DONATE YOU BASTARDS! DONATE!
DONATE YOU BASTARDS! DONATE!
By Hunter Carson.
After my usual breakfast of porridge and Prozac, coffee and
Codeine, I knew it was going to be one of those days. Ever wake
up on the wrong side of bed? I woke up on the wrong side of he
Universe. Still, I have to try and induce some random acts of
kindness in Belfast today and with my face it wont be easy.
I had managed to sneak in two painful pints of Guinness
before I was given a bib and a bucket to do the Christmas charity
collection for my new job. I was in two minutes and ready to go
back out again when my team-leader called me over. Normally my
co-worker and I have a conversation two-step where she has one
foot ready to run at all times but today I couldn’t wait to get
away from her.
“Here you go Danny. You can go outside City Hall for us. Big
responsibility” - my cheery, charity chum, full of the Christmas
spirit laughs.
“On my own? For how long?” Is this trust or punishment I wondered.
“It’s only for two hours. Sure you’re a big boy. You’ll be grand.”
Me, stuck outside the busiest place in town on my own freezing
my nuts off to help save the world?
“Sure no problem, back in a cold tit” I mumble.
She smiles her nice goody two shoes smile and sends me off.
Damn right it was no problem. This hangover could break
me if I don’t keep topping up. Thankfully the Continental
Christmas market is open in the grounds of City Hall. £3.50 for
an Irish coffee. Some wonderful whiskey and cream in a nice
plastic-cup. No one would know except me and I don’t give a fuck
at the minute. I take my place outside City Hall and hope
I look just fucked up,yet nice enough that people will take pity
on me to donate and not too fucked up that I look like I’m going
to flee and spend the cash on hard drugs. Maybe some tidy yoke
will smile at me instead of the usual samurai eyes I get. The
one’s that look at you like they want to run an ancient blade
through your soul with a flick of their eyelashes. None of them
yet but a trickle of people come along and stop and through some
spare change my way. This could actually go well I think. But
one Jesus-freak has to spoil all the fun. I didn’t
even see her set-up all the gear. She just appeared with a small
speaker and microphone and started screeching about
the‘Laaaawwwwwd’.
“You slobby,shopping,Sinnnahhh’s. You don’t know the real
meaning of Christmaaaaaaaaaass”
This is the last thing any cunt needs to listen to, especially
me. She has a big voice for a tiny black lady. She
looks like a weirder, female version of Bob from Twin Peaks with
her big shock of white hair. I’d be surprised if she doesn’t have
two cats stuck in her trenchcoat to add to the wailing. She has
to be some sort of failed Nun. Everyone is giving her the major
bodyswerve and the donations are drying up. I need another Irish
coffee forthis fucking about.
It's when I go back that the self-deigned voice of the
Holy Spirit isn’t the only sound of craziness in the air.
Two young winos wearing standard issue, seasonal shell suit
attire are dancing in front of the preacher. One is doing
star-jumps the other is attempting to entice her into a demented
tango. They are giving her awful bad manners screaming terrible
things like “My testicles wanna Testiiiiiiiiiiiffffffyyyyyy”
and “Jesus was a cunt. I never got a PlayStation last year, what
has he ever done for meeeeeeee”. If I was walking past normally
I’d laugh and do sweet fuck all about it like most people. But
the whole scene looks wrong. I feel sorry for the lady, she doesn’t
deserve this amount of abuse. I’m hoping some by-stander will
come up and do something or at least some psycho out with his
kids who can’t handle the racket. But no-one is manning up. Shite.
It’s going to have to be me. Why? Lord Why? I really can’t be
arsed with this. Where’s the cross eyed Hari Krishna that stopped
me last week when you need him?. I’d pay good money to see him
stop these two.