Not precisely the 15 minutes of fame I might have hoped for!

By the time he reached the end of his mile long walk Saturday morning, Rich Landriault wasn't sure he was going to make it.

It wasn't just that his feet hurt. Every muscle in his body ached.

"Everything hurts," the Hamilton man said, moments after finishing his tour around the Pen Centre shopping mall as part of the Walk a Mile in Her Shoes event to support the Gillian's Place Women's Shelter. "That was so much more difficult than I expected. It's like a workout."

Landriault came to St. Catharines to join the team of walkers put together by Tory Gillespie of Thorold to raise money for the sheller.

Gillespie said he put together his group, called Judy's Gentlemen, for Walk a Mile in Her Shoes because his mother-in-law had been a victim of domestic abuse, and supporting the shelter was a way to show solidarity with her.

Judy's Gentlemen, along with a host of other teams and individual men who donned high heels to march around the mall, raised more than $86,000 for the shelter.

Community development manager for Gillian's Place, Nicole Regehr said the funds will allow the shelter to keep operating. The facility is only 80% funded by government sources, leaving Gillian's Place to fundraise the remaining 20%. However, Gillian's Place is the midst of a five year funding freeze, making the Walk a Mile event, it's largest fundraising effort, all the more important.

"We have a funding freeze, but costs keep going up for everything. So this is absolutely vital. When someone comes to the shelter and hits a light switch, the lights have to come on. We have to feed 30 plus women and children every day," she said. "So we have to include this fundraised money in our budget. Without it, we couldn't operate."

The total for Saturday's event was down from last year's $125,000. But Regehr said 2013 may have been an anomaly.

"We were aiming for $120,000 but it may be that we blew the roof off it last year, and it is difficult to reproduce that every year," she said. "The $86,000 is in line with what we raised in 2012."

The 40 member team from TD Canada Trust raised the most money of any participating team, bringing in more than $30,000.

The St. Catharines Standard team was a distant second, with more than $5,000, most of which was raised by publisher Mark Cressman, who raised the most of any individual who took part.

Event emcee and radio personality Tim Denis, said the unfortunate reality was that Walk a Mile was such a necessary charity, but that the ongoing support for the event was heartening.

"Your support means a woman in crisis will have a place to turn to if she needs it," he said. "And your being here is saying to them that they are not alone."

Every day

"You need to blog everyday."

My brother said this to me late on the night of his wedding two months ago. I guess we were talking about me; how I was doing. And what was on my mind was how I'd been way too long in an unproductive funk; dicking around haphazardly, here and there; bouncing around between way too many projects.

I once went through a journey - over the course of years, that I suppose no one will ever understand, much less believe - unless I manage to figure out how to write a book that would effectively demonstrate it and then actually write it and then people actually read it...

I came out of that journey so very inspired; knowing I possessed something that could change people's lives. But that inspiration waned when I found out how nearly impossible it is to break through the walls that instinct and society and investment build around people. And then that inspiration bounced back when I started to associate with youth for the first time since my own youth; some of them very special; very intelligent but without nearly so many walls in the way.

I'm thinking of Neo and Aqualad mostly; both of them brilliant in different ways. So why have these associations not yielded a great leveraging of my resources as I thought they surely would? Or have they, but not in the manner I expected? I don't even know. I don't even have the energy to imagine trying to figure that out.

I've been lacking motivation for so long. For me, motivation comes from inspiration. Inspiration comes to me from special people in bits and pieces. I see them each too infrequently. Mostly I spend time with people who have no clue what I'm all about; no clue what I have to offer, and I spend so much time giving and receiving such mundane words and trinkets; giving people the lame little things they want, but damn it, they could get these things from just about anyone, couldn't they?

Why am I not isolating myself in circumstances that actually leverage what I'm truly good at; the rarer resources I possess? Why am I so pliant, so patient, so mentally tired? How can I finally demonstrate to people who I am (or should be) and what I possess if I'm always holding their hand and telling them more or less what they're comfortable hearing instead of reaching for the truth; as scary and difficult as those truthful insights are - scary and difficult and ugly and beautiful and freeing and joyful.

The youths are getting older. Are walls being built? Will I get my shit together one day but find I am too late for them? I know it all comes down to me; getting my shit together. All of the hurdles are not to blame; only me to blame for not finding my way over them. There are many things I know I should be doing. I've got to start making more of them happen.

Well, I am more inspired these days than usual. I'm dieting again and I think it's going well. And it's prep time now for National Novel Writing Month which certainly inspires and sparks a good work ethic too; very important.

And Neo has leaked to me is upcoming album which has been a joy to explore - not that it doesn't contain very sober components. It has monopolized the car stereo every day since I got it. It's a beautiful and unique piece of art and certainly a motivation factor.

"You need to blog every day," my brother said.

Somehow I've long known that this is one of the important things I must do though I don't even fully understand why. So how the hell did my brother know it? It startled me when he said it. I wondered how the hell he knew to say that. And I still wonder. Well. Here's hoping.

Space Travel

There are people who are always hinting that they don't hear from me enough. It's funny how time moves differently for different people - or rather, the perception of time, of course. Time rushes by for me. I'm never idle. Never bored. Always behind on a hundred different projects and goals. Time flies so swiftly for me it is practically undetectable.

"It's been a year!" says a friend, or "It's been three years!" This has no meaning for me. My friends need to do the time-managing for us. I'm incapable. If it has been too long for them than they must reach out to me. They must not wait for me. It's not that I don't care about them. It's just that it always seems like yesterday that we last met.

Tati is a morning-person. Her meds tend to loopify her through the latter part of the day. I am not a morning person but my shift-work patterns - until just recently - made Wednesday mornings a good time to call. I invited her to do so on any - or even every - Wednesday morning.

I haven't heard from her since then. She hasn't responded to my facebook overtures. There is no internet trail of her since March. I keep thinking I should try calling some rare morning that I am awake. What's funny is how I've been subconsciously afraid to do so. I'm afraid to find out how she's doing these days; that she may have deteriorated. Or worse.

I'm awake this morning. I really should call.

I'm walking a mile in HER shoes

Yeah, I really don't like the idea of violence against women - or children or men for that matter. They're my top three kinds of violence I dislike. So I'm joining a protest against domestic abuse and helping to raise a few bucks for a shelter called Gillian's Place. It was Skeeter Willis' idea and it made too much sense to turn down. Plus the best part is - I get to wear high heels.

I'm thinking of throwing in a nice sunhat and boa but I don't know if that would be in the proper spirit.

If you want to make a donation, I wouldn't say no:
https://gilliansplace.akaraisin.com/pledge/Participant/Home.aspx?seid=9149&mid=9&pid=1873884

Useless

In the Circles community there is a culture around communication. Email is for logistics. Sensitive communication happens in person.

The email says that our Mr. Blacksheep is in the news and in custody, having fallen into old habits, and we need to gather.

The news article uses words such as lure and assault and no forms of the word alleged. And that doesn't even bother me. Something in my gut says it's true. If not a re-offence; at least a serious breach. What matters is that I should have seen it coming. I really should have. And now there is potentially a new victim. Or victims.

The quiet room just off the Sanctuary feels like a funeral parlour. The circle is larger this day. Valuable free agents have been drafted. We go around the ring of chairs getting reactions. Anger and disappointment are the themes. By happenstance I am last to speak. But I'm not angry, I say. And I'm not disappointed. All I feel is guilt. I weep.

In all our meetings I should have been more assertive with my contrary views. For so many reasons I never thought we were getting through to him; never getting the real deal from him; always subterfuge instead; distraction from the real issues. I should have come right out with it long ago. Even then would this disaster have been avoided? Chances are - no. But at least I would have done my duty.

And yet, he very recently dropped some real hints that things were bad. I caught one at the time and missed the other. I'd better give him a call, I'd thought at the time. And I never did.

And the third reason for my guilt, odd though it may seem, is the worst. It's the part of me; an ugly part of me, with a shameful wish that he will just stay behind bars. For good.

What a useless way to feel.

April A-Z: Running the Bad Boys Out of Town

Yeah, it's still April in my little world. Sorry for the confusion. I figure I've got til April 1st 2015 to get April A-Z 2014 done. And now... a completely useless conclusion to a useless prompt:


Nulling The Void - part 2

 “We don’t have time for this,” said Tyna. “Carey?”

“Yeah?”

“Start the car.”

“Don’t start the car,” said DeSchayne.

 “Honey,” said Tyna, “Start the engine.”

“What are you thinking!” said DeSchayne. The engine came to life. “Hey! Turn it off!”

“Hit it Carey!”

“No!” DeSchayne cried. Carey floored the pedal. The wheels spun at length before gaining purchase and the buggy leapt forward. “Are you kidding me!” DeSchayne grabbed Carey by the shoulders. “Every honky cop in town ‘ll be after us! And who’s butt do you think they’ll throw in jail!”

“Sorry bro. Tyna’s right. Who cares about jail when there’s a demon taking over the world?” The Honda crashed over a curb jostling all on board. They roared over a park lawn as the cruiser followed, spraying coloured lights everywhere.

“You keep us outta the river!” DeSchayne snapped as they flew downhill. Carey swung right and they raced along the riverbank just ahead of their pursuer. “No risk of you going to jail, boy!”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m white?”

“’Cause I’m gonna kill you first.”

“That’s harsh, bro.” They roared toward a steep embankment where an overhead bridge spanned the river. Carey drove straight at a dimly-lit footpath tunnel.

“No!” cried DeSchayne. “No no no!” They plowed into the tunnel. Steel squealed against concrete. Sparks flew and they penetrated the tunnel. The cop veered landward at the last moment, rising sideways on the steep hill, canting too far and tumbling over. The cruiser skidded to a halt on its roof; wheels turned up to the night sky and spinning uselessly.

“Hoo haw!” sang Carey as the Civic emerged from the tunnel, its body somewhat re-designed.

DeSchayne sat rigid and open-mouthed as the misshapen Honda raced up Townshend Line to higher ground. Finally: “Well, thanks for getting rid of those pesky side-mirrors for me.”

“Hey – who needs side mirrors?” said Carey. “In India cars don’t have any mirrors.”

“Isn’t that fascinating,” said DeSchayne flatly.”So they can fit through pedestrian tunnels?”

“No, I think it has something to do with Vishnu putting eyes on the front of their heads for a reason.”

“I’m gonna put a couple holes in the front of his head,” said DeSchayne to Tyna.

Tyna crossed her arms. “You love your stupid car more than me.” DeSchayne rolled his eyes.

“It’s just an object, bro,” said Carey. “We’ve all had to make sacrifices, you know." He glanced continuously in the only remaining mirror, expecting flashers which never came.

The ground leveled and they turned into a short dirt driveway, halting at a chained-up gate. Beyond the frost fence stood a collection of towers and transformers and a low shed of concrete and metal. The engine ceased, surrendering the night air to a steady racket of crickets. Carey turned the switch to kill the one working headlamp and the four riders emerged, Carey with duffel bag in hand. They approached the gate.

“Now what?” said Carey.

“We consult the cards,” said Tyna. The boy drew a packet from the pocket of his gray pleated trousers and unpacked the cards, He surrendered them to Tyna who shuffled them deftly. “Walter?”

The man eyed the stack. “Pick a card any card?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip as Walter cut the deck and turned up a card. It bore the image of a king surrounded by nine golden goblets. They stared.

“Now what?” said Carey. Light flashed briefly in the sky.

“We drink?” said DeSchayne. Thunder rumbled gently.

“Let me think,” said Tyna.

Walter grinned mischievously and whispered: “Who’s up for a tickle-fight?”

“Is that a combination lock on the fence?”

“Yes,” said Carey.

“Draw again, Walter!” She proffered the cards. Walter turned up a card depicting a princess before a field of thirteen stars. “Now one more time!” He did so, drawing a knight with three swords. “Nine – thirteen – three!” she exclaimed. “Try it DeSchayne!”

“Try what?”

“Try the combination. Nine – thirteen – three!”

Lightning flashed again and thunder followed. DeSchayne spun the dial this way and that. The lock clicked pleasingly and released. “Hot dog!”

He unthreaded the length of chain and shoved open the squealing metal gate. The crew piled in between the humming towers and monuments.

“What are we looking for?” asked Carey.

“I don’t know. Walter, draw again.”

Walter stepped up and drew again. His eyes bulged. “The tickler!” The image was that of a grimacing skeleton astride a black horse. Tyna paled. Thunder cracked.

Carey stared at the card. “Death!” he said breathlessly.

“Mulligan,” said Tyna, slipping the offending card to the bottom of the deck. “One more time, Walter!”

“You can do that?” said DeSchayne.

“Huh huh ho!” sang Walter, drawing a card of fiery orange and red.

“The Prince of Fire!” said Tyna. Their faces suddenly washed with light and a boom of thunder made them jump. An electric pop rang in their ears followed by a chorus of sizzles as smoke and sparks issued from some of the looming structures around them.

“I don’t like this,” said DeSchayne. Lightning struck again and again; the crash of thunder immediate. Tyna squealed. Walter’s spongy cigar hit the ground. “Yeah, I really don’t like this. Why don’t you draw a get-the-freak-outta-here card?”

“shazzam,” said Walter matter-of-factly. The others ducked as a symphony of electrical fireworks blossomed all around them. Then all at once the night was dark and silent. Even the crickets seemed stunned into silence.

“I think we blew a fuse,” said Carey, righting his hat.

Suddenly flames leapt into the air from a single structure; a mechanical monument about eight feet high. “Give me the Sonambule!” Tyna yelped. Carey unzipped the bag and drew out the Alice in Wonderland tome, its pages tea-soaked. “No, the whole bag!” He dropped the book back in, re-zipped the bag and handed it over. Tyna took it by the handles and approached the burning structure wide-eyed. The others followed just paces behind her. “Back where you came from demon! Back to the flames!” She hurled the bag into the air and they watched it vanish into the fire.

“Nice,” said Carey. “Nice eulogy. Short and sweet.”

“Now what?” said DeSchayne. A deep deep rumble was then felt as much as heard.  

“We get the freak out of here,” said Tyna.

They turned their back to the prospering flames and made for the gate. “I’m driving,” said DeSchayne.

“Shot gun,” said Carey.

“Lazer beans,” said Walter.

DeSchayne yanked ineffectually at the driver’s door handle. “Gimme the keys.” He turned up his palm.

“Shit,” said Carey.

“No shit,” said DeSchayne. “Just gimme the keys.” A blast of hot air swirled through and around them

“Um…”

“What!”

“They were in the bag.”

All turned to look at the flames which had trebled in height and grew swiftly taller before their eyes. The hot wind sent Walter’s long white hair dancing in the air. The ground began to tremble.

“Oh my god,” said Tyna.

“You threw my keys into the fire!” DeSchayne blurted. “With the demon?”

 “He threw the baby out with the bath water,” said Walter.

“Who’s got a coat hanger?” said Carey.

“Yeah, I’ll check my pockets,” DeSchayne snapped. “You little-“ he reached for Carey’s collar and the youth slipped barely from his grasp. A deep rumble accompanied a marked increase in the earth’s trembling. The flames leapt higher still.

“Oh my God oh my God,” sang Tyna.

“Hallelujah!” said Walter, bringing his palms together; his face awash in the orange light of flame.

“This is bad,” said Tyna. “This is really bad. I’m not even kidding.”

“Whadda we do?” said Carey and DeSchayne in chorus.

“Jinx!” said Walter. “Buy me a coke.” The ground positively shook. The flames leapt straight into the swirling clouds.

“Run!” cried Tyna. They ran, Walter cackling with delight.

A grand explosion flung the hydro sub-station far and wide.

holycrapthisdayisamazing ihavetogobuylotterytickets!!

First we get to the pool and sneak into the parking lot next door and there's a security guard in a car surrounded by authorized parking only signs so I play dumb and say we're going to the pool can we park here and he says:

"You sure can!!"

Isn't that amazing a security guard who says yes!! I gotta talk to the guys at work about this it could revolutionize the security industry!! Then the receptionist doesn't have change for a twenty so she says ah just go ahead and so we both get a free swim how super amazing is that!! And then the huge giant booger that was floating around in the pool well after I artfully splashed it toward the edge and then splashed it out of the pool and then took a close look at it as it lay on the tiles (cause I'm morbid that way) well it turned out not to be a huge giant booger after all but just a hunk of foam that musta come off one of them snot-green coloured pool noodles!! Hooray!! Isn't that amazing!! This day couldn't get any better and it's only one thirty and I think I should do something to take advantage of all this great luck like buy some lottery tickets or something 'cause when your heart has been sucked into a black hole and you don't know if it will ever return it sure is good to have a great day!! Yeah!!

Jimmy Thompson Memorial Pool

April A-Z: Opening the Flood Gates

Napkin Man to the rescue

April A-Z: Nulling the Void

Flash fiction using the above as a prompt. It'll be short and sweet...

A lime-green Honda Civic careened around a street corner, four passengers canting to one side.

“Was that a stop sign?” said Tyna from the rear seat.

“Who cares?” said young Carey as he stomped on the gas pedal. “We’re on a mission from God, aren’t we?”

“God has nothing to do with this.”

“What about St. Bernards?” said old Walter. He sat in the passenger seat in pajama drawers, slippers and mauve velvety smoking jacket. “Or angel hair pasta. Dancing to the mission bells, right? – the way noodles dance. You know.” He popped his stubby unlit cigar back into his mouth and chewed at its frayed soggy end.

“What’s he talking about now?” said DeSchayne.  He hadn’t righted himself since the sharp corner and now pressed his lips to Tyna’s available neck.

“It’s probably the demon talking.” Tyna shoved him back upright. “Best you just ignore it.”

“Like Betty Boop for the most part,” said Walter.

“Why?” said DeSchayne.

“Why what?”

“Why ignore it?”

“I don’t know. Just to be safe. Communicating with a Devil is probably dangerous business. He might be looking to trick you into something.”

“Wait a minute. Are we talking about a devil or a demon?”

“I don’t know. An evil spirit. It is what it is – however you label it.”

“Well I think you ought to choose one and stick with it. Just sayin’.” He leaned into her neck again.

“Not now!” She pushed him away. “This is life-and-death business here!” The car lurched as a sheet of water hit the driver’s side windows.

“Damn, kid!” said DeSchayne. “Keep my ride out o’ them pot holes!”

“Sorry bro!” Carey tipped his grey fedora. “It’s dark and it’s still raining a little. I couldn’t see it.”

“Well slow down then. And I’m not your bro you weird-ass old-time gangster wannabe.”

Tyna slapped his thigh. “Be nice!”

“What? I’m just sayin’ he’s a weird kid. That’s all.”

“Well don’t.” She leaned forward and palmed Walter’s shoulder. “Mr. Prudence, pass me the bag. I just want to check on the Sonambule.”

“The sonata?” said Walter, frowning.

“The Sonambule, Walter. Just pass me the gym bag.”

“Jim who?”

Carey grabbed the small duffel bag off his grandfather’s lap and tossed it over his shoulder. DeSchayne caught it deftly. “Are you kidding me!” Tyna yelped. “It’s not a toy!”

“Sorry, doll!” said Carey. DeSchayne glared at the kid through the rear-view mirror as he placed the bag on Tyna’s lap.

Tyna unzipped it and withdrew a thin hardcover book. “What is this!” she cried.

“The Snowmobile,” said Walter.

Tyna read the title. “Everybody Poops! Everybody poops? Walter, what have you done? “

“Everybody!” said Walter. “Even the Pope!”

“This is not the book! What happened to Alice in Wonderland?”

“She went through the looking glass, doll,” said Carey. He had slowed at a red light and looked both ways as he slipped through the intersection.

“Stop calling her that!” DeSchayne snapped.

“Sorry, bro!”

“Walter!” Tyna barked. “Where is Alice in Wonderland?”

“Jane Street?”

“I don’t believe this. Carey, what is he talking about?”

“That’s where the ‘ho’s trick, doll.” A fist slammed into the back of Carey’s seat. The boy lurched; his hat slipping down over his eyes. He raised his chin and looked down his nose to see the road.

“Turn around Carey,” said Tyna. “We have to go back for the Sonambule!” Carey slowed the car and made a tight, skidding U-turn on the wet street.

“I’m this tall,” said Walter, raising his hand horizontally to his forehead.

Carey looked at him and laughed. “Hey, what’s that?” He reached out and tapped the hard surface which bulged behind the breast of his grandfather's smoking jacket. Walter cackled silently and drew out another book. Alice in Wonderland. He put a vertical finger to his lips and winked.

“Grab your hats, gang,” said Carey. “We’re going downtown.” With that he slowed briefly and performed another dizzying U-turn. The back-seaters issued loud protests. “He’s got the Snorembewl,” said Carey. 

“We’re back in business.”

“Oh, thank God,” said Tyna.

“God has nothing to do with this,” DeSchayne muttered in her ear, then dived for her neck again.

Tyna giggled shrilly. “Stop it!” DeSchayne didn’t. The night suddenly came alive in flashes of red and blue.

“Shit!” Carey blurted. A siren burped behind them.

“Oh perfect,” DeSchayne moaned.

“Is that Allah?” said Walter.

“Worse,” said Carey. “Should I pull over?”

“Kid, are you spun?” said DeSchayne. “Of course!”

“I’ll handle it,” said Tyna. “Let me do the talking.”

“You’re not gonna…” said DeSchayne.

“What?”

“Flash… anything?”

Tyna glared coolly. “You really are an ass hat sometimes.” The car came to a halt. “Sweetie, you got a driver’s license, right?”

“Yeah,” said Carey.

“Good.”

“My beginner’s anyway.” 

The mirrors offered glimpses of the cop approaching on foot. Carey fingered a button and his window descended. The officer was female. She flashed a light over each passenger before addressing the driver: “What the hell was that?”

“Uh, the U-turn, you mean?” said Carey.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Officer,” said Tyna, “I think I can explain.”

“Or you can keep quiet,” said the officer.

“Or I can keep quiet,” Tyna mumbled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“License please.” Carey surrendered it to the cop’s examination. “Beginner’s eh? I assume you're aware you’re prohibited from driving after midnight with a learner’s permit.” Carey grimaced. She addressed Walter. “Sir, your license please?”

“Who, me?”

“You’re the driver of account if you’re in the passenger seat with a beginner behind the wheel. Walter fussed about with his wallet and surrendered a slip of paper. Carey intercepted it. “Gramps, this is a grocery receipt. She needs your driver’s license.”

“Confectionary?” said Walter.

“I beg your pardon,” said the officer.

“Thrills gum,” said Walter. “Ask her if she has any Thrills gum.”

“Okay, Grampa. But I’ll need your wallet.”

“Oh, of course.” Walter then addressed the officer. “Thrills please!” She made no reply. Carey fished out a license.

“Thank you,” said the cop. She took one look at it. “Sir, do you have a more current version?”

“Huh?” said Walter. “You mean like disco?”

“This card expired in 1987.” Carey delved back into the wallet. “Dare we try our luck with an insurance slip?”

“Blackjack!” Walter cheered, smacking the dashboard with his palm. He laughed delightedly.

“Sir, I need you to calm down.”

“Ma’am,” said DeSchayne, proffering a pink slip.

She took it. “Where are you all off to tonight? Bit late for a driving lesson.”

“We’re delivering a demon spirit to the hydro sub-station on Coventry Hill,” said Walter, “So we can dispatch it to the void.” He made a fluttering sweep with his hand. Silence followed this. The cop cleared her throat. “We captured him in a tea bag, you see, which we then pressed between the pages of a book, as per ancient practice. It’s called a Snowmobile.”

The officer nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Do you poop?”

“I’m gonna run your licenses through the computer and then we’ll talk.” She said this to Carey and then retreated to the cruiser.

“I bet she does,” said Walter.

To be concluded in just a couple days…

April A-Z: Milking the Cow

If cows have put anyone's kids through college it's gotta be Gary Larson's - the Far Side cartoonist. Oh - and - you know - dairy farmers all over the world. Here's some of Larson's work you may not have seen because they were originally rejected or otherwise unpublished:

Cow Tools

Okay - I'm caught in a lie already. Everyone has seen this one. It was never rejected. However it should have been rejected. Papers were inundated with letters from readers who didn't get the joke. The problem, according to Larson, was making one of the tools look like a saw. Readers then couldn't figure out what the others were. The only joke is that cows don't make tools.

Amoeba porn flicks

(untitled and notoriously tasteless)

Jesus rises from the grave 

Just in time for Easter...

"Listen... You go tell Billy's mother and I'll start looking for another old tire."

April A-Z: Letting the Cat Out of the Bag

More of my little cartoons orphaned by the closure of eatpoopucat.com...

Drummer suffers feline attack

Sleeping with cats

The cat came back

Cat wonders why his dinner is hovering

How my cat feels about Monopoly

Dog takes over litter box and cat gets the point

God forgot to turn off the outdoor faucet

Cat reads poetry to eel

Dinner time

Count Catula

Cat stranded in New Orleans

Stop playing EPUC and change the litter box!

Sometimes it's not good being first on the roll call

Who's the pet and who's the master?

Eat poop you cat

Eat cat you poop

Sugo paints Rockegg's portrait

April A-Z: Ketchup Action

So I just asked my table-mates here at the Camp NaNoWriMo Tuesday night write-in at West Hamilton’s Williams Coffee Pub, What deep dark secret do you most want to know concerning…

Ketchup.

Here’s what inquiring minds want to know:

1 - Why is every ketchup brand precisely the same colour?

2 - Why is Heinze such a universally dominant brand with no significant competitor threat in its history; a claim virtually unique in the food industry?

3 - The labels lists the ingredient spices. What are the spices?

It’s fast-answers day here at NaNo-A-to-Z Central, so here’s some fast answers:

According to leading Area 51 conspiracy theorists, onion and garlic powders are a given while the covert ingredient leading suspects include allspice, anchovies, nutmeg, coriander, cloves, cinnamon, bay leaf and black pepper.

Through personal discussion I have heard testimony around Heinze’s dominance to do with it being the perfect invention from day one. Heinze ketchup is perhaps the perfect food, with perfect balances between sweet and sour; between salty and… sweet…? Whatever…   

And according to the deep dark suspicions of internet lurker Evil Horner, ketchup colour is largely influenced by the presence of turmeric. So there.

And now to conclude this totally sucky post… a very lame joke (and don’t be scandalized, the offending organ is surely artificial).