Saturday, July 18, 2009

All that Jazz

Good morning Scrublettes - tiz your good bud Scrubbie here.

The wife and I have often remarked that we just get the giggles when we think about where we live. Great White - yep love it. Province of Ontario - yep, love it too. But the 'lil burb where the Scrub Shack is set up permanent - love it to bits. We gots all kindsa stuff here. And, specially in the summertime. Festivals. Lots of festivals.

One of them is the Jazz Festival. Oh Baby!

Now, Scrub is genuninely superficial. Make no mistake. I dont generally spend my off hours loungin' with a pencil thin chin wrap for a beard. Nor do I go 'round sayin' "It ain't got that thing if you don't have that swing" or whatever... Nor do I hang in dark 'lil lounges smokin ciggies and sippin on cocktails takin in the latest jazz act. But - I still like the stuff. Like live performances even more.

Well -that's what this was all about. Go ahead... google it. Uptown Waterloo Jazz Festival.

Oh kids - it was a grand and glorious mini date for the wife and I. We sauntered on down, plunked down a couple 'a lawn chairs. Spent 15 sheckles on a glass of vino for the wife and locally brewed wobbly pop for Scrub. And, took in the sounds. Good times.

And, among the entertainment - there was crazy rats-nest-hair lady sitting beside us. There was colour explosion lady who was wearing every single colour of the rainbow and a few colours I had never seen before. All in shades of neon. There was partially shaved head chic who was just a little too overweight to be wearin quite as little as she was. Her creepy dude friend who fancies himself a dancer but, really, should be on meds for whatever condition he has. And, blue-jacket swinger dude who was wearin this sky blue linen sportscoat that kinda looks like it came from the 1970's, and his white woven fedora hat, and his far too short banker's grey flannel slacks that were showing off too much of his white socks. This guy was on the prowl for sure.

Hmmmm - perhaps it is time to rethink where the Scrub Shack is set up permanent.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Allow me to introduce you...

Get ready kids - there's a new player in Scrubbie's world.

Howdy boys & girls. Yer ol pal Scrubbie here.

Scrub is one lucky fella. There's all kindsa folk 'round the Great White that take part in the saga that is Scrubbie.

Lots of 'em you know already. The Wife, the Kid. Some of the kids punk pals - Bing & Bong and Eddy Haskell. The Outlaws. Mama Scrub & Papa Scrub. JR - The hunky Bro-In-Law. Hurricane. Hurricane's sister Tornado. Hurricanes punk kids - Big D and H2. There's my pal Geek. Naked Guy (yech). Cuzin Dolphin. Oh - and the lunatic dog. Sure - there's more. But - Scrub just needed to get yer brain in gear.

Well - time to bring someone new to your attention.

Scrubs, Scrubettes - allow me to introduce you to... (drum roll please)... Duct Tape Trunk Guy.

Yes - Duct Tape Trunk Guy.

Sure - I'll explain.

See - as you know, the Kid - plays Soccer. (Football for all you U.K.'ers visitin' ce soir) And, at our regular Soccer (Football for all you U.K.'ers visitin') practices and games - there's this fella... whom we shall henceforth call Duct Tape Trunk Guy. And, he is called Duct Tape Trunk Guy 'cause... well... (ya, yer puttin it together, aren't ya)... 'cause he drives this go-kart that appears to be held together by... ummm... duct tape. Dude's got it everywhere on the buggy. But, what make the wife and I take a pretty serious second look is that dude keeps his trunk (or 'boot' for all you U.K.'ers visitin' ce soir) closed with duct tape. Tons of it. Everywhere.

Duct Tape Trunk Guy - he's a Coach as well. Noble, eh? Dude takes time out of his day to give young'ens here in the Great White some adult wisdom and guidance through sport. Nice.

But.. wait... there's more.

Duct Tape Trunk Guy gots a lead foot. And drives his buggy, held together by duct tape, at stupid speed on the dirt roads to and from the soccer fields. Ya - where the punks are all crossin to get to their practices and games.

Duct Tape Trunk Guy - not the best when it comes to parking his buggy either. In fact, last week - parked so close to Scrub's go-kart that Scrub had to seriously suck in his gut (chisled and fabulous as it is) just to squeeze myself into the cockpit.

Duct Tape Trunk Guy - also has some of Scrub's go-kart paint colour on his buggy, held together by duct tape, cause Duct Tape Trunk Guy is an idiot parking too close and swingin out his door - puttin a fresh dent in Scrub's.

And, Duct Tape Trunk Guy - who is a coach, and was, in fact the coach of the opposing team tonight at the kid's soccer game - is a loudmouth, obnoxious, boob. (giggle - I said 'boob' on the interweb)

Oh... make no mistake kids - Scrub does not like Duct Tape Trunk Guy. No, not one little bit.

Tonight, in fact, I was sayin to the wife.... "I dont like Duct Tape Trunk Guy".

So, dude, if yer readin this little scribble...

1. slow down. There's kids around for goodness sake.
2. just 'cause you drive a sh*tbox doesnt give you the right to bang the heck out of other people's go-karts
3. dude - yer a real-estate agent. Ya - saw your business card on your dash in amongst all the crap in the car. you seriously think this is a good image?
4. Scrub's gots a couple 'a years on ya. Let me share this nugget of wisdom. If yer go-kart needs to be held together by duct tape - it's time to get a new one.

Maybe Scrub's just bitter that our team lost by 1 tonight to Duct Tape Trunk Guys team.


Sunday, July 12, 2009

Big Brother is watching.

Big Brother is watching.

Evening kids - your old pal Scrub here.

I should actually say "We are watching Big Brother" instead of Big Brother is watching.

Yes - I know... I can hear the groans all the way over here in the Great White - right through the 'ol puter screen. But - c'mon... how can you resist? Besides... ya'll know that the Wife and I just cant resist that delishush thing called Reality TV. WooHoo! Throw a few whackjobs into a house. Lock the door behind 'em. Throw up a few cameras to catch their wickedly evil ways. Yep - that's entertainment! We just giggle our arses off watching these nutcases go at each other. Bowl of popcorn, couple'a tall cold diet colas, Big Brother on TV - yep... it's all good.

So - our dear friend Hurricane has a couple 'a punks of her own. And, the elder of the two - Big D - 'twas the lad's birthday on July 1st. But, he and his punk bro, H2, just arrived in Ontario couple 'a days ago. Their primary domicile is an igloo in the French part of the Great White. Anyway... Big D - turned 14. 14 I say. Sheesh. And, Scrub, every year, makes a special dinner for Big D and H2 when their birthdays roll around. They get to choose their dinner of choice, and Scrub whips it together for 'em.

This year, Big D, back in December, told Scrub that this years B-day dinner of choice should be - now brace yourselves kids... Oysters and Chicken Wings. Yes. That's right. Oysters. And Chicken Wings.

I'll wait while you pick yourselves up off the floor.

Back? Ok. So... Scrub put it together. And, the punks tucked in. Geez.

As you are well aware - Scrub and seafood. Ummmmm.... well, in a word... No. But, as Scrub loves Hurricane's punks like they were his own, I gave in and brought the devil-spawn into the shack and plated up the disgusting beasties all pretty like and presented to Big D.

Now - here's somethin a little weird. Both D and H2... they'll shovel pretty much anything down their gullet. They eat eyeballs, stomach, testicles, raw this and still squirmin that. Blech.

So - they two of them were tuckin' in for some oysters and H2 grabbed one of the nasty buggers and popped it in his mouth. Bit down. Then froze.

Oh yes - his face was ..... well.... he didn't have to say anything for us to know that biting down on his oyster was not the wisest thing to do. After a few moments of realization that it was, clearly, the most horrid and vile thing he'd ever slipped past his lips - out it slid as easily as it slid in. Yep - just shlorshed out onto his plate. We all said eeewwwww. But, then, in incredible slo-mo and high definition - everything else the lad had put down his throat today came out too.

And, again, we all said eeeewwwww.

But - being the slightly warped crew we are, also laughed our behinds off. Poor kid.

Then he laughed.

Ya - it was quite the event.

Anyway - in the end - all was good.

The dessert - well cake of course. And, chocolate, of course.

Ya know - there's just somethin about a slab of choclate cake, isn't there? One forkfull of homemade chocolate cake, creamy chocolate icing and a cold glass of milk... and everything is right with the world.

Happy Birthday Big D. We love ya pal.