Moyles Sting

[Skit]
Up on the roof a naked DJ smears himself with jam. One final pleasure in the abject misery of his self-knowledge. He’s distressed. We can hear that now. Sobs wrack his body and somehow threaten to spoil the moment for a moment. But now he’s back on track, throwing the coil of three cord
round his neck.

He checks the knot, and steps off the edge

Now before the cord pulls tight he shouts, “I’m Chris Moyles, please forgive me.” And the windows all around fly open and a thousand voices cry out, “no fucking way.” And as his spine is snapped apart, I’m thinking, “god, I hope he heard them.”