Posts Tagged ‘social capital’

Donuts with Derek

December 30, 2017

Steel City Fruit_donuts


(Dedicated to the working-class males of suburbia)

We’re waiting at Kirk’s house, watching a Saturday Night Live rerun after smoking a small joint outside in the snow. It’s going to be quite an evening: two hours of comedy re-runs and then… Derek Haddad!

Derek Haddad works two night-shifts per week at McDonalds in order to pay for his new Firebird Trans Am with the black-on-gold paint treatment and hood scoop with flying eagle logo. He also works at his dad’s woodshop full-time in the day, but on his evenings off, he loves to drive people around doing hot-knives in his muscle car.

He finally arrives about 30 minutes later than expected. Kirk and I get on our coats and join Derek and his friend Curtis who are in the front seat. We sit in the back with the blow-torch.

The plan is to get really stoned and then do “donuts” in the nearby Walmart parking lot, which is covered with ice and snow and is virtually empty tonight, the night before New Year’s Eve. “Doing Donuts” involves accelerating as fast as you can on an icy surface, and then hitting the brakes suddenly in order to be thrown into some heavy g-force curves. We’re all in our late teens, and this feeling is very close to the sex we crave every second of our lives.

donutsDonuts are also called “Round-up” by some people, but I don’t like to use that name since Round-Up is also the name of an insecticide bar we used to put on our lawnmower until we found out that the chemicals in it slow down children’s central nervous systems for up to a decade after contact with the residue. My father starting buying these poison wax bars after seeing an infomercial that showed children being seriously injured by slipping on dandelions. The miracle product, the TV spokesmodel explained, would kill dandelions and keep your kids safe. Everyone on TV that evening agreed that children’s safety was important so the dandelions had to die. Later reports from the Federal Environmental Office warned Round-Up users that the product contained some of the same neurotoxic chemicals that had been dropped on Vietnam, and that dandelions were not, in fact, dangerous at all.

Finally arriving in the parking lot, after ten minutes of rolling the hash into little balls, Derek cranks up his powerful car stereo, and his friend starts the blow torch and hands me the two knives to go first.

Ten hot-knives later, Derek changes the music to a new group called, appropriately, The Cars, and we start to accelerate into our first donut. Weeee! Finally, a kind of thrill you can enjoy with other people that doesn’t involve sharing anything personal or talking about life. What in the world did people do before parking lots, Trans Ams, and hot-knives were invented?

(Note. Any resemblance to real human beings is unintentional. This story – like other Steel City Fruit stories – is purely fictional.)

click for fruit

The Scabbish Practice

July 8, 2011

Fake History scabbish


Suburban roots

The year was 1976 and he was still a child: the patriarch of Scabbish Practice Victor Simmy fell and scraped open the palms of his hands playing Frisbee with his seven-year-old cousin Purdy Peddy.

This palm-chaffing moment is referred to as The Scraping in the texts, and this event provides a focal point for Scab faith.

Scab followers keep the palms of their hands in a state of perpetual infection with open sores to remember all of the unnecessary pain that Victor suffered “but in the end, overcame through power.”  
(Events, Chapter 12, 18-46)

A Day in the life of Solar

Solar is a normal, healthy Scab and peels the scabs off the palms of his hands every night before his prayers and Frisbee ritual.

Since his Scraping at the age of seven, he’s had a blacklight poster of a scab on the ceiling above his bed which he stares at while listening to Scabra music before going to sleep. He often dreams of finally being free – of finally having a life without palm scabs and pain.

And with each year, he detests Purdy Peddy more and more as he stares at his hands.

Customs and culture

The Scabbish – followers of Victor Simmy – can often be spotted traveling in wheelchair caravans with members who have lost the use of their right leg. The wheelchairs are for followers of the many subsects that have the right knee scarred at marriage and then  spend their married lives dousing this leg scab with contaminants. These festering knee scabs can get so infected that amputation is often required. The faithful amputees are called Leg Heroes and spend their adult lives living fairly well off of public grants for their sacrifice.

Scabbish people – like Solar in the above example – usually display blacklight posters of scabs in each room of their luxurious mansions, and it’s considered blasphemy for Scabs to name a child Purdy or to associate with people with this name or the family name Peddy. Cultures who use these names are considered unclean by many Old Skool Scabs.

Remembering the Scraping

Visits to the Scab Museums and Scabbish Victimhood Libraries help reinforce the link between the Purdy Peddy’s of the world and the non-stop pain that comes from the loss of a leg or from the everyday use of painfully scarred hands.

And because this trauma is relived over and over, there are many manifestations of secondary trauma including: paranoia, gluttony, violence, and other anti-social behavior.

Followers are taught that Purdy Peddy is ultimately responsible for these flaws.

Click for fake history

The Suffering of Anne Bear

March 13, 2009

suffering 2


Bear Petroleum Bros had the best PR in the industry.

They had succeeded in making human beings forget all about their essential Bear connection by using only their initials in their many marketing campaigns, signing off as “BPB: Beyond Polar Bears” in every single advertisement, product placement, and sponsorship.

To neutralize the bad press from their many wars, the bears managing BPB’s PR ordered that raw fish be banned from BPB cafeterias, and then they had a David Suzuki dedication plaque removed from the head office lobby. Any indication that this was a “bear operation” had to be hidden from sight.

The superficial changes just weren’t enough for the protesters.

They came from all over Canada and the US, to Bear Petroleum Bros. HQ in Calgary. And they came armed with petitions and UN resolutions

So Bear management came out to greet the idealistic young protesters, and showed them a movie free of charge. It was called The Suffering of Anne Bear, and here – free of charge – is one short chapter of the best-selling book it was based on:

The Suffering of Anne Bear Chapter 7;  The Iceman Cometh

The rain was so thick today that you couldn’t even see the tiny icebergs of the Arctic Ocean from the kitchen table. It was as if the whole sky was crying for Mommy – still huddled in my mind, starving to death in the corner next to baby Potley as the seagulls eat away at the crumbs of my memory.

The ice fields still haven’t come back, and Poppy came home drunk again and says we’re going to start eating each other unless “the iceman cometh” – whatever that means. Sometimes I wish he hadn’t been the CEO of a major bear-run petroleum company. It brought our family so much pain from other people who wish they’d had all our advantages. If only they knew how much we really suffered.

Yesterday there was a parade near the river. Everybody else’s dad had a mangled SUV from the war, except mine. “I was way too busy wiping your hairy little asses to go make myself a hero killing humans,” he said about a million times. He doesn’t have to do anything like that for me or Minnie.

Still, sometimes I wish we could all eat together as a real family instead of sifting through garbage alone all the time. Being a roobar is no life for a beautiful, young, innocent child like myself. And it might be really nice for my beautiful, innocent family to be able to do something beautiful and innocent together.

If only someone could read my diary or see one of hundreds of big-budget movies based on its candid and heart-warming story.

%d bloggers like this: