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.

Coming Off Crack

There was a thing on the Stephen Nolan show this morning about the drugs problem in Ballymena. I don't know much about what it's like down there but it has a reputation for it.

I think drugs are a big problem because there's fuck all to do. We have a culture that encourages people to get wasted. If you want to stay sober for a night and do something that doesn't bore the shite out of you, you'd better have an XBox.

For me giving up crack was really hard, and it's something that I'm not sure I could do again.

Part of what made it possible was having Fabian Wildman looking out for me. Whatever kind of a dick he's turned into and even though we don't get on anymore I'll always be on his side for what he did then.

I've tried talking to Hot Baby Roy about how he gave up but he's caggy about it. He doesn't like talking about it, I suspect he bought a load of teen orientated romcoms and wanked and boked for a week.

All I do know is the mayor of Ballymena came across like a clueless dick, too busy fighting his own corner and not fighting against the problem.

I'm not going to tell people not to do drugs, but I'm not going to encourage them either. It's not pleasant having to feed a daemon who looks like Sammy Wilson.

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.

Lick the Bowl

I went round to my metaller brothers last night thinking we were in for a cool time hanging out. When I got there my fruitarian brother and my hot shot banker one were there too.

We all went into the living room, and there was Wino Jo, sitting alive and well, looking washed and shaved.

"Hello Tuesday Kid," he said giving me a firm handshake.

"Wino Jo! You're not dead! I thought Foosted Wotsit Head had murdered you!"

I saw the metaller brother and the hot shot banker give each other a funny look.

"So this is a big party to celebrate you coming back, where were you?"

"I was getting dried out," he says, pointing up behind him. I don't know where he was pointing because there's not that much between here and the sea.

"Tuesday Kid," my metaller brother said. "We're hear today to talk to you about some of your problems."

It was then I clocked too late, that I'd just walked in to my own intervention.

"My problems? What problems?" I don't think they were concerned about my lack of sexy lover girls.

"Doing heroin, living with a heroin addict..."

"I've never done heroin."

"You smoke crack," he shouted. "You need to get dried out."

"Crack is freebased cocaine! And I haven't smoked crack since February. What the fuck is this?"

I looked at the Hot Shot Banker, "You read my blog, you should know that I gave up ages ago, why didn't you tell them?"

"I stopped reading it because you were slagging me off," he said looking sulky.

"What about that phonecall the other night?" My metaller brother asked triumphantly. "You were clearly out of it on something."

"I was drunk, you drink too you fucking dickhead. So what if I get pissed? or sniff the odd felt tip? The reality is none of you really give a fuck, and you're all doing this to act like big men (that's a quote I stole from Jeremy Kyle). How long have you all known that Wino Jo was back? and you knew I was worried, and you never told me, and none of you were there when I did give up crack."

None of them could really say anything to this.

"Fuck this," I said. "I'm going home to lick the bowl."

I stormed out of the house. The fruitarian followed me out. He said I should come back because we hadn't hung out in ages. I told him to get fucked, after all the bunches of bananas I bought him when he was rolling about naked in his garden looking like Jungle Barry.

I wandered down to the train station telling myself that I needed to get the fuck out of Sammy Wilson country, and that when I did get home I was seriously going to lick the bowl.

Texas Hold'em Night

Today I'm feeling better, I didn't mind being sick yesterday because it just pissed down all day. I just sat in bed with my lemsips and played poker on facebook . I didn't realise I was so ruthless, I play a hot handed cut throat style. Fast and loose, that's my style. I don't even watch the cards. I just watch the other players. I bet aggressively in an attempt to win big, and if I lose? So what? The next big win is never far away. I'm glad though, sometimes, that it's not real money I'm playing with.

Fabian Wildman was telling me about the one's at the party. Betty Blue is going to bring a few of them over here some night soon and we'll have another party and I can show them that I'm really cool.

He said Betty Blue didn't know who the girl was (the gurl that is). He asked if I was sure I hadn't imagined her. I told him no, and asked how dare he say that about me.

He said that I did used to sit and have conversations with a daemon that wasn't really there. I told him that our daemons are always there and that one in particular has a seat in Stormont and Westminster, but I didn't want to talk about him.

Hot Baby Roy's Comic Book Creation

Hot Baby Roy called round today. He said since Fabian Wildman was off crack he thought the two of them might start paling around again.

He started talking about how he had started drawing comics and he had an idea for an action hero that was going to make him millions.

He said that it wasn't really his idea but that he was visited by people while high on crack and they told it to him and said he could use it free of charge.

Fabian Wildman (perhaps sensing a chance to change the subject) told him that I used to hallucinate that I was being visited by a daemon that looked like Sammy Wilson.

Hot Baby Roy snorted at this and said Sammy Wilson was a good man and that he wouldn't visit a crackhead. (He neglected to mention whether or not he believed him to be a daemon).

I said I wasn't so sure that they were hallucinations and that Sammy Wilson (or Balkazaler) told me a few things that convinced me they were one and the same.

There was an awkward silence after this and nobody would look at each other.

Fabian Wildman tried to ease the tension by asking Hot Baby Roy what his idea was.

Hot Baby Roy said that he'd come up with this character who was a big strong man and a kung-fu expert and he could kick the fuck out of any woman.

There was another awkard silence after this and Fabian Wildman asked him why women.

Hot Baby Roy said that there were lots of female comic book characters whose only selling point was that they could beat up men, and he was just turning the tables on them. He listed off Barb Wire and Supergirl.

Fabian Wildman pointed out that Supergirl could also fly but he'd give him Barb Wire.

Hot Baby Roy stormed out of the house cursing his head off.

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.

Bows and Arrows, and Felt-tip Pens

Today I woke up to find Fabian Wildman out in the garden talking to Battle Cat. He'd his knife out and was using it to sharpen a long stick. I wasn't pleased about him being round Battle Cat with his knife but I was more interested in what the fuck was doing.

"I'm sharpening arrows to shoot the milk thief in the ass," he said.

"What milk thief?" I asked.

"Every morning I wake up to get my milk from the door step and it's not there, so I'm going to stay awake tonight and wait for the thief, then I'm going to shoot him in the ass with my bow and arrow."

"Fabian Wildman, we don't get milk delivered to us, that's why there's no milk."

"No, at the start of the year this big wonky fucker who looked like Sammy Wilson came round the house when you were out. I asked him if he was a milk man and he said yes, so I gives him a hundred pounds and says, that's for milk, call again when it runs out. We haven't had milk yet."

"Have you been smoking crack again?" I asked him.

He shook his head but then I noticed he had big blue nostrils.

"Have you been sniffing filt tips?"

He nods and giggles at this.

"I gave up crack," he said. "Not everything, so what if I want to relax with a sharpie from time to time. I don't trust a man who don't get wasted; they're never big in the mouth."

I took Battle Cat inside, even though I don't think Fabian would do anything to harm him, off his face or otherwise, I just don't want him to see Fabian when he starts digging a hole in the ground to fuck.

OG Loc of the Holylands

When Fabian got back yesterday I didn't have the heart to give him the summons. he was taking Betty Blue off for a romantic weekend. I don't know how he was able to afford it but he said that since he's quit crack and not stopped stealing he's got a nice wee packet tucked away.

Once he left I locked Battle Cat in the kitchen and went round to The Death Owl's with a bottle of vodka. I sat outside on the doorstep for hours and drank the bottle. I was going to smash the bottle over his face. One of his neighbours came out and asked me what I wanted. I told him I was going to kick fuck out of The Death Owl when he came home.

He told me I shouldn't mess with The Death Owl because he was a wierdo satanist and at night he could be heard cackling and going over a load of mumbo jumbo.

I told him I was friends with Fabian Wildman who used to live there. He said Fabian was a no good druggy bastard. I told him Fabian was off the crack now and that he wants to get a job.

He said he hadn't a job either but that he had bought decks and he wanted to get lethal on them so he could play at a rave club. He asked me if I wanted to hear him. He took me in and played a mix of beats. I thought he was bollocks. He started doing all this freestyle rap which was arse bisuits.

It was all:

"yo fly homies, I'm so lonely
got me a gun, gonna shoot yer mum,
my shit ain't wack even though I'm not black,
what yo ass think of that?"

I told him he should hire someone else to do the rap but the beats were good.

Then he started into another freestyle just to show I was wrong:

"One day I'll be on top-o-tha-pops
living my dreams cause they don't stop
you'll be smokin crack wit yo druggy mate
and whinnin about how yo life ain't great.
Are you digging my fly rhymes homie?"

I told him he was the greatest rapper I'd ever heard. He told me he couldn't wait for the next election because he voted DUP and was going to do a song to help Sammy Wilson get re-elected. I eyed him suspiciously because if he likes that daemon then he may be in league with The Death Owl. I make my goodbyes and thanked him for his knowledge (see raps) and left. Then I went to the shop and got a permanent marker and wrote OG Loc on his front door. Then I put the empty vodka bottle through The Death Owl's front window and legged it up the fucking road.

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.

After my crack ran out I bought a pan loaf and some coleraine cheddar (sustenance is important). With the change I was able to buy some cough syrup. I sat at home swigging from the bottle. Sammy Wilson of the DUP was on TV talking about Nuclear Power and his plans for Northern Ireland. It struck me that Sammy looks a lot like a Daemon. He looks a bit like Balkazaler, except he doesn't have any horns and his face isn't red enough. It could be a disguise. I'm sure Daemons can shape shift if they want to.

I turned off the TV because it was starting to wierd me out. I went into the garden with a cup of tea. It was very rainy. I like a good rain, makes you feel fresh after it goes. I stood under the wee shelter at the bottom of the garden. Hooka came out after a while and we chatted cordially even though it was clear we're still not supposed to be on speaking terms. She said Fat Rab was out, but she still never apologised for Hallowe'en.

I asked her if Sammy Wilson was Balkazaler. She asked who Balkazaler was.
"The daemon your fellah and his wanker mate worship."
"We worship the devil," she said.

I didn't push it. Maybe Balkazaler goes under a different name to them. Maybe he wrong-named me. It reminds me of this oul guy I met in The Crown bar one night. He told me that the fourth commandment

- You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.-

is because God was known to other peoples under a different name and he didn't want them catching on.

It reminds me of this guy who I used to smoke crack with who didn't want his photo being taken. We all thought it was because he was ugly but it turned out he was a police tout. So I suppose it makes sense.

Head melting shit though. I went in and finished the bottle of cough medicine and watched Doctors.

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

Welcome to Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself. It's a story of love, life and licking the bowl. If you're interested in crack addiction, satanism, shoplifting, heavy metal, tight spandex, Hermione Granger, smoking hot guitar solos, call centres, millies and spides, pink champagne, cross dressing, the lessons of the street, big violent dogs, cute puppies, boiled eggs, oral sex, indie music, the Lagan Meadows, Belfast, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland's tallest building (The Obel Tower) or the possibility that Sammy Wilson MP is actually a shapeshifting demon then there's something in here for you.

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