Category Archives: Writings

Scott Cooke: Haikus 2

So i never knew
I will have to Google it
For my rebuttal

So yeah, good for you…
For having a mop down there,
You win this haiku

Got me mystified
With your sequential haikus
And I’m lovin’ it

Time to celebrate
Some imperialism
Conquer all turkey

At hobby lobby
Kinda wanna make a drone
That will shoot your dog

Start the year anew
With a fresh and sweet haiku
Internet kisses

Got som protein bars
Goin to get big and swol
Maybe tomorrow

Nightmare at Big Lots
Half off Velveeta cheese blocks
Oprah magazines

“This is a man’s world!
But it wouldn’t be nothin,
Without a woman….”

Worst feeling ever?
blue porta – potty back splash
With no more T.P.

playin neopets
found som giant omelette
made from meerca neggs

goddammit boss im worth more
than what you pay me…

Doc Cromp: Haikus 5

Hello there, you guys!
It sure has been a good bit.
Welp, it has been fun!

I was only twelve.
Today is thirteen years, dad.
Never easier.

I passed my test, dad.
You wouldn’t be proud of me.
Couldn’t fit your shoes.

Broke and lonely, still.
Time to reevaluate.
I: Disappointment.

Sorry for that post.
Had to get it off my chest.
Welp, time for coffee.

Red as the devil.
My third eye shines all so bright.
Open perception.

God listens to you.
Only if you are Slayer.
All others bow down.

Happy Genocide!
Give thanks for what, you may say.
Indian Larry.

Why are we all sheep?
Who are you to judge me, prick?!
You must be new here.

Hate is an emotion.
You bastards have no idea.
Live for the bad times.

Thank heck and above!
The ancient druggon slayer.
Death, he will forsee.

Rape whistle, she blew.
The last remaining harlot.
Clothes are fau paux.

Chego: Superbowl Rant

Lame ass Super Bowl, I don’t watch football anyway why would I watch one game that don’t even have teams I like in it. ……what’s funny is most of you don’t watch football either but are posting something bout “your team” getting that touchdown and “yay seahawks” when in reality you like the redskins and never watch football anyway. What are you doing guys being plastic to impress your friends. Feeling left out so you have to be part of a Superbowl to have a social life. ……. Lame

Try asking your friends to come do something you like that they don’t. See if they are so quick to come to your kids Super Bowl party as you were to go to theirs (probably for the drinks and food and drugs). See if they show the same excitement you did when their team scored if your kid scores. No it don’t happen like that. People are fake and just so lame. I just don’t understand why you don’t watch football all year and then the Super Bowl comes and you’re so excited about a Superbowl party and you absolutely have to see them play…… Hahaha you don’t even know the rules of the game fake ass. Uggggh. Whatever. I DO HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYED THE GAME, FOOTBALL FANS AND FOOTBALL FAKES. I was busy NOT WATCHING the superbowl. Hee hee :)

Scott Cooke: Haikus

F*** it’s time for work
I am going to be late
Just one more haiku…

So you have problems
Try to look beyond the sky
God we are so small

Plush dice Pontiac
Catalytic converter
Nineteen eighty five

I am the fire
Hotter than the Gaza Strip
Call me the machine

Just like the old days
Cowboys vs the Indians
Does anyone win?

Profits before the people
Got a better plan?

You like pokemon
I like pokemon also
Gotta catch them all

This goes to the bugs
Please try to stop biting me
It is just not nice

Listen here lady
Shave your armpits and your legs
Maybe then we’ll date…

I have a say too
On the lady I will choose
Don’t want a furball

Well its not that deep
And it’s two thousand fourteen
I am loving this

Shame. You’re just my type.
You look like a pokemon
Maybe next time bae

Vincent Brisotti: Is Love A Drug?

I’m not sure how I always wind up back in this position. I’ve seen this same situation displayed through out the process of addiction to hard drugs like heroin. A true drug addict isn’t a person who does drugs, a true drug addict is a person that completely destroys their life using, until they actually hate who they’ve become so they finally get sober; and then later use again knowing the consequence.

Is love a drug?

Can you be addicted to a person?

If something that brings you joy, but also makes you miserable is the idea of an addict, do I have an addiction? I’ve climbed out of this hole so many times I can do it with my eyes closed, but why do I keep falling back in? Why haven’t I built a fence, mote, barricade, forcefield, wall, barrier around this hole to prevent me from falling into this incredibly deep, dark, place? Do I actually enjoy the misery? Its been so long, and so many things have changed. I’ve had amazing adventures, and have produced a pretty good life for myself, but why isn’t that enough?

Why do you have to be the only thing that matters?

The only thing that can complete me.

Doc Cromp: Haikus 4

Doc Cromp: Haikus 4

“Why so serious?”
Damnit, I hate that movie.
Why so, overdose?

Hell is just a dream.
One for the sad and desperate.
Live like you’re in Hell.

OK Cupid girl.
I can see you feet. For real?
Pic is now flagged.

Jugga_licious. Fuck.
Can anything else be said?

Naruto Ramen.
Did you mean to serve me glass?
Free beer don’t suffice.

Dabbin’ at work, tho.
Might be the last of me here.
Choose weed over work.

They took my tooth out.
Holy fuck, does this thing hurt!
Bullet Tooth Tony

Stood up again, son.
Done letting bitches phase me.
On to the next one.

Good question, broham.
They are all one in the same.
Bitches is bitches.

Bored as all hell, here.
Why is it I can’t crank down?
Oh, right… Illegal.

There are not but one.
Man and Womankind will fall.
Here comes a new dawn.

The apes have horses.
What kinda bullshit is that?
Now these guys got guns!

MAN3: Excerpt from “The Tree Of Life”

…to let our food properly digest. I chose the red leather couch nearest the window, where I drifted off to sleep watching his curious steam-powered robots tend to the garden.

Later, after we slept of our delicious meal, we took the old iron spiral-staircase I had noticed in the study down to the first basement, where we followed a dimly lit corridor past several portholes and glass walls used for viewing all the massive tanks that made up the Eastern portion of the facility. Seeing the reflective pools from above on the flight in did little to prepare us for the shock of what we were about to see. The four of us all were all standing in front of a large wall of glass, staring off into a dark blue nothing, wondering what was in that particular tank, when a mammoth black beast of a creature swam past us all. It must have been about nine or ten meters in length and did not resemble any sea creature I had ever seen. As if to answer are ponderings, the professor simply said, “You probably haven’t seen this one before. Its called the kronosaurus. It has been presumed extinct for millions of years. There are currently three of them in my care. Come along now.” He motioned for us to follow him further through the many corridors of the sub-basements and past several more tanks of sharks, fish and countless unfamiliar aquatic species. By the time we reached the lower bowels of the massive research facility, we had all lost count of how many levels below the ground we actually were. We had since ascended beyond the depths of the tanks, where we walked in darkness for several levels and the only light came from bio-luminescent deep-sea creatures, both beautiful and ugly at the same time. Beyond the tanks, we followed the stairs to their end, a large, empty room with a ceiling at least 40 meters above us. A low, rumbling hum could be heard in the otherwise still air and felt in the metal plates the made up the floor we walked across. The professor cut straight across the middle of the room, with the rest of us not far behind. As I grew nearer to the far wall, I began to see the outline of a giant, mechanical door. “Of all the things you have seen thus far in this great facility, none shall prepare you for what you are about to see,” the professor proudly, and also somewhat menacingly, proclaimed to us all. “How could anything compare with what we’ve already seen,” I wondered, thinking back on what the Professor had already shown us, most of all his teleportation device, the two talking monkeys, the glow in the dark palm tree and the extinct-yet-living giant sea monsters. He place the palm of his hand on a console and after a few flickering lights and a whistle, the entire room began to shake and the air was filled with cacophonous screeching and metallic grindings. As the door opened, a blinding white light poured out into the rusty chamber we were all standing in. As my vision slowly returned, I could see a vast cavern of rock, illuminated by huge, industrial spotlights. Unlike the rest of the facility, this was not dug out with human hands and tools. This appeared as if it had always been here, deep within the Earth, waiting for someone to dig down and find it. It was then I realized we were…

Doc Cromp: Chapter 1.1


Today. Today was supposed to be the day. Turns out it’s just any other day, because today, was not the day. The wind blows the flowers from the trees lining Washington Square. Today was going to be the day. It’s a shame what this city’s done to me. When they started slipping, I thought I could dig my way out, but the panic was too pure. I see these kids in their cap and gowns, and all I yearn for is a Remington 30-6 and about a dozen or so shells.

Today. Today was supposed to be my day.

Doc Cromp: Haikus 3

Jack Daniels, you punk!
Taste like way too loose butthole.
Domestic Dispute.

Someone called me out.
It’s all in good fun, lil sis.
Still more likes than you.

Boring day at work.
Thank the lord I got my vape.
Wax on wax on wax.

Chris Novaselik
Kurt Cobain and David Grohl
Who let Pat Smear in?

All Cops Are Bastards.
Revoke their right to party.
No retirement.

Guava, off the tree.
Tequila potentially.
Tasty fucking drink.

Day off finally.
Taking my food handlers.
Should just call this work.

Lost my phone last night.
Mogwai was well worth it though.
Last haiku for now.

Having lost my phone
had to buy a pornog mag
I : Neanderthal

Fresh out of smokes.
Just had to pay my rent.
Guess no food for me.

I lost my G pen.
What to do with all this wax?
Knife hits, here I come.

This is a haiku.
It is about Godzilla.
Big fucking lizard.

Doc Cromp: Haikus 2

Who let the dog, out?
Was it you, you, you, you, you?
Seriously, dog.

Can’t you tell yet, kids?
All my replys are Haikus.
Mile a minute mind.

Makers Mark? Yes, please.
Double, hold the rocks, thank you.
Gentleman drink this.

Where are my pants, mate?
Aww, fuck it. Who really cares?
Not I, said the fly.

White people are great.
Said no other ethnic guy
Never, ever, bro.

Goddamn, right you are.
Chump, is what I feel like, Holmes.
Boot my black ass too.

Raisin Bran Stoker.
Dietary Dracula.
Prunes from here on out.

Abort the new prince.
He will surely burn in hell.
Good Goddamn riddance.

I don’t like hard eggs.
Medium is still too hard.
Eggs eggs eggs eggs eggs.

I hear the French smell.
But, boy do I sure like crepes.

Sorry kids, we are here.
Start learning to accept it.
You will fall in line.

Dave Matthews Band Blows.
Pretty ladies seem to like.
Drown them in a tub.

MAN3: Haikus

She’s so goddamn cool
I want to steal her away
And make her my girl

Beautiful woman
I just want her to be close
She’s so far away

Come home already
You’d be so much happier
In my arms tonight

I want to hold her
Make all the pain go away
And say its alright

She makes my face hurt
From all the smiling I do
But its so worth it

Hopeless romantic
I’ve been burned so many times
I should know better

There were three Beatles
After 1966
Paul really is dead

Its time to wake up
Already had my breakfast
Now lets cut some lawns

Days of happiness
With moments of loneliness
But hey, that’s my life

The drunken stupor
Excuses smoking crack rocks
Rob Ford for mayor!

Lived in Canada
Spent nine months a year inside
So bring the heat on

Haven’t smoked in days
Next time I’m able to blaze
I’m gonna be ripped

Doc Cromp: Haikus

Get over yourself.
Yoda see like Yoda do.
PCP smokes, he.

May the 4th? Gay is.
Real Wookies recognize real.
You, sir, not you are.

Happy Birthday, Karl!
Broke nose you sure do have, braj.
Lost that barstool fight.

Working the first shift
Nativity In Black, on.
I’m going to feel.

Arachnids! Oh Fuck!
Shouldn’t have smoked all that dust!
But, boy, is it fun!

Best group on Facebook?
Haiku Club for the win, dude.
Smoke weed everyday.

Shitty Country on.
I need me some Highwaymen.
Fuck you, Reba Mc.

I have been away.
Many apologies, ya’ll.
Let the Haikus roll.

Jack Daniels, you punk!
Taste like way too loose butthole.
Domestic Dispute.

Romy and Michelle
Good fun for the whole family.
Allen Cummings dance!?

Plain biscuit, hold Jam.
Avocado sandwich, lame.
At least no oatmeal.

Pimm’s cup, shaken please.
Give you cool summertime buzz.
Enjoy it today.

MAN3: Recreation Or Re-Creation, pt. 2 (April 26th, 2013)

MAN3: Recreation Or Re-Creation, pt. 2 (April 26th, 2013)

What follows is a transcription of the audio recorded on my camera during my walk back from Nathan’s apartment:

“…We arrived at Nathan’s and played some Dollar Store putt-putt golf and lick-em stick-em darts from a bow and arrow and toy shotgun. None of these worked very well, but it was still entertaining nonetheless. After drinking for a few hours, we went back out for more beer and Hailey left. She then arrived again with a guy named Yolo, Lobo, something like that I believe and some girl, obviously a crackhead, very ready to party, looking for crack as she was very obviously asking that she wanted crack. Hailey was making out with this crackhead bitch, who was also hooking up with Lolo or Yolo or whatever the fuck and pissed off Vince.

I feel like I’m not explaining everything, but its all just happened. I’m sure I’ll remember more. Anyhow, Yolo was sitting on the chair making out the crackhead chick and Hailey was making Vince jealous. Vince, being very drunk and obviously wanting more, gets very bent out of shape, ending up chasing them all out of the house, to do whatever they were gonna do anyway and then I felt kind of cornered and stuck there with these guys I didn’t know, as Hailey was the only person that I had known for more than twelve hours. So, I drank what I could, smoked what I could and ate some salt and vinegar chips from the Dollar Store and pretty much stayed more sober than the rest of them, listening to their stories. Nathan eventually passed out on his couch and Vince and Chops decided they were gonna go to some sort of afterhours hooch bar, where the cost of drinking free beer is sucking dick, so I told them to have a good night and that I’d see them later and I’m now walking back from Liberty Village, almost at Trinity Bellwood Park, passing some street, can’t remember. I’m walking right past where (undecipherable) used to be. Kind of drunk, kind of high, not really much of either. I feel my tolerance is raising quite steadily, fast, whatever the fuck. Its strange that maybe only two or three weeks ago, two beers would have me under the table and I’ve probably drank a twelve pack to myself tonight and smoked a few joints and I’ll feel pretty good. Definitely not drunk.

I’m contemplating going to the Pizza Pizza for a $2.99 Pizza Smile. Its for charity and I’m always down for that and it has pepperonis and I can’t eat meat at Robert and Nicole’s, so I might just jump on the opportunity. Or I may walk down a little bit further, past Augusta to Spadina and get the usual: the bacon cheeseburger and McChicken Jr. Junior McChicken. Its good to know that I’m not the drunkest person on the street. Someone else just walked into a pole and dropped their poutine. I’m now at the Western most corner of Trinity and Spadina… err… Trinity Bellwood Park. I don’t really know what else to say right now other than I’m disappointed that after all this time I’ve been spending with Hailey, being a good person, she seems to hook up with chicks that smoke crack. They’re actually all good guys, despite their flaws. I’ll probably hang out with them again. I won’t be doing what they do, but the company is nice nonetheless.

I’m now crossing from the South side of Queen to the North side of Queen at the gates of Trinity Bellwoods Park. We’ll see if I get hit. As usual, I don’t really care at this point. When it happens, it happens and they’d be doing me a favor. But, nonetheless, I’m not actually seeking it, but I welcome it if it comes. Ironically, I’m walking past a funeral home. Its strange that its a Thursday night and as a result, there’s barely anyone on Queen Street at this hour. So, its different than when I used to… I obviously have to fight the urge to run into the 7-Eleven and get something, because I only have five dollars and I pretty much quit my job… under the table job at the Bistro on Church and Wellesly. I told them I hurt my back, which is true, when I was moving, carrying shit. My back does really hurt, as does my foot. For the last two or three days, my knee on the left side has really started to irritate me. I won’t let it stop me of course, but it seems that every day a new problem appears. I’m probably running myself ragged, surviving on tomato soup and hotdogs and green onions in combination or overly-spiced and flavoured ramen noodle soup. I’ve been seasoning it with the seasoning from Pizza Pizza, the sweet pepper and garlic seasoning that I usually put on the pizza.

I’m definitely going to the McDonalds at Spadina and Queen. I don’t know what time it is, but I know its really late and I don’t want to wake up Robert and Nicole, so I’m probably going to spend as much time as possible in the McDonalds, then maybe run over to the Pizza Pizza and grab a soda and spend some more time there. Hopefully by then, I will only have to sit in the park for a few hours before I can show up at Robert and Nicoles’s in the morning and maybe grab a few hours of sleep. I’m hoping that because it will be Friday, tomorrow night, Robert and Nicole will want to finally party, since Nicole’s been studying for exams non-stop for the whole time I’ve been there so far, which has been about four weeks and…

As a result, I haven’t been able to spend any time with Nicole at all and I’ll feel really bad about that, because Nicole’s a really nice person. She likes anime and Robert doesn’t, so I’ve been waiting to watch Gungrave with her. I’m now walking behind the garage that I painted for Miss Behav’n and their out of business now. I think both her and Robert would like it. Robert seems to have an obsession with revenge movies and there’s definitely an element of revenge to Gungrave. He and I have already watched Payback and Braveheart and the Gladiator, all three of which have a strong element of revenge to them. I’m almost to Queen and Bathurst. I’m very tempted to run into the Pizza Pizza, but I won’t. As much as I would love to have some pizza, I think that it would be wiser for me to go to the McDonalds and spend as much time there eating and getting online perhaps, since they have free Wi-Fi.

I’m now coming up on the McDonalds at Queen and Spadina and I’m going let to let the recorder run so you can hear place an order for the usual and then I’ll probably switch over and do some video for a while. I don’t know. We’ll see what happens. I’m almost at the front door now and about to go in. The line is crazy… How are you doing? Can I get a bacon cheeseburger and a Junior Chicken. Do I have enough to add a small fries? Yup. Awesome, thank you. Yeah, no problem.

The upstairs dining area at McDonalds was closed. I ended up adding a small fries to my order, resulting in a $4.71 total. I’m now going out to the Randy Padmoore Park to eat and then I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m out of change, so I can’t go to Pizza Pizza to drink soda, so I’ll probably sleep tonight in the park.”

MAN3: Recreation Or Re-Creation, pt. 1 (April 27th, 2013)

I was going to try to fuck her friend. Then she asked us if we could get her some crack…

My many adventures as Evil Jesus prior to moving to Toronto are well documented and have been recounted too many times to justify repeating yet again. Simply put, there was a time when the most depraved and decadent situations were my playground and safe haven. All that changed when the mother of my child finally left me, something I had many times fantisized but never truly prepared myself for, and I fell for my soon to be estranged wife. In a whirlwind of sappy love story-esque events, I put everything behind me and moved from the picturesque tropical paradise of sunny Florida to the frigid metropolis that is Toronto. After five years of being a good boy, I was again left behind. This time though, it came as a completely shocking and jarring experience. Over the last month since that fateful snowy night, one of the last of a winter I had many times cursed, just as I had during the previous four, I’ve found myself looking back, trying to find myself again. Somehow, trying to grasp at what remained of an intentionally self-destructive reality I had dove head first into. It was never a mistake, or some bad decision that had landed me there before. I sought out the wicked and dirty, the profane and disturbing. I had been Evil Jesus, and I resolved to return to my roots and begin again doing what I felt I did best. Its not my fault that I’m so good at being so bad. All of this, of course, was nothing more than an internal conversation that had no action to back it up. That is, until a few nights ago.

About two years ago, I still lived in a shitty apartment in the heart of Parkdale, or as the locals call it, “Crackdale.” The streets are always alive there with the skittering of the homeless, or at least hopeless, most of whom were drug addicts and prostitutes. In the midst of these seemingly reprehensible characters, I was stopped by a pretty girl with blue eyes and red hair. She had noticed that I was without eyebrows and wanted to ask if I liked Marilyn Manson. And so began my friendship with Hailey. As time went on, I began to see Hailey was not at all like most people. She seemed stable enough, but she was riddled with personal issues that would turn off most people from giving her a chance, none of which I’m comfortable sharing. Over the next two years, I tried to stay in contact with this beautiful and tragic recluse as best I could, not always with the best results. However, all that changed a month ago when I told her of my relationship problems and we began hanging out more regularly. We shared a common interest in Star Trek and sci-fi in general and so we enjoyed watching movies with each other until late at night, when we’d pass out together, never taking that scary step into “the next level.” We were simply two friends enjoying each other’s company, something I both enjoyed and found crushing. Deep down, I’m Evil Jesus, but somewhere even deeper in the Hell of my soul, I’m my father’s son and always feel obligated to do what’s right, even if that means teatering dangerously close to the dreaded “friend zone.” Its the internal battle which has always kept my head above water, even during the most compromising of circumstances.

We made plans to meet up this last Wednesday to catch a free comedy show and so, bright and early that morning, I took a streetcar in the pouring rain back out to the old neighborhood to call her from the pay phone immediately outside the front door of my old apartment. The same phone I had seen so many drug deals arranged on during my few years living in Parkdale. What I didn’t realize was that, unlike myself, Hailey is not a morning person, nor is she an afternoon person. I woke her up with my call and she did not sound pleased, so I went to the Parkdale library to kill time until I felt it was safe to call her again, which was about two or three hours later. Finally, she was waking up and getting ready to head out and asked me to meet her shortly at the McDonalds not far from where I was. I made a stop at the LCBO to pick up some cheap beer I’d been drinking recently for the both of us and then wasted no time getting to the McDonalds.

I’ve only recently begun drinking again outside of social situations, so I ordered the usual Junior McChicken and Bacon Cheeseburger in order to give myself somewhat of an edge. Otherwise, I would be drinking on an empty stomach and get trashed way too soon. I ate with lightning speed, not wanting to be rude by eating in front of Hailey. While I ate, I stayed entertained and distracted by one of the typical Parkdale residents flipping out at nothing, talking to himself and anyone stupid enough to make eye-contact, swatting his baseball cap back and forth in front of his face like some paper fan and occasionaly screaming about tarantulas. Fifteen minutes passed and Hailey was still nowhere to be seen, so I went next door and got myself a can of Coke, which I drank outside the McDonalds. Still no Hailey. Over the next hour, the disturbed guy had wondered in and out of the McDonalds several times, knocked out some ceiling tiles while attempting to take out a security camera and tried to steal a Vespa by jamming a bike lock into the ignition before finally giving up and scratching the paint all to Hell. I was just about to use the last of my quarters to call again when I saw her in the distance, walking towards our designated meeting point. “Finally,” I thought. And then I noticed she was walking with some other guy. Disappointment filled my mind and I began to discount any possibility of that “eventual hook-up” I had been hoping for.

“This is my friend Jorge, he got jumped by four dudes last night and he’s pretty shaken up about the whole thing,” she told me as she introduced me to her friend. I could see he was still pretty jumpy and had cuts and bruises all over his arms and neck. Although I had already spent way more time there than I wanted to, I humored Hailey and we sat at a table for another fiteen or twenty minutes before leaving. On the walk from King back up to Queen, Hailey and I had our beers, parted ways with Jorge and ran into Mark, a guy I had met through Hailey the last time we hung out. He seemed like a normal enough guy, aside from his habit to speak too fast. The three of us grabbed dinner at the St. Francis Center, a soup kitchen run by Capuchin friars that plays Wu-Tang’s music on the stereo while you eat. I had roast beef, rice and corn with a tea to drink. Still not giving up hope for the night, I suggested we grab some more beers on the way back to Hailey’s. Mark and I made arrangements to meet at noon the following day to trade files off our hard drives and parted ways with us halfway there. The rest of that first night was pretty uneventful. We simply drank while watching a Bollywood movie called Don 2, then smoked some weed and made the horrible decision to watch the Invisible War. I say horrible decision not because it was a bad movie, but because a doumentary on rape scadals in the military is not something you should watch after getting stoned. We finally realized it was a bad move and chaged DVDs for Anna Karenina, which was trippy, but had a terribly depressing ending that, along with the rape film, completely killed the mood and any chances that I would even get in a kiss. After the movie, we put on a Harry Potter film to brighten things up a bit and passed out together on her bed, which is little more than layers of memory foam and sheets on her floor.

I have never been able to figure out the logic in this, but when I drink a little, my body completely shuts down the following day, whereas when I drink heavily, I wake up bright eyed at the buttcrack of dawn. Thursday morning was no different and I woke up at about 8:30 next to someone I knew wouldn’t be up for several hours. After another two hours of laying down silent and still as to not disturb Hailey, I finally got up and tried to get ready to meet Mark at the library without waking Hailey. After grabbing a bag-lunch from the St. Francis Center, which I ate outside the library, I went inside, set up my laptop and began to wait for Mark, deciding to kill time by downloading videos. Mark never showed up and at 4:30, I left to get dinner again at St. Francis. While eating, who showed up but Mark, telling me he went three times looking for me, but never saw me. I have my doubts. At about the time I finished my meal, Hailey showed up with a friend who’s name eludes me at this time. After they finished their meals, we again headed to grab drinks from the LCBO and made our way back to Hailey’s.

After what had been an average night and day, things finally started to get a bit chaotic. Hailey’s friend is with a women dying of cancer and rather than stand by her until the end, he sneaks behind her back for booty calls, cursing her and saying she needs to die already. To make matters worse, she kept calling him every five minutes to verify where he was and I somehow ended up on the phone for some reason. I, of course, was polite and truthful, telling her we were at my friend Hailey’s house hanging out and nothing out of the ordinary (aside from their situation) was going on. The phonecalls eventually escalated to the point he had to leave because he was yelling into the phone arguing with his dying girlfriend. Certainly fucked up, to say the least, but things only get weirder from here. After this guy left, Hailey got a phonecall and said we needed to meet some friends of hers at the basketball court a few blocks away. Little did I know that the people we were meeting were the same people that supposedly all jumped Jorge a few nights prior: Moses, Nathan, Vince and Chops.

We arrived at the basketball courts and I was properly introduced to the four supposed culprits of Jorge’s beatdown. Moses is a very happy person from Madagascar who’s into skateboarding. Nathan is a Navajo who happens to be an almost dead-ringer for Albert, which as the night progressed and I got drunker, made me most comfortable around him. Vince and Chops are your average Parkdale hustlers and the type of best friends that bounce back and forth between loving and hating each other. At this point, the rain had been pretty non-stop since the day before, so the basketball came to an end with our arrival and we went to the dollar store to find some cheap entertainment in the form of putt putt golf and suction cup darts. We then went to Nathan’s house, a small one room apartment full of Superman artwork made by Nathan, who also teaches art and pottery to children…

Jonny Jenaro: Humans, We Are A Selfish And Self Centered Thing (July 10, 2013)

I thought it was common knowledge that the NSA has been spying on us for years … Why is it such a big deal all of a sudden? Isn’t Facebook a voluntary venue to disclose personal information to not only the public but also the government? Great American hypocrisy Batman!

I don’t think Occupy poses any kind of threat to anyone, maybe as much threat as the hippies in the 60’s. But anyhow, the only time you don’t want someone watching you is when you have something to hide. I have nothing to hide, let them spy!

Everyone can agree that this is no longer, or questionably ever a free country. However, I’d rather have being spied on be the worst things known to me about my government than to live in constant fear of me, or a family member being murdered or black bagged for my religion or any other belief. Also, the ability to have food within my grasp about anywhere I go to in the country. I’ve never been rich in another country but I have been homeless here and I can say that I ate great and had the ability to get some sort of medical attention for a fee. We have it really good here and we take it for granted, bad talk it, and belly ache over things that people in other countries would kill for.

Every government is corrupted, I say take what you can get and fight for what you must, but at least I can speak for myself and say it’s not that bad for me.

Other countries would kill for the kind of freedom that’s available to us here on a daily basis. And we whine and cry over how bad it is and how our freedoms are trampled upon every day. How about you go talk to a child in Ethiopia about the water faucet in your kitchen and bathroom, then we’ll talk.

Or talk to a Chinese government official about your love for Jesus Christ.

Or explain your large knowledge and education of science and quantum physics to a Haitian adult … if you can find one.

Writing letters to people in power, getting signatures and other things of that nature are great. And it’s making a difference. And I don’t consider that whining. What people are doing on Facebook is whining.

I can only imagine what the American media is doing at this moment. Which is why I don’t watch it, I like to gather facts and come up with my own conclusions. No one persuades me what to think and/or do on a daily basis. But hey, it’s the freedoms I’m talking about that give anyone the right to air whatever bothers them, still don’t have to agree with it, but it doesn’t bother me, that’s someone else’s opinion.

Well except for the religion and privacy stuff. It’s still pretty free at the moment, maybe not for long, but maybe religion isn’t helpful anymore. If they chop my head off for loving God, so be it. But luckily this country isn’t there at the moment.

Except Christians lately. Which is odd … But I still feel that I can freely worship some thing I call God out on the street and not feel like I’m going to be crucified or anything.

I’m glad we don’t all think the same, cause this place would be a pretty boring and lame place.

Individuals do have different thresholds for pain as well, but I just think that having a flat tire is not as bad as having a bombed village. The pain is still there, but I would prefer the latter.

MAN3: Ask Yourself “WWEJD” (April 27, 2013)

The greatest sin of all is to be boring, despite the capability and opportunity to go beyond conventionally accepted boundaries. Evil Jesus is that little voice that whispers in your ear, “Come on, you know you wanna, it’ll feel so good.” Its the drive to not merely be average, but superhuman. Its chocolate covered decadence with a side of chemical entertainment. Its the massive responsibility to succeed in the depths of what some dismiss as irresponsibility. Its sex, drugs and art, the one true holy trinity. Its the golden doctrine that “ALL RULES MUST BE BROKEN,” or they will become the chains that hold you down in mediocrity. And so, I am Evil Jesus…

Life is meant to be lived, not simply survived. So if life is getting too real for you, just ask yourself, “WWEJD?”

MAN3: Happy Selective Racism Day (March 17, 2013)

Look, I’m the farthest thing from racist, sexist or bigoted in any form or fashion. I see something I find offensive and I pick it up and look at it and say to someone, “Gosh, this sure is racist!” And then if I don’t immediately describe it, that person says, “Well, why? Describe it to me.” And then I do and they look all shocked and say, “Why’d you say that?!?! You’re racist!” So, here goes…

Am I the only one that finds St. Patrick’s Day racist? I am the product of the joining of the Nalley and O’Shea families. My mother’s father was the first generation born in America after his father moved from County Cork Ireland. Needless to say, I was raised with plenty of Irish pride. My family always celebrated St. Patrick’s Day each year with a corned beef and cabbage dinner. However, there was never any excessive drinking nor were there ever a bunch of leprechauns running around.

For a little history, much like Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day is a cultural and spiritual holiday of Catholic origin with roots in Paganism (one popular theory holds that Mardi Gras’ origins lie in ancient pagan celebrations of spring and fertility) that has somehow become a modern-day excuse to get wasted and put your morals aside for a night. St. Patrick’s Day’s pagan roots lie much closer to the surface, as it is literally a celebration of Christianity’s final victory over the native religious traditions of Ireland’s past, with St. Patrick serving as its mascot. Unlike the modern tradition of wearing green clothing, the color originally associated with St. Patrick was blue. While many typically associate this holiday with the four-leafed clover, it is the three-leafed shamrock that best represents St. Patrick’s Day, as it is generally accepted that St. Patrick explained the concept of the holy trinity to the Irish pagans with this plant.

Today, I’m seeing a lot of these “What’s Your Leprechaun Name?” things popping up in my Facebook feed with a bunch of stereotypically Irish names listed below on some chart. This is straight up racist! Or did I just miss the “What’s Your Slave Name?” chart for Black History Month? I am fully aware that slavery was far more wide-spread than simply blacks in the south of early America. Ironically, many forget the Irish were sold as slaves at one time as well. But, alas, I just don’t get it. So, how has this holiday become any different from wearing black-face on MLK’s birthday and serving fried chicken and grape soda? How am I supposed to know which stereotypes are allowed and which ones aren’t? While we’re on the subject of stereotypes… If I had my may, I certainly would have checked the box labelled “eats fried chicken/hung like a horse” rather than “gets drunk/fights a lot.”

Obviously, I’m not comparing leprechauns with slavery. I’m simply saying that a stereotype is a stereotype and that none are OK. Unfortunately, a lot of what enables people to get away with bold-faced racism is creative wordplay. For example, someone says “black power” and the average person might imagine a fist in the air and think “Right on brother. Fight the good fight.” However, you replace the word “black” with “white” and all of a sudden you’re conjuring up images of burning crosses, inbred hillbillies wearing white sheets on their heads and all sorts of other horrible things. Also, like I’ve already said, slavery occurred everywhere, to a lot of different people at different times. People of one certain descent don’t own that word. Oh, and Leprechauns are pretty much the only symbol of national pride that is allowed to be mocked. Just saying…

Did you know the Irish invented chocolate milk in the 1680’s? That’s what I’m drinking tonight.

Let’s switch gears a bit. I wonder how Mexicans feel about the hijacking of Cinco de Mayo? As a cultural force, we seem to find these holidays with rich histories behind them, infect them and eventually completely steal them. And what do you we do with them? We chew them up, shit them out and sprinkle a little sugar on top and say its in celebration of this culture or that culture, when really it is little more than an excuse to let our hair down for one day and act the way we want to act everyday, if only we had the excuse. Do non-Jewish people dress up like rabbis and use it as an excuse to get wasted on a Jewish holiday? Do non-Christians dress up like Jesus and use it as an excuse to get wasted on Easter? No, because its racist and offensive. That’s my point…

Jonny Jenaro: Banality To Mention

Cathartic nonsensical relief to an addiction to life through an alienation to all tasteful hopes of breathing.
The ridicule that follows is always incongruence and laughable.
A “human” trait that never matters to a nauseous waste of nausea.
I follow a cycle that flows into a spiral descending into the pit of my carousel membrane.
The side that deals in addition, subtracting the positives from the multiple razor thoughts warming the river in my ubiquitous ego perversions.
Trampling reserves of remorse for denial is reincarnation of a cancerous persuasion presuming a retention of reality.
Recall, rewrite, receive retaliation.
I never thought to lie about my limits of pretension…
Living is venality but banality to mention.

Jonny Jenaro: We All Have “THE” Answer (February 02, 2013)

We all have ”THE” answer.

Christianity has nothing to do with Jesus today. Governments and religious leaders have used his name to have control, power and money, even some of the writers of the Bible. We shouldn’t blame a religion for stupid followers, I can just as easily blame someone who believes in only themselves for doing the exact same things. Just because someone is atheist or agnostic doesn’t make them exempt from being a hateful, rude or sometimes evil person.

We just don’t get it. We all have our own way we live this life, we always believe, ”We are right and They are wrong.” No matter what it is we believe we will always be God to ourselves because of the way we treat others and ourselves. We are the center, the sun rises and sets around us. everyone will always pervert a good thing in time.

When the truth is, God loves us, we love ourselves, we hate our fellow human beings and we show this by what are actions show, not the lies of how holy we are with our lips, or how ” we don’t believe in God so we’re wise and know every answer to all of life’s secrets because if it.”

Get over yourself religious people and get over yourself non-religious people, neither of you are right, in fact all of you are wrong.

MAN3: Open Letter (December 14, 2012)

Be careful today when you seek a scapegoat. I remember being in school during the first of these school shootings, Columbine, and I remember being brought before a tribunal of sorts with the school administration and almost being expelled and arrested simply because I was different and it scared them. There’s nothing worse than being told your life could be over before it begins and knowing that if you had been permitted, you could have rationally explained yourself. Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m not identifying with any shooters, just the innocent freethinking people caught in the witch hunt that always follows. I’m sure there are still some of you that remember The Inner Circle newsletter fiasco…

I wish I had a personal recorder back then. My high school’s principal, Mr. Washington, actually said to me in the presence of the school resource officer and one other person on his office staff, “Why do you listen to Marilyn Manson? You know he’s a f*ggot, right?” I knew right then, nothing I said would ever make a difference.

I definitely had a unique perspective going through school. By simply being myself, I stripped myself of any credibility in the eyes of the authorities, who made me out to be little more than a rabble-rouser. I think because of that, they figured they could get away with what ever they wanted around me and in regards to my basic rights. If only I had a hidden camera or microphone, so many people would have lost their jobs. We forget that these almighty figureheads of education in our children’s lives are mere humans like the rest of us, complete with their own personal set of flaws. To think they are a fair, level-headed bastion of nobility to stand as examples for your children is delusional.

The newsletter in middle school, “HackZ ,” was Weston’s baby. I just lent my assistance to it. That was almost worse, because the school resource officer there was in the bomb squad and thought the instructions to build obsolete hardware to steal phone calls from payphones were bomb plans. They definitely called everyone who received the newsletter in high school down to the office for a little scared straight session. I heard all about it afterwards. Also, don’t forget that even though there were four of us making the newsletter in high school, “The Inner Circle,” they still singled me out. You wouldn’t believe the things they said to my three friends and their parent about me. It was an all out attack on my character and worth as a human being. Ask Kenny, he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

After Columbine, I was ordered to go through both the school’s therapist for “analysis” and a private psychologist. Also, every time a bomb threat was called in, which I remember was more than once a week for a while there, the school resource officer or an administrator would come and “collect” me from my class.

There was indeed a so-called “Fred List” at Chamberlain, at least after the Inner Circle incident. To my knowledge, it only existed after April 21st of that year, but I can only imagine it was probably a common practice among that school’s administration staff prior to then as well. The four of us involved were on it, as was Weston for sure. The Inner Circle event may have been my worst experience with the office staff my freshman year, but it indeed was not my first. It happened towards the end of the year if I remember correctly. At the end of the tribunal, they pretty much told all of our parents that rather than risk the bad rep for Chamberlain the day after Columbine, they’d keep the whole thing under wraps and give us work detail for the summer. If you look up any of our four school records, it will say on that day “Other Major Incident – Days Suspended: 0.” Kind of odd that a major incident not commonly listed on their forms is worthy of note but not worthy of punishment, don’t you think?

Remember those “Student Handbooks” everyone got at the beginning of the year? You weren’t the only ones who got one. There were also assorted handbooks for different types of teachers and staff, including a rather thick red covered one for the administration. One day, while using my TV Productions pass to roam the halls for no reason, I waltzed into the main office and noticed a large cardboard box on the front counter that had been opened. Inside were copies of this large red handbook for the principal and each of the assistant principals. Someone didn’t get their copy… I actually had that plus a few of the different teacher’s editions. So I knew what it meant when those random announcements were made over the intercom saying “There’s an electrical problem in such and such” or any of the other ones. I hope that the friend I have holding onto the book has kept it safe all these years.

I haven’t even begun yet on the racial issues at that school. So far, all my problems have been because I was an intelligent freethinking person who didn’t buy their bullcrap. Even my black friends in school would admit that Mr. Washington and Mr. Smith gave preferential treatment to black students. It was especially true for Mr. Smith when it came to the black girls if you catch my drift. When I was in TV Productions, I made a gag reel out of outtakes from an address of Mr. Washington’s I had to film for the school closed-circuit TV show. The dude could not pronounce words properly and didn’t even know what some of them were. It took some effort to get that tape off school grounds, because the teacher was hell-bent on having it erased. I also have a tape in storage from an interview I did with a student in ROTC who had to wear his full camo uniform during the clip, so I came to school that day wearing an old German police jacket that I wore through the whole thing.

The one thing that I suspected that was finally confirmed by attending Chamberlain was that you cannot trust authority figures and take everything with a grain of salt and a healthy dose of skepticism. If there’s a more corrupt high school than the one I attended, I feel extremely sorry for any student not willing to conform and be a robot. And you wonder why some of our classmates have grown up to be rapists, murderers and bank robbers… Go Chamberlain!