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.

Nah.

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.

Keep your arms and feet inside the ride at all times. Good advice.

Anybody gots an aspirin? Tylenol? Anything?

Hey Scrubs and Scrubettes. Your older-than-most who where there pal Scrubbie here.

Geez Louise...

So, Scrub and the kid hopped in the go-kart yesterday and went for a jaunt to one of our Great White playgrounds - Canada's Wonderland. Go ahead - all you visiting from afar - Google it. I'll be here when you get back.

Back? Alrighty. So - Canada's Wonderland. Whipped out the magic whiz-bang card and paid for our tickets in. (Magic Whiz-Bang Card = a debit card. Called the Magic Whiz-Bang Card cause you swipe it through one of those little boxes, punch a few numbers in and Whiz! Bang! Your money is gone.)

Why just the kid and I? Well - couple 'a reasons. First - the kid had an uneartly fear of roller coasters. Seriously.

The wife and I - not so much. Love the beasties. So - figured it was only natural that the fruit of our loins (eeewwwwww) should love 'em too. But, year after year - nadda.

So, this year, the kid bein 12 and all... thought we'd give it another go.

And, you will have noticed (all those of you who are not souced on giggly-juice right now) that I did type "HAD an unearthly fear". Yep - the kid did it! Faced his fear and hopped on board one of them thar death trains. And, like any of you who like coasters know... do it once, and u'r hooked. Kinda like makin whoopee. Ain't it. Ya know - An hour leading up to it - then 2 and a half minutes of screamin and you're done.

Anyway...

The coaster of choice: Behemoth. Dear Gawd, kids. This one is 'da bomb. Need to Google it? Go ahead. Not in the mood? Just check out the pic. Explains it all...


See - there it is. WooHoo! Oodles of fun, let me tell ya.

Out of towners... a highly recommended locale for your next getaway.

Oh - just make sure to bring along a whole whackload of tradin' items with ya. Lunch for the kid and Scrub which consisted of a burger and fries, chicken fingers and fries and two soda pops - 25 bucks. Seriously. Bottle of Cola there - 4 bucks. Ya, not a fan of that. But - what can ya do. They got ya so they'll milk ya dry.

The other reason for the Scrub & Son trip - well, I mentioned that the wife and I have a horn-dog of a son on our hands. Apparently, some switch went off and the kid is practically gettin whiplash everytime some pretty young thing goes strollin by. And, he's goin out to dances - parties - blah blah blah. So - in the tradition of Fathers and Sons everywhere in the world - the kid and I had one of them thar 'chats' - 'bout stuff and such.

Thought it would be a good idea to pepper in conversations throughout the day rather than sittin the boy down at the local waterin' hole and makin' it all intense and stuff. Let me tell ya - it was a good day.

The fodder for some of our chats was all around us yesterday. 'Specially when it came to providing advice on the kind of gals to avoid. Yech - they were a'plenty!

Oh - c'mon now... all you mom's out there readin' this.... you know what I mean. Sure you do. As our good friend and gal-pal the Joodster says: "As long as they dont come home with those 'skanky' girls - I'm fine."

Well... Joodster... don't send yer boys there alone.

That's all I'm sayin.

That Voodoo that You Do...

Are you kidding me?

Evening Scrublings - Uncle Scrubbie here at the keyboard ce soir.

So... our dear friend Hurricane. Ya'll recall Hurricane, right? She's the one who thinks Spam and Relish on squishy fresh white bread is God's gift to culinary cuisine... Ya - her. Gawd love'er. Anyway, Hurricane has sustained a wee injury. And, the poor gal's in pain. Serious pain.

Oh - it's self inflicted.

A purse that weighs more than most airlines allow in carry-on. And, a somewhat unhealthy additction Bejeweled - that computer game that features... well... bling. Lots of bling. Shiny objects. Dingly dangly sound effects. Ya - Hurricane loves shiny. Anyway - ya, addicted to Bejeweled.

So - Hurricane's gots a pretty hefty case of tendonitis goin on. And - pain. Sheesh - haven't seen the gal holler like that since the last sale at the local trading post on a blinged-out sticky tape dispenser.

The wife took Hurricane to the local vet yesterday and they gave her some happy drugs. Yep - we had a space cadet 'round the igloo yesterday. So - drove her home and tucked her in.

But the story don't end just yet.

Important to know: Hurricane - she don't like needles. Nope, not one little bit. Screams like a banshee even if she thinks about 'em. Seriously.

Well - don't know who. Dont know how. But someone 'er other has put the bug in her brain that accupuncture is the way to go. Now - I'm not all that keen on voodoo. But, I do recognize that for some... voodoo works. And God Bless 'em - do what ya gotta do. But - Hurriane and Accupunture? Weeelllllllll - just doesn't go together like peanut butter and jelly in my mind.

The wife and I - ya, we think she doesn't really get it. But.... she will! Bwahahaha!

Now - there is one little thing.

The wife and I are gonna have to go with Hurricane. When she goes to the Witch Doctor. Ya - we have to go with her.

No no - not to support. Gawd no. We're gonna laugh our arse's off.

No - not to encourage. Not really our thing.

No - not to make sure she goes through with it. Again - dont' care that much.

No no... we are going for an entirely different reason.

We have to talk to the doc. Make sure..... he.... or she.... doesn't..... ummmm.... well.....accupunture the.... ummmm... wrong spot...... ummmmm....

How do I explain?

Ahhhhh - got it. A picture says a thousand words.....

Resistance is futile.

Ahhhh yes.... Summer is upon us!

Afternoon kidlings - your old pal Scrub here.

We have officially hit the summer with the passing of last weekend. And since then - we have enjoyed Canada Day here in the Great White and to our Yankee Doodle Dandy neighboureenoes in the south - Happy 4th of July!

The pic? Oh ya... it's the looney bunch that I call family. That's them. We had our family reunion the other week - got the whole gang together. You might have seen some of the close up pics of the cousins? Yep - they were there too. All in all - they are a good bunch. Sure - we have the oddballs in the crowd. Dont' we all? But - it was good times all around.

So - that brings us up to this weekend. Gawd - I love Saturdays! Today - yard work. Cut the grass. (ya, even in the Great White - we do see the green stuff for a few weeks. Pretty kewl.) Did up the outdoor dining space - made it look all purty. And, am preparing myself for some charred meat at a pal's place. Where we going? Well... since you asked...

Ya'll know Hurricane right? Our dear friend and walking disaster-waiting-to-happen. Well - her silly parents thought to themselves, one romantic evening, that it might be a good idea to have two rugrats floating around. (truth be told - they had 3)

Well - Hurricane's sister - whom we shall simply call Tornado - has invited the wife, the kid, the kid's punk pal Bobby (more on that later) and Scrubbie over to her place (along with Hurricane) for a Q tonight. The wife and I have taken out extra insurance... don't worry. Thanks for thinkin' though.

Oh - and it is Tornado's kid that is the hockey whiz bang - Mike Hoffman - that just got picked up by the Sens. So - we'll get to see him tonight too. Haven't seen the kid in a while. Be good to say congrats in person.

So, ya... the kid. Punk Pal Bobby is over. His zookeeper called last night to ask if the punk could stay with us overnight as they are doin a thing in the big city tonight. So, the wife and I have a couple of tweens who are all ga-ga over the fairer sex on hand. Ya - it's pretty much a nightmare. Scrub's gots every filter possible on the ol' puter downstairs. The wife and I are making preparations for moving all the electronic gizmos to the main floor of the igloo. Gotta keep an eye on the little horn dogs from now on. Oh sure - we got a good kid. Trust him. Love him to bits. But, lets face it. The kid has a penis. And, we all know that we fellas, despite thousands of years of evolution and the invention of manscaping and the metrosexual... still can't resist the calling. Havin a winky is a bit like having the Borg from Star Trek floatin around our undershorts 24-7. Resistance is futile. When the winky says "HEY... YOU.... UP THERE.... I GOT AN IDEA!" - we pretty much have no choice in the matter. Just the way it is.

So - now - gotta go and clean the stank off that developed this morning with all the stuff done 'round the igloo. (grunt grunt) and git myself ready to be seen in public once again.

And, have to round up the testosterones that are wreaking havoc in the engine room downstairs.

The wifes' gonna be home soon from antoher Scrappin' adventure. (Paper, scissors and glue - ya.. that's her version of havin a winky.)

Resistance is futile.

Hurricane - news all around.

Yes, yes - Scrub's at it again!


Blogging that is.

Hey kids - Scrubbie in the house.

Couldn't let the day go by without a nod to our dear friend Hurricane. Ya'll remember Hurricane, right? Lightning strikes twice. Dynamite under the driveway. Inadvertently gives theives their driving escape route 'cause she thought they were lost. Yep - her.

Well - today is a special day for Hurricane. Why you ask? Well - cause it was this day 14 years ago that Hurricane brought Big D into the world. Yep - it is Hurricane's offsprings' Birthday today. And, being as Hurricane is as much as part of the wifes' and my lives as you can get without bein blood, and she is the Godmother to the kid (*gulp) - that makes her guys practically our guys too. And, we love 'em to death.



Happy Birthday Big D!











And - another good news story for Hurricane, and the rest of us - Hurricane's wee nephew is someone mentioned ealier. Mike Hoffman is his name. See... when Michael was still in diapers - if we turned our heads for only a few moments, when you looked back - he'd be gone. Best place to look - UP. Ya - he'd climb up the fireplace to the ceiling or something. Oh my... this boy was a "go-er". Anyway... in recent years, Mikey has been playin' hockey and done pretty well for himself. In fact, just this past weekend, the wee fart got picked up by the Ottawa Senators. No kiddin'. The boy is playin in the NHL. Geez Louise. Needless to say, Mikey, his mammy and pappy and Auntie Hurricane are all just pleased as punch.


And, so are we.

Congrats Michael!

Congrats Hurricane!

Happy Birthday Big D!

Looks like the chocolate (Hurricane's favourite food group) will be flowin at the igloo tonight.

Our Home and Native Land

Happy Canada Day!

Hey kids - yer ol pal Scrub on the keyboard. 'Sup?

July 1st. Canada Day. Happy Birthday Great White! Ya, I am proud Canuck. Beavertails. Back Bacon. Snow. Yep - we got it all. Oh - we gots lots more too. But the list.... oh, it is soooo long. Seriously. Suffice to say, this boy is Red & White proud. Yep.

And, bein' Canada Day here in the Great White - local trading posts are closed up and most have got the day off to frolick and play. It'll be a good day. Doin' fireworks tonight - providing it don't piddle with rain. Couple of cocktails on the agenda, no doubt. And, of course, time for bloggin' and digiscrappin'.

Speakin of which...

Keepin' with the Cousins theme... here is Dolphin.

He's like my bro.

Ya'll remember him, right? West Virginia homeboy. Family throws tractors instead of lawn darts. Eats the testicles of poor, unsuspecting de-masculated beasts. Yep - that's him. Gawd love'em.

Anyway....

The kid. Geez. The kid. Scrub's follicles in his noggin' are goin' grey pretty damnd quick.

First - the kid - now Grade 8.

Second - the kid - 'parently his wittle wibbley wobblies have kicked into high gear 'cause talk of the fairer sex has been non-stop. The scent of young'en cologne has been waftin through the igloo like wildfire.

Third - as school has cut for the summer now... means the rugrat is underfoot 24-7.

Ya know... this whole Summer Vacation thing... started 'cause the young'ens were released from their academic studies in order to help the family work the farms. Do the planting and harvesting. Milk the cows. Get the preserves ready for the winter months. Stuff like that. Hmmmmm - think I'll get me a milking goat and teach my young fella how to get up at 4am. Watch for pics.