Gideon's Words Will Not Save Them

I tried hanging myself the other day as Party Time's gone and done a bunk and I was left to go round to the shop to buy heating credits, something I just couldn't be bothered doing – and so I thought to myself, 'instead of having to go outside into the cold night to buy heating and thus being left to freeze to death here at home I may as well just get it over with and kill myself by hanging.' But, would you credit it? The fucking rope I got outta the cupboard under the sink were too long and when I threw myself off the upstairs landing I landed smack on my ankle right in the front hall, the rope still well slack. And now that fuckin ankle's massively swollen up and aches dully and continually.

Party Time and I hit a little impasse in our Credit Card Fraud scheme by the fact that we learned that a few online transactions require a Billing Address + we still can't come up with good cover for snapping folks' cards on our phones (ideas here would be appreciated).

Ju-Ju Brush moved out after a week and a half or so after he met some ex of his in the Slimeshite (The Limelight) who took pity on him and brought him home to nurse him back to wellness, sorta like you would a wounded cat you'd found on the road.

I am glad of this, his moving out, as his Harmonium playing was getting right on my goat. As well as this he had started doing my nut in with his autistic recollection of Top 10's from the last fifteen years. He'd shout em out (Bruno Brooks/Tony Blackburn styli) sounding like a right Head Spastic – like those lags in prison who recite, verbatim, horse racing commentary out loud to keep their mind busy.

Still, I miss having company, and that cat, who I've named Worf (cos he's a clingy little cunt – a little Klingon), has some unidentifiable learning difficulty and as a result is no fun at all. He is robotic in his movements and completely unresponsive to stimuli. I even caught a little mouse in a trap out the back and tied him to a piece of fishing line, dangling it in front of Worf, but he didn't even display a disinterested contempt, just a...nothingness. Definitely a retarded feline...

I am reminded of Kimba's birth mother by this halfwit cat. She used to live in a very tiny bedsit on India Street off Botanic. As her quarters were so small she couldn't have what she wanted most in the world, which was a 'Cute little Puddy Cath' as she put it, irritatingly, with fake lisp and all...So she went and bought this robot cat outta Argos, some child's thing, what did a few tricks. One trick was it could respond to this trinket-y mouse shaped lazer pen thingy by following it with its eyes very slowly when you shone it on the wall. It moved its head like an elderly woman with arthritis in her neck and its miaows sounded like the wails of those abandoned Romanian orphans you see on the news every so often. She finally got sick of it and took it apart, hanging its head and other bits of it from her Christmas Tree one year.

Tonight I am considering whether to put a tree up or not. Thinking of Kimba's birth mother's robot cat I am inevitably brought back to the memory of Kimba herself via the mother. Thoughts wrought sadly thinking that the company I'd like most of all this time of year would be her's, and on Christmas Day, opening presents with her sitting under our big grand colourful Christmas Tree that she always made up so pretty, we'd tell blue jokes to one another from outta the latest Viz Annual and get drunk on Vodka shots...ah, the technicolor memories strung with blinking plastic lights.

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...

Try To Tell The Truth And Stand Your Ground - Don't Let The Bastards Get You Down

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.

After Ju-Ju Brush got himself a nice old cup of java he joined me and Party Time at our table and before he even took a tentative little sip to check for hotness he launches into this halting and sad monologue about his recent troubles...and I haven't even seen the cunt in fuckin years.

 - 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..........