You are a prick. A fucking prick. A wet wee prick fuckin slabberin. You are a nothink and a dirt and a scab and a shit. Go and fuck your own self for lack of worth and Godliness. For uncleanliness and shitshards. Go and shit yourself for the grind. Talk not to others in the mornink. They hate you only in your head. Don’t start upon yourself a psychosis. Don’t give us all another little grumpling. Grains in your pipeline. Grit in your dirt. Glass is your windpipe, and onions round your neck like an oul dirty Frenchman. Disgrace. One day you will be friends with Bono. One day you will lick the dirt from his toes. One day he will deign to deify you. Defy him at your peril. Running the streets with Bono. Temple bar. Thrown out of every pub and strip club. Wear a pair of glasses like Bono. You are Bono.

You are not the Edge. There is only one The Edge. He wears a nice hat. That’s a hat you could never pull off. Playing on thee rooftops. You and The Edge playin’ Matrix at a certain time of year, jump from top to top. A big packa men who look like yer da all up on a stage playin’ music. Dancin’ like yer da. In a suit. Makin’ no sense. Safe in The Knowledge.

From bumbletop to bumbletop there are only vaccines protruding. Fucktrips allotted. Skincreeps a slanting. Wurdturds slipped in your cereal. Touch the man too often and he squeals ‘stink off!’ Too much hassle altogether. Really Makes ye wander. Now the only way round this I can see is to fuck everything in sight. Except you’ve sworn yourself to celibacy and so the only other way is to chat ‘em up real nice and befriend. All is well in the world of befriending. Befriend as many women as you possibly can, and a couple of men too, just to keep the count. ‘Who are you befriending this evening, my darling?’ ‘Oh, just the usual three or four’ Greedy boy. But here, when you’re payin the price, you’ve got to be nice, which means reapin dem rewards as they come, makin’ all the little ladies weap. But that’s nonsense, safe to say. I’d be mates with Christy Dignam, if I ever got a go. Seems like a nice chap, no fuckin about like. Just tells good stories and sings like an angel. Sit in with the band sometime, me and Aslan. Me frontin’ Aslan, for just a minute like. Fair play, Christy boss, you are the man like. Hang on here, need another coffee…

Right so the woman’s out the dour. Can get down to somme proper writin here. Like literature like. Prose, if you will. Wee bitta posey. Nyes. I think it was the year five thousand and five, I went walking in the moonlight. The dusk was clear and several sound moons hung overhead a-peekin. I limped along alike a leak, making fun of the disableds, for my own amusement (unbeknownst to me I belonged in that very category myself! Ho hum hee hee) Pile a shite. Art Therapy. Makin the soul feel sound. Wrap your head around this one. How does it feel to be wank? To be hideous? To hafta hide? From your own head? There’s no getting away from your very own head like, ye hafta carry it round wif ye everywhere ye go. Have a head have a kitkat. Have a chatshap. Unsolicited. Sour. Have a half-wit humble-thug rigging all the thimbles. Have a hack at yer mother’s chins. Have twenty have ten have five have six.

Don’t think there’s much more to say really. That’s all, folks! Ahaha haha hahaha. Tanks lad.

Percy Pranced. He peggled along in a fashion most poncey: never more was a man so proud. Up and down the streets of Belfast he paraded, and shaded manys a minor in his glare. Percy was a well-known man, and a well-liked one to boot, though some called him fruit. He never failed to falter at the appropriate stops, and wavered only slightly when wandering took it’s toll. There was a day that came, and on this particular day Percy was patrolling. His peers were ambivalent as per, and so he ambled most delightedly, quare sight is he, when who should he appear upon but a Grinchnote.

“Who goest here?” Growled the Grinch
“It’s fuckin’ Percy McDarcy, your one and only darling, me ole son, sandwich-bake.”
“Ah! A faghot! The likes of your kind are not welcome in my vicinity, go now into the deep, foul craytur!”
“Ye can go and fug yersel, I wog these streeds all of the time an’ a won’t have a Grinchnote slimer tellin’ me all what to do and watnatt.”
“I will pierce your breast with pointed pen if you come one inch closer, little fairy boy who plays the part.”
“What if I toult ye that a wasn’t even a fairy boy to begin with an a ony dress uppa this way to impress the girlies?”
“Oh? So, it’s girlies you like? Well, well, a man after my own fart. Ahahahahaha. Go free, my friend, may life be good to you!”
“Go and fog yerself, ye dirty wee Grinchnote, fuggin knowin’ nahin abut life or anything, see ye round in a sewer wif like Splinter and all the other rats hahahaha.”

Percy ran off, legs kicking out wildly to the sides, laughin’ his proverbial beg aff.

Next day, Percy decided he’d go out all dressed in black leather, S and M gear, rain was lashin. He pomped and preened, jackedbooted he thumped, concrete slabs quavered in fear and cracked. When who should he appear upon but…a Grinchnote!

“WHO GOEST THERE-EST!” Thundered the Gringecrunt.
“It’s foghin me, Percy Pig be pickled, your head that is, ya wally-whomper!”
“Go far from me! Gimp’s are not permitted within my presence.”
“Am nat a fuckin gimp!”
“What in God’s good word are you then? ANSWER ME BOY!”
Percy demurred. Straightened up his back and answered sensibly,
“I am a straight up heterosexual male without any thought of fetish, I simply wore this leather as a prank, it’s my friend’s birthday you see.”
“Oh it is?” Answered The Gronch. “Well, I see. My good man, I have wronged you. Here, please take this sheaf of unmarked bills, buy your friend for me a nice present, he deserves it, HAVIN’ A FRIEND LIKE YOU! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAA.”
“ACK FUCK AFF, YE BIG BALLIX! I’LL TELL YE WHAT, THE TWO OF US IS GOIN’ FER PINTS! HAHAHAHAA!”

They went on to be married later that year.

Fran – Did ye ever taste the crin of a coon’s cup?
Davy – Naw, I was too busy lookin’ up yer ma’s skirt
Joyve – Here that’s not nice she’s a woman
Blotch- Wind yer neck in wee man or you’ll get a batter round yer ankles

So that’s the boys. Meet ‘em three. All good lads like, spazzin’ out in a wee room. I only landed to play music like, but they tempted me into nonsense. Thought I was the next Ed Sheeran before realisin there was more to his bleak. I tried speakin.

Me – Well lads, what can I say. Truly marvellous to be accepted into the fold.
Grinchy – Marvellous? What do you think this is, fuckin’ Richard Whitely?
Me – Naw I mean, it’s awful nice of ye to have me round.
Blitch – You’re fockin right it is, now fire this line inte ye, ya wee fruit.

Took the line an it pure banged the nose off me. Not like Mike Tyson mind, more like a good right hand off Roberto Duran. Said to him and all.

Me – Lads if I was a boxer I’d be Manos de Piedres, Hands of Stone.
Belch – Hands of Stone? More Like Hands of Foam.

*guffaws*

Davy – Aye lad, you’re better off fuckin’ up. Mouth on ye like a wet banana.
Me *smiles* Aye but that’s not why your granny’s grief!
Devy – Fuck up lad. That’s my granny you’re talkin’ about

This is when shit started to hit the fan.

Crotch – Did ye never take the notion lad, to get up and take a jump of the Bridge of London
Me – Naw can’t say that I ever did, don’t swim, but I heard fat floats so you’d be arite.
Snitch – You’ll not be long lastin’ in here wee cub, best grab yer ball an go home.
Me – You’d best sit up and show me some respect young sir, you know I’ve done this once or twice before.
Bulch – Well then ye know by now not to be fuckin with people’s grannies. Unless that’s what you’re into of course… huh huh huh.
Me – I’ll accept anything for a bunch of tea.

Later

critch – This is shite
Me – anoe
Clip – Ye wanna line?
Jip – What’s in it?
Buntsy – Windowlene, and a pint a powder.
Bunsday – Pinto beans I love them.

I whacked out a few a few lines and looked up into the security cam, wee wink.