sneakin' out the hospital

(ninja please)

Location: Montreal

Tuesday, November 30, 2004

coming down fast

they've finally found me.
those money grubbing weasles have found me and they're closing in. and of course by 'money grubbing weasles' i mean Nova Scotia Power. (wonder why they suddenly need cash?)
for years i've lived under their radar; moving from place to place, lining all my hats and pants with aluminum foil, a colorful assortment of oh-so-sexy wigs.
but they gots me.
i've been politely informed that not only has my credit been ruined, it's probably been ruined x3 to the eighteenth power.
and they keep repeating those four little words.
paid in full. immediately.
there go my dreams of owning a Lexus.

also: if you rat-weed shit slingers at Columbia House are reading this, it's already too late. i'm writing this transmission from the dark belly of an unmarked Scandinavian ocean liner filled with immigrant slaves and bootleg digital electronics.
destination: unknown.
ruby ruby ruby ruby soho.

Friday, November 26, 2004


both of them wear red.
both have beards.
both come from places of extreme temperature.
both have horned minions (reindeer/demons).
both make young children act crazy.
both sneak into your house at night.

he gets two paychecks this way.
either that or a separated-at-birth thing.

a year in books

-Heavier Than Heavan - Charles R.Cross
-Karoo - Steve Tesich
-True Adventures of the Rolling Stones - Stanley Booth
-A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius - Dave Eggers
-Super-Cannes - J. G. Ballard
-How to Lose Friends and Alienate People - Toby Young
-Observatory Mansions - Edward Carey
-Pure Drivel - Steve Martin
-253 - Geoff Ryman
-Moby Dick - Herman Melville
-You Shall Know Our Velocity - Dave Eggers
-Dead Babies - Martin Amis
-Created in Darkness by Troubled Americans - McSweeny's
-Tokyo Doesn't Love Us Any More - Ray Loriga

Wednesday, November 24, 2004

never trust a block parent

let's talk about feelings.
like that feeling you get when you first wake up and realize you've spent the night sleeping on someones' front porch; when the "big questions" come screaming down on your damaged brain the way seagulls attack a trash barge. it's in your best interest to ignore these questions for the time being. the only clues you need are that empty bottle of gin and those dark red stains streaking your jeans. these are your trail of bread crumbs, and they're telling you to flee.
the neurons that control balance and sensible walking aren't functioning yet, so you'll have to do without. do not waste time trying to make sense of your surroundings. just pick a direction and go. any direction. it does not matter. the only thing that matters is the fact that you're fucked and defenseless on the ugly side of town.
be patient, answers will come. just keep moving.
don't look back at the house. "what if i know this person?" i can assure you that you don't. and even if you did they're not a true friend because you had to sleep on the goddamned porch.
keep in mind that anyone you pass along the way is going to react badly, because you look and smell like you've spent your night desperately dry-humping a dead mule atop a compost heap in an ancient swamp. also you're muttering vague profanities to yourself. don't take it personally.
once you're a few blocks away the old brain pistons should be regaining a little momentum. this is a good time to take stock of things. a quick tooth and finger count. next, examine the contents of your pockets. keep an eye out for red flags; anything that indicates the presence of fighting, fucking or psychedelic drugs. this activity should waste a few minutes. if, the next time you look up, you're still in unfamiliar territory, you may have to rely on Plan B.
roll up your sleeve and locate the spot on your forearm where you jotted down your address and some emergency phone numbers with permanent marker the night before.
if you failed to do this you're an irresponsible child.
expect to be barbecued by the sun and feasted on by strays.


no one needs rock and roll more than i need rock and roll.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

casillero del diablo

welcome to the fold my new friend.
devil wine.
i botched the cork job and have been chewin' grits ever since, but goddamn that's a fine bottle of merlot. hell, Satan's even got his mug pasted on the side of the bottle. if it's notable enough for his endorsement it's certainly good enough for me.

Friday, November 19, 2004

just like people

the other night while flipping through channels i came across a nature show. it was in French but it really didn't matter because animals don't often speak. (le roar). anyway, this particular segment was about lions chasing baboons. one baboon scampered up the trunk of a nearby tree for safety, but the lion started climbing as well. the baboon had nowhere to go. so guess what he did. he started urinating. he pissed right into the lions' eyes and mouth. whether he was pissing out of fear or self defense is unclear, but it worked.
the lion immediately fled, leaving our friend baboon laughing and happily pissing.

the new fall line-up

new television we desperately need:
- Magnum P.I., Jr.
- Hockey Night in Cambodia
- Teen Night Court
- Anal Sex in the City
- Live with Regis and Chapelle
- Mr. (Trans-gender) Dressup
- Golden Shower Girls
- Regis and Butthead
- 60 Minutes... of Tits!
- Midget Survivor
- Two Alcoholics a Fat Chick and a Waffle House
- Botox Babies!
- Enemies (get it?)
- Popular Hispanics for Kids
- Make Me Really Fat!

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

the sphere programme

we've already concluded something must be done with the sphere, but how far can/should we take this endeavor? because of it's sizeable girth and astounding weight, danger and personal safety are going to be obvious problems no matter what we decide. our principal goals are laughter and mischief, although i'm more than willing to accept moderate amounts of property damage. as long as we can evade a manslaughter charge everything should be peachy.
lift with your legs, not your back.

Tuesday, November 16, 2004


at some point yesterday, during another typically useless afternoon, i managed i get a huge splotch of grey paint up the arm of my beyond vintage ('72) Mount A. leather coat that i inherited from my once collegiate father. not unwearable, but fucked nonetheless.
i'm the kind of person who only owns one pair of mittens. last night, on my way back from Kathryn's, i lost one of those mittens. i now have 50% less mittens than i did yesterday.
why? because god is a theiving bastard with a bad whiskey jones and the morals of a slut on acid, that's why.
strange things are afoot.
earlier today the lady at the liquor store informed me that i have an exact double. "same face, same beard, everything. it's eerie, i thought it was you." what's happening? are my blackouts really getting that bad? will i have to fight this mystery twin? is he the future me come back through the time-foam to deliver some sort of message? maybe the booze was for his return voyage.
i should have asked her what he bought.


Lima, Peru -- "Peruvian police say they have seized nearly 1,540 pounds (700 kilograms) of cocaine hidden in frozen giant squid bound for Mexico and the United States."
Estimated street value: $17.5 million.

they stole my idea!
how could this possibly fail?
it's fucking bulletproof.

Monday, November 15, 2004

gold soundz

so drunk, in the August sun
and you're the kind of girl i like
because you're empty, and i'm empty
and you can never quarantine the past

-by Pavement

let's talk genre

indie trance-core?
progressive crunk?
new wave jungle emo?
industrial ska-grass?
celtic death grunge?
thrashy folk 'n bass?
contemporary jazz metal?
fuck off.

Saturday, November 13, 2004


ever notice how at night a deep pothole full of slush can take on the appearance of solid ground? you're expecting your foot to hit pavement, and before you can say 'what the fuck?' your sock is assaulted with five litres of icy shitwater.
cue profanity.
this is bad enough when it happens on your way home, but getting pooched like this a few steps out your door is criminal.
sock wet.
foot cold.
day ruined.

goodbye, cumrag

you're becoming offensive.
it's not your fault.
it's mine.

ten smells

- dead leaves
- hashish
- campfire
- freshly brewed coffee
- freshly mowed grass
- cinnasoap
- gasoline
- new CD booklet (some smell better than others)
- sex
- barbecue

Wednesday, November 10, 2004


naturally hatched
apparatus of stature.
i'd roll with your mom
but your mom's Margaret Thatcher.

my milkshake brings the girls to the yard.
fuck you.
you dance like a tard.

dig a hole for the ugly and ungrateful.

the world looks red

the sky was a strange color today.
the young man who threatened Ron and I with a knife a few weeks ago came in to buy cigarettes (20 pack of Player's Light Kingsize.) his demeanor was the same, but at least he wasn't swinging a blade around.
ah.. the first snow... and snow begat salt, and salt begat slush, and slush begat nervous hysteria.
i spend most of my downtime making lists; oh these troublesome lists.
prose and cons.
people often ask what the hell i plan on doing with the rest of my life and my only response is up up down down left right left right B A B A select start.
hvng trbl kpng trk f mdcn.
maybe it's just me, but the phrase "Alcohol may Intensify this effect" is not a deterrent, it's actually rather inviting.
long live personal science.
i've got a mouthfull of bad ideas.
the heat, my friends, is on.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004


"This is the soundtrack to those nights you don't deserve to have survived, when only your Converse All-Stars saved you from that electric fence, or when you wake up with the taste of rust in your mouth, blood in your Cheerios, an oboe-sized bruise, and a tattoo that says "I Am a Thundering Herd".

-excerpt from William Bowers review of Humpty Dumpty LSD by the Butthole Surfers

Sunday, November 07, 2004

you are what you eat

i'm applesauce and salt-water.

and my mouth like a geyser of blood

four teeth brought me here. four errant, misinformed teeth. let's grow sideways and cause trouble, they must've thought. now they sit in pieces on the bottom of a garbagebag. professionally removed. i chose to forgo sedation, opting for six vials of high-power numbing fluid, administered with a cartoonishly-large syringe directly into my tender gumline. they began moments after my liquid armor took effect. revving up their miniature drills and saws. since i was wide awake the sound was piercing, echoing around inside my head.
eyes closed, ears open. visceral audio.
halfway through the first suspect (bottom right) the good doctor started swearing. under his breath at first. jesus. bastard. then considerably louder. son of a bitch!, he cried, as something shattered deep in my jaw.
time for a peek, i thought. at first just a bright light from above, but once the eye-cams came into focus things got a little more concerning. a living array of tubes and latex and chrome, probing in and out of my mouth, covered in dark, syrupy blood.
eyes closed. just relax. i was completely free of pain, but i could still feel something. the good doctor grunts as he wrenches his arm, twisting bone from bone with a loud snap.
moments later they were done and i was sitting up, wondering what they did with my teeth. tossed in the trash apparently, most of them badly dismantled. i want those teeth. the female doctor began half-heartedly digging about in the trash, but she was distracted. there was a new patient in the surgery seat. if you'd like to wait, i can give you one of these teeth, said the good doctor, motioning towards his latest campaign.
no deal. it wouldn't be the same.

morning television + pills =

- a master of karate singing showtunes
- leprosy kids singing... something
- an interview with a real life metrosexual
- Alan Thicke convincing me to save a polar bear
- a bad headache

Thursday, November 04, 2004

seat crimes

a question for those of you who piss on the seats of public toilets:
what the hell is wrong with you?
are you blind?*
is your aim really that bad?
do you even have a penis or does the urine just splash freely from an opening in the lower part of your torso?

there is no excuse.

if i catch you i'll piss in your face and in the faces of those you love.
you do not want this.
the fetid stench of my urine could sink an armored battleship.
piss off.

*no offense to my blind brothers and sistas.

it's a nice day for a..

white wedding.

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

signs of the looming apocalypse

- the new Barenaked Ladies Vairety Show. (on Fox!)
- packs of hundreds of stray dogs attacking small European villages.
- Martin Lawrence: Governor of California.
- next-gen cell phones that can fit inside a Tic-Tac.
- Rasputin still alive; in talks with Osama.
- Pizza Hut's new 'Hospital Lovers' pizza, with crust stuffed with your choice of BBQ chicken nuggets or hearty rib lasagna.
- "and the Grammy goes to... Paris Hilton!"
- Bush winning the election.
- new! Atkins for pets!
- Michael Jackson marries goat; bears it's children in new reality television series.......on Fox!