$25 bucks for an hour with a tramp.

Large Double Double please. And, a chair.

Evening boys & girls. Yer old pal Scrub here at the laptop on a Saturday night.

Sure, the wife and I could be out wing-dinging it... but, here in Scrub's part of the Great White - Summer has called it quits for the year. I mean.. Geez Louise.. it's frackin' cold out.

So... our son, the kid, goes trampin' once a week. Huh? Oh - good heavens. Ya'll are filthy. No No - that THAT kinda trampin'. (Although some of these 13 and 14 yr old skanky girls that are creepin' into our lives "might" qualify...)

No - the wife and me signed the kid up in this gymnastics class thingy. Well - not full gymnastics. Ya gotta remember - our kid is the "one-handed wonder". So... that makes stuff like swingin' on the uneven bars... ummm... kinda challenging. But - when it comes to the trampoline... no problem.

This summer, the kid started doin' these whackball flips and stuff on the home version of a trampoline... so the wife and me thought it might be a good idea to throw the child into some kinda structured class and learn somethin'. Ya know - safe stuff. Know what I mean?

Anyway - every week for the past few, we have been truckin on down to a nearby burb - well, not quite nearby - in fact, with all 3 of us flappin' our arms wildly out the windows of the go-kart for maximum speed - it's still a good 45 minutes away. But - it's the only burb anywheres close to the Scrub Shack that offers up some semi-pro coaching for younglings who wanna bounce on a trampoline.

Oh... first.... ya'll recall Scrub sharing with you the Great White's fav watering hole... Tim Hortons, right? We red & whites affectionaly call it simply "Timmies". We have one on every corner. Seriously. I some places, you can grab yer large double double coffee, stand outside, look down the street and see the sign for the next one. No kidding.

Anyway - every week when we go trampin'... ( oh, now you have got me thinkin dirty thoughts sayin that. Trampin'. Sheesh.) So, every week when we go trampin' - we have to pass... well... oodles of Timmies restaurants. Simply oodles of them.

But - there's one in particular. Close to the trampin' place. This one Timmies... every week... there's a group of folk that I suppose have formed their own little club of sorts. It's "their" meeting spot. It's their place to hang. It's their place to kick back and share a giggle or two with their chums. Bully for them.

However - you'd think they'd go for somethin a little more comfy instead of just whippin out the lawn chairs and setting up shop in the parking lot, wouldn't ya? Gawd love'em.



For all you readin' from places other than the Great White - we Canucks... this is what we do. Yep - we're a laid back bunch, with a thang for Timmies coffee, and we're ready to git a coffee clutch set up whereever and whenever.

It's been a couple hours since my last injection of caffeine... think I'm due.

I Love Thursdays. So Fresh and Clean.

Yo! Yo! Oh - and that doesn't refer to the kewl toy that goes up and down a string.

Hey kids - Scrub at the keyboard. Whassup?

No - it's not the toy. It IS, apparently, the preferred method of greeting one's parents however.

Yes - we'll be putting a stop to that in short order. Sheesh.

So - ya'll remember that cute little fart that was The Kid?

Awwww - look at him!

Oh - don't be jealous. Chalk it up to remarkable DNA and a good shot of tequila. (And a smokin hot woman who is quite simply mommy-licious).

Anyway - that was last years Back-To-School shopping adventure.

The Kid - well, as regular Scrub's will know... things have changed a wee bit over the past summer. The kid - ummmm... grown up a little.

This year's bank-account-drain... whoops, I mean Back-To-School shopping, took place yesterday.

Well - some of it did.

Scrub's still gotta hit the local trading post and swap some skins, and his right arm, for some of the basics still. Ya know - socks, underwear... that kinda stuff.

Apparently the local family and childrens services office will throw both Scrub and The Wife in jail and place the Kid with some other poor sap if the wee fella should land in hospital and they cut off his jeans with scissors and find a pair of gotchies that are in less than pristine condition.

According to the wife anyway.

Reminds me... it's Thursday.

Time to turn mine inside out.

65 Front Street West

Area code 416? Are you kidding me?

Well howdy Scrublings. Yer old pal Scrub here this mornin'.

So - the kid and I hopped in the go-kart yesterday to pick up our dear friend Hurricane's offspring yesterday after a short trip back to the land of the French here in the Great White.

Took a little trip to the big smoke - Toronto. Found a parking spot (surprise, surprise) and took the kid for a tour of Union Station and the surrounding area.

We were there late afternoon - which means that 1.5 million people were bustling around and making their way through the station - connecting on trains, transit and just general bustle through the downtown core of Canada's humungousest city.

The eyes - sparkly and glowing. The blood - pumping. The imagination - firing.

So, I asked the kid - "could you live here?"

"Oh ya!" he says... "I'm home".

Argh.

The wife and me - nah, we don't have a problem with the kid picking up and plunking down somewhere's other than next door to the Scrub Shack at some point in his life. But - the point here is... it has become even more apparent that despite the fact that 3 and a half minutes of fun some 13 years ago and a serious investment of time and money since... the kid is growin' up and will, in fact, at some point, regardless how much we balk, will... *gulp... no longer be under our control.

(there's that control issue again. damn'd penis.)

Ugh. Grunt. Ugh.

Lord Gawd Almighty - it's great havin' a penis.

Howdy Kids. Yer ol pal Scrub here on the Toshiba this morn.

Ya know... the whole premise of this blog thingy is to give ya'll a wee peek into the life of Scrubbie. I give ya all the fam. Give ya the friends. Give ya the weirdos. Give it all.

And, Scrub also likes to give it to ya'll from a guy's perspective. Scrub's perspective.

Now... there's no gettin' around it. There IS a distinct difference between Scrubs and Scrubettes. We think differently. And, that's ok.

In fact, in some ways, this little corner of the web thing is kinda a public service... providing some insight into the Y chromosone.

See - we boys are simple folk at heart. We're easy to deal with. We're easy to get along with.

Give us a beer - we're happy. MMM... beer.

Give us meat - we're happy. Specially if we kill it first.

Give us a tree to whiz upon - we're happy. It's how we mark our territory.

Give us puurty things to look at - we're horny. Whoops - I mean happy.

See. Simple. Right?

But... give us toys. And we're REALLY happy. I mean... goosebumps, hair standing up, nipple exploding kinda happy.

Toys. Love toys.

Electronic toys. Gizmos. Things we can shoot. Cars, Trucks - well, anything with an engine really.

It all comes down to control when it comes to toys. We, with winkies, like to control and dominate things. Have total and complete power to weild. You can see it. Give us a toy and our chests burst forth. A grin creeps over our face. The veins in our forearms bulge with glee. And, we should not be spoken to at that time. We are fully engaged in our toy.

Let's go for a bit of a history lesson, shall we?

Many years ago. I mean MANY years ago... we boys were stompin' around and at some point, we discovered somethin. We discovered somethin really kewl. We discovered somethin that gave us the ultimate power. It was... fire.

We grunted. We giggled. We killed each other for it. Oh ya baby - those were the days. Pure, unbridled testosterone.

We had fire.

We used it. We flaunted it. We controlled it. We were happy.

Sure - over the years - those with willies have had to adapt and change. We learned to tame some urges. We learned to eat with a fork. We learned about manscaping.

But - if any of you think that we boys, underneath the deodorant and jockey shorts, shaved chins and designer colognes, are not still neanderthals... think again.

Oh - c'mon. It's true.

Huh? Proof you say? Ok - well... lets turn our attention back to fire then.

We boys STILL, to this day, so many thousands of years later, STILL get stiffies when it comes to controlling fire.

Alright - well... just take a look at this if you still don't believe me.

There. Told ya.

Look at the little sh*t there - tauntin' me.

Now... Scrub's off to get his shotgun, get in his 4x4, and to take out his dear Bro-In-Law and steal his fire.

Ugh.

Tornado Watch. No - Not Hurricane's sister. The real thing.

Uhhhh - honey.... did you close the windows?

Hey kids - Yer old pal Scrub here. And, as the kid often says... "Whassup G?"

Of course, being over 40 - I dont know who or what the hell G is.

So - look at 'ol blue eyes there. That's the nephew Whoagun. He's my incredibly buff, but slightly warped bro-in-law JR's wee fella. He and his wifeypoo Dutchie - they make a nice lookin kid eh?

So - here in Scrub's part of the Great White was treated to some fancy dancy weather tonight. Tornado warnings and all. Seriously. Those poor sardines in the big city of Toronto got whalloped though. Sounds like it was kinda nasty there. Here's hopin they're all ok.

Hmmm? What's that? The Wife? Oh - she's here. Sittin in the big marshmallow chair with one of them porta-tables, her scrappy cuttin machine and oodles of paper - puttin scrappin' kits together.

The kid? Yep - here too. Well... down in the engine room talkin' to the 'puter down there. At least, I hope he's talkin to the puter otherwise that means he's having extensive conversations with himself. That... is somewhat troubling.

Oh - and that smell... ya, that's the skunks outside. Peeuuuuu!

Actually, ya know... I really don't have much to say tonight.

So..... I guess that's it.

Done.

Whaaa! Whaaa! Whaaa!

Go Joe!

Morning kids. Scrubbie, all bleary-eyed this morning, hammerin' the keyboard this A.M.

So - ya... the kid and me - went to see G.I.Joe last night.

All in all - not bad. Worth goin on cheap Tuesday.

Most definately a guy flick. The movie - pretty much from beginning to end - was one big explosion. TeeHee. It was mucho fun.

I am not entirely sure the 4 year old sitting three chairs down from me, with her 2 year old baby brother, got as much out of it as the kid and I did.

Specially through the crying. That lasted the entire movie.

A Summer Saturday and a Happy Birthday.

"Pass me one of them girlie drinks."


Hey kids - a somewhat dehydrated, slightly hungover, and terribly sweaty Scrubbie here. How ya'll doin?

Oh boys and girls - Scrub had one of them thar Saturday's yesterday.

See... our dear friend Hurricane... ya'll remember her, right? Nightmare driver. Dynamite under her driveway. Plane crashes in her yard. Yep - her. So - Hurricane, much like the rest of us, celebrates yearly, the day of her birth. In this particular case, it was a half century ago. (Shhhh - keep that to yerself though. Gawd only knows what she'll do to me if she finds out I threw it out there on the information super roadway - or whatever the hell it's called).

Well... truth be told, her birthday ain't till September. Virgo, in case you are wonderin. Go ahead - read all about Virgo's. Everything you read - she's the exact opposite. But - that's another post.

But - as her two boys, D and H2 are here for the summer, and returning to the land of the French in a couple weeks... Hurricane's sis - Tornado - decided to throw a partay for Hurricane yesterday so that the boys could take part. Nice, eh?

So - off to Tornado's place for a Q and some swimmin' in the cement pond. Oh - and of course, there were cocktails flowin freely. Now... Scrub don't normally partake in cocktails too much. Oh sure - the odd cool refreshing beverage at home now and then, but in moderation. However... when one is in the company of not only Hurricane... but her sister Tornado as well... you can understand why a little social lubrication is not an entirely bad thing.

Still not convinced this is enough to inbibe to get the liver workin? Well - hang on to yer knickers... Hurricane and Tornado... they have a little baby brother as well. Whom... we shall henceforth call Sunami.

Convinced now?

Anyway - it was good times all around. Hurricane was livin large. The brats were all enjoyin high times. Tornado's eldest, the Ottawa Senators hockey superstar, was home. The X-Box was runnin' hot with first person shooters. Yep - good times.

Oh - and the Q. Oh, the Q. Tornado's hubby... whose name is... (go ahead... guess!)... Explosion. *grin. So, Tornado's hubby, Explosion, is just a whiz bang on the grill. So - he toasted up some meat. The women folk prepped up some greens and spuds. And, we all chowed down. Deelish.

And, Scrub got to enjoy some spikey lemonade all day. MMMMMMM. Allow me to reiterate: MMMMMMMM. Nothin like lemonade mixed up with giggle juice to make a hot and muggy day just slide on by.

Wanna see a pic?


Need help?

There, on the left - Hurricane, D and H2.

On the right... top left: brats. Top right: H2. Middle - Hurricane with a libation. Middle left - hockey superstar. Middle right: Hurricane's pals. Bottom left - Sunami, the baby brother. Bottom right - Tornado.


Motley crew, eh?

Whoops - Scrubs gotta go. Gots some rice cookin up on the hotbox. Makin' fancy food tonight. Fajita's.

Hmmm? What's that? Why Fajita's? Well... it's such a nice compliment to Tequila. That's why.

Duh.