The Hammer and I were walking in the rain yesterday. To make our walk a little bit more interesting I thought I would count how many people drove by who were talking on their cell phones. I was not expecting to count that many, Canadians are a law abiding group of people after all.
We had not gone a mile before I lost track there were so many. Same goes for people obviously texting. These law breakers mostly chose to do so at red lights. I am guessing they are texting at every red light they come to. The motherfuckers are hoping to hit red lights so they can amuse themselves with their wicked little electronic toys.
Many of them were phoning and texting about the Canucks' season opener. They were all overly excited, like wide-eyed, big-dicked dogs with a new leg to hump before Thanksgiving dinner. Naturally, the Canucks played like crap, giving the electronic junkies something else to phone and text about as they aimlessly drive around for the rest of their lives.
The rain really started to come down as we approached a nearly empty ballpark. There were a couple people already sheltering inside the visitors' dugout so I sat down in the home team's dugout down the third base line. The Hammer does not mind the rain. She ran off, looking for some shit to eat.
A couple teenagers, boy and a girl, joined me in the dugout out of the rain. They were punk rockers, all duded up in black leather. I told them I was an old punk rocker. They did not believe me. I offered them a shot from my flask. Told them, "It's whisky." They believed that and both of them took a warm, satisfying swallow big enough to make their eyes bug out a little.
"What is that shit?" asked the boy.
"Glen Breton. From Nova Scotia," I told them. "When you get old and boring like me you'll buy some when you get paid and think you have a life."
I like that there are young punkers still around. Never thought I would see such a thing thirty-five years after I bought "Anarchy in the U.K."
It was about then a Japanese car pulled into the ballpark parking lot. My new teenage buddies and the pair of skateboard punks from the visitors' dugout walked over to the car and made their Saturday night funtime buy.
Some things, they never change. Everybody wants to blow it out on Saturday night.
2 comments:
The Canucks lost. Son-of-a-bitch.The wife and I are now vacatioing in BC, and the other night we were having supper in a Pub in Victoria. The game was on the tube, and to our utter horror they turned off the sound at the end of the first period (the score was then 0/0) to play muzak. We made our way back to the hotel,soberer than we would have liked to be, by which time the game was over.
My only question here is whether such mindlessness should or should not be a capital offense.
The clue to your troubles is that you were "in Victoria." If you and Mrs. Molly were watching the game and having a couple Guinness in Sandspit, Wells or Lone Butte no one would have thought of turning down the sound. Victorians, by way of their innate Britishness are a sensible lot. i.e. They know who will be making excuses for Canuck losses for this season (a fucking Swede); it was only the first game of the season (though it will resemble their last); the Queen was not in attendance (except in the Spirit of the Commonwealth); and they have their own much beloved East Coast Hockey League team there (being in the East Coast League makes Victorians fell closer to the Motherland). The Salmon Kings, as they are quaintly known, are sort of the less able, slightly retarded brothers of your fabled Manitoba Mooseheads.
Victorians, like most all British Columbians, commit capital offenses on such a regular basis we have to keep importing people from the Prairies to keep the unimprisoned population steady.
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