And Then You Can Fuck Off Some More...Louis Shalako.

Louis Shalako

Using the power of positive fucking thinking, we shall now deduce our plan for tomorrow. 

(Fuck Tony Robbins, anyways. – ed.)

< thinks furiously >

Because at this point I either don’t have one, or I have forgotten what it is.

(A plan, he means. – ed.)

Oh, yeah, my car’s all fucked up and it’s still sort of winter or ‘pre-spring’, if that makes any sense. There’s nowhere to go, actually.

Hmn.

Uh, huh.

Okay, okay, so here we go.

Ah, we shall wake up, moan and groan a bit, turn on the computer, and read shit for a while. 

Maybe even for a couple of hours, while I figure out the world—I’ve got milk for the instant coffee, which came from Walmart at about $1.97. I stole the sugar from work.

Luckily, I’m usually right and the world is often wrong. This is what keeps me sane.

We shall, ah, go somewhere and get smokes and beer or something. We shall cruise through the back lots of a few used car dealers here in town, and we shall see if there’s anything that interests us. Although there probably won’t be. Hopefully I don’t have to shit. It’s a Sunday morning. What can I say. Nothing interests me on a Sunday morning.

But having to shit is a bit of a pain in the ass. It’s like you have to go to Tim Horton’s, where the washrooms are okay but the coffee is insipid and over-priced and it’s like a scab employer and everything. So, if I could avoid that, it would probably be better…I don’t want to support them guys.

There are a few things I plan on avoiding.

The plague, herpes, unwanted wives and children. Mines, punji-sticks, ack-ack and Bolsheviks…

We shall try not to drive off of a cliff and explode, or run amuck of Vladimir Putin, or sasquatches or aliens or anything dumb like that. Although I will be having tea later on with the Evil Dr. Emile Schmitt-Rottluff, dad’s really mellowed out in recent years.

Ah, hopefully, we get to eat two or three times, shit like that. The odds are, I’ll be cooking that myself. Who the fuck else is going to do it, right…???

With a bit of luck, we shall say something funny, perhaps even perceptive, possibly bordering on superficial profundity. That will be on the internet, perhaps you can catch it there. I’m on Twitter and shit like that. Other than that, we shall be busy.

Busy, and undaunted, and indefatigable. Which is the correct spelling, however much you don’t want it to be.

Be that as it may.

We shall prevail.

We’ll take it as it comes, with a bit of music, a bit of wit, and a bit of the good old indomitable human spirit.

And if you don’t like it—

Well, then, you can just fuck right off.

And when you’re done with that, I will still be here.

And then you can fuck off some more.

END

Shit, look at all the fucking books and stories I wrote.

Thank you for reading.

FUELING THE OPOID CRISIS. Louis Shalako.

Louis Shalako

The reader just got sucked in by a clickbait headline. Stick around for a minute and maybe you’ll even see why I did it.

So, I was having a bit of upper back pain and I needed to go to work this morning. I’m on the Ontario Disability Support Program, and therefore if I don’t work, I don’t eat. I say that because food banks are a national disgrace.

Not only that, but the food there is absolute shit and I’ve gotten sick off of it more than once. 

Truth is, I throw half of it out, unless it’s fit for birds and squirrels, of which I have a few. 

Lining up in front of that stinking shit-hole for a couple of hours is actually more painful than going to work for three or four hours—at least I can move around a bit, sit down from time to time without losing my place in line.

I woke up about four a.m., rolled over on my right side, and, while I didn’t exactly scream, it was enough to make sure I didn’t get back to sleep again.

The thoughts of going out in that cold parking lot and firing up the crummy old vehicle were not good.

The fact that we got a pretty big order last week, had to scramble at the last minute to fill it, and that we had exactly forty-nine dough-balls left in stock has a logic all of its own.

I got up at some point, took a half a Tylenonl-Three, (roughly fifteen milligrams of codeine there), and I was at work at 6:57 a.m. I did my job, made up a few loads of pizza dough, washed out some totes. At some point I’d had enough, so I locked up the shop and went to the boss’s house, where we talk about things and then she pays me in what is a pretty simple transaction.

So, why do I say I’m fueling the opoid epidemic, admittedly codeine is an natural opiate, not a synthetic drug, and one that is a hundred to a thousand times less potent than Oxycontin, fentanyl or a host of other substances?

Well, for one thing, I’m on ODSP and I line up at food banks—that’s a prime indicator. I say that because according to the prevalent news stories, one of the great causes of poverty in this province is mental health/addictions. The second is drug addiction and poor moral choices, the third is evilness and personal stupidity. The one thing that definitely does not cause poverty would be lack of money--apparently we have all kinds of money for dope and stuff.

At least to hear them tell it--

If you don’t believe me, listen to local radio, read your local Postmedia or Torstar publication. We are so lucky to have so many conservative news sources in this province, I can tell you that.

(Watch video here. I think I fucked up trying to embed it.)

No, ladies and gentlemen, it’s not as simple as saying that poverty results from lack of money, in fact, if you listen long enough, you will see that lack of money is the least likely cause of poverty in this province. Hell no--anything but that, right...???

Want to hear something funny? I went to the dentist for a toothache. Not seeing much on the X-Ray, he had this look on his face: looks like we got a live one here.

Of course, his assistant asks if you are on any other medications, and of course I truthfully told her I had been prescribed T-3s for back pain. This is a prime indicator in any middle-class book, of an individual, a shirker, one who just doesn’t want to work and is just out to fuck the system. A couple or three days later, what I thought was a filling fell out. When I went back, it turned out the tooth was cracked lengthwise, and it had to be pulled. So I guess I was faking it after all--right, doc...??? In the hope of getting a big whack of arm-dope or something...right?

(Their logick is often circular and therefore self-reinforcing. Not to mention self-serving and a kind of distilled hypocrisy, but what the hell you gonna do about it except beat them up once in a while, when you get the chance.) It's just that there's a big crackdown on opoids in the province. While this might not take too much dope off the streets, it will definitely cause problems for working Ontarians, which can only be a good thing...right?

Right?

Of course it will, and that's why they do it.

Sure hope this wasn’t too much truth for your bourgeois little minds.

END

Oh, dear, goodness gracious me. What a lazy little fucker, went and wrote all these books and stories, all the while collecting social benefits.

What a morally-degenerate piece of shit I must be, eh, ladies and gentlemen.

Or maybe I was just bored.

Thank you for reading.