Tramps Beg For Change On The Streets! Leave Me Be!

It's funny that Hot Baby Roy seems so developed these days (even though disaster threatens to rear its head at any minute). He was always the one out of us that I thought was the one you could depend on to be doing worse than you. I think maybe Fabian Wildman thought that about me, but I've a shit job and a great girlfriend so I've gained a lot more than I started with at the beginning of this blog.

Even though he's meant to be getting off crack for good I thought Fabian Wildman was the one person I knew who had really let themselves go. That was until I came across Panther Man the other day. He was sitting down the back of Queen Street drinking scrounged up cider with Foosted Wotsit Head. I remember he used to wear black velvet and slink around the place giving out faux/obvious wisdom to all the banal fuckers who'd lap it up. It wasn't a bad racket, certainly better than scrounging up change.

They asked me if I'd some money for Buckfast because then they could make Solzenicyn.

I told them there was no cider in Solzenicyn and they gleefully waved a bottle of brown lemonade at me.

There was a time I'd have sat and joined them, another I'd have mugged them for their coppers and silvers, this time I shrugged and walked away down the street.

Am I turning mean? I guess Bowie knows.

Cowboys Vs Indians

Yesterday was my Fruitarian Brother's birthday party, and like those of you who read this will no I haven't really seen much of them this year (except Wino Jo - who I used to live with.)

He was in good form. He's off the drink now and he seems not to be telling people what to do or how to do it anymore. He asked how Hot Baby Roy was and when I told him that he was seeing Hot Firey Love Lady he laughed his ass off and said that he bet she was an ugly monster and that he knew Hot Baby Roy didn't stand a chance with the Raven Princess Spandex. I told him he didn't stand a chance with Princess Cheetara either, and that the Leotard Girls were annoying as fuck and do nothing but hold big milbag parties that spill out onto the street fighting.

He says that never bothered him because he has a wee rock and roll step that Foosted Wotsit Head showed him. I asked if he'd heard from Foosted Wotsit Head and he shrugged.

My metaller brother was in good form and just talking about work and the new Iron Maiden album. The Hot Shot Banker was missing because he's living in Switzerland now (lucky bastard) and the Fruitarian was there with all his hippy mates.

I bought him a baby apple tree that he can grow and get apples from when he's in a fruitarian mode.

Some of his hippy mates had guitars and they started playing lame hippy stuff that went:

"Bumble bee, don't sting me,
we are friends, make honey."

Repeat until you have forgotten what you were doing before the song started. I hated it but clapped politely. Then ran like fuck.

Bum Fights

Somehow Wino Jo's old drinking buddy Foosted Wotsit head has found out that Wino Jo is staying with me. Seems he didn't hear that Wino Jo is off the drink and he arrived up at the door with a big three litre Scabby Nettle Gang welcome pack.

Wino Jo was happy to see him but Hot Baby Roy told him to get knotted. That Wino Jo had been dry for a while and was staying dry despite what degenerates like Foosted Wotsit Head tried to do about it.

Foosted Wotsit Head beat the clean shite out of him and showed him that alcos can fight as well as healthy boys anyday, or that was the way Wino Jo put it.

Foosted Wotsit Head didn't give him a severe enough beating though because it wasn't long before Hot Baby Roy was on his feet and in and out of the broom cupboard and beating the shite clean out of Foosted Wotsit head with a baseball bat.

Wino Jo said he just sat back and laughed and he never realised how funny street drunks were until he stopped being one.

I thought this was a shit thing to say about his old mucker Foosted Wotsit Head but since Foosted Wotsit Head fled the city last year when I thought he'd killed Wino Jo in an alcohol fueled rage I patted Hot Baby Roy on the back and told him there was only room for one ginger in this house.

A Visit From Wino Jo

Wino Jo called round today. He was there to make up with me after the intervention. I've a feeling that the others will be calling soon and that he's here to smooth things over first.

He's stayed dry (off the booze) but he's all obsessed about finding Foosted Wotsit head and getting him off the booze too. I told him that Foosted Wotsit head wouldn't be back not ever.

He asked if I'd killed Foosted Wotsit head.

I couldn't believe he'd think me capable.

I told him no, but that I'd thought Foosted Wotsit head killed him, because of all his violent dreams.

We talked about not much for a long time. Then he burst out saying that he thinks we all have addictive personalities in our family. Him to booze, me to drugs, the fruitarian with his health food, the hot shot banker with money and the metaller with heavy metal. I told him that our metaller brother wasn't addicted to metal but he may have a point about the rest of us.

He asked me if I'd think of giving up and I told him I already had, and that I'd a nice house and a puppy dog and was trying to get myself a girlfriend.

He said he was glad about me sorting myself out and he hopes I get a girlfriend. He started to talk about our dad. Who was a drunk himself. He said that he remembers one time as a kid that he boked and dad stuck his face in it and kicked him up the arse. Nasty fucker. I wasn't sure the way he said it if it was his boke or dad's boke but I wouldn't be surprised dad did it either way. He was a sadistic fucker. Anyway the next time Wino Jo boked he made sure it was in a flower pot or somewhere that dad wouldn't spot it; the oul man hated 'poofy flowers' as he called them.

In the end me and Wino Jo took Battle Cat for a nice walk and he caught the train back to my metaller brother's house in foosted Larne. He says he hates it there, there's electric rock and roll smokin' hot guitar solos every night of the week.

It all comes out (a bit)

I got really pissed the other day when I was down at Nanny Boo Boo's, that old lady likes to pack her vodka away. I like it too but vodka always leaves me in a really emotional state and after blurting out to her that I wasn't looking forward to Fabian Wildman leaving and how my brother Wino Jo had been missing all year and no one's seen him and I hadn't heard from my brothers in months and I was pissed off that no one gave a fuck. I told her about Foosted Wotsit head and how I thought he'd done something to Wino Jo but that he'd disappeared to and all the leads were cold.

She said that I should put an add in the Belfast Telegraph but I said I'd no money and sure no one reads the classifieds except for spooks looking for instructions on their next mission.

She asked me some more about Foosted Wotsit Head and when I told her she said that she'd known him years ago and that she was surprised he was a wino because back in the day gambling was his thing and that he played a mean game of stud poker.

I was so plastered but when I got home Fabian Wildman was out and so I phoned my metaller brother in Larne but he wasn't in so I left him a voice mail. I have to admit I was pretty emotional so it just came out something like:

"Wino Jo...Wino Jo...where is Wino Jo....f-f-f-Foosted Wotsit Head has had bad dreams."

Or some shit so I hate to think what he made of it. I haven't heard back from him. I might leave it a week or two and call again.

Foosted Wotsit Head is Running Scared

I went looking for Foosted Wotsit head today because I was supposed to be taking him to a hypnotist to find out about his violent dreams involving my missing brother but he was also no where to be found. I asked around and the last anyone saw him he was wandering around Sailor Town telling people that he needed a ride out of town, and some fat bastard truck driver apparently gave him a ride to Lisburn and no one's heard from him since.

Battle Cat was also out enjoying woofing and pissing and shitting in the Lagan Meadows when a man told me he'd arrest me for it, it was a big hard lump of shite so I kicked it in the Lagan. He said that would do no good that he'd be fining me for this. I told him if he was going to fine me I was going to let Battle Cat bite people and said he'd have the dog put down. I asked him if he'd like to be my friend because the only reason he could be such a wanker was if no one had ever been his friend and he said that he had all the friends he needed, he just liked being good at his job and I told him that I believed in civil disobedience and that if he wanted to give me a fine he didn't know my name or address and if he followed me home I'd have no choice but to follow him home and he'd not want me knowing where he lived because he wouldn't sleep a wink at night and for good reason and that I'd put a rat in his letter box or a poisonous snake in the middle of the night and he'd need to use his commission from the fine to pay to get ride of them or ask a friend to suck the poison out of his ball bag when the fucking thing bit him mutherfucker.

He walked away in tears. I shouted fuck the system but then I realised he might have called the cops and I ran like a mutherfucker.

Britain's Got Talent - Tuesday Kid's Got Skills

I've only just found out about Britain's Got Talent and I've had a radical cool idea for if it comes to Belfast. I'm not gonna play smokin' hot solos for them, oh no. What I'm gonna do is kick fuck out of Piers Morgan. I'll say my skill is Chinese Gung-Fu then slap the mutherfucker about the room. Any security that try to stop me will get slapped to fuck as well. Then when he's a sorry mess I'll say to Simon Cowell and Amanda Holden "Vote me through to the next round or you're next." Then I'll get to fuck Piers up all over again in the next round.

That said I'm taking Foosted Wotsit Head to a hypnotist to see if we can find out more about his freaky dreams and Wino Jo.

Foosted Wotsit Head has More Dreams

Sorry I haven't been blogging so much recently but my life is now a whirl of Heavy Metal Vomit Parties and Electric Rock and Roll Guitar. So much so that I've been neglecting nearly everything except partying down and licking the bowl. It's great. I went to a party in the Four Winds yesterday and there was mudwrestling ladies there. I have been having so much fun that I've forgotten to take Battle Cat for walkie but luckily racist Fabian is doing it. I've forgotten so much that I heard a rapping at my door the other night and answered it to find Foosted Wotsit Head standing outside crying.

He told me that he's having nightmares about a violent encounter with Wino Jo and he's scared he did something to him.

I told him if he has I'd personally see to it that he gets kicked down a flight of stairs. He started to get edgy and twitchy and told me that he could do violent things to me, he said he's the best streetfighter out of the scabby nettle gang. He has a twitchy wee rock and roll step that he uses to sort boyos like me out.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "Well I've got a Heavy Metal step."

Then I booted him through a double glazed window. Then I picked up a flying V guitar and played a smokin' hot electric solo.

Foosted Wotsit Head Has Dreams of Wino Jo

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

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

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

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

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

Begging in Belfast

I was sitting begging in town yesterday when Foosted Wotsit Head asked me for change. I told him that I was doing my own begging and he should go find a pitch of his own. He went down the street and sat on the opposite side of the road.

I felt bad for him because in a way begging for me is slumming it: I'm well enough kept on the dole.

At about lunch time I had enough for two three litre bottles of cider so I went and asked him if he wanted to go for one, my treat.

We went and sat out the back of Queen Street and he told me that he hasn't seen Wino Jo in ages and that even he's starting to get worried about him.

The last any of us saw of Wino Jo was Christmas and he's been away longer so I think he was just making conversation.

When it got dark we managed to bust into a building and sit in the stairwell. Foosted Wotsit head said he used to go to parties here but they kept getting busted by the cops so they stopped having them.

I left him and went home. I gave him a tenner and told him to get himself into Garmoyle St for the night because a stairwell was no place to sleep.

Then I went home and had a chilled evening in the house with Battle Cat and Fabian Wildman. Betty Blue called round late in the evening and her and Fabian disapeared up the stairs with a bowl of boiled eggs.

I sat and told Battle Cat that I was going to give up crack and begging and me and him could go out for more walks. He smiled at me, even though dogs don't smile.

Where is Wino Jo?

Fabian Wildman's been sitting in his room all depressed since he brought Battle Cat back from his walk the other day. I feel sorry for him but he's doing really well with staying off crack. He said at breakfast this morning that he wanted to look for a job. It makes me think I should maybe get my own act together.

I went out for a walk to mull things over. I met Hooka at the top of the street. She asked me if I poured milk through her letter box. I told her no and that it was probably the wee spides who kick bins over. She told me that it took her ages to convince Fat Rab not to go round to mine to fight me. I told her I didn't care if he came round because I'd knock his fat ugly ass out. I also told her that was no way to thank someone who had looked after her pet all week and that maybe if she wanted me to help her out in future I'd see some more manners from her between now and then. She looked all shocked at me but I just walked off up the street.

I was worried because I got a call from my metaller brother last night saying no one's seen Wino Jo in ages. I rang round the hot shot banker and the fruitarian and they said they'd not heard from him. Then I realised that none of them ever heard anything from him. I was the only one who saw him except for at holidays or "family" things.

I checked the Stella Maris hostel in Garmoyle Street, which is where he normally stays. They hadn't heard from him. I checked round at the back of Queen St. Foosted Wotsit Head told me he hadn't seen him all year. Then he hicked a laugh because it had only been a week and a half. I told him if he sees him to get him to call me.

Wino Jo goes wandering off all the time and he's been missing for longer than this before so I'm not going to get too worried about it yet. Strange that the rest noticed this time.

Belfast's turned really busy and a bollox to go into now since the shopping craze has started. I was taking a short cut down through the wee alley at the back of Queen Street to avoid the crowds when I ran into my brother Wino Jo and his mate Foosted Wotsit Head. They were scabbing for change because they needed to buy some drink. I was all short or I'd have given them some. Wino Jo was always good to me when I was a kid. He'd always bring me home some stickers for my WWF (as it was called then) Sticker Album, I nearly filled it but all I was missing was The Brooklyn Brawler (but sure he was pish anyway) and a quarter of the Big Bossman.

I felt bad about not being able to give them any money because the two of them don't really get on when they're sober, they just end up fighting and then they get arrested.

I was surprised that they didn't have more money with all the extra shoppers in town. I said this to them, half-trying to lead the conversation on.

"Aye," says Foosted Wotsit Head, "but you forget this is Belfast."

I didn't really know what he meant but Wino Jo looked at him like he'd just said something really profound so I just left it at that.