Message to the Cops

If you don't drive the fuck off from the front of my house by the time I've finished typing this I'm off out to slap the bake off ye...


...Ye were fucking warned. What the fuck are you looking at?

Homeless, Like Kurt, who was deep

I'm in the house watching the Nirvana night on BBC4, or to be honest I've only just turned it on. Right at the point where they're saying that Kurt Cobain used to be homeless. Something I never knew.

I've been homeless myself, but never for long, never more than a few weeks before I found somewhere to stay. If I had to spend a few nights under a bridge or in a park or even in a casualty waiting room (like Cobain did) I always managed to get myself a sofa in someone's house, or crash out in a cupboard at a party.

The first time I spent a night out was during some shitty rioting that happens in Northern Ireland from time to time. I was coming home from a party at a friends house (I was only a teenager at the time by the way) when I heard more noise than I should have heard at that time of night in that area. I turned a corner where I could see a lot better a crowd of angry bastards charging up the street in my direction. That was my cue to turn and run like a mutherfucker, not in the opposite direction, back the way I came (at a right angle to the rioters route). I managed to get to a bridge that I had to cross on my way to school. It was in a remote part of town, and not lit, so I tucked myself under it to sleep. It was stupid for a lot of reasons. It's a bad idea to put yourself in an obscure area far the fuck away from anyone, but since the town was getting fucked up it was the best of nothing but bad options.

It wasn't the last time I slept under a bridge, or that bridge, but I hope that part of my life is over with, unless the economy sends everything to shit again, and in that case there's always cat burgling and crack.

3 Years and counting

So Saturday was my three year anniversary. I'm not sure where to go with the blog any more or even if I should keep posting. It's mostly because I'm no longer a lonely crackhead living in Belfast.

I still sniff felt tips from time to time though. Mostly I just get high throughout the day on coffee, and come down in the evening with alcohol.

Still, it's nice to make it to the big old three years and know that my blog has outlived Hamsters, Guppies and unfortunate pets (I'm not sure why this is nice, especially because I'm sure all those deaths involved crying children). Ho hum.

Shoplifting

Being a vain sort I often look to see what sites link back here. I've found a really good one recently with a great piece on shoplifting.

I've shoplifted loads in Belfast. It's a great passtime. I never really did it for fun or kicks or whatever. I mostly did it because I needed food, or clothes, or money for crack. You might argue that there's a difference in need and want but that's for another time.

One of the most interesting things about theft is how society looks at it and both how and who gets punished most severely for it. An example being the riots in England in August that started in Tottenham and spread throughout the country.

What was interesting about what was taken was that it was mostly status items (shit trainers and expensive electrical stuff). The riots were wrong, sure and you can say that the rioters deserved to be punished. Where this falls down is the fact that our politicians stole from us (as we found out during the expenses scandal), and as yet I think only one politician has gone to jail for this and even then he was released shortly after. In August a man was imprisoned for four years for posting some shit on facebook encouraging people to riot (there's no evidence that this post actually led to any rioting).It seems that for people of elevated status theft warrants a less severe punishment.

The issue again gets blown out of proportion when dickhead tabloid journalists start frothing at the mouth about it, and the fact that the majority of their readers are also dickheads means that although the public see an issue as serious, it's the public themselves which are hard to take seriously (unless they're busting into your house to give you a kicking - which happens from time to time - though not to me).

Even looking at the headlines on a tabloid newspaper makes me feel like I'm being shouted at by an incredibly thick person who thinks I agree with them.

That's why when I go back to a shop in Belfast that I've stolen from I feel slightly smug and walk around thinking about how I got away with it, and how here's me and who's going to catch me now. (You see I was never caught and I don't do it anymore - so anyone who doesn't like it can suck it).

Here's a link to the article. It refers you back here to share my glory days of shoplifting if you go down far enough, so you can go on a never ending loop between our websites if you fancy it.

I Can Whoop Some Ass

I was going to post up the funny crap inside The Suicide Diaries but instead I went for a walk with a nice bottle of pink champaigne down the Lagan Meadows. I should really describe the Lagan Meadows to some of you after all this time. It starts in Stranmillis in South Belfast and cuts an upside down V all the way out to Lisburn (not a fucking) City. It's great because it feels like you've walked for miles out into the countryside but you're never really further than a mile away from some houses.

So there I was down there when I ran into Rock and Roll Stephen, he was balling his eyes out and saying that The Indie Kid leaving was like Pete and Carl going their seperate ways.

I said that he'd be happier wanking off cows, he was a country boy really and all this roley smoking posturing was fucking him up. He didn't know how to do one and now he can't remember how to do the other.

He told me I better get out of here because an enemy was on the way. He fixed me a steely stare and spat on the ground.

Suddenly Clarence Pishflap and the Unicorn Girl came into view.

"Hello Clarence Pishflap and The Unicorn Girl," I said.

The Unicorn Girl gave me a big hug and called me the truster of poems. Clarence growled. I asked him if he was still wanting to beat Hot Baby Roy up and he said that he was going to meet up with him at a later date and knuckles were going to bleed.

"My knuckles will bleed," he screamed before falling to the ground screaming.

"Stop acting like a fucking wanker," The Unicorn Girl shouted at him. "I've told you it doesn't fucking impress me."

She stormed off up the path, he stood up and ran after her shouting apologies.

Rock and Roll Stephen laughed. It was nice to see him happy. He laughed as he walked down into the meadows singing Libertines songs to himself. I don't think he'll miss The Indie Kid all that much.

Still Just Me and Hot Baby Roy for his Party

I went down to visit Nanny Boo Boo today to ask if she wanted to go to Hot Baby Roy's party and she said that she didn't. She tried to be nice about it but she gave me a bottle of vodka and said to say happy birthday to him for her.

At least she gave him something which is more than I'll do. I've no money and I'm scared of going on the rob. I think I've lost my nerve for it but I have to get him something.

I asked her when her birthday was and she said that it had been last year when she went to London. I asked her why didn't she tell me and she said that if she had I'd have asked her her age and we'd have fallen out but she knows I'd have said happy birthday and then we drunk loads and forgot about it.

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.

Ice Cold in the Face of the Truffle Shuffle

This morning I was called into the manager's office. Not London Girl's wee cubicle but the big head honcho guy. He's a big English squadie whose face wobbles when he gets angry. He was bloody fuming at me today and his face was getting on lick chunks belly when he does the truffle shuffle.



There, that's his fat fucker face. I sat there like Corey Feldman trying to keep ice cold (like Andre 3000) but big chunks of Truffle Shuffle's spit went all over my face. He also can't say his fs and launches into them like an exhausted hurdler smashing himself and the hurdle into shite as he misjudges the jump or his energy or both. Using this technique Truffle Shuffle can throw his breath in the same way a ventriloquist can throw a dummy.

Anyways it was about my being a bad mawfucka on the phones. I'm not getting the sack but I am on a final warning.

Kissy Boy gave me the thumbs up when I told everyone. Ice Cold.

First One To Leave

Rap Superstar quit today. Not in a big dramatic fuck you to the boss or anything. He'd handed in his notice last week and off he went (after emailing us all a shite rhyming couplet or two to say farewell). He's the first from our training group to go (the ones that made it past training that is - 9 left). Didn't last long.

Me and Little My were talking about it when Kissy Boy told us that there was only him and Book Boy left from their training groups and they'd been there only two months.

Seems turn over is really high in this job, so he says they're unlikely to fire me because they don't like letting people go after training them up, because they find it hard to hold to people anyway. Even if they do get cheap bowling at the Odyssey (company perk).

London Girl is still trying to make me sweat but Kissy Boy says that's just her way, he's had five final warnings but knows he's in with the bricks.

Getting Fired From Work

I might be getting fired from work for telling someone to smell my ring (when I came in drunk). London Girl called me into her cubicle (if she was a proper boss she'd have an office) and gave me a big officious talk about our company and how it value's customer service. I just nodded and said that it wasn't me. She said I'd find out later in the week if she was going to take it any further. If she does she might find that I've taken down some customer credit card details for when the money runs out, but by then I'll be long gone.

Up her hole.

With that Hot Baby Roy was waiting outside my house when I got home from work today. He was all excited and grinning so much I asked him if he was in pain. He said no but while he was waiting for me my neighbour went running into her house and he couldn't wait to get to know her.

I asked him did he not meet her at my birthday. He says he was too wing-wanged to be thinking about pussy but that he spoke to her while she was getting her keys out and that she teaches aerobics, which means she has lots of leotards and he'd seen Buns of Steel loads of times so he'd have lots to talk about with her.

He was salivating at the mouth so to calm him down I asked him what he wanted.

He asked if he could stay at mine for a few days because this gang was going to kick the shite out of him.

I couldn't refuse, he'd everything (including a set of shite DVDs) in a paper Primark bag.

How to Get on the Internet at Work!

I can post at work now because Book Boy showed me a way of getting on blogger. See on Internet Explorer everything like this is blocked but if you use Firefox nothing is blocked. The tech dudes are a bit pish like this. Anyway Firefox is hidden away in some folder so the bosses just don't seem aware it's there. He said to keep it to myself because only a few of us know about it and if the boss finds out shit will fly.

Speaking of the boss, there's a lot of them about and I don't want to dump them all on you at once so I'll talk about my team leader London Girl. London Girl is from London and always bangs on about it, how it's bigger than Belfast and how Belfast closes down at night but London never stops. Little My said if she doesn't like it here she should fuck off back there. Book Boy says this is racist but Little My says it's not because London Girl is white. I think Book Boy has a point though. I think London Girl might be alright outside of work but in work she likes to crack the whip. I think in a past life she might have been a slave driver and maybe that's why she's experiencing racism in this life.

Getting To Know My Cellmates

Now Hoors Bastard is gone I've been able to start getting to know the rest of the group.

It isn't pretty.

While they're are no Hoors Bastards they mostly seem to have problems of their own.

Only today Little My was sitting talking about how at night she also works in an off-licence. She said this like it was something to be proud of, working all the time. I was close to telling her I spent the past year sitting on my hole smoking crack but I didn't want to be the new Hoors Bastard so I just nodded and said: "that's nice."

That's starting to be my new catchphrase, there's another guy who works there and he says he's the baddest rapper in the game, he started spitting out all this shit about shooting people and rolling up the Ardone with the crips. He keeps trying to talk in rhyme. Little My thinks he's a genius. He thinks she looks like a gnome. It'll all end in tears, hopefully both of theirs.

Nanny Boo Boo meets My Fruitarian Brother

Nanny Boo Boo called round today. She said she hadn't seen me properly since she'd got back and she told me how cool it was in London she went on the London Eye and it makes the one at city hall look like a ferris wheel. I was glad she'd had a good time there.

She asked me who did the suspicious DVDs belong to. I told her about Hot Baby Roy and his concussion.

"Is this a new project of yours?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You're always taking in these strays, they don't thank you for it, except for this one." " she said winking at Battle Cat, who thumped his tail off the floor and woofed.

I asked her if she'd seen Fabian Wildman. She said he called round once but he was strange. He seemed a bit through other. She thinks he's a bit up his arse these days. She gave him some madera cake and he didn't touch it or his cup of tea.

My fruitarian brother called round and things were very strained. Nanny Boo Boo was very polite and he sat their looking like the wanted to talk about something with me.

I knew things would erupt if I left the room but I needed a pish so badly I didn't sit more than five minutes with the two of them. I hadn't finished in the bogs when I could hear them arguing from the top of the stairs. Nanny Boo Boo was saying that they were bastards for holding an intervention for me when I'd been sorting myself out for ages. The Fruitarian was trying to defend himself saying he'd just went along with it rather than planned it but Nanny Boo Boo wasn't buying any of it, she told him that he should call round more on social visits and not just when he has something he needs sorting out. Like running round getting frostbite on his hairy arse sitting under pear trees. Oh yes, she new all about it and him boking in a wee kids hair and nearly getting me into a fight.

When I came down the Fruitarian said he had somewhere he had to be and went with a big red face on him.

Hot Baby Roy Stays In London and Searches in Time for Jack The Ripper

I let Hot Baby Roy stay over because the doctor said he was concussed. This meant he needed someone to watch him and make sure he didn't die. So I sat up and woke him after every couple of hours. This was bad because he said that he couldn't go to sleep without a wank and I told him he wasn't allowed to wank in the house. The next day I woke up to find he'd made me a big ulster fry to say thanks and bought Battle Cat some Pedigree Chum (which even though it's expensive it gives him the runs).

Hot Baby Roy seems to have changed his tune a bit. He was telling me that he was away in London for a week visiting his sister. He said that he spent a lot of time down in shoreditch because he'd read a book about there being prostitutes there and William Burroughs was a time traveller and he was the real Jack the Ripper.

I asked him if he managed to fuck any prostitutes. I was only joking but he took thick and said that he romanced them and bought them flowers and read poetry to them. Then he fucked them.

Then he said that as a big thank you he was going to go and get Wild Child and we'd watch it tonight!

I didn't want to upset him because he looked a sorry state with his big swollen face and his ginger hair with streaks of blood through it. When he tried to smile I felt sorry for him and thought he looked like he didn't deserve his beating, even though he probably did.

British and American Sign Language - Who Knew?

Yesterday I was so bored I tried to learn sign language. I went on some tutorials on youtube and learned the weather but I think it's crap when I meet people and they talk about the weather. It means they've fuck all really to talk about.

So I learned the first verse of Candle in the Wind (The Marilyn Monroe version, not Princess Diana). Then I realised it was in american sign language so I thought fuck that. Then I realised that I didn't know any deaf people so even if I did know sign language I'd still have no one to talk to.

Then I remembered that in Bratz one of them had a deaf friend and then I started to wonder why Hot Baby Roy hasn't called round and the times we hung out he must have been here looking for Fabian Wildman instead of me.

Then the door went.

It was some dick selling raffle tickets. I didn't buy one.

Looking after Nanny Boo Boo's Place

Today I thought it was about time I cheered up. So I went and got a lend of Mr Spoon's lawnmower. Not because I wanted to mow my lawn but because I wanted to huff the petrol out of it. Only the rotten old bastard never told me there wasn't any in it. So I just waited a few hours and gave it back to him (after breaking the blades) and telling him he'd broken blades and I couldn't use it.

He looked pissed off but then again so was I, so fuck him.

I took Battle Cat down for a walk to Nanny Boo Boo's because she's gone to stay with her nephew in London for the week and asked me to water her plants. I let myself in and found a big bowl of sausages and a note saying "help yourself to wine". I got pished on her wine and listened to her LPs. This one is fucking rocking, it reminds me of Jive Bunny:

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

Welcome to Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself. It's a story of love, life and licking the bowl. If you're interested in crack addiction, satanism, shoplifting, heavy metal, tight spandex, Hermione Granger, smoking hot guitar solos, call centres, millies and spides, pink champagne, cross dressing, the lessons of the street, big violent dogs, cute puppies, boiled eggs, oral sex, indie music, the Lagan Meadows, Belfast, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland's tallest building (The Obel Tower) or the possibility that Sammy Wilson MP is actually a shapeshifting demon then there's something in here for you.

Click on newer post and read on.