Dent Discovery

It's An Open Bar With An All You Can Eat Buffet For Only $20.00

2007-12-30T13:27:00.000-08:00

I elaborated on this little story that I heard during Xmas dinner:

The parish priest had a plate in his head due to injuries he sustained from a car accident.
He wasn’t the same since the accident happened.
To the congregation, it seemed like he stood on the pulpit forever,
giving the same sermon over and over again.
He kept losing track of where he was.
The Mass would drag on and on
and people would be snoring in the pews more than usual.
Other parishioners lined up outside the church
waiting to attend the next Mass
while the plate headed priest kept re-tracking through where he had been.
He threw the whole Sunday Mass schedule off.
------------

A few gems I got from 2007:

I like and respect senior citizens
(I nearly am one)
but when they get behind the wheel of a car
they can do anything.
Expect the unexpected.

Where can you go
where people don’t have dogs harassing you ?
I like some dogs,
but I generally hate how people own dogs.
There should be a curfew put on
when people are allowed to walk their dogs,
then little Fifi can get fucked by a Doberman
and I won’t be around to hear the crying.

I’ve tried,
but can’t relate to how people use cellphones.
I give up on the whole cellphone thing.
Let the phones ring and let the birds sing.
Someday they will become obsolete
like everything else in the technology universe.

I use to walk to get somewhere,
now I walk to stay healthy.
-------------

Whiskey Jack was not a drinking man
but he was a lonely old soul on the evening of the new year.
He thought he had a date with the cleaning lady
who maintained the laundry mat he frequently visited,
but for some reason she stood him up
and he couldn’t figure out why.
Her name was Janet
and they gradually got to know each other
at the bus stop beside the jewelry store
that was across the street from the laundry mat.
They never sat with one another on the bus
and they never talked to one another inside the laundry mat.
They had a very shy but budding relationship.
Whiskey Jack spent long autumn evenings
creating a bouquet of flowers made out of egg cartons
which he presented to Janet for Christmas.
She was completely taken aback from the gesture
and in her moment of weakness,
she agreed to spent the new year evening with Whiskey Jack
at a popular donut shop
that was only a few blocks away from the laundry mat.
Whiskey Jack waited and waited at the donut shop.
Out with the old year and in with the new year, but still no Janet.
It was nearly three o’clock in the morning
when a dejected Whiskey Jack finally departed the donut shop
as police sirens wailed by on the rain soaked avenue.
It was a long wet walk home.
It was far from a happy new year.
It was a solitary feeling staring at the walls
of his basement suite beneath a barber shop.
Slowly but surely
Whiskey Jack dropped off into a deep slumber
with wonderful dreams of romance,
as the new year crept in
like an amoeba over the planet.

Let us rewind back to Janet.
After a long afternoon cleaning the college campus art building
where the teaching staff brought their children over the holidays,
Janet went home and enjoyed a Christmas
left-over supper of ham and scalloped potatoes.
She was ready for a nap
before heading out to meet Whisky Jack
when the phone suddenly rang.
It was a police officer reporting a break-in
at the laundry mat that Janet maintained.
The owner of the laundry mat was away on vacation
and Janet was the only person available
who could arrange to secure the site.
So much for her new year evening plans.
Those plans went out the window.
She didn’t even have Whiskey Jack’s phone number
to let him know about her situation.
Little did she know,
Whiskey Jack did not even own a phone.
He was a rare individual.
Janet left her apartment in disarray
as she headed out the door,
to head to the bus stop,
to head back downtown,
to head to the scene of the laundry mat crime.
Her head hurt.
The thieves smashed through the front glass door
and used a crowbar to empty the money
out of several laundry machines.
By coincidence,
the alarm system triggered at the jewelry store across the street
at the same time the laundry mat was being robbed.
The police had actually been dispatched to the jewelry store
but it turned out to be a false alarm.
While they were writing up their report,
they noticed the broken glass door across the street at the laundry mat.
After numerous phone calls,
the police department eventually got a hold of Janet.
It was after six o’clock in the morning
when an emergency service glass company
was finally able to replace the glass on the front entry door.
Janet was exhausted and her trip back home was a blur.
Slowly but surely,
Janet dropped off into a deep slumber
with wonderful dreams of romance,
as the new year crept in like an amoeba over the planet.
-------------

Well, it’s the end of 2007 and a fine year it has been.
I guess every year above ground is a good one ...
or maybe it is the other way around ?
I’ve done this blog for over a year now,
so I am going to make this excerpt my last one.
Never say never, I know,
but it’s time for this dude to move on.
I’ve enjoyed the freedom of expression
that the blog medium has given me,
along with the gear-grinding brain exercises.
I’ve especially enjoyed letting my imagination run free,
like an old elementary school teacher
once encouraged me to do
with her “hillbilly and pink elephants” writing assignment.
Kurt Vonnegut said,
“when you’re writing a book, you’re not committed to anything.
You’re not even committed to the book itself.”
I am far from a literary guy,
but I love the idea of “no commitment” to writing.
Just let it flow and take on a life of it’s own.
The trick is to get it flowing.
Next year I plan on focusing my blog writing energies
toward my musical endeavors.
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
(Same with death). Ha ha ha.

To all my family and friends
and any accidental casual readers out there,
I thank you for taking the time to check out my site.
I never encouraged reader comments but I was amused by the ones I received.
The wide spectrum of opinions ran the entire gauntlet.
I basically wrote stuff because I enjoyed doing it.
It felt good.
I got stuff off my chest,
but they say I still have nice tits !
I hope you got a laugh or an inspiration
or at the very least, thought I was nuts.
I bid you good ado.
Thanks for the deviled ham sandwiches.
Have a great 2008.
Adios.

Den

Jennifer said, "Go fuck yourself," at Xmas time.

2007-12-23T11:08:00.000-08:00

Warning: Adult content and course language.
Turn back if you doubt your courage.

Jennifer was my next door neighbor in a trailer park on the edge of town.
Now we are happily married with 2.5 children
and we still reside in the same trailer park on the edge of town.
I met Jennifer just before Xmas fifteen years ago.
She was my new neighbor.
She had an extremely bad week before Xmas.
Her car broke down and needed a new transmission,
her cat was run over and killed by a vehicle on the highway
and she had been laid off her job at a local fish farm.
Needless to say, Jennifer was not in a Xmas spirit.
To top off her grief, her furnace broke down
and she had no luck scheduling a repair date until the new year.
She was cold and miserable and something inside of her must have snapped.
When the postman said, “Merry Xmas” to her as he delivered some bills,
she replied, “Go fuck yourself,” as she slammed the door.
When the garbage man dropped off the pick-up date changes for the holiday season,
she said, “Go fuck yourself,” to him too.
She said the same thing to everyone.
“Go fuck yourself.”
No matter who it was, “Go fuck yourself” were the only words she would say to people.
Most people were astounded at how rude she was.
I was walking home from the bingo hall on the day before Xmas
when I spotted Jennifer heading into the trailer park
with a large liquor store paper bag in her hand.
I yelled out, “Hello there. How are ya ?”
She replied, “Go fuck yourself.”
I in turn replied, “If I could do that, I would never leave my trailer.”
She paused, then looked at me and smiled. She broke out into a hysterical fit of laughter.
Well, one thing led to another and we ended up drinking wine at her kitchen table.
She played endless Conway Twitty music on her stereo.
I was impressed with how fowl mouthed she was.
She could stand up to any man I had ever met with the amount
and variety of profanities that left her mouth.
She would swear several times in the same sentence.
I couldn’t keep up to her, and I tried.
In some perverted way, I found her demeanor rather refreshing.
Her trailer was an absolute mess. She was a genuine dirty person.
Stuff was piled everywhere.
Dirty dishes, dirty laundry, empty booze bottles, a dead cat’s litter box,
you name it, the mess was everywhere.
The cockroaches were sleeping.
We kept drinking as her trailer got colder and colder.
We wrapped ourselves in dirty blankets
and continued drinking and talking at her kitchen table deep into Xmas eve.
It’s all a blur to me now.
I woke up on Xmas day snuggled up beside Jennifer on a mattress on her bedroom floor.
I don’t know what happened during the night.
All I know is that we were both really hung over.
Thus began my illustrious courtship with Jennifer.
She’s my wife now and not a day goes by that I regret marrying her.
All because Jennifer said, “Go fuck yourself,” at Xmas time.
--------------
They call me “Dennis, the plumber.”
It took awhile but I found “the final solution” in repairing my clogged kitchen sink.
It was a close call.
I was weakening with the idea of calling a professional plumber.
If I hadn’t fixed it by the new year, I would have called in the military.
All in all, I learned a lot and it cost me about $47.00 in parts.
I now have sinks and toilets on my resume.
I am a self ordained backyard plumber !
--------------------
I wish they would stop showing bad photos of McCartney on the internet.
I feel really old when I see him now.
At this point in his life, the man is not aging well.
I think the big divorce must be kicking the shit out of him.
------------------
For the last five years, at Xmas time,
I get together with a group of old friends and we get really drunk
and wear black capes and worship Satan until the sun rises in the morning.
Then we go for breakfast !
-----------------
Sports:

Look at my beloved Calgary Flames go.
They are only the third team in NHL history to win a complete six game road trip.
-----------------
I’ve enclosed Xmas stuff I’ve received ...
ho ho ho !
----------------

There's a Squirrel in your Attic

2007-12-16T10:24:00.000-08:00

The Led Zeppelin Concert: (Dec.10, 2007)

Good on them for doing a successful concert again after all these years.
It motivated me to get out all my old Led Zep tapes for a re-listen.
It was great !
I did the same thing with all my Lennon tapes the week before.
It’s nice hearing the old music again.
---------
Keeping the computer in a box:

I bought a new computer and it dawned on me
that if I want to have a clean, trouble-free, no virus computer for years to come,
I should just leave it in the box. Don’t open it !
---------
It took awhile, but they finally tore the old girl down:

Yup ... they finally tore the old Courtenay House down.
The bastards.
All we wanted was a nice old drinking establishment where we could relax,
have a few beverages and watch pretty women take off their clothes.
It was fun while it lasted.
--------
Doctors should have “people” skills:

It only makes sense to me, common sense, that if you are dealing with the public,
(beware there are a lot of idiots out there) you should have some “people skills.”
I don’t mean you have to be Mr. Charisma, I just mean basic, “Hello. How are ya ?” stuff.
I’ve met doctors who are so cold and anti-social that they scare the shit of me.
I wonder how they keep any patients at all.
I had a miserable doctor check me out for a hernia several years ago.
He was old and angry and should have been retired. He scared the shit out of me.
I met a doctor last week that reminded me of Igor in Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory.
He was not a fun guy.
He nearly freaked when I shook his hand as I departed the office.
I got the “dead fish” handshake.
I had a dentist once in Surrey who I’m sure was a Nazi.
She was small, built like a tank, in a black leather dress.
She said to me, “You don’t need any freezing. Scream, if it hurts.”
Now I have a dentist who is ultra-conservative and decorated in gold jewelry like a Xmas tree.
He’s definitely not my cup of tea, but he is a good dentist.
Yup, they train these people at the finest universities in the world
and the diplomas are draping their office walls
but many of them sure come out into the real world lacking people skills.
Just a simple, “Hi. How are ya ?” would go a long way for some of these highly educated professionals.
--------------------
In Germany:

Last week an elderly German woman asked me in a thick accent,
“Are you married ?”
“No,” I boasted.
She inquired, “You are not married and you have no children ?”
“Nope,” I boasted again with a grin.
She appeared surprised.
She said, “In Germany we have a saying,
all women should be married
and all men should be single.”
I liked her gist. She was a sharp old gal.
She told me that being single with no children has it’s pros and cons.
Apparently if you have no children you will get lonely when you get old.
How many times have I heard that one ?
--------------------
Trivia:

Apparently Ginger Spice has blonde hair now.
Cool !
------------------
Sports:

The Flames and especially Iggy have been red hot all week on the road.
----------------

All Pause for a Glimpse at the Train Wreck

2007-12-08T23:57:00.000-08:00

“At this stage of the game, life gets to be a habit.”
Charlie Chaplin
++++++++++++
Kid Stuff:

It was like throwing a rubber ball against the wall of the school.
It was a natural thing to do.
It was stuff kids did when they were bored.
Summer in the city, no money, nowhere to go.
What of it ?
Shit happens and we “all have our crosses to bear.”
Fair enough, let’s move on !
+++++++++++++
In duck news:

I walked past a group of ducks today.
They were a pretty pissed off group, as far as ducks go.
It was cold out and they were bitching at each other.
They were having trouble sleeping.
There was a lot of spousal friction too.
I walked up to the group and went “quack” a few times.
They all went quiet and looked at me in amazement as if thinking,
“who is that big fucking human being that thinks he’s a duck like us ?”
At least I stopped their bickering for the time being.
They thought I was crazy for quacking at them, but they respected my approach just the same.
We understood one another.
+++++++++++++
Crawling under the trailer news:

Crawlspaces are one thing,
but crawling under a haunted trailer is another.
That’s what I did today.
There are several human bodies buried beneath my trailer.
They have been there for a long time. They don’t mind the music I play.
I felt their presence as I wallowed in the dirt above them.
I was a welcome disruption to their peace.
They seemed ok with me being that close to them and I was ok with them for awhile.
As I crawled along in my quest for knowledge,
a human hand came out of the earth beneath me and grabbed a hold of my coveralls.
I was dumbfounded.
I thought I was imaging the grip it had on me when all of a sudden
the hand undid my zipper and grabbed a hold of my “dickey-do.”
That was it !
I had enough action under there for the day.
I crawled away in a hurry and sealed off the entrance.
+++++++++++++++++
Death Stuff:

This is a very reflective time of year for me.
It has been for many many years.
Two big people in my life died at this time of year and as the years pass,
my memory of them change, but the memory is still strong.
++++++++++++++++
Dad Stuff:

Dad died Dec.13th forty years ago in his sleep, the lucky bastard.
He was only 43, a pup by today’s standards.
Rheumatic fever kicked the shit out of his heart when he was younger and it caught up to him.
The year he died was 1967. It was a pretty big year.
The Toronto Maple Leafs won the Stanley Cup that year and have been trying to win it back ever since.
Expo 67 in Montreal was a pretty big deal. It was the 100th year of Canada’s confederation.
It was the “summer of love.” Sgt. Pepper had been released. Music was everywhere.
I remember the summer of 1967 was a particularly good one for a skinny 13 year old kid like me.
I spent quality time at a friend’s big old cottage on Lake Simcoe north of Toronto.
I got to spend a couple of weeks in Montreal for Expo 67.
Then dad and I drove down to Florida in his new Cutlass Oldsmobile.
For some reason dad had a boner to move the family to Florida.
He had been frequenting the “Sunshine State” often.
I remember staying in a lot of motel rooms. I kept busy on my own, hanging around swimming pools and catching lizards. I liked those little chameleons. I never really knew what the hell dad was up to.
I knew he went to the lounges a bit but he never came back to the motel room drunk as far as I could tell. He gave me shit a few times, but from what I can remember, it was a good trip. I got my picture taken with a blue indigo snake wrapped around my arms in Sarasota, Florida and I scored a hillbilly hat from Dogpatch, Kentucky.
What else could a kid ask for ?
Fast foreward to December 1967.
I had a rough start to Grade 8 but I was turning things around and my marks had vastly improved. I took a free karate lesson and I remember hounding dad at lunch one day for money to take more lessons. He didn’t say yes and he didn’t say no. For some reason he did a few push-ups on the kitchen floor after lunch. Maybe it was because I told him about the exercises we did at my free karate lesson. Whatever.
The next day, when I came home from school for lunch, mom took me into her bedroom and told me dad died.
As Kurt Vonnegut often said, “so it goes.”
Now, forty years later it seems odd how my memory of the man has changed with time.
There are no fresh memories. Everything is filtered through time for better or worse.
History is constantly being re-written.
Time kicks everything in the ass and that is probably a good thing.
Anyway, cheers to the “old man.”
I wish he was around to tip a pint but “oh well” .... “that’s life.”
++++++++++++++++++
Lennon Stuff:

If you are in your 70’s or 80’s, Frank Sinatra was probably a big musical /social influence on your youth. If you are in your 60’s or 70’s, Elvis Presley was probably a big musical /social influence on your youth. If you are in your 50’s or 60’s, the Beatles were probably a big musical/social influence on your youth.
The Beatles were a big one for me.
A zillion things have been written about them, so here are my two cents worth.
I remember, in early 1964, our whole family was sitting around the TV in the downstairs recreation room watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show in glorious black & white.
I was nearly ten, and what a rush that show was. Wow !
In the summer of 1965 when the movie “Help” was released, me and my younger brother went to the theatre eleven times to see it. My dad listened to their songs on the radio when we would drive home from the cottage. I think he liked Beatle music back then. As a kid, I never really paid much attention to what the adult world thought about the Beatles. All I knew was, they were great !
I slept, ate, breathed, walked, talked, and sang Beatles. They were everywhere. The Beatles were a great escape from the guilt trip that the Catholic church was laying on us poor sponge brained kids.
I remember in late 1967 when my older brother brought home the new “Magical Mystery Tour” album. Dad hated it and everything about the Beatles by then. Society was changing and they were the cause of it. I think to most adults at that time, the Beatles had fallen from grace.
Fast foreward to December 1980.
I was working seismic on a cold morning in Bashaw, a one horse town in central Alberta. I went into the restaurant for a take-out coffee and overheard a few old farmers talking about the big news that a Beatle had been shot dead in New York city. I had seen the news on TV at 11 pm the night before and I was as stunned as everyone else. The weather was bad that day and the seismic recording equipment broke down, so the whole crew spent the day in their vehicles watching the snow fall and listening to John Lennon tributes on the radio.
It definitely left a lasting impression with me.
+++++++++++++++++++
Miscellaneous Stuff:

Here’s a few excerpts from an email I got from my bother:

The Future 1: Anytime I want to feel old I go into Future Shop where all the employees are young and the music is loud. The other day it was Michael Jackson blaring from the speakers while other sounds came out of various game machines. Audrey says I'm overreacting to this stimulus.

(I know what he means. Sometimes when I walk into Wal-Mart they are yelling so loud over the PA system that I forget what the fuck I walked into the store for).

The Future 2: So I'm in the washroom at a Zellers. A guy in his twenties is at the urinal with his dick in his right hand and his cell phone in his left ! He wasn't talking into it but it looked like he was texting or something. What fucking planet am I on that you have to multitask while pissing in a public washroom? I nearly laughed aloud at the pissing clown.

(The guy was probably taking pictures of his “dickey-do”).
++++++++++++++
And finally:

Hey the Spice Girls are back !
Ya-hoo !
They rocked Vancouver last Monday and I was there ... in spirit.
Ginger is still my fav.
+++++++++++++++++
In Sports:

It looks like the Red Wings are bulldozing through every team in the league.
The Penguins are having a very good western road trip.
+++++++++++++++++

"Have a happy period.

Liquid Lew and the Farting Plumber from Hornby Island.

2007-12-02T13:58:00.000-08:00

They were a pretty unlikely duo.
The farting plumber from Hornby Island had a relatively successful business. He kept as busy as he wanted to be. All his customers gave him credit for his workmanship. He showed up on time and he always got the job done whether it be renovation changes, clogged sinks and toilets, leaking water pipes, you name it, he fixed it. The only complaint his clients ever had was his flatulence.
He left a fowl odor in every room he worked in.
This caught up to him over the years. He changed his diet and followed his doctor’s suggestions, but nothing seemed to help. It was something he had to live with and unfortunately it was something people around him had to whiff.
He always seemed to keep a positive attitude.
When things went haywire he had a habit of saying, “it’s a real head scratcher.”
He got a hip replacement just when the economy was turning sour. More and more customers were paying for his services via the barter system. One young woman gave him a huge “ghetto blaster” with a Spice Girls CD instead of using money as payment. He didn’t mind, but eventually his cash flow diminished like everyone else’s. He had accumulated a lot of stuff that people had paid him but he was running out of storage space.
He said, “it’s a real head scratcher.”
One day he got a call from his brother-in-law in Calgary who had a recent heart attack and was taking it easy. His brother-in-law was wondering if the farting plumber from Hornby Island would be interested in running his radiator shop. The offer was accepted instantly and within a week the farting plumber from Hornby Island was the new manager of his brother-in-law’s radiator shop in S.E. Calgary.
Fixing rads had a lot of similarities to plumbing work. If there’s a leak, fix it or replace it.
It was also a bonus that his flatulence would go completely undetected in a radiator shop. There were enough acids in the air to hide any odors.
On the cold morning of his first Saturday at the job, a strange looking old guy came into the shop walking sideways like a crab on the beach, holding on to the end of an extension chord. He introduced himself as Lew.
“People call me Liquid Lew because I drink,” he boasted with a laugh.
“I pull the rads out and I put’em back in.
I’m good at what I do.”
He explained to the farting plumber from Hornby Island that he had to fix the extension chord because, “the old lady is getting pretty cold out there.”
Liquid Lew was an old gold prospector from the Yukon and all he had left in the world was a pickup truck and a camper. He had it parked beside the rad shop where he ran an extension chord from an outlet to the heater inside his camper. He met his “old lady” at the St. Louis Hotel several months before and she took up permanent residence in his camper and never left it.
No one ever saw her !
Thus the partnership began between Liquid Lew and the farting plumber from HornbyIsland.
Liquid Lew did his job well and the farting plumber from Hornby Island did his job well and the business thrived at the radiator shop.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Lately:

My Flames continue their fall from grace.
HaPpY BiRtHdAy ... Shawn !
My kitchen sink is clogged.
I am showering and doing the dishes at the same time.
Is that the right thing to do ?
“You don’t know what you got, until you lose it.”
Always listen to your friends at the pub.
Great snow flakes around here.
Nothing gets me into the spirit of the season like this.

p.s. Liquid Lew was an actual person.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Ding Dong Ding Dong. It's Your Wake Up Call !

2007-11-25T11:41:00.000-08:00

I’ve got fuck all to write about this morning, so I’ll ramble on.
It’s Grey Cup Sunday and I hope both teams win, although I’m pulling for the “Green Machine”
I will still be happy to see the “Beer Bombers” win it.
I’ve cooked up a pot of chili in case half a dozen friends drop by.
If no one shows up I’ll have food for a week.
Yesterday, I was able to verify my duck report from last week.
I asked another group of ducks, “What is the meaning of life ?”
They replied, “Quack.”
I am convinced that they are correct.
I got a wake up call earlier this month with the dreaded chest pains that men my age fear.
Like they say, “you always think the worst,” and I was no exception.
I got my papers in order, just in case I would not be gracing this planet in the near future.
Off to the emergency ward we go, hi ho hi ho.
Off with your shirt, lie on a bed, hooked up to a monitor and oxygen seeping into your nostrils. Helpless.
Watch all the nurse activity. They took my mind off my tits.
There were frantic nurses, calm nurses, organized nurses, scatter brained nurses, angry nurses, bitching nurses, pleasant nurses, pretty nurses and nurses that may have been guys.
They took my blood and urine, cardiographed me and X-rayed me and just for good measure they bummed me in case my prostate was acting up.
This took over four hours.
Then the doctor came in, told me my heart and all the peripherals were good and maybe I had an infection or a virus.
Basically I could fuck off.
Ya hoo !
I leaped out of bed, jumped for joy and all of a sudden my tits weren’t hurting too bad.
It made me think hard about, “what’s life all about ?”
Quack !
When I was very young, before grade two, we had ducks on the kitchen wall at our house in East York, an old suburb of Toronto. Those ducks were always in flight above the kitchen table.
You don’t see ducks on walls anymore.
What happened ?
Did they go out of style like black velvet paintings and lava lamps ?
I for one, would like to see them back in the kitchens again.

I’ve rambled long enough ... enjoy the game !

Is That A Mallard Duck In Your Bathtub ?

2007-11-18T11:07:00.000-08:00

There is something about ducks I have always liked.

Since I was a young toddler I thought ducks were cool.

There were ducks up at the cottage.

I wondered, “Where do the ducks go in the winter ?”

When I was a teenager I still thought ducks were cool.

Maybe because duck sounds like fuck, or maybe it was because of Daffy Duck and all his shenanigans.

I like how ducks float on the water like a football, with their web feet kicking ass below.

I like how they bob their heads for food while their asses point straight up to the heavens.

They don’t bother anybody.

They just mind their own business and carry on with a good attitude about everything.

When I was in a hillbilly mode in the mid 1970’s we went duck hunting somewhere north-west of Calgary. Three or four of us loaded the pickup truck with shot guns and whiskey and away we went on a cold autumn weekend. We weren’t very successful. The ducks in the area didn’t have much to worry about. We didn’t kill one duck the whole weekend. We got really drunk and I remember I blew the campfire out with a shot gun in the morning. I guess I wasn’t too concerned about safety issues.

The thing that really kills me about ducks is that they “quack.”

Now I may be a bit insane but I swear that for years I have developed a habit of “quacking” too.

Why just yesterday I was walking by a seagull (shithawk) and I quacked at it.

It looked at me as though I was nuts.

I went by a group of ducks and I quacked at them too.

They thought I was ok, one of the group.

I quack, they quack, everywhere a quack quack.

Everything was cool. I let some of them sleep.

I moo at cows too, but that is another story.

I think deep down inside, a lot of people would like to talk to the animals.

I would just like to get a few of their opinions on how things are.

I would like to know from a duck or a cow’s point of view

if us humans are as fucked up as I suspect we are.

I would really like to get their take on the matter.

Finally, there is an odd but true duck story I must mention.

Several Thanksgiving dinners ago, I was at my sister’s place east of Toronto enjoying the festivities when I was invited into the ensuite for a toke.

Sure, what ta hell. I’m in good company.

I joined my sister and my nephew’s wife for a puff

but low and behold look at what is in the bathtub.

It’s a mallard duck !

It was floating around in circles as happy as could be.

After a few tokes with the girls and a couple of quacks from the duck

I reached a perfect plateau of oneness with the universe.

What is the meaning of life ?

Quack !
============================
Lately:

All is well these days.
Life is good. I’m where I want to be.
My head is good. Bald is beautiful.

Sports:

It was a good win for the Leafs yesterday.
They played really well in beating the Sens 3 - 0.
I hope my beloved Flames are getting back on track.
They won last night but they have to play the Canucks today.

It’s a great sports day today !
**********************

Nothing Smells Like Roses Over A Septic Tank

2007-11-11T12:27:00.000-08:00

“In the beginning God created earth, fast food chains were on his turf. “

We were surrounded by controversy so I decided to wear my coveralls into the slaughterhouse.
The place had actually been robbed and I give full credit to the robbers for their originality.
How many thieves could boast about a successful hit on a slaughterhouse.
Pepperoni for everyone !
Our mission was to secure the area.
It was an honor to take on a task that others before us had failed to accomplish due to the less than perfect atmosphere.
The smell of dead livestock isn’t for everyone.
The “if you don’t think about it, it will go away” approach failed the convoy before us
so they buggered off.
The slaughterhouse was basically divided into three main areas:
the killing and gutting area, the processing area and the front retail shop.
I thought it odd that a slaughterhouse would have a front store area
but on second thought I was sure it was a stroke of genius.
It attracted the savvy customers who demanded fresh meat.
Really fresh meat !
The job went well and there were a few highlights for me.
While working in the processing area I couldn’t help but notice that the woman in the area
were all big boned girls. I liked that. I, for one, am a fan.
The killing and gutting area was interesting.
I went in there with my tools and ladder. I talked to the guy on shift at the time and he assured me that I would not be interrupting his work. We both just carried on.
He looked like he was about seventeen years old, with buck teeth and a huge permanent smile on a pale long face. He looked just like you would picture a guy doing his job would look like.
His coveralls were a lot messier than mine.
The next cow came in through what appeared to be an elevator door. A probe was put to it’s head and it was dead. It’s hind legs were tied then the body was hoisted up and a large knife cut through the entire length of it’s stomach.
Splash !
Out came the entrails and there was blood and guts all over the place. The walls were covered and so was the left side of my coveralls. In no time at all the cow was cut up into large pieces, placed on a conveyor belt then whistled off into the processing area to be made into juicy steaks and juicy hamburgers. The guy shoveled the guts into a huge bin then washed the blood and other stuff away with a garden hose.
It was all fun stuff to see first hand.
Another guy came in with coveralls on to start his work shift. The two of them joked and laughed about who knows what. They looked like they could be twins.
I wondered what do guys like this do for kicks on their time off ?

The Dewey Decimal System at the Sexy Girls Club

2007-11-04T14:22:00.000-08:00

They say around this time of year when all the ghouls are lingering in the alleys that more goats are sighted in Victoria than any other area on the west coast. I’m not sure why.
Maybe a lot of the people in Victoria are crazy.
I’ve heard stories about houses new and old that are haunted by goats.
Whether you believe in goats or not is irrelevant. These people claim that the stories are true.
Believe it or not, there is even a golf course in Victoria that is said to be haunted by goats.
Apparently the story goes back to the depression years in the early 1930’s when a husband murdered his wife while they were playing a round of golf. He straggled her to death then dragged her body across the 7th fairway and left her lying behind a log near the river. No one knows what provoked him to murder his wife but every year since then there have been witnesses claiming to have seen her goat wandering about the golf course in the early autumn morning fog.
Last week a man was interviewed on the morning news in Victoria claiming to have spotted the dead woman’s goat while he was making a putt for a birdie.

The Board Meeting Brigade Strikes Again

2007-09-30T10:56:00.000-07:00

First they started off the meeting with the “Whose on first ?” routine. They couldn’t agree on anything so they moved on to the next burning item on the agenda.
The poor quality of the toilet seats in the woman’s washrooms.
It was decided that a work order would be issued and the custodian would purchase sixteen new toilet seats to be installed as soon as possible. The women were getting blisters on their asses and they weren’t happy about it.
Next on the list of issues to be discussed was the annual fire alarm inspection. It was a necessary evil that had to be done but it was always disturbing part of the faculty. They rolled up their sleeves and tackled this problem head-on. The coffee and donuts were catered into the meeting room at 10am and within half an hour everyone was back to the task of finding a time window for the annual fire alarm inspection that would satisfy the staff’s concerns and cause as few interruptions as possible. By noon coffee and sandwiches were catered into the meeting and their was much rejoicing. In the early afternoon they still could not agree on a fire alarm inspection schedule so it was decided to re-schedule a meeting to re-hash the problem out further.
That would give everyone time to come up with some fresh ideas.
The final topic for discussion was the over abundance of senior staff members on the campus and the problems they were creating. Since forced retirement became a thing of the past, several of the senior staff on the payroll were losing touch with the students and they were also losing touch with there own faculties.
Here were a few examples:
A staff member ran her car into the arts building one morning after becoming confused over the brake and gas pedals.
A staff member pooped his pants while giving a lecture in history class.
One staff member has been using a walker in order to maneuver between classes.
The list goes on and on but is has become apparent that the senior staff members are sending the wrong messages to the students.
Now this was a touchy topic for debate considering half the people attending the meeting were in their mid sixties. After much discussion and a final coffee break it was unanimously decided to put this issue over into the next meeting as well.
That would give everyone time to come up with some fresh ideas.

There's Cockroaches In Heaven

2007-09-09T08:15:00.000-07:00

If the Catholic Church has taught me anything at all, it has taught me that there are cockroaches in heaven. Where else do you think all those quick little bugs scamper to after they have been crunched under your feet. They go straight to heaven. They bypass limbo and purgatory on the way. They are welcomed guests in heaven and they have lots of treats to eat there too. Imagine waking up in heaven on a soft downy bed snuggled up beside a nice big brown cockroach with long antennas flying all over the place. When I was in Rio de Janeiro I woke up with cock roaches in my bed. I played a game of checkers with them. Then we all had a shower together. And those bastards can drink too ! They helped themselves to any booze I left out on the sink and then the party started. They were marching up and down the walls, in and out of the cupboards, and even sniffing through my underwear in the drawers. God damn party animals. That’s what they are. “Lights out,” means nothing to them. I wish the hell I had that much energy. I can’t keep up with them. It’s just go, go, go all the time. And they can get you into trouble too. One time, in band camp, I was called to an emergency false alarm because a motion detector in a highly secured military cafeteria kept tripping the sirens on the base. No one could get any sleep. I rushed right over there unprepared, not very alert, and not very well dressed either. I hadn’t shaved or showered and I was a bit bunged up. Then I had to look for a fucking ladder to reach the motion detector. I looked everywhere. No one had a ladder. Here I was on an air force base and no one had keys to any rooms that might have a ladder. Talk about being unorganized. “How do they fix anything around here ?” I was at my wits end. I ended up pushing a huge table against the pillar that the motion detector was mounted on, then I put a chair on top of that. Then I put a milk crate on top of that. I climbed up on the table and the chair and the milk crate but then I had to get back down because I forgot to put my tool belt on. “Fuck,” was all I had to say. I tucked in my belly, put on my tool belt then climbed back up the junk I used in place of a proper ladder. I could reach the motion detector but it was still uncomfortably high. It was one of those high powered micro-wave / infrared units. With my index finger I yanked on the back top area of the motion detector in an effort to get the cover off the damn thing. I was getting pretty frustrated and for some reason I was craving some hot pumpkin pie with ice cream. All of a sudden, my weight shifted, the cover popped off and hundreds of cockroaches came pouring out of the unit within a split second. They were crawling all over my arms and my face. I even spit one out of my mouth. I lost my balance and went crashing to the floor. I was very angry and aching from the tumble to the floor, but I managed to get up and crush as many of those bastards as I could. I was doing what is commonly referred to as the “Cockroach Jig.” It’s like a waltz only different. I sent as many of those cockroaches to heaven as my shoes could step on. Lots of them escaped my wrath but I smeared cockroach guts all over the floor. “The janitor is not going to be happy.” I was in a frenzy and my jowls were shaking wildly. “I’ll see you on the other side,” I yelled out loud as I continued the dance of death. Because, like I said, if the Catholic Church has taught me anything at all, it has taught me that there are cockroaches in heaven.