Fuck George W. Bush (still!)

I'm sitting with a pish hangover after being woken up by my barking dog at 8:00. I took him for a wee walk and fed him and now I can't get back to sleep.

I got a postcard from Rock and Roll Stephen (who's doing quite well for himself in Derry from what I've heard [not just what he says]), it said: Fuck George W Bush. That wasn't the design of it, Rock and Roll Stephen wrote that on it. Some people still hate that guy (Bush, not Rock and Roll Stephen) for what he did.

I think some people leave a legacy behind them that make people want to boke every time someone brings them up in a conversation. Angry people talk a lot about them just because it gives them an excuse to be angry. It must be a horrible feeling.

I didn't read the rest of the postcard. I will later when I'm not so tired any more. I'm going to have some crunchy nut cornflakes and go back to bed.

Hot Baby Roy is Gainfully Employed

Hot Baby Roy has now a job for the first time since I've known him (nearly two years). I worked. Hot Firey Love Lady gave him a reference bundled with fucking lies and they sucked it all in. Now Hot Baby Roy works in management. I can now tell you something I didn't want to previously tell you about him because it makes him sound like a scumbag. It doesn't anymore though, because he now has a respectable job.

Hot Baby Roy's first employment was as a postman. Hot Baby Roy was not the proverbial Pat, waving hello to the neighbours and doing them a good deed to help the community. No, Hot Baby Roy used to rifle through the bag for anything that looked like money (dole cheques, birthday cards etc) then he'd dump everything else into a bin and fuck off to the off-licence. He'd be sitting plastered on the bus home by eleven o'clock, staring bug eyed all round him hoping no one touted on him to the Post Office. He said that once he boked all over the old people seats at the front and that maybe someone thought that was too far because he was sacked soon after. It wasn't an old person though because any of them who sat on it probably thought it was thick pish coming from their out of control bladders.

Or so he says. I'm on the side of any old person who sat on it. I once pished myself on a bus so I know the shame some poor old fucker felt, and it not even their mess.

    The Opposite of Hot Baby Roy (except for them being both ginger)

Sent Home From Work

Today before work I needed some dutch courage so I downed a whole bottle of fizzy pink champaigne in the bath. It felt great and I marched off to work telling myself that I didn't give two flying monkey's fucks about what happened with Kissy Boy and Betty Blue. I believed it too, until I walked out on the floor and saw the two of them sitting beside each other (or in adjacent booths). They were having a laugh and giggling. They saw me and waved me over, I waved back but I didn't go. I went and sat at the other side of the room from them.

Three phonecalls in I couldn't take it any longer, I could feel the alcohol climbing up my throat. Wee bits of sick in my mouth, I swallowed them down but they just came back up bigger. I started to cry.

I ran down the corridor to the disabled bogs, which were thankfully empty and boked all over the place. I sat on the toilet seat and fell asleep. I only slept about ten minutes but it was enough to make me feel hungover.

I cleaned the place up as best I could and went back to the floor.

My supervisor asked me if I was alright and I mumbled something about not being well enough to come back to work, she was really sympathetic and said I should go home and get better, they'd pay me for the day.

I can't believe how nice she was, in the last call centre I worked in that would have been it over for me.

I walked home wondering if it was a good idea to open that second bottle of pink champaigne in the fridge.

Maybe not.

Drinking in the Morning

Today I had a little walk down memory lane when I sat in the bath with a bottle of pink champaigne getting ready for work. It hit me a lot harder than I remember it doing and I went into my room and boked in the bin. Talk about bad timing. If I'd just needed to do it when I was in the bathroom I could have done it in the bog and flushed it away.

I had to carry the stinking mess downstairs in a carrier bag to chuck it in the bin. I was met by Hot Baby Roy and Battle Cat.
"Where's Gingerella?" I asked.
"I don't think you should be calling her that. She should be called something like Hot Firey Love Lady."
"Maybe," I shrugged. "Where is she?"
"She's away back to her house they're having a meeting with the landlord about Mother of Bowling Ball. Hot Firey Love Lady is going to get him kicked out of the house. None of the other housemates like him so he'll get his mutherfucker."
"You know if you'd give me her address I'd like to go and give him a severe beating for you."
"I want to try it her way first," he said. "You can't always be there for scraps and I'm a lover, not a fighter."

I felt him tick something inside himself off from a very big long list of moments he's wanted to have in his life.

"That's true," I said just to underline it for him.

I hope Gingerella does get Mother of Bowling Ball kicked out then I can fight him on the streets.

Hot Baby Roy made me drink some strong black coffee before I went to work. He said it would sober me up but it didn't. It just left me still drunk and jittery and I was all giggling away to myself about nothing as I walked to work. I'm now sitting in the canteen feeling my guts slowly disolve into chewing gum. My poor bowels.

Not So Happy Birthday Hot Baby Roy

Yesterday was Hot Baby Roy's party. He was so excited and I'd been sitting with my fingers crossed that someone was going to show. I'd managed to get a crisis loan off the dole and I bought him a Mr T keyring and a Hollyoaks Girls calender that had been reduced to 50p because it was half defunct.

Hot Baby Roy was all talking about the presents he was going to get and about how he'd put a note through the leotard girls' letterbox saying they were very welcome but Rock and Roll Stephen wasn't.

I sat watching the clock crossing my fingers so tight I left big purple tracks in them. A few taxis pulled up in the street and I thought it was going to get a bit easier but the people who got out went next door. I couldn't believe the leotard girls were throwing a party on the same night like they were trying to say fuck you to Hot Baby Roy. The longer we sat the more people went next door and no one came near us. Then at about half nine. Hot Baby Roy started to drink the bottle of vodka Nanny Boo Boo sent, and then he started to cry.

"Nobody came," he kept saying. And he started hugging Battle Cat and crying even more. "I want friends," he said.

I felt bad for him. Nobody came, not even just to pop in and say happy birthday. He didn't even get a text. He started to say that he thought moving in with me was going to be the start of him having a social life and that when he started to make friends with the leotard girls he thought maybe he'd get a girlfriend but now it was his birthday he saw that people just were having a laugh at him and he was going to go next door with a baseball bat and show mutherfuckers what time it was.

I tried to talk to him to calm him down, I told him that me and him should go out for the night, that I was his friend and that I wanted him to have a happy birthday.

He was a sorry mess by the time we hit the city. He was plastered and boked a few times on our way there. I don't know how we managed to get in anywhere.

We ended up in Lavery's back bar swinging and dancing like wild apes. No one wanted to kiss or cuddle us and we ended up sitting down for most of the night. I bought Hot Baby Roy a few pints and he fell asleep. I walked about looking for someone to talk to and ended up boking in the bogs for a wee bit. Then when I came back to him he was away. I looked for him and found him sitting talking to another wee ginger girl. She and him had twisted up faces like they were commiserating each other on not having things a bit more like they'd like them.

I left him to it, hoping that he'd pull her. He's still in bed, that or he didn't come home. I'm going for a long walk to ease my hangover.

Back on the Dole and Dreams of Cheryl Cole

Sitting shivering at my desk yesterday and coughing so much I had to keep putting customers on hold, London Girl came over and said that I was spending an unacceptable amount of time on calls. I told her all about my cough and she said that she had noticed how much I'd been spitting in the bin and how this was unacceptable too.

I turned to my screen and spat on it a nice big green and red phlegm bomb.

She walked away all startled and Little My said "yer pure fucked naw."

Then a call came through on my phone and I said "You're not getting your money back," and hung up.

I braced myself as I saw Truffle Shuffle and The Huffy Tortoise coming waltzing across the floor with London Girl all startled and teary eyed.

The Huffy Tortoise waved his fingers at me to come here, I waved two fingers back at him to go away.

Then they said that I was to hand over my security pass and leave the building. I repeated my two fingered gesture and Truffle Shuffle grabbed my top.

"I told him if he didn't get his hands off me he'd be getting sued like the fat squaddie mutherfucker that he was."

The trio waltzed away again like a gang of mutherfuckers and five minutes later someone from HR came in and told me that I needed to leave or they'd be sending security to shift me.

I asked her when was I getting this months money and she said that I'd be paid on the normal date.

I stood up and went to make a rousing speech about how call centres are the modern day work factories that killed Victorian children but instead of us losing arms or legs these places took our souls! But I coughed and boked my ring up and slid all across the floor on it before these burly security guards ran into the room and grabbed me and fucked me out of there.

I stood out on the street and shouted that I'd be back with a snooker cue to fuck them up but when I got home I felt relieved that I was no longer in work and fell asleep having a sly wank to Cheryl Cole at the Brits, she'll be back on the market soon after Ashley has been exposed as a cheating scumbag. She wasn't wearing her wedding ring, maybe I could put one there.

That's Bad Crack

So I got my pay and headed straight up to get some crack but my old crack dealer isn't there any more, probably busted. I deleted all my numbers when I gave it up. Fuck that. Hot Baby Roy might have some numbers on his phone so I fucked off to the house to see if I could get hold of his phone.

I bought a bottle of gin on the way and was pure pished by the time I reached the house. The Raven Princess Spandex came to the door and I started babbling away about how hot she was and I was sorry if Hot Baby Roy had tried to steal one of her leotards. And just as I started to catch on she'd been looking puzzled for ages I shut up.

"Hot Baby Roy was great, some guys showed up and started trashing the place and he stopped them. I just wanted to give him this," she put a present in my hand and I didn't know what to say, so I boked all over myself.

"I hope none of that hit you," I said to her as I slid down the wall.

The Raven Princess Spandex is so hot, and now I've no chance. I've been so embarrased I've been up in my room sobbing and swaying gently, I still hope I can fix this.

Who needs to lick the bowl?

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.

We Like The Cars The Cars That Go Boom

The metaller girl was up by the time I got up this morning. She looked frightened. I asked her what the matter was. She said that she'd boked in her sleep and it was all over the bed and she was scared that I'd be angry. I took a look at it and it wasn't all my spitboke.

I laughed and said that I'd be putting the sheets in the wash later and it was no bother. She still looked really worried.

I asked her if she wanted some breakfast. She said yes. I went down to see what was in the cupboard there was fuck all so I told her I was off to the shop. I went and got some great breakfast stuff.

When I got back from the shop Battle Cat had really worked his puppy magic and she'd made friends with him.

I wanted to ask her how come her and her mate like to hang out with guys like Good King Thumpo but I didn't want to turn this into an interogation.

She asked if I played football. I told her no and she burst into tears.

I didn't understand why, that's not the first time that's happened to me.

The Best Hangover Cure and Sexy Carlos

I got pished with Fabian Wildman last night to say commiserations for my job interview going so pish and now I'm just sitting pissed off and hungover as fuck.

I tried the Rocky cure for a hangover (drink a box of eggs) and I boked all twelve all over the living room carpet. I left Battle Cat in and he licked the fuckers right up. Still I was hungover as fuck and cried because I felt so bad (the hangover and the no job), I'm sure this isn't good for me because it will dehydrate me more.

I went for a walk over to Ormeau Park and I bumped into Sexy Carlos. He was out running and I asked him what was the best hangover cure. He said "Simple, don't drink."

"You're fucking simple," I said and stuck my foot out for him to fall over, but he jumped it sprightly and ran on.

I know Sexy Carlos from when I was a member of Spirit Fitness opposite the BBC. Carlos used to sit in the sauna all night and count his chest hairs. Then go for a jacuzzi. This made me feel worse, because I used to be in alright shape, I sat on the bench and had a wee boke to myself.

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.

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!

i no can have cheezburger, cat's have all...

Fabian was sitting twitching and dribbling today. It wasn't a pretty sight. He was telling me all about stuff he'd done in the past. A lot of it sounded half mixed in with fantasy but something he'd never told me before was that he'd went to be tested for asperger's disorder a few years back.

An old school friend of his who is now a primary teacher said that a pupil of hers had it and the kid reminded her of Fabian Wildman when he was at school. He went to see the autistic society people on Botanic Avenue. The lady behind the counter told him that he had to make an appointment with the doctor to get tested but that she thought he was "neat" for taking the initiative. I thought of the scene from In Bed with Madonna where the old harpie makes fun of Kevin Costner.

He said the the doctor told him he might have it and that he showed signs but they were very mild and unless he felt he needed help he should think about not getting tested because he'd have it on his records for the rest of his life and regardless of equality legislation people can be prejudiced about these things.

Fabian Wildman said that he had read all these books on body language and social cues since he was a teenager and that's why it doesn't show on him so much, but he's convinced he has it.

Then he boked on himself and asked for Boom Fizzle. Personally I don't think he has it, because I know he had a sheltered upbringing, but I could be wrong.

Indie Wank Boy Gets Fucked in the Mouth Part 2

When I came round this morning I felt awful. I sat in my room and shook for ages.

Fabian Wildman came in and asked was I okay. He says he could hear my bed jingle and it didn't sound like wanking.

I told him about hitting the Razorlight fan.

He asked if I wanted him to go and talk to him and settle things. It was a kind offer but I really need to start sorting some of my own messes out.

He said it was okay because he remembers how I cleaned up his boke when he gave up and that's why he doesn't mind doing the same for me now.

I told him I'd take this one.

I had a shower and went over the road with a wee present for the indie boy.

He opened the door and looked all scared at me.

"I've just come over to say sorry about hitting you last night," I said.

He looked like he wasn't buying it.

"I've a wee present for ye," I said. "Can I come in?"

He opened the door and stood back.

I gave him a bit of paper that said "Johnny Borrell".

"Let me tell you how I got this," I said. "Years ago Johnny Borrell was on crack like me. He went to Donaghadee to help him give it up. I met him when he was there. He was always walking around, wearing sunglasses and playing electric rock and roll guitar. I told him that I thought he was a cool dude. I told him I thought he'd go far and be famous. I asked him for his autograph because when I saw him on tv I wanted to be able to say I was the first person to get his autograph. So he gave it to me. And now I'm giving it to you."

You should have seen the wee indie lad's face light up. It was like I'd just shown him how to levitate because he could have floated by the look on his face.

He offered me a smoke of a spliffy but I told him I was grand as long as we were cool.

He said we were.

I wished him luck and left.

Indie Wank Boy Gets Fucked in the Mouth

I've been dying for a smoke of crack all week and today I couldn't take it any more. I went out to the bin to search for my pipe, to find that the bins had already been emptied. I went in the house and started pacing up and down the living room thinking about how I could get myself some crack and be back here and high in under an hour.

Then I went to the cupboard and found a bottle of Vodka. I thought if I'd a few slugs of it it'd calm me down. I downed it in about ten minutes and felt great for about half an hour then I boked all over the place and passed out.

When I woke up the house was empty and in darkness.

I went across the street still a bit pissed to speak to the indie dick who filmed me pishing through Hooka's letter box.

"What do you want?" he said.

I grabbed him by the throat.

"What do you think you're at videoing me with your phone you wee wanker?"

Some Razorlight rock and rollers came piling out of the livingroom.

"Let go of him bozo," they said.

"Okay," I said letting him go. "I want you to destroy that video."

He started laughing and looking at his mates. I kneed him in the balls and brought my fist up to hit him in the mouth as he doubled up.

He keeled over unconscious. His mates stood there looking worried.

"Any of you wee wankers fancy a taste?" I asked them. They shook their heads.

I went through the wee indie wanker's pockets and found his phone. I found the video on it and deleted it. Then I put it back in his pocket.

"See when he comes round," I said to his mates. "Tell him if he's made any copies he'd better delete them too, because if I find out there's any floating around I'll give him some more of the same."

Kinky Mr Spoon

Today Mr Spoon called round to say that him and some of the other residents had heard of my pissing through Hooka and Fat Rab's door. He said they were all thoroughly disgusted and started going over some other crap about decent behaviour and animals.

I'd half a litre of vodka in me at this point so I asked him if he'd like to see the inside of his living room from my living room.

He said he didn't know what I meant.

I asked him if anyone had ever put his head through a brick wall and would he like me to do it for him.

He said no.

Then I told him that I'd let him off this time but he'd best fuck off and mind his own business unless he'd like to wake up some night and find himself dangling over his wife in a suspension harness.

He said I was vile and bared his teeth at me.

I asked him if they were false teeth.

He said they were.

I told him mine were real and unlike his they could break open boiled sweets.

He burst into tears.

I opened the door for him and he hobbled out of it dejected.

That felt great. I stuck on this snoop and JT song on repeat:



I danced round the living room until I boked all over the sofa. I'll clean it up in a bit but I'll have a snooze first.

Fabian Wildman Calms Down

Fabian Wildman boked all over his room today. I only found out because he was too sketchy to clean it up and left his windows open to let the smell out. Silly bastard didn't realise how bollocks freezing it is outside and so I woke up to the sound of his teeth chattering in the next room.

I got him some cough medicine to take the edge off things and he felt well enough to clean it up. Half of me would like to see him take up crack again but the other half is glad he's getting straightened out. Something I should think about myself.

Later in the day he kept listening to an old Nancy Sinatra song Sugartown. It almost made it feel like it wasn't winter, because with the windows closed, the heating on and the fact that it's bright outside you almost forget it's early January.



For the line about dog he kept pointing at Battle Cat and for the line about the Friend he pointed at me. There was no mention of cats so he just shrugged at Gobbolino. Gobbolino didn't seem to mind. He was happy just to sit and lick his fur. Fabian's stopped wearing his zentai and lounges about the house in a dressing gown and tracksuit bottoms, which is an improvement. He can see where he's going for a start.

My fruitarian brother called round today. He looked weary but there was something excited about him too.

- You've got to come with me, he said eagerly, pulling me by the arm. - I want a McDonalds!

I followed him through the streets of Belfast. It was funny watching his large shambling frame all clean and clothed for a change.

He talked excitedly about how he missed meat and was looking forward to "masticating a cow". He kept repeating that phrase.

I wondered what had brought about the change in him but didn't want to ask.

I felt really happy for him sitting at McDonald's as he wolfed down three Big Macs and licked his fingers clean at the end.

It was a really good day up until he boked all over the show. Something to do with his body not being used to meat proteins. He couldn't hold it down. Poor guy. It would have been okay but he boked in some wee kid's hair and his da wanted a fight. I told him if he started anything his kid would be going home with a da with no teeth. The kid burst into tears and started screaming "DON'T HIT MY DAD!"

Poor kid, anyway we fucked off at high speed after that.