No Job and No Dog

I just found out I didn't get the job, and there's no sign of Battle Cat. I've ran out of places to look, all I can do now is just call the dog warden and repost my gumtree ad.

Fuck this!

New Job on the Horizon

Despite the credit crunch I've managed to line myself up with a job interview for later in the week. It's with a swanky hotel in Belfast (though I'm not going to tell you which one in case someone who works there might read this). The only problem is that I don't have any nice clothes to wear to the interview.

Clothes have been a big problem for me for a while now and to be honest with you anything I would like to wear is too dear. Fabian Wildman suggested charity shops but I told him I wouldn't feel right shoplifting out of a charity shop. He told me I could apply for some grant through the dole to get clothes for an interview so off I raced back down to the dole only to be told that there was a grant but it took weeks to get sorted, anyway fuck that. They said I could have a crisis loan, even though I was saving those up for some day when I really needed a good smoke of crack but now I don't do crack I got £35 and hit the charity shops. There was fuck all I liked. It would all have left me looking like a tramp at a 70s wedding. I went home in tears knowing I'd never get the job but Betty Blue was there and told me she gets all her best clothes out of charity shops and she'd come with me and get me nice clothes.

Off we went and after a few hours in Botanic I came away with a snazzy suit and some nice shirts and even a tie. The only thing I've left is the shoes which I know where I can knick them from.

I had a few bob left over so we went for a coffee in Clements. Betty Blue says she hates Starbucks even though the one in Botanic is nice. It was nice hanging out with her because the only time I see her is with Fabian Wildman and we've never really chatted much. Turns out Betty Blue is an art student at UU on York St. I said it all sounded cool even though I don't really get all the dead sharks and that stuff. She said that she hopes her and Fabian Wildman will get married one day but not until she finishes her degree. I know for a fact that Fabian Wildman doesn't believe in marriage and even though he doesn't understand it he likes to think he's a communist.

He says he'd sooner lick the bowl than get married. I'd do both if I'd a girlfriend and was serious about her because I love to lick the bowl.

The Coolest Crackhead in Belfast

Hooka and Fat Rab went on holiday today. I don't know how since both of them are on the dole. Anyways, Hooka came round to ask if I'd look after Gobbolino. I said yes, like the sappy bastard I am.

Anyways I thought I'd let Gobbolino and Battle Cat play but I had to watch them because Gobbolino is still very tiny, and he could fit easily in Battle Cat's mouth, but Battle Cat was nice and they had lots of fun.

Fabian has started being twitchy and it's starting to do my nut. He gave me his knife to look after at the start of the week but that hasn't stopped him being a scary bastard. I watched him this morning have a conversation with himself in the mirror about how he was the coolest. He went on to list all the things that made him the coolest including rollerblading and shoplifting. I didn't know he rollerbladed. It kind of explains his love of spandex.

I got so stressed out about looking after him and the animals and the thought of Hooka and Fat Rab in some fancy hotel together (probably more like some shit B and B in Portrush) that I went and pissed through their letter box. That'll be nice for them to come back to.

I went in the house and told Fabian Wildman about it and he says milk would have been better because it smells worse than piss after it soaks in.

I went round later and poured a bottle of milk in. Fuck them.