Good old Hawk. He was quite a guy. The truth of the matter was that Hawk was a needle freak. He was hooked on morphine. He had hepatitis. There was a whole in Hawk's arm where all the money went. Sad but true. Except for enough money for two beers for the Hawk and me.
Who has to hear it. No one, everyone. Needles can be useful for medicine: they can also be a curse. You pierce the skin and feel the ruch and the juices flow unil you get your fill. But there never is a fill until it's over. Don't kid yourself. It will be over because it's a dead end trip.
You'll crash at the end of your last trip. And the trip you have on earth will be on of misery and despair. Nirvana doesn't come cheap. Hundred dollars a day habit could lead to desperate measures. A life of crime, scamming, pawning, betting, borrowing, and stealing. I'm glad to say Hawk held himself above all this. It could not have been an easy road out to travel.

He overdosed three years before the end.
Hawk actually died and was revived by some kind of good fortune, or was it good fortune? Hawk after this had no memory or regular thought process. Hawk wasn't the same man after that. It was not a pretty sight. He was a hollow man, a mere shadow of his former self.

I grew tired of telling Hawk the same thing over and over again. He lived with us for a few years. He moved out into a group home which he didn't like -- too much macaroni. About six months later Hawk was found on the floor of the group home bedroom. This time he was really dead. I don't know if needles were involved. I never heard the details. I like to think needles were not involved for the last three years of Hawk's life. I know he was clean for all the time he stayed with us. However, a great deal of damage had already occurred when Hawk came to live with us.
Hawk was a night person. He would lie there on the couch watching TV all night long with our dog Ming faithfully by his side. They loved one another those two. They were soul mates. Hawk gave Ming her favorite toy -  a little blue ball.
Hawk never gave up. His sister would come with raspberry pie and Hawk would glow for a few days.
Anyway, I gave Hawks eulogy. The song for the eulogy, "The needle and the damage done" by Neil Young.
To soar like a Hawk. To crash into the ground.
I'd like to think his spirit soars like a hawk. Maybe now Hawk has found the peace he never found in this life.

The keyboard warrior I am.
I can change the world from the palm of my hand.  

No need to leave the house.
Just give me my stupid mouse.

If I do not bend your will I will make you pay.
Says the keyboard warrior.
For this atrocious video that you made.

Get off the internet the warrior says

You need to take yourself to a grave.
And bury yourself at the end of the day.

When the warrior is finished with their comment
do they ever read it and stop just for a moment.

Or do you just click send.
Thinking this is the end.

I had a party last night yes I did. I lay in my bed thinking of what had transpired the night before. Laying here and thinking.

I was not in trouble no no no. In fact, I was getting a promotion at work and the best way to celebrate my promotion was to have a party.

Living in downtown east side was not a popular place but I was on the 12 Th floor of a condominium and my guests could access my parkade and we had security so inviting them to my party to my place was not an issue.

I had begun my shopping the day before after work on Friday. I wanted to make sure that everything I was buying was fresh and that I was not using anything that was stale or had outdated its expiry date.

I also wanted to get foods that were exotic to impress everyone. The best way to do this is to go to the Asian food aisle of Superstore and Costco. Oyster sauce sounds good, so does shrimp chips, but not to much exotic stuff, maybe some standard lays potato chips and yes dip. Chip dip, the stuff that the double dippers love. Not that anyone from our office is a double dipper but people who love dip.

I rectified this problem of double dipping by having, not one big dipping bowl, but to have to carry around miniature dipping bowls. Little personalized glass bowls only 5 oz each.

These dipping bowls were an absolute hit.

Salsa in three strengths. Medium, hot and extreme. The extreme will have to be my own combination of hot salsa and 1/4 teaspoon of Daves insanity sauce. Hot hot hot.

The hot sauces will have to be well labeled so I will have to use the same little dishes for dipping with the writing "Mild" "Hot" and "Hot Hot". For this, I use the sticky note pads from work.

I have to make sure I do not use the popular yellow notepads. But instead, use the less popular pink notepads which management don't mind you taking from the office.

I will also need a shrimp ring, the one that comes complete with seafood sauce in the middle.

I feel so excited that I have been here in this office for three years now and have not had this opportunity to host my fellow workers with food and drink and *** .... oh no *** just taste and enjoyment.

I want to make this a night to remember. I need this. I want to know I have made it. I want to impress the office with my wit and ingenuity and the one way to do that is with food.

I am not going to go on about the title of this post, a *** of tea. But it is the only thing that nobody touched at the end of the party. Nobody touched my *** of tea. It sat there the entire night without anybody touching it.

The party was a hit, or so everyone said when they left that Saturday night.

Most everyone had to call a taxi because it was a "BYOB". Ok so if you don't understand what that means it is... "Bring your own *****" Ok to simplify that to more people it means if you want to have hard liquor like beer wine or scotch *** or ***** you must bring your own.

The cost of the party, if I would have paid for all the *****, would have been an extra $500. Especially here in Canada.

So that morning when I awoke after the party the only thing left was the cold *** of tea.

So I took a long glass of ice from the ice left over in the freezer. I poured the cold tea left over into the glass then added two packets of cane sugar and to top it off I added a good healthy 2oz shot of Smirnoff ***** that was left over from my party.

I lay there on my sofa naked sipping on my cold drink. I was rubbing the cold glass on my head and wondering what everyone is going to say on Monday morning.

Is the internet broken because all I seem to get are people ******* and moaning about their pathetic lives.

Yes it must be broken because people only post when they want to get high.


Oh wait let me look outside. People are walking, people are talking to one another. People are doing what people are meant to do.

Its not the internet that is broken, its the people using it that are broken.

Me and the Hawk are poor poets. We also are or were somewhat hopeless drinkers. He'd get mad at me just because I liked to laugh. The bar scene was no place for mirth when Hawk had the blues.

So I show him my poem...

Full of  mirth

What is it worth
A smile that beguiles
That is worth while
Joke and laugh
Whole or half (giggle)
Can't you try to see
Better than quivery misery
Yes a belly laugh
Whole or half
Makes you feel so free.

Hawk says, "Humph." He shows me his poem as Hawk is a bit of a writer too.

The Worth Of My Birth

The worth of my birth
Means nothing to me
I have wasted time
And not done a good job
Of living & loving
It all weighs so heavy
On my tortured mind

I close with the poem EXPECTATIONS...

Expectations are the greatest things
They fool you. They rule you.
You live for the next time
To be sublime in the knowledge
You've done well
Those pitfalls that prey on your past
Will never last
If you achieve and believe
I can do this again.

Hawk and me smile and drink our drinks.

Like I said before, I was into gambling. Betting on horses, football games, baseball, hockey, even pro wrestling. You name it, I'd bet on it. I'd make so many bets in a period of time, that I often lose track of whether I was winning or losing. I guess it was the thrill of making a prediction. Hawk, on the other hand, was much more tight-****** with his money. There were two reasons for this. Hawk was of Scottish ancestry. This may offend some, but it made him wise in the knowledge that a penny saved was a penny earned. Also, Hawk grew up on, while I wouldn't say, the poor side of town, I would definitely say, on the modest income side of town.
We were at the old Exhibition Park, now the multi-million dollar Queensbury Downs, an ultra-modern, magnificent edifice. Exhibition Park was a rickety old place, really a disgrace in its later years. Believe me, it had many, many years.
Anyway, the nags were running one night and Werewilf and I decided to try to make some money; Werewilf thought of himself as some kind of horsey guru, but he had the odd good insight that I would sometimes cash in on. The evenings winning was progressing as usual. Werewilf hit a winner on the Daily Double and made enough to double his bets on the rest of the races. I was donating to the upkeep of the barns and the jockeys wages. I maintain that I had a part in building the new Queensbury Downs.
After the seventh race admission was free.
That is when Hawk showed up. He would spend his admission money on the last three races. The eighth and ninth races were a bust for all of us. The final race was going to be the saving grace for me and the Hawk, and Werewilf was definitely buying drinks at the curling club later.
Hawk and I looked at the horses and saw a big old grey that looked pretty good. The odds were favorable on Grey Goose, so I place my bets across the board. Hawk bet him to place. Werewilf had money on the horse as well, so it looked like a shoo-in. We were all tensed up in anticipation for the race as the horses were at the post.
"They're off!" the track announcer blared over the loudspeaker. Grey Goose cantered out of the gate and was so far behind at the quarter that he had no hope of placing. "How about an eight-horse pileup!" Hawk yelled. Forget if Hawk, this was horses, not cars. It wasn't a good thing to hope for anyway.
The rest of the pack reached the half when it became evident that Grey Goose had to let go of a load of horse buns. The laughter from the stands echoed throughout the place. Hawk seemed to take the whole scene as a personal insult. The race was over. Grey Goose finished what he had to do and came in dead last.
Hawk said, "I just paid two dollars to watch a horse have is a daily dump! I'll never bet on a horse again!" Wilf and I thought the whole thing was hilarious and considered it money well spent.
Later we met Moneybags at the Regina Curling Club in the exhibition grounds. Hawk was still grumbling about his two dollars. Moneybags was at the races too and thought what had happened with Grey Goose was very amusing, even though he had money on the horse too. Hawk was still grumbling. Moneybags accused Hawk of having Rectinitus. "What the hell is Rectinitus?" we all wondered.
Moneybags, low key, said, "Rectinitus is a medical term. It occurs when your ****** is connected to your optic nerve, culminating in a ****** outlook on life. But don't worry Hawk, It's very rarely fatal."