MORE OLD MATERIAL

Saturday, June 23, 2007 jack the lad what does "jack the lad" mean? The one guy that lives here keeps saying it in reference to kids acting up. I don't understand? I work in a hotel behind a bar mostly serving drinks but i have to do set up and tear down for weddings as well. I hate my job. I hate the smell of "lager" when it pours into a glass and i hate the smell of it when it pours out of drunk peoples mouths attached to poorly pronounced words. People keep thinking i'm irish. I don't understand how that is possible? The british accent is much closer to irish then canadian. Working in a hotel is like the movie Groundhog day. I see wedding after wedding. THe bestman jokes are all the same. The brides are all the same but just a different shade of ugly. British people that frequent this hotel don't tip; which is fine because i don't expect a tip but the truth is they do tip, if you're a girl with fake tanned skin and tits. Sometimes it pays to have a vagina. It was Lady Ascot day and there were 150 woman in the hotel conservatory all wearing hats and betting on the horses. Most of them were bloated and their faces looked like rough stone. A big name footballer's mom was in attendance, she was about 400 pounds and she took a liking to me. She kept grabbing my hand and asking me questions about where i was from. I thought to myself "if she offered me 600 pounds, would i make sweet tender love to her?" the answer was no but i'm disgusted that the scenerio even popped into my head. A lot of the woman looked the same. Their boobs were massive. Rhino tits, rhino bodies. Like tusks should sit erect at the end of their massive sag bags instead of the pancake nipples that surely reside under their reinforced bras. Fat billowed out of tube tops. Toes swelled like cumberland sausages bursting out of the ends of shoes that were too small. I watched from the bar as they danced on the dance floor and at their tables. It began to frighten me how much they all looked like Rod Stewart. Just picture a shit load of bad Rod Stewart impersonaters dancing to "i bet you wish your girlfriend was hot like me" and by dancing i mean doing bow legged two step, like they just got off a big horse and they're dizzy There was one woman with a gigantic red hat on. eventually she took it off to reveal a mega perm, like a fucking soul glo perm. She was the worst dancer i've ever seen. She twitched and writhed to the rythms. Eventually she came up to me and asked me for 10 knives and forks. I left the bar to go get them and was looking in the cutlery cupboard when a voice whispered in my ear "can i haunt you?" I turned around and it was mega perm staring me right in the face, dancing even though there was no music out in the hall. Her eyes were bulging and sadistic. I mumbled something in response, no words, just a string of sounds; handed her the cutlery and hauled ass to the men's room where i washed my hands over and over trying to figure out what exactly it is i'm doing with my life. until next time

Tuesday, May 08, 2007 Pork pie snickers thief and wretching athletes I'm still alive and well. I am still living in the sticks. My badminton game has gone through the roof. Peter and I play badminton the same way teenagers watch porn...secretly in the shadows. Pete's scary irish mom frowns upon entertainment that doesn't produce a good deed so we have to sneak in games in the back yard with our make shift net and cheap rackets. I have the reflexes of a coked up rabid cat. There are times in the heat of battle where i know i could catch a bullet with my bare hand, that is if some douche was dumb enough to pull a trigger in my direction. We race home from tiling and grab the rackets and throw down; still wearing our filthy grout covered clothes. We are High Legh Badminton Boys and we do not fuck around. I want to find a local badminton club in the area so we can go in and beat them all with our crap clothes, bad hair and shit gear. Rick (Pete's big little brother) came home from a wedding the other night and he had spent most of his time at the buffet table eating everything he could get his gorilla hands on. He also mixed booze with beer which we all know is a no no. It was around midnight, i was in the kitchen getting some water when i heard his door open and his Goliath like legs propelling him to the washroom at a very dangerous speed. Then i heard him heave followed by what sounded like a bucket full of dead squids hitting the floor. As i went toward the washroom to see what was going on the smell hit me. Dense, sweet, rancid, soured, blashphemous. It was so thick i could taste it in the back of my throat. I had to bail, i didn't care if he was dead in there, i couldn't subject myself to what he had unleashed. It stunk up the whole house within minutes (and lasted for days) i came down 30 minutes later and he was sitting in his tighty whities eating a bounty chocolate bar as if nothing happened. So weird. So rotten. There is a private fishing pond near our house that is stocked full of trout. I hate fish but Pete talked me into going poaching with him. We went around 1am and had to sneak over a fence and walk a mile through trees. I came to the conclusion that i'm a coward. Every sound made me tinkle in my pants a bit. Once we got to the water it became too intense. A flock of birds were spooked by something and flew away in a hurry, which made me buckle with fear. A flare got sent up in the air and Pete and I ran away like the cowards we are. I need healthy food. If anyone could mail me some fresh veggies that'd be greatly appreciated...and maybe a new badminton racket.

Saturday, March 31, 2007 The only thing i'm laying is tile. i lay tile for a living. Man shit. Blue collar. That's me. The truth is i don't think i'm very good at it. I can't measure shit, i'm dyslexic with numbers but i grout like an angel. last week we did a job in a gay couple's house: Steve and Steve. One was big and one was small. The big one's teeth were an abomination to man. His gums are grey and the tops of his teeth are black, i thought they were stains at first, but upon further inspection i came to realize they were dark holes that probably house bad bits of crumpets and bacon buttys. They own two massive great danes. The smaller steve yelled at them all the time in his thick accent: "shut up! Don't youse start on me already! I'll fuckin walk you when i'm good and ready" they had pink toilet paper in their washroom. I wanted to steal a roll for personal use. They had a painting on the wall in the kitchen of a dog, under the dog it read "the more people i meet, the more i like my dog" They were super nice guys but i'm glad that job is over. The dogs made me nervous.

Friday, March 02, 2007 Welcome to England I'm finally here, the journey was quite excruciating. The flight in total took 11 hours. I got a window seat, which i thought was great until some filthy 40 year old guy sat next to me. Airtransat flights are so crammed. I felt like i was going to freak out, it was so hot and loud, babies crying, people complaining. The guy next to me smelled like a booze filled ashtray. When i tried to buckle my seat belt i said "shit this is tight" and he goes "ease up on the donuts pal" I looked into his booze drenched eyes and thought to myself "ease up on the ugly doucheballs" We had a stop over in glasgow and had to go through security, it took forever then we finally got back on the plane and landed in manchester shortly after. Everything was going smooth until i got to the customs line. There were two guys, one was a prick and one was nice, i got the prick. He asked me what i was doing here, i told him visiting friends and family (i was told by canada's british comission that my right of abode was expired and that i had to pay almost 300 to get a new one and it would take up to 3 months, i decided i'd get into england and renew it here for 20£ and get it back in a few days. I had to tell him i was visiting as he wouldn't let me in with that gameplan. So he asks me how much cash i have, i told him i had very little, then he asked me what i did for a living, i told him i work on videos which made him think i was some hollywood director and he thought i should be loaded. He informed me that he was detaining me and to have a seat. At this point i start sweating it big time. I'm delusional from all the travel and know i have to be on my toes to beat this fucker. I realize they are going to go through all my shit, i had a journal with me that i had started writing in while waiting for the plan (thanks colleen!) and i had written about how i was nervous about the move and shit so i went back, crossed out all incriminating info and put shit like "wow this 4 week trip is going to be so much fun!" The customs douche bag went out and found my buddy Peter and asked him how long i planned on staying. Pete told him "12 months, he's here to make documentaries with me" Needless to say the guy came back with bad intentions. He took me to a back room and told me to open all of my bags. They saw all of my clothes and my banjo and he goes "quite a lot of stuff for 4 weeks" I told him i didn't know what the laundry situation was like so i brought enough clean clothes just in case. A lady comes into the room and begins to put on some surgical gloves, the prick goes " this is Bev, she's going to investigate you further" I had recalled reading on my detain slip that they can give you a medical exam. My heart sunk as I began to fear that Bev was going to sodomize me with her rather large fingers. To my relief and then dread she began going through all my shit. I had journals, scripts, tons of shit that they just began reading and going through. They found a card my mom gave me, basically saying good luck in england and whatever. Then he found my new journal and started reading it and i could see he was perplexed by the conflicting info. They then saw the banjo and asked if i could play it, i said yes and they said prove it (i guess they figured i was trying to smuggle shit or something) so i picked up my horribly detuned banjo, started strumming an off chord and sang "please let me go, i'm tired and i have to pee" this made them laugh and eased the tensions. They then found my old passport with my old right of abode, which i was told was worthless. The prick told me to pack up my shit (the broke the handle off my banjo case so carrying two huge suitcases and a handless banjo was a battle of heart and courage) He made me sit outside the customs line and started talking with a large bald man. He then came back and was like "we're sending you back to canada. I don't believe you are here visiting and I think you've been lying to me this whole time........but the fact is i can't send you back because you have this" he pulls out my old passport, "this means you have just as much right to be here as i do, and you can stay as long as you like. Why didn't you just show this to me from the get go?" I told him what i was told and he said i was given bad info. I was free to go. Needles to say, I got off to an interesting start. Peter picked me up and we went right to work, he does tiling so i have become his tile bitch. I know nothing about tiling, but i got a crash course and it seems to be working out ok. We've got a few more jobs lines up and the pay is pretty poor so the next move is to save and buy a new cam and start shooting. We also got an offer to shoot a 7 minute doc for some school, decent money, we went there after work and talked to the main guy, i remember little as i was on shut down mode, i will start another entry for that as i've written way too much here.

Sunday, February 11, 2007 UNCLE RICK I took a video camera over to my friend Justin's place tonight. He has his uncle Rick staying with him at the moment and after hearing a few stories about the guy I felt i needed to go over and see if he was as wonderful as he sounded. I walked in the house and there was uncle Rick, sitting shirtless with cut off denim shorts and a pair of etnie shoes that Justin threw out but he rescued. There was a slight tension in the air as he knew i was coming over to tape him, the deal was we had to get him a bottle of whiskey. Justin thought it would be funny to get him his least favourite brand, 5 star, as it would rile him up. He was pretty pissed about the shitty booze and kept accusing justin of trying to give him "fucking gut rot" He was well into the bottle by the time I showed up. He was looking at a picture of a naked girl who apparently used to get fucked by justin's younger brother way back when. He tossed it to me and asked me what i thought. I told him that the first word that came to mind was "supple" after that we got down to business. He started off by telling me about his buddy "Reg" getting arrested back in the day for getting to friskey with a stripper at the local club. The guy got busted and they all ended up having to go to court. Uncle Rick said when it was his turn to go up on the stand the prosecutor started trashing him because he was young and had long hair. After a few minutes of put downs Uncle Rick had enough and said "prosecuter, fuck you. Reg you're fucked, you're going to jail" and he walked out there on his terms. Uncle Rick is from "up norf" so I asked him how long he planned to live up there and he replied "get to the point boy" confused I asked "what do you mean?" and he goes "you wanna know if i plan on dying up there." i went with it "sure" and Uncle Rick goes "yes absolutely. I'm going to shit in a bears mouth" extremely confused now I again ask "what do you mean?" and he goes "The last thing a man does before he dies is shit. If a bear eats you, you'll shit in his mouth." He then told Justin and I that we need more adventure in our lives and if we want to make a real movie we should "come up norf" to his cabin. He suggested we try to get Justin to shit in a bear's mouth without dying. He said he could rig a harness and have justin suspended in the air, he'd need to have "honey spread on his asshole". The bear would be drawn to the honey slathered asshole and would try to eat it, Uncle Rick would be positioned safely behind a tree and would pull justin up as he shit in the bears mouth. Sounds foolproof to me. When i come back this xmas i'm totally going to hang with Uncle Rick. Anyways, all of that convo and much, much more is caught on video and will be on my site soon enough.

Sunday, January 28, 2007 home sweet home I got most of my shit moved home this weekend. We used my parents van, took two trips and almost died on the way home. While driving back we ran out of windshield wiper fluid and the window became caked with dirt. Ray (buddy who helped me move) and I started to panic and thought we may die. In a desperate attempt to clean the windshield i opened my window and tried to douse the windshield with some bottled water, all I accomplished was soaking my arm and wasting water. We putted home at 70 km and still had to unload all of my shit. I have a lot of shit. Mountains of crumpled papers decorated with my grade 4ish handwriting, old binders, weird mysterious cords and unmarked discs that i hope contain excellent porn. I don't feel comfortable in my new room. The bed is stiff and my shit looks akward jammed in this new enviroment. My parents go to bed at 9pm and the house is silent. The fridge is full, house is spottless....i'm not used to these conditions. I plan on working out twice a day. I figure that will burn up some hours and the fatigue should overshadow the boredom. I'm thinking about growing a moustache and going to the rub and tug. I'm gonna start wearing my Brian Adam's shirt more often and get to know Tim Horton's a bit better. "Can I get a large double double?" I'm going to go to Cutchie's for a beer then go play pool at Good Time Charlies. I'll get a buzz on then go flirt with the old lady who won "cash for life" and runs the bag of shit convienient store by my old highschool. I'll tell her that her purple eye shadow makes my dong swell. She'll wink and I'll smile as her eyelid struggles to open under the weight of her cheap over applied makeup. I'll ask for a pack of original flavoured rolaids and then hit the streets. (real men carry rolaids...real woodstonian men) I'll then head up to 7-11, grab a sweaty hotdog and then jump on a bus and ride it around all night, checking out the sites this metropolis has to offer.

Friday, December 22, 2006 home for the holidays I'm bored. There is nothing to do in this town other then eat and i've done too much of that in the short amount of time I've been here. I'm thinking of heading to the local scumfuck bar "Shades of Green" tonight. There's always a rowdy greasy bunch in there. I think i'll go to walmart and buy some khaki pants with those laceless khaki shoes, a burgundy button up shirt and a tie with hockey players on it. Once i strap myself into that rage inducing outfit I'll head to sobeys and buy some cheap multi coloured flowers then it's on to Shades. Upon entering I will situate myself close to where i think the action will be. Once I park myself next to some rowdies i'll start singing into the flowers "would you like to swing on a star? Carry moonbeams home in a jar?" I will try to get everyone to join in with me, this will surely get em riled up and I will most likely find myself surrounded by angry, filthy drunk bangers. Someone will yell "who are the flowers for asshole?!?!" and I'll reply "oh they're for me. I like to spoil myself once in a while" Once it looks like they're about to erupt into a heavy flow of violence, I will reach into my burgundy pocket and launch a handful of lube joints in the air. This will most definetly send them scurrying for the banger delicacey and it will give me time to run and get a head start. When they realize they've been duped by the outsider they will give chase, but all i need is a tiny head start. Their strides will be weighed down by their heavy metal ethics and bone tight denim while i will be gazelle like in my loose fitting khaki. I will become one with the night.

Monday, December 04, 2006 camp counselor jennifer in 1990 i went to a summer camp. It was run by 5 girls, but only one of them I cared about...Jennifer. She had long black hair and delicious thighs. She'd wear those socks with the litte fluff ball on the back, much like spurs on a cowboy boot. She smelled like innocence wrapped in vanilla, dipped in sexy. Jennifer ran the gimp bracelet activities. I had no interest in making bracelets or any crafts for that matter until i saw the attention she was giving the other kids whenever they finished one of their putrid attempts. I saw her enthusiasm as a window of opportunity. I went home and practiced making gimp bracelets all night so that the next day it would appear as though i had a natural gift for creating them. My plan worked like a charm. Bracelet after bracelet was a work of art, a plethora of colour and innovation. Jennifer would show may creations to the other kids and she even ran her hands through my hair. I was pretty sure I was going to mount Jennifer later that day, or atleast have some hot makeouts while "hammer don't hurt em" played softly in the background. My dreams were shattered when a red camaro pulled up and jennifer jumped in and began making out with the driver. I watched the camaro drive away while I sat amidst my mountain of gimp and I realized something.....Jennifer was a slut.....but damn it i loved that broad.