Space Metal and a Little Bit of Fame

I was hanging out at Central Station a few days ago hustling for cash when I picked up a copy of GO Belfast for a flick. It gave me a great big smile all over my face to see Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself mentioned as one of Belfast's top blogs. Thanks to journalist Tia Clarke for writing the piece. Sharing the stage were also White Rabbit, Fast Fashion, Slugger O'Toole, Well Done Fillet, Bandwidth Sessions, and 400 Facts. I was pretty happy to say the least and felt like bodypopping all the way home, except I can't bodypop so I prowled the streets looking for someone I knew who I could offer hi-5s to. The first person I came across was Derek Baby from the Sweaty Metallers. I couldn't tell him because he never knew I wrote the blog.

He said that him and the other sweaty metaller (the one that isn't him) are back together in a band and that they're doing really heavy Space Metal. It's orgasmic (that's what he said). He had some on his mp3 player and asked if I wanted a listen. I said yes out of politeness. What followed felt like a repentant rapist who has only just realised he's a scum bag, screaming about his wrong doings right up in your fucking face (through heavy distortian and a chorus peddle).

The lyrics went:

I'm a sex tiger
a sex survivor
from the planet Sex
I come to pay my respects.

I told him it was great then I went home and sat in a chair all evening feeling abused wishing I knew the number for a counselling service.

Goodbye to the Last of The Sweaty Metallers.

Derek Baby called round yesterday to tell me that him and the Banshee were leaving and wanted to know if I'd come to their wee shindig this evening.

I called round ready for sweaty heavy metal rock and roll vomit action but was faced with Derek Baby and The Banshee listening to We've Only Just Begun by The Carpenters. I was pissed off. I asked Derek Baby to get some Motorhead on so we could do some slam dancing.

He gave the Banshee a strange look and walked off to blow up some balloons. Then the party started to take off wild style. The wee indie fuck from across the street called over with his cool palls and they had some skinny jeaned action going on with their perms and flicks. One of them said he was going to teach the others the snap and flick and they all started doing this


(you have to watch about a minute in)

Anyways, once they started getting down some hot babes arrived. Among them was Sandcastles. I asked her how Fabian Wildman was doing and if he was coming tonight. She looked at me and opened her mouth like she was about to say something then walked off to talk to some indie dude.

It was ignorant as fuck. I think he knocked her back because she was sitting out on the street balling her eyes out at the end of the night (ha ha).

I tried to have a rock and roll cool time. Derek Baby came up and started talking about all the rock and roll wild times we had as a band but we didn't even play a gig. He said the hoped Peace Man or Johnny Davro would show up and give the party their approval. I told him I thought they were probably at home rubbing toothpaste into each others boxer shorts.

He said I should watch saying that sort of stuff because Peace Man and Johnny Davro were well liked and I could make a lot of enemies for myself. I said I didn't care. I thought they were ballbags and I've never heard anyone but him give a fuck about them. Everyone else just gets on with their shit and doesn't care.

He got pissed off at this and told me that he hopes Mother of Bowling Ball breaks my legs. I asked him if he knew all about the goat that was killed in his house last year.

He told me to leave. I told him that he was as metal as Richard Gere in a film (wooden in case you didn't get it - he didn't).

First Day On Our Own

Today I played squash with myself in my house. That was until Derek Baby came round and asked me to stop. Then I took Battle Cat for a walk out into the Lagan Meadows but we couldn't get to be alone to talk to each other because of all the fucking joggers. Annoying huffing, puffing bastards.

A New Month - New Prospects

I've been helping Fabian Wildman pack up his stuff. He says we're going to have a leaving party with Betty Blue's arty pals (his now), and it's going suck because I know it'll look like Fabian with the civilized arty types around him and me sitting with Hot Baby Roy and some other degenerate. I'll invite Derek Baby and The Banshee just so I'll have rockstar kudos. I don't like thinking like this because I hate all these social maneuvering dicks I always run into. Giving everyone the same handshake and calling shite stuff "interesting". I'm scared that's what I'm starting to turn into but it's just that I'm sick of not having people to go out with.

I got a letter this morning telling me I'd a job interview with a security firm. I'm not too optimistic about it. It's one of those ones where you have to pay for your training, like I need some dickhead to teach me how to kick someone's ass and put their head through a plate glass window. Still if I get to wear one of those headsets like Britney Spears wears I'll be happy.

The Leader of The Razorlight Fan Club Falls

The Banshee moved in next door today with Derek Baby so Fabian Wildman's pissed off about not being able to move there. He'd been brushing up on his sweaty metal moves and he was looking forward to comparing spandex with Derek Baby and now it's all gone to shit.

He was fumming about the house so I decided to get out and clear my head. I ran into Rock and Roll Stephen who was in a wile state. He said that his girlfriend had left him for some other dickhead who had skinnier jeans and looked more like Johnny Borrell.

"It's not a mark of a man who has the tightest jeans, she must be immature," I offered by way of consolation.

"Nobody's jeans are tighter than mine," he screamed. "I sit in the bath for hours to get them this tight, I'm going to get pains when I'm old."

He started blubbing and saying that he hated wearing tight jeans, he has all these infected ingrowing hairs on his legs and he can't walk properly anymore.

I offered to take him for a beer to cheer him up but he winced and looked even more panicked.

"I can't be seen with you," he screamed. "You're not cool, I need to be seen with someone who's cool to get her back."

I told him it wasn't going to happen. He was now on a long slow slide into uncoolness. The fact that he was using the word cool showed this. He'd be saying "groovy" next and meaning it, and wearing clothes for their comfort.

He fell on his knees and begged me to tell him this wasn't true but I said what he was doing only further showed this was the case.

"You know I used to hang about with you for cool points," I lied to him. "But not now, not now."

I walked away shaking my head while he lay on the street crying his wee indie heart out.

Sweaty Metal Rock and Roll Night

We were woke up last night by screaming and howling about murder and human blood, at first I thought it was a late sweaty metal jam but after I heard someone shout "I was in love with her," I realised that this was surely no sweaty metal song.

I ran next door with Fabian Wildman not far behind me. Half the lights were on in the street. The banshee was howling (she really is very good) and the sweaty metallers were shouting their heads off.

I started thumping on the door, shouting for them to calm down, when one of them stormed outside.

"Tuesday Kid, let's you and me start a band," he said. "We don't need these dicks."

"You're just jealous because the banshee loves me," the other one shouted.

"How? How can she love you more? I was always the most metal out of us," shouted the first one.

"No, it was me," shouted the other one.

"Let's ask Tuesday Kid," they said turning to me.

"To be honest lads, I always had trouble telling yous apart," I shrugged.

"How could you confuse me with this dick," said the first one.

I was saved by the Banshee coming out and asking Derek Baby to come back inside. The second one went back in with her.

The first one stood there shaking with anger.

"Derek Baby?" I said, "what's your name?"

He glared at me and stormed off down the street, tears streaming down his face.