Get Well Soon Larry Estrada

“You okay? I brought you an orange and some nice cards. ” I stood over Larry who seemed comfortable enough laid out on this kick-ass hospital bed.

I put the orange down on the small stand, along with a juice box and the cards. I bought them at the small canteen on the first floor. There was a lot to choose from: muffins wrapped in Saran wrap, umbrellas, postcards, sweatshirts with the hospital logo, plush teddy bears, toothbrushes, combs, pillows, toys, rosaries, dried floral arrangements, bowie knives, dentures, condoms, slippers, magazines, pocket novels with women being manhandled by rugged looking pirates, Disney colouring books, peel’n’win lotto tickets, bingo stampers, coffee, key chains, Tylenol, magnets, nail clippers, non-prescription reading glasses, stickers, wooden carvings (animals, crosses etc…) hats and toques and Pepsi and Redbull. I spun the four-sided metal rack looking for that perfect card for Larry. Nothing. Just feel good, get well bullshit cards with rainbows, flowers, little puppy dogs, a cat hanging from a clothesline saying “hang in there”. One card had a picture of a guy who looked a little like Jesus Christ and a little like Ted Danson. None of these would do. They all sucked. Too touchy feely. I looked at some cards that were obviously priced to sell – cheap. They were in a cardboard box marked TEN FOR THE PRICE OF ONE: I thumbed through the large selection – dog-eared and jaundiced. I bought them all.


GO TO THE LIGHT – THEY HAVE KIDNEYS THERE
DOES YOUR IRON LUNG COME WITH A TELEVISION?
DO YOU SEE JESUS YET?
SORRY THAT YOUR FACE IS DESTROYED
IT KIND OF LOOKS LIKE HAMBURGER
SO YOU’VE LITERALLY TURNED THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN
SO MUCH PUSS, SO LITTLE TIME
SUCK IT UP BUTTERCUP
GET WELL OR DIE TRYING
EWWW! IT’S DEFLATED
MENINGITIS SOUNDS LIKE MOUTHWASH
DID IT ALWAYS SOUND LIKE THAT?
YOU THINK YOU HAVE IT BAD? WELL, I HAVE A KINK IN MY NECK
SO YOU’VE GOT LEPROSY, EH?
IT’S NOT YOUR EARLOBE THEY’RE REMOVING
WAY TO HEMORRHAGE
DID THAT JUST MOVE?
THREE STROKES AND YOU’RE OUT
DID YOUR HEART ATTACK YOU?
WHAT DID THEY DO WITH THE OTHER ONE?
HOLY SHIT! YOU SMELL LIKE A CORPSE
WHAT THE HELL DID THEY DO TO YOU?
WALK IT OFF
YOU LOOK TERRIBLE
HELLO? OH YEAH, YOU’VE LOST YOUR HEARING
I’D RATHER HAVE A BOTTLE IN FRONT OF ME THAN A FRONTAL LOBOTOMY
IT MUST SUCK NOT HAVING A TONGUE
HEY, YOU CAN PEE WITHOUT GETTING UP – LUCKY BUM
SO IT CAME BACK, EH?
YOU SEEM TO BE LEAKING
WAS THAT ALWAYS THERE?
OH MY GOD, WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?
LET’S GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR ARTHRITIS
SO THE PIGS ATE YOUR KIDNEY?
GOT YOUR NOSE
GOT MUD?
THE BURN DOESN’T LOOK THAT BAD
HEY AT LEAST YOU HAVE ONE GOOD EYE
TERMINAL SOUNDS LIKE YOU’RE GOING ON A TRIP
SEE YOU IN HEAVEN
IT MIGHT GROW BACK
IS THAT DRAFT COMING FROM THE HOLE IN YOUR THROAT?
SUCKS TO BE YOU
HOLY SHIT!!
PULL MY FINGER
THANK GOD YOU STILL HAVE TWO GOOD ARMS AND AN ASSHOLE
NEED A HAND? I BET YOU DO, SEEING AS HOW YOU LOST ONE
THUMBS UP FOR SYPHILIS
WHILE YOU’RE HERE, I AM SLEEPING WITH YOUR WIFE
ARE YOU GONNA FINISH THAT MORPHINE?
HEY, YOU WANT SOME OF MY WHITE BLOOD CELLS? I’M STUFFED
THIS CARD IS HILARIOUS! I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE IN STITCHES. IT’S FUNNY BECAUSE IT’S TRUE
WHAT’S THAT SMELL?
IS THAT CONTAGIOUS?
BEANS, BEANS THEY’RE GOOD FOR YOUR STROKE, THE MORE YOU EAT, THE SOONER YOU CROAK, THE SOONER YOU CROAK, THE BETTER YOU FEEL, SO EAT BEANS AT EVERY MEAL
WALKING IS OVER RATED

Wife Leaves Husband After Finding His Hidden Stash of Cornography

“I’m devastated. He’s not the man I married!” cries wife.

A 42 year old woman from Mattawa has left her husband of nine years after finding out that he’s in love with corn. According to clinical sexologist, Dr. Audrina Candles, his addiction to corn, although unusual, is not as uncommon as most people would think.

“Corn can be a real seductress to many,” she says. “In my practice, I’ve seen it ruin a number of otherwise healthy marriages. My husband, Tito, actually left me for a bag of PEI potatoes,” she admits. “It’s heartbreaking for everyone involved. Especially if there’s kids involved.”

Nonsense, Insensibilities and a Near Death Experience Somewhere Near Trout Lake

“All human actions are equivalent and all are on principle doomed to failure.” Jean-Paul Sartre
“Who can take a rainbow, wrap it in a sigh? Soak it in the sun and make a groooovey lemon pie?” Sammy Davis Jr.

I’m not a sensible man. But neither was Moses. Sadly, like Moses, I am the antithesis of sensible. I was never a sensible child, which makes perfect sense. The moment I was coerced into exiting the birth canal I was slapped on my newborn ass by some guy for doing absolutely nothing. That singular act of unprovoked aggression made very little sense to me. I made a promise to myself from that point on that I too would live a life based on insensibilities, which seemed like a sensible to do at the time.

At age nine, while at a family reunion in Papineau Township, I overheard my mother complaining about me to Perez, one of the sons of Judah, who was my mom’s third cousin on her father’s side, and blood brother to Hezron, Carmi, Hur, and Shobal. They were all by the picnic table where Reaiah, the son of Shobul, who was the father of Jahath, and Jahath who had recently became the father of Ahumai and Lahad - both bluegrass lovin’ families of the Zorathithes, was pounding back Labatts 50 with Ashhur, the father of Tkoa, who had no less than two wives: Helah and Naarah, who both unfathomably brought macaroni salad to the shindig. My mother, complaining, referred to me as “insensibly incorrigible,” which in retrospect, seems like a pretty sensible thing to say.

As a blossoming, gangly teen, I don’t recall being sensible in the least. Ever. Today, I’m a writer, which is the least sensible thing I could have ever become.

Lady Gaga Stole My Camel Tool Belt

I’ve never been the victim of crime so I am not sure what to do or exactly just how to feel. I’m just lost. Last week I bought a hand crafted camel leather tool belt carved by an artist whose hand is demure. I don’t have any tools, but I figured what the hell, the guy (a Bedouin) was selling it for some type of charity so I bought one and used the belt for smokes, my Zippo, six remote controls, pens and some loose change. Lady Gaga came over and fawned over my belt. She asked for it. I said no. She asked again, this time in a subtly threatening, menacing tone. I said no again. She said “some day that belt would be mine” to which I replied: “No way, this is my camel tool belt. You got money; get your own tool belt Lady Gaga”.
This morning I went to put on my camel tool belt and it wasn’t at the foot of the bed where I placed it lovingly only a few hours earlier. Lady Gaga has stolen it, just as she said she would.

My Victim Impact Statement to Lady Gaga:

Thanks for stealing my camel tool belt. I hope it droops on you. You could have had any tool belt in the world, but nooooooo, you had to have mine. I hold no grudges however. I hope this belt fills that void in your life. We are no longer friends. I am sorry I ever taught you piano and lent you all my Queen CDs.

Kevin J Pecore, ESQ

Koko is Not Interested in Redemption or Apologies - He Just Wants Your Banana

“In this world, the only thing that is certain is death and taxes.” An overheard pickup line used by Benjamin Franklin on a buxom waitress at a go-go bar in Boston.

My mother phoned me recently to say that she found a box of mouldy crap while renovating my old bedroom. I liked my old bedroom while growing up. It had walls, a ceiling and a door that locked from the inside - like all good bedrooms. I shared the space with my older brother. He punched me in the face once, like all good brothers. But back to the box of crap: It contained an essay I wrote in finger paint while in kindergarten. And now the essay is reprinted in its entirety, thanks to some wrangling from my literary agent, Uncle Wallace of Espanola. Enjoy.


An Essay about Life & Death
By Kevin J Pecore III
Deth is not funy, but lif can be hilarius.
The End (hold for applause)

That’s classic, regardless of the spelling. Okay, so then there’s death, ya? That clumsy white elephant in the room that few acknowledge even while the bleached behemoth is making an ass of itself knocking over coffee tables, openly hitting on chicks, and crushing the house pets. Hum. Mortality - it’s a peculiar deal. The second anything is born (created) - either through Immaculate Conception, or the old fashion way, like on a couch, in a Dodge Caravan, or two hundred leagues under the sea, the gift of life becomes a bit of an albatross - a terminal affliction, yes? Many people are terribly distressed over this bum deal. For some, the notion of their own mortality may only hit them later on in life, so they panic, stop smoking, gorge on fruit, and then climb a mountain as a strategy to cheat or prolong the inevitable or accentuate the thrill of living.

From Lemons to Lemonade Then Back to Lemons Again for Johnny, Donnie and Lonnie LeDous

“If you think no one cares if you’re alive, try missing a couple of car payments.” Former teen pop singing sensation, Lebanese Lenny Huckabone
Driving my daughter Dali on a short errand to pick up the milk I was supposed to pick up earlier that day, we passed three young living embodiments of that uncrushable and unquenchable Canadian entrepreneurial spirit - the LeDous triplets - Johnny, Lonnie and Donnie, sons of Ronnie and Tawny, sitting behind a makeshift lemonade stand. The boys resembled characters ripped from the jaundiced pages of a musty, dusty Twain novel. The lemonade stand was a simple affair to be sure - a small rickety pressboard coffee table. On it was a large translucent Tupperware jug full of delicious lemonade with ice cubes bobbing around and clicking off one another, and a pile of stacked foam cups.

Frank Zappa, a fishhook through the eye, internal medicine, and the job search in the new millennium

“He’s a walking contradiction, partly truth, partly fiction.” - Kris Kristofferson describing his neighbour, Yogrish the Pilgrim

“It has never mattered to me that thirty million people might think I'm wrong. The number of people who thought Hitler was right did not make him right. Why do you necessarily have to be wrong just because a few million people think you are?” - Frank Zappa, quoted from The Real Frank Zappa Book

Hello friends and that dear, loyal reader. Hey, check this out: I don’t have a lot of leisure time to dedicate to this week’s column. Actually, this week, this missive shall be referred to as a ‘blog’ for no significant reason other than I can use this term to pad my resume. I am now a published blogger, not to be confused with a logger, a term which sounds similar, but is a very different profession.

I’m currently looking for a job, and I seem to be in pretty good company. I am not serious about the blogger thing though. Misrepresenting myself on paper is more than a little pointless. To brush up on my job-seeking skills I have been applying for about sixteen jobs a day - from fitness trainer to bush pilot, and everything in between. But today’s workforce has shape-shifted - the rules have changed with the internet and globalization of the economy, forever altering the way people search for work, and the lengths people will go to get a job. If there’s not a job out there, I say make one and cross your fingers. I have just applied for small business funding to open my own wrestling school. I don’t know how to wrestle, but for three hundred dollars I will let you pick me up, spin me around a few times then body slam me through a glass coffee table. Included with the price of tuition: a juice box and sandwich. Or, maybe I can teach Hungarian? They say it’s nice this time of year on Jupiter. Maybe there are more employment opportunities out there.