Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Monday, March 07, 2005 Bits and Pieces

Two weekends ago, I decided to take a trip down to Toronto. I used to live there, but four years ago I jumped head first into the beast. I moved to Ottawa and joined the army. During the week I wore dashing red uniforms and catered to the Elite of the world, and on weekends I'd be out shivering in a ditch in -40c weather lugging around a machine gun. See, Im a reservist soldier, which basically means general purpose civil servant. I've done honour Guards for just about every major political figure in the world, and a few entertainment people as well. Once I slammed a car door on Burton Cummings (Guess Who?) mothers leg after he recieved a Performing Arts Award. If she had the motivation to close her own god-damned door it wouldnt have happened would it??? Regardless, I dont like my work very much, but it gives me the oppertunities to do alot of other things.

For example, Toronto. Whenever I visit there are any number of grungy bars I frequent. You can tell the sign of a good shitty bar if everyone looks at you as you walk in the door, and then get hustled as soon as you sit down. First stop was the all night dinner. Generally a 20's something hangout, but its a decent place because the pitchers are 7 bucks, the computer has 1400 music files and the atmosphere is decent. Problem though. Zombies. I was about to crack. There was a table of Zombies sitting at the table directly next to the computer. Which meant that my hopes of finding a few hours away from the world of commercial radio were being shattered.

My plan was coming together after 3 hours of EMENEMs greatest hits. My ears were bleeding and I was getting twitchy. The only thing I find more obnoxious than music that has no message other than "being a pimp is the highest calling you could achieve", are 18 year old suburban white kids that purpetuate it. "Thug Life" as the epitamy of urban cool. A visual message sitting at that table of zombies. Forcing the idea into the brains of everyone in the room whether we liked it or not. The Solution then presented itself. With my pupils dialating in opposite directions and my mind reeling from yet another song about the plight of urban Detroit, I walked over and in my best english, invited myself to add some songs to the play list.

Nothing will clear a room of self obsorbed zombies faster than a Pogues song played at top volume while a table full of drunks scream in bad Irish accents as if Irish was some sort of vector borne disease spreading throughout the room. Im not irish, and neither are any of my friends, but as I said in a previous post. There is a great beauty to Culture Shock.

The Zombies left, we put on some real music, drank more and headed downtown.
Another shitty bar. And in my mood once more I decided to make life interesting. The "New Bar" was nearly empty. two old drunks at the bar itself and a table full of crack heads opposite, Me and a friend of mine. I was bored so I decided to buy the bar a round. This is something everyone should do once in their lives atleast. I've done it a few times now, and I always regret it the next day. But I did it this time for a very specific reason. Sometimes its fun to whack the bee hive just to see what happens.

Crackheads: When a crackhead is recovering they are only concerned with trying not to think about crack. When a crackhead is doing what comes natural, their only concern is finding it. Either way they are really amusing, so long as you are willing to risk personal harm by talking to them.
The Beauty of buying crackheads beer is that it frees up their income for crack. Which can be a hilarious experience to watch.

So after recieving my thanks from the oldies at the bar I sat down with the crackheads. 3 of them. The one beside me had a huge messy scar where he was shot in the throat. It must have clipped his spinal cord because he was slow and laboured when he spoke. The women sat diagonally across from me, and screamed when she spoke, next to her was her boyfriend who didnt like me from the second I sat down.

The night was a mix of learning about various aspects of homelessness, life in prison and the alternate meaning of the word goof. This was all mixed together with them periodically leaving the table for 15 minutes, and coming back with smiles on their face and their clothes smelling like chemical-shit. More Zombies.

Buying more beer, and them getting more fucked up and aggressive. Then out of no where, the women leans across the table and yells: "For 6 hundred bucks I'll let you fuck my boyfriend in the ass!"

This, is what happens when you play with fire.

I had to seriously restrain myself from laughing. I had turned down her flirtation before, and she didnt react well. I guess this is what she came up with. They had obviously discussed this outside. I looked across the table and her boyfriend hung his head and starred at the ground. After trying to explain that they'd gotten the wrong idea, she lowered the price to 300. I was not going to be able to solve this, So I moved away from the table and took the beer with me. 20 minutes later two of them got into a fist fight. One of them was thrown into a table and they were told to leave.

Wierd how people react. When I had first bought the beer I had to go through ten minutes of questioning my motives for buying random strangers beer. After that the table of crackheads still doubted my motives. I guess if you live a life of violence and crime you doubt any sort of random act. The wierdest thing is that I could think of enough people that for 3 hundred dollars would fuck that guy in the ass and even more people that would pay 300 dollars to watch it happen. In the zombie apocalypse any horrifying thing is possible and it doesnt help if by some wierd twist of fate that you are a vortex for wierd and strange things. Murphy's Law has been the guiding force in my life since I pissed off that Gypsy in Spain, but I'll explain that later.

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