Fabian Wildman took Battle Cat out for a walk earlier and I'd a good smoke of crack. That's when Balkazaler called round.
I made him a cup of tea and he told me that he knew I had poured milk through Fat Rab's letter box and that if I didn't want any trouble I was to turn "the dog and The Death Owl's old flatmate," who he knows I've been hiding, "over to him."
I told him that Battle Cat and Fabian Wildman were both out but that when they came back no scummy Sammy Wilson look-a-like was taking them with him.
He looked pissed off. He always looks pissed off though because he's a daemon.
"No offence like," I said, giving him a matey smile.
"None taken," he said huffily.
"Are you Sammy Wilson?" I asked.
"From the DUP?" he asked.
I nodded.
"If only you knew the half of it," he laughed to himself.
"Why don't you shave your peeler tash?" I asked him.
He told me to fuck off for this.
I asked him why he only called round when I was high on crack. He said I was boring when I wasn't high.
I told him he had better leave.
He did, but he warned me there'd be trouble.
I told him I didn't gives a fuck because I just wanted to smoke my crack pipe and play with my puppy dog.
He said he was doing me no more favours and gave me the fingers before waddling over to his motorbike and riding off up the street and disappearing in a puff of smoke.
