Cunning Linguist

The other day, a really hot chick told me that she honestly didn't know the difference between an adverb and a noun.
"It's simple," I told her. "An adverb modifies a verb and usually ends in 'ly' like 'happily' whereas a noun might be a subject predicated by a verb, such as 'family'." I hope it's all clear now.
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Some of the best people...

You don't have to know me very well to know that I am pretty melodramatic...with good cause. The story of my life is surely an interesting one with extreme highs and equally extreme lows. I was at a pretty low point emotionally in my early twenties. One night, in a stupor of loneliness, I decided to go and see my sister Barb at a roadhouse called O'Toole's where she was working as a bartender. I popped in, said "hello" and was headed for the door when her near-perfect sense of empathy prompted her to stop me. She insisted I pull up a seat at the bar and keep her company. This was clearly a gesture of generosity as she was in no need of me keeping her company with her regular customers surrounding the bar. She would serve them drinks as they ordered them and then promptly return to my end of the bar to chat and continue feeding me drinks on her tab. Barb has always been a knockout which I'm sure was much appreciated eye-candy to her regulars and obviously she normally spent more time chatting with them because as she went to the other end of the bar to serve one guy, he indignantly questioned her.
"Who's the punk at the other end of the bar that's getting all your attention tonight?" I didn't even flinch; I was emotionally in no place to give a rat's ass what some middle-aged bar regular thought about me, and without looking up, I continued nursing my current drink. Then something happened that surprised me. Barb had no idea that I was absorbing every word of this conversation and I was amazed to hear her response.
"Be careful what you say. That 'punk' has got more intelligence in his little finger than you and I put together. And don't talk about my brother that way." Then she walked away to continue her social time with me, much at the expense, I'm sure, of any tip he might have been planning to leave. To this day, Barb probably still doesn't know that I heard what she said. It is one of those memories to which I regularly return when I am in need of a little emotional reassurance. Sisters are some of the best people. Remember that.
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Alex is a dog!

Alex and I were at a rehearsal for Hamlet. Each of the actors had been asked to lead the warm-ups with some sort of new activity or exercise. Normally I make it a habit of showing up late and skipping the warm-up activity because I don't do the 'love-your-castmate-hold-hands-like-a-faggot-group-cooperation' activities very well. Nevertheless, I was present for this one. It was Alex's turn. It is important to note that most of the large cast was female. Alex very casually instructed everyone to stand in a circle and shake their arms out. I could see a twinkle in his eye so I decided to put out my cigarette and go stand next to him. He then instructed everyone to close their eyes and to stretch their arms out in front of them. Keeping eyes closed, he then told everyone to stretch their arms back and try to touch their elbows behind their back. He and I were the only two with our eyes still open and he flashed me a sly grin. There is nothing quite so glorious as a room full of oblivious, scantily-clad women standing in a circle with their eyes closed and their bosoms pushed out towards you like an offering to the gods. After several quiet minutes, each of the ladies slowly opened their eyes to find Alex and I standing with eyes wide open and large grins enjoying the view. Like I said, Alex is a dog! I love you man.
See you in hell.
Shakes.

SooooooSmoooooth!

Why is it every time I hit on this girl, she falls asleep? Oh yeah, baby. I've got the moves. I am sooooooooo smooth!
P.S. Amelia is the most beautiful girl you will ever meet!

Patry+McConnell+James+Wedding=DEBAUCHERY

Where do I begin? So my cousin Shannon makes the bewildering decision to enter into the life-sucking bonds of marriage and my estranged Uncle Patrick sees fit to actually include me on the guest list. Of course that high honour didn't come free. I was asked to bring a bartender and to be prepared to DJ if the one they had hired bailed.
It was quite a scene. All of the McConnell's, Patry's and MisCampbell's were there (with obvious absences, god bless). That type of attendance has not happened in years! Tha gang's all here! So, I'm quite enjoying myself. James is comfortable and happy behind the bar; Amelia is socializing with the ladies and trying to impress my mother; I have some time to spend with Matt and long-missed family members. After having enjoyed a wide variety of alcoholic beverages and extra-curricular pharmaceuticals, I was feeling NO pain! I could barely feel my legs! Of course that was when Bruce the MC approached me and asked me to give a speech. I actually managed to pull off a fairly eloquent distilling of humour and content to end by welcoming Jason to the family. Later, Jason would approach me and say, "Hey, thanks a lot." Of course, being the ultimate Patry ambassador, I looked at him in a condescending way and said, "And you are...?" to which he responded, "I'm Jason.....the groom!"
"Ooooooh! Oh! Hey! Welcome to the family." He was pretty gracious about the whole thing.
Grampa Stan tripped the light fantastic with every girl in the house at least once. I think he took a liking to Amelia. Easy tiger!
The next morning as I was driving with Uncle Derrick and Uncle Mike back to the hall to help clean up (which I never did), an obviously still drunk Derrick was full of energy. When I asked him what time it was, he loudly and abruptly responded with, "Who stole my fuckin' watch!?!" He spent the rest of the morning looking for it. He found it in his pocket. And that's just the tip of the iceberg - I'm sure everyone has a tale to tell. I miss you all!
See you in hell,
Shakes.

Adult Toothpaste

Back when Rory was about 5-years-old and I was still with my ex-wife, I remember an evening when I was in the living room with her and we were in the process of putting Rory to bed. He has always been fairly independent so after he had put on his pajamas, I sent him to the bathroom to brush his teeth. After about 15 minutes, my ex and I agreed that too much time had gone past...and it was far too quiet. Off I went to check on the boy. Now it is important to be aware that we had regularly provided him with the popular childhood amenities of the new millenium including designer toothpaste for children, often in bubble-gum flavours, and Disney-covered tubes. Rory had been indoctrinated from a young age not to touch the adult amenities in the bathroom, but he was typically curious. I found him standing in the doorway of the bathroom with a guilty and uncomfortable look on his face. He sheepishly looked up at me and said, "Daddy, I don't like this adult toothpaste" and he held up my tube of Ben-Gay. Ouch! I was still wiping tears of laughter away as I called the poison control hotline. The woman on the other end also burst into laughter and spluttered through giggles.
"No....no...he'll be fine. He'd have to eat like three full tubes of the stuff before it could be hazardous........but I bet his gums are tingly and warm....hahahahah." Then she hung up.

See you in hell,
Shakes.

Tough love via spelling.

My Dad has been a mainstay of understanding and support in the very colourful history of my life. His wisdom and financial support have saved me from an otherwise unpleasant past. Nevertheless, his generosity has had limits. I remember being in dire straits for cash (yet again) and having to contact Dad for another handout. I was so sheepish about it that I didn't even have the courage to call so I sent him an e-mail. (Ahhh, the cowardly advent of technology) It read something like this...
"Dear Dad.
Once again I am finding myself unable to make ends meet. As you know I have been trying very hard to keep my fledgling family afloat. Unfortunately, I am not able to make my bills again this month and I am facing eviction. You are the only one I have to turn to. Please send a check for whatever you can to help as soon as possible. Thanks again.
Dave."
His response came back as follows.
"You spelled 'cheque' wrong. You've been living in the United States too long.
-Dad."
He never did send any money. I came home.
See you in hell.
Shakes.

People who wear cowboy hats

People who wear cowboy hats but live in the city are idiots. Pointing out your loyalty to the institution of country music is like saying you're the smartest kid in the remedial class. The only thing worse than country music is country music fans. Men who wear a moustache and no other facial hair probably think it's cool to wear a cowboy hat in the city. Get a clue.
See you in hell.
Shakes.

Beware the Babysitter!

I met Alex during a production of Hamlet. He was playing the lead and I was playing Guildenstern. A lot of the text had been dramatically manipulated to create original love triangles and his character and mine had been opposed as jealous enemies. He and I, however, became fast friends.
During one early morning rehearsal, well before the play opened, I was feeling distracted and disoriented. The director asked me what was wrong and without really measuring my response, I honestly blurted, "Last night I slept with my babysitter and I'm not sure how I feel about that." Of course, this conjured images in everyone's mind of some pigtailed 15-year old, which was NOT the case.
About half way through the run of our production, I noticed that Amelia had come to see it. Her and I had been dating (fairly) steadily for a couple of months at this point. After the play, I was at the bathroom counter with Alex, washing my face over the sink. He was standing next to me preening in some way.
"Dude, did you see the blonde in the front row?"
"Uhh, yeah."
"Man, she's hot."
"Yeah."
"She made eye contact with me right in the middle of my 'to be or not to be' speech. I was so distracted that I screwed up my speech. Did you hear it?"
"Ha-ha. Uh, no. I missed that."
"Man, I'd love to fu....."
I abruptly lifted my head from washing.
"ALEX, ALEX...That's the babysitter!"
"Whoa. You mean you're . . . . "
"Yes, Alex. That's my girlfriend. She wasn't looking at you; she was looking at me!"
"Fuckin' Dave."
He later told me that he was going to put an "I saw you" ad in Monday magazine to see if he could hook up with her. Sorry, my brother. Been there, done that, and she ain't available. Rumours about the babysitter, however, continued to abound but eventually people understood.

See you in hell,
Shakes.

BBQ Fear!

So my Dad came to visit us a few weeks back and the whole family went on an awesome camping trip up to French Beach. This story is a short, irrelevant life-blurb that was just plain sweet. Before we left for French Beach, we had a couple of days at the house to get ready. One warm evening we were having a BBQ and Dad was out next to it minding the kids. He had picked up Milo in one arm (on the side of him closest to the BBQ) and was leaning down to try and pick up Cainan in the other. As I peeked out the front door, I could see Milo lowering towards the hot BBQ as Dad leaned down to get Cainan. Milo was, of course, not in any danger, but in the sweetest little Milo voice, he looked down at the ever-nearing open BBQ and announced, "Don't put me in there!"

Your favourite part of a horse's body isn't what you're thinking.!

Blair, Milo and Cainan are going on a field trip to "Madame's" farm today (Blair believes that Madame is actually her first name) to see their horses. The buzz amongst them in the van this morning was all about horses. For the record, I'm terrified of horses but managed to ride one once when an old friend gave me enough courage to actually mount. (Do you know who you are?) and I think I sat on one with Barb once (she's 'big sis' for those in the dark). Anyways, Milo and Cainan were talking about the horse's 'feet' when Blair interrupted in a very precocious and teacher-like voice instructing them that horses don't have feet, they have "trit-trots" on the bottom of their legs which are hard and that's why they walk funny. Ami and I were going to correct him when I thought his word was far cooler and cuter than "hooves" and the linguistics of reality will crush his youthful spirit soon enough in life, so I'm just going to let it go. Much like me, Blair is terrified of nearly everything and he has a very gentle spirit so this interest in horses may be a breakthrough. For the record, he knows what G-A-P spells now. Alas!

See you in hell,

Shakes.

Why was I even in Mexico?

So I'm driving down the main strip in semi-beautiful Acapulco on a hot, sunny November afternoon desperately trying to locate my hotel named Las Torres Gemelas, which translates to "The Twin Towers". Exasperated, I decide to try out my limited Spanish skills on one of the locals. A young gentleman, wearing a white tank top and a red bandana around his head, pulls up next to me at the red light in a monster car and I very politely say, "Disculpa, donde esta Las Torres Gemelas?" and with an incredulous look of disbelief, he responds (insert bad Mexican accent here), "Las Torres Gemelas? De Tween Towerrss! DOOOOOOD! Dey fell down!" and then he drove away. I found my hotel on the next block on the ocean. It was two giant towers - go figure! This picture is of me in the lobby. Wow, I'm getting really fat! Time to work out.

See you in hell,
Shakes.

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!! Officially a senior!

My Friggin' Picture

This Picture was taken at an invitation-only dinner for the mentally handicapped. I'm just about to try my moves on the super-hot chick next to me (I think she was dyslexic or something) but, alas, she had fallen into a deep slumber. I left without killing anyone.

This picture is of myself disguised in my secret job as an international super-spy. Here you see me taking international criminal Roria von Eberwitz into custody - AT LAST!


















Here I am at a late-night pagan goat slaughtering, wearing my traditional animal sacrifice attire: a lady's cardigan and eyeglasses. I'm smiling with amusement because I had just taught that sweet little boy that the letters G-A-P on his sweater spelled out the words "Kill Whitey!"









See you in hell.
Shakes.

First Entry

Well I found myself in a tribal village deep in the heart of the Kalahari in a native brothel, really, and I had just finished having sex with a particularly large, musty African woman who knew how to use the folds of her flesh in all the ways of pleasure, if you catch my meaning, when the strangest of things occurs. Who should emerge from the room just next to me, but old Alex, and he promptly announces, "Well, that's that. I'm off to Ireland!"
See you in hell!
Shakes.