When Ex-Girlfriend's Get Married

Fabian Wildman called round today. He was in a bad way. He was crying and his eyes were all bloodshot from smoking loads of crack. I couldn't make sense of him at first so I let him sleep it off on my couch.

When he came round I took him out into the garden with cups of tea to find out what was up. I thought it was going to be some crackhead weird stuff but he said that Betty Blue was home from Uni and he ran into her. I thought it was going to be a story of them rekindling their old romance (all thanks to the litres of spunk Fabian rubs into his hair) but he said that she told him she was getting married to some guy called Kiss Man.

I asked if he meant Kissy Boy, and he said that was his old name but now he calls himself Kiss Man, or if he doesn't like you, Mr Kiss. Fabian started crying and saying that how come it's always his exes and never him who gets married? I asked what other exes of his were married and he said some girl before he knew me. She wasn't just some girl, their break-up was what started him on crack, or maybe him started crack was what caused the break-up, he wasn't sure. He remembers it different ways depending on what suits, he said.

He said at the wedding he sat outside the church on a motorcycle smoking tobacco cigarettes and playing this song on a ghetto blaster



Except that it wasn't him who made the stupid mistake it was her for leaving him.

He sat crying on his motorcycle throughout the service and when the bride and groom came out at the end everyone threw confetti at them, except him, he flicked a fag butt at them and sped off into the sunset, with the song still playing.

He said he was going to do it again when Betty Blue marries Kiss Man because he's so unhappy about it and he won't stop there, he'll get a job as a waiter at the reception and trash fuck out of the place before anyone even gets there and he'll hide inside the crack and jump out of it at the fuckers and headbutt Kiss Man right in the fucking face just so Betty Blue has to look at an ugly bastard all her married life.

Mother of Bowling Ball is in for The Wildest Kicking After I Finish Work

Today in work I realised I'm the only one left from when I started. The Punchbowl Girl was fired, Betty Blue is back at Uni, even Kissy Boy has fucked off.

I just sit at my desk and try to pass the time being ruder to rude customers.

Funnily enough today I was on the phone to a particularly rude bastard who I call Mother of Bowling Ball. He didn't recognise my voice and started screaming about how our customer service was crap and how he'd come down to the call centre and bust our skulls. I politely calmed him down and talked him through everything I was going to fix on his account (none of which I did - he's so fucking screwed when his next bill comes in).

At the end of the call he slammed the phone down after making a passing dig about how he'd better not have to call us back. I took out a piece of paper and scribbled down his address. I'll be making a wee visit to him after work just to see if he wants to talk tough then.

Get ready for some kung-fu.

Things You Find On The Job Centre Website

And she did accept my kinky ways. So I texted her the other night after I came home from Nanny Boo Boo's and the next day I sat at work waiting for her to text me back. Work is shit at the moment. Betty Blue is leaving at the end of the week to go back to universtiy. Kissy Boy is saying that they're going to go out long distance but I can't see it happening. I'd say Kissy Boy will fuck half of Belfast the week she leaves.

They're laying people off. The contract is having problems, they don't think it'll be renewed. The bosses are so strict. I'm behind on my stats but to be honest if there was somewhere else to leave I'd go. I keep checking the online job centre and there's fuck all but kissogram and part time scrotum lickers.

I went home via the off-licence and bought a bottle of pink champaigne. I was going to go for a long walk up out into the countryside and get pure fucked. Instead I went home and put some figure hugging spandex on. Then I heard the door. I slipped on a scabby old tracksuit over the top and went to answer it.

It was The Punchbowl Girl. She had a backpack on her shoulder. I thought it was probably full of stuff I'd given her that she was going to give back but then I remembered that what I'd given her would fill her balled fist.

"Why did you leave the party?" she asked.

"I was embarrassed at what had been said about me."

"So is it true?"

"Yes, it is," I nodded.

"Well in that case, I've stuff in this bag you'll like."

I invited her in and it turns out she had a big bag of spandex all for me, pink stuff, green stuff, blue stuff, all out of the fetish pages of your da's magazine collection in the roofspace. I'm not going to tell you what happened the rest of the evening other than to make smug sounds that teenagers do in school when they're talking about who did what to whom at the previous night's school disco (or thereabouts).

Wandering around the Lagan Meadows catching up on my thoughts

I spend my weekends recharging. It's not unusual to see me take off early on a Saturday morning with Battle Cat and a bottle of pink champaigne. I walk for hours, even in the heat. I'm burnt after the weekend, pure balls.

I thought about calling up The Punchbowl Girl but I just needed to recharge. I think I'm what they call an introvert. A few hours blethering away to Battle Cat makes me feel all gangsta again. I sometimes think he gets what I'm saying. Or at least he knows what some of the words mean in doggy speak.

                                      "Woof," said Battle Cat.

I told him all about the Punchbowl Girl and about Fabian Wildman. Battle Cat let a woof out of him. I think he missed Fabian after he moved out and he was glad to see him the other morning.

Fabian left while I was at work and didn't steal anything (I think he stole a big block of cheese but I'll not quibble about that). He sent me a text asking if I wanted to hang out down Nanny Boo Boo's. I haven't replied, and part of me thinks I should because if he's coming off crack then I feel like I should help him out.

He was saying stuff about Betty Blue but I don't think he's sorted out enough to be trying to get her back, not when she's long ago moved on and is with smooth talking Kissy Boy. She's going back to university soon anyway.

I think I need to move on too.

Help Me I'm Turning Into a DIck

I'm doing that thing that guys who haven't had a shag in ages do. And I haven't had a shag in ages. I look at every girl as a potential ride. I'm not so bad that I'm giving them numbers out of ten but still.

I saw Nanny Boo Boo last night (no I'm not thinking of shagging her) and she was telling me that she's been reading my blog and she knows that I fancy Fabian Wildman's ex-girlfriend and that she hasn't said anything about it but she thinks it could cause a problem between us. I told her that there already was a big problem between us and that Fabian Wildman smelt of piss and had no chance of getting her back.

She said that Fabian was drinking his piss to try to calm his jitters when he was giving up crack and that so far it hadn't worked but him and her were hopeful.

                                   A better use for a bottle of piss

I told her that Betty Blue was seeing some other guy in the office and that I was a bit jealous to start but they seem to be a bit loved up and that there was this other girl I might have a blossoming romance with. And she asked if it was the wee girl who was going to top herself and I said that wasn't a given and that maybe with my stud loving she'd give that idea up completely and get in my bed.

Nanny Boo Boo said she liked to hear me talking like that because she thought I should be out shagging lots of girls. She says that My Protege has himself a girlfriend now and I'm so jealous because he's obviously been using the street skillz I taught him and it seems to work for him but it hasn't for me.

The Punchbowl Girl hasn't been back at work for a few days and I'm starting to worry I've missed an opportunity for sex. We'll see.

The Old Gang Back Together?

Based on Hot Baby Roy's loved up humane suggestion we had Fabian Wildman round for a few cans the other night. The conversation started boringly and stopped a wee while later. Fabian was trying to be nice about everything, starting with Hot Baby Roy's trendy girl bought new clothes down to how clean the place is now I have money for cleaning products. Hot Baby Roy kept mentioning Hot Firey Love Lady in a way that made it obvious he'd always dreamt of sitting round talking to his buddies about his girl, not in a romantic slushy way. In a casual kind of "we bought scotch eggs the other morning" type stories that have no point other than illustrating he has a girlfriend so beat that.

I tried to ask Fabian a few questions just to see how he was keeping it turns out he's living in a homeless hostel and still smoking crack but trying to give it up. He said he'd been having a smoke with Zim Van Bindle and he'd mentioned I was back smoking it. I said that I'd had a few smokes earlier in the year but that was over with and that crack and Zim Van Bindle could go and fuck themselves.

The room went silent. But we were used to it by now.

Fabian started talking about how he wanted to get Betty Blue back and how he'd seen her out in Belfast some night with some wanker (Kissy Boy by the description) and that he was going to make her his again because they were meant to be, and they were going to be again.

I wasn't too happy about hearing this but Fabian Wildman was shaking and his face was all screwed up and bitter looking. He excused himself and went up to the toilet. I thought he might be crying there but then I clocked he was smoking crack. He came down a wee while later with a big smile on his face and said he had somewhere to be. Then he wandered off out into the scruffy evening cackling like that halfwit Popeye.

Derry - City Of Culture

I went back to work today. Betty Blue wasn't there and neither was Kissy Boy. They were probably at home fucking and getting fucked like rapists in prison.

After work I went into town and bought some spandex. I was walking up Queen St when I came across Rock and Roll Stephen hanging out on the corner with his guitar in his hand.

I asked him what he was doing and he said he was buying some sausage rolls because he was getting ready to walk to Derry. He was saying that Derry was the city of culture and that he was going to walk there with his guitar in hand and get a garret and write some poetry while smoking rollies and walking around drunk and get chicks and feel like a really rock and roll kid. I sniggered a big because I don't think he knows I call him Rock and Roll Stephen.

I told him that The Indie Kid gave me his book of rhymes before he went back to culchie land. And Rock and Roll Stephen's jaw just dropped and he said that The Indie Kid told him he burnt it.

Tears started running down his face and he said after he managed to get control of himself:

"I guess you really were the smoker."

Then he wandered off in the direction of the motorway singing an old out of tune Libertines song.

Sent Home From Work

Today before work I needed some dutch courage so I downed a whole bottle of fizzy pink champaigne in the bath. It felt great and I marched off to work telling myself that I didn't give two flying monkey's fucks about what happened with Kissy Boy and Betty Blue. I believed it too, until I walked out on the floor and saw the two of them sitting beside each other (or in adjacent booths). They were having a laugh and giggling. They saw me and waved me over, I waved back but I didn't go. I went and sat at the other side of the room from them.

Three phonecalls in I couldn't take it any longer, I could feel the alcohol climbing up my throat. Wee bits of sick in my mouth, I swallowed them down but they just came back up bigger. I started to cry.

I ran down the corridor to the disabled bogs, which were thankfully empty and boked all over the place. I sat on the toilet seat and fell asleep. I only slept about ten minutes but it was enough to make me feel hungover.

I cleaned the place up as best I could and went back to the floor.

My supervisor asked me if I was alright and I mumbled something about not being well enough to come back to work, she was really sympathetic and said I should go home and get better, they'd pay me for the day.

I can't believe how nice she was, in the last call centre I worked in that would have been it over for me.

I walked home wondering if it was a good idea to open that second bottle of pink champaigne in the fridge.

Maybe not.

Dick Lick For Breakfast

I haven't been to work since Friday, not because of Betty Blue and Kiss Boy, and not because of someone starting a facebook group for this blog (it makes me feel super cool).

No, I've been off work with man flu. I've just felt really under the weather. I might have had a dodgy kebab on the way home on Friday. I'm not sure. I don't want to say where I bought it from in case it wasn't their fault but I'm not eating out of there again.

I came down this morning to find that there was nothing in the house for breakfast. Battle Cat was fine because we always keep scraps for him in a bowl. But all I had was a couple of suspect looking pancakes. They seemed okay so I toasted them but I couldn't find any butter or jam. The only thing there was to flavour it was a bottle of dick lick sitting on the living room coffee table (which means Hot Baby Roy has been having sex in the living room! Dirty bastard! It's my couch!)

I took a slurp to see what it tasted like. I was alright. I'll go shopping later and get proper jam but Dick Lick was nice with the pancakes. I don't think it'd go nice with toast.

Dick Lick, Yummy Yummy!

And I'm not happy and I'm not sad

Yesterday at work Kissy Boy said that he was going out to get pissed and asked who wanted to go too. Me, him, Little My, Betty Blue and another guy Crusher Bones went out. We went to The Kitchen Bar and queued for ages to get a pint. We took the booze outside because Little My and Crusher Bones wanted to smoke fags.

Crusher Bones and Little My were talking about the riots up in Ardoyne and saying they didn't think it was on but that they chucking stones at the police when they were kids and that it was good crack, they just did it for a chase.

Crusher Bones said that one time he threw a policeman through a double glazed window and the cops chased him but he stopped and fought them all and won.

I thought this was pure balls even though he's a big scary guy but Little My was loving it. In the middle of thinking his story was balls I noticed that Betty Blue and Kissy Boy had slipped off.

I didn't think I'd give a shit but it turns out I do. I like her, and I even though Kissy Boy is a cool guy I don't want him with her either.

How to Avoid The Mess That Is Orangefest

That's me off on the first wee holiday to meself that I've had in donkeys (years - yes it's been years - unless you count going to stay with my brother in Larne, which I don't).

I found out that I'd accrued a few days holiday so I'm getting paid for my wee fucking off. It's gonna be great, just a wee jaunt down south to get the Twelfth out of the way. I went last year and to be honest Orangefest was a big nothing.

I thought I should tell you something about work because I don't much. It's a different place from the last call centre. Work is easier but a bit more boring because of it. Even Little My and Kissy Boy who were in the last place seem different, everyone's a little more asleep. Betty Blue just sits in the canteen and reads. She was reading a book today called The Collector I asked her what it's about and she said a friend of an ex-boyfriend. I hope that wasn't a dig at me. Anyone read it? I haven't the balls to google it incase it was an insult, be gentle but tell me. I want to know.

No New Buddies :(

The work do was a total wash out. That means it was the first and only piss-up after the first week of training before everyone starts thinking everyone else is a ballbag.

Kissy Boy didn't go to it so I was left making conversation with the rest of them who to be fair all seem terribly nice and straightforward people. I started feeling that maybe I was to them what Hoors Bastard and Captain Cool Bastard were to me.

Betty Blue was there and I wanted to get speaking to her but she was fairly quiet and left after one drink. I thought of going outside to say hello but I got the feeling she was trying to avoid making eye contact with me in the pub so I left her alone.

I left after the second drink and politely tip-toeing my way through intense but boring conversations about the World Cup and the last Big Brother. I told one guy that England didn't have a hope and he looked at me like I'd just offered him a tape of his ma spooning shite in her mouth like it was chocolate mousse and she was a Chambourcy hippo.

"Oh yeah? We'll fucking see about that," he said before fucking off to the toilet.

And that was the only swear word anyone said all night. And it sounded so unnatural coming from him, like he'd only ever seen the word written down.

I went to an offlicence and got a bottle of whiskey wine and went and sat down where the Scabby Nettle Gang used to sit. No one was there, they're either all dead or dried out and in old folks homes. There's just me, moping around like some old man whose buddies all died in the war.

Back to Work and Carry On

Since his wildest kicking Hot Baby Roy and Gingerella have been holed up at mine. I'm being nice and keeping out of their way. I get the impression they didn't go to the cops and until I get Gingerella's address Mother of Bowling Ball remains kicking free.

Clarence Pishflap showed up at the door last night saying that he heard Mother of Bowling Ball gave Hot Baby Roy a kicking and now it was his turn. He said that his kicking was going to be even more violence because him and Hot Baby Roy were ex-buddies. I nutted him in the face and told Battle Cat to sick his balls. Clarence Pishflap ran screaming down the street promising revenge. Me and Battle Cat had a good old matey chuckle about it.

Work was strange. Me and Kissy Boy were chatting to Little My in the canteen. She said that Fat Mo and Captain Cool Bastard took the fun out of the last place but now we had the gang back together good time were going to rock and roll. She made it sound like the end of Grease but I remember her licking round those guys when she felt she had to for craic (not crac, I'd hate to see Little My as a crackhead).

Betty Blue sat off in the corner reading a book at lunch. I thought of going over to say hi but for some reason I didn't.

Starting a New Job

The new job wasn't as big a shock as the last time, or not in the same way. First off Kissy Boy is in my training group and Little My is already on the floor. I'm sure there's more from the last place but the biggest shock for me was that Fabian Wildman's old girlfriend Betty Blue was there too.

We did that awkward thing like neither of us spoke to each other but we didn't give each other dirty looks it was like we were both doing that "if I pretend I don't recognise them they might pretend they don't recognise me". We'll see, if any of her mates that I've bumped into are anything to go by she hates my fucking guts by proxy. It's not fair.

Training is easy peasy and we're not in the business of riping anyone off! Yeow!

The Disabled Bogs Are Flooded

The disabled bogs in work is where most people go for humping and pumping or self congratulations, but not today.

When we all got in this morning the disabled bogs were flooded, crying because Kissy Boy had left, Little My said, but everyone looked at the floor embarrased for her when she said this.

Truffle Shuffle and The Huffy Tortoise (who owns the building) were all parading about outside looking angry as fuck. The Uselss Arm Pit (the owner's brother and all round building handy man) was salivating and kept shouting "DON'T CALL THE POLICE!" They did of course and we were all ushered into our work cubicles. Here speculation was rife that Kissy Boy had fucked them up majorly when he went, no one could be sure but London Girl came in with a face like her heart was breaking and said:

"Kissy Boy flooded the disabled toilets," as if he'd done a turd on her living room carpet and rubbed her face in it, which he couldn't because London Girl is ex-TA and could put his head through a wall if she wanted.

Everyone was saying I told you so, and though it probably was him it could just as likely have been everyone else who hates working here. They've no more proof that Kissy Boy flooded the bogs than they do that he licks his own balls, and he's a lucky bastard if he can.

I think The Useless Arm Pit was wanting to go round his house and beat him up but I don't think he could bear himself in a came of Who Comes First?

Bye Bye Kissy Boy

Today was Kissy Boy's last day at work. He said he was fed up with the place and that we should try to get the fuck out of there. Call centres are a dying profession he said. In the future robots would do the work for us and we'd lay around all day getting suntans and working on our beer guts.

Then with a quick fuck you to Truffle Shuffle, he said he was going to say it to his face but he only said it under his breath, Kissy Boy was away, breaking the hearts of every girl on the floor. Kissy Boy said he didn't care because they all looked like they'd been born here and would, hopefully, he nodded at Little My, die here too.

She snuffled a laugh like she thought he was joking but he was dead serious. He has a point, not really about Little My, but about getting the fuck out of here. I don't want to be call centre cannon fodder. Our job is basically a buffer zone. No one ringing in to complain can actually get to speak to anyone who will do anything for them and we are expected to get them off the phone as quickly as possible. It stinks.

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.

My New Buddy

We had a bunch of new starts in work today, they were doing this thing where they sat with us on the phones for a day and we let them listen to us being professional and showing them the ropes.

Whores Bastard was among them for some reason. Me and Little My told the rest of our group about him. Book Boy says they'll let any old shite in because call centres are on the skids and it's better than putting them in jail. We all gave each other "it's not me, it's you" eyes.

The fellah I had was this wee balding eighteen year old who kept rubbing his crotch when he thought I was watching the computer screen. I asked him what his problem was and he nodded over at the twelve foot amazon sitting purring down the phone beside Kissy Boy (how does the lucky bastard do it!)

"I want to lick her legs," he said in the keenest voice I've ever heard.
"You'd have a dry tongue by the time you got to the top of them," I shrugged. I didn't want him to know I was jealous!
"I'd love a little girl of my own," he whinned, he was half in tears and openly rubbing himself down in front of me.
"She's not a little girl," I said. "You'd need a stepladder to give her a kiss."
"She could lift me up," he said. "I'd love that."
"Shut up for fucksake, people are watching us."
"I'm putting in a complaint about this," said the customer.

I hadn't hung up properly. Fuck this I'm so sick of dickheads. I told him I'd his address and if he put in a complaint he'd be getting a visit. I'd spend my last penny on the plane.

Ice Cold in the Face of the Truffle Shuffle

This morning I was called into the manager's office. Not London Girl's wee cubicle but the big head honcho guy. He's a big English squadie whose face wobbles when he gets angry. He was bloody fuming at me today and his face was getting on lick chunks belly when he does the truffle shuffle.



There, that's his fat fucker face. I sat there like Corey Feldman trying to keep ice cold (like Andre 3000) but big chunks of Truffle Shuffle's spit went all over my face. He also can't say his fs and launches into them like an exhausted hurdler smashing himself and the hurdle into shite as he misjudges the jump or his energy or both. Using this technique Truffle Shuffle can throw his breath in the same way a ventriloquist can throw a dummy.

Anyways it was about my being a bad mawfucka on the phones. I'm not getting the sack but I am on a final warning.

Kissy Boy gave me the thumbs up when I told everyone. Ice Cold.

First One To Leave

Rap Superstar quit today. Not in a big dramatic fuck you to the boss or anything. He'd handed in his notice last week and off he went (after emailing us all a shite rhyming couplet or two to say farewell). He's the first from our training group to go (the ones that made it past training that is - 9 left). Didn't last long.

Me and Little My were talking about it when Kissy Boy told us that there was only him and Book Boy left from their training groups and they'd been there only two months.

Seems turn over is really high in this job, so he says they're unlikely to fire me because they don't like letting people go after training them up, because they find it hard to hold to people anyway. Even if they do get cheap bowling at the Odyssey (company perk).

London Girl is still trying to make me sweat but Kissy Boy says that's just her way, he's had five final warnings but knows he's in with the bricks.