6:04 pm: After a long day at work, I fantasize in great detail about my future career as ne0-bard that synopsizes films I remember to the citizens of the ramshakle hobo camps for water and food. Then I think it is going to be a long night.
10:15 am: A co-worker is washing the blue chest plates used to teach CPR. He keeps repeating under his breath, “Die. Die. Die.” I am unsure if he is speaking to the chest plates or me.
He suggests we take a coffee break. I agree. The coffee tastes bad.
10:25 am: Reading the paper. All the CD Reviews have got three stars. I think somebody is not being critical enough.
12:08 pm: Hair cut. Hairdresser tells a story about his friend’s new cabin. It used to belong to the town dentist. In the basement, they found dozens of jars of teeth the dentist got from his patients. As a bonus, the haircut turned out pretty well.
3:50 pm: I realize the future predicted in the Robert Zemeckis film Back to the Future II is five years away. Hear that Science? Where’s my hoverboard?
3:07 pm: “Unfriend” Barack Obama on Facebook.
3:15 pm: Watch a young viking in a bandana enter the vestibule of my office building, presumably to discuss car insurance. Muse for a moment how out of step I am with other members of my generation. Suspect it is mostly because I use words like vestibule.
5:58 pm: Arrive at where I am house sitting. Find a pile of cash on top of a sheet of instructions. A bottle of Wild Turkey has been left for me.
8:14 pm: After many glasses of Wild Turkey, I consider my options. Couch or the public. I grab another glass of bourbon and my rain-jacket.
9:15 pm: I wait for the bus and look at the house where my great grandparents lived. The house has long since been sold.
9:35 pm: Reminded that I am in dangerous territory. Fell or something. Obviously not important.
9:40 pm: There is a girl, no older than 16 riding the train with a mess of groceries in her arms. I feel for her. I glance for her on the platform. She is gone. Like she never existed.
9:45 pm: I see a train. I wonder if the time it takes to reach the platform is enough time for a couple truly in love, to finish a orgasm. Counting the seconds, I decided “maybe.”
9:55 pm: The bus driver and passengers are plotting. There are dozens of balloons. The driver runs out and places the balloons on the hood of a near-by car. It takes ages.
1:55 am: Back at home after the club. Hazy memories. Saw some bands. Talked to some people perhaps. Don’t remember. Ate lots of midnight pizza.
Swiftcover, the madness must stop.
When I’m watching television, every time the scheduled programing ends, there’s Iggy Pop, angry and shouting about insurance.
Swiftcover, no matter how much ad-time you’ve purchased, it won’t make your insurance products any more interesting to the general public.
Why do you believe a gaunt, sinewy rock star that resembles a breast-less Wicked Witch of the West is the best possible face for your company? Your company is not that rebellious or it wouldn’t be turning a profit.
You’d be better off having the gnarled wreckage of car with the spongy crimson remains of a driver hanging out of it with bottle of Jack Daniels in one barely-attached hand as a spokesthing. The wails of the family choking to death on each other’s vomited blood in a crushed minivan opposite would be preferable to hearing Iggy Pop utter, “It’s time to r-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-d-d-d-d-e” ever again.
Just so you know…
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
Occasionally weary travellers of the Interweb will stumble upon this humble site with the intention of finding something useful. Until now, they have had to move on to more informative virtual pastures but no longer. Please enjoy the following form letter you-can-use. Though you probably shouldn’t.
The Love Letter:
The aim of the love letter is to make the object of your desire swoon with passionate lust. Since the beginning of flat surfaces and burnt sticks, the love-stricken have used love letters to attract romance.
Though recent studies have indicated cavemen simply masturbated on to the nearest wall to demonstrate their intentions to mate, it’s up to you to decide which is more poetic.
Start by describing the physical features of the recipient and how those features make you feel. Be descriptive and honest. Pour your heart into it and likely there will be something within that resonates with your love-interest.
Hey Baby [or the name if you know it],
When I first saw you at the bar, I nearly crapped my pants. You were that beautiful and probably still are.
After I made it to third base with your best friend in the back of my Saturn, I knew that you were the one to have my heart.
Your lips are like two beautiful hot dogs left on the pavement to curl under the hot summer sun. Your eyes are similar to holes made by a hole-punch in the paper of my crotch. Your ass is like the unresolved court proceedings that drive me crazy, even though the psychiatric evaluation indicates I’m sane enough to stand trial. Your teeth are also mostly straight which is a plus. And you’re totally not fat.
Please meet me at the Econolodge at [insert date and time] wearing the costume attached.
PS: Can you bring your best friend too? We have some unfinished business together. Wink, wink!
PPS: No cops! Wink, wink!
Repent for your sins!
With the credit crunch forcing cash-strapped Britons to abandon ownership of their shoebox-sized homes for actual shoe boxes, nobody is happier than you, the stygian-souled Letting Agent.
“Wait,” you say. “I provide an essential service that assists both inept landlords and overwhelmed tenants navigate the all-too tasking world of property lettings.”
Ha. What wretched things you must imagine while you pleasure yourself to sleep on a huge pile of your victims’ sorrow.
I’ll always remember the way “Bruce” showed me around the “suite” mentioning the extra-environmental heating system, the new coat of paint, the brand new furnishings… then casually mentioning the small matter of the agency fee: £240… for 15 minutes of “work.” Ah, that’s how you can afford that new BMW.
It should provide me a bit of solace to think that a few people are profiting off the misfortune of others… but it doesn’t.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
Many members of the public seem to be concerned that today’s experiment will create a miniature black hole. One that will quickly gain energy by devouring matter, growing in size until the entire Earth is vaporised in a terrifyingly cosmic blink-of-an eye.
I am not one of those people. However, I am concerned about monsters.
The big bang created the universe without towering 60 ft. flesh-eating spider squids that excrete flaming acid from leathery tendrils of teeth and fangs, but maybe this new mini-big bang will draw a different number in the monster-possible lottery.
Like others, I’ve heard the repeated assurances the LHC is perfectly safe. You’re the experts… and perhaps the first meals a pan-dimensional Lovecraftian horror has enjoyed in a non-eon. Shub-Niggurath cannot be contained with conventional weaponry, you know.
Fergis T McGillicuddy
According to recent statistics, Health and Wellness is spending $13.2 billion in 2008-09, equalling about $3771 for every person in the province.
I’ve done some calculations and I believe I’ve come up with an actionable “Made-in Alberta” solution to our health care crisis that will both increase system accessibly and reduce patient wait times.
The best part: It only requires two elements, both inexpensive and efficient.
A basic 16 oz. claw hammer from Home Depot retails for $6.27, tax included. A burlap sack costs around $2, even less if you buy in bulk. Call it the “fourth way.”
One hammer and sack for each man, woman and child in Alberta would only require an expenditure of about a half a million dollars ($423,216 to be exact). Apparently the province currently spends $1.5 million on health care every hour.
Treatment by medical specialists could begin almost immediately as a patient was brought to the facility, which wouldn’t need to be a hospital anymore. A warehouse or vacant lot would suffice.
The massive savings could then be passed on to truly essential expenditures, like ministerial pay hikes.
Surely a number of Albertans will be dismayed by this startlingly innovative method of health care delivery. I believe a simple ad campaign would assuage their fears and misconceptions. I’d suggest a cheeky print-based campaign centred on the slogan: “Get in the sack with Alberta Health and Wellness.”
As evidenced by your deft handling of the recent super board imposition and the like, I believe you are the forward-thinking leader that can will implement an efficient governance structure for a flexible and responsive health system of the 21st century. A hammer and a burlap sack is that system.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
Thanks for the response to my previous letter, which follows:
“this is pure loser talk. spend the time you spend hating on everything, and go get something for yourself!”
It’s obvious you are a sweetheart, so I’ll kindly respond with a few things:
I’m assuming the advice you have graciously provided is coming from a position of experience. I’m assuming you consider yourself a winner. I’m assuming you spend your time not “hating on everything.” I’m assuming you use that time to “go get something for yourself!”
Note: I’m well aware “assuming” makes “asses of you and me.”
That said, I’m sort of confused about the general spirit it was written.
“go get something for yourself”
What does that mean exactly? A glass of water? A large TV? An $82 T-shirt claiming to utilize seaweed to absorb sweat yet does NOT actually contain seaweed? How ’bout a state of enlightened state of nirvana that is free from the burdensome trappings of modern consumer culture.
Note: Yoga does not require an $82 T-Shirt nor seamless pants.
“this is pure loser talk”
First, this is pure loser writing. There is a difference.
Secondly, there is safety in numbers and there will always be more losers than winners. I like that.
Besides, without losers there would be no one to envy you and your winner comrades in your yoga loft engaging in an endless circle jerk to end all circle jerks.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
PS: Words beginning sentences require capitalization. I know you know where the shift key is because you used an exclamation point at the end of your sentence.
PPS: You are a douche.
PPPPS: I don’t have anything against circle jerks or yoga even… Just stupidity.
PPPPPS: I think you are stupid.
PPPPPPS: No. Seriously.
It’s time. Cut your losses and give up the campaign. There are better ways to spend your time.
Head back to one of your multi-million dollar mansions. Re-connect with Bill. Watch some 24 together. Share a romantic meal .
See, the thing is, deep down, you are scary. It’s true. You know it. I know it. And, well, America knows it.
“I’m not scary,” you say. “Look at my track record on human rights, women’s rights, and other rights. etc. etc.”
Yes, that may be true, but you appear as if you want to eat America.
I don’t think that is a quality the majority of Democrats want in a leader.
Fergis T. McGillicuddy
1. Fergis wishes to die in a plane crash piloted by John Travolta, but only if he uses the intercom to utter his final words: “Oh my god!”
2. Fergis thinks it is beautiful when fat people have children.
3. Fergis’ favourite historical dictator is Chairman Mao. Coincidentally, Chairman Mao is also his favourite name for a cat. Chairman Meow is his second favourite cat name. Steve is his third.
4. Fergis is unable to add prime numbers in his head.
5. Fergis always cries at the end of Jurassic Park.