Shit I’m Thankful For Day 2: The Thankening

So I have to think of something else I’m thankful for.  Fuck.  This is going to be a long 5 days.  What…am…I…thankful…for…AHA!  I’ve got it!


The second thing I’m thankful for is all the sadness, anger and depression I have ever felt in my life.  Every tear, every frown.  Every broken heart.    All of it.  Its all helped shape me into the man I am now.  I think thats a good thing.  If you’ve never known sadness you can’t truly appreciate what happiness is.  Struggle and hardship will show you who you really are.  They will test your mettle.  There have been times, a lot of times, where I felt like ‘Theres no way I can get through this’.  But you know what?  I did get through it.  And I learned from it.  It wasn’t easy or fun.  Its sure as shit not glamorous.  But its necessary for personal growth. Sadness and pain have been the catalyst for some of the most amazing art the world has ever known.  Ernest Hemingway said “Writing is easy.  All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”  I know for me personally, some of my favourite things that I’ve written have come from really hard, sad times.  And that makes me feel good.  And feeling good is good.  So Thank you pain.  Thank you sadness and despair.  You’re all ass hats but I wouldn’t be where I am without you.  Dicks.

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Posted by on July 24, 2014 in Random


Shit I’m Thankful For: Day 1

So there’s this thing going around on Facebook.  Ok maybe not ALL of Facebook.  But its been making its way through my friends list like a nasty case of Herpes.  I’ve been fortunate enough to dodge this cold sore-covered social whore for some time, but now she’s cornered me like a fucking rat in some kind of horrible, happy cage.  Anyway I decided to blog all this emotional vomit because I’ve been meaning to start blogging again and this seems like as good a subject as any.  So thank you very fucking much, Marnie.  Now, without further ado and only mild bitching and moaning, heres the first day of Shit I’m Thankful For.


1.  Theres a poem written by some unknown asshole.  The first line says “People come into your life for a reason, a season or a lifetime.”  So thats what I’m thankful for.  Not the poem.  Or the unknown asshole.  I’m thankful for all the people that have passed through my clusterfuck of a life.  People that have passed through like a fart in the wind.  People that have lingered, like a fart in the shower.  And people that are still here.  Like a…I don’t know.  I don’t have a fart related analogy for this.  Like a fart that turns out to be a shart?  Yeah.  Thats what my friends are.  Sharts.  I’m fucking awesome at expressing emotions and shit, hey?  But I digress.  I’ve met hundreds of people in my life and I’m thankful for each one of them.  Even the ones that turned out to cause more pain and trouble than anything else. But for all the others, the people that have helped me, taught me, supported me.  I’m thankful as fuck for you guys and dolls.  For the ones that let me get mad.  The ones that let me cry.  Yeah I cry sometimes.


For the ones that let me be goofy or let me pretend to be a 65 year old Jewish woman.  I’m so incredibly thankful for every one of you.  You probably don’t know it, but at some point you’ve probably impacted my life in a big way.  Bigger than you could possibly know.  So thank you.  From the bottom of my over-worked, artery clogged heart.  I love you motherfathers.

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Posted by on July 24, 2014 in Random


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The Week in Review

So you know those weeks?  The ones where you just feel like punching someone in the face?  Yeah.  Its been that kind of week for me.  A punch-in-the-face kind of week.  Allow me to share my misery with you.

It started with Drama Queen getting roughed up at school by 2 boys in the grade above her.  2 older boys decided to enter the grade 1 area and thought it would be a good idea to hit my daughter and throw her to the ground.  Surely this assault on my sweet little angel was spotted and broken up by a teacher, right?  Fuck no.  Apparently at Julia Kiniski School they say “Fuck supervised recesses!” and let kids, including the kindergartens, just wander around wherever the fuck they want and assaulting any innocent children they want.  Had it not been for a sweet young hero in my daughters class having the poise to go get some bigger boys and pull these future residents of a federal penitentiary off of poor Drama Queen, who knows how badly she could have been hurt.  Now surely when the little Queen went into the school to inform an adult of the situation the boys were rounded up and shot in the fucking face or whatever the appropriate disciplinary measure is for assault on a sweet little girl.  Again, fuck no.  She was told if it happens again the boys will go on time out.  No effort was made to identify and single out the criminals.  No discipline at all.  Not only did the school do fuck all, but they didn’t bother to inform either my wife or I about what had happened.  Not a phone call or a letter or anything.  Apparently when your daughter is assaulted at school its not something a parent needs to know.  So we raged and stomped and went to a “meet the teacher” night ready to tear somebody a new asshole.  But apparently my daughters teacher was not the adult that was initially told about the incident and was therefore helpless.  So we decided to let it go.  After all, Drama Queen was uninjured and seemed to be unaffected emotionally as well.  Until Friday.

Friday comes around and another little cock faced thug decided he was going to play bully and grabbed my daughter from behind and squeezed her real tight.  When he had enough of that he spun her around and began kicking my daughter in the shins and left a bruise on her shin.  This time a teacher was present and saw teh whole thing.  Sweet justice was to be served!  The teacher marched over, grabbed the little gangster and…PUT HIM ON TIME OUT!  Are you fucking kidding me?!?  A goddamn time out?  He kicked my daughter and several other kids and all he gets is a mother-loving time out?  And once again, not a single word was mentioned to us and certainly not the the villain’s parents.  We had to find out from our daughter once again when she was picked up so there was no time for the Chupacabra or I to do anything about it.

When Drama Queen and the Chupacabra got home you better believe a nasty phone message was left on the school voicemail about the lack of response from the school regarding the bullying epidemic they currently have.  When this was relayed to me via text message I instantly called the school as well and unleashed a tirade of my own directed at the principal.  I was fired up like PETA at Marineland.  I was spitting venom on this message.  tearing the school and the administration to pieces, demanding they stand up and address the issue  directly with The Chupacabra and I.  And at this point I realized I don’t know my phone number so how can they possibly call me back.  And my entire fucking message fell apart.  I stuttered like teen about to see his first set of boobs an abruptly ended the message.  Hopefully they will ignore my message and call the Chupacabra on Monday.  If not the school board is getting an angry call from her.  And I do not envy the person that answers that call.

Further adding to the steaming pile that was my week, my right index and middle fingers are now almost entirely numb but for pins and needle sensations.  So thats fucking super.  I’ve already burned my finger tip twice this week at work because I can’t feel anything and made so many typos because i can’t tell if I’ve actually hit the key or not.  Also, the NHL locked out the players so there’s probably not going to be any hockey for me to watch this year.  Interesting to note, the last time there was an NHL lockout I was also residing in Edmonton.  So apparently, the lockout is my fault.  Sorry world.

But the cherry on the sundae was on Friday night.  We decided to let the kids stay up a bit past their normal bedtime because it was Friday and there was no school for Drama Queen the next day.  Big mistake.  She loses her marbles like only the Drama Queen can.  We’re talking blood curdling, bowel shaking shrieks of terror.  All because it was bedtime.  When she gets into one of these states it is nearly impossible to deal with her.  The best response is to put her in her room and let her cry it out.  So we did.  And during this “cry it out” period, she started to scream “I’m scared!  I’m scared!”  30 minutes later she was peacefully sleeping as though nothing had happened.  And then the doorbell rang.   At first I assumed it was the sister in law or the mother in law’s gay husband.  Nope.  It was Officer Caughell of the Edmonton Police Service responding to a call about a screaming child.  Thats right.  The fucking cops showed up because a concerned neighbour thought we were murdering our child.  After a few minutes of conversation she stated that she and her partner needed to set eyes on her.  So after viewing my now peaceful daughter fast asleep and inspecting our bedroom and kitchen they decided everything was in order and left us to deal with our shame.  Super end to a super week!

Now it hasn’t all been bad news this week.  NHL 13 was released.  And we got those sweet Kate Middleton topless pictures, right?  You take good, you take the bad.  You take them both and there you have the facts of life.

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Posted by on September 16, 2012 in Family Trauma


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My New Job Pt. 2

Alright so where did we leave off?  Ah yes, finding this fucking place.  Edmonton is a big city and can be confusing to navigate if you’re new to the city.  I would love to say that this is the reason I had trouble finding the  building where my interview was to take place.  I would love to say that, but I can’t.  The place I was headed was outside of Edmonton in a town called Nisku which is basically an industrial hub of a city.  Nobody really lives there.  Its all drilling and rigging and manufacturing plants.  So I figured it would be easy to find since theres no residential clusterfuck for me to navigate through.  The directions I got were fairly straight forward: Take the highway.  Get off at 4th st.  Go over the tracks and pass Fuckballs Inc. on your right.  On the left will be my destination.  So off I go without bothering to look up the address or double checking the directions or anything.  So off I go full of hope and cautious optimism.  45 minutes later and about 5 incorrect highway off-ramps later, I made it to Nisku.  There is no exit for the street I’m looking for so I get off at the next closest street number and start looking for the road I need.  No sign of it.  The roads seem to go from 3rd St to 5th St.  WTF?  So I go down 5th street, cross some tracks and on my left I see the a building for the company I’m looking for.  I pull over and start looking for the reception building that was described to me.  Its nowhere to be found.  I text the Chupacabra for clarification on the directions and it seems like I’m in the right place.  I circle the block a few times and even go a few blocks out to see if I can find the other building.  Apparently theres a north and south building.  The building I can see offers no indication if its a north or south building.  So I keep circling.  Getting desperate I decide to go down what appears to be a dead end and lo and behold, at the end of this street is 4th St.  Hallelujah!  I find my destination, pick up my resumes and head over the area where the gentleman I’m to meet has his office.  I introduce myself to the receptionist and she seems confused.  I explain the situation and she informs me that the guy is i meetings all day.  He happens to wander by at that time and she introduces me.  He has no idea who I am and was not expecting me.  I handed him my resume and he briefly looked it over and said they weren’t hiring until next month and sent me on my way.  Just like that.  All my panic and stress for nothing.  A 2 minute conversation and I was brushed off.  I slunked my way back to my truck and drove home, completely defeated.  Needless to say I didn’t get that job.

I spent the next day sulking and lamenting how I was never going to find a job except for something miserable in a call centre.  I sent out hundreds and hundreds resumes.  Literally.  I applied to every listing I came across, qualified or not.  A week goes by and nothing.  The only call I got was from a placement agency telling me that they had nothing for me yet but to “Keep on trying!”  Thanks, Tips.  So I kept on applying.  It was about 4:00pm and I applied by email for a construction labourer position.  I shit you not, 45 minutes later the phone rings and its this company that I had just applied to!  After about a 5 minute conversation where the only questions asked of me were “Do you have a driver’s license?” and “Can you get steel-toed boots and work gloves by tomorrow?” I replied in the affirmative to both and I was told to show up at 7am to start work.  I hung up and told the Chupacabra that I start work the next morning at 7am.  Of course, she didn’t believe me because of the goofy grin I had on my face but after recounting the phone conversation I had verbatim for her, she was finally swayed.  And so the next day I got up at balls o’clock and drove to the job site and began my new career with Raywalt Construction.  And the rest, they say, is history.

Now a month in, I am happy to report that I am still working and I actually really enjoy my job.  The hours are long, but the pay is good and the crew I work with are good folk.  So there you have it.  Kind of anti-climactic, I know but whatever.  This is my fucking blog and if you don’t like it you can go start your own!


Posted by on September 11, 2012 in Uncategorized


My New Job

So I’m in Edmonton now.  Home of the Oilers and 20 murders so far this year.  To say I love this city is a TOTAL FUCKING LIE!!!  I hate Edmonton.  I hated it the first time I lived here and I still hate it.  Its an ugly city full of ugly buildings and ugly people.  But thats not really the point of this entry.  I just wanted to let you all know that I hate the shit out of this crap hole.

Now I’m sure you’re asking “But sir, if you hate it so much why the flipping fuzz nuts did you move there?”  Well thats a stupid question and you should go fuck yourself for asking it.  Obviously I moved out here because there’s gobs and gobs of money to be made.  Even the Tim Hortons employees make $20 an hour, right?  No.  Are you fucking high?  Edmonton is a major city.  Tim Hortons employees here make no more than minimum wage.  Way the fuck up north in the frozen asshole of Alberta where all the camps and rigs are and there is no hope for happiness is where those people are getting that kind of money.  As negative as I’m being there is still a substantial amount of money to be made and no shortage of advertised jobs.  I mean, there’s literally hundreds of jobs that pop up on the Government of Canada’s job bank every day.  Not to mention the countless other websites available for finding employment. This is a massive difference from the situation back home in cozy, quiet, non-murderous Niagara Falls.  The catch, of course, is that the vast majority of these jobs are in the manual labour field.  And if you don’t know me very well, the most labouring I’ve ever done manually is mowing my parents lawn.  So you can imagine how crestfallen I was when I saw all these well-paying jobs that I was nowhere near qualified for.

But hark!  Good news was on the way!  The Chupacabra’s sister had a lead for me on a job with the company she works for.  An oil company.  An oil company that makes lots of money and therefore pays its employees pretty darn well.  She made a call to some guy who was going to talk to another guy, explain my situation, and get me an interview.  I was told to show up early the next day at said company and ask for a specific person, who would be expecting me.  Super simple, n’est-ce pas?  Wrong.  Again.  God you people are awful at this.  Allow me to enlighten you.

I began to get anxious the day before I was to go for this interview because I was unshaved and hadn’t cut my hair for 9 months.  Also I don’t own any dress pants or “nice” clothes.  I wear free t-shirts that I got from my dad and 1 pair of blue jeans.  The closest thing I have to a dress shirt is a polo shirt that I recently purchased. Actually 2 polo shirts.  But the point is I had no appropriate interview clothes.  So after a lot of whining and complaining I decided to don one of the polo shirts, my jeans and a pair of dress shoes and just apologize for my appearance and blame it on having just arrived in the province.  Next step: get a haircut.

For me this is a daunting task.  I hate, hate, hate the fucking balls out of getting my hair cut.  I tense up, get sweaty and nervous every time.  Now i didn’t always have this COMPLETELY RATIONAL hair cut anxiety.  Not until my old barber retired.  She was a delightful Eastern European woman.  I went to her for years to get my hair cut.  She once saved some of my hair in an envelope for me because I died it neon green. Since she retired from the glamorous world of follicular de-lengthening I haven`t found a steady replacement.  Anyway, I sucked it up, put on my big boy pants and went and got my hair cut by a nice lady that I will probably never go back to because she was too chatty.  I don;t get my hair cut so I can find out about you and your sister throwing pennies at cyclists that you passed from the back seat of your parents car when you were young.  Just shut your big bazoo and cut my hair without slicing my throat open, please.   Hair cut now done.  Next step: Find and bring a resume.

I didn’t bring any hard copies of my resume with me because I`m a complete fucking moron.  And I hadn’t so much as looked at my resume since I started my previous job 4 years ago.  So when I booted up this shitbox computer and found it, it was woefully out of date.  So I spent the next few hours updating and pouring over it with a fine tooth comb to try and tune it up to make it as appealing as possible.  Once I was satisfied, I hit print and went to collect my re-tooled resume from the printer only to find that the printer is out of god damn ink.  Now in full panic mode because its late and my interview is the next day and I am without my resume I began to lose hope.  But again a solution is brought to my attention.  I can get my resume printed off at Staples for a small fee.  Wunderbar!  So I set up an account and send them my resume.  Fill out all there forms and click the order button.  Success!  My order was received and will be available for pick up in 48 hours…Wait…what?  Why the fuck does it take 48 hours to print 4 pages?  Are you fucking kidding me?  Once again, full panic.  Chupacabra’s sister saves the day again and arranges for the receptionist at the company where I am headed to print off 2 copies of my resume.  Crisis averted.  Next step: Finding this fucking place.  But that will have to wait for another blog because holy shitballs is this a long post.  So to save your eyeballs and brains, I will continue the story another time.  Maybe tomorrow.  Also if you have anything you want to say or any questions, feel free to leave a comment.  Or don’t.  Just know that I will think you’re fucking prick.  That is all.

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Posted by on September 11, 2012 in Family Trauma


I’ve Moved

You guys!!!!  The Chupacabra, Fat One, Drama Queen and I have moved.  I’m in Edmonton now!  And for those asking, Chupacabra is my wife.  At the end of July we gave away/sold the majority of our worldly possessions, packed up what little remained into a 4×8 trailer and made the ridiculously long trek across the country from Niagara Falls, Ontario all the way to sunny Edmonton, Alberta.  Thats right.  We fucking drove to Edmonton.  Who the hell does that with young kids and a wife?

Anyway I was originally planning to blog each night along the journey but after driving for 18 hours a day the last thing I wanted to do was sit down and type out the days events.  Especially since there was surprisingly very little to recount.  My children were shockingly well behaved the whole time.  So now that we’re here and settled, I thought it might be a good time to recount the journey for posterity.

So the plan was to leave late in the evening so that we would arrive at our first stop around the dinner hour.  So after a prolonged and tear-filled farewell we finally got on the road.  An hour later than intended.  20 minutes down the highway the Chupacabra realized she’d left her phone charger.  So we returned home, retrieved the damnable charger and departed yet again.  Now nearly 2 hours later than intended.  Everything was moving along well with the voyage.  Fat One and Drama Queen were watching movies and drifting in and out of sleep.  Chupacabra and I chatted and slammed energy drink after energy drink.  5 hours in I was on the verge of sleeping at the wheel so we pulled over behind some country market and grabbed a few hours of sleep.  Back on the road with another round of energy drinks we plowed ahead.  Covering another 3 hours before I again needed to recharge. Another 2 quick hours and we blasted ahead again this time making it all the way to our destination.  The modern metropolis of Marathon, Ontario.  Marathon is a bustling burrow of approx. 6000.  Their motto is “Built on paper, laced with gold”.  While we were planning our trip there was only 1 hotel with rooms available.  The Marathon Travelodge.  With a solid 2 star rating on, it lived up to its sterling reputation.  2 Australian gentlemen were checking in as I walked into the lobby and were getting a bit of a hard tome from the elderly woman behind the counter because they didn’t have a Canadian address.  Well no shit they don’t have a Canadian address.  THEY’RE FROM FUCKING AUSTRALIA!!  30 minutes later I was checked in and instead of the standard key cards that every hotel in the universe gives their guests, I was given an actual key.  Like a key, key.  So i gathered everybody up and we walked to our wing of the hotel.  On the way in I saw several mice scrambling aroun the outside of the building.  Inside the building looked like it was about 100 years old and  hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in at least 20 years.  The carpet was supposed to be red but was almost entirely brownish black.  So that was fun.  We got to our room and our door looked like it had been previously kicked open as there was a section of plywood on the door where the doorknob was.  So I attempted to unlock the door only to find that it wasn;t actually locked in the first place.  Are you fucking kidding me?  I was ready to go sleep in the truck instead of trusting hanging around this place but the thought of getting 8 solid hours of sleep in an actual bed was too much to resist.  So in we went into our tiny room that barely fit the 2 Queen beds.  We got settled and had had dinner in the room and got the gruesome twosome bathed and ready for bed.  As we lay down with them we realized that the pillows were full of air and about 4 feathers.  As soon as you put your head down on them the completely deflated.  8 fitful hours later we got up, showered and made our way to the lobby for our free breakfast.  The breakfast actually turned out to be quite decent.  We loaded up with bagels and coffee and muffins and made our way back onto the highway.

Now don’t get me wrong, I love Ontario and I will miss it dearly.  But holy fuck it takes forever to get out of that goddamn province.  And the northwestern part of it is all up and down.  Its incredibly frustrating when you’re trying not to use too much gas because your SUV is a pig.  On the plus side, the scenery is breathtaking.  Beautiful secluded mountain lakes, dense forests and some stunning views of Lake Superior.  We ambled on at what felt like a turtle’s pace but eventually we made it out of Ontario and into the cesspool that is Manitoba.  I felt dirty just driving through.  The plan was originally to get to Brandon by evening but with the ridiculous up and down roads of Ontario we were only going to make it to Winnipeg.  So I tasked the Chupacabra with finding us a hotel.  Slim pickin’s for places with rooms available.  We got a place at the Humphrey Inn and Suites.  This was actually a decent hotel and it would have been a fine experience except that downtown Winnipeg IS A MASSIVE CLUSTERFUCK OF ONE WAY STREETS!  Every single street was one way.  WTF?  How do people live like that?

So we spent the night on comfortable beds.  Had hot showers and a good breakfast and started the final leg of our trip.  Pretty uneventful stuff.  As we crossed the border of Alberta I felt a huge sense of relief.  As if some massive burden had been taken from my shoulders.  Behind us lay all our past problems and worries.  Ahead lay opportunity.  Opportunity to transform ourselves from what we were to what we want to be.  Around 11pm we pulled up to our new home in Edmonton.  A combination of exhaustion and relief overtook us and we all slept heavily.  We’re now almost a month in and things are starting to come together.  I’m working at a job I love and Drama Queen is about to start school.  The Chupacabra is discovering her culinary side and Fat One is….well he’s being himself.  Things are looking up.

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Posted by on September 2, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 5: It’s What Fucking Time?!?

After a surprisingly quiet sleep for Fat One I woke up to silence.   A good sign.  It must be early, right?  Fucking nope.  Its 9:00.  Loud One is sitting in the living room quietly waiting for someone.  Grandma and Drama Queen are both asleep.  Grandpa is still passed out.  Neighbours are already out on the lake.  Early morning fishing is fucked.  Thanks a fucking lot, Alexander Keith.  Coffee is little comfort when dealing with the sting of missed fishing opportunities.  Drama Queen is now awake as is Fat One and Little One.   Immediately they start badgering to go outside.  I’m hungover, I’m hungry and I missed prime fishing time.  Not a good time to start pestering me.  Luckily Grandma and Grandpa wake quickly and usher the little monsters outside.

After about an hour of sucking down coffee and shaking the cobwebs Grandpa and I get ready to head out on the lake and do some fishing.  Its a miserably sunny morning and its already 90 degrees.  Mother fucking Nature.   She’s an extreme old cow.  Being a supremely pasty white male of Irish descent, I don’t tan.  I can spend an hour i direct sun at mid-day and com out just as blindingly white as when I started.  So i didn’t think anything of going to on the lake without any sunscreen.  I’ve got a hat.  I’ll be fine.  Grandpa and I loaded up our gear and took to the lake, looking for some of the sweetspots we remembered from the night before.  Once again, all we caught were shitty sunfish and cunty rock bass.  And one of those miserable little pricks swallowed my hook.  I hope you enjoyed that worm because its the last meal you’ll ever have as the steel hook rips apart your insides.  I shouldn’t say thats all we caught.  Grandpa did land one decent sized smallmouth bass.  We jumped around to a few more spots on what was a surprisingly peaceful Brule Lake.  No wind, no kids and very few other boaters.  It was a really nice, relaxing morning.  After a few hours of catching nothing but snags and pan fish we decided to return back to the cottage.

Upon our return I hungrily attacked the leftovers from the kids breakfast.  Cold bacon, cold scrambled eggs and cold hash browns.  Disgusting but also delicious.  We made our way to the roped off swimming are where the kids were hanging out.  Drama Queen and Loud One were in the water.  Loud One was terrified of the fish at the bottom and would not let go of The Sibling once the water got past his waist.  Drama Queen was trying to scoop fish into a net with poor results.  Fat One was napping and Little One seemed to think this swimming business wasn’t worth the hassle.  After a few beers I decided I would wade out into the water to help with the little monsters.  I tried to help Drama Queen catch some fish but being Little Miss Independent she ignored my offers.  Fat One woke up shortly thereafter and wanted to come in.  I picked him up and started walking into the deeper water up to my chest.  I attempted to let him go to float in his lifejacket.  This was a mistake.  The pudgy wonder squealed in terror and desperately clung to me for life.

 Despite the heat of the day, the water was still quite cool and Fat One’s lips were starting to turn blue so we got out of the water amid many protestations.  Today was my last day at the cottage and I needed to get on the road to hopefully avoid traffic.  We got everybody dried and changed and I packed up and loaded my vehicle for the return voyage.  I said my goodbyes to everybody and noted that my stupid kids didn’t seem to care that I was leaving.   Jerks.  After driving for about an hour I stopped for gas.  Being a financially paranoid person, I called to check my bank account before filling up.  Shit.  No money.  No gas.  Wife unable to transfer money because I have the only bank card for this particular account.  This account is with a credit union.  From Alberta.  So the only way to put money in it is to do it through another credit union ATM.  Fuck.  I immediately begin to panic.  I’m imagining myself sleeping in the truck, parked behind a gas station huddled amongst my luggage shivering and holding my knees to my chest.   I immediately start texting my wife furiously trying to figure out how I’m going to get home.  Keep in mind I’m still in northern Ontario with crummy cell reception.  I’m barely able to get any websites to load on my phone but I managed to find the number for the lodge my family is staying at.  I left a message explaining I was stranded in Northbrook and could somebody come help me.  I felt fully confident that someone would be along to get me within the hour.  4 hours later and about a dozen unanswered text messages and another phone call to the lodge I was blissfully rescued.  I got gassed up and finally started the trek home thinking it would be smooth sailing from here.

About another hour into the drive I was sweating like fat kid running a marathon.  My shoulders started to turn a bright bright red and were on fire.  It was so painful that I had to drive with no shirt.  Yeah.  I was that guy.  Cruising the 401 topless listening to Citizen Mel on CBC Radio with my windows down to try and cool the smoldering flesh on my shoulders.  By the time I pulled into my parking spot at home I already had blisters starting to form.  I gingerly applied some aloe lotion to the scorched flesh and fell into a fitful sleep.

So thats it.  I hope you enjoyed it.  From the feedback I’ve gotten I will attempt to continue with our familial escapades.  We’re in the process of moving across the country.  We’ll be driving the whole way.  Me, the wife, Drama Queen and Fat One.  So I’m sure there will be many tales to share as we slowly lumber from Niagara Falls, Ontario to Edmonton, Alberta.

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Posted by on July 9, 2012 in Family Trauma


Day 4: The Son Never Rises

5:00am.  Fat One wakes up demanding his Glow worm, creatively named “Glowie”. I assumed this was the end of my sleep but once the pudgy hellion had the irradiated worm in his doughy clutches he went back to sleep.  3 hours later i was awoken again but this time by Loud One and Little One stomping up the stairs.  I tried to go back to sleep but a bizzarre magazine sharing argument thwarted that dream.  I emerged from my doorless bedroom and hastily sucked down some tasty liquid crack to equalize myself.  There would be no elaborate group breakfast this morning.  A bowl of cheerios and a muffin would have to suffice.  Loud One gets in trouble for speaking aggressively.  Its funny to hear someone apologize angrily.

Its now 9:00am and Fat One is finally awake and sweet Jesus is he a miserable fuck!  The Sibling says Little One and Loud one were in moods when they woke up too.  Drama Queen appears to be the only one of the mongoloids that woke up happy.  Grandpa has already gone for a nap with the dog.  The mongoloids are already complaining to go outside.  Fat One hit Little One and refuses to apologize so hes enjoying a timeout now.  Finally got Fat One to apologize.  Now Little One is having a meltdown over the pants he has to wear.  Kids put the F U in fun!  Little One finally submitted and put on the Brown Pants of Despair.  All the little mongoloids went out to play.  Grandpa got the fishing gear ready so he and i could take the hoarde fishing across the bay out of the wind.  We got them all ready loaded into the boat.  Little One alone up front.  Drama Queen, me and Loud One in the middle with Fat One on my lap.  Grandpa in the back driving.  We started out ok but 5 minutes later 5 of the 6 of us were soaked to the skin while Grandpa laughed at us while he enjoyed his warm, dry shorts.  After 10 minutes of crawling across the miserable windy lake we finally made it to the safety of the sheltered bay and set anchor.  A few stress-filled minutes of worming the hooks and telling the impatient little monsters that no they cannot fish until i have wormed their hooks and we were finally ready to fish.  Grandpa and I helped everyone get their lines in.  Christ almighty it was frustrating trying to keep the rods pointed in different directions.  And there was the constant “Do I have a fish yet?”  “Is this a fish?”  “When do I get a fish?”  “All I caught is a worm.”  Loud one caught the first and second fish.  Drama Queen quickly landed 3 and even Fat One got one.  Little One didn’t get any but he got bored super quick and stopped fishing so within minutes so he could practice speaking whale.  I tried to let him real one in but his coordination wasn’t there. A few more whiny outbursts and we headed for home. Thank fuck.  Kids suck at fishing.  Quick lunch and off for naps.  Grandma and Grandpa took stupid dog for a boat ride.  Apparently she was not a fan.  And the wind was still being a bitch.

The tranquility of nap time did not last long as Loud One and Little One slept for less than an hour.  Mostly due to the baby one waking

as they were settling in.  Fucking babies.  Grandma and Grandpa still slumber, as does Fat One.  Drama Queen is now awake as well.  A little bit of playtime in the fresh air while waiting for grandma and grandpa to awaken is my sentence.  But Hark!   I have to poop.  So I tredge up to the outhouse and enjoy a leisurely poop whilst The Sibling wrangles the brood.

Delightful surprise of the day: The neighbours brought over some fried fish for letting them play with our toys.  Score!  It was delicious.  Too bad any fish we might be lucky enough to catch will be thrown back.  Grandpa is no master knifeman and neither am I.  So catch and release is the order of the day. Grandpa has gone into town for some supplies and the kids are watching a movie after wrangling them away from the water.  Lasgana for dinner tonight then Grandpa and I will attempt some evening fishing.  I have my doubts but he seems pretty set.  Also there is supposed to be a bonfire tonight.  Yeah fucking right.  At least the goddamn wind has died down.  There is a pretty epic meltdown at dinner by Little One.  His knack for finding the absolute most annoying pitch for his whining is uncanny.  After 5 or 10 minutes of him complaining about the piece of cheese he was given and than proceeding to shred it to holy fucking hell I took him away front he table for a walk.  Mostly for my own sanity but also so the others could it in peace.  After the walk he seemed to be calm enough and ate some of his dinner.

After dinner Grandpa and I give evening fishing a shot.  The lake is far more calm so I dont get splashed like I’m in the front row at Sea World.  We hit a couple of spots but all we’re landing are fucking sunfish and cunty Rock Bass.  Goddamn shitty panfish.  At least the rock bass try to fight.  We planned out a few more spots to hit up in the morning and head back to the cottage for a bonfire.  As we were heading in we could see the flicker of a fire already going.  When we got out of the boat and over to the fire pit we saw an abandoned fire and the remnants of smores.  Back in the cottage the dinner dishes were still out and Fat One and Drama Queen were just heading to bed.  We sat up for the next 2 hours or so hammering back beers and planning the next day.  Swimming and early morning fishing.  Yeah fucking right.  I’ll let you know how that turns out.

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Posted by on July 8, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 3: My Kids Can’t Not Fight

8:00 my fat son wakes up and immediately whines.  I bring him to my bed and he surprisingly lays down with me.  That lasted about 5 minutes.  I let him get up and go to the livingroom to see grandma and grandpa.  5 minutes later I can hear the fat bastard arguing with the drama queen.  So up I get to restore the peace and keep them separate.  So much for sleeping in.  And the shitty 30 year old spring mattress I slept on isn’t doing anything good for my stupid back.  So I’m up, I’m tired and I’m cranky.  Coffee helps take the edge off.  Sweet diuretic coffee.  French toast sticks for the kids.  There’s 1 meltdown related to seating.  Fucking kids.


Breakfast is done.  Grandpa is getting the fishing rods ready to go.  Needless to say this is a point of interest for the mongoloids and they swarm like flies to shit.  Grandpa does well to remain patient despite 8 hands grabbing at things he’s trying to prepare.  I get suckered into helping and remember that this is my least favourite part of fishing.  Fuck putting line on the goddamn reels.  This sucks dick.  Eventually all the rods and reels are assembled and ready to go.  Too bad the old slag Mother Fucking Nature has decided today she wants to show off how fucking powerful her cunty lungs are.  So out of concern for the mongoloids we’re holding off on fishing/boat rides.    Instead we take the kids outside and make them run around like retards for a bit.  The fat one, small one and loud one play on the slide for a bit.  Drama Queen gets an imaginary sliver and cries for literally 20 minutes until i’ve had enough and rip out the fake sliver.  Problem solved.  We had a rare, somewhat peaceful moment by the water until the little one started throwing rocks.  The Fat One had to join in and the loud one and Drama Queen had to up the ante with larger rocks of course.  I put a stop to that shit right quick.  We got them to eat lunch virtually incident free.  Fat One was looking tired so i told him to go to sleep.  Guess what that surprising little fuck did?  HE WENT TO FUCKING SLEEP!  Are you shitting me?  That never fucking happens!  He went to his room, climbed into bed, got under the covers and WENT.  THE FUCK.  TO SLEEP.


Nap time also took hold of the drama queen, little one, loud one, the baby, grandma and my sibling.  Grandpa and i sat on the muskoka chairs outside, had beers and pretended the wind wasnt freezing the fuck out of us.  You’d swear these fucks were roofied or something because they slept for fucking ever!  This was the first time i actually felt like i was on vacation.  Drama Queen woke first.  Then Fat One.   Grandpa went into town for beers and charcoal.  The rest woke up shortly thereafter and somehow i wound up on slide patrol lifting Fat One from the ground to the top of the slide and making sure Loud One stays off the end of the fucking slide.  Also because the goddamn wind didn’t die down until fuck O’clock i got dicked out of fishing yet again.


Getting close to dinner time now.  I’m still trying to keep the hoarde in check but they are deadset on climbing the sandy hill behind the cottages.  I climb my fat ass up there to see whats so interesting and the fucking monkeys are jumping off a rock and landing sideways on a rocky hill.  Brilliant kids.  I ask whose idea this was and not surprisingly it was Little One.  The most accident prone of the batch.  After indulging them for a few minutes i banished them back to the front of the cottages.  Arguing ensued but i quickly put Drama Queen and Little One in place.  More playing out front and slide patrol once again for me.  Grandma and Grandpa and the Sibling were in the cottage getting ready for dinner and watching the baby.  I propsed a movie to the kids.  Rejected outright.  Undeterred, I gave the 5 minute warning.  The countdown went smoothly until the 2 minute warning.  Little One was sitting on the end of the slide and Fat One decided to slide down anyway and drop kicked him to the ground.  It was funny as shit.  But being anadult i had to make sure Little One was ok.  I reprimanded Fat One and he cried.  A lot.  So i cut off the countdown and put all of the in front of the TV and made them watch a movie.  Dinner is hot dogs, chicken burgers and macaroni salad.  Classic cottage food.  After dinner its time to sort lures other odds n ends my dad bought on kijiji.  Then its likely time for bed.  The alcohol consumption is really wreaking havoc with my ability to stay up late.

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Posted by on July 7, 2012 in Family Trauma


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Day 2: The Early Bird can Suck a Bag of Dicks

5:42am.  Fucking kid.  I awoke to my shithead 2 year-old yelling for the puppy.  Then for Grandpa.  Than for Grandma.  I was able to lure him back into his bed by sacrificing my phone to his fat, sticky fingers.  Thankfully he fell back asleep after what felt like an eternity.  I drifted back to sleep myself but that didn’t last long.  This time I was awoken this time by the horrible smelling, yet loving kisses of my parents fat, dopey dog Dakota.  This big goofy chocolate lab showed more excitement at my arrival than my own stupid son.  Its now 8:00 in the morning.  I’ve been up pretty much since 5:45 because my shithead son can’t be in the same house as a dog without knowing exactly where it is at all times so I’m cranky right off the bat.  Not a good start.

Mother Nature is still being a twat-stain and its cold as fuck.  The stupid kids want to go outside because they are fucking idiots.  Just sit down and do what I tell you.  Is that so fucking difficult?  Breakfast was a clusterfuck.  5 kids under 6.  Fucking ridiculous.  Yelling and banging and practicing non-violent opposition.  Fucking christ.  All of you shut the fuck up and eat your goddamn pancakes.

We finished breakfast with no issues.  Got dressed in my room with no door.  That’s fucking awesome.  Anytime they want, one of those little shits can wander the fuck in here and mess with my shit.  Taking those little fucks outside for some fresh air.  The retards are trying to throw horseshoes but their puny fucking arms can barely swing them.  Its like the Special fucking Olympics.  45 minutes of watching these little mongoloids throw ‘shoes.  Grampa says we’re heading to town in a few minutes.  I manage to wrangle the 3 that were outside back into the cottage.  Someone starts a movie to distract them while we get ready and the kids get totally mesmerized.  So of course the other adults take this as a chance to nap themselves.  Lazy plugs.  Since everyone else was sleeping I figured what the fuck ever and took a nap as well because when in Rome, sleep every fucking chance you get because kids suck the goddamn life out of you.  Fucking parasites.

So finally we all roll our sluggy asses out of bed/off the couch and corral everybody into vehicles and made the ‘short’ 1 hour trek into the “city”.  Perth is a miserable little crap dump of a speck of a town.  We bought some groceries, and diapers for my fat, incontinent son.  A quick stop at Tim Hortons for some liquid crack and we were on our way back to the cottage.  Oh btw, it fucking rained on the drive back.  Mother Fucking Nature.

Now for the highlight of the day and so far, the highlight of the fucking trip.  Dinner.  Steak, chicken, potato skins, corn, roasted garlic on melba toast squares.  Fucking delicious!  After stuffing myself full of food , the hoarde of parasites went for ice cream.  Of course the drama queen tripped and spilled her ice cream and had a shit fit.  Guess what, psycho?  Watch where the fuck you’re walking like I’ve told you 10,000 times and this wouldn’t happen!  2 fat kids from next door ran past the window just now and Dakota lost her fucking mind.  It was like she saw dinner slowly rumble by.  Fat kids are funny to watch run.

After pretending that shooting 50 airballs in a row at a basketball net that’s 2 feet above you is a good show, we re-convened inside to wind down.  Movie for the mongoloids.  Beers and wine for the adults.  Getting ready for bed.  Probably going to be an early night tonight.  First boat ride with the hoarde tomorrow morning.  Wish me fucking luck.

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Posted by on July 6, 2012 in Family Trauma


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