Work is Hard Work

Sorry I haven't been around for a few weeks. My new job has been taking up a lot of my time (it and Mafia Wars).

The new job is not much to write home about (or write here about). I'm stuck in a training group of boring bastards. One fat fucker walked in on the first day and said: "Has anyone here got the last name Campbell?" this wee guy says "Aye, me," then the first tool says: "Yeow! Soupy." What a whoors bastard. It's enough to make me want to start smoking crack again.

I haven't had time to see anyone and I've been too pissed off to write this up. Was getting a job the right decision?

It gets worse, because I started after a certain date (not saying which one because I don't want anyone at work knowing I write slabbery things about them online) I won't get paid until the end of next month. Fuck that. It seems I'm going to have to go on the rob or die!

Coming off Crack

Me and Fabian Wildman smoked all our crack with Betty Blue on Friday and as bad luck would have it couldn't get any yesterday. I went round a few dealers today but still couldn't get any. So I bought some cough medicine on the way home.

I came home to find Fabian Wildman smeared across the wall in his Zentai muttering and screaming about how "tongues fly" and "my body slides" and hissing like a snake.

I told him to cut it out or he wasn't getting any cough syrup. I don't like the idea of him all sketchy tonight with Battle Cat. If he scares the pup with his knife I'll kick him out, and I really don't want to do that because I'm actually liking having him around. He doesn't pay any bills but he buys most of the crack, he's tidy and he helps out with Battle Cat. Most of all I like him around because he's good company. He doesn't follow me around, he does his own thing a lot and when we do hang out he always has something interesting to say. Of course when he's coming off crack it's a different matter.

"Let'ssss kill the ssssssatanisssssst," he hissed as he slid slowly down the wall and slithered across the floor to get some cough syrup. "I'll sssssssssstab the Fab Rab mutherfucker."

"No, no killing, I want to get that fucker a different way," I said passing him the bottle.

I'm going to let Battle Cat stay up in my room tonight. He's started catching on that the newspapers are for shitting on, so hopefully I won't have a big mess to clean up tomorrow. If he shits on my carpet I'm dragging it into the alley and setting fire to it.

As for Fabian I only hope I can get my hands on some crack tomorrow.

I woke up this morning to find Battle Cat had indeed shat all over the kitchen floor. Fabian Wildman was tip-toeing round it making his breakfast. He was smoking and I wasn't sure if it was a spliffy or a straight.

"It's just tobacco," he said holding it up after catching me eyeing it.
"Maybe we shouldn't smoke anything round him, you know, he's only a puppy, don't want to hurt his lungs."
"Yeah, no bother," he said taking his food and going off into the livingroom with it. My food really. I need to have a talk with Fabian about what he pays and what he needs to start paying. I'm letting him live here rent free after all, even though I'm having my rent paid for me he's still pocketing whatever money he gets.

I clean up Battle Cat's turds and have some breakfast of my own. After that I took him for a walk. He's a lively wee thing and we got down as far as the Lagan Meadows. It's a nice place to take him even if it was a bit cold.

While we're there I talk to him about all manner of stuff. Mostly about Hermione and how I'd like to be her boyfriend but she doesn't exist so I can't, and how I'd thought Hooka was a bit like Hermione because she did magic too, and how she was going out with Fat Rab and how I'd hoped him and The Death Owl would go to jail so I'd be in with a chance but that didn't happen and how I'm going to get him to maul The Death Owl when he's older.

He just woofed along pleasantly, even though he hasn't met any of these people and probably can't understand English it was just nice to have someone to tell this stuff too and get it off my chest.

I woke up last night and looked out the window. There was a big wind blowing I knew that Battle Cat must have been freezing out in the back garden. When I got down to the back door the poor wee thing was scratching at it, so I let him in. He was wagging his tail all happy once he got into the heat. I got an old wicker chair in the corner and took his blanket out of his kennel and let him curl up all snug in it. He seemed so happy. I went back to bed feeling all good about myself and woke up to find that the wee bastard had shat all over the floor. I couldn't really blame the dirty wee bugger so I cleaned it up and got him some scran.

I tried house training him, which meant spreading a newspaper in the corner and pushing Battle Cat onto it whenever he needed to take a dump. It didn't go too bad but the book I've been reading says it can take up to six months to properly house train him, so unless I sit up with him all night I can expect to find the kitchen floor covered in shit again tomorrow morning. This isn't so bad. It's a tiled floor so at least, unlike carpet, I can clean it thoroughly.

When Fabian Wildman woke up me and him had a good smoke of crack while the puppy played out in the garden. Fabian is taking his time to settle and he seems a bit more at peace now he doesn't live with The Death Owl. I'll leave it a while yet but when Battle Cat starts getting bigger I want to ask Fabian for a photo of The Death Owl because I want to stick it on a mannequin and teach Battle Cat to attack it. That way whenever he meets The Death Owl he'll know what to do.