Johnny Two Kebabs - The Prequel: Johnny Two Kebabs, #4

By Johnny Two Kebabs

On 15th June 2011, an extraordinary event took place in Brixton, south London. On that day, an Irishman devoured two doner kebabs in a mere 1 minute and 59 seconds. What made this feat even more remarkable was the fact that he had already indulged in 13 pints of lager. Now, in a riveting account, the true story of the events leading up to this accomplishment is recounted by the protagonist, 'Johnny Two Kebabs.'

In this 'prequel' Johnny invites us into his world. Prepare to be captivated as he unveils how he came to be known, among other things, as the 'conscious vigilante.' This is not just the tale of a gastronomic triumph. It is the story of a man, fuelled by a fervent sense of justice, as he fearlessly tracks down and brings to justice a dangerous armed robber. This novella is part of the memoirs of Johnny Two Kebabs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Johnny Two Kebabs
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224339785

Johnny Two Kebabs

Who is Johnny Two Kebabs? There has been much speculation in recent years as to whether Johnny Two Kebabs really exists. Is it true that on 15th June 2011 after drinking 13 pints of lager, he polished off two doner kebabs in 1 minute 59 seconds? Is Johnny Two Kebabs just an urban legend? Is the song that was written about him and for which the video appears on the internet merely in the tradition of Irish blarney and storytelling? Now, for the first time Johnny has decided to recount his adventures and the events leading up to the historic achievement to which he owes his fame. The importance of Johnny's memoirs is beyond doubt as they establish him as one of the great ‘thinkers’ of modern times and they grant him the recognition he so justly deserves.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

TRUST NO ONE BELIEVE NOTHING

Although Johnny didn’t really consider himself to be a gambler he spent a lot of time in betting shops. He made it his business to bet every now and then, especially if he had a reliable tip. However, Johnny knew that no tip could ever be 100% reliable. He was well aware that there were a thousand tricks to conceal the reality behind the appearances in gambling. After all, one of the guiding principles of his life was, Trust no-one - believe nothing. As his father used to say, Remember lad, in a country like Ireland, where even if someone tells you it’s raining, you still have to look out the window to confirm it - you can trust no-one, not even your own father. You’d know best about that, Johnny had replied but he had to agree with his father, the safest course of action was to always be extremely circumspect. Everything needed to be rigorously tested to see whether it had even a grain of truth in it. This was part of Johnny's philosophy and it had served him well over the years. Johnny considered himself to be a scientist and he approached gambling like any other subject - as something to be examined objectively before he could decide whether it would work to his benefit or not. Over the years he had, in general, not done too badly with his flutters, this was because he was well informed. He knew quite a few people who were involved in horse racing and he kept his eyes on the sporting news. He wasn’t a big sportsman himself although he had played rugby for a short time in his school in Dublin back in the day.

That morning, he was in O’Reilly’s bookmakers on Brixton hill. The owner, Paddy O’Reilly, had started his shop many years ago. It was difficult to compete with the big bookmaker chains but O’Reilly had done well. He knew Johnny and while they were both wary of each other they would be cordial as each one had a certain amount of respect for the other. Johnny had placed his bet and was sitting down to watch a race when in walked BlackJack.

He was a guy that Johnny and the staff of O’Reilly’s knew only too well. BlackJack grunted at Johnny, he stopped and looked at the odds being offered for the race about to start. He hung around the counter pretending to look for something in his pocket and then as soon as they were off he tried to place a bet. Of course, he had been waiting to see how his horse had started. It was an old trick and sometimes it would work with the younger staff who would accept the bet - but not today. The lad behind the counter said he couldn’t take bets after the race had started as the boss had warned him not to. BlackJack started getting nasty and menacing but the lad wasn’t having it. BlackJack huffed and puffed and just as he was leaving the premises the race finished and Johnny let out a yessss as his horse had come in first. Blackjack turned towards Johnny, he felt it like a personal slight that Johnny’s horse had won. He said to him, So the loser wins for once, Johnny turned and looked BlackJack straight in the eye and replied, No, BlackJack you didn’t win you didn’t even get to play. BlackJack was furious but he knew better than to mess with Johnny, he just looked him up and down contemptuously, then he left slamming the door behind him.

Johnny went back to his task of studying the form of the horses running in Cheltenham that day. He did this by reading the horse-racing pages of the sports newspapers which were pinned to the wall of the bookmakers. He was in the middle of studying this when all of a sudden the door burst open and a man with a stocking over his face burst in, he was armed with a sawn-off shotgun. He ran up to the counter and pointed the shotgun at the young clerk, Gimme the fookin' money, he shouted. The poor lad behind the counter had gone pale and seemed to have lost his voice with the shock of the intrusion. The man jumped over the counter and opened the till which he emptied into a bag he had with him.

The safe, get that fookin' safe open, he shouted. Indeed, there was a small safe behind the counter underneath the cash register. The lad pulled out the keys with shaking hands and gave them to the robber. He was quick, he opened the safe and had the entire contents in the bag within seconds. All this time Johnny hadn’t budged. There were three other customers in the shop and two of them had got down on the floor and put their hands on their heads while Johnny and another guy were still standing. Then the robber shouted out, Gimme yer fookin’ wallets or I’ll fookin’ kill ye. The guys on the ground and the other man standing fumbled in their pockets and produced wallets and even some notes and loose change. Johnny just stood there, he didn’t think the robber had meant him aswell but the robber approached Johnny shouting, "Gimme yer fookin’