A Sunday on BC Ferries

This is a special mobile post from my cell phone. There was no way I could wait to post my experiences of the last hour.

My apologies for any spelling or grammatical mistakes, i am using a virtual keyboard with my new phone and had become accustomed to using a blackberry keyboard, now don't get me wrong blackberries are nothing compared to this phone, but I do miss the keyboard.

Seeing as I am using my cellphone I will get right to the key events which lead me to this overwhelming need to post immediately.

You will notice the main picture for this post is of some douche and his 2002 Hyundai Elantra. This fucking guy has tinted windows and rims on this thing...now I am all for personalizing your vehicle, but serious - its a fucking Hyundai! So there I am trying to read my copy of the Province when an alarm starts going off, much to my surprise it's the Hyundai in front of me. Of course the driver is nowhere to be seen...a few minutes pass and the alarm turns off. A few minutes later the alarm goes off again, then again and so on for the next 45 minutes. It would appear that he is so concerned about his precious $2500 vehicle that he has the sensitivity on his alarm turned way up, so whenever someone walks by his car the alarm goes off. I just about lost it, there is a small child in the vehicle next to me crying about the noise while smearing what I can only assume is banana all over the inside of his window, some of my other neighbors get fed up and go tell an employee about it. A few minutes later there is an announcement over the PA about this Hyundai. Does the guy show up? No...he shows up 30 seconds before we board, about 20 minutes later. I sincerely hope this guy is sterile, for the sake of all of humanity...I mean who puts an alarm on a vehicle which has an MSRP when brand new of about $9200 and then jacks the sensitivity to max?

This brings me to the next part of my journey. Okay people we all need our coffee in the morning, I get it...but when you are at the ferry you might want to stay aware of the time. I have never seen so many people running for their cars at the last second, coffee in hand, as the rest of us have to drive around their vehicles to board because they are too stupid to look at one of the many time keeping devices our technologically advanced society has been able to produce. I wish I was making this up guys, honestly, it was brutal to watch, there were no less than 10 vehicles stranded all over the lot. I don't even know what else to say about it.

You would think that once I actually boarded the ferry all this insanity would cease, guess again. There I am stuck behind a freaking gaggle of tourists in the stairwell as they argue about what I can only assume is if they want to eat or not. I am all for lengthy conversations about the potential to catch the clap, the dreaded bee disease or worse from Ferry food, however they actually stopped moving for about 2 minutes while still on the stairs to keep talking about it. To make matters worse they wouldn't allow me or the 15 people behind me to pass them until they were done. Can someone please help me out here, is it just me or are you confused as fuck by this course of action?

By this point all I can think about is smoking. Thankfully I am able to dodge the rest of the confused tourists and make it to the upper deck and the smaller than average smoking area. As I approach this younger guy I smell something familar. Yup, you guessed it, he is smoking a joint. Now I am not one to judge or anything, but all sillyness aside it's 8:34am and you are on the ferry. Nothing is going to make the food taste any better. This dude was like 40 years old! Maybe it was the previous experiences of the morning that set me off, but I couldn't even handle it, kids are walking around, people are taking pictures and there's buddy, getting high.

All in all, a standard Sunday morning on the ferry. The best part is that I am coming back to the Island tonight, so stay tuned as I'm sure I will have more to report.

A Brief History of Time

Alright so I am breaking off on a bit of a tangent here to give you all a little bit of history...enjoy !

(Keith, this one's for you)

Humans originally existed as members of small bands of nomadic hunters/gatherers.  They lived on deer in the mountains during the summer and would go to the coast and live on fish and lobster in the winter.  The two most important events in all of history were the invention of beer and the invention of the wheel.  The wheel was invented to get man to the beer.  These were the foundations of modern civilization and together were the catalyst for the splitting of humanity into two distinct subgroups.  Liberals and Conservatives.  Once beer was discovered, it required grain and that was the beginning of agriculture.  Neither the glass bottle nor aluminum can were invented yet, so while our early humans were sitting around waiting for them to be invented, they stayed close to the brewery.  That’s how villages were formed.  Some men spent their days tracking and killing to BBQ at night while they were drinking beer.  This was the beginning of what is known as the conservative movement.  Other men who were weaker and less skilled at hunting learned to live off conservatives by showing up for the nightly BBQ’s and doing the sewing, fetching, and hair dressing.  This was the beginning of the Liberal movement.  Some of these liberal men eventually evolved into women.  The reset became known as girlie-men.  Some noteworthy liberal achievements include the domestication of cats, the invention of group therapy, group hugs, and the concept of Democratic voting to decide how to divide the meat and beer that conservatives provided.  Over the years conservatives came to be symbolized by the largest, most powerful land animal on earth, the elephant.  Liberals are symbolized by the jackass.  Modern liberals like imported beer (with lime added), but most prefer white wine or imported bottled water.  They eat raw fish but like their beef well done.  Sushi, tofu and French food are standard liberal fare.  Another interesting evolutionary side note: most of their women have higher testosterone levels than their men.  Most social workers, personal injury lawyers, journalists, dreamers in Hollywood and group therapists are liberals.  Liberals invented the designated hitter rule because it wasn’t fair to make the pitcher also bat.  Conservatives drink domestic beer, mostly Blue or Bud.  They eat red meat and still provide for their women.  Conservatives are big-game hunters, rodeo cowboys, lumberjacks, construction workers, firemen, medical doctors, police officers, corporate executives, athletes, Marines, airline pilots and generally anyone who works productively.  Conservatives who own companies hire other conservatives who want to work for a living.  Liberals do little or nothing.  They like to govern the producers and decide what to do with production.  Liberals believe Europeans are more enlightened than North Americans.  That is why most Liberals remained in Europe when conservatives were coming to the new world.  They crept in after the Wild West was tamed and created a business of trying to get more for nothing.

Here ends today’s lesson in world history.  It should be noted that a liberal may have a momentary urge to angrily respond to the above before passing it on.  A conservative will simply laugh and be so convinced of the absolute truth of the history that it will be passed on immediately to other true believers and to more liberals just to piss them off.

Coming soon: "...Remember that time you got one?"

"I got this one..." An underage drinking story....

Everyone has their stories about that first time you had a few too many drinks and they almost always involve some kind of disgusting alcohol and the fact that you were underage.

I'm just telling you all right now, no story compares to this next one.

I am particularly fond of this story as it launched one of the initial Clint and James comedic, interactive and ongoing stage acts.  We would perform this routine at the store when people were feeling low after having been told to start committing anti-semitic hate crimes, as per the company business model.

This story takes place during the snow storm of December, 2008.  Most people have resentment for this time, but for myself, I am thankful that it happened as it led to some of the most pivotal Patio Talk sessions of all time.  Don't assume for a minute that Clint and I wouldn't be on the patio even in the snow.  Nothing stops Patio Talk.

Clint spent about 36 hours straight at my place due to the heavy snowfall and the results from this time are priceless, so many stories, so many characters, so many routines...it was one of those key moments.

The best part about this story is that not only is Clint 13 years old, but he was drinking Southern Comfort.  I was always under the assumption that Southern Comfort was more of a liqueur used to flavor drinks...but like a good early teenage boy he found whatever he could and drank it straight out of the bottle.  I am sure we all have a similar story.

So he is out in the backwoods near Cowichan Lake, he grew up in Victoria and when you grow up on the Island, Cowichan is always a good choice for illegal drinking.  For whatever reason he and his buddies decide one day to find random booze and go drinking in the woods.  Don't lie to yourself now, we have all done it at one time.

The details of the actual drinking are standard.  You know how it goes when you are young, you drink weird shit and you drink it fast.

Needless to say, none of them had vehicles and there was no way they could call their parents for rides.  They decide to try hitchhiking.  They were able to make it far enough into civilization to find a bus stop.

Public transportation and underage drinking is pure comedic genius.  It always ends badly.  Clint is sitting there when he starts to feel very ill, with no bucket or bathroom around he takes off his jacket, holds it in his lap with both arms and barfs...over and over again into his jacket.

This goes on for a few minutes, the passengers are losing it and the driver doesn't know what to do.  One passenger gets a great idea and this is the routine I still perform to this day, it is classic.

This guys stands up and starts approaching Clint - cautiously.  He is slowly making his way to Clint, all the while maintaining a steady pace and hesitantly pulling back to ensure he doesn't startle Clint and unintentionally induce some form of projectile vomit in his direction.  As he is making his approach, he is pointing at Clint and assuring all the other passengers that "...I got this one..."

Eventually he makes his way to Clint, casually taps him on his shoulder and states (I want to paraphrase, but quotes like these are too good to pass up) "...hey...hey buddy [Clint turns around and mumbles his acknowledgment]...hey listen buddy this is your stop, you might want to ring the bell..." Brilliant right? I mean who is this guy? He is like the MacGyver of oral communication.

Clint's response is simple, he has no idea that he is in the middle of nowhere so with his jacket in his arms and puke all over the place he turns, looks at this guy and says in a childish voice: "...gee thanks mister..."


This random bus hero has done it.  Clint stands up, rings the bell and staggers off the bus.  People are clapping, laughing, shaking the hero's hand, there's all kinds of high fives being exchanged.  Clint is about 20 blocks away from his house and ends up walking the rest of the way...but that's what happens when Southern Comfort meets public transportation and Clint Walker is involved.


So the moral of the story is simple: if you find yourself feeling a little unhappy, don't stress out, walk up to your buddy slowly, start pointing around and just utter the words "...I got this one..." you will feel better I promise.

Nothing says Clint Walker like...

A sleeveless Dolce and Gabbana shirt!

When you have guns that are as sculpted and tanned as Clint's you have no choice but to wear a sleeveless shirt. It would be a crime against humanity for Clint to not wear this type of shirt.

If you have to ask if the shirt is a medium then you haven't been reading this blog, do yourself a favor, grab a 6 pack of beer, get on a patio somewhere and read from the beginning.

So there I am, I hadn't seen Clint for a while, he has been coaching baseball games, hanging out with his son, going camping.  So I decide to head down to his place to see him this past weekend.

I always enjoy going to Clint's place, its a little out of the way south of town, but it's like a different city down there.  Birds are chirping, you can park your car on the lawn (sideways of course with the tires slightly turned for optimal picture taking), your closest neighbor is a 3 minute walk away and there are all types of strange and interesting bugs - trust me it's sweet.

When I first arrived I could clearly see the guns were exposed...when I got closer is when I saw the Dolce on his chest.  I just about lost it.  I don't care who you are...nobody can pull this look off, don't even try it guys, you will just end up looking like a chotchy wannabe.  There is only 1 Clint Walker and I believe he may be the only one who is powerful enough to pull this type of look off.  They shouldn't even allow normal people to buy clothes like this, it isn't right for someone to try and rock this look...they don't stand a chance at competing with Clint.

How to be cool like Clint

Someone stuffed this under my front door with a hand written note that simply said "...will this help me be like Clint?"

Check out the last entry..

...remember Bus Stop Steve?

The power of Clint continues to amaze me.

The Legacy of Backpack

The legacy of the one known only as "Backpack" dates back to a time in Clint's life when he was living in Vancouver: working in the top office of Bental place overlooking the waterfront; managing a couple of companies; working on intricate security software for the FBI based on a raging chicken who tears his own head off with a team of 'yes' men getting him Lattes and several women to tie his skinny silk ties for him; playing beach volleyball everyday after work and dating all manner of unsavory women.

Before I continue, I feel it necessary at this point to let you know that Clint assures me that playing beach volleyball was an entirely acceptable pastime back in the late 90s, not nearly as gay as it sounds and an excellent way of working on your tan and sculpting your guns.

Just so you understand the severity of this story, it was one of the original patio talk sessions and I'm pretty sure I completely lost my shit over this one.  It was too much for me to handle.  I guess that's enough foreplay, you should all have your beers cracked by now. 

Alright so there are, as you have come to expect, the patio is sunny and warm, beers are flowing and Clint has his microphone in hand...the story begins...

Backpack is the nickname of some guy Clint ran into at a bar while on a date.  He is sitting there talking to his date when this guy approaches him.  Clint gives an excellent description of him.  Mid 40s, hoodie, dirty jeans, a little bit of his dinner on his left cheek and drunk.  Clint would call him a "Robbie" (I will write a future post on this term, stay tuned).

So this guy proceeds to ask Clint for his "handle".  What an introduction. Its no wonder Clint completely ignored his date from this point onward, I don't blame him, the combination of a hoodie and a one-liner like that would have  led me to do the same thing.

Unknown to Clint at the time because he was too busy playing beach volleyball instead of playing video games is that the term Handle refers to a nickname.  Clint has no idea what this guy is talking about, fortunately the guy is pretty drunk and offers his handle first..."...they call me Backpack."

Clint barely has time to inquire further when the guy offers a full on explanation.  Backpack claims that he once came up with some brilliant ideas on backpack design.  He continues to claim that he had a "near deal" with Sears to sell these backpacks.

I can't help but think what kind of bar caters to such an interesting clientèle.  I mean on the one side of the bar you have an up and coming executive, probably extremely tanned trying to show his biceps to his date and on the other you have, well this guy Backpack.

By this point in the conversation Clint's date is pretty angry that he is ignoring her, but he doesn't care, he has to listen to this guy.  Backpack claims that Sears dropped the deal because the innovations he was proposing would be too expensive.

Now that I have peaked your interest you understand how I felt that day on the patio and I'm sure how Clint felt while listening to this guy.  What innovations you ask? Zippers, lots and lots of zippers.

Backpack goes on to state that he designed and manufactured backpacks with as many as 17 zippers. Now, why anyone would even consider this when they are writing up a business plan first thing in the morning is beyond me.

By this point Clint's date can't even handle it anymore and actually leaves.  Do you think Clint goes with her? Nope, he had to stay to hear the rest of this guy's story...can you blame him?

Clint can't think of anything else to ask except: how the hell do you get 17 zippers on a backpack? I want to paraphrase the answer, but I can't...I have to give you the direct quote: "...well here's the trick, you know what happens when you open up one of the zippers [pause for answer] BOOM - another fucking zipper!"

Who is this guy?  Needless to say this direct quote has become famous, I can't get enough of it.

The next time you are sitting at a bar, with date or not and you see a guy with some food on his face at the other end, do yourself a favor and ask him his handle.  If it turns out to be Backpack, do me a favor and call me immediately!