The Sister always liked Chocolate Bunnies from Hell, not for the music but for the name. But this one is almost psychic. The only way it could be closer is “The Borderline Homicidal Spaceship” and all we’d play would be punk versions of Ennio Morriccone tunes.
Your Punk Band Name Is… |
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Well, at least my sunglasses have personality. In fact, they have more than many of the people I’ve dealt with this week. This one is dead-on. It’s scary.
What Your Sunglasses Say About You |
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You are larger than life and very sexy. You need to be shaded from people who are dull and ordinary. You feel sunniest when you’re around fabulous, exciting people |
Um, yeah. Oooooh yeah.
You Are a Fist |
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Your greatest wish is to have a life of passion and excitement. And while you don’t want to die young, you rather take risks than stay home and be afraid. You are inspired and inspiring. You live each day like it’s your last. |
Rock? Lobster
Canadians from Port Alberni to the Bay of Fundy have been riveted by the tale of Big Dee Dee, a rare LOUS or Lobster of Unusual Size.
Indeed, at a strapping ten kilos and old enough to vote in human elections, Big Dee Dee was unquestionably the king (or queen…I didn’t look that closely, I must admit) of the ocean floor. Until s/he was caught, that is. Caught and put up for auction like a common slave. The biggest bid came from a mysteriously nameless Ontario organization and is this the right time (yes, yes it is) to tell you that my father used to make a pretty penny back in the Seventies shuttling semi-comatose lobsters from the Maritimes to Toronto on condition he not look inside more than the top case, as the coke and pot were packed in between lobsters on the lower levels.
Seafood, particularly live seafood, confuses the dogs’s noses, you see. That’s why every time you see mixed seafood on sale at T&T you can bet that Hastings is going to be wild that night; they can take a bath on the price of the seafood, as it is incidental to the profitability of the actual cargo.
Mysteriously nameless Ontario organization, but we can be pretty sure it wasn’t the Boy Scouts offering a cool five thousand for the meaty crustacean. And, indeed, they would have had their wanton way with Dee Dee, had it not been for Vancouverite and vegetarian Laura-Leah Shaw and her two anonymous Eastern backers, who made a counteroffer of $3000 and hella publicity. It looked as if the lobster were saved, that Dee Dee would once again crawl and flit in the turbid, reversable waters of The Bay of Fundy.
But it was not to be.
t’s bittersweet news for Big Dee-Dee, a 10-kilogram lobster, as the creature has avoided a butter bath on a dinner plate, but won’t be heading back to the ocean anytime soon after all.
Instead, Big Dee-Dee is destined for a coastal New Brunswick marine facility…
Breau said on Sunday that he’s decided he’ll instead be giving the lobster to the Huntsman Marine Science Centre in St. Andrews.
“I thought about it for quite a few hours but I thought it’s best for business to do it like this,” Breau said. “No bitter feelings.”
Au contraire. To those faceless, nameless Ontarians, it leaves a distinctly sour aftertaste. I hope that’s one fisherman who doesn’t end up swimming with the fishes.
Well, I’ve never been one to dip a toe in when I could plunge over the cliff taking an entire bus with me instead.
So…Facebook.
MistressCowfish suggested I start a group, because after Friending people, Grouping is teh hawtness on Facebook, which sounds to my elderly ears like a rave gotten completely out of control, but whatever.
I have Grouped.
If you’re on Facebook, you’ll find me at The Deadbeat Club (cue Metro‘s bitter humour…).
Inspired by glorious deadbeats throughout history such as the authors of Frugal Indulgents, Dorothy Parker, Oscar Wilde, Quentin Crisp, Vincent Van Gogh, and that guy … you know … that guy whose name I can’t remember, who destroyed his priceless collections and then killed himself rather than let the collection fall into Ceasar’s hands. See, if Boris would join the group he could tell us who that was.
Yes, surely in a Deadbeat Club there’s some room for rich, sore losers. Especially if they’re buying.
Ladies, Gentlemen, and the Undecided, please raise your glasses, mugs, or sippy cups to our anthem:
The Deadbeat Club by The B 52’s
I was good, I could talk A mile a minute, On this caffeine buzz I was on We were really hummin' We would talk every day for hours We belong to the deadbeat club Anyway we can, We're gonna find something We'll dance in the garden In torn sheets in the rain We're the deadbeat club We're the deadbeat club Going down to Allen's for A twenty-five cent beer And the jukebox playing real loud, "Ninety-six tears" We're wild girls walkin' down the street Wild girls and boys going out for a big time Let's go crash that party down In Normaltown tonight Then we'll go skinny-dippin' In the moonlight We're wild girls walkin' down the street Wild girls and boys going out for a big time Anyway we can We're gonna find something We'll dance in the garden In torn sheets in the rain Chorus Oh no! Here they come The members of the deadbeat club
raincoaster 