Gallagher Brothers Photo Shoot

Liam Gallagher walks in first, swagger on full blast, because of course he can’t just walk in like a normal person. He’s wearing that trademark parka jacket, even though they’re indoors, obviously. Noel follows behind, looking pissed off as usual, probably trying to remember how he even agreed to this shit in the first place.

Photographer: "Alright, lads, let's get you in place for this—"

Liam (cutting the poor bastard off): "Oi, shut yer gob, mate. Let's get this over with. Don't want to be standin' next to this knobhead longer than I have to."

Noel (rolling his eyes so hard he might sprain his eyelids): "Oh for fuck’s sake, Liam. We’re not here to listen to you gob on. Just stand still, you bellend."

Photographer (sensing the tension but trying to stay professional): "Right, well, how about we just stand together, yeah? Look straight into the camera, no need to interact if you don’t want to—"

Liam (to Noel): "Yer lucky Mum still likes ya, ya twat. She’s the only reason I haven’t smacked yer teeth down yer throat."

Noel (smirking like the smug prick he is): "Oh yeah? Do it then, you muppet. But you’ll have to write a song about it after, won't ya? ‘Cause that’s all you can fucking do—sing the songs I write. You’re a glorified karaoke singer, mate."

Photographer: "Err... lads, maybe let’s focus on the picture now?"

Liam: "Shut it, mate! You’re getting paid, ain't ya? We’ll give ya a fuckin’ picture when we’re ready."

Noel (crossing his arms): "This is why we can’t have nice things, you absolute tool."

Liam (turning to the photographer): "Oi, get this over with, or I’m out. Can’t stand lookin' at this wanker much longer."

The photographer, now drenched in the awkward tension and desperately wishing he’d chosen a different career path, quickly snaps a few shots while Noel stares off, looking like he’s planning how to escape, and Liam puts on that permanent scowl like he’s smelling something awful—which, let’s face it, is probably just his brother.

Photographer (nervously): "That’s a wrap, lads. Thanks for—"

Liam: "Finally. Gonna go down the pub, where I don’t have to listen to this dickhead."

Noel (dry as fuck): "Good. Hopefully you choke on your pint."

And with that, they storm out, barely saying a word to each other, leaving the photographer standing there wondering if that was a job well done or if he’d just experienced some kind of post-Britpop warzone.

Other Conversational Dialogues