I've got it all figured out.

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Be affraid. Be VERY affraid. Black pink, black pink, black pink.

A while back I was talking about some of the things that scared me when I was a little kid. I don’t think any of those things I mentioned still scare me now, except maybe the vacuum cleaner. Both Mutton and I still feel uneasy around that thing. But it could be worse.

Yes. It could be much, much worse.

But today I wanted to talk about some of the things that scare me now as an adult. Some people might think that as you grow older your irrational fears ebb. But I feel that as I’ve aged and gained a greater sense of the world and its revolting contents, my new found wisdom has only replaced my childhood fears with ones that are very real and very scary. Fears such as...

Flash mobs.

Have you ever seen interpretive dance?

If I was their parents upstairs I’d rather imagine they were down there having a round-robin HJ contest than this.

It’s awful. What makes it even worse is that the people that do it think it’s important, that it’s art and that it means something. It means about as much as the worst episode of Blosom and by that I mean it’s a horrible uncomfortable jheepsfest!

Jheeps off to ya!

But the good news is that we don’t have to watch this. How many of you stopped that video after about 30 seconds? I know I did. But these flash mob things could happen anywhere and at any time.

Could you imagine being caught in the middle of that?! Fuck! That would be the Jheeps equivalent of being publically gang raped. I really don’t think I could handle it. I think I’d just have to point myself in the direction of the nearest exit, close my eyes and just start running and swinging.

Being pushed in front of a subway train.

Don’t ask me why but I think about this nearly every time I’m waiting for a train.

I guess it’s because every city with a subway system seems to have a few stories about some crazy man that pushed people onto the tracks. And Toronto is no different. Normally when I wait for the train I stand near the wall. But if I do that during rush hour I’m never going to get on the train. So I have to stand there in a state of tensed up, cat-like readiness. Eyeing the people around me and trying to decide which one looks the craziest and vowing to myself that if I can’t stop him, than at least I’m going to take him down with me.

Yep, I’m gonna die.

But if there’s a flash mob on that platform… push away Nicholas. Push. Away.

Seeing homeless people masturbating/doing it.

Someone once said that the greatest fear is the fear of anticipation or the fear of the unknown.


I have had the misfortune of witnessing both of these events listed above and I never, ever wish to witness them again. The first such incident was back when I was in my teens and used to be into Graffiti. There used to be a roof top somewhere around Yonge & Bloor that a lot of people used to paint on. It was nicknamed AC Gardens because of all the air conditioners up there. One night we were going up there to check it out and we were faced with the eye bleaching sight of a homeless couple going at it on an old office chair. We couldn’t see much in the dark but it was more than enough. Sort of like a collection of rags and pale body parts. I’d liken it to when you’re shown a picture of an accident victim and at first you’re thinking, What is that? What am I looking at? And then it all comes into focus and it’s, Ohhhh. Oh god. Oh god no!

Welcome back ever body and if you’re just joining us, let me recap what you’ve missed. I’m getting it in!
And as for my other traumatizing experience…

It was a Saturday afternoon, late spring. A friend and I had just been at the Madison watching a soccer game. Since the weather was nice we decided to take a walk over to the Duke of Gloucester for some post-match libations. It was around College and Huron that tragedy struck. There was a phone booth  with a homeless man sitting in it. His legs splayed out onto the sidewalk. As I moved to side step them I heard a low, groaning giggle. I looked down and wished I never had. The munchkin was out and it was being thoroughly punched.

To this day I can’t walk through that area without feeling uneasy. Sometimes I wonder if the wanking hobo has passed on and that it is his ghost that now sends a shiver up my spine?

Wooooo! Black, pink, black, pink, black pink. Wooooooooo! Black, pink, black, pink, black pink.

Having a kid that’s into bad music.

I’ve always said that if I have kids, I’d like them to be free to grow up into what they want to be. But I think I’d have a really, really hard time if they grew up to be into bad music.

Now I don't think I could ever raise a Juggalo.

I'm pretty sure it takes some serious child abuse to wind up with something this retarded.

But what if he gets into new country? Or what if for some unexplainable reason Billy Joel gains a cult following among the youth of tomorrow?

If I have to hear this blaring out of my kid's room every day I may very well start a fire.

Or what if my son becomes one of those horrible generic gangster rap loving beater kids?!

File Photo: My personal hell.

Blasting his horrible rap music all day or his horrible R&B out of his phone. Buying cheap cigars and filling them full of cheap weed because Dr. Dre or someone mentioned it in a song 20 years ago. Telling everyone they're a bitch through his headset while he plays Call of Duty. Fuck!

And the pants thing.

And the stupid giant t-shirt thing.

And the Scarface.
The god damn fucking Scarface!

I just don't know if I could take that. And there's nothing you can do. They want you to object. You know what? I'd have to join him. I'd have to get my own baggy shit. My own stupid walk. And shame him into changing. It's the only way.

That's it. I'm going to look out my old Funk Doobiest CD right now. Good luck sleeping tonight adults. Woooooo. Black, pink black, pink.

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