Oct 29

Shenaniganisms or shenaniganesque

Either of those two made-up words will work for last night. The framework of the night was pretty normal for a Friday. I got off work and had a couple beer, went home and had a couple beer, went to the Queens and had a couple beer, then came back home and went to bed. Pretty mild if you ask me.

The intricacies of the night are where we float into lewdness and debauchery, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I called my old friend Bugsy up and arranged for a visit, earlier in the week. We hadn’t seen each other in years, and it was about time. You can’t have one of your groomsmen showing up at the rehearsal and you not recognize each other. I then called Joey, but he turns into a pumpkin at ten o’clock when he has to work the next day, so he was out, and Yvette is 4500 kms away, so I didn’t even bother to call her. I did call another good friend, Vanilla Thunder, and he was miraculously available, so we made the required plans and got the ball rolling. Mrs. Birdman was also making plans on her end, seeing as it was the band we were hoping to hire for our wedding that was playing, and she needed to make sure there were some connoisseurs there as well. You have to understand that we wouldn’t just go out drinking for no reason, but band choice is a very important part of wedding planning, so it was a necessary evil, and obviously we needed others there to make sure we chose properly.

Bugsy showed up a little after dark, and the fun began. We told stories, consumed at least four beer, and started to get our glow on. That’s when Dora and Swiper showed up dressed as convicts, and I could tell that things were going to get sketchy. We drank the rest of the beer, and started to make our way down to the finest drinking establishment in town. Yep, you guessed it, The Queens Hotel and Shillelagh Lounge. Vanilla Thunder (VT) showed up shortly after, followed by Dawanda and Wheels. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Birdman and I got kissed by all the same people, and luckily some of them were wearing a mask when it got to my turn. I’m told that it’s totally not gay for a dude to start necking with you, if there is a thin membrane of latex between the lips. I don’t know if that applies to oral if there’s a condom involved, but when I get there, I’ll let you know. Vanilla Thunder told me that it is completely natural to get an erection when kissing another man with a mask on, so it kind of put me at ease and the stabbing in my belly didn’t bother me as much. Oh yeah, and the band played some tunes.

I was told that Mama needed some sugar, so Mrs. Birdman and I left the den of lechery before 1 AM, and headed for the cocoon. We walked home, quietly holding hands and being proud of ourselves for booking one of the hottest indie bands in the area for our special day. We got home and crawled up the stairs, and we cocooned for a while, hoping that no one would come back before we thoroughly showed our appreciation to each other. It turned out that we really didn’t need an hour, so we got to have a nap before VT and Dawanda showed up. VT was sporting a lovely $125 citation for having an open container of alcohol in public, and he thought that he had better go tell the missus about his ordeal. I heard a bit of screaming from the cocoon, but it subsided quickly, and I talked to Dawanda while VT was most certainly regaling Mrs. B with the injustice served upon him. Come on, aren’t we getting a bit out of hand when we start handing out tickets to people who are responsibly walking home from the bar with a beer in their hand? They aren’t driving home drunk, or starting fights. Sure, maybe they sing old sea shanties a bit too loud, and maybe they are a bit boisterous as they yell, “I fucking love you like a brother” in your ear, but really, they don’t need a $125 ticket for that. I don’t think getting a manslaughter charge costs that much.

I crawled back into the warm cocoon with my true love, while VT and Dawanda finished their night of drinking downstairs. I had just fallen back asleep when I heard some shouting, and my fiance’s name being taken in vain. We ignored this, and fell back into our slumber. When we got up this morning, there were clothes strewn about, and a pile of muddy pants and such by the back door. It seems that VT couldn’t wait to use the washroom, so he trekked out the back door into the silty swamp that is our backyard. I guess he’s fatter than he looks, because he sunk in up to his knees, and luckily wasn’t wearing his fancy shoes, so they weren’t lost or even dirty. We won’t try to figure out why someone would go out for a piss in sub-zero weather with no shoes on, because we aren’t judgy like that.

What happened to Dora and Swiper, or Bugsy and Wheels? Well, Dora and Swiper were smart and took a cab home just after we left. Swiper sometimes doesn’t like to leave a party when he’s been drinking, because alcohol affects him differently than most of us. Where we all are completely normal, and clear of thought when we drink, Swiper sometimes has his judgement clouded by the booze. He doesn’t realize that it feels bad to go to work with a hangover, and Dora had to help him by dragging his ass to the cab, and then dragging his ass to bed. As for Wheels, he didn’t come back after the bar, so we assume he was picked up by A dude in a Zorro costume. He has always had a thing for Spaniards. Bugsy  didn’t come back either, and the last report was that he left with a cougar. He’s 42 I think, so a cougar to him would have to be around 60 or so. You go boy. We did see him at the house around 7:30 with a gang of rabble-rousers to pick up his truck and go to work. It was sure good to see him, and to know that he’s still the same guy that I hung around twenty years ago. He’d still do anything for you, no matter when or where, and I really mean that. He is fiercely loyal, almost to a fault. You could bang on his door at 3 AM and tell him you rolled your car and needed to get it out of someone’s field before daybreak, and he’d take off and show up with a stolen tow truck, if that’s what it would take. Luckily, that’s never happened ;), but if it did, I know who to call.

As for VT, he left here in my pyjama pants, a sweater vest and a shiny pair of oxfords, with a bag of muddy clothes in his hand, and a cloud in his eye. I hope Dawanda is getting a bit of a nap today, and is ready for round two, because we gonna get down tonight. I’m hoping that there are more shenanigans this evening, because I have no idea what to write about tomorrow, just like I had no idea last night. All in all, I had a great time with some of my favourite people, and I really don’t think it gets better than that. I have the best friends, and there isn’t a day goes by that I don’t consider myself lucky to know each and every one of them. I think it’s also cool, that as you get older, you are way pickier than when you were young. You now choose your friends on their merit as people, and not on how much beer they can drink, although my friends can drink more beer than your friends.

I’m going to sign off now,


P.S. My editor has gone to work, so let me know if there are any punctuation or grammatical errors, and for the love of Pete, like our fucking facebook page by clicking the funny coloured letters to the left.


Oct 28


I was thinking about that today while reading a message from an American friend that I’ve never met. Weird huh? I’ve never met Seth, but I still consider him my friend. I know we’ve talked a lot and bugged each other about who lives in the better country (it’s me), but I’ve never shook his hand, or sat down to a fridge full of [easyazon_link identifier=”B001BCFUBU” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]beer[/easyazon_link] with him. I’m going to invite him to my wedding, if he’s able to come, but then I wonder if that’s crazy too. I guess we’ll find out next summer, along with Dennis and Scott. I met both of them at work and I’ve gotten so that I go to the board in the morning to see if I get to go there for a pickup. I don’t know if it’s a familiarity thing, but I’ve grown to like the assholes. Okay, I guess I like them because they’re good guys, and maybe just a little bit sexy.

I then started thinking about a lot of my friends, and how we became friends. There are some crazy stories, with fighting, [easyazon_link identifier=”0544538544″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]booze[/easyazon_link], and other [easyazon_link identifier=”B001AULY90″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]illicit substances[/easyazon_link] at the forefront of most of them. There are also a lot of stories that I don’t remember the beginning to. I wonder if any of you remember how you met me, or did I just show up and not leave? Some of my really good friends have no recollection of how we met, but some remember every detail like it was yesterday.

I remember how I met my best man, and best male friend, Joe. He was sitting in my seat on the school bus, because I was a hoodlum and had to sit directly behind the bus driver. It was his first day of school after moving here from Florida and it was grade seven. It turned out that he didn’t know anyone, and I lived close, so we became friends. We’ve done a pile of crazy shit together, and if the fun police would leave us to our ways, we’d probably do a pile more. We drifted apart while he was living out west, and then while I was, but there was never a time that I wouldn’t have done what I could to help him out, and I guess he probably feels the same way, but I’ve never asked.

He’s also the guy I’d trust the most with my best interests. I know that’s a strange term, but how else do you sum up: [easyazon_link identifier=”B00QM8IBF0″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]car[/easyazon_link], [easyazon_link identifier=”B008PSP5SG” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]pets[/easyazon_link], plans of evil, money, [easyazon_link identifier=”B006FHMD02″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]guns[/easyazon_link], [easyazon_link identifier=”B0002UP01M” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]horses[/easyazon_link], [easyazon_link identifier=”B005CFAG9S” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]dead hookers[/easyazon_link], rides to the airport, [easyazon_link identifier=”B001PIDIB4″ locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]fake passports[/easyazon_link], family and my life into two words? I don’t think I can trust him, I know I can. Over the past twenty eight years he’s proven he is loyal friend, not only to me, but to others as well. I’m still trying to get info out of him from shit that happened in high school.

He has a true heart and a mischievous soul, so it’s only right that we ended up as homies. It’s also pretty handy that my sweet baby likes him too, but I guess that we have very similar personalities, so we should like the same type of people. I know that I like her friends. The ones I’ve met so far, anyways.

Back to my pal Joey now. He also loves his mom, but why wouldn’t he? She’s one of the sweetest and funniest ladies I know, and believe you me, I know a few. He has two, slightly hyper, but extremely sweet dogs, that he takes very good care of. He plans his days and evenings around them, and that’s how it should be.

One story that I do remember is when Joe, Steve and I were out in Cold Beer. Steve is Joe’s cousin, another friend that you’ll hear about later, and Cold Beer was a rowboat that someone else owned. The three of us grabbed a bunch of [easyazon_link identifier=”B00BHAVFPQ” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]bottle rockets[/easyazon_link], a steel tube, a lighter and a bailing bucket, and set off to sea. We thought we’d try fishing with the bottle rockets, because they would shoot under water and explode like a mini depth charge. We got out onto the lake, and while Steve was getting the tube ready, I was getting ready to stuff a rocket in and light it. I could hear a hissing, and giggling, and when I turned to look, Joey had lit the whole bouquet of fireworks that I was holding in my hand. I threw them up in the air, not thinking that now they can fly around all willy-nilly, and they did. I started to freak out and tried to fight Joey, Steve was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and Joe was laughing his ass off, yelling for me to “Chill, just chill”. Being from the sticks, I hadn’t heard the term “chill” before and started yelling back, “What the fuck does chill mean? We had a grand laugh, and no one lost the meat off their hand. Yet.

I guess I will sum it all up by saying that I have some really amazing friends, that I’ve accumulated over the course of my life, but Joey, you are the one I come to when the chips are down and I need to vent. You never judge me, and you always know the ways to cheer me up. (Yes one does involve guzzling a gallon of milk.) I will be proud to have you stand next to me as I get married to my best friend, and even prouder to have you choose the strippers and blow for the [easyazon_link identifier=”B00IXD2LJY” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]bachelor party[/easyazon_link]. We all know that you have excellent taste in stripper flesh, and you drive a hard bargain. Cheers to you buddy, I am forever at your service.

Now back to Mrs. Birdman’s friends. Some were mutual friends, but many I hadn’t met yet. I honestly can’t think of one that I don’t like, and there are some that I just adore. There’s one lovely lady in particular, that works at a place where we pick up, and I now go in and visit whenever I’m there. Well, as long as it’s after 9:30. It’s a pretty sweet deal when you can double your friend base and also reconnect with lots of old friends that you hadn’t talked to for years. It’s also nice to have all kinds of sexy ladies stopping by for visits and whatnot. Yeah, I wish whatnot meant threesomes too, but alas, I shall have to keep dreaming. I figure that I’ve been a good person, so karma should take care of the threesome thing later, right? Seriously, before senility sets in would be nice.

[easyazon_link identifier=”B000WLVBCS” locale=”US” tag=”granligh-20″]Imma get get get get you drunk[/easyazon_link],



Oct 27

Therapy Thursdays


I have an issue with being too nice to people when really I just want to tell them what losers they really are. Then when I finally do say something, it comes out really harsh and I am known as a bitch. How can I take care of these people without crushing them?


Up in the clouds

Dear Up,

You are wise to not want the people around you to be crushed, either physically or emotionally. You never know when you’ll need to borrow some of their shit, or get in on a threesome with them or their spouse.

I’m probably not the one to ask about this, because I can tell by your name that you’re probably a douchebag, and I don’t waste my time on useless tits, such as yourself. What I would do if I were you, is talk to Mrs. Birdman, because she’s got a soft spot for fuck-ups, and idiots. After you don’t take her advice, I want you too go to the woods, find a big, hard tree, and smack your head into it until you become unconscious.

People like you make me mad, because you use up valuable oxygen and other resources, that could be saved to keep a productive member of society or their pets alive. I sure hope you can dance sexy, because about all you’re good for is stripping at retirement homes. I’m getting sick of you, and I haven’t even met you… or have I? Shit, I hope you don’t have any tools or a wife I need to borrow.

Say it like it is, Up in the colon,



Hi Up, it’s me, Mrs. B.  You should know that Birdman is just a big fat douchebag sometimes, and he really is the worst advice columnist I have ever seen.  I don’t think convicted felons could give worse council.  It’s also possible he drank a bottle of bleach before he lit into you with his tirade, so maybe cut him a bit of slack when you visit him in the hospital this week.

Now, as far as being called a bitch, I wouldn’t let it bother you.  I actually know you in real life, and I can say without hesitation that you are one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met.  I find it hard to imagine that you ever let salty language of any type pass your lips.  You are just THAT sweet.  🙂  I can also say that you are one hell of a dancer, and just as cute as a button.  No, UP, you are not a bitch.  All of the losers look up to you and just want to be around someone as nice as you are.  It’s really not their fault.  Also, you should remember that losers rarely take good advice anyway, so why waste your time?  Now, go put on your dancin’ shoes and shake a leg, you saucy thing.

It’s only rock and roll, but I like it…

Mrs. Birdman



Dear Birdman,

I am going to a Pride dance on Saturday night. I am really looking forward to it but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to talk to the girls there. Or at least, the ones I think are girls. How can I tell if they are, and what should I wear as a costume? Should I gender bend or go as something a bit more normal?

Thanks for the help,

Confused in the North

Hi Confused,

I can’t tell you the best way, but I can tell you the way that gets you arrested at Toronto Pride in 2001. You see back then I was not quite as aware of the gay lifestyle, and I was still believing the stereotypes about gay people. I decided I was going to try to impersonate a girl, because I wasn’t having much luck with the straight ladies, also because I had seen Boys Don’t Cry and I thought maybe a real live lesbian would go for me if she thought I was a split-tail. I had seen my share of pornos by that time, and lesbians were where it was at. I donned a pair of Birkenstocks and a plaid shirt, shaved my legs, stuffed my bra, taped up my junk, and headed for the parade.

Apparently walking around at the pride parade and cupping crotches is not a good way to see if someone is a male or female. By the time I found a real lesbian, I had been punched, kicked, spit on and groped about the toilet paper breasts. I was so excited to try out my moves on her, I didn’t notice the cop trying to get the cuffs on me. For whatever reason, they didn’t believe my story, and arrested me for eight counts of sexual assault, although two offered to drop the charges, if I would agree to a date. So I ended up with six charges and two dates, which were quite pleasant, and I was none the wiser when I got home. I have since found a girl that would sleep with me as a straight dude, and I find it much easier than pretending to be someone I’m not. I also should let you know that when taping your genitals up, don’t use duct tape, and shave everything.

Please pray for me,


Oh Confused…please disregard the previous 2 paragraphs.  (*eye roll*)

As far as Pride goes, can’t you kind of wing it?  If you see someone attractive, and you think it’s a she, then do your best “Hey There” eyes and sashay (or stomp, whatever blows your hair back) on over to say hello.  If it’s a guy dressed as a girl, he’ll certainly be pleased he fooled you, right?  If it’s a girl, then I think we have a win-win situation, now don’t we?  Either way, the overall spirit of pride is one of fun and celebration of differences, so I can’t imagine you are going to insult anyone by letting them know that you think they are attractive.

As to the question of gender-bending, I would have to ask you a question:  What would make YOU feel most attractive?  Confident?  Inspired?  I think that if you answer those questions, you will probably figure out which route to go in your outfit.  I also think that if you are to meet *Mrs. Right* at the dance, what *you* do you want her to be attracted to?  The *you* that identifies as a lesbian out on the town, or the *you* that feels hot and confident dressed in very masculine attire.  The world is your oyster, and this is your time to have a bit of fun and see what makes you happy.  Enjoy the party, and let us know how it all goes down.  Literally.  *wink*

Dude looks like a lady, but she’s alright with me…

Mrs. B.

Oct 26

My other dad

As I write this, the man who raised me as a son since I was eight is on his way to the hospital. He hasn’t been able to swallow food or water for days now, and if something isn’t done soon, it can’t get any better. He doesn’t want us kids there right now, maybe he doesn’t want to inconvenience us, but it’s probably because he doesn’t want us to see what the cancer has reduced him to. I don’t think he understands that we don’t care about that.

You see, he grew up in a time when men were judged by their physical, mental and emotional strength, and you didn’t want anyone to ever see you in a lesser state. I’m so glad I don’t have to follow any of those rules, or I’d be failing miserably as a man. If I can’t go out fast, while stopping a stray bullet from hitting an innocent bystander in a driveby, I want all the people I love to be around me.

Long before the second bout, but after the first. Mom loves cameras

Since he was first diagnosed with esophageal cancer, some ten years ago, he was given months to live. He was pretty down about it, and had kind of lost that fire he had always had. That was until he went to Kingston. While he was at the cancer centre there, he got talking to a lot of survivors, and they all had one thing in common. They were fighters. They weren’t going to let it beat them. They wanted to live, and were going to do what it took to stay above ground. Continue reading

Oct 26

Did I ever tell you about the time I killed an elk with a hammer?

(note: Mrs. B advised me not to post this, but for whatever reason, I wanted to anyhow. Sorry if it turns you off. Tomorrow will be better. :))

Yep, it wasn’t pretty, but not one elk has fucked with me since that snowy, fateful night. I think the moose are even staying out of my way now. I wonder if maybe one saw me take out the elk, and warned the rest of the woodland creatures. It was actually one of the worst things I’ve ever had to do as a professional driver, aside from calling the Saskatoon Husky truckstop every night looking for Destiny, the sweetest lot lizard you ever did meet, to tell her that she might want to get checked for gonorrhea.

I was hauling propane that winter, and had to go to somewhere near Tumbler Ridge, BC to a rig that needed filling. When you fill up a rigs propane, you really just fill all of the propane tanks on the shacks for their heat and hot water and the two big tanks that supply the flare stack and other assorted buildings and equipment. It was nighttime when I was finished, the roads were icy and it was snowing pretty hard. I was coming back up to Dawson Creek when a cow elk trotted across the road in front of me, and I thought I missed her, but for whatever reason she decided to turn and slipped on the ice, with her head falling back and clipping the bumper and fender of the truck.

By the time I hit her, I wasn’t going really fast, maybe forty or fifty km/h, but it was enough to drop her right there and bend the bumper into the front tire. I stopped and got out to check the damage, shaking and breathing pretty heavily from the adrenaline, when I heard a wheezing noise from behind the truck. I walked back and saw the hulk laying there in the dark, so I went and bent the bumper back enough to move the truck and back up so I could see her, and to get the truck off the road as much as possible.

It was a horrible sight. I think she was partially paralyzed or something, because she couldn’t get up, but was kicking her forelegs at me when I came near. I went through the truck to try and find something to put her out of her misery, but all I had was a brass hammer.  I was hoping she’d just die on her own by the time I got back, but there was no such luck, so I knew I was was going to have to do something. I grabbed the hammer and walked back to do the job, when the snowplow pulled up. He didn’t have anything either, but he figured that I could run over her and do it quicker than with a hammer. I got in the truck, backed up a bit while he guided me and gave her some fuel. I spun for a bit and slid sideways, so I figured that wasn’t going to work, but I tried anyhow. It just pushed her big old noggin to the side.

I was starting to panic by now, because it seemed cruel to have this animal, who had done nothing to deserve this, other than take a tragic misstep in front of my truck, suffering through, not only getting hit, but having to watch a couple of assholes running around trying to figure out a way to kill her. The cow scene from “Me, Myself and Irene” comes to mind. I just grabbed the hammer and got in behind her to where she couldn’t kick me and started to let her have it. Luckily it was a heavy hammer, and she was probably done in after a couple of shots, but I kept going, just to make sure. I’ve hunted and killed a lot of game in my life, but that was by far the worst feeling I’ve ever had while taking down an animal. I helped the plow guy tie a chain around her, and he dragged her to a turn-around in the road, so she wasn’t a danger to other motorists. I later found out that the plow’s underbody has enough down pressure to lift the truck, so the driver could have easily just put that on her and been done with it.

I felt sick to my stomach and very heartbroken to have to do that, but I felt it to be my duty. I guess that was branded into my psyche from an early age by my dad and step-dad. We’d be hunting and if something got wounded, we would follow it until we had killed it, because it’s inhumane to let any living thing suffer like that. I can remember Dad hitting a skunk near the house one night, and going home to get the .410 to make sure it didn’t go the night flailing around in the ditch. It was just something you did, and if you asked why, you were asked whether you’d like to be shot or injured very badly, but still live for days in horrible pain. I guessed that I wouldn’t like that. The other big rule was that you don’t shoot something that you don’t plan to eat, unless you are protecting yourself or someone else. Makes sense to me, and they are both rules I’ve followed all my life.

I’m sorry if this story upset anyone, that wasn’t my intention, and I left a lot of the humour out for that reason. I can laugh about things like that, because if I didn’t, I’d be a pretty morose bastard all of the time. Another thing that bothered me was that I didn’t have a knife with me that day, because my pack was in the other truck, and a lot of very good meat went to waste. I hate seeing anything die for no good reason, and if I could have got the hind end or even the loins out of it, it wouldn’t have died in vain. I guess the wolves and ravens would have fed on it, so that’s something.

If there’s one thing I learned from Relic on the Beachcombers, it’s always carry an axe,


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