Saturday, 17 June 2017

Tale of a Veiled Backside Bride

Sweaty palms, I stand suited, I stand firm,
Waiting for the church doors to turn, watching for my veiled bride,
Why has she not yet come inside?
The music on the piano starts playing – Pachelbel Canon in D Major,
Why is this song taking forever?
Doors creak open - everyone one turns to see her entrance,
But all we see is white running shoes in the distance.
Nothing but second thoughts made her turn and ran,
Dammit why was I such a fan?
Watching that beautiful sequenced bouncing backside,
Reminded me it was worth the ride…
She may be crazy yet I love her,
How am I going to recover?
And as I watched her beautiful ass get in,
I yelled out to the limo driver –

“Her favorite drink is lemon gin!”

Friday, 16 June 2017

The Majestic Mustang - 1988 Ford Mustang.

            After losing my battle with the brown Mothra, I was approached with the very idea of horse trading. I have never swapped one object for another, let alone a car, and I couldn't believe that a man who wasn't a mental patient escapee from the hospital would ever want a battered up Japanese prostitute. Luckily for me he was roped in by her painted beauty as I was when I first saw her and traded me straight across for a grey mustang. How could I say no? The gauges all worked, it pretty much ran on the price of hay, and it actually got me from point A to point B. Marvelous.

            The joy having a car that looks like a thoroughbred (but runs like an ass), could trick young, naive girls into going on a trail ride at the drop of a hat. Enjoying this newfound attraction makes me forget the Japanese monster (who by the way feel in love with the new owner and never gave him one damn problem the entire length of ownership, that C***), But no matter, the new horse is doing just nicely. And as a reward I decided to sink some extra cash flow into her. Some new body work, tinted windows, a fresh coat of paint, cool racing stripes, and a bass sound system that could project the very resonance of a young man’s throbbing loins to all the local mares in heat. Yes. I was proud of my new prized pony (let’s face it; it was only a four banger). But with her midnight blue exterior   gleaming in the dazzling sunlight, any gambler that saw her would admit she would be a sure thing getting girls up on the saddle!

            Breaking her in was the easy part. Unfortunately, breaking parts was a part of her way of life as well...sadly. Being a ford owner also meant costly breakdowns which mean my ride wouldn't get to stretch her legs as often I liked. Just like Mothra, but with a twist of domestic violence. Most notable occasion was a road trip with a couple of good friends on the way to the Grey Cup. At first I thought she seemed a bit lame. On the way back what we thought would be a victory lap, ended up leaving us stranded on a bridge. In the middle of Calgary. During rush hour. We were able to bring here home limping, but like all horses who break their ankles you have to put them down. So unfortunately this is the end of the trail for this here nag, she'll end up back in the stables for quite some time before I end up horse trading her for an orange 1973 Dodge Charger.

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

Tales of A Maintenance Man #22

Trapped behind this desk I sit,
The weight of boredom hangs heavy upon my brow,
My eyes drift amongst the sea of black and white lines on the monitor before me,
Obscuring my thoughts on the task at hand.
I have been down this road before - I think.
Or am I thinking about a previous time, about this very exact thing?
When did consciousness and unconsciousness blend into this reality before me?
The 100mg of caffeine guarantees my alertness,
Although I find myself being pulled out of my chair towards the flashing amber lights that are rotating towards me....
I pretend I didn't see him and continue to walk BUT twice as slow,
Only to hear the short vested man pushing the horn button with the force of 12 angry gorillas.
He gestures me to move to the left. I gesture him where to shove it.
He drives by mumbling and cursing, I get written up for expressing myself in a unsafe manner.
I'm written up immediately for the second time for telling them to eat a bag of dicks -
and sent home without pay.

Ah…back to reality.

Friday, 16 December 2016

Friday, 1 July 2016

Fundraiser without the Fun.

Jogging. My galloping enemy. Not that I hate the act of jogging so much as the knowing better alternatives out there who, if present, warrant much better benefits. I guess one could argue that there is the health benefit or that some joggers get a potential high from this. Which I can believe. One would have to be high to say you know what I feel like doing right now?  Running. Yes. Going out into the frigid cold or the summer’s heat in clothing not meant for the public’s eye just...because. Clothing still designed by some 80's factory for the sheer purpose of blinding my windshield as I drive past with their bright neon hues like giant reflective fish lures, baiting my eyes from the road ahead. Now the ones that truly give me whiplash are the lulu lemon/mini skirt/crop top wearing gorgeous bouncing beauties, defying all weather patterns (and bra weight limits)  rain/sleet/snow - these women are real troopers and the real reason for car accidents, fender benders, just crashing things in general , your our true heroes,  god bless you all.

Now the real reason people jog is not for health reasons, no, I believe the true reason jogging was invented for fundraising. The first jogger might have been dying from something like cancer, rabies, or STD's (sorry its STI's now), but what I think they were really dying from was an excuse to run and not be made fun of. Because it's kind of weird...or gay. I haven't decided. Nowadays the first word that pops into your head when you hear the word fundraiser is running. Run for the cure, Moonlight Run, Run for poor Timmy's asthma, the beer run, it’s all a big scam to get you to do something you don't want to do but do anyways. They almost make you feel bad too if you don't join like you’re the bad guy: "What?  You like cancer bro? Don't you wanna stop cancer? My mother died from cancer blah blah blah" Which is a pretty good tactic to pull on the old heart strings. If you have some.  I already donate…to the hard working mothers down at the strip clubs, a good cause I can get behind.  And if me running were to stop any malady permanently, I'd crawl off the couch, dust the boots off, and run till the end where a cure is given to poor Timmy  and we all  can move on with our lives. But I probably wouldn't. Probably because it wouldn't stop there. You can't seem to get away from the monthly guilt train of marathons and thus were bombarded with this in our daily lives so other people can feel good about running for a purpose. Sorry that train left for me a long time ago.   

And don't even get me on the walkers. Something almost anyone can do, and we do, on a regular basis, throughout the day, without thinking, and this for some reason is an Olympic sport minus the sport part. Since the beginning man has walked and ran, until they were able to tame horses, then horses were the main mode of transportation for thousands of years because they were faster and they could carry daily supplies for us and their amazing with cool names like Man O' War, War Admiral, Seabiscuit and Clip Clop. Only until this past century have we been blessed with the technological advancements to travel long distances in minutes and hours vs. days/weeks! Why would I agree to step back to something anyone throughout time has done time and time again? We live in this glorious age of automobiles, be thankful! The day I was old enough to get a driver’s license with a bad teen mustache, was the day I said so long to my bike, and you know why? Because it is better in every sense. I wouldn't put it past people to one day fundraise a walk for those that love to walk for the sake of walking in memorial of all those that have fallen in the line of walking for the walking cause dedicated to the man who invented walking, Mr. Walker III....Because only an idiot with numbers after their name would come up with something like they invented walking what it is today. Probably so he could pick up a woman. Or a Man. Yep. Walking for a cause is a gay one. Yeah I decided.

Saturday, 11 June 2016

Oh No Canada.

    Like all mornings before work, I get up (barely lucid), grab a bowl, and dig into the trough of Mini-Wheats set before me and graze along as I thumb through various emails, videos and posts on my cell phone, sitting there like a big dumb jersey cow, wrapped up in my Chewbacca housecoat, slack jawed in awe.

    Big debate this week, (as in all weeks on Facebook  Canada) should we change the national anthem to be gender neutral?  Casually, my first reply is to douse my phone in gasoline and let my fingers ignite the digital keyboard a glorious fireball of epic proportions of swear words, pronouns and verses that would sent chills upon Hades spine (or skin orgasms as I read this week) listening to my maniacal laughter echoing off the walls of my kitchen. Jumping up and down, Dancing naked around the table like a Zulu warrior, shouting at 6 am, only to have the wife scream at me with a threat train of ungodly hostile actions to my body and manhood, not due to what I was shouting at or for, but the fact that I may not live to rue this day if the kids awake. And the fact with the blinds open, the neighbors can see my three amigos awaken from their siesta for the quinceanera, but without the party. Or the music. Or the girls. Just me and my Mariachi band strumming out to desperado on the leftover tequila found in the freezer. Unimpressed at this display, she mutters another equally terrifying death threat that the band is going to be strung up and battered around like a piƱata if I don't get my shit together, comprende? I quickly and quietly wrap myself again in my housecoat and silence bestows upon the Huneault household as the bedroom door closes, she won this round.

    That would be the old Dan. Prenoon Dan. Afternoon Dan has had time to think. To ponder. To reflect. I know now that the morning induced hatred was really just the first stage of denial. I have an entire day to go through all seven stages before I get to: Acceptance. This usually hits around home time and I have had something to eat, and all morning threats have been lifted and forgotten. This Acceptance has not only shed a new light on the subject but inspired me to rewrite our national anthem. I know what you're thinking, "Hey Dan they just want change just one word". And I get that. But next they would want to change the word god too and get rid of that. Then what's next? Might as well just have a non-sexist/non-religious/non-racist, politically correct (pussified) version for today's society. So here it is:

O Canada! Where natives live tax free!
Home of basketball, lacrosse, and ice hockey.
French is our second language, and
We pronounce it Zed not Zee!
From BC to Newfie
O Canada, We love minorities!
Please don't invade our land, We have no army!
O USA, We give our oil for free.
O USA, We'll buy it back for a fee!

P.S. If they do change the word "God" in the anthem, I think it should be the word "Please" It's just the Canadian thing to do.

Friday, 20 November 2015

The Ill-Fated Raven

To she, whom she knows, but I dare not say:
A dreadful morn hath past the hand strike ten,
This present makes haste; and the night turn day,
For this lovers love, and hers? may bloom again.
Try as I may but cannot win this doves
heart. For the fox hath within his grasp; Takes
her life, But not her love - The one she loves;
and closely guards, is the one heart she breaks.
The vain reckoning of this ill-fated
Raven; Is proclaimed by the heavens above,
Restrained by loves shadows, Cursed by cupid,
Cannot be resolved. True: These tales of love
could have ended in a different way,
But crushed that heart of mine to my dismay.

The Envious Raven

For what is this love, lest it be my fate?
Sweet Nancy, when I look unto thine eyes,
Vanity, possesses my conscious state:
So I swear on those stars Romeo defies,
By my bosom's lord, I'll lay hold of her,
'Cause to live a life without her is but
to live a life without love - a tender,
If be denied, cannot heal this heart cut.
Soft! A winged messenger of heaven
hath stumblest upon my secret vow -
O fair dove, Kill this envious raven,
Doth let love's heralds cry my love for thou,
Thy beauty is too dear for deja vu,
A mirror couldn't cast such a swan as you!

***My first Shakespearean sonnet 1998***

A letter to Leo...

To you, who makes haste at the softest glow,
need not run a leopards pace, or buckle under
the point of seizure, which, being pressed and
smitten with animosity changes his spots.
Lay low he, so not it be ensnared swiftly -
is victimized, suspended off all fours, is
unwillingly trapped, merited by its design,
situated in her favor, camouflages loves
hemmed barrier, snags an unsuspecting cub.

Lend your attention and heed this call, be
that of the jungle or not, for she be of the
female kind, wild and untamed, cannot yet be
domesticated until the scent of you is
becoming of her, then, if be allowed,
nurture and protect her under Mother Natures
wing, with a steady paw and watchful eye.

P.S. Not to worry, if trouble is amiss, a
tainted tail cannot control the body
attached to it, you command the direction
and thus, its followings....

My Dream Chameleon

I cannot explain the image of which
my eyes have not yet seen,
A woman that bears no name to me,
But awaits me in my dream.
I wish I could say her eyes were sky blue,
green, brown, or even grey,
But her hair colour too seems to change
every night to my dismay.
Twenty three years later she's still of age,
A perfect wife for me,
But the years go on, and so do I,
The less likely she will be.

Who is this woman, this chameleon?
Were we meant to be?
Is this some sort of practical joke?
A false hope of reality?
Even so, when she speaks: It's not my ears,
But my heart, nameless one,
That carries your tune - my one true love,
my soulmate, my dream chameleon.