A compendium of Steve-o

More random quotes from the roommate. People with any decency or self-respect may wish to skip this post. For us degenerates - keep in mind that text in italics were sang, not spoken.



1.
Oh say can you see
That the Oilers are shitty
What so proudly they suck
Why do people like them so much?

2.
You know what the best part of waking up is? It’s Folgers in your cup, dammit.

3.
Peanut butter and marmalade. Peanut butter and marmalade. Peana-peana butta-butta peanabutta marma-marma peada-bu-bu-ma-ma-butta-peana-ma-ma… [Editor’s note: I’m sorry. I can’t go on with this one.]

4.
You know where that show ‘Bananas in Pajamas’ came from? Some guy woke up with a woody and his daughter said “What’s that?” and he said “Oh, that’s just a banana in my pajamas” and she told all her friends and angry parents were calling him up saying “What the hell’s this I’m hearing about this pajama banana business!” and he said “Oh! Oh – it’s just a TV show I’m working on!” so then he had to make the TV show. I’ll bet you anything that’s exactly what happened.

5.
When you go to the deli, ask if they have any special diet kielbasa. Just say, “Hey, do you have any kielbasa that won’t go to my hips but will go to my wang instead? I want it to be huge. I want to hear a thud when I whip it out. I want something that’ll cripple your mother. I want to shoot brick walls down. You got something like that? You want to check in the back maybe?

6.
Jimmy cracked corn and I don’t care,
Jimmy cracked corn and I don’t care,
Jimmy cracked corn and I don’t care,
I’ll kick him in the nuts.

7.
Okay, How did these tampons get in my shopping basket?

8.
Jimmy likes porn and I don’t care,
Jimmy likes porn and I don’t care,
Jimmy likes porn and I don’t care,
As long as he keeps his little hands off my fetish collection.

9.
Roll it around on your tongue and tell me – how sour is my cream?

10.
Don’t ever walk into a silversmith’s shop with a jar full of silverfish and ask him to melt them down and make a ring for you. They just look at you funny.


The preceding sentiments are not necessarily shared. Period.

Love is in the air... and headaches

Went to a kick-ass wedding yesterday. Hung over today. Can’t really have one without the other. I convinced my parents to pick me up on the way to the ceremony and to drop me off again afterwards – which made sense. The grotto is on the way from Caledon to Burlington. Add an open bar to the formula…

X = infinite drinkies + 0 KM driving

… carry the 1…

X = hangover.

The bride and groom are both 27 and have been dating for more than ten years – since grade 10! Isn’t that something? If you’re still looking for purity and spirituality in love - this might just be a starting point.

Here’s my outfit: Black pants and shoes; a tweed jacket ostensibly grayish-brown at a glance but upon close inspection, built of threads of navy and peacock blues, olive green and orange; a multi-grey toned shirt patterned like a mosaic of stone; and a bold, deeply-textured tie resembling tire treads filled with blood. Having trouble imagining such an ensemble? Good. Don’t. It wasn’t my finest fashion moment. I discovered too late that much of my favorite dress-up clothes have shrunk since my last wedding-and-or-funeral.

(Okay - they’ve shrunk or I’ve grown. Same difference.)

You know I once had two funerals to attend on the same day? And at the same funeral home to boot. I wouldn’t kid you. A coworker and the mother of a friend. I’m sure the funeral home people thought I was some kind of freak.

“Look! Him again! He’s a funeral crasher. I’m sure of it. Wow. I’ve only read about such people…”



'Kay, back to the wedding.


Upon arrival at the big modern church I made sure to use the lavatory. I know first hand how Catholics can drag out an event to exasperating unfathomable lengths. However this wasn’t the case. This was a simple 12-step wedding ceremony.

The steps, you ask? Voila:

1. Admit powerlessness over addiction.

2. Believe in a greater pow– oops. Wrong program.

Here we go:

1. Prelude. Excellent music by the pianist, flutist and canter. Yes. Canter. That’s what it said in the program. I was very disappointed, expecting a live horse to be present – until I heard the canter’s voice – which was truly heavenly. I was later informed that ‘canter’ is the new modern term for one that was once – in ancient times – known as a ‘singer.’ That’s right. Singer. Say it with me everyone: Sing-er…

2. Processional: Parents of the groom and bride; six groomsmen; six maids of milking; one maid of honour, one best man, one groom and of course – one bride. Oh – and somewhere in there was a ring bearer who was maybe three months old and was carried in Mom’s left arm while the pillow and rings rode in the right arm. And oddly enough the kid’s name was Frodo. No! No, it wasn’t. I jest.

3. Opening prayer

4. First and second readings

5. Responsorial Psalm. Yes. Responsorial. My personal responsorialities included involuntary nodding and blinking.

6. Rite of Marriage. This is where the priest, Father Bob said, “I, William… Take you, Deanna… To be my wife…” and moments later said, “I, Deanna… Take you, William… To be my wife…” much to the amusement of all present. Odd that he knew so much about lesbian weddings despite his church’s official poo-pooing of such vile sacrilege. Later he attributed the gaff to a ‘senior moment’.

7. Much sitting, standing, sitting, standing, kneeling, sitting, standing, kneeling, putting in of left leg, shaking all about etc. I just sat still the whole time. Father Bob never once said “Simon sez.”

8. Litany of the Eucharist (oops! I mean – Liturgy)

9. Presentation of gifts – by the very teary and huggy mamas of the bride and of the groom.

10. Signing of the register

11. Final blessing

12. Group photo of all the party and guests gathered on and around the big alter while Father Bob scampered about in great consternation, worried we’d upset the holy order of things – that we’d knock over his magic candles or his holy-but-fake flowers or his bowl of pixie dust or otherwise upset the Savior to such degree that He’d turn His back on mankind and leave us to our own sinful devices. Luckily for us all, no hocus-pocusry were harmed even when one of the guests fell backwards down the three steps from the alter while his hands were buried in his jacket pockets - prompting many to utter, “My gosh! And he hasn’t even started drinking yet!”

Ah, but how can you be sure, my friends? How can you be sure?


Next: Off to East Side Marios for a half litre of cheap wine and the worst calamari I’ve had since the Kelsey’s debacle when an alien burst out the chest of my android friend.


And finally – the reception.

I slipped my card through the slot in the long low box that had a mirrored top on which stood magnificent decorative horse-and-carriage pieces.

I then signed the registry: ‘Fantasy Writer Guy – I hope I win the horse and carriage! I stuffed the ballot box!’

Off to the bar where I threw a hefty bill into the tip basket just to get things started right. Big mistake. The barkeep was all over me the rest of the night. He’d track me down at my table or half-way across the hall.

“Here’s another vodka and tonic, sir. I noticed you were getting low.”

Getting sloshed is more like it.

I only spoke briefly to the B and G. They were rather popular for some reason and hard to corner.

But I twice enjoyed long conversations with the mom of the groom – a kind and delightful lady and long-time family friend. I felt it my duty to warn her:

“You realize your son’s going to lose his virginity tonight.”

“Oh!” she chortled, waving her hand in dismissal. “I’m sure he lost that a long time ago!”

It really was a great wedding and more than a few guests commented such. I haven’t demonstrated why though. In reality there were no details that made it stand apart. Just this. The bride and groom are both the kind of people you love to be around. The kind who are always ‘up’. Who are happy and kind and enthusiastic but who not only speak with intensity but listen with intensity. They’re the very rare kind of extroverts who actually give more energy to a room than they take. Very rare. Very special.

Like Advil. Advil is very special at times like this. Come Advil! Come to Papa.

FWG

Ribbon Cam Pains

Ever find yourself driving down the road behind a car on which no stickers bearing a coloured ribbon are present? Not too often, right?

I find this proliferation of ribbons a little odd. One - because it seems incongruent to at once celebrate anonymity by brazenly cutting off the motorist beside you while simultaneously assuming he could give a flying care what your particular 'causes' are.

Two - because you can't get close enough to read the text esplaining what the 'cause' is without a little rear-end action (of the motor-vehicular type).

Also - why on earth is it always a ribbon? What's wrong with bowes? Or other shapes? A peanut-shape perhaps? Or - um - I don't know. I'm fresh out of shape ideas.

I've become curious what all these causes are so I did a little research. Are you curious also? Well let me save you the trouble. Here are the results of my study - Oh - by the way. I realize I spelled 'explaining' wrong but I decided to leave it. It sounds like a homage to Desi Arnez and lets face it. Desi doesn't receive homages very often. It would be a shame to take this one away, accidental or not, so I left it.

Oh Lucy... you got some 'splaining to do...


Black ribbon
Melanoma Awareness

Blue ribbon
Support Christian Rock

Baby blue ribbon
End School Violence

Florescent blue ribbon
Stop Hating Leonardo DiCaprio

Light blue ribbon
Support Microsoft/Free Market Technology

Light blue ribbon (upside down)
Save Software Market from Microsoft Monopoly

Blue and orange ribbon
Child Abuse Prevention

Blue and white ribbon
Remember Columbine High School

Blue ribbon with grey sphere
Save Pluto. From what, I've no idea.

Blue and yellow ribbon
Remember TWA flight 800 July '96

Metallic gold ribbon
Childhood Cancer Awareness

Green ribbon
Leukemia Awareness

Avocado ribbon
Ban Stupid Avocado Ribbons Campaign

Forest green ribbon
Fight Ovarian Cancer

Mint green ribbon
"Triumph over Tragedy" Awareness of abuse.

Dark grey ribbon
Be nice to newbies campaign

Silver grey ribbon
Fight Diabetes

Orange ribbon
Families with Imprisoned Loved Ones

Ecru ribbon
Free Speech

Lavender ribbon
Celebrate Ecru Ribbons. Naturally they wanted to use ecru ribbons but those goddam free-speechers got to it first.

Pink ribbon
Fibromyalgia awareness - also known as Fibro-my-ass by intolerant husbands who think their 'suffering' wives are just being lazy.

Purple ribbon
Pancreatic Cancer Research

Florescent purple ribbon
Support anti-gravity/flying pigs

Violet ribbon
Artists Against Racism

Purple and yellow ribbon
Chemical Injury Awareness

Red ribbon
M.A.D.D. (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) - displayed mostly on the vehicles of drunk drivers who are hoping to avoid suspicion

Blood red ribbon
Multiple Myeloma Awareness

Red-orange ribbon
Aids Awareness

Red, green and gold ribbon
FWG's Support the Phrase 'Ta-da!' Campaign

Red, white and blue ribbon (stars and stripes)
Memorial to American victims of terrorism/Never forget 9-11

White ribbon
Pro-life campaign

White ribbon with black spots
Cow Appreciation

Yellow ribbon
Banana Eagle Awareness. I confess. I wasn't aware.

Florescent yellow ribbon
Free Terri Martin. I hate to be crass but who the hell is Terri Martin?

Yellow ribbon with red maple leaf
Support Canada's Troops in Afghanistan. That's right, my Southern friends! Canada actually has an army! And the next time one of those pea-brained Bush-brainwashees is tempted to ask me why Canada is "not against the terrorists" they'd damn well better think twice because my patience for that kind of braindead crap ran dry when Canadian boys started getting killed over there. 'Nuff said about that.

More Steve-o than you can shake a stick at

Saw the awesome Rings of June last night at the cavernous Horseshoe Tavern, site of such musical dabblers as The Police and Rolling Stones…

It was the first time I heard them with a kick-ass sound system behind them. ‘Wow!’ is all I can say.

Doctor Lock is the gregarious bass player and he requested another Steve-o entry. After that fine performance – it’s the least I can do. Here you go, Doc.


1.
Hello Bill. How are you? Oh, you’ve got some kind of anal leakage? Some clear substance? Oh really?

2.
Just a fool to believe
She is thinking of Steve
She’s like my sack

3.
These eggs are made for dippin’
But that’s not what they’ll do
One of these days these eggs
Are gonna have a freakin’ cow.

4.
Last week on Prison Break,
Do-doo-doo!
My nut-sack is on fire.

5.
Zoiks Scoob! Far out!

6.
I love my pastitsies
I’m singing like Melissa Ethridge
‘Cause she’s so ditzy

7.
What am I doing with the vacuum cleaner? Well, I thought I’d sit on my folding chair outside your bedroom door and shoot turds out of it. Maybe you can catch them with your lacrosse batons… What…? Lacrosse sticks? Oh. I thought they were called batons.

8.
The end is near! The end is near!
We must make cinnamon buns!
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

9.
Wait ‘til she gets a load of my purple-headed yogurt slinger!

10.
Sturdy Danny Magee climbed his fifty-ninth tree sayin’ I work as fast as I can. Then he saw those… Two scoops of raisins in them Kellogg’s Raisin Bran.

The preceding opinions are not necessarily shared by FWG

Birth and death

Today's my brother's birthday. My real brother, Marc. The one on my Mom's side. The one I grew up with. The one to whom I was first introduced when I was Nine and he kicked my hand from within Mom's great belly. I've yet to be introduced to Wade but hope remains.

I gave Marc a card that read, 'Happy Birthday! I couldn't ask for a better brother!' and inside, 'Well, I could but I think Mom's too old now!'

Yep. Slammed two out of three immediate family members with one card. That's some productivity right there.

I missed my writing group meeting today. I was running quite late and decided to skip it and show up for the birthday celebration early instead.

I was late because I'd spent the morning on the phone with the ex, who had called in tears.

"I just got off the phone with Mrs. Murdoch in New Brunswick."

New Brunswick... Murdoch...

"John's mom." I said, and my heart fell. I sensed immediately what perfectly shitty news was coming.

"John's dead."


We met him in a bar about five years ago. I didn't think he was old enough to be there. He was very talkative, engaging.

"Do you go to school?" I asked. "Do you work? What do you do?"

"I'm a false profit," he said. I was intrigued immediately. He truly believed that God communicated with him through storms, tornadoes being the clearest medium. But no one ever believed him. He fancied himself a storm-chaser though he had no means to do such a thing. No assets or real income except for the dubious sorts and occasionally a government assistance cheque on the rare occasions he could be convinced to stay at any one address long enough. He survived mainly on street shelters and the kindness of a few relative strangers that he considered his friends.

He doodled tornadoes anywhere he found a pen. He'd tell you all about weather patterns and he sounded like he knew what he was talking about. But then he'd talk about God and the inevitable fate of mankind and he'd start repeating himself and asking if you had any Percocet lying around or any cocaine. He could be difficult to deal with. As a houseguest he became intolerable after a few days. Then he'd disappear for another six months or so. He needed institutional help. The shortfalls in his brain were not very severe I don't think. A chemical imbalance perhaps.

He recently turned 25 while living on the streets in Toronto. Not a great living arrangement this time of year. He was sitting under a tree, say his homeless associates. He had a seizure. The paramedics came too late.

Few will remember John. His one good friend, back in New Brunswick, died tragically young also.

His mom hopes to raise enough money to fly to Toronto so she can put some flowers under the tree where her only child passed away.

Goodbye John. I'm sorry we failed you.

Jesus Appears!

Oh dear.

Oh dear oh dear.

How am I gonna explain this? Flumadiddle will be so disappointed with me but it can't be denied. The face of Jesus has appeared here today. And at the dining room table of all places. And to His credit, he didn't play favorites. He appeared neither in Steve-o's plate or mine but in the extra plate - where the ruined over-poached eggs and leftover salmon were tossed.

Here's a picture. It's hard to make out His visage immediately but trust me - it's in there.

If thou truly have faith - you shall see your savior:

Dish Frog

Meet the Dish Frog. He's an orange wide-mouth frog with a big yellow tongue. Despite his modest stature he garners a fair amount of attention being orange and yellow in an otherwise somber environment. Rockin' Roddie gave him up for adoption along with a couple fine bottles of vino back at the Grotto of Cool house-swarming bash and Steve-o and I have since grown fond of him. So have many of our guests. But some, sadly, have not. And unbeknownst to them we pay careful attention to their reaction to Dish Frog.

You see, he is one of two Grotto of Cool guardians. While Cardboard Regis haunts the shadowy places - the closets; the shower; the other side of a closed door, Dish Frog rules the kitchen. And from his countertop perch he stares into souls with his black beady eyes.

Those who like Dish Frog are forever welcome at the Grotto and may move about freely within. But those who poo-poo Dish-Frog... Shall never be fully trusted here. They shall always be scrutinized.

FWG

Sylvie Ruel Update

Well they did it again. Those little freaks at Reliance Home Comfort - they're crazy as shit-house rats I tell you. And as promised, I'm sending their latest offering back with a 'Final Notice' message scrawled on it. Although I'm having second thoughts about giving up just yet. If this doesn't work I may in fact try a couple more strategies.

I'll save Mark Cohen's solution for last - that of writing 'deceased' on the envelope. First - I think I'll try this if necessary:

Return to sender. Anthrax powder enclosed.

I'm thinking that might get someone's attention. I wonder if I might get into some hot water, though? That's not considered a post 9-11 faux-pas is it? I don't really want to get security certified by CCIS and disappear for three years over this. A brief prison stint might be a lark though. As long as they feed me and let me write all day. Think of the fun new experiences I could blog about. Shower-rape for instance. Laundry duty, mushy dinners of mysterious origin, digging tunnels behind Rita Hayworth posters, shower-rape. Oops. Did I say that one already?

There's still the hope of actually finding Sylvie Ruel. I'm sure she could put an end to all this with a simple phone call. While attempts so far to locate her via internet have failed I did notice that googling "Sylvie Ruel" brings up this blog as the number-one link! So if she has a single narcissistic bone in her body and happens to google herself (hee-hee! I love that phrase!) - she may just find her way here.

If you're reading this, Sylvie - please. Make the call.

FWG

Still more Steve-o quotes o' the day

1.
Hey, you want a man-sock?

2.
Yeah, the day that happens is the day my nut-sack falls to the ground like a baby.

[Editor's note: I swear these quotes are accurate. I know they don't often make sense but usually he just starts talking without knowing where he's going with it and sometimes paints himself into a corner.]

3.
She's so wrinkly like a prune. If my nut-sack had arms and legs it would look just like her.

4.
Here comes the fish again
Falling on my head like the scalloped potatoes
They're looking pretty bad. I think I'll throw them out.
And the fish can just stay here
'Cause the fish can just STAY HERE!

5.
It's got to be an oriental driver. It has to be. You can tell by that big oversized rear-view mirror. Those mirrors aren't standard you know. I think it's a hereditary thing. All the Asians. There's a giant-mirror seed in them when they're born and when they're sixteen it comes out their leg and then they put it on their car.

6.
Is that my phone? Yeah, it is. I got a - phone call dear Liza, dear Liza a pho- Hello?

7.
You know how first-dates are. We mostly just talked about anal butt plugs.

8.
I am Grandma Gummie Balls. I am in Ikea commercial. Get two Swedish meatballs for 67 cents - with a side order of sphincterola.

9.
When I was just a little boy
I asked my mother, what will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here’s what she said to me.
Que sera sera
You’ll grow a comb moustache
And build an empire of hate and greed
And kill many Jews
Que sera sera…

10.
I’m gonna brush my teeth. I’ve probably got cheese breath.
Cheese breath cheese breath cheese breath!
Cheese breath cheese breath cheese breath!
I wonder if cows have cheese breath?

Neither FWG or the good people at blogger.com endorse any opinions expressed in the preceding article.

Dumpling Festival

Driving along the highway about 5 in the evening I heard a terrible rumbling noise and thought - my goodness - what's wrong with the truck? Then I realized it was just my stomach and I hadn't eaten anything all day.

Right about then I passed a giant Mandarin restaurant looming at the side of the highway. In my emaciated state I was in no condition to fight its considerable gravitational pull and found myself exiting at the next interchange and eventually getting sucked through a maze of local streets and into the parking lot of the Mandarin - the behemoth king of bastardized Chinese food buffets.

Inside the lobby I was stunned at the hoard of people sitting and standing around. There had to be a hundred customers waiting.

"Two hours." I heard the team of greeters, each suited in red marching-band outfits, tell the folks in front of me. Heartbroken, I was about to walk out and go find another establishment when one of the band leaders asked, "How many?"

"One," I said.

"Oh, Come. We have tabew fo one!"

Wow! She led me down the wide passage toward the great buffetorium. Here I was jumping a two-hour queue! I presume they were fans of the FWG-bedroom candles hence the rock-star treatment. She pointed out the various neighborhoods within the beffetorium - the salad, dessert etc., and the path to the bathrooms and then led me into one of the four main dining rooms to a cosy table for two.

Considering the scope of my appetite and the modest size of the plates I forecasted a four-course event that would eventually play out as follows:

glazed salmon
shrimp and pea what-not
fresh shrimp w/ seafood sauce
oysters in the shell w/ black bean sauce

fried rice
Kung Foo pork (or something like that)
deep fried chicken in lemon sauce AND sweet'n'sour sauce
saucy ribs
egg roll w/ plum sauce

Chinese noodles
Teriyake meatballs
spicy sweet chicken
dumpling selection

waffles with vanilla sauce and maple syrup
creme brulet


In the middle of round 3 I watched a small kid - maybe three feet high - carry in his plate all by himself. I know it was his first plate because I'd just watched his family arrive and be seated moments earlier. This was his meal:

one tiny piece of broccoli
one small orange thing - a piece of carrot presumably
five STACKS of cookies.

STACKS! The King's ransom of cookies. The motherlode. I had to chuckle aloud. I loved this kid at once. This is a kid who knows what he wants. No messing around. I presume the tidbits of vegetation were intended to satisfy some condition negotiated with the parents. 'Way to stick it to the man,' I thought.

Unfortunately he was soon making another round and this time returned with a bowl containing 5 chicken balls under a heap of red goop. I'm not sure if that's any healthier than a mountain of cookies but clearly 'the man' had won out in the end.

That's when I broke tradition and decided to make my fourth round a dessert round - in honor of the fallen cookie hero.

FWG

Exposing a secret society

I've really done it this time.

I suppose my life is in terrible danger now, having hereby exposed to the world the dark goings-on of the highly secret organization - the SHL - of which, I'm loathe to confess, I'm a member - but only of eight years or so. This has been going on for more than sixteen years.

There's actually no official rules guarding confidentiality. There's no blood-oath swearing 'What is said in the SHL stays in the SHL' but what goes on here is so shamefully outside the boundaries of normal Judaio-Christian new-world behavior that such a pact surely exists unwritten and unspoken.

So if I dissappear suddenly, you'll know why.

The cast, in alphabetical order, followed by the community they represent (very little has been done to protect their true identities):

AT: Angry Tom (who is hardly the angriest among us) - Pawtucket [PAW]
CP: Crazy Pat (who is probably the least crazy among us) - Heyden [HEY]
FBT: Fuzzy Butt Tubby (who is actually the slimmest among us) - Roanoke [ROA]
FWG: Yours truly (who is actually the tubbiest) - Ybor City [YBO]
LBJ: Little Baby Joel (who is actually the most mature among us) - Kamloops [KAM]
NB: Neiley-Bob (who is ipso-facto neiley-bobbish being the genuine origin of the entity) - Kingston [KIN]
PK: Porn King (who in fact does not watch porn) - Winfield [WIN]
SW: Skeeter Willis (who is not particularly skeeterish) - Port Credit [PTC]
TB: The Bastard (who is actually most certainly a bastard) - Nipissing [NPG]

What follows is a perfectly true-to-life audio representation of a typical five minutes in the life of the SHL - the 'Strat-o-matic Hockey League'. The actual physical goings on shall be left to your imagination. Words in italics are sang, not spoken. Brace yourself…


PK : Face-off!
FBT : In my end - WHOO!!
PK : I'm a plus-one.
FBT : We's even, weezie.

CP : Left wing, intimidation right D. Kaberle.
AT : Kobberslob… Boof!
CP : Fuck.
AT : Opponent defense eleven.
CP : Cocksucker. Two minutes to Souray.
FBT : I'm souray… so souray…
AT : Go to the box and feel shame.

NB : Outside, Arnott.
FWG : Is too!
NB : He'll pass.
FWG : Against five.
NB : Damn. He'll pass.
FWG : Six. Loose puck… Outside shot home left wing.
NB : Lemieux.
FWG : Pepe Lemieux.
NB : He'll super douper pass.
FWG : Geek.

SW : Oppenent defense six.
TB : Inside 'i' opp.
SW : Seven… No! Niedermayer inside.
TB : Oh I wish I was Niedermayer weiner… Goal one to sixteen!
SW : Oh!
TB : Seventeen! NO!
SW : Ping ping!

FBT : In the town where I was born…
AT : Drake with it.
FBT : Lived a ma-a-an who sailed to sea…
CP : Hate the Drake.
FBT : And he told us of his life…
AT : Love the Drake!
FBT : In the la-a-and of submarines…
FBT/SW/FWG/NB/TB : We all live in a yellow submarine! Yellow submarine! Yellow submarine! We all…
PK : Shut up, people.

TB : Guys, we need a rule clarification.
PK : Shut up, Dave.
NB : Rules!
FBT/SW/LBJ/TB : RULES!

PK : Murray outside.
FBT : Oh Murray!
PK : He'll pass… Palffy inside!
FBT : Palfally Alfally!
PK : Goal one to two!
FBT : No way.
PK : Scores!
FBT : Unbelievable.

FWG : Chara bringing it in.
NB : Cootchie cootchie coo!
FWG : Why do you people always say that?
NB : Zsa Zsa Gabor.
FWG : What does that mean?
TB : You don't know who Zsa Zsa Gabor is!
PK : Shut up, Dave.

SW : Hedge-duck bringing it in…
TB : Quack quack.
SW : Passing A! Inside Nasloon, 'I' opp.
SW/TB : FIFTEEN!
TB : No tickie, no booey!
SW : Nasloon...! Goalie rating…! Oh!
TB : Save and a face-off… possible injury.
SW : Visitor left D plus one. Oh, Hedican.
TB : Brent Head-again. How many games?
SW : Sixty-two… Uh-oh. Fourteen times five.
TB : Fifty… Seventy. He's gone!
SW : Oh man!
TB : Sucker.
PK : Shut up, Dave.
TB : Body part!
SW : Head.
TB : Hey Joel, has Head-again had 'head' before?
All : [falling-down laughter]
LBJ : Hang on. Checking…
LBJ : ... Head-again has not had head before.
All : [more falling-down laughter]

FWG : Possible Breakaway.
NB : Left D.
FWG : Schneider-weiner. He's my breakaway man.
FBT : He's my breakaway man!
FWG : He's my breakaway man!
FBT : He wears breakaway pants!

FBT : Iginla bringing it in. Gettin' Iggy with it… Defense five!
PK : Right wing intimidation centre!
FBT : Shtevie Shullivan!
PK : Knuble one to four!
FBT : You say Kanooble, I say Kanobble…
PK : Takes away...! He's okay!
FBT : Unbelievable!

AT : Possible breakaway
CP : Left wing if it's a three. Jason Blake. The real Blake.
AT : It's a Blake-away!
CP : [grunt] Save… Right D. Klesla.
AT : Klesla girls!

NB : Kariya bringing it in
FWG : Polkareeya!
NB : Lose to opponent.
FWG : Handzoodles bringing it in… Inside any, 'I' opp.
NB : Three, nine, nine, six.
FWG : Six.
NB : No! Lecavalier.
FWG : Lick-a-liver...! Save, rebound!
NB : Any offense, also injury! Can't be Lick-a-liver!
FWG : Sami Kapanen
NB : Oh shammy.
FWG : Save left wing. Dammit.
NB : Ready...? Visitor left D, remainder of period.
FWG : Crap. Schneider-weiner.
NB : Body part.
FWG : Eye. Schneider in the eye.
PK : I schnied her in the eye once.
SW/FBT : SCHNIED HER IN THE EYE!!
PK : Oh! Who was that?
NB/FWG/FBT/TB : Oh!
SW : Alright, was that Tom or Dave?
AT : It was the dog
LBJ : It was NOT Kurgan.
CP : It was Tom.
PK : Gross, dude.

AT : Mark Wreck-eye bringing it in.
CP : Outside only, Bates.
AT : Master Bates, outside!
PK : What? Never mind what I do in my spare time!
AT : Two! Goal one to four!
CP : [grunt]
AT : Scores!
CP : No fucking way. You sonofabitch.
SW : What's the HEY-PAW score?
NB/FBT/FWG/TB/LBJ : HEY PAW!!
AT : Two-one
FWG : Two-one? That's not a score Tom. That's just a pair of numbers,
AT : That's the score!
FWG : It's not a score unless you assign each number to a team.
TB : Yeah Tom. What's wrong with you? No wonder you couldn't hack it as an accountant!
PK : Shut up, Dave.
FWG : AGGHHHH! Stop touching me, dog! Get out from under the table!
LBJ : The dog's over here!
FWG : Alright, who's the wise guy? Robb! Stop touching me!
PK : Tee-he-he-he-hee
NB : Ahh! Hee-hee-hee. That tickles!

PK : Nieuwendyk inside!
FBT : Newandickies!!
PK/FBT : Save, rebound!
PK : Centre if it's a-
PK/FBT : Sundin!!
FBT : Sundin, you'd better take care if I find you been sneakin round my back stair…
PK : Here. Blow on this for good luck!
FWG : No way. I'm not falling for that again!
PK : Come on Mats, you sexy little bitch!
PK/FBT : OH!! Save, rebound!
FBT : Defensive centre! Marleau! Whatcha gonna do with all that Marleau!
SW : I'm gonna make you - make you work!
FBT : Marleau bringing it in!
LBJ : Anyone need a refreshing beverage?
SW : Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?
FBT : POSSIBLE BREAKANINGAWAY!!
FWG : I'll have a gold Coke off the floor.
SW : All that Love junk in that trunk?
FBT : LEFT WING IF IT'S A THREE...! STURM! STURMATAZOA!!
FWG : Oh Sturmy!
SW : I'm gonna get you - get you drunk
FBT : THREE FOUR SEVEN NINE ELEVEN!
SW : Get you love-drunk on my humps!
FBT : THREE FOUR SEVEN NINE ELEVEN!
SW : My humps. My lovely lady lumps…
FBT : SIX!! AAAAGGHHHH! BLEEEEEGGGGHHHH!! UNBELIEVABLE!!
LBJ : Hey! No throwing garbage!
SW : Check it out…
FBT : It's not garbage! It's a perfectly good missile!
PK : Excuse me. I need to go grope someone.


Okay. Stop it right there (that's a subtle homage to Howie Meeker by the way). I think you get the idea. I think the lid is sufficiently blown off.

And now I must go into hiding.

FWG

Wow! I must be famous!

I popped into the Dollar N' Value store today at the corner of Eglinton and Mavis, generously overlooked their improper use of the apostrophe and stocked up on scented candles. Here's just some of the varieties they offered:

Vanilla
Lilac
Lemon
FWG's Bedroom
Mixed Berry
Unspecific Pinkiness...

Whoa! What's that? FWG's bedroom, you say? That's right! How famous must I be that scientists have broken into my home without my being aware and determined the chemical equation to precisely mimic the scent of my bedroom and sold the formula to manufacturers of dollar store candles! Is that not the pinnacle of fame?

I presume it's to avoid paying me royalties that they don't actually label these candles "FWG's Bedroom". But some sixth sense told me to buy them and I did. Eight of them. And after burning two of them for a couple hours this evening I suddenly realized that I could detect no change of scent in the room! So I gave the one candle a few good sniffs and was amazed to discover that the scent precisely imitated the scent already present in the room. Shocked and disbelieving I sniffed the second candle - determined to prove my first observation wrong. I had to get very very close to it before finally detecting a new scent - that of singed nasal hair. But singed nasal hair as a candle variety is even stranger than FWG's Bedroom - plus my nose was so outrageously hot that I couldn't trust that it was properly functioning at that point so I had to dismiss the second observation.

Anyways - if you want to sample the FWG's Bedroom scented candles you can go to any Dollar N' Value. Just look for the coppery/burnt orange/rust sort of shade and a label that reads: Variety: CAFLVE.

I'm not sure if caflve is Islamic for FWG's Bedroom or if I'm reading it wrong. I'm actually only sure of the C and the E because the 'AFLV' is printed in brown letters right across the brand logo that very very strangely consists of a sea of random curved lines that are the exact same brown colour and same thickness as the letters - which, I confess, might just as likely be 'QWZF' for all I know. Is CQWZFE a typical candle variety? Is there any typical scent that starts with C and ends with E?

Anyways I'm very concerned over how I'll handle my new star status. It'll be quite the lifestyle change. I assume celebrity trinket hawkers will be all over the place now - going through my garbage etcetera. Hey - maybe I can get one of them to take away the rogue pubic hair that is matted to the shower wall about 7 feet up and end the stalemate between Steve-o and I over who must perform this task.

How on earth do they get up that high, anyway?

FWG