Multiple Sarcasm

Multiple Sarcasm

Stories dripping in it

Jeremy Bradley

©2018 SpeakFree Books by SpeakFree Media Inc.

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 153132094

ISBN-13: 978-1535132091

DEDICATION

Without you this book would not be possible. You know who you are. Not that you can read this now but this dedication comes from my heart.

It is with great sadness I say goodbye to a dear friend. Words cannot express the nervousness and apprehension I have about doing this. But it looks like after eleven good years the end is here.

You are making this extremely difficult for me to write. The mere thought of looking at you right now brings a tear to my eye. I knew this day would eventually come but I don't want to get off the couch and actually follow through.‎ I've only had to do this once before and it was hell for me. I couldn't bounce back and get a replacement like most people.

This is my fifth book and I hoped you would be there for the big celebration. Unfortunately your condition has dictated otherwise.‎ Just know you have played a huge role in my success and I will be thinking about you.

I think back to the day I got you. I was determined to find a partner in crime. I looked around at a lot of others but stumbled upon you. Actually, that store isn't even in the mall anymore. But I was nervous and excited. It was a big step in my life. It almost felt like a new independence. And come to think of it, I probably couldn't really have afforded you, anyway.

We didn't have the best connection when you arrived but we worked at it. Actually it improved over time. You learned what I needed from you and you delivered. Sometimes you struggled to understand me but you made it work.

We've had our ups and downs. At times you've frustrated me to no end but you also ‎got me through tough times. I worried about you when I travelled and wondered how you would manage. There was always great pressure on me but I had to think about what that impact would have meant for you. I can be pretty demanding at times.

I have learned so much about life because of you. Patience, frustration, fear – I've gone through them all with you. But in the end we've done it together.

You've been a good networking tool for me. When people saw you they often commented. In recent years maybe the talk has been about your age and your weight but I stood behind your loyalty and extoled your virtues to the skeptics. Maybe you should put it out of its misery, one dickish reporter said to me when I talked about how I couldn't get you revved up in the morning.

For every book I wrote, you were there. Through hundreds of newspaper columns, you were there. The brainstorming sessions, you were there. The hundreds of celebrity interviews, you were there. Those hours of writer's block, those weekends of proofreading, you were there with me all the time. Your dedication to my craft didn't go unnoticed. I couldn't have done it without you.‎ Actually, I practically all but refused to write without you.

There have been late nights when I have fallen asleep with you on my lap. Feeling your warmth just made me comfortable, I guess. Maybe I had a bit of security with you right there, too.

There have been times when I've had to take you in to get checked out. Cost was never an issue. I would have paid anything. Sometimes they've had to go in and help you out a bit. But in the end you always pulled through and bounced right back.‎ It's unfortunate there is no coming back now.

Back in the day you'd have to go somewhere, check things out and see if it was a good fit – like I did. It was much more of a personal and emotional commitment. Now you can browse on the Internet and custom order. It's so impersonal. We met the old fashioned way.‎ I couldn't imagine time spent with, I guess you'd call it, the competition. There was something about you that won my heart and it will forever hold a place for you.

Though with age you were starting to slow. You just didn't have that oomph anymore. We both knew it was your time. It saddens me that I am the one to make the final decision and, well, as crude as it sounds, pull the plug.‎ I hope you forgive me.

You led a good life. Eleven years is almost unheard of for your kind. But they were eleven solid years.‎ Thank you for bringing me years of smiles and heartache. I appreciate the good times and the bad.‎ I will truly miss you. And thanks for everything.

There will never be another laptop computer like you.‎ RIP Lappy.

CHAPTERS

THE KARAOKE CRASHER

THE LUNCHING LADIES

THE BATHROOM AMBUSH

THE TRAVELLING FOOLS

THE TRAIN WRECK AND THE AIRPORT ROACH

THE DREADED BOOK SIGNINGS

THE NORTHERN HO

THE STRIP CLUB

THE BITTER BASEMENT BLOGGERS

THE CUBA COUGAR

THE BOOZE AND THE FIRST RED CARPET

THE DOG AND THE CHICKEN

THE CRAZY DESIGNER

THE FIRST HALLOWEEN

THE POLICE WERE HERE

THE ANNOYING SHOPPER

THE FLY

THE WEDDING CRASHER

THE TIME SHE MADE ME EAT IT

THE CONFESSION

THE NUN FUN AND ART GALLERY SHENANIGANS

THE NEIGHBOURS FROM HELL

THE OPEN HOUSE

THE COUNTRY MUSIC LEGEND’S DRESSING ROOM

THE THIRD WHEEL AND THE VACATION DISASTER

DRIPPY CLIMAXES

CHAPTER: THE KARAOKE CRASHER

The summer afternoon gives way to a warm summer evening. The scorching humidity breaks as a cool breeze sweeps through the air. It’s the perfect time to turn off the air conditioning and open the windows to allow freshness into the house. Admittedly it’s a house that smells of pet fur so that’s all the more reason to breathe in the fresh air thanks to multiple windows throughout the place.

Being the old curmudgeon that I am, I appreciate the quietness of my neighbourhood. There are no screaming kids around. There is the odd yappy dog. But generally people are pretty respectful of their loudness and the noise in the community.

Saturday evening. Barely even eight o’clock. Most people are finishing up dinner and preparing for a night out. Most people. Most. At my house I am wrapped up in a blanket and nodding off on the couch. Perhaps if I am feeling a little wild I will crack open a ginger ale and take off my socks while watching TV.

Are you relaxed yet? Did that set the scene for you? Or is your vision blurred from tears of laughter at my sad social life? Either way, the weekends are often my escape from people. I am constantly contacted for my radio shows, newspaper columns and books. I have business relationships with radio stations, newspapers and advertisers, in addition to the audiences of the respective platform. So come Friday night it is time to hide out and be a vegetable. It is not uncommon for me to have a Saturday afternoon nap and then also be in bed before midnight.

One particular Saturday I was nestled against one dog while the other laid on my feet as we watched TV on the couch. The odd bird was chirping but it was a relatively calm evening – until the music started. Loud music. Uncharacteristically loud music, at least for the block I lived on.

Thinking it might have been a car stopped at the intersection and that it would be fleeting noise before quiet was restored it continued. It was so long that the entire song had played and ended. OK, so someone found their summer jam and cranked it up. Done. It’s over. Back to silence.

A second song started. This song I knew. But it didn’t quite sound like the familiar classic rock tune that most people would recognize. Was it a bad cover? Did someone have the nerve to bastardize a legendary song by blasting a horrible rendition crafted by some unknown singer? We’re getting warmer.

The ear-ringing noise from a few houses away was a backyard karaoke party. That’s right, a private backyard gathering that the entire neighbourhood couldn’t see but certainly heard.

Two songs. Three songs. Four songs. But was it an actual party or just some guy singing in his backyard? Normally karaoke involves a bunch of different people murdering famous songs. This seemed to be the same not-quite-rockstar doing hit after hit – well, miss after miss.

An hour into his act a Happy Birthday was mumbled into the microphone and the performer continued on his, well, is it called a set? Perhaps. Seemed like he had his song lineup picked out and was giving a full show.

About two hours in, with the noise somehow still getting into the house even with the windows closed and air conditioning back on, I decided to have a change of heart. Rather than get pissed off and stew in my house all night I figured, If you can’t beat ’em, you might as well join ’em.

I got dressed, grabbed a microphone from my home office (mostly to use as a prop), snagged a bottle of wine from the fridge and followed my bleeding ears to the concert.

Not knowing the exact house or how many people were there or what was happening it was a gamble that could have made me look like a fool or that the revellers would have found hilarious because some random guy showed up with booze and a microphone to their karaoke party. Thankfully it was the latter.

Their backyard didn’t have a fence so the arrival was better than just randomly opening someone’s gate and walking into their yard. As the guy butchered Chain of Fools, I danced and grooved my way up the driveway, holding up in the air the bottle of wine and mouthing the words into the microphone to the laughter and applause of the evidently easily amused crowd.

It was a small gathering. There were only seven people in the backyard – six in the audience, plus the tone-deaf guy on the stage… uh, deck. Evidently a sold-out show. It wasn’t clear if the high demand would have added extra dates to his show but fingers crossed it would be a one-night-only event.

Recognized as that cheapskate guy from the paper thanks to my money-saving video column in the local newspaper’s Business section, it made for an even funnier arrival when I pointed out that it was a cheap bottle of wine and that my microphone didn’t work. Suddenly I upstaged the patio singer and the birthday party – it wasn’t clear whose birthday it was – was all about me.

I was welcomed, offered a drink and some food within minutes of arriving and my mood went from angry neighbour standing in the kitchen staring out his window with fists clenched to the focus of the shindig. Not that I planned to get up and sing but it was pretty fun to be part of the event. I later found out it was the wife of the guy rocking out who was celebrating her birthday. And surprisingly she wasn’t embarrassed about his non-drunken antics in front of their friends.

Offered the chance to get up and sing I resisted and said I was just there to be Simon Cowell and boo when people sucked. Eventually, when the overweight singer worked up too much of a sweat and needed to sit down to have some more bacon, he allowed others to command the microphone and sing a song or two. At that point everybody was pretty lubed up with liquor so anything sounded good to the people often head bobbing and putting hands in the air and swaying to the music.

It was only about an hour after I arrived that I made my exit because, quite honestly, the free food wasn’t that great and my wine was done and I am not a beer fan so they didn’t have anything for me to drink. And going on ten o’clock it was clearly past my bedtime so I needed to get home and not worry the dogs about why I was out so late. They panic.

Fast forward one year. A warm July evening. The chilled ginger ale frosting up my glass. The dogs laying in the exact same positions wedging me against the couch. It sort of had a déjà vu feel but not until it started. It started. It. You know the it.

Initially my anger had me wanting to grab the throw pillows and hold them against my ears to drown out the sound. But I felt that would be like being held captive in my own house. Like I said, I had a good half of a ginger ale in my system so I was likely to get rowdy if I felt like it.

It was a long day. I was in a pissed-off mood because when I walked the dogs earlier in the day, twice a loose dog came running to the public sidewalk and got yappy with my pooches, almost causing a scene. Naturally I gave the owners a stern look and continued on my way. So I wasn’t really in a mood to be around people, especially members of the community who might be irresponsible dog owners just letting their dogs roam free.

In the neighbouring backyard, the music continued on. Thankfully the song repertoire was updated from classic rock to the overly computerized-sounding bullshit that was playing on the radio at the time. Come to think of it, maybe his versions of the songs weren’t so bad compared to the schlock people were forced to listen to on the radio. (For the record, none of that music was ever heard on my radio shows. I kept it to the pop songs from a few years earlier and held steady to that era.)

Feeling like a dick who wanted to be annoying I didn’t go over there or wait for a certain time of the night to call police. I thought of what I could do to one up the karaoke not-superstar.

I got creative and fumbled around the house to get big speakers upstairs in my bedroom and point them out the window that faced their backyard. It took me quite a while to disconnect everything from my basement to haul it up two sets of stairs but I was committed to my plan so I did it. I went to my office where I had recording microphones for the radio shows when I tape segments at home and got everything set up upstairs. I was ready to best the singing clown.

When his next song started, I quickly YouTube’d the karaoke version of the song and advanced it so that my music would be about two seconds ahead of his. Timed just right it would sound like I was doing the song first and that he was repeating, or echoing, me. So after I had the time of my life and was going onto the next line of the song, Mr. Singer was just about to have the time of his life. It was incredibly funny (to me, at least) and presumably a confusing moment when he didn’t know what was happening. I made sure my singing was more yodel-y and nasal to mock him at the same time as throw him off his not-quite-there game.

I also didn’t realize how much of a nuisance it would be for the houses in between that were then hearing the same song sung badly by two people who clearly didn’t give a shit about vocal abilities.

I did it for about three songs before their music was turned down almost to the point it couldn’t be heard at all. The hooting and hollering was still there every few minutes so it was clear the singing was still happening but the music went unheard. Did I achieve the goal? I probably did.

That was last July so I can’t tell you if there was going to be a third consecutive karaoke bash for the wife’s birthday but with any luck she will have found someone not quite so tone deaf and moved onto, well, smaller and better things. And quieter. Hopefully quieter.

CHAPTER: THE LUNCHING LADIES

With the success of my bestselling book, The Official Guide to Being a Winnipeg Cheapskate, I became somewhat of a local celebrity with a video column in the local newspaper and book signings all over the city that were constantly selling out. I made the press rounds and appeared on every TV morning show and was on most of the radio stations while dubbed the city’s thriftiest person. It was a good feeling but then the reputation of being cheap made it awkward when I would frequent places where tipping is involved.

Though it never happened I always expected restaurant servers to recognize me and think, That’s the cheap bastard who’s not going to tip. Which is totally not the case. Why? Because when I dine out I always make other people pick up the cheque. Duh. THAT is how cheap I am. I have nothing to do with paying the bill or leaving the gratuity. So take that, assumption-makers.

Because those radio and TV appearances allowed me to demonstrate my storytelling abilities, I was invited to speak at different gatherings and events throughout the city.

One such get together was for a women’s group. I had never heard of it but to me it sounded like a group of professional females simply based on the name. I was asked to join the group for one of their monthly lunches where they welcomed a guest speaker to chat with the group and share their insights about their respective industry, specialty or expertise.

My first question was how much money I would make but the person reaching out said it wouldn’t be a paid gig but I would get to promote my book and sell copies, have a free lunch and, best of all, enjoy validated parking.

I agreed to do it. It was nearly a year away, so after saying yes I hadn’t thought much about it. I set a reminder on my calendar to pop up about a month before so I could start planning and figuring out what I wanted to talk about. The direction was mine. I knew they wanted me to talk about the book but there is so much more of an interesting story about my career than simply writing a book because I had bought a house and had a new appreciation for every penny that I had. (For our younger readers: a penny was one cent before the Canadian government discontinued the seemingly useless not-quite-copper coin. Google it.)

The day before my calendar reminder was set to pop up on my screen, I got an email from the event organizer who reminded me the date was approaching and followed up to see if I needed anything special for the talk: a projector and screen, any particular equipment while I am giving the presentation. Admittedly I hadn’t put much thought into it so I didn’t have an answer for her.

While I like to be a decent planner I don’t like to over plan. Especially for something like giving a speech where often the most boring ones are where people are clearly reading off a script and offer no personality to entertain the audience. And besides, I’m not a scripted person so I didn’t anticipate that I would write something word for word and present it that way. (Fun fact: when I first started hosting my radio show I actually scripted it with um and uh stumbles to make it seem natural. Thankfully I had been a theatre student as a teenager and pulled it off as though I wasn’t reading a script. Once I developed a style, I was typically winging it.)

When you prepare a presentation you have to consider your audience. You talk to a group of teenagers differently than a room full of seniors. You play up to the audience and tailor your message accordingly. Figuring that this was a group of professional women who lunch at the city’s well-known convention centre, I realized I would need to keep the slang, pop culture references and double entendres to a minimum – if not completely out of it.

A couple of weeks had gone by and I still hadn’t put any thought into what I was going to present. Knowing how I am, I figured I would wait until almost the last minute or for the creative mood to strike before I put finger to keyboard to type out a script, or at least an outline of a speech.

Two days before the luncheon, I took my laptop up to my bedroom and prepared to enter the writing zone. I lit a bunch of candles to set the mood. I put on some relaxation music with waves crashing in the background. I was ready. It was writing time.

The starting point was my book. I knew the group was expecting to hear about my book. Were they wanting me to give them tips? Were they wanting me to talk about why and how I wrote it? Were they wanting to know the business side of things? After all, it is unheard of for an independent author without a book deal with a publishing house to get their title in major retailers like Costco and Walmart as I did. Perhaps they wanted to hear about all of it. I decided to give them a little bit of everything.

I wasn’t prepared to stand up there and give my entire life history but I felt like I needed to work backwards because the book was almost the end of my story – up to that point, anyway. And I can’t talk about book writing without mentioning my successful radio shows that had me talking and