Sep 25

I Got Banned From Coaching Little League

I’m linking this post up for the challenge grid at Yeah Write. Come and check out some of the talented writers over there. You shan’t be disappointed.


Big whiffer, sa-wing batter, batter, batter

How Scooter’s cousin, Handsome Bastard and I ended up coaching a hardball team in the Legion league escapes me now, but we were really doing a good job. We would practice once or twice a week, which was not common in that level of play, and our team was seeing a big improvement. The kids were making friends with each other and the mommies were out in their shorts and tight shirts. Everything was right in the world.

Then the league supervisors came and took our two top players, replacing them with the two weakest players from the lowest ranked team.

It was explained to us that our team was far better than the others, and that it wasn’t fair to the kids on the weaker teams to always lose their games. They were trying to make it so that it’s not a matter of winning or losing, but just going out and having fun.

I was pissed. Royally fucking pissed. These little boys and girls were taking extra time each week to go to practice, improve their playing skills, and grow as a team. They were forming bonds through hard work and learning new skills and now this was being taken away, because they practiced and got too good for the league. The two guys that got traded out were upset at being uprooted from their new and old friends, and put into another group of players that they now had to get to know. I voiced my displeasure at this, and thought selfishly about how hard we were going to have to work with the two new girls that were deathly afraid of the ball or any sort of movement. Continue reading

Jul 05

I Don’t Have A Cat (A story of stolen innocence)

I’m going to keep this post clean, even though I’m writing it in anger and fear, and all I want to do is say the crudest words I can think of while punching someone’s face off. The reason I’m not going to be my usual foul-mouthed self, is that I don’t want to alienate any potential readers. Not because I want more, but because this is serious, and people need to know that. For whatever reason, swearing makes a lot of people not read things that I write, so for this one post, I will try to refrain from using expletives. Okay, here goes…

Our oldest got a text last night.

Well, they started yesterday morning, but last night is when the last one was.

Seems like a grand idea, right?

She was texting her friend that was with her when the dog attacked her. She was texting from her ipod to her friends ipod via an app called Text Now. These apps, assign you a number that you can use to send and receive texts like a regular phone, but you do it through your wifi. The problem here was that her friend had cancelled her Text Now account and the number had gone to someone else

I had originally thought that this app was awesome, because we could now walk down to the grocery store and if there was any problems they could send us a text. We could be there in five minutes to make sure that T’s finger wasn’t really broken, or to assure them that Blue’s farts weren’t going to kill them. (They will, but it will take years.) We just figured that this was the cat’s pyjamas, but the really great thing was that they could also use it as a phone if there was an emergency. It was a way to start giving them a bit of freedom, but leaving them with a lifeline.

Until yesterday. Continue reading

May 28

Praise Jesus

Quite a bit of cursing in this one. Just saying. Or is it jus’ sayin’? Oh fuck, who really cares, anyhow?

So, for those of you that don’t follow comic books, let me fill you in on something…

I don’t follow comic books either.

I do follow stupid shit though, so when I saw this on a friend’s Facebook wall, I had to investigate.


Yes, I was informed that the white dude in the left-hand picture is an openly gay, Quebecois superhero from the X-Men comic books. What in the fuck is this world coming to? Do you seriously think that children need to be exposed to this sort of abomination? It’s bad enough that they have to see these freaks on television, in our hockey games, or in our makeshift military, but now we have to see them in our comic books as well. They have even taken over Las Vegas, mincing about in their colourful costumes, and their tight leotards. I remember when Vegas was reserved for real men, like Old Blue Eyes, Sammy Davis Jr. and Deano. Jesus Christ, they’d be rolling in their graves right now if they could see the shit that’s going on in the world. Continue reading

Apr 11

Homophobic News Media In Canada?

What is going on over there in Oshawa? I was writing away at a very thought provoking, inspirational post that I was going to put up in the morning, and then I made the mistake of looking at Facebook. One of my sisters from another mister had put up a status update about an “Open Letter To Joe Ingino, publisher and editor of the Oshawa/Durham Central”, and there was a lot of angry responses to the homophobic comments that the editor of a local paper had been spouting. Me, being an inquisitive sort of fellow, decided to find out more, so I read the letter. All of the fancy words kind of turned me off, but seeing as I have the ability to decipher them, I kept on reading. Continue reading

Sep 29


A friend wanted some Copperfield’s stories, so I shall regale you with the story of my nineteenth birthday, but first I’ll let the uninformed know about the phenomenon that was Copperfield’s.

Every small town has a version of Copperfield’s. You know the place…good food, ten-cent-wing night and lots of booze.  It transformed from a family restaurant into a dance club from Thursday to Saturday. There was hot, charismatic waitresses and bartenders, big, huggable bouncers (well, I’m sure someone hugged them) and a great DJ that put the cock in cocky (and anything else with two tits and a heartbeat). It was a very comfortable place to drink for an entire generation, and my second home for a few years.

Let’s do a little history now. When I was sixteen or seventeen, I worked as a busboy and bar porter there, and it facilitated my foray into manhood. I partied with the rest of the staff every night after work, and I felt like part of a greater thing. I thought that putting on that Copperfields uniform meant that I was part of the elite team. People didn’t mess with you if you had that shirt on, because everyone had each others back. Nobody messed with the waitresses, without getting their head bounced off the center post of the front door as they were being “escorted” out, or getting surreptitiously punched by a busboy as the doorman was carrying them across the floor. You just felt safe there (or at least I did), but alas, everyone has to move on sometime.

Fast forward a couple years to my nineteenth birthday. I had a double shot of Jack Daniels and a couple of beer for lunch, followed by half a dozen rye and gingers for dessert. I then headed for Copperfield’s for supper and some libations. Because it was my birthday, and the fact that I knew the staff, I was treated to several happy birthday shooters, but I didn’t puke until Ferg gave me the “Formula One”(Thanks pal, but I still say it was Scope).

So there I was, happily shit faced, and sitting with a friend, when I decided I might need to see a man about a horse. As I swerved my way to the washroom, a small guy, about my size, said: “How’s it going there, Goggles?”

I was taken aback.  Being one who was never into taking shit from anybody, I replied: “That’s really cool to make fun of drunk people that have obvious physical impairments. I guess when you don’t have the mental capacity to be a decent human being, these things make you feel good”.

While he was trying to comprehend the insult I had directed his way, I turned around and set my glasses on the table and remarked: “The goggles are off now, asshole.”  That was when his rather large-necked, tough-looking friend stepped in and explained how I was going to have to fight him first to get to his much smaller friend.  Right about then, one of my bouncer buddies came and picked me up, reminding me that I was five and a half feet tall, and as much as I claimed invincibility, that I was in fact mortal.  That didn’t stop me from telling Big Neck, that he was lucky the bouncer had me, which seemed like the proper thing to say at the time.

Actually, it was the exact opposite of the right thing to say at the time.  Big Neck ran up and started smashing me about the head and neck with his club-like fists. Luckily for me, my friend could walk fast and Big Neck seemed unable to walk and punch at the same time, so the blows weren’t as hard as I thought it would be. I cheered joyously when the other doormen threw him out, and came back to give me a stern talking to, while explaining that he was waiting outside, and I had best go sit down and wait for my ride.

The next morning I woke up in the back of my buddy’s pickup.  Seems I slept through the rest of my time at the bar, the after party and the ride home.  I’m still indebted to my friends for preventing my early demise, and most of all to Joey, for making sure I made it home safe, and not letting any hot chicks rape me while I was too drunk to remember it.

Make sure you practice your long division,