Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Angus Thripshaw's Ditch
in association with the endless ocean of gravy
- I was living with Green Fish for a few months until I was able to get a certain business venture off the ground, or until he could pin me in a best of three challenge. He pulled a fast one on me by putting sleeping pills in my Thompson's Wood Stain and moving away.
- Left to my own devices I decided to find lodgings and pursue my business venture with a renewed passion. As luck would have it I secured shelter in a drainage ditch on the outskirts of a condemned industrial plaza.
- I secured financing for my business by strolling "mother naked" into large grocery stores and being paid to go away before the fruit spoiled.
- With capital secured I opened up a roadside consulting firm specializing in executive entertainment solutions and seminars. I planned to specialize in up market firms with a large female clientele who would be enamored with my determined, workman-like, love making skills, in the prescribed Soviet style. I felt that this, complimented with home made Vodka, would be a market leader in executive solutions.
- My first day went well, except that I set up my stand to close to the highway, and a wide-load transport trailer clipped my turkey costume and threw me, my stand, and my home made vodka dispenser across the freeway and under the viaduct. I was relatively uninjured until a pack of feral dogs, emboldened by the stench of blood and rotting potato peelings, set about me with a vigor.
- I spent the next eighteen months convalescing under that viaduct, living on home made vodka and feral dog tar tar, and maintaining my network of clients by shouting obscenities at passing cars.
- I finally taught myself to walk again after discovering that both my feet were in fact wedged into one shoe.
- I then wrote for the Toronto Sun for six months until this became just too much of a strain on my dignity. That lead me to reopen negations with Mr Fish (follow him home from work) and secure a staff writing position (he still forgets to lock the door).
So that's all for now kids. I'm going to be on my merry way before the big fool wakes up. Right after I have a wash in the sink and a crap in the tub. Bye now, Fuckers!!!
The West Turmeric Wrangler
Vol. 9 Issue 47
Mrs Althea Trapes would like to thank the gentlemen of Plumbers Local 314 for giving her organ a good pounding out before the children's choir recital last Tuesday. The vandals who dented her wind system and flattened her expression peddle out of recognition have still not been identified. She says she will be buffing the pipes of the fine men of Local 314 for some time to come.
****In a correction from last week's issue (46), Dr Robert Culter, 46, is the Chief administrator for the Lower Fourth Parks Project, and not, as reported by Audrey Wong, a fat sack of pompadoured horse shit.
Harlen Waxman, 32, is looking to rent a room and workspace within the city limits for the purpose of launching an exciting new business venture. He requires a small windowless room with a low bed, two stainless steel sinks, a dentist's chair, weather sealed windows, and heavy mosquito netting. In leu of rent Mr Waxman will finance his accommodations with yard work, small engine repair, honey, and tales of seamanship from his days as a showgirl aboard the QE2.
Dapp Heldersmith, 66, is collecting signatures for a petition to take legal action against the City Council for damaged and lost property in the wake of last month's Retired Sailor's Convention. Mr. Heldersmith is also offering a reward of $50.00 for the return of two garden gnomes, a hammock, and Mrs. Heldersmith, 64.
In local sports, the West Turmeric Sack Bladders (Go Bladders!!!) avoided relegation to the ladies division last Wednesday by winning the 103rd Annual Red Cup And Cape tournament when none of the other teams showed up.
Elvis LeCruz, 31, will be giving the sixth installment of his very popular lecture series, "Why I Am So Fucking Extreme. BOOYA!!!" This week's talk (Bros before Hoes) will cover such topics as, tribal tattoos, Affliction clothing, pre-distressed denim, fist bumping, late '90s BET slang, Bud Lite, tanning, man flip-flops, little beards and the gradual acceptance of using the word "disrespect" as a verb.
****In a correction from last week's issue, Mr Kevin Flatt, 88, is alive and well and not, as reported by Mrs Candi Flatt, 22, dead and buried. The party however, will go ahead as planned.
Found: Two jam stained garden gnomes, under the overpass at Bridge Street
Sunday, July 05, 2009
To my eternal shame it has come to pass that I have not exactly been burning up the blogosphere lately. I know my seven loyal readers must be wondering what the hell is going on. Well I have several very good excuses, and I shall list them here for you now in my own inimitable way.
THE ENDLESS OCEAN OF GRAVY PRESENTS
"WHY THE HELL I HAVE NOT BEEN WRITING MUCH LATELY"
I had an accident with a bowl of soup (lentil & watercress) that caused sever scalding to over 95% of a bus driver.
I got stuck in a revolving door with a rabbi, a priest, and a newfie and they would not stop regaling me with tales of their wacky adventures.
I found a lump. It's on the back of the toilet about halfway up the cistern, and I'm terrified to scrape it off in case it starts screaming.
Although I have no injuries I have begun wearing a neck brace, an eye patch, a truss, a hook, a diaper, and a built up shoe, just so I can enjoy the respect that goes with such extravagances.
I was taken under the care of a specialist with what I thought was an hysterical pregnancy, but it turned out to be a dream.
My two legs developed a condition unique to me which is called, Uncontrollable Runnin' Around Like A Jackass Syndrome.
My home made gin caused blindness.
Inexplicably, my home made blindness cure (gin & Tia Maria) does not, in fact, cure blindness. It makes it worse. By adding painful diarrhea to the blindness.
My home made Creme de Menthe does in fact cure home made gin induced blindness, and although it tends to intensify the diarrhea, it does put it in perspective.
My beard of bees has caused some unforeseeable complications with my love life.
My computer has started to smell faintly of eggs.
I have been training a monkey to wash the dishes, make wine, paint and genuflect.
I have been severely bitten by a knife wielding, drunk, bright green, genuflecting monkey.
I was arrested in the middle of the night at the lumber yard while trying to feed a bright green, frozen, monkey corpse into a wood chipper.