Nothing. Nothing. And more nothing. Seriously - nothing.

It's wet. Really wet. I mean REALLY wet. And, stop thinkin naughty thoughts.

Hey kids - Scrubbie at the keyboard once again.

No - it's not a prelude to some porn entry. By wet, I mean that the rain has been bucketing down round Scrub's part of the country today. And, of course, Scrub was at the local trading post exchanging furs and skins for a potato and some fruit when it was gushing down. Gotta keep that scurvey at bay.

So - whilst exiting said trading post and pausing to wait for the sky to close up a little, Scrub took a moment to do a little people watchin' - as he frequently does. And, I wasn't disappointed. To my delight, chickey-boo was standing under the overhang to keep herself dry, as was the hoards of other skins and furs traders today. But, chickey-boo was waving down her gal pal, or progenitor - it was hard to tell. And, madame driver of the go-kart decided to stop traffic for a good couple of minutes while she BACKED HER GO KART RIGHT UP ONTO THE PEDESTRIAN AREA and DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF THE TRADING POST DOORS. I know! Seriously.

So - chickey-boo with her cartful, was giggling away and when the driver came to a complete stop, just inches from the door and a number of onlookers who were, to be frank, just AGOG by all of this, loaded up her trading post treasures and promptly ran into the go-kart, leaving her shopping buggy right there in the doorway. All of this without even so much as a "by your leave".

Ahhhhh. There's nothin Scrub loves more than a twit in the afternoon to bring a giggle to his sourpuss face.

Well - after that bit of entertainment, Scrub came home to the Scrub Shack where he is prepping up a nice little dinner of pasta with meat sauce and all the delish fixuns. Hurricane and her youngest punk, H2, are comin' for sup tonight, The eldest - Big D - well, he went back to frenchville last week. Apparently, the lad - a strapping 14 yrs of age - had to go break up with his girlfriend and hit a couple 'a parties. He made it just in time too. The choo-choo drivers all decided not to go to work the day after Big D got home. Othersie - it'd been a helluva walk.

The wife - poor thing - bustin her scrappy hump this weekend. As you recall, her and gal-pal the Joodster gots themselves a bit of business goin on and the wife is up to her scrappy armpits gettin stuff done. But - give the ol gal a couple of hours and she'll have everything needin' done - done.

Oh - the wife and me - little date the t'other night. Went to see the latest Harry Potter flick. Darn'd good. I'll give it two Scrubbie thumbs up. Then, last night, the kid went to crash at Bing and Bong's place. So, the wife and me did a little cuddle up in front of the tube to catch an 80's flick with Glenn Close and Jeff Bridges - Jagged Edge. Gawd I love the 80's. It's all about the hair, aint it.

And, 'tween it all, Scrub put mouse to mousepad and threw together another scrappy page.

Wanna see?

There ya go.

Oh - and the lunatic dog is dead. Well, not deceased. Just flopped. Here, in front of me. On the floor. Ya know how they get.

And, to be honest - Scrub could pretty much do the same.

Gawd, I love Sundays.

FOUR!

"Please, oh please BLOG me!"

Morning kids. Yer old pal Scrubbie here.

Gotta tell ya - this whole interweb blogging thing - oodles of fun. And, the fam

all knows about it. Well - most of them do. Some of them dont. Which, if you have read some of Scrub's entries, is a good thing. I get to say what I want and still enjoy a good curry dinner now and then.

And, the fam - Gaw'd love 'em - like to plant blog seeds with Scrub. Sometimes they even do it on purpose.

Ya'll remember the Bro-In-Law, JR, right? Handsome, buff, slightly warped but happily medicated, and a magnet for naked-guy at the gym. Yep - him. Well - JR loves playin with his balls.

What?

Geez - ya'll need more coffee or somethin. GOLF! JR likes playin' golf.

Scrub - not so much. In fact, and I think I might have mentioned this once before... Scrub was invited to play in one of those golf tournies a while back. I advised my coworkers and team that Scrub ain't a golfer. But, they insisted I'd have fun. So - went.

Well - shortly into the round, probably about the 9th hole or so, my good pal PornStar (so called cause his name is the same as a rather famous adult entertainment star with a rather long... ummmm.... schlong. There. I said it) - uuuhhhhhh - oh ya: my good pal PornStar actually said to me "Scrubbie..." he said... "Please don't EVER play golf again."

From that point forward, and in subsequent tournies - Scrub was officially the course bartender and gots to drive the golf cart thingy ensuring that everyone was socially lubricated. Yep - good for me.

Anyway - back to JR. And, his balls.

So - JR, bein a lover of the game, gets his giggles from living, breathing and eating the game of golf. And, up here in the Great White - when we are treated to a few days without the fluffly white stuff on the group - actually have a few patches of lawn set aside for people to run around and whack a few balls around and call it a game. Sure - most of the time, we just use gopher holes as targets, but, in some cases, we actually take a few mins to tidy things up and turn the lawn into somethin' quite attractive to those that do play golf.

One such case is in a burb in Ontario called Oakville. Ya - another Great White city named after nature. We are really quite fond of doing that. Makes ya wonder if we have Birch-ville. Or Pine-ville. or Daffodil-ville. Doesn't it?

And, in Oakville, this week, there is a fancy-schmancy game of golf going on. Ever heard of Mike Weir? If not - he is a golfer. Pretty darn'd good at it too. No gettin around it. Anyway - In Oakville, there is this game... the Mike Weir Charity Golf Classic. All kindsa folk joined in to play. Kevin Costner. Michael Jordan. Few other big name Golf types.

Why mention all this? Well, cause as you recall... I said JR likes the game. ALOT. So - in order to get the giggles, JR takes a few days off work to volunteer to be a hole jockey. Or whatever it is called. Basically - it's like he is the host of a hole. GawdDam - how funny does that sound. I dunno - he makes sure peoples dont get in the way. Stay behind the "keep out" fence. Dont make farty sounds when the golfers are takin their swings. That kinda stuff.

So - put all this together - and you now have the picture. Scrub's dear Bro-In-Law, JR, was hob-nobbin'! Seriously! The kid was hob-nobbin. Right there. With all them famous peoples. Geez.

JR - he's a quiet hob-nobber though. Doesn't run up for autographs. Pictures. Dinner dates. Nope - just takes a few snaps and calls it a day.

But - then again... JR is a Canuck. And, if there is one thing that we Canucks have a reputation for... it's bein polite. Ya know... don't get all in-your-face kinda people. We like it that way.

No - Canucks are not rude, obtuse, obscene.

You'd never catch us talkin all nasty and dirty. Specially on the interweb.

So, just to recap this post: Booze. JR. Naked Guy. Knobs and Balls.

Have a nice day.

Sweet Sounds and Sweet Sights

Hey kids - Scrub again. It's a lazy Sunday 'round the Scrub Shack.

Laundry. Gots a chunk of meat in the hot box in prep for the Sunday Family Dinner. Old flicks on the tube.

The kid - stayed at Bing and Bong's last night. Again. And, it at this very moment crashed out on the couch on the lower level of the igloo.

The wife - sauntered off to meet a couple 'a gal pals from High School days. One of them - genuine Canadian Forces. The other - RIM exec.

So - was fartin around with a bit more digi-scrap stuff and had another pic from Jazz Fest.

Ain't she just gorgeous.

Ya, I know.

So - time to bugger off once again. Gotta tend to the meat in the hotbox. Sort *gulp* socks. Socks suck.

Scrub thinks this lazy Sunday deserves a wee drop of the hooch.

Later.

Another of Scrub's Fav Fives

"Honey! Where's my Metformin?"

Hey kids - tiz your 'ol pal Scrubbie here.

My goodness... ya'll gots one of these where you live? A Dairy Queen? (NO - not some woman magnate in the milk industry... geez.)

Well - we here in North America - we gots lots of 'em. Been around for a while too. 'Course in the Great White - there are quite a few of them closed up during the snowy seasons. I dunno - seems as though alot of us Canucks are just not in the mood for icy cold treats when it is negative 400 degrees outside.

But, when the 'ol DQ is open - geez louise... we go lining up.

The DQ is an evil place for diabetics. You can always tell the diabetics too. They are the ones that either go in with a mask on just in case we're spotted and get the lecture on managing blood sugar, or they are the ones that start yawning instantly after finishing off their sinful treat. You'll often find us hiding in the bathroom scarfing down our metformin tablets in order to keep the numbers from reaching into the high double-digits. (Ya - in the Great White, we measure BG levels a little differently than our neighboureeno's to the south.)

Anyway - The DQ.

So - Scrub has decided to share his fav five DQ treats with ya. Ready? Ok... here they are:

#5 - The Banana Split. Oh joyous mounds of soft-serve ice cream with multiple flavours dripping down your mountainous heaps - how do I love thee?

#4 - The Banana Split Blizzard - Bit of a cheat - I know. It's a Banana Split thrown in a blender for 6 seconds.

#3 - A chocolate cherry sundae - the kids behind the counter have a bit of a fit if I order this. See... it's not actually on the menu. I usually end up having to explain to them how to make it. "You make a chocolate sundae and put a scoop of cherry topping on it". Usually solicits some kind of blank stare. I order this as much for the entertainment as the taste.

#2 - The chocolate dipped cone - Pure, simple - nothin' beats it. That soft ice cream with that chocolate coating on it - mmmm... deelishshus.

And... My #1 fav treat at DQ is...

A Pineapple Milkshake. I tell ya kids - if there is one thing that screams summertime to me - it is the taste of a pineapple milkshake.

Lets close this posting with a little prayer, shall we?

"Dear Lord... It is yer old pal Scrub here. How you doin? Hey - Lord... Seriously... Thanks for Pineapple Milkshakes. Well - thanks for pineapples and ice cream and cows for milk and stuff. Lord - Pineapple Milkshakes, Beavers, Trees, Flowers - all great ideas. Cheers."

And - Amen to that.

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.

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.