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| A proud moment. |
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you…thank
you.
Revelation and enlightenment doesn’t come easily,
and to some, it never comes at all.
And yet in a few short years of tenure on this
rinky-dink little planet, it has been my good fortune to receive at least a
modicum of both.
In a brief Shakespearean aside, I would especially
like to thank those who were dragged here by their spouses, quite against their
will, and I appreciate that, I really do. I will keep my remarks as brief as
possible for your sakes as well as my own.
Okay, here we go then.
I am among the most fortunate of men. But a person,
one such as I, doesn’t get where they are today without a lot of help from a
lot of good, bad, and indifferent people over the years.
This is my opportunity to thank all of them, and I
intend to make the most of it. Such opportunities are rare, unless one is even
more truly blessed than one such as I.
I would like to thank my mother and father. I would
like to thank my grandparents, and my ancestors, who go all the way back to
Pliny, (the Even Younger, not the famous historian or his dad) if you believe
the geneologists, many of whom are dead now. (My ancestors, I mean, and of
course all the Plinys. Not the geneologists. Some of them are still with us.)
Honestly, I almost said gynecologists, but that is
clearly not right, is it, ladies and gentlemen?
I know better than that.
I would like to thank the Ministry of Community and
Social Services, the Ontario Disability Support Program, and the Government of
the Province of Ontario Task Force on Life-Long Poverty.
What? What’s this?
They don’t have one?
Silly me. I thought they did, or at least, that they
must have one by now. But let’s move on.
I would like to thank the Department of Labour
Standards, and Ben Dover Construction of Hamilton Ontario, as well as their
subdidiary, Scheibe’s Bricklaying Services.
I would like to thank the Workplace Safety and
Insurance Board, the Sarnia-Lambton Housing Authority, (what a lousy bunch of
fucks) and the Bluewater Mental Health Association. I would like to thank the
Ontario Hospital Insurance Program and Dr. Pierre d’Elegance, of Main Street in
Burlington, Ontario.
Whoever would have guessed that a back injury
required treatment, or, at a minimun, X-rays and some documentation.
Ah, well, you live and you learn. Live and learn,
ladies and gentlemen.
I must especially take the time to thank the good
folks, my former neighbours down on Sigourney St. You taught me what it means
not to be quite, er, quite.
I would like to thank the Provincial Court of
Ontario, as well as Sarnia Police Services and their Crime Stoppers
Rat-Off-A-Buddy Program. I would like to thank the good people down at the Inn
of the Good Shepherd and the Salvation Army, and of course the people at the
St. Vincent De Paul.
You picked me up when I was down, and then fed me,
and then let me drop when the next guy came in the door.
An important lesson in life there, ladies and
gentlemen.
I would like to thank Shank, and Squiggly, the
Wiggler, and Bumstead, Little Baby Jesus, and all the ships at sea.
More than anything, I would like to thank Miss
Hellmore, my Grade Seven teacher at St. Bent-dict’s elementary school on Joak
Street, which as you may know, is right across the street from where Commander Chris
Hadfield (Yay!) went to school, that is to say Queen Elizabeth II elementary
school.
I would like to thank my mentor, Monsignor Notte-Trudeau,
for helping me with the anger management, and I would also like to thank all
the kids I grew up with; for to grow up without kids to grow up with would be a
fine kettle of fish indeed.
(Are we okay for time? How are we on time?)
The producer says we’re good.
Hmn.
That’s about all I had to say.
OH!
I would like to thank every cat I ever had, for you
brought some love and joy and if you will forgive me, something soft, warm and
cuddly into my life.
I would also like to thank the half-dozen or so
foster kids who passed through our household in fairly regular succession.
You helped make a home, until you went and did
something stupid and wandered off and got hit by a car, providentially bleeding
to death in my arms. (I am referring to the cat, ladies and gentlemen.) As to
where all those other brothers and sisters may be today, that is a very good
question. And I sure am glad you asked it.
I would like to thank the good old boys at the
Paranoid Club, and of course I would like to thank my first girlfriend—such
compassion. Such compassion, ladies and gentlemen.
I think she really did love me, otherwise why stick
around so long?
I ask you that.
I’m sure I have a Kleenex or a hanky or something in
my pocket. Ah, yes, here we are. It’s just that the lights are so bright.
(Sniffle, sniffle.)
Oh, boy, here we go again.
(Drinks water.)
That always helps, eh, ladies and gentlemen?
So. Anyhew.
So where do we go from here? Well, there is a wet
bar, and I know we’re all thinking about that, but more than that, ladies and
gentlemen, we will stride boldly (or baldly if you prefer) into the future,
where the poor will have more microwaves and the rich will finally corner the
market on sanctimony.
(Am I done yet?)
The producer is shaking his head.
Well, frankly, ladies and gentlemen, so am I.
No, literally, quite frankly, and I know how you
hate it when I say that, but I really am shaking my head.
Normally, I wouldn’t join any club that would have
someone like me as a member, which places this evening among the great
mysteries of life—that’s right, ladies and gentlemen—I’m not even a member! A
bit of an oversight on the part of the selection committee, but there you go—no
one is perfect, eh, ladies and gentlemen?
(Except maybe the bourgeoisie.)
Yes, it makes a fine testament to your generousity
and thoughtfulness, and ah, puts everything in a whole new light, doesn’t it.
Did I just say tit?
Not like me, I have to admit, but it has happened
before.
I shall try to do better in the future.
All right, ladies and gentlemen, the producer is
making throat-cutting motions so I guess that’s it for me.
Thank you for being here to share my moment of
triumph, for these moments come all too seldom in life and it is always good to
have someone there for you. It’s nice when someone actually sees it happen.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t matter nearly so much, would
it?
And now we’ll turn the microphone back to our genial
host—almost said ‘genital’ there, but I caught it in time.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Butch Padorcik, your master
of ceremonies and a well-known local raconteur, drunkard, and a bit of a bully
in his off hours.
And last but not least, I must thank you, Butch.
Thank you. I have learned much from you, sir.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Bye, everybody—and with luck we’ll see you again
next year, unless I can come up with a valid-sounding excuse.
(Dutiful applause.)
Here’s a song for you lovely ladies and gentlemen.
Yes, the gentlemen are lovely too! (You know who you are.)
It’s called Howl, performed by Beware
of Darkness. Either that, or it’s called Beware of Darkness…by Howl. I didn’t
write it, but it’s still pretty good.
