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!
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August 2006