Friday 30 January 2009

Begging in Belfast

I was sitting begging in town yesterday when Foosted Wotsit Head asked me for change. I told him that I was doing my own begging and he should go find a pitch of his own. He went down the street and sat on the opposite side of the road.

I felt bad for him because in a way begging for me is slumming it: I'm well enough kept on the dole.

At about lunch time I had enough for two three litre bottles of cider so I went and asked him if he wanted to go for one, my treat.

We went and sat out the back of Queen Street and he told me that he hasn't seen Wino Jo in ages and that even he's starting to get worried about him.

The last any of us saw of Wino Jo was Christmas and he's been away longer so I think he was just making conversation.

When it got dark we managed to bust into a building and sit in the stairwell. Foosted Wotsit head said he used to go to parties here but they kept getting busted by the cops so they stopped having them.

I left him and went home. I gave him a tenner and told him to get himself into Garmoyle St for the night because a stairwell was no place to sleep.

Then I went home and had a chilled evening in the house with Battle Cat and Fabian Wildman. Betty Blue called round late in the evening and her and Fabian disapeared up the stairs with a bowl of boiled eggs.

I sat and told Battle Cat that I was going to give up crack and begging and me and him could go out for more walks. He smiled at me, even though dogs don't smile.

Thursday 29 January 2009

Satanists 1 Crackhead 0

Hooka called round my house this morning.

She asked if she could come in. I wouldn't have invited her otherwise. We went into the kitchen and I offered her a cup of coffee. She asked for tea.

We sat and I let her speak first.

"I'm sorry I didn't come and meet you yesterday," she said.

I shrugged.

"Listen Tuesday Kid I like you but I'm with Fat Rab and I don't want to leave him."

"But he's a satanist," I said, wondering what the fuck she's doing with him.

"And you're a crack addict. You think it makes you cool? Like you're Pete Doherty or something?"

"No I don't and what do you think Fat Rab's like? Marylin Manson with a bear gut and a fucked up face?"

"Marylin Manson has a fucked up face," she said. "Just be my friend, please?"

I just shrugged. "I suppose it wouldn't be fair on Gobbolino and Battle Cat."

She smiled, but it wasn't the smile I was looking for.

Wednesday 28 January 2009

Hey There Georgie Girl

When I woke up today Fabian Wildman had taken Battle Cat out for a walk. He'd left an LP on the kitchen table with a note saying:

Listen to this! It'll really put the whole thing with you and Hooka in perspective. You can listen to it in my room. Go on mate. It'll do you good!

Love

FW.

This is the song here:



I felt like trashing his room and smashing every one of his LPs after listening to it but I didn't; he means well. Beside's it's not a bad tune (makes me want to swing my arse).

So after I'd washed and dressed and I decided that I was going to go round to Hookas and confront her about everything, (that I'd just read Red's comment on my last blog).

So round I went and knocked her door. Hooka answered it.

"We need to talk," I said.

"Not here," she replied. "I'll meet you down the Lagan Meadows in an hour,"

Then she went back in and closed her door.

I went down the Lagan Meadows and waited for two hours. I don't know why but I got a feeling in my gut after half an hour that she wouldn't show. She didn't.

I walked up the road hoping I might bump into her. I didn't. There were no lights on in her house when I got back. I went in the house and smoked my crack pipe. Then I went to sleep.

Fuck people.

Tuesday 27 January 2009

So Cold in Belfast

Our boiler stopped working yesterday. I called our Landlord about it ready to rant at him because the guys he keeps getting to fix it are cowboys. The only thing that stopped me was Margo, Margo sounds exactly like her from the Good Life, except with a west Belfast accent. I think she's from Andytown. Anyway, if the landlord says something will be fixed on Monday it will not. It may be fixed by Wednesday, but it'll more likely be Thursday and even then it'll break on Friday. For some reason if Margo says something will be fixed by Monday it will.

I haven't managed to get Margo on the phone for the past few months so it was really good to get speaking to her today. She always has a good speak for me and after she asked if I'd any more trouble with my bath (see sometime last year) I ended up blurting out all about Hooka. I started blubbing away, saying that it was awful living beside her and Fat Rab and asked if they were tenants and if they were could she have them evicted because they killed a goat at Hallowe'en and she broke my heart last week.

It was hard to keep it in about all that other stuff like begging and fighting and Battle Cat because those things are big no nos (especially pets). It's just that, much as he means well, Fabian Wildman is always telling me I'll get over her and that I need to cheer up but I really just want someone to say that it's okay to be down about it and listen to me offload. I'm not sure Margo was the best person because after I'd finished crying there was a big silence and she went:

"okay I'll get your boiler fixed by Thursday."

Then she hung up.

I hope we don't get kicked out.

Monday 26 January 2009

Rock and Roll Bad Boys Don't Cut It

I was sitting on the scrounge in the city centre today when Rock and Roll Stephen walked up to me. Unusual for him he had no problem being seen talking to me in public when he started mouthing off.

"I hear you and some spide beat up my mates the other night and you'd better start talking dickhead before I call the police," he yelled in my face.

I stood up and grabbed one of his ears and twisted it, pulling him down onto his honkers.

"Now say sorry you wee wanker," I told him.

He did.

Then I told him that maybe if him and his wee wanker mates wouldn't go around the town thinking they're all bohemian and looking down on fuckers that maybe they wouldn't get chinned every once in a while.

I mean seriously, why does some wee dick who can't fight think that standing laughing at Good King Thumpo won't get him a kicking? Just because he says shit like "violence in any form is unacceptable." Good King Thumpo doesn't care! What's the wee indie wanker going to do? Say "I don't accept this" and give it back to him. I'd love to see them try. They'd be screaming and crying with big gummy mouths.

Anyway I told Rock and Roll Stephen I'd let him go if he gave me a tenner for crack, which he did.

I went home and smoked my crack and spent the day bouncing a tennis ball off the wall that connects to Hooka and Fat Rab's house, hoping he'd come round to complain then I could bash his brains in. No luck but also no Angry Anderson

Sunday 25 January 2009

Good King Thumpo and The Indie Rock and Rollers

I bumped into Good King Thumpo earlier. He was wandering around Shaftsbury Square pished out of his face. He was blabbering on about being hard and kicking the shite out of people and the usual. I was plastered too and it only put me in the mood to go home and kick the shite out of Fat Rab. Good King Thumpo was kinda hard to follow because not only was he slurring his words he was also jumping from topic to topic. He started blubbing and singing wee bits from Suzanne Vega's Luka and some song about "ma wee babay" he looked to be near collapsing.

Then a car drove past playing this happy hardcore classic



Good King Thumpo took his top off to reveal his heavily tattooed, roid addled torso and started dancing all buck mad. I felt so shit I joined in (I kept my top on). We got into this cool thing where we stood opposite each other and had our hands interweaving as we raved like a bunch of cool dudes.

Some indie kids gathered round for a chuckle so we slapped the fuck out of them. We didn't draw blood so it was okay. Like typical indie kids they burst into tears and I think one wet himself.

Good King Thumpo felt much better.

"Nothing better than knocking those wee pish flaps about," he said tearing into another can.

I went into a phonebox and sobbed for a good half hour. Then I sat on the street and scrounged for a bit, something I've never done before but I figure it might become a handy skill to have what with this credit crunch.

Wednesday 21 January 2009

Nominated - Yeow!

I've just found out I'm nominated for the Irish Blog Awards. Thanks to any of you who voted for me. Nice to see some of my buddies in my sidebar nominated too.
I wonder if this could tip things my way a bit with Hooka? Fabian Wildman's well chuffed for me. When I told him about it he says he found out about it ages ago and logs on from time to time in an internet cafe. He says he likes it when he gets a mention, he didn't even mind when I called him a retard for saying he'd stab Ron Weasley.

Tuesday 20 January 2009

I learned facial expressions from watching Thomas the Tank Engine

I woke up this morning with a DVD player in my room. I must have robbed it when I was high last night. It's a bit worrying because I usually remember stuff like that. I remember walking about the Malone Road crying about Hooka because I'd woke up to her and Fat Rab playing Angry Anderson, so this meant that she wasn't interested.

I turned on the TV to check if there was anything in the news but I got worried in case Sammy Wilson might be on. I went and cleaned up Battle Cat's shit in the kitchen and went into town. No one's still seen Wino Jo. I tried to phone my other brothers to talk to them about him but none of them were answering. I wanted to tell Fabian about what happened with Hooka but he's all loved up so I don't want to bum him out.

I went into the Zaavi in the Victoria Centre looking for the Akon album because his Lonely really sums up how I feel, but if you watch the video you see that Akon is lonely because he tells his mates to fuck off because he wants to be alone. That's not exactly how I feel but it's close enough.

I couldn't see Akon's album on the shelves so I asked an assistant. He burst out laughing at me, I told him I'd break his face and see how funny he found that. For some reason I didn't stop there, I started pouring out all about Hooka and how she wanted to be with Fat Rab and how Fabian didn't wash but he could still get a girl who looked like Betty Blue to let him eat boiled eggs out her pussy and maybe he'd like to go and find the Akon album before I set fire to him and pushed him into that stand full of pish books over there and see how fucking funny he finds that.

He quickly apologised and said they didn't have Akon because he's dead popular and the minute his album comes in it's sold out in minutes. He did recommend a band called The Smiths, who he said were great for when you felt down and that he always listens to them when he needs a good cry. I bought the album and found that this song There is a Light That Never Goes Out sums up how I feel:

Sunday 18 January 2009

I kissed a girl

Fabian Wildman's back with Betty Blue. She came round this morning and they've been in bed all day. And if you're curious about whether they've boiled eggs in there with them I haven't looked the fridge yet.

Either way they were riding away all day Fabian was blasting out Tom Waits, which was a nice way to drown them out, better than Angry Anderson, speaking of which I bumped into Hooka today when I was down the Lagan Meadows with Battle Cat. She had a camera with her, she said she loves how it looks in the winter. She wanted to take a photo of me and Battle Cat but I told her I hate having my photo taken. I let her take one of Battle Cat off the leash but I'm not posting it up here. We walked down to close to Shaw's Bridge and it was getting dark as we were walking back. You get bats down there and they kept flying close to us. Hooka was scared, even though she's a witch; I'd have thought she'd be okay with them. She said that's a stereotype and that she doesn't have a cauldron or toads or a broomstick or anything other than a black cat.

I kissed her, she kissed me back but afterwards said she shouldn't have because Fat Rab would come after me if he knew. I told her it didn't matter because I wasn't scared of him or his mates. I kissed her again but she pulled away and told me she had to go. I let her walk off because it would have been an awkward walk up the road.

I waited down there with Battle Cat sulking and when some spides came along I kicked the shite out of them and stole their beer. I went home and drank it while listening to Tom Waits through Fabian's wall.

Thursday 15 January 2009

Sometimes I Stumble and Fall

I was sitting in Charlie's Coffee shop on Bradbury Place when Rock and Roll Stephen walked in. He was with some Rock and Roll girl so when I tried to say hi he blanked me.

I sat sipping my coffee and trying to think about what to do for the day but I couldn't help but over hear them.

"I was cool at school, but no one ever gave me credit for it," the girl who looked to be in her twenties was saying. "I was listening to the Libertines before anyone else."

Rock and Roll Stephen just sat pulling a pose that made him look deep and unconcerned.

"Then they all started listening to them but I'd moved on to other cooler bands," she said, with this big smile like she was finally getting validation.

Rock and Roll Stephen turned to look at her. Then he said:

"I never asked you to understand how I keep myself to myself in the crush of the crowd. But all you can say is 'Who cares? It's part of the deal'".

Then she looked at him all amazed like he'd said something so vital. They didn't really make much sense. I know they're fucking Razorlight lyrics and if she was half the musso she claimed to be she'd know that too. Rock and Roll Stephen said he wrote them and was going to put them in a poem he was writing. Then he went on about how he's a Pete Doherty type and if it wasn't for people like her then the Libertines might have given up and Pete and Carl wouldn't have saved his life.

I really wanted to interupt and tell her that I knew Rock and Roll Stephen back when he was seventeen and used to get turned away from The Venue yet and he used to go home and wank over his ma's club books and get caught and get a clash in the face and a burst mouth and say he got it from fighting with street gangs. Lying wee bastard.

I wanted to say this, but how could I? They looked so loved up and they're both wankers so at least they can be wankers at each other and not fuck up someone decent.

Monday 12 January 2009

Where is Wino Jo?

Fabian Wildman's been sitting in his room all depressed since he brought Battle Cat back from his walk the other day. I feel sorry for him but he's doing really well with staying off crack. He said at breakfast this morning that he wanted to look for a job. It makes me think I should maybe get my own act together.

I went out for a walk to mull things over. I met Hooka at the top of the street. She asked me if I poured milk through her letter box. I told her no and that it was probably the wee spides who kick bins over. She told me that it took her ages to convince Fat Rab not to go round to mine to fight me. I told her I didn't care if he came round because I'd knock his fat ugly ass out. I also told her that was no way to thank someone who had looked after her pet all week and that maybe if she wanted me to help her out in future I'd see some more manners from her between now and then. She looked all shocked at me but I just walked off up the street.

I was worried because I got a call from my metaller brother last night saying no one's seen Wino Jo in ages. I rang round the hot shot banker and the fruitarian and they said they'd not heard from him. Then I realised that none of them ever heard anything from him. I was the only one who saw him except for at holidays or "family" things.

I checked the Stella Maris hostel in Garmoyle Street, which is where he normally stays. They hadn't heard from him. I checked round at the back of Queen St. Foosted Wotsit Head told me he hadn't seen him all year. Then he hicked a laugh because it had only been a week and a half. I told him if he sees him to get him to call me.

Wino Jo goes wandering off all the time and he's been missing for longer than this before so I'm not going to get too worried about it yet. Strange that the rest noticed this time.

Saturday 10 January 2009

When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them

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.

Friday 9 January 2009

The Perfect Girl

Fabian and Betty Blue had an arguement today. She stormed out of the house in the morning after shouting the place down about how Fabian was disgusting and she wouldn't be back.

Fabian sauntered down into the living room a wee while later in his dressing gown and slippers.

"Sorry you had to hear that," he said passing through into the kitchen and making himself some coffee.

He came back out into the living room and sat down.

"Doesn't Hooka and the Fat wanker get back today?" he said.

"Aye, she'll call round for Gobbolino sometime."

"You shouldn't be so sappy about her," he said. "If she'll go out with a dick like Fat Rab she's got no taste and probably no sense."

I didn't like him slagging her off so I tried to change the subject.

"What were you and Betty Blue argueing about?"

"I wanted to eat boiled eggs out of her pussy and she thought it was disgusting."

"She has a point."

"Why? It's not illegal, no one gets hurt. I let the boiled eggs cool down a bit first, so it's not like she's getting burnt."

"Why'd you want to do that?"

"I like eggs, I like pussy, I think they'd go well together."

"It's still a bit weird."

He shrugs at this and says. "It's like yer man says in Good Will Hunting: 'It's not about finding someone who's perfect. It's about finding someone who's perfect for you.' And my perfect girl lets me eat boiled eggs out of her pussy."

Wednesday 7 January 2009

Indie-wank boy in love

I woke up in the middle of the night last night to some cock out in the street playing music. I looked out the window and there was Rock and Roll Stephen of all people doing that fucking thing from Say Anything where he had a ghetto blaster above his head playing this Mr. Big classic.



There must be some wee rock and roll girl living in one of the houses. I waited for a bit hoping someone would come out and shut him up.

Then Fabian Wildman came charging into my room with a bowl of oranges. He looked really pissed off. He's been in bed with Betty Blue.

"Stand aside," he said going over and pushing up my window. Then he took aim and pinged an orange right at the ghetto blaster knocking it out of Rock and Roll Stephen's hands, it fell on the ground and smashed in shite.

There was laughing from inside the house and someone cheered. Rock and Roll Stephen wandered up the street crying to himself. Fucking dick.

Tuesday 6 January 2009

Fabian Wildman Calms Down

Fabian Wildman boked all over his room today. I only found out because he was too sketchy to clean it up and left his windows open to let the smell out. Silly bastard didn't realise how bollocks freezing it is outside and so I woke up to the sound of his teeth chattering in the next room.

I got him some cough medicine to take the edge off things and he felt well enough to clean it up. Half of me would like to see him take up crack again but the other half is glad he's getting straightened out. Something I should think about myself.

Later in the day he kept listening to an old Nancy Sinatra song Sugartown. It almost made it feel like it wasn't winter, because with the windows closed, the heating on and the fact that it's bright outside you almost forget it's early January.



For the line about dog he kept pointing at Battle Cat and for the line about the Friend he pointed at me. There was no mention of cats so he just shrugged at Gobbolino. Gobbolino didn't seem to mind. He was happy just to sit and lick his fur. Fabian's stopped wearing his zentai and lounges about the house in a dressing gown and tracksuit bottoms, which is an improvement. He can see where he's going for a start.

Sunday 4 January 2009

The Obel Tower (to begin with)

After I'd a good smoke of crack I took Battle Cat for a walk. I decided to take him somewhere other than the Lagan Meadows so we went down along the front of the Lagan to where they're building that big Obel tower which will fall over a few years later because no one will want to live in it and they'll turn it into a bail hostel and all the crims will be swinging from floor to floor like monkeys pushing dope and trading dirty playing cards for pick axes and making a right old fucking mess of the place smashing their enemies skulls into the walls and pissing away the blood stains. They won't even notice when it starts to crumble and every so often the building will seem slightly smaller but the chaos will reign. I hope it happens sooner rather than later. It'd be nice to have a few yuppies in there first, all sitting cowering and ringing the peelers night and day and getting told they can fuck off (not in so many words, the cops are way too polite, at least until they get you in the cells).

I stood and told Battle Cat about this and he looked excitedly at me, I don't like that he seems so eager to be a criminal. The best kinds of criminals are the ones who don't feel that it's a choice.

Anyways when we got home there was a loud banging noise upstairs. I went up to find Fabian Wildman in my room in his zentai running and throwing himself at my Hermione poster to splat spread eagled into it. Then he'd slide down the wall with a blissful sigh and say "she's magic."

It looked really fucked up but I gave it a go (minus the Zentai of course) and it felt really good (if a little painful) but believe you me I was screaming with delight. Poor Gobbolino and Battle Cat just sat at the edge of the room watching us bemused. I'm sure I saw them shake their heads, but they shouldn't judge. Courting is a lot simpler for animals.

Friday 2 January 2009

The Coolest Crackhead in Belfast

Hooka and Fat Rab went on holiday today. I don't know how since both of them are on the dole. Anyways, Hooka came round to ask if I'd look after Gobbolino. I said yes, like the sappy bastard I am.

Anyways I thought I'd let Gobbolino and Battle Cat play but I had to watch them because Gobbolino is still very tiny, and he could fit easily in Battle Cat's mouth, but Battle Cat was nice and they had lots of fun.

Fabian has started being twitchy and it's starting to do my nut. He gave me his knife to look after at the start of the week but that hasn't stopped him being a scary bastard. I watched him this morning have a conversation with himself in the mirror about how he was the coolest. He went on to list all the things that made him the coolest including rollerblading and shoplifting. I didn't know he rollerbladed. It kind of explains his love of spandex.

I got so stressed out about looking after him and the animals and the thought of Hooka and Fat Rab in some fancy hotel together (probably more like some shit B and B in Portrush) that I went and pissed through their letter box. That'll be nice for them to come back to.

I went in the house and told Fabian Wildman about it and he says milk would have been better because it smells worse than piss after it soaks in.

I went round later and poured a bottle of milk in. Fuck them.

Thursday 1 January 2009

Happy Fucking New Year (oops!)

So I'm now crawling off to bed plastered and in a pretty good mood. Fabian Wildman is in his new room, Battle Cat is in the kitchen and my brother Wino Jo is sleeping on the sofa.

We opted for booze instead of crack because it turns out Fabian was thinking the same as me about giving up crack. I told him I didn't want to give it up as a new year's resolution but that I wouldn't do it in front of him for the wee while before I tried giving it up too.

My brother Wino Jo called round with a bottle of Bushmills (not the one I bought him for Christmas) and we all got pissed and listened to Fabian Wildman's records.

Fabian had his last smoke up in his room a wee while before the ball dropped. Then he came downstairs and gave me his favourite crack pipe.

I hope he lasts longer with his resolution than I do with mine. Twenty minutes in I said the fuck word. Then thirty minutes in I said Bastard. Not long after that I said ball bag. I know the last one isn't technically a swear word but it serves the same purpose and it's hardly polite. Anyways, I've still got bitch, bloody, wanker and cunt to fall back on and since my resolution was to stop saying them I haven't broken it by typing them.

Hope you all have a smashing year.