To Club-Goers With Their Unhappy Faces On

Occasionally, I’ll put down my pen and glass of bourbon and head for the Avenue for some Whyte night life. There’s nothing quite like waiting outside a club in the Canadian winter for 30 minutes out to consume $6 draft beer and dance a little.

What could be better? Well, there seems to be a growing number of people on the weekends wearing their unhappy faces. These people in the latest styles dancing and drinking while looking as if they just came from a funeral. Don’t worry beautiful sad people, your cat didn’t die in a microwave, your mom still hasn’t found those spring break videos you made after drinking tequila for the first time,  and your boss hasn’t discovered you haven’t finished any work since you’ve started your job. There is no reason to look so upset.

Perhaps some people realize the promise of drunken casual sex and bathroom coke won’t rescue them from themselves, yet continue to engage in the nightlife out of habit. Who knows? Just try to look amused when I throw up on your shoes…

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

Dear Kurt Vonnegut

Happy Birthday. It’s funny that you were born on Remembrance Day, a day of reflection on humankind’s worst failures at maintaining civility. We reflect on the cost of those failures on men and women. Most of them innocent and helpless.

This year, I forgot about wearing a poppy. I regret that. I didn’t go to the Cenotaph for a service either. I stood in the centre of the produce/salad-dressing aisle in a downtown Safeway during the moment of silence. A voice, presumably the manager’s, came over the intercom. It told us to have a moment of silence.

I did. Someone asked if they needed red peppers. A man in a motorized wheel chair wheeled past, thanking me for moving out of his way. Then the voice returned. It thanked us for being silent. Everybody started shopping again.

Thank you for making me remember that people can be better to people than people have been in the past.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

To Ex-Lovers Britney and K-Fed

Oh lord, how long? Two years apparently. You poor creatures you. How tragedy befalls the meek.

But to anwser your question, no, divorcing Kevin won’t help him sell more copies of “Playing With Fire.” Nothing could help sell more copies of “Playing With Fire.” Nothing.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy