Bad Monkey Madness

Still Kicking.

2008-11-19T15:23:00.000-08:00

The Monkey is currently making some adjustments. Should get things online soon.

Farm Journal On-line.

2007-04-02T11:31:00.000-07:00

I have been neglecting to update my journal, so since I have a computer in front of me all day I figured this would be the best way to do regular updates. Really the blog will just be an account of things going on at Monkey Meadows(TM), jobs, projects, and wildlife observations; more for me than anyone else. I figure it will allow me to unclutter the Bad Monkey site as well.

Monkey Meadows on line farm journal.

Winter Ailments

2007-02-23T12:01:00.000-08:00

I felt a little flu coming on the other day, so I decided to self-medicate with one of Late Uncle Stevie's favourite juices. I can't count the times that the Old Wild Turkey snuck up on me and rendered me vomiting in the bushes up in Vermont with all abilities of self-propulsion cancelled. However, last night I regulated my dosages carefully and warmed myself by the fire; then lo and behold the cold was gone. I think I will do daily prevention treatements for the rest of the winter as precaution.

For Melanie

2007-02-23T11:41:00.000-08:00

Emma can has actually gotten used to walking in her big battle gear snow suit.
Bath time is always...entertaining.
"Chin-chin" is a nightly ritual.
Like father like daughter.

Art

2007-02-23T05:55:00.000-08:00

A couple attending an art exhibition at the National Gallery were staring
at a portrait that had them totally confused.

The painting depicted three very black and totally naked men sitting on a park bench.
Two of the figures had black penises, but the one in the middle had a pink penis.

The curator of the gallery realized that they were having trouble
interpreting the painting and offered his assessment.

He went on for nearly half an hour explaining how it depicted the sexual
emasculation of African Americans in a predominately white, Patriarchal
society.

"In fact," he pointed out, some serious critics believe that the pink penis
also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression experienced by gay men in contemporary society."

After the curator left, a young man in a West Virginia T-shirt approached
the couple and said, "Would you like to know what the painting is really
about?"

"Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of the
gallery?" asked the couple.

"Because I'm the guy who painted it," he replied.

"In fact, there are no African Americans depicted at all. They're just
three West Virginia coal miners, and the guy in the middle went home for lunch.

Ped Day

2007-02-14T09:36:00.000-08:00

I had to attend another bullshit workshop for the school board last week. I arrived a few minutes late, sat down, and was happily sipping my coffee at a table with a bunch of teachers and ‘upity ups’ from the school board. The discussion had already begun and I was rather disinterested and non-engaged as is usual for me at these events. One of the ‘upity ups’ in my group had just recently completed his PhD and must’ve been thinking himself akin to God the way he was going on and on about strategic develop, school success planning and other educational policy nonsense- jargon-bullshit. Next thing I know he winks at one of his suit and tie wearing counterparts, turns to me and asks with a hint of sarcasm, “what’s your opinion on the subject?”.

"Well," I says, sensing the idiot's attempt to belittle me, "that could be an interesting topic. But, let me ask you a question first -- horses, cows, and deer all eat the same stuff-grass.Yet, a deer passes little pellets, a cow turns out a flat patty, and a horse makes muffins of dried poop. Why do you suppose that is?" Dumbfounded, the ‘upity up’ replies, "I haven't the slightest idea." "So tell me then," I says with a smile, "how is it that you feel qualified to discuss educational policy when you don't know shit?"

Policy on Passports Causing Much Controversy in Upstate NY

2007-02-11T07:44:00.000-08:00

Cousin Daryl an ATV flippin', stunt drivin' fool, and friend of mine from Howick sent me this article from the Adirondack Daily Enterprise. Seems like our Quebec Freedom Fries are stirring up some debate in upstate NY.

Hello,

I just thought that you would be interested in this article on how
our local Canadian culture affects US policy.
Looks like the debate about needing a passport between Canada and the
US is heating up because the Democrats have an appetite for Pivin's! 
Check out this quote from the Franklin County Legislature:


"It's a pretty hot topic. A lot of my constituents — we like to go to
Pivins and get hot dogs," said Legislator Dan Crippen, D-Burke,
referring to the old name of the LeBlanc Patate snack bar in
 Huntingdon, Quebec, about 11 miles from the Trout River
border crossing.

Officially Cold

2007-01-31T14:45:00.000-08:00

I guess you could consider this to be officially cold-not as cold as it has been lately and it'll probably get even colder before the winter is over-but pretty cold nonetheless. When it gets below the American zero it begins to be uncomfortable to take a morning piss off the back porch. The wood-pile is being consumed at a bit of an alarming rate also. Global Warming seems to be on hold for January in Canada. The dogs don't even want to stay outside, and the cat hasn't been out of the house since before Christmas. I don't know how a small bird like a chickadee can make a living here all winter. Richard calls this "snot-freezing weather".

Vacation

2007-01-07T09:01:00.000-08:00

I used to think that it was tiring to be in a band and be up all night playing music and dealing with the groupies.
But now I have officially changed my definition of being tired after getting puked on by my 20 month old daughter for 2 days and 2 nights and sitting in a hospital for 6 hours in the middle of the night.

Dream Job!!

2006-12-20T10:23:00.000-08:00

Needless to say, I've applied.

Dream Job.

Bad Monkey Launches New Blog

2006-12-15T15:37:00.000-08:00

I have officially launched a new semi-pansyish type blog in an attempt to restore order in my cluttered little mind. The following site is posted below and will also be permanently listed under the "links" section on this website. The content of the new website is pure regurgitated psychobabble nonsense and verbal diarrhea, however vomit and shit must come out or else toxic shock will kill a person.

www.asplinterinyourmind.blogspot.com

New Dukes of Hazzard Movie

2006-12-11T12:36:00.000-08:00

My heart stopped beating for a few seconds when I discovered that there is a new Dukes of Hazzard movie scheduled for release in Spring 2007. Finally, Duke history will be explored and some of the story that took place prior to the episodes(79-86) will be told. Such an important film will no doubt be eligible for many awards.

General Motors vs. Microsoft

2006-11-17T09:53:00.000-08:00

This one has been going around lately, but I still thought it was worth posting, especially since my best friend is a Chevy pick-up. I also went sane about ten years ago and switched from PC to Mac. Statement number 5 about Mac is true, except they fail to mention that you don't need the other 95% of the shit anyway. If you stop and think about it the average person only uses a computer for downloading smut, sending smut, and viewing smut with your friends, so a Mac can do that just fine without all the crashing and burning.

BM10-7

At a recent computer expo (COMDEX), Bill Gates reportedly compared the
computer industry with the auto industry and stated, "If GM had kept up
with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving
$25.00 cars that got 1,000 miles to the gallon."

In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release
stating: If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be
driving cars with the following characteristics:

1. For no reason whatsoever, your car would crash twice a day.

2. Every time they repainted the lines in the road, you would have
to buy a new car.

3. Occasionally your car would die on the freeway for no reason.
You would have to pull to the side of the road, close all of the windows,
shut off the car, restart it, and reopen the windows before you could
continue. For some reason you would simply accept this.

4. Occasionally, executing a manoeuvre such as a left turn would
cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart, in which case you would
have to reinstall the engine.

5. Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, was
reliable, five times as fast and twice as easy to drive -- but would run on
only five percent of the roads.

6. The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would
all be replaced by a single "This Car Has Performed An Illegal Operation"
warning light.

7. The airbag system would ask "Are you sure?" before deploying.

8. Occasionally, for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you
out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door
handle, turned the key and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.

9. Every time a new car was introduced car buyers would have to
learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would
operate in the same manner as the old car.

10. You'd have to press the "Start" button to turn the engine off.

Pimp Uncle Keith's Ride!!

2006-09-29T13:17:00.000-07:00

I couldn't back up far enough to get the whole thing in the picture.

Room to spare.

Old Birry shouldn't look so grumpy considering I gots my arm around him.

Pimp-wanna-be

Life imitates art as Mark and Shaun live out that Hip song.

God-damn but you know there's trouble coming when a bunch of low-ridin' pimp hooligans almost run ya off the road and then pull into your driveway.
It took Pimp-Daddy about half an acre to get the old girl properly turned around and then finally moored up along side the garage. Stowed away all comfortable behind the tinted windows there was a small army of greasy characters that came pouring out in clown car fashion to stretch their legs. We then resupplied on beer and went back to the truck depot at a proper pimp touring speed of 20km an hour. Right on about Russleville there was even a couple ole whoores to gawk at, and our spedometer was reading just right to take a good look at the junk in their trunk.
Back at the garage Uncle Keith stood by as his big cadillac got a bath. I ain't ever sawed him look quite so proud when he scene it all white and sparklin' except maybe that time he stunt-flipped the car or when his first child was born.

Peace

2006-08-30T08:17:00.000-07:00

"A man cannot burn down his neighbor's tepee if he watches the sunset each evening" - Native American Proverb - Tribe unknown.

Life is good: A beer in hand, coyotes howling, the mist rolling in from the river, Emma babbling inside the house, and the view from my back porch. "Almost heaven, West Virginia"...I bet those lyrics would be different had John Denver visited 'La Belle Province'.
And finally, the change of the season is about to begin and very welcomed by me.

Summer’s Promise

Purple clover and greenest grass;
summer’s promise she shall not pass.

Endless evening, the swallows fly;
summer’s beauty, an orange sky.

Berries ripe for bird and hand;
summer’s bounty from the land.

The smell of pine wet with dew;
summer’s promise she isn’t through.

Tattooed fingers, blackberry stain;
summer’s cleansing: a gentle rain.

Hay on the wagon, in the field;
summer’s pride, a modest yield.

A kiss of colour in the trees;
summer wonders at what she sees.

A frosty morning while she slept;
summer’s promise cannot be kept.

Guns n' Gowns

2006-08-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

This sign gives The Drunk Bacon some competition. It reminds me of a store in Vermont that Andy and I went to one day. We were buying some beverages and as we went to pay, the cashier asked us if 'there was anything else?' Andy said: "Uh..yeah, I'll take an M-16, that Samurai sword, 3 hand grenades and some beef jerky". The young lady promptly packed up all the items with a 'thank you' and a smile.

Cryptozoology Update

2006-08-05T07:41:00.000-07:00

There have been two more black bear sightings since my first cryptozoology post. In early July of 06 a concerned citizen stopped at my parents house on Rang St. Charles to inform them that he'd just seen a bear cross the road and meander onto their property; upon investigation there was a neat pile of bear scat discovered and photo-documented. Then, during the first week of August, Annie and I were taking the scenic route home from St. Chrys and saw a spring cub cross Mt. Poupart. I guess Ian is somewhat justified for being constantly heavily armed while performing such tasks as checking his mail, feeding his chickens, cutting the grass, or watching TV, considering the last bear was sighted just 2km from his house.

The red star marks the location of Monkey Meadows. The bear icons are accurate locations of the bear sightings: Mt. Giroux, Rang St. Charles and Mt. Poupart. I speculate that the bears sighted on Poupart and Giroux are from the same family, however, the one on St. Charles might be from a different clan judging by the geogrpahical distance from the others. I blame Climate Change for these bear sightings as well as the 40 degree temperatures, potatoe bugs in my garden, the rain, and the price of gas.

El Chupacabra Photographed in Havelock!

2006-07-22T17:59:00.000-07:00

The Monster in Question.

Just lurking in the bushes is El Chupacabra with evil intentions for my daughter and the little rat-dog. The monster is in the dark spot of the bushes just above and to the right of the flowers seen above Emma's head.

Look closely and you can make out the glowing eyes and face.

Goddamn El Chupacabra was stocking my infant daughter while my wife was taking some joyous photos. It was purely by accident that Annie and I noticed the beast in the bushes as we were playing with the digital zoom on our new camera. We were quite surprised when we noticed the malevolent, predatory eyes lurking in the darkness of the bushes not more than 75 feet away. I have been continuously expanding my knowledge into the realm of the paranormal by listening to Coast to Coast AM every night and was fully aware of El Chupacabra activity since 1997. During the days that followed the sighting, I did further supplementary research which including forensic facial structure analysis and stature comparisons; all studies were double blind and included heavy dosages of placebo (which really did not do anything for me at all). In conclusion, the cross references amoung the ufology community confirms that El Chupacabra or the less sinister Odcoileus virginianus was indeed lurking in the bushes.

Emma Enjoying the Summer

2006-07-22T17:16:00.000-07:00

Just wanted to say thanks to the Very Important Cousin-in-Law for your help in getting our new camera to us; here are some pictures of your favourite subject that we've taken with it.

Haying Summer 06

2006-07-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

Shit, but this hay making season was easy as taking the pants off a teenage St. Chrys girl. I made me a good chunk a change scrapin' back in the spring so I rented me one of them new fangled GPS satellite guided thingies that attached to the tractor and told it where to go and how fast to do it. I reckon that "GPS" must stand for "Greased Pig Shit" because my hay was done just as quick as that. I was able to get a lot accomplished as the tractor rolled around making hay all by itself. The old lady cross the street did come-a-runnin' and a hollering though when she saw that no one was ridin' it because she supposed that I'd fallen off and let it get away on me again. It took me a fair amount of splainin', cypering, yelling and drawing little doodles in the sand to tell her how this fancy GPS thing worked and in the end she still didn't get it. She left mad and scared, and kept on casting backward glances over her shoulder and vexed the driverless tractor saying that it was the work of the devil his-self. Well, I say the devil can pilot my tractor any time he wants as long as I can get good and drunk and have me a good chaw while he does it.

Evenings

2006-06-28T09:56:00.000-07:00

eve·ning
The period of time when the afternoon and night are even.
The period of decreasing daylight between afternoon and night.
The period between sunset or the evening meal and bedtime: a quiet evening at home.
A later period or time: in the evening of one's life.

Filling up the horses' water barrel is one of my favourite jobs. It's the last chore I do before I go in the house for the evening. I put the tap on just a trickle so it takes about 20 minutes to fill. Then I run me off a little handful of chaw and stretch out on the back step of the barn and appreciate the view. There is the occasional deer or fox in the back fields; and ducks, geese or herons on the river. It seems there is always some animal moving around at this time of day. I also never get sick of looking at how straight my fence line is (I allow myself a little pretentiousness in this area because it is pretty damn straight). By this time my head is getting all woozy from the tabacca and the water is spilling over, so I call it a day.

Last Call for Buddy and Jasmine

2006-06-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

Back in the spring of 2001 Buddy and Jasmine went on hiatus up in my hayloft. They were on R&R from their Free Beer duties for an undetermined period of time. Every year I go up in the hayloft to do some cleaning and take the time to have a little chat with them. We'd reminisce about the good old days and they'd always inquire about Showgirl(TM). I'd tell them that she was semi-retired and only made rare appearances on St. Patrick's day or other special events. They also joke about how Mathiew liked to stare at my bare ass when I had to pull down my pants during my frequent guitar mistakes while on stage; I guess they noticed a lot while perched up on those speakers. Buddy also told me that he never really liked Mathiew because of all those times he raped Jasmine and Showgirl while living at the Big House(TM). They both confided that I was like a father to them as I had been the one to rescue them from a dumpster at the Cavendish Mall back in '94. So it was with a certain amount of sadness when I lied to them this past weekend and tricked them into their own undoing. I really needed to clean my hayloft and decided they'd have to go. So I told them about how our mailbox was getting smashed a lot lately by some punk-ass teenagers. Of course being the man he is Buddy immediately grabbed his trademark red hard hat and volunteered to help out; Jasmine thought she was looking a little pale from being inside for five years so she said she was game for anything that would get her into the sunlight. I told them that I needed them to sit out by the road and watch for any suspicious characters near the mailbox. They were so happy to be outside and trusted me so completely that they didn't even notice when I put the garbage cans out beside them. I had a lump in my throat when Buddy gave me the thumbs up as he settled in for his overnight shift.
"Twelve hours and this will all be over," I said to myself. "The garbage truck is coming and it is never late."
I woke up the next morning and was surprised to see that they were both still diligently doing their jobs. Several cars stopped by and checked out the strange duo at the road and one asshole even groped Jasmine a little; I could see Buddy's snarl all they way from the house.
Well they must have knew something wasn't right when they saw the garbage truck headed their way because Jasmine pulled her old trick and flagged down some dude in a pick-up and he swooped in and grabbed them both just as the garbage truck was approaching. So they're not really dummies after all. Even Roy and Rachael the replica 'skinjobs' in Bladerunner could not escape their mortal destiny as Buddy and Jasmine did.

Emma Almost 14 Months

2006-06-28T08:35:00.000-07:00

A special request was made by a very important cousin-in-law and faithful blog reader to keep updating my site with some pictures of Emma. So here she is. She will be 14 months old on July 6th. She's talking quite a bit now and running around all over the place. She tries to put her shoes on and takes me and Annie by the hand in the morning and leads us outside so she can go see the chickens and horses as this has become quite the daily routine.

Emma put the glasses on herself. She always wants to see how she looks in the mirror with my hat or glasses on .

She likes to pretend to cook.

Cryptozoology

2006-06-15T07:30:00.000-07:00

Ian and I went to pick up my 4 wheeler at Lorne's yesterday. We were shooting the shit for a bit and it looked as though we'd shoot it some more, but then the phone rang and Lorne went to take the call. So we said our "toodley doo's" and headed back home. We crossed route 202 headed North on Mte Giroux. Then approximately 150 feet in front of us we saw a black bear walk across the road. It crossed west to east just south of the English River. It didn't appear to be in a hurry and it crossed maybe 50 feet away from someone's driveway. We stopped the car and tried to catch site of it in the bush, but didn't have any luck. A very cool experience. Mark saw a bear cross the 202 (not too far off from this crossing) about 15 years ago. Also Annie and her sister saw one about 10 years ago crossing almost exactly in the same spot that Mark saw his. Wildlife travel on paths that they have been using for thousands of years-sort of like cow paths in a pasture. That's the reason why deer or other animals are often road killed in the same spots. And to answer the burning question: NO. Ian and I were not drunk. We each had one road soda that lasted us the ride there and back.
I thought it was a really neat experience seeing the bear. I've lived in the valley almost all my life and I seriously doubt I will ever see a bear again. It's cool to think they are out there with the deer and coyotes making their living off the land. I also began to reflect upon the serendipitous nature of the sighting. I figured it was the phone call that cut our visit short that lined up our path with the bear. But then I figured it could have been the piss I took just before leaving the house or really any event in my life could have lead to that moment.

A New Look For Spring

2006-06-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

Annie thought the dogs were looking a little rough in the fur, so she took the clippers to 'em. When Shadow got his hair cut I was on the lawn mower and when I saw the pile of fur that had been cut off of him, I seriously thought that I'd accidentally mowed a bail of fiberglass insulation all over the lawn. Between Shadow's extreme cut and Alley's ass trim, the fur completely filled a large garbage can. They looked absolutely ridiculous and many visitors are overcome with the giggles when they see them. The dogs are real chicken wimp babies now, due to the lack of fur, and they are easily bothered by mosquitoes, the cold and the sun.

Annie and I have been talking about getting some kind of Border Collie or Australian Shepherd once Alley and Shadow are done. However, I'd be more interested in one of these Trunk monkeys for the house. With all the recent home invasions I'd feel very secure to have a fleet of these monkeys trained and ready for action.

Jughead's Party

2006-05-29T08:31:00.000-07:00

What sounded like helicopters landing turned out to be some big ass motorsickles arriving at Jughead's weekend bash. A few minutes later there was an awful lot of rubber burning and tire squealing to be heard, so I drove up to investigate. The motorsickle riders turned out to be Kevin and Keith on their Harley's. They were also responsible for the tire squealing. Well, the commotion attracted Wheelie Kid all the way from Hemmingford. He immediately got mightily insulted and riled at the high decibel levels emanating from the bikes, so he went to work removing the exhaust system from his Camaro. Wheelie Kid was also complaining about the mosquitoes so he went down to the road, locked the front wheels and created his own ground level burnt rubber cloud system which immediately took care of any and all insects within a 5km radius. The under 20 year old party attendees where mightily impressed with this display and Wheelie Kid was immediately propelled to celebrity status.

Kevin gets ready for the initial smoke show. He is relatively sober at this point.

Wheelie Kid goes to work in the driveway. Once the exhaust system was removed there were some very serious flames issuing from beneath the car.

Keith had this chrome version of his nut-sack created from a plaster mold and proudly displays it in an offensive dangling fashion from the back of his bike. The extra long tail pipes are not for show, but rather used in wheel barrow fashion to push the bike home in case of breakdowns or collision.

Conflagration Celebration

2006-05-19T06:44:00.000-07:00

Well it looks like the traditional Bomb-Fire will have to be postponed for a couple of reasons. It appears that a wild turkey has taken up residency in the burn pile and has commenced to raise a brood of chicks from within the safety of the brambles and branches. Annie and I see her patrolling in the back field by the river everyday. Also, the weather is not very bomb-fire friendly and I fear that our tinder would not properly ignite even with the aid of the usual heavy dosage of petroleum products. As well, Cousin Grover and Friend Binky have gone south to open the camp in Vermont. So I will keep everyone posted as to the official date. Meanwhile, here are some pictures from the festivities last year. Please take note that there is no Photoshop magic going on. The burn pile was the size of a small house and it generated flames ranging from 60-70 feet in height at its peak. As guests arrived, they noted that a festive orange glow could be seen on the horizon from several kilometers away. The oxygen requirements of the fire were so intense that several small twisters were spawned as a result. Yes, the local fire department and municipal inspector did show up again in order to verify my permit.

News Report May 13&14

2006-05-15T07:24:00.000-07:00

Scrap Update
A rather productive weekend of scrap procurement. My truck suffered one casualty during the last mission as a sidewall was compromised on my front tire. However, the Izuzu Pooper still giveth even while in death, and offered up a replacement tire.

Farm Update
Our batch of 56 chicks (broilers for the freezer) arrived on Friday. I went to check on them this morning before work-mainly so I could track some fresh chicken shit into school-and heard a distinctive squeaking sound. The genesis of a new rat colony concealed within the walls has apparently been developing for quite some time now. Oh, how my pulse quickened! I dug out my rat hunting gear and dusted off my setting pail. My mission takes on new significance and importance with the defenseless brood of chicks to protect from the treacherous jaws of Mr. Rat. Tonight my calling will be realized yet again. Tonight I hunt rat.

The Old Man and the Sea.

2006-05-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

My version of Ernest Hemingway's story will be titled: "The Scrapman and the Car". I guess I discovered the limits of my receiver hitch. The weight of the car being loaded onto the trailer tore the rivets and weld from the plate on my bumper. Fortunately this little tragedy happened while still in the yard and not out on highway 30.
Richard just happened to have another bumper in stock. He usually has about 2 or 3 of anything you might need for a 6.2. He also has an impressive inventory of parts and pieces for the following: Volkswagen cars, most makes and models of riding lawn mowers, 1950-1970 Russian Military vehicles, Massey Ferguson/Harrison tractors, and landing gear for earlier Space Shuttles. Lately, however, he has been specializing in fashionable eyewear.

So my truck is back online now and ready for upcoming scrap missions. There was a lot of beating and hammering involved to make the new bumper conform to installation standards, so I was cursing myself for all the caked on mud and dirt from past wheeling excursions that landed in my eyes, ears, mouth and hair while crawling around under the truck.

Muskrat Stew a-Brew

2006-04-21T07:03:00.000-07:00

The dogs had rustled up a fair sized muskrat outback the crick last week. But the buggers done hid it but good and wouldn’t let on where it was. They slipped up yesterday and I caught them both guilty, taking turns rolling in it full out in the barn yard with all the world watching. With the dogs all perfumed up and satisfied for a bit, I managed to trick them out of their catch by offering them up the swill pot from the kitchen clippings and left-overs.

Mister, I didn't realize it at the time, but the dogs had done a good thing by hidin' that old muskrat: they'd aged him just proper; he was real bloated, tender and swelled up just right for the cookin’. I had me a might bit of trouble rustlin’ up a muskrat sized pot for the cookin’ of it. We even went to the trouble of emptying out the crawdaddy traps down the same crick from where that muskrat come to add to the pot-had us a real seafood stew brewing! Goddamn but if that old Muskrat twernt just in the perfect tender state and did it ever make such a great tasting stew after-all. Some things, I guess, are better with a little age to 'em. I actually layed off on givin' the dogs their bedtime kick that night.

Michael Bougon

2006-04-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

These five weeks of unemployment have been a real eye opener. Emma is now more connected with me because I actually get to spend time with her and not just show up at 6pm and sit on the couch in a bad mood for 20 minutes before she goes to bed. I figure if Annie and I have 12 more kids over the next 20 years than I only have to work for 10 of those years. However, my new career ambition is to be unemployed as much as possible for the rest of my life, screw the master's degree. Not having to go to some idiot job is wonderful, also collecting all my money that I have been paying all my life to U.I. is very satisfying. And this is not a matter of being a lazy arse because I have been putting in 12 hour days doing a variety of farm related duties. As well I have been saving money on travel expenses and razors. I have also not felt the need to drink as much since I am actually enjoying my days and not trying to forget about them through a brown haze. Last week I had to go to a union meeting and became immediatly nauseated while being exposed to the redundant bullshit. I felt dirty and wanted to get a flu-shot afterwards. Just call me Michael Bougon from now on.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

2006-04-21T05:43:00.000-07:00

Wouldn't this be a cool Dukes episode? Here's how the episode guide would read: Moonshine sales are slow, so Uncle Jesse thinks it's high time to let Bo and Luke in on the old family tradition of scrap metal runnin'. With Boss Hogg and Roscoe hot on their tails, the boys and the General are racing against time and the famous outlaw Metal Pickin' Gang in an attempt to clean up Hazzard of old cars and washing machines. Hold onto your seat folks as sparks are flyin' from the git-go (and the quick-cut saw) during this fast-paced, banjo-pickin' scrap metal packed episode!

Producers Note: This episode was loosely based on a time in my life when I was runnin' scrap metal and hunting muskrat in order to support my family during a time of unemployment.

Baby Bottles

2006-04-11T08:37:00.000-07:00

Another Good One.

2006-03-16T14:36:00.000-08:00

TEN REASONS MEN PERFER GUNS OVER WOMEN

#10. You can trade an old 44 for a new 22.
#9. You can keep one gun at home and have another for when you're on the road.
#8. If you admire a friend's gun and tell him so, he will probably let you try it out a few times.
#7. Your primary gun doesn't mind if you keep another gun for a backup.
#6. Your gun will stay with you even if you run out of ammo.
#5. A gun doesn't take up a lot of closet space.
#4. Guns function normally every day of the month.
#3. A gun doesn't ask , "Do these new grips make me look fat?"
#2. A gun doesn't mind if you go to sleep after you use it.

And the number one reason a gun is favored over a woman....
>#1. YOU CAN BUY A SILENCER FOR A GUN

Skunk Hunt 2006

2006-03-14T08:50:00.000-08:00

Ain’t nothing like a good ol’ fashion skunk hunt to bring the good folks of a community together. Ian has had a few formal complaints filed against him at work due to the skunk scent about his person. Last year he went on a house coat and rubber boot wearing shooting spree and successfully eliminated the former skunk family that had moved into the house with him and the cats. The 2006 family edition of skunks that currently occupies the house have proven to be a little more crafty and subsequently harder to eliminate despite Ian’s midnight underwear ambushes. So Ian put out the word that there was to transpire a good ol’ fashion official skunk hunt. Now I’ve been huntin’ rat for a while so I figured my skills would be easily transferred to a skunk operation. I’d also had my own encounters with skunks lately that ended in a fair amount of successful gunfire, but I’d never been on an official skunk hunt and I thought it sounded kind of exciting.

Ian set the time for 8:00pm. I got dressed up in my rat hunting outfit, grabbed my favourite settin’ pail (not to be confused with the shit bucket) and set out expecting a long cold night of sitting in the dark waiting for a clean shot. But when I pulled into the yard there appeared to be somewhat of a hoe-down taking place in Ian’s garage; however, most of the party go-ers were stumbling around with guns. Oh, everyone certainly had skunk hunting on the mind - there was a lot of talk about shooting, blasting and assasination - the problem was the little innocent sippy cups of “skunk huntin’ juice” that everyone was runnin’. I was immediately encouraged by Grover to partake of the juice; he then zigzagged over to the work bench that had been converted into a bar, and stirred me up a mighty powerful concoction of Jack Daniel's, Jim Beam, Jamaican rum and some of Chrissy’s sword fighting swill. And judging by Grover’s zigging, zagging, degeneration of language skills, and attire I’d figured he’d been on this particular skunk hunt for quite some time already. If he was in the movie Apocolypse Now, he would be considered “far from the river”.

Luckily, Richard showed up in the plow truck and joined in to help us. He also had some good advice saying that it was okay to be drinking the juice because we might all freeze to death otherwise.

Just about then, some of us closer to the door thought we heard the skunk coming, so Ian fired off a couple shots towards the noise for good measure. It turned out that it wasn’t the skunk at all, but rather a couple of queer cowboys from Boakback Mountain. I’m thinking the one wearing the bigger hat was from Fudgepack mountain though, because he had that kind of queerer than thou look in his baby-blue eyes.

Them little cups sure did sneak up on you and it didn’t take long before I thought it might be pretty hard to hunt skunk properly or safely with a rifle. I guess the rest of the posse was feeling the same way because we all started coming up with big ideas on how to either gas, blow, smoke, blast, poison, dig, electrocute, chase, or bomb the skunks out of their hole. I must admit-despite their handicap-them gay fellers come up with a good idea on how to make a grenade affair out of tinfoil, flour and some diesel fuel.

But in the end it was decided that the safest thing would be for Mark or Grover to go fetch one of their little dogs and we’d send it down into the crawl space to ferret out them bastardly skunks. I’m not sure what happened next, but all hell broke lose. I know that I was feeling cold and kept yelling to have my sippy cup filled; Chrissy was snapping way too many pictures of them gay fellas and that seemed to rile them; Ian was running some kind of lawnmower and yelling a lot; and Grover and Mark were setting up a contest to see which of their dogs was going to be sent after the skunks. Then the cowboys was affected by the drink too, I guess, and went from being the more innocent lispy-talking, 'Will and Grace' type girly gays to your more aggressive ass-grabbing, table dancing variety. They were also showing nude pictures of themselves to everyone. I’d had enough at that point because guns were starting to go off, so I went to sleep in my truck. Also I’m not into that gay cowboy shit even though them people in Hollywood are saying that gay cowboys are cool and okay nowadays and let them win all kinds of academy awards.

A while later I woke up to some kind of altercation and was a little concerned when I saw the gay cowboys stuff a limp Grover into the back of their car and drive off giggling. I didn’t take action because I know them fellers can be pretty tough. Grover hasn’t been heard from since the gay abduction, however I did receive a picture of him through email, in which he resembled an Iraqi kidnap victim.

After all that hunting, the skunks are still at large; Ian, his house, and cats still stink.

Plan B, I guess, will have to be devised.

My Vacation in the South (of Quebec)

2006-03-08T13:22:00.000-08:00

During my Spring Break I was buffeted by 60km winds and -25 Celsius temps. I froze my brains and arse. Nothing like vacationing in the south. Here are some pictures I took while laying in a good split of maple for next winter.

Timber hook on elm. Don't worry the elm was an Ice Storm casualty and half dead from Dutch Elm disease. There was a smaller elm in its shade which was struggling for light before I removed this one.

Look how white the sand is!! You won't find that anywhere else in the world.

I admit I can be such a pansy sometimes taking these "froo froo" shots. This tree looked cool though as I looked up while sipping my tea (or taking a piss, I can't remember).

Annie is happy that my new boots match the colour of my saw. Before I was making a big fashion "faut pas" with my black boots. I might mention that I am now wearing JT Sport; just about ready for the red carpet with such a designer name.

Mister you are like a conqueror when you run this thing in the bush. Nothing can stop you. This is Annie's father's winch. Operating the winch is Annie's official job. She wants me to buy her one for her birthday now. Really she is a girl of expensive taste considering I bought her a New Holland hay bailer last year.

Four afternoons; six cords home. Haven't slept that good in a while.

Evidence of the Ice Storm of 98 is still everywhere.

Pansy shot again. It was a really nice Southern sunset though.

Home. A well deserved first beer of many after that last day in the bush. Shitty joined me by the fire and curled up on my lap. Both dogs were tired from the day in the bush too, and snored away on the floor beside me.

Couldn't Resist This One

2006-03-08T06:43:00.000-08:00

Sitting together on a train and travelling through the Canadian Rockies
were an American guy, a Canadian guy, an elderly little Greek lady, and a young blonde girl with enormous breasts.
The train goes into a dark tunnel and a few seconds later there is the
sound of a loud slap. When the train emerges from the tunnel, the American has a bright red hand print on his cheek. No one speaks.
The old Greek lady thinks: The American guy must have groped the blonde in
the dark and she slapps his cheek. The blonde girl thinks: That American
guy must have tried to grope me in the dark, but missed and fondled the old
lady and she slapped his cheek.
The American thinks: The Canadian guy must have groped the blonde in the
dark. She tried to slap him but missed and got me instead.
The Canadian thinks: I can't wait for another tunnel, just so I can smack the American again.
Now THAT'S Canadian!!!

Binky on My Space

2006-03-07T07:11:00.000-08:00

Looks like Binky has put his-self on the market for a woman who can tolerate the smell of skunk.
http://www.myspace.com/the_real_binky
Imagine how the scenario will unfold when he hooks up with his first....victim? He picks her up in a rather normal looking car, he's a rather normal looking fellow. They say their howdy-doo's and go back to Manor Binky to further the relationship. They pull in the yard, everything is still pretty normal looking from the outside of the house. As soon as she steps out of the car a half dozen stray cats scurry off in different directions. Ian escorts Lady X into the house. More cats. These ones are friendly and skunk scented though. Lady X's eyes grow big and round as she begins to absorb the interior design, furniture and accessories. She is especially wary of the shackle and chain hanging from the ceiling. She begins to feel woozy from the fumes coming off the kerosene heater. Ian excuses himself and walks through a partition of 2X4's to go to the bathroom; of course Lady X can see everything that happens in the bathroom due to the lack of wall(s).

Here are some questions that I imagine she might have for her newly met man:
Why does it smell like skunk in here?
What is that carcass cooking in the oven?
Why is there 5 cases of large caliber ammunition on the kitchen table?
How many guns do you own and why are they all within reach?
Why is there a motorcycle in your living room?
Have you ever been arrested?
What is that scratching noise coming from under the floor?
Are there any bodies buried on your property?
Can I go home now?

As she poses these questions, Ian starts cursing, loading a rifle and begins to blast through an open window at a herd of cattle that have unfortunately come too close to his perimeter. Lady X makes a hasty exit through the back door, she's running for cover as the din of semi-automatic gunfire continues and begins to mingle with Ian's curses about mad cow disease and something about cow-patties and his new lawn mower. She is looking for a hiding place as she encounters Cousin Grover just finishing up in the Fisher Price Shit House (TM); he's wearing a Happy Bear Housecoat and a rainbow coloured 4 foot long tuque on his head. Lady X probably will delete The Real Binky from her "Friend" list.

Soon To Come...

2006-03-06T12:51:00.000-08:00

Been too busy. That's my excuse for not posting. Still lots of stuff happening though. I'll be reporting on a good old fashioned skunk hunt that happened at Ian's house. Also got some great vacation pictures to show everybody. Grover found a bad beer this weekend; it's cool how he can smile so quickly after extreme purging.

My Home Town

2006-01-04T18:35:00.001-08:00

Welcome to the quaint little village known as St. Chrysostome. Approximately 50 kilometers south-west of Montreal this primarily french speaking, charming village lies in the middle of a picturesque corn field.
Employment opportunities are quite plentiful, ranging from the service industry to many types of legal agriculture or illegal horticulture. However, approximately 50% of the villagers can't be bothered to work and instead choose the Bougons lifestyle and have government money directly deposited into their bank accounts so they won't miss a minute of satellite tv.
St. Chrysostome is quite famous for its collection of five star restaurants; that is, the twenty-three village restaurants combined equals five stars. Yum, yum poutine, pizza and chest-hair.
A fact that resonates quite proudly with the St. Chrysostome populace is that despite being a small village Labbatt brewing company sells more products here than anywhere else in Quebec. Labbatt in turn rewards this local alcoholic hedonism by offering beer to the residents at less than whole sale cost. In fact, a case of 24 Bud, Blue or Bud Light costs less than a case of spring water. Therefore, children are encouraged to start drinking at an early age for economic reasons.
People look funny here, look at you funny and talk funny; all adding to the charm.
On a more bizarre note, this village is often referred to by outsiders as St. Chromosome-ostome. This term pokes fun at the rumour that some residents have an extra chromosome or are missing several to many chromosomes. Local folk-lore states that rampant inbreeding is the cause of this chromosome issue; while some village elders suggest that the village's many illegal garbage dumps contain PCB's and spent uranium rods. I tend to believe the inbreeding theory as the St. Chrysostome phone book only contains five last names.

Only in St. Chrysostome will you find a depanneur that proudly displays a sign featuring a piece of drunk-bacon, drinking a beer with cholesterol clogged arteries (the Ice Storm of '98 knocked the cigarette out of his mouth). On the one hand this little bacon man appeals to the heathen in me saying "the hell with everything come on in, get drunk, eat 3 pounds of grillade, smoke your lungs out and be dead by sundown". However, a person with the smallest shred of moral decency will be quite upset with the message this sign is sending.

Not including the Catholic church, Mr. Drunk Bacon is perched at the highest point in the village professing the townspeoples' pride. I blame my penchant for the drink on the blatant, non-subliminal message this sign has been sending me all of my natural life. Here I am yet again helplessly buying another case of beer. How come nobody ever did anything about the evil nature of this sign?

More Homeless than Homeless

2005-12-29T11:15:00.000-08:00

You know that homeless guy in St. Chrysostome? He's now a star on homlessnation.org. Take a look at the link below.

http://homelessnation.org/en/user/174

NOT QUITE RIGHT!!

2005-12-22T11:30:00.000-08:00

I came across this sight last weekend. Two questions sprang to mind right off: Why? and How?

Done Freed It.

2005-12-22T11:01:00.000-08:00

It took half a day to free the Pooper. Then it stayed sick in the garage for a couple of days. Yet still the diagnosis remains uncertain. So far no go.

Don't Feel So Bad

2005-12-19T07:27:00.000-08:00

My Pooper incident pales in comparison.

Few Words Necessary

2005-12-08T09:46:00.000-08:00

Oh Shit!! - Really that pretty much sums it up. A quick trip to collect the garbage cans by the road soon devolved into this little development. The ice really did seem solid enough at the onset of the excursion, but as evidenced by the pictures it turned out to be the non-proverbial "thin ice" that I've heard so much about. Annie is well beyond asking "why" anymore, she just reminded me that the temperature had been at or above zero the past couple of days.

And yet again another rescue attempt. In the end the truck was beyond extraction and in fact the tractor almost succumbed to the same icy grave. After a good hour setting by the woodstove and partaking of a little cough medicine I called Richard and relayed the recent events to him. We discussed Plan B of Operation Extraction which will be the use of the boom on his back hoe. Richard never, ever seems annoyed, surprised or bothered about such situations. This probably has to do with his history of ending up in similar circumstances and the subsequent family effort to correct the situation. Some of my earliest (and fondest) childhood memories involve Richard rolling a loader over on its side, Richard and Big Stevie being upside down in a VW Beetle, Richard in the ditch at the Doedes' Farm and on Sylvain's hill, and the time when my mother, Mark and I had three tractors hooked in sled dog fashion to the Army truck-sunk up to the gunnels in mud-trying to pull Richard out of the unholy depths of an impassable swamp. Either Richard realizes that shit happens or he cannot hold anything against me because of his contribution to my genetic make-up.
I will update the blog with details from the recovery effort which is to take place this weekend.

Luminescent Splendor

2005-12-05T09:34:00.000-08:00

An unparalleled brilliance is how I would describe the array of lights that garnishes the newly installed rack on my truck. NASA contacted me regarding the use of my lights; they said that the Hubble space telescope had mistaken my truck for a binary star system during the weekend and that I should inform them if I am to be using the lights for prolonged periods at night.
In fact, the lights are so bright Ian said he could see his bones when I surprised him with a late night sneak attack.

The Binary Star System 6.2

Take note of the two back-em up lights and the LED brake lights. My truck has never left me on the side of the road. It was the transport truck for the rock band FREE BEER. It launched the Bang Bus (TM) and has taken me on many off road adventures. There is something very comforting and reassuring about the rumble of the diesel engine. The paint isn't perfect and it's a little banged up, but that's okay because I'm not afraid to use it for working.

2005-12-02T09:43:00.000-08:00

Bad Monkey

No I'm not vain, I had to put this picture up again and assign it a URL so that it would appear in my profile.

Grover Circa 1992ish

2005-12-01T09:09:00.000-08:00

Ahhh the good old days. I believe this is the night that Mark and I dragged The Grover(TM) down the driveway by his ankles because after a date with Jack Daniels he'd lost the ability to propel hisself effectively. We deposited him in his room that night and collected him the next day for work with the same happy grin on his face.

News

2005-11-30T13:22:00.000-08:00

There has been a lull in recent activities and subsequent postings for the following reasons:
- I've been installing some fancy lights on my truck.
- Ian has a pet hemorrhoid(s) that is slowing him down considerably.
- Mark is renovating.
- Stevie is involved in some kind of road kill collection operation this weekend. I believe cat is on the menu.
- Ian had some kind of collision involving 4 motor vehicles at work; I believe legal proceedings are pending.
- Ian has been flushing, washing, and splashing in the tub round the clock since he now has the luxury of running water, he often refuses to come outside.

I imagine that there will be some events unfolding as we head into the holiday season. Meanwhile here is a picture of me as a South Park character.

The Big Dig!!

2005-11-17T09:07:00.000-08:00

Quite an operation to get water into Manor Binky. Richard was really the only one working and we didn't even get any pictures of him. By the time I'd arrived everyone involved in the project had injested the better part of a case of Bud, and were having coordination issues. Bad Monkey took over Drunken Jack Hammer operation from Stevie and Ian. Chrissy was just placing golf balls here and there, he also cleaned his car.

Bad Monkey operating the Drunken Jack-Hammer

Ian took on more of a supervisory role. He also needed a fair amount of beer to limber up as he had to get quite contorted to fit his-self down the little shit hole to chisel out the cement. I believe if we ever end up in prison we will probably be able to break out after all the fancy chiseling and rock breaking we did this past weekend.

Bad Whisky in the Jar-O

2005-11-07T10:03:00.000-08:00

There weren't no cake, hats or balloons at Keith's birthday party this weekend. But I did find myself guzzling Crown Royal like cherry kool aid along with my brother all night long. Around midnight my higher level brain functioning short circuited and whatever small part of my brain that was still firing told me that the best thing to do would be to get in my truck and go home. I have no recollection of the short ride, however I was greeted at the back door of my house by my wife and my mother, my mother had been babysitting and was just about to leave when I had arrived. I tried to stumble and stagger as straight as possible; I thought I'd fooled them, but then my mother started squawking about blown livers, brain damage and all sorts of other pestilence caused by drinking. I somehow managed the stairs and wrastled my clothes off my body, I knocked a lot of stuff over in the bedroom during the disrobing process; the baby started crying and I hit the bed like cow shit falling on cement: flop! Some time later I awoke-still drunker than hell-and knew that a lot of something was soon going to violently leave my body somehow. I careened down the stairs and crash landed in the kitchen, I remember a lot of stuff getting knocked down again and tripping over tables, chairs and dogs. I aimed for the bathroom door and made it. Then up come the supper: a whisky flavoured ham sammich. I tried scooping it up and giving it to the dogs, but couldn't find my way out of the bathroom. There was more violent heaving and I got fairly covered by it. I managed to operate the shower and again was like cow shit and flopped my drunken self into the tub. I was quite proud of my resourcefulness as I could then puke and get cleaned up all at the same time. Things were looking good until the drain got plugged from all the puke accumulation. The tub kept filling and I kept puking, soon I found myself in a rather chunky puke soup. I sort of gave up and passed out. It didn't take long for the hot water tank to empty, the cold water allowed me to wake up enough to slither out of the tub, still covered by puke soup. I toweled off sort of. I woke up the next day and felt a little groggy. I couldn't find my truck right off. It was parked in between my barns kind of nudged up against a tractor. My brother called me and related that he had a quite similar experience. He also doesn't remember the road home, and he too had been awakened with a certain urgency and wasn't sure if his stomach contents were going to take a north or south route out of him. He decided to sit on the toilet and lean over the bathtub, but he had balancing issues during this precarious maneuver so he just flopped entirely into the tub and used it as a catch all basin no matter which end it was leaving him. We concluded that the whisky must've been bad since if made both of us sick. Sorry, no pictures as I was only able to partially control gross motor functioning.
In an unrelated event, when leaving the party Mark witnessed Kevin scrapping his shoes in the dirt like a chicken scratching for grain. However, Kevin and his two passengers had stepped in a huge, offensive, sour pile of human shit and Kevin was cursing cousin Grover as he was trying to remove it. I think Cousin Grover was blamed for the defecation because he had been complaining of a sore belly and had the poofies all night. I tend to believe it was Mathiew as he is able to shit on command, doesn't feel the need to wipe, and has a lengthy history of shitting on, at, in, under, around, through, beside, and on top of all manner and sorts of targets. Mathiew uses shitting for a variety of reasons other than elimination. Primarily he shits as a kind of ritual scent marking, to prove a point or give more meaning to a point, or just to say hello by reminding you he's been there. I'm sure the mystery shitter will soon be revealed, however my money is on Matt's ass.

Cousin Grover

2005-10-28T13:38:00.000-07:00

Grover gets excited over little things; I once witnessed him in a dairy barn, fascinated by the moving cowshit as the gutter cleaner was working. He would encourage the moving shit and shout: "yay!" and clap and bounce up and down as the contents of the gutter past him by. If Grover was an animal he would be a cockroach crossed with a rat; he is a survivor in every sense of the word. He spent his youth in an isolated, mountainous region of Vermont. He was left to his own devices to raise himself and procure food. I remember visiting him as a child and being shocked at the life he had to live. When we were all under 12 years old, my family went to visit Grover's family in Vermont (my father and Grover's father are brothers). We arrived early one morning and were set loose in the bush. Grover was rooting through the shed and gathering lengths of rope and some pieces of plywood, his parents didn't really notice what he was doing. He then quickly disappeared into the woods, and with a sense of urgency beckoned that my brother and I follow. We walked down a creek for a mile and came to a small pond; Grover's older brother Chrissy had been on a crayfish hunt and become lodged up to the waist in thick, quick-sand like mud. He was gently weeping when we reached him, he had a crawdad in each hand that he would not give up seeing as it was supper. Grover placed the plywood on the mud and walked out to his brother, he then roped Chrissy and extracted his frail body. Chrissy and Grover lived almost exclusively on a diet of crayfish, trout, ritz crackers, bird eggs and various tabocco products (Grover started smoking when he was in grade 2). Many times when food was scarce, Grover got through it by licking a salt-shaker. My brother and I were unaccustomed to such a lifestyle; my mother used to cut up our steak and put sugar on our cereal until we were finished high school.
When Grover growed up he lived in some kind of apartment in Montreal. The only food he had there was a huge bail of dry soup mix that he shared with the mice. His only heat source for the winter was the clothes dryer. I didn't visit him much when he was living there.
In his early twenties Grover was hit by a car and thrown 25 feet. He almost died, but the rat in him wouldn't allow it. His knee and a few of the less important vertebrae in his neck were broken. His bones make audible creaking and crunching noises when he moves now.
Grover recently went crazy due an abnormal amount of personal problems and stress. He was officially diagnosed by a nut doctor; it was accute adjustment disorder or something like that. He had to be heavily medicated for a few months. During this time of treatement he refered to himself as TDI (The Drooling Idiot) because one of his pills had that exact effect on him. Quite interestingly Grover's car is also a TDI Jetta. Grover went to my parents farm to convalesce. His self-prescribed therapy included playing in the mud with sticks, eating jello, kicking dogs and yelling at imagined enemies. Grover also staved off glaucoma for the rest of his life during this hiatis. Grover's behaviour hasn't really changed all that much since he went nutty; I notice that he buzzes, chirps and twitches a little more than usual, but apart from that he is pretty much the same.
Grover is a self professed minimalist when it comes to personal hygeine. He has an awful fear of soap and water and has been known to go for many, many moons without engaging in any kind of warshing.

Some highlights of Grover's life include:
- Getting raped by a tornadoe while tree planting in BC.
- Living with my brother in the back of a pickup for an entire summer.
- Loving two cousins at once.

Little known facts about the Grover:
- Grover dumpster dives to feed himself when necessary.
- Road kill examination and catalogueing is one of his hobbies.
- Grover laughs to the point of tears at the dead people in every cemetary he sees.
- During his employment at Parc Safari Grover could not keep up to the ladies who desired to bed him.
- Grover kicks any living thing that is smaller than him and laughs.
- Grover almost died when he was force fed a bottle of Jim Beam through a road cone when he was passed out on the floor.
- Grover suffered 3rd degree burns when he fell asleep on a woodstove by accident.
- Grover regularly collects and mails his toenail clippings to certain colleagues, friends and institutions.

Grover still has a taste for wild bird eggs that lingers from his youth.

Grover's prefered method of warsh time is to get the dirt scraped off his foul hide with an ice scraper. No soap. No water. He says it feels tickly.

Never mind Shit Creek we were up Shit Heap.

2005-10-27T06:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend Cousin Grover, Binky and I found ourselves not up the proverbial "shit creek", but rather quite literally up "shit heap". After two dislodging missions and three attempts we conquered the shit pile with a lot of jostling and bouncing. As we continued on our fence repair operation in the North Pasture, Cousin Grover and I reflected on the fact that we didn't quite have our priority list in good order since we had moments ago found ourselves knee deep in a mixture of cow, horse, chicken, dog, and even some human shit (I empty my shit bucket there). Often times our priority list is skewed as we have been on the proverbial shit heap many-a-time.
Pictured is Binky-operating the Trooper, Bad Monkey-operating the rescue tractor, Cousin Grover-coordinating.

Binky's Eye

2005-10-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

This weekend Binky and Grover went for a little march through the woods and Binky took a branch in the eye. He damaged some eyeball parts badly. He thought that it would get better over night, but he awoke to one of his cats licking puss from the corner of his wounded eye. The eye looked kind of red, funny and not very eye-like so Grover took him to the E.R. at Ormstown hospital, however they only had a student vet on duty so they went to the big city. We will see the outcome of this soon.

More on The Binky

2005-10-24T09:09:00.000-07:00

Here is a look into Manor Binky. Ian actually put clothes on for this picture. Here he appears defending his home with his SKS Chinese assault rifle complete with big shiskabob jabber. Take note of the missing ceiling tiles and Ian's favourite happy bear house coat.

Here is the bathroom/kitchen/laundry room. It is apparent that Ian prefers the open concept.

Cousin Grover is seen in the Fisher Price Shit House(TM) cranking some bean and cabbage fueled combo into the doomed shit bucket. In fact the stench was so powerful that no one could use the waiting area as evidenced by the empty chairs.

My Friend Binky

2005-10-20T09:09:00.000-07:00

This is my friend Ian. Most people call him Binky. Ian does a lot of off-roading, he crashes a lot; he has had intimate contact with many of the larger trees in South Western Quebec. Ian answers his door mostly naked with a high powered rifle in hand, "just in case" he says. Ian has had an ongoing battle with a family of skunks that have taken up residency under his house. Neighbours are frightened of witnessing him during his midnight rifle weilding rantings, clad in nothing more than rubber boots. Ian "moved" out of the city a couple years ago before he hurt someone, as he put it. I think there were also a few restraining orders involved in his decision to relocate. Ian now has adopted a primitive lifestyle in the country; in his house there is only partial plumbing, but that doesn't matter because there is no water source at this time. For purposes of elimination, Ian has a five gallon pail installed in a fisher-price play house in his back yard; this is something else the neighbours talk about. Ian's house is also missing a few walls, some of the floors and most of the downstairs ceiling. He sleeps on a pile of fiberglass upstairs. His playstation and TV work.

Bloggers

2005-10-13T13:37:00.000-07:00

I hate most bloggers. Most of them are self absorbed assholes. I don't know if I can blog anymore as I feel like vomiting every time I read most blogs and I don't know if I can associate myself with this sorry bunch. For example check out this little pansy's blog.

http://dohiyimir.typepad.com/

Redneck Country

2005-10-12T07:02:00.000-07:00

You know you're living in Redneck country when your neighbour shows up at your house and after all the formal 'how de do's, you notice he has a rifle strapped to his back.
"What's the rifle for?" says I to him.
"Oh that, ya my bull got loose and I can't catch the bastard. He's on your land and I'm gonna have to shoot and bleed him over here," says the kind neighbour.
"Alright," no problem. "Do you need some help?" I inquire.
"No that's okay my kids are back from school," he says.
"Okay then," I say and return to my supper.
Moments later as I'm eating my tomatoe salad there is the distinct sound of a rifle retort and I look out the back window to see a huge Black Angus go down on his knees. The Kindly Neighbour bends down close as if to console the dying beast, but I catch a quick, hard move and realize that he just cut the juggular vein to bleed the animal. Now the kneeling bull falls over on his right side and his huge heart unknowingly pumps out his life's blood.
Kindly Neighbour yells and a minute later a small convoy driven by young children arrives. The convoy consists of a tractor equiped with forks, a pickup and a four wheeler. The twelve year old on the four wheeler seemed to be in charge of the removal operation, and never stepping off his machine, with a few hand movements and a few sharp yells to his counterpart on the tractor had the carcass loaded into the truck in under two minutes. Then with very little fan fare the convoy rolled off my property to the sound of barking dogs.
Now before passing judgement from your higher moral ground and writing silly comments, know this: if you have ever eaten any kind of meat in your life then you are just as guilty of pulling the trigger yourself. However most people are deluded because styrofoam and plastic wrap seems a much less sinister package than the box of a pickup truck.

The Bad Monkey

2005-10-11T08:54:00.000-07:00

Accept no immitations-I am the real Bad Monkey. I have a very complete and thorough Resume of "badness" that is available upon request. I would describe myself as an Often Drunken Hillbilly Redneck Extraordinaire. I get pissed off easily and hate most everything. I don't do much, mainly just hang out with my brother Mark, good old Cousin Grover and friend Binky; they are the circus act that I playfully refer to as my friends. They also have a lot of problems which I will focus on when I publish their profiles. This blog will be about our adventures, rantings and other unrelated verbal diarrhea. More later.