Friday, January 13, 2006

Any means necessary....

Freedom and liberty
Empire and Tyranny
Convienance and Expediency
By any means necessary

The Barometer is rising
Costs and prices multiplying
Good ol boys ain’t too good at math none
Where’s all this money coming from?

Butts into the benches dear friends
Some gays might see those rear ends
The issues don’t give politics life
Does the candidate fuck his wife?

Only one part of the country counts
They know it too but they’re taken by doubt
Nice young gentleman such as I
Can’t make ends meet by and by

Leave the places that we love
Living the city that money built out of spit n’ grit
Society based on a minimum of standards
Mediocrity and electorate pandered

Democratic deficits always paid in promises
Idealists and realists playing hits and misses
Constitution is coming to pieces
But that’s the idea all powerful justice of the peaces

Freedom and liberty
Empire and Tyranny
Convienance and Expediency
By any means necessary
For a safe and secure… society.

Sunday, January 08, 2006

The Year 3000

Ahhh, what a title.

You see, my improv troupe had its first rendevouz of the year where we discussed the Montreal roadtrip we take every year, possible charity show and performance schedule of the coming new year.

So far we're doing pretty good this academic year, with two packed shows and a dedicated troupe filled with new recruits, I'd say that this all augers well for Carleton Improv.

One of the running gags we had for first practice of the season was that every scene was in the year three thousand.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

Happy New Year!

To inaugerate this new year, I have most condescendingly decided to post up my latest poem. Aren't you all so very lucky!

It's a work in progress, but essentially it's a culmination of everything I love and hate about this wacky country of ours. Aww... Canada.

By Billy Ruffian
Dec 31. 2005

I’m wanting a purpose for the island called McNab’s
Because the HMS Bellerophon is home to the crabs,
Trying to reconcile the reality of this empire of dirt
Because all that they left me is a sink and a shirt
I regret saying no thanks and embracing the old
As my father was dressing me up in scarlet and gold
I’m walking the old cobble streets of my day
Listening to fishwives complain of their sons who are gay
Usually forget about all the money I’m missing
Because my ladyfriend keeps on railing about how fags are kissing
I tried my hand at some fishing - only caught my old boots
Hand me downs from my brother so I’m true to my roots
The old boy is quite quick with a phrase
He sandblasts you with sarcasm and makes you think that it’s praise
I’m walking the city limits with an eye to the trees
But 1 in 5 citizens keep on asking for no tourists please
I’m watching ships passing in beyond the lookout
Plenty of Spanish fritters, but have you seen any trout?
Europe is shopping for garbage fish and calling it rich
Buttering and cheesing it up for the plate of a bitch
I’m hearing gentleman peanut say bonjour Y’all
As he lets us know we’ve heard the master’s call
And I’m hearing Poet’s talking about mutual respect
But how many of them are just cocks erect?
I’m thinking that it’s ok to plow a single mom in the rear
Because the council of elders have other people to hear
My hands shake so bad when the thirst is on me
Nobody’s perfect, how sober must I be
Can I take advantage of my individual rights?
I belong to a group that will put up a fight
They’ll make you place another seat at the table
So we can draw out another legal fable
I’m watching no one care when a child gets raped
They’re popping up popcorn so they can watch the tape
Why the hell are out teevee’s so obsessed with homos
Rappaport’s yelling “sit down sissy, I’m watching Hollywood promos”
Collected DVD’s of girls going wild for the 10th time in a row
Some knocking boots, a dead separatist and a hick named Beau
Neverland is never coming back and not a moment too soon
I’m shooting that fantasy dead with a broken plate and rusty spoon
Hip Hop’s telling us of the urban jungle and collective fault
While it arrays itself in diamonds mined from Africa’s vault
How many black angels do you think don’t have any arms
Because freedom fighters need to have weapons, not farms
I’m wanting a purpose for all these thoughts in my head
But after awhile I’m just glad I ain’t dead.