It’s often the most hideous, despicable and vomit-inspiring phrase that brings a smile to one’s face – automatic or not. I cannot even begin to describe the stares and guffaws that I get when wearing the *proud* slogan of my alma mater’s humour magazine:
“Babies: Fun to Make, Fun To Eat”
Ludicrous indeed, but outrageous statements and actions force the noggin to consider the alternative. The flinging of the human body for example, adhering to Newton’s second (or is that third?) law of motion, challenges the mind. A normal occurence on the gridiron – barring freak accidents that result in the termination of one’s career. Whereas the ragdoll victim flops on the concrete street, a scene I witnessed tonight at the local watering hole with the sweet strains of a Detroit quartet spilling onto the patio, as what may be considered a look of dismay flashed across my companion’s face.
A David and Goliath moment – drunk hobo vs. determined bouncer. Whatever organic material left in my stone cold heart vainly tugs, but to no avail. As Confucius once said (according to the collegiate poster that adorned my Montreal digs): Shit happens.
Two words that sum up what may be considered a watershed moment in Canadian political history, and all we’re left with is an empty bottle of Reisling and the feeling of discontent. The only remedy for my malaise may be one of the celestial quotes favoured by my budding novelist friend, but it’s a line from a Showcase softcore program that best encapsulates my current mood: “Reach for the unknown - touch the stars.”
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