How Do I Get Rid of Leotard Parties Next Door?

Fabian Wildman left half a bottle of real piss in my bathroom. I don't know why he didn't piss in the toilet? He's used it many times in the past. I threw it out in the alleyway but then I became paranoid about a wino finding it and drinking it so I put it in the Leotard Girls' bin. I hope it attracts rats to their house because I'm sick of being woken up in the night by their shit leotard parties that I'm never invited to. They had one last night that ended up with a mad scrap in the streets (two spides digging each other in the mouth). The leotard girls stood out in the street cackling away.

I stuck on the TV and watched retards sleeping on Big Brother. Lucky bastards, they don't have spide fuelled leotard parties going on nearby.

Foosted Wotsit Head is Running Scared

I went looking for Foosted Wotsit head today because I was supposed to be taking him to a hypnotist to find out about his violent dreams involving my missing brother but he was also no where to be found. I asked around and the last anyone saw him he was wandering around Sailor Town telling people that he needed a ride out of town, and some fat bastard truck driver apparently gave him a ride to Lisburn and no one's heard from him since.

Battle Cat was also out enjoying woofing and pissing and shitting in the Lagan Meadows when a man told me he'd arrest me for it, it was a big hard lump of shite so I kicked it in the Lagan. He said that would do no good that he'd be fining me for this. I told him if he was going to fine me I was going to let Battle Cat bite people and said he'd have the dog put down. I asked him if he'd like to be my friend because the only reason he could be such a wanker was if no one had ever been his friend and he said that he had all the friends he needed, he just liked being good at his job and I told him that I believed in civil disobedience and that if he wanted to give me a fine he didn't know my name or address and if he followed me home I'd have no choice but to follow him home and he'd not want me knowing where he lived because he wouldn't sleep a wink at night and for good reason and that I'd put a rat in his letter box or a poisonous snake in the middle of the night and he'd need to use his commission from the fine to pay to get ride of them or ask a friend to suck the poison out of his ball bag when the fucking thing bit him mutherfucker.

He walked away in tears. I shouted fuck the system but then I realised he might have called the cops and I ran like a mutherfucker.

Lonely Mrs. Puddinghead

Today I had to go down to the dole office to see about New Deal which is a load of bullshit. I told Mrs. Puddinghead about my Sweaty Metal Band. She snorted up her piggy nose and rolled her wonky eye more than usual and asked had I never played a Lambeg. I told her that I might use her head as a bongo and break the skin (if you know what I mean) she threatened to sign me off and I kicked the counter and told her that I knew where she lived and it was me who had been the cause of the rats she got that summer when she went on holiday and unless she wanted to wake up some night to find me in the corner of her bedroom bouncing up and down on a trampet (small trampoline) then she'd better sign me on.

She burst into tears and said she wouldn't mind finding me there because she gets awful lonely. She started to shake with tears. I reached across the desk and held her hand and she looked up grateful for a little contact from another human. In that moment something good passed between us, then her wonky eye rolled away and she spat "fuck you and your sweaty metal, the system will grind you to dust and you'll blow away" she still signed me on though, even if I gave her the fingers on my way out the door.

When I got home Fabian Wildman was screwing a suspension harness into the ceiling of the livingroom. He looked very excited. He stopped occasionally to huff a bag of glue at his side and dance. This is the song he was dancing to (apparently it was the song that won Eurovision for Estonia in 2001):

Today's my signing day. It's not that special because tomorrow I get my housing benefit and I always live off it until the dole arrives.

I hate going down to sign on.

There're two types of people who work here.

1)People who don't like their jobs and just get on with it.
2)People who don't like their jobs and act like wankers out of boredom/frustration/bitterness/insert your own reason here.

There are of course sub-categories and just because you fall into 1) doesn't mean you won't sometimes be in 2) or vice-versa.

Anyways I've two people here I hate to sign me.

1) Ms Puddinghead - Called so for her purdy-esq hairdo, except it doesn't work on her because she has a head shaped like a cannon ball. She's so category two and is always ringing up companies to check if you've really applied to them. I once gave her the number of the flirt divert on radio one, and she phoned it loads of times. They played it on the radio, it was great. Bitch cut my dole off for it though.

2) The Albino - I'd like to say he's category one because he's always pleasant up until you get him to sign you. Then he turns into Ms Puddinghead, except he's like Ms Puddinghead player 2 or something because he's so white, when he's angry he goes mildly pink like a strawberry milkshake.

Anyway I get Ms Puddinghead and she's all nasty as fuck. Asking why I don't have a job. I think she knows I do crack. Thanks to that Pete Doherty wanker now everyone knows what we look like (I've better taste in clothes, especially hats). What she probably doesn't know is that I know where she lives, and that only last summer when she was away on holiday I went round her house and put a raw steak through her letter box. When she arrived home two weeks later the house was infested with rats.