Welcome to The Tribe.
Your Humble Ruler, Rajah Cheech Beldone, King of the Gypsies.

Friday, October 28, 2011

You fuckin guys just don't quit, do you???

I can't take my fuckin eyes off you little buggers for a fucking second, can I?
I guess one fucking Tribe birthday ain't enough
Call the fuckin sitter, we're going to be at for a while.
It's FURTHER the anniversary of the birth of our favourite Texan.
(Sorry, man, I tried to find a piccie of Jimmy Page with a fuckin candle sticking out of his head, but no dice, if you can believe it, anyways, just imagine these fuckers singin Happy Birthday to you, you know, with vodka and groupies)

Hoist one for our very own Marion Cobretti!!

Remember, kids, Crime is the Disease, but HE'S the cure.

All the best for a happy and memorable birthday from all of us in the Tribe, buddy.


Sretan Rođendan, kneginjica!

Finally, it's the Day.
Do join your commiserative yet transcendent Ruler in wishing the very Happiest of Birthdays to our very own beloved Spazazon.

(See what I did there, I got you one with all the good bits, but none of the bad parts...like, you know, the parts that talk)
So, come on and hoist a Slivoshitz or 9 to the sweetest, smartest, funniest, most adorable Goddess to ever not hold a quick downshirt against a guy, all woman, all lovin, all precious, 181 cm of pure sensual Roller Disco delight and female glory, my Best Fucking Friend, the one and only
Crown Princess of Croatia.
Hope it's the best ever, Mala.
Miss you and love you always,


Thursday, October 27, 2011

So there

I used to know this guy, actually we were sort of in-laws, we called him Boog.
Smartest guy I ever met, or one of them anyways.
Also one of the best pals I've ever had.
I was telling Count Helmut von Anteater about him a while ago.
He was one of those guys that had an early disappointment that kept him from achieving his lifelong dream, and then went on to just not really give a fuck.
He fuckin drove cab for a long time, sort of choosing the absolutely most dead ended thing he could find.
Anyways, he ended up, more by inertia than anything else, with this girl.
Naturally, she wasn't really built to keep up with him intellectually, and was totally outclassed in terms of his lack of ambition.
So, just to shut her up more than anything, since he was obviously going nowhere fast in his current sitch, he agreed to move out to Victoria with her.
I think she was from there.
Her plan was, I believe, that if they made a "fresh start", in a place where she had her family for support, that he would, you know, pull up his socks (as me sainted Ma would say), and they'd be able to do that thing commonly known as "make a life" for themselves.
And, at least, they'd be out of the insanely brutal Alberta fuckin winters.
Like I said, Boog's actual emotional investment in this deal was, to say the least, peripheral.
So they got there, and she got a job and they got a place and she started, you know, making plans.
You fuckin girls, you'll just never learn, will you?

So Boog, since real jobs were pretty scarce, and his resume was bereft of pretty much anything to recommend him for much except pushing a hack, did what many enterprising young Canookistanian men do in the face of a harping cohabitative FEmale, they take their still-strong back, their half a fuckin clue and this

And started doing contracting work.
You know, someone you know wants a deck built, you take it and by the time the gig's done 7 days later, between your friends telling their friends, and the neighbors seeing you working, you've got 3 or 4 more jobs lined up.
This guy needs a new sidewalk poured, and his sister wants her basement framed and drywalled, and the guy across the alley wants a new fence put up, and on it goes.
It's a pretty good deal, mostly it's under the table, the customer's happy because your price is way low because you got practically no overhead and you aren't claiming the income and you aren't filing the loathed and despised 7% GST, so everyone's happy.
It's a great Candidian tradition.
Heck, it's how I got the scratch together to get the fuck over here.
Also, as mentioned, Boog was in Victoria, where you can work outside all 12 months, so he was doing pretty good.
He was pretty personable when he could be arsed, and was a pretty exacting type of dude, so before long he had plenty steady work.
Naturally, the girl is starting to see, erm, well, whatever the Domestic Bliss equivalent of this

would be, I don't know, maybe, erm, lace curtains?

Anyways, as these things go far more often than most people would care to admit, the closer she thought they were getting to coming up with a down  payment on a little bla bla bla, the further away the Boog got from wanting the exact same thing.
Now, Boog, being a fairly self-reflective sort, really liked fishing.
And, of course, Victoria, being both a harbour town and the southern tip of an island, has great fishing, both river and ocean varieties.
So Boog was certainly not averse to booking for a few hours with a sixer and his rig and getting a little quality angling time in.
The thing was, as they went along, Boog was bookin to fish more and more and taking fewer and fewer jobs.
Of  course, being a fairly normal Canookislostanivakian male reared in the 60s and 70s, he was blisteringly non-confrontational, especially where chicks were concerned.

So anyways, things continued to deteriorate and their respective motivations continued to diverge, until one day she came home from work to see his tackle and gear sitting on the table and rightly assumed that he'd been out fishing all day instead of looking for work.
And she decided to have it out.
And so she did.
And she stood there and told him she was about fed up with being the only one who seemed to be really putting out in terms of building their life together, that if they were ever going to get out of that crappy basement suite, into a home of their own, in a nice neighborhood, and maybe even start thinking about maybe starting a family, that it was high time he grew up and starting assuming a little responsibility for himself, and didn't he think that it was kind of immature to be ditching work, especially when there they were, trying to work together to make a better life for themselves, and on top of everything else, instead of working, what did he think he was doing, going fucking  fishing???"

And when she finally finished, Boog looked up at her, looked her in the eye, and said

"Hey, I'm just trying to put food on the table"


Sorry, you're actually an idiot

So I'm having lunch yesterday with not one, not two, but THREE actual members of this here tribality.
In no particular order,


Pretty good time was had by all, even considering that not one of the bastards would buy into my dissertation on Max Planck's Equatorial Differential Theory of Geophysics.

Anyways, proving, as always, that no fucking horse is too dead to keep kicking, Werner fucking Turdzog is going on and on about how he shouldn't be blamed for not getting this one.
See, he contends that he made the completely forgivable mistake of thinking they go to see a matinee of a fucking movie.
In fact, he's never heard of matinees in the theatre.
In FACT, he doesn't even believe there ARE matinees in the theatre.

And then he rubbed his eye after handling the fresh-picked habaneros I had brought for him.

See, if you're trying to claim non-stupidity in your own defense, well...


Wednesday, October 26, 2011

This Week's Contest

So, I was talkin to Her Highness The Princess recently, and I remembered I had this one gag I ALWAYS wanted to use with her, but always forgot to.
I got a smoke and, hold on...one of those puffy Harbin-style onion cakes, the soda bread-y ones,  for the first one of yiz who gets this one.
OK, there's a wee bit of prior knowledge required, but most of them what don't know it are already ass-stupid tall equatorially proximal Yanks, so knowing it probably wouldn't help you anyways.

So it goes like this.
I see her, and I go

"Call me Ishmael"

Knock yourselves out.


Thursday, October 20, 2011

Yeah, it's them little fuckers you got to watch out for...

Oh yeah, I know what you're thinkin.
You're looking at that and you're all like, "Oh, he's so adorable" and "What a sweetheart" and all that fucking bushwah.

That's what the girls think.
BUT, them that knows, they look at that and a chill runs down they spine, they know them cute little bastards are the most dangerous.
You chicks look and all you see is a wee fella you'd love to pick up and cuddle baldheaded.
Me, I look and I see one of them squirrely psycho feckers, the ankle biters, the ones who'll bite off your ear and apply the business end of a fuckin pint glass to your fiz, the ones who'll blindside you with the fucking menu chalkboard when you aren't looking, and then when you try and deck the little SOB your fucking date starts fucking ranking you for picking on the little guy.

Leprechauns, my fat Hebrew ass.


Dodged THAT motherfucker, anyways

Tambourines and elephants
Were playing in the band

Shit, I thought I'd missed a VERY important birthday.
Fortunately, despite my shameless self-absorption, I misremembered the date.


Friday, October 14, 2011

The guy would probably crap himself

So I was taught to drive by two guys, Benny Kuntz and Wayne Dunn.
Not together, but each contributing like 50% of my vehicular operation knowledge.
Benny I knew from all-city choir, and Dunn from, ah, wait a minute...oh yeah, community theatre, oh shit, no, maybe church.
They were both like 3 or 4 years older than me, and it was kind of one of those deals where they were sort of doing the Big Brother thing, my old man had just died, and I didn't have anyone else to help me out.
Anyways, aside from both being really great guys (and wicked funny, too), they were both insanely patient, and taught me all kinds of really smart shit that I still use today.

I remember Benny telling me more than once to make sure I shoulder checked BEFORE a) changing lanes or even b) signaling to change lanes, because, as he said "...just signaling could be enough to freak someone out who's in the other lane, especially if it's a chick".
Sorry, you know it was the 70's.

Anyways, I was driving in to work this morning and for about the 20th time since I left the house, some fuckfaced shitheel with the brain of a goldfish and the values of a bacterium jammed it from my blind spot and sped through the 11-inch gap between me and the next vehicle.

And I suddenly thought, jeez, what would Benny have to say about that??


Yeah, this was kind of weird

I swear I'm not making this up.
As it turned out, many fucking moons ago, when I turned 29, I was in one of the very few isolated periods in my life in which I was single (Ha ha, you all thought I was going to say employed, neener neener).
And the fucking second I turned from 28 to 29

the weirdest fuckin thing happened.
Actually, I didn't have a cake like that on my birthday. In fact, if memory serves I was on my first ever vacation as an adult, and I was in Montreal.
Well, I was on vacation alone, but I did have dinner with a girl I knew. Oh yeah, this is kind of cool, she later went on to edit at least one Bond movie, and one Arnie.
Anyways, I ain't all that jacked up on cake, to tell you the truth.
If they'da had one of these fuckin bad boys

I'd have been all over the fucker like a two-headed Hindu at the Boneless Chicken Ranch.

Anyways, you know how, if a girl wants to ask you out and shit, she'll suggest something like, maybe, you know, goin to a movie, or dinner, maybe go see a band, going for some drinks or maybe a bush party. Hell, I've had chicks ask me to go see a play, I even had one who offered to take me up to Lake Fuckin Louise one time.

On her dime. Drivin her brand new fucking Audi 5000 SE.

For crying out loud.

Anyways, I swear, the fucking second I turned 29, suddenly the only thing girls ever asked me to do when they wanted to go out, the only fucking thing, it was always
"Come over and I'll make dinner for you."


So what the fuck is up with that, anyways??

ETA: OK, I thought I'd made this clear, but upon reviewing it, it looks like maybe I didn't.
The point I was making wasn't that girls were just asking me to come over for dinner, it was that, overnight, that became the standard invitation for a FIRST date, "Come over and I'll make dinner for you."
I'm talking about about girls with whom I'd never gone out.
And the weirdness was that suddenly, out of nowhere, every girl I knew suddenly seemed to think that goin over to their place for a home cooked meal would be vastly more appealing to me than any of the other stuff that girls had been asking me out to previously.
Sorry for the confusion.

OK, regarding the Comments deal...

First of all, I'll be FUCKED if I can remember that I have to manually Publish these fuckin things.
Ususally I just get the email, I read it, I go, you know, "that's nice" or what the fuck ever, and that's it.
And then like half a fuckin day later, usually when I'm not at the computer, I'll suddenly think "Fuck, did I publish that fucking thing, or what??".
So, you know, you might need to be a little patient.

Second of all, regarding fuckin Count Helmut von Ameisenbär's comment on here, well, fuck. Either you're admitting in front of Eddie and everyone that you're thick as fuck, OR you're fucking pretending to be thick as fuck because you think it's funny.

Either way, you fucking Yanks, I really don't get you guys.


Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Well it cracked ME up, anyways

I know, it's pretty sad when all I can come up with to post is a fuckin joke, but this had me pissing down both legs.
As told by the one and only Stephen Fry, the smartest man in the world, on the show QI, the funniest telley-vision programme ever made.

So here goes (and yeah, it's way fuckin funnier if you can mentally hear Mr. Fry tellin it).
It would seem that, at the height of his inestimable career upon the London stage, Master Thesbanian Peter O'Toole was enjoying a mid-week luncheon with friends at a well-known pub in the theatrical district.

Through the course of the meal, Mr. O'Toole became thoroughly slaughtered (as one does), with the result that half past one found him well legless.
Gathering his two or three (by now) boon companions close, he insisted that they accompany him to a nearby venue for the matinee showing, where, he vowed, they would be presented with what would most assuredly become probably the single most memorable dramatic experience of their lives.
Trusting the word of their eminently qualified friend, and being rather equally stonkered themselves, they agreed, and the group set off for the theatre.
Having secured optimum seating, the entourage settled in to enjoy the afternoon's performance.
Approximately 20 minutes into the first act, O'Toole prodded his mates to get their attention.
He then whispered intently
"Here, this is the very best bit, it's the part where I come o-oh BOLLOCKS!"


Friday, October 7, 2011

Running on fumes here

Honestly, maybe it's because both the Wee Irish Fella AND Abe Fuckin Sapien are out of country, or maybe it's all this new fuckin work I got, but I just don't have the fucking jam to come up with anything even remotely entertaining for you, my babies.

I mean, what the fuck, am I going to fuckin complain about the fuckin traffic, for fuck's sakes?
The shitheel cryptorchidic yuppie cocksuckers that surround me every day?
How the entire fucking WORLD suddenly seems to be under the impression that  this fuckin guy fucking invented fuckin WATER?
How my FUCKING NT$700/month wireless won't FUCKING STAY CONNECTED????
Talk about fuckin Indian food??

Oh wait...

OK, belay that last.


PS Yeah, I'm listening to fuckin Skynrd, wht about it???

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Bad enough, all fucking things considered

OK, so last night I thought I was getting doubly Royal fucked.
Turns out, it looks like, I'm actually just getting Royal fucked.

You know what gives your intransigent yet ebullient Ruler more fucking head cramps worse than anything?
I mean, seriously, I can handle
the fuckups,
the morons,
the flakes,
the spastics,
the crisis queens,
the pinheads,
the halfwits,
the mouthbreathers,
the Mama's boys,
the eyebleeders,
the fuckfaces,
the True Believers,
and the Lexus drivers.

Hell, I can even take the fuckin Frenchies.

But you know who fuckin smokes my fuckin bacon just right well beyond tolerance??


In the immortal words of Teasle to Trautman

Where do you people come from?

My word, I swear.

On a side note, by my reckoning, me and HC are the only people in the whole fuckin world who aren't preparing to fly off to another country, are currently in another country, or have just returned from another country.

And at least one of us needs it worse than anyone.

Just saying is all.