A Good Job Interview

I went to my job interview today. It was strangely uneventful. The guy interviewing me was pretty nice. He offered me a tea or a coffee at the start and when it turned out the coffee pot was empty he took me up to the canteen to get one.

The call centre seems chilled out enough. He said that they expect you to get your targets but if you're coming close then they don't mind you having a bit of craic with each other.

I've heard this talk before so I'm not swallowing it yet. I will say that I'm not doing outbound sales again so already it seems a better deal.

I'll find out if I have it tomorrow. Cross your fingers please.

Hot Baby Roy is still off at Gingerella's. It gives me space to wear my drag but it can get a bit lonely. Battle Cat is a great listener but a shit conversationalist.

Cross Dressing Cheers Me Up

So Hot Baby Roy is off to Gingerella's (I assume) so they can make a lovely love next there for a few days. They bought some food for their lovers breakfast while I was asleep and when I got up they had a wee note on the fridge saying help myself. I'd have helped myself anyway. Nice stuff, cinnamon and raisin bagels and cream cheese.

Battle Cat was all licking his lips so I gave him one too. Then with the house to myself I pulled on some tights and a leotard and watched crap daytime TV. The Girl That Stole The Eiffel Tower was talking on Facebook about buying velvet leggings. I'd like to know where to buy a velvet catsuit I'd get some serious carpet burn out of that thing. It'd be so worth it.

Then while I was all writhing around my phone went. An agency I registered with ages ago has me lined up for a job interview for tomorrow. It's in a shitty call centre and I remember how bad I got last time I was in one of those places but it's better than being lonely and skint. At least in there I'll meet people I can either have a laugh with or at and it'll get me money for my velvet catsuit.

My Dreams are Crushed Like Rose Petals in an Alligators Mouth - An Old Chinese Saying (balls)

Today I signed on and I was well sneaky. I didn't tell them about my job interview because if I get the job then I'll keep signing on for an extra month, just so they get fucked in the cash.

I'm making big plans for myself and what I'll do when I get mullah. It'll be barbeques and pink champainge every day and hopefully wet tee-shirt contests in my back yard.

That's what I was thinking all the way to my interview. It was pure balls. It's only for a pish wee shop but I was talked to like this was kay-mart or some such shit. It wore me down. I was told all about their current coffee and newspaper promo and an upcoming Pot Noodle one they were very excited about that was sure to crush the enemy or at the very least bring them to their knees. He screwed his face up like he was wringing out a teatowel as he said it.

I told him that I was a big capitalist and I had plans to make this shop into the money making machine I had dreamed about since I was a little boy.

They thought I was taking the piss and asked me to leave. I asked the guy how he could talk the shite he did and not take me seriously.

He told me I was barred. I told him I'd grow a moustache and come back in here on the rob. I'd steal everything in the shop, even the mouldy bread they try to flog to begging tramps. I was getting quite carried away but I left weeping like Ben Affleck crying over his tattered name.

Then I went with a bottle of pink champainge down to the Lagan Meadows and sat at the mouth of it crying away.

Rock and Roll Stephen was there with The Unicorn Girl. I was in floods of tears saying that I was destined to stay on the dole all my life and become a theiving bastard like that rotten bastard Gerard Taggart.

Rock and Roll Stephen said that being on the dole was rock and roll and that I should be proud.

I told him I didn't want to be rock and roll, I wanted money.

The Unicorn Girl said that I was shallow and materialistic and I told her that she only thought like that because she was probably some wee rich girl from the Malone Road.

She started to cry and I felt bad. But not bad enough to comfort her. I sat and drank my drink as she cried and Rock and Roll Stephen tried to say the letter F with no teeth.

Spring is Here, Winter can Party Down and Go Fuck Itself (see what I did there?)

Even though it was raining when I went out earlier there's something definitely Spring about Belfast. It's just moving into a milder time of year. The breeze isn't nippy, it's melancholy. And people don't have big miserable twisted faces on them anymore when they have to go outside.

With that in mind, this is the song that's making me feel like the winter's over. I heard it an ad the other day, so I'm glad to have tracked it down:



I also had a letter in yesterday saying I'd an interview for a shop this week. Cross your fingers for me, but have a dance first.

Another Job Interview

My day with my protege really helped me yesterday.

I realised that I had to accept who I was and if other people had a problem with it screw them. What's important is that I'm okay with being me.

I thought about this all the way to my interview and I thought that when they asked me what I'd done I'd just say:

"Listen, I used to smoke crack, but now I don't. If any of you have a problem with that then you deal with it. I'm just setting out on my journey and I'm gonna screw up from time to time. If you don't like it then I'll screw your ma, wife and any legal age female offspring you might have."

I felt great. I felt okay being me.

In the interview when they asked me that question it was like a wake up call. That answer would get me nowhere.

"I've been travelling in foreign countries, very far away. There's no way they'd answer the phone to you."

They asked me where and I just rhymed off a load of names I wasn't sure if they were places I'd made up or places from films.

They looked pleased. Maybe I gave them a good laugh. They'd better give me the job. If they were just laughing at me they're getting broken windows and a fucked family.

Old Enemies Really Do Run Belfast

Yesterday I went for a job interview. It was a shitty call centre one. I was sitting in the reception all prepared to lie about my experience and intentions when I was called into a room with non other than The Death Owl and Mr Ponti. Except Mr Ponti wasn't really called Mr. Ponti, he was called Boris something or other.

They had big smug bastard grins written all over their faces when I sat down in front of them.

"So, if it isn't crack headed Tuesday Kid?" The Death Owl smirked. "Want a job do you?"
"That's right," I said trying to brush off the fact that I was sitting in front of two complete wankers that I'd hoped I'd never see again.
"We don't employ crack heads. Our business is serious. However..." the Death Owl said.
I sat waiting for him to finish.
"How is your dog?" said Mr Ponti.
"That's none of your busines," I replied.
"That's not very friendly," said the Death Owl. "Especially since you're wanting us to give you a job."
"Are you going to give me one?" I asked.
"I'll give you something else," said the Death Owl bringing out his majik wand.
He was about to zap me before I took off my shoe and threw it at him, snapping the wand into shite.

Mr. Ponti dived over the desk at me but I uppercutted him, knocking him clean out cold.

The Death Owl started dancing around the room.

"You're so dead," he said, "I'm a yellow belt in Karate now."

He pulled off some fancy Chuck Norris roundhouse but it missed me by miles. I pinned him up against the wall.

"I'll scream for help," he said.

"Do it," I shrugged. "They won't get here before I twist your balls."

He fainted right away. I spat a big drooly spittle all over his face.

Then I stole money from both their wallets. A result of sorts. Though not the one I was hoping for.

Balls Job Interview - No 2

So my interview yesterday went total balls. I just about managed to get the wine off my teeth (it was red) and bit the rest off my lips but I could tell by how the interviewers looked at me that they knew rightly. It didn't help that I was really late and had to run so I was breathless and sweating heavily throughout the whole thing.

First they went over what experience I'd had. I lied out my hole saying I'd done this and that for companies which (if they'd asked) had all conveniently went bust (which they didn't) and gave Fabian Wildman and Nanny Boo Boo as references. At the end they asked me to sign a form which said they could check with the dole to see if my employment records were correct. I told them no because I felt it was intrusive. Either they trusted me or they didn't and in this line of work trust was important. They bought this even less and told me if I didn't sign it they couldn't offer me a position.

I told them my principles were more important but really if I signed that sheet they'd find out it was all balls and the dole would think I'd been doing the double.

Not fucking fair

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!

Balls Job Interview

So Battle Cat is still missing and no one has seen him. I'm just fucked off and missing him. Fabian Wildman is really subdued too. I was supposed to go for my job interview last friday but I called and postponed it. They let me have it today. It went fucking awful. I went in and they asked if everything was okay now. I said no my dog was still missing and you should have seen the bastards. The oul dick leading the interview, who looked like the Leader of The Draughts Club Convention went:

"Oh, was that why?"

With this fucking look on his face like someone had just told him he could lick his own balls (not the bowl - there's no way he'd ever lick the bowl). So he started with the interview and I was already well pissed off and offended and I just gave the shortest simplest answers except when they asked me why I hadn't worked in a long time and I just said I'd been travelling and made up all this shit about where I'd been and what I'd done, now I know how Amerigo Vespucci felt. But then he'd two continents named after him, so being a lying bastard is the way to go.

I don't give a fuck if I get the job. I really don't. I'm off down the Lagan Meadows again.