Travesty Tuesday – Tricycle Rides and Unfortunate Sleeping Arrangements

The Great Unwashed- “I’m putting up a Travesty Tuesday post.”

Roscoe- “But it’s Friday.”

The Great Unwashed- “You know that saying “It’s five o’clock somewhere?” Well it’s Tuesday somewhere. It’s a time zone thing.”

Roscoe- “That’s not how time zones work.”

Red onion slices

These account for approximately 60% of the New Zealand diet.** (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Great Unwashed – “It’s Tuesday in New Zealand. Honest. And it doesn’t even matter if it isn’t, New Zealanders do things backwards anyways, they call every second Wednesday “Girdle” and only eat raw onions.”

Roscoe walked out of the room after that. He does that sometimes.

Here is an email I sent to my youngest cousin Candy*. She came to visit me just before leaving to go to college. It’s my guess that she robbed multiple convenience stores and the judge gave her the option of going to Juvie for a month or spending time with me. I think Juvie was looking pretty sweet after she read this.

Oh well you can’t win ‘em all, right Candy?



Dear Candy,


SURPRISE! We’re going camping. Nothing big, just the local park and only for one night. To celebrate this momentous occasion my truck is in at the mechanics getting both the flap thingie on the front fixed and also the SCREEEEEEEE noise that it’s been making any time I turn it on.

The parking lot in front of the garage was packed full of broken-down cars. The mechanics seemed doubtful about when they would be able to return my truck to me.

English: A man is repairing a tri-cycle who se...

Candy, I think you over packed a little. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As such it’s my recommendation to you Candy, to practice core muscle exercises for the next few days. Not only will these assist with paddle boarding which we shall be trying at the park but it will also help in your transport to the house from the bus station. My current plan is to ride a tricycle over and have you ride on my shoulders the three kilometers home. You will have to carry your suitcase on your back obviously.

This is a hugely popular transportation method in India just so you know.

We will be sharing the giant self inflating mattress while camping because I can’t be bothered to bring and blow up two separate ones when I could punch and kick my way through a night next to someone who is obligated to be nice to me by virtue of sharing just over 12% of my genetic code and staying in my house.

I also suggest you bring a sweater, a bathing suit, sunscreen and a UV shirt*** if you own one. Otherwise I’ll make you wear one of my UV shirts which are so used and stretched out that they’d look more appropriate on a fashionable orangutan.

Or maybe not, I feel like a fashionable anything would refuse to wear a UV shirt.

I have all necessary other camping items although I suggest you remind me to bring pillows. I often forget this item and no matter how I arrange the pile, firewood never seems comfortable to sleep on.

Lovingly, awkwardly and always on three wheels, your cousin,

The Great Unwashed


*Candy is as sweet as her made up name. She would never burn down convenience stores. She is frequently forced to visit me, a severe penance for crimes she doesn’t commit. At least I don’t think she commits crimes. I was covered in highly flammable oil during her visit though.


** I wouldn’t necessarily trust my knowledge of the world. I garnered most of the facts I know about New Zealand from Wild Buttercup. However I only looked at the pictures so I don’t know how reliable my information is.


Also I’ve never been to India. However I would like someone to ride on my shoulders while I peddle a tricycle. As a young child I was prevented from attempting this, I can only assume that sort of fun is illegal in Canada. India seems like a fun loving place. I bet mothers allow that sort of thing there.


***For those of you who don’t go red and shrivel up in the sun like a raisin a UV shirt blocks ninety to one hundred percent of UVA and UVB rays. For near albinos like Candy and I this type of clothing is a necessity for all outdoor activities. We combine it with 110 SPF sunscreen and then complain about feeling burnt. The Irish are fun to kiss but you probably shouldn’t procreate with them if you ever want to sit out on a beach.

Knock, Knock, Did Anyone Order a Sexy Politician?

John F. Kennedy, Ronald Reagan, Barrack Obama and in the right light even Calvin Coolidge; our Southern neighbours have had some sexy presidents. What does Canada have? William Lyon Mackenzie King, a man as blustery and bombastic as he was round. The height of our sexy leadership was of course Pierre Trudeau who was bald however he did have a certain appealing charisma about him.

It’s time for Canadians to bring the sexy back, in the form of Justin Trudeau. Much like his famous father Justin brings a certain charm as well as a heady mix of spontaneity combined with power. Terribly attractive and he has a full head of hair to boot.

My countrymen I implore you, it’s time we had a leader that we all want to bang. Although anything is better than Steven Harper who resembles an aged Ken doll. And even Barbie wouldn’t hit that.

Therefore I beg you, ignore this young buck’s absurd comments and policies. My fellow Canadians, I beseech you, turn a blind eye to the next ridiculous stunt he pulls, unless of course it’s taking off his shirt in which case please send me photos.

Justin Trudeau speaks at the University of Wat...

Ideally the photo should look like this. Only with less fabric. (Photo credit: batmoo)

The time has come. We need a sexy leader. For too long we have stood in the attractive shadow of the United States’ leadership. With a potential new good-looking Prime Minister at the helm there is no telling what Canada could do; perhaps we will start by overtaking the States in beauty pageants, then move onto making all National Hockey League teams Canadian. Having a visually appealing person to direct us, the sky becomes the limit.

Men, the next time you stand at the polls I want you to think long and hard while asking yourself the following question before checking the box on your ballot “If I was a girl would I kick him out of bed?”

If the answer is no, check away.

And ladies, remember; if he’s easy on the eyes, he’s good for everything else.

This Post Was Supposed To Be About Me Being Partially Clothed In Church But Really Should Have Been The Awards Post Part Two, However Now It’s A Flow Of Consciousness. There’s a Medal For You At The Bottom If You Read It.

It’s summer, I’m sticking to everything. Including my dining room table. I’m pondering whether I should attempt to patent myself as a new form of glue.

“Human shaped glue; it’s unwieldy, not remotely convenient and also comes off when you pull hard enough. But it does make a satisfying “SHHHHHLOOOOOOP” sound in the process.”

I probably should not go into sales. Or marketing.

There is one week of school left for Canadians; the American children started their summer vacation three weeks ago. Perhaps it’s in my imaginary children’s best interest if we move to America. But only for the first part of the year because the American children go back early in August. Or maybe I have this completely backwards and my family should move to America from August to December and then come back to Canada from January to July. It’s like free child care, only with extra moving costs.

I’m not sure how I’m going to sell that last idea to my husband.

Getting back to the idea of me as an inventor. I have blisters on the bottoms of my toes from wearing high heels for an entire day. My sister told me I should have put preventative band aids on my feet. I wasn’t aware they made band aids for the soles of your toes. A trip to the drug store and a strange look from the sales associate when I inquired about such a product confirmed my suspicions.

I’ve concluded from this experience that I need to create such a device. Not only would it save me from wheeling my way around on a computer chair the day after I dress up in my Badgley Mischkas but I also feel like it would make an excellent conversation starter at dinner parties. “Why hello there, I see you work in sales. Funny that we should meet, I’m the inventor of “Toe Toppers” for people who are very bad at wearing high heels, yet need to on occasion.”

You’ve now reached the end of this blog post. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this but there’s no medal here. The fact that there are two periods in my title probably should have tipped you off. Someone who doesn’t realize that titles should be succinct descriptions of text without periods likely doesn’t have the organizational skills to coordinate handing out medals to those who finish reading said overly punctuated work.

Also I’ve promised for two posts in a row that I was going to write about bar fights. At this point it’s probably safe to conclude that I’m a dishonest jerk. And as long as we’re being truthful here I should state that I’ve never actually been in a bar fight. When my girlfriends and I were in university, we made friends with a young man who was the size of a house. Literally. It would have been a very small house mind you, possibly a cardboard one in Elbonia the fictional land of mud from the Dilbert cartoons but a house nonetheless.

My point was that when you go dancing with a man the size of a house in Elbonia or a large porta-jon anywhere else, you aren’t really bothered by anyone much less the target of an airborne beer bottle.

Mrs. August Belmont; Aug. Belmont; and Mrs. Bu...

Normally WordPress suggests photos to go along with your post however the algorithm broke because it came up with; a pair of high heels, Celine Dion, an antique photo of little known Royals and a map. It’s ok WordPress, sometimes I’m not entirely sure of what to make of the circus in my head either. (Photo credit: The Library of Congress)

So I read this to Roscoe and got to that last sentence and he said “Keep reading I’m listening” and I replied “No that’s it, it’s too hot to write anymore and I need to go invent toe bandaids.”







Roscoe tired of listening to me complain about the blisters on the bottoms of my toes and offered to get me “Toe band aids” if I sat in a chair and closed my eyes. Desperate for relief I sat and waited. This was Roscoe’s solution. That’s sixty thousand dollars worth of doctoring right there. And it’s all mine.

Please enjoy my pedicure, unlike Roscoe’s bandage job, my perfectly polished toe nails help ease my pain.

Please enjoy my pedicure, unlike Roscoe’s bandage job, my perfectly polished toe nails help ease my pain.