Soaked In Malarkey


Give it up, Tom Grant.  Just  give it up already.  Congratulations on being sucked into Courtney Love’s hemisphere of bullshit.  I guess you got lucky, huh?  You got the call.  You’ve enjoyed about 20 years of quasi-celebrity status, thanks to the death of a rock icon.  Now you have a movie.

To be clear, I think that Courtney Love played a huge part in Kurt’s death.  She grated on him.  She drove him nuts.  She was Courtney Love.  She could make anyone want to swallow a shotgun.  But she didn’t hire someone to kill him.  Kurt offed himself.

People just believe anything they see or read.   There are no reliable sources.  Don’t just blindly believe in anything anyone says.  Christ, Kurt Cobain swore he don’t have a gun!  We all know that’s a big fat lie.  And other people will try to tell you that jet fuel can’t make heat hot enough to melt steel girders.


Today’s Playlist

Take ThatPatience

Fucked UpQueen Of Hearts

Faith No MoreWar Pigs

Frank Black And The Catholics21 Reasons



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Jabba_licks_his_lips_in_anticipation_of_victoryGuess who’s back!  You guessed it.  Jabba The Hutt.  After six weeks of hard work and eating properly, something happened.  Everyone’s favourite extremist got extreme.

As you all know I was on an absolute tear.  After last months doctor appointment I was cocky as all hell.  I got a glowing report.  How did I celebrate my healthy success?  I made another doctor’s appointment for August 31st so I could be cocky some more and have my blood tested.

About two days after my doctor’s appointment I went to sign up at the gym again.  But the gym was shut down for renovations.  You know what that meant for me?  It meant that I could go ahead and be a pig for the rest of the month and start fresh next month.



Yeah.  So last night I ate an entire family sized bag of Doritos.  Last week I raided a pregnant woman’s snack cupboard.  Ate a whole medium pizza myself on my way back from Toronto.  At any given time the Barack Obama Clubhouse is stocked with chips, cookies, licorice, and ice cream.  It’s pathetic.

You know what else I did?  I cancelled my bloodwork for Monday because I know I’m going to flunk.  All I’ve been doing is stuffing my face with junk.  Today alone I inhaled the following:

  • a shit-pile of Doritos (again)
  • three quarters of a bag of licorice
  • three bowls of Honeycomb cereal
  • thirteen Chunks Ahoy cookies
  • a box of Kraft Dinner
  • 9 double stuff Fudgeeo cookies
  • Queen Hell’s drumstick she was saving in MY MINI-FRIDGE WHICH I NOW HAVE IN THE BARACK OBAMA CLUBHOUSE

That’s right.  I have a mini-fridge in my office now.  Why?  Because I’m too god damn lazy to get off my ass and go to the kitchen, which is about ten feet away.  Worst of all, I smile wayyyyy too much.

Also let the records show I have consumed McDonalds no less than twice a week.  I’ve been getting an extra six pack of nuggets to go with my supersized Big Mac combo.

Luckily for me, Queen Hell has put my snacks on the shelf three feet away from me.  It was good thinking on her part because she knows there is no way in hell that I am going to get off my butt to go get them.

Fear not though, friends.  Monday is the last day of Fat Month.  I’m hitting it again.  Thankfully I haven’t gained all the heff back that I lost.  This whole health kick (before my gluttonous rampage) is not me trying to be buff or Jim Jupiter.  It’s just that I have been blessed with excellent genes and an aging very well.




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Pain, elation, loneliness, exaltation, emptiness, love and sheer panic are equated with this dementia. Mania is euphoric and productive. The magic and tranquility are lonely, but bright, like the streetlights, that you can follow until you get where you need to be. Interpersonal efficiency reigns supreme. Social skills thrive like never before. You hold the magic, and draw others to your all encompassing radiance. Ugly people become beautiful. Your sensuality and ability to seduce, grows exponentially.

Then just like that, the flowers become screams. Manic euphoria becomes racing thoughts of despair. The magic becomes doom. The streetlights become omniscient halogens leering, knowing. They remind you that you’re fucked, the world doesn’t make any sense and neither do you. Your reality is someone else’s dream they are about to wake up from. Your social interactions become staggeringly negative. People watch you, smug in their sane little minds, not realizing that if they saw what was going on your mind, they would all crawl under a rock and cry.

To that I say, let’s take our broken dreams and burn them to the ground.

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The Breeze Calls Me Doug Hell


Chilly day today.  Love it.  I got to wear a sweater that I got for Christmas.

I’ve been watching a lot of movies.  It’s just something I’ve recently gotten into.  I’m really geeking out to them.  I like to take everything in.  The characters.  The direction.  The soundtrack.  I pay attention to all of it.  But when it’s really good, I don’t have to actually make an effort to pay attention.  It seizes me.  I’m going to talk about a few of my favourite movies, and I know I’ll likely get shot for my preferences.  Or maybe I won’t.  Just as long as you all understand that I still rule regardless.

Whale Music

This is my favourite movie of all time.  It stars Maury Chaykin and Paul Gross.  It’s based on a book of the same title, written by Paul Quarrington.   I’m not sure what I enjoyed more.  There were some things in the book that I guess would have just been too silly to try and incorporate it into the movie.  More on that later.

Maury Chaykin stars as Desmond Howl, a wealth musical prodigy and former rock star who has become extremely reclusive, and fairly demented after his brother’s death.  He lives alone in a derelict mansion.  He is obese and spends almost all of his time in his housecoat.  He has a state of art recording studio in his basement, where he is recording his opus, Whale Music, a musical composition for the whales.

Ok you guys have to forgive me for this, but I have suddenly lost interest.  Onto other things.  I know.  How about my Top 10 Rush songs?  I need to apologize to the purists out there by my favourite era for Rush was the 80s.  .

  1.  Distant Early Warning
  2. Marathon
  3. The Enemy Within
  4. Driven
  5. Time Stand Still
  6. Red Sector A
  7. Body Electric
  8. Subdivisions
  9. Dreamline
  10. Roll The Bones

Christ I really had to think of one more.  Now I’m going to take a crack at my top 10 favourite movies.

  1.  Whale Music
  2. Lady In The Water
  3. Hesher
  4. Best Of The Best
  5. City Of Industry

I couldn’t even get to number 6.  Truth is I can’t think very well right now.

Ok I’ll tell you what.  I’ll start a new page to review movies and such.  That’s as good as it’s going to get though.  Really.

Today’s Playlist

Faith No More From Out Of Nowhere

Rod StewartYoung Turks

The CreepsWait A Minute

Public Image LtdChant

Dwight YoakamAin’t That Lonely Yet

Jim CroceBox #10

Linda RonstadtLong Long Time


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When The Moon Rolls In


Alright, I’m enraged.  Never before, have I been forsaken to such degree.  I have been violated.  Not prison violated.  But even worse.  This means war.  It’s time to bust out my ass kicking apparatus, and go to battle.  The gloves are off.  I’ve tightened up my big-boys pants.

Raccoons have moved into my garage.  The garage attic happens to be above my office ceiling.  It’s an old 19th century horse stable.  But now it’s mine and Edie’s thinking place.  Raccoons aren’t welcome.  I don’t know what they’re after.  It can’t be lodging.  I don’t have any lodging available.  But what I do have are a particular set of skills that makes me a nightmare to furry four legged animals that aren’t dogs.  If they leave now.  I’ll walk away.  But if they make me go after them, and I will go after them, then I will fuck them all up.  Then I will change my name to Liam Neeson.  Then I’ll laugh.

And I’ll never promise anything again.

I’ve given them two days to leave.  Then I’m sending Edie up there to take care of business.  I will fear nothing.

In other news, Queen Hell and I will wed next year in the Bahamas.  We’ll be spending two weeks on Paradise Island, with very, very select guests.  Maybe.  It’s a big damn deal.



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I Don’t Believe In The Devil, But He Believes In Me

4582496200768Aright, Doug Addicts.  It’s done.  All my songs have been uploaded to this site.  I haven’t included songs from my previous bands yet.  I’m not sure I’m going to do that.  But we’ll see.  Digging through the archives proved to be a long, and tedious endeavour.

This is frustrating.  My Spotify isn’t loading up and I like to write with background music.  Time to dig into the J. Negator archives and see what we have.

Ok, I am not feeling this today.  No Spotify, and J. Negator’s selection is very one dimensional.  May peace and honour be with you all.


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Los Angeles



My first script, Outta Control, is finished as all hell.  Oh you just missed that.  I almost capitalized “hell”.  Queen Hell pointed out the other day when she was proofreading my script, that I have gotten so used to typing Doug Hell that I am capitalizing a word that doesn’t need to be capitalized.  Ooops.  She’s right.  Not that I should be too concerned.  I still have pecs like a professional wrestler.

I’ve been getting a little stage-sick.  I miss playing live.  Feel free to book me for anything in the Durham area.

You all know my favourite punk band is The Creeps.  And if you didn’t know that, you know now.   They peaked at their third album, Back To The Bin.  They have put out exceptional material since, but Back To The Bin is definitely their opus for me.  Lakeside Cabin followed and my expectations were extremely high.

Well Lakeside Cabin just wasn’t as good.  I couldn’t wait for it.  There were some gems a la Burn The Bodies, Late Night Kiss, Long Way Home, and the title track, Lakeside Cabin.  The rest of the songs were meh, with the exception of Voices, and These Walls Have Eyes, which were downright awful.

After Lakeside Cabin, they put out a few EPs, and it seemed the songs on there were more balanced.  For every awesome song there was an equally horrible one.  The awesome standouts from the EPs and 7 Inches are Shadows, Cold Feet, It’s Not Right, and their brilliant masterpiece, You’re Better Off.   You’re Better Off will always remain my favourite Creeps song.  I doubt it they can ever touch that again.  They’ve come close.

Strangely enough when I heard their latest album, Eulogies, it was the first time that I didn’t immediately tear it open and listen to it.  It actually sat on my computer until I finally got around to hearing it.  Now, Eulogies is hard for me to explain.  In some ways it’s their best album.  It’s a far more mature effort, not that maturity is important in music for me, but it was almost refreshing to see the Group Of Three not make an appearance.  Eulogies was one dark and serious album.  I would rank it their second best.  Standout tracks for me were Wait A Minute, Leave Mine To Me, Cancer, and their obvious track 3 no brainer, Ghost.

The rest of the songs aren’t great, but they’re certainly not bad.  There weren’t any songs I couldn’t tolerate.  Even Back To The Bin had ones I couldn’t stand a la Havana, and Basement.  But Eulogies was a solid effort.

Anyway, I just wasted twenty minutes of my life going on about The Creeps.  I miss those guys.  I haven’t seen them since they came to see my old band, Hanging Girl, a couple years back in Ottawa.  It’s always good to see them, and I don’t love their band just because I love them as people.  It just might be the other way around.  But what difference does it make?

I hope you’re all doing well and have a great weekend.

Today’s Playlist

Frank BlackLos Angeles

The CreepsGhost

Seven Mary ThreeThe Water’s Edge

The Tragically HipThree Pistols

Blue RodeoHead Over Heels

Bob DylanSeries Of Dreams

Jimmy Eat WorldPain

Matthew Good BandAdvertising On Police Cars

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Pardon Me, While I Slip These Barnacles on you

I hate tables.  You know what happens when I have tables?  They just become a venue for whatever happens to be in my hands at the time that I no longer feel like holding.  Sunglasses.  Dog leash.  Keys etc.

Winter is 100 times worse.  Everything ends up on the table when I come in.

Tables.  I can’t believe I’m blogging about tables.  Pizza exists, and here I am blogging about tables.

Someone donated a table to me to drag down to the charity shop I volunteer at.  Well as soon as my Aunt Gretchen got her eye on it, she decided she wanted it.  I explained to Aunt Gretchen that is was a donation and to be given to the charity shop.  Aunt Gretchen claimed the table was worth too much to donate.  I fought it.

Screw this dumb story.  I could be eating tofu right now.  Anyway.  Here are pictures.



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Left To My Own Devices


I am bloody pathetic!

So here I am doing great, and taking care of myself.  I’ve displayed incredible willpower and have managed to stay away from bad food.  I stopped eating meat.  I stopped drinking pop.  I stopped drinking juice.  I’ve lost weight.  I’m down to 2 love handles, as opposed to a series of love handles.

And guess what?!  GUESS WHAT!!!  I’LL TELL YA WHAT!!  THIS IS WHAT!!!


Look at how weak and greedy I am.  LOOK!!  This is the sight of a disgusting, and weak person.  This is a person who preaches about how people need to have a spine, and get radical when it comes to taking control of their lives.  And there’s our hero stuffing his face with McDonalds.  I know what you’re thinking.  Big deal, Doug.  You had a moment of weakness, and decided to treat yourself to McDonalds.

WRONG!!!  Let’s examine earlier in the day, shall we?


Hey!  Look at that.  There’s our hero enjoying himself at the beach.  Look how happy he is.  Beautiful day, just moseying around in my Tesla shirt while Queen Hell takes pictures of me.  This is a moment of happiness frozen in time.  I can live vicariously through this picture whenever I need a dose of serenity.


Awww.  Look at that.  Our hero, and his beloved little dog are enjoying a refreshing dip in the lake.  NOT SO FAST!!  What is wrong with this picture?  I’ll tell you what is wrong.  I’M WEARING A SHIRT.  Not only am I wearing a shirt, but I am wearing underwear.  Who goes into the water with a shirt on?  I’ll tell you who.  Someone who is embarrassed of their torso!

There is a lot to be said about having a woman that could put Viagra out of business.  You suddenly learn humility.  You get to thinking that this woman could have any man in the world.  But she chose our hero.  And our hero is LUCKY.

Back to the real patheticness….


There’s our hero inhaling McDonalds again.  So far these pictures have been telling an extremely horrible story of a man with no willpower, or physique that doesn’t warrant barechestedness, even when in the water.  These pictures have the capacity to easily ruin my life if they should ever find their way online.  …. ….

Anyway, let’s talk about what you DON’T see in this picture.  What you don’t see is my bottom half.  I am still in my underwear.  I needed to get that crap food inside me so bad, that I couldn’t even be decent enough to get back into my pants.  I drove like an idiot to McDonalds, couldn’t be bothered to go inside, even though there was a line-up of legendary proportions.  Nope.  Mr. Weakpants sat in a stifling hot little car rubbing his hands together greedily, waiting for his awful food.

I declare this day, and myself, a failure.



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I’ve Never Met A Tomorrow I Didn’t Already Love


Pornelli was the new kid.  It was a split class.  Us sixth graders were on one side, and the fifth graders were on the other.  That was the way it went at Paul A. Fisher public school.  Nothing made any sense.

The new kid had angry dark eyes, and unusually long brown hair for his age.  At Miss Kovac’s request he sat in the front row beside Darcy Lavaliere.  Darcy was the cutest girl in class.  I was stuck sitting beside Jay Prentice.  Up to that point Prentice was my best buddy, but he was kinda annoying cuz’ all he ever wanted to talk about was Kiss, and drums.

Miss Kovac was a slender, and gaunt woman.  She was probably in her mid forties and had bleach blonde hair.  She looked like she was in bad health.  She addressed the class.

“Ladies and gentlemen.  We have a new student.  Please welcome Pelle Pornelli.”

The class promptly roared with laughter.  It was one of the funniest names we ever heard.  It was even funnier than Andrew Spiridoulias.  Andrew Spiridoulias must have thought so too, because he laughed the hardest.  Or perhaps he was just happy to have the heat taken off of him.  It wasn’t often you heard “Spiridumbass” uttered after the introduction of Pornelli.

The only two in the class who didn’t laugh was Miss Kovac, who was waving her arms frantically like an umpire waving Jesse Barfield safe at home plate, and Pornelli, who was glaring at his desktop like it owed him money.  I imagined he got that a lot.

The laughter died down and it was back to business.  Miss Kovac started lecturing us on Mexican culture and I stared at Darcy.  I didn’t really appreciate girls yet but Darcy was the odd exception.  She had short hair, therefore was an anomaly to me.  I admired her blue eyes and her middle finger?! – oh wait.  That wasn’t Darcy.  The offending finger belonged to none other than Pornelii.

Later, I was sitting out front of the school with Robert Klingbile.  Robert was in a wheelchair for whatever reason that was never known to me.  I pitied him and usually traded my lunch with him.  Apparently he was the only person alive who liked potato sandwiches.  I sure didn’t.  Years of informing my mother of this only caught me a death glare that is usually reserved for an older brother executed at a younger brother for farting in church.

Rob and I were playing Snakes and Ladders when I got a tap on my shoulder.  I turned and ended up trading gazes with Pornelli,who had snuck up on me with the stealth of a ninja.  He stood there with his arms folded.  He was wearing a bright green Philadelphia Eagles jacket.  I remember thinking about how bright it was.  It was almost neon.

“You got a problem fag?” He asked.

“Other than getting my ass kicked at snakes and ladders by an Easter Seal Kid?”  I retorted evenly.  Growing up in my household I learned to wield witticism superior to people 20 years my senior.  True story.

“What’s an Easter Seal Kid?” Pornelli queried.

“This guy is.” I motioned to Rob, was staring at me indignantly for my derelict description.

“I don’t like people staring at me.” Pornelli stated this to me very matter of factly.

I didn’t understand that.  He was looking at me.  Therefore I was looking back at him.  I put my hands over my face and spoke.

“That better?”

Pornelli punched my hands over my face and sent me toppling over the game and Rob.  Thankfully his wheelchair didn’t fall over too.  I was flabbergasted.  In a daze from the ground I looked up through a blur of anxiety, and could only make out Pornelli’s ugly green coat, that made me instantly think of boogers.  I exploded to my feet.

“FUCK YOU BOOGERMAN!” I lunged at Pornelli like Icky Woods lunging for a touchdown. Sadly Icky’s grace, power, and and speed was more effective than my boorish, psychotic determination.  Pornelli easily sidestepped my feeble overture and I found myself, on the ground, in a daze once again.  Somehow I ended up on my back this time.  Life sucked.

Pornelli smirked down at me and spoke once again.

“Next time you stare at me in class like a homo, I’m gonna- ”

Pornelli didn’t get to finish.  He was blind-sided by my saviour.

There was a Tazmanian devil flurry of movement as my champion, and Pornelli, crashed to the ground with twin woofing grunts.

Vernon Walker was the stinky kid.  But he was as tough as he was stinky.  He and I were on and off friends.  I only really hung around him when no one else was around, and it was really windy out.  He had a crazy family.  He was the younger brother of an extremely burly girl by the same of Shannon, and the son of drug addicts.  His mother was a housekeeper, who didn’t keep house, and his father a war veteran who drove truck.  His father fought for Korea during the Korean war despite being Canadian.  Rumour had it he was refused in the Canadian military, so he joined the Korean Army.  He didn’t care who was right or wrong.  He just wanted to shoot people.

Vernon had been watching mine, and Smiley’s, exchange from a distance.  After I ended up on the ground a second time, Vernon decided to intervene.  His wrecking ball style of attack not only caught Pornelli completely off guard, but damn near knocked him out cold.  After the spectacular tackle Vernon lunged to his feet.

“MIAMI VICE!” He hollered. Then he frowned down at a gasping Pornelli. He looked at me and told me not to say anything before sprinting off.


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