Image (left) by Ray Caesar…
If you asked me why I love Ray Caesar so very much, I COULD tell you it’s because of his razor sharp wit, or his immeasurable talents, or even the wealth of inspiration that he provides. I could even tell you it’s because he is one of the kindest humans on the planet, and he once told me to never stop painting or making music. Advice I took to heart in a big way. These are all reasons I love Ray, to be sure, but I will share with you the BIGGEST reason I adore this man…

One time (a few years ago), I told Ray that Terry and I had been bickering quite a bit. Battle of the wills, power struggles galore. It wasn’t pretty, and I wasn’t very happy. That was when Ray told me that the best thing a person could do was to sit down with their partner, pants down, face to face, and hash it out. How angry can you get with someone whose genitals are exposed. How much can you get up on your high horses while your own pants are down… It all made perfect sense. (Ok. He didn’t necessarily say genitals needed to be exposed, but I can’t remember for sure, either way)…

Terry and I never had any of these pant-less discussions, but what I did take from Ray’s advice was this: Argue with me, and you are immediately pant-less, genitalia hanging out for the whole world to see (in my mind’s eye). I told you you won’t suit bangs, and you still want them? Bam! You’re pantless. You’re telling me that table is reserved? Pantless. Oh no! That sweater doesn’t come in blue? The hell you say! ALL of you… Pant-less!

Now, this may not have been the point, or the desired effects of Ray’s kind advice, but it’s the end result FOR ME. So, not only can I thank Ray for the secret glimpse into the private world of the private parts of strangers, I can also blame him for making me think of it… One must be careful not to plant seeds in dirty minds. (See? Not my fault)! Thanks, Ray! Disagree with me, I get my own private peep show, no quarter required! (Winning)! <---- (Forgive me, I couldn't resist).

Side note: When Ray and his lovely wife Jane visited a few months back, Jane introduced me to one more thing I didn't need to know about. (I have a bit of an addictive personality). She took us for Beard Papas. Sweet bastard in hell! Cream puffs that even come in CARAMEL, oh boy!!!

There's a chance Terry will say no and try to argue with me, so I might try one of those pant-less summit meetings at this particular juncture. See if there's any way he'll go fetch me one of those Beard Papas right about now....

…NOT based on true events. If I were having sex in the woods, I would not be writing about having sex in the woods. I’d be out having MORE sex in the woods… Though, maybe I shouldn’t ‘write that out loud’… (Do I need to say I’m kidding here)?

It’s called:

THE ISLAND GETAWAY…

They walked hand in hand, except for when she stopped to snap photos with her new camera. They’d come to this place many times before, but had never taken the time to explore the forest trails. Their initial interest in the island had been the surfing, but nowadays, it was much more a place of rest. Besides, it was January, and much too cold to get in the water. They weren’t 20 any more. The wind along the beach was cold and brisk, while the gaping mouth of the pathway seemed to be beckoning them in…

Around every bend, there were new marvels to photograph, and behold. There were twists and turns, and ancient mossy wooden planks set above deep puddles. The path itself felt like sponge beneath their feet. The sun lit up the sides of trees, which curved and swayed as though they were dancing, their mile high trunks reaching for the heavens. The wind died down in the thick of the trees, becoming a mild breeze, gently caressing their icy cheeks, whispering the deepest of secrets into their ears. Secrets so deep, they were unaware they were being told…

“Do you want to know what I think we should do when we get back home?” He asked. She smiled and nodded. She did not know. “I think we should get a puppy.” He told her. He’d been wanting a dog for years now, but with both their busy schedules, she’d been against the idea. She didn’t think it would be fair. “With this new job of mine,” he began, “I’ll be around a lot more, and for the times I’m not around, I’d just feel better with a dog at the house. It’s for safety. Your safety,” he said, smiling at the very transparency of his lame attempt at this little con job. They both knew they lived in one of the safest neighborhoods in the city.

“Safety, huh! How badly do you want that dog?” She asked and leaned her body into his, and stared into his eyes. She slid her hand down the back of his jeans, and the coldness of her fingers on the warm skin of his ass made him flinch. He smiled and kissed her, and told her he wanted a dog more than anything else in the whole wide world. He sounded like a young boy from one of those old Disney movies. “Even more than you want me?” She asked.

“I want nothing more than I want you,” he said, tugging on the strings of her jogging pants. He gently pushed her against a tree, and made love to her. When they were finished, she reconnected the strings at her waistband. She turned to him and said, “Do you know what I think? I mean, if it’s meant to be for our safety,” she teased, “then I propose we get ten giant porcupines instead of one slobbering dog. I will walk them on leashes, and I will feed and love them, and no one will dare come near us or our home. I want ten giant porcupines more than anything else in this whole wide world!” She giggled. She was giddy.

“You’re a regular wise guy!” He said, smiling, zipping his pants back up. She brought her camera up to her eye, and snapped a photo.

“Then it’s settled,” she said. “Sealed with a kiss!”

“If someone told you what we just did was called ‘kissing’, they were lying to you,” he said, and grabbed her ass. He pressed his lips to hers. “Now, this is a kiss!” They both laughed, and made their way back out onto the beach, and back to the cabin.

Later that night, the couple cooked dinner together. It took two people to prepare a meal in that little kitchen. The dishes were always put back in the same place and manner, but from visit to visit, the hiding spots for the cooking utensils had always changed. One never knew where to find things. When they finished eating, he poured himself a glass of wine, and sat in the rocking chair beside the fire. She spread out on the couch, and got comfy with a book. Just as she began to drift off, she was startled by an awful sound. She looked and saw her husband on the floor, writhing in pain. The sounds he made were almost not human. He clutched at his lower abdomen, and growled. “It hurts! It hurts so fucking bad!” She leapt up, and crouched near his head, feeling the sweat on his brow. He let out another scream, and told her it felt like the lower half of his body was on fire.

“It’s okay! You’re okay! You have to let me see!” She said, trying to take down his pants. He tried to fight her, begging her to leave him alone, but he was too weak with pain to fight. He’d experienced unpleasant symptoms in his penis back in university, but nothing that couldn’t be cured with a round of antibiotics. This was nothing like that. This pain was unfathomable. His wife gently peeled down his briefs, exposing a red and swollen penis. It looked almost inflated, yet it was not hard. Not like it had been back in the woods a few hours earlier. He moaned and whimpered, clutching her hand. She ran her hand back through his hair. She was almost as terrified and helpless as he was. “I don’t know what to do! We have to get you to a hospital!” They both knew that the nearest hospital was hours away. He continued to writhe in pain on the floor for a minute or more, and she could see movement in his swollen member. The man lost consciousness, as the swelling became greater. The pain was intolerable. Clear liquid spurt forth from the tiny opening of his cock, and he yelled out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The tiny hole became bigger, stretching wider, and wider until finally she could see something pressing its way out. It appeared to be the width of a golf ball, then it shot out in an instant, and laid in the flickering light of the fire. She picked up the fleshly little mass, and looked closer. It looked like some kind of fetus with its wet, wrinkled skin, and tightly shut eyes. Its tiny mouth began to gasp for its first breaths of air. The man sat up. The pain was gone, though he was somewhat in shock. He opened his hands, and she placed the newborn pup into his palms. She suddenly thought back to their conversation in the forest trails and recalled her husband’s words and wishes, and then recalled those of her own. She fell to the floor, terrified of what she knew was to come. Her screams carried out across the ocean waves, where they could be heard for miles and miles…

THE END.

~Kelly Haigh.

I got an advance copy of Geoff Berner’s new album, (being as well connected as I obviously am). ha! I slid the disc into my car stereo as I drove home from wherever it was I had been. (I can’t recall where I’d been, to be honest, because, quite frankly, listening to this music, I had been transported to a whole other world). I had been sucked into a movie that was deep, dark, ridiculous, and beautiful. The album is a sountrack to a secret movie that will play in your mind’s eye. My chest felt funny, and my heart began to pound. I wasn’t sure if I was listening to something of great importance and significance, or if I simply had the bass setting jacked up far too high…

I pulled into my driveway, ejected the disc and placed it back into its sleeve. I needed to investigate this matter further.

When I got into the house, I set Geoff’s album down on the counter. I was distracted by a little box that had arrived from the UK. The antique bird skin study I had ordered had arrived! It was wrapped in old newspaper, (which I will keep it in), but it also had a little red piece of paper wrapped around it. I removed the red strip and tossed it aside. It landed onto the Victory Party CD cover…

I suddenly noticed the red paper had some writing on it… It read: “BE ALERT TO THE RETURN OF THE JEWISH MESSIAH.” This gave me the chills.

What does it all mean? I don’t know, but I’ll be at Geoff’s CD release party tonight to find out for myself…

I could not be more proud of getting to create the previous album cover art for the very talented and dapper Mr. Geoff Berner. I’m a big fan of his work. (When I say ‘big fan’, I don’t necessarily mean in size, as I’ve been working out. I’m just saying ‘big’, to illustrate the amount I love what he does).

This album gets FIVE out of FIVE stars (of David).

I pulled up to the Starbuck’s drive-thru today to order my iced venti nonfat latte. I thought I’d also get a breakfast sandwich. I was starving. (Terry’s away, so I haven’t been eating much. It’s a shock to find out that groceries don’t magically appear, and dinner does not cook itself). My mother has said, ‘You don’t cook, you don’t clean. What good are you to any man?’ A few obscene hand gestures are all it takes to shut her up…

I spotted a photo on the Starbuck’s menu board. A new treat! A blob of cream cheese icing sandwiched between two glorious discs of red vevet cake! Oh my GOD. This is something I cannot say no to. However… Why in the name of all that is holy have they decided to call it a ‘Whoopie Pie’? I wanted one oh so dearly, but couldn’t bring myself to order one…

I pulled up to the window and sheepishly asked the girl, ‘Might I also add one of those new red velvet thingys?’ She shot me a challenging glance and asked, ‘One of which red velvet thingies?’
I said, ‘Please DO NOT make me say it! I can’t bring myself to say the name.’
She told me certain folks don’t understand why it’s so funny, and it just kills her. Then she leaned forward, looked me right in the eye, and asked in a really sexy voice, ‘So, do you want one?’

‘One what?’ I asked, returning her same challenging glance. She answered, speaking the words slowly and seductively… ‘A whoopie pie.’
‘Yes.’ I said. ‘I will have a whoopie pie, but now I feel dirty for asking…’

She handed over my goods, and I felt a little twinge of shame, as if I’d just asked this girl if I could pet her lady garden, or something of that magnitude…

Damn you, Starbuck’s, for coming up with the most horrifying and dirty name for the most tempting and delectable desert item on your menu.

What’s next, clitoris tarts? Because those would be ALMOST as bad to have to ask for…

But, still…

I had a little interview with (music editor) Mike Usinger from the Georgia Straight. We were to meet at my salon for our chat, and he asked me to bring along a guitar. I decided to also bring one of my stuffed dogs (as a stand in for Frances). I packed the little darling into my green train case, but didn’t have enough hands to also carry a purse, so I threw my ID, lipstick and some cash into the case with the dog.

Before Mike arrived, my neighbor (Kirsten the vegan) came over with a ziploc bag full of dried kale. For some reason she thought I might like it. (And I do). I had a great visit with Mike. He was so charming and swell. He’s the type of fellow who doesn’t have to say anything to make you laugh. He’s kinda got a bit of a Will Farrell thing going on. (If you ask me).

Leaving the parkade, I was a little frazzled, suddenly second guessing everything I’d said. I was hoping I hadn’t come across as a total tool. I handed over my parking stub, and foraged in my green case for some money. I pulled the bag of dried kale out of the way, then lifted up the dog to get at a twenty dollar bill. I turned to pay, and saw the look of complete and utter horror on the parking attendant’s face.

Words failed me, and I could offer nothing in the way of an explanation. I simply paid and left, thinking, ‘Just once I’d like to come off as being lovely.’

I pulled over to take this photo, to see if it looked as bad as I’d imagined…

The folks over at The Perlich Post recently wrote an article about me, check it out!

I’ll post something worthwhile as soon as I have something worthwhile to say.
Lucky thing I don’t get paid to think. I never said I was smart… I only ever said I was an excellent dancer. My first order of business will probably be to tell you what I learned about fertility clinics. Here are the top two things I learned from someone who works at one: There are fun masturbatory rooms, and there are such things as two, and even THREE headed sperms (Not as exciting as you might think, however. Multi-headed sperms do not make multi-headed children) Also, spending your lunch break in the masturbatory room is something that would be frowned upon. (I only asked out of curiosity).

Thanks for stopping by.