On The Day That JD Salinger Died

Hot Baby Roy and Wino Jo are on the huff since I stopped them making dicks out of themselves in front of the Leotard Girl, no sweat guys. You're fucking welcome.

Anyways I took myself off down to Stranmillis because I've got to sort out My Protege, Nanny Boo Boo says he was up shouting out the front of her house and she told him to go away. He told her to suck his balls and she told him she would when they dropped. Then he burst into tears and ran away screaming.

I told her I would twist his balls for him, but I won't.

I'm going to give him one last chance to not be a dick and if he doesn't take it he's in trouble.

I found him outside Cutters Wharf human beatboxing. When he saw me coming he started screaming:

"He's gay! He's gay! He wears women's clothes!"

There weren't any passers by so no one but me gave a fuck.

I walked up to him and put my copy of Catcher in the Rye in his hands and told him all about JD Salinger being dead and how this was the book for him. This was my next lesson.

He took it and kicked it into the River Lagan.

I told him there and then that I was going to do something really nasty to him but I wasn't going to do it now, I wasn't going to tell him when, it might be soon or I might wait a few years but either way at some point I was going to do something really fucking nasty and when I did it he'd know that he deserved it for being a wee ballbag.

He screamed and ran away. I pinged a stone after him and it hit him on the head and he fell on his hoop with another scream. That isn't the nasty thing, and to be honest it's not even a taster. He's in trouble.

Old Enemies Really Do Run Belfast

Yesterday I went for a job interview. It was a shitty call centre one. I was sitting in the reception all prepared to lie about my experience and intentions when I was called into a room with non other than The Death Owl and Mr Ponti. Except Mr Ponti wasn't really called Mr. Ponti, he was called Boris something or other.

They had big smug bastard grins written all over their faces when I sat down in front of them.

"So, if it isn't crack headed Tuesday Kid?" The Death Owl smirked. "Want a job do you?"
"That's right," I said trying to brush off the fact that I was sitting in front of two complete wankers that I'd hoped I'd never see again.
"We don't employ crack heads. Our business is serious. However..." the Death Owl said.
I sat waiting for him to finish.
"How is your dog?" said Mr Ponti.
"That's none of your busines," I replied.
"That's not very friendly," said the Death Owl. "Especially since you're wanting us to give you a job."
"Are you going to give me one?" I asked.
"I'll give you something else," said the Death Owl bringing out his majik wand.
He was about to zap me before I took off my shoe and threw it at him, snapping the wand into shite.

Mr. Ponti dived over the desk at me but I uppercutted him, knocking him clean out cold.

The Death Owl started dancing around the room.

"You're so dead," he said, "I'm a yellow belt in Karate now."

He pulled off some fancy Chuck Norris roundhouse but it missed me by miles. I pinned him up against the wall.

"I'll scream for help," he said.

"Do it," I shrugged. "They won't get here before I twist your balls."

He fainted right away. I spat a big drooly spittle all over his face.

Then I stole money from both their wallets. A result of sorts. Though not the one I was hoping for.

Tuesday Kid Brings Knowledge to the Streets

After the other day I decided it's time I took more interest into my Protege. I don't want him to become another version of me. I want him to be better.

I went down Stranmillis to find him and ran into Hot Baby Roy.

"This is a bit out of your stomping ground," I said.

"Not at all," said Hot Baby Roy. "The joggers, the fine athletic wear on the nice women here."

I told him that someone would twist his balls if they caught him perving. He snorted and said that he could take care of himself.

I told him that the joggers didn't take too kindly to being leered at.

Then my protege came along and said that he needed another lesson.

Hot Baby Roy said. "Tell girls a fake name, but one that sounds similar to your real name, so you can say they misheard if you like them."

"Hot Baby Roy stop corrupting him. I'm teaching him knowledge to get him off the streets."

Hot Baby Roy looked all shocked.

"Tell him how to get his hole and he'll be fine, he'll work out the rest if he needs to," he said.

Then he went off to perv at jogger ladies.

I turned to my protege and said, "if you ever find yourself in the company of ginger people, make your excuses and run before they learn your name."