Archive for the Profiles Category

The Superlative Hyperbole: Q’s but no A’s

Posted in Profiles on June 13, 2012 by SLUDGE SODA


Are you running for mayor this year or just gonna accept the bribe(again)?
Do you believe the salt content of an Almondo poutine helps your body maintain a sustained boiling point sufficient to surf in baggies when the water is sub 60 degrees Fahrenheit?

How many swim strokes does it take to return to playa Verdun, dragging your board behind?
At what point does black wax turn white again?
Do you get a lot of fisherman questioning your amphibian status?
Is that a fin or a tree stump?
Do you need to break your leash twice in as many days to receive some sort of mild workout?
When was the last time you caught a fish with your bear paws bare hands?

…to be continued

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marvel of a sighting

Posted in Profiles on August 18, 2011 by SLUDGE SODA

Bruce Banner was present in the instrumentation bunker at the test site for the first underground test detonation of the gamme bomb, observing that a civilian had breached security and entered the restricted test area, Banner told his colleague Igor Starsky to delay the countdown while he tried to get the civilian to safety,

Starsky, secretly a Soviet agent, did nothing, confident Banner would die in the explosion, bringing the project to a halt, reaching the civilian, a teenager named Rick Jones, Banner threw him into a protective trench, before Banner could get himself to safety, the gamma bomb detonated, and intense waves of radiation reached the surface, Banner was irradiated with highly charged radioactive particles, due to an unknown genetic factor in his body, Banner was not killed by the radiation, which instead caused him to infrequently transform into the vastly powerful, gray-skinned, humanoid monster name “the hulk,

and while 2010’s paddle award unanimously went to the “morning guy paddle addict” Q211 Ipsos-Reid polls suggest this year’s campaign is teerering in favor of ” the hulk”.

the strength – brute. the resemblance – alarming. the cool – as a cucumber.

Just another key executive of the sunrise Board of Directors group.

THE story of L’Anglais – Part Deux

Posted in Profiles on July 31, 2011 by SLUDGE SODA

After our meaningful, yet short lived careers at the Club, I’d say it must have been a good decade or three before L’Anglais and I crossed paths again. Word through the concord grapevine had him down Alabama way picking cotton, grilling roadkill and running ‘shine. Sporadic coconut wireless tagged him off the coast of Corsica on a endangered butterfly expedition. Close friends and family thought they would never see him again.

As for myself, I gave up the soup game shortly after leaving the Club and shifted focus to dehydrated fruits. I unselfishly sunk my entire trust fund allocation into a patent on the concept of calling dried fruit, fruit leather. The dolts from Sun Rype revolted with Pinochet fury and I was forced underground. And wouldn’t you know it was through the marche sous-terrain that L’Anglais and I were reacquainted.

Destination Omak, travelling by night burro; calves, hams and back strapped with fruit leather, I was trudging along the dusty trails and sage-permeated bluffs over OK Falls when I heard the faint sound of bells. Nah, couldn’t be. I recalled L’Anglais’ penchant for hanging bells off the velcro on his shoes, but this was plain spooky. Sure enough, around the next bend I caught a glimpse of the old buzzard with a feline in tow.

We bumped fists, exchanged a couple trinkets then sat down to sample a fresh batch of his satsuma plum ‘shine. “They don’t call me Trent ’round here, it’s Two Rattler Ray, but that’s another story.” Turns out Ray had been on the run himself and it wasn’t from a hollow corporation, but the g-o-v to the mutha fuckin t. The revolutionary blue shine (trick was, post distilling, he put the plum skins back in the bottle which lent the batch an electric blue tinge – beautiful) he developed was in hot demand, but the VQA bastards were sinking their collective baby dicks into the Cdn vineyard markey in a Monsanto SEEK AND DESTROY way and no Eastern, multi-linguist was gonna cut in on their profits. No Sir.

“What about the girl” I asked. Apparently, the Inkameep locals had offered safety and taken him under their wing with the sole request that he round up virgins for ceremonial purpose. Going back 400-600 years the locals had been tagging McIntyre bluff in a viscous turf war reminiscent of the days of wild style and more recently, local NDG mooks, but now they were all hot for sacrificing virgins off the nearly 1km high cliff to keep the rattlesnake population at bay. This was probably the least ethical job I’d EVER heard L’Anglais taking, but I suppose his hide was at risk and the unlimited pemmican rashion was pretty enticing.

The ‘shine buzz had fully taken over my mind and the body wasn’t far behind. I had a run to make. Ray had a virgin to take. We said adios and parted ways for the second time under a new moon. I’ll never forget the last wise words Ray said to me…

the story of L’Anglais – Part 1

Posted in Profiles on July 16, 2011 by SLUDGE SODA

Ah, it’s on days like these that I think back to my time spent working in the kitchen at Club ______. You see, I was the celebrated soup chef and the kitchen was my castle. It was a time when the soup de jour didn’t just mean soup of the day.

If you craved a nibble while sitting back in a garden of a dim lit underground bordello, I was your guy. Pol Pot came thirsting for Pho, I provided, blood red with bird’s eye chilies no doubt. Napoleon faime for the borscht he never discovered after failing to pass Leipzig – the garcon got served. Mussolini even shelved his nonna’s zuppa fredda alla menta recipe for the Club’s very own, Flattering, but I owe most of my knowledge to the lovely Giada de Laurentiis and her spice bundle technique.

Well, I could just wax on and on about soup, but I really wanted to explain how I first met L’Anglais. Back then we only knew him as Trent, but that’s another story innitself. Trent held down a full spectrum of jobs in the short time we worked together. First he was the lowly scrubber aka dish pig. How he used to bitch and whine about the excessive gruyere from my signature soupe a l’onion. All I could say was the people demand gratine.

Next he graduated to booth scrubber: with the dj spinning short radio edits to maximize profit, $10/song private show involve plenty of haste and waste, as Trent oft lamented. I think he was just angry concerning the diminishing returns on his hard work. Did I mention Trent never received a paycheck the entire time he worked at the Club – he simply took pay in the form of 2 songs per hour worked and grazed at the buffet for nourishment. Towards the end of the night, the dj’s often switched from mp3 to vinyl, so they could manually speed up songs and rarely does a staggering drunk figure out they aren’t listening to the chipmunks soundtrack.

On a normal night, Trent would not sleep a blink. The job did not allow it. Lucky for him, there were times when one or two from the local roster would grant him a couple minutes of mid day shut eye in their basement tanning beds. I suppose that partly explains his rich, near-Polynesian glow.

It wasn’t long before it came to be known that Trent was a natural with the hockey stick and that bumped him straight to the upper echelon of peeler bar jobs: the panty catcher. At a time when most pros were switching to carbon or composite, Trent stayed true to wood – Sherwood, obviously. “Composites give me cement hands, with wood, I’m like a log free from the log jam.” Huh? Sometimes his scrambled thoughts could be blamed on his mixed Anglo-Franco upbringing, but often times not.

Then, in the midst of a hostile takeover bid from local triad, HA management was forced to restructure internally and Trent’s pension benefits were tossed aside in the process. I should mention, upon signing his contract the medical benefits were paid up front in the form of 1 rock, 1 bud, 1 bag a day while the pension clause included a lifetime allotment of 2, 2 song shows per day, ’til death, non-transferable, unfortunately.

Without guaranteed daily ladies to usher him to his death bed, Trent hit the road in search of a new career…

McGoon – Part 1

Posted in Profiles on July 5, 2011 by SLUDGE SODA

Ok, so, we here at Sludge Soda have been considering, for some time now, to profile some of the guzzlers that imbibe our fine elixir for the instantaneous relief and guaranteed cure that it provides.  Lemme tell ya, there is no shortage of candidates…and they will all get their due, but fair’s fair. Meaning…lets start with the original braumeister himself, McGoon.

I’ve had this post on the boil for weeks and am still not sure where to begin, but,  I guess we can start with when I first met McGoon. I was looking for a board for my lady and heard from a friend that McGoon might have something for me. However, I was told that I’d have to contact him through a certain social networking site cuz the guy is more plugged in than a toaster. Fair’nuff. This is what went down :

L’Anglais: “Hey McGoon!, how much you asking for the board?”

McGoon: “What’s up Brosif?!!  I bought it brand new and it was 800$CND. I am selling it at 475$CND. feel free to call any time 514-MTL-GNAR”

L’Anglais: “Ok, thanks! Ya, I’m looking for a board for my gf and I’m thinking yours is a bit too wide for my lady (cuz she’s small and needs a narrow board for paddling) and a bit more than I wanted to pay. But, I’ll keep it in mind!”

McGoon: “sorry! i would only sell this board to hardcore lovers of the wavesliding. this is by no means a beginner board. it isnt wide at all. its an Egg Shape. This type board is the pre-curser to the 80’s board revolution. and these are classic dimensions for this type board. its not a river or beach break board. its made for performance riding on point breaks and rock bottom rollers. Donald Takayama is truly one of the great shapers of all time. this is and will be a collectors item. hand made and not machine made. classed in house. so this board is and will be sold to those who truly appreciate it. thanks for your honesty. i suggest you go down to new hampshire to get a board in your price range for your lady. cinnamon rainbow has a vast selection more suited to your needs. it was good talking to you and good luck on getting a board.”

See what I mean? Awesome!!! Notice his outstanding use of surf vernacular? See how much he adores wave sliding and wants to make sure I end up with the right shred stick? Respect!

The above-photo speaks for itself. He rips. And if you think that’s impressive, the guy’s got a great career too! He punches in on-a-daily at a some Black-Op financial firm that specializes in de-frauding foreign governments and funding right-wing paramilitary groups.  Impressed yet?  “I’m a soldier of the digital apocalypse” he’s always telling me, or, “My computer kills Dems dead”. A true inspiration to all wave-sliders and soul surfers!

Did I mention that McGoon can thrash with the best of’em??!!

So, I’m a few Sodas deep into this post and am starting to lose focus…or maybe I’m gaining focus. Hard to say. The beauty of Sludge Soda is that not only is it savoury and a true delight to drain, but its effects are entirely self-determined and self-determining.

Ok, lets wrap this up, but not before we have a close look at McGoon’s whip. People say that you can tell a lot about a man by the shoes he wears, but to me, it’s the car that defines the man, and McGoon is no exception. Do I even need to write anything more? The guy is a living legend, folks!