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Book extract: The Butt, By Will Self  

Later, sitting on his corpse of a bed at the Entreati, it occurred to Tom that this conversation had been a sickening replay of the butt-flick itself: an unthinking ejaculation into the attaché's ear, followed by a massive overreaction. . . .

Tom now realised, with mounting horror, that his carelessly discarded cigarette butt had flown on its – perhaps fatal – trajectory powered by one fuel alone: a tank of combustible pride. He was Doing the Right Thing – and for that alone should be accorded the uttermost respect.

So the butt had described its parabola and hit its target, creating a minor entry wound, a tiny blister. But oh, the exit wound! The massive, gaping and bloody exit wound, through which the butt had sped on, fragmenting into scores of smaller butts, which were now hitting his children, his wife, and causing terrible collateral damage. . . .

But then, as Tom tried to convey the absurdity of a mere accident being treated as a crime, the attaché's manner changed abruptly, her tone becoming clipped. "See here," she said. "I'm not in a position either to judge your intentions or even to know exactly what it is you did. One thing I do know is that Mr Lincoln is an elderly man, and a very sick one. Another thing I know for a fact is that cigarette smoking is both personally and publicly injurious–"

"I was giving up!" Tom spat into the cell. "It was my last goddamn cigarette!"

"I'm going to have to stop you right there, Mr Brodzinski." The attaché's prissiness was shot through with menacing self-righteousness. "Embassy staff have the right to undertake our work free from the threat of physical violence or verbal intimidation. I'm going to have to terminate this call immediately, as a direct result of your speech acts. I suggest you cool off and pay a little more attention to your own responsibilities, rather than seeking more victims for your dangerous hostility."

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