GOD IS A MOTHERLESS WHORE, OR KVETCHING ABOUT SNOW

Well maybe not, but who would really knows anyway. I'm probably going to go to Christian Hellwhen I die for title-ing this article the way I did, but fuck him, or her. Since the religion imposed upon me by birth doesn't buy into heaven and hell and all other religions (and Megadeth) are telling everyone to Go To Hell for playing ball in the wrong court, who really cares anyway?

Don't worry I'm about to neither plunge into the depths of a religious debate on whose theological belief set is the right now, nor am I about to delve into the "Which came first the chicken or the egg," discussion. I just want to know Why the fuck it's still snowing in March? I know a lot of the friendly and fried deep south Canadian types think that we all have heaters in our igloos, but what the christian hell are you thinking? Being Canadian you should know that your fellow Northern Canadians are a) Are poor ass bitches, b) Heat melts our igloos, and c) we have no Internet yet...erm.

I'm borrowing a laptop from my neighbour. They're rich, and are condemed to live next to my igloo because there are no rich neighbourhoods in the North here, just freezing ones. We're so sorry ass poor that our arrondissment ran out of money so they couldn't print anymore "Do Not Eat Yellow Snow" signs, and some 8 year old went to the hospital and nearly died from eating snow that his husky had pissed on. Poor bastard. If only he'd been able to buy one of them fancy sleds that BMW or Mercedes sells...so if you come up to Montreal remember DO NOT EAT YELLOW SNOW, and bring a fucking warm coat because they've extended the hockey season until June this year--the huskies tore apart the groundhog this year--so that means that it's going to be snow snow snow until well into the darkness that covers our country over the first half of the summer...

So why am I bitter? Can't you guess? I live in a fucking igloo, my husky froze to death a few weeks ago, my car has tipped into endothermic shock, and I can only use my neighbour's laptop so long as the LCD screen doesn't start to crystalize...when that happens I need to save, shutdown and wait two hours for it to heat up again. Still it's better than writing my name in the snow. I got quite board of that two months into winter--last September, when The Antarctic Film Festival started at least I was able to seek refuge in a nice warm air conditioned theatre.

I have dreams of Florida, you know. Heat. A day when I come home from ice fishing that I don't have to worry about my toes being cubes of ice (but it is good for mixing drinks on the rocks.)

The ice fishing was the reason that I had my Toyota Celica imported up here. I actually went in on it halfsies (more like 20 - 80, because he's rich...did I mention that? I'd blow him for a portable heater, but he already seems to be attached to some parasitic growth protruding from his left eye--kind hangs down like my sack, but it's much hairier, and filled with pustules,) with my neighbour. We have had quite a bit of fun with it. And we make the most of our town. Montreal isn't as cold as you might think. A nice brisk -40 C (C= Celcius, F= Fuck you and your Fahrenheit), and the women still walk around in leather skirts that their bucks made for them out of last week's kill, barely covering their asses. You can always tell the weather by how pert the party goer's breasts are, but because they're faces are all bundled up it's difficult to tell whose boobs are whose, but if you can get close enough a quick squeeze'll let you know which family's pillows you're infringing upon.

So why is it snowing in March? To piss me the fuck off.

I hate snow. I see it, breath it, lick it, touch it, feel it, piss on it, and make love to it nearly 10 months out of every year. It NEVER snows in March. They told me that this white shit falling from the sky was over and done. But they lied. Now I'm at home, the temperature is freezing, I've got no heater, and all I have to keep me warm is a pair of ripped fishnet stockings and my left hand. Great, cumsicles again...

Nope there is no fun when winter presses on and the dream of summer eludes you and eludes you like that wonderful hardbodied woman--or man if that's your gig--you see flowing throught he crowd lin a bar, like losing shifting sand in your hand. Mostly because you've tied a few too many on--you're not quite bulletproof, but you're definitely windproof--and decided to walk home falling down in the first ditch you can find. Face ripped by wind and ice, gut ripped by rot. Eyes barely floating like that half floater that can't decide whether it's a flushie or a floatie...bob...bob...bob...

And then for the first moment in the evening--which feels like the first moment of forever--it's completely silent, you're all alone with nothing but the blowing snow to cover you...erasing the tracks you made, erasing your yellow snow, buring your car, and ultimately burying you.

In the middle of March, in the middle of a snow clearing crisis it's hard not to think of a better time when the wind will hold still, and the sun will come out and burn away the snow, the guilt, the vomit and the wankers of the day.

God, if you grant us the beauty of no more snow, then I won't call you motherless anymore.

Promise.

[PLEASURE]