Beer, Cocaine, Heroin and Speed

Today the Hammer and I visited the park very early in anticipation of a day meant for beer drinking and watching World Cup action cooled by smoking cocaine, heroin and crystal meth from the cook shut down the other day in my Animal Sacrificing Christian neighbourhood. The Deadly Germans and their WW II buddies the Argentines both won, setting up a crucial quarter final game England fans can violently anticipate.

After cleaning up the broken liquor bottles, needles, crack pipes and Bibles from the ball park dug outs and picking up the Hammer's two enormous bowel movements from the dewy grass I made some breakfast cookies at home. The recipe can be found on bags of Roger's porridge oats. I substituted half the dried cranberries with dried organic blueberries. Sonja and I are both digging the organics. Berries are where it is at if you want to try and combat the effects of poisoning yourself with other substances. Lucky for me I live in one of the best berry producing areas of the world. Good as our berries are you cannot beat wild Newfoundland blueberries or any of their other plentiful wild berries. If you like wild berries aim yourself to the motherfucking Rock. They have fine seal flipper pie there too.

While the soccer was on I cut my grass and sweated like a man all in. The heat wave upon us will slow down the grass at least. After the grass was done I sprinkled a little weed killing devil dust on it. What can I say? I want my lawn to look like Hitler's.

In the bread maker apple sauce raisin bread prepared itself. I do not know if the bread machine will ever pay for itself but it is handier than an automatic lover.

The Hammer does not care for the lawn mower. If I ever forget to close up my gardening shed she will rip it to shreds. I am hoping she will get used to it as she did to the electric mixer (which she still barks at occasionally), Sonja's blow dryer (which she now loves), the coffee bean grinder and anything else that makes more noise than she had to deal with at the quiet kennel we liberated her from when she was a young pup. For now I am fearful of cutting off one of her big feet when she lunges unplayfully towards its toothy grin.

Tonight it is PBRs, which I have grown fond of like they were liquid essence of Anne Murray, and pizza made from dough made in the magic bread maker. The pizza sauce is from my own scratch recipe also. Do not fuck around with store made shit - Do It Yourself and do it with lots of beer.

This afternoon my neighbour cranked up the fucking Beatles in his back yard. Way out dude! Next it was the Johnny Cash Show. I had no complaints to pass over our about to collapse fence. Then came the Fleetwood Mac Rumours record. What a load of stinking shit it is. That was the big record Nevermind the Bollocks was up against when punk was young, fast and unscientific. Next up was the Eurythmics. I had to suppress a barf. I loaded the Hanson Brother's "My Game" onto my turntable and turned it up to arena volume.

This is my game.