Today I were walking through town with Party Time when this crazy old man coming toward us in the opposite direction (this was going along Wellington Place) stops this oul doll, a fat valuer-sporting millie, and a youngster stuck between them both, holding granny and mummy's hand (for that was the scene), and the crazy old man, he leans down to the youngster (a boy), and takes his head between his hands, gently, and starts to moo at him and scrunch up his face all sentimental and sad like, then he screams, right in the boy's face “That's the badger!” And just like that he goes on, doing a twirl and mumbling to himself a happy ditty – then, as he draws up level with us, he laughs and groans and laughs and groans over and over again, - his frame goes all loose and he looks skyward, curling his fingers up, thrusting his hands up in the air imploringly toward a greater power. I look past him and I see the youngster has appeared to have passed out and is being dragged along by the granny and mummy to their great consternation. I am linking the two. Thinking the crazy old man happened to have caused the unconsciousness of the youngster through the power of thought alone.
Party Time and I went and sat outside a greasy spoon called The Windmill; drinking coffee just like proper gangsters. It is my contention that Party Time's plan to surreptitiously photograph the fronts of peoples' Credit Cards is an inspired criminal strategy....It allows for the fraudster to circumvent the time limit imposed when actually tea-leafing a Credit Card – the time limit due to the owner realising the card's gone and ringing his bank to cancel it. I mean...you got the details off the front of the card, photographed, and memorised the 3-digit security number on the back. Cunt's not gonna know what's happened till he gets his statement in and that could be weeks away – by then we coulda bought up half the department stores in Belfast on the fucker's dime.
So it was up to me and Party Time to devise the hook. As in: how do we get a hold of peoples' Credit Cards? What sort of front do we set up that people will hand over their Credit Cards long enough for one of us to get a snap of it on our phone.
Just as the both of us sunk back in our chairs in a pensive and criminal repose - trying to devise a scheme - along comes a great old pal of mine, Ju-Ju Brush.
- Hello there, Ju-Ju Brush, - I said.
- Danny Pongo! How're you doin old pal? - exclaimed Ju-Ju Brush.
- Danny, I'm in shockin trouble.
- Oh dear. What seems to be the problem, Ju-Ju?
- Well Danny, you remember back in school I used to play the harmonium, don't you?
- That I do Ju-Ju.
- Well I kept it up, after school like, became a regular on the circuits with my trusty harmonium. Then 6 months ago I moved in with that cunt, that fuckin DJ bastard Pilers McCake, you know him, Danny?
- Oh yes. Local mover & shaker and scene setter. Has a little parochial hour on our local State Sponsored airwaves.
- That's him. Well he put me in his band. Thought I was destined for the Big Time, so I did. Gonna put the harmonium on the musical map, you know, Danny?
- That I do, Ju-Ju. I'm a champion of the underdog mahself -
- Right, so you know were I'm coming from. Well we recorded a demo and fuckin Pilers McCake goes away and remixes it. Fuckin back masks the harmonium -
- Whah thah than? - Asks Party Time.
- That's when they, like, play an instrument backward over a track. And so that's what the cunt did. Fuckin harmonium's gonna be the laughing stock of the music world now. You should hear it! And this McCake cunt with his mate Bamber Swirlington, that here's-me-and-who's-like-me coke-fiend nincompoop editor of Assassins Of Cool Magazine, are gonna be releasing the demo this week, with an eye on releasing it as a single. This can't happen. So I sent a coffeejar bomb to Assassins Of Cool Magazine's offices. It weren't real, like. Just a big coffeejar with a little clock inside with two batteries bluetac'd on and a few wires sellotaped to the back of it. Then I wrote a letter to the controllers over at the State Sponsored Airwaves up there, told them that Pilers McCake was not a man possessed of musical integrity but possessed very much of a great and sleeket mendacity and that they should take him off the airwaves at once. I also sent the police and the controllers over the State Sponsored Airwaves photos I'd mocked up of Pilers and Bamber going at it with an Alsatian and Madeline McCann respectively.
- Good on ye, Ju-Ju. They won't know their arse from their elbow now!
- Yeah but then the shit turned ugly. The photos were a joke. Yid've known they were a photoshop job a mile off. The Controllers of the State Sponsored Airwaves launched an investigation and the cops've put out an APB for me arrest. Shit's turned REAL bad. Cops, I hear, are itching to pin a terrorist charge on someone that ain't the Provo Tribute Acts -
- Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaaha! That's what I call em too, - I chortled.
Ju-Ju Brush looked at me a moment or two, a little perturbed, then continued, - Yeh, so, the PSNI have been told they gotta up their quota of Muslim Terror Cells here, and I've been told by folk that while there ain't many of them around Belfast, some loan wolf nut like me, sending pretend bombs to poncey music magazines, is just right up their alley.
- Well Ju-Ju Brush, Me and my cousin Party Time here are a little at a loss in getting together a little scheme we got goin down. Maybe we could get another head in on trying to devise a jumping off point for it. Why'nt you come hang out with us for a bit? Player Haters will always find safe harbour with us, ain't that right Party Time?
- Thah rah, - said Party Time.
So we drank back the rest of our coffee the three of us and went off sneaking cautiously through entries all the way back home just all so Ju-Ju Brush weren't spotted by the law..........