The Aftermath

Pot Smoker

Come for the education. Stay for the drunken orgy.
Saint Patrick’s Day celebration at a local University – by the numbers.

10:30 AM – First reveller taken to hospital

11:00 AM – First keg party – with 300 students – busted.

10 busloads of out-of-town Uni students – 4 from prestigious Brock University, then parked abandoned in the University-area Starbucks parking lot.  I’ll bet they were thrilled

42 Peel Regional Police sent up to assist a small army of Waterloo Regional Police – because Brock Uni, and one other, are in Peel Region.

47 ambulance calls by 6:00 PM

25 trips to the hospital by paramedics with partygoers,
5 of them in serious/critical condition – all alcohol-caused.

52 students treated at Grand River Hospital, closest to the bash. Both of Kitchener’s hospitals had extra staff on Saturday to prepare for a possible influx of drunken students, and injuries due to falls.

100 extra security officers on duty at Wilfrid Laurier U. buildings

40 sober students to volunteer for the Sunday morning cleanup

2 large dump trucks, to block off each end of a two block stretch of student housing, for safety, because the partiers owned the street.

400 beer cans/bottles collected as of 2:00 PM, by an under-employed man with a shopping cart full of garbage bags, for their 10cents/ea refund. He was hoping to get $99, to take his girlfriend to Niagara Falls for an overnight stay.  He regularly cruises the student housing, and takes discarded beer cans and bottles out of blue recycling bins.  St. Patrick’s is like Christmas to him.  Two non-partying students gave him some hot food, and an alpaca sweater.

27 students on one house front porch, when the railing snapped. One girl received bruises, but was not included in the ambulance-run statistics.

250 cases of water and 5000 Timbits (donut balls) were handed out by Red Frogs, an international student support group. Slate Church also brought in water and Timbits.

20,000 – The estimated crowd within the two-block stretch. Police say that it easily eclipses last year’s 15,000.

248 police calls in a 12-hour period
619 charges laid
435 were alcohol-related
18 were Criminal Code, including one guy waving a knife
22,400 final ‘official’ Police estimate of the crowd – but you know the police, anything over a dozen doughnuts, and they lose track.  They counted all the legs, and divided by two.

Ezra Party

Teens coming from universities in Toronto, London and Guelph were stopped on area roads, and charged with speeding, drug possession, drunk driving, and other liquor offenses. Students hung off balconies, climbed trees, and onto roofs.  Several arrests were made for public intoxication, assault and sexual assault.

One female Laurier student interviewed, said, “It’s not that much fun unless you’re drunk. I had a bad day until I got drunk.”  She said that some young men were playing a game to see how many young women they could kiss.  She was asked for a kiss, but declined, and fortunately, wasn’t sexually assaulted.

Several ‘civilians’ stopped by, to walk the gauntlet and view the happening.  One couple said that they saw several young females drunk and passed out on front lawns.  Young men have raging hormones, and a generally poor opinion of females who put themselves in this situation. Drunken young men have trouble controlling their raging hormones, and passing up a free chance at winning the intercourse lottery.  It is fortunate that there weren’t more sex assaults.

Forgetting that Saturday was St. Paddy’s Day, the wife and I drove through Waterloo’s main intersection at 1:00 PM. Luckily we were a mile south of the big party, but still…. 5 green-adorned, very intoxicated young men spilled out of a bar and staggered up the main drag, each clutching an open beer.  Very much a No-No in Ontario, they probably got away with it because every cop was at the melee.  They all leaned against each other like teepee support poles.  If one of them had tripped, they’d have all wound up in a pile.

And a good time was had by – some. For a lot of others, dealing with this debauched drunken Bacchanalia was a lot of work and expense.  Now we have the K-W Oktoberfest to look forward to in six months.  We get the same kind of numbers, but they’re spread out over 10 days.  Anybody wanna come to town, and PARTAY??   😯

Flash Fiction #131

University

PHOTO PROMPT © J Hardy Carroll

WASN’T THAT A PARTY?

They say that university is a place to learn things. Well, he certainly had!  He’d learned that, next school year, he and his friend Henry would share a little, one-bedroom apartment, instead of living dorm-style, with 8 guys stuffed into a three-bedroom.

The increased individual cost would still work out to less than their share of the damage deposit that they would never get back on this one. No sir, the pizzas were on the ceiling when we moved in.

It had been an epic St. Patrick’s Day bash.  Not many Irish, although there had been some really green faces.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

***

Click on the YouTube title link, to hear the Irish Rovers tell just what the party was like.

 

Flash Fiction #127

clouds

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

SUNSHINE VITAMIN

Arggh! Turn down the Sun!  It’s too bright!

My tongue is asleep….and my teeth itch.

I’m suffering a self-inflicted wound. Whose smart idea was it to drink tequila last night??

Mine?? Doesn’t seem so smart today!  Did I think I was 20 again?  We can’t party like we did as teens.

My head feels like it’s full of cotton candy. It’s the only thing preventing the pounding ache from splitting it apart.

I can’t think. I could barely dress myself this morning.

Bars should have reverse carding. You’re 62, sir?  I’m sorry; you can only order cranberry or prune juice.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

***

I offer another view of Heaven, from the Canadian side.

SDC10346

To Post, Or Not To Post

To post or not to post….

It’s New Year’s Eve….
We have friends coming over….
I have food to help prepare….
I’m fighting a nasty head cold….
I have nothing in the bank, ready to publish….

What shall I do??! What shall I do?

procrastinate-no

Thank you to all who have stopped by to read my posts this past year (and all years before).  I hope you’ve had a Merry Christmas, and that you have a Happy and Prosperous New Year.  Drop in again on Monday, and I’ll try to be sober and inspired enough to have something for you.   😀

COOL!

cool

You are no longer “cool” when …

 

  1. You find yourself listening to talk radio.
  2. You daughter says she got pierced and you
    look at her ears.
  3. The pattern on your shorts and couch match.
  4. You fondly remember your powder blue leisure
    suit.
  5. Your wife buys a flannel nightie and you find
    that sexy.
  6. You think Tragically Hip is when a middle-aged
    man gets a new sports car, hair piece and a 20
    year old girlfriend.
  7. You criticize the kids of today for their
    satanic suicide-inducing music, forgetting that
    you rocked to Alice Cooper and Black Sabbath.
  8. You call the police on a noisy party next
    door instead of grabbing beer and joining it.
  9. You turn down free tickets to a rock concert
    because you have to work the next day.
  10. When grass is something that you cut, not
    cultivate.
  11. When jogging is something you do to your
    memory.
  12. Sex becomes “All that foolishness”.
  13. Getting a little action means your prune
    juice is working.
  14. All the cars behind you turn on their
    headlights.
  15. You remember the “Rolling Stones” as a rock
    group not a corporation.
  16. You bought your first car for the same price
    you paid for your son’s new running shoes.
  17. You actually ASK for your father’s advice.
  18. When someone mentions surfing, you picture
    waves and a board.

***

The hipster was out, driving his new car around, with his arm hanging down the side of the car. A truck coming the other way, crossed the line and sideswiped him, crashing him into a ditch.  When a police officer arrived, he was out of the car, walking around it, moaning, “My new Porsche – my beautiful new Porsche!”

The cop said, “You shouldn’t be worrying about your car. You should be worried about your arm.”  The hipster looked down at a bleeding stump that ended at the elbow, and started moaning, “My new Rolex – my beautiful new Rolex!”

 

 

Flash Fiction #74

Cliff

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

ON THE EDGE

I was always the loner, the social misfit, alone in the corner at parties.  They said, “Have a drink.  It’ll loosen you up.”

One didn’t, but 8 or 12 did.  I felt witty, amusing, entertaining – accepted, until I reached the precipice.

“Did you hear what that drunken asshole said?”

I wasn’t addicted to alcohol, but to being part of ‘The Group.’  They didn’t accept me; they barely tolerated me, kept me as a Court Jester, an object of derision, to be laughed and jibed at.

Stubborn Scottish pride soon cured that.  Now I carefully choose my friends, stone cold sober.

***

Go to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Birthday Cake

As threatened promised last week, this is my birthday-blog roast-post. What have you got to say about it?

71 years ago today, I burst upon the scene in a small Ontario town, and I haven’t stopped talking since. Today, I promise to keep it down to just my Elvis impression – Thenk yoo! Thenk yoo vurry much! This is your day to make any and all comments, suggestions, and (humorous) insults.

Do I feel lucky, punk?? Well, do I? Go ahead – make my day!

I hope I enjoy this as much as you.

Lay on MacDuff,
and cursed be he
who first cries,
Enough!

Welcome, and thank you to all my visitors!

 

ARCHON

Autoprompt – What’s In Your Fridge?

PROLOGUE

When I saw the above autoprompt, I wondered, “Who would want to know what’s in my fridge?” Then I remembered, if we go to a party at someone else’s house and use the washroom, we always nose through the medicine cabinet. Hmm, Rogaine and hemorrhoid cream – he’s got problems at both ends. So yeah, you know you wanna know.

Refrigerator

It is said that, the poor eat calories, the middle class eat nutrition, and the rich eat presentation.

Even when I worked in offices after we were first married, we were still only one short half-step up from being living-under-a-bridge poor, so calories were important. I always wanted to eat – well. Later, when I took off the shirt and tie, and donned the blue-collar to work in manufacturing plants, calories were important. The wife watched a lot of TV cooking shows, and bought and read a lot of cookbooks.

The wife of a couple down the street often complained about her husband’s food wants – meat and potatoes, meat and potatoes, seven nights a week. At our house, it was homemade pizza, perogies and potato pancakes, soups, stews and spaghetti, Chinese food, tacos, stroganoff, goulash, tourtière, schnitzel. One time we had menus for seven weeks in advance, with no duplicates.

To make this dizzying array of global dishes requires quite a varied supply of raw materials. This need explains the wife’s 36 place spice rack, and the 24 spot herb rack, with more in the cupboard, and a few growing fresh, on the back deck. Almost everything we have, because of personal preference, allergies and cooking options, we have multiple versions of.

Starting above the stove is a cupboard full of cooking alcohol – red wine for pasta sauce, white for chicken and turkey dishes, Chinese cooking wine, sake for a couple of Japanese recipes, and brandy to soak Christmas cake in. The only stuff that I drink is the occasional bit of Crème de Menthe on crushed ice, when I’ve overindulged in rich food.

Come the apocalypse, the basement storeroom will feed us for three months. Aside from cookies, crackers and canned goods, we have 12 sizes and shapes of pasta and noodles, 2 brands of tomato sauce, plus marinara and Alfredo sauce.

There are usually about 36 two-liter(2-quart) bottles of Pepsi, and ten or twelve 710ml(20 oz.) six-packs. We keep a 30-pack of bottled water ahead, to replace the one in use under the cats’ feeding stand upstairs, and one or two gallons of distilled, as well as a dozen cans of ginger ale.

There are 4 types of rice – long grain for plain white rice, Basmati rice for body, Jasmine rice for sticky rice dishes, and instant Minute Rice. We have all-purpose flour, cake & pastry flour, bread flour, specially-fine-ground blending flour for thickening soups, sauces and gravy, rye flour for making pumpernickel rolls, and spelt flour, which like rye, is not wheat-based, and suitable for the allergic grandson.

Currently there are 20 pounds of Superior, white potatoes for boiled and mashed, 20 pounds of Russets, which make great French fries and potato salad, and 5 pounds of new baby whites in the ‘beer fridge’ for suet roasting and skin-on salad.

Onions include, cooking, Spanish, sweet white, occasionally a red onion, a bag of perishable Vidalias in the fridge, shallots, which like leeks aren’t quite onions, and green onions, in the upstairs fridge, which I’ll get to next post, after we’ve had dinner.

Poor overworked, under-appreciated beer fridge! No actual beer in it, so BrainRants better give me at least 24 hours warning of any surprise visit. Instead, it has 4 varieties of soft drinks, several flavors of coffee creamers and salad dressings there’s no room for upstairs, three dozen eggs, two more dozen pickled, extra bags and blocks of cheeses, and sour cream and margarine, so we don’t run out upstairs.

Besides the onions and baby potatoes, there’s a cabbage and a half, a large broccoli, an extra lettuce and a multi-pack of romaine. It contains the son’s individual yogurts and rice puddings for work meals – and leftovers….Yum! Yum!

A Yankee society doyenne imperiously informed her Georgia plantation-owning host that, “Up north, we think breeding is everything.” He replied, “We like it down here too, but we got other hobbies.” I’ve never run into another home which revolves quite as much around food as ours does. It has to. It can’t escape the gravity well. We read – a lot. We watch some television, and we allow computers to suck our time and insult our intelligence.

If we’re not shopping for food, or storing food away, or cooking food, or eating food, we’re concealing evidence tucking leftover food away, often in the fridge upstairs. Come back next time, when I finally get around to describing its interior, and explain why we had to reinforce the kitchen floor.   🙄

#488

Flash Fiction #58

White wedding

PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering

BILLY IDOL

Today was the most exciting, important and defiant day in Jenn and Tony’s lives. They had been thrilled that the city had granted them exclusive use of this big gazebo in the park.

After taking care of City Hall paperwork, they had joined their friends here. The non-traditional caterers were set up outside, and inside, they had TUNES. The thing about Canadian weather was, if you didn’t like it, wait five minutes and it would change, but it was only Sept. 21, the equinox.

“Well Jenn, you did say you would also have liked a white wedding. You got one!”

***

Got to Rochelle’s Addicted to Purple site and use her Wednesday photo as a prompt to write a complete 100 word story.

#484

LXX

Black Forest Cake

 

 

 

 

I hope you’ve got a big block of cheese, ‘cause I’ve got a huge jug of whine.

I’m finally officially old!  I know I’ve been gently hinting about it for a couple of years, but I just passed into my eighth decade. (Don’t say passed to an old person!)  I couldn’t even bear to put 70 (shudder!) up as a title, I had to use Roman Numerals.  Last year was worse, 69 looks so untidy, and has that sexual connotation.  69, rendered in Roman Numerals, probably spells out some despicable word.  LXX isn’t much better.  It looks like the title of an Alzheimer’s Porno flick.

He was as old and hard as the candy I keep on the table.
When she walked into the room, his heart stopped.
He had an ass like Cal Coolidge.
Blow into my hearing aid, she cooed.
Rick’s pants weren’t pleated anymore.
Teeth in, or out?
She caressed the balls of his walker legs.
It was a position called “The Reverse Rocking Chair.”
We watched Wheel of Fortune, and he gave me an ‘O’.
Finally she whispered, “That’s what I call an early bird special!”

Last year, I got accolades from acolytes. I got a party, and partiers, and a poem.  I got followers, fun and frivolity.  I got drunks on my lawn, and kilts, and bagpipes.  This year all I got, was older and grumpier, and I’m already overqualified.

That’s not exactly true. I also got more aches and pains, and less stamina and attention span.  I got the names of several new doctors, and the chance to experience some new medical procedures – oh thrill, oh joy!

Time waits for no man. He’s dragging me, kicking and screaming – well, shuffling and mewling – into the future.  I guess, as long as I can see the green side of the sod, all is well.  I keep checking the obits in the newspaper.  I haven’t seen my picture – yet.  I just came home by bus, from the terminal.  (Don’t say terminal to an old person!)

If any of you want to stop over to mow my lawn, or drop off some birthday cake – I’d happily settle for a cupcake, even without a candle – try not to arrive between 6PM and 7. That’s the time I take my nap, so that I have enough energy to compose another post for tomorrow.

medical_363124952_std

 

 

 

For this birthday, I’ll have another reason to be grumpier than usual. I’ll be living in “interesting” Chinese times.  I will be getting my asshole reamed.  My G.I. guy (gastro-enterologist) has decided that I don’t need to learn to deep-throat.  I don’t have to have an endoscopy.  I don’t know why my G.P. couldn’t figure that out, but on Monday, the day after my birthday, I have to go to hospital for a colonoscopy.

We had the daughter and grandson over for a celebratory meal on Saturday. As soon as they left, I stopped eating solid food.  Sunday is nothing but clear liquids – chicken broth, ginger ale and apple juice – oh, yum.  🙂  Through Sunday, and Monday morning, I have to down four liters/quarts of Drano cleansing liquid, to flush the old pipes out, generally being no more than six feet from a toilet.

If they find anything interesting, perhaps I could post pictures – whenever I can sit at the computer again.  We might even solve the Jimmy Hoffa disappearance.  “You know, that chair felt lumpy when I sat down.”

Since, hopefully, I’ll be feeling no pain, the wife gets to be chauffeur. After they’ve rectum at the hospital, she gets to drag my ass (literally) home.

My next couple of posts may be a bit (more) grouchy, but I’m sure that, after I’ve Alice Cooper-ed the head off a batty Jehovah’s Witness or Paki telemarketer selling duct cleaning, I’ll be safe to approach without the tranquilizer dart gun. Wish me luck.  Here I go, ass first (as usual).