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.

A Family Update

My Fruitarian Brother showed up at my house today. I haven't seen any of my brothers in ages.

He was telling me that Wino Jo is getting out of hand. He's still off the booze but telling everyone that they're wrong about everything from what music they listen to to how they see society. I told him that he was being a dick at the end of living here and not letting Hot Baby Roy watch his teen romances.

Then he said that our Hot Shot Banker Brother was fed up trying to make his millions banking and turned to gambling, everyone thought it was a turn for the worse, except he was really good at it and after a few lucky big wins had fucked off to Switzerland rich as fuck. He posted him back pictures of him skiing and in a jacuzzi with lots of girls and a message on the back saying "which one for my wife?"

He said that he was thinking about going vegan (the phase before he goes full on fruitarian) and that our metaller brother was still listening to screaming hot electric heavy metal rock and roll solos on his hifi.

And that was it for the family update. Nice to catch up once in a while.

I asked him if he wanted some pancakes and he sat for a few but I'm sure he barfaramma'd them up in the bogs before he left. Yuk!

He said that it was his birthday next month and he wanted us to have an ethical party at his house. I don't know what an ethical party is but it sounds like the sort of thing to put Wino Jo back on the booze.

Hungry for Love and Crack

So this morning I called in sick to work. I'm not enjoying it and I spend the weekends doing everything that I had to put off during the week. Plus with working Monday to Friday (my training lot are going to be put on shift patterns next week so that we'll be working some weekends and some late nights, with weekdays and mornings off) I've missed out on things like going to the bank to scrounge money. I want an overdraft and a credit card that I'm going to max out and change address when they ask for the money back.

Hot Baby Roy was all twitchy this morning and asked me if I ever fancied going back on crack. I told him no, even though I get tempted (now more than in the past). I told him that all I needed was a few felt tips once in a while and just enough whiskey to make me boke in my mouth and leave that smokey aftertaste.

He said he gets tempted, though what he really wants is true love. I told him that true love doesn't exist outside of his DVDs. He pulled a face like a child who has been told they're not getting that gift you promised them.

Then he said he had something in his eye and ran upstairs to the bathroom. I heard some sobbing through the door and he had a big red face when he came out.

He asked me if we could have a party and invite the Leotard Girls. I told him maybe. He smiled a bit but he'd big bloodshot eyes and a look that said he was hungry for love.

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.

Lick the Bowl

I went round to my metaller brothers last night thinking we were in for a cool time hanging out. When I got there my fruitarian brother and my hot shot banker one were there too.

We all went into the living room, and there was Wino Jo, sitting alive and well, looking washed and shaved.

"Hello Tuesday Kid," he said giving me a firm handshake.

"Wino Jo! You're not dead! I thought Foosted Wotsit Head had murdered you!"

I saw the metaller brother and the hot shot banker give each other a funny look.

"So this is a big party to celebrate you coming back, where were you?"

"I was getting dried out," he says, pointing up behind him. I don't know where he was pointing because there's not that much between here and the sea.

"Tuesday Kid," my metaller brother said. "We're hear today to talk to you about some of your problems."

It was then I clocked too late, that I'd just walked in to my own intervention.

"My problems? What problems?" I don't think they were concerned about my lack of sexy lover girls.

"Doing heroin, living with a heroin addict..."

"I've never done heroin."

"You smoke crack," he shouted. "You need to get dried out."

"Crack is freebased cocaine! And I haven't smoked crack since February. What the fuck is this?"

I looked at the Hot Shot Banker, "You read my blog, you should know that I gave up ages ago, why didn't you tell them?"

"I stopped reading it because you were slagging me off," he said looking sulky.

"What about that phonecall the other night?" My metaller brother asked triumphantly. "You were clearly out of it on something."

"I was drunk, you drink too you fucking dickhead. So what if I get pissed? or sniff the odd felt tip? The reality is none of you really give a fuck, and you're all doing this to act like big men (that's a quote I stole from Jeremy Kyle). How long have you all known that Wino Jo was back? and you knew I was worried, and you never told me, and none of you were there when I did give up crack."

None of them could really say anything to this.

"Fuck this," I said. "I'm going home to lick the bowl."

I stormed out of the house. The fruitarian followed me out. He said I should come back because we hadn't hung out in ages. I told him to get fucked, after all the bunches of bananas I bought him when he was rolling about naked in his garden looking like Jungle Barry.

I wandered down to the train station telling myself that I needed to get the fuck out of Sammy Wilson country, and that when I did get home I was seriously going to lick the bowl.

An Old Man Bokes

I was up town today and by fuck Belfast smells like a shithole and that's saying something because most of the time you have to put up with the fact that most of the city doesn't wash and even those that do don't buy BO spray. I was walking down Fountain Place when an old man stopped and boked up, at first I thought it was just a drunk but when I asked him if he was pissed he shook his fist at me and shouted.

"I'm not blootered! This shithole smells of shit!"

Nasty mouth on the oul fucker. I walked off up the road and bumped into my hot shot banker brother. He was out having a Subway. I asked him how he could eat with the smell, and he said:

"I actually find the smell of shit quite pleasant," then he just turned and walked off before I'd even a chance to say anything more. What a dick!

Meeting my public

Fabian Wildman has a job interview next week. He's very excited about it, even though it's for some pish cheapo shop type affair which I know he'll hate. Since he told me I've been having these thoughts that I'll bump into him in five years time and he'll be like Bell Boy in Quodrophenia and I'll end up riding my scooter off a cliff in mental anguish.

I also spoke to someone today for the first time about my blog who didn't know I wrote it. My hot shot banker brother was on the phone for the first time in ages and he told me about this blog he'd been reading about this crack head who'd gave it up and I should read it because it might give me the nudge to quit. I didn't tell him it was me because I wanted to hear what he said about it. I was surprised he didn't clock it was me, but then again we haven't spoken much in a while and when we do we don't go into detail about what's going on so he wouldn't know much of the stuff on the blog. He must have started reading it recently otherwise he'd have spotted all the mentions he got last year. Oh well, it's me by the way, ha ha.

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.

I had gone and got my Big Violent Dog long before Fabian Wildman had even woken up. The thing is he's not a Big Violent Dog yet. I thought it'd be better to get him as a pup and make friends with him before he becomes Big and Violent. He's a mongral breed, looks a bit like a labrador pup but bigger, the guy who sold him didn't know what the breeds were but he thinks there's a bit of rotwiller in there.

I walked him back to the house on a lead I bought in the pet shop the other day. Buying lots of doggy stuff cost a fair bit and my hot shot banker brother helped pay for most of it. He says the responsibility of owning a dog will be good for me.

My biggest problem was the pup's name. I couldn't think of a name for him.
Fabian Wildman came out to see him in his oul scruffy dressing gown and slippers and not much else and the poor pup ran in behind me. So Fabian said we should call him Cringer, like in He-Man. Cringer doesn't sound like the sort of dog that would eat anyone, so I thought Battle Cat would be better. Fabian said you can't have a dog called Battle Cat but I said if you can have a man called Bear Grylis you can have a dog called Battle Cat.

I gave Fabian a lecture about not freaking him out with his knife and the golden rule: we never smoke crack round him.

I got Battle Cat some scran and put him in his kennel. I threw in one of those squeaky toy bones for him to play with and an oul rug that I never do anything with. I hope he's happy here.