Give Me an Aspirin Mcgernicle, I Can't Feel My Legs...

Ladies and gents, it's been a long time and I've missed you dearly. I'm sorry for leaving you, but like a sobered up Irish husband taking the morning train into Dublin to apologize to his potatoe eating wife for drinking the wee ones milk money, I have crawled back to my moderately dry and warm hole with nothing but a hangover and a few blurry stories to explain months of absence. "Mcgernicle fetch yer father a pint, he itches for the gold of the leprechauns this fine hazy morrow"

But I digress....

Before telling you anything new and interesting going on in my life, let me begin by saying that I honestly thought I hated small towns before I moved here, but I'm beginning to think I may genuinely hate cities more. I've discovered that even though Prince is best summarized as a drunken smokey hole where the old curl up and die of scerosis and the young lose any aspirations that don't involve becoming a falsly enlightened hippie or a violent redneck, from what I've learned from Van, cities, although holding a virtual plethora of diversity, are still personality void holes of humanity where people only want attention-I use humanity in quite possibly the loosest terms possible because really many of the people here take on the attributes of animals or plastic lawn furniture. I once saw a girl that resembled a combination of an albatross and a skyblue fold-up lawn chair .

*If the government records every image I search, they are in for the ride of their life.

In Vancouver, the club scene is the worst for albatross lawn chairs. Now, I don't go out much. (I prefer to have a lonely drink by myself while honing my skills at duck hunt and resident evil...Jesus only knows that when the long foretold, zombie/mallard apocalypse comes I will be ready. I won't be off wasting precious time going bat-shit over "Umbrella" on the dimly dance floor and prancing around in half a chopped up unitard and strategically placed gold sticker ensemble after a day of soaking up rays on the beach like the hordes of super amazing actress/model/singer triple threats that so commonly frequents the club scene...please cut up a line of rat poison and get me to do it if you see me joining those masses. It shouldn't be hard to get me to do it, just tell me it's black tar heroine I'll be on it like white on rice.

Anyways, despite what this post has deteriorated to my intention was only to say that I miss my family, my friends, and even the personality of the retarded population of Prince George. Take this lesson from my words of wisdom: Just because a place sucks does not mean that anywhere else does it better. Vancouver is the whore who puts her makeup on with a shotgun, inevitably she'll stain your pillow case if you let her stay over.