24 October 2016

What To Do With Scary Looking Clowns

I'm a gambler and I'm a runner
But you knew that when you laid down
I'm a picture of ugly stories
I'm a killer and I'm a clown

- Desperado by Alice Cooper

Are you fearful of like fucking near everything? If you are not you deserve to give yourself a pat on the back because you have every reason to be even if every reason you have to be afraid of something does not hold up real well to scrutiny.

Hell, even Canadians are afraid of a Donald Trump presidency even though Canada is a little down the hierarchy of things a TrumpAmerica would be interested in fucking with.

Besides that there is terrorists, environmentalists, drug fiends, climate change, earthquakes, forest fires, bicyclists, pit bulls, bikers, minorities, skateboarders, drunk drivers, the fucking police, street crazies, a million other fucking things and now, scariest of all possibly, people dressed up in nasty looking clown costumes.

Fear, in case you have not noticed, is something we have all been force fed since we screamed our way on to the planet. Fear paralyzes you at a time when your activity is more necessary than ever. Do not fucking buy it. We do not need that shit.

Fuck the clowns.

22 October 2016

A Few Words In Support of Roger Waters

Hope everyone noticed Roger Water's support for the movement building to financially pressure Israel into de-occupying Palestinian territory and ending the institutional racism it practices within its own borders. I would like to applaud my old Pink Floyd hero for doing so.

The movement is not anti-Semitic, nor am I. The movement is anti-fascist, as am I.

Fuck the occupation of Israel. Fuck nationalism. Everywhere. Give peace a chance, motherfuckers.

18 October 2016

Neighbour Cat Blues

I think Sonja is having a relationship with the neighbour cats. Today I asked her, "Do you let the fucking neighbour cats in the house to visit?"

"No! I would never let them in the house," Sonja assured me.

"You must feed them though," I further inquired.

"No, I don't. And since when did you turn fascist and become the anti-cat police?" Sonja asked of me.

Sonja is soft on animals. They probably have their own secret entrance to their own secret cat cafe I do not know about.

Just then one of the neighbour cats came on to our front grass. I knocked on the window and it freezed in its tracks. Sonja came to the window too.

"Ahh. Lookee there. It's Mr. Buttons," Sonja observed.

They looked at each other for a spell before Mr. Button, or whatever the fuck his name is, disappeared around the side of the house.

A minute later there was Mr. Button at the black door waiting to be let in like he had been let in a thousand times before. When I answered his pleas to be let in out of the rain he took off again faster than a head saw squares a pecker pole. Mr. Buttons does not see eye to eye with me like he does with Sonja.

"I think we better get some cat litter," I told Sonja.

"I don't let them in the house!" Sonja said repeating herself.

Bullshit she doesn't.

Fucking cats.

I better get another dog soon or I will be up to my armpits in them.

17 October 2016

Hallowe'en Movie Night In Steepleton

Watched "The Shining" with Sonja. First time we had done so since the long gone days we rented both the video and the machine to play it on from the family run neighbourhood video business we were once loyal customers of.

Every performance bright, if not nearly as unexpected, as a diamond from an American politician's mouth.

We have no need to watch any further Hallowe'en fare for the scariest show of them all will be on my television in early November.

15 October 2016

Let Out All the Prisoners Because That Is A Jubilee

The only thing like it is finding an overturned beer truck and its bubbly load spilled on the road, no police at the scene and not a siren within earshot. The power went out at the sawmill Friday afternoon.

My foreman immediately scurried off for a quick huddle with whiskery management. Even with the level of technology sawmill hands work along side with, our industry is still tied punk rock close to an age old equation - labour generates profit - when we are not working management smells money burning.

"Won't take the cheap cunts long to send us home," Old Charlie, the head sawyer told me, as he checked his watch impatiently.

Everyone was checking their fucking phones. Some of our wives, girlfriends and such had already been sent home from their work places. Our thoughts drifted, as they do, to the possibility of unscheduled afternoon sex.

Sure enough we were walking out the gate to our cars moments later. Every man smiling like a death row prisoner accidentally released.

I like the comfort of routine as much as the next fellow but that comfort does not half compare to the joy of chaos a decent windstorm brings.

Sonja was waiting in our own powerless house when I had snaked my way through the fallen trees home.

"There's no power in the pub but it is still on at the Jap place," she told me. We were soon there, at our favourite table, 600ml Asahi for me, red wine for my reason for living. Japanese music plinking its mindless mysteries from hidden speakers.

"No come long time," the owner's daughter commented with her wide as Nagasaki smile.

"Japanese has always been winter food for Beer and I," Sonja confirmed. "You will be seeing lots of us between now and the election campaign next year."

The owner's daughter nodded, understanding not a word, her understanding of English, like many Koreans, restricted to menu items and the brands of her favourite cosmetics.

After we had had a few and finished our meal we phoned a neighbour to see if the power was back up. It was not so we had a few more.

Eventually we heard the noise of a small tv coming from the kitchen and much giggling from cook, the owner and his daughter.

"What are you watching back there that is fucking funny," I asked when the daughter freshened our drinks yet again.

"Kim's Convenience," she told us. "About funny Korean family. You want watch?"

Next thing you know we were in the kitchen drinking with the Koreans watching two episodes of the CBC's newest series on their portable Korean television. The Koreans were at once embarrassed and happy to have shared the moment with us. Shots of Korean grapefruit whisky helped our tv party and our lack of a shared language along.

I know there are not many of us left who watch the CBC. You are missing out if you are not one of them.

12 October 2016

Coke Life v Coke Death

Had my first Coke "Life" today. Tastes a little different from Coke "Death", its predecessor. I like it. But I will not know if I really like until I mix it with some rye. That will happen a little closer to Christmas I expect.

11 October 2016

Who I Gave Thanks To This Year

Like many an old
Punk rocker before me
I am more beholden
To tradition than most.

Take Thanksgiving.

I have worked hard
In fucking sawmills
My whole life for every
Fucking thing in my life.

So again this year
I gave no thanks to God,
Or any-fucking-body.

10 October 2016

Glenn Gould, Waffles and Quebec Maple Syrup

Sunday morning I sometimes, not often, listen to classical music. This morning it was Glenn Gould playing Ludwig Van, Frank Liszt, Johann Bach and Joseph Haydn.

I listened from the kitchen where I was drinking my morning ration of sweet black speed and preparing scratch waffles.

Sonja listened from down the hall where she sipped strong, milky English tea. "Glenn Gould?" she asked unnecessarily.

Lou Reed had Delmore Schwartz. I have Glenn Gould.

We both had maple syrup on our waffles. From motherfucking Quebec. A Sunday decadence.

Could have bought a bottle of decent blended scotch for the same money. Ah, well. The maple syrup will last for much of winter and be just about as enjoyable.

9 October 2016

October Song

Missed the rain I have. The wind too.
Autumns in Dope City are the motherfuckin' best!

Makes a man glad he has a home.
If he has a home, that is.

Good to have a big television too.
Sonja chose "Rocknrolla" for us

To watch in the dark last night.
Best part of the show was Lou Reed's

"The Gun" when it came on
And we waltzed the rock minuet.

Today, as I made my way along
Streets wet as an Haitian mother' tears,

I sang along to the October song of air bags exploding.

5 October 2016


There are a couple additions to the DCFP's Fellow Motherfuckers sidebar I will here draw your attention to.

First up is Abbyy Lewis. She is a young writer with chronic fatigue syndrome. She is also from England but I have decided not to hold that against her. I like her style and hope she keeps writing for us for a good long time.

Second one is Tanis Miller. She used to be a young writer too and was formerly known as Redneck Mommy. She is from fucking Alberta. After taking a couple years off from blog writing she is back with her keen eye and rural sense of humour.

Besides those two there are over 40 other Fellow Motherfuckers over there to the right. Almost all them are active unless they are dead. Go read their shit.