The Sex Lives of Siamese Twins by Irvine Welsh – digested read

John Crace sweats the new novel by Edinburgh's enfant terrible down to a buff 700 words

So cry-baby Miles was moaning about his back and refusing to fuck me, so I split. I was driving back to my apartment in Miami Beach when this dude runs straight out in front of me. I mean, WADDAFUCK? I get out the car and start shouting at him and then another asshole appears with a gun. No one messes with this be-yatch, right, so I kick him in the balls, break his arms and wait for the cops to arrive.

I was driving home from Mcdonald's last night when I saw this amazing woman disarm a gunman. I filmed her on my phone and posted the clip on YouTube. It now seems to have gone viral.

I was drinking my protein shake (83 cals) and yelling at this lazy be-yatch I'm trying to get looking less hideous – DON'T BE A PUSSY, LOSER. EAT ONE – at the gym, when I see myself on the TV. Turns out I've turned into some fucking hero overnight thanks to some convulsing piece of blubber. Immediately my phone pings.

To: From: Hi! We'd love you to host a reality show called Bridge of Thighs in which 10 clinically obese lumps are left on an island and made to starve.

To: From: YO and YO! Love it.

I went out for a 15-mile run, then came back to do 300 press-ups. After that my pussy was on fire. A year ago I'd have shagged Jon right then and there, but ever since a barracuda chewed off his cock and balls, he's been a waste of space in the sack so I went down the club to give some stranger a blow-job. The freak tried to come in my mouth! I said I ain't taking an extra 225 calories for you, muthafucka. My clit still hadn't seen enough action so I found some chick – did I mention I'm bi? – and we both got to work on each other with a strap-on.

WTF! That loser with the disgusting meaty thighs has just turned up at the gym asking me to train her. Her name's Lena, and she's some kind of artist who makes sculptures out of skeletons. I tell her she can start by taking that fuckin' Subway out of her mouth. I'm gonna make that be-yatch yelp.

To: From I see where you're going with this. I really do. And it's kind of neat. But could you just turn the volume down a bit? No one can be this fuckin' full-on the whole time. And what's with your constant need to appear transgressive? Have you tried seeing a shrink?

To: From Get with it, lassie. Shock tactics are what I do. And I've only got one pace, so tough. So get back to beating your clit while watching a news item about a bloke who wants to shag one of a pair of Siamese twins.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT. That gunman I nailed? He was an ordinary dude chasing two paedos who were after his kid. So now everyone hates me, and my TV career is over before it started. That be-yatch Lena is gonna suffer. So I handcuffed her to the treadmill in my apartment and told her she ain't leavin', till she's shat and run off 70 pounds.

I've got this big back story. My mum was fat and I was also a fat no-mark from Minnesota before I went to art college and became thin and famous. Then I met this guy Jerry who made me fat again and I'm so miserable, I could cry and cry.

Well waddya know? I've got this back story, too, about my Mom and Dad and that time when I was a kid, but I guess it's a bit late in the day for that now. Especially as I've only just gone and whacked the paedo and split open Lena's shithole of a boyfriend's head with an axe …

Too fuckin' right bitch. It's your turn now. I'm the fuckin' hardbody and you're gonna eat loads of shit and then roll in it till you're totally gross. Get eating, be-yatch.

So it's two years on and I've lost the weight, and Lena and I have resolved our issues with our parents, we've got a kid, she sold a large sculpture of guess-who for $6m and we just can't keep our fuckin' hands off one another's clits. I'm singing, "Hey momma, We're all lezzers now."

Digested read, digested: Miami Be-Yatch.


John Crace

The GuardianTramp

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