They'd Dance To The Rhythm Of The Rain Falling Down, In A Northern Industrial Town

Ju-Ju Brush, me and Party Time have been getting on famously.

He cooks and cleans and plays us little Irish ditties on his tin whistle after supper.

Still, he hasn't been much of a help on mine and Party Time's scheme of Credit Card Fraud. I think it is to do with his personal morality stopping him from thinking creatively or intuitively about it. Sort of like when the Puritanical lot ran the show, nobody could think of any way of fucking outside of the missionary position – then, with the gradual casting-off of mores – from the advent of the printing press to Nietzsche and the pill, people tried it different ways, thought about it more imaginatively, leading to porn & snuff, what we got now, turning a profit more or less.

So that was why Ju-Ju had to get over the morality hump and think about things more imaginatively. If sexual liberation < snuff were any indication then amorality > self enrichment were the way to go. And I knew he had creativity flowing through his organs – his musical prowess proved this – but he had to harness this Gog/Magog given power, give himself over to it and abandon this self imposed morality, only a earthbound false construct anyway...

So I said to Ju-Ju, - Ju-Ju, look man: There ain't no sin been committed in Credit Card Fraud. Nobody gets robbed, nobody gets hurt. The bank pays out, baby! What you got actually is a very moral act. We rob these people and the bank pays em back, so in effect we robbin the bank, y'know?!

 - Well you still are sort of robbing somebody...-

 - You fuckin serious? Really? I suppose though banks and corporations got status as peoples now, don't they? But they've robbed from the public purse in a massive transfer of wealth. And now they aren't paying back their debt, but giving their bosses big fuck-off bonuses again. If you lend your pal a fiver you expect him to pay you back right? Well these fuckers aren't...so what we're doin is beginning to re-right the balance of things.

 - Yeah...but that's not really my point...I mean some bank manager might get demoted, or a cleaner might get laid off, -

 - Fuck em...you not been listening what I'm saying? Some bank manager gets the chop – he's a legitimate victim...so to speak...

 - And what about the cleaner? What about him or her? That's the thing, ain't it? I mean I been fucked plenty and it ain't pleasant, so I made a vow to myself never to fuck anyone else....

 -Fuckin hell then man. OK.

Boy's gonna take some work...

I took a walk out to clear my head and think of new ways to talk Ju-Ju round when I found I'd dandered right into town without even noticing. I began to wonder then about the new Titanic fervor bubbling round here: the 'Unsinkable Ship' now never sunk, always rising from the depths, exhumed from the deep deep sea in the shape of models, and scale models, and life like models, and Hollywood (Mafia $$$ backed) Motion Pictures. I thought to myself: this phenomena, this cultural attachment to a tragedy and a disaster, costing 3000 souls, celebrated/commemorated and turned into a theme park attraction, a Spielbergian vision of mass perishing. But we here seem to get beset with tragedy and disaster, and while the Titanic was a tragic act of God our latest run of tragedy and disaster in the shape of “The Troubles” was completely man-made and also cost around 3000 souls and (but also) pulls in the tourist pound. There has also been Hollywood Motion Pictures made about The Troubles too, and no doubt when everything, the rest of the 'Dirty War', gets swept under the carpet entirely and occasionally apologised for, there'll be models, and scale models, and life like models done in action figurines, and video games, and nerdish reenactments, respectively.

So, I thought, if 3000 souls lost on a sunken ship calls for a theme park, then 3000 souls lost to bullets and Semtex can, too...and how much more fun that would be....sure, fuck, it'd be like a day out at the LazerQuest so it would!!!!!!!!!!!!

And so I thought if some Freemason developer can build his Titanic Theme Park, then fuckin, me, Daniel Pongo can build his fuckin “The Troubles” LazerQuest....but first....but first....you gotta spend money to make money – and when you gotta spend money you gotta have money – but when you don't have money you gotta steal money – and who we gonna steal money off? The banks. And who's gonna do it? Party Time, Ju-Ju Brush and Daniel Pongo...

Diamond In The Back, Sunroof Top, Diggin' The Scene With A Gangster Lean

Party Time, thank fuck, was able to secure himself a crisis loan from the brew today – so this weekend we'll be eating.

I was beginning to think that he was going to eat the cat (not calling him Gore Vidal anymore) so hungry was he. His stomach rumbled all last night, something sounding like the pained moans of a wounded creature echoing through the deep, dark cave it'd crawled away to die in.

When I am hungry like this I swallow my spit a lot. Swallow, swallow swallow. As a child I thought I didn't need to work in school to get a good job cos you didn't need money, really:

 - And what you gonna eat. What food you gonna buy with no money? - Scolded Mother when I began striking from doing homework.

 - I'll eat my own shit if it comes to it. Eat it, Shit it, Eat it, Shit it – Just go and sit somewhere along Castle Street begging till I make up enough coin to get me a Big Mac Meal...and...Eat it, Shit it, Eat it, Shit it...

 - What is WRONG with you, eh? Trembled Mother.

And last night I were thinking, really: was my childhood naivety and general lack of rudimentary biological & toxicological facts really so naïve? Were it really so bad? To eat yer own feces if absolutely starving? Those chicks in 2girls 1cup did it, and them on 'specialised' pornstar wages, they  wouldn't have needed to eat shit cos they were starving, but cos they wanted to get paid – and so if you can eat shit to get paid you can eat shit to eat is what I were turning over in my dried up, nutrient starved brain.

I proposed my ideas to Party Time but he didn't like em at all.

He told me it were beyond savage. That a savage would kill and eat another savage,:

 - Bat somethan b'yand savage eat at awn shat!

 - What about we shoot a few birds outta Mrs Mullberry's trees and eat them?

 - Nah. Ah wall nat eat a crate-ture aff thah ska.

I rolled around holding my belly and nibbling on an orange peel I found up the side of the cooker. Party Time began doing exercises.

 - Ah hav idea, Danny.

 - What?

 - Ah wash tinkin. Wah fatagraft papals' cradat card.

 - How we manage to do that? And why?

 - Ah danna yacht, hah. But aff wah culd, wah have all thah dat-tails wah need tah rap a cant aff jast fram ah sall-fone fatta aff thah frant aff has card, an mammary-rising thah scare-ity nambah an thah bach an rattin thah dan wan his gane!

 - That's not a bad idea Party Time. Not at all is that a bad idea. Cos that's all you need, right? The 'Long Number', the name, valid to – and – from, all what you'll get of the phone-photo of the front of it...and that security number yiv got written down. Then we'll go online and buy up a loada shit. Sell it down in Cash Convertors, what we don't want! Fuckin hell, you big cunt, that's the first brilliantly criminal thing yiv come up with, despite yer gangster leanings. Goddamn! I may be starving, but this deserves a fitting tune, cousin!!! We'll think of HOW we do it when we've something in our bellies and our energy's up!