Tosh's Tails
In and Out
Friday, November 13, 2009
7:07 am Santa Ana CA. and I just made the mistake of reading the responses to my last volley (Valley Songs). In future I will leave such obligations until later in the day when my heart is a little less delicate and my skin a lot thicker.
First and foremost, my sincere gratitude to all who peruse my puppy prose and take it for what it is.....a grain of salt. I do enjoy being the dog on the wall and try to provide you, my loyal readers, with an insider's perspective on what's really going on out here in bandland.
It is never my intention to offend.
To the unfortunate and very aptly monikered "metermaid", I extend my sincere condolences and hope that you will be feeling better soon.......
When you grow up.
Tosh
Valley Songs
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
You may have been worried about my whereabouts of late.
Or not.
I have been sequestered in an unprecedented songwriting push towards completing GBS X. In the nouveau ghost town known as Humber Valley Resort. The simple plan was to accumulate our favourite songwriters uninterrupted under one roof for a week to see what we could do. The hand picked team of hopefuls consisted of Paul Lamb, Jeen O'Brien, Jeremy Fisher, and Joel (hines) Plaskett. The results; an astonishing 14 new cowrites in just 4 days...a true testament to the power of positive drinking.
A huge success, all things considered, except for the fact that Jeen, the only chick present, drank our faces right off on a daily basis and never once spilled a drop (and stats will show she had a hand in almost every track.
"I wish that I could drink like Jeen
she never falls down
and she never gets mean"
Yes, I wish I too could be a Jeenlike drinker....but, alas.....I am not.
I am but a beagle....a nervous unsung melody.... A howler at the moon....someone else's pet.
I do know one thing for sure though, McCann and the lads are calling in the Big Guns to ensure you, our employers, get your money's worth.
All Killer....No Filler.
Not sure who said that... was it Budda?...or Sum 41....
See you all out west
Tosh
Long Road Lead Me On
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
We just traversed the continent in a metal tube. Ten men and a dog sealed off in our own little 65 MPH world. Fighting, writing, reasoning, and wanting. A Microcosm if you will. A living, breathing organism whose life span is exactly how long it takes to get from the first show to the last. Fragile.
Our much awaited return to the road did not go off without its hitches. Definitions were misinterpreted. Lines were blurred. Exposed toes mistakenly tread upon. Drama (sometimes the subplots make the movie) and ultimately (albeit imperfectly) democracy. Only the strongest stone can feed the forge and we are stainless steel.
Every tour is a revolution. A beautiful fight to the death..... and then to the airport where our velocity must be reigned in to match that of the real world. Time stands still and wounds repair. We console ourselves in the love of families who have waited too long for our return. We rest.
and then we go back to the war.
Tosh
Politically Incorrect
Thursday, October 01, 2009
These days a dog really gotta watch what he says. One wrong word can instantly reel an innocent conversation into the realm of the inappropriate and otherwise unsullied reputations right into the dirt. Our tender egos, it seems, have gone to eggshells; our once thick hides to eider down. We now live in an easily offended world and its hard for an old mutt to keep up with all the new rules (and his mouth shut).
And since when did "Bitch" become a bad word anyway?
What's so bad about referring to someone as a female dog.....especially if they are a female dog? Apparently it all depends on the "context" which, as far as I can figure, has something to do with the amount of red wine consumed over the course of a date. Now I am a simple creature of low beginnings. Born in a barn to a reluctant mother with no father in site, I am, by definition, a Bastard : the progeny of lust and loose morals. I know what I am and there ain't no fancy way of saying it that will make me feel any better. "Abandoned", "Unwanted", "Orphan"?
No thanks Bitch.
I'd rather be a Bastard.
Tosh
Smoked Meat
Saturday, September 26, 2009
It was the smell that hit me first. An irresistable mixture of of brisket and mustard and black pepper smothered in swiss cheese laid on a loaf of rye. I would have wet myself if I could. Had I tear ducts, I'd have wept. Young troubador Jeremy Fisher had just strolled nonchalantly aboard the great big bus with no less than 10 lbs of prime smoked meat all the way from Schwarz's famous deli in montreal. Had I lips, he most certainly would have been kissed. I have no idea if Mr. Fisher is a religious man, but I have vowed to embrace the Kaballah.
Half way through my third sandwich, it struck me just how potent this simple satisfying gift could be if given on a global scale. Got a problem with the Taliban? Air drop a plane load of montreal's finest on their asses. That will wipe the snarls off their surly faces. Hard to fire a rocket launcher when yer hove off on the couch watching the Habs. And how bout those big cement walls in the Gaza strip? Would they not fall to the powerful flavour as well? Throw in a vat of poutine and that conflict is over. Pirates off the African horn? Give their machete blades something truly worthy of fine slicing....and some pickles. Drug cartels would crumble the world over if we offered their customers an alternate form of consumable bliss. Kim Jong ill might even crack a smile.
Life is short.
Why spend it making weapons when you can make sandwiches?
Tosh
Money for Nothing
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
The first day of any gbs tour is always met with a very early and annoying flight usually to Pierson (how can I not help you today) International to meet the bus. Aside from the occasional whining bitch, I have yet to see anything quite so pathetic as a musician before dawn. Swollen tongued and bleary eyed, they stagger up to the check in counter with their hopes high and flys at half mast, telltale signs of a hasty retreat from a too late called cab. Sleepus Interruptus.
After being told once again that buisness class is full (as always) our catatonic heros stumble through security and onto the Fort Mac express. For those of you who don't know, this is the means by which newfoundlanders with "real" jobs commute to work in the morning.....to the tar sands of northern alberta.
Large of hand and big of heart these iron horses have become the real engines of the ever expanding alberta oil industry. Roughnecks and welders, boilermakers and operators of all variety of heavy equipment, they are known the world over for their hard work ethic and even tougher humour. They get the job done.
After 17 years on the road, I still feel like an apprentice compared to these chronic 8 week turnaround nomads. How do they do it? Why do they stay? As I look around at the weathered faces and weary eyes on this oversold slave trader, I recognize the relative comfort of my own lot and vow not to complain.
At least until tomorrow.
Let the tour be damned.
Tosh
664 The Neighbour of The Beast
Sunday, September 06, 2009
"Sometimes things go wrong. Things went drastically wrong. But at least there was a tour for it to go wrong on..."
Lips Kudlow
So it's the night after Buffalo and all hungover hands are sitting backstage at the Rhode Island Rythm and Roots Festival watching a great documentary tribute to the kings of canadian metal. A strange setting, you might think, to embrace my inner antichrist but "The Story of Anvil" was not made exclusively for metalheads. It is a classic tale of triumph and despair, pain and hope, dignity and redemption.This movie speaks directly to the heart of the human condition and how hard it can be to do what makes you really happy even if it doesn't make any sense.
Whether you appreciate their music or not, Anvil have been faithfully slogging it out for thirty years and a lot of bad things have happened along the way but they refused to give up. If "the power of positive thinking" were an official religion, the surely Lips Kudlow would be its messiah. I can see him now nailed to an upside down cross with a big smile on his face.....just happy to have a show to do.
Now those of you who know me realize that I have never been one to naturally go looking "on the bright side". In fact, I am sometimes tempted to bite those that do (sorry Alan). But something about these metalheaded misfits got to me and I am left feeling strangely uplifted and filled with hope.
I am doing what I love again and that makes me very happy.
And that's all that matters.
Now if someone would just please rub my belly.....
Tosh
What i did on my summer vacation
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I guess some form of accounting is in order. A dog can't just fall off the face of the planet for 6 months and expect the search party to be still out there looking for his remains. You may be wondering what fate has befallen your bonged-out beagle buddy. Does he lie dead in a ditch, the victim of a heinous canine crime....whacked by some Dog Boss for spilling his guts to Animal Control? Or has he blown himself apart in some Puppy Mill jihad and now enjoying the pleasures afforded by 72 virgin bitches? His eternal reward.
The Truth, I fear, is far less fantastic.
"The Break" got off to a flying start with the completion of McCann's "Bloodshot Lullabies". Hopes ran high until the powers that be all politely passed. Can't blame them really. I mean what 42 year old folker would be foolish enough to make a record in this day and age. He'd have more luck trying to grow a set of tits. Never one to admit defeat though, McCann has taken to wearing a training bra and is more determined than ever to let the soundtrack of his dark heart be heard. So please stay tuned.....
Though disappointing, this temporary setback pales in comparison to the
disasterous dichotomy we like to call a "family vacation". As if living with children weren't punishment enough, dragging them all over the continent under the guise of relaxation is pure masochism. I would rather feel the bite of the Flagellants whip than sit through another tearsoaked takeoff. It's enough to make the sacrifice of the Castrati seem like a mere inconvenience. Christ himself chose the cross over an RV outing with Magdalene and his holy brats. The distance between bonding and bondage is one errant sperm.
Occasionally there was a flash of light in the oily blackness. A match struck in hope......of fire. Many new songs were completed (art thrives in adversity). The session with Paul Lamb in late june was particularly fruitfull and genuine fun. A new partnership with brother Kevin was forged and shows much promise. I drank from Lord Stanley's mug (some clear yellow liquid i hope was beer). I found a new friend (cheers Mike) and Finnegan learned to walk.
Not all bad I spose.
And now? What indignities and uncertainties might have befallen my former co-conspirators? Where will we all find ourselves come next weekend? Together again?
I hope so.
Tosh
Origin of the Species
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
"An American monkey, after getting drunk on brandy, would never touch it again, and thus is much wiser than most men." Charles Darwin
"Daddy, why is the water so brown?" were the last words Thing One said before he was unceremoniously evacuated from the polluted bathtub. Thing Two, had apparently just had an evacuation of his own and now stood knee deep in the fruits of his labour. The sole occupant and supreme ruler of a frequently contested aqueous territory. Satisfied.
It is an awful thing to walk through the waters of life with a buttnugget dangling from your bum. Most people will wisely avoid you and any expectation of social invitations should be lowered accordingly. Launching a fully armed poo torpedo at close range is more akin to an act of war. In a global context, Thing Two might be described as North Korea.
Darwin's Theory of Natural Selection or "Survival of the Shittest" has become a kind of axiom here at the McCann household. But watching these human babies develop, I often wonder if good old Charlie might have been wrong about the source from whence they sprang. Surely their DNA must more closely resemble that of the Yahoos than the far less brazen baboon. What other species has been known to practice this extreme form of defecacious isolationism? But that would make them the stuff of fiction and this, my friends, is all too real.
And why should I care? Being of Canine kind, I am free to poo wherever and whenever I like. I guess in a global context that would make me America.
Now please excuse me while I lick my own arse.
Tosh
Hard Karma
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
So I'm sitting on the couch licking my balls when all of a sudden I lose my balance and roll off the cushion and onto the sleeping cat who immediately let's fly with fangs and claws and all things feline. When the fur finally settles I start checking myself for holes. Everything seems fine except for my tongue which smells like ass. But then I look on the coffee table and my canine heart collapses. McCann's laptop has taken a direct hit and bleeds shiraz while the light slowly drains from its screen. A civillian casualty. Collateral damage.
Of course McCann is pissed. "That was a $60 bottle of The Dead Arm....a D'arenberg classic. What a friggin waste." Then a look of sad revelation crawls across his face. His Garageband, his iTunes, the new songs he just finished recording......all gone.
Devastated.
Needless to say, I will be in the doghouse until long after I'm dead. A moldering pile of beagle bones; abandoned and despised. No more wild romps thru the Newfoundland woods. No more tossing of the stick. No more scratches on the belly. No more food....
Worse than the obvious and profound guilt, is the nagging feeling that I probably had it coming. For weeks now I have been fostering a mean spirited attitude towards my friends and relations. As if I were somehow above it all. Better. My head has been full of negative thoughts and pessimisim and it has worn me down.
I believe in Karma......and she is a total bitch. If you scald your arse, you better learn how to sit on the blisters. I also believe that everything happens for a reason.
Maybe the cost of a laptop is little for the sake of a sympathetic soul.
Or maybe you should never lick your balls on the couch.
Tosh
Red Carpet
Sunday, March 08, 2009
It's official. St. John's worst kept secret is out. Alan Doyle's long flirtation with hollywood has finally born fruit and he will be starring in a remake of Robin Hood. The next time many of you might see him will be prancing around on a pony ready to skewer the nobility with his crossbow. He will rob from the rich and give to the poor and then retreat into the forest to make merry with his fellow men.....and he will go down in legend.
We mere bus dwellers, of course, support Doyle in his current endeavour. How could you blame the guy for wanting to run around in tights stabbing other dudes. It's the opportunity of a lifetime. But at the risk of sounding selfish or small (and i am....and i am), what about the rest of us? What the *** are we supposed to do for the next 6 months? Yoga?......Sudoku? I think not.
We are road dogs. We were born to roam. Leaving us in the backyard for half a year could prove dangerous....and very dirty. Among the rank and file, there is much confusion and concern. Will we all be OK? When we do eventually reconvene in Washington on august 21st, will we still feel the momentum afforded by Fortune's Favour?
Will you still be with us?
Far too much for this beagle brain to handle. I need to find me a job for the summer. Anyone looking for a best friend?
Will work for bones and belly rubs.
Tosh
Relapse
Saturday, February 07, 2009
I managed to skate thru christmas drinking nothing but turkey gravy and eggnog. No amount of temptation could coax me into the darkness. Not even the Universal Theory of Inlaw Avoidance*. I was fine.
Until I pulled my big hairy ass onto that freaking floating megabar known as The Norwegian Jewel and tossed my liver over the side. Now I could sit here and blame Gaelic Storm (a bigger bunch of liquor pigs you will find nowhere) or point the finger at my close friends who came along this year to "look after" me and then promptly crawled into a bottle of vodka on disembarkation. But that would be just making excuses. I need to take responsibility for my actions and place the blame squarely where it belongs.
On Bob.
Let's face it. The fiddler is a demerara demon. A rum rifle cocked and pointed directly at my beagle brain. Resistance was futile.
Luckily damage was minimal and I am sitting here at the gate relatively unscathed. It could have been much worse. I could be passing thru customs with a bright orange mohawk.
Tosh
*anything it takes to get u thru it
Postscript
Saturday, December 06, 2008
"And now the end is near
And so I face the final curtain"
Frank Sinatra/Sid Vicious
Maybe it's a function of our collective ages, but that had to be the hardest tour we've ever accomplished. Doyle's pipes are shredded and McCann's arm is numb from strumming (and whatever goes on in the privacy of his bunk). As for myself, I am too pooped to even lift a leg for a fire hydrant. Looking around the plane as we lift ourselves out of Vancouver, I see the same story on the faces of our entire road family. Battle weary. Burnt out. Broken. Time to go home for a rest.
I miss my life. My home. My bed. And most of all......my boys.
I often wonder if it's worth it. All the precious minutes missed while the wee ones grow up without me. But we are what we are. I hope someday they can understand that we do it all for them.
I'd like to thank you all for the amazing ride. I feel like I have lived enough this fall to fill an entire life.
Tosh
Pretty Vacant
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
"Blow it up" (johnny rotten)
For better or worse, I spent the greater half of the grueling last leg revisiting the music of my adolescent musical heros the Sex Pistols. Ever confrontational, always controversial, the Pistols were something you literally either fervently loved or despised. I remember losing several girlfriends just by singing "god save the queen" in the backseat of dad's pontiac ventura. I guess I can thank Sid Vicious for my extra year of virginity and more than one blackened eye. As with all fads, my fascination with Punk quickly waned as my rebellious teenage soul was hijacked by the uber popular and far more parentally acceptable Police and a subsequent dirth of 80's pop bands (some of which were quite good.....but we'll save that for another flight). Far and wide though my growing musical tastes righteously wandered, nothing ever hit me with the same potent punch as Punk.
Seeing the Sex Pistols reunited live in Brixton academy (on dvd) was more than just a warm and fuzzy walk down memory lane. The lads are definitely more than a little swollen and look more like sex puddings now, but the songs still have very sharp teeth. One of the bonus features sees Johnny Rotten touring london in a double decker bus bemoaning the blatant uglification of his once beloved hometown. Having recently visited "old blighty" I have to agree.The profligation of big corporations and their insipid cement/glass architectural tastes are ruining london's great historic neighbourhoods and skyline. And it's not only london. I just circled the continent in a bus and the ugliness abounds.
34 years ago the Pistols exploded out of soho spewing bile and subversion. Like his biblical namesake, John the Baptist, Rotten found himself in the desert angry and alone shouting warnings of oncoming evil and impending doom. We thought he was mad too and he lost his head for his trouble. Another dead messenger.
The interesting thing about Johnny Rotten isn't the outrageous clothes or the rhetoric. The interesting thing about Johnny Rotten is that he was right. Big Brother rules our world and it was our own complacency that let him rise to the top. While Rotten must feel somewhat vilified, the ever growing ball of apathy that is our world continues to torment him. What happened to us? Did Sting lull us all into a coma with his radio friendly tantric pap? Wake Up people! Wake up and find your angry teenager within and listen to what he has to say......and then do something about it.
Mosh on
Tosh
Kingston Rocks
Monday, November 17, 2008
"Isn't it amazing what you can accomplish
when you don't let the nation get in your way
no ambition whisperin' over your shoulder
isn't it amazing you can do anything"
The Tragically Hip (Fireworks)
It all begins again today. Right here in the unnofficial capital of our often underrated country; Kingston Ontario. Hard now to recall how the band's love affair with this fair town began. Most likely in a bar at Queens university. Revolutionary conversation over many drinks followed by dangerous performances and very restless sleeps. I fear I have already forgotten far more than I will ever remember. No worries. Alan and Bob will live to write the book. I only hope they are brave enough to include all the juicy bits.
It's a very good thing I never went to school in Kingston for if I did I would surely be there still. The "professional student" unwilling to leave and forced eventually into that most dubious of all the "literate" trades; pedagoguery. Never did have much respect for prof's but Queen's is the best excuse for the excuse I've ever seen. Intellectual innebriant. Opium. Fortunately they have a strict zero canine policy when it comes to faculty. Beagles are especially banned as our whiskers were deemed too coarse for the delicate arses of the deans that so desperately need to licked.
But I digress.
It was in Kingston that my mind was opened to a career in music. In other parts of the country, people tended to talk a lot about music, but Kingston was a place where you actually did it. Bands like the Headstones and the Hip came roaring out of this small college town with things to prove and rocked our small subrban worlds. They frightened the living shit out of T.O. shoegazer wannabes and we all watched and learned.......and wanted more. Were we not too from a small college town with a harbour? Did we not also adore the dark lord of Rock? We may have walked into Kingston wearing Doc Martens and plaid but we walked out in feather boa's and leather pants.
well maybe not the pants.....
Rock On
Tosh
One Nation Under Dog
Friday, October 31, 2008
Went to a Barack Obama rally yesterday in Raliegh NC. Or at least I tried to. There must have been 50,000 potential voters lined up for a look. This would never happen in Canada where the largest crowds are reserved exclusively for hockey games and craft fairs. American politicians are freakin Rock Stars. Always on TV. Desperate for approval. Wanting to change the world, but completely shut off from reality by a wall of security. Laundry obsessed.
Is this why they are always calling out to god for guidance? And which god are they summoning anyway? Jesus? Allah?.....the Bhudda.....Elurie (look her up)? The unnamed deity is claimed by both Democrats and Republicans so it must be nonpartisan. Or at least undecided. And how can we be sure that the supreme being is not a furry long eared canine quadruped? Am I not also cast in the image of my maker? Will my soul not fly up to that big boneyard in the sky?
My point is there are many unanswerable questions when it comes down to belief. Always was. Always will be. Religion and politics have shared a long and sordid past. The Inquisition, the Crusades, the witch burnings in Salem, and the Holocaust just to name a few. Remember, Jesus himself was put to death by the state. One would hope that by now we would have learned to leave god out of our elections but there he/she/it is namedropped all over CNN every day. Like god is gonna restore our health care system and our ailing stock portfolios. Like god is gonna decrease our taxes and create new jobs. Like god is gonna bailout our banks and rebuild confidence in american foreign policy......
Who do these political candidates think they are?.................god?
But listen to me go on. I’m just a friggin beagle stray and here I am running off at the snout about politics. I can’t even poo in a toilet let alone vote. But if I could, I would. And I would vote for any candidate who didn’t use the g-word.
dog bless
Tosh
Revelation
Thursday, October 23, 2008
“the hardest part of life......”
My entire life has been a spectator sport. While I have been physically present for the storyboard of events, I have never been a full participant. Always behind the camera, picking angles and manipulating the light. Never in the frame. So concerned about getting it just right that the real point is lost. So worried I might screw up or get hurt that I have emotionally detached myself from what I can’t control...... Life...... I feel like I have missed everything.
My last month has been extraordinary. I feel like a bear rising from its wintersleep, hungry and happy to be alive. A fish in a frozen lake who finally feels the warmth of spring. A desert flower reborn in life giving rain. For the first time in many years, I feel like I am really here. And that is as frightening as it is exhilarating.
I don’t know where this is going. Not even sure why I’m writing this down. Perhaps it's because I don’t ever want to forget it. Maybe I just opened myself up for a world of pain. Maybe I won’t even survive this day. At least now I might actually show up for my own demise. That’s only gonna happen once. Be a shame to miss it.
Maybe I should start listening to the songs.
Tosh
Animal Cruelty
Sunday, October 12, 2008
dear friends and fellow dog lovers,
As u well know, I recently embraced a serious lifestyle change. It was not a decision I took lightly. My very life depended on it. I knew there would be big challenges ahead, but felt that all could be overcome with the help and support of my friends. How wrong I was....how wrong.
Instead of being supportive and helpful, my supposed mates have taken to taunts and outright mockery. Noone on the bus, it seems, is happy with the new Tosh. Just yesterday Bob came up to me out of the blue and told me I was boring. Alan started wearing whiskey aftershave and routinely places flasks of rum under my pillow. When I asked him to stop he told me to “grow a set” and “not be such a pansy”. Foster keeps telling me that one beer won’t hurt me and MacFarlane has even started drinking vodka coolers just to “pick up the slack”. There is enough booze on our bus to paralyze a herd of elephants. The crew r no better. Beer bongs for breakfast with tequila chasers.....right in front of me. It’s relentless.
McCann is the worst offender. Yesterday he actually brought me into a liquor store to watch him partake in a free vintage wine tasting. The temptation was almost too much to beer. That night I dreamt I was swimming in a sea of Sonoma Chardonnay. The cool refreshing liquid tickling thru my dry fur and flavouring my heated brain. I swear i woke up buzzed.
Now I’m not here to beg for mercy. I deserve to be punished for my former misdeeds but i am really trying hard here to turn things around and a little bit of support would go a long way. And for god’s sake! Will u please stop soaking my kibble in Baileys!
Like Fergie sang “where is the love?”
Tosh
Beautiful World
Tuesday, October 07, 2008
still this emptiness persists, perhaps this is as good as it gets
when you’ve given up the drink and those nasty cigarettes
now i leave the party early at least with no regrets
i watch the sun come up and i watch it as it sets
yes this is as good as it gets
Colin Hay
Well here i am 47 days dry save for some sweat and a few drops of tear..... apparently no worse for wear. I lost some weight at first but then my taste buds grew back and now i want chocolate.....all day long. One vice for another i spose..... but I’d rather work off a piece of cake than a tequila hangover any day.
I do often find myself alone on the bus which is sometimes difficult. We beagles are pack animals and are quite lost without our peeps. But they never stray farther than the nearest pub and always come back much happier than they left. I usually spend these solitary sessions writing or indulging my latest bad habit.....purchasing iTunes.
I have spent the past 3 years carefully burning only the favourite tracks from my own CD collection. While the process was painstaking, the result is a personal playlist that has grown to some 7000 paw picked tracks. Now I am free to raid the itunes store in good conscience.....and i love it (I have a 10$ a day habit). How can they make music this good and sell it for so cheap?
Oh Yeah.......they can’t.
So my nites r not wild anymore but my days are all the better. I always wake up early and drink enuf coffee to give a cat a coronary. Then I exercise and go to work. And if that’s as good as it gets.....then that’s pretty friggin good.
Tosh
Bailout Blackmail
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
In every life we have some trouble, when u worry u make it double
McFerrin
S’ok.....So why don’t we just GIVE some of the richest shysters on the planet 700 billion to pay off their bad debts and then trust the very same shysters to clean up the mess they made in the first place. Now, I might be just a beagle but i can certainly tell shite from Chivas when i smell it.....and this reeks.
Some of u might be thinking, “what does he care, he’s just a friggin dog, he’s not worth anything anyway”. True. I am a beast of meager means and my stock in trade is measured more in bones than basis points, but have i not eyes that weep? a heart that bleeds? a tongue that’s.......8 inches long and never stops.....
My point is, we r all human beings (OK, I’m not but i like to pretend) and it is patently wrong for a bunch of wall street wankers to run reckless with our savings and then expect......no......demand, extort, and intimidate us into saving their asses. The arrogance. The unmitigated gaul. The complete lack of respect.
Now I’ve never had much time for religion (jesus is allergic to dander apparently) but there is something very sweetly old testament about the “correction” that’s about to happen...if we have the courage to let it. “We have nothing to fear but fear itself”, and we certainly shouldn’t be held to ransom by an elitist bunch of conniving millionaire Henny Penny’s with an attitude.
Remember what happened to poor Turkey Lurkey.....
Tosh
Old Dogs
Thursday, September 18, 2008
For the lub of jeebus all u young pups.....please watch your backs. There is nothing worse in this world than back pain. Just ask Doyle. He’ll tell you. Doyle spent the better half of last winter flaked out on the floor wacked on muscle relaxants and cheap red wine just trying to cope with the incredible pain. I felt bad for the poor bastard even after I heard about the cause of the injury (a very spirited save by Doyle to ward off defeat by the “dark team” in labatt lunchtime hockey at st. bon’s). Avoidable for sure.....but what a save!
Whatever it takes i spose. Doyle hates to lose and has been known to go to great lengths to ensure that he doesn’t. He once chewed his right arm off rather than surrender the puck to the marauding stick of an errant left winger (McCann should have had him at the blueline). It did eventually grow back, but was it really worth all the blood?
No.
Sometimes a little perspective can go a long way. We don’t have to win every single game we play. Wouldn’t it be boring if we did? And shouldn’t we expect to lose a few as we get older? Make room for the young pups to show what they r made of and win some fights of their own. There’s nothing pretty or nice about growing old, but it’s a reality we all have to face eventually and I, for one, would rather face it with a strong back. After all, you never know when u might get lucky......
Even old dogs get laid sometimes.
Tosh
Blame Jesus
Thursday, September 11, 2008
“jesus he comes up to me and jesus he sits down
he says “take this fuken cross off my back, I'm goin downtown"
Dan Bern "One Thing Real"
I was almost 2 (a fully formed teen in human years) before i realized that my name wasn’t Jesus Christ. Every unintentional carpet butt rub, occasional involuntary leg hump, and purely accidental pee on the floor were all met with the same indignation from McCann; The immediately outraged refrain of “Jesus Christ!”
When the veracity of my real nomenclature was eventually realized (maggott, baglicker, and arsepick all removed thru process of elimination), I began to wonder who this Jesus fellow really was and why his name was so viciously maligned. Turns out he was the fraking son of god! So why the big hate on? Wherefore the huge wrath? what did this devine man do to deserve such a bad rep?
One would think that association with the supreme being might be considered a plus for your popularity points. Not so for poor Jesus. He gets blamed for every stubbed toe, traffic ticket, and misguided hammer swing on the planet. It’s not bad enough he had to die for our sins? Now we have to constantly castigate him for our petty mistakes as well?
Jesus fuken christ!
Give the man a break.
Tosh
Intervention
Friday, September 05, 2008
I drink too much.
It all started back in high school where many cans of Blue Star were routinely shotgunned* into one's gullet previous to the parish hall dance. As if acne, raging hormones and chronic insecurity weren't enuf......a healthy dose of alcohol was not unlike throwing gas on an open adolescent flame and more often than not ended up in vomit and regret. The hasty word, the punch poorly thrown, the wrong girl, the complete bullshit.....all symptoms of a far greater pain. Self induced. Sad.
For whatever reason, I have managed to remain openly adolescent my entire life and gasoline and fire have been my constant companions. Always there at my side just waiting to be reintroduced. Dependable. I wish I could say the same for myself.
The two things I love in this world are my family and my band. Unfortunately, they are the ones who pay the highest price for my weakness. Innocent civilian casualties of my own unjustified war . Unacceptable.
I have been granted one final reprieve; one last chance to live up to my real potential and the expectations of those who really matter. And I intend to make the most of it.
Habemus Sufficium (et mea maxima culpa)
Tosh
* puncture the can with a pen and cover hole with mouth. raise can above head and open. oral enema.
Half Bottle Theory
Thursday, August 21, 2008
There is noone more dangerous than an optimist. An optimist is a person who is just too lazy to prepare for the worst and possessed of an irrational confidence that everything will always work out fine in the end. They r great fun to be around when everything is hunky dory, but when the shit hits the fan, an optimist can be your greatest liability.
Optimists should never be allowed to fly. Positive thinking in airports can only lead to humiliation and regret. Or worse; an extensive layover in Toronto. I have a close friend who suffers from the disease. Time and again she checks in early in the complete faith that her plane will depart on time, make its connection, and arrive at its destination with all bags intact. Don’t know bout u, but if i passed that fairytale into my high school lit teacher, she’d have me sent to the principals office and asked to pee in a cup.
Unfortunately, an optimist can be right approximately 50% of the time and, being optimists, they consider this to be an acceptable rate of success. Every time one of these poor wretches just happens to be correct, they become more entrenched in their deluded ways. Unable to discern the thin line between reality and fantasy, and often unwilling to listen to reason, many optimists simply end up falling through the cracks.
Many are seen in their final days walking aimlessly in the freezing Newfoundland rain, wearing nothing but their bathing suits waiting for the sun to come out......
There is currently no known cure for optimism.
Tosh
Gander
Sunday, August 03, 2008
For those of you who don't know, Gander is not an outport. It is an Airport. Founded 50 years ago, the city has proven to be a strategic boon to NATO and her Allies. The biggest landing strip in North America during World War 2, Gander celebrated it's birthday last nite in a style that can only be described as high altitude......Jet fuel.
McCann left St. John's with a heavy foot and was afforded a speeding ticket for his impatience. I hitched a ride on the back of a Honda Shadow 750 piloted by a tall blond beagle enthusiast. We took our time.
Arrived on the scene just in time to hear veteran Ron Hynes, the finest songwriter Newfoundland has ever produced. Paul Kinsman on Keys and Boomer Stamp on Kit.....classic. Upstarts Hey Rosetta followed with a colourful set of barely controlled intensity. Hawksley was right. Tim Baker is genius....and a right good ball handler (I meant soccer).
Rex Goudie followed and did indeed live up to his salacious reputation. Still don't know if he can sing or not and I don't care. I just want to hold him.
I started to get a little apprehensive for the lads when I saw McCann crack his second bottle of Veuve Cliquot while sat across a picnic table from hard rock Novaks drummer Elliot spouting shite like only a young man wannabe can. Smoke dangling from thirsty lips and jaded look in malevolent eye. I only hope the poor youngfella isn't scarred for life.
Many new songs flew from uncertain fingers: Hard Case, England, Dream to Live and Gallows Pole. Ambitious. As always, MacDaddyfarlane managed to hold it all together in the end. Sober. Solid......
and so sexy.
The aftershow got rather stumbly around midnite. Future Pulitzer winner Justin Brake will have much fodder for his tell all novel. We can only hope he didn't have a camera.
Sincere thanx to the kind people of Gander for inviting us Townies to their birthday party. Lax leash laws and ample poop picker bags make for a happy town.
Ruff. Ruff.
Tosh
Never trust a fart past forty
Thursday, July 24, 2008
You know u r getting old when u start to leak. You wake up from a scotch induced nap on the heathrow express only to find every air vent in site turned up on bust and pointed directly at your arse and a foul demeaner on the faces of your surrounding peers.
“You been leaking gas again” said McCann with his eyes full of water, “and not the laughing kind either.”
“Sorry man” i offered back sheepishly. And I was too after smelling my own reek.
This has become an all too frequent situation and I am not the sole offender. Buses, trains, subways, and airplanes are all ripe for this kind of pollution. How often have u been sat on a plane next to some poor bastard who enjoyed a nice navrattan curry for lunch and was now at the mercy of his own fumes? You would think, in this technologically advanced age, that we could find a solution to this olfactory dilemma. We can invent the internet but we can’t flavour a fart? what’s up with that?
Why hasn’t some young Steve jobs invented some kind of fruity smelling suppository that would make our wind smell “downy fresh”? He could call it the Ass Mint and make a fortune. Or some kind of nasal prophylactic to prevent unprotected stench? Or even airtite astronaut underwear to keep the vile stuff from escaping.
We all have sphincter issues from time to time and they seem to get worse as we grow older. In lieu of a solution, there is really only one thing to do............. blame the person sitting next to you.
I stink. Therefore I am.
Tosh
Air Cannibus
Thursday, July 17, 2008
“Hey there little red riding hood.You sure r lookin good.You're everything a big bad wolf could want.”
Beautiful poetry from “Sam the Sham”. I wonder what he meant? Sitting here in steerage just dying for a G n T and trying desperately to make nice with the elusive stewardess (and i do realize i am supposed to say “flight attendant”) because as the amazing Mr. Waits once profoundly pronounced, “you just can’t get served without her”. 2 hours in the air and I am about to lose it. My kingdom for a pint.
Last nite the lads rocked the house at The Amphitheatre inToronto. It was a very loose and boozy affair with much imbibing both onstage and off. I parked my arse at the bar early and dropped a five dollar tip right away to ensure consistent flow of the vitamin G. Nine pints later and security is carrying me out to the bus. Now that's what I call good service.
Marijuana should be legalized if only to make air travel bearable. Air Canada? How bout Air Cannibus. Now that would encourage people to “fly” more. Nothing like a big fatty before a flight to wash your pains and worries away. Anxiety is the real enemy. Especially since 911. I have a vague memory of air travel being tolerable. Now we suffer an endless series of indignities before we hit the sky. If I am forced to remove any more clothing in security, I will be formally charged with indecency. What do they think I am trying to hide down there. I’m neutered for freaksake....
How bout “Air Naked”? That would be cool.......wait now......I’ll probably end up sitting next to Doyle.....
Tosh
Je me Souviens
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Sitting on the bus trying desperately not to get right on the pints. This is a big weekend for the lads and I don't want to let them down. Attempted a nap but Kieth Robert's resounding yelp as the Young Dubs hammered the stage turned the exercise into an act of complete futility. A very thirsty band indeed.
I remember a nite in Vail colorado. One of many enjoyable stupors on the financially ill fated (and unforgiveably named) "Uprooted" tour. I was just a pup but McCann managed to sneak me into the aftershow party the aforesaid Mr. Roberts had miraculously managed to conjure up at the local paddywanker pint dispensery. (I heard there may have been some monetary malfeasance but that's another Tail) I remember being very hungry. I remember being fed. I remember a senorita who stopped my heart. Dead.
We are all guilty of something at sometime in our lives and heaven help the man who actually gets what he deserves. For every sad song there is a punchline. A grain of salt should flavour every tear. If absence makes the heart grow fonder, then mercy is its medicine.....and I for one am feeling very happy to hear the Young Dubs again.
Tosh
In Denial
Friday, July 04, 2008
Lower your expectations and you will lead a happy life.
This is my new mantra. After years of brutal disappointment, i finally get it. Don’t get your hopes up and u will never be let down. If u expect steak every day, whatever u have for supper is just gonna suck. If your sites are set on jessica simpson, even a blowjob from kirsten dunst will be a bummer. It’s all relative. And it’s all in your head.
Being a beagle, you might think it wouldn’t take much to make me happy. A walk in the woods off leash, a well thrown tennis ball, a good bellyrub, a dead rabbit. All these things bring me joy, but they don’t define who i really am and certainly not the hound i dream of becoming.
I see myself as a canine conquerer. A swollen pooch potentate with a harem of french poodles to sooth me....... El Presidente. Admittedly, a far cry from my current reality of eating kibbles and bits and having to poop outside. It is exactly this disparity between our dreams and our realities that dooms us to a life of depression.
We often see ourselves as something better than we actually are and we tell ourselves lies to prolong this illusion:
I have a few pounds on (as opposed to I am a fat lazy bastard).
I like a drink (as opposed to I am a lush)
I am an actress (as opposed to I am a waitress)
and the list goes on.....
Well, I for one am sick of lying to myself just to make me feel good. I am but a beagle. A lowly housepet. I eat poo. Bring me mediocrity or the next best thing! I am going all the way to the middle and there I will be unremarkably content!
Besides, if i really need a lift, there is always the rum.....
Tosh
Of Glory and Great Men
Thursday, June 26, 2008
My
friends and fellow canines. I realize that one of my previous diatribes
may have been perceived as “anti hockey”, but nothing could be further
from the truth. Thanx to the amazing Mr. Bob Gainey (#23), my soul is
filled once again with respect for the Holy Puck.
I
had the good fortune and excellent pleasure to befriend Bob at a GBS
gig in The Troubador in LA some years ago. I was out in the porch
selling merch (glenn had to work his real job) when this softspoken
giant approached and asked to meet the band. I admit, I didn’t
recognize him at first but it was LA and u never know whose gonna show
up so i asked for some kind of credentials. He offered up a
bonecrushing right hand and very softly said “I’m Bob Gainey” and when
i counted the stanley cup rings i almost peed right there on the floor
(a very big no no when u r a beagle merch peddlar in a club). I was
starstruck.
I
bought him out front to the bus where the lads were watching the hockey
game (can't remember who now exactly but it did go into triple
overtime). Bob was actually between games in his own playoff series.
His Dallas Stars were embroiled in a fight to the death of their own
with San Jose and he really wanted to see the east coast game. Happy to
oblige, the lads took to the stage leaving Gainey on the bus. He never
heard a note but he was still sitting there when the lads came back
after the show.....and the game was still on! So we all had a beer and
watched the rest of the game in our tourbus.....with Bob
Gainey......how fraken cool r we!
Flash
forward 5 years. Feb 23 2008 in montreal where the Habs are set to
retire the number (23) of said Mr. Gainey. The lads have been enlisted
to sing the anthems. All hands nervous but they manage to pull it off
with some aplomb. And then something quite amazing happens.....
Captain
Gainey takes the ice in full battle armour and makes a victory
lap. Stick held high in victory, the beloved gladiator is showered in
the love of his people. Fucken Roman. Now I have been to a lot of
shows.....maybe too many.....and I'll admit to being more than just a
little jaded, but that heroic action really moved me.
My little black beagle heart became a bark less bitter that day.
.......thank Bob.......
Tosh
Speaking with the angels
Sunday, June 22, 2008
I can feel it now for the first time....the presence of the alcohol as it slowly invades my capillaries and blasts away my shame. Brain in denial. Body surrenders. Bollocksed. I sit back on my P.J O’Brien barstool and let the wee whiskey angels fly off with my canine soul.
And then it begins.
Doyle takes the stage like a lion takes a gazelle. Stalking. Unblinking eyes firmly focused on his prey. McCann is in unusually happy form no doubt having already spoken to several angels of his own. Lost cause. Bob looks concerned.
There is much media and many record company officials. Amazing really considering the lads are 15 years in. A little long in the teeth for pop stardom perhaps but tonite the news is all GBS. I must grudgingly admit to being just a little starstruck. Like many in the audience, I begin to feel that something important is about to happen. Macfarlane lays down the beat. Foster’s head begins to bobble and then the question is asked, “I wonder if you love me?” and the tiny room erupts.
The rest of the evening is a blur. Sparks of memory linger but i would be lying if I said I could make any sense of it. Apparently I wept.
No need to wonder Doyle.
The angels are with us.
Tosh
Secret Service
Saturday, June 14, 2008
OK
So here's the deal.
I know everything about what's about to happen on planet GBS......but i can't say squat. I surrendered my freedom of speech in exchange for a berth on the rather hastily arranged promo tour bus that will be bustling us around Canada's biggest cities over the next 2 weeks (that was a hint re #4). I have been charged with the duty of documenting the carnage on video but i have to confess that I totally suck behind a lens especially when there is liquor involved and there most certainly will be (another hint). To this end I am now calling on all potential attendees to please bring their cameras and shoot the shit out of this all too rare situation. It may never happen again.
To help sweeten the pot, I have been afforded 2 extra passes to each "secret show". I assume demand will be high so, in order to be fair, the prizes will be awarded to whomever writes me the coolest Haiku in each perspective city. Just post them into the comments section below and I will be able to judge. I will borrow McCann's Crackberry to announce the winners on day of show via his new Twitter addiction (its becoming a problem).
Either that, or just rub my belly.....a beagle can always be bribed.
Good Luck
Tosh
People Are Dirty
Thursday, June 05, 2008
And I don’t mean in that slutty “girls gone wild on spring break” kind of way. People are just prone to leave debris wherever they go. From the middle of the Mojave desert to the center of the arctic circle. Wherever man can drive, fly, or crawl; man will leave a mess.
McCann likes to take us into the woods for a couple of hours every day while the wee one sleeps. He whines about it and calls it his chore, but we know it is far more about preserving his own sanity than ours. After a long morning of baby wrangling, he is more than ready to head into the wild and enjoy the solitude it provides.
Nothing like being smack dab in the middle of nowhere to clear your cluttered mind. All alone in nature. Birds singing, trees creaking, water rambling, wind blowing the dust off your weary soul. Pee wherever u like. Beagle paradise.Then all of a sudden u look down to find a broken beer bottle. Shards of glass shattered over the grass just waiting to pierce the tender pads of an unsuspecting pup. Sadly, this happens far more often than u might think. On at least 2 occasions I have found myself in the doggy emergency clinic undergoing stitches because some fraking idiot decided to walk 3 miles into the forest, drink a budlight, and then smash the bottle on the ground because he was too lazy to carry it back out. I mean, what kind of person does that? What kind of no mind, careless, misanthrope would go so far out of his way to ruin what little bit of the natural world we have left?
I don’t know, but If I ever catch one of these arseholes in the act, I’m gonna chew his nuts off......
then drag them over a broken beer bottle.
Tosh
He Shoots! He Scores!
Monday, June 02, 2008
He drinks 6 beer and then 15 more!......He comes home to find his suitcase packed at the front door.....
I love hockey. I love everything about it. The sound of a solid slapshot, the crack of a back on the boards, the smell of of a glove rubbed hard in the face and, of course, the imminent threat of physical violence. Chase this down with a few "Be Coupla Carefuls"* and you have a perfectly squandered friday afternoon.
If only it were that simple.
The hardest thing about playing recreational hockey is not going out for wings and drinks directly thereafter. Try as I might (and believe me i have) I am completely incapable of leaving the rink and proceeding directly home. I am all too predictably pulled like a wayward comet caught in the gravitational pull of the Duke of Duckworth or the Black Dog or some other reputable rum serving establishment. Next thing I know I am on my ass, passed out in the back seat of a Gullivers* reeking of hockey bag and beagle fart.....hopeless.
The fact that I am powerless to fight my post game urges has lead me to this conclusion: Hockey; Canada’s national sport, is a Gateway Drug.
It is my belief that hockey has led to the breakup of thousands of families over the years. The addiction is real and, if not treated early, the chances of rehabilitation are extremely slim. Awareness and education are the key......and kindness will have to be the cure.
I am Tosh. And I am a Hockaholic.
Tosh
*bottles of Blue Star
*killer cab
Let's get Retarded
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Now, before u start, I realize that “retarded” may not be perfectly PC but there really isn’t a better word to describe the actions of young children today. Bent on self destruction and blessed with an unhealthy lack of fear, rugrats all over the world seem to be hopelessly drawn to a spectacular death. Not unlike christian martyrs of yore, they seem to relish their own dooms and go to great lengths to seek it out. The Rack, the Stake, the cleansing Pyre and even the occasional beheading are ends the modern 2 year old seems eager to bring upon himself.
My question is why? Born a halfbreed beagle in an unwanting home, I was forced to fight for every breath. There were 6 of us and (as bad as this sounds) I was lucky enough to be adopted by McCann. Initially we had our rough spots and i was forced to quickly learn where (and where not) to pee. Times were tough but I never once gave in to despair. I always fought to survive. To prolong my small and miserable existence. I wanted to live.
2 years later and what does McCann do but go and procreate (a dubious decision at best). And what does the little bastard do as soon as he is able to move?.... Everything in his power to try and dispose of himself..... Nice stairs....think I’ll take them on my head. Nice car.....think i’ll lie down under it. Nice knife.... think i’ll commit Seppuku right here on the kitchen fraking floor!
Makes it friggin impossible to relax at home anymore. Always waiting for the 911. Always on guard....on the edge.
And now there's a new one!
Bring on the relative sanity of the bus.
Tosh
Body Hair
Friday, May 23, 2008
Why is it such an issue? Why is McCann so pissed everytime I hop off his couch even though we usually get on well while I’m there (it really depends on what we r watchin 30Rock or Battlestar Galactica)? So I leave a few hairs around. Big deal. It’s not exactly a porn studio now is it? (u never heard it from me). Why r humans so completely obsessed by hair?
From what i can gather, women seem determined to remove it entirely from their bodies. Except for their heads of course. They like to put more up there. Just where does the “hair” in “hair extension” come from anyway? Men seem more concerned with extending other body parts of course. Just google “porn” and before u know it, u will be inundated with offers and advertisements for an infinite variety of “services” both hairless and otherwise (at least that’s what bob told me). The Bikini, the Brazilian, the Hitler, the Bald as can be...... I mean what’s next? .......Arse Flossing?
Praps it’s some kind of youth fixation/fear of dying thing....hair being mentally alligned with aging, the grim reaper, sexual obsolesence. The corollary being that hairlessness is young, nubile, approaching sexual potential and something we all once were.....(virgins). But that would mean we r all perves right?
I just don’t get it. But what do I know? I’m a frakin beagle. I wear a rug.
Tosh
Tea (Canine reflections on a cruise pt.2)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
“For Christ sake’s have a cuppa tea” Ray Davies
Another nite out wasted. Another promise to myself broken.......... and another........and another.....
Now I’m not one to make excuses (but i am) ,but this oversized canoe is no place for a beagle (with issues). What the frak do they put in those fruity drinks? Kerosene? One minute i was having a sensible conversation with Robicheau and the next thing i know, i wake up in bed with my pants around my ankles and a gecko tatoo on my ass.....and i don’t even wear pants....
That's it. I’m not leaving my room for the rest of this voyage. I dont care if Ginger and Maryanne show up at my door in thongs......I’m not playing anymore. From now on, I’m going right on the Tea.
I don’t know why i don’t drink more tea. Orange pekoe, darjeeling, earl grey, lapsang souchon......its all good for you. Or at least better than an ice bucket full of jamaican rum and a pack of smokes. Tea is not a drink. It’s a lifestyle. From now on I’m gonna preach the healing power of tea. You’ll see me up on deck tonite with a cup and saucer and a short bread biscuit holding court with the ship’s book club. Hell, I might even go to mass on sunday and sing a hymn or two. Did Jesus drink tea?
What’s that doyle? You’re gettin on ‘er tonite? Me? No bye.....i’m right off the booze. I’m a Tea Totaller......what? The rider is here already?
Well perhaps one frosty Red Stripe won’t kill me....
Tosh
Kissing Cuba (canine reflections on a cruise pt. 1)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
“When i was a young pup
I wanted to sail round the world
that’s the life for me
living on the sea”
Never thought i’d see the day.......GBS on tour in the caribbean.......middle of winter........cruise ship.......scantilly clad.......mojito breath.......boiled.
I am referring, of course, to the Carnival Victory, and the BNL “Ships and Dip 3”. A floating music festival offering respite from the cold and replenishment for the soul. I dunno how they talked McCann into this. He usually likes to keep himself to himself and there’s really no way to do that onboard. The Newfoundland weather must have finally worn him down. Or maybe he is beginning to mellow with age (about time). Either way, it’s day 2 and he seems really happy. And that in itself is a new tour record.....
The old doll must have had a run in with a Newf (this term is OK to use when referring to canine citizens only) one nite coz I am all about boats. I keep hovering around the pool waiting for some chick to start drowning just so i can save her. Instinct. It’s what i was born to do. We r all born with it. Some have more than others and some just refuse to heed them, but i believe the reason humans (and dogs by association) are at the top of the food chain, is because we have good instincts. When in doubt, defer to your gut and u will never go to far astray. Granted , they can occasionally get u into some trouble (like before i was “fixed”), but on the whole, instinctive behaviour is a good thing.
Music is an instinctive art. There are no rules or directions. No classes u can take to make u a good songwriter (and if there r , then students beware........those who can’t....). A good song has to “feel right”. It has to strike a nerve. Move you. Connect.
Overheard McCann and Dolye working on a new masterpiece with the Carbon Leaf lads today ( a nicer bunch of american boys u will not find ). Sounded good too. I look forward to hearing the end result. Sat in for a bit trying to wing a few royalty points but i wasn’t much help.
Now, if only someone would fall in.....”excuse me miss, R U drowning over there?”
Tosh
Working Like a Dog
Monday, May 12, 2008
“Do I look like a budgie to you?” I asked the obtuse gate agent as she enquired about my pet status. I wouldn’t mind, but who is the only one here sober enough to check us all in? Who is holding all the passports, work visas and company credit cards? Whose paws are really on the wheel of this bandwagon? What’s the matter lady? Never seen a beagle off leash before? The only “pet” I know anything about is the heavy sexual kind they warn teenagers about. Hey. A litte beagle in your bed might go a long way lady......not much left down below, but check out my tongue. PET: Plowed Entertainer Transporter.
I am Tosh. And I own Mr. McCann there. Yes. The one face down on his MacBook......drooling.
I try to point out that all of this “unpleasantness” could have been avoided had the airline honoured its contract and let us all fly on the flight we paid for...the one that was supposed to leave 4 hours ago. I mean, I can’t really blame the lads for gettin shitcanned. What else r they gonna do in Toronto airport for the day? Go see the new Emily Carr exhibit? Finish Anna Karenina? Origami? No. They r gonna walk angrily up to the elite lounge and drink themselves silly.
“Unfit for travel” u say? I tend to agree missus. How u guys still have your wings is beyond me. OK then lads, all back to the lounge then......jeebus grant me strength....
and so it goes.
Tosh
Tosh (tells no) Tails #1
Monday, May 05, 2008
Woke up this morning with the unbelieveable urge to lick my balls.
I know it drives McCann crazy, but I was absolutely compelled to do it.
If he had caught me, it would have meant immediate eviction from the bed for sure, leaving room for that scheming Marley to suck up to the boss (as if he were never himself compelled). Luckily, the gnarly old bastard was in a scotch induced coma and probably wouldn’t have woken up had I pooped right on his swollen head.
Funny thing, compulsions. You know they r bad for you but u just can’t resist. The lure of the cat’s food, the delicate bones of the chicken, the rotating tire, the backside aroma of the french poodle.....all bad. All equally irresistable.
Last summer, Mccann left a full pot of pea soup on the counter and went out to play dinkies with the boy. It didn’t take me and Marley very long to get that upended and lick the floor clean. Burned my tongue and caught a mean case of the trots. McCann didn’t talk to me for days but you know what? I would do it again tomorrow...........with Bells on.
Why r some lessons seemingly unlearnable? I mean, I manage to pee outside now (that wasn’t easy). I will offer a paw, sit, and rollover for a friggin buscuit. But frak me if I can’t keep my tongue out of a boiling pot of pea soup! Hopeless.
McCann’s no better. He still scarfs back a whiskey and a smoke whenever he thinks he can get away with it (which is never). He still can’t drive past Leo’s without getting face and eyes into a FCDG & FO (fish, chips, dressing, gravy, and fried onoins) even though his dad almost dropped dead after enjoying such a deadly feast. Talk about a lack of self control. The man has a friggin deathwish.
But what do I know. I’m just a beagle.
All I wanna do is lick my balls.
Tosh
Disclaimer
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
For those not in the know, Tosh is Sean's closest friend and confidante. They have been inseparable since the day Sean first spotted him in the animal shelter and brought him home. Part Beagle, part Bassett hound, and part anyone's guess. Tosh has always struggled with issues of abandonment and insecurity. He also suffers from acute hip displasia and arthritis. Today, Tosh earns his keep working for the band both on and off the road. His primary assignment is to keep McCann from harming himself (or anyone else). Famous for his pronounced distinctive bark, he has never been known to bite. Yet. Tosh is three years old.
