The Battle for Westminster - South Belfast 2010

I've been feeling like a total dick today. I can't believe I've been back smoking crack again. I'd been quit for so long and all it took was meeting one prick on a bus to fuck the whole thing up.

That makes me wonder if I can trust myself around things like that in the future. I don't want to be around it but I'm always going to bump into people from the past who smoke it. Is that going to fuck it up for me every time?

Hot Baby Roy was in his bed when I left the house and he's away out now I'm back in. I don't know if he hit it off with The Raven Princess Spandex. I'd guess not but I'll say why another time.

I actually did vote. I'm not saying who I voted for but I will say that it wasn't UUP just because they're connected with the Tories. I know some of my readers might vote Tory, that's your choice and your right so let's not fight about it.

On my way to the poling station I bumped into Hoors Bastard, who I used to work with. He was smiling and happy and proud and said that he'd just voted DUP. He started saying that he was working in a different call centre now and that they were wanting more staff, and that I should come and join in the sum craic, Little My and Captain Cool Bastard and all the gang were there. Good King Thumpo, he'd been there to vote for TUV but there was no TUV candidate in South Belfast so he was sitting outside crying and saying that he spoiled his vote and that the other parties were only a shower of bastards.

Hoors Bastard said he should have voted DUP.

Good King Thumpo started shouting "Fuck the DUP", over and over at the top of his lungs.

Hoors Bastard told him that he'd better shut his hole or he'd be getting a haymacker in the face.

Then they started rolling about on the ground like a pair of lovers. Both of them passionate men, one of them already defeated with nothing to lose but the other with the chance of victory and the drive for success. I'm not sure who won but I fucked off to vote and went home a different way.

Threats from Occult Forces

Yesterday was when I had that conversation with Hot Baby Roy about us stopping crack. He was really disappointed and said that he'd been planning some good crack smoking times and he was gonna get me and him initialled pipes but I told him no way hose.

He brought out a few rocks of crack and said it'd be a shame to throw them away. I said okay then, for old times sake.

We sparked up the pipe and had a good old smoke of the crack. We were having a great time, and Hot Baby Roy said: "Wouldn't it be great if it was like this all the time?"

I thought so, but then I thought a bit harder and I saw us in about ten years time, still on the dole, wearing the clothes we were wearing then with not a tooth in our heads. I told him it would break my heart.

He said that I was killing his buzz so he was going to go and see if Hot Baby Roy on crack could have his way with The Raven Princess Spandex. I told him to remember that no-means-no because the last thing we wanted was the cops to show up when we were doing crack.

He rolled his eyes and fucked off.

Five minutes later the door went. I thought he'd forgotten his keys but when I answered it Balkazaler was standing there bearing his fangs.

"I wondered if I'd see you this week I said. You're not getting my fucking vote."

"Shut up you crackheaded fucker. What are you doing smoking that shit again?"

"I'm just having a bit for old times sake, anyway I'm bored, like it's any of your fucking business."

"Listen I'm a powerful daemon! I can see the future and you need a clear head."

"Why? Is this something to do with The Death Owl?"

"Never mind him, this is much bigger than him. You stop smoking that shit or I'll kick your balls up and out your mouth."

"I was quiting anyway after tonight. You're still not getting my vote you peeler tasched fucker."

"You're not registered to vote in East Antrim," he reminded me. Then he walked to the front door, unfurled his horned scaly wings and flew off into the night.

Don't Let Sammy Wilson Take Charge of the Province!

I had to go for some first aid stuff for Hot Baby Roy, it's the least I could do, especially since Wino Jo was shaking his head and cackling to himself. Ungreatful fucker.

I took Battle Cat for a bit of a dander because snow or no snow, he needs exercise. Once we were out in it it was baltic but we struggled on and made it down to the Lagan. It was frozen and the snow was lying on top of the ice. We birds were landing on it and waddling about.

Some kids were going to go down onto it but I told them not to because the ice mightened be that strong and they'd have fallen through. That's my second good deed of the day done.

The newspapers were plasted with all the Robinson scandle and rumour has it that Sammy Wilson might take over if Robinson goes, and not Nigel Dodds. This is worrying. I used to get visits from a daemon that looked like Sammy Wilson, and I'm not sure it wasn't him!

If we have a daemon in charge I'm getting the fuck out of here before Northern Ireland starts looking like the cross between a snuff movie and ghostbusters.

Don't say you weren't warned.

Would You Fuck Iris Robinson?

We sat round in work today discussing who'd fuck Iris Robinson. It turned out no one would apart from Kissy Boy, and it wasn't because he was a big DUP fan but more that he said she had a certain way with her, a sparkle in her smile, but when the girls were away he said that she was a dirt bird and he wouldn't touch her, even for £50000, even if he'd a few bottles of champaigne in him that she bought for him and she was wearing "proper gear" underneath one of her tacky overpriced Lisburn Road "boutique" affairs (no pun intended).

He was getting a bit worked up about it, and I started to suspect he'd only been telling a half truth about not wanting her, but he was saved by an interuption from another member of staff Fat Mo. Fat Mo doesn't say much but he had plenty to say about us slagging off The First Lady. He said that she was the third most important woman in the UK after The Queen and Sarah Brown.

No would could argue against this because no one could be arsed explaining politics to Fat Mo. He went on to say that to think about Iris Robinson was a woman not to be thought of in a sexual way and only a scumbag like Kirk McCambly would do something as outrageous as this. His eyes went all fucked up when he said this like he could almost not comprehend how the guttersnipe had dared to even speak to her.

Little My said that McCambly was a cutie and Book Boy says he looked like the sort of kid people slagged off at school for fucking citrus fruits. Probably, none of us could be sure.

Crack Memories

I once pished myself on a bus, when I was high on crack. I'm saying this because I'm strongly tempted to have some because Fabian Wildman is giggling about all over the house high and happy and I'm starting to miss it.

Part of me thinks I should kick him out because much as he's bad for me.

Anyways when I pished myself it was on a bus back from my metaller brother's house in Larne. Balkazaler (the Daemon who looks like Sammy Wilson of The DUP) was sitting beside me at the time refusing to give his seat up for an old age pensioner, when I heard a dripping sound.

"I think you've spilt your Lucozade," he chortled.

"Oh crumbs," I spat looking up into the wee old woman's face. "If you tell anyone about this I'll find you."

Then I got off at the next stop.

When I looked back at the bus window the old bitch was cackling away to herself even though she was now sitting in a puddle of my pish.

When faced with my demons I clothe them and feed them

Fabian Wildman took Battle Cat out for a walk earlier and I'd a good smoke of crack. That's when Balkazaler called round.

I made him a cup of tea and he told me that he knew I had poured milk through Fat Rab's letter box and that if I didn't want any trouble I was to turn "the dog and The Death Owl's old flatmate," who he knows I've been hiding, "over to him."

I told him that Battle Cat and Fabian Wildman were both out but that when they came back no scummy Sammy Wilson look-a-like was taking them with him.

He looked pissed off. He always looks pissed off though because he's a daemon.

"No offence like," I said, giving him a matey smile.

"None taken," he said huffily.

"Are you Sammy Wilson?" I asked.

"From the DUP?" he asked.

I nodded.

"If only you knew the half of it," he laughed to himself.

"Why don't you shave your peeler tash?" I asked him.

He told me to fuck off for this.

I asked him why he only called round when I was high on crack. He said I was boring when I wasn't high.

I told him he had better leave.

He did, but he warned me there'd be trouble.

I told him I didn't gives a fuck because I just wanted to smoke my crack pipe and play with my puppy dog.

He said he was doing me no more favours and gave me the fingers before waddling over to his motorbike and riding off up the street and disappearing in a puff of smoke.