Searching for Jobs

I'm sitting skint in the house going through the job market online. There are fuck all jobs that I can get. It seems even pishy wee part time jobs need loads of futtery wee Mickey Mouse qualifications like RSAs OCRs health and safety certificates and I can't get fuck all. I'm just sitting here flat fucking broke. I spent my last money on a cough bottle so I could sit and get all woozy on the sofa when the crack jitters come.

Hot Baby Roy went off out this morning and I doubt he'll be back tonight. I don't think he's stopped at all. I'm going to stay stopped this time. I don't want to see that big horned daemon again. I want a job, someone give me a job.

Threats from Occult Forces

Yesterday was when I had that conversation with Hot Baby Roy about us stopping crack. He was really disappointed and said that he'd been planning some good crack smoking times and he was gonna get me and him initialled pipes but I told him no way hose.

He brought out a few rocks of crack and said it'd be a shame to throw them away. I said okay then, for old times sake.

We sparked up the pipe and had a good old smoke of the crack. We were having a great time, and Hot Baby Roy said: "Wouldn't it be great if it was like this all the time?"

I thought so, but then I thought a bit harder and I saw us in about ten years time, still on the dole, wearing the clothes we were wearing then with not a tooth in our heads. I told him it would break my heart.

He said that I was killing his buzz so he was going to go and see if Hot Baby Roy on crack could have his way with The Raven Princess Spandex. I told him to remember that no-means-no because the last thing we wanted was the cops to show up when we were doing crack.

He rolled his eyes and fucked off.

Five minutes later the door went. I thought he'd forgotten his keys but when I answered it Balkazaler was standing there bearing his fangs.

"I wondered if I'd see you this week I said. You're not getting my fucking vote."

"Shut up you crackheaded fucker. What are you doing smoking that shit again?"

"I'm just having a bit for old times sake, anyway I'm bored, like it's any of your fucking business."

"Listen I'm a powerful daemon! I can see the future and you need a clear head."

"Why? Is this something to do with The Death Owl?"

"Never mind him, this is much bigger than him. You stop smoking that shit or I'll kick your balls up and out your mouth."

"I was quiting anyway after tonight. You're still not getting my vote you peeler tasched fucker."

"You're not registered to vote in East Antrim," he reminded me. Then he walked to the front door, unfurled his horned scaly wings and flew off into the night.

Coming Off Crack

There was a thing on the Stephen Nolan show this morning about the drugs problem in Ballymena. I don't know much about what it's like down there but it has a reputation for it.

I think drugs are a big problem because there's fuck all to do. We have a culture that encourages people to get wasted. If you want to stay sober for a night and do something that doesn't bore the shite out of you, you'd better have an XBox.

For me giving up crack was really hard, and it's something that I'm not sure I could do again.

Part of what made it possible was having Fabian Wildman looking out for me. Whatever kind of a dick he's turned into and even though we don't get on anymore I'll always be on his side for what he did then.

I've tried talking to Hot Baby Roy about how he gave up but he's caggy about it. He doesn't like talking about it, I suspect he bought a load of teen orientated romcoms and wanked and boked for a week.

All I do know is the mayor of Ballymena came across like a clueless dick, too busy fighting his own corner and not fighting against the problem.

I'm not going to tell people not to do drugs, but I'm not going to encourage them either. It's not pleasant having to feed a daemon who looks like Sammy Wilson.

Don't Let Sammy Wilson Take Charge of the Province!

I had to go for some first aid stuff for Hot Baby Roy, it's the least I could do, especially since Wino Jo was shaking his head and cackling to himself. Ungreatful fucker.

I took Battle Cat for a bit of a dander because snow or no snow, he needs exercise. Once we were out in it it was baltic but we struggled on and made it down to the Lagan. It was frozen and the snow was lying on top of the ice. We birds were landing on it and waddling about.

Some kids were going to go down onto it but I told them not to because the ice mightened be that strong and they'd have fallen through. That's my second good deed of the day done.

The newspapers were plasted with all the Robinson scandle and rumour has it that Sammy Wilson might take over if Robinson goes, and not Nigel Dodds. This is worrying. I used to get visits from a daemon that looked like Sammy Wilson, and I'm not sure it wasn't him!

If we have a daemon in charge I'm getting the fuck out of here before Northern Ireland starts looking like the cross between a snuff movie and ghostbusters.

Don't say you weren't warned.

Texas Hold'em Night

Today I'm feeling better, I didn't mind being sick yesterday because it just pissed down all day. I just sat in bed with my lemsips and played poker on facebook . I didn't realise I was so ruthless, I play a hot handed cut throat style. Fast and loose, that's my style. I don't even watch the cards. I just watch the other players. I bet aggressively in an attempt to win big, and if I lose? So what? The next big win is never far away. I'm glad though, sometimes, that it's not real money I'm playing with.

Fabian Wildman was telling me about the one's at the party. Betty Blue is going to bring a few of them over here some night soon and we'll have another party and I can show them that I'm really cool.

He said Betty Blue didn't know who the girl was (the gurl that is). He asked if I was sure I hadn't imagined her. I told him no, and asked how dare he say that about me.

He said that I did used to sit and have conversations with a daemon that wasn't really there. I told him that our daemons are always there and that one in particular has a seat in Stormont and Westminster, but I didn't want to talk about him.

Crack Memories

I once pished myself on a bus, when I was high on crack. I'm saying this because I'm strongly tempted to have some because Fabian Wildman is giggling about all over the house high and happy and I'm starting to miss it.

Part of me thinks I should kick him out because much as he's bad for me.

Anyways when I pished myself it was on a bus back from my metaller brother's house in Larne. Balkazaler (the Daemon who looks like Sammy Wilson of The DUP) was sitting beside me at the time refusing to give his seat up for an old age pensioner, when I heard a dripping sound.

"I think you've spilt your Lucozade," he chortled.

"Oh crumbs," I spat looking up into the wee old woman's face. "If you tell anyone about this I'll find you."

Then I got off at the next stop.

When I looked back at the bus window the old bitch was cackling away to herself even though she was now sitting in a puddle of my pish.

OG Loc of the Holylands

When Fabian got back yesterday I didn't have the heart to give him the summons. he was taking Betty Blue off for a romantic weekend. I don't know how he was able to afford it but he said that since he's quit crack and not stopped stealing he's got a nice wee packet tucked away.

Once he left I locked Battle Cat in the kitchen and went round to The Death Owl's with a bottle of vodka. I sat outside on the doorstep for hours and drank the bottle. I was going to smash the bottle over his face. One of his neighbours came out and asked me what I wanted. I told him I was going to kick fuck out of The Death Owl when he came home.

He told me I shouldn't mess with The Death Owl because he was a wierdo satanist and at night he could be heard cackling and going over a load of mumbo jumbo.

I told him I was friends with Fabian Wildman who used to live there. He said Fabian was a no good druggy bastard. I told him Fabian was off the crack now and that he wants to get a job.

He said he hadn't a job either but that he had bought decks and he wanted to get lethal on them so he could play at a rave club. He asked me if I wanted to hear him. He took me in and played a mix of beats. I thought he was bollocks. He started doing all this freestyle rap which was arse bisuits.

It was all:

"yo fly homies, I'm so lonely
got me a gun, gonna shoot yer mum,
my shit ain't wack even though I'm not black,
what yo ass think of that?"

I told him he should hire someone else to do the rap but the beats were good.

Then he started into another freestyle just to show I was wrong:

"One day I'll be on top-o-tha-pops
living my dreams cause they don't stop
you'll be smokin crack wit yo druggy mate
and whinnin about how yo life ain't great.
Are you digging my fly rhymes homie?"

I told him he was the greatest rapper I'd ever heard. He told me he couldn't wait for the next election because he voted DUP and was going to do a song to help Sammy Wilson get re-elected. I eyed him suspiciously because if he likes that daemon then he may be in league with The Death Owl. I make my goodbyes and thanked him for his knowledge (see raps) and left. Then I went to the shop and got a permanent marker and wrote OG Loc on his front door. Then I put the empty vodka bottle through The Death Owl's front window and legged it up the fucking road.

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.

I was shaken awake last night to see Fabian Wildman's big tearful face looming over me in the moonlight.

"It's him," he whimpered. "It's the Death Owl."

At first I thought he was downstairs but then I heard him screaming through the wall.

"Fat Rab wanted to kill that goat," he screeched. "he was doing it to please our lord Satan."

The next voice I heard was Hooka's. It was loud and tearful but not afraid.

"You won't be killing any more animals in this house. You're not fucking welcome here."

I didn't hear Fat Rab jumping in on any of their sides, joyless coward.

"The next full moon, we'll be having a blood sacrifice here, Fat Rab has already agreed." The Death Owl shouted back.

"I don't care," Hooka shouted. "I'll call the police on you again and if they won't do anything the blood sacrifice will be you."

Then I heard Fat Rab.

"Hooka please put down that knife. The Death Owl is a very powerful warlock."

"I won't harm your woman," laughed The Death Owl, "but let us sacrifice that wanker next door's new puppy."

I jumped out of bed and put my clothes on. I didn't give a fuck what Fabian Wildman saw.

"Stay here and bring Battle Cat inside," I told him.

I walked out onto the street and banged on their door.

"The Death Owl, come out here to I kick your fuck in," I shouted up at the window.

Hooka came down and pleaded with me.

"Please don't make him angry, he knows some very powerful spells," she sobbed.

I barged past her and caught the Death Owl coming down the stairs. I trailed him down them and dragged him out onto the street, where I gave him a severe beating.

"Right You fucking cunt," I shouted. "I don't give a fuck what magic you can do, or what daemons you send to my house. You ever touch my dog, anything ever happens to him I don't care where you are, I'll fucking end you. Is that clear?"

"You're making a mistake to mess with me," he growled.

I booted him twice in the face.

"You've already made a fucking mistake to mess with me." I shouted back at him.

He waved his wand pathetically but I kicked his wand arm and he screamed in pain. I went in the house and made sure everyone was alright then I went back to bed.

I was woken up at 4am by this song blasting through the walls. I guess Hooka and Fat Rab made up.



It isn't fair.

The Death Owl showed up at my door today with some wee guy in a bowler hat. They asked if they could come inside. I told them to stay where they were. The wee dude explained that he was from a local occult organisation and that it would be easier on everyone if I were to let them inside.

I invited them in and offered them a cup of tea. Both refused.

The wee guy explained that himself and other members of his order were unhappy with my "relations" (as he put it) with another member of the order's lady friend.

I told him that this was nothing to do with him or anyone in his order. He stood up and started acting all weird.

"Master! Master! Please let me reason with him master! MASTER!" he screamed.

The Death Owl looked all excited and kept giving me this wanky look like he was saying - "You're going to get it now."

I ran out into the hall and they followed me.

"Smite him!" the Death Owl kept shouting.

I went into my broom cupboard and came out with a baseball bat.

The wee guy dropped the act the minute he saw the baseball bat, but the bat dropped him a second later. The Death Owl started twatting about like he was doing an incantation but I dropped him too.

I battered them into a bloody mess and threw them out onto the street in a bloody heap. Then I had to go and pick up their teeth with my hands and scrub their blood off my walls and carpet.

A few hours later a big horned daemon showed up at my door. I instantly recognised him as Balkazaler. I invited him in for a cup of tea and he asked me nicely not to hit the Death Owl and Mister Ponti (the wee dude). I said okay but tell them not to be coming back round my house threatening me. Balkazaler said okay and left. It was nice to see him again. I haven't seen him since back when I started doing crack (which I'm back on by the way).

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

Welcome to Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself. It's a story of love, life and licking the bowl. If you're interested in crack addiction, satanism, shoplifting, heavy metal, tight spandex, Hermione Granger, smoking hot guitar solos, call centres, millies and spides, pink champagne, cross dressing, the lessons of the street, big violent dogs, cute puppies, boiled eggs, oral sex, indie music, the Lagan Meadows, Belfast, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland's tallest building (The Obel Tower) or the possibility that Sammy Wilson MP is actually a shapeshifting demon then there's something in here for you.

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