And now a chapter from…
The Annals of Port Coquitlam
By Fraser Magor, Monday July 12th/1999
Right early Monday morning while I’m still numb from the neck up- TheBuyer/99
Warning!!!
THE STORY OF GasWhore IS
ONE HUNDRED PERCENT FACT
except for the shit I made up…most of it actually.
Also…
A baby veal cow in a box, an otter, three tiny puppies wearing sweaters, and one of those albino seals with the fuzzy-wuzzy whiskers…
You know the ones, eh? Those little white ones that Japanese hunter kill for their front left flipper, and there’s always some killer whale ripping the shit out of it’s mother on those nature shows, you know?
Well those and other assorted beloved mammals were
not
hurt real fucking bad to the make this document in any wayIn fact two tiny calico kittens were adopted from the SPCA at the eleventh hour saving them euthanasia and cremation.
Brought to You in Full Quadraphonic Stereo Sound by
TheBuyer
The Ministry Of Truth, and Assorted Hard Candies
The Ministry Of Truth, and The Ministry Of Total Bullshit have merged. The combined ministries will now combine 100%-Truth with 100%-Total Bullshit. The new name for this new SuperMinistry is now, and shall always be, The Ministry Of Truth. Unfortunately, we spend 100 billion dollars more than we have, so there will be no more free hot dogs at the annual Soc-Hop, and there will be no more reckless smashing of Ministry property. So you can just put that fucking china down right now, cocksucker, that plate has been in my family for generations- aww fuck it, smash the goddamn thing. What are you still reading this tiny print for? Jesus Christ you’re going to go blind. Holy Christ, ENOUGH! Get on with the…the thing, the fucking whatever, the fucking Poco story. If you spend any more time reading fine print you’ll go retarded. Retarded. Reeeeeeeetaaaaarded…uhhh….baby burn….my left foot.
Go fuck yourself.
C
ome with me on a journey through time to about a month ago in a sleepy little train yard town called Port Coquitlam, B.C…It’s a crispy, dewy morning in Poco. Rare. I’m in a good mood. Also Rare. Driving along with only the finest UH-ts-UH-ts progressive house pouring out of my Chevrolet stock speakers. Having a good hair day too. Oh yeah. There’s nothing like bright sunlight and UH-ts-UH-ts when you’re having a good hair day.
Birds are singing, the UV index is nice and moderate, and the cabbies are all chipper and excited because it’ll be Shiva’s birthday soon.
Oh look! Left. No, less left more lefty-straight kind of. See them?
What a strong sense of civic pride! A zany, rag-tag group of well behaved pot heads have all dropped acid and are happily righting overturned benches and picking up trash in the park. I’d like to see Coquitlam beat that!
The white trash are holding the liquor store door open for one and all, and their repulsive welfare odor is overpowered by sweet train smells. The magic of spring is strong here in Poco.
Oh! The god squad is getting in on spring joy too! The Jehovah’s Witnesses are smiling at their non-witness neighbors while they peddle their twisted little Watchtower magazines in a vain attempt to catch god’s eye, the Catholics are only a little drunk, and the Protestants are ignoring their kids and buying sport utility vehicles...I’m getting warm all over.
Ducks are freeing each other from six-packs and trying to catch crows instead. Darwin was right after all!
And those crazy Poco cats. From Northside to South Central the cats all over the city still aren’t doing a fucking thing but eat, shit and sleep…but in the best Poco spring spirit that their tiny little cat brains can handle without busting from sheer thinking effort!
Yessir-ee Bob. It’s just one of them yummy, sparkly, twist it, spark it, humdinger Poco days that come but once in a blue moon’s shadow.
Amidst all this cheer, I pull into the Chevron to buy a pack of golden, smooth, filtered cigarettes so I can toast this beautiful spring day with a puff of honey-dew fag-smoke…and there he is; it’s GasWhore! It’s GasWhore, everyone, GasWhore is working at the Chevron Filling Station right here in Poco!
Did he just say GasWhore?
Now, you may be pondering something right now. Lemme see if I can guess…You’er pondering THIS important question:
What the fuck is a Gas Whore?
GasWhore is one of the many chatty folks who live right here in Port Coquitlam and he’s the guest star of this edition of…
The Annals of Port Coquitlam
---or---
Freaks in My Suburb
Meet GasWhore
Name:
GasWhorehe doesn’t know the whole damn city calls him GasWhore, don’t say anything.
Real Name: No one cares, he’s just Gas, then Whore. GasWhore.
Age: 50 and change, looks more like 60 and change
General
Physical
Appearance: Crusty/moldy; looks like that dirt came with them fingernails.
Gray, pale-beige, lumpy exterior
Comes with two FUN outfits that you can mix and match!
-One of those slick, mini-comb over, whooshy-wave type hair
cuts that sill enjoys popularity with high school janitors, old
ex-cons, and those rednecks in the Andy Griffiths Show who
had to enjoy a shave and a haircut every fucking day
without fail from that junky pinko barber who was probably
laying pipe up every service entrance in Happytown or
whatever sickfuck name they gave that little crumb of a town
-Grey cotton socks
More crazy GasWhore meet ‘n greet, just ahead!!!
Work
Experience:
-Shell, Texaco, and Turbobut between gas station job he…
"Didn’t do fuck all for twelve years, eh. Wrecked my
goddamn blah blah when I was blah goddamn blahing."
Education: -School-Of-Muthafuckin-Hard-Knocks in the South Side of
Saskatoon…actually…Saskatchewan so it’s more like
School-Of-Gosh-Darn-Medium-LoveTaps
Reading Skills
Grade Four Level from memorizing As-Seen-On-TV Solo
Flex close caption text because, "that goddamn thing fits in
yer hotel room!"
Math
-lips move when performing addition, subtraction, and when trying to think of a number past two
General Knowledge
-remembers things that never happened to people who couldn’t possibly have met, or don’t exist
Example
-"Just like back in eighty- whatever when that goddamn
Bubby Holly <mumble mumble> goddamn shame <mumble
fade>…"
-"I like it better when PGST was only in the east and
Newfoundland was still part of Europe"
I laughed so hard when he said that an old lady offered me a
drink from her Mountain Dew. I guess she thought I was
choking. Funny part was she agreed with GasWhore on the
whole Newfie thing.
And that’s GasWhore in a nutshell.
So back to the yarn I was spinning…it’s a beauty day etc.…birds, hair tunes…where the fuck was I? Smokes! All right. So I walk into Chevron and GasWhore is working…
"Morning," I say to GasWhore.
"How are you today, Richard?", GasWhore asks, calling me by name; not MY name of course, but I don’t care. I wonder where he gets this "First Name" shtick from. It’s not like him to say a complete sentence without chucking in a "goddamn" or a "by Christ". He must think I’m someone from the halfway house or something. At least he’s stopped calling me Tommy.
My mind was wandering. I wasn’t thinking straight…nor was I thinking gay. I just wasn’t thinking. Not wise when GasWhore is in the house. Instead of the customary smile-and-nod-and-say-nothing response, something snapped in my head; I could hear it.
"PU-TwanG," goes the snapping sound in my head COMPLETELY drowning out every other sound in the small Town Pantry. And before I can stop myself, before I can think through consequences, my next words are…
"All right, you?"
LordthunderinJeseus dear, grab the Christin’ Cod, grab the Christin’ kids and let’s get the fuck off the rock, it’s about to friggin blow…
As I say the words, I can hear them ringing in my ears like those bells must’ve rang through Quasi Moto’s ears. My brain seizes entirely. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I know what’s coming next. Fuck.
"Me?", GasWhore says, revving up, "Nothing to complain about."
GasWhore is never to be asked an open ended question. GasWhore likes open ended questions. GasWhore DREAMS about open ended questions. He’s got endless hours of nonsense crammed into his tiny little GasBrain, and he drools over the chance to dump that brain-boggle onto anyone who will grant him audience.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Oh, sweet mother of GOD what have I done?
"Me?", GasWhore says, "Nothing to complain about."
That’s how it always started. "Who me?" he must think, "Could someone be asking MY humble opinion? My stars and garters! I’ll be shucked and darned three ways from Sunday. Maybe I’ll give em a tease…I’ll tell em there’s nothing to complain about…THAT’LL hook em, then the story-telling shall ensue. I’m a fountain…no, a bottomless pit of entertainment, mirth and verbiage, I am."
When he says, "Nothing to complain about", he really means, "There’s nothing you can imagine that I can’t criticizes; I can even criticize things I don’t know about."
"Hey GasMan (you don’t call him Whore to his face, remember that), do you have any straws?"
"You find my goddamn keys and we’ll talk"
I want to say, "Bullshit, GasWhore; pure bullshit. Let’s have the list GasWhore, and I want it in order. You have more bitches than a border collie farm. You’ve got more gripes than an old English hospital. You fucking complain too much GasWhore, give it a rest!"
Instead I say, "Uh-huh"
Then GasWhore, completely from memory begins to recite the Top Ten List of Things That GasWhore Likes To Complain About All The Time.
Top Ten List Of
Things that GasWhore Likes To Complain About All The Time
Special Note:
Talking to GasWhore when hammered is the funniest thing you can do for free in Poco.How to read the top ten list…
10 Goddamn kids swipin’ extra slushee from the machine
ß GasWhoreYou haven’t turned the fucking machine on yet, GasWhore.
ß TheBuyerAnd that’s how to read the list. Enjoy!
9 Goddamn hat pants, shoes, pacemaker etc. don’t fit right.
That’s because they don’t make clothes for people shaped like Salvador
Dali’s version of Mr. Potato Head, GasWhore.
8 Goddamn gas is 62.9 on the gallon, ain’t MY fuckin’ fault <mumble for
a while…quite a while> that’ll learn the bastards…
The mumbles are probably the best part, but if they can’t figure out Kenny
from South Park then I’m afraid the less important ramblings of GasWhore
may never be deciphered. Thank god.
7 My goddamn back neck, shin splints, baby toe, funny bone, left femur,
etc. is fuckin’ killin’ me, by Christ.
6 Goddamn Pepsi is on goddamn strike
the goddamn Coke people are locked out, not on goddamn strike, come on
GasWhore, get your stick onda ice, eh.
5 Where the hell are my goddamn keys? Goddamn <mumble>
goddamn fucking things <mumble> by Christ.
His keys are usually in the till or in his pocket.
Other places GasWhore has found his keys
-thrown into the middle of the goddamn road by them fuckin’ kids
intentional cruelty by The Huffer
-on a goddamn bus
accidental cruelty by Bus Driver With Dred Locks
-at seven-uh-goddamn-eleven for the love of Christ
just plain bizarre
-taped to the goddamn roof…Goddamn fuckin’ kids.
Not kids. Just some pissed off farmer; and they’re stuck to the ceiling
GasWhore …and that ain’t tape, buddy-boy, so get a pair of gloves and
some Dettol, or Lysol or something.
4 Goddamn Inneract don’t work, ain’t my fault.
Hand set cruelly unplugged by practical joker graveyard shift guy
A-K-A The Huffer- prompts GasWhore to post small sign on front door
written in black crayon, "Get Cash From Machine Inneract Broken Up
On Ferther Notice"
3 Goddamn government is takin’ more taxes than ever
before…goddamn Greg Clark, and his Democrats.
way to go GasWhore
2 Now where the fuck are my goddamn keys…
…and the number one thing GasWhore likes to complain about…
1 I keep winning off those goddamn scratch and wins, then
the goddamn things just up and walk away.
turns out other Chevron employees wait for GasWhore to embark on one
of his legendary "five minute whizzes" so they can steal GasWhore’s
winning Lottos in a ploy to drive GasWhore postal.
Any How
…I got my smokes after twenty five minutes, and six bucks. Should’ve gone to the goddamn Mohawk where them fuckin kids are always gettin me to buy…aw shit. I’m turnin into GasWhore…fuck it. He’ll be dead soon, but his fowl mouth and meandering, boring stories will live on. Unless we kill him now.
Tune in next week for,
TheBuyer Goes to Prison For Stuffing An Old GasWhore Into a 20litre Gas Can.Bye for now boys and girls.
And remember-
That’s NOT what your ass is for.
J
TheBuyer
The Ministry Of Truth and Making Fun of Poco
Tune in next time for The Red Hat Guy
Rizella's letter The things that happenned last night
"The Time of the Naguals"