Clarence Rubs His Crotch

I was sitting in the living room today when I heard a knock at the door. It turned out it was Clarence. I didn't know whether to let him in or not but one of the upstairs windows were open and I could see him eyeing it up. He walked over to the drainpipe and started pulling at it, like he was seeing if it would take his weight.

I opened the door to him.

"Nice drain pipe," he said cheerily.
"Aye, I like it a lot," I said. "What can I do for you Clarence?"

He stood their rubbing his crotch and asked me if I'd the number for the Unicorn Girl.

"No, I don't," I said. "You should leave her alone, her heart is pure, yours is mucky."

He snarled at me and snapped that he wanted a sweetheart and it was time Clarence stepped into the limelight!

He said that he would take her shopping and they could drink vodka in the park and she could rub his crotch when he was too tired to wank. It was all he wanted and I shouldn't try to stand in his way. Or he would figure out a way to destroy me.

I told him to eat his own fuck and leave me out of it.

He said he could prove he was nice. I should hang out with him and I'd see he just has a bad rep.

I said okay, maybe me and him could go to the pub quiz Hot Baby Roy runs down at the Rangers Supporters Club on Sandy Row.

He snorted at this and said Hot Baby Roy did nothing of the sort, that he wanted to run a pub quiz and he often talked at great length about how running his own pub quiz would be his one true dream, just like Clarence wanted a sweetheart, but that no one was going to trust a jittery fool like Hot Baby Roy with such responsibility. So Hot Baby Roy has been lying to people about it.

I told Clarence that stories like that are the reason he wasn't getting the Unicorn Girl's number, the real reason is that I fancy a go at her myself.

Hot Baby Roy is a Dirty Bastard

Today I walked down by the Lagan with Battle Cat. There were all these big burly women in rowing boats competing against each other. All these people rode alongside the river screaming at them to go faster and win and all that stuff. They nearly ran me and Battle Cat down. I called them fuckers and they still didn't take notice.

Fabian Wildman's mate Hot Baby Roy was standing down by the riverside.

"Hello, Tueesday Kid and Battle Cat," he said.
"Hello Hot Baby Roy, why are you watching the boat race?"
"Because these ladies are fine, fine, fine!" he screamed. He didn't take his hands out of his pocket. I could tell by the bulges that he'd cut a wee hole in the lining of his pockets so he could play with himself while he watched.

I felt awkward so I asked him how he was doing. He said he'd quit the crack and that he now hosts a quiz night at the Rangers supporters club on Sandy Row. No one there knows about the crack and he'd like to keep it that way.

I'd say none of them really want to know about the pervy trouser thing either but hey. Even big burly weightlifteer rower ladies have a right to wear tight lycra and grunt and groan in public without being treated as sex objects.