The Dragons Lair

 

 

 

              Jesus.

 

"There I was, under the glow of the nice police mans long, hard flashlight."

 

No, this isn't a homoerotic novel opening line, this is just a purely hypothetical situation that our protagonist got himself jammed up in.

 

"I personally blame Walter (names changed to protect the drunk). I'll give him this. He can consume a lage amount of toxins. The boy does like to drink. But anyway, the only reason we are not residing in the ol' crowbar hotel tonight is because I missed my calling in life; Hostage negotiator.

 

 

 

Okay, here's the long and short of it.  Walter decides to pass out on some Big Lebowski type dudes rock garden. The police are asked to attend. I talk the talk and manage to maintain both Walters and myselfs anal virginity.  Tiny Towns gulag is lousy with the ass rape, "of course it's shanked or be shanked in there." .

 

It's a known fact.

 

but what'cha gonna do... So moving back a bit. It's been a long day and I hate the fuckin' Eagles man. To remedy this Walter and I meet for a drink. Things lead to things, which leads to things. Next thing I know it's late. 11:30 an the topic of camping comes p. I'm game,  but not for the resulting forest fire that my partner wants to light.  "We'll have some BBQ'd fsh. It'll be a small fire."

 

 

I would have believed him if he had not just finished burping in 3D off of my deck.

 

 

I knew the only way he knows how to light a fire is monster size. Didj' I evver tell you about the time we had The Viking Fire up at the cabin? It was a thing of beauty. Massive. But I know Walter, a spark leads to a flame which leads to "Hey Dude, I bet we can light this entire tree on fire. It'd be awesome." So instead of going camping we decide to liberate   a few flowers from their beds up in the nicer part of the hills.

 

Walter however might be too drunk to remember this part. We climbed the hill, we talked loudly. One of us passed out in some dudes rock garden and was snoring so loudly that we were visited by the man. It is only by the grace of God almighty that we are not in jail right this second. Walter was going off about his Second Amendment rights. And maybe mentoned that he didn't "want to be beaten man, because that's what cops do, man!". 

 

I talked the officer down from impounding his ass, and most likely mine. It was a bad, bad scene.

The only reason I jot this down is for the record. Walter has an old head injury fron 'Nam. He tends not to remember everything that happens after a night of power bingeing.

 

I got him home. Kept him out of jail and was very undude-like at one point.

 

That is the important part." 

 

 

 

I have been encouraged for the On High, to start writing again. In front of witneses. This is good. The way I see it I am no longer responsible for my actions; in regards to all things literary.  Not that I needed permission, just something that would stand up in civil court. So all things look good for a solid bit of writing. I got a little Steelers Wheel humming along in the background and my lady friend is quilting, plus I got a bit of a buzz on. Life is good.

 

Well for some of us anyway. Shane McConkey died today. The man pushed it. Past the limits. He was an innovator, an explorer. He was a dude that seemed like he enjoyed every second of being alive. Details are still sketchy but I heard he was squirrel suiting, ski didn't release and...Bad. Awful.Tragic.

 

Yes. Tragic fits perfectly.

 

trag⋅e⋅dy   /ˈtrædʒɪdi/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [traj-i-dee] Show IPA

 

I wonder about thrill sports. I don't debate your ability to do it, I don't debate the fact it gives you a thrill few things in life ever can. I don't even debate your right to do it, it's your life; spend it anyway you want. I debate the fact that it seems like a good idea to do it.

 

It's kinda like Pascals Wager: A punnett square for Jesus. You got the reasons for, you got the reasons against

 

Pascals Wager: http://www.absoluteastronomy.com/topics/Pascal's_Wager.

 

But basically I figure it like this: You gotta do what you gotta do, but if your life is about seeing just how far you can push the limits of living, well sometimes horrible things happen. And by all accounts Shane was pretty full on when it came to planning and execution. But plan all you want, sometimes something happens. We've all been there. Those moments where you fuck up doing something you do everyday. ninety nine times out of a hundred I tie my shoe laces correctly. However once out of a hundred I over shoot the loop when I go to hook the lace. No big deal. I re-tie. That takes one more second. Now multiply that by about a million percent in regards to danger and altheletic prowess needed to do it and there you have it. No line for error. It's either fail or succeed. Life isn't a dress rehearsal.

 

Now I'm not advocating for living like a Nervous Nelly. The type of person that is constantly afraid. Not just of the really scary things like dying in a fire, Cancer, Donkey on Man sex tapes or Surrey. Little things like: opinions of people they are never going to see, Opinions of people they are never gonna meet, opinions of Angry/Benevolent Spring Deities. People that worry so much about stuff that has absolutely no bearing on their life that they forget to live. And life is all about about being alive. And being alive is the leading cause of death. (Scientists, ahem, TOP Scientists are currently working on the problem.) And Extreme sports is all about being alive, so much so that there is a very real possibility it could kill you. I think that might be some sort of syllogism, deduction at it's most classic.

 

 But there is a middle ground. And Middle Ground doesn't mean the safe way. or even the average way. It means a way that isn't extreme. Not in the path of least resistance way, but the most economical path. I like to do risky things. I ski at an advanced level., I like to spend lots of time alone in the mountains, I used to fuck for sport. There are inherent dangers to all these things. You just never know what can happen, and there is potential for things to go real pear shaped real fast. However I tempered my risk. I ski at a fun level, but I know I could ski at a higher level as well. But it's not worth the risk. At that level I'd get a bigger rush, but the hightened endorphins don't outweight the consequences of a high stakes crash. It's like fucking a real hot whore. Sure, she's super hot. Like drag your sack over three miles of broken, rusty glass just so you can sniff one of her farts hot, but she is a filthy whore. It'd feel good at the time, but you might get the HIV. Not worth the risk.

 

Isn't this what that TLC song "Waterfalls" was about??? And then one of them burnt down some dudes house so what do they know? Like I'm gonna take advice from some arsonist.  Well, I guess I would take advice on how to light fires from an arsonist, but probably not life advice. "That crazy bitch gave you the Clap? Well you know what you have to do? You have to burn her house down."   

 

The point is: I guess you gotta do what ya gotta do to be alive. Regardless if it's jumping out of a plane with no parachute or playing competetive tiddley winks.

 

 But I'm out. Time for one more Whiskey before bed.

 

P.S

 

   

~Google is a modern day dictionary. A dictionary defines words. Google defines culture(s).~

 

P.P.S

 

   Word Son. Jer just called and a reunion is in the works. April 12th. Vancouver or Whistler.  This bodes not well for our hero.   

 

 

 

I knew you'd come crawling back here. You always do...Whore.

 

 

So it begins again. Media res. Let's kick this shit old school.

 

Fearless Personal inventory:

 

1 girlfriend (Austrialian) Check

 

1 abode that is not a filth pit  check

 

1 sense of dignity   check

 

1 moustache   check

 

1 love of the internet pornography  check

 

God I love internet porno. Facials. YEAH! I'm unsure why, but that get's  typically gets my motor humming. I often wonder where people get their turn ons from. I can't claim that I've dressed my special ladies in pearls all that often. In fact the only time I typically did that was either very drunk or with girls that I would best consider women of loose morals. It's one of those things for me that always seem like a great idea while the little head is running the show. Full of confidence, blood and semen. I'm gonna cum on her tits and face. Aww this is gonna be awesome. Fuck this is so hot.

 

ERRRRRRGHHHHHHHH!!!   Ahhhhhhh

 

 

Shit. I just came all over this poor girls face... She's all sticky now. I hope I didn"t get that too much in her hair. That shit is impossible to get out of hair. And now she's all blind clawing around for a towel. She had better not use my shirt. How is this attractive. I'm no longer turned on. And now I fel slightly guilty.

 

I wonder if everyone feels that post cotius guilt or if it's just me? Things that seemed like such a great idea not thirty seconds ago are now secrets you need to take to your grave.

 

Oh man..I'm gonna do it, I'm gonna stick my finger right up her ass. This is hot. Then you cum. And the next day you think about about sex and you realize you actually had your finger in a girls ass. On purpose. And no one stopped to even give it a quick courteousy bath. When in your life (excluding proctologists) would you willingly stick any part of your body in someone elses pooper?

 

I knew this dude in uni...Not one of the usual suspects but a roommate thereof. Anyway...He's wheeled this girl back to his dorm room and things are progressing rather nicely. He is oriantating himself to her student body and boom. They're having sex. And mid way through he decides to stck his thumb up her ass. Who knows why. He's young, He's in university, he's drunk, Who knows when he might get this opportunity again. In it goes and apparently all systems are go. She's having a good time, he's having a good time, everybody is winning. Then POP. He takes out his self supplied butt plug and releases the foul stench of death. I was told in no uncertain terms that this one brief foray into the realm of the brown eye scarred the dude forever. That that area was now off limits to him on all girls at all times. He wouldn't even consider a short walk down the ol' dirt road when the crimson tide was threatening to wash out the town. He was a changed man after that smell. Apperantly the smell gagged both of them, but for what ever reason it was mutually decided (Without speaking)  it would be A) rude to stop mid stride B) aknowledge the fact that the smell was eminating from his thumb and her ass. That is until she started kissing up his outstretched arm. The reason it was streched out as far from his body as he could make it was his smelly thumb. I heard she made it to his wrist when she stopped kissing and almost puked.

 

I never did find out if he finished or not. I put my money on not. But back to the main point: Where do our sexual fetishes come from? I really don't know where mine spring from. I like huge tits, redheads and chubby amatuer girls. and the afore mentioned facials. I may not understand exactly where they come from, but I do get them and I'm not ashamed of my little turn ons. But there are somethings I just don't understand. The foot fetish. No idea. It's a foot. It's not sexy. Same thing with Furrys. That shit is something I just don't get. Did a sexual kink happen in the brain playing with a Carebear at age 6? The Care Bear tare is suddenly not as wholesome as it once was. Were they cuming out of their chests? Constantly. And why was Grumpy Bear so grumpy then? And why was there only one girl bear? Same with the Smurfs? Just one. Smurfette. Her whole identity was that she was a girl. Not a girl builder, scientist, brick layer or even a princess. Her whole schtick was that she was a girl. Seems kinda odd.

 

 

They actually have a term called the Smuffette syndrome where it explains one girl in a culture of men (in cartoons and  in real life) Think code camps or ski videos. Thirty dudes to like three girls.

 

But anyway.  

 

I'm living the dream. Girl, roof, skis and snow. Everything else is just details. Sexy details. Like what'cha wearing? lol.

 

I'm thinking back over the last few years and I don't quite know just how I've ended up here. It's going by fast. People are married, having kids and fuck, a few are already divorced. Good for them. I say it's best to get that first practice marriage out of the way early on in life and really get ready for round two.

 

 

Word. 

 

    

 

 

 

So shit that I thought was world ending has passed. I'm not exactly at peace with the whole thing, but I can get by it. I've lived this long and happy not knowing, I guess that I can keep on living just the same now that I do know about it.

 

But still for about two hours there I was a towering inferno of rage fueled by sexual betrayal. I finally understand crimes of passion. It's what got O.J.. If I had access to a fast car and a high priced lawyer, well in my case float plane and boat and a high priced laywer, for about two hours he'd have been in trouble.

 

Funny how I wasn't mad at her. I chaulked that up to this. She's a big girl and I don't have any say about who she sleeps with. It's not my call.  But your buddies. They should know better. Especially this one. Maybe it's a double standard, but I stand by it. It's the guys fault when this happens. He knew she was "off limits". All guys have a few. And we accept that eventually someone is gonna come along and fuck this girl that used to be yours. But you can sleep easy at night knowing it isn't one of your friends. And we don't even hate the guy that she starts fucking. We obviously don't like him, but we wish him no ill will as in we don't wish any specific harm to befall him.

 

But most of us can accept that she was on the market and he got lucky. But when it comes to a friend doing it, well if this girl was a one time fling, then it's funny and more than acceptable. It's required. You can laugh at each other, ask how your nuts taste, tell whatever vile thing she did to you and then kissed your buddy.

It's all good.

 

But  when it was a girl you've loved since you were 17, and he's been one your closest friends since you were 15...  

 

If we were in the 'hood I think I'd be able to peel back his cap and dump a clip into him. Considering that I'm a passive aggressive quasi hippy capitalist ski bum I may just one day randomly stab him with my ski pole and push him of the Peak Chair.

 

But I am at a loss at what to do.  What am I gonna do? lose it? It happened a while ago and really has no direct impact on my life. On the other hand I do feel betrayed by him. Maybe I'll just hope the sex was really really bad and let it go at that.

 

Bad sex is it's own punishment.

 

And fuck it, it's under 90 days until I ski again. But Erik just left, Greg is following his pet Aussie over to Convict land in 10 days...

 

I've finally become a local. All my friends are leaving. A true local only knows people in Whistler. All his friends and best ski buddies are living in Australia or Traveling the world (read going to Aus.). Or going to Europe (Read Aus.)

 

That sucks. I think I survived the longest of the old night cleaner clan. Only Geoff has been here longer and he doesn't count. Scuba might be my closest rival. But I am in serious need of New Skis, new Gear, and new skiing buddies. Please send resume to this addy. Include your Best Day Ever story and Best Line Ever short story.

 

All applicants will be considered. Hot girl ones may also get fucked. Offer void in Quebec. And Australia. I have no love for the convicts. They come over and crowd the hill, steal your friends and then leave like, well..a theif in the night. Fuckin' Aussies.   

 

 

But I think I'm all vented out.

 

Peace

 

  

 

 

 

Maybe it's resolution time. I've drank my fair share of drinks. To be fair, I've drank more than my share. And maybe it's time to bring the ol' party train to a halt. Or at least slow the cocksucker down a bit. I've come to the realization that what I thought was impish, cute behaviour on my park was basically drunken foolishness.

 

So, what's the plan buddy?

 

I know I'm never gonna stop drinking. I like booze. I like the taste. I like the effects. But there are certain side effects that need to be curtailed. First and fore most. Stop being a whore.

 

I get drunk and it's as a better man than me once said, "Listen. I was drunk and horny and I wanted someone else to touch my penis for a change."  This is stopping. I've reformed, and I'm not sliding back. I'll never be ashamed of the days of Slaying Dragons but, I'll never be ashamed that I wanted to be a professional Ball Tag player as a kid either. Basically:

             When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, reason like a child; when I became a man, I did away with childish things. 1 Corinthians 13:11

 

Okay, looking through my Bible for the above quote led me through a few passages that perhaps I maybe should've read as well. LOL. For all by Jesus and organized faith bashing (and there is quite a bit) this book has more than a few useful tips. However..And maybe this is the root of my problem...When I am tempted to commit sexual immorality I am not gonna open up to Galatains 5:19-23 (Jesus...according to this I am just fucked.) , what I am gonna do is climb up on top of Random Mcwhory and do my dirty man thing until my nuts puke and then promptly pass the fuck out. 

 

"It's not a walk up the mountain baby, it's a race. Loser sleeps in the wet spot. Ready, set. GO!"

 

But back to some sort of point. I've done well in cutting out the randoms. Christ, I've seriously cut down on

the boozing and bad behaviour in general, but maybe I should live by a stricter set of rules. And I've weighed role models for the past few days. Batman, Jesus, Dad, Bruce Lee. Maybe I'll take a page out of Bruce Lee's book. Take what works for me out of all their teachings and make it my own. I can deal with that. And I think that boiling it all down I can come down to one simple rule.

 

Don't do anything you'd be ashamed to talk about over dinner.

 

I toyed with using the word "can't" instead of ashamed, but that'd negate the entire Batman influence. And there are things I do which probably shouldn't be talked about over dinner, just out of good taste, not that I'm ashamed, but, and lets face it, I had most of my shame glands removed as a small child.

 

So what does this mean? Well let's be realistic at least, it's what Lenny would want. I'm still gonna drink, smoke and chase the occasional woman. But maybe the days of drinking a forty pounder of Vodka in three hours, smoking a blunt and then wrangling a woman back for some jiggly fun had their last hurah the other night. Maybe not the last time ever, but for the foreseeable future. 

 

And there is another problem, I can always find an excuse to fall off the wagon. Waddy's coming up? let's drink. You got the promotion? let's drink. It's Shrove Tuesday? Let's drink.

 

Excuses are like assholes, everybody has one. And while you may like the sound of your own, others usually tend to stink.

 

And here I sit and I'm even now rationalizing when I'm gonna drink next. Waddy and SteveE coming up next weekend. Gregs' going away party soon. Kens' Birthday (which is today. Happy Birthday Kenny) All great reasons not just to drink but to get smashed. Maybe here is where I need to be a bit more like Batman and practice some self control. 

 

And where does all this stem from? Jay Giles damn near broke my leg at the staff party. I was playing Volleyball and got tackled out of the blue by Jay.A straight up assassination, an unprovoked attack. I fell pretty awkwardly and the same leg I fucked just before Christmas, yup, just rat fucked. Today was the first day of work I've missed since...The winter at least. I twisted it pretty bad and while a pulled groin sounds fun, in reality it is as far away from fun as you can get. I can't put any weight on my leg and what takes me usually five minutes to walk takes me fifteen.

 

But on the bright side, Jay figures he broke his wrist when he tackled me. So while it has been proved that yes, you can hurt steel, it comes at a great cost. But today has been spent flat on my back. Brent swung by for a bit and Catherine brought me Mc Dee's. She is a super cool chick and if I thought there was any interest on her part, I'd probably talk about doing something with her but never quite sacking up enough to do it. LOL. At least I know myself enough to know I talk a good game but lack commitment.

 

And Suvey says:

 

Sick Day Number Two. I will be sleeping in tomorrow. I imagine this is a blessing in disguise. I can catch up with a bit of writing.

 

Peace

 

 

 

 

       

 

  

 

 

      

 

 

She's a little disheartening when the star you wish upon goes out.

 

"Star light. Star Bright, first start I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might : Find true love tonight.

 

And then the star, which was very, very bright just disapeared .

 

I can't help but think that that is a bad sign. Not that I'm really hoping that the stars are guiding my love life, but it just seems like a bad omen. Kinda like the Star in question wants nothing to due with the train wreck that is my love life.

 

Can't say I blame it.I was at the Kona party tonight.

 

I watched Donny Darko. I know the story that the two sweetest sounding words are "Cellar door.".  I dispute that. I firmly believe that "Open bar" are the best sounding word combo. That is what it was. I drank my weight in Kokanee tonight. I was triple fisting by 9 p.m. But moving right along...

 

Every girl there, and there were many, were dressed to the nines. Many were "wookin' por nub" But I couldn't do it. I felt so uncomfortable. I had to get the fuck out. Which leads me to this. Sitting alone in my room, half cut and typing.

 

I wish I could say I'm suprised, but I'm not.

 

Brent told John tonight that this was it. He had hope. I was gonna get laid tonight.

 

I won't say that I've given up hope, but that shit is just not gonna happen. I wish I knew why.

 

Today, maybe I wasn't King of the docks, but I was a Prince. I chilled all day on the docks. Had a good group of friends. Saw a a lot of people I knew just to say "Hi" to. Lead a mini moon of people that were fed up with people taking pictires of us lounging naked. Swam, log rolled...The list goes on.

 

But I get to this party and ...nothing.

 

I can't deal with that many people.

 

And that is a problem here. I know my friends. I know most of there freinds. And if I haven't had my ol' meat stick stuck into a stink pouch by now, it just ain't gonna happen.

 

So what is the solution? I've tried to be like Jesus. That was fucking about as useful as a sack of dead kittens. I tried to emulate Batman. That was better, but no more successful.

 

"A horse. A horse. My Kingdom for a hourse."  Replace "Hot slut" with "horse' and "Fifty dollars" for Kingdom and were are about on the right track. Oh The Bard, is there anything you can't relate to?

 

So what lies in store for me, besides the dinners for one and drinks for three?I don't know. This is THE event of the summer. If you can't get laid there..."Well, good luck to you in the future. You sorry sack of shit."

 

 

  

 

 

 

I think I just saw one of the most beautiful things ever. I was out smoking dope, alone and late at night. It was a shallow effort to appear cool. And then there was a girl. Oh, and to clarify I'm in the courtyard here at the Australian Refugee camp.  I don't know if she knew I was there..

 

Okay, it is not my intent to make this sound like a Dear Penthouse letter.

 

If only I could honestly write the line: And I never thought it could happen to me...Which would have to be followed with: She was the hottest Nunn.

 

But alas, I can't. What did happen was that she started singing. and playing the guitar. No suprise there. Every one does that here. But this was cool. She was good, really good. At both. And it was one of the realist things I think I've ever seen. There she was, just doing her thing. And being super honest about it. She started out slow and low and then she was full on singing. Not rockin' out or tossing up the horns for the Gods of Metal, nothing like that. Just a real stripped down rock song. And it sounded like actual emotion.  It makes me happy to see someone do anything that they love to do.

 

I hope she feels as good singing as I do sking. I think she must.

 

But after she was done, I had to walk over and tell her she brightened up my already great day.

 

 She actually inspired me. I wasn't gonna write tonight. But after watching her, I just had an urge.

 

I wonder why I stopped writing? I think I've gotten lazy. The stupid TV has stolen my will to write. I need to kill my TV. Actually I just need to practice some self restraint and remember to turn the stupid cocksucker off every now and a again and keep writing.  I remember Alpine when all I had was this computer. No TV made me a better person. I wrote every night there. I also was drinking a lot more then. And had a much smaller circle of friends.  I think this was more of a girlfriend then a journal. It always listened, got me drunk, let me watch porn while I talked to her. 

 

Now I guess I'm not as lonley as I was. I have people I trust up here now. And I have gotten lazy. I let the TV do my thinking for me. I should put a stop to that. I wish I was more like Elvis. I'd just be sitting on the couch one day. Half Cut and in my Pajama pants, get all bent out of shape that I've figured out TV is making me weak and just pull out the ol' Hand Cannon and BLAM. 

     

Oh Hand Guns, is there anything you can't do?

 

 

Why, with enough hand guns, we can create world peace.

 

And with that lil' nugget of my mind, I'm going the fuck to bed.

 

But first I'mma go and look in my fridge for Treasure.

 

Peace

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

Well, I guess a little bit of catharsis is in order. Or if that's the wrong use of the word maybe purging would fit better. Either way, let's do this.

 

So I took a bit of time off. It happens. I regret that I missed chronicalling (sic) some epic last days of what turned out to be the second snowiest season on record. But  I have nothing but good memories of this season. No, great memories. It was like every day I skied I was really alive. And how many days was I alive this season? Well, my pass reads at one hundred eighty seven days.

 

But some of those were probably just gondi rides. But I figure I skied one hundred fifty days this year.

 

HUZZAH

 

And what else has happened? Well more of the same. I've gotten drunk at Merlins with Brent and assorted croneys. I'm still a semi profesional ski bum. I've been to the Island and Over my Birthday my Parents & Travis finally came to visit me.

 

And that's about it.

 

Well..that's the Coles Notes version. As per usual I've gotten way to drunk and screamed at God one night in the parking lot of Base Two. I won't lie to you, I wept a little. ( read a lot). I constantly feel a sense of displacement. Like I don't belong from where I'm from. That was made painfully obvious on my last visit to C.R. What's that old saying, "You can never go home again." That's about right. And here...Well, Some days are better than others.  I love the life style this place affords me, I love the area. I love the fact I can cycle three K's to Lost Lake and just lounge around naked on the docks.

 

But I can't connect to anyone in this town. And I wonder "Is it me, the people, or would I feel this alienated no matter where I put down some roots."  Okay, not "nobody" I have my core group. Brent, Greg, J Money, Erik, Sarah...The list goes on. But with the exception of Sarah I have no friends that are girls.

 

And again that's a rash statement. I have other friends that are girls..Well a few and a lot more aquantences (sic?), but there are no girls I know that there is any spark with. There are girls I'd love to fuck, and I'm sure there are one or two girls here in town that wouldn't mind me exploring their stink pouch. But there is no one that there is a connection with.

 

I think it'd be the same no matter where I lived. It's just here I have no connection with some of the most beautiful and fit women on the planet. Seriously, Back on the Island...Every girl I saw was sloppy. Gone to seed. I didn't see one girl that could run five KM without once stopping. Everyone looked lazy and sloppy is really the best word.

 

 

Maybe I need a two headed coin like Harvey Dent. I can't seem to decide between my two warring halves. Solitary or partnership. And flip of the coin to decide. But maybe it's all about balance. But not a perfect fifty fifty balance that everyone seems to imagine. Balance is a constant struggle. Like walking a tightrope in a hurricane. Balance is not some perfect system. Balance is a fight. A constant effort on the part of the predator and the prey.  To keep any system in working order there does need to be fluxuations. To many Predators and then all but the swiftest Prey die. Then the predators naturally level off their numbers to fit in with the dwindled food source.

 

Maybe that was Uni. So much Prey. So much easy prey. (LOL, maybe I souldn't refer to women I'v had carnal knowledge of as "prey", even metaphorically). Since then...   Well we all know what time it is.

 

But maybe there is no way back to an equalibrium. I know enough about myself to see the cycles I run through.  Or maybe this is all an elaborate game of mental masturbation. Maybe I scared myself off of the Pussy.  Is scared the right word? Maybe I know I hit rock bottom. I can name the very night, but not the girls name.

 

Actually maybe I hit bottom once before the relization of just what the fuck I was doing, but the night it clicked...It clicked

 

No need to re-hash the past in gory details. But  I don't know who I'm am more disgusted by: That girl and all girls from her on or Me?

 

LOL. Jesus. I look back and minus one girl...I see a pattern.

 

Hitting bottom but not realizing it, Hitting bottom and realizing it and then once falling off the wagon. Maybe more like a wheelbarrow at that point. It tipped pretty easily. Now I'm on the Wagon. The No random pussy wagon. Maybe that's what all my drunken rants have been about. Not the fact that I'm not fucking, but the fact I can't find anyone worth fucking. (mutal fuckingness based on certain criteria) . Maybe I've finally learned that sex is fun, but a connection is better. Sex without meaning is just two people masturbating together. Which is hot. LOL. But not what I need anymore, if it really ever was.

 

It was, at one point I needed to be fucked. A lot. But that was then and this is, this is now.

 

 

Which leads me back to where I'm sitting. Alone. Should I stop either assuming every girl I meet is either a whore or a saint(which I do once I actually meet them and realize that they are people just like everyone else and not just hunks of flesh attached to boobs or  a repressed librarian). or should I throw myself out there and be a little bit more adventerous and just say fuck it and go talk to girls.

 

Probably both.

 

But I've never worked well with either of those options. All real success happens through group interactions and friends of friends. And That is just not happening.

 

Shelly and Greg...Nada

 

Brent...He's compatition

 

Jay & Sarah... Nada

 

Work... LOL

 

Ahh fuck it. I think I've gotten used to the idea that I'll die alone.  And I won't be completly alone, I'll have friends and various well wishers. And I'll have both sides of the bed and no fights about having Batman bed sheets.

 

So I guess there is an upside.

 

Anyway.

 

Let's see if this pattern holds.

 

Peace.         

 

 

Fuck.

 

Okay first I had  a write up about how awesome my day was the other day and how I saw two dudes drop a fifty foot cliff in the Horseshoes. But That was erased by a house guest.

 

Tonights entry is all about how fucked tonight has been. Fuck tonight. This last week. I'm one hard drink away from calling people I shouldn't and asking questions I'm better off not knowing the answers too.

 

A few nights ago I went on an unplanned three hour walk at 9 pm at night. Being stoned to the tits helped a great deal on that. But...the song remains the same. Why the fuck am I incappable of being a dick anymore? Somehow I've turned into a "nice guy". Fuck this bullshit.

 

Tonight is case in point. I took a girl home twice. A very, very attractive girl that I've wanted to do things to for about three years. What did I do? fuck her, eat her delicious ripe pussy? no, I hugged her good bye. Twice.  I'm just livid.Why ? Why can't I sack up and take what I want?

 

And it's not like it wasn't a sure thing... It was. To the max.  And then I did the nice guy thing. I shyed away from the kiss and went home. Now I'm on the verge of doing about the stupidest thing I can think of and I'm just so fucking mad at myself.

 

And it'd not like I'm a good person. Why start this shit now. I'm in the middle of being the biggest dick in the world and now I get cold feet?

 

 

What the fuck is wrong with me???

 

 

Maybe it's for tyhe best. Right now my ass smells like a barn yard. If I had sex or a hummer right now...Soon as I cam I'd let go the rankest fart. The good ol' relaxin' wind. It happens to the best of us, and It'd happen to me pretty bad right now.

 

Okay, why am I so fucking nuts right now?

 

Poppa is fucked

 

I'm fucking shit up for other people because I'm selfish and can't keep my mouth shut

 

I'm incapable of taking home girls  from the bar

 

 

 

I wish I had a better achiles heel than girls.  I'm fucked when it comes to them. Wanna fuck me up? Introduce me to a girl.

 

Speaking of Girls...

 

Jas's birthday is ...Now.

 

Happy 26th Jasmine.

 

I wonder if that's hooping me? I don't think so. I'm over that...finally. It was a long road to healing, but I'm there. But somehow along the way, I've aquirred a deep fear of intimacy. I've thought about this a lot. I can fuck a slut like no ones  bussiness, but the minute there are real feelings and an honest girl involved, forget it.

 

 Maybe that's my crippling issue. I can't deal with a real girl. Last time, and to be fair that's a long time ago.., I never thought I was gonna get over it.

 

Maybe I just know that I should be alone. I think that'll make things easier. But the worst part is I know that. But I aways forget it until I try to be with a girl  in a real and emotional way.

 

Okay, it's not sluts that I can only fuck, but girls that there is no future with. Girls that live hundreds of K's away, or that are leaving the country. Fuck me. Why am I so emotionally crippled???

 

Okay, now I'm weeping into my keyboard and Erik's buddy is right here on my bed. I have to roll. Christ, I'm fucked .

 

 

 

 

And another literary hero bites the dust. "So it goes."

 

 

Bloody hell. Well, he left some amazing books in his wake.  I just found out tonight. I'm sad. Kurt Vonnegut.  But it's not like he was struck down in his prime. He lived a long life. And he had some pretty whacked out theorys.

 

Alright. taking a cue from him, I'll just segway with a nonsensical phrase. "You gotta do what you gotta do." that has minor philosophical overtones. You gotta do what you gotta do.

 

Yeah that's about all I have.

 

 

Poo-tee-weet.

 

 

 

 

Through The Looking Glass.

 

A Harrowing decent into maddness.

 

An epic tale

 

By Derek

 

 

I have spent today very very altered of state. I awoke still drunk, fresh from my four day jail sentance at work. I earned a three day parole just that afternoon. And like all men who've spent hard time in the slammer the first thing I did was get a bottle and get a dame.

 

So I basically typed and that made me want to drink. And then I wanted to drink more and I got quite drunk. Which should indicate something prabably pretty bad related to alcohol. Anyways the moral of that story is I got drunk like a sailor. I ended up asleep at 6am and awake at noon. I missed Fresh tracks, But I was assured today sucked. There was just that band of heavy fog over most of mid mountain. And upper mountain. Basically it was socked in. So I chased my drunk with a beer. Oddly enough it didn't work. In fact It shot me right back into being drunk. But I felt it was rather shameless of me to be drunk by noon, keeping in mind you got up at 11:30. So I decieded I should get stoned.

 

I found that helped. And ever since I have been a drinking smoking drug taking machine. I met Ryan at Merlins for a beer. I wanted be there in spirit, but the flesh was weak. A night of drinking quickly became a night of going home to nap. But not before I had the best (albit only,) pot chocolate sauce nut cluster that Ryan whipped up. Jesus that sounds dirty when you look at that. It was Pot butter laced with mushrooms.  

 

The next three hours of my night are pretty much a write off. I pulled the chute. I chickened out of going out to Crstal at that point. I suddenly was increadibly hung over, burnt out and starting to get the first blast of the mushrooms. I would have murdered anyone who tried to stop me from going to have a nap.  

 

Side note: There is a stunning amount of evidence I spent time in the villiage, but have very scant recollection of it. I have a new Neil Gaiman ghraphic novel that looks very promising. And I have a very real sense that I was on a Italian side street, at a little coffee shop. But anyway. We smoked a few more joints and I had to go to bed. I power napped from 7 to 1030. And it was perfect. my house was quiet. I never have quiet. I thive in noise. But it was nice. I curled up on the couch and just read. I should read more. I've read less this winter than any other. I have about four half read books on the go. I just got skiing so much this year...I guess I shouldn't complain then. But I figured I had some good reading time. So all that was missing was a fire and a good dog and I think I would've been content for the rest of my life.  But I was just getting into the book when A very drunk Brent and Greg burst into the room. Tales of "A Jesus Christing Hong Kong whore house with a stripper pole and everything!" up in the lounge. Images of me reading by a fire immeadiatly evaporated and were replaced with thoughts of whore houses. But to gather up courage for it we had to go smoke a chonger.  

 

What the hell I thought, let's keep this party train rolling. After all, I piss excellence. So I smoked and took a look upstairs. The Taiwanese places of whores was not quite what it was hyped to be. It was a bunch of E-tards and a few drunks sitting in a red lite room. Monopoly money and properties where strewn about as if some one had a monopoly orgy. There were tripped out girls staring at guitar players. Fortys of Corona. It was what every middle class white kid would imagine the sixtys were like. Shit was all "groovy". Oh and the stripper pole. It was a bamboo pole from the mountain. I personally wouldn't want to risk a sliver, but I'm crazy like that. I can imagine a poor dumb lifty to get one though.

 

"Well doc, I was strp dancing in a creepy room on a bamboo pool and now I have a sliver in my cooch."

 

I bet they don't cover that day one of medical school. Cooch splinters.

 

But after being in that room for about two minutes it was very apparent that I did not belong there.  I felt bad for being there and not paying admission. I may have gone on a bit of a mental vacation today, but these people were straight from Lotus Land. Permanent mind vacation.  Kinda like the girls from Enter The Dragon. All Heroin'ed up.  So I bravely ran away. Like Brave Sir Robin. Just a full on I gotta go. I left for Brent and Greg to fend for themselves. But I wouldn't be suprised they were taken by white slavers. That party, it seems like that is just the kinda place they'd frequent. Well fed, drugged up, college aged girls. I can see Greg and Brent getting caught up. I'll miss those guys.

 

I do not beleive I drew a single sober breath at all for the last full day.

I think I deserve a medal for how awesome I am. Today was a complete and utter  write off. I think the fact I walked to Merlins and To the book store is amazing. No strike that. I think the fack I'm wearing pants today is amazing. The fact I was able to function in society and be mobile is mind blowing. A feat of epic porportions. Move over Sir Edmund. I walked to Merlins for Wings and beer.  But I think I really had a full mental health day today. And I needed it. Tomorrow I'll wake at the crack of noon, look around for Zombie Jeus, see if he came and laid candy eggs for me this year, and then go skiing. 

 

I still do not see any conection between Zombie Jeus and giant neon anthromorphic egg laying rabbits. And candy eggs at that. It's a bloody weird holiday and I'll leave it at that.

 

But I'm finally starting to be burnt out and I need to go and meld with my bed.

 

Peace  

 

 

 

Okay, soul searching conversations later and a odd regret that I no longer talk to Sarah later,I feel that Booze may make me an oddly sentimential chap. And English apperantly.

 

Fuckin' English. I miss Rachel. She was awesome

 

Okay, this blog could quickly become loves of the past Volume alot.

 

Ahh fuck it. Okay, I'mma level with you here. I'm drunk and if I finish this glass of vodka I'm gonna get all messy.

 

Okay fuck it. Let's get messy.

 

 

I miss  way to many people. Where to start. Let's go Chronologically. Minus Blood. I always miss them.

 

Mike. If I got to choose a brother it;d be him. THE most upright and best person I have ever met. I will be dropping his name at the pearly gates.

 

Lyns. First love. Every one is measured up to her.  

 

Kirk & Joe. Those guys made me get though Selkirk

 

Jas. That goes without saying. I wish I was strong enough to talk to her as a friend. I think I might be now, but how do you broach that?

"Hi, I'm finally over you. Wanna be cool?" 

 

I might pass on that awkwardness.

 

I miss the 5HM. They are like oxygen to me. I had the high school clique. But the Horsemen were not some group that comes and goes and talks shit about the others. I know we'd all go to the wall for each other. Through it if nessacary.

 

This is why I can never get married. Or  if I do I'll have to get married a lot. I'll need like 8 best men. I always figure I'd ask the ol' man. He was the man that taught me how to be one. Okay...

 

Shit is starting to get deep. I gotta go before I start writring about Poppa and Nanny and get all weepy. Damn this whole dying bullshit.

 

Well, we all have to die, but losing your mind. That scares me the most. And I saw it and now feel the fall out. Poppa is all, well fucked up. He's not who I remember as a kid. Dad's losing it, moms at a breaking point...And you can't even hope he get's better. Once you lose your grip, there is no climbing back up.  The worst part is there is nothing I can do.

 

The last thing I ever said to him Is "I love you" and I know I'm a bad person for hoping this, but I hope it's the last thing I ever say to him.

 

Okay, shit is fucked, I'm out

 

 

 

 

MOST INTENSE GAME EVER!!!

 

 

 

I wish every game was that good. And my boys came through. I won a bottle from the old man, A Flat from Tyler and a 12 pack from Scuba.

 

But what a game. I felt every emotion I'm capable of in a span of three  periods. From Blinding rage to unbridled joy. There was a moment of lust in there as well. Ryder getting a Natural hat trick was almost too much for me. I'm not gonna lie here. I threw things against the wall. But wow. I was on the edge of my seat the entire time.

 

Thank you. Now let us again bow our heads and pray.

 

In the name of The Rocket, The Gretzky and The Gumper please let The Devils win against the baby eating Satan worshipping New York Islanders. Damn Rick Depietro and his 15 million dollar contract.

 

And please let the Leafs go deep into the playoffs.

 

And win the cup.

 

Amen

 

As long as I'm wishing, I also want a Pony.

 

But I'm just in awe. Great great game. Maybe one of the best I've ever seen.

 

And thus ends my work week.

 

I  worked a lot. I worked like a rented government mule. 10 hours Wedensday 18 hours Thursday (7 1/2 bleeding into friday morning, the Stat) then I had a 5 hour nap and worked another 10 hours on Friday. And 10 hours tonight.

 

I'm ready to get nice and blunted on reality.  But I will say this, the 18 hours I worked at double time and a half, plus Overtime plus the hazzard pay for not enough rest between shifts should make this paycheque very freakin' huge.

 

Money can't buy happiness. But it sure can rent it.

 

On that note. I'mma go smoke a smoke, drink a drink and hit the hay. Skiing in the morning and then yelling at the TV during Hockey.

 

Peace

 

 

 

 

The more things change...

 

Back on the night shifts. It's my own little slice of hell. Due to things entirely out of my control I'm working 2 pm to 12 30 am for the next three days. Four if you include the shift I just worked.  I think I much prefer working days. Maybe it was just this one shift that sucked, but as of right now I think I'm very very glad I'm off of that night shift.

 

Okay, maybe it wasn't so much the time as the job. It's boring. I never realized just how boring. And lonely. I guess this is what I used this blog for. A bleeder valve. I bet with out this to write in during my stint of working nights I'd have gone absolutely crazy. I look back and I know why I've been so messed up. A mentally dull job. It makes a mind either dull and dead or overactive. I got overactive.

 

It happened tonight. I was driving around and I had some pretty messed up thoughts. And then after I had let that run its course I breathed a small sigh of relief and though "Ahhh, it's good to be back."

 

No, no it wasn't. Down that road maddness lies. I don't think I can go back to working nights. Not on a regular basis anyway. I think my mind left to its own devices is not a good thing. It wanders.And when it comes back it brings with it some pie eyed theory or idea that under the logical light of day makes it appear for what it is. IN-FUCKING-SANITY.

 

Look at me now. One night back on the late shift and here I am, writing . And it's not that I want to write, it's I HAVE to write. If I don't I'll go mad. That can not possibly be healthy.

 

Also I think I've further classified myself. I'm both a sell out and now a bureaucrat. I'm disgusted by both. Maybe I should've fell in love with Surfing. If I was a surfer, I could move to some sunny atoll in the Pacific, eat Bannanas and just surf and live life. But no, I have to love skiing. To ski you need to live on a developed mountain. With lifts and people and tourists.

 

Fuck, I'm conflicted tonight. Half of me is upset that I didn't see or talk to many people tonight and the other half of me wants to strike it out on my own on some deserted island.

 

I'm not maKing any sense.

 

Fuck it, I'm out.

 

peace   

 

 

It's been fucking intense. (say it out loud for full effect) Yesterdays epic riding was followed up with an epic drunk. Me, Brent, Shelly & G- reg. We did our usual dinner thing. Greg cooked Fajitas and we had a beer over dinner. And a glass of Wine. And then as we sat around we decided we needed to play a game.

 

Did you know Greg has Rummoli? Me either. But Jesus what a great game. So as we hunker down to play we realize we have no frosty bevys. "Well, I have a milk crate full of booze back at my place." I foolishly say. So off I go to get said crate of death: half of a forty of Appleton Rum, mix, Two bottles of wine and a few random beers. I really wish it was Mount Gaye Rum. It's the Rum made by 500 gay men.  But we trooped on with pirate rum. We got drunk. The Rum lasted about three very stiff drinks, The wine was gone in about two minutes, and the beer didn't even survive the first hand.

 

So as we play on, the classy thing to do would've been to go get a glass. But I was thirsty. So I opened my bottle of red wine and drank it like a gentleman. On a meth binge. Straight out of the bottle. The game ended pretty quick at about 10:00 when I dumped Gregs drink all over the table, board and his cards. That was pretty much "Don't let tthe door hit'cha where the good lord split'cha."  Time to go. So me and Brent and my now half empty bottle of feel good juice were on our way.

 

Things go pretty much blank from here. I remember my house was full of people. Eric, Suzy and Rachel. I have a vauge recollection of calling people and leaving increadibly inappropirate messages. Tyler, Travis, Mike...The 1 800 number for The dept. of highways. I think I asked about Tang. It must've seemed funny at the time, I don't know. 

 

I think I must've smoked a joint, but I don't know. I think I talked on the net, I don't know. What I do know is I woke up in my chair at 6:30 am with my keyboard on my lap and a half typed out message on screen.  

 

I have no clue what I said or who I said it to. Brent is no better. That fucking red wine erased my memory.

 

But what I do know is I skiied like a bandit today. Did the Skiier Cross a few times. Slayed Rock & Roll. I wasn't as on as yesterday, but man it felt good today.

 

But I'm out.

 

Peace

 

 

What a day.

 

Jesus. 

 

 

Faceshots in April. How cool is this? I was feeling it today. I was skiing better than I have in a long time. I hit jumps I didn't think I would. I hiked Java with Brent, That was so nice. We dropped in a little too early. But next time I'll skirt around that peak and come through the proper opening. It was a lot of work for six turns but it was worth it.

 

Speaking of Brent. He brought his "A" game today too. He rode like a champ. His riding has gotten better and better. Christ he beat me down today. That is a rare occurance. And there is no excuses on my end. He straight up was faster than me. 

 

It was just such a great day up there today. I rode all the major Blackcomb lifts. And we found Powder on every turn. I'm not gonna use the term local, but lately I really feel like I belong here. I know the hills, I know the people And I even have a secret stash of pow or two of my own.

 

Ahhh...Life is good. I've noticed that "Local" is the word that people that are here for eight months tend to throw around when asked if they are from here. I'm always torn on what to say. I usually just say I'm a resident or that I just live here. But it's funny how many years you have here is a red badge of courage. Living in Whistler really is  like living in a union town.

 

And Greg got drunk the other night and really explained it to me. It's like joining the fuckin' mob. You show up and you're on the street. You'r knocking over little old ladys for welfare checks...no wait, that's more of a street gang thing. It's more like shakin' down the neighbourhood pizza joint for protection money. A little bit of Arson, all the dirty jobs that the Capo's arn't gonna do. But you keep your head down, you survive that first year, learn who has your back and who'll sell you out for a A ciggarette and lifty with a bombed out pussy. Then you move up. Get a little bit of resect. You're a lead, maybe jump right up to a supervisor. Now you're hitting people, keeping secrets. Maybe running a book. I've got three years under my belt and now I feel like I'm a made man. I didn't even have to burn a Saint. To be made in this company is pretty easy. Get a picture on the Pipe. That's how you know you've made your bones.

 

So I guess I'm a Lt. now.

 

And what else is new? The season is ending and there is still a whole shit load of snow left. It's all good in the hood right now. It's sunny, it's blue bird and I'm still skiing shit that shouldn't be skiable at this time of year. Fuck, half this shit isn't usually covered in January.  I love waking up and feeling giddy. Just so happy that I'm alive and here. That I can go up on the hill and feel like I'm flying. I really wish I could explain it. I feel three hundred times more alive on a set of skis than any othertime in my life.  I guess everyone has something like this. From skiing to surfing to knitting. Whatever it takes for the person in question. But for me, I really only feel free when I'm standing on top of the hill. Just a limitless possibility of ways down, across and through. I really hope that everyone can feel like I do on a set of skis.

 

Sets of skis, eh? Yesterday I rode my Porno skis. I love them. Nothing but positive comments the entire day. Not bad for a set of Free Ride Rossis that have hardcore explict pornography on them. But one thing they can't do is this. Come back around from switch. I learned this like I learn most of my valuable lessons. The hard way.

 

I was on Express Way skiing switch. I figured I'd do a big heli turn and get back to my regular stance. I fucking exploded.

 

Porno skis everywhere. I don't know exactly what happened but I know I did a double front flip, lost all my gear. Came out of the double sliding on my ass for a good forty feet. As I flipped and slide I started to laugh. I laughed all the way. The best part was there was a Patroler right behind me when I imploded. He saw the whole thing. I slid to a stop and he stopped too.

 

"How the hell did you manage to do that? That was the most fucked up crash and graceful exit from it I've ever seen."

 

I think I'll take that as a compliment. But that crash has come  back to haunt me. My neck is stiff. Very stiff. I need some sort of girl in  various states of undress to rub my neck. Kayla from the RHL would be my first overall draft choice. I saw her twice today and both times I failed to sac up and do anything about my crush on her. Oh sure I talked to her, but Did I say "Hey, we should go do a run today." or "Hey I'm going to the GLC for drinks after, wanna join me?" No. No I did not.

 

Sure I'll drop a fifteen foot cliff. I'll make a fool of myself at any social occasion. But if I have to go talk to an attractive girl I like...Not gonna happen. Stupid hot girls with their intimidation and perky tits. But whatever. I'm still super happy. Yesterday I drank copious amounts of Rum out of a Coconut. My Coconut had an umbrella, a twisty straw and even a sparkler. How can life be bad when you have everything you ever need. I have my Skis, my Coconut and my Balls. What more could I ask for, really?

 

After all that, it's just minor details.

 

Oh and Nanny has now made it to the age of 81. Good for her. She's full of Love, Worry and good Wop Home Cooking. In that order.

 

But that's about all the news that's fit to print for me.

 

I'm Out.

  

 

 

The Horror. ....................The ..Horror.

 

 

 

I saw things tonight that no man should ever see. Kareokee (SP?,who the fuck cares it's fucking fake singing.Why do you care about fake spelling.) Seriously. It was terrible at best.

 

And there were run ins with a legendary Princess. 

 

Really I feel kinda like an intellectual coward for not going into further deails. I have harsh, harsh criticisms for certain people at this shin dig.  But this is my blog. so I'm not gonna drag others into this mess.

 

I'm really taking my time as I write this. Not only am I skipping whole trains of thought, but I'm skipping entire emotions. Damn these horrid intoxicants. They are making me pretentious. and a bad speller.

 

 

I'm definatley feeling a fury. Just simmering rage. Is that normal? I mean "Hi, I'm gonna gouge out your eye and skull fuck you to death"  Is not a normal response to the question "Would you like me to leave room in your coffee for cream, sir?"

 

That is nothing a Barista should ever have to deal with. Okay, Maybe I'm just thinking "fuck me honey, I've been in here 5 days a week for my black coffee this week, learn to recognize simple patterns and shapes. Fuck!"

 

Dude, what the fuck am I gonna do when I'm old?

 

that's a haunting question. If I want to be a functional member of society I need to do one of two things, Mature and become a good adult or strike it rich and no longer be obnoxious. Once you go north of a miilion dollars you are no lomger any of the following: Bitter, crazy, an alcoholic, drug addled, A self shitter and the list goes on. Once you are fuck God rich, you are then eccentric

 

Listen, I'm not gonna lie to you. Your family is fucked. Deal with it

and tell your aunt to stop touching boy scouts.

 

Okay. I am very messed up. Too much beer and weed. And not enought Ice Cream. Or Tits.

 

So I'm gonna go to bed and hope for a more tit and ice cream intensive tomorrow.

 

Peace

   

 

 

Salvation dead ahead. Or at least that's how it feels. What a fucking difference the Sun makes. I feel energized, with a zest for life. I got some rock on, I just stepped out of the shower. I feel great. I've been feeling like this more and more lately. I like it.

 

I feel like...I feel how a cat must feel. Content. Think about it, If I could come back as a pet cat to some nice middle class family I'd be all over that like a fat girl on a cookie. Your typical day would be wake up from your fourteen hour nap, look around the house, make sure everything is still up to your standards. Eat some food, maybe go out, maybe go back to bed. Get lonely go curl up in some ones lap and get petted. Sounds fucking great. But I think I'm right with wanting to be middle class. It'd  suck to spend your whole life pampered. Four walls and a lock do not a prision make. You'd be a prisoner to extravagance. I'd much rather be aqble to go outside and kill a few birds, slum it with the wild cats. Maybe fight a racoon and eat some garbage.

 

Fuckin' cats have it good. And really the cat has only two natural enemies. Dogs and rocking chairs. Beats my list. I have to worry about : Cancer, Trees, Hippies, All manner of metors ; comets and other celestial omens of doom. But today I am chanelling my inner cat. After a good breakfast in Squampton and a sweet morning there, I'm here on my couch, naked, warm and reading a book. And writing. And listening to music. Now I just need to curl up into a nice lap and get myself stroked.

 

But that is a secondary concern at the moment. 

 

I guess I should sack up, go to town and buy some food for my stark cupboards. Things are empty son. An Ethiopian would starve here. Zero food, no weed and most disturbing of all: No mix for my Vodka.

 

But alas, the sun is now hiding behind clouds and the snow is coming not down, but across in a very horizontal type of way. I suppose that means it is both snowing and windy. Urge to leave fading. .......fading..........Gone. AHHHHH, that's much better.

 

I could just chill here all day. In the new chair. Stare at some boob tube (There's a false advertising lawsuit waiting to happen right there. The T.V. has no boobs attached to it and saddly not very many boobs on the screen at 3:00 pm on a Sunday afternoon. And while I am not a sceintist I am pretty sure the tube is not made of boobs. In fact I bet if I took my T.V. apart there'd be zero amount of boobs in there.)

 

Okay, time to sac up.

 

Peace

           

 

 

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

 

That's so much better. That monkey is finally off my back. No, not a monkey. A Fucking Ape. A nine month old Gorilla. And it's gone.

 

My preformance was average at best. But after that long, I'll settle for average. All I can say is Maybe I'm back to fighting form, maybe I'm not but at least I've gained a few more steps.

 

But I am fuckin' beat.

 

I'm gonna have a quick dinner and then pass the fuck out. And woe unto those that would disturb me tonight. 

 

 

Life is good.

 

Real good. Like Pumpkin pie good. Despite the occasional night of pity entrys, I'm on a pretty sustained vibe of good will right now. I'm not winning the race, but I'm not losing either. I think I'm finally gaining ground.

 

Go team Ramrod !

 

(I'm now team Ramrod.)

 

So what's next on the plan. I should bring my car back to life. I should find so sort of summer hobby besides lying in different places with beer. While that is a rewarding hobby, filled with many a hazy memory of staring at girls and getting a sun burn. Many times I'd get really drunk and wake up outside. In the dark. Alone.

 

So I think I'd like to retire on such a high note. Besides, I've layed in many places. Beachs, parks, ditches...

 

So new hobby. Glue sniffing, boob titting and Golf of all manner  are out. Somethings are just not fun. Things that are not fun; A Mini List:

 

Huffing (of all manner). Anything that requires you to sharply inhale with both your nose and mouth can't be good.

 

Touching boobs with your elbows. Sounds like something you'd find on the internet. Some dirty weird circus freak sex act that pops up on your browser when you were really looking looking at a Jesus website. Some freaky hairy dude waggleing his elbows at some hot young confused(drunk) college girls chesticles. Fuck, the things you can find on the internet. God Bless it.

 

 And Golf. As a better man than me once wrote, "Golf is a good walk ruined."

 

This includes but is not limited old school golf, frisbee golf, wiffle golf, mini golf and any type of of game that requires me to wash my balls after every hole they've been in. I don't roll like that. I like my balls filthy. Fuckin' Golf.

 

The point is Life is good. Filthy nuts or not I'm chugging along pretty good.

 

Anyway, I need a hobby. maybe competitive tv watching.

 

Okay Poker Now.

 

Cocktails later. 

 

 

  

 

 

My Igloo is dead and all I can think about is savage monkey love. Just monkey love of the most savage kind. Baboons all screaming and shit.

 

That'd just be an absolute gong show. Just like the state my igloo is in. It is like a horde of howler monkeys descended on it had an orgy of epic porportions. Roofs all caved in and shit. Walls falling in on each other. It's fucking tragic. I hadn't really been to it since before the Island. Poor bloody igloo.

 

 

  

 

 

The snow was sexy today...Well down low anyway. But going down is always sexy, so it was good. No wait, There can be bad beaver.

 

Oh God...

 

There's a lead in to a random story if I ever heard one. So just before I went to the Island I was in full uni riding up Excelerator with an older Americian couple. The guy looks down at my skis and sees my "SAVE A TREE. EAT A BEAVER" sticker.

 

He looks at me and asks me

 

"Do you actually eat Beaver?"

 

I am not making this up. I nearly lost it. And of course I've got my name tag out and in uniform. So I play it cool.

 

"I've eaten Beaver in my time. Yes." I said and immeaditly hid my ear to ear grin behind my jacket.

 

"Do any bars in town serve Beaver?" was his next question.

 

"Well," I said."It's not on many menus, but if you know where to look you can pick some up to eat."

 

Then I nearly blew it by chuckling. But he was serious. I guess Beaver is only an Euphinaism for Pussy this side of the border. So same languge different meaning. But on the trip home to the Island, Steve, Brent and I disscussed how would describe eating a Beaver to someone that didn't know any better. This is what we came up with:

 

First, make sure if you are gonna really eat Beaver, shave it. That can't be stressed enough. A little hair is okay, but for optimum pleasure make sure the Beaver is shaved.

 

Then you don't want dry Beaver. make sure you get it hot but keep it very moist. Beavers are a wetland creature and the flavor is much better if there are a lot of natural juices there to sop up.

 

As for cooking time you are going to want to let it stew in it's own juices for a little while. Don't be afraid to play with your Beaver to make it tender before you eat it. And for best results thaw it out over a bottle of wine. Beavers are generally cold and hard to eat if you just serve it up with out proper preperation. But when you are eating Beaver it is usually a faux pas to stop midway through to have a glass of wine.

 

But you really should let it simmer in it's own juices before eating. Usually about forty five minutes to an hour of cooking time is required before you should eat it. You can let it simmer for longer for juicer results, but that is just a matter of personal taste.

 

As for serving instructions it's a food best eaten in bed. It was really made for that. But occasionally you can eat it on the dining room table or in front of the TV. But again, it's not recommended that you pay attention to the TV as you eat Beaver. It is a dish that requires constant attention.

 

Some people stuff a beaver with sausage before they eat it. Again, that is a point of personal taste. I personally prefer my Beaver not to be stuffed prior to eating.

 

As for looks when eating, it should look a little swollen or puffy for optimal enjoyment. And a pristine Beaver should never have bumps on it or any abrasions or any suspicious marks. That is a sign of bad Beaver. Never eat bad Beaver. I can not stress this enough. You can get very very sick eating bad Beaver. But as you dig in, regardless of the colour on the outside...Oh, Beavers come in many different colours and some people prefer dark meat to light meat, or even slightly toasted in colour. All of it is good. But as you dig in it should be pink on the inside. It should not be bloody. EVER. I've never met a person that liked to eat bloody Beaver. If your Beaver is bloody, I suggest not eating it for five to seven days. Beavers tend to take about a week generally to bleed out. It has happened where I one time got drunk and ate bloody Beaver. If you do this it can be called wearing clown make up. Do not tell your friends you've worn clown make up. It'll show you are a rookie when it comes to eating Beaver.

 

As for proper ettiquette for eating Beaver, it should never need utensils. This is a dish that you just bury your face into. Don't be afraid to comment on it's taste. Licking your fingers is possibly alright before you dig in, but it's bad form to lick your fingers during.

 

Beaver is a meal best enjoyed on a date. Eating Baver is not usually a group activity. I have met large groups of women that have had Beaver themed partys where everyone eats Beaver but it's damn near impossible for a large group of men to come together and eat Beaver. It really is best enjoyed in a two person setting. And it's a funny thing, there always has to be a woman present. It is impossible to eat Beaver without a girl.

 

And remember a good Beaver should never smell like fish. It can smell earthy or neutral but it's not fit for human consumption if it smells like fish.  As for Taste, it really depends on the Beavers diet.

 

A tip I once heard about smelly Beaver is this: If you are not going to eat it, smear it with peanut butter and let your dog have a go at it.

 

I personally don't endorse that, but you always hear rumors of someone somewhere doing just that. Usually just a girl on her own.

 

So I think that is everything I know about Eating Beaver. Well not everything. Those are the basic preperation and eating reccomendations. I've eaten Beaver stuffed with ice cubes before. I've been told that the Beaver tingles and the sensation of hot and cold really makes the Beaver much more... moist and delectable. Some times you'll eat a Beaver so long and good that it's orgasmic. Better than sex some times.

 

Okay. I have to stop. There are many great rememberances of meals I have eaten.

 

But this has been Cooking With Derek.  Next episode:

 

Donkeys: Why You Should Never Eat Ass with Special Guest Chef, The Duke.

 

LOL.

 

Peace You Punk Bitches.            

 

 

Okay first of all, My little pity party stopped about four hours after writing. I walked face first into a door. Hard. Nothing quite like that to snap you right out of a funk. So realizing that alcohol is a depressant I have decided to stop drinking.

 

Okay, back to reality. What I decided to do was go on a five day bender. And not a few drinks here and there. I got black out drunk five days in a row. It was a stealth bender. One night was me and Geoff drinking Diesel bombs ($180 dollars worth) and playing dice in Merlins. I told a child that if touched the dice he was reaching for he was gonna have a great story about how he lost his eye in a dice game when he grew up. His parents were visibly upset with me. But what the fuck do you expect when you bring a eight year old to a bar at like 7 at night? Without a doubt the worst table that kid could've choosen to walk over too. I'm pissed on Tequila and Jack, throwing bones for cash money and the kid reaches for the dice. And it wasn't like I was quiet. I was swearing and yelling. A lot. You know that Far Side Cartoon where Larson shows the way Nature says "Do Not Touch."? Well that was me. I was in full on Derek mode.

 

Jay Money and Sarah swung by and played later on too. We left (or so I'm told at about 1100 pm after I had gone for "Just one beer.") So drunk that I have no recollection of the walk up the hill, across the Base II parking lot or anything else until about 1 am When my memory finally catches and I'm sitting naked on my couch watching explict fat girl porn on the internet.

 

For three hundred pounds, that one woman was suprisingly nimble.

 

Okay as for the next nights, same thing more or less. Me Greg and a 40 of Crown. I went to bed around 1 am. I woke up at 6 45 for work feeling pretty damn good. And there was Greg. Still passed out on my couch. It was like a time machine back to Alpine. But he stumbled out and then I hear got in trouble from Shelly. Apperantly She had slept over in his bed and was waiting for him to come home. Stupid shots of Crown ruining peoples lives.

 

LOL

 

And now.Now I'm two days sober. And very happy. All I want to do this weekend is nothing. Have a drink or two sure, ski a little okay. But nothing strenous. First I still hate St. Paddys day and second the snow is like a horny retard right now. Slow and Wet.

 

Okay, really what is the deal with St. Patricks Day?

 

He cleared out the Emerald Isle of snakes. Okay, good work. But as far as I can tell Ireland is like what 0.13% of the worlds land mass. Wow, good for you, you fucking lush. There is still a lot of places WITH snakes. You get that shit all cleared up then I'll celebrate here in Canada. And what is with this becoming just another excuse to get drunk by noon?    

 

If your last name is O'Grady or Mc-anything. Fuck it, you have little in life to celebrate so go get drunk. Celebrate some dude that orginated whacking day (Beating The Simpsons by centuries). But if your from fucking Korea or Convict land (Australia) You have about as much right to get drunk on green beer by noon as I do to put on a red bandanna and hang around Harlem and rolling with the bloods 

 

It's just silly. So I have boycotted this sham holiday. Plus St. Patty's day is the day when everyone is a little bit Irish. Except for the Italians and the gays. <insert your own joke here>.

 

 

Seriously, he's a Saint because he wiped out a bunch of snakes on a island? Fuck that's weak. I one time ate like seven Mcxdonalds Hamburgers in one sitting. Does that make their King? And on an Island so small that it can't even be measured in Swedes. It's like half a swede large.

 

Fuck you, you snake hating lush. And also Fuck Jeremy Hancyk. That potato eating drunk. He'll steal your democracy then make love to your sheep.

 

Fuck him. Fuck him in his self hating ass.

 

LOL.

 

Fuckin' Jer'.

 

Top  'O The Mornin' To Ya Indeed.

 

Derek

 

P.S.

 

Go eat a baby. 

 

 

 

Let the pity train keep rolling right along.

 

I've realized a long time ago that I'm never gonna couple up. But like arthritis, every now and again it hurts just a bit more than usual. Today was one of those.

 

Had a few drinks today instead of skiing. Me and Brent. Dylan showed up. Jana made an apperance. It was good. Then Jana got Kayla, whom I have the biggest crush on to come and have a drink or two with me. I froze up. Incapable of being myself around her because she is so stupid hot. But my fall back personaility isn't much better. I really wish I had a middle of the road setting. I have loud obnoxious me and I have wall flower me.

 

 

Fuck.  Maybe I should cut my fucking dick off. Not like I use it and lately the only thing it does is make me feel bad. A man can only jerk off for so long. Ten months is just about the outer reaches for me. Maybe I could deal with this better if I was ugly and had a great personality. But instead I'm average looking and my personality is one that has to "grow on you". which is a nice way to say I'm the loud idiot friend that every group has to have. When your best friend doesn't want to hang out with you much anymore you know you suck.

 

Stupid thinking about things. I know drinking isn't gonna help, neither is smoking. What am I gonna do, drink myself stupid and maybe get really high. I wish I could be better. not crutch up, have a personality that didn't suck. Instead I'm gonna drink alone and brood.

 

And yesterday and today were so good. Now I feel like ass. Just a big stupid ass.