Introduced and heralded by Birdman, brewed in New York, under supervision by a QC brewery, reppin’ tax-dodging export-import status, like Kahnawake smokes eh; Saint Laurent is a $7.21 (including tax and deposit) six pack that actually tastes like something, yet goes down faster than a blonde d’Été.
Them: MEC members, granola bars, Nalgene©bottles of water, sponsor & crew stickered up buckets, latest & greatest matching ‘yaks, matching life jackets, jet ski assist, no lighters and no matches.
Us: Kijiji warriors, smoked meat sangers, deal-of-the-day tall cans, mix of full and receding hairlines, damaged boards and fins, nothing matching, paddle power, toots, backup lighters.
No hatin’ just sayin’.
Heard some truth the other day:
“I used to see this guy walking around the Plateau all the time with a t-shirt that read ‘Condo’s Are For Cunts’. I’m about to become one of those cunts.”
Not many Norfolk pines round these parts, perhaps you could just substitute in some maple syrup and you’d have yourself a surf wax that you could lick. This is an idea worth exploring as the size of wax bars diminish like a medium fries at McDo.
The human neck is not designed to swivel to every ocular delight the Mont-Royal street scene serves as the mercury approaches 30 degrees. Please have sympathy for those who walk the streets, eyes not glued to their iphone. That is all.
“You can compare any vodka to any vodka. That’s the scam. Marketing vodka is like marketing water. It’s all about a fancy package and elaborate story.”
Much more to the story of Captain America and Billy and Sludge Soda supports DH Lawrence wholeheartedly.
It’s that time of year again folks. Grab 7-8 of your closest surfing buddies and join us, Instacrowd Surf Camp Conquistadores to trade the harsh realities of the wintery Canadian landscape for sunny Libya. A new location for 2011!
As you may have heard, Seal Team 69, unmanned drones or some other form of taxpayer-funded contract militia has snuffed the former recipient of billions of dollars of North American “foreign aid” which ironically helped maintain his iron fist of tyranny for decades and defer his fall from grace through several months of an ArmaLite-armed billion dollar war.
Nelly Furtado even feels icky (not about the Condoleeza Rice portraits from months ago) and is threatening to give the 1M of Gaddafi private performance money to charity. Let’s see; Canada gives 1M to Libya. Said tyrant gives 1M to Nelly. Nelly gives 1M to Charity(other name for corporation type that pays less tax than others). Charity trades money to Libya for mineral rights. Canada refunds Nelly 0.4M through a donation tax credit. I believe in financial circles they call this the full reach around.
And don’t get your panties in a knot over politics or the presumption you may have to consume “local” food and swill, we keep our fridges stocked with all the best from home: Pogo’s, the complete Hungry Man line, ready-in-five Timbits, Dinner Kraft and Coors Lite. Of course we have Occupation Double and Tout le Monde en Crack transmitting live from the motherland, bro.
Guides? We are your guides, but we also pay about $1/day between a dozen locals to do the gritty work around the resort and complete the mine-dodging, flamingo walk to the break each session. They will also pull you outside and back in onto waves with a nifty rope system they have created. Paddling is just so, umm, passe and its the Med, so we do as we please here.
Out with the tyrant – in with the foreign investment, “democracy” and disaster tourism.
yesterday i had a question.
today it was answered.
“Saw a Peregrine Falcon at the Blocks two days ago. Flew a path straight in front of me, about 15ft above the water as I was nearing the shore. The Medicine Man in me sees it as an omen that we will be surfing into January.”
Who doesn’t like good news?
Membership to the sunrise board of directors group has multiplied – Inclusive gang they are.
With the sun rising over formula 1 corner 10 (L’Epingle for the initiated) and not the casino, pre dawn is the only answer.
The how is the question.
Flood lights and a generator – been there done that, no dice.
Plenty of carrots can only carry your vision so far – not far enough.
“I got a molotov cocktail with a match to go” – sorry Axel, you burnt me in Van, 11-7-2002.
I hear talk of light emitting diodes concealed in board construction. Lame.
Lame on me for using the word lame.
I hear talk of glow sticks. I like, but remain skeptical concerning utility.
I dream of roman candles and a proper light show for H67 residents. Cops prolly show up and tell us the parking lot’s closes at 11.
Maybe a homemade hot air balloon rigged with flares?
Fuctifiknow, I’m just another river sufferer suffering through the occasional crowd.
“Bonjour!”
“Hey!”
Confusion slapped the RCMP officer’s face like sparkle-encrusted titties at the Solid Gold.
“You are speaking in English?”
“Yes I are (English – We Speak)”
“Did you ugh, notice, the ugh, speed limit dropped to ugh, 100 back there, ugh?”
“Absolutely!”
“But ugh, you were driving 133?”
“Yep.”
Green horn retires to car, calls mother to help with decision-making process, consults internet for how to write in lower case, scratches region formally known as nutsack before he joined the ranks.
“Well, I clocked someone going 144 km/h…”
“Ha! This is a family car – lucky it could break 120 – is there interest accruing on this ticket?”
“Ugh…”
“And what happens when I don’t pay it?”
“Ugh, I don’t know ugh…the next time you get stopped, ugh…”
Trails off, feeling silly and of course, still resembling a mental midget packing heat.
“oh, have a good trip!”
Yeah. Right. Eat a dick buddy.
sLudGE Soda 