Who is She?

Today in work I was in the canteen stuffing my face with bags of crisps. I'm putting on weight in this job. It's all the sitting at a desk bored and talking to people on the phone who don't want to talk to me but have to. I think my targets are down, I spend too long on the phone and I'm not speaking to enough people.

While I was sitting there this girl came up to me and asked me if I remembered her from a party we were at last year. I stared for ages and I could tell she wanted me to remember her. I said yes, hoping that I could work out who she was as we went along. She said that she was twenty now, and she'd be turning twenty one later in the year.

She had a miserable look on her face, and I noticed she'd self harm marks on her arms. I think it must be shit to have scars on your arms and shit from self harm. I knew a girl at school who had a huge (and strange) crush on BA Baracus and scored his name into her arms with scissors. Now when she gets a tan she looks like a walking advert for the A-Team. I saw her a few years ago and she told me that it was pure shit because she didn't even fancy BA anymore.

I said to the girl that she should invite me to her birthday because it was about time we were at another cool party together. She started to cry and said she knew I didn't remember.

That's all I need, crap targets, off sick, making people cry. They'll fire my ass for sure. Who was she?

A Family Update

My Fruitarian Brother showed up at my house today. I haven't seen any of my brothers in ages.

He was telling me that Wino Jo is getting out of hand. He's still off the booze but telling everyone that they're wrong about everything from what music they listen to to how they see society. I told him that he was being a dick at the end of living here and not letting Hot Baby Roy watch his teen romances.

Then he said that our Hot Shot Banker Brother was fed up trying to make his millions banking and turned to gambling, everyone thought it was a turn for the worse, except he was really good at it and after a few lucky big wins had fucked off to Switzerland rich as fuck. He posted him back pictures of him skiing and in a jacuzzi with lots of girls and a message on the back saying "which one for my wife?"

He said that he was thinking about going vegan (the phase before he goes full on fruitarian) and that our metaller brother was still listening to screaming hot electric heavy metal rock and roll solos on his hifi.

And that was it for the family update. Nice to catch up once in a while.

I asked him if he wanted some pancakes and he sat for a few but I'm sure he barfaramma'd them up in the bogs before he left. Yuk!

He said that it was his birthday next month and he wanted us to have an ethical party at his house. I don't know what an ethical party is but it sounds like the sort of thing to put Wino Jo back on the booze.

How Do I Get Rid of Leotard Parties Next Door?

Fabian Wildman left half a bottle of real piss in my bathroom. I don't know why he didn't piss in the toilet? He's used it many times in the past. I threw it out in the alleyway but then I became paranoid about a wino finding it and drinking it so I put it in the Leotard Girls' bin. I hope it attracts rats to their house because I'm sick of being woken up in the night by their shit leotard parties that I'm never invited to. They had one last night that ended up with a mad scrap in the streets (two spides digging each other in the mouth). The leotard girls stood out in the street cackling away.

I stuck on the TV and watched retards sleeping on Big Brother. Lucky bastards, they don't have spide fuelled leotard parties going on nearby.

The Old Gang Back Together?

Based on Hot Baby Roy's loved up humane suggestion we had Fabian Wildman round for a few cans the other night. The conversation started boringly and stopped a wee while later. Fabian was trying to be nice about everything, starting with Hot Baby Roy's trendy girl bought new clothes down to how clean the place is now I have money for cleaning products. Hot Baby Roy kept mentioning Hot Firey Love Lady in a way that made it obvious he'd always dreamt of sitting round talking to his buddies about his girl, not in a romantic slushy way. In a casual kind of "we bought scotch eggs the other morning" type stories that have no point other than illustrating he has a girlfriend so beat that.

I tried to ask Fabian a few questions just to see how he was keeping it turns out he's living in a homeless hostel and still smoking crack but trying to give it up. He said he'd been having a smoke with Zim Van Bindle and he'd mentioned I was back smoking it. I said that I'd had a few smokes earlier in the year but that was over with and that crack and Zim Van Bindle could go and fuck themselves.

The room went silent. But we were used to it by now.

Fabian started talking about how he wanted to get Betty Blue back and how he'd seen her out in Belfast some night with some wanker (Kissy Boy by the description) and that he was going to make her his again because they were meant to be, and they were going to be again.

I wasn't too happy about hearing this but Fabian Wildman was shaking and his face was all screwed up and bitter looking. He excused himself and went up to the toilet. I thought he might be crying there but then I clocked he was smoking crack. He came down a wee while later with a big smile on his face and said he had somewhere to be. Then he wandered off out into the scruffy evening cackling like that halfwit Popeye.

Derry - City Of Culture

I went back to work today. Betty Blue wasn't there and neither was Kissy Boy. They were probably at home fucking and getting fucked like rapists in prison.

After work I went into town and bought some spandex. I was walking up Queen St when I came across Rock and Roll Stephen hanging out on the corner with his guitar in his hand.

I asked him what he was doing and he said he was buying some sausage rolls because he was getting ready to walk to Derry. He was saying that Derry was the city of culture and that he was going to walk there with his guitar in hand and get a garret and write some poetry while smoking rollies and walking around drunk and get chicks and feel like a really rock and roll kid. I sniggered a big because I don't think he knows I call him Rock and Roll Stephen.

I told him that The Indie Kid gave me his book of rhymes before he went back to culchie land. And Rock and Roll Stephen's jaw just dropped and he said that The Indie Kid told him he burnt it.

Tears started running down his face and he said after he managed to get control of himself:

"I guess you really were the smoker."

Then he wandered off in the direction of the motorway singing an old out of tune Libertines song.

Lads Night In

I yesterday when I came home I slept for a bit then I heard Hot Baby Roy in walking about the house. I went down to say hello.

"Where's Hot Firey Love Lady?" I asked him.
"She has some work stuff to catch up on," he said. "Can I borrow your laptop? I need to find a job quick."
"Has Hot Firey Love Lady seen through her modern woman delusions?"
"No, she'll pay for anything Hot Baby Roy wants."

I hate that he spoke about himself in the third person.

"But I feel cheap when she pays for everything."

It was then I noticed her was wearing brand new trendy clothes, and not just some ill-fitting charity shop stuff like me.

So far he's been juggling meal deals in places just so he can say he pays sometimes. His favourite is China China near Queens and he tried to get him and her out of there before five (because at five the price of the all you can eat buffet lunch goes up from 5 to 7 pounds).

I'm happy for Hot Baby Roy and I think Hot Firey Love Lady is having a good effect on him, or at least I did until he suggested a lads night in "like old times" and pulled out a DVD of Whip It (the directorial debut of Drew Barrymore, which features jail-bait looking Ellen Page - she's 23 but so what?)

I asked him what did Hot Firey Love Lady think of this. He said it's her DVD. This just isn't fair.

Like that old sweaty heavy metal rock and roller Rod Stewart said: "Some guys have all the luck".

Sent Home From Work

Today before work I needed some dutch courage so I downed a whole bottle of fizzy pink champaigne in the bath. It felt great and I marched off to work telling myself that I didn't give two flying monkey's fucks about what happened with Kissy Boy and Betty Blue. I believed it too, until I walked out on the floor and saw the two of them sitting beside each other (or in adjacent booths). They were having a laugh and giggling. They saw me and waved me over, I waved back but I didn't go. I went and sat at the other side of the room from them.

Three phonecalls in I couldn't take it any longer, I could feel the alcohol climbing up my throat. Wee bits of sick in my mouth, I swallowed them down but they just came back up bigger. I started to cry.

I ran down the corridor to the disabled bogs, which were thankfully empty and boked all over the place. I sat on the toilet seat and fell asleep. I only slept about ten minutes but it was enough to make me feel hungover.

I cleaned the place up as best I could and went back to the floor.

My supervisor asked me if I was alright and I mumbled something about not being well enough to come back to work, she was really sympathetic and said I should go home and get better, they'd pay me for the day.

I can't believe how nice she was, in the last call centre I worked in that would have been it over for me.

I walked home wondering if it was a good idea to open that second bottle of pink champaigne in the fridge.

Maybe not.

Dick Lick For Breakfast

I haven't been to work since Friday, not because of Betty Blue and Kiss Boy, and not because of someone starting a facebook group for this blog (it makes me feel super cool).

No, I've been off work with man flu. I've just felt really under the weather. I might have had a dodgy kebab on the way home on Friday. I'm not sure. I don't want to say where I bought it from in case it wasn't their fault but I'm not eating out of there again.

I came down this morning to find that there was nothing in the house for breakfast. Battle Cat was fine because we always keep scraps for him in a bowl. But all I had was a couple of suspect looking pancakes. They seemed okay so I toasted them but I couldn't find any butter or jam. The only thing there was to flavour it was a bottle of dick lick sitting on the living room coffee table (which means Hot Baby Roy has been having sex in the living room! Dirty bastard! It's my couch!)

I took a slurp to see what it tasted like. I was alright. I'll go shopping later and get proper jam but Dick Lick was nice with the pancakes. I don't think it'd go nice with toast.

Dick Lick, Yummy Yummy!

And I'm not happy and I'm not sad

Yesterday at work Kissy Boy said that he was going out to get pissed and asked who wanted to go too. Me, him, Little My, Betty Blue and another guy Crusher Bones went out. We went to The Kitchen Bar and queued for ages to get a pint. We took the booze outside because Little My and Crusher Bones wanted to smoke fags.

Crusher Bones and Little My were talking about the riots up in Ardoyne and saying they didn't think it was on but that they chucking stones at the police when they were kids and that it was good crack, they just did it for a chase.

Crusher Bones said that one time he threw a policeman through a double glazed window and the cops chased him but he stopped and fought them all and won.

I thought this was pure balls even though he's a big scary guy but Little My was loving it. In the middle of thinking his story was balls I noticed that Betty Blue and Kissy Boy had slipped off.

I didn't think I'd give a shit but it turns out I do. I like her, and I even though Kissy Boy is a cool guy I don't want him with her either.

Like Robbie Williams and Take That

I walked home a different way from work yesterday to avoid Fabian Wildman, when I got in the house he had already been and gone. Hot Baby Roy was there and he was saying that him and Fabian had a nice chat about stuff and that he is okay about the past.

I told him that was maybe because he was in love and that everything is a bit nicer when you're in love. He shrugged and said that he had to go soon and have a hot date with Hot Firey Love Lady.

I asked him about how he could afford all this dating and stuff and he said that Hot Firey Love Lady doesn't mind paying for everything. He must have a big wang or she must have little self esteem for that to be working.

He said that he thinks we should hang out a bit with Fabian Wildman because it could be good to get the gang back together.

"Fuck sake, it's not like it's Robbie and Take That." I told him, and he got all excited about how Robbie and the boys were gonna make some great music and that him and Hot Firey Love Lady were going to have a great time at the gig.

He talked for ages about it, the only other thing he said about Fabian before he left was that he left a bottle of stuff he'd been drinking here and it smelt of piss. If he's pissing in bottles and leaving them out on the streets for winos he's a wanker.

The Suicide Diaries No 1 - Red Milk Green Milk

Last night I was sitting in the house reading The Suicide Diaries and giggling away but also feeling a bit sorry for The Indie Kid because I don't think he meant half of what he wrote here. Most of it just seems like stuff to impress his hipster friends:

Daddy you don't know what revolution means
so what if I wanna wear tight jeans?
It's all just about being free
living on a farm just isn't for me

semi-skimmed semi-skimmed semi-skimmed
we don't need to live off the fat of the land!
Daddy you just don't understand

That one was titled Red Milk Green Milk. It's a reference to skimmed and semi-skimmed milk which have red and green labels respectively. The red might be a reference to The Indie Kid's socialism but there's nothing about environmentalism, maybe it was intended for the second verse.

Ho-hum

Scruffy Old Friends

I was walking home from work yesterday when Fabian Wildman came up to me. He was saying that he was just on his way to call round to mine. I could tell by the half eaten cake in his hand that he'd been waiting and watching for me.

I felt rude telling him to fuck off so I let him in especially because he was frothing away at the mouth about Battle Cat and how he was so excited about seeing him again. I invited him in for a cup of tea and he said he had just the thing for it and waved his cake about. He dropped it on the ground but he picked it up and brushed the dirt off it.

"Good thing it's not raining, we couldn't have ate it then," he said.

I told him not to be dropping crumbs on my floor because I'm a bit more house proud than I used to be.

When I saw him all smiling and happy at seeing Battle Cat and saw how scruffy he looked I did feel a bit bad about feeling shitty towards him.

Then he said that he heard Betty Blue was back in Belfast and he was going to win her back. I didn't tell him that we worked together, I didn't eat any of his cake. Am I a bastard?

Positive Thinking For Work

Back in work and I'm fully charged to kick corporate ass, I'm gonna make the deals, bust the ass that needs busted for me to get that promotion I'm gonna drag the company to its knees. It's gonna knee for me.

Or some such balls, All my previous enthusiasm is gone. I spoke to Betty Blue at break and I asked her if she was calling me a stalker. She said no that she was talking about Clarence Pishflap who had went out with Sandcastles and was now stalking The Unicorn Girl. I told her that I hated Clarence Pishflap and that him and that dick Mother of Bowling Ball were going to get kickings if they tried to hit Hot Baby Roy, Betty Blue said that she remembered Hot Baby Roy and she always thought he was a bit creepy too. I told her that Hot Baby Roy had a girlfriend and they were going great and that he nice now and he was very nice to Battle Cat.


"Aw, you're wee dog," she shouted. "How's he doing these days? He was so cute."
"He great, still cute, but bigger now, still not biting people."

She laughed at that, I wanted to say something about Fabian Wildman and how he was a dick for what he did to her, but I couldn't it was too awkward over egg sandwiches.

Dirty Old Men in The Countryside

Not long back in Belfast. The country is a weird place. Full of weird people and strange animals that make strange noises in the night. I found a cool canal path that was something like the Lagan Towpath and wandered out into the countryside with a bag full of beer, I drank them all day and didn't see anything but cows and sheep until I came to a stone wall that I wanted to jump over.

There was a wee old man standing beside it with a grin that looked like he was doing chin stretching exercises. He asked me if I was having a nice day and I said yes and asked him how his day was. He stood and toul me all about how this was his brothers farm but he thinks that his brother stoul it after his father died and he must have tampered with the will because he'd worked these fields while his brother was out hooring and gambling and sure everyone in the country knows he's nothin but a dishonest hoors bastard, no disrespect to his ma, it's just an expression. And that he has to pay to keep his sheep on it but he should let him do it for free because sure the land would go to fuck if he did nathin with it.

I offered him some beer to cheer him up but he said no he said he had something better than beer and pulled out a bottle of poitin and I had a few swallys of it and woke up in the field in the dark wearing no clothes, glad I still had my kidneys, but fearful my hole had been tampered with.

In and Around Nordirland.

I'm hiding out in the countryside (in the North still) and the only way you'll find me is if you follow the trail of duderay stickers.

Hot Baby Roy and Hot Firey Love Lady are looking after Battle Cat.  Hot Firey Love Lady is really excited about it so much so that I'm really starting to come round to her. I think Hot Baby Roy has landed on his feet with her so lucky bastard.

Anyway me, my laptop and a big bottle of whiskey are deep in the Irish countryside.

Happy Twelfth for those who care, even happier one for those who don't.

How to Avoid The Mess That Is Orangefest

That's me off on the first wee holiday to meself that I've had in donkeys (years - yes it's been years - unless you count going to stay with my brother in Larne, which I don't).

I found out that I'd accrued a few days holiday so I'm getting paid for my wee fucking off. It's gonna be great, just a wee jaunt down south to get the Twelfth out of the way. I went last year and to be honest Orangefest was a big nothing.

I thought I should tell you something about work because I don't much. It's a different place from the last call centre. Work is easier but a bit more boring because of it. Even Little My and Kissy Boy who were in the last place seem different, everyone's a little more asleep. Betty Blue just sits in the canteen and reads. She was reading a book today called The Collector I asked her what it's about and she said a friend of an ex-boyfriend. I hope that wasn't a dig at me. Anyone read it? I haven't the balls to google it incase it was an insult, be gentle but tell me. I want to know.

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself Creepy Poster Mutherfucker

Thanks to Patty Pat and Emma for posting the video below:



I had my own experience with this guy a few months ago. I was out one day sticking up my stickers round Belfast (you know the ones) when I saw this guy on his bike in front of me, he was ripping down posters and some of my stickers (bastard). I followed him through the city replacing my stickers as he took them down.

I lost him somewhere at the top of the Ormeau Road (where it meets the Ravenhill Road). I'm not too bothered by him because I'm going to win. I'll stick my stickers up everywhere I find him or some other prick has taken them down.

He can party down and go fuck himself just like me.

Up Above The Streets and Houses Rainbow Climbing High

Me and Battle Cat were out walking down the Lagan Towpath out by Central Station yesterday and it was pissing down. The weather's funny nowadays and we need a big old thunderstorm to sort it out before I fuck off for the Twelfth (yay!) because I don't want shite weather ballsing it up for me. Anyways me and Battle Cat were stuck out in it and had nothing to do other than head the fuck for home but the more we walked it kept looking like it was about to stop before turning heavy again.

This lovely rainbow showed up on the other side of the river, really vibrant probably the most intense one I've ever seen, and I noticed that the clouds that surrounded it were dark, really dark but the ones inside it were lighter and I thought something but I can't really remember it properly, one of those touchy feely thoughts about how beauty or our dreams keep the stuff that can be dark light or lighter because you know that the dark clouds and the light clouds were the same clouds but the rainbow was making the ones inside it light and the rainbow is just an illusion or some shit. I forgot it like I said I just wanted to get me and my puppy dog home to warm clothes and hot chocolate.

When I got home Hot Baby Roy and Hot Firey Love Lady had made some tasty pasta dish and were up in his room getting fresh, they'd left a note on the fridge for me saying I could take some.

It was all feeling like some nice sort of day where you jump in the air and shout yahoo or something because you're happy. Then my phone beeped. It was a text from Fabian Wildman.

NOT SURE IF YOUR STILL USING THIS NUMBER. IT WAS GOOD SEEING YOU THE OTHER WEEK. WANT TO HANG OUT A BIT SOMETIME SOON?

I Can Whoop Some Ass

I was going to post up the funny crap inside The Suicide Diaries but instead I went for a walk with a nice bottle of pink champaigne down the Lagan Meadows. I should really describe the Lagan Meadows to some of you after all this time. It starts in Stranmillis in South Belfast and cuts an upside down V all the way out to Lisburn (not a fucking) City. It's great because it feels like you've walked for miles out into the countryside but you're never really further than a mile away from some houses.

So there I was down there when I ran into Rock and Roll Stephen, he was balling his eyes out and saying that The Indie Kid leaving was like Pete and Carl going their seperate ways.

I said that he'd be happier wanking off cows, he was a country boy really and all this roley smoking posturing was fucking him up. He didn't know how to do one and now he can't remember how to do the other.

He told me I better get out of here because an enemy was on the way. He fixed me a steely stare and spat on the ground.

Suddenly Clarence Pishflap and the Unicorn Girl came into view.

"Hello Clarence Pishflap and The Unicorn Girl," I said.

The Unicorn Girl gave me a big hug and called me the truster of poems. Clarence growled. I asked him if he was still wanting to beat Hot Baby Roy up and he said that he was going to meet up with him at a later date and knuckles were going to bleed.

"My knuckles will bleed," he screamed before falling to the ground screaming.

"Stop acting like a fucking wanker," The Unicorn Girl shouted at him. "I've told you it doesn't fucking impress me."

She stormed off up the path, he stood up and ran after her shouting apologies.

Rock and Roll Stephen laughed. It was nice to see him happy. He laughed as he walked down into the meadows singing Libertines songs to himself. I don't think he'll miss The Indie Kid all that much.

The Suicide Diaries

The Indie Kid came to my house this morning. He was lucky to catch me because I didn't have to be in until twelve. He had on his best Pete Doherty kit and an acoustic guitar by his side. He tipped his hat and said:

"Mr. Tuesday Kid, I'd sure appreciate it if you'd take my moleskin jotter and keep my dreams alive somehow."

The wee skittery notebook had "The Suicide Diaries" scrawled across the front of them in tippex.

"Are you going to top yourself?" I asked him.

"Naw, it's just poems about my life, and sure isn't life just suicide in slow motion?"

"Not really, no, why are you giving them to me?"

"I have to go back to live on my dad's farm now Uni of over, and I always thought there'd be some wee lassie I could give my poems to and say there's one in there about you but thon never happened and so I have to go back to milking coos and all that shite. Wee ladies down round Banbridge aren't really into poetry."

"What do they like?"

"Fighting and calling folk cunts," he said. By the look of him I'd say he isn't too hopeful about his ability to do either.

"I'll keep your songs alive," I said. "When I'm drunk down by the Lagan I'll sing them to the wind."

He pulled this face like I'd just said something wanky but I only did it to give him an indie kid moment. He sauntered off with a tip of the hat whistling an old Libertines tune.

I flicked through "The Suicide Diaries" there's not one thing I like, even all the stuff about the smoker. I'll put a few of them down here from time to time, but I haven't picked out which one makes me laugh the most yet.

Lets Play Pinball

Hot Baby Roy hasn't been here all week so I called him to ask where he was. He said that he was in Donegal with Hot Firey Love Lady. I told him I was happy for him but that this call was costing me da bomb (I think that's the right context to say that, isn't it?).

I'm jealous as fuck of him and gingerella swanning around being all cool and luved up and me just lonely and playing pinball in my tightest spandex. Sometimes I think I'll go coco bongo and walk out into the middle of the street wielding a baseball bat and singing "I'm Tuesday Kid and I am funky," as I batter civilians at first, and cops as they try to play the heroes. Something is holding me back though and I'm not sure what it is. It's something to do with Battle Cat, something about how I was sure I'd bought a big violent dog (in the making) but he ended up a big cuddly friend of a dog. I hope it's my influence. I hope I'm holding back because I'd end up shouting for a bit and make it obvious that I'm unhappy. I want my parties back, I want a big bag of crack. Wages are in, maybe I'll call up Zim Van Bindle and see if he wants to watch the sweat drip from my balls.