How To Hide From The Police

I went back round to Good King Thumpo's last night and no one answered. I broke in again and the place looked like it hadn't been touched (hard to tell with the mess though). Ma-Mutt was chained up outside looking hungry. I gave him some hard loaf off the sideboard and he yummed it up in a few mouthfuls. He still had a big hungry look on his face so I gave him a packet of Hob Nob's that were in a Spar bag along with 2 litres of milk that goes out of date tomorrow.

I went inside and back upstairs to have a better look if anything was different. There was a knock at the door. I snuck a look out the window to see it was the peelers. He was by himself. He knocked for ages. I crept to the other side of the house and looked out to make sure there weren't cops round there.

Did someone see me break in? Had someone else called the cops on Good King Thumpo and his nasty snuff loving ways? Or was the cop there on account of some other misdemeanor?

I moved slowly and quietly back into Good King Thumpo's bedroom and waited and watched the cop walk off. I waited for a while to see if he'd come back. Then I bolted out of the back door and ran the fuck home.

Where is Good King Thumpo?

Does Real Snuff Exist?

After the reactions to yesterday's post. I started to think that I did have a responsibility to do something. I was thinking about it all day yesterday and couldn't really sleep last night. The Punchbowl Girl asked me what was wrong so I told her. She said that she thought he was talking shit but she'd been thinking about it too.

That made my mind up for me. I woke up early today and went round to talk to him. Good King Thumpo lives in a shitty wee terrace on a street off Sandy Row. I've only every been there once years ago. I couldn't rightly remember which house was his until I saw Ma-Mutt chained up in his garden. I jumped the fence and knocked on his door. Ma-Mutt growled at me but I Crocodile Dundeed him into silence.

There was no answer from the house so I bust in (still have the knack). The place was a mess. Good King Thumpo lives on his own and the only thing in the kitchen that let you know it was a kitchen was the cooker, he didn't even have a fridge (which explained all the nasty moudly food on the work tops). What he did have was a load of half dismantled microwaves, TVs and a Motorbike. A walk round the other rooms showed the same thing. His bedroom was full of weightlifting equipment (surprisingly no signs of steroid needles) and Geoff Thompson books about how to violent maim people who are attacking you and which is the best room in the house to hide weapons (incase someone breaks in). Scary shit. But he wasn't anywhere in the house. I waited until I had no choice but to head off to work.

I'm not calling the cops, I'm not a tout. Not unless there's some evidence he's telling the truth.

When Your Girlfriend Meets Your "Friends" for The First Time

The Punchbowl Girl met Hot Baby Roy last night, and he couldn't have been better. No embarrassing stories, no mentions of suspect teenage films that he wanted us to watch. No, instead he talked about how him and Hot Firey Love Lady had went to Burbon a few nights ago and how he recommends we go there. Then when The Punchbowl Girl asked him where he worked instead of talking about how he hasn't worked in years he said that he's between things but has a job interview for managing a store later in the week and that he's very hopeful.

He told me on the sly that he's made up his entire work history and that Hot Firey Love Lady is down as a reference and she'll lie for him no sweat.

Then he went to meet Hot Firey Love Lady.

Not every meeting with people I know has went so smoothly. We bumped into Good King Thumpo earlier and he was foaming at the mouth about how he couldn't wait to go tomorrow to make his snuff movie. He'd found some guys out in the countryside through Gumtree and that they were all set to make immigrant snuff with him.

He ran off home saying he was going to have a practice on the punchbag and sharpen his saw up.

I hope something goes wrong.

Belfast's First Snuff Movie

I've put up a new poll asking which job I should go for. I'm getting to that stage where if I want to be earning good money in a few years I need to be on track for it now otherwise I'm just going to be one of those grumpy bastards that never got what they wanted and makes it their job to see everyone else hates their job. I'd sooner go back on crack than do that. (I'm not planning to go back on crack by the way).

The Punchbowl Girl wasn't in work today and much as we've been banging away I don't even have her mobile number, a thing to rectify soon.

Yesterday after work I was walking up Shaftsbury Square when I bumped into Good King Thumpo. He was asking me where he could get a cheap camera. I asked him why and he said that he was looking to make his own snuff movies because he can't find decent snuff anywhere. He's tried St. George's Market, Nutts Corner, that place in the Smithfield. Fucking nowhere does it. He says he knows he can't be the only one who wants it so he's going to exploit a niche in the market that will save his balls and feed him and Ma Mutt when the tories cut his benefits. Posh bastards.

He says that he was thinking of kidnapping some of those wee indie fruits that hang around in Charlies Coffee Shop but he'd a better idea and now he'll try and get a foreigner because no one will miss them and that it's hard to prove snuff is actually snuff and not just mates dicking around, especially because he'll be laughing in the film so much. He says there was some zombie movie where the director killed people and got away with it in court because he'd killed foreigners. I think he's got the whole story arse about face but I can't remember the name of it. Anyways if I hear of him making it this could be the first and only time I'll shop someone to the cops.

                             Good King Thump Stars in - Snuff (like Speed but shit).

The Battle for Westminster - South Belfast 2010

I've been feeling like a total dick today. I can't believe I've been back smoking crack again. I'd been quit for so long and all it took was meeting one prick on a bus to fuck the whole thing up.

That makes me wonder if I can trust myself around things like that in the future. I don't want to be around it but I'm always going to bump into people from the past who smoke it. Is that going to fuck it up for me every time?

Hot Baby Roy was in his bed when I left the house and he's away out now I'm back in. I don't know if he hit it off with The Raven Princess Spandex. I'd guess not but I'll say why another time.

I actually did vote. I'm not saying who I voted for but I will say that it wasn't UUP just because they're connected with the Tories. I know some of my readers might vote Tory, that's your choice and your right so let's not fight about it.

On my way to the poling station I bumped into Hoors Bastard, who I used to work with. He was smiling and happy and proud and said that he'd just voted DUP. He started saying that he was working in a different call centre now and that they were wanting more staff, and that I should come and join in the sum craic, Little My and Captain Cool Bastard and all the gang were there. Good King Thumpo, he'd been there to vote for TUV but there was no TUV candidate in South Belfast so he was sitting outside crying and saying that he spoiled his vote and that the other parties were only a shower of bastards.

Hoors Bastard said he should have voted DUP.

Good King Thumpo started shouting "Fuck the DUP", over and over at the top of his lungs.

Hoors Bastard told him that he'd better shut his hole or he'd be getting a haymacker in the face.

Then they started rolling about on the ground like a pair of lovers. Both of them passionate men, one of them already defeated with nothing to lose but the other with the chance of victory and the drive for success. I'm not sure who won but I fucked off to vote and went home a different way.

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.

Good King Thumpo Has A Plan

Hangovers are becoming the norm for me, when I wake up in the morning without one I start to realise I'm not keeping up with myself. I was wandering about the lower Lisburn Road when all I heard was:

"Tuesday Kid lad, bout ye!"

I turned to see Good King Thumpo rolling up to me all happy and with a big rottweiller saying he was out to rid the streets of tramps and Ma-Mutt was helping him in the fight. It was all a bit much with my fuzzy head. I asked him why he wanted his mutt but bite the homeless and he said that he was training up the dog on tramps because no one misses them if you go too far.

Then he started to get really excited when he said that once he was rid of the tramps he was going to start on immigrants.

Then he went for a pish in one of the phoneboxes beside Charlie's coffee shop. He gave two fingers in the window and shouted "What you looking at?" at them.

Then he asked me if I wanted to go to this really high class brothel he knew about on Botanic? No foreigners apparently.

I told him no. He looked hurt and said that we hadn't hung out in ages and he'd missed our craic.

I told him that I didn't agree with his politics and he said that I didn't seem to have a problem with it when he was out breaking the other side's legs, just cause he's now into breaking black or yellow legs suddenly I'm saying it's wrong.

He said that he needs a side to belong to but he isn't the one picking the teams.

I asked him what he was talking about and he waved a copy of some shite local tabloid. Then he made his dog sniff it and told it that it would know what was tasty when it met it.

Ma-Mutt woofed excitedly and Good King Thumpo pulled his nicest face:

"I love you too Ma-Mutt," he said.

How to pull Metaller Girls

I went out with Good King Thumpo tonight because I was trying to get to the bottom of how he pulls. I can't stand it anymore. So I went and found the greasy tattooed bastard hassling the Alternative Ulster staff in Charlie's Coffee Shop.

I told him I wanted to go for beers and pool. I meant pull but he's a thick bastard and doesn't know better.

He lost two games to six. I told him that he'd have more luck trying to miss. He said he'd see about luck when it came to getting sex with girls tonight.

Anyway at about ten we went off and tried to meet hot metal ladies. It was horrible. Rock and Roll Stephen was there. He told us that his mother caught him trying to use her curlers and kicked his shite in. His dad then kicked him out because he was ashamed that Rock and Roll Stephen couldn't even beat up a woman.

Rock and Roll Stephen went to the bar and Good King Thumpo's first question was: "Is he gay?" I said no but Good King Thumpo spat out when I said this.

I stood and waited to talk to sexy metal girls but all Good King Thumpo did was shout "Yeow! Look at your tits!" when they walked past.

I thought this is bollocks but then a few of them came up smiling and all Good King Thumpo had to do was say "He looks so gay!" when some skinny jeaned prick walked past. I couldn't believe they liked this but they smiled and swooned. Good King Thumpo was loving it. I thought the girls were dumb for acting like this but I played along and said it myself a few times. Particularly at Rock and Roll Stephen who visably winced. Fuck him I'd a heavy metal girl home with me to fuck. Yeow!

I took her back to mine for Tuesday Kid love but after that she went to sleep. She told me she wanted to be in IN Magazine one day but I didn't really listen. She went to sleep and I spat on her. Not exactly true love eh?

Good King Thumpo Can Get a Shag?

Hot Baby Roy went home yesterday. He took Wild Child with him still unwatched. I think it's his favourite film. He left the others lying scattered on the floor. I came downstairs to find Battle Cat chewing the S Club 7 box. I took it from him and he barked angrily. I'd forgotten he was in the room when Hot Baby Roy stuck it on.

"Don't give me any of your cheek wee lad," I said to him and he wandered off into the kitchen.

I went for a day on the rob because I was pissed off at being skint. There's no fucking jobs anywhere. I applied for an admin one the other day and haven't heard fuck all back. I ran into Good King Thumpo who was bragging about some doll he pulled in Laverys the other night, "a wee rocker chick," he kept saying. He was nearly crying he was that happy.

"I love heavy head girls, pure leathal! Unless their into that voodoo shite, I went out with a doll who was and she was a fucking head wrecker. I love the oul heavy stuff though, see when you come home at night with your head roared, Megadeth! Fucking Megadeth! Tell the neighbours to fuck aff it's time for Megadeth!"

Then he did some air guitar and talked about how Dave Mustane was a big ginger bastard. Then I remembered that the voodoo chick he was talking about was Hooka.

I imagined them slam dancing to Megadeth and felt a tear run down my cheek. How can Good King Thumpo get lucky? He's fucking covered in tattoos. It's a good tactic though it detracts from him going bald.

Crap Day in Belfast

Nanny Boo Boo´s house is much nicer than mine and I´m half tempted to stay there but I´ve drunk all the wine and there´s not much else in the fridge so I had to go back to mine today.

My house is a bit skanky and to tell you the truth if I was paying the money rather than the housing executive I´d move out.

I played some groovy spoons while I waited on the radiator to heat up. I think it´s pish that not only does Fabian Wildman not come round but Hot Baby Roy stays away too. I went down Lisburn Road looking for Good King Thumpo but he was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he hasn´t been seen for ages. I hope he´s in jail or lying at home with broken legs.

Then I bought a bottle of whiskey and walked up and down the Lisburn Road, Botanic Avenue, Ormeau Road and on out into the countryside hoping to see a friendly face but all I saw were phantoms...

I almost felt like buying some crack.

Good King Thumpo Wants Snuff

Fabian Wildman had a close call with the cops today. He'd just left the house when I heard the door. I thought he'd forgotten his key but when I answered it, it was a cop asking for him. I told the cop that I'd told them that he didn't live here and I never heard from him any more.

I went for a walk in case they came back. I texted Fabian Wildman to tell him that he needed to watch out. I sent it in code in case the cops are hacking my mobile.

I ran into Good King Thumpo who told me that he was trying to get his hands on some good hardcore snuff. I thought he meant tobacco but he said he meant movies.

He said he'd checked St. Georges Market, that wee shop in the arcade at the bottom of Royal Avenue, that place in the Smithfield Market, all the sex shops on Gresham St and there wasn't snuff in one of them. I told him he'd have more luck at Nutts Corner.

He had a big smile on his face and asked if I wanted to play some pool up in Laverys. I told him I didn't play pool any more. I used to hustle for coca cola when I was a wee lad but the guys who ran the place got wise to my skills and threatened to break my thumbs. That was a close call and the only warning I needed.

He asked if they still broke thumbs because he's short of work at the minute and wants to do some ruff stuff.

A Thug's Heart Breaks

I was wondering about the Lisburn Road last night crying about Battle Cat being missing and having no job and no money when I ran into Good King Thumpo. Good King Thumpo asked me why I was crying and I told him about my missing puppy dog.

He told me it was probably in a chinese by now.

I told him he was a rotten racist bastard and his tattoos made him look like a stupid bastard. Brave words to say to Good King Thumpo but I was drunk and upset.

Good King Thumpo burst into tears and told me that he was trying to get laser surgery to get rid of them and that once he'd lost a puppy and it never came back and his da beat his fuck in for it and that it wasn't right and that he felt sorry for me but he never knows how to be gentle with people so he makes nasty jokes and that he likes me and wants me and him to stay friends.

It was then I realised he was pissed out of his face.

He boked his ring up and wandered off down the road in tears asking about Lucky and where did he go?

I fucked off home. Good King Thumpo never got over the loss of his dog. I hope Battle Cat comes home.

Humpy Fuckers

I was out walking Battle Cat today when I saw Good King Thumpo. He was all angry and shaking his fist at some oul man out walking his dog.

I asked him how he was and he told me that he had split up with his girlfriend. I didn't know he had a girlfriend but his sort always do (hard fuckers who lick to kick people's fuck in).

I asked him who his girlfriend was and he told me it was some wee hippy doll who did voodoo. The more he talked about it the more it sounded like Hooka and I remembered how crap that had went and I asked him a bit more about her and yes she did indeed have a cat called Gobbolino and a few other things.

Battle Cat woofed excitedly when Gobbolino was mentioned, and I hoped Good King Thumpo wouldn't twig that they used to be mates.

On the one hand I was glad she'd split up from Fat Rab but I started wondering why the fuck she'd went out with Good King Thumpo and not me.

Then Good King Thumpo said he didn't think she was over he last boyfriend. This sucked even more. I told Good King Thumpo he should kick fuck out of him, I hope he does, just for old times sake.

I'm now on Facebook by the way so if you want to be my mate then click on this

Good King Thumpo and The Indie Rock and Rollers

I bumped into Good King Thumpo earlier. He was wandering around Shaftsbury Square pished out of his face. He was blabbering on about being hard and kicking the shite out of people and the usual. I was plastered too and it only put me in the mood to go home and kick the shite out of Fat Rab. Good King Thumpo was kinda hard to follow because not only was he slurring his words he was also jumping from topic to topic. He started blubbing and singing wee bits from Suzanne Vega's Luka and some song about "ma wee babay" he looked to be near collapsing.

Then a car drove past playing this happy hardcore classic



Good King Thumpo took his top off to reveal his heavily tattooed, roid addled torso and started dancing all buck mad. I felt so shit I joined in (I kept my top on). We got into this cool thing where we stood opposite each other and had our hands interweaving as we raved like a bunch of cool dudes.

Some indie kids gathered round for a chuckle so we slapped the fuck out of them. We didn't draw blood so it was okay. Like typical indie kids they burst into tears and I think one wet himself.

Good King Thumpo felt much better.

"Nothing better than knocking those wee pish flaps about," he said tearing into another can.

I went into a phonebox and sobbed for a good half hour. Then I sat on the street and scrounged for a bit, something I've never done before but I figure it might become a handy skill to have what with this credit crunch.

Today I went down to the post office to cash my housing benefit. I paid my internet bill and went and got me some crack. Before that I went to Bishops on Bradbury place and got me a curry chip. Their chips are a bit rotten and greasy but it's nice to feel something slushing about your stomach after it's been empty so long (even if it's going to empty itself five minutes later).

I met Good King Thumpo while I was in there. I hate Good King Thumpo. You can tell that when the troubles was going on he was in the thick of it, breaking people's knees and all that, now it's calmed down (or supposed to have calmed down) Good King Thumpo is a bit redundant and just wanders about trying to heavy people.

He's blathering away to me about some guy he beat up outside Auntie Annie's the other night. It's mostly wee indie kids that drink in there so it's hardly impressive.

"What do you think you're looking at?" Good King Thumpo shouts at this wee spindly indie fucker.
"Nothing," the guy says. To be fair he probably was looking at Good King Thumpo because he looks like Papa Shango from WWF (clothes and all - replace the face paint with tattoos, that's why he can't get a bouncers job).
"ARE YOU SAYING I'M NOTHING? I'M GOOD KING THUMPO!" he shouts storming over.
"I'm just eating my chips," the wee indie guy says.
"No you're not; you're coming outside for a fight with me," Good King Thumpo says grabbing him by the scruff of his stripey jumper.
"Good King Thumpo leave him alone," I shout. It's not right, he's probably just some indie kid down from the Alternative Ulster offices up the street.
Good King Thumpo lets him go and walks back over to where he's getting his chips.
"Just got a bit carried away," he says, sweating heavily.
Good King Thumpo is really not right in the head, and you may think what I did was brave but Good King Thumpo is scared of me for the stupidest reason.

One night I was out in Lavery's and he was there. He started hassling me and being a dick. I kept my temper (I know I couldn't beat Good King Thumpo) and left at the first opportunity, he followed me round Bradbury Place and The Lisburn Road trying to start a fight. He took a few swings but he was so plastered they all missed. Anyway he got bored and wandered off home, only to fall over halfway and split his face open on a curbstone. He wakes up the next day and can't remember, all he remembers is hassling me and so he thinks I've done this to him.

When he came up to me a few weeks later and apologised I just said "well, if you watch your mouth me and you could get on fine." He's been dead on ever since.

The girl behind the counter is so pleased that I stopped a bloodbath in her take away I get my bag of rotten grease for free. Yummie.



Good King Thumpo yesterday. (Owner of skull unknown).