Saturday, December 11, 2010

Taco Diem

Man purchases three cut priced tacos from local flea bag working class eatery. Man drops one taco and makes an unsuccessful lunge with the intention of keeping taco from sustaining damage. Man’s reach is inadequate and he overbalances and stumbles. Now, fully without controle of his destiny, he slips on rogue taco and finds himself stumbling into oncoming traffic where he is squashed by truck carrying institutional grade beef carcases destined for the taco mills. Man stands before his maker and is refused entry into his version of Paradise. 

Sunday, September 05, 2010

I'm A Boy & I'm A Man

Let me begin by quoting my childhood hero Alice Cooper. "Lines form on my face and hands/Lines form from the ups and down/I'm in the middle without any plans/I'm a boy and I'm a man/I'm eighteen." All true in my case if you multiply that last word by two.
Now I've never been one to bemoan my age or more accurately, my aging. For some reason I've never wanted to be older than I was, and as yet, I have had no compulsion to be younger. I put this down to laziness, but that's another topic. My worry, as it pertains to my age, is that I have never become a man in the way that my father or grandfather did at half my age. My dad was at sea by the time he was seventeen. I have two video game systems and there are four iPods within my reach at the moment. He was married with a kid when he was twenty one. I wore shorts to dinner last night and have five pairs of skate shoes. He emigrated to Canada with said wife and kid when he was ten years younger than I am now. I have never had a driver's licence. His dad owned a pub and was raising six kids by the time he was thirty. I wear shants and band t-shirts and have a mohawk for christ's sake.
I worry that I have become a parody, of an irony, of a cliche, of something-or-other. There are a few things I am doing to set myself on a more responsible course. Going back to school for example is a good idea, but not totally representative of the elusive mature manliness that I seek. I'm eating better and exercising more than at any other time in my life. I am hoping that the practical upshot of all this will be a slow gradual decrease in mass. Or a rapid immediate one for that matter. So long as I never have to buy another belt, stretch out another t-shit before I put it on, or have nice men in forklifts come to take me away to a land where terrified health professionals draw lots to see who has to wash me. All well and good but not, I fear, comparable to the feats of manhood my forefathers displayed.
On the other hand, perhaps I am being to hard on myself. Today I became my father in a most unexpected way. I remember a time when my mother got a new bank card in the mail, and my old man took it upon himself to explain to me the importance of personal security and his responsibilities in this regard as head of household. He carefully cut up the old card into about forty thousand pieces. He then explained how he would deposit the bits in a random manner in different garbage receptacles throughout the city over a period of several weeks. This, he explained, would prevent miscreants form reassembling the card and doing something sinister that neither me nor mom were ever clear about. This was all done with the utmost seriousness.
A few hours ago I was cleaning out my desk and undertook the disposal of a pile of credit card invoices, cable bills, old pay stubs, old receipts, and sundry sensitive paperwork. After tearing them up with a vigor, I placed them in three different, half filled bags of household garbage. I then went to the kitchen for some of my special, "security garbage". Into the bags containing the sundered papers went stale coffee, black bananas, egg shells, sticky take-out containers, expired yogurt, breakfast plate scrapings, and a goodly amount of my own spit. This organic barrier would befoul my shredded documents and keep identity stealing terrorists from..........doing whatever it is they do with this stuff.
As my girlfriend was laughing at me I thought of my father. If he was alive today (he is) he would put his hand on my shoulder and proclaim. My boy, today you are a man.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Poetry Bro

A Douche Bag's Prayer

Brody sought enlightenment
Beneath the stars of June
Endowed with his entitlement
A spanner and a spoon

Oh Lord! he cried
With eyes shut tight
Give me mine,
And shine a light!
Upon my head,
Bestow me might!
Crowed the silly Loon


Sunday, January 03, 2010

Resolutions in C minor

Editor's note: This blog entry was submitted by the long absent contributor to this blog, Angus Thripshaw. Mr. Thripshaw has been a contributing editor since 2006 and, until now, has turned in his submissions via breaking into my house and making a smell until I let him use the computer. I have had no contact with Angus for many peaceful months and I had assumed that he had finally succumbed to one of his foul "medical concerns". This changed very late last night when a pizza topped with duck eggs, cat doings, and a note was shoved with great force through my letter box. The note is reproduced below to the best of my ability. Thank you and good luck. Yours, GreenFish.

Hello boys and girls! It's your old pal Angus from beyond the grave!!! OOOoooOOOOoooo!! Scary shit eh? Well I'm not dead but rather I am in a state of what some of you would call ruddy good health. I've been back packing across the deep south performing my one man show (actually a one man, two turkey show) to amazed crowds of neck bearded, cleft palleted yokels. After an incident at the dump I found myself trapped under a mountain of rotting fish with nothing to read but Sammy Davis Junior's autobiography, Yes I Can. Well I don't know what Sammy can and can't do, but noshing your way out of a metric ton of putrid piscine entrails was not covered in his shitty book.

As usual, I digress. I am currently hiding in the back seat of a pizza delivery car, writing this missive for your pleasure, waiting for a delivery man whom I can easily subdue. Thinking of strangling a fool puts me in mind of the fool who runs this foolish website for fools. It's the time of year that the fat green wally embarks on some dim plan to become a vegan or a homosexual or whatever in a vain attempt to fit into his old Miami Vice suit. Since most of you are unhappy with your dreary, salaryman drudgery, and are likely obsessed with gormless self improvement, I will share with you the following:

Angus Thripshaw's 10 New Years Resolutions For Dummies And Assholes

  1. No more off-brand gin or unlabeled "gin-like" solvents. There's blindness and then there's blindness with flaming diarrhea and giant spiders.
  2. Start a business that does not involve dressing in a turkey suit or forcing farm animals to fight.
  3. Get a really good haircut from a chubby Asian that involves a good neck scrubbing, a de-lousing, a cup of tea, and a hand job.
  4. Throw out all the old crutches and dress maker's dummies that are cluttering up the apartment. The apartment, of course, being a disused sewage tank behind the mental hospital.
  5. Write a court ordered letter of apology to the Ladies Of The Sacred Heart Choir regarding the incident with the duck egg and the unfortunate bout of public nudity.
  6. Stop wasting money on prostitutes who can't change a tire or weld. "Anything goes" does not always mean what you think it does.
  7. Make a pancake that can cover a body.
  8. Take some time out from work and social events to finally write that threatening letter to Larry King.
  9. Learn to ride and cook a horse.
  10. Stop entertaining the notion that cologne is a lesser evil than halitosis despite its full bodied bouquet and bracing flavour.
That's it my slack bladdered brood. Anything else would be so close to perfection that man would find himself unable to gaze upon me for fear of finding the reflection of his maker. You on the other hand need to pull yourself together before you end up on a reality show.