Tosh's Tails

Bark.....the Hairy Angels Sing

2011-12-24T12:31:00Z

On behalf of all the Hairy Angels at www.heavenlycreatures.ca I would like to thank everyone who dug deep into their pockets to support McCann's "Best Friend" song contest. We managed to raise $194.85 and McCann has agreed to at least match that amount from his own......purse

May The Great Beast above bless your hairy little hearts

and grant you all a safe and happy holiday

Merry Christmas Everyone

Tosh

Non Committal

2011-09-17T14:34:00Z

There has been much speculation of late as to my level of involvement in McCann's new project "The Committed". This is likely due to my unauthorized appearance in the following U Tube video filmed without my knowledge and posted against my will:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-T0NCTF5j8I

While my wagging tail might suggest happiness or even approval to some, in this particular instance I was actually just politely asking to be let out for a pee.

I think Kelly and Craig are great musicians but I am not about to jump onto the proverbial "Fan Wagon" just yet. McCann is still McCann after all, and the whole project is volatile and precarious at best. The fact that these seasoned professionals have chosen to risk their reputations slumming with a "Tipper Head" like himself leads me to believe that they might eventually live up to to their new name and find themselves confined to what locals here affectionately refer to as "The Mental".

I tried to warn them......but they just scratched my head......and played on.

And now they are ready to take the show on the road. The first US tour begins in Philadelphia on sept 26th

and ends 13 shows (in a row) later in White River Junction Vermont.

Crazy? ......More than just a little I fear.

The Inmates have taken control of the Asylum my friends.

Strange things are about to happen.

Tosh

Puppy Power

2011-07-22T18:34:00Z

"because you cannot know yourself

or what you'd really do

with all your power....." The Flaming Lips (The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song)

Sitting here in my herb infused hot tub and "The Lips" (my real favourite band) come screaming out of my iPod shuffle and I cannot help but wonder if I have done enough. The song is about what we Can do versus what we actually Would do ....with all our power.

Well, I know what I am going to do right now. I'm gonna steal McCann's credit card (again) and buy that song he wrote to help save my beagle Homey's at www.heavenlycreatures.ca.

And I strongly recommend you do the same.

At just $1.49 per track, you will not find a cheaper, cleaner form of power.

Come on puppy lovers!

Throw me a bone

Tosh

Best Friend

2011-06-22T00:39:00Z

First and foremost I would like to thank McCann for getting off his arse and writing a song that doesn't totally suck. "Best Friend" (now available for download at www.greatbigsean.com) has got a beat to rock your bones and well worth the $1.49 it costs. ALL proceeds will go to the worthy www.heavenlycreatures.ca who saved my sexy self from certain doom seven short years ago (yes....i am actually almost 50 in human years and have the pains to prove it). So get off your wallets!

Well done McCann. You may have your bed back.........for now.

A CMT set will Air on Saturday July 16th at 7PM EST and you WILL be surprised.

New tour dates from across the border have also been posted.....and yes..... I am Committed.

To You.

Tosh

Forever Young

2011-05-11T21:24:00Z

Well that "In and Out" was quicker than the night McCann was deflowered.

Barely laid eyes on the tramp. It's like he dropped in to do his laundry and then took right off again as if he were still in college and I was his mom. Not sure if he even had time to take a poo. Too Rude. He looks reasonably healthy though considering the many western miles he very recently traversed. I honestly didn't think he would make it back in one piece. Tuff as an old boot and twice as stinky.

Ya gotta wonder what's goin on in McCann's head right about now. Why is he really at this? While nobody can hope to see into the dark chasm that is McCann's mind, and I'm no shrink, I am beginning to develop a theory : McCann is going through his Midlife Crisis! He is the classic premenopausal 43 year old male pretending to be 23 again. The only differences being instead of buying a flash new sports car and a girl half his age, he has chosen a mini van and....well....Jeremy Fisher.

This will end badly.

Like a combover in the wind.

Tosh

Good Dog

2011-04-13T16:07:00Z

We have a winner.

IF McCann is actually up to the task (which i still very much doubt), a good dog will finally have his day. "Tubbs" shall soon have his heroic tale of sacrifice and perseverance immortalized in song. His deed so daring that the thin veil between life and death hung loosely in the balance. "Greater love hath no dog than to lay down his life for a friend.." or something like that....great tune fodder anyways. If Mr. GreatBigSean is incapable of knitting a song out of this story, then he may as well change his name to " McCann' t " and go back to using crayons.

For my part, I have chosen www.heavenlycreatures.ca as the recipient for any and all funds that might stand to be raised from this noble and "storied" endeavour. I know all too well the sting of abandonment and how much hope the warm hand of compassion can hold. Heavenly Creatures is a "no kill animal rescue operation" and I am a proud graduate of their Foster Program.

http://www.heavenlycreatures.ca/foster.asp

Without them, I would not be here with you today.

For, his part, McCann will be joining you all shortly as be bounces his way from province to province on the back of Jeremy Fisher's bicycle.

Dog help the poor misguided bastard.

Tosh

Juno.....t ?

2011-03-25T00:07:00Z

First of all thank you for submitting your wonderfully heartfelt stories to my contest. If sincerity is the fuel of song, then McCann has been provided with more than enough gas to set himself alight.....and i will be sitting right there with the ashtray.

I am presently sitting in the elite Air Canada lounge in St. John's were smoking is, alas, forbidden.....but the drinks are free. I have stolen McCann's aeroplan number and booked myself on a flight to the Juno's in Toronto. First class all the way of course. I want to be there in the front row when the lads finally bring home the trophy. I know the odds are against them....but they always have been right. I mean, how many Newfoundland bands have managed to successfully tour off the Rock......for 18 years....

These guys deserve a friggin medal......or, at the very least, a psych evaluation.

If there really is an "almighty Dog" above us, then the lads will finally be rewarded appropriately for their lunacy.

Better late than never.

Now how do I sneak this quadruple rum and coke onto the airplane...?

Tosh

Everyone's Got A Story

2011-03-01T16:00:00Z

A few weeks have come and gone since the nautical release of "Son of a Sailor". By all accounts it was an incredible success with many hundreds of people being turned away at the door of The Pearly King Pub (for this we apologize.......but who knew?). In his typical slacker fashion, McCann relied heavily upon the talents of others to sell his wares. From what I understand, much of the heavy lifting was done by show stealers Michelle Doyle and her handsome guitar man Trey. The entire band had to jump up in the end to save his sorry sailor ass from sinking. He's a son of a something all right.

But he survived, and now there is much talk about "Sean the Storyteller". Well we had another word for storyteller in the pound that I came from and I, for one, am getting tired of all McCann's BS. Truth be known, I am the real poet behind most of his best lines. Not that he ever gave me any credit or compensation. Just because I can't hold a pen doesn't mean I'm not a songwriter.

If Mr. Mc (I think I am Kristopherson) Cann is so friggin’ good, then I suggest we set him with a challenge: Everyone's got a Story. Send me yours in one page or less and I will use them to call McCann's bluff. I don't care what they are about. I only ask that they be your own. I will present the best tales to McCann at www.greatbigsean.com where you, the fans, can vote for your top five favourites. From these finalists Mr. Mc (thinks he's a Cartney) Cann will choose a winner and magically transform it into a song.

And that's not all.

To prove that he actually does his homework, we insist that Mr. Mc (my name's not really Johnny Cash) Cann record said masterpiece and put it up for sale on his website. ALL PROFITS of said track will go to an animal charity of MY choice. Sound good?

TOSH

S O S

2011-02-04T21:35:00Z

Owning a human can be very hard work. Unable to fend for themselves, they require constant care and supervision. Danger lurks everywhere for the infantile hairless bipeds as they amble blindly through their frail and meaningless existence. One wonders how such a dependent species has managed to survive...and why they bother to continue.

I don't mind saying it: McCann would be lost without me. How many times have I hauled his pasty Irish ass out of the fire? Too many times......way too many. So who is gonna be there to look out for him when I am not around?

My dear friends, I am not a water dog. I am a bassetty beagley crossbreed and my noble houndish heritage (and simple common sense) prevents me from setting paw on anything that floats. In 48 hours, our shantying simpleton shall be set adrift .....

Solo.

Like any doting pet owner, I will, of course, be worried sick about my silly little idiot. I know that that he will not be truly alone for you, my dear friends, (or at least an unlucky few of you) will be out there on the high seas with him when he debuts his new recording, "Son Of a Sailor" on tuesday february 8th in The Pub of the Pearly King. He will no doubt be nervous and afraid; unsure and shy.

He might even soil himself.

But good people really aren't hard to find and I trust I will see my special simian safe upon the shore once again.

In the the words of the inimitable Sumner I am hereby "sending out an S O S"

Save Our Sean

bon voyage

TOSH

Same Shit, Different Day

2011-01-19T17:50:00Z

My surgery was an unprecedented success.

I now have two assholes (McCann not included); one for the the necessary disposal of naturally occurring beagle waste and one for the not so necessary distribution of complete bullshit that i occasionally feel the need to expose. And after a week of embarrassing accidents they are now both working extremely well.

Let's start with McCann: A self proclaimed songwriter and dedicated whiskey sipper with a passion for slow songs and anything else that burns. Often found wandering aimlessly through the woods and wondering "Why?". A real Head Case. Of my "master's" many problems, the biggest by far appears to be his continued belief that he is actually in control of his life. This is not an uncommon delusion among humans who always like to see themselves as more than what they really are; fragile .....and weak.

I shudder to think what would become of men were it not for the continued canine support of their "best friends". McCann might bitch about the cost of my new arse, but in the end, i think he realizes how lost he would be without me. The winds have changed and i smell dark days ahead

but i will be there for him with both my asses (insert dirty thoughts here).

Thank Dog he has a new solo project to occupy his unstable mind.

Butt i have said enuf for now. I got some shit to do...

and he who shites and runs away.....lives to shite .....

Tosh

Merry Sickmas Everyone

2010-12-31T19:32:00Z

My ass hurts.

Not sure why. It's not like I've been out having any bum fun of late and surgery has seriously limited the advances of the arsebandit formerly known as Marley. I keep myself reasonably clean (except when I don't) and try to eat as little garbage as possible, but my condition has persisted throughout the holidays and the doctor has determined that it is now time to go under the knife.

I am not afraid. I have a great doctor and a very caring family. Even the curmudgeon McCann has gotten over the initial "fee shock" and is pretending to behave all "parental" and "supportive". He now allows unsupervised internet access and even lets me drive sometimes. If i play this right, i might even get my own iPhone.

The one good thing about having health issues is they remind us all how fragile and short life really is. There's just no fear equivalent for a heart attack or a good bout of chemo and for the lack of those issues I am truly greatfull. Thank you all for continuing to enquire about my well being and rest assured that I will bounce back with a stronger anus than ever.

and i will enjoy having McCann wipe it.

happy poo year

Tosh

Could be Worse

2010-11-27T19:00:00Z

People are talking......wondering where the Tosh has been. Speculating on my prolonged abscences and fantasizing about the questionable nature of my whereabouts. Is he off in some foreign land working covertly for the band?.....Or strung out on kitty kibble? Chasing pussy?.....Or just screwing the pooch?

The answer, dear friends, is far less sinister......I have been unwell.

I am suffering from a real pain in the Ass and I am not just referring to McCann. The delicate glands of my posterior region have become infected and it seems that surgery will be the only way to remedy the situation. So, for the first time in 5 years, I am not out there on the road with my band roving recklessly from town to town like pirates seeking pillage. Instead, I find myself heavily medicated on a couch watching Oprah like so many exhausted and disillusioned housewives. A People magazine in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other.

Pooped.

And as I slouch here under the shadow of the knife I'll even admit to being just a little bit scared as my own mortality confronts me.

Why must Life happen so fast?

But nothing's gonna bring me down. I might have a sore bum but at least I'm not an arsehole. Shit happens to everyone and today is just my turn.

Could be worse.

Tosh

Tired of the "Too Bads"

2010-10-29T15:42:00Z

It's growing ever more difficult for an "Idea Dog" like me to survive in this "Too Bad" world. Words like "Sorry", "Can't", "Maybe Later", and "Not Today" should be stricken from the dialectic. I'm starting to feel like every day is an airport check in lineup; ever hopeful for a better seat......always declined.

"No" is the easiest word in the english language and it is being used far too often. Here are some great single syllable alternatives I would prefer to hear more often:

Try.

Will.

Can.

YES.

Today is going to be different. Today, I am only accepting answers in the affirmative. Today, I will refrain from providing any answer with a negative.

And I expect no less of every single person on the entire planet.

And if you don't like that.

Too Bad.

Tosh

Breaking on Black Ice

2010-10-27T14:47:00Z

I have often wondered how our peaceably polite upper canadian ancestors managed to repel the wave of newly minted American imperialism in the short war of 1812. Today, as we slide slowly towards Calgary in the first storm of winter, I think I know why we are not all living under the Stars and Stripes:

We are too friggin cold to be conquerable.

I can just picture the the grin on Tecumseh's face as he watched his Yankee oppressors struggling to load their frozen muskets with shivering fingers and shaking legs. Brock must have seen the snow as a dependable ally, always ready to exact vengeance on the ill prepared. Our constant seasonal adversary has proven to be our greatest ally when it comes to national defense. Who needs a navy when the wind can do the work?

The fact that the Americans have never come back might give us pause for thought. The routing of 1812 is viewed more as a "bullet dodged" than a defeat. This rare American decision to retreat may not have been so difficult to make. After all, they still own California, Florida, and the Carolina's.

Perhaps we should consider an invasion of our own?

Charge.

Tosh

Update

2010-09-30T21:37:00Z

Once again my tour bus has been turned into a mobile studio. This time to complete McCann's recent musings on the upcoming sooner than u think holiday season. He spent his day off with old friend and favourite Moxy Fruvite David Matheson to finish the bedtracks and is now in the back lounge with Doyle applying the final backing vocals. Needless to say, I am annoyed. Look to hear this yuletide nuggett sometime around Easter.

As for his new solo work (now tentatively retitled "Son of a Sailor") things seem to be moving along slowly enough. Doyle's 30 day pledge has given his senses renewed keeness and much has been accomplished. Sharing shall commence as soon as McCann can figure out how to do it. Breath holding is unadvised. Advice appreciated.

And Bob (the one who actually has his shit together) has written a book: Writing Out The Notes (Life in Great Big Sea). It's mostly about me and will be available in fine Canadian bookstores next week. I loved the book but could only eat two.

Tosh

Dry

2010-09-20T14:21:00Z

It's taken me the full week but I think I have finally found my bus paws again. After a blissful summer of pissing on McCann's petunia's and licking my own butt, I again find myself gainfully employed as the band Beagle. Curiculum Vitae? I am essentially responsible for all things Nefarious. The bribery of border guards and parking meter police, the borrowing of restaurant condiments, and the efficient procurement of bad liquor and good tail. Dirty deeds done dirt cheap.

At least that's the way it used to be.

For some reason known only to himself, Doyle has declared a fatwa on alcohol for 30 days and nights and the cracks in the band & crew are beginning to show. I can posit a guess as to the merry man's motivation. With chronic's like McCann aboard, productivity can sometimes be problematic at best and the forties is no fun place to spend a hangover. But to quote the brilliant Luke Doucet, "it's not the liquor i miss.....but the days are so long". Our recent appearance at Ballston Spa NY Irish Fest with usual suspects Young Dubs, Sythian, and Seven Nations is a good case in point. We used to look forward to the liquid induced debauchery such gatherings would afford....but not this time. Our bus sat backstage like a tomb....just waiting for the Captain Morgan messiah to rise. But there was no salvation. No redemption. Only cutting caffiene clarity and completely accurate memories.

There is no defence for the drink, but this just doesn't feel right. Are we a band? Or are we a bunch of friggin boy scouts? i don't care what the king says, If u see this beagle out on the prowl, feel free to slip me a highball....or a belly rub.

15 days to go.

Tosh

I love to go a Wandering....

2010-07-28T05:05:00Z

McCann met Greg Browne on the first day of Kindergarden in a small wooden school called St. Joseph's on the Waterford river in Kilbride. The math tells me it was 1972. The Sisters of Mercy still wore their habits back in the day, an extremely effective method of frightening the living shit right out of little boys. McCann remembers feeling very small and looking around for someone like minded. What he found was a friend.

For the most part, the lads focused on their ABC's and avoiding the sting of the dreaded ruler. But like all little boys, they sometimes found themselves on the wrong side of right, and occasionally documented their misadventures in song. "Wandering Ways" and "My left Hand" (a true story) are good examples of what can happen when these two scholars collaborate. Pure Genius. It's really too bad that Greg decided to disregard his songwriting "gift" to focus on saving lives as a vascular surgeon. Maybe someday he will put aside his medical hobby and make time for his "art". Until then we will just have to make do with McCann singing "Bad For me" at The railway Club in Vancouver on friday nite.

see you there

Tosh

Good People

2010-07-14T18:01:00Z

McCann was sitting around on his ass per usual wondering what to do with his newly recorded "Lullabies for Bloodshot Eyes" and being generally miserable when the invitation came to join his friend Paul Lamb on a songwriting excursion in rural Nova Scotia. When we landed the next day in Halifax, Paul was there to pick us up and we meandered our way to beautiful Annapolis Royal to make up some songs. The first 5 were pretty enough but very sad (McCann's fault) so to break "the heavy" paul suggested we all go out to dinner with his Bignell inlaws at a litlle place literally called "The End of the Line". the Dark One reluctantly agreed and was quickly charmed by the "Good People" you can meet on a whim if you give the world half a chance. When we returned to the cabin (owned by said Bignell's) Paul (now ready to slit his wrists) asked McCann if they could please try to write a happy song. Still buzzing from his extremely rare positive social encounter, the great misanthrope surprised all by saying "How bout we call it Good People?"

and they did.

Tosh

Stigmata (Safe Upon The Shore)

2010-06-24T00:03:00Z

Sitting here in the Tofino sand watching McCann hobble around on one foot is more fun than rousting Partridge in the Fall. Poor bastard stepped on a rusty bit of metal (not at Middle Cove) and looks more now like an old man with the gout than the shantyman. Usually he'd be off running the beach in search of inspiration (BC grows some of the best) but today he's grounded like a lost ship. Reminds me of the day "Safe Upon the Shore" became a song.

After some very hard days of travel we found ourselves in the seaside town of Olympia in Washington. All hands had been working hard writing new songs to appease dreaded taskmaster Steve (dial it in) Berlin. Minds and bodies were well frayed. The usually "too cool for school" Foster passed McCann his morning's efforts on a single sheet of paper. The dark tale of a lover lost at sea was too much for our resident "bad seed' to resist and he decided to run with it.....literally.

10K later Murray's poem had a melody.....and a chorus.

The world's first Love Shanty was born.

Now if we could just teach the gimp to stop stepping on sharp objects.....

Tosh

Dirty Little Secret

2010-06-22T22:20:00Z

Marine Drive is generally considered a must see for tourists who manage to make it to St. John's. The meandering clifftop rollercoaster takes you east through Logy Bay, Outer Cove and then on to Torbay (not just an airport). Middle Cove Beach is the anchor point and what should be considered the crown jewel of this prized daytripper drive. From afar it appears to live up to it's "pristine" reputation; all brooding cliffs and churning seas. But for those brave enough to actually walk the beach itself, a less "brochure friendly" reality becomes painfully clear. Middle Cove Beach is a Dump.
McCann and I went there with Thing Two yesterday in search of caplin in the warm summer rain and this is what we found: Broken Bottles (the kind that find their way into the soft pads of a 2 year old's feet). Cigarrette Butts (the kind that a 2 year old playing in the sand might try to eat). Mattresses and melted plastic still smoldering from the previous nite's festivities (it was 3pm)). Used Condoms, a million Tim Hortons coffee cups ......and fresh large deposits of dogshit
Sweet.
So draw near at your peril.
Some places are not fit for a dog.

Tosh

Long Story Short

2010-06-16T12:56:00Z

So I'm out driving down Waterfordbridge road tryna pass the day and keep my pelt dry (no small task) and I hear the unmistakeable croak of a great Big Seaman come sailing out of the aging Element's speakers. Impossible. GBS hasn't graced a radio chart in years and 17 annum's in they are probably only eligible for "solid gold oldies" shows by now. But there you have it. Doyle and McCann belting it out like they were seventeen again driving around the bay in daddy's car for the first time. Juvenile.

Joyful.

"Nothing But a Song" was conceived in Vancouver and born in St. Louis. The boys got bumped up on a long haul flight and several free GT's and even more "frank" language ensued. The kind of conversations that begin with, "Do you know what your problem is...." etc..etc..

Long story short, the feuding friends wake up, immediately make amends and go directly to the hotel gym to pretend to workout (as best friends do). McCann has trouble communicating face to face and follows up on said faux exercise session with a poem emailed right into the heart of Doyle's iPhony. He responds with verse two and another song takes shape. The music followed us across the border. And the result is on the radio right friggin now

....and they all lived happily ever after

Ruff Ruff

Tosh

Deliverance

2010-05-02T02:28:00Z

Been listening to one helluvalot of banjo music this weekend. The lads are trying to build their southern following by playing the renowned Merlefest and so far it seems to be working.To be honest, I had been dreading this for weeks. Most festivals are an exercise in frustration for the bands they depend on to survive. This is largely because the organizers seldom understand the basic mechanics of getting a band onstage in less than 30 minutes. Not so here. I've never worked with a more competent compliment of minutemen in my life. The Hippy Rednecks who run this little 70,000 plus party in the field are hardcore music heads. They know their shit sideways.

And they are some real nice people.

Y'all come back now yu hear!

Tosh

Mother Fogger (juno's 2010)

2010-04-20T14:46:00Z

This has to have been the most bizarre juno's in history. Even by Newfoundland standards, that's some rough weather. Those poor mainlander's will never come this far east again.....and i can't blame them. It's still not fit for a dog outside. Sideways Freezing Rain and Relentless Frigging Fog. And then the threat of imminent death from above in the form of a freaking could of volcanic ash. This wasn't no awards show......this was musical armageddon.

Of course, some handled it better than others. Jim Cuddy used his excellent personal wine stash to take the edge off and, like a real gent, was happy to share with his canine crew. Billy Talent successfully embraced the local bunker mentality and the only thing pissing off the Bare Naked Ladies was the unfortunate fact that Leo's was closed on Sundays. Wee justin Beiber (man is he tiny) seemed really rattled by the growing mass of grey and insisted on walking around with his Winnie the Pooh nightlight. Buble actually tried to buy the island with the intention of moving it down off the coast of Bermuda (nobody tried to stop him) but eventually settled for a lift on the Space Shuttle. Wintersleep quite sensibly went back into hibernation.

McCann got through Q and a solo set at Fred's Records but managed to really find his juno legs when he was joined onstage by Billy Talent's Ian and Ben at a downtown bar. D'sa shredded Greg Keelor's Gibson SG while McCann traded lines with one of the best rock screamers in the biz.A blast of light shooting through the infinite darkness. A lightning flash over a grey and stormy sea.

Now back to work.

Tosh

Fame Whore

2010-04-13T15:29:00Z

It's that time again.

The Juno's are coming to town and McCann is all aflutter about the famous people he can flirt with. Big targets this year include Chad Kroeger and Micheal Buble but his "to do" list is long and no semi celebrity will go unsolicited for a fake hug and a trophy photo to make him feel just a little bit bigger than he really is. Sad. Especially when you consider that the band is not without substantial notoriety of it's own. Fame is a fickle mistress and fifteen minutes is never enough. Her reflected light is enticing but offers no real warmth and good men have frozen to death in her bed.

I personally prefer the the reassuring light that comes on every time I open the refridgerator door. The dependable torch who always blinks "Eat me....I am all yours". Happiness is a big tray of leftover lasagne and a fresh episode of "Family Guy".

I guess that means I will never be famous.

Tosh

Rocky Mountain High

2010-03-18T20:23:00Z

It's Colorado rocky mountain high

I've seen it rainin' fire in the sky

Friends around the campfire and everybody's high

Rocky mountain high (john denver)

Not that I give a rat's ass, but Denver did have a point. You don't need much in the way of artificial stimulants to catch a buzz when you're already a mile above sea level. One solid of Patron tequila will get you far.....maybe too far. I foolishly indulged in several while watching some ridiculously bad reggae outfit at the "Belly Up" tavern in Aspen and the next thing I know I'm rolling around in the snow with McCann trying to wrestle some sense into him. The foolish bastard just couldn't seem to wipe the smile off his face. Kept going on about how much he really loved me and how important it was to actually say it out loud.....before it's too late.....crazy hippy wannabe.

It was hard for me not to bite him right on the face.

But whaddaya gonna do? He might be an idiot....but at least he's my idiot.

And it was nice to see him smile again.

Tosh

Exorcism

2010-03-11T22:44:00Z

Does anyone else remember the scene in "The Exorcist" where the possessed young girl's head spins a full 360 degrees around on her shoulders? Nasty bit of film making that. Intensely disturbing. Great.

McCann came home the other night convinced he had experienced "something supernatural" at the admittedly spooky Driskill hotel in Austin TX. Too be clear, I am not anti spirit but I do prefer mine poured out of a bottle as opposed to flowing from feeble minded "tipper heads" out looking for a place to play. So in honour of his obviously exaggerated and most likely imagined "encounter", I have decided to host a horror film festival on the bus. And I don't mean those trashy slasher bloodbaths bought to the big screen by the scissor fingered Freddy Kruger in "Nightmare on Elm Street" or the pre pubescent emo angst of the more recent "Twilight" franchise. I'm talking about some good old fashioned, bone rattling, poltergeist pandemonium. The Exorcist. The Entity. The Changeling. The Omen (all the good ghosties apparently have "The" in the title). I'll have McCann's head spinning in no time.

And if he really wants to face his demons.....he need only look into a mirror.

Tosh

Roll Call

2010-03-05T01:18:00Z

"Things they do look awful cold (talkin bout my generation)

Hope I die before I grow old"

The Who

Well here we are facing our 17th birthday (this year it will be in Madison WI) and what must be our millionth tour (approx) and we are definitely starting to show our age. McCann's pipes are slowly shaking off the rust of prolonged vocal rest and Doyle's back is rebounding from a painful Olympic flare up. Bob remains unscathed....at least in the physical sense but his recent foray into hat wearing is cause for some concern. Murray is still sexy but narcoleptic when it comes down to actually having sex (no worries there girls) and Kris.....well Kris just wants us all to play at the same speed.

The Crew, as always, are fully rigged and ready for action. Andy, Jaye, and Brit are back for more punishment and we are very happy to welcome Johnny Dangerous into the fold (he's the young thing behind the mixing board....as sexy as Murray and nowhere near as sleepy). And yes, Glenn, perhaps the fittest of the lot, will be manning the merch crease every night.

Roll Call complete. It's time to shake off the stink of the studio and get back to work.

You only live once

Tosh

Sex Games

2010-02-12T15:32:00Z

The Games have yet to begin and I am already tired of the Olympics. Who really cares about who can skid down a hill the fastest or not really shoot the vermin rabbit. It all just seems like a big excuse to watch even more hockey. Why can't we create a competition about the one thing we all really care about; sex.

Here are some suggestions for what I think would make a more "engaging" Olympiad:

Replace "the Luge" with "The Huge"

Instead of "the Downhill", lets have "the Go Down on her/him hill"

"Ski Jumping" becomes "Ski Humping"

Changing "The Halfpipe" into "The Holepipe" would bring new meaning to the word "freestyle"

and why "Speed Skate" when you can "Speed Masturbate"?

Make these few subtle adjustments and I guarantee this years games will enjoy the highest ratings in Olympic history.

How can I be so sure?

I've seen Bob's Sled.

Happy Valentines day you dirty dogs!

Tosh

www.greatbigsean.com

2010-02-11T16:38:00Z

Just as my little dog star was starting to rise, Captain Shanty here has to go and poop all over my Paw Parade. Does he really have to go and launch a website when things are finally starting to happen in my career? Why does everything always have to be about him? Why can't the light just shine on me for a change? Would that be so terrible? I mean, it's not like the man is starved for attention; up onstage every night singing and dancing and soaking up the praises of good people. I mean, how many pats on the back does one ego require? The guy can't even pass a mirror without stopping for a look.

Shag him.

I'm gonna launch my own friggin website: www.whyismccannsuchanarsehole.com

Lick my Lullaby

Tosh

Doggy Style

2010-02-04T18:36:00Z

Recognition of the star that I am has arrived. I have been invited to attend a function as a "celebrity". Beagle Paws, is having a fundraiser in june and I have been asked to speak. After years of neglect, I am finally getting the respect I deserve. The fact that I cannot actually talk is a minor technicality. I will be heard.

Which is more than I can say for McCann. He's been reduced to a whisper since christmas. I have to admit, it was a relief for a while not to have to listen to his constant whining: "Who ate my slipper? Does this make my bum look big? Who Pooed on the driveway?" It does get tired pretty quick. But now I feel bad for the crotchety old misanthrope. One is what one does.

But enough about him. Let's focus on me. Now that I am famous, I shall require a proper entourage. And I don't mean those syncophantic Jonas blowing bumlickers you see at the grammys. I need me some real deal bitches who know how to do more than just bark.

and security. Big dogs command respect (ain't that right Mr. Mailman?)

and my own reality TV show. "Flavour of Bone"

and a rider. cat food, corona, and coconut cream pie.

and a Raise. Bellyrubs and Backscratches and the occasional pussy to chase.

and if McCann don't like it.....he can bite me.

Tosh

Great Big Easy

2010-01-13T14:51:00Z

The streets of New Orleans are paved with treble clefs....and the sidewalks swing like loose skirts. Music is embedded in the atmosphere like oxygen.....and then there's voodoo. Here is where we find ourselves, with the ghosts of the masters.....burning blood and rattling bones. Between worlds. Twilight.

This is the first record GBS has made outside of Newfoundland. We had many options but NOLA is a mistress whose charms we could no longer resist. This city is rubbing itself all over us like some exotic spice. Every note played is flavoured with the rhythm of the Saints.....and Black Rum.

People here would rather sing than talk. People here would rather dance than walk......and they often do. Every morning is a melody. A symphony every nite. Smiles and tears cohabitate in open hearts and faces as people surrender to the beat of a city slowly slipping away into the sea.

The Big Easy has us all by the throat.....and we like it.

Tosh

Great Big Sean

2009-12-15T15:44:00Z

It's happening. It's finally happening. After 11 months and several major surgeries, McCann's baby is ready to be born. The long awaited "Lullabies for Bloodshot Eyes" will hit the streets (and iTunes) on february 23rd 2010, the same week the lads go for gold at the Vancouver Olympics. www.greatbigsean.com will be launched today (with songs to hear) and completed after the holidays.The road was long and rough but reaching the end is its own reward. Closure.

The evil genius that is Hawksley Workman had a profound effect on McCann during the construction of Fortune's Favour. He lit a candle under his slack songwriter's arse and, for better or worse, he's been farting out soliloquies ever since. Scarred by the collaborative ordeal, Workman has vowed never to play again and spends his time in Nunavut knitting sweaters.

These Lullabies are a direct response to the many monumental changes through which our protagonist evolved over the past 4 years, not least of which being the birth of his two boys (Thing 1 and Thing 2) and the subsequent abandonment of his former best friend (your humble hydrant obsessed servant). But I harbour no resentment. No ill will. McCann may be an inconsiderate self obsessed bastard, but he's my bastard.....and I know "Peace Among the Bones" is really all about me.

and you.

Tosh

En Flagrante

2009-12-14T17:06:00Z

It's that time again fellow bumlickers.....and I'm not talking about Christmas.The wild ride that was Fortune's Favour is over and it's time for the boys to get back in the studio and reinvent the Great Big wheel...for the 10th time. The gloves are off.

When Dan Hill wrote "Sometimes when we touch, the honesty's too much" he wasn't longing for a lover, he was looking for a way out of the isolation booth.

Live performance comes with many risks and uncertainties. That's what makes it so exciting. The studio, however, can be a very lonely and and unforgiving place where a man's imperfections are brutally magnified under the microphone. For fellow recovering catholics, the experience is not unlike that of the confessional. You walk into the booth seeking compassion and spill your guts but instead of absolution you get "too fast" or "flat" or simply "again". Penance is exacted on the spot and it aint just a pocketful of Hail Mary's.

The tape tells no lies. We are left naked and exposed. Like a teenager enduring puberty only without all the wet dreams. Vulnerable.

But as the saying goes, " what doesn't kill you....". I'm sure the lads will all come out of this as stronger human beings in the end. Or broken shells of their former selves.

Either way.

It's on.

tosh

In and Out

2009-11-13T15:36:00Z

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

Long Road Lead Me On

2009-10-14T04:38:00Z

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

2009-10-01T17:51:00Z

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

2009-09-26T22:05:00Z

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

2009-09-23T14:27:00Z

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

2009-09-06T22:21:00Z

"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

2009-08-16T16:05:00Z

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

2009-06-10T22:08:00Z

"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

2009-03-11T18:20:00Z

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

2009-03-08T14:27:00Z

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

2009-02-07T18:27:00Z

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

2008-12-06T23:37:00Z

"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

2008-11-26T17:27:00Z

"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

2008-11-17T20:52:00Z

"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

2008-10-31T15:21:00Z

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

2008-10-23T15:30:00Z

“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

2008-10-13T01:29:00Z

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

2008-10-07T16:37:00Z

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

2008-09-30T21:42:00Z

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

2008-09-19T03:59:00Z

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

2008-09-11T15:24:00Z

“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

2008-09-05T11:39:00Z

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

2008-08-21T21:41:00Z

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

2008-08-03T16:28:00Z

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

2008-07-24T23:19:00Z

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

2008-07-17T15:06:00Z

“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

2008-07-10T23:21:00Z

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

2008-07-04T18:55:00Z

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

2008-06-26T23:26:00Z

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

2008-06-22T15:58:00Z

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

2008-06-14T10:43:00Z

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

2008-06-05T18:09:00Z

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!

2008-06-02T15:13:00Z

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

2008-05-29T09:15:00Z

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

2008-05-23T11:49:00Z

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)

2008-05-20T16:20:00Z

“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)

2008-05-15T23:34:00Z

“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

2008-05-12T17:51:00Z

“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

2008-05-05T17:10:00Z

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

2008-04-30T14:54:00Z

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.