It was a good day to head west into the 7.2 billion dollar heart of Glen Clark's biggest dream, the home of the 2010 World Curling Championship; the Canadian Homicide Detectives Who Like To Fuck Gangster's Girlfriends (Because They Are Under A Lot of Fucking Pressure) Sexual Impropriety Olympics; and the home of next June's Stanley Cup Riot.
The rain stopped as I parked the car to try and find my way past the security blockade that now surrounds the Pacific Coliseum into the racetrack. Instead of going around the fencing I walked through it. I looked and walked like I knew exactly where I was going and that I had the highest security clearance possible. I walked right on by several security people straight to where I wanted to go, made my bets, and walked out the same way I came in. You might not want to try doing that tomorrow, when the cameras will be turned on and the order to shoot to kill anyone not wearing their Olympic mittens is given.
From blocked off Renfrew we headed to the Kraut Lake dog park where the Hammer and I played with several hundred muddy dogs and enjoyed some fine ukulele playing and singing by The Gazzetteer and his fine family. Both the Hammer and I left the park wishing we lived nearer Kraut Lake than we do.
Dope City is struggling with its park budget I hear. I have a suggestion. Sell beer in your parks. Over the long term you will sell more beer than those motherfucking Olympic mittens.
1 comment:
No better recommendation than wanting to live nearer to something....
If there were no bridges or, even better, if I could telecommute my entire brain and pipetting hand via mobile-me, I might even consider living out past, but within spitting distance, of Sliverville.
If only for the wide-open spaces to walk the whack-a-doodle and scream the absolute best that was ever spun by one of the spawns of that fine Ms. McGarrigle at the top of my lungs....
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