A Dying Man's Wish

I'm happy to say that I'm still turning out the tunes. I'm no longer able to share them on the web without a home connection, however. I was just noticing this ad on my pack of smokes that says smoking harms babies. You know, the more I smoke, the more I hate smokers. We should round up those no-good, baby harming sons o' bitches and take 'em to a deserted park at night. You know that disaster in Japan? I'm sure there was a smoker behind it - probably a smoking seismologist.
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© 2011. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

On Guard

It might be wise to limit rights for the unborn. We can't trust them. They're not even human half the time. They go through every step in our evolution before they even start to look halfway like us. First they're tadpoles. Then they meet an egg and become a like a little pac-man or something. I mean, they don't even have noses and mouths yet, just eyes - and you want them to have full rights? And what about that period just before birth when they turn ever so briefly into swordfish? So go ahead and call me a bigot. I have my reasons.
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Chromozones Disease

I can't figure out why I haven't had more success with breeding up to now, if only for my rare DNA. Most people have either XX or XY, but I have XYZ. It's the next step. And people with my DNA are also the only ones with Type ABC blood. They're after us for donations.
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Maple Relief

This Easter I'm thankful. I'm especially thankful that I don't have to go out and make my maple flavoured cream cookies from scratch. Mine use real Quebec maple syrup, so you know what that means, getting the sled all loaded and the dogs all hooked up and going out into the middle of the Quebec woods in the wintertime to drill a hole in a tree - make sure it's not a poplar. Then I'd have to build a snowman or something to scare off critters while the sap accumulated in its little bucket. But even if I got the ingredients right, I'd mess up the shape of those biscuits. I'd need some high-tech cookie cutter for that.
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That's Corny

I was just having my can of chicken corn chowder and thinking how lucky I was that I didn't have to make it from scratch. It's such a pain to have to go chase down the chicken (make sure it's not the one that lays eggs) and decapitate it somehow, if possible without getting blood on the ceiling, then yank out all its feathers and so forth. Then the corn. You have to pull all those niblets off the husks. It must take hours. Thank heaven for modern conveniences.
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Bombs Away

The Red Baron is a great movie for anyone interested in history and in one-hundred-year-old flying machines. It's about the life of the famous German fighter ace from World War One. My father, who fought with the Canadian army in World War Two, said that if I ever joined the armed forces, I should join the Air Force. He said he and his army comrades would be trudging through the muck and decomposing bodies while the planes flew indomitably over them. (I added the word 'indomitably.') Pilots, who tend to be the most intelligent of soldiers, had a kind of gentleman's code between them. They wanted to shoot down each other's planes, but avoided killing each other or punishing each other too severely on the ground. This code was still in effect in World War Two under Goering's command of the Luftwaffe. (Goering had been a World War One ace.) Indeed, the softer treatment of allied airmen was blamed for the Great Escape from a Luftwaffe POW camp made famous by the 1960's film. Captain Roy Brown, the Red Baron's Canadian challenger, makes several appearances in the story in his Sopwith Camel, but Snoopy, in his flying doghouse, is nowhere to be seen. I thought it was a well done film, but the German accents of all the actors were unconvincing.
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Paintings of Jimmy

I know I've been kinda whiny about things. What do you expect? The more blogs and songs I write, the more money I learn I lost. And now a local charity on which I depend will be closing its doors while my money appears to have been spent by a bunch of strangers in the pursuit of self-glorification. What do you expect? But last night I realized I wasn't the only one who got cheated. I feel terrible for what happened to all those music lovers. It must suck to find out that your favourite band is a sham. Leave it to some ruthless profit seeker to break everyone's heart so he can have more money in his pocket. What a world. So I guess it makes us closer, since we now understand each others pain. Maybe we can salvage something positive from this, after all. I know about the pictures of me. Did you know that an artist has copyrights over his image? About the dog picture and the spanking picture, these are libelous images of me and I will sue over them if I can. I'm practising up and planning to get out and perform soon. Gonna polish up my act on the amateur stage and hope for a shot at a pro gig. I'm sure I can have a few productive years in the music industry before I have to retire and maybe start up a TV variety show. We could have interesting guests, like Velona from Good Times. If I had Velona on my show, I'd ask her if Jimmy Walker really did those paintings himself. At last the world would know the truth.
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That's Snuff

I think I've added two pretty solid compositions to my repertoire. My vocals are a bit drippy, but it's not from crying. It's just my allergies. I might need some Reactin tablets. Or maybe some of that stuff you squirt up your nose. You know, that mist? It smells kind of medicated?
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The Wrong and the Shameless

Brad lived in a country where apologies were avoided because they show a loss of face. As a public relations manager for a crooked politician, it was his job to face the media in the event of a scandal. He'd just returned from a press conference to find his boss eagerly awaiting him and sitting behind his desk. He stayed on his feet as the other opened up a new line of questioning. 'What did they want?' 'An apology.' 'Did you offer them one?' 'Of course not.' 'What did you tell them about the poker losses?' 'I said you'd owe them.' 'And what did you tell them about the crack pipe?' 'I said you found it.' 'And the hookers?' 'They looked like hitchhikers through the tinted glass of your limo.' 'And shooting my popular competitor?' 'You only meant to make good on your public promise to bury the competition.' 'And blowing up the packed football stadium?' 'Population control - for their own good.' 'But you didn't apologize?' 'No, sir!' 'Good job. Well, we'd better be leaving.' 'But I just got here.' 'I know, but this country is no longer ours. We all have twenty-four hours to vacate. Damn! That's the last time I bet on anything lower than a full house.' 'Are you sorry you made the bet?' 'No.'
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Little Sheep

Little sheep, who shags thee? Little sheep, who shags thee? He is fat and he is bald He is smelly and ribald Grips thee by thy wooly neck To compensate for disrespect Little sheep, stop squealing Little sheep, stop squealing
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May the Beast Men Win

I noticed today that there is an election this year in my country. It occurred to me that some of my readers might not know very much about Canadian politics, so I thought I'd devote this blog to a short description of my country's system. Canada has three main political parties, the Elks, the Saskwatches, and the Abominable Snowmen, as well as numerous fringe parties, like the Water Buffaloes. They may differ on superficial issues, like how to spend tax money, but they are all agreed on putting an end to hunting season. After an election, the winning party gets to sit on the side of the giant log cabin closest to the washrooms. With their superior numbers, as they legislate, they may drown out the opposition with an overwhelming chorus of animal noise, which, if loud enough, may affect the migratory patterns of the herds in the surrounding forest. This carries on for four or five years until the next election. It's real democracy, letting voters be ruled by unpopular leaders only until they can be replaced by new unpopular leaders.
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