Sweaty Heavy Metal Rock and Roll Vomit Party Memory

I think the only other thing I have in common with Kurt Cobain is that I was in a band (briefly). A sweaty rock and roll heavy metal one. I was pish at singing. I was really in it for the metal pussy, because there were lots of heavy metal vomit parties.

I remember one in the Four Winds where there were mudwrestling ladies. The whole house was getting down to slippery mudwrestling fun and dope smoking, when a stone came through the front window. I suggested sending the wrestling ladies out to some break legs but the guy throwing the party said that he had to call the cops about it, or his insurance company wouldn’t pay to get the windows fixed. It all sounded very unmetal.

We burnt loads of toast to try to cover the smell of dope and sat in the living room waiting for the peelers. The place was a mess. The mud from the makeshift wrestling arena in the centre of the room had spilled out all over the white carpet. With all the mud plus the roaches and red wine that had been thrown on it, there was nothing you could have done with it but throw it out. Most of us were covered in mud, a few of the guys had black eyes from the mudwrestling. I caught a look at myself in the mirror. I was stoned out of my boat. My face was so pale I could have blended in with the radiators.

‘Hey, it’s the peelers,’ said a stoned guy with black eyes in a stoned drawl, as the door swung open and some cops came walking in.
‘Been making some toast?’ one of them said. He could have said more. It didn’t help that the guy who just spoke gave the peeler a stoned in-on-it grin.
The guy who owned the house was sweating like a horse during sex and making nervous jokes, while trying to take the police out into another room.

‘I’m going to write a song about this,’ I said, half joking, but one of the metal girls gave me such a look, like this was the coolest thing she’d ever heard anyone say, that I started enlarging on it, talking about a riff I had that would suit it and this cool drum break and all that sort of shit. And yes, with the peelers still in the house, I got me some metal pussy.

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.

Fuck George W. Bush (still!)

I'm sitting with a pish hangover after being woken up by my barking dog at 8:00. I took him for a wee walk and fed him and now I can't get back to sleep.

I got a postcard from Rock and Roll Stephen (who's doing quite well for himself in Derry from what I've heard [not just what he says]), it said: Fuck George W Bush. That wasn't the design of it, Rock and Roll Stephen wrote that on it. Some people still hate that guy (Bush, not Rock and Roll Stephen) for what he did.

I think some people leave a legacy behind them that make people want to boke every time someone brings them up in a conversation. Angry people talk a lot about them just because it gives them an excuse to be angry. It must be a horrible feeling.

I didn't read the rest of the postcard. I will later when I'm not so tired any more. I'm going to have some crunchy nut cornflakes and go back to bed.

So I was in a music video

So I was in a music video. I'm in around 2:48. Blink and you'll miss me. I'm there, or I was, you'll know what I mean when you see it.

Take it away, BeeMickSee:



Wasn't I great?

How to removed a bottlelox security tag

I was at Nanny Boo Boo's a few weeks ago just catching up . She was in a bad mood, because she'd bought a bottle of her favourite vodka from Sainsburys and they'd forgotten to remove the security tag. So off she came home thirsty and unable to drink the lovely drink.

I told her she should have called me and I'd have come round right away, and prepared ! told her that I'd nicked bottles of stuff with the bottlelox still on it in my wilder days and taking it off was as easy as taking a piss down an alley when you get caught short. She said that it wasn't quite for easy for women as it was for men. I told her that removing a bottlelox was.



Basically getting the lock off is a piece of piss as long as you have a drill, which Nanny Boo Boo didn't. After hoaking through her old junk cupboard the only thing I could find was a wee hacksaw which I used to saw around the bit you drill. It took a little longer than the sleek job the guy makes of it in the vid but afterwards we settled down to vodka ice and nothing else because Nanny Boo Boo had drank all her mixer in bad temper and neither of us could be arsed walking to the shop for more.

Sk8board Kids in da bogs

I know I haven't posted in a while but I told myself I'd stop telling embarrassing stories about people I know. This one luckily is just about something I saw yesterday that convinced me there is still a lot of bad ass in Belfast.

I was in draining cyclops in the toilets at Victoria Square yesterday. Some sk8ers came in as I was washing my hands. One of them was still on his board and did an ollie and grinded along the metal urinal before jumping back down again.

Some guy in there gave them a dirty look and they buggered off (kinda spoiling their badassery a bit) I just wanted to put the funny sk8er move here for all to see since I didn't have a camera on me and even if I did pulling it out in a men's room would have made me look like a peeping tom pervert muthafucker.

I just think it's great that someone pulled a badass move with a sk8board. I was beginning to think that mankles and such shite were destroying the teenage rebel spirit.

Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging Night

Hot Baby Roy called round plastered last night. He brought a DVD of Angus, Thongs and Perfect Snogging.

"If you like Hermione Granger you'll love this!" he foamed at the mouth as he reached for the DVD player with big greedy hands and greedy eyes.

"Is there magic girls in it?" I asked him.

"Not that kind of magic," he said, "but magic all the same."

As it turned out, it was a film about teenage girls learning about growing up. I didn't like it in the way he thought I would but it seemed a touching wee film anyway, in the end it just bored the fuck out of me. The girl was a grumpy teen who talked like a bucket of melted ice cream. I fell asleep at the part where she goes to get snogging lessons and woke up at the end as the band in the movie (The Stiff Dylans), play a pish song.

There were some bits Hot Baby Roy wanted us to watch twice but we politely (but firmly) said no. After it finished he asked if we fancied seeing Bratz. We told him that we were tired and it could wait til another day but he said one of the girls had a deaf friend. We told him he should bring it another time.

He also kept making hints that he's about to get kicked out of his flat, oh dear.

When Ex-Girlfriend's Get Married

Fabian Wildman called round today. He was in a bad way. He was crying and his eyes were all bloodshot from smoking loads of crack. I couldn't make sense of him at first so I let him sleep it off on my couch.

When he came round I took him out into the garden with cups of tea to find out what was up. I thought it was going to be some crackhead weird stuff but he said that Betty Blue was home from Uni and he ran into her. I thought it was going to be a story of them rekindling their old romance (all thanks to the litres of spunk Fabian rubs into his hair) but he said that she told him she was getting married to some guy called Kiss Man.

I asked if he meant Kissy Boy, and he said that was his old name but now he calls himself Kiss Man, or if he doesn't like you, Mr Kiss. Fabian started crying and saying that how come it's always his exes and never him who gets married? I asked what other exes of his were married and he said some girl before he knew me. She wasn't just some girl, their break-up was what started him on crack, or maybe him started crack was what caused the break-up, he wasn't sure. He remembers it different ways depending on what suits, he said.

He said at the wedding he sat outside the church on a motorcycle smoking tobacco cigarettes and playing this song on a ghetto blaster



Except that it wasn't him who made the stupid mistake it was her for leaving him.

He sat crying on his motorcycle throughout the service and when the bride and groom came out at the end everyone threw confetti at them, except him, he flicked a fag butt at them and sped off into the sunset, with the song still playing.

He said he was going to do it again when Betty Blue marries Kiss Man because he's so unhappy about it and he won't stop there, he'll get a job as a waiter at the reception and trash fuck out of the place before anyone even gets there and he'll hide inside the crack and jump out of it at the fuckers and headbutt Kiss Man right in the fucking face just so Betty Blue has to look at an ugly bastard all her married life.

Space Metal and a Little Bit of Fame

I was hanging out at Central Station a few days ago hustling for cash when I picked up a copy of GO Belfast for a flick. It gave me a great big smile all over my face to see Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself mentioned as one of Belfast's top blogs. Thanks to journalist Tia Clarke for writing the piece. Sharing the stage were also White Rabbit, Fast Fashion, Slugger O'Toole, Well Done Fillet, Bandwidth Sessions, and 400 Facts. I was pretty happy to say the least and felt like bodypopping all the way home, except I can't bodypop so I prowled the streets looking for someone I knew who I could offer hi-5s to. The first person I came across was Derek Baby from the Sweaty Metallers. I couldn't tell him because he never knew I wrote the blog.

He said that him and the other sweaty metaller (the one that isn't him) are back together in a band and that they're doing really heavy Space Metal. It's orgasmic (that's what he said). He had some on his mp3 player and asked if I wanted a listen. I said yes out of politeness. What followed felt like a repentant rapist who has only just realised he's a scum bag, screaming about his wrong doings right up in your fucking face (through heavy distortian and a chorus peddle).

The lyrics went:

I'm a sex tiger
a sex survivor
from the planet Sex
I come to pay my respects.

I told him it was great then I went home and sat in a chair all evening feeling abused wishing I knew the number for a counselling service.

Nanny Boo Boo Is

Today I went down to Nanny Boo Boo's to ask her to Fabian Wildman's leaving do. When I got there she was icing a cake. She asked me to go into the cupboard and get a nice bottle of the two for one pinotage out.

"Are we bringing this up to Fabian Wildman?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Me and you are going to drink it and eat this cake."

I opened the wine and asked her why'd she bake a cake for me.

She said that Fabian Wildman's been visiting her a lot. She said he's worried about me. He thinks I'm depressed. He says I sit about the house watching videos most of the time. Plus she said she likes to bake cakes and eat them but she's putting on weight because she doesn't usually have anyone to eat them with, so today I was having half.

That's weird Fabian Wildman telling Nanny Boo Boo this, he's usually so good at telling me things upfront.

I told her I did sit around watching videos but that I wasn't depressed. I told her that I'd like a sweetheart but that I didn't know any hot girls. That I'd got myself a protege, and I was going to exploit him while teaching about how the world is full of bastards (namely by being a bastard to him).

She asked me why I couldn't be nice and help him avoid the pitfalls of growing up.

I told her that if I did this then he'd think every time he fucked up that someone would come along and help him out, whereas people normally see you making a balls up as an opportunity to sink the boot in you.

She says that's not strictly true. She said I had her and Fabian Wildman and Battle Cat to help me out and that they all get help from me, so everyone looks after each other and it's nice.

I told her that this wasn't always the case, and I spent a few lonely years just pulling myself out of scrapes or laying low until the dust settled, but that I was glad other people had my back.

She said that I should help this kid out and that he maybe needs a break.

I told her that it was the wee guy who was sticking bangers up cats arses.

"Oh?" she said. "In that case, kick him so hard in the arse you break his tailbone."

Then we drank both bottles of wine and ate the rest of the cake and Nanny Boo Boo kept telling me about ideas she had for how I could maim and damage my protege, as they came to her. Some of them were right and fucked up and I've no doubt if we'd never met and she still had Battle Cat he'd have eaten someone by now.

Nominated

I'm just coming on here briefly to boast about being nominated for two irish blog awards. Thank you to whoever nominated me. And since I'll probably not win I'll give you the speech I'll been busting to deliver since I was first nominated back in 2009:

"I keep it real. Life on the streets is tough. Fuck tha police, fuck tha government, politicians man fuck em too. Fuck advertising companies and people who photoshop models on magazine covers. Blah blah blah and thank you to Hermione Granger for keeping me company on those long lonely nights."

I'd probably not say the half of this. I'd just mutter something about how nice it is to win and get very drunk back in my seat.

Congrats to everyone else nominated.

 If you are wondering what's been happening with me I'll give you a little bit of info:

Hot Baby Roy and Hot Firey Love Lady have moved in together (in Leeds).

I'm sharing my bachelor pad with two dogs (Battle Cat, of course, and Ma-Mutt [Good King Thumpo's dog. No one has seen Good King Thumpo since he went to make his snuff movie]).

Fabian Wildman is still doing the rounds and we see each other from time to time.

Nanny Boo Boo is alive and well.

My protege has started catering college and sometimes brings me cakes to stuff my face with.

And as for me and the Punchbowl Girl, I'll keep you guessing.