Walk Like a Panther

I took my thoughts about my enemies and went for a walk down the Lagan towpath with a bottle of pink champaigne. I'm going to have to be cautious. I could get major fucked if I have to fight all my enemies at once. I made up my mind to get absolutely bolloxed and scream long into the night but all the joggers fucked it up for me. Everytime I just about started to slot into my own personal space they came prancing out of nowhere on their soon to be fucked for life knees.

After a little while they fucked off, but when they did Panther Man came sliding along the path. He's called panther man because he used to wear all black velvet (except his shoes) and sit at parties spouting platitudes like "most murders are committed in most people's minds," all while scabbing roll-ups and drinks off people. Last I'd heard he'd fucked off to Dublin for University but I think he's been kicked off his course.

He's changed. Where he used to be the sort of charming rake who could easily entice some lady to look after him financially and sexually he now dresses in roaster burnt fleeces and looks like the sort of fucker who'd come round your house to fix your tv and lift a few of your CDs when you went to make him a cup of tea.

"Tuesday Kid," he says. "Do you have any tobacco? I have some stories to share."

I told him no and that I needed to get focused for a big fight. He said to me "All fights are won before either side meets."

"Very fucking profound I'm sure," I said to him.

He slinked off along the towpath and came walking back an hour later with a black eye. He didn't stop that time.

Captain Cool Bastard Doesn't Live up to his Name

Today it's nice and bright and I'm on late shift so I'm a wee bit happier about everything, I've sent off a load of job applications and though they're for shit jobs I'm sure the change of scenery will be nice, so yeah I'm being all upbeat and possitive and part of that is because I've a new person in my life to look down on:

Captain Cool Bastard.

I think Captain Cool Bastard thought up the Captain Cool part of his name himself. He's been telling stories since I got in at 11. They've all consisted of fights he's won and girls he's fucked. None of them are from Belfast even though he's lived here his whole life (as Book Boy managed to worm out of him). But by all accounts he's fucked more than Cassanova and there's sure to be loads of Captain Cool Bastard Bastards running around Dublin, Drogheda, Dundalk, and anywhere else the Dublin Airport Bus stops at. Captain Cool Bastard says he goes down there once a month at least looking for sex and he always gets it. I sounds seriously more like some sort of rapist confession than anything else but Captain Cool Bastard says it always happens in hot steamy nightclubs like in that Usher song - Love in this Club.

I asked him why he never pulls in Belfast and he says that he likes Exotic foreigners. By this he means Irish Girls.

Fat Mo and Hoors Bastard have already taken a shine to him and the three of them have agreed to go on a rape (sorry pulling) spree at the end of the month.

Happy St. Patrick's day

Last night being St. Patricks there was a party on at the sweaty metallers' house and the whole street was invited except for me and Fabian Wildman. He doesn't really care though because he's fast turning into some low rent Ian Beale. It's bollocks.

I decided not to go round and trash the party so instead I got me a few cans and went down along the Lagan Meadows for a melancholy day. I hadn't gone far when I spotted a torn page lying on the ground.

Dear Diary

Today most totally rocked. I was at a party and all the gang were there. Julie, Peter, Chris, Cathy and Simon. That total bitch Cathy was there and she had been a total bitch about me pissing myself in her dad's taxi when I was drunk, everyone laughed at me and they weren't really talking much. I didn't like it. Chris threw himself down the stairs in an attempt to look cool (as if) and it almost worked until he broke his wrist (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) and he went to causalty in tears. What a wanker? Eh, Peter and Julie had a big fight and Simon started boking all over himself in the middle of it, we all have a good laugh. I called him a fat wanker but nobody laughed. I wanted to go out and make fun of him but Julie started to cry. Peter left the house in a bad mood and I got to give her a big hug.

I wish he was you, she kept saying. The back of my forearm rubbed against her breast.



there it all ended. I wondered who wrote it. Anyways I almost didn't notice a girl sitting beside me on the bench crying.

I asked her what was wrong and she spoke with an American accent. She said she had come here because she wanted to do St Patricks in Ireland, and when she found cheap deals for Belfast she just thought that was the Protestant name for Dublin. She was staying in the International Hostel on the Donegal Road and she thought it looked nice but that there was rioting outside and all these people spitting at her and saying mean stuff about the Pope. I took her in my arms and rocked her gently. Then I took her back to my house for a hot fuck. She left at 5am to get a plane back to the states. After the hot love I gave her I bet she could just fly there herself on the intensity of an orgasm.