May 12

Old Draft #1

I am going through the hundreds of drafts that were started many years ago, and posting them when I don’t have time to write. Some are incomplete, but if they are close, I will finish them up or something. Here’s the first one. I think it was about two or three years ago.

Four Days

That’s how long I have to wait for my sweet baby’s embrace. I’m practically vibrating, and that’s after doubling up on Robaxacet and Gravol, so I should be comatose.

Oh yeah, I sort of fucked up my shoulder at work, but I’ll get it looked at when I get home. The last time I got hurt out here, Worker’s Compensation wouldn’t let me move home, because my employer was offering light duty work. The problem was that light duty is 40 hours a week at a reduced wage. It wasn’t enough to pay the bills and live at the same time, and there is no way they are telling me I’m not going home on Thursday.

Not happening.

I really miss those girls of mine, and the rest of my family and friends too, but this trip wasn’t a waste, even though we were shut down a lot. I spent the first week I was there, with John and Leona, and their family and it was great as always. John mentioned to me, as we were talking about homes and that feeling you get when you’re at home, that they never feel at home in their house. That seems odd to me, because when I’m there, it feels a lot like their home. Leona is always cooking up a good supper, Johnny is half snoring on the couch, and Cooper is knocking over a tray of chocolates or other goodies,

I got to spend a few days with Aaron, Lannie, and the boys over the holidays, and Lannie’s folks invited me over for one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time. It really made it easier for me to be away from home, and as much as I would have liked the overtime, that money wouldn’t buy a night of darts and rum in the garage, or the look on Lannie’s face when I told her about the shit lunches we were fed at the old Lennox camp. I also would have missed the boys, who are growing up too fast, calling me by my first and last name. All the time.

“Chris Bird, do you know which Ninja Turtle this is?” or, “Hey Chris Bird, do you want to come for a Ski-Doo ride with us?”

I can’t help but smile every time. They are really good kids, and I miss them when I’m not there. As much as I like most of the work I do out here, it’s my friends that are the deciding factor for me. Yes, the money’s good, but it’s just money, and we can get by without me coming out here to work. It’s just that I miss it. I miss so many things about this area, and the weird thing is that even the worst of it holds a place in my heart. Maybe it’s because it is the first place that I just said “Fuck it. I’m going to Fort St. John to find some work.”, and that’s exactly what I did. I worked, made some great friends, and I learned a lot about myself here.

I learned how independent I can be, and also how far into depression I can sink. It’s pretty far, but I’m sure I would be a lot deeper if Aaron hadn’t of told me to move the fuck home. I’m pretty sure those were his words, but there might have been a “…you miserable fuck.” added on for good measure. He could see it, even though I couldn’t. I knew I was fucked up, with the anxiety attacks and shit, but I didn’t realize I was depressed too. Well maybe I did, but I sure wasn’t admitting it to myself. So I took his advice and packed my shit up and went home.

Then I re-met Mrs. Birdman. We went on some dates, and after a while, we fell in love. I fell a lot sooner than she did, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that she makes my heart bust open like a can of Pillsbury Crescent Rolls and no matter how much I love spending time with my friends, I like spending time with her more. I really miss you baby, and I can’t wait for you to blow into my mouth as I give you a big, tooth kiss.

Am I the only one who gets the ducklip memos?

Am I the only one who gets the ducklip memos?

Birdman

Apr 21

Trophy Hunters-The Game

birdmandesk

So I follow Ricky Gervais on Twitter, and he recently had a go at a trophy hunter on there.

  He posted this later. I suppose to explain his stance.

 And this one, which resonates with me.  

It’s a well documented spat, and it’s getting people pretty heated on both sides of the debate. Although I don’t agree with trophy hunting at all; I also don’t agree with shooting trophy hunters and raping their children, which is apparently what some people have threatened Rebecca Francis with since this feud began.

That’s just wrong.

It’s not her children’s fault that she’s their mother. It’s her parent’s fault. As for killing her, I think that I’ve come up with a (probably) legal solution to everybody’s dilemmas.

Wait for it………

A trophy hunter video game!

Yes, I know that there are plenty of trophy hunting video games on the market, but is there one that allows you to hunt other trophy hunters?

Picture it:

You could follow the hunter’s convoy from the guide’s place and sneak in after them. Once they stop for lunch and the trackers go on up ahead, you affix your silencer and begin your prone position crawl through the underbrush to where you can take the *fingers crossed* lethal shot and still have time to get the professional hunter and the trophies of your kill.

Oh yeah, there’s trophies.

Of course you need to mummify it. They will stink if you don't.

Of course you need to mummify it. They will stink if you don’t.

Once you get them mummified, you can add them to your collection.

If you drill out the core and add a stick of graphite, you will have a pretty unique pencil.

If you drill out the core and add a stick of graphite, you will have a pretty unique pencil.

I think that it will work out pretty good if we can get the animal rights people going on it. I’d give 90% of the yearly profits could go to VETPAW and Cruelty Free International, with the other 10% going to development of new games. What do you think about Backyard Breeder Beat Down for a title? It has a nice ring to it. Maybe the third could be called Matador Mayhem, where you get to hide outside of the bullfight ring and jump the bullfighters when they try to leave.

They sound awesome, right? I thought so too.1)Does anyone know any game developers? I have the ideas, but that’s about it.

While we’re on the subject of justice, did you hear about Ian Gibson, the professional hunter that was trampled by a bull elephant that he was tracking?

It’s true. I almost gave a shit about him when I read that it was a gruesome scene, but then I went back to eating licorice and wrestling with the dog. I think that it’s quite a fitting end. I hope that if I can’t get myself shot while jumping in front some innocent people at a drive by, that I will get gored by a moose as I’m lining up a shot on his father.

Circle of life, yo.

Birdman

Awesome footnotes   [ + ]

1. Does anyone know any game developers? I have the ideas, but that’s about it.
Feb 20

I’m All Fired Up

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Remember a few weeks ago when I went to Winnipeg for a blog conference? It was the shizz. I started to tell you about it, but got sidetracked by a bunch of stuff, like the new blog, going to camp, and The Savvy’s birthday party.

What the conference did was got me writing and thinking again. Not so much here, but I’m going to try and split my time up between the two blogs. Now that Aiming Low has been suspended, I will have a bit more time for my own thing.

Yeah, Anissa has been sick since December or something, and she wants to get healthy and spend time with her family. How selfish. Nah, I don’t blame her at all, but I’m still a little bit sad about it. I enjoyed having a deadline, as strange as that sounds, and I’ll miss all of the Google group firings and tomfoolery. If it hadn’t been for my AL posts, I wouldn’t have written anything for a couple of months.

Yipes!

That’s why I needed to go to the Peg. I knew months before I went, that I was going to start a new blog, but that was the kick in the arse that I needed. I had forgotten how exciting blogging was when I first started.

Researching, typing, finding photos, reading, correcting, and re-reading for hours, and then you get to hit that “Publish” button.

It doesn't looks as ominous as it used to.

It doesn’t looks as ominous as it used to.

And you wait.

Will they like it? Will anyone even read it? How many people will be offended by the “C” word? I hope they share it. They probably won’t, but I still hope they will.

These are the things that go through my head, and then I go to bed. When I wake up, I’m sharing it around and checking the stats (today’s post took the lead by 3). As much as I feel foolish admitting it, it really is a rush.

For me. Probably not for you.

On Change The Topic, I rarely ever look at the stats anymore. I will if I write a post that I really put a lot into, but that has been less and less lately. I still need the old girl, but things have changed.

I think it’s like my mom’s Swiss steak, it always makes me feel good, but Reboot is like sitting down to a whole bunch of shared plates at our favourite Thai restaurant. It’s an assortment of exciting flavours, and because Harry doesn’t hear as well as he used to, it’s a crap shoot as to whether you will get your basil beef in any sort of mild form.

If you know me, you know that I’m not always mild. It doesn’t make me a bad person.

My Point

I just wanted to let you all know what is going on in my world. If you care.

Oh, I’m in a way better camp now. It’s the Wonowon Lodge. If you end up working in the area, this is way better than the Super 96. Just a heads up.

Speaking of camps, we have a reviewer who is going to be submitting reviews of camps that he has been to. He’s sort of like Smarty Pantaloons, but I don’t believe he’s addicted to any sort of household cleaner. That won’t be here, if he writes like he talks.

I’m looking forward to coming home in March. I have a urologist appointment to find out why there is blood in my urine. The ultrasound found a cyst, but my doctor said that’s common, and it shouldn’t cause any bleeding.

That’s not why I’m looking forward to it though. I want to go to this.

It's going to be SAH-WEET!!!

It’s going to be SAH-WEET!!! Click the link above, or contact someone to get your tickets.

I can’t even imagine what kind of shenanigans there will be. I won’t have had any libations since the 8th of February, so I should be in fine form. I hope that some of you will come out to this and get your party on with me. I probably need to flush my system for the urologist on the next Tuesday and I might need help holding the funnel.

Alright. I guess that’s it. If you want to check out the new blog, it’s at www.rebootcommonsense.com, but I am warning you now. It is right full of swearing and possibly some anger. It’s oilfield swearing, too. Not your run of the mill cussing going on over there.

Jenny, don’t change your number, 867-5309 867-5309 867-5309 867-5309,

Birdman

Oct 21

Dog Fuckers

Birdman

 dog fuck-er (dôg  fũk’ǝr)

n. Vulgar Slang

1. A lazy bastard that would rather spend their time figuring out ways to avoid work than actually working.
2. Someone who fucks dogs.
I hope you are talking about the first one, because I'm not afraid to punch a motherfucker in the nuts.

I hope you’re talking about the first definition, because I’m not afraid to punch a motherfucker in the nuts.

I’m going to rant a bit here, so if you don’t like a lot of swearing and talking mean about assholes that probably don’t deserve it, then you should walk away now, because this might get ugly.

I should also mention that if you are here from a Google search for anything to do with fucking dogs, you are out of luck. I do however have an archived article that you twisted fucks may be interested in. Click here to have your mind blown.

Anyhow, back to business. We are on a shale haul in what I guess are the foothills of the Northern Rockies, and there are a bunch of dump trucks in the rotation. We get loaded by a dude in an excavator and dump where we are building the road into the gas lease. It’s about a 20-30 kilometre round trip, depending on where we dump. The trip has four relatively steep grades while loaded, so it takes about an hour to do on average.

The problem is that a few of us are above average, while a few are far below. There are several factors involved, but the main reasons are truck power and dog fucking.

Some guys/girls have shitty trucks. It’s a fact of life out here, and I don’t have a huge problem with that, except for when it interferes with my day. I mean, the shitty trucks are making the same money as their counterparts that are outperforming them on a daily basis, so they really don’t have an excuse for not having decent equipment, but that’s beside the point. The fact is that I understand the differences in equipment, and I sympathize somewhat. I don’t get really mad at these “unintentional dog fuckers”, because I know that it’s just the circumstances of this point in time.

My boss used to drive the truck I’m in, so it has probably more power than most tandem dump trucks, and because the box is smaller, I don’t generally pull as much weight as a tri-drive. This gives me the luxury of pulling hills much faster than some of the other trucks. Sometimes three times the speed.

That means that I usually catch up to others pretty quickly, and then ride their ass to wherever we are going. I do this in hopes of shaming them into telling me that I can go by them. Generally I am yelling at them to just “move the fuck over”, but occasionally I mutter something like “I will punch your fucking head off, you cunty fuck.”

Yes, that’s right. I get violent when I’m safely behind the wheel of a giant truck. Whether it’s the person’s fault or not.

Let’s not be mistaken though. I’m not brave. I yell these things with all of the windows up and I double check the mic on the radio to make sure the transmit button isn’t depressed. That’s because I really don’t want them to hear me and come back to punch my cunty head off. I just like to vent, and as you may have noticed, I am a bit warped.

All of this annoyance brings me to the real pisser offers here. They are the “deliberate dog fuckers”.

These are the ones that, after the three o’clock coffee break, slow down to a crawl for the last two hours of the day. This is so that they might have to do one less load, thus “putting one over on the man”.

I’ve actually seen some guys slow down to 20 km/hr on the road, just so they can’t get back to the hoe on time for a last load, or some of them might just stop and repair an imaginary piece of broken duct tape or some other minor thing that just had to get fixed right then.

Sure, we were all teenagers once, and we would try to figure out short cuts for every task, but as you grow up, you realize that the work still has to get done, and if someone is paying you to do a job, then you should just do it, and try to do it to the best of your ability. The other option is to quit and find something you are better suited for.

“But Birdman, I’m getting paid $5 less an hour than all of you guys and I have to run a decrepit, old truck. They get what they pay for.”

Bullshit! The customer is paying your boss the same rates as the people with the good machinery. They deserve the best job that you can do. If you don’t think you are being treated fairly, then move on. Get a job with one of the better companies if you can, but I suspect the reason you are stalled at that wage is because of your attitude. Perhaps if you tried working a bit harder, you would find more opportunities for advancement. Other truck owners know if you’re a dog fucker right away, and will possibly hire you out of desperation, but the minute a quality employee comes along, who is the first to get skidded? That’s right. It’s you.

At the end of the day, I suppose it doesn’t matter. They need a ton of workers, and they will take whatever they can get, but when it’s not so busy anymore and they can pick and choose who works for them, who are they going to call?

Who am I kidding? They will probably call you, because nobody gives a fuck out here. Carry on, dog fuckers.

Today I don’t feel like doing anything. I just wanna lay in my bed,

Birdman

Sep 24

I’m Alive

Birdman

I made it out west, but I’ve had a very busy threefour days, so I haven’t had any time to blog. I brought my old laptop out, just to make it a bit easier to get all of this shit down as it was happening, but it hadn’t been turned on in over a year, so it has been updating and being extremely slow since I opened it. When I put the internet browser on, it crashes and I have to start all over. That’s why I’m writing this on my phone.

I’m going to leave you with a few photos of the beautiful scenery, and where I’m working, just so you don’t feel sorry for me. I don’t need your fucking pity.

20130922_100555

20130922_100601

Those are from the shale pit that we are hauling out of. I don’t think I will ever tire of working in the mountains. Well, unless I become a dirty seismic freak. In that case I’d be tired because of the uneven terrain and all of the physical labour.

image

This is from the hilltop shitter.

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Apparently there are petrified trees in there somewhere.

Those are from the Hudson’s Hope highway. That’s the Peace River. It’s the one that Aaron and I almost perished in.

(This is where I fell asleep and forgot to finish this albatross. It’s okay though I remembered the next night.)

Could you imagine if our story was different? I think about that often. What if I had of died like Aaron thought was happening? I didn’t really know Mrs. Birdman then. She might have seen the news and thought that it was too bad, but really, people die every day. My family would have been pretty sad I think. Most of them anyhow.

Aaron would have watched me die that day and then gone on with his life. He’s pretty practical and smart, so I think he’d realise that sometime life sucks, but it still goes on. He’d probably hug his family extra tight every night and be thankful that he made it. I hope he would pour a beer into the river every year to remember his lost homie and then shoot a couple of rounds into the cliffs. I bet there is an echo that would deafen him. You know, just so he would remember me a little extra every time he tries to hear anything, but can’t.

Naw, I’m just fucking with you. Like I’d want him wasting beer and ammo like that.

Anyhow. I will try to put something funny together one of these days, but right now I have to go to bed, because I put diesel in the hydraulic tank on Jimmy’s truck and I have to get up really early to see if I can’t fix it up. I mean earlier than the 5 AM that I would have been getting up anyhow.

Safe complaining, ’cause everything’s rotten, go insanin’, and ain’t a thing forgotten,

Birdman