I'm Mr Blue

I know I haven't been posting much and it's a kind of excuse that I've been depressed but it's an even bigger one that nothing much has been happening. I sometimes go looking for a blog post when I don't have one. I pick up bits of paper I find lying on the ground hoping that there's something funny/interesting written there but that recently I've found nothing but boring scribbles that I can't really read.

I spend a lot of time online filling in job applications that I never recieve replies to. I wank a lot, and cry a bit too.

Today Hot Baby Roy told me that it was his birthday next week and he asked if he could have a party here. I said yes but I don't know who he'll invite most people I know either think he's a pervert or want to give him a kicking (most of them think both).

I thought this year was going to be fun. I'm blue.

My Protege Teaches Me

I took the Death Owl's money and went and bought a bottle of wine and sat down at the Lagan Lookout at Stranmillis.

I couldn't believe I was here on my own, with no job and pish all money. How the fuck had this happened?

How had I not found a job? or why wasn't I living somewhere nice? Or had a girlfriend? Cunts like the Death Owl seemed to be winning why I was a busted loser.

My protege came and found me. He told me he wanted a new lesson.

I asked him what could I teach him? In truth I'm a terrible teacher, and that's usually okay for my terrible students (he's not the first I've given knowledge to) but it wasn't okay for him.

He told me he thought I was badass and that he could learn how to be cool from my coolness and he knows that I've made mistakes and that's cool because he wants to learn from them too.

"Okay," I said. "Here's your last lesson: do as I say, not as I do," then I boked all over myself and burst into tears.

He gave me a hug and told me I was a great role model because I taught him that it was okay to cry if you were a badass.

A big snotter came out my nose. He didn't mention that.

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.