by the effectiveness of this out of the blue surprise attack and at how fast the chap is subdued. Although you run the embarrassing risk of beating up an entirely innocent person it certainly will be understood when it is remembered that an explosive device can result in instant depressurization of the cabin and that you and a lot like you, could be sucked out the resulting aperture eyeballs first. And that is far more humiliating.

  If the hijackers are really cool customers you will never be sure you are not sitting next to one of their accomplices. As a precaution keep your eyes open slightly wider than usual, this popeyed look will convince the jackers that you are well and truly alarmed and not likely to do anything foolish for which they might have to kill you sooner than they might like. Jackers respond well to healthy respect but dislike ingratiation and fawning. Especially when they are impatiently awaiting payment of a ransom from a lot of haggling cheapskates who don’t give a god damn for your safe deliverance.

  As minutes are prolonged into eternities there is no question but that hijacking is hard on passengers’ nerves. Especially as before these aerial highwaymen appeared, everything in the matter of reaching one’s destination was going swell, even the boredom. Although you may be sorely tempted to do so, never single handedly attempt to subdue the jacker unless for certain he has absentmindedly laid aside his guns, grenades and knives. After removing these out of the way, retain a knife and execute repeated swift underhanded jabs to the jacker’s belly. This is often a lonely task as none of the other passengers will normally lend a hand. But above all keep stabbing. Your bravery in performing this disagreeable dispatch will add lustre to the history of aeronautics and you might even find an airline to let you ride free foreverafter.

  Upon Your Dog Killing Another

&n
bsp; Plenty of shouting of ‘Stop Rover Stop’, when your dog is winning is essential. People always take it to heart when a huge killer canine comes right up to their obnoxious mutt and without so much as a condiment, gobbles him right up off the surface of the earth. Of course the owner will fly into a lather of heated protestations. And with these usually lousy kinds of people who even try to kick your dog while he’s putting the finishing touches to theirs, it’s best to endure silently.

  Although fights between dog owners have a way of being quite enfeebled it is still likely that the owner of the dead dog will be right up under your nose, the spit flying, the fingers congealed in trembling hooks and his whole being shaking. Usually it’s only necessary to give him a few shoves on the shoulder but always be ready for this small minded loser to attempt taking a lash at you with his departed dog’s leash.

  In cases where the owner of a vanquished dog has got so hysterical that he is even unmindful of your Rover chewing his billiards off, try reasoning that his grief is utterly blinding him in seeing the sporting side of things and that besides his little woof woof insisted upon attacking but was hopelessly outclassed from the start. But don’t let him catch you smiling or later laughing like hell when you are out of sight over the grassy knoll. This son of a bitch could come rushing after you with accusations for the rest of your life. Especially if he gets a chance to read your address on your dog’s collar.

  Upon Your Dog Being Killed by Another

  To instantly squelch the deep purring satisfaction of this dreadfully unchic dog owner whose mutt just managed to get in a lucky but fatal bite, immediately put your hands to your face and in your most elegant accent repeat over and over.

  ‘O my god.’

  Then as this bastard approaches with all the wind of victory slowly seeping out of his sails and stands entreating trying to placate you, ignore him. Until a crowd has collected. Then if the ground is dry and not too dirty, slowly crumple in a heap repeating in even louder tones.

  ‘O my god.’

  Continue to lie silent and utterly forlorn. The killer dog owner will stand wishing he hadn’t been born or having been born that he didn’t have his horrible big mutt shot dead for evil long ago.

  Your silent prostrate bereavement will of course elicit an offer to pay for your dog. And don’t move till it does. At this point groaningly and slowly recite your dead canine’s Kennel Club socially registered pedigree right back through its fourteen generations of acclaimed international champions. If this dirty insensitive commoner doesn’t faint by the time he imagines the price you could sue him for, especially with the special casket and undertaking trimmings plus the monument your dog is going to get, then rise to your hands and knees. First making sure someone is holding back his killer canine. Then let out a blood curdling growl. And lunge snapping at his ankles.

  In front of all the people collected and in view of your immeasurably inconsolable loss, he wouldn’t dare kick you. Even when you manage to sink in some teeth. But if by some outrageous evil chance he does, grab his foot, dislocate his hip with a violent twist and flip him. The gathered crowd will applaud your little demonstration of justice in a case of dog eat dog.

  Upon Being a Victim at the Hospital

  When summoning attention, with everybody these days hysterically obsessed with their own problems, they are bound once in a while to impatiently reach for the wrong pill, bottle or cylinder. But it really is a hell of a terrible feeling to lie there suddenly or even slowly getting the axe instead of the cure.

  To keep hospital employees on their toes and their hands on the right remedy you must alternate between being highly irritated or generously polite. A little of each following plenty of the former is the recipe. Require the nurse to sniff, taste or sample whatever it is she’s treating you with. She’ll give you a lot of raised eyebrow back talk but this is preferable to being swabbed with paint remover instead of a liniment And in cases where they start amputating or taking out something healthy you still need, don’t hesitate to shout blue murder and jump straight up from wherever they’ve got you immovably strapped down. Previous practice getting out of strait jackets really helps in these situations.

  In a busy hospital when you are one of plenty of patients it is essential to make an impression. It helps to have your coat of arms largely and colourfully emblazoned on the sheet covering you. Wheeled into the operating theatre under the doc’s nose, it will make him glance up from sharpening his scalpel. It also brings looks of awe from folk watching you carted by down the corridors. And provided everybody isn’t doing it, this harmless pretentiousness always makes staff think you’re someone different and special and it stimulates dim witted minds.

  Show the doc you’re a sport by winking and grinning up at him. This gives you a personality instead of being about the thirteenth bloody mass of shivering belly he had had to hack through that night with it now a god awful four a.m. in the morning. And if the doc is red eyed and seems, as you stare up from the table, to be a wee bit unsteady on his feet, laughingly offer the little reflection.

  ‘Jesus doc, don’t kill me will ya.’

  Carefully watch what impression this makes on him. If he is unsympathetically unamused and turns away to take another drag on his cigarette, or worse, cigar, it is more than high time to add further to your remark.

  ‘And by the way doc if you do kill me, I’ve left instructions with my lawyers to slam you and the hospital with a multiple series of malpractice suits that will make the trustees of this hospital and their endowments tremble as well as your scalpel shake so much you couldn’t cut your way out of a cardboard built barn.’

  It is essential that these words have the desired effect of making the doc pull himself together. It would never do if when the doc’s cutting through a particularly difficult area criss crossed with major nerves and blood supplies that he mulls over your threat and his scalpel goes into a spasm of tremor on the spot. This coupled with his tense cautiousness plus the pressure of hours of operating, he could completely panic and instead of a few minor little gashes here and there, you could end up needing to have your parts listed and labelled before they could be stitched back together again. And it just might, even at this last minute, be best to change docs.

  Shun physicians who have berserk tempers. Especially those heavy drinking ones with somewhat eccentric reputations. Who have been known to throw artistic tantrums in the sweat of operating when trying to get their hands around something slippery to pull out through the overly discreet opening they’ve made to impress colleagues. As the ruddy item keeps escaping from their fingers, they have been known to take a back handed swipe at the tray of instruments. The sound of these surgical steel tools tinkling across the floor tiles generally gets a laugh. But is often followed by the doc storming out of the theatre shouting ‘God damn it’, having ripped the oxygen mask off the patient’s face and then sneered at the protesting anaesthetist. Although there are a lot of eager experience seeking final year students to take over who thrill to this kind of robust display of temperament, it can produce acute pessimism even in the most optimistic of awaking patients.

  After the long arduous endurance of being cut, clipped, staunched and stitched and then heavily billed it is a painful feeling to wake up and sense that a lot of operating utensils may have been left in you. The awareness is even worse when you feel around a bit and find that they have. Never take this uncomfortable situation legally lying down. Complaint should be immediate. But little will be gained from heaping bitter rebuke on the doc who will already be sheepish enough, as they hate doing things like this especially as he has a batting average, based on the number of folk who die under his knife, to keep low.

  If you’ve decided because of the risks attendant to hospital care to instead enjoy a nice natural death in your own cosy home, remember to make provisions to stop the smart arsed relatives who are going to think you can get better treatment far enough away from their daily inconvenience as they can get you. To p
revent them suddenly jumping you at all unsavoury hours of the day or night to shovel you into an ambulance usually requires the secreting of firearms.

  Upon Dying of Shame

  With the advent of the latest in morals this is such a slow process that it often never fully takes place. However, in some of the better class communities, decency has become so prevalent that shame can still be a hell of a burden. The first moment of disgrace normally begins with a sudden horizontal parenthesis in the neighbours’ venetian blinds or twitch in their curtains. Especially when you come out with the garbage or to tonsure your lawn.

  Whatever you do never try to sneak anywhere. But don’t start shaking your fist back at them or revving your car engine mornings till it wakes the damned. And then with a whoop and holler honk your horn three times going out your driveway with a roar of smoking tyres plus three more honks for good measure. Instead keep your shades down for three days’ mourning or, if you have that little added luxury, your shutters closed. This at least is a sign that you are soul searching as to how the hell you came to the moral crossroads, went wrong and what’s worse, got caught.

  It will astonish you at how slow folk are to conclude that you have paid your debt to society. And they will spend years continuing to intimidate you with their fish eyed looks. Till sometimes you’ve just about had enough. It is time then to set up on your lawn a sign illuminated by night with two large lettered words on top and two very tiny lettered ones underneath.