Tramps Beg For Change On The Streets! Leave Me Be!

It's funny that Hot Baby Roy seems so developed these days (even though disaster threatens to rear its head at any minute). He was always the one out of us that I thought was the one you could depend on to be doing worse than you. I think maybe Fabian Wildman thought that about me, but I've a shit job and a great girlfriend so I've gained a lot more than I started with at the beginning of this blog.

Even though he's meant to be getting off crack for good I thought Fabian Wildman was the one person I knew who had really let themselves go. That was until I came across Panther Man the other day. He was sitting down the back of Queen Street drinking scrounged up cider with Foosted Wotsit Head. I remember he used to wear black velvet and slink around the place giving out faux/obvious wisdom to all the banal fuckers who'd lap it up. It wasn't a bad racket, certainly better than scrounging up change.

They asked me if I'd some money for Buckfast because then they could make Solzenicyn.

I told them there was no cider in Solzenicyn and they gleefully waved a bottle of brown lemonade at me.

There was a time I'd have sat and joined them, another I'd have mugged them for their coppers and silvers, this time I shrugged and walked away down the street.

Am I turning mean? I guess Bowie knows.

No New Buddies :(

The work do was a total wash out. That means it was the first and only piss-up after the first week of training before everyone starts thinking everyone else is a ballbag.

Kissy Boy didn't go to it so I was left making conversation with the rest of them who to be fair all seem terribly nice and straightforward people. I started feeling that maybe I was to them what Hoors Bastard and Captain Cool Bastard were to me.

Betty Blue was there and I wanted to get speaking to her but she was fairly quiet and left after one drink. I thought of going outside to say hello but I got the feeling she was trying to avoid making eye contact with me in the pub so I left her alone.

I left after the second drink and politely tip-toeing my way through intense but boring conversations about the World Cup and the last Big Brother. I told one guy that England didn't have a hope and he looked at me like I'd just offered him a tape of his ma spooning shite in her mouth like it was chocolate mousse and she was a Chambourcy hippo.

"Oh yeah? We'll fucking see about that," he said before fucking off to the toilet.

And that was the only swear word anyone said all night. And it sounded so unnatural coming from him, like he'd only ever seen the word written down.

I went to an offlicence and got a bottle of whiskey wine and went and sat down where the Scabby Nettle Gang used to sit. No one was there, they're either all dead or dried out and in old folks homes. There's just me, moping around like some old man whose buddies all died in the war.

Wino Jo's Crafty Plan

I woke up the other day to find Wino Jo staring at me all bug eyed and smiling.

I asked him what was up and he said that he had fallen in love with this beautiful blonde who lives next door.

I didn't want to break his alcohol/love enlarged heart and tell him that Princess Cheetara was my own one. So I nodded politely.

He told me that this was the thing he needed to help him focus and stay off the bad booze.

This threw up a bit of a dilema because when he sees me walking hand in hand with her along the Lagan Embankment he'll be back under a bridge with a bottle of Scabby Nettle Cider in no time.

He says that Hot Baby Roy is good friends (he rolled his eyes at this) with The Raven Princess Spandex and that he was going to use Hot Baby Roy to get himself close to Princess Cheetara. He sat and sniggered while he talked of how he can't stand Hot Baby Roy and his boring talk of pee the bed mineral and his shit movies but he's been paying him compliments all day and this is his clever plan and when he gets with Princess Cheetara he'll tell Hot Baby Roy what he really thinks of him and spoil his chances, what little ones he has, with The Raven Princess Spandex so that I can have her if I want.

I smiled and nodded because to tell you the truth this is all going to end with someones balls getting kicked up into their mouth and it won't be mine.

Bum Fights

Somehow Wino Jo's old drinking buddy Foosted Wotsit head has found out that Wino Jo is staying with me. Seems he didn't hear that Wino Jo is off the drink and he arrived up at the door with a big three litre Scabby Nettle Gang welcome pack.

Wino Jo was happy to see him but Hot Baby Roy told him to get knotted. That Wino Jo had been dry for a while and was staying dry despite what degenerates like Foosted Wotsit Head tried to do about it.

Foosted Wotsit Head beat the clean shite out of him and showed him that alcos can fight as well as healthy boys anyday, or that was the way Wino Jo put it.

Foosted Wotsit Head didn't give him a severe enough beating though because it wasn't long before Hot Baby Roy was on his feet and in and out of the broom cupboard and beating the shite clean out of Foosted Wotsit head with a baseball bat.

Wino Jo said he just sat back and laughed and he never realised how funny street drunks were until he stopped being one.

I thought this was a shit thing to say about his old mucker Foosted Wotsit Head but since Foosted Wotsit Head fled the city last year when I thought he'd killed Wino Jo in an alcohol fueled rage I patted Hot Baby Roy on the back and told him there was only room for one ginger in this house.

Foosted Wotsit Head has More Dreams

Sorry I haven't been blogging so much recently but my life is now a whirl of Heavy Metal Vomit Parties and Electric Rock and Roll Guitar. So much so that I've been neglecting nearly everything except partying down and licking the bowl. It's great. I went to a party in the Four Winds yesterday and there was mudwrestling ladies there. I have been having so much fun that I've forgotten to take Battle Cat for walkie but luckily racist Fabian is doing it. I've forgotten so much that I heard a rapping at my door the other night and answered it to find Foosted Wotsit Head standing outside crying.

He told me that he's having nightmares about a violent encounter with Wino Jo and he's scared he did something to him.

I told him if he has I'd personally see to it that he gets kicked down a flight of stairs. He started to get edgy and twitchy and told me that he could do violent things to me, he said he's the best streetfighter out of the scabby nettle gang. He has a twitchy wee rock and roll step that he uses to sort boyos like me out.

"Oh yeah?" I said. "Well I've got a Heavy Metal step."

Then I booted him through a double glazed window. Then I picked up a flying V guitar and played a smokin' hot electric solo.