Adrian Chiles walks into a bar.
"Ah, Adrian," the barman sighs, disgruntled. "We meet again." Adrian Chiles takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the nearest chair. He looks up to the man who just muttered his name but does not respond. There was a happiness in the bar before Adrian Chiles arrived; that happiness has now gone.
The barman lays his cloth down on the surface before him and rolls up his sleeves. There is a look of understandable fury in his eyes.
"Get us a refill, mate," one of his regulars asks, but he is cut short by anger.
"NOT NOW, SIMON!" the barman snaps, throwing Simon's glass to the floor in disgust. Simon looks a little put out and gets up to leave, along with several other people who were previously enjoying their beverages. This pleases the barman; it's just him and Adrian Chiles now.
Adrian Chiles is still standing by the door. He pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and puts it to his lips.
"You got a light?" he asks, gesturing towards the barman. The barman nods slowly and Adrian Chiles walks over towards him, leaning in close as the barman lights a match. He inhales deeply; his hamster cheeks puffing away vigorously. The barman allows him to finish his smoke, knowing it will only speed up his death eventually.
"So," he asks after a momentary pause. "Shall we do this?" Adrian Chiles nods. He is accepting of what is about to come.
After two hours of bloody combat the deed is done; Adrian Chiles is dead. The barman emerges from the chaos with a few scratches and a severely decreased level of banter ability. Bantability, if you will. He is awarded a hearty round of applause and the freedom of the city for his troubles.
A few weeks later the funeral takes place. Roy Keane is in attendance.
"He was a prick," he announces as he spits on Adrian Chiles' grave. There is no-one else there to hear it.
