An Old Enemy Returns

This morning I went twitching out to put the bin out. The Raven Princess Spandex was standing out in the alley too, just standing there with a big white terrified face on her.

"You're very pale without your make-up on," I said giving her a dig for Hot Baby Roy, even if it was his own stupid fault he was knocked back.

"I'm still hot like butter on a scone," she said. Then she pulled a face like she knew it hadn't sounded as cool/sexy/whatever as she'd hoped.

"Yes you are," I nodded to spare the poor lady's embarrasment.

"Who used to live in this house before me and Princess Cheetara?"

"A couple of sweaty heavy metal rock and rollers."

"Were they into devil worship?"

"Not them, there were some satanists lived there before that, they once killed a goat in there as a sacrifice to satan."

Her mouth fell open and she started trembling.

"It's okay, they were harmless enough."

"This creepy bastard in a grim reaper cloak came to our door the other night and said that we had a very powerful 'grimoire' in our attic."

"The Death Owl."

"That's his name, that's his name," she started to cry and I gave her a hug.

"Listen leave it with me, I know him and I'm not scared of him. I'll find out what's going on. Don't worry about it."

I went back in the house and I'm going to light up the crack pipe. Hopefully Balkazaler will show up and tell me what's going on.

Rock-a-Bye Hot Baby Roy

After coming home from Nanny Boo Boos yesterday, Hot Baby Roy came in a little while later. His face was all red and puffy, so red his hair looked blonde. I asked him what was up.

"Me and The Raven Princess Spandex are over," he said. "I suppose it never really began."
"What happened?" I asked.
"I went round there today and tried to talk to her all about my feelings, my love and how it was pure, even though it was full of sex and she acted all surprised and said she thought I was just her BFF. I told her that I'd never made my love or lust for her a secret and that she should just come round here and get in my bed. She didn't like that."
"Okay, I can see..."
"Fucking Rock and Roll Stephen has been round there with his new teeth and going over that fucking Marylin Monroe speech and she's all 'Rock and Roll Stephen has ideas.' Fuck her."
He was getting really worked up and then he pulled out a crack pipe.
"I read on your blog that you've been at it again, let's me and you have some now. Fuck girls. Crackheads together!"
I should have said no but my mouth was sore after getting a clash in it from Nanny Boo Boo. Hot Baby Roy said that he'd been wanting to do it for a long time but he thought I might kick him out. He said he was always jealous of me and Fabian Wildman hanging out smoking crack and huffing bags of glue. I told him it wasn't like that so much, only at the start.
He said that Fabian was a wanker these days anyways. He came across him one night out on Botanic and he was going to go to him and say hi but Fabian was following this drunk down the street and when the drunk started boking he through his burger in a bin and Fabian hoaked through the bin for ages until he found the burger and half a bottle of wine that was probably pish.

Tough Talking

I took Battle Cat down to see Nanny Boo Boo the other day and she hit me a clash on the mouth and said that her nephew had read on my blog that I'd been smoking crack again.

Most people I know that read my blog either don't know it's me or don't mention it but Nanny Boo Boo was saying that this ZIm Van Bindle character sounds like a complete fuck up and that his brain probably crawled out his ear one night and ran the fuck away.

Nanny Boo Boo said that I had my wee pup to think about and that how could I let a fuck up like Hot Baby Roy get dates with one of the girls next door and I couldn't get any. It was a right dressing down (not literally).

She said that I should cut out the crack, get a job, get my hair cut and buy some shoes that don't have holes in them. She said I looked like a tramp but she knew I could do better.

I told her it hurt my feelings and she said that if she thought I couldn't fix these things she wouldn't say them to me. She'd just not answer the door when I came to visit. But she knew I was a good lad with a lot of potential I just shouldn't waste it sitting round at a crackhead's house listening to him talk shite about Amazon armies and rainbow igloos. It sounds like some shite a child would scribble on a page and force it's worried, embarrased parent to stick on the fridge.

Rory Rides Me Raw, Raw, Raw (over and over again)

Hot Baby Roy was sat slumped in front of the TV this morning watching Lazy Town.

Battle Cat was snarling at the TV and Hot Baby Roy was saying. "Yes pup, I know, it's terrible."

I asked him what was up and he said that him and Battle Cat were disgusted because they think that Sportacus and Rotten Robbie are grooming the wee girl in the pink.

I told him that wasn't true. Sportacus was trying to get people to be sporty and the other guy was trying to get people to lay around on their asses.

"The other guy?" Hot Baby Roy said. "His name, is Rotten Robbie. Why can't you just say his name Tuesday Kid?"

I asked him why couldn't he just go and get a girlfriend instead of watching suspect TV shows with my dog.

He said that he was about to make moves on The Raven Princess Spandex. He'd been going to hot leotard muscle parties and he was getting so close. He told her the other day about getting bullied at school for being ginger and she held his hand while he faked tears. He's going to stick the lips on her next time.

It's going to end in tears. I was pissed off that he hadn't invited me to these parties, or even mentioned he was going but I just fucked off to Zim Van Bindle's. I don't know why I told him about it, probably because he'll just forget it in a few hours like everything else that happens to him.

He asked me if The Leotard Girls could fight. I told him I didn't know but they were big millies so probably.

He just sat there huffing away at a bag of glue and listening to this on repeat for a few hours.



"Is that skipping?" he asked eventually.

Fighting The War With Amazon Porn

I'm not back on crack, at least I don't see myself as a crack smoker, and that's the main thing. I read something on stopping smoking that said the most important thing to do was to change your self image from smoker to non-smoker. So I'm sticking with that. I'm not a crackhead, not again.

I'm just walking down memory lane and seeing a few old faces and finding out that it was right that we stopped hanging out. Zim Van Bindle is a scatty fucker. He's seriously all over the place and tries to present his weird wee head as some mystic shaman for the neon streetlight generation (his fucking words). He talks about building a warrior igloo but putting food colouring in the ice so that he can build a rainbow igloo to show that his part in the war is reactionary and not aggressive.

Then he asked if he could come to my house and suft amazon porn on the net.

Things I Hear While Lying on the Floor

Lying on the floor at Zim Van Bindle's house earlier in the week I listened to him tell me his plan for becoming bad ass. Zim Van Bindle is scared. He says there's war coming and only the purest will be able to stay strong. He says that he was reading about the world's strongest girl online and he's been watching Kung-Fu movies and he has a plan to get together an army of his own fighting ladies, partly for the surprise to his enemies but also partly so he can be just like Mister Han Man Bullshit here:



Then he lit up his crack pipe and he realised it was time to fuck off home.

Who are you?

Early Morning Thoughts

This is the earliest I've been up in a long time. I've been shifting around in bed trying to get comfortable and I've only been managing fifteen minutes here and there. I know I must have slept some because the light outside keeps changing too much for me to have been awake.

I don't know what the fuck I was at last night. It was strange to see Zim Van Bindle in that part of town. What was he doing there? Maybe he was there to set me up or something. I think I was followed home. All night I've been hearing someone walking up and down the street outside, they change their pace and the heaviness of their step but I know it's the same person.

I'm going to try and sleep again. If I hear them I might look out the window, I've kept the lights off so they don't know I'm awake.

Sweat and Balls

Not doing crack anymore I rarely see anyone from the old crack days. I never really saw them anyway, they were mostly people I saw during bouts of no crack and then sharing for when I'd no crack again.

Only today I came across Zim Van Bindle on the bus. Zim Van (to his friends) shouted down the bus at me "HEY DUDE, I OWE YOU SOME SMOKING TIME", then he realised that everyone was staring at him and he started shouting:



Then he danced all the way up the bus with his big blood shot eyes and a biscuit tin he'd probably been busking with.

"HE DUDE, YOU GETTING OFF AT THE NEXT STOP FOR SOME YAY?"

"Yes," I said. I planned to get off the bus with him and kick his fuck in but once off I went back and had a smoke of crack with him for old times sake.

Indie Kids Fight Back

Last night I was waiting on a bus on the Lisburn Road when I saw the funniest thing. This indie kid (not the one from my street) was standing at a bus stop with his his girlfriend when this spide comes along and starts slagging him off for his tight jeans and non-ironic moustache.

The wee indie kid took it for about a minute, then he looked at his girlfriend, then at me, and then he said to the spide to leave him alone.

"What the fuck like?" the spide said. "I'm just being some crack, no need to be a wee fruity boy about it."

"I'm not being anything," the indie kid says. "I'm just wanting to catch my bus."

"Wind yer neck in ballbag," the spide says slapping him around the head.

"YOU DON'T SLAP ME IN THE FUCKING HEAD," the indie kid shouted at him getting all up in the spide's face.

"Are you fucking starting?" the spide says getting his pigeon chest going.

"YOU WERE STARTING FIVE FUCKING MINUTES AGO," The wee indie kid shouts as he rattles him in the side of the face and starts knocking fuck out of him. "THIS ISN'T A GAME OF YOU MAKE A DICK OUT OF ME AND FUCK OFF SNIGGERING."

The indie kid's girlfriend started to cry. I didn't know if she was crying because of fear or because she didn't agree with violence but I wanted to tell her that he was in the right and the spide was the one who was bad.

The Indie Kid Becomes A Man

The good weather brings people's moods up but it seems that for some it's only a temporary distraction.

Walking down to my favourite watering hole (The Benches at the Lagan Meadows) last night I came across The Indie Kid who lives at the end of my street sitting crying.

I asked him what was wrong and he told me that he was sad because he was coming to the end of his last year at uni and things hadn't went the way he'd hoped.

He said that (I didn't ask him any of this, he volunteered it) he'd had his first kiss (?!?) last summer and that he thought things would follow naturally and that this year would have been really full on with studying and relationships, just like in all those shows he used to watch as a kid. Even the biggest dicks in them had loads of girls chasing them.

I told him the sad fact that those shows lied, especially to lonely boys who couldn't attract girls.

And when he read the teen pages of ceefax on channel 4, boy oh boy there sure sounded like loads of fun yet to come. And when he started his band with Rock and Roll Stephen, how the fuck did it all go wrong?

I told him that I missed the teen pages on teletext. Dr. Nick Fisher, and Bamboozle, those were the days.

He was finishing University in a month and he was going back to live on his da's farm outside Omagh and become a culchie Joe again, and have all these dicks round him talking about jam pieces and futball, and gaying the doag the wildest baitings.

What about art? and deep stuff? and life?

I told him something most girls find out at the age of 14 - "when it comes time to bleed, you bleed".

He just cried even harder, so I went to another bench to drink my wine, just me and Battle Cat.

The Indie Kid's Future Bandmate.

Fine Wine in the Summertime

With the lovely sun out yesterday me and Battle Cat went for a nice big walk down the Lagan Meadows and called into Nanny Boo Boos on the way back, Nanny Boo Boo was sitting pished off her face in the back garden.

She told me that My Protege has turned into a responsible young man and has been doing nice chores for her like keeping the garden tidy and trimmed and she buys his drink for him at the Winemark.

She also said that Fabian Wildman had been calling round and that he was saying he felt bad about acting the dick when he moved out. She said that she thinks Fabian is smoking the bad stuff again and she doesn't mean tea. She said that he's all bug eyed and has holes in his shoes and that only the other week he was telling her that he'd been dancing on the street hoping to get money but that he only managed 50p and that wasn't enough, and then he stopped before he said too much.

I told her that I thought Fabian was cyclicle with his addictions and that I'm sure he'll stop the crack soon enough.

She said that we were always good mates and that I should forgive and forget. I'm not convinced. The only thing he's gotten in touch about is collecting some socks.

I told her he has my number and that he knows where I live if he wants to get in touch and she said that she thinks he's too proud. I told her people with holes in their shoes don't have room for pride.

She stopped talking about it then because neither of us want to have an arguement, she brought out a big bottle of red wine and I got pished and boked all the way home, nearly a good day.

A wee boke not far from Nanny Boo Boo's.

Who Will You Be Voting For In Northern Ireland?

I ran into Good King Thumpo yesterday. He was out walking Ma-mutt when I was walking Battle Cat. Ma-mutt looks like a nasty bastard of a dog, Good King Thumpo probably shares his steroids with him.

Good King Thumpo said that he was out looking for some Romas to feed to Ma-Mutt. I told him there were lots of Romas down Fitzroy Avenue but that he should leave them alone.

He gave me some nasty rant about how he doesn't like them/taking our jobs/nothing I haven't heard before.

I told him I liked the Romas.

"What about the one with the wee pink guitar that he can't even play?" he asked.

"He needs to switch to tambourine but that doesn't mean Ma-Mutt should get to eat him."

"I bet you haven't seen him in a while," he smirked.

"Ma-Mutt?" I said alarmed. "What have you done?"

Ma-Mutt licked his lips and I was about to press the issue but Good King Thumpo changed the issue to the upcoming elections. He started talking about how he was going to vote TUV and that Jim Alister was a good man. I told him that Jim Alister looked like Krang from the tutrles and he said that I had no business talking like that about such a decent upstanding man.

I told him that Jim Allister always struck me as nasty hate filled wee shite and he asked me did that mean I was going to vote for IRA/Sinn Fein?

I told him that I wasn't registered to vote and he told me that I sounded just like that idiot Tulisa from the N-Dubz. I told him that the N-Dubz weren't as street as they liked people to believe. He told me that voting was a privilage and that his voice will be heard but mine will be lost in the wilderness of apathy.

This was all rousing stuff, I'm thinking of registering to vote, even if it's only to stop people like Good King Thumpo having their way. Anyone voting? Who's the goodies and who's the baddies.

I need to register and I'm going to, even if it brings the debt collectors to my door.

Winning a Bet with Semantics

I'm learning more about Hot Baby Roy recently. Last night when we were in the city centre we saw this fat punk with big spikey hair. I said that he probably did it with sugar water and Hot Baby Roy told me it was probably soap. He says he used to be a punk, which I found hard to believe because even the weakest punks can fight and that's one thing he can't do.

I told him that I didn't believe him so he bet me the last of the Birdseye(tm) Waffles that it was soap.

I was confident that they were mine.

Hot Baby Roy tapped the fat punk on the shoulder and said:

"Excuse me, we have a bet on for waffles, could you tell me if you do your spikey hair with sugar water or soap?"

"I used SPUNK" the fat punk said making a wanker sign.

"Are you sure it isn't soap?" Hot Baby Roy said.

"Naw, spunk," he said.

"That must take you ages in the morning," Hot Baby Roy said and the fat punk thought he was taking the piss and was going to fight him but Hot Baby Roy made some cool secret punk signal (kind of like what the masons do when they're in court and don't want to go down for something) and the fat punk walked off all cool with me and Hot Baby Roy.

Hot Baby Roy felt cool for about five minutes until I reminded him that the fat punk had to say soap or the waffles were mine. He was so upset and scared of starving but I gave him half of one (one and a half for me) a result.

A Mature Conversation About Sex

I was down the Lagan Meadows again last night trying to find the Unicorn Girl. I thought that maybe if I had one of those majikal horns like the old warriors had then I could blow it and she'd come galloping towards me with the wind or some romantic ass shit. There's something about when you can't get to people or get in touch with them that makes you want them more, I don't know what it is or why it works.

Hot Baby Roy says it's because when you're a kid people don't refuse anything to you but that when you get older and it happens it just makes you want it more.

Since both of us have been crack addicts we know what it's like to really want something and try to refuse it. Part of me wonders if I'm just lonely and that any girl could take the Unicorn Girl's place in my affections.

That was what I was thinking just as Rock and Roll Stephen, the Indie Kid and some girl came prancing along. I recognised the girl, but I don't know where from.

They sat and chatted to me for a bit. Rock and Roll Stephen has new teeth and he says that these ones are reinforced and won't break next time he falls over drunk. I half said that someone punched him but he gave me this alarmed look like he didn't want the girl to know. I don't know why because they weren't together and I don't think he was even trying it on with her. Maybe he was playing it cool.

She was talking all about how she believed in true love and that monogamy was a choice you had to make constantly regardless of whether you had a long term sex partner or not.

The Indie Kid mumbled something about how he didn't eat beefburgers because he could smoke beef at home, then he took a turn to look alarmed and he winced and shut up quickly as he realised he'd balls it up.

"I've always wanted to turn a gay guy," the girl said staring at him coyly. It was then I remembered where I'd seen her before.

Lonely Lagan Meadows

I managed to get enough from my robbing for some sweet bottles of pink champaigne yesterday. I said to Hot Baby Roy that me and him should go and see if we could bump into the Unicorn Girl and he said that he didn't want to sit and talk to Clarence anymore because Clarence always tried to make fun of him to impress girls.

I told him that I could beat Clarence up and that he always cowered in fear whenever I was close.

Hot Baby Roy said that this was balls because he wanted to be his own man, not just looking to me everytime Clarence mentioned Fanta pubes.

I told him to please himself, so he stayed in with the weights set while I walked around being a fey drunk. I sat for hours down by the Lagan thinking about romantic or heroic things I could say to The Unicorn Girl when she came near but I was there on my own all that time. I walked a bit farther into the Lagan Meadows hoping to find her but all I find was that some bastard had written Tuesday Kid is a Bastard on a bench with a pen knife. I was touched to find that some one else (probably a street wise kid) had scratched it through and written Tuesday Kid will win before you beneath it. My money is on the street kid. I'm glad he wasn't there to see my tears or my pride.

The Unemployable Hot Baby Roy

Me and Hot Baby Roy have both ran out of dole at the same time. So we're both talking about where we're going to rob. I've told him to stay away from Dunnes because they might recognise him from going in with me.

He thanked me for the tip off and said that he felt greatful. It seemed like we were talking more open and freely about ourselves than we'd done in a long time so I asked him:

"Do you ever look for work Hot Baby Roy?"

"No," he said shaking his head. "I'm unemployable. I'm blacklisted with every recruitment agency in Belfast. I'd show up for the new job, sometimes I'd smoke crack to get over the nerves, or try some office flirting. It never went my way. It wasn't my fault, I wanted a job and to be the hot boy in the office but I found out that that doesn't suit me. It's just a foolish dream. So I thought about getting together my own little pub quiz. You know, kick out the people using mobile phones, cheeky winks and bonus points for hot ladies but no one wanted to help me buy my dream. I asked everywhere. No one wanted to help me. No one wanted Hot Baby Roy to succeed. And that's why I steal because no one gave me what I wanted when I asked for it."

So off we went out for theft. Hot Baby Roy came home late, drunk with no booty and a black eye.

He said he didn't want to talk about it, and had maybe said more than was smart earlier.

Doctor Who and Hot Gingers

How fucking cool is the new Doctor Who looking? I just watched the first episode on the iplayer and Matt Smith rocks.

The cooking at the start was hilarious and Matt Smith is the right mix of weird but serious that makes the Doctor so watchable.

The new assistant is a hot lady too, hmmm total babe and stuff. RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr. Fiesty and smart too, which is what a Doctors assitant should be. A potential rival for Sarah Jane or Rose Tyler. Time will tell (there's a joke there but I'm too lazy to think it through). Hot Baby Roy is happy that she is ginger and he was saying that she's gonna make people know about how hot gingers are. I told him that people have known about hot ginger girls for years but that ginger men had a long way to go, especially after Chris Evans.

"Yeah that fucker really set the movement back," Hot Baby Roy winced.

Millies and Mileys

Last night me and Hot Baby Roy took a dander into town to see what we could see. Passing the Ulster Hall we were confronted with the sight of lots of very underage girls dolled up like they were going to a fancy dress party as mawfucking hoes.

Hot Baby Roy was lingering slow and I told him to come on dem little ladies was gonna get us in trouble da police was everywhere like it was a paedo trap.

"I don't care about them," he said. "They all look like Miley's."
"You mean millie," I said.
"No," he corrected me. "Miley, as in Miley Cyrus. Not a Kirsten Dunst among them."
"She's in her twenties," I said.
"She was a cute teenager," this lot are on a fast track to Buckfast and pram pushing. There's subtler ways of attracting boys. Who are we?"

He went back to his daydream and didn't say anything much else apart from "I'm sexy, I'm cute, I'm popular to boot."

We didn't find anything except for an old tramp. I wanted him to tell us some street knowledge but he grumbled and boked until we grew tired and went home to find our knowledge on crap TV.

Tuesday Kid The Journalist?

With all this fuss in the media about Mephedrone I was recently sent an email asking if I fancied doing an article about it. I don't really know why I was chosen, most likely because they read my blog and know that I'm an ex-crackhead.

I honestly don't know what angle I was expected to take on this. Was I supposed to say "I've been there, done that, stay away from drugs kids"? Because the truth is I've never taken Mephedrone and don't have a clue about it.

I really am in no position to talk with authority on this issue. I'd far rather be asked my opinion on dog training or wasting your time watching shit TV.

The Story of Effie

I'm sick in bed with the spring flu and I've been doing nothing much but surfing the web and drinking chicken soup.

I've been watching a lot of 4OD and BBC iplayer. There's a few points I have to raise about these things. Firstly Channel 4 I'd rather watch fuck all than watch five minutes of a documentary. I've been watching lots of Skins and I have to say that the first two series are better than the later two. There's plans apparently for a complete new cast to be in the 5th and 6th series but that doesn't make sense, clearly Effie should make occasional appearances in the 5th and 6th series, firstly because it will finish her character arc and secondly Skins will come to be viewed in retrospect as "The Story of Effie".

Then we're on to BBC iplayer. Firstly how is The Real Hustle a crime show? I want to see gritty documentaries about serial killers and not ones half in doric scots.

Pull your fucking act together, and I can't wait to get rid of the shitty flu so I can take Battle Cat for nice long walks. I haven't seen Nanny Boo Boo in ages and he'd like a visit too.