Memoirs from Four Politically Incorrect Smalltown Smokers

At last I am home, and am using my own computer. As such I can now download all my pictures. Some of them are good. Some of them, not so much. But each I believe captures the flavour that was 'Montreal 2005'.

We laughed, we cried, some of us sweat through all their t-shirts and had to buy more (Pete, I'm looking at you). And boy, am I tired. It's been an emotional rollercoaster, having frank discussions of corn fields, rodent jaws and flied lice. The air was blue, as we are all truly small town and swear like motherfuckers. I am also amazed at how my "Canadian Accent" comes out when I'm among my own. Jeesus Fucken Chryst... I'm speekin' like a fucken ruraller agaeen. Lovin' it.

So here are pictures from the first couple of nights...which I have already blogged about and won't bore you more. Here we are out at an Aussie bar for my birthday on Crescent St. (which isn't a crescent so much as its a street). First Aimee and Lynne:



And me and Pete (note the Turbo Shandys):



This was really the beginning of the end, and we were only in town for about 6 hours at this point.

In true form, the McMaster people were the last to leave the conference centre the next night, as there were beers served at the conference, and actually leaving required effort on our behalf. We ended up drinking in the parking lot for a full hour after the conference finished:



After getting our shit in gear, we finally ended up at an Irish Pub on Crescent. It was great... we were able to take over the entire bar. We accomplished this by being inordinately loud and incredibly obnoxious... everyone who would come in 'our' room would leave after about 5 minutes. This photo is centred on Sammy.



The next night, we closed the parking lot again at the conference centre. Here I'm spanking Sweaty Pete while being propped up by Shovelrod:



After this fiasco, we ended up down on Prince Arthur with the Roberts' lab going to a (nonlicensed) Greek restaurant. Skye purchased some beer to bring inside... and here's Judy enjoying one on the street before we headed inside:



This was one of our biggest mistakes. We weren't served food in the restaurant for a full 2 hours, and we were pretty fuckin' hungry. However, when the food WAS served, Aimee chose to serve the role as Larry's concubine:



I'm thinking Festschrift photo.

We also saw Jason Leboe, and were reminded of the infamous 'Quebec City 2001' BBCS trip with Jason (sausage), Lynne (ShovelRod) and myself (Klassi), where we got hammered at St. Hubert's and spent our road trip mostly talkin' 'bout 'ginas:



We spent most of the last day at the conference, which was probably appropriate. Pete and I got royally fucked by the cab driver in the morning, who was apparently retarded. Our cab ride cost us $26, while every other cab ride was less than $14. At one point, our cab was actually driving out of the city before wrapping back around to get to the university. I've never been screwed by a cabbie, and I vow never to be again. We did take the subway home though, where Lynne demonstrated some of her dancing abilities:



For the evening, we went to a conference organized Jam session for about 1.5 hours at a bar by the university, booked it, and ended up at the Casino until 3. I spent exactly $3.75 on the slots before I cashed out (I'm a pretty conservative gambler, which I think serves me best). Lynne borke even, Aimee (who was the least thrilled about the gambling) lost $20, and sweaty-fucking-Pete ended up winning $200. Here is a (surreptitious) photo of Pete and his bucket o' coin in the casino:



We had to pull him away from the blinking lights and over-abundant oxygen. The cab ride was on Pete though, and that rocked. He also bought us late-night snacks. When we got to the Retard Store (I actually don't know what it is called by anyone outside of the 4 of us), we started rummaging through snackfood.

And this is where we saw the most disgusting thing of all. In the slushie section, there was a novel flavour of slushie. That flavour? Cheddar. We literally stared at it for a couple of seconds, trying to process the concept of a cheese-flavoured ice-drink. But there was no mistake. It was called cheddar. It was the colour of cheddar. And there was a picture of fucking cheese on the front. Absolutely nappy.

Lynne had her talk this morning (after 1 hour of sleep). You would never know she had the problems she did, she did a fabulous job as always. We hopped in the car after that and headed home... turned out to be the longest trip home ever. I'm not sure why (well, we stopped a lot), but at least it was with good company.

And now I must go to bed. To prepare for my workshop tomorrow. What a great trip.

Thanks guys.

Welcome to the world of blogging Sweaty Pete.

Goodnight.