Nov 02

Here’s to everyone that goes out of their way to make someone happy

Mrs. Birdman was going through a rough patch today. It was just one of those things where a few crappy things happen in succession, and it kind of gets you down. I, of course, was there for moral support when I realized it wasn’t a laughing matter, and I told her that for every bad thing that happens, there will be a few good things following it. I was just talking out of my ass, trying to cheer her up and make her feel better. I like to do that for people, especially when they are always doing that for me, as she always is. I was almost giddy when less than five minutes later, two very nice things happened for her. I guess it was actually three things, because, you know, I was rubbing her back and kissing her a lot. A little while later, there were a few more nice things, and presto, my baby is a happy little ninja again. It didn’t hurt that my theory was proven.

I got thinking about how it only took a few people to make her feel like shit, but it took double that to get her back to the level she started her day at. That’s a pretty messed up formula if you ask me, because she is always helping others, and always tries to make people feel good, about themselves, and just in general. She is well loved by all of my friends and family, and all of the people that I talk to that know her. She’s fun, and funny, but not foolish, which with some people is hard to differentiate. She has an amazing talent that evokes so much happiness in people that I’ve seen them crying with joy, yet it only takes a few harsh words to take away the flare in her eyes. When I watch her interact with people, her beauty shines through, because she truly loves all types of folk. There is so much joy and happiness on her face when she sees an old couple holding hands, or maybe a little boy hold a door for a lady, because that’s how he was raised. If you could see how her eyes sparkle at these simple acts of love and courtesy, you’d up your game, just like I’ve done. There is absolutely nothing I love more than to see her smile.

This brings me back to the point of this here blog post. I’m not here to condemn those people that treat others poorly, they will do that on their own. I’m here to say thank you to the people who will pick something good about someone and pay them a compliment. You don’t have to flatter people, that is just cheap. Actually say that you admire someone’s loyalty, style, compassion or taste in prostitutes. Whatever the case may be. Any douche can get a person upset by humiliating, demeaning or mocking them, but for the same amount of effort, you could make them feel like they just got a massage with a happy ending. Even just a smile will go a long way, if you aren’t feeling up to actually being kind. I know it will be hard for a lot of people to think of someone else’s happiness before their own, but in the end, it will come full circle.

Maybe it’s easier for me, because I enjoy seeing people smiling. I get off on it, and I wish there were more people that did. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I’m the elite. I’ve managed to surround myself with people I can be proud to call friends. You don’t last long with me if you’re cunty to people. Yeah, I used it, but only because it seemed fitting. Here, is it better if I spell it kunty? Come on, it’s just a word folks. As I was saying, my friends all treat people with respect and kindness. At least they do around me. I rarely hear someone say “Oh, you hang out with her? She’s a rotten bitch.”, or anything like that. I also don’t think I’m all kindness and jellytots. I have bad days too, and even on good days I can be quite biting, but I don’t usually try to make people feel bad about themselves. Well, unless you are clicking on those spam videos or regurgitating all of the Facebook tripe, but I won’t single you out as an idiot or anything. If you’ve made me mad enough to verbally or physically attack you, then I need to go to anger management, or you need to shape up.

Anyhow, I guess I strayed from my original thought, which was that I love Mrs. Birdman more than anything, and I hate it when people are toxic. Go out tomorrow and do something nice for someone else, and if you aren’t up for that, say something nice to someone who normally wouldn’t get many compliments. If that is still to much syrupy kindness for your crusty ass, give the people a big toothy grin. Whatever it is, don’t be mean, no one likes that.

You can’t hang a man for killin’ a woman, who’s tryin’ to steal your horse,


P.S. There’s a good chance that Mrs. B will delete this when she sees it, so I’m not getting her to edit. Sorry for the typos if there are any.

Nov 01

Movember 1, 2011 You get to choose the style of stash

 Hey everyone, thanks for checking it out. Please go to the Facebook page and tell me what kind of moustache you’d like to see on me. Most votes by Friday wins. Now go to my MoSpace and give me all your money.


Movember 1st Notice the injury from the sign pulling incident on the weekend?

Prostate Cancer

  • The most common cancer among Canadian men – it will afflict 1 in 7 men and is a greater threat for those with a family history of the disease
  • Turning up in men in their 40s
  • Going to be diagnosed in about 25,500 men this year, not including cases that go undiagnosed due to men’s unwillingness to go for annual check-ups
Nov 01

My last day of city driving

I’m officially finished as a local truck driver, or camionneur for Sebastard and any other Francophones that happen to peruse this little piece of heaven that we have going on here. I guess I’m happy about it, but it might take a day or two for that to set in. I know that I don’t have to get up tomorrow, but I probably will. What the hell else am I supposed to do? I should go get a shed and put it together, or maybe I’ll try to figure out where the sonotubes are going for the deck, and start digging the holes. The shed is probably the better answer, then the deck. We are going to be needing somewhere to put all of the shit in the yard. Maybe I can build a shed out of the hot tub, and the roof rack thing. I love the way that I plan all of this shit, but what will probably happen, is I’ll spend nine hours jumping back and forth between trying to find a new format for the blog, looking at porn, and smearing my DNA all over the mouse and keyboard. Ah, fuck it. Can someone remind me to go get a shed in the morning? You might need to tell me a few times, thanks a bunch.

Maybe I’ll go visit Mom and Paul for a while. He got fixed up today, so he can eat and drink again. I could maybe see if they need the grass cut one last time before the snow flies. There’s nothing worse than having to cut matted down, long grass and rotting leaves in the spring. Well, I guess there are some worse things, like anal rape, getting beat up by a twelve year old, or finding out your wife is your half-sister that was given up for adoption when your mom was fourteen. I love when people say that. “There’s nothing worse than…” Every time they say it, you can think of thousands of things that are worse. Nothing worse than a head cold. Really? Try AIDS, asshole. Nothing worse than a chick dragging her teeth. No? How about getting gut shot.

Another one I love is “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

“Wow, I had kidney stones. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

I fucking would. I’d wish it on all of my enemies and I’d also make them shit razor blades and fart out of their mouths. I hate my enemies, that’s why they are enemies. I’m pretty sure that it’s law to want your enemy’s head on a pike. If you don’t want them dead, they are just someone you don’t care for. Hell, I want people who mildly piss me off to get their arms broken as a voice enters their head, saying “This is for being a douchy twat yesterday.”

Another thing I want to rant about. Teach your fucking cats and dogs to speak and type properly, or don’t let them on the computer. I am getting so sick of these internet signs with horrible grammar, spelling and punctuation. Don’t pretend that there is nothing you can do. You were there taking their picture, so why not correct their spelling and syntax while you’re at it? Have = have, not haz. I feel like learning how to track on the internet, just so I could find these pieces of shit and beat them into unconsciousness with a God damned dictionary.

I’m going to go to bed now, and hope my hostility dwindles while I cry myself to sleep in the bosom of my true love. I have to keep telling myself that there is no alarm going off in the morning. I can sleep in, if I want to, but I rarely do. I think you just get used to waking up at a certain time. Oh well, I guess I’d better hit the fart sack.

Put another log on the fire,


Oct 31

My ultimate dream prize

As some of you may know, I received an invite to the 107.9 The Breeze $10000 dream prize party. I had a chance to win my choice of six different prizes worth ten grand. I didn’t win the prize, but I never really figured I would. I was just excited to meet the morning show crew that I listen to when I start my daily routine. Sure ten thousand bucks worth of groceries would have been a sweet bonus, but it was just nice to know I was going to put some faces to the names that I hear every day.

I listen to The Breeze every morning when I’m in the area (you can listen online), and I really like the Big Breakfast, featuring Jay Sharp, Joe Snider, Inga Belge and Megan Murphy. The personalities of the gang are very complimentary, and they completely make up for the repetitive music playlist. You know I love Rag Mama Rag a lot, but The Band has so many more, deserving songs that I feel could be played as well, and as much as I like Bruce Cockburn, I don’t feel we need to hear Tokyo, or Coldest Night of the Year, every single day. I have never even seen them in someone’s playlist or CD library before, so why do they garner so much air play. Anyhow, enough of my griping, I have been listening to them for a year and a half now, since I moved back from the west, and I have found them to be very interesting people from hearing their stories and on-air lives. That is why I was so excited to score this invitation to the party.

When I went in to pick up my invite from the beautiful, funny and, I assume, brilliant Kristy, I was pleasantly surprised when the one and only Jay Sharp walked out into the reception area. It was like meeting royalty for me, and I felt like I should give him some money or some baubles or something. I had received countless hours of free entertainment from this man, and I felt I should repay him in some small way. Then the thought came to me. Maybe I should hug him and cup his buttocks with my strong hands. I am embarrassed to say that I got too nervous and just stammered something that sounded like a leopard killing an antelope. There was one of my people to meet crossed off the list, now only three more to go.

How sexy is this man?

Fast forward to Sunday morning. We piled into the van, with three quarters of us nursing sore heads and bellies, and headed to Kawartha Downs for the party. I gotta say, calling it a party was a little misleading. We showed up with a cooler full of beer and rum, an ounce of weed, a hookah pipe, and two strippers that we picked up in Belleville. The security guards stopped us at the entrance, and promptly called the cops. (Apparently, the topless law in Ontario only applies to public property.) I voiced my opinion on the subject, and explained that I had an invitation, which I quickly produced for them. By now Joey had given the pot to the strippers, Chastity and Destiny were their names, and had set the pipe on the ground. You see, Joey’s no dummy when it comes to dodging the po po, so when the law came screaming up, Destiny got pinched, and they had an outstanding warrant for Chastity. Turns out they were lying to us, and their real names were Judy and Ted, so I didn’t feel too bad when they got hauled off, and I was thankful their shorts had stayed on. We put the cooler back in the van and went inside, only to find out that there wasn’t much happening in the way of a party. Joey pulled a couple of T-Dolls out of his pocket and handed me one. I crushed it up on the picnic table and snorted it, while a couple of ladies checked out the camper trailer right beside me.

Okay, maybe it was more like this: Joey, Mrs.Birdman, Khrissy and I waited in line for half an hour, went in to meet my idols, saw that they were busy and then went outside to let the sun hurt my brain. I got to meet Rob “The Rocket” Mitchell, and then we went back inside where the folks were setting things up, so I went over and introduced myself to Joseph P Snider. I was kind of hoping for a deeper voiced, Les Nessman, but was presented with one hell of a strapping fellow. The sheer power of the man’s handshake was emotionally crippling, and his rapt gaze pierced my very being to the core. I had to pull myself away as I felt him extracting tiny, but very important bits of my tender soul. I then turned my attention to the beautiful, angelic face of Megan P Murphy, and found my faith in humanity slowly being restored. I envisioned African children, having their bellies filled by her aura, and dictators freeing their citizens from tyranny. I wanted to hug her more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but alas, Mrs. Birdman beat me to it. I was saddened to hear that Inga B. was not attending the event, because I wanted to commend her for her bravery, working in such close quarters with these formidable specimens of humankind. I also got to see Jay Sharp again, but not for very long. I felt him making me wish I was gay, and then he broke the connection to get something ready with the production.

Ethereal beauty, personified

Don't look into his eyes

I did not win the $10000 dream prize, but I walked away with a new respect for people who work in radio. I also got to see some wonderful sets of breasts, hold hands with the love of my life, meet some of my morning heroes and see two people win a prize that made them so happy that I didn’t care whether I won a million dollars. I left that place with a huge smile on my hungover face, a beautiful woman on my arm, and a mission to try for a job at The Breeze when I get back in the spring.

I hate graveyards and old pawn shops,


P.S. Jay Sharp smelled like charisma and Puritan Irish Stew, two of my favorite things.

Oct 30

Of meetings, good food and better friends

Well, I’m not in fine writing form this morning, but I thought I would let you all know that if Gadget says he needs to see you in his office downstairs for a meeting, DO NOT GO. It’s a trap, and not a very clever one either. I’m a little fuzzy on details, but I think I was molested by Cleopatra, a breathalyzer, Inspector Gadget and Penny. I ate a lot of delicious treats, and I think we finally got rid of all traces of Sour Puss and Tequila Rose from the basement office.We also want to thank Lucille Ball and the surgical team for making sure we were transported safely to and from the party. You guys rock our world.

I hope that the freaky McDonald’s clown is able to stop by the house and check in on Mrs. Birdman while I’m gone, because she might need someone to do some odd jobs around the house, and clowns seem to be pretty handy with that type of thing. I am glad to have so many good friends and neighbours that take the time to invite us to events and make us feel welcome wherever we go. We truly know how lucky we are, because it’s pretty rare to enjoy everybody’s company when you go out. Most parties you go to, there’s always the assholes that everyone sidesteps and avoid like the plague. I have actually locked myself in the can with a six pack before, because it’s more exciting than talking to some people, but not with the friends we have. I do believe every last one of them is interesting and funny, but I’m also drunk when I’m around these magnificent folk, so take that with a grain of salt.

Hey, remember that time I did a Jello shot with the gummi worm and almost choked to death? That was last night. The sad thing is, I forgot about it, and twenty minutes later was choking down another one. Jesus, I’m damn near forty years old, why the hell am I acting like a teenager? I thought I had grown out of the shooter phase many moons ago. I guess it’s the crowd, because when I get around this bunch, I feel like partying like a not very well hung porn star. It’s pretty nice to be around people that make you feel at ease enough to get that hammered, you just don’t have to worry about shit.

So thank you all, and I say that from my old lady, my best man, and my own self, for the fun-filled night and for the friendship. It’s never taken for granted. We have to go now. I got an invite to the $10000 dream prize party, and I need to wash the blood off my hands.

You can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd,