The Suicide Diaries - No 4

Here's another squiggle of shit from that silly book:

World Peace Anthem

When we get world peace it's hear to stay,
I'll fight anyone who tries to get in it's[sic] way.
Bush was a mutherfucker
but Obama is black
he know what it feels like to be under attack
take it back
take the war back
the war in Iraq
stick it in your fucking arses
I'll never join the army
I'd sooner draw the dole.
World Peace makes me wanna lose control
we fight so hard but the blood never stops
Get in the ring corporate fucking America.
We're gonna fight for world peace.
It's gonna rock

Twisty Faced Bint

Everyone is having fun but me. Hot Baby Roy is off round the town with Gingerella stretching his dole out like a Mr Stretch doll or a turkey's neck, or Gingerella has money and she's spending it on him. How does that lucky bastard get this and not me.

On the plus side The Raven Princess Spandex called round today asking if Hot Baby Roy was in. I told her that Hot Baby Roy was out with his new girlfriend Hot Firey Love Lady. And The Raven Princess Spandex twisted her face up like she was doing a bad impression of a chinese person. She said that she'd seen some girl round here who wasn't very pretty. I told her Hot Baby Roy was very happy with her. She said to tell him she called.

I said I would but the last thing I'm doing is let her try and get her claws into him. I know I've said some mean things about Gingerella but I think she's better for him than The Raven Princess Spandex would be. She only wants to get him interested again because she misses the attention.

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.

Fuck Sainsbury's at Forestside

Last night sitting in in the miserable rain and Hot Baby Roy off out for Hot Baby Roy time I needed something to cheer me up.

I'd spent most of the day at the dole getting my money sorted out, the useless bastard hadn't put it through the system so I had to sit in the waiting room to get a cheque. Everyone there looked like they were waiting for Jeremy Kyle to call and offer them that one shot at stardom he so kindly offers everyone, (even his own wife).

I was pissed off. I'd seen that cute girl in the rain but it wasn't enough. I sat around thinking that I was like some kind of stalker and that maybe if she knew I'd blogged about her I'd seem like on of those pricks who blogs about his top ten anime babes OF ALL TIME!! (even though it's only been around since the 60s).

Sitting on the couch I hit upon the idea of going to Sainsbury's at Forestside to do some late night shopping. It's always cool to go there in the middle of the night, everyone else is in bed asleep but I'm up getting sustenance.

So off I popped in a taxi only to be stopped by a big metal barrier at Forestside, Sainsbury's don't open 24 hour anymore! Fuck them! I wasted nearly a tenner on my fare there and back, I'll fucking go on the rob in there someday and get my money's worth. Watch out Sainsbury's! When I leave your store next time you will have two holes!

A Night in the House Skint

My dole isn't in my bank, and I haven't spent it either. That useless 70s Crimewatch Photofit Suspect has fucked up the payment. I had to borrow money from Hot Baby Roy which is a bit embarrasing because I let him stay at mine rent free. I know the dole pays the rent for me but still.

Hot Baby Roy was off out last night, he didn't say where but it left me and Battle Cat sitting in the house with fuck all to do but rewatch crappy teen romance movies (which Battle Cat hates - he growls everytime Zac Efron or some suck dick comes on screen and he barked the house down when Hot Baby Roy stuck on some Hannah Montana).

Our DVD collection is pish, I've seen all my movies tons of times and I can't bring myself to watch some of the really suspect stuff Hot Baby Roy owns (The Olsens in New York Minute).

I'd really like to watch a movie about proper adults doing adult things, I don't care if it's a comedy, drama, thriller whatever, just as long as it doesn't involve some asshole at "high school" totally bugging out dude over some fuckface they're totally like into and stuff. In the end I just went online and searched for jobs, not even the kiss-a-gram one is still there, it's all badly paid shit in the arse end of no where. Anytime I see something like a shop job that I think might be easy enough it turns out to be part time or casual. What the fuck is casual? That can mean 0 hours per week. Who the fuck wants that?

I want a job that allows me to buy some new DVDs because I can see my unemployed status as a cyclical thing.

Anyone recommend some good films I might be able to shoplift out of HMV?

That's right HMV I'm coming your way, and you won't catch me.
I sat and searched for jobs online, there was

70's Crimewatch Photofit Suspect

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Dole today was lots and lots of fun. Because we're all so fucking unemployed and destined to stay that way the fuckers behind the desk at the Connor Building were all smugging it up big style.

I've mentioned that The Albino and Mrs Puddinghead are particularly bad to get but another one who can be bad depending on whether or not he realises where he is is The 70's Crimewatch Photofit Suspect.

He sits and gives monosyllabic grunts and eventually comes to his senses with a start and gets you to sign for your cash.

Sometimes he sits and deep breathes at his desk as he stares at your shoulder and then disappears in the office for twenty minutes.

He came back and asked me who I was. I told him and he lifted my signing book off the desk in front of him and said - You've the same name as this guy.

"No, that's me." I said.

He handed me back my book and gave me a smile that nearly begged me to please like him. I didn't and still don't now over 10 hours later.

He'd better have put my claim though properly. Otherwise I might be asking the police to let me see some photofits from 40 years ago. I'm sure I could stitch him up even if none fit.

My Dreams are Crushed Like Rose Petals in an Alligators Mouth - An Old Chinese Saying (balls)

Today I signed on and I was well sneaky. I didn't tell them about my job interview because if I get the job then I'll keep signing on for an extra month, just so they get fucked in the cash.

I'm making big plans for myself and what I'll do when I get mullah. It'll be barbeques and pink champainge every day and hopefully wet tee-shirt contests in my back yard.

That's what I was thinking all the way to my interview. It was pure balls. It's only for a pish wee shop but I was talked to like this was kay-mart or some such shit. It wore me down. I was told all about their current coffee and newspaper promo and an upcoming Pot Noodle one they were very excited about that was sure to crush the enemy or at the very least bring them to their knees. He screwed his face up like he was wringing out a teatowel as he said it.

I told him that I was a big capitalist and I had plans to make this shop into the money making machine I had dreamed about since I was a little boy.

They thought I was taking the piss and asked me to leave. I asked the guy how he could talk the shite he did and not take me seriously.

He told me I was barred. I told him I'd grow a moustache and come back in here on the rob. I'd steal everything in the shop, even the mouldy bread they try to flog to begging tramps. I was getting quite carried away but I left weeping like Ben Affleck crying over his tattered name.

Then I went with a bottle of pink champainge down to the Lagan Meadows and sat at the mouth of it crying away.

Rock and Roll Stephen was there with The Unicorn Girl. I was in floods of tears saying that I was destined to stay on the dole all my life and become a theiving bastard like that rotten bastard Gerard Taggart.

Rock and Roll Stephen said that being on the dole was rock and roll and that I should be proud.

I told him I didn't want to be rock and roll, I wanted money.

The Unicorn Girl said that I was shallow and materialistic and I told her that she only thought like that because she was probably some wee rich girl from the Malone Road.

She started to cry and I felt bad. But not bad enough to comfort her. I sat and drank my drink as she cried and Rock and Roll Stephen tried to say the letter F with no teeth.

Back to the Dole

Yesterday I walked back into the Connor Building on Great Victoria St to claim my dole. I fought back tears as I took a ticket and sat down waiting to be called.

Just to kick me in the balls, I ended up getting seen to by Mrs. Puddinghead. She almost salivated to see me back. She gave me my old signing day of Tuesday, to be half nice but she snorted a few times as she made shitty remarks about me being there for the long haul because there was no jobs.

She mustened have realised she was doing it because when I snorted back at her she leapt up and shouted:

"Are you calling me a pig? Do my feet have little trotters?"

I snorted again and tried to stop a tear trickling down my cheek, this was my moment, my perfect moment, just like Martine McCutcheon.

I left the dole office as miserable as Martine's pish song about Tiffany and Grant and what could have been. What could have been?



If this is too pish hear some better music by tuning in to Queen's Radio tonight for Rowan Hudson's show.

A Nice Day on the Sofa

This morning I broke the bad news of my firing to Hot Baby Roy and Wino Jo, they both started shouting at me about how could I do this? And how I couldn't go back on the dole. I reminded them that they both were on the dole and that maybe now they could stop scabbing off me and go out and find jobs and treat me to the spoils of their hard earned jobs.

They both started shouting again and I just went back upstairs and had a snooze. When I woke up neither of them were in the house so I went down and sat on the sofa with Battle Cat. I told him that I was fired but I wasn't going to stay on the dole long because I want money. I just want a better job than the shit one I had.

There was fuck all on TV so we watched a Chuck Norris DVD were Chuck stares down a bear. I don't know why everyone goes on about Chuck being all hard. I'd slap the ginger wee pishflap about with my big toe.

Back to the Bad Old Dole

I slept all day apart from waking up occasionally to boke or cough up nasty green shit (not so much red so yey). Anyway it finally hit home about an hour ago that I'm going to be back on the dole again and it was no fun before. Being on the dole and working shit jobs are really two sides of the same coin, basically having no money and having shitheads hassle you about bollocks. Is there any way out of the cycle?

Sometimes I think I should just quit Belfast and go live in the countryside and all that but it'd probably end up being like one of those bad movies about how the city fella moves to the country and he thinks the culchie folk are dicks and they think he's the dick but they both end up learning that they each know stuff the other doesn't - bollocks. I'd go back on the crack in no time and end up running bollock naked through the mountains killing fish with a homemade bow and arrow.

That or I could go back to live in Larne but that's where old people go to catch arthritis and throw their marbles in the sea. No that's not for me.

January Friend

I'm really down today, and I haven't been in a long while, or at least when I was I didn't notice because I was too busy with work or being ill or trying to sort out Wino Jo and Hot Baby Roy, but now I feel it.

I phoned off work today and took Battle Cat for a long walk down the Lagan Meadows and told him that I was sorry we didn't hang out as much any more but I was busy and I'd try to make it up to him. He didn't seem to mind too much and wagged his tail happily as we walked.

I told him how I was down about my protege being such a wee wanker, all the stuff Nanny Boo Boo said he was up to just makes him sound like the nastiest wee wanker around. He needs a good kick in the hole, I remember Nanny Boo Boo one told me to kick him so hard I broke his tailbone but I knew better. I was all into teaching him like some old fucker in a kung-fu movie, and I did try but he's learned fuck all. It just makes me want to beat the shit out of him. But then I remember how nice and sympathetic he was when I was sitting crying down by the river that time. I'll figure out.

Then I asked him what he thought about Hot Baby Roy and Wino Jo. How the fuck is Hot Baby Roy getting so popular with the next door neighbours and not me. I've been living there longest. I've been trying to move forward with my life while he draws the dole and wanks all the time, when I used to do that I got nowhere with anyone.

We had walked way past Shaw's Bridge by the time I finished. Then I asked Battle Cat how he was doing and he woofed to say he was hungry.

I took him home and gave him a really big feed, he deserved it.

I sat up in my room listening to moody music on youtube until I came across this and it made me feel a wee bit better. I wonder who the girl is, it'd be cool if she lived nearby. I could find her.

Bye Bye Hoors Bastard and Fuck You to the Dole

Hoors Bastard started a conversation with me about music. I told him that I liked hip hop and R and B and he started all this shite about how I must be gay because Techno was the only thing that real men listened to.

I told him that he was sum craic and he had a big happy grin pasted all over his wobbly fat face all day, right up until our trainer told him he'd balled up his last test and he was out of the game.

He sat in the reception crying and told the trainer he'd get his da to come up and slap him on the bake. I'm glad to see the back of the fucker. Him and his sum craic and his happy hardcore collection. He'll need it now he's back on the dole queue. Speaking of which I went down there and asked for my £300. You see if you're on the dole for 6 months and then you get a job they'll give you £100 and the housing will give you £200 until you get your first wage. It's really a year but they're sneaky bastards about this. Anyway I had my dole cut off for two days a few months ago (long story) and because of this they say I haven't been receiving it for a whole year. Fucking bastards the lot of them. I hope Hoors Bastard turns their heads with his craic from now until they drop dead of being bastards.

Pete Doherty Plays Belfast!!

The Indie Kid across the street threw a party last night. A kind of 'let's get the parties started' thing but later he told me (when totally pished and close to tears) that it had all been about getting some of the fine pussy across the street. She didn't show up but there was a motley cast of indie rock and rollers from around Belfast.

Rock and Roll Stephen was there, meaning business, wearing the tightest pair of women's jeans and the tightest perm and his mothers handbag. He'd a wee silver case full of rollies.

I told him he looked like he meant business and he said: "From now on things are going to be full on, with relationships and studying."

I winced and told him that I once met Johnny Borrell in Donaghadee (a lie but the Indie Kid will back me up because he thinks it's true).

For some reason Sexy Carlos was there and he was walking around bare chested with the words "Who do I trust? I trust me!" scrawled across his chest in red lipstick. A thing Rock and Roll Stephen told me he'd stolen from the Manic Street Preachers, I thought it was Scarface.

I got talking to this girl at the punch bowl who told me that she was going to comit suicide when she turned twenty one. I asked her what age she was and she said nineteen. I told her that she should extend it to twenty five because after school and uni there's a lot of fun to be had lying around on the dole playing computer games and smoking crack (if that's your thing, it's not mine any more).

She told me that what I'd just said was profound. I smiled like a dog who's just realised it can lick it's own balls. I pretty much talked to her the rest of the night giving out half-wisdoms which she pretty much lapped up like a cat who'd been left out a bowl of milk by people who aren't it's owners.

Rock and Roll Stephen nearly spoiled it by bringing out a guitar and shouting:

"Who says Pete Doherty can't come to Belfast. Rock and Roll Stephen brings Pete Doherty right here!"

Then he started playing some Pete Doherty but no one really listened. I was glad when he fucked off home in tears.

Another Shite Day at the Dole

It's been a weird few days. It's been great sunny weather and I've been miserable as fuck. I ran out of money and had to go down the dole for a crisis loan. Nasty fuckers, say that they can't give you one unless it's an emergency so I told them that a water pipe had burst and spoiled all my food.

They asked for my landlord's number but I told them that I didn't have it on me and couldn't go home to get it. They eyed me up all suspicious. It was this fat wanker who wore a polo shirt and looked like he'd never played polo, or any sport other than "find the bags of crisps" which he's very good at, the fat crisp eating bastard.

Anyway he told me I had to wait an hour on the loan to be decided and I sat there feeling bored and pissed off. There weren't even any newspapers to read.

I looked on the job search machines and there was fuck all going. Most of the work on offer is part-time which is pish because you have to work sixteen hours a week and you come off worse than dole and housing benefit combined.

The place was bunged, loads of fuckers in looking crisis loans because unemployment and the price of stuff has went up so you have to sit there like a glum fucker and wait for your cash. Some of them had kids with them who crawled around goo-gooing a load of spidey shite.

I got a text from Fabian Wildman, the first since he's moved out, I took my phone out to read it when this wee bitch of a security guard came right over and got up in my face saying: "you can't text in here, you can't text in here."

"I'm not texting. I'm reading a text," I said.

"Same thing, same thing. You can't use phones at all."

Then I had to go outside to read it.

It was just Fabian saying that he'd left some socks and would I be in this evening for him to come and get them.

I didn't reply.

I didn't get my crisis loan either, so I just went to Tescos on the rob.

Balls Job Interview - No 2

So my interview yesterday went total balls. I just about managed to get the wine off my teeth (it was red) and bit the rest off my lips but I could tell by how the interviewers looked at me that they knew rightly. It didn't help that I was really late and had to run so I was breathless and sweating heavily throughout the whole thing.

First they went over what experience I'd had. I lied out my hole saying I'd done this and that for companies which (if they'd asked) had all conveniently went bust (which they didn't) and gave Fabian Wildman and Nanny Boo Boo as references. At the end they asked me to sign a form which said they could check with the dole to see if my employment records were correct. I told them no because I felt it was intrusive. Either they trusted me or they didn't and in this line of work trust was important. They bought this even less and told me if I didn't sign it they couldn't offer me a position.

I told them my principles were more important but really if I signed that sheet they'd find out it was all balls and the dole would think I'd been doing the double.

Not fucking fair

Fabian Wildman is Sick, and I'm Sad

Being skint is even worse when you get sick, and Fabian has the sniffles. I blame that bastard Clarence for us waking up in a cold house. Anyways because he was sick and didn't want to go outside it was up to me to go out and steal him some honey and Lemsips. It's a lot different shop lifting when you're not on crack, because when I was on crack I just lifted stuff and away I went but now I'm sober I'm all paranoid and walk round the shop about ten times trying to work out who's a store detective. It's pure balls I had to go to a supermarket because they keep the lemsips behind the counter in most of the wee shops round our way.

After getting home with all my goodies I found that Betty Blue had come round to play nurse for poor Fabian. It made me all glum because she already had lemsips and honey and I just had to take Battle Cat for a long walk. I asked him if he thought I'd ever find a girlfriend. He didn't answer but then again he probably didn't understand the question.

Bored in Belfast

I don't write much about the boring stuff, but there's a lot of me online looking for jobs (there's nothing decent) and Fabian looking for houses (they're all overpriced shit).

Mostly I write about our visitors because they bring the most interesting things with them. The only thing is that over the last few days we haven't had any. Mostly because both of us have run out of dole and that means Betty Blue won't be over until Fabian gets paid.

Fabian and me watched a documentary last night about some guy who might have rid Princess Margaret (HRH and all that). That plummy mouthed ballbag James Whittaker was on half saying (but most importantly not saying) that someone would have bumped the gangster off if he'd went about telling stories. Fabian said he thought that they would have bumped him off. This set him talking about the greys and the bilderberg group. It makes my head spin to listen to him. He gets big wild eyes and says far more fucked up weird shit than he ever said coming off crack.

In the end I had to ask him if he thinks Betty Blue would cheat on him, just to get him talking about something else. I felt bad about it, but better in a different way.

How Do You Like Your Eggs In The Morning?

So I came downstairs this morning to find that there were no eggs in the fridge. This meant Betty Blue was round. I realised I hadn't seen her in a while.

Fabian came down the stairs in a crappy tracksuit looking gleeful.

"Me and Betty Blue are back on!" he said excitedly.

To be honest I didn't know they were off. I'd been so caught up with the Sweaty Metal band I hadn't noticed. Then I remembered him sitting crying in the livingroom about a month ago. Poor guy, I'm glad they're back together.

"That's great Fabian Wildman," I say "She's pretty cool."

This isn't strictly true, I've barely had a conversation with her but she makes Fabian happy when she's around, so I want to say something nice.

"Yeah, she was going out with some muso dick called Peace Man (oops!) for a few weeks. But that's over, I was acting like a prick anyway. Going over all that nasty shit about foreigners. Sorry if I said it to you I was just pissed off with my shit job, then losing my shit job. I thought it was all about the respectability of having a job until I realised that having a shit one was destroying my self respect. Fuck that. Anyways, gotta go buy some eggs."

He licks his lips greedily at this. He can see from my face that I didn't really get what he was saying. He goes into the living room and sticks on this song.

"This is what I was trying to say. These guys say it better."

Lonely Mrs. Puddinghead

Today I had to go down to the dole office to see about New Deal which is a load of bullshit. I told Mrs. Puddinghead about my Sweaty Metal Band. She snorted up her piggy nose and rolled her wonky eye more than usual and asked had I never played a Lambeg. I told her that I might use her head as a bongo and break the skin (if you know what I mean) she threatened to sign me off and I kicked the counter and told her that I knew where she lived and it was me who had been the cause of the rats she got that summer when she went on holiday and unless she wanted to wake up some night to find me in the corner of her bedroom bouncing up and down on a trampet (small trampoline) then she'd better sign me on.

She burst into tears and said she wouldn't mind finding me there because she gets awful lonely. She started to shake with tears. I reached across the desk and held her hand and she looked up grateful for a little contact from another human. In that moment something good passed between us, then her wonky eye rolled away and she spat "fuck you and your sweaty metal, the system will grind you to dust and you'll blow away" she still signed me on though, even if I gave her the fingers on my way out the door.

When I got home Fabian Wildman was screwing a suspension harness into the ceiling of the livingroom. He looked very excited. He stopped occasionally to huff a bag of glue at his side and dance. This is the song he was dancing to (apparently it was the song that won Eurovision for Estonia in 2001):

Fabian Seems Stranger

Today I came down to find Fabian Wildman sitting crying in the livingroom. He won't tell me what's up though to be honest it could be a whole range of things I already know about and a number of things I don't; maybe it's all getting to him.

He had run out of lighters and doesn't get any dole until next Thursday. He doesn't sleep much and takes Battle Cat off for long walks when the sun comes up and doesn't return until well after noon.

He's been listening to the Kate Bush album Hounds of Love non stop and while it's a pretty cool album it's a bit unnerving especially his obsession with one track Waking The Witch:



Anyways I went round the Sweaty Metaller's house to talk about band stuff. They've heard Kate Bush playing and thought it was me playing it. They say it's the coolest, so I just nodded and said it was me.

They told me that they had been speaking to Peace Man and Johnny Davro about me and it seems I out cooled them because they have been talking non-stop about how cool I am. I guess I am.