-I’ll fuckin’ enlist you!
-You’ll not fuckin’ enlist me, I’m nobody’s monkey
-Fuck yourself, mate. Consider yourself enlisted.
-Take my name off that list, or I’ll kick you in the privates
-So you’d be a fan of corporal punishment?
-I’d be a fan of kickin’ yer bollocks in
-Right, c’mon, we’re in the navy now, let’s sail on ta fuck!

Aw Jaysus here now we go again and aw fuck if its not john junty hisself and only his awful uncle fuck the whole team are all out lehal. Now here we go look I’ll give ye one after the other under wan two a three four five, always gulderin nonstop ye mad hallion. So it’s all about how ye kebab ur kebabs like. Weiners non protruding only backlashing for neitherwill yer da. Kop his clonks and wang out the weatherbeaten forgetting only your Fran’s a dirty bastard. Ur good mate ur fuckin grand ur some writer so ye are fuck me ive never seen the likes of it good jesus yes. Up nai to yer gfs where therel be rotten dinners an fuck all else shite movies films and rubbin sex fuck yes baby bumping kick clean fuck.

-Mate, could ye do us a gramma clean?
-Fuck sake mate you on it again tonight?
-Lad do us one gram just, the woman’s away.
-Right, fuck. Clean, are ye sure?
-Man, it’s the only stuff does anything for me.
-Right dead on I’ll be round shortly.

Aye so back on it te fuck, a gramma clean, fuck all in it like and there’s no comedown but I swear to fuck, wangs the head clean aff ye. I be it takin sometimes an all an I don’t even know am on it, firin out the clean, lads firin the lines into them all invisible an all goin clean mad their ma’s wonderin like fuck. Me dancing pure class and doin all impressions an all. Rupert deNiro and Paul Pacino, fuckin Bruce Williams and Liam Neeson easy as fuck like cause he’s from here. I do all mad dances ye wouldn’t’ even see on tv or nahin. Like one legged joobjoobs, and the sparklin wurliitz. Fuckin mad eejit, but the women love me, just as friends like but ye see them lookin in the shapps an all asda, me fuckin dancing away them just pure lovin it like class, husbands don’t even be jealous or nahin.

But then sometimes like, the laughter has to stop. Ye just know when it’s time. Sit down to fuck an be quiet cause ur not even bein funny anymore. Ur dances are all shite an you don’t even know the right names of the films cause ur bein called out so it’s better just to sit. Cause it’ll all come around again when it’s time but for now it’s sit. Probably there’s other boys out there dancing an doin shite impressions an havin the pure craic, maybe at a wedding havin drinks an all wearin suits te fuck. Some boys just look good in a suit, ye have to hand it to them like, they’ve got that look about them. All professional, probably know the right names an all, do all proper dances like the salsa and other dances that people like that do. I don’t mind, I don’t mind. Put me in a suit an a wouldn’t look right, hafta take it off an go home.

But aye here before this shit wears off I’ll tell ye about the time this one thing happened. Ye see there was these three boys I knew, and they were all in a pop group. Played an all round the pubs and stuff like had a right wee following. But it took them a while to catch on to the fact that most pop groups have four members and so they asked me to join. Well I toul them I had to think about it, for about a second haaaaaaaahahaha then jumped the fuck in the outfit and got started for the first night’s training. Doin pure boxin an all, vocal warmups and like pullin nice faces and that for the girls. Well anyway, night of our first gig we goes up to the pub and starts playin, I was bustin out the moves, as ye do, and come halftime, one a them professional lookin boys came up to me and says son can I have a word with you? I says aye surely and so he took me into the corner an started givin me the whole showbiz spiel, tole me I was the best dancer of the lot, by far, and would I be interested in goin out on my own. Well look, long story short, I told the fine gentleman, in no uncertain terms, using a move patented by the good citizens of glesga, to get ta fuck! Spent the night in the cells, bad craic. But here, still buzzin!

-Aye lads The Biggest Man in Ireland, 2 weeks away so I’ve loads of time for prep and that.
-What are you on about, mate?
-Aw it’s The Biggest Man in Ireland, 2 weeks. Wee Jimmy’s goin’ in for it.
-Aye, but sure Jimmy’s only 5ft 2.
-It’s not about size, mate! It’s not all about size.
-Fair enough. What do ye hafta do like?
-Everything, lad. Anything. Some lad from Sligo won it last year there for paintin’ a big boat.
-He was a big man though?
-Aye he was a big fella right enough, but it’s not all about that.
-Right. Fuck. Dead on. What have ye got planned then?
-Loads, mate, loads. They put ye through all different rounds, to see how big ye are. First round is, you have to face an old high school teacher and tell them, in no uncertain terms, exactly what you think of them.
-Fuck.
-Yes, mate, it’s no joke.
-Here, fair play to ye like.
– Ano.

———————————————————————————

‘Have ye anything to say for yourself, son?’
Wee Jimmy raised his glass.
‘I’d just like to thank yese all for bein’ here, for coming together to help celebrate my recent victory. I’m hoping that it’s the first of many, and that we can take this thing as far as it’ll possibly go!’
Jimmy’s friends and relatives jeered and cheered, his mates were up the front jostling him, takin’ the piss.
‘Aw Jimmy, son,’ gushed Jimmy’s ma, ‘I always had faith in ye, always knew that you were destined for great things. I know that ye may have lost your way at times along the years, but nobody can take it away from you now. You are: The Biggest Man in Ireland!’

Wee Sandra Delain, from up round the corner, was sitting over near the bar. Jimmy kept one eye on her as his mother continued.
He’d had his eye on her for years in fact. Her da was half-French and had run away when she was a weein. She’d always stood out to Jimmy, a lovely girl, just that something extra about her.

‘Jimmy, son, there’s a man here wants to have a word with you.’
Jimmy snapped out of it. His da was standin’ with a tall tanned fella smokin’ a thick cigar, lookin’ all impeccable in a pinstripe suit. It was non-smokin’ in here but this guy didn’t seem to give a fuck.
He stretched out a brown wooden palm to Jimmy and Jimmy shook it manfully, throwing his shoulders back a little, the words of the former titlist still fresh in his mind, ‘and remember, son, you’re The Biggest Man in Ireland now. Never forget it….’
The man took Jimmy aside from his father.

‘Listen, Jimmy. My name’s Groyt MacFarland, you may have heard of me?’
Jimmy had indeed heard of Groyt ‘The Grinder’ MacFarland, and he knew not to say fuck all. He nodded respectfully and waited for the man to speak.
‘Son, I run the bottlin’ plant out in Mallusk, and I’ve come to offer you a position in the firm.’
He enunciated the words ‘the firm’ rather strangely, rather firmly, or maybe Jimmy’s mind was playin’ tricks on him.
‘You’ll be startin’ from the bottom, son, but with the kind of initiative you’ve shown lately, well…let’s just say, there’s plenty of room in my organisation for young men like yourself.’

‘Men.’ Jimmy thought. He’s never been called a man before, not by someone like Groyt the fuckin’ Grinder. He’d been a lad, a wee lad, a fella, a good young fella, but never a man…he was speechless. And a job! He’d been on the bru for fuckin’ years now… But, shrewd as he was, make no mistake, Jimmy knew fully what kind of offer was on the table here. This was a big step.

‘What’s the matter, Jimmy, son,’ The Grinder laughed deeply, chewin’ like fuck on his big cigar, ‘Are ye afraid of a hard day’s work?’
‘Not at all, Mr MacFarland,’ answered Jimmy, ‘When do ye want me startin’?’
‘Don’t worry about it, Jimmy. We’ll let you know when it’s time to come down.’
‘But…you don’t have my number, Mr MacF-‘
‘Jimmy.’ The Grinder looked stern. ‘Go and enjoy yourself.’

Jimmy stood up and nodded gratefully. All around him the celebrations were in full flow. They had the place decked out great, banners, balloons, a big fuck-off cake with Jimmy’s face on it, the lot. Big John Mooney was on the decks and he was bangin’ them out. ABBA, Michael Jackson, a bitta old school dance. The dancefloor was packed, the lads givin’ it stacks, the ouler wans doin’ a bitta jivin’ an’ that. Jimmy thought he’d keep his cool though, keep a good eye on what Sandy Delain was up to over in the corner. He watched as she sipped from her fancy cocktail glass, high class stuff indeed. At another time perhaps he wouldn’t have had the balls, but his mind was made up now, he was going to make a go for her: Sandy Delain. He made his way smoothly over to where she was sitting, walking with the assured step of a recently celebrated man, cocking his head from side to side in a manner that suggested, no, confirmed, that he knew that he was the balls.

‘Alright there, Sally? You’re lookin’ well tonight.’
‘Jimmy? This is your do isn’t it? Me and the girls just dropped in for a few drinks.’
‘Aye, wee celebration just. Won that there competition sure, didn’t I?’
‘Aye, I head about that, Jimmy. I always knew you’d do somethin’ with yourself.’
‘Well here, look, I was goin’ to say to ye. Am startin’ a new job next week here, was wonderin’ if ye maybe fancied comin’ out for a few drinks with us?’

Sandy Delain looked away for a moment, it seemed she was fumbling in her handbag. She turned around with her hand outstretched to Jimmy

‘Here’s my number, Jimmy. Just you let me know when. Now, look, why don’t ye go on and enjoy yourself, all your pals are waitin’ for ye.’

Enjoy yourself? What the fuck? Jimmy span round from the table in a daze and and stepped towards the dancefloor. His mates were cajoling and carousin’, saying ‘Come on, Jimmy, ya wee bastard, come on ta fuck and enjoy yourself!’ Jimmy hit the floor. He was going to enjoy himself. Fuck the repercussions, fuck lookin’ cool, this was his night, this was his time. ‘Enjoy yourself, Jimmy, just enjoy yourself.’ That’s all anybody would tell him. Aye, he’d climbed the mountain. Now he was getting’ dizzy due to high altitude. But he didn’t give a fuck. He was the hardest man about, loved and respected. ‘Wee’ Jimmy, maybe, but a man. Fuck it, THEE man. Wee Jimmy.

To try to sit one’s self down to work, sensibly, with drugs ingested is surely an unworthy endeavour. And I guess then, if we take away that word ‘sensible,’ well, what are we left with? I think we are left with a blank page bereft of expectations, rules, or limitations, which is freeing, most freeing, yes; but of course we need some sort of structure upon which to hang our ideas. This scrambling free-for-all can be only that. A brainstorm. Fire around a few ideas. But surely this is better than forcing oneself down to sit sensibly when what would be the opposite inclination of the drug addled mind is this. That, indeed, would be counter intuitive. And so we go crazy, enjoying our phrasing, as we go, playing with our new toys, as we go, trying not to waste all that creative juice. As we go. And be sure that, whatever we do, we take something away. We learn, we build, we work our craft. Ha! To be a writer. Yes it’s all coming together now. A different deal altogether from what you first dreamt up. There is work involved after all, a strange kind of work. Not always unenjoyable. Just get on with it, I guess. Roll with the punches, adjust to the changes – try not to slip. Endure the glare of the unruly bandleader. Enjoy faint praise when you have earned it, and even then, stoop not to celebrate too often.

-What the fuck is this man on about?
-I dunno, mate, but he’s meltin’ my head. Here, let’s take the hand out of him

. There are men out there who are so well-versed, in a range of subjects, and I admire these men, where once perhaps I might’ve been dismissive, or bitter. I now respect the fact that they know more than me, most naturally nowadays I do. They have gone further, they have been in the game for longer, they have paid heavier dues, they have gained more experience. Play the game, don’t play yourself. Don’t be bitter. I mean it’s hopeless at times, we’re all human. But enjoy what’s local, let it spur you on. Now! Now you have purpose! Beyond your own fickle fancies. Now you have pride, you have spine. You have humour, you have wit. You have many deficiencies and failings and you know it. Good boy. Yes, the ego will waggle, and all that will peruse and parade and pathetically peacock.

But at times like this, you know fully what all of this means. This particular part of it anyway. Who knows it all? Nobody, ever. But get on with it, keep to your work. Dream, yes. Temper with humour, mmmn hmmn. Laugh at yourself, heartily. Dance like a fuckin’ eejit, and enjoy! Help others when you can and be a good man. Keep yourself together. You’re doing this for more than just yourself now. But remember your priorities: family first? No longer are we trying to be ‘the best,’ though sometimes that does come in. Healthy competition…wait, fuck. Yes. Rather we are trying to be ‘effective.’ To produce something that others can draw from, lean on, reflect upon, enjoy unabashedly…grow with? But, dear boy! Hold the fuck up! Who do ye think ye are now? Have ye much done? Have ye even written a book yet? No. But you’re on your way, just keep ‘er lit, and all will be well. God bless xo.

-So yeah this girl
-Yeah what about her man, tell me the craic
-Fuck boy wait’ll ye hear, she’s unreal like
-Aye watch the lingo, mate
-Right. The woman.
-Yeup.
-Well she’s known for givin’…
-Givin’ wha?
-Telepathic Blowjobs.
-What the fuck?
-Aye man, swear to God.
-But, like, how does that even work?
-Right, so say you’re sittin’ in the house, lockdown and that, feelin’ a bit lonely or whatever; you drop the money into her account, and she’ll sort ye out within the next half hour.
-Fuck.
-I know, mate, I know.
-Have you had one?
-Have surely, mate, blew the fuckin’ head off me, highly recommend it.
-But here?
-Wha?
-What does she look like?
-Hardly fuckin’ matters like, does it?
-Well ye never know, she could be a pure munter
-Aye but at the end of the day like, she gets the job done
-Yeah, but it could be a fuckin’ man or anything
-It’s not a fuckin’ man, lad, I’m tellin’ ye, this is the real deal
-Fuck I dunno mate, I’d probably start feelin’ a bit uneasy while the whole thing was happenin’
-Why like? Just relax, mate, experience of a lifetime
-Aye, but it’s the not knowin’!
-Tell ye what, the first one’s on me
-What you mean you’re gonna..?
-Naw ye wab, I’ll pay for your first, a wee freebie, just think of me like a degenerate uncle
-Mate, I’m feelin’ uneasy as it is here
-Dude just go with it, best decision you’ll ever make in your life, ask anyone
-Where ye goin’?!
-Am away home! Can’t be fuckin’ sittin’ round here when you’re gettin’ your dick sucked
-Mate, don’t leave me…*DOOR SLAMS*…Mate!

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Fuck off all yo peoples who once before were said to be writing about nahin nor fuck all cause there’s nahin more to say no nahin so say it all let it go it gone go gone go fuck go now flick away ye cunt fuck shite fuck cunt shite fuck cunt shite cunt fuck wank fuck yes. Aye fuck shite wank cunt fuck shite wank fish cunt past n’ sauce and brown sauce and rotten oul crusts of bread that ye wouldn’t feed the birdies. Pic n’ mix that dirty wee bastards have had all their sticky wee stink fingers peckered through stealin’, lickin’, drop, lick, re-drop, pick, bite, set it down ye cunt ye run off without payin’. Four fuckin’ weeins. Four wee weeins sittin’ cute lookin’ or so ye misremembered. Multicultural fuck isn’t that nice. Wee bastards cursin’ from the age a nahin and fukin spoutin shite. One of them has a bigger head that the rest, you can hear it when he speaks. The coloured fella’s got cool Portuguese rhythms in his English and these wee fuckers know fuck all difference between the other anyway regardless of race sexuality creed colour the rest of it. Wee bastards. Don’t know how good they’ve got it. But here it is nice to see right enough like, from a distance like, from a distance.

See here’s ma theory right now wait’ll ye hear. Kay, when the appearance of such a scene greets us, and meets with a hope, fanstasy or whatever the fuck pre-existing within our psyche, see the fuckin scene ye link it up like fuck and then ye think the fantasy’s right bang there, but the fuckin closer you get to that cuntin’ thing, the more ye realise it’s all just cunt, and that your fantasy was nahin. Nahin. So yep, the mind plays tricks on ye, fuckin romance. Not every time like, but more often than not, yours dreams: they get shat on.

Now ye may be questionin’ why my dreams involve the interplay of four urchin minors. Well, I’ll fuckin’ tell ye, I was thinkin’ of equality. Of fuckin’ weeins, that I one day may be havin’ one. Of the beauty of the fuckin’ world and me own childhood. Right. And I’ll go one better, the wee urchin bastards, who swore so offensively and betrayed my fuckin dream the shites. I was much the same as them. Cheeky wee fuckers stealin’ and cursin’ and strangely smilin’ and managin’ to remain cute and hopeful and sweet that whole time. Like somethin’ out of a play.

So aye. Me own offspring will likely enough be of the same ilk, but it was shockin’ to see it, to be reminded of it, it truly was. I have been out of touch a long, long time. The fuckin’ kids.

-You’re writin’ stories, son?
-Aye tryin’, mate, just workin’ away like.
-Ye can write a good story now, ye can write a good story… Tell me this, would ye write us one for the paper?
-Uh, what paper’s that?
-The Southside Advertiser. Tis a good article now, I’m tellin’ ye, a good article.
-Right, would that involve payment of any kind?
-There would be no money involved, but it’s the exposure, y’see.
-Right. Aye, I’ll think about it sure.
-Do think about it, son, make sure an do. And here.
-What?
-Do ye mind me givin’ ye a piece of advice? About your stories?
-Uh, aye, sure, go on ahead.
-Ye want to clean them up a bit, son. People’s talkin’. Ye’ve to take the dirt out of them. ‘She’s shaggin’ this’ and ‘he’s ridin’ thon.’ It’s bad craic.
-Aye, well they’re not exactly for everybody.
-No they’re not, son. No they’re not for everybody. Ye want to clean house a wee bit, in that regard. And another thing. Have ye time now?
-Naw I’m just headin’ off here now, ma bus is only up round the corner here, five minutes fuck
-Hang on now your bus isn’t goin’ nowhere anytime too soon. Listen you to me here now. The violence. The ultraviolence that you’re writin’ into them things is to be taken out. It’s too close to the bone, too close to the real thing, son.
-Look mate I really don’t have time for this shite
-Hear me out, son. Nobody’s goin’ to buy them books for to read to their children. Ye’ll not make a penny off sellin’ books like thon. What you need, and I’m gonna make you an offer here, what you need: is an editor.
-Right. Are you offerin’ your services?
-Put it there, boy and we’ve a deal.
-Have you any actual experience as an editor?
-Experience? You’re lookin’ at a fully qualified professor from the university of life.
-Look mate, ye know what it is. Ye can take your advice, your fuckin southside advertiser, your hat and fuckin gown, and your questionable editin’ skills and get ta fuck! *does a runner*
-Come back! Come back! I’m a big fan of your work!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



‘Oh Jin Jenny was a big round penny was a big round penny indeed
I said old Jin Jenny was a big round penny she was born from a lightning seed’

-That’s not a bad song ye made up there, boss. Not a bad wee song.
-Aye cheers, been rattlin’ them out all day here.
-All off the toppa yer head an all aye, like reminiscin’?
-Aye improvisin’, yeah mate, workin away, off the cuff.
-That’s what a mean though, mate, you’re doin a wee bitta reminiscin.’ Thinkin’ of your memories an’ all then a song comes to mind. Aye did a bit of it myself back in the day.
-Aw right. Aye I suppose, that is what I was doin’ right enough.
-Right. Well here’s a wee trick for ye next time you’re lookin’ for a song, right?
-Right. Aye, go on ahead.
-Right, go ‘Hey diddle diddle got a jinny an a biddle an’ a weedle an’ a doodle an’ a dee.’
-Uh…
-Go on ahead, mate, it’s easy, don’t be afraid.
-Ok wait’ll I see here. ‘Ho Jenni Jones was a forty tonne a bones she got water on her tongue never seen her lookin’ young.’
-Nah mate. Nah. Ye’ve not got it. Ye may take up dancin’.

*totters on down the street singing*

‘oi jiddle bar with a weenie an’ a tar an a homeless man on buds an’ I’m runnin’ through the spuds…’