21 November 2014

Good and Bad of Shomi



My cable provider has gone and created a new vehicle to suck even more of the forest dollars out of my wallet than it already does. The new money sucker is called Shomi. I thought the word Shomi was somehow familiar but I had forgotten where I had heard it before so I looked it up. Turns out Shomi is the secret society headed in North America by Gregor Robertson whose sole mission is to turn us away from cars and towards bicycles so that we can spend more money watching television instead of wasting it on car ownership.

Motherfuckers.

They really are. Such motherfuckers they are even offering Shomi free for a few months to get new customers hooked to its many offerings. I signed up. Like an idiot.

First thing I watched was "Green Street Hooligans." Could never bring myself to pay good money to watch the movie in the past. Heard it portrays the old Millwall firm in a bad light.

Turns out the Millwall boys do not look so bad in the film after all and the chief hooligan from the Westham firm dies in the end. Five fucking stars for that.

 

19 November 2014

The Times

Change is something of a foreign concept here in Steepleton. My city is oft times accused of being behind just about any place you would like to name in Canada. So I took note, as did did my neighbours, when our recent municipal election ended with four of our eight councillors now being women. A 400% increase in a city that has never in its history elected a woman mayor or representative to our provincial or national capitals. Steepleton is now something of a leader in freely chosen gender equality. Follow the leader, motherfuckers.

11 November 2014

Appropriateness

Remembrance Day seems appropriate when it comes to the World Wars. They were the Stanley Cups of war after all. Smashed the Huns' clocks we did.

Remembrance Day seems a little less appropriate when it comes to the Korean War. Not inappropriate: less. Chinese gave us a good bollocking that time around.

Remembrance Day is not associated, so far as I have noticed, with the good old boy bombing we laid on Serbia.

Remembrance Day seems totally inappropriate when it comes to this century's Afghan War. I do not for one minute buy any of the bullshit we have been fed about how right it was for Canada to join that pointless clusterfuck.




5 November 2014

Here Comes the Night



This time of year, more often than not, I find myself walking my dog in the dark. As I do so each winter I am reminded I do not live in a small city - I live in a large graveyard. Such is the streetlight stillness of the Steepleton night.

The park, even in winter a place of considerable activity, lies like a new graveyard awaiting its first customer.

The street too is quiet except for rare travellers risking their own interment as they race along stoked by bottles, pills and Orwell's telephones.

(An aside - the fucking homeless, as they are known, ought better be thought of within the spirit of our age, as the fucking telephoneless.)

The sidewalks are never quite empty however. From a distance we often see fellow dog walkers going 'round. The ones with the smallest dogs turn on wee flashlights to help them find their dog's little shits in the grass.

I do not need a flashlight to find the Hammer's big shits. Even if she has shit a great distance from me I need only look for steam rising from the graveyard and follow my nose until it finds me the smell of death.

It is very much like voting in a municipal election.

Beer 'n' Hockey World



It's a beer 'n' hockey world
When it's raining
It's a beer 'n' hockey world
When it snows

It's a beer 'n' hockey world
When it's windy
It's a beer 'n hockey world
When it hails

It's a beer 'n' hockey world
When it's flooding
It's a beer 'n' hockey world
When the roads are all fucking closed

It's a beer 'n' hockey world

4 November 2014

Canadians, It Has Been Said...



Canadians, it has been said, talk more about the weather than anybody.

In November where I live it rains like fuck. Gutters overflow, ditches overflow, rivers take in deadfall and send it spinning to the sea.

Some people do not like it. "Fucking rain," they say.

I am not one of those people. The rain gives me my country back when my countrymen stay indoors with their books, their computers and their television screens emerging only when their food and alcohol supply runs dangerously low.

I liked the old Dope City. Dope City before it became so choked with people it could not house them all.

The Hammer and I do not miss seeing the summer people come fall. How could we miss them when the world, once the hard rains fall, becomes ours?

2 November 2014

Lost and Found In the Fog



Slept late this morning, the morning after Hallowe'en. Sonja and the Hammer, usually the earliest of us to poke a nose between the curtains at the cold light of most any Canadian morning, and I had been kept awake much of the night by a back garden Beowolf  making its presence known upon the carpet of potato chip crispy fall leaves awaiting the action of a rake or the fall of snow to make it once again safe for night creatures to prowl the night without waking us.

After the dog had raised her loud as Motorhead at the Kerrisdale arena alarm Sonja was first to cast her eyes upon the darkness. "Some motherfucker is out there!"

There was no motherfucker out there. I have heard enough wildlife walking by my tent in the middle of the night to know the difference between the sound of creature and the sound of a motherfucker in the night.

"It's a fucking 'coon," I assured my watchful wife. "Ain't a motherfucker on Earth would would make that much fucking noise in the middle of the night."

We would have got back to sleep then except that is when the loudest explosions of the night began, around 1:00 AM, and continued until well past 3:00. My local fucking government outlawed fireworks years ago. Outlawing anything always has unforeseen negative consequences. Naturally (naturally to an Anarchist like me anyway) the negative consequence of this particular ill thought out Prohibition is fireworks being lit very late at night rather than during family time. If you are breaking the law anyway you might as well break the law to maximum effect.

"Fuck the neighbours!" as a neighbour of mine once eloquently put it.

When I did wake it seemed darker than it ought to be given the lateness of the hour. Fog had rolled in and it looked like it was going to be around a good while.

I love the fog. It changes everything. Changes everything for the better. Gives everything the naturally creepy look we so successfully disguise with everything we think makes us humans and the world we have created for ourselves so Joe fucking Cool.

Leaving Sonja with her big cup of tea and two kisses, one from each of her loving housemates, the Hammer and I headed for the river. Nobody was there. Me. My dog. The winter birds. Magic mushrooms growing in a nearby farmer's field. A tug honking in the deepest channel of the mighty motherfucking Fraser like Dr. Sax. Unseen yet about as near as last night's visitor to our back garden.

Used to be we got fog all the time around here. Back when industry gave about as much of a fuck about anything as they do now.

Still I miss those days. A man could lose himself in the fog. Might find himself there too, if he was looking to do so.

31 October 2014

19 Loons



Ever seen the tv show "19 and Counting?" It is about a loon American Christian family with 19 kids and their life (or lack thereof).

Show the other day - a two hour special - featured one of the 19 getting married off to another loon American Christian. Think they danced at this wedding? Think again. Theses loons do not even permit their children to hold hands or hug properly - side-hugging only.

Until we get a tv show about a Taliban family this is truly the craziest shit on tv. Naturally, I am drawn to it like a teenager with a gun to a school cafeteria.

26 October 2014

Additions and Subtractions



Some additions have been made to the Dope City Free Press' Fellowship of Motherfuckers. WDVX-FM may be the best radio station in the world but both Dope City Radio and Lord Nelson's Kootenay Radio are fine examples of Free Radio both close to my heart and home. Check them out if you prefer not being bombarded by advertisements for shit you do not need.

Added Roar Magazine too. You just might like it if you have maintained your love of Freedom, are politically inclined, or are thinking about becoming politically inclined. The world needs your activism, motherfuckers. Now more than ever.

Deleted a few old Fellow Motherfuckers as well. If you are one of them I wish you had kept writing but most of all I hope you are well. If I know you have died, as England's (Doc 40) Mick Farren or Newfoundlander Lloyd Rees (Lloyd's Newfoundland) have done, you will remain a Fellow Motherfucker Forever.

As ever the Dope City Free Press remains untainted by the twin abominations Facebook and Twitter. #They can go fuck themselves and repeat as necessary.

Tale of a Blue Ass Dog



Some things, it must be said, are easier to write about than others. (That is what I was thinking as I looked at what once was a blank page until I tuned into WDVX-FM and began listening to Little Richard and Chuck Berry and my toes started tapping and I got happy as a man with a case of beer hanging from his arm and my fingers start hitting the letters on the keyboard and I got to making words like all writers do until they give up and die like motherfuckers.)

The Hammer, I could not help but notice the other day, got diarrhea. The Hammer does not like it when she is not shitting like she usually does. Regular dog shit is hot enough. I imagine dog diarrhea must be hot enough to cook on. Imagine shit that hot pouring out of your ass.

Upon closer inspection I noticed my old dog's ass had turned blue as those funny shooters I see women and their sissy boyfriends drinking in the bar when they are trying to make sure someone is going to be puking out the car window on the way home from the bar.

Off to the vet we went. Told the vet, "The Hammer is not shitting right and her ass has turned blue."

The vet checked out my dog, who appeared to be doing fine, and was figuring what she had was just another case of a dog not shitting right that did not really need fixing but who would go home with medicine that would make her owner think the vet was doing his job and knew everything there was to know about dogs not shitting right.

That was when the Hammer raised her tail and the vet could see her ass - blue as the Caribbean. "Never seen a dog's ass that looked like that," is what he said disbelievingly. Apparently there is no medicine that will make a dog's ass go back to its normal colour after it has turned blue so he just gave me some stuff to help her shit right and told me, "Keep an eye on your dog's ass. If it gets any bluer than that or changes into some other colour a dog's ass is not supposed to be bring her back in."

The Hammer has got better. Shits like a champ. But her ass is still blue. Reckon some asshole must have spilled some extra dye into her dog biscuits back at the factory. Could see him laughing with his work buddies thinking about how some asshole's dog's ass was going to shit fire and turn blue. Is kind of funny when you think of it. Funny enough for me to never buy that brand of dog biscuits again.

Fuck you Milk Bone motherfuckers.