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August 2006

August 30th, 2006
3-Day Novel Writing on the TV

Well, that photo-essay was a blistering success. Onto philosophical ramblings and recalcitrant talk of writing. Yes.

Any of you plague ridden fucks got the cabrones to do the 3-Day Novel Contest? I see those crazy bastards at BookTelevision are actually going to broadcast it. And it looks like you can watch the profiles for the writers and vote for who you think will win. There's even a bloody trailer. Yeah, check it, discuss artistic merit, cultural relevance of the novel, insurgence of reality tv, the power of the documentary, etc.



August 29th, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy VI
Part Six of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay







August 24th, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy V
Part Five of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay








August 23rd, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy IV
Part Four of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay







August 18th, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy III
Part Three of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay







August 17th, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy II
Part Two of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay







August 16th, 2006
How to Burn your Brother's Manhood In Effigy
Part One of a Very Special Six Part Nunt PhotoEssay







August 9th, 2006
From the Moondog Files

The other day, Greg Santos, aka Moondoggy, was riding the bus in Montreal, and thought he spotted crazy ole Mingus Tourette. After awhile, he realized it wasn't me, but he wrote a poem about the moment. Later, figuring I might get a kick out of it, he sent it to me. And I did get a kick out of it. Because I'm still driving that fucking thing, and chances are—this weekend, I'll be sleeping in the back of it, doing exactly what he describes. Now, you too can enjoy.


Imposter

-For Mingus

Looking out the bus window
I swear I see
Mingus Tourette
walking on Mount Royal.

He is yawning,
bearing sharp incisors.
He's got the same bald head,
same made glare.

At a stop light
I get a closer look,
right away I am certain
I made a mistake.

The real Mingus,
probably thousands
of mile away in E-Ville,
sporting a gas mask,

locked up
in his pink ambulance,
spooning a shotgun
like a lover after a hot fuck.

-Greg Santos



August 1st, 2006
It's a Competition

I'm not sure which was the better performance this summer:

The Saturday night I dropped half a dozen post-midnight shots of Princess Patricia's dark rum at the small-town wedding, despite an already solid night of double Caesars, and passed out in the back seat of some mother's towncar as she tried to drive us home. She failed.

The Saturday night I mixed the gin, beer and dark rum with Strat House pickled eggs, before sharing an ill-fated version of Tone Loc's classic Funky Cold Medina with the Lorca-spouting Jadon Rempel in front of well-known members of E-Ville's mediocracy. Both Rempel and I blamed our lacklustre performances on the karaoke machine's small font. For some reason, we were having trouble reading.

Both nights are instant popcorn summer classics, what could be considered fine 'minor Tourette works'. Fun, flavourful, and memorable, they don't naturally challenge the stature of such legendary drunks as "The Shots of Sugared Vodka in the Snow Night" or "The Downward Roaring of Mingus Tourette and the Forty-Nine Beers". Still, admirable light-hearted romps.

If I had to pick a winner, I would probably have to tip my hat to the wedding night. Any time you pass out fully clothed in a pinstripe suit, it has that added element of glamour.






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