1. RESTAURANT INTERIOR. EVENING.

Oriental music is playing. Some plucky-plucky nonsense. Dingalingaling.

Close-up on woman’s hands. It is clear that she is into kinky sex from her painted red nails. She probably likes going on top sometimes.

The woman’s name is FEMALE CHARACTER. A delicate flower. Skin like a new morning, eyes like gently rippled lakes, breasts like English muffins. She has a word in a silly language tattooed on her neck.

She is seated alone at a table. The restaurant is busy. It is solely patronised by young, white heterosexual couples. Two men enter and request a table. They are middle-aged, plain, boring, and delightfully privileged. But they are white men, and so they are obviously OUR HEROES.

MAITRE D’: Bonjour fellow heterosexuals. How can I help?

HERO ONE :Hello my fine white man. My friend and I would like to be seated at a table where our knees might be conceived to be within intimate proximity, without ever showing any real proof that we might be anything other than straight men.

MAITRE D’: Of course, my kind cis companions. Please follow me.

HERO TWO: But Shercock, shouldn’t we at least give some fodder to the SJWs?

HERO ONE: You’re right Cockson. Come here.

The HEROES lean in. HERO ONE whispers into HERO TWO’S ear. We will not find out what he whispers for another six years. We will say that he was whispering something about the Mafia. Tumblr will say he was whispering “I love you”. Really, he was whispering “Check out the baps on her.”

The HEROES walk past FEMALE CHARACTER’S table. This independent woman, enjoying a dinner by herself, is captivated by the pasty loftiness of HERO ONE. She loves him. Of course she does. All women love him: he is an aloof, patronising public-school boy. He stops and turns to her.

HERO ONE: Stop what you’re doing. You’re a feminist. I can tell. Know how? The nails. The eating alone. The breasts exposed to catch the eye of every man, because why else would you wear that dress? Good for you. Well done for embracing your womanhood. I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of all lady feminists, they’re getting to be almost as good at it as men are. Bravo. Have you ever kissed a genius? No? Come to my house later and we’ll kiss like a fish trying to suck itself off, and ridicule people with mental health problems.

FEMALE CHARACTER: You’re a bloody psychopath!

HERO ONE: Oh, do your research. I’m no psychopath. I’m a cunt.

Jack Redfern