Don’t pee in the water.

We had thought this was a normal jungle village, as these people seemed pretty jungle-y. Turns out that was not the case. These people were the aristocrats of the jungle world. We later had the opportunity to flee danger by stumbling into a different village, much further into the hell that is the jungle. We stopped dead in our tracks, as the few people standing in view stared at us like we were aliens. According to our guide Pepe, they had never seen white people before. Frankly I tend to believe him as when my sister took a picture with her camera and showed the ominous old lady the screen, she shrieked like she had seen the devil and ran. The entire village swarmed out to meet the chaos as they listened to the old lady shout and point. She then angrily pointed at the camera, and my sister a little worriedly took a picture of one of the men. He saw the screen and shouted in surprise and excitement. They all cheered (for reasons known only to them). He motioned for her to do it again, and she did, as he posed in a ‘I’m throwing this spear at my village friend here’ sort of way. The others swarmed in to see, but the subject of the picture was having none of it while knocking them over and tossing them all aside to get to the screen.

Long village jungle story short, a tiny boy (I named lil’ Pepe) in that village would NOT stop following me. It was creepy. He was like a friggin jungle-ninja. Ultimately, in the hut of the medicine man, he finally came up to me and pointed at my bandana. I took it off and handed it to him to SHOW him. He bolted like there was a giant spider chasing him (there could very well have been. I could have been a Spider contorted to look like Newsy. To eat Newsy). I sort of just stared as I realised that bandana was now gone forever. So I hope it served you well lil’ Pepe. But still... fuck you thief. I’d have given it if you had asked. Pfft. He’s probably been eaten by a spider by now anyways. And then that spider eaten by a spider. And that one eaten by a puma.

Did you know there’s a kind of fish... a little teeny tiny fish that is attracted to urine and will swim up your urethra if you pee anywhere near it, hook into your flesh, and the only way to get rid of it is to amputate? Neither did we. As Pepe mimed ‘hook onto the inside of your penis’ we could not tell for sure what he was trying to say to us. We all just nodded as he seemed to desperately want to impart this piece of information. Then I said ‘so... DON’T pee in the river?...’ and he nodded emphatically. To which my brother in law, clearly upset by this responded ‘can I stand next to the river and pee into it?’... ‘Why would you possibly want to do that?’... ‘I don’t know. Can I pee into a cup and throw it in the river?’ ... ‘Knock yourself out.’

As we waded through the waist deep water, trying to figure out if there are urethral muscles we could clench to make sure we didn’t get any unexpected visitors, I noticed the eerily calm jungle surrounding the water. It seemed to be unnatural. I dismissed the calm (cause fuck you jungle that's why) as I was planning on being eaten by a spider any moment anyways, and we came to the base of a waterfall. I don’t mean a little cute waterfall, I mean a big ass fucking waterfall. Like a fall and you’re dead 100 times before you hit the rocks below, waterfall. As Pepe scampered up the wet rocks in his bare feet and tiny hands, my sister, brother in law and I all looked at each other and without having to confer, I shouted (irritated) at Pepe, ‘Yo Pepe! None of us seem to posses your apparent ability to scale wet rocks unaided... lil’ help?’ ... the response came swiftly; a rope came flying down to us. I don’t recall how we all got to the top of that godforsaken waterfall, but we did. And we were both, elated that we laughed in the face of death yet again, and also furious that we had to do such a thing in the first place... yet again.

That is where the jungle adventure ends. We were there for another day, but after the waterfall I can not remember a thing until the airport. The weird thing is neither of the others can remember anything either. I’m just going to go ahead and presume I was drugged and gang raped by pumas and spiders. And spiders pretending to be pumas. To eat pumas. That’s the least upsetting option really.

Suddenly I’m startled awake at the airport by a horde of children trying to take my shoes off. They get one as I say ‘Why are you taking these terrible jungle drenched shoes?’ they laughed and scampered away with only the one of my shoes. As I sat up and shook my head a soldier holding an assault rifle nudged me and said in rapid Spanish something along the lines of ‘you look retarded with only one shoe and I am hungry’ (My Spanish wasn’t great then) to which I stared blankly at him and responded loudly ‘My roommate is in the army in Canada... So we’re like... cousins or something.’ His icy glare was enough of a conversation for me as my plane was called to board after my 32 hour Ecuadorian airport adventure without a dollar in my pocket. The airport, I later learned, was shut down immediately following my flight as there was military unrest, and mine was the last flight out.

I managed to smuggle a cocoa bean fruit out of the jungle and bring it back to Canada. Every single border agent seemed not to care at all that I had it. They seemed to feel nothing but pity for me and just kept waving me through. Which in hindsight was a dangerous decision as it could have been a spider contorted to look like a cocoa bean fruit... to eat... I don't know, let's say oompa loompas.

I arrived home in Canada to my mother excitedly waving as she ran to hug me. My father asking ‘where’s your luggage?’ and my mother immediately following up with ‘and where is your neck pouch?’ I just looked at them. One shoe gone. No luggage. Dirty. Exhausted. Bleeding from several wounds. Clothes literally torn all over the place. And I just replied. ‘Actually Mom, the neck pouch wasn’t overly helpful. So I put it in the luggage. And Dad, the jungle people stole my luggage. It’s theirs now, but don’t worry. They have already been eaten by Spiders, so it’s OK. Justice was done. Jungle justice. Let’s just go home.’ Oddly they didn’t really follow up with too many questions.

In the final chapter of the jungle tale, Jungle diseases and you... See a fucking doctor.

The Police are your friends. Except traffic cops.

As my court date for a jaywalking violation resulting in a 37 dollar ticket approaches, I am struck by a few thoughts. Although I am consumed with hate for the one remaining officer who issued the ticket at the jaywalking sting outside of my office, I refuse to get into the nonsensical cop bashing that goes on all the time.

In my years as a PI/Security Guard/’Bat-Themed Vigilante’ I learned a thing or two about police. I learned three key things people should always remember; one, the thing police hate more than anything is having their time wasted. Do not involve them in stupid things you can solve yourself, do not make situations where they are already involved worse for them or more complicated. Two, the thing they hate ALMOST as much as having their time wasted is being lied to or having details omitted when speaking to someone (If you get caught in a lie or key omission, it will work out badly for you). Tell them the truth, do not omit anything that could be significant, keep it brief, and let them do their job. Three, they are almost always nice guys. I use the qualifier of almost as traffic cops are dicks. But something to bear in mind, they have to be dicks. They have to be dicks cause we’re all assholes when it comes to traffic violations. I get it, I’m the worst offender there is. I already got the jaywalking asshole traffic cop’s partner removed for *censored*. Seriously. I don’t feel bad cause it’s a traffic cop, and cause fuck you for wasting tax money on a jaywalking sting, but that’s the exact attitude everyone has, so they have no recourse BUT to be dicks. So I forgive them, but will make them cry if necessary... This fight has to happen.

Anyhoo, Traffic cops aside, regular officers are pretty cool guys. I say guys as 90% are men. The female cops all tend to gravitate to traffic or desk jobs. They may start out doing normal patrols, but they usually go back to traffic. Not sure why. I met a few really bad ass female officers and they scared the pants off of me. But they went back to traffic. Regardless, the guys are usually a bit older, and although genuinely want to help people out are weary of having their time wasted by ungrateful weird people who complain about weird things. ‘Really? The guys down the hall from you stole the bathroom key you forgot in the bathroom?’ ... ‘Really? There’s a man standing in front of your store looking across the street?’ ... ‘Really? The car across the street has been there for two days you say? But now it’s gone?’... ‘And this happened... a week ago... I see.’. You would be amazed at what they have to hear and deal with. I used to hear from them all the time as a PI/Security guard. Less so in my current position although it does on occasion happen. I have dealt with many officers and have yet to meet one who was unpleasant and who wasn’t honestly trying to help. Again, except traffic cops. Fuck those guys.

Like the two cops who had to visit my parents house because a neighbour complained that he didn’t trust my dog because he ‘was too clever and opening car doors’. Now Sam the wonderdog did have a habit of trying to steal cars, but the cops initially were rightly irritated to have to show up for that. The third time they thought it was hysterical as Sam seemed to have drawn a crowd of onlookers applauding his ingenuity at escaping the yard and then getting into a locked car (you don’t become a movie stunt dog by being slow).

Today I heard an actual discussion about how it was disgraceful that a police officer was stabbed in action saving people from a knife wielding assailant who was shot while fleeing the attack. The people were angry that the cop killed the knife wielding man headed towards a crowd of people. It’s the same assholes that pick fights with cops and then pull out camera phones to record the results. The same assholes that throw things at cops when they’re in a crowd of a hundred and the cops are in a group of 10. The cops aren’t the decision makers. They are just men and women doing a thankless and difficult job. Except the traffic cops. Those guys can jump up their own asses and die. But I digress.

Sidenote, you do not 'own' your husband's semen.

Dear Diane,

When I say I’m thinking of starting a coke habit because it’s the cool grown-up drug, it’s a joke. You know I can’t afford a coke habit. When I say I want to use your husband’s sperm to create a half-bear, half-man hybrid, it’s an hilarious joke (and he has final say in regards to his semen usage). When I say I want to fight a bear, I’m dead serious. I want to fight a bear. No holds barred, fight till the end, visceral screaming and all that. And no it’s not cruel to the bear. It’s a fucking bear. That’s what they do normally. I wouldn’t kill the bear, I would force it to submit via the timely application of the sharp-shooter or figure four leg lock. I want the bear to live with the shame of knowing he was beaten and forced to tap out to a mere man. And again, the bear will start the fight, cause like I said, it’s a fucking bear.

Also I wish to thank you for giving me the opportunity to provide what I think is the best response to someone shouting ‘NO SEMEN!’ in my answer of ‘Then how else can i get a sentient bear to do coke with?!?!’ I also disagree with your proposed compromise of splicing a wolf and man using my genetic material... That seems too close to werewolf territory. I am already bad-ass enough. Can you imagine if I was half wolf? I would be so awesome that other awesome things would kill themselves. So uniquely handsome that men would hide their faces in shame whenever I was near. So Virile that with a wink I would be able to impregnate a woman and any four people surrounding her. It would be unfair to world.

So in conclusion, I will acquiesce to your request that no coke habit (or meth habit as was also frowned upon) will be began. Nor will I play God and try to create a half-bear, half-man army using your husband’s genetic material. I will get a motorcycle, and I will fight a bear though, but the bear will be in the wild, and will have picked the fight with me. And it will only be a one way death-match as my only goal will be the submission of the bear. Then I will ride off on my motorcycle, with nary a trace of coke (or meth) in either my system, nor the bear’s, most likely to the hospital where I will probably need stitches.

Sincerely,

Newsy Lalonde

Snake Vs. Spider

‘Diablo Blanco!’ screeched the perverted racist parrot at the break of dawn to let us know it was time to get up. As the darkness and the horrors hidden within retreated into the cracks in the ‘floor’ and ‘walls’, we dressed ourselves shaking our shoes thoroughly as we saw several eyes peering in expectantly, and I had a feeling they were hoping some creature had made our boots it’s home during the night. As the disappointed children (Or spiders contorting to look like children in order to consume villagers) scuttled away we emerged from our hut to greet the village for breakfast. As we observed in silent terror the mystery meat rotating slowly on the spit over the fire while the cackling old lady (who was probably like 30 as they do not carry age well in the jungle) muttered something and gestured at me, we decided without exchanging words that breakfast was unnecessary and let’s just get on with whatever was to finally kill us.

As our guide Pepe (I can’t recall his name as it sounded like something out of lord of the rings) hacked through the thick veil of vines, leaves and yes, spiders and their nests, my sister following so close behind me she tripped me on more than one occasion, I pointed to a pretty bird I saw up in the trees. My sister said ‘oh! That’s pretty!’ and the guide turned quizzically and said ‘que?’ to which my sister gestured to the bird and said ‘pajaro!’, and he laughed and said ‘no, una arana.’ This made no sense to us as clearly his Spanish was poor. This was no... OH MY GOD ITS FUCKING UNFURLING! Yes. It was a spider that curled up to look like a bird to eat birds.

Pepe then handed us some plant stems. We looked at them and snapped one open and dumped the contents into his mouth and motioned for us to do the same. After the breakfast from my deepest nightmare, we insisted he show us what was in his and OH MY GOD ITS A FUCKING NEST OF TINY ANTS! Lemon ants they’re called. They’re called that cause they taste like lemons. My sister refused any part of it, but my brother in law and myself figured we would soon have to run from, or fight, a puma... or a fucking giant spider contorted to look like a puma... to eat pumas... So we said cheers, and frankly, they tasted like lemons. Wasn’t bad. Didn’t like them crawling back up. Like they didn’t want to be eaten. Hanging out in a plant stem being all lemony. They were asking for it.

While enjoying another stem of ants, I noticed a line of red ants walking across a log (or a spider contorted to look like a log...to eat logs) as I bent down and said ‘hello ants. I am eating your friends.’ A giant ant... and I mean a fucking giant ant, walking over top the others stopped dead and OH MY GOD ITS TURNING ITS HEAD AND LOOKING RIGHT AT ME! I called over to the others and said ‘Hey guys look at this weird giant ant!’ The guide walked over, shrieked (could have been a manly yell where he’s from he was really small and it’s hard to gauge) grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me towards the jungle and bolted full speed yelling for the others to do the same. We did and I looked back at the spot as it became blackened by a swarm of ants. Or a Spider sonteorted to look like a swarm of ants. To eat a swarm of ants.

When we could run no further, we found ourselves at the mouth of a cave in giant cliff face. At this point, the fact that the cliff face was literally covered with thousands of spider nests and crawly things all over it didn’t even phase us. The guide explained as best he could that the only way back now was to climb the cave to the mouth at the top. As we had nothing with us except terror we looked confused as he placed his hands on one side, then pressed his legs on the other and began crab-crawling his way up. “What the hell we’re going to die today anyway. I’d rather it be from a fall.” My brother in law said as we all started doing the same. About 20 meters up, we hear screeching and a lot of thumping. I shout ‘Mike! You ok?’ ...silence... my sister yells ‘MIKE!’... then his reply ‘BATS!... LOTS OF BATS’. Or spiders contorted to look like flying bats. To eat flying bats. As a bat slammed right into my face, my leg and right arm slipped and I was sure that was the end of me. Newsy, dead at 23... Beloved by several, hated by many. I barely had time to shout ‘MIKE! Tell Mom I love her, and I the neck pouch was USELESS!’ as a tiny but freaky strong hand darted out of nowhere and hoisted me back into position... Pepe, now doing the russian splits had saved my life while angrily saying ‘NO! Muy Morte!’ to which i tried to explain as i crawled out of the mouth of the cave trying not to look directly at my brother in law who looked like a swarm of bats had just anger banged every part of him that I didn’t try to fall to my death.

As we trudged back to ‘camp’ the monkeys came out. I know they were real monkeys as they were goddamned fearless and came right up to us and I swear to God tried to stare us down. One of them was always snapping (I don’t even know if they have thumbs, I’m not a monkeyologist) but they were fucking snapping while dangling behind a larger monkey eating what looked like an eyeball so menacingly it will haunt my dreams forever. The guide I think told us not to make eye contact and hurried out of the area as the screeching began. I presume the monkeys were all immediately devoured by some monkey impersonating spider. As we stumbled hurriedly out of the monkey territory the guide threw his hands out stopping us all dead as an albino snake sat in a clearing staring at us. The guide looked like he was about to cry and beg it for mercy as a shadow fell over it. Our eyes fell to the dark spot behind it as OH MY GOD ITS A GIANT FUCKING TARANTULA. How many people can say they say a snake fight a spider and LOSE? I can. That spider walked up to that snake, pinned it’s tail to the ground and IT WAS ON! I couldn’t watch the fight all the way, but i saw the spider bight the head of the snake and the snake go limp. Then we were too far running for our lives. I envisioned the spider looking up at the sky triumphantly over his kill and roaring like the T-Rex at the end of Jurassic park.

Approaching the village we tiredly passed a tree with crazy roots and what i can only describe as some sort of jungle conch shell. I asked the guide what was the purpose of the shell and he half told and half mimed a scenario where if we were being attacked by a puma, we were to crawl in there as they were too big to fit and blow on the shell and the villagers would come help. I tried my best to explain that that may be well and good for him at a towering 3’11, but I, a handsome 6’3 would surely die as if i could fit, a puma almost certainly could fit, and likely be infinitely better at manoeuvring within. ‘Que?’ he responded, and I just replied ‘You know what Pepe? Fuck you, I’ll just fight the fucking Puma.’

Part three next time. ‘Don’t pee in the water’.