Heavy Metal Vomit Party No.1

I've been worried about Fabian Wildman since he lost his job. He just sits around the house huffing lighter gas and screaming about the Poles. I decided to take him to a heavy metal vomit party up in Rosetta to cheer him up. Me, him and the Sweaty Metallers showed up fashionably late and started rocking fuck out of the place. Fabian Wildman seemed to cheer up and I left him to it and went and met Johnny Davro and Peace Man. They're apparently really cool dudes and I wanted them to like me because all the skanky metal pussy hangs around them. Yum yum.

Rather than walk up and be all "yo I'm Tuesday Kid," I decided to try a different tactic. They were sitting at a table not saying anything and I just wandered up and sat down beside them. I didn't speak and neither did they. We all just sat trying to out cool each other. After two hours I just got up and walked off. I think I made a good impression.

I walked into the livingroom and found Fabian Wildman sitting shaking and foaming at the mouth talking about how foreigners were coming into our country and taking all our jobs. I wasn't too pleased because fuck knows who was listening and that's the sort of talk that starts fights. I tried to lead him off topic but he kept coming back to it. Then he started cursing the labour government and saying that things were better under the tories.

I don't know where he gets this from because he didn't used to talk like this. I think he must have some new dildo mates filling his head with pish.

That got me thinking about Doctor Who. Both me and Fabian Wildman are big Doctor Who fans and if you watch it you know that the doctor sometimes regenerates and when he does not only does he look different but his personality changes too. I think Fabian has had a recent regeneration and it's changed him from cool but intense crack head into failed yuppie wannabee with overtones of racism. I hope he's really done a Colin Baker (6th Doctor) which is seem like a bit of a nasty dude but really the good guy is underneath waiting to slowly emerge.

Sweaty Metal Jam No 1

I went round to the sweaty metallers today to see about their sweaty metal band. The metallers plugged in their flying v guitars and played some mean ass dragon force shit. I got carried away and started slam dancing their and then and they loved that almost as much as my heavy metal screaming.

They handed me some song lyrics they wanted me to sing. It was here that it went down hill a wee bit, because the lyrics were sheee-ite. They were all about how some fellah (me I assume) and hi wuman were at some banquet getting it on when the orc hords invaded and tried to slay us all. It was pure pish but I just screamed away hoping I could change them at a later date. The sweaty metallers loved what they heard and told me I had to come to a vomit party at their mates up in Newtownbreda

I went home to get changed but had to stay in because I found Fabian Wildman sitting with a bottle of tesco's vodka and five lighters for a pound drinking and sniffing away and balling his eyes out too. He's just lost his job.

I have cool things on my mind

Sorry I haven't posted much this week. I've been lying in bed wanking away about the yankie doodle dandy. It made me think I've got to go and get me a girlfriend, one who makes me feel cool all the time!

I asked Fabian Wildman if he wanted to go to a rock and roll vomit party where I could meet ladies of questionable age and gender.

He told me he wouldn't because you're no one at those parties if you can't play guitar or bongos and don't have a Prince Albert.

I screamed the house down. This just isn't fair. I've wasted all my time smoking crack and feeling lonely and cool while geeks have been up in their bedrooms learning cool tunes or out getting their willies pierced.

The Sweaty Metallers and Mr Spoon came round to ask me to keep it down but I just stood in the hall screaming and balling my eyes out.

One of the Sweaty Metallers gave me a big hug and said I must be a nice guy and that he liked my scream. He said he wants me to sing for his Sweaty Metal band and that we'd never stop having Rock and Roll Vomit Parties.

This is the beginning of cool times!

Happy St. Patrick's day

Last night being St. Patricks there was a party on at the sweaty metallers' house and the whole street was invited except for me and Fabian Wildman. He doesn't really care though because he's fast turning into some low rent Ian Beale. It's bollocks.

I decided not to go round and trash the party so instead I got me a few cans and went down along the Lagan Meadows for a melancholy day. I hadn't gone far when I spotted a torn page lying on the ground.

Dear Diary

Today most totally rocked. I was at a party and all the gang were there. Julie, Peter, Chris, Cathy and Simon. That total bitch Cathy was there and she had been a total bitch about me pissing myself in her dad's taxi when I was drunk, everyone laughed at me and they weren't really talking much. I didn't like it. Chris threw himself down the stairs in an attempt to look cool (as if) and it almost worked until he broke his wrist (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) and he went to causalty in tears. What a wanker? Eh, Peter and Julie had a big fight and Simon started boking all over himself in the middle of it, we all have a good laugh. I called him a fat wanker but nobody laughed. I wanted to go out and make fun of him but Julie started to cry. Peter left the house in a bad mood and I got to give her a big hug.

I wish he was you, she kept saying. The back of my forearm rubbed against her breast.



there it all ended. I wondered who wrote it. Anyways I almost didn't notice a girl sitting beside me on the bench crying.

I asked her what was wrong and she spoke with an American accent. She said she had come here because she wanted to do St Patricks in Ireland, and when she found cheap deals for Belfast she just thought that was the Protestant name for Dublin. She was staying in the International Hostel on the Donegal Road and she thought it looked nice but that there was rioting outside and all these people spitting at her and saying mean stuff about the Pope. I took her in my arms and rocked her gently. Then I took her back to my house for a hot fuck. She left at 5am to get a plane back to the states. After the hot love I gave her I bet she could just fly there herself on the intensity of an orgasm.

Foosted Wotsit Head Has Dreams of Wino Jo

I ran into Foosted Wotsit head today at the back of Queen St he was trying to open a can of beans by smashing it off some bricks. I explained the wee ring pull on it and how it works and in no time Foosted Wotsit head was tucking into a meal of cold beans. It was a small consolation because he was shaking them all over himself with his DTs.

Anyways, I asked him if he'd seen Wino Jo.

"Only in my dreams," he said giving me this really startled look.

This was a bit worrying because Foosted Wotsit head has all these dreams about missing persons. In his dreams he usually has a violent encounter with them. I've sometimes suspected they're memories instead of dreams but Wino Jo always said Foosted Wotsit head was harmless. It was strange he was so sure since none of the missing people ever turned up again. Anyways, I hope to fuck he's just having a funny turn.

It was a weird one too and this song by the Carpenters really sums up how I feel at the mo. Walking around like some kind of lonely clown How did she know?

Revenge on the Metallers

I still haven't calmed down about not being invited to the house party. So much so that last night I decided I couldn't take it any more. So I broke in next door and spat all over the Sweaty Metallers while they slept. I gave them both the fingers and went downstairs and helped myself to tea and toast that I knew they would want for their breakfast.

Then I went back round to my house and celebrated by sniffing some felt tips. It was in the middle of this that I realised that they didn't wash and probably wouldn't notice I'd spat all over them. So I went back round and wrote "I spat on you" all over their mirrors and "heavy metal is devil music".

That will teach them.

Heavy Metal House Party

I went round to the Sweaty Metallers' house today. I brought them a housewarming present. I was sure this would get things off to a great start.

"Hello Sweaty Metallers," I said when they answered the door. "Here's a Phil Collins album for you to listen to when you're slam dancing."

The sweaty metaller told me to fuck off and slammed the door in my face. Fuck them I'm not going to try any more. I decided to have a quiet night in but the metallers started playing loud heavy metal. I looked out the window to see people in the garden. It looked like they'd invited everyone else in the street, even Mr Spoon.

I was so upset. I tried to tell Fabian Wildman but he didn't care; he was too busy talking about his five-year plan. I couldn't be arsed listening I just sat around pissed off wanting to lick the bowl.

Those Poor Shops of Belfast

We have new neighbours. I heard them moving in yesterday. Two big sweaty metallers. When I saw them move in I was so shocked I just blurted out:

"Hello Sweaty Metallers, do yous worship the devil?"

"Get fucked you spidey ballbag," one of them said flipping me da bird.

Then I explained that I wasn't judging him it was just that the peeps who used to live there were satanists.

"Do you want your shit kicked in?" he asked, thinking I was just taking the piss more.

It wouldn't have been right to slap them around the place, because I'm sure they get people saying this shit to them all the time. I went inside. I figured I'd go round another time and introduce myself properly.

Fabian came home today in tears. When I asked him what was wrong he said that he'd caught a wee kid shop lifting and called the cops, when the cops came it was the same ones that busted him last year. The cop didn't recognise him but Fabian realised there and then what a scumbag he was.

"So you're not going to catch shoplifters anymore?" I asked.

"No!" he spat. "I'm a scumbag for thieving. Those poor shops of Belfast."

One of the chairs in our kitchen has a wonky leg. If he'd been sitting on it I'd have kicked it out from under him. But as it was he was on a sturdy seat.

I believe that you heard your master sing, while I was sick in bed

I've been lying around the house today. I woke up with that bloody cold that's been doing the rounds. I'm in bed streaming movies and the like. I've been catching up with the guys and gals of Heroes. I'd sort of lost interest near the end of the last series and the closer felt a bit like they were covering up all the balls ups they'd made in the last series.

That said the new series is kicking ass and they've got back a lot of the good old series 1 feel. I was thinking though that while a lot of the Heroes have cool powers (Matt Parkman can make people his bitches [if he wants], Claire Bennet can fuck herself up and live and Peter Petrelli can steal other people's powers - rock on) there must be some heroes out there with crap powers too: The woman who can smell things on television, or the man who can make bumble bees come out his arse (see what I did there with the whole PC thing - Peace Out).

I found this adult version of Stop the Pigeon on a local music forum (of all places) and it made me chuckle. It's what Byker Grove probably should have sounded like:



I'm going to have more lemsips and go back to sleep.

Be true cause they'll lock you up in a sad sad zoo

Fabian seems to have really taken to his new found employed status with the same ferocity he took to being a crackhead. In other words he's come home every night this week talking about "lazy dole scum bastards" and wee kids in the shop that he knows are shoplifting and how if he catches one of them stealing he's going to nail their hand to whatever they're stealing and boot them out of the shop on their arse. I think he was high on felt tips when he said it but that's no real excuse.

I've been taking Battle Cat for walks down to the Odyssey Arena. He likes the picture on the underpass of the bear wanking and giving the fingers but I keep telling him it's a shame he's not human because if he was then we could go in for a boogie on a friday night and maybe get a woman or two.

For now though we just sit and stare across the smelly Lagan at the Masonic compasses on the far bank.

A storm is coming.