NUNT Command Centre
About Mingus Tourette
Links & Props
Mission Statement

Nunt: The Book
Publishing Details

Tourette's In Progress

Daily Mingus Archive
July 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 03 2005
September 19 2005
September 05 2005
August 22 2005
July 25 2005
July 11 2005
July 04 2005
June 27 2005
June 20 2005
June 13 2005
June 06 2005
May 23 2005
May 16 2005
May 09 2005
May 02 2005
April 25 2005
April 18 2005
April 11 2005
April 04 2005
March 28 2005
March 21 2005
March 14 2005
March 07 2005
February 28 2005
February 21 2005
February 14 2005
February 07 2005
January 31 2005
January 24 2005
January 17 2005
January 10 2005
January 03 2005
December 27 2004
December 20 2004
December 13 2004
December 06 2004
November 29 2004
November 22 2004
November 15 2004
November 08 2004
November 07 2004
October 04 2004
September 27 2004
September 20 2004
September 13 2004
September 06 2004
August 30 2004
August 23 2004
August 16 2004
August 09 2004
August 02 2004
July 26 2004
July 19 2004
July 12 2004
July 05 2004
June 21 2004
June 07 2004
May 31 2004
May 24 2004
May 17 2004
May 10 2004
May 03 2004
April 26 2004
April 19 2004
April 12 2004
April 05 2004
March 29 2004
March 22 2004
March 15 2004
March 08 2004
March 01 2004
February 23 2004
February 16 2004
February 09 2004
February 02 2004
January 26 2004
January 19 2004
January 12 2004
January 05 2004

November 15th - 21st, 2004
November 19th, 2004
Ice on the River

With Christmas quickly approaching, and everyone else's marketing machines firing on twelve cylinders, Zygote and Tourette decided that enough mourning had been committed, and that it was time to return to their halycon roots.


In a long conversation over slow gin fizzes, the publisher brought up a recent article in the McGill Tribune, which refered to Mingus' site by saying, "For more of Tourette's writing, visit his cult success The Daily Mingus, an online serial, at"

And there it was. Cult success. The two of them shrugged and giggled a bit.

Any success was, of course, due in great part to the strange and wonderful readers who read Tourette's bullshit every morning before cracking open photoshop and designing their little hearts out. Strange, wonderful readers who loved the tales of debauchery, sadness, self-immolation and regular shitheadery that graced the pages of Tourette's serial.

Tourette and the publisher discussed why any success had been achieved at all, as they had aimed consistantly at spectacular failure as their end goal, and were well on their way to achieving it. The answer seemed simple. Sex, violence and the laugh track.

And so, they decided that maybe they weren't licked yet, that there were still some contests to be had, institutions to torture, and by god, if there was one thing they could do to shed the surly bonds of earthly failure, it would be to ruin Christmas for everybody.

So get ready to settle in by the yule tide fire as we prepare one last drunken quest for glory starting next week. Photos, contests, videos, radio recordings, open letters to the Vatican, new religions, online communities, and more tales of Chloe, Colette, the accountant, Ronnie's RealDoll and the Return of the Buddha.


The Daily Mingus. Bringing you the Worst, 'cause the Best wasn't good enough.

November 18th, 2004
Excerpt: Fuel of the Prophets

...after an ascetic period, Tourette made the decision to whole-heartedly examine his roots and to start drinking far more seriously. After long forays into beer, red wine, sambuca, rum, gin, absinthe and most of the anisette family, it was decided that Mingus should either settle down with scotch, some heavily tannic red wine or tequila.

To decide, he followed in the footsteps of the prophet Yuriko and made his pilgrimage to the northern forests. He spent a night in the back of the ambulance near the shores of Lake Wabasca with a bottle of the liquor trinity, and a copy of Malcolm Lowry's Under The Volcano. After exactly two-hundred and six pages, the answer became firm and clear. Colonialist empires would always receive their dues, their agents would be shot down like dogs and left to rot in the ditches beside the bodies of curs, and if there was one liquor worth marrying, it was mescal.

And so, under the yellow light of the moon, Tourette stood quickly and renounced the tannic beast and the salon-shine of the peat. After pouring out the remnants of the two cast-offs, he knelt gently at the heel of the old Spanish empire and chanted aloud. It was at that point that he knew that the fuel of the new religion would be liquid, it would be golden and it would give him just the salient rage he would need while burning churches on the plains. And months later, it would give him the name...

-from "Out of Nowhere Comes Your Messiah: A neo-Post-Colonial-Modern Investigation of the Rise of the Fer-Agave Church and her Founder Mingus Tourette"

November 17th, 2004
Minor Cribbage

An account of the time Mingus went to the poetry reading, had a few gin and tonics came home read some of Tento's journal, pulled two previously unfound haiku out of the text and felt compelled to match up with two of his own.

dark blue mornings
concrete skylines
the howl of terns

lamp lined alleyways
in the far reaches of Montreal
upside down maps

wandering Catholics
with their godless handbags
prayer accessories

percolating fetus
mothers without heads - singing
for executioners

November 16th, 2004
Cabbage Day

It was a crisp November morning, the sky just blooming, when Mingus, beset as he was by immense personal and financial problems of his own making, decided to strictly refer to himself henceforth in the third person, thereby enforcing a layer of non-reality between himself and that which he did not want to recognize.

After making this decision, he put on his pants and his long grey underwear and his plaid and walked out into the streets. He was hoping to catch Gander at his door, before he got dressed. And when he arrived, Gander was indeed on the enclosed porch reading his paper, smoking and roasting his feet over an electric heater.

"I've decided to retire," said Mingus. "This writing thing is not what it was cracked up to be. It is rotten and tastes like cabbage. What good comes out of it?"

"Step off it," said Gander. "It pays my bills and heats this porch."

"You're a typist," said Mingus. "You might as well be flipping wood down at the mill."

"And you're ignorant in the early light," said Gander.

"I am," said Mingus. "And I should be sorry, but I'm not."

"Well," said Gander. "Whatever it is, it can always be worse."

"I suppose. I could be sick," said Mingus.

"Or I could be sick and you could not know what to say," said Gander.

"True. That is always worse. When someone's friend dies, and I have nothing to say. And worse, no book to give that will bring some comfort."

" Or we could both be dead," said Gander. " I always give Basho."

"But we wouldn't know it," said Mingus. "Basho. Why didn't I think of that?"

"I don't know," said Gander. "It's as holy a book for pagans like you that I can think of, and I mean that in the simple non-believer way. A good text to start a non-religion."

Mingus scratched his ass, his hand digging into the long underwear.

"I have Tento's work. He fills the role of the prophet, too," said Mingus. "I think this is what is next. A religion. "

"You'll have to do some writing for that," said Gander.

And he laughed through the smoke.

"It can always be worse," said Gander. "You could have no desires. You can still plough the verdant field?"

"I took a bleeding philistine three days past," said Mingus.

"And why else would anyone start a religion," said Gander.

"Precisely," said Mingus. "Maybe..."

"There," said Gander. " It is. It can always be worse. You could be unable to plough the verdant field. Or worse, you could have no hope for days to come. "

The heater creaked and glowed red under his feet.

"And what happens on that day, when I have no more hope?" said Mingus.

"Then it can't get any worse."

And after that, Gander flipped up his paper and continued to read. Mingus did not say anything for a long time. After awhile, he wrote in his notebook, a few lines, and then helped himself to a cigarette. He and Gander sat there on the porch and read the paper together and did not speak until it was time to leave for work.

November 15th, 2004
Our Own Demockery

After several months of making fun of Americans and their fucked up elections, it's time we Albertans get serious about our own democratic process. Cause really, thirty-three years of the same government in power is fucking ridiculous. Some kingdoms don't last that long. I understand that we live in a province that has a high level of cash flow due to a fifty dollar barrel of oil, but is that really a solid reason to re-elect a premier who:

a. is an admitted drunk
b. yells at homeless people
c. makes fun of retards
d. storms out of national meetings on health care to go gambling
e. is a plagiarist

And so on. At fifty dollars a barrel, even a bunch of fuck-ups like myself, Gander, Sweaty Charles, Ronnie, Terrible John and Dick Castrati could run the province in a prosperous, even-keeled way. I don't dig how the government assumes re-election, and doesn't bother to cover it up. It's phenomenally arrogant, and insulting to voters.

Alberta Premier Ralph Klein pretty much promised voters a sleepwalk when he said he wasn't going to make promises or discuss health-care during his campaign and, with 10 days to go before the Nov. 22 election, the electorate appears to be struggling to stay awake.

While opposition parties have laid out detailed platforms with their visions for Alberta's future, Klein's Tories have yet to promise anything but good government in the most general terms. Political analysts say Klein's strategy appears to be along the lines of "the less said the better" as he coasts to what is expected to be another majority victory. - CTV

The NDP recently tried to coax some health-care plans out of the Conservatives by printing a "Health Care For Dummies" booklet for Klein.

The stunt was a reaction to Klein comments at the beginning of the 28-day provincial election campaign that health care reforms were too complicated to discuss prior to the Nov. 22 vote.

When the premier was pressed to reveal his plan for health care reform during last week's televised leaders debate, Klein maintained he doesn't have a plan to privatize health care.

"I don't know which is worse - a secret plan to privatize health care or no plan at all," Mason said Saturday.

He said he has no doubt that the premier does have a plan for cutting health care costs to government, but doesn't want to share it because Albertans won't like it. -

For those who ask, 'What's the Alternative?' as though there was none at all, I say, don't be a fucking idiot. Vote for the Alberta NDP or the Alberta Liberals. You do not HAVE to vote for the Conservative party. You don't. And though it might seem like there is no point to voting against the Conservatives, because they will probably win, there certainly is a point.

The best result in next week's vote would be a good scare for the Tories, one that costs them one or two dozen seats and unseats a handful of ministers.

The best result would be one that awakens them from their policy lethargy, one that shocks them from their arrogance and rattles them enough to take the government off autopilot and actually begin flying it again. - Lorne Gunter, Edmonton Journal

W hen hard-right wing pundit Lorne Gunter has come out guns-blazing to say that Ralph has got to go, it really must be time for a change. I don't normally like Lorne's perspective on things, but this is a hell of a good article. Read it.

And when you're done, give me one good reason to vote for Ralph Klein or the Conservative party in this upcoming election.

Myself, I live in the Strathcona riding where Raj 'Rage Against the Machine' Pannu is running. I will vote for him. I suggest that others across the province consider casting their ballots against the Conservatives because the government is simply too comfortable, and the general populace has been removed from the democratic process. Think I'm wrong? Check the numbers of seats from the last election.

Conservative: 74
Liberal: 7
NDP: 2
Total Number of Seats: 83

The Conservatives have 89% of the seats, which is as much as any government can have without being Stalin's Communist Party circa 1950. And the Conservatives have been running the show since 1971, which was before I was born. Think I'm wrong about voting for the NDP? Tell me why.

But What Happened Last Week? By God, Find Out Here!