Monday, July 30, 2007

Thanks but no thanx

English ain't shit.

Supposedly it always never was, but now it be even worse.
Nigguhs be uptalkin n' shit, showin' dey lack of confidence in what they say,weak nigguhs..
Y'know like:

'Oh my gawd? Did you see that? She's such a ditz? All she does is shop? and like, complain? like,don'tyou justwanna die?'

Y'all hear how muhfuckahz TALK deez dayz? Damn.

Breakin language down n' shit, takin' sho'tcutz an' wutnot.

Like de werd 'Thanks.'

Fuck datshit.

Don't be sayin thanx to a nigguh.

It sounds like a nigguh can't be bothered with another syllable, fo' a nigguh, another word to convey yo true feelings,

fuckin' inscincere yaknowuddImsayin?

Let's go back
Way back
back into time
when nigguhs would say 'Thank you'.

Now damn, don't dat sound like a nigiuh appreciates a nigguh?

Let's try it out:

Nigguh 1: Yo yo son, pass the midget.

Nigguh 2: ...Hol' up..damn, heavy muhfuckuh...

Nigguh 1: Thanks.


Now let's try that again:

Gentleman One: Excuse me but would you be so kind as to pass me that tasty little midget?

Gentleman Two: Of course, just...sorry, she weighs much more than I thought! There you go.

Gentleman One:Thank you.


Now ain't dat bedda?!


Sunday, July 29, 2007

Deadwood 1, Abdul P (p for puking)

Lucky 13 (AKA) Mark organized a drinking game. He even wrote up some pretty involved rules involving a deck of cards, paper and pen, Dixie cups (that leaked) and a bucket behind the TV.

The ruse? "The Deadwood Drunking game That ain't For Pussies".

The players?
Mark "Lucky 13" Dubeau, Dominic "Domingo" Lavoie, Michael "Distill my beating heart" Longstaff, J-F The Vodka Da Sylva, James "Bandito" Allport and myself, Pukesworth The First (and last).

Deadwood is a harsh, slow-moving Shakespearean Western on HBO that ain't shy o' slingin' curses like irons.

You can't get out of a two-way convo without ' fuck' popping at least five times, Hence Mr. Michael Longstaff knocking 10 shots off in under 10 minutes.

Oh yes, you draw two cards.

One determines the amount in your shot glass 1/4, 1/2, 2/3 to full, the other the swearword(s) you're assigned. I happened to get the curses referring to all things feminine such 'whore', 'cunt', 'bitch', 'slut' and somehow 'piss'. Being a good sport I even took on 'ass'.

The alcohol was a fine array of rhums whiskeys and whatnot. Appleton Estate Jamaican Rhum Canadian Club whiskey; all six of us brought something tasty. I foolishly brought Bombay Sapphire.


Now I admit I had something to prove. I'm not a drinker, but in my limited experience mixed all sorts of drinks and did fine....just not in a drinkering game to a television show full of characters that swore more than a fleet of horny drunken sailors shipwrecked on a remote island of muscular gay pigmies.

Things were fun and jovial for the first 30 minutes. We enjoyed the show, the company and re-drawing every 10 shots taken. after my 10th I was feeling no pain, but alas drew 'fuck' which frequented yellow-toothed mouths more than the word 'the'.

Next thing I know I'm the little girl in 'Exorcist', held up by two buddies as I decided to repaint Mark's white walls in a chunky shade of peach.

After flashes of shouts to puke and drink water from my comrades and the worst sensation of sickness I have yet to regret, I wake up shirtless, in the tub, in puke-encrusted pants with one helluva hangover.

Next day comment from Dominic: "I work on airplanes and I've never seen so much puke in my life."

I've heard countless tales of lost memory when alcohol runs its course but never belived in it until now.

Then Mark starts telling me stuff. Stuff that I don't remember.

Memories flash to the forefront like the stench of a stank washcloth unleashed by a drop of water.

You stuck your finger down my throat to induce vomiting?

You made me drink 9 glasses of water? I only remember 1!

You made me drink mustard & water to make me puke?

I puked on your leather couch?!?

Thank god it was leather and not suede.

Great, patient buddies.

Next day my uncle's like 'Take a shot of Brandy, it'll clear you up.'

I reluctantly agreed and 10 minutes later found myself better for it.

The experience?

Embarrassing to say the least, especially because I ignored the warning care of Michael "Don't mix your grains with your grapes" wanting to prove I could hang with the big boys.

So boys,

When's the next game?

Saturday, July 21, 2007

It's been a long time

GawtDAMN it's been awhile.

And don't kid yourself, this ain't gon' be funny.

I just realized (again) how much thangs have gone down the shit sink.

Notice how everything's being dumbed down?

Who remembers those zippers that had a special tooth in the back of the slider? If for some reason (ahem) your button popped the fuck off you could always count on that special lick of metal to lock into the zipper. This stopped the slider from slipping down the rest of the clasped teeth, saving you from hours holding your pants up, and claims that it's your new 'thing'.

No more!

I don't see 'em on pants any more.

Notice how much music sucks today?

Yes yes, you had Madonna back in the day, but yo, show me a radio station that'll play Shitney Smears 20 years from now.

Everyone can make music now. The tools are within your grasp if you have a lap top and a few decent programs.


Gems pop out of the blue collar demographic, people have more freedom to be creative. But the bar has been lowered when people who can't sing or play an instrument can make millions of dollars while a jazz musician who's dedicated his or her life to the craft has to eat Kraft.

Go to Jello Bar. (that's in Montreal people)

There's a band workin' HARD to make you dance, live and in your face. Next room's a DJ with most of the crowd at his disposal.

Love DJs but dayum...

Technology's made us less human. Back in the day you had to face someone. Now you can email, text message, phone, fax a break up , an argument, a serious discussion.

Of course there are advantages but it weakens our resolve, puts machines between us. We don't have operators anymore we have pre-recorded voices telling us to press buttons.

We're not robots.


To quote Michael Franti, stay human.