Winners Don't Use Drugs, But Then Again, They Keep Telling Us It's Not About Winning, It's How You Play The Game!
Here I am folks, back on here and in a new location.
It has been damn busy the past month with getting my pale ass across the country and all. I must say though that having no roots again makes you feel kind of helpless. Lucky for me that has past mostly.
Things have been.........Interesting to say the least. It appears as my friend Rimmy puts it, that I have come full circle. I'm back with my old set of friends, who I can call my make shift family, and some friendships have grown to potential I never even considered until recently.
The Journey has been a long one since I have last been in Calgary, almost 6 years. I have changed quite a bit since then, and in some ways I can even say that I'm better for it.
All things move according to the whim of the great magnet.
Today I decided I was going to do something creative with the whole writing business but sadly, it didn't pan out, at least not yet. But it has been a while since I blogged, and I feel the need to give all of you something.
There has been a story I have been working on for some time, and I think it's time that I gave people a sample. So here it is. It is the very beginning of something, and I don't have the foggiest clue as to how it is going to end.
Enjoy.
Jacko Spencer
Well, how should I put this exactly?..... Jacko was a hard bastard... Jacko was tough. A hard boiled egg with a titanium yoke. That only described his inner nature and way of being , but the shell of this egg was just as rough. He only stood about five foot nine inches tall but with his purple and black mohawk hair style the entire being was about six foot five. Other than this mohawk he had no hair on his head. He was pretty skinny as well but muscle was defined on his ramshackle frame. Around this frame (Starting from the bottom up) were of course combat boots although he had these custom made with cleats(Don't ask me how he did it, and I've never seen him go golfing). Dusty black khakiÂs covered his lower half. These were a bit baggy and they tucked directly into his shit kicker golf shoes. A black leather belt held his pants up. This belt had a signature Danzig belt buckle (A skull with rams horns and fangs if I recall) only he always wore it upside down. Could never figure that one out. He usually wore one of those long sleeve black mesh shirts but if it happened to be colder that day he would wear a short sleeve black mesh shirt. These shirts would allow him to display a tattoo he had gotten while completely drunk on I.R.A. boiler makers. An I.R.A. Boiler maker is when you combine a shot of Jameson Irish whiskey with a pint of Guinness by the way.
The tattoo says in a kid like crayon fashion on his chest "If Society Was A Boar, I'd Be The Head Tit"
Wrapped around the entire package is a thin black trench coat with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He usually had spiked bracelets on as well but it depended on the day I suppose.
The pasty bastards face was very gaunt. High cheek bones, a strong jaw and a decent shaped head with its share of scars and Icy blue eyes. This in a fucked up nut shell, was Jacko Spencer.
This man has a friend.
Bruce MacKenzie was a Scotsman up to no good. He means well ,unless he's drunk ,and considering how often he's drunk it would be better to describe him in these times as doing well at being mean. Bruce is described by most pub patrons as a Musk Ox with a Kilt on except without the horns and with a fouler smell. He stands at about six feet and is almost as wide.
A main of strawberry blond hair and beard covered his whole head and face and he liked to wear blue dress shirts with his sleeves rolled up so that his massive arse crushing fore arms could be shown. A kilt of the MacKenzie tartan(How ever could you guess?) covered most of his burly legs and on his feet he wore steel toed construction boots, tan in colour with white(or slightly off white) socks that almost came up to his knees.
When he wasn't laid off and drunk, he was on the job at the local high school being a drunk janitor. But he was laid off most of the time probably because he would flash a wanker teacher or hit the odd student. These things arenÂt typically in the janitor job description.
These two fiends are about to have what we would call an adventure.
* * * *
Somewhere in England.....
There was Jacko, walking down the street looking rather parched. He needed to do some business today and he needed a drink before hand. So he went to the place he always went.
It was a local pub called The Monkeys Wagon and Jacko has had a lot of fond memories there. He also knows he can find his business associate in there as there was work to be done today.
Jacko pushed open the big oak doors and his senses were filled with the sight of tobacco fog, the smell of "damp".Mixeded with a lot of different revolting types of B.O. and ingestible accelerant, and the sound of thumpy clangy tunes. I believe the tune was "Baby Gonna Leave Me by Tom Waits". After clearing through the fog a bit, Jacko could see the regular patrons of this fine establishment gurgling and slobbering all round. Somewhere in the heap of this mob was Bruce, sipping at a tumbler of what could only be some sort of paint thinner but amber in colour. This Bar specialized in selling obscenely strong stuff after all.
"OiYouou skirt wearin Northern git!" bellowed Jacko.
"Aye what was that? That smells familiar! Thames run off if I'm not mistaken, must be that old puff Jacko!" Bruce gargled in reply.
A below of laughter from both of them and a hearty hand shake lead us to the next bit of this tale.
"Whatcha drinking Bruce?" Said Jacko.
"Everything!" bellowed Bruce.
"No mate, What are you drinking RIGHT NOW?"
"Er...Some Kind of scotch made locally. It has some daft name like 'Nipple Ripper' or something like that"
"Oi! Barkeep you fookin bastard! Another Nipple Ripper for my friend here!"
Jacko continued on.........
"So is it shite?"
"The Scotch?"
"No your mothers gag reflex, of course the scotch!"
"Well, once its halfway down its alright."
"Brilliant. Bar keep You Fookin Wanker! Another for me!"
They both sat in silence for what seemed to be a short time when an extremely annoyed bar keep brought them their drinks. Bruce was the one to break it. Bruce likes breaking things.
"Ahhh Jacko, I know why I'm here at this time on a Sunday but why are you? You shouldn't be out of bed for a least six hours."
"Well I got a job to do today, and I need you to help me."
"Who've ye pissed off now?"
"No no its not anything like that. Remember that old codger I used to work for? The crooked old Catholic priest?"
"Ach Aye! The Irish bastard"
"ThatÂs him yes. James McKay"
"Yeah Jim the Stone Bishop, anyone that does anything sideways for a profit round here has to take confession with him. I would say he liked your little angle."
"A bit too much if you ask me. I thought I got rid of the cunt but he said I havenÂt made my full donation yet. Unfinished business he says."
"It'll never be finished ye know that."
As it says at the beginning, Jacko was a hard bastard, but not as hard I'm afraid and Jim (The Stone Bishop) McKay. At leasNot.not yet. Jim was the kind of person you do dodgy business with. Jim is not the kind of person you piss off. Jim is an old gangster who liked to "punish" the "wicked". (Wicked, meaning any cunt with enough drywall in his head to even think about fucking him, and Punish as in a razor wire castration, a clorox flu shot, or a very very nasty shit kickin that would make a wood chipper green with envy.)
Jacko continued the conversation.
"So there are these blokes that owe me money. I was planning to go shake them up kung fu Jacko style when I get this phone call from one of the Bishops so called 'minions', He says that The Bishop heard about my little mission and that he wants a cut. Now I tried to tell him that I didn't work for The Bishop anymore and that they can stick it side ways in a place where only the men that worship rainbows dare to go.
But alas The Bishop is a tricky bastard and he knows me well , and had his crony calling me from a cell phone outside my flat, where he was hanging with a few friends. These friends had other small friends that throw small bits of metal at the speed of messy death, otherwise I would have went down there with my nail gun and started on the foundation of a beautiful red Victorian Bone house with tons of ventilation."
"Don't I know it" said Bruce grinning.
Bruce continued.
"So what ye gona do then?"
"Get my fucken money, thatÂs priority uno, I'll worry about McKay once thatÂs done...and of course I would like to include you on this expedition as alwaIf....if you're so inclined that is..."
"AYE! Right Fookin on! Why break an old and great partnership."
"I knew you would but I never assume with these things, Good to have ye along. "
They both then downed their drinks all and once, slammed em down on the table loud, and then they shouted at the top of their lungs..
" ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM! "
With that, they stood and walked out of the joint with confidence and vigor enough to fuel an army, and thatÂs exactly what they were, a two man army.
* * * * * * * * * *
It has been damn busy the past month with getting my pale ass across the country and all. I must say though that having no roots again makes you feel kind of helpless. Lucky for me that has past mostly.
Things have been.........Interesting to say the least. It appears as my friend Rimmy puts it, that I have come full circle. I'm back with my old set of friends, who I can call my make shift family, and some friendships have grown to potential I never even considered until recently.
The Journey has been a long one since I have last been in Calgary, almost 6 years. I have changed quite a bit since then, and in some ways I can even say that I'm better for it.
All things move according to the whim of the great magnet.
Today I decided I was going to do something creative with the whole writing business but sadly, it didn't pan out, at least not yet. But it has been a while since I blogged, and I feel the need to give all of you something.
There has been a story I have been working on for some time, and I think it's time that I gave people a sample. So here it is. It is the very beginning of something, and I don't have the foggiest clue as to how it is going to end.
Enjoy.
Jacko Spencer
Well, how should I put this exactly?..... Jacko was a hard bastard... Jacko was tough. A hard boiled egg with a titanium yoke. That only described his inner nature and way of being , but the shell of this egg was just as rough. He only stood about five foot nine inches tall but with his purple and black mohawk hair style the entire being was about six foot five. Other than this mohawk he had no hair on his head. He was pretty skinny as well but muscle was defined on his ramshackle frame. Around this frame (Starting from the bottom up) were of course combat boots although he had these custom made with cleats(Don't ask me how he did it, and I've never seen him go golfing). Dusty black khakiÂs covered his lower half. These were a bit baggy and they tucked directly into his shit kicker golf shoes. A black leather belt held his pants up. This belt had a signature Danzig belt buckle (A skull with rams horns and fangs if I recall) only he always wore it upside down. Could never figure that one out. He usually wore one of those long sleeve black mesh shirts but if it happened to be colder that day he would wear a short sleeve black mesh shirt. These shirts would allow him to display a tattoo he had gotten while completely drunk on I.R.A. boiler makers. An I.R.A. Boiler maker is when you combine a shot of Jameson Irish whiskey with a pint of Guinness by the way.
The tattoo says in a kid like crayon fashion on his chest "If Society Was A Boar, I'd Be The Head Tit"
Wrapped around the entire package is a thin black trench coat with its sleeves rolled up to the elbow. He usually had spiked bracelets on as well but it depended on the day I suppose.
The pasty bastards face was very gaunt. High cheek bones, a strong jaw and a decent shaped head with its share of scars and Icy blue eyes. This in a fucked up nut shell, was Jacko Spencer.
This man has a friend.
Bruce MacKenzie was a Scotsman up to no good. He means well ,unless he's drunk ,and considering how often he's drunk it would be better to describe him in these times as doing well at being mean. Bruce is described by most pub patrons as a Musk Ox with a Kilt on except without the horns and with a fouler smell. He stands at about six feet and is almost as wide.
A main of strawberry blond hair and beard covered his whole head and face and he liked to wear blue dress shirts with his sleeves rolled up so that his massive arse crushing fore arms could be shown. A kilt of the MacKenzie tartan(How ever could you guess?) covered most of his burly legs and on his feet he wore steel toed construction boots, tan in colour with white(or slightly off white) socks that almost came up to his knees.
When he wasn't laid off and drunk, he was on the job at the local high school being a drunk janitor. But he was laid off most of the time probably because he would flash a wanker teacher or hit the odd student. These things arenÂt typically in the janitor job description.
These two fiends are about to have what we would call an adventure.
* * * *
Somewhere in England.....
There was Jacko, walking down the street looking rather parched. He needed to do some business today and he needed a drink before hand. So he went to the place he always went.
It was a local pub called The Monkeys Wagon and Jacko has had a lot of fond memories there. He also knows he can find his business associate in there as there was work to be done today.
Jacko pushed open the big oak doors and his senses were filled with the sight of tobacco fog, the smell of "damp".Mixeded with a lot of different revolting types of B.O. and ingestible accelerant, and the sound of thumpy clangy tunes. I believe the tune was "Baby Gonna Leave Me by Tom Waits". After clearing through the fog a bit, Jacko could see the regular patrons of this fine establishment gurgling and slobbering all round. Somewhere in the heap of this mob was Bruce, sipping at a tumbler of what could only be some sort of paint thinner but amber in colour. This Bar specialized in selling obscenely strong stuff after all.
"OiYouou skirt wearin Northern git!" bellowed Jacko.
"Aye what was that? That smells familiar! Thames run off if I'm not mistaken, must be that old puff Jacko!" Bruce gargled in reply.
A below of laughter from both of them and a hearty hand shake lead us to the next bit of this tale.
"Whatcha drinking Bruce?" Said Jacko.
"Everything!" bellowed Bruce.
"No mate, What are you drinking RIGHT NOW?"
"Er...Some Kind of scotch made locally. It has some daft name like 'Nipple Ripper' or something like that"
"Oi! Barkeep you fookin bastard! Another Nipple Ripper for my friend here!"
Jacko continued on.........
"So is it shite?"
"The Scotch?"
"No your mothers gag reflex, of course the scotch!"
"Well, once its halfway down its alright."
"Brilliant. Bar keep You Fookin Wanker! Another for me!"
They both sat in silence for what seemed to be a short time when an extremely annoyed bar keep brought them their drinks. Bruce was the one to break it. Bruce likes breaking things.
"Ahhh Jacko, I know why I'm here at this time on a Sunday but why are you? You shouldn't be out of bed for a least six hours."
"Well I got a job to do today, and I need you to help me."
"Who've ye pissed off now?"
"No no its not anything like that. Remember that old codger I used to work for? The crooked old Catholic priest?"
"Ach Aye! The Irish bastard"
"ThatÂs him yes. James McKay"
"Yeah Jim the Stone Bishop, anyone that does anything sideways for a profit round here has to take confession with him. I would say he liked your little angle."
"A bit too much if you ask me. I thought I got rid of the cunt but he said I havenÂt made my full donation yet. Unfinished business he says."
"It'll never be finished ye know that."
As it says at the beginning, Jacko was a hard bastard, but not as hard I'm afraid and Jim (The Stone Bishop) McKay. At leasNot.not yet. Jim was the kind of person you do dodgy business with. Jim is not the kind of person you piss off. Jim is an old gangster who liked to "punish" the "wicked". (Wicked, meaning any cunt with enough drywall in his head to even think about fucking him, and Punish as in a razor wire castration, a clorox flu shot, or a very very nasty shit kickin that would make a wood chipper green with envy.)
Jacko continued the conversation.
"So there are these blokes that owe me money. I was planning to go shake them up kung fu Jacko style when I get this phone call from one of the Bishops so called 'minions', He says that The Bishop heard about my little mission and that he wants a cut. Now I tried to tell him that I didn't work for The Bishop anymore and that they can stick it side ways in a place where only the men that worship rainbows dare to go.
But alas The Bishop is a tricky bastard and he knows me well , and had his crony calling me from a cell phone outside my flat, where he was hanging with a few friends. These friends had other small friends that throw small bits of metal at the speed of messy death, otherwise I would have went down there with my nail gun and started on the foundation of a beautiful red Victorian Bone house with tons of ventilation."
"Don't I know it" said Bruce grinning.
Bruce continued.
"So what ye gona do then?"
"Get my fucken money, thatÂs priority uno, I'll worry about McKay once thatÂs done...and of course I would like to include you on this expedition as alwaIf....if you're so inclined that is..."
"AYE! Right Fookin on! Why break an old and great partnership."
"I knew you would but I never assume with these things, Good to have ye along. "
They both then downed their drinks all and once, slammed em down on the table loud, and then they shouted at the top of their lungs..
" ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM! "
With that, they stood and walked out of the joint with confidence and vigor enough to fuel an army, and thatÂs exactly what they were, a two man army.
* * * * * * * * * *
posted by Fictional Correspondant at 8:10 PM
5 Comments:
It's like Begbie meets Ralph from My Name Is Earl, and they're about to careen soddenly off into various adventures. Possibly without zipped pants.
If this ends up as a manuscript, I want to be in it! Even as a parking meter, if nothing else.
I can throw batteries, if it helps.
better for it? it appears more juvenile then ever to me.
The best part about comments like this, is that the word "me" means nothing, as I have no idea who the hell left it, probably because who ever it was didn't sign it.
Oh Well....
At least they spelled "juvenile" correctly. That's a step up from the last batch of anonymous comments you got. ;)
Yeah, and you know what they say, bad press is still press...so I win!. Yay
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