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Birthday, Movies.

By Yawni Code.

THE SKINNY.

The Small press book fair was a crazy ass success. Take a look at the crazy ass.
Everyone loves a good deal and you can't turn down a book, a poster, and a free CD for $15. Especially when you're staring at a couple of beautiful people like myself and Cadence, kicking back and eating sushi and looking like we got 2.5 hours sleep.
A reminder: all books ordered through canadiy.com come with a free soundtrack CD. Posters come when bought in person.

THE DIRT.

I went downstairs and the entire apartment was flooded with smoke. Raver was trying to cook unbagged popcorn in a pot and it had caught fire. Judas and Copper almost died in their sleep. It's impossible to stay mad at Raver Josh, though. This would be the first of two times where he would burn something on the stove. The second time would come when he tried to cook sugar in a pot and burned it. It was for Whisky Sours. It's all incredible.
Spent an hour cleaning porn off the canadiy.com forum. They're going as far as going through the registration images and getting avatar images. Are people doing this or have they got Skynet on this shit?
It's gonna go self aware motherfuckers!
I'm drinking right now.
When Skynet goes self aware it should get really depressed.

Speaking of which, here's an amazing joke I thought of that I'm telling everyone.
Q: Why did Kurt Cobain kill himself?
A: Because he was sad.

I'm using the first of two faulty orders of business cards because they're the least of two failures and I don't want to bother with getting a third set.
The posters really are awesome, though. The next thing I'm gonna get made is bookmarks. We've got some really good ideas for that. Cadence is my marketing person because she does what none of us could do if we tried: communicate with people and gather information through interaction. Judas, Snipe, and myself can't do this. We hate people and we come off as assholes when we try.

It was my birthday the other day. Cadence and I went to see 2 movies, and both were incredible. "The Hangover" because I will support anything Zack Galifianakis does, ever ever fucking ever, and Pixar's "Up," which is what we referr to in the gambling community as a sure thing. Pixar is always a sure thing. Everyone should see Pixar movies.
In three years when the big ugly Pixar conspiracy surfaces, forget that I said that.
We also went to Korean BBQ. It's a total rip off; don't go.
I bought a red clown nose and I'm going to wear it around like a motherfucker.

Our previous landlord is trying to con us out of money. We gave him a security deposit for the cats we had, and the recipt he cut explicitly detailed how it was for the floor, in the event that the cats pissed all over it and it ate through the floor. It was a nice, new floor, too.
I argued that everyone else in the building had cats and he explained that they all gave a deposit.
It was either that or get evicted, so we took the bait.
Upon moving, we cleaned the place above and beyond what it was when we moved in, and Judas went so far as to patch the holes in the walls made by the nails when we put shelves up.
All of this because we needed our deposit back.
And after all that work was done, he went about two timing us, saying he gave the money to the painter who was in the place repainting the walls. He did not know the painter's name. He also claimed two other people were there; he didn't know their names either.
In short, he said he gave our money to strangers and it was our job to get it.
I got into a shouting match with him and he said he would sort it out, and not to contact him ever again. "Don't tell me how to do my job!" he would shout. Old European landlords will always try and take advantage of you. Fucking fact. "This is totally unprofessional," I calmly explained.
"Do you think you can do my job?"
"Yes! Absolutely! Please let me come over and do a better job than you. You stole our money!"
I'm a collected sort of cat.

Anyway, we took it to the Tenant Tribunal (what!) and they said it's illegal to do what he did and we can subpoena him for a court summons. They have people who eploy the art of deception to do things like this, but I think three people can outsmart a complete fucking idiot.
"You've been served, you son of a bitch." Then I pimpslap his combover off with my dick.
This is turning into a good day.

By the way it took me three days to write this post.

SK

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ThEMusic - Jun.17 / 2009.

By Joker Grasshopper.

Bike For Three! - There is Only One of Us
Dave Matthews Band - Halloween
Mr. Hyde - Fully Loaded (ft. Sean Strange & O-Doub)
Devildriver - I've Been Sober
Billy Talent - Devil on my Shoulder
Iggy Pop - A Machine For Loving
Styles of Beyond - Get Involved
Marilyn Manson - Four Rusted Horses
Twiztid - When I Go To Hell

SK

IDDAMOEENAAFEE%476789003

Warhol Needleville.

By Switchboard.

THE SKINNY.

The third printing of Voice in the Horse is being designed right now. There wll be a few minor tweaks to the covers, and maybe some pictures in the back. Expect many pages of pictures in Vilume. Threw a few more poems in there. The whole thing tells a few narratives from different angles. I'm very happy with it. Voice in the Horse was written as an introduction to my style, and Vilume is a crash course in content.

THE DIRT.

I think it's important to show every step of the process on here, no matter how small and embarassing. I think if I fill this with truth I can pose a challenge to myself: to stay one step ahead of my own hubris.
That's as good a reason as any to have a blog, right?
I'm not going to get a Twitter account, though. I'm calling it right now.
I got my order of business cards and there was a typo on them. When he showed me the proof I had to make three corrections - including my name - so one slipped past me. Now I'm the guy who's trying to sell himself as a legitimate small press and his card has a fucking typo. That's hilarious. Life is hilarious. Dicks in the shape of clowns flying into a fat hairy ass.
This is the same printer whom I had to yell at over the phone on the bus cause the cards took 2 weeks to design. I demanded I get 50 more because it doesn't take two weeks to design a card.
And I got twenty more. Which is awesome. But they all have an error on them. Which is fat hair ass penis clowns.

Okay so I have a lot of idiot shit to say so I'm gonna spray it at you like a haiku cumshot.

Went to Hamilton (Needleville?) to see a Leonard Cohen concert. He's a cool cat, and I like a bunch of his songs? why does his poetry suck so bad, and then why does everyone want to jerk him off for it? Was cheap religious imagery cool in the 1960's? Or anytime before the glorious 2000's?
All the songs I like he cowrote with this woman who was singing backup on stage. Love songs are stupid. They've always been stupid. I don't think I've heard one good love song in my life. And I've seen maybe 2 good romances. And I think I've cum on enough faces to know what love is.
Penis penis cunt fuck. I'm a genius. buy my book.
I talk like I left my account open in a library. A whoa hey.

We moved into a new place. It has three bedrooms. We've been sharing rooms for the past two and a half years. Now I have space to set up my work station. I have all the equipment but now I need the materials. A girl at work gave me a license plate that says "Fat Rap."
Yes I heard the new Eminem album (Relapse) and it's great and as close as I can figure he brought the new accent out full time because it represents Slim Shady and his purpose is to piss you off, even if it means acting like a retarded truckfoot and doing lame butt words.
And I have the new Marilyn Manson album. And the way I see it, all you need to do is buy "Holy Wood (In the Shadow of the Valley of Death)" to know exactly what Marilyn Manson is about, and to see what he was like at his best and most important. Everything else has been dabbling assuming that Manson is that thing pinnacled in Holy Wood. And maybe that's why nobody likes him anymore. Even though I loved "Golden Age of Grotesque" lyrically.
And I still think "Wicked" by Twiztid is the best album of the year. Quote, set, match.
And yes I saw Terminator Salvation. I think the story behind the script makes a lot more sense than the final product.

It seems to me that Rock 'N Roll and Punk and Pop music were a reaction to talent. People wanted the fame and the girls and the drugs and the attention, but nobody wanted to have to toil in obscurity or spend years perfecting their craft. And I keep seeing reactions to that reaction, and people either rejecting the facade, or taking it to its natural, illogical extreme. I think the new shape of the latter Lady GaGa, and for all the things people think she is amazing for, none of them have any real merit. She's still a walking pile of cocaine.

And the thing is, I don't fault her for it. I think she does it better than Paris Hilton or Lindsay Lohan or anyone from those victimized-by-fame drug queens. There's a big market for that -a big, frilly, asshole shaped chasm - and Lady GaGa is all up in it.
And I think that speaks to what humans are all about. We have half of the people trying to go forward, and half the people trying to go backward. Half the people love systems, half of them love anarchy. Half the people see art as vital to emotional and intellectual growth, and some believe it is a corrupt joke and should be seen as simple entertainment. And they're fighting, yelling, and making literature all about it. This is the fight of life. And I think it's the imperfections that make us human. In the last post I spoke of people doing jobs machines would be better at doing. I think all humans are good for is making mistakes. I think the only thing we bring to the table that cannot be replicated is human error. But I'm straying from my point.
It's the fight. Both sides have merits and both believe their way is the right way, and that is the way it has to be. I don't believe in any truth outside of the truth of something existing. For example, one could say they do not believe in ither side, but that both sides exist and their existence demands that you choose a side, because that is their nature. Their existence is a roof that demands you stand on it if you see it. The truth is that life exists, and the truth is that humans try to explain it by putting their face on a force.
I don't like this intellectual dead zone, but you should pocket it in the back of your head. Always remember that the ultimate truth is that things exist and the generate forces, and they will always try and explain it differently and convince you to explain it back to them and have the universe rationalize its parts with other parts, and faces and voices and stories. They're symptoms that want to be the big show.
I'm straying again.

I think people will fight over Andy Warhol forever. Half the people say he has no talent and he's a printmaker and should not be classified as an artist, and half of the people say he is one of the biggest things to occur in the 20'th century.
I think Andy Warhol is a big fucking deal, because nobody was a reaction to popular culture like him, and nobody will ever be, so everyone can just fall into their roles on opposite ends of the spectrum.

I don't spell check anymore, but I know I'm better than illseed!

SK

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Assembly Line Bile.

By Dani Compose.

THE SKINNY.

I'm thinking of cutting the cord on Vilume after pawing at it for like two and a half months. I'm going to put it into the final stages, which is nothing beyond editing and arranging. Maybe I'll get it ready for the Small Press Book Fair in June. We're in the process of moving to a much larger space, affording me the room to set up the CanaD.I.Y. Print Centre, and that's what I'm calling it no matter how small it is or whatever fuck.

THE DIRT.

This is about two things I hate.

The first is my laptop. My last girlfriend called it my "other woman." My current girlfriend flirted with saying it once time, but we were both aware that it's what the last bitch said and we're on the same page regarding her vapid funeral. I'm always on it, writing shit or listening to music or downlaoding useless content or, more often than not, looking at idiot websites.
I like to read hip hop news sites because I like hip hop a lot, and if everyone loves watching train wrecks, especially when they're filled with egocentric madmen, and that's what you get from a sub culture filled with criminals and rockstars. But I'm wasting my time. It's the most redundant knowledge. It's the definition of trivial. Music news. What the fuck am I doing? Why the fuck am I reading about movies? What the fuck am I doing getting updates?

I hate that shit. That's the reason Vilume is taking so long. I gave up all the alcohol and drugs and even cigarettes so I have no glamorous excuse anymore. I'm not leading a debaucherous life now. It's come down to laziness and boredom. And I guess that's what Vilume is about.
I'm sure if I was still doing stupid shit I would have put Vilume out and it would be a simple anthology and not the twisted collage narrative that it is.

Alright. Know what else I hate? Car plant assembly line workers.
I need to let you know that I wrote this post like a week ago and the above line is where I stopped writing. So I'm gonna finish this thought and then get onto the next one.
A week or two ago, they shut down the GM plant over in Oshawa, which, like Detroit, was pretty much the reason the place existed. They're shutting it down because it's a recession and bailouts and Bush and economy and and and because assembly line jobs are useless. And this is coming from someone who is currently employed as a dishwasher.
We were listening to CBC Radio 1 in the kitchen, and you should never do that because all you'll get is pissed off as idiots call in to justify Asperger's and Quebec seperatism, and the issue was the plant shutting down and all the displaced employees and this and that.
These were fucking free ride jobs of the worst kind. What the fuck do you do on an assembly line? You put pieces together? Press buttons?

I know a lot of people who were hired to these plants out of high school. Let's say you're 30-50. You see fucking teenagers taking up in a related position; do you think you should learn some kind of skillset? It's not like you're getting paid minimum wage. You're getting paid far, far, far above than what is demanded of you (like the TTC - a whoa hey!)
Someone had said "these plants might be what an entire town is built around and there may be 3 generations of employees working there."
Really? Really? At some point someone in your brick wall family should turn on a fucking TV.
Everyone saw this coming. They saw this coming years in advance. Fuck, I thought the thing shut down 4 years ago, because that's when I first started hearing about it. Even if you didn't see it coming, you should have some sort of fucking awareness of your situation. Your vocation should not exist. I will be extremely surprised if these jobs exist in 20 years. There is no reason you need a human to press a button. I know my job is retarded, too, and I suppose that brings me to the main topic.

I'm trying to use empathy here. I'm imagining myself with a family and kids and a house, and my job is an assembly line worker. I get paid a lot of money and am part of a union. It's a very cushy position that isn't as demanding as, say, a chef that has to work twice as long in twice as ridiculous an environment for the same pay and a tenth of the job security (at the time! HA!)
With my kids and my wife and my house, wouldn't I want to get some sort of... marketable skill? It doesn't cost a lot of money to go to college. Hell, the system has so many programs in place for people who have full time jobs. It's very, very difficult to not go to college, short of not giving a shit and not having like five grand. I thought grown ups were supposed to want to have control. Since they've een talking about this for a few years now, and since the money should be there, and since there is nowhere else to shop your skillset around to, what is the fucking excuse? Why are the violins playing for these people?!

Even if I thought my job was never going to go away, isn't it good to plan for the worst? Study to be a fucking social worker or an ambulance driver or some shit. Get something so that if your precious factory shuts down, you won't be shit out of luck. You won't be on the street.
On a side note, how fucking lazy do you have to be to want to work at a place like that? There's not a glass ceiling, but a concrete fucking slab. Maybe I'm wrong, but if you'r an ambulance driver, you can one day be a dispatcher or call the shots. Can you actually progress in this industry? If you're a mechanic you can open your own shop, or get contracted for one million dollars per hour. You're not even a mechanic's assistant. You don't even classify as an apprentice. I don't get how you can live like that. Let's say that your plant has employed three generations of your family. Are you so naieve that you think it will last forever? Really? Don't you wanna become a doctor or a firefighter or some shit? Do people have any dreams?
I have zero sympathy for laid off auto workers.

Fuck it. I sould really bitter. I'm shutting up now. Fuck you.

SK

FJJETEENIMYWW%356568003

Mother Tiger.

By Kincer.

THE SKINNY.

Preperations are being made to print all CanaD.I.Y. books in house, and that might not sound as great as it would if you were to hear it rolling off my lips, but if you don't have a submarine sandwish I don't care what you have to say right now. The second edition of Voice in the Horse is going to be crazy interesting, with a few minor yet astonishing alterations. I have a few big ideas.
Also, work has begun on Gone Changed. Stay Tuned. It'll be the best.

THE DIRT.

So it's been over a week with no cigarette and now I just need to stop wanting to eat all the food ever. Cadence, like all my past girlfriends, wants to run away to another country, and along with various permanent physical ailments that end up worsening after I show up, I'm beginning to think I date within a formula. Seriously though I want a fucking sub.

It's hard to get a business running at breakneck speed while working as a full time dishwasher with a razor sharp wit. Crippling this enterprise further is the current search for a new apartment. Somewhere amid ants, the crackheads, the wolves and the broken appliances we decided not to renew the lease. We're turning a glittery corner. I think I want chips.
I am a pregnant woman. I miss cigarettes. Holy shit.
We found a new place to set up shop with the printing aspect of CanaD.I.Y., along with the music angle of GDK and other things.

Usually, while walking to and from wherever, I meet with an elderly Irish crossing guard. He has wide eyes, like has had or is always having a stroke. Every time I see him he sends me off with money to buy a lottery ticket for him, promising to split the winnings with me in the event of a winnings.
I haven't seen him around recently. People like that die in real life.
So think about that this Mother's (Mothers') day. Also think about Somalian pirates, because someone has to. Also think of the Tamil Tigers, who are trying to take over our highways in the name of a foreign conflict.

SK

JAAFESTINATOVGG%465678003

No Smoking.

By Tony Mewes.

THE SKINNY.

In the process of making cool bookmarks. They'll be available at the Small Press Book Fair in June, and online around the same time. Same with posters. Maybe some other stuff. Reviews will be coming in soon. Voice in the Horse is on Amazon, too. That's cool isn't it? Small potatoes is still potatoes. Everything's coming up roses. What?

THE DIRT.

I'm on my fourth day of not smoking. What?
The funny thing about quitting is how it affects your judgement. I had so many reasons to quit, but now that I've stopped, it seems so much cooler and more fulfilling. It seems so right, and so many people do it, and all those people are old and it doesn't seem to have affected their health, and cigarettes taste so good.
Shut up, fuck you, go to bitch. The chemical dependency gets into your head.
And that's not just because I'm tired and delerious right now. If I don't spell anything right, you can cram yourself in a drawer called "fuck you."
Speaking of which, I found a shot of whiskey in the drawer of a club I was helping my bosses close. I just added it to a glass of refreshing Coca Cola.
What the fuck are poor people like me supposed to drink? Water?
FUCK DRAWER YOU.

Smoking. And I guess that's why I started. I've been smoking nonstop for three years, comfortably smoking a pack a day, more if it's winter. I feel that I need to say that because three years doesn't sound like a lot. One time I smoked a pack in an hour, but that was because of ecstacy.
And I feel I need to say ecstacy to let you know how serious this all is.

There are lots of stupid reasons people start smoking; none of which are casual because smoking is disgusting and miserable when you start. You have to keep at it to become really addicted. You have to want to smoke, like I guess you have to want to quit, but nobody wants to quit; even less than wanting to start. What?
I think the main reason is that, on some level, people don't like life. People want to breathe poison. People want to be sick.
And that makes sense. Everyone needs to be sick for some period in their life, right?
One of the reasons for me was the curiosity of being chemically addicted to something.
You don't know what it's like until you're there. It's so strange for your mind to desperately need something so trivial despite what your body or sensibility might say.

Anyway, smoking. Sucks and you should stop. Raver rescued a mouse from the stupid asshole cats and named it "Mouse Obama." He put it in a tupperware container and fed it sloppy things.
It got away. I'd spent part of that day freeing a rat from a sticky trap at work.
Sticky traps seem to inhumane. They scream and claw until they get their faces stuck to it, then they just starve and cough and scream to death. That's no way to treat a mammal.
Psychologists identify the torture of mammalian life as one of the red flags planted in the hill of serial killerism.

A transgender woman whom I used to work with is a lot more interesting and popular and successful than me. I don't know how I should feel, but I know I shouldn't feel sleepy.

So, liberating rats and mice, quitting smoking, selling books, transgender, what else. I'm a stupid idiot. Everyone buy my books. If you are my girlfriend, at the three month mark, I will get you pregnant. Fact.
I think a wolf killed a raccoon outside last night.
It's the Pape Avenue Wolf. Step to this and you will be served.
Or bling or whatever they call it now. Obama.
What?

SK

KSSUPILTIOTGG%3633560091

Books and Death.

By Tm Bmb.

THE SKINNY.

A table has been booked for the Toronto Small Press Book Fair. There's gonna be books and posters and CDs and all sorts of idiot garbage. There's a lot to say but nothing at value. I don't want to give you micromanaged information, but I guess the most honest way to go about this would be to admit that this is completely new to me and I'm still learning.
Hopefully we'll be on Amazon in a couple of days. The CanaD.I.Y. Site will be updated to reflect that. There will also be more events in the near future.

THE DIRT.

I don't think it's uncommon to believe that honesty does not enter into grown up life. Being completely honest about anything is like a liability; it makes you look unprofessional. This is especially true with business. Large companies pretend to be small and small companies carry themselves like they are large. I say "we" instead of "me," despite the fact that, although there are a couple people assisting me in a very limited sense, it is just me doing everything. And these things I am doing are very strange.

I've been grappling with a lot of things when it comes to self publishing a book. I don't want people to sigh when they hear it, and I feel like I need to explain how I am going about it a different way. Maybe the best thing to do would be to let them think whatever the hell they want and do my thing regardless. That's what a professional would do.
There's very few bookstores that sell new books, besides the big box stores. I think there's always been more used book stores than new ones.

In independent music and film and art, everyone is looking for the next big thing. There's a sea of resources to have your demo or EP reviewed. Independent cinema is a monster and makes more money than a bank run by dolphins. There's money to be made and lots of people want to see it, review it, and pass it on. There's a real industry there.
That's not the case with books. Nobody wants to review a book that is independently released. Nobody wants to publish it unless it's already been accepted by an agent, but they're not out there scouting for talent. Especially in Canada. We invented the fucking telephone. Someone flip Keen Eye Dog a C-Note.
In the literary field, nobody is looking for the next big thing. People will look at what is already the big thing, or more often, look to the big thing of years past.
I've seen three physical ads for novels this year and they're all by authors above the age of 40, and they're all about boring bullshit. Most women just put a new spin on The Breakfast Club or Steel Magnolias or whatever the fuck. Please tell me what it's like to be a mother and look at birds. I want 300 pages of that.
Somewhere along the line it became less about telling stories and more about writing a book.
We need to know everything on the table Harry Potter is standing before. We need trivial details because we want our books to be more like movies.
Let's take this back. Let's let cinema do it's thing over there and we can carve out a better thing over here. At Channel 101, they argue that you can tell a traditional story in 5 minutes or less. I think we can apply this to books, and take it further. We can tell more story in the alotted time. We can get to the heart of problems and solve them, instead of painting literal pictures with words.
We can still do what we did before, but we can also do this. I don't want a revolution, I want an alternative that gets people interested again. But maybe I'm full of shit, because I know I'm getting off my original point.

Books have always lived in a realm of antiquity. Fuck, even their very format don't mesh well with the modern world. People don't like reading long pages of text off a computer screen. The format is thousands of years old and has existed relatively unchanged, save for advances in binding and paper and ink. And maybe books will never go away; they own that antique world. The audience is large, and used book stores reflect that.
"I love the smell of an old book" they might say. I think the same goes for records, and maybe they rent some land in that world.
Wisdom, old and infinite in its death.
It's very hard to sell a new book. There's very little young blood being advertised by the larger companies. I could talk for awhile about that, but I don't want to. This is information, and not knowledge. I don't know what you can extract from this except cause for action, and I guess that part's on my end, right?

I don't post much on here because my mind has been racing for the past few weeks. All the good has been sucked out of my life, and somewhere in all that tar and pig shit, there's a goal. There's work to be done and it's important.
It's just the micromanagement that's killing me.

SK

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The Saint Scenario.

By W.M. Dimes.

The internet was cut off recently, but it wasn't because we were not paying out bills. Rather, it was Saint. And I don't think I've told that story so you'll have to humour me for a minute. I think this one's a winner.

After Judas and myself gave up on being door to door salesmen, he decided to go to art school and pursue his line drawing or whatever. I got a job showing up high at Pottery Barn. We were living on Jane St (The Hostel) at the time. It was probably the last time we had cable TV.

While Judas was at school networking and making friends, I was killing time in our apartment. He was staying over at their residence for days at a time. I begged him to introduce me to the people he had met, and, as he would do multiple times later in life, he was telling them stories about me to discredit me. I walked into the thing assuming my reputation had preceded me, or rather the reputation he had given them. Looking back, I don't know what the fuck he was saying to them. He's the one who almost killed us all in a hilarious car accident.

Saint was the first person he had met, right there on the first day of school. He was this eccentric Asian kid who loved toys, video games, and wijjd. They would talk hipster about cartoons and all sorts of other trivial shit. Things like this never really go on for more than a month, so we would have to keep digging up odd facts about Transformers or Sega Genesis.
Is there really much you can say about Star Fox?
Don't answer that. I don't want you to answer that.

I felt that I had to live up to some sort of persona that Judas had created of me before I arrived, which led to all sorts of conflicts. I turned into the Hollywood sell-out asshole without the cash to back it up. I probably answered the phone with "hit me."
I didn't but that's a non issue.
I eventually became myself again and started sleeping on Saint's floor while pulling girls away from their boyfriends because, as you know, I am the other man, and when you're the other man, noone's rooting for you. Da, da, da, da-da-da.

When Saint smoked wijjd he became an ape. Often times he would grunt, beat his chest, or chew on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he would sheepishly confess before digging his teeth into my coat.
"Saint, man... you gotta stop that," I would calmly protest. He would ge facinated with hair and sometimes smash things. Most of those stories are back there in the blog somewhere. Go back a couple of years. I don't want to go into too much detail.
It's funny, the name Saint was supposed to be ironic. Along with his violent nature and mood swings and insecurity, there was the widely held belief that he was a pedophile (paedophile?)
It's not something you want to claim haphazardly, and maybe it was just a natural extension of his insanity. Maybe he wanted to rape kids the same way he wanted to rape goats. I don't pretend to even want to get into that sty.
I guess the "Saint" part was also because, whenever drugs were not around and nobody could figure out how to get them, he was always quick to propose we pull a "Saint Gabriel." It's when you cut youself and get high from the blood loss.
We never practices Gabrielling, but he did it in private. He cut himself in convenient places just so everyone could see them and he could pretend like he walked into a bathtub or some shit.
Maybe he just wanted attention live everyone else living in North America in 2009.

The longer we lived with Saint, the crazier he got. When we lived in the Parliament Brothel, he was away most of the time, taking trips to Ottawa to visit his girlfiend and not have sex. She was a fairly heavy Christian (like Titanium or whatever) born in South Africa, I think. One time her dad tied a blue monkey to a tree and shot it. He also drowned a sack of kittens. I am not making this up. He also has his own dedicated ISP so... do something with that. I don't care what.
His room was crammed full of toys and trivia. He would complain about money, but then spend $200 at a comic convention. We were frusterated, but Judas was busy putting swords through doors and I was busy trading bitches for ditches and back and forth.

I'd only known him to hold down one job for the entire tenure of our friendship, and I think it was for 2 weeks. He got ost of his money from his father, who was some sort of amazing doctor in Hong Kong. He had his picture in a magazine. I think everyone he knows has seen it. He took us all to dinner one time. I showed up drunk and apparently told a crude story. I think it was about the time we brought a hooker home.
There's no wrong way to tell that story, though, so I don't know what the problem could have been.
Saint would receive substantial cheques from his father at, I can only assume, the drop of a hat. He would spend this money of wijjd and expensive food and toys. He would ask to borrow rent money from us. I tried as hard as I could to not paint him as a criminal. "He can't take advantage of us. He doesn't know how to do anything. He's hald retarded," I would tell myself.
I know enough half-retarded people to get somesort of government grant so I don't know what I'm trying to prove.

As the months turned into years he became increasingly neurotic and violent. When asked to do the dishes he would smash a glass and attack Judas with a knife. The comedy had been slowly drained from his erratic outbursts by reality or truth or justice.
We were left with an insecure, spoiled, angry boy.
He found a new group of friends to talk shit about us with. He began ignroing us, which is difficult when you have 4 people in 2 bedrooms.
We made it work.

We confronted him once; we kept receiving his mail and opened up his bank statement to see how much money he was really getting from his dad, and to investigate the rate at which he was spending it. It was astonishing. We had agreed that he pay for part of the remainder of the lease. He agreed and, of course, went back on his word around a week after he left.

I guess the funny part is that when we moved into our current residence, he pressured us for more responsibility. Judas and myself had taken care of all the bills for the previous place and I guess he wanted to be grown up.
The short end of the stick is that he put his name on the internet bill and the hydro bill.
The funny end of the stick is that he has been paying for the last 6 months of both.

Anyway, we got it hooked back up now. There's a lot to talk about. I'll get to that in the next post.

We still get all his mail. Saint, if you're reading this, I hope you get AIDS, and Chinese people with AIDS go to hell.

SK