The Taxman

The Taxman

Posted on March 7, 2021 at 5:22 am by Hughie Freeman

LOCATION: Cork, Ireland.

CLOSE-UP of a worn door. Immediately, a side-fist banging against it.

WIDE-SHOT of a crummy looking cottage in the wilderness. The conditions appear cold and damp with disturbance heard from beyond the door. The figure in front of the door cannot be distinguished as he’s docked out in full winter clothing: woolly hat, bomber jacket and gloves.

CLOSE-UP of door. Another heavy knock.

Suddenly, a half-dressed scruffy looking man then peers from behind the slightly ajar door of the cottage. The look of horror eclipses his facial expression.

MAN: ….Taxman?

CLOSE-UP of visitor.

It’s Hughie Freeman a.k.a………. The Taxman.

FREEMAN: Hello sweetheart.

Hughie Freeman boots the door with velocity and in effect causes it to bounce off the man’s face. Unannounced and uninvited Hughie Freeman then strolls on in. The HOW Resident Pikey is blasé upon entry as he shuts the door behind him whilst wiping his feet on the mat. That’s despite the disorder the man has kept his cottage.

MAN: Taxman.. please..

The man cowers away on the floor with a trickle of blood coming from his brow. Meanwhile, Hughie Freeman begins disrobing. Off comes his woolly hat and then next his bomber jacket. This presents Freeman in a business suit on reveal.

FREEMAN: We’re gunna have a niiiccee chat.

MAN: ..Please..

The Taxman removes his right glove via pulling on the fingertips, methodically.

MAN:  ..I’ll pay. I’ll pay..

Freeman rushes the man and crushes his face with a heavy hollow shot in a downward motion. The sound bounces and echoes off the stone walls.

CUTAWAY SHOT of black birds dispersing off the top of the cottage.

POINT-OF-VIEW SHOT looking up at Hughie Freeman, distorted and blurry.

FREEMAN: You know what happens when you fall behind on payment. The client doesn’t send you a courtesy email. They send The Taxman..

Murmurs come from the fallen man.

FREEMAN: Word of advice. When your man finds you.. don’t open the fucking door!

Knock-out sound creating blackout.

It was never a question of why your man has come back, but when. If this was purely just a business decision then The Pikey Fuck would go crawl back in his hole and never have the ambition to stroll the streets of New York. The craic is your man doesn’t need the money. All of that prize money built up over last year in GOD’s fun house has made the piggin’ pikey rich. John Freeman gets one brand new state of the art caravan and Mam gets to look like Marilyn Monroe on a daily basis. She’s not mutton dressed as lamb; Mary’s an angel. And I’ll tell you now, mate.. GOD listened to Mary when she flew in as gorgeous as ever and told him to stop hard-balling Hughie Freeman. How much exactly is the dirty, smelly, no-good lying, bottom-feeding, working class scum worth..? GOD knows.

Listen now, my work job is exactly the job your man lives and breathes in HOW. Minus the suit, your man just loves the hurt game. Besides mate, money talks. The more money that there is, the louder it gets. That’s why there’s devilish men like Hughie Freeman on all corners of the world. It needs shutting up. There needs to be a equal payment so it’s a level playing field for us all. Your man will fight that cos you can bet your sweet arse that Hughie Freeman has made more bread and water than any man breathing. But I’ll tell you this much for free: one week you’ll be fucking love me. You’ll throw rose petals at my feet and wonna kiss my children. By the following week you’ll hate my stinking pikey guts and spit in my kid’s faces. But know that in those two weeks your man still got paid under the Best Alliance umbrella. You’re either at the table eating my friends or your on the bastard menu.

Your man doesn’t speak for the Best Alliance. To be honest, I couldn’t be arsed trying to be mates with them. You take the emotion out of it and put your business cap on to say how much this thing works. You’re on about trust and to never trust a pikey. Aye, please your fucking self. Those cats will not want to have sleepovers and pillow fights either. But your man is telling you now.. I’d much rather have the backbone of the Best Alliance behind me in this business than to get all emotional and HATEFUL. It’s all gravy. Your man doesn’t have to be the bastard and cheap shot them, they’ll take care of their own business. They’re not stuck in the kitchen like RICK and Scottywood baking brownies. They’re as game as fucking badgers and the Best Alliance isn’t some novelty act let me tell you that.

But at the end of the day, whether your man likes it not.. Hughie Freeman is nothing more than a glorified prize fighter in HOW. On the surface of it all you really think Hughie Freeman would settle for pittance? Aye no bother, your man would fight for free. Not a problem. My back garden or in the back garden of Broadway. That’s just poisonous distractions. The distraction being that you’re damn right Hughie Freeman is one of the lowest earners in HOW. Aye, that’s right.. I’m fighting for scraps with Black Mamba screaming poverty would you believe. But you daft cunts will believe anything that’s printed on Don’t take me for a fool. Your man is the A card and it’s as simple as that.

In a huddle with my shirtless cousins; respected businessmen that come from far-and-wide were on hand to assist with my negotiations. Thing is.. your man was in a very powerful position at the end of the year. Dropping Hall Of Famers like bad habits, was an LSD champion of the world, and showcased masterful famous gypsy art you cannot deny. But see where GOD has all of your balls trapped in a vice when it comes to renegotiating your contracts. Hughie Freeman said: nah, not signing mate. Cos your man knows exactly how much he’s worth and deep down so do all of you too. You may not admit to missing The Pikey, publicly. But HOW simply isn’t the same business module without The Fighting Irish pushing it. Cut your man’s arm right in front of The Best Alliance and Hughie doesn’t bleed green or #97RED. It’s fucking both. Don’t get it confused, don’t be double-dipping. Yellow? If you think your man has been ducking out of fights then you’re fucking color blind.

Your man has never ducked a fight in his life and never plan to. The day your man does, trust me.. it wont be worth living anyway. Your man is no plastic gangster living in some wannabe land. This prize fighter is worthy of so much more. The dream has not been signed off cheaply and your man knows exactly what he’s doing. The clauses within my contract were drawn up by my people. And here’s a little look into how I do business my friend. Your man’s money-maker has always been The Fatality Punch and with every dosser knocked sparked out.. that’s fifty g’s baby. I’m counting one, two, three, four bum dossers at March To Glory.

Listen, this is HOW. There’s no such thing as an easy fight. Even the pound-for-pound best in Hughie Freeman has losses. But fellas, my incentives are none of your business to tell you the truth. Your man’s contract and bonus schemes are not why The HOW Resident Pikey is gracing Times Square. Cos trust me, lads.. the pale as fuck pikey from Cork sticks out like a sore thumb. Your man could have easily of waited for my blockbuster fight with Michael Best. You think I’m lying? It was tabled and your man became a fanny hair away from the huge mega fight. But your man got sick of waiting. Just let me sign on my terms and your man will knock ten bells of shite out of anyone. Aye, you’ll be hoping and praying that your man has been sat on the couch eating nothing more than potato chips and a bowl of fatty envy. But the thing is, lads.. you can’t bluff a bluffer. Your man nearly pulled off the big one with Mike Best. You can’t bluff your lines when negotiations head in that direction. Trust your man, I’m feeling great and looking sexy. Your man is on point in every single last department. In the fucking boardroom and hitting that bag with a one-two-cross-watch-your-fucking-jaw. You know by the words being spoken to you right now how fluid this is coming without no soddin’ ring rust. Inactivity is every man and woman’s worst nightmare. But for Hughie Freeman, being in shape is just as easy as how your man shapes his opponents faces.

My business is my business. And your man has got unfinished business where the LSD division is concerned. You, Scottywood.. you’re just a rematch that makes sense down the road. If you wonna make that one, I get it. Me and him have got history and people can buy into that. Plus, if your man is being totally honest.. I’ve never been more happier than caving someone’s head in than I have poor Scotty’s. With or without the barbedwire baseball bat. Sorry mate, I know I’m laughing but your man legit thought you’d of loved the throwback.

Listen, don’t get this twisted. This is the fight for Hughie Freeman. And that’s not your man shouting the odds from an open double-decker tour bus. Cos your man ain’t going to New York City to simply see the sights. Hughie Freeman ain’t no tourist just happy to drop right into Hard Rock unless the selfie is of me knocking one of you cunts right out. Aye, this could very well be an admission ticket into Madame Tussauds. But that ain’t no knock at my opponents, cos your man could fight several mannequins at the same time and still make the bitch entertaining.

Hollywood can try and mix it with the common muck, Zion can try to grind out a result, Palmer can try and regain some courage like a little lion, and Zeb can wander around with his thumb up his arse. Won’t matter. You’re stealing a living in HOW and on the busy streets of Times Square The Taxman will strip you of everything that you own. You’ll be fighting for your life hoping that Broadway can find themselves their next big star right on their doorstep. But trust me lads, your man will be doing all of the singing and dancing on your graves. Cutting the fat from the LSD division like Bobby Dean’s second bout of lypo. The spotlight of the show last week on Refuelled LV was Hughie Freeman, the star of the show at March To Glory will be Hughie Freeman.

But fuck lads, you’ll harp on about how it is your journey and destiny.. all that good stuff. But give it a rest. Read all of the best self-help books all you like: conceive, believe, and get banged out quite frankly. Cos believe you me, every little boy dreams big but the reality of it is that he’s gunna have to pay the debt like every cunt else. Nothing comes free whether you like it or not. But please don’t feel the need to pay The Taxman with your chump change. That means sweet fuck all. It’s simple: I’ll tax you all. I’ll tax you the value of the number one contendership for the LSD championship. With Scottywood looking me solid in the eyes whilst he counts the three hanging out of a cab trying to hot-tail it outta there.

Put that on a billboard.

Fucking priceless.