Those of you who have read some of the previous pages may have thought to themselves, "That motherfuckin' Mr. Beer N. Hockey sure has an exciting life. His dog rolls in homeless people's shit, he drinks way too much beer, he gets hammered and goes to hockey games and he thinks the hardcore Muslim world should keep their heads in their asses and out of our right to say and do what the fuck we want." Life is good for Mr. Hockey that is true. It ain't fair but that's ok: life is fair for few of us. The truth is my life is as hum drum as anybody's - even yours.
Today I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm went off. The Hammer heard me rustling under the covers and came over to lick the yummy drool off my face. She would like it better if I had shit on my face instead of drool but she is happier than a stoned clown when I get up to let her out to pee in the back garden.
After I let her out I do my bathroom shit and let her in. She heads straight back to her still warm blanket. My dogs have always wondered what the fuck I am doing getting up so early.
I turn on the radio to the same station my parents listened to when I was a kid. The people on the radio try unsuccessfully to entertain me as I pack my lunch, suck my coffee and get dressed. The radio station people used to entertain me but my fave morning yacker retired and now I am left with an asswipe from a foreign country who neither drinks beer nor watches hockey. The radio people let me know if I need to change my route to work and leaving time if someone has killed themselves in their car in the night.
This morning I headed in to the sawmill early to get breakfast. A Vietnamese guy (at least I think that's where he is from) and his wife run the place. They are sweet to me. I was their first customer when they built the restaurant decades ago. The guy cooks. He still does not speak English. His wife takes care of everything else. She does not speak English either but she thinks he does which is even better. This morning a half deaf customer and her had a conversation as the customer tried to order brown toast.
"So when you going to Vegas next?"
"Oh yes it is Groundhog Day already."
"Las Vegas, when you go there?"
"Had a Hell of a good time down there last month."
"In Vegas, you put bet on Super Bowl?"
"Oh yes we go down there every January."
Breakfast is always good at the Charlie Sure Surfs Restaurant. The old Viet fucker could cook me a rat and it would taste good. He probably has. The place is a little dirty but everything is dirty in Sliverville. Everybody eats in there from millionaire business owners to sawmill lifers like me.
I ran my saw at work. The saws that make me and the boss beer 'n' hockey money are sharp enough to cut through the petrified bullshit in the Bible. Today I worked hard, everybody else fucked the dog. Tomorrow maybe it will be my turn to fuck the dog.
At lunch I ate the sandwiches Sonja made me. I love it when Sonja makes me my sandwiches. Sometimes she sticks a note in my sandwich container. Here's today's:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Mayo is white
Mustard is yellow
I did my best
'Cause I love you!
Sonja is some sweet.
On the way home some motherfucking maniac passed me on the right as I rolled along in the slow lane. Ahead there was an accident slowing traffic so I got off the highway and rolled through the countryside like a covered wagon pulled by lame horses. The country is real quiet this time of year. The farmers are mostly all real happy our country finally elected a sheep shagger Prime Minister. He is the sort of man they can talk to.