Things You Find On The Job Centre Website

And she did accept my kinky ways. So I texted her the other night after I came home from Nanny Boo Boo's and the next day I sat at work waiting for her to text me back. Work is shit at the moment. Betty Blue is leaving at the end of the week to go back to universtiy. Kissy Boy is saying that they're going to go out long distance but I can't see it happening. I'd say Kissy Boy will fuck half of Belfast the week she leaves.

They're laying people off. The contract is having problems, they don't think it'll be renewed. The bosses are so strict. I'm behind on my stats but to be honest if there was somewhere else to leave I'd go. I keep checking the online job centre and there's fuck all but kissogram and part time scrotum lickers.

I went home via the off-licence and bought a bottle of pink champaigne. I was going to go for a long walk up out into the countryside and get pure fucked. Instead I went home and put some figure hugging spandex on. Then I heard the door. I slipped on a scabby old tracksuit over the top and went to answer it.

It was The Punchbowl Girl. She had a backpack on her shoulder. I thought it was probably full of stuff I'd given her that she was going to give back but then I remembered that what I'd given her would fill her balled fist.

"Why did you leave the party?" she asked.

"I was embarrassed at what had been said about me."

"So is it true?"

"Yes, it is," I nodded.

"Well in that case, I've stuff in this bag you'll like."

I invited her in and it turns out she had a big bag of spandex all for me, pink stuff, green stuff, blue stuff, all out of the fetish pages of your da's magazine collection in the roofspace. I'm not going to tell you what happened the rest of the evening other than to make smug sounds that teenagers do in school when they're talking about who did what to whom at the previous night's school disco (or thereabouts).

Wandering around the Lagan Meadows catching up on my thoughts

I spend my weekends recharging. It's not unusual to see me take off early on a Saturday morning with Battle Cat and a bottle of pink champaigne. I walk for hours, even in the heat. I'm burnt after the weekend, pure balls.

I thought about calling up The Punchbowl Girl but I just needed to recharge. I think I'm what they call an introvert. A few hours blethering away to Battle Cat makes me feel all gangsta again. I sometimes think he gets what I'm saying. Or at least he knows what some of the words mean in doggy speak.

                                      "Woof," said Battle Cat.

I told him all about the Punchbowl Girl and about Fabian Wildman. Battle Cat let a woof out of him. I think he missed Fabian after he moved out and he was glad to see him the other morning.

Fabian left while I was at work and didn't steal anything (I think he stole a big block of cheese but I'll not quibble about that). He sent me a text asking if I wanted to hang out down Nanny Boo Boo's. I haven't replied, and part of me thinks I should because if he's coming off crack then I feel like I should help him out.

He was saying stuff about Betty Blue but I don't think he's sorted out enough to be trying to get her back, not when she's long ago moved on and is with smooth talking Kissy Boy. She's going back to university soon anyway.

I think I need to move on too.

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.

My Dreams are Crushed Like Rose Petals in an Alligators Mouth - An Old Chinese Saying (balls)

Today I signed on and I was well sneaky. I didn't tell them about my job interview because if I get the job then I'll keep signing on for an extra month, just so they get fucked in the cash.

I'm making big plans for myself and what I'll do when I get mullah. It'll be barbeques and pink champainge every day and hopefully wet tee-shirt contests in my back yard.

That's what I was thinking all the way to my interview. It was pure balls. It's only for a pish wee shop but I was talked to like this was kay-mart or some such shit. It wore me down. I was told all about their current coffee and newspaper promo and an upcoming Pot Noodle one they were very excited about that was sure to crush the enemy or at the very least bring them to their knees. He screwed his face up like he was wringing out a teatowel as he said it.

I told him that I was a big capitalist and I had plans to make this shop into the money making machine I had dreamed about since I was a little boy.

They thought I was taking the piss and asked me to leave. I asked the guy how he could talk the shite he did and not take me seriously.

He told me I was barred. I told him I'd grow a moustache and come back in here on the rob. I'd steal everything in the shop, even the mouldy bread they try to flog to begging tramps. I was getting quite carried away but I left weeping like Ben Affleck crying over his tattered name.

Then I went with a bottle of pink champainge down to the Lagan Meadows and sat at the mouth of it crying away.

Rock and Roll Stephen was there with The Unicorn Girl. I was in floods of tears saying that I was destined to stay on the dole all my life and become a theiving bastard like that rotten bastard Gerard Taggart.

Rock and Roll Stephen said that being on the dole was rock and roll and that I should be proud.

I told him I didn't want to be rock and roll, I wanted money.

The Unicorn Girl said that I was shallow and materialistic and I told her that she only thought like that because she was probably some wee rich girl from the Malone Road.

She started to cry and I felt bad. But not bad enough to comfort her. I sat and drank my drink as she cried and Rock and Roll Stephen tried to say the letter F with no teeth.

Unicorns Aren't Extinct Yet

I went down the Lagan Meadows last night with a bottle of pink champaigne. The optimism of Spring didn't last it seems.

There were some people sitting at the mouth of the meadows all having a laugh. I was feeling jealous until I heard my name shouted.

I went over and it was Rock and Roll Stephen, The Indie Kid, Clarence Pishflap and The Unicorn Girl.

The Indie Kid was saying that he was trying to get Rock and Roll Stephen back into singing because he'd written more songs about The Smoker and they needed to be sung.

"About that," I said to The Indie Kid. "I don't like you writing songs about me."

"They're not about you," he said. "They're about Fabian Wildman."

"How the fuck are they about Fabian Wildman?" I said.

He didn't get a chance to reply because The Unicorn Girl sat bolt upright and started offloading about what a bastard Fabian Wildman had been when he was living with her and her mates. He started smoking crack and tried it on with loads of girls behind Betty Blue and broke poor Betty Blue's heart, and that I was a bastard by proxy.

I told her that I hadn't seen Fabian Wildman in months and that I liked Betty Blue and I felt bad about what he did, and for some reason I found myself half defending him. I told her that he goes through phases where he fucks everything up but that he helped me give up crack and I'll always thank him for it.

She kept on saying he was a bastard and I told her that Betty Blue used to take me clothes shopping in the second hands and that I hoped she was doing okay even though Fabian Wildman had been a fucker to her.

Clarence Pishflap who'd been strangely silent up til that point said that I was upsetting The Unicorn Girl and that him and her were going to go.

The Unicorn Girl said she was sitting where she was.

Rock and Roll Stephen broke the tension by asking me if I knew anything about how to get false teeth. The Unicorn Girl didn't speak to me for the rest of the evening but it's progress of sorts.

How To Feel Sexy In Public For Transvestites

Today it feels like spring and it just doesn't seem so desolate walking about Belfast. I took Battle Cat for a walk and I'd my best new togs on (I figured since I've been fired I mightened be able to afford anything decent for a while) and I was getting smiles and hellos from many a lovely lady even though I've big puffy eyes from all the boozing I've been doing. I figured since I've nothing against getting into the old drag from time to time I shouldn't have anything against using moisturiser, especially since I dehydrate myself with pink champaigne on a pretty much daily basis.

Sexy Carlos and his gang were grinding it up in the Botanic Gardens in acceptable spandex, I might do the same. I think all male joggers are just men who want to wear their spandex in public. They have every right to do so, and I might join them, although I'm not sure you can get leopard print men's joggers. Could take the sewing machine to a leotard, I suppose.

Pain

At the back of the carpark on Tomb St where sk8rkids huff paintball pellets and drink Solschenizyn (brown lemonade, schnapps and a dash of Fanta), was Rock and Roll Stephen, the Unicorn Girl and Clarence Pishflap.

"This isn't your usual place," I said to them. "Your gang don't roam here, what's the story?"
Clarence Pishflap spat and said to the Unicorn Girl that my mate Fabian Wildman was the one who broke her friend Betty Blue's heart.
The Unicorn Girl looked at me and said that I should maybe leave because she won't speak to friends who hurt other friends.
I told her I hadn't seen Fabian Wildman in ages and that I was a free man and could go round Belfast wherever I wanted.
Clarence Pishflap said that him and the Unicorn Girl were off and they left, Rock and Roll Stephen looked sad so I offered him some pink Champaigne.

He blew air out his flapping lips and said that he didn't need to teeth to tell me that Clarence was putting moves on the Unicorn Girl and that I was out of the picture.

I told him I hadn't seen or even thought about the Unicorn Girl in months and that my neighbours wore leotards all day long, and sometimes so did I.

"I know," he said sadly, and I remembered how he lost his teeth.

We sat in silence and I fell asleep, when I woke up he wasn't there. It was only me.

Tuesday Kid The Teacher - The Final Lesson

I was about to leave the house last night with my bottle of pink champaigne when the door went.

Standing outside looking worried and more haggard than a sixteen year old should was My Protege. I wondered if he was now on crack like I had been and I was wary of weapons he might be carrying.

"This is for you, can I come in? It's so cold," he said reaching out a Terrence Ternt D'arby CD to me. "I know all the gays like him."

I invited him in and told him that I wasn't gay and hadn't heard of Terrence Trent D'arby but I'd give it a listen. With song titles like Let Her Down Easy I'm in no rush.

He said that he'd been trying to change his ways since our last talk and he was sorry about what he did with the book I gave him but he had to act cool infront of his mates but he was trying to find new mates to be cool with, till that day he had to walk the thin line between how to be cool and how to true.

He tried to pull a profound face and I didn't want to tell him that to be true is to be cool. That would be my final lesson but it's one he should be taught by life, not by me.

I told him to go round to see Nanny Boo Boo because him and his gang had upset her with their wild boy behaviour. He said he would, I told him I'd be calling by from time to time.

He wandered off into the night to someday lick the bowl.

How to Make The Tastiest Pancakes

This morning I was coughing up chunks of green stuff. It's all the walking about drunk in the cold, Wino Jo says, he says he's an expert in this stuff. It seems his being back on the drink was a temporary thing as he's not been drunk since that night.

There were streaks of red in the coughed stuff and I'm not sure if it's blood or colouring from the pink champaigne. Either way none of the others in the house seemed too bothered and I just struggled out of bed and made my way to work via the off-licence and custom house square. I'd hoped that some pink champaigne would give me strength to get through the day but I've been sitting shivering in the disabled bogs since I came in.

No fucking pancakes. Book Boy says it's just a commercial holiday and that the marketting ploy that starts every year after Valentines Day is sickening. He was near in tears when he said it but I think that's because he doesn't have a sweetheart or anyone to make him pancakes either.

Bottle of Pink Champaigne for My Lonely Travels

Last night I took my bottle of pink champaigne and went down to the Lagan Meadows, I wandered far, farther than I've gone with Battle Cat, out past Drumbeg.

I was lonely drunk, crying sporadically and shouting out insults because I knew no one could hear me, only the occasional bat flew past my face.

Then the bottle emptied and I knew it was a long walk back to Stranmillis for more, I could hear people down the meadows all the way back, people in the distance laughing, or the odd shout between friends, but all the miles I never met anyone. I never met anyone.

Pink Champaigne and the Pleasures that will be Mine.

I've taken to sitting at the masonic compasses at custom house square now in the mornings before work, as you know. I've also taken to downing a full bottle of pink champaigne before I can face going in. It makes things just bareable, though I had tried vodka the first morning and all I did was stagger to work (falling a few times) and spend the morning boking in the disabled bogs. I was sent home, I said I had food poisoning. In a way I suppose it's the same thing.

Champaigne isn't cheap though I buy the cheapest bottle I can find. I like it to be pink, it's tastier and it is a soft colour that reminds me there are things in this city that aren't bleak and trying to slap you into your place, wherever that is.

I'm staking a claim for my home now, so sometimes in the morning I sit in the bath and have a shave, whether I need it or not, and snuggle up to foamy bubbles and a bottle of pink champainge. If I have it in the morning then I don't drink one at the masonic compasses.

I will one day drink this pink champaigne in a bath full of lovely ladies and the radio blarring Snoop Dizzle, for now it's all I can do to keep from falling asleep in it, that's why I never drink a second bottle in there.