The Real Ghostbusters

I had wee Sarah all day today, on my own. Tina was out at a baby shower.

It was brilliant. I carry her about all the time, because she likes it better. She can see everything.

She loves dogs and wee kids. We didn't see any today.

Well, we saw some. No good ones, though. I think it was too hot.

It's really fucking hot here in the summer. Too fucking hot. I always get burned.

I never wear suncream. I shouldn't have to. It's unnatural. I make sure Sarah does though. She's too young to make an uninformed choice like I did.

I was pushing her about and she got sleepy, so I gave her her dummy to help her get over to sleep.

She did fall asleep, so I stopped at a bench and read the Montreal Mirror.

I'm beginning to hate the Montreal Mirror, 'cos it's full of shite. It's the same oul fucking shite every week.

The same cunty opinions, and trite news pieces, and wanky columnists. It's very right-on. I like no more than 3% of it, then I want to rip it into shreds and shite on it, screaming foul abuse all the while.

It makes me think that everyone in Montreal is a right arsehole.

I'm not wrong.

Some twat was coming along the day there, just before I went to the park, a beardy cunt with glasses. He had some other twat beside him.

The beardy cunt was explaining to the other twat about "the brown bag understanding" that exists between the police and outdoor drinkers in the states.

This is where tramps, arseholes and knobs can drink beer or wine outside, in public, without getting arrested, as long as their alcohol is concealed in a "brown paper bag" or some such thing.

This beardy cunt was excitedly explaining, in English, mind, the very notion to thon other twat as being a victory of community policing and common sense.

What a cunt. His using English merely confirmed my theory that most of the cunts, twats and arseholes in this part of Montreal are anglophones (I include myself here too, folks!).

I only caught about ten seconds of his loud conversation, but those ten seconds were enough to make me want to batter the living fuck out of him with a chair leg.

I didn't, but.

I was wild fucking tempted, though.

Montreal is full of fuckers like thon fella.

And this paper is like "The Ulster Tatler" for these knobs.

A terrible state of affairs.

Right cunts.

So anyways, I sat and read the paper while she slept, for a bit.

I thought of that fella who I'd just seen, and all the shite he was talking.

And I decided it'd be more fun just to watch two squirrels shagging each other.

So I did.