I Think I Just Saw History

I think we can all agree that the holidays is a time for taking from others what they can't purchased but can't actually enjoy. And in that spirit, I last night got a call from my good friend Richard Baines who lives in Collingwood (okay, as much as you can live in Collingwood...TAKE THAT, COLLINGWOOD!). He'd bought tickets for a show that evening at Hugh's Room , righteously sponsored by Big City Blues Magazine and which I wasn't able to score tickets to as it had sold out. Well, Rich couldn't make it down from snowy C-Town because of the storm that had speedbagged the region the night before. So he gave them to me!

I went to the show with my friend Vlad from People's Poets. The show was amazing. Bobby Rush opened and put on a show that could've been followed by an hour of CPAC and still left you feeling stoked. Then David "Honeyboy" Edwards took the stage (slowly 'cause he's 93...that's right, fucking 93!) and methodically ripped the room apart. Eventually, Rush got back on stage and they brought the whole thing home flawlessly. It was trippy seeing cats who couldn't be uncool if they tried. Here was someone who wasn't playing the blues or trying to convince you he was a blues man. Here were some genuine blues men who lived and breathed it. Let's hope some of that coolness rubbed off on me. Or at least that they weren't infected with my uncoolness.

N.

Okay, let's fucking settle this, bitches

Hey everybody,

So a few of us got into a bit of debate on or around the office about this suave mo'fo:



We can't seem to agree on whether or not Condi or Belinda were in their right minds when they may or may not have banged him.
So I thought I would come up with a solution.

Hope you dig it and participate. Thank you for helping to solve a national crisis. He's making out surprisingly well.

N.

Here's something nice

Hey, everybody,

So a friend of mine told me about an episode of Oprah Winfrey (no, seriously, it was a friend not me...and even if it was me who cares? Don't judge me! God I don't even know who you are anymore!) where there was this environmental type dude (technically we're all environmental type people but this guy was on tv) who had easy breezy tips to save loads of http://www.blogger.com/img/gl.link.gifenergy that weren't that time consuming. I couldn't find his site but here are some handy sites I did find. The first is a lot quicker and to the point but if you're feeling like a little reading check out the One-Tonne Challenge site that has a lot of interesting goodies on how to prevent our grandkids from having to wear sunblock while they sleep.

Here's something I did and why you shouldn't do it...

Sometimes spam leaks into your inbox. Sometimes you have a bad day and are crabby. Here's what happens when those two wonderful elements come together. Below is an email I received from a championship spammer and underneath that is my reply. It makes for good reading I think.


--- Mr Henry Carr wrote:


---------------------------------

Dear
Ref:234/U,
We are very sorry for the late response,Your mail has been received and we appreciate your correspondence with our company we will immediately commence with the following process of verifying your identity.We have provided and open a file with our accounting departmetment to facilitate our business relationship. if you are still interested in being our representative,Please re-comfirm to us :-

1.Your full names.
2.Your telephone/fax numbers.
3.Your full contact address.
4.Your Sex
5.Your Age
6.Your Occupation

We will mail you with your approval correspondence on the completion of our procedure to enable us commence with the next step.Once again we want to use this medium to reafirm ourpledge to this relationship/partnership. We will appreciate that you confirm the receipt of thismail for further correspondence.
Thanks,
Mr.Henry Carr

(It should be noted that I of course didn't email this jackass.)


Dear Mr. Carr
Thank god! I was starting to wonder what was taking you so long so that we could start our business relationship already! Lol.
To answer your questions:

1, Cunty McSnatchTwat
2,1-900-ass-fuck
3,My full address is: Your mom's place, Whoreville,
USA, 90210
4,I am a pre-op transvestite but I still have balls for you to lick. I'll be able to mail them to you after the operation.
5,My full age is just old enough to stuff your mom's Twitchet or Pooter to use the scientific term (Vertical Bacon Sandwich if you're using metric).
6.I am currently employed full time fucking various orifices belonging to your mom (including and not limited to her Balloon Knot and Cooleyhopper or Hairpie if you will). Please contact her for a reference.

Again, I must reiterate that it is imperative that we begin our business relationship as soon as possible,Mr. Carr as I very much look forward to shitting in your mouth.

Yours in Christ

C. McSnatchTwat Esq.

Of course, as cathartic as this was, now they have my addy and my inbox has become spam nation. The moral of the story, if you're going to fuck Henry Carr's Mom's Spam Fritter, keep it on the lowlow.

Super Fantastic Happy Time!

Hey, everybody! Just wanted to drop a line to all the cool kids who helped me ease gracefully into my old(er) age. I had a great time and you guys rock. Aw gees, I'm getting all misty...or maybe that's pepper spray leftover.

YEAR IN REVIEW 2005

Yeah. This one went okay I think. Yup.

A Christmas Carol...Sorta

Home for the holidays, always good times. On Saturday morning (Christmas eve for you heretics), absolutely FRESH on six hours sleep having headlined the night before (bloodbath but thanks for asking) I hitch a ride with a couple of fellow Ottawa comics back home. The plan is to crash at a friends and then head out to Casselman to see my mom for Christmas day dinner.

This is going to be different however. My mom had a minor stroke in November and this is going to be the first time I see her. I don’t know what kind of shape she’s going to be in as she tends to be a little stoic so all the “I’m okays” she gave me over the phone haven’t done much for me and I’ll have to see her to be sure. I’m hoping she’s cool but expect the worst. But this isn’t the only reason this is going to be a unique visit. The stroke caused a lot of stress for me since I couldn’t afford to go home to see if she was okay but also because it drove home the fact that if she’d died, I’m not sure I would’ve been satisfied that we’d said all we were supposed to say. See my mom and I have never been close and although I’ve tried repeatedly to start a none gosspi/religion conversation with her, it’s never worked. But now it’s different. The handwriting was on the wall and I understand that as we’re enterting the fourth quarter, there’s no time to have a close conversation organically come about. This calls for drastic measures..

So I decided that this Christmas, my mother and I would get high.

I’d gotten a few tasty treats with “Pixie dust” as the cool kids call it, sprinkled in them from a show I did in November. It was a benefit that was somehow related to pot and potheads (not really sure what but it was a fun little room and I got stoned during my set because of the seocnd hand smoke and the size of the room). I grab one of the Pot Tarts I’d been payed in and smuggle it into Ottawa and then to Casselman crossing two city borders which I think makes it a federal offense. On the train ride to Casselman, I don’t expect it to be that big a deal. My mom’s always been pretty open about stuff and I just assumed that she’d understand the priniciple behind the notion. She’s there waiting for me at the station when the train pulls in. She looks great! No slouching face, no pronounced limp or hook hand. After way too formal a greeting for relatives, we start to head to her house which involves crossing the tracks. I take the lead and hear her cry out as she trips over the one of the tracks. I turn around just in time to see her hitting the ground, full out face plant (by the way, I disocver in this moment that it’s really only funny if it isn’t your mom). I help her up, way concerned but she seems more or less all right. Shaken up and her shins took some damage but the hips held (unless she’s way more rugged than I’d thought) so that’s good. I assumed it was her leg, that she hadn’t been able to lift it was high as she normally would but she explains to me that she’d gotten distracted by a nearby lamp and tripped over the tracks.

It should be noted, we’re still not high at this point.

So back at the Batcave, she feeds me dinner (she’d already eaten as old folks never wait past four to eat). As we’re talking, we of couse end up in religion. She’s Christian, part of some sect of a sect of a sect whose name I can’t remember but has all the guilt of a regular religion but without the nice church). So I start pioking fun. I tell her that maybe she should convert to Judaism or read the Koran . She asks me (with barely veild concern for my soul) if my Jewish friends have tried to convert me. I say no, asking what would make her think that and she says I mentioned the Koran. I point out that that’s Islam and she says “aren’t they the same thing?” Uh...no, mom. Actually the Jews and Muslims have had a few differences of opinion. Like...oh, I don’t know, the prophet Mohammed, the Gaza strip, Israel....everything.

We are still not high at this point.

So eventually I brinig up the tart and ask if she’s going to have some. She tells me that she gets angry when she gets high because she can’t control her thoughts and although the visual of four cops trying to take down my raging mom as she kills her way through Casselman is pretty funny, I relent. It’s Christmas after all. I end up putting together a filing cabinet for her while she watches the year in review of Larry King interviews. So the moral of the story is that you don’t need drugs or alcholol to have a good time.

Then we killed a biker.