Post Sex Sex Face (What the fuck that means?)

What a shite week I've had. The Punchbowl Girl is actually away for two weeks so she'll miss my birthday. Fuck that.

I've sat round the house wondering how to avoid conversations with Wino Jo about how he's fallen off the wagon and when he's going to get back on it and get the fuck back to wherever he was before I found him in a bin.

I've just been staying late at work and hating it too. They've lost a few contracts and it's us dicks on the floor that are getting the blame for it. We've been told no reading at the desks, no eating sweets from the machine, no fuck all.

One of the bosses walks up and down the floor glaring at people like he's cock of the walk even though his cock probably doesn't work any more. I'd love to have him a street fight; I'd destroy him, it's be so great watching him trying to throw the digs and getting wasted everytime he'd thought he'd connected.

Speaking of kickings I can't wait to get my hand on that cunt Mother of Bowling Ball.

That Kicking Didn't Go According To Plan Then

It was such a simple plan; I had his address and I was on my way round to Mother of Bowling Ball's to give him the kicking of his life.

Instead I spend last night sitting in casualty.

I left work early complaining of having a dicky tummy, which was a complete lie. I was fighting fit. I went home to do some press-ups (not too many because they tire you out, just enough so I'd be all big and fearsome looking). I took no weapons with me; this was going to be a clean street brawl. I thought about texting Hot Baby Roy so he could come and watch, maybe even lay a few digs in while Mother of Bowling Ball was flat on his back crying. But no, Hot Firey Love Lady would try to stop me, this was going to run as smooth as Barry White sliding out of a fridge.

On the way over I did a Rocky Run and thought maybe some street kids would run along with me because they knew I was the champ. I stopped just round the corner from the house to get my game plan together. I was going to have to knock the door, storm in when it was opened and slam it behind me. If it wasn't Mother of Bowling Ball that answered the door I was going to have to tear the place apart to find him.

There was a sound coming from inside a bin like a dog had a toothy accident when licking it's balls. It was distracting me and I needed focus. I opened the lid to see Wino Jo in there with a big yellow face half hiccoughing, half screaming.

"Wino Jo? What the fuck are you at?"

He couldn't remember. He banged about inside the bin until it fell over, then he crawled out and boked all over the alleyway.

He's off the wagon then. Worse than that he'd been drinking Turgenev (vodka and Berroca) all day. Bad fucking move. Because Berroca is full of vitamins you're only really supposed to have one glass of the stuff. It gives you a nice kick if you're trying to keep a bender going but no way should you get drunk on it.

The Turgenev left in the bottle was the colour of a happy horses pish (yellow - not clear). I took him to the city hospital where we had to wait for hours to get seen. I kept getting water into Wino Jo and making him go to the toilet to boke. By the time we were seen he was a complete mess but he was past the worst of it. The doctor just sent us home and asked me to keep an eye on him.

Yes he's back at mine, he's off the wagon. I don't know how long either is going to be fore but I hope both are not long.

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.

Work is Making me a Mutherfucker

I've been all stressed out because of work. Sex with The Punchbowl Girl helps out but I'd like to get back to when I have time off wandering about Belfast having fun and doing the odd bit of shoplifting.

I was talking to Hot Firey Love Lady when her and Hot Baby Roy were sitting downstairs indulging in some pre-pseudo-incest romance food (a nice meal on the sofa watching Jo get evicted from Big Brother to the rest of you).

She was saying that she liked her work and she was being all positive about the mutherfuckers on Big Brother (I haven't really been watching it but I like the graffiti dude). I think the difference in our points of view comes from work. I like drawing a wage but the difference between me and her is that she manages a cafe, so she has a bit of authority but more than that when people come into her cafe they're there to get something they want and generally have a nice time relaxing. When people call the call centre they're calling to scream mutherfucker at me (which they often do).

It's getting so that I think people are at heart wankers, she sees people as nice because when they come into her work they're nice.

Amazon war on society, is it nothing more than a feminist myth?

Fabian Wildman was awake when I came downstairs this morning. He said thanks for what I did yesterday. I told him it was nothing and he said he thought he was fucked. I asked him what he was doing there and will Zim Van Bindle send his amazon army after us. He said he didn't know anything about an amazon army. I told him that Zim Van Bindle was trying to get an amazon army together to bring about a sex war that will topple society.

Fabian Wildman said he hadn't heard of this but that it sounded like something that crack addled fool would think up. He said he hadn't seen any girls in the livingroom last night. Much less roid addled amazons.

I puzzled over it all morning on my way to work. I quickly forgot about it when The Punchbowl Girl took me into the Disabled Toilets and wasted £4.83 of the company's money.

I told her what happened and that it was actually an ex of Betty Blue's that I saved. Then this twinkle came into her eye and she said she wanted to know more about him. That was silly of me. I'll not mention him again in front of her.

The Suicide Diaries - No 2

I went to work today hoping to see The Punchbowl Girl (I'm not calling her The Suicide Girl - nfw) but she wasn't there. I hope she's okay. I think she's okay. I can't remember much from that party where I met her because I was pretty wasted but I remember we hung out and talked about Pearl Jam and how cool they were (I don't really know their stuff but I've told bigger lies).

I came home and thought I might find some wise words for her in The Suicide Diaries that or I wanted a laugh. I found the following, an attempt at a political rap I think:

Talking deep stuff with the gang
everyone thinks their own thang
Someone thinks one thing I think the other
it's okay we learn from each other

People play some music
I sing some lines
everyone digs it
I feel so fine

When spides hit the street
cops stop the beat
a spide grabs a rock
throws it at the cop

A riot starts
but we keep our cool
both the spide and the cop
look so uncool.

He's now singing this shit to cows. His dad will kick him off the farm if he catches him.

I'm sick of being on my own. I want to get love. I've a few ideas how I might get it but I'm not sure. I've a poll on the side of the page. Vote and let me know all about how to find love.

Scruffy Old Friends

I was walking home from work yesterday when Fabian Wildman came up to me. He was saying that he was just on his way to call round to mine. I could tell by the half eaten cake in his hand that he'd been waiting and watching for me.

I felt rude telling him to fuck off so I let him in especially because he was frothing away at the mouth about Battle Cat and how he was so excited about seeing him again. I invited him in for a cup of tea and he said he had just the thing for it and waved his cake about. He dropped it on the ground but he picked it up and brushed the dirt off it.

"Good thing it's not raining, we couldn't have ate it then," he said.

I told him not to be dropping crumbs on my floor because I'm a bit more house proud than I used to be.

When I saw him all smiling and happy at seeing Battle Cat and saw how scruffy he looked I did feel a bit bad about feeling shitty towards him.

Then he said that he heard Betty Blue was back in Belfast and he was going to win her back. I didn't tell him that we worked together, I didn't eat any of his cake. Am I a bastard?

No Party for Me, I Still Go and Fuck Myself

I didn't go to work today, not because I'm bad, or I'm depressed but because the Leotard Girls had a party last night and kept me awake all fucking night long? On a Tuesday? My day? It was all to entice Hot Baby Roy into their lair of gyrating spandex. He didn't go for it. He wasn't here. I nearly went round in his place to say I'd do but no I couldn't be arsed. It spilled out into the street in the morning and someone called the cops.

I don't know who did and I don't approve on principle but I'm glad they did. I don't have it in me any more to go wielding baseball bats at tramps.

I called in sick and slept til it was too hot and I was stuck to the bedsheets with my sweat (this is supposed to sound sexy - I've just realised it doesn't).

Searching for Jobs

I'm sitting skint in the house going through the job market online. There are fuck all jobs that I can get. It seems even pishy wee part time jobs need loads of futtery wee Mickey Mouse qualifications like RSAs OCRs health and safety certificates and I can't get fuck all. I'm just sitting here flat fucking broke. I spent my last money on a cough bottle so I could sit and get all woozy on the sofa when the crack jitters come.

Hot Baby Roy went off out this morning and I doubt he'll be back tonight. I don't think he's stopped at all. I'm going to stay stopped this time. I don't want to see that big horned daemon again. I want a job, someone give me a job.

Hot Baby Roy Talks Ego

Hot Baby Roy was up this morning when I was getting ready to go to work. He said he was taking Battle Cat for an extra special long walk. Battle Cat looked really happy, wagging his tail and thumping it off the floor. Hot Baby Roy looked worried.

He said that we need to make sure that we look cool at this party too and that we need to get new outfits. I told him I'd no money. He said there was a time that wouldn't have stopped me.

He also said we needed to make sure we knew about all the latest stuff in the charts because the Leotard Girls would want guys who knew about stuff like the Saturdays. Especially The Raven Princess Spandex (the black haired one who Hot Baby Roy says I have to like best because he likes Princess Cheetara best (the blonde one)).

He told me about a girl group called the Saturdays and how in their new video they were dressed as superheroines. He says his favourites are Rochelle and Frankie because they used to be in the S Club Juniors, then he saw the look of suspicion on my face and shouted "S Club 8! I mean S Club 8!"

Then he showed me the vid for their new song Ego. I know the bastard's going to wank all round the house to it after I've gone to work.

Going into Work Drunk

Today was the first time I went to work drunk. I was still drunk from the night before so it's not like I'm being irresponsible.

I fucked up my first few calls and the customers gave off about me being shit. I hung up on them even though you're supposed to give them a warning.

My call handling time is not as good as it should so I hung up on a few folk. One of them I said "smell your ring, yeow!"

I don't know why though, I went to the toilet and boked my ring up. I heard some grunting noises coming from the disabled toilet and I was sure it was humping and pumping going on in there. I guess that's the sex meet up point. Gonna keep my eyes peeled and hope to get some hot lady in there with me at some point.

I noticed today how some people like everyone to hear their calls, they speak with a loud authorative tone so that people on the other side of the office can here them.

This was pissing me off loads so I walked past one of them and said "smell your ring, yeow!" so the customer would hear. Not the smartest move, because the guy who took the call eyeballed me then came up and asked if I'd hung up on the customer earlier. I told him that I didn't hang up on customers and receited the company motto. I think he fell for it. I hope so, I want to keep this job for a bit.

Giving up on the bad stuff

Okay so that's me done with the oul crack. I've given up and binned my crack pipe. Me and Fabian Wildman pissed on it, then we let Battle Cat piss on it, just so I really wouldn't want to use it again.

I've me bottle of cough syrup and I'm gonna take it steady. I wonder what life will be like now me and Fabian will both be off crack. He's out looking for a job, says he's sick of the dole. Says it's hard to get a job because everyone is looking for one and a lot of ones that already have one want two. That's a bit strange. No one should have to work two jobs to get by, or even have a nice life.

Everyone should get some time on the dole like me, just clears your head, and if you've a cool mate like Fabian and a puppy dog like Battle Cat it can be a lot of fun.

But I also remember how lonely I was last year and sadly it's like that for a lot of unemployed folk.

I'm gonna settle down now and get some sleep. I hope I don't piss the bed.