Nobel Lauriets in Literature Can Be Real Dicks, Sometimes

"All the world's a hospital. You can be a patient, or a nurse."
- T.S Eliot

"Or you could be a volunteer. There are lots of volunteers at hospitals."
- Jimmy Kayak

"Shut up, Kayak."
- T. S Eliot

"I'm just saying...you could be a volun-"
- Jimmy Kayak

"Are you still talking? Because I'm pretty sure I said shut up."
- T.S Eliot

"Fine, asshole! Oh...and by the way. Even with the Christian parallels, 'The Chronicles of Narnia' still smacks of the latent sexism and racism of the 1950's, which makes it less relevant for our current generation."
- Jimmy Kayak

"So fuck you!"
- Jimmy Kayak

"'The Chronicles of Narnia' were written by C.S Lewis. I'm T.S Eliot."
- T.S Eliot




"Oh."
- Jimmy Kayak

"Holy shit. You're fuckin' DUMB!"
- T.S Eliot

When Cheese Gets Its Picture Taken, What Does It Say?

I've begun worshiping the sun for a number of reasons. First of all, unlike some other gods I could mention, I can see the sun. It's there for me every day. And the things it brings me are quite apparent all the time: heat, light, food, a lovely day. There's no mystery, no one asks for money, I don't have to dress up, and there's no boring pageantry. And interestingly enough, I have found that the prayers I offer to the sun and the prayers I formerly offered to "God" are all answered at about the same 50-percent rate.

- George Carlin

(1937 to 2008)

Well, George, I guess you've swallowed enough saliva. Rest in Peace. And may the forces of evil become confused on the way to your house.

Jim Out.

FUCK!

Last night I went out walking, and I bought some new running shoes.
Then I returned a couple of movies.
After that, I bought a case of beer.
I took the beer back to my apartment, and proceeded to put it in the fridge.
But I dropped a couple of bottles on the floor.
They shattered.
Beer was everywhere!
My cat thought we were under attack, and bravely ran into the bedroom,
where she valiantly cowered under the bed.
And I yelled:

"FUCK!"

It was a truley magnificent "FUCK!".
It was so loud, and so sharp, and so authorative.
I barely recognized myself as I hollered it.
I felt like I was giving birth to a God.
Seriously...it was that good.
It was a holy "FUCK!".
Of all the things I have ever said in my life,
this "FUCK!" dwarfed them all.

That "FUCK!" just might have been my masterpiece.

And as I mopped up the beer with an old t-shirt,
and swept all the glass off the floor,
I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad
that the "FUCK!" was over.

I wish that there was an audience there
to appreciate my magnificent "FUCK!"
But it was just me
And also my cat
who was stoically hiding
under my bed.

Something Very Special

I'm going to share something with you that is very special.

It's my very favorite poem. It's called "Bluebird" and it's by Charles Bukowski.

It's the most special poem I know. When I die, please read it at my funeral.

Enough pre-amble. Here it is.

* * *

Bluebird

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whisky on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

There's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?

There's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little,
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Inner Monologue While Riding the 505 Dundas Streetcar

The little kid who cheered and pumped her fist in the air when the streetcar finally showed up totally made it worth the ½ hour wait.

My ipod was bumped.
It was not on hold.
I love the Flaming Lips, but I don’t want to hear “When Y’er 22” again.
I’m not even 22!
I’m 33!

I’ve hit the Jesus age.
I wonder what Jesus would be like, if he were alive today.
I bet he’d be really cool.
Bono would probably want to be his friend.
And then lots of other people would want to hang out with him.
Because he could get them into U2 concerts for free.
Everyone would be really pumped about seeing U2.
So they wouldn’t really listen to Jesus.
Except for maybe 12 to 15 people.
Who would be real friends of his.
So he wouldn’t be totally lonely.
Also, he’d have a wicked cool girlfriend.

Some people might think that’s sacrilegious.
But I don’t.
And it’s my inner-monologue.
So if you don’t like it…stop reading.

Okay…where was I?

Jesus.
I bet Jesus would sacrifice his life in some noble way.
Again.
That’s just how he rolls.
And then U2 would write a song about him.
And everybody would act like they knew him, when he was alive.
But most of them really didn’t.
So they’d make up all sorts of shit about him.
And act like they totally got him…but they really didn’t.
Again.

Poor Jesus.

A super cute girl just got on the streetcar.
I’m not going to try to talk to her, or anything.
I’m simply observing that she is a girl.
Who is super cute.

.
.
.
.
.

I had to stop writing for a while.
There was a guy sitting beside me.
I don’t like writing when there’s somebody beside me.
I should have taken a single seat.
But I’d probably have to give it up to an old or pregnant person.
Streetcar writing can only ever happen in spurts.
That’s part of its charm.

Here comes Trinity Bellwoods Park.
I run through it, on my way to work, sometimes.
One time I actually saw the albino squirrel.
But nobody believes me.

Today I’m getting off at Dundas & Spadina.
The south west corner.
There is a busker there who always makes me feel guilty.
He has no arms or legs, and he plays a synthesizer.
I feel guilty, because he always makes me think of the following joke:

“What do you call a man with no arms and no legs, playing a synthesizer?”

That's mean.
It’s also frustrating.
Because I haven’t been able to think up a good punch line.
So far the best one I’ve come up with is “Clef”.

The super cute girl just got off the streetcar.

I’m at the school, now, with the statue of the mountain gorilla.
I bet a million drunk people have humped that statue, doggy style.
And I bet every single drunk person thought they were being original.
…sigh…

Almost there.
I love China Town.
Everytime I'm there I feel like a total stranger to everyone else.
I won’t be a stranger to everyone, today, though.
Because I’m meeting a friend there.

I just saw the drunkest man I’ve ever seen.
That’s saying a lot.
I’ve seen/been a lot of drunk people in my time.

Almost there!

Time to pull the dinger!

Ding!

Hey Clef!