An interview with three British nationals, who lacked any form of identification papers and who would only give their names as Stig, Biv, and Boris. The interview was conducted at the casualty ward of the Kassel General Hospital on November 10, 1996, by patrol officer Gerhard Dirichlet of the Kassel police. All three were subsequently deported to the Czech Republic. All three were inebriated at the time of the interview. Int: What is the nature of your injury? Stig: I broke my hand. Boris. Yerr. He broke his hand. Int: How did you break your hand. Stig: You'll never believe me. Int: Please. Stig: It's very complicated. Int: Just tell me the important parts. Stig: Well, we was on our way to Prague, right, and we got on the wrong train, and they put us off here. We met this tart outside the station who took us to this fucking amazing squat about two blocks away. Biv: Yerr. Fucking amazing. Boris: Especially the tarts. Biv: Yerr. Wurr. Int: What was the address? Boris: Dunno. Stig: No idea. Don't think we could find our way back there. Boris: If we went out, we'd hang around by the square till we saw someone we knew from the house, and then follow them back. Int: Which square? Stig: There's more than one? Int: Was there anything about it you remember? Boris: About the house? Int: About the square. Stig: It had this really purvy statue of some little kid pissing. Int: Can you remember the names of anyone who lived in the house? Stig: No. We called all the ones what wasn't tarts Fritz. Boris: Yer. That included some of the tarts, too. Biv: Yerr. Stig: Except for the ones who got me hand broke. Int: And they were? Stig: This little fucking cunt called Jane or something, but she was always with this drunken sod, and he always called her some stupid animal name like Foxy or Puppy or something. Boris: Pussy. It was Pussy. Stig: Totally fucking inappropriate name if ever there was one. Int: So there was a man and a woman involved, and her name was Pussy? What was the man's name? Biv: Yerr. Int: What was his name? Stig: Dunno. He never said anything. Just drank all the time. Wasn't a Kraut though. Think he was Irish. Boris: Yerr, and he was intercontinent. Stig: IntercontinentAL. Boris: Yerr, he was always pissing himself. Biv: Yerr. Stig: When we first got there, we sat on this couch they had in the parlour, and like, this Fritz seemed to be snickering at us. It's cause the Irish bloke always sat there, and it was all soaking with his piss. Biv: Yerr. Boris: We had words with that Fritzes about that. Biv. Yerr. Words. Int: So this woman Pussy and her drunken male companion were responsible for your broken hand? Stig: Yerr. Int: How did it happen? Stig: Well, therein lies the tale, mate. Biv: Yerr. Stig: We'd been there for two days, and one of the Fritzes was telling us about those two. They'd been in the house for a month they told us, and everyone was a bit afraid of them, especially of her. They kept to themselves, but one of the bints said that they'd seen the bloke down under a railway viaduct engaging in a bit of oral sexuality with a taxidriver, if you know what I mean. They also told us that they had these big fucking sessions every Saturday night, and that there was always of lots of screaming. Biv: Yerr. Boris: The cables. Tell him about the cables. Stig: Well, these Fritzes had a band and they had an old synth in the basement, and it had all these cables, right? Well, every Saturday night, the bloke would go down and just grab a handful of cables off the synth while the band were out playing, and then they'd find them in the morning all covered in blood. I can only say that we were most intrigued by this. So on this very evening, a mere 5 hours ago, we were sitting in the kitchen minding our own business when it starts up. Int: Oh yes? Biv: Yerr. Stig: Yerr. Yelling and screaming like you would not believe. The little cunt was howling like she was being tortured or something. Most of the Fritzes took this as their cue to depart, but I decided that this required further investigation. Biv: Yerr. Stig: So we had observed that the window of their room opened up onto a roof just over the end of the kitchen, and that there was a drainpipe that those of us of an athletic persuasion could easily climb, if you get my drift. Int: This sounds like something you've done before. Boris: No. Biv: Yerr. Stig: So we climb up, all stealthy like, onto the roof. They had a sheet over the window, but there was a hole in it, so I creep over to have a look through. Purely out of concern for the poor cunt, you understand? Biv: Yerr. Hurr. Stig: So I looks through, and they're doing this purvy stuff. Int: Really? Do tell. Stig: Yerr, she's like all roped to the bed by these cables, right? And her bloke, he's got this candle, and he's dropping hot wax all over her back, and she's screaming, right? Well he's doing that with one hand, and the others he's manipulating this plunger he's got stuck up her arse. Int: He put a plunger into her? Stig: He put the handle in. The rubber bit was sticking out. That was the really disgusting part. I mean, the toilet in that house never worked properly, and we was always using that plunger. Boris: Disgusting. Biv: Yerr. Fucking disgusting. Stig: Yerr. He was wiggling it round with one hand while he put hot wax on her while she screamed. She looked miserable, he looked even more miserable. Int: About your hand... Stig: Patience, patience. Well, to make a long story short, she sees me in the window. And this was the eerie part, right. She was all roped in one second, the next she's out of bed and pulling me through the window without opening it. Int: She pulled you through the window without opening it? Impossible. You haven't got a cut on you. Stig: The glass did not break. The window was closed. Yet I was pulled through. Int: Bullshit. Stig: I've got witnesses. Boris: She did it. Just like he said. We saw it. Biv: Yerr. Int: So then she whipped the plunger out of her ass and broke your hand with it? Stig: What? Boris: He's trying to have you on. Stig: The plunger she left behind in the blokes hand. He was just sitting there, looking even more miserable. She had me by the lapels like this- Biv: Oy! Stig: -but then she gets all unsteady on her feet, like she's on pissed or something, and so I broke away and ran out the house. Int: So when did she break your hand? Stig: She didn't exactly break it? Int: Then how did it get broken, damn it? Stig: I hit it on the banister at the bottom of the stairs. Int: That is one of the most ridiculous stories I have ever heard. Stig: Told you you wouldn't believe me. Biv: Yerr.