Thursday, July 27, 2006
Summers Skid Marks
Lance Bass has just come out. He is announcing he is gay. Wow. That was a fairly unneccesary announcement. When exactly did we think he was straight? So Lance Bass is gay. In other news, water is wet.
Long time no write huh? Well, it’s been a while since I last posted on this sorry little website. My last post was during the Oilers magical playoff run which unfortunately fell one game short of winning the cup. Then all of a sudden the ol’ P.dog disappears! Where did the Dog go? How many of you thought perhaps I took the loss excessively hard and was swinging on a rope in my fucking basement with “Hurt” (the Johnny Cash version) playing on endless repeat? No, no, no I am alive and well! However I now wonder what song you think would be a good song to hang yourself in the basement to. If you have a special song that you like to listen to as you rub rope around your neck or press blade against your flesh let me know. I may make a compilation disc one day of my favorite suicide songs. Radiohead’s “Creep” would be another good one to play as I sucked on a shotgun. Good times…I did in fact lock myself in the basement for a few days before I would accept the playoffs were over but then I did come out and SURPRISE the sun did come out! Stupid sun.
So yeah, it’s been a long time but I just simply have other things in my life that take up my time. Its summer time beeyatches, it’s too short and there is too much to do rather than sit at the computer typing stories about my sexual disfunction and tales of poo. But I have had people kicking my ass to post something…anything, so here you go.
So, what else has my sorry ass been up to?
Last week the Dog took the wife and kids to the local annual summer fair. Previously known as Klondike Days now rebranded as the Capital Ex. I myself was never big on the whole Klondike theme anyways even as a kid. Lame. It was always “The Ex” or more commonly “K-Days” to me. The Klondike theme was pretty nonexistent anyways. This leads me to an overheard conversation between two youths aged somewhere between 10 and 12 …
“So are you guys going to K-Days this year?”
“It’s not called K-Days anymore dumbshit”
“Oh yeah, whatever… Capital Ex or something now right? Same difference.”
“Nah, it aint same difference at all. Don’t be ignorant, live in the now! Hey, you ever wonder why they use to call it K-Days anyway?”
“Yeah, the K in K-Days stood for Karnival.”
“Nice!” laughter “Carnival starts with a C dumbass! Nice fucking try moron!” more laughter from kid, and the other starts to cry. Kids are so nice eh?
My boy (now 3 yrs old) had himself a blast though. Loved going on the rides. He got all greasy with a corn dog, wife had herself a footlong corn dog and I had the six dollar sausage dog covered in fried onions and peppers. It tasted fucking glorious! I had onion grease dripping off my elbow. My son learned a lesson about the glass house, don’t run. My wife had to poo 3 times. I guess the corn dog wasn’t so good after all. My young boy screamed all the way down the huge bumpy slide on my lap, just like I remember doing when I was a young fart. It was fun to start some of my own family memories at the fairgrounds as I have my own fond memories of growing up and going to Klondike Days with my Dad and sister. I recall the tradition of going every year and every fucking year Dad would get mind fucking drunk before we left our house because “the sauce is too frickin ‘spensive in th’ beer gardens.” But that didn’t stop dear old Dad from sitting us on the ground in front of some shitty country band (is there any other kind?) while he stopped in the beer gardens for some “adult pop”. I also remember him taking us on the giant ferris wheel and every year when we got to the top of the wheel he would point out a spot on the ride where it looked like a nut or bolt was loosening. “Hey, didjoo kids hear that squeaky shound? Looksh like tha bolts are comin loose. Hold on, I think tha ride ish breakin!” Ha ha funny Dad. Every fucking year, and I fell for it every fucking time! I also remember being told to “quit fucking whining” in the haunted house and if their was a ride that looked to scary for me he would ask “Wassa matter? You sum kind of fag or shomthing? Instead of K-Days maybe we should call it GayDays hey son?” Oh, oh and how about the time Pa got in a fight with a carnie. That was a fun day too. Ahh good times indeed. In Dads defense though if I had the kids he had, I would probably be an insane drunk too. And we always stayed until Dad had spent a couple hundred bucks to win my sister and I an armful of stuffed animals that he could have bought in a store for half the price.
More tales of my summer to follow including my camping trip in the mountains where I almost got eaten by a bear (true) and the story of when I accidentally got a skittle stuck in my peehole (not so true).
Love to you all,
Prairie Dog.
(How’s that for diverse?)
Commentary: