"The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times"

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

With a load of iron ore - 26,000 tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early

The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconson
As the big freighters go it was bigger than most
With a crew and the Captain well seasoned.

Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ships bell rang
Could it be the North Wind they'd been feeling.

The wind in the wires made a tattletale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the Captain did, too,
T'was the witch of November come stealing.

The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashing
When afternoon came it was freezing rain
In the face of a hurricane West Wind

When supper time came the old cook came on deck
Saying fellows it's too rough to feed ya
At 7PM a main hatchway caved in
He said fellas it's been good to know ya.

The Captain wired in he had water coming in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went out of sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.

Does anyone know where the love of God goes
When the words turn the minutes to hours
The searchers all say they'd have made Whitefish Bay
If they'd fifteen more miles behind her.

They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters.

Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the ruins of her ice water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man's dreams,
The islands and bays are for sportsmen.

And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered.

In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the Maritime Sailors' Cathedral
The church bell chimed, 'til it rang 29 times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald.

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they say, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early.

-The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot
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so, today is the 31st anniversary of the wreck of the edmund fitz... here are some conversations from this eve:

me (about cruises): don't order the beer, they'll ass rape you.
some chick: what do you mean ass rape?
me: you know, like in prison have someone force themselves upon your anus.
some chick: if you order a beer?
me: oh. no, i meant price wise on the cruise. similar to ass rape.
zach's wife: you know sodomy. 
me: well, forced sodomy.
zach's wife: well, you order a beer, and you get GHB and a foreigner fucking you in the ass.
---

colin: so, how'd the election turn out for you?
me: fuck the Dem's. they want that slut back in power, they get what they deserve in the next 4 years.
colin: so, you're not gonna change states?
me: what? and be like the whiney Dem's after '04 when Bush won? I'm going to canada!  fuck that. and fuck Canada. Fucking socialists.
----

me: Dude i wanna play wreck of the edmund fitsz again.
dude: man, once is enough.
me: but dude, i want these people to suffer!
dude: i thought you were playing it so they would understand and feel and shit.
me: fuck that! i want them to suffer through a 15 minute folk song about a ship that sank in 4 minutes.
dude: dick.
----
curt(on the phone and drunk as shit): WHERE YOU AT FUCKER!!!!!????
me: about to walk home.
curt: FROM THE BENCH!!!!????
me: nope. from your mom's vagina.
curt: OH, RIGHT, LIKE YOU'RE WALKING HOME FROM SOUTH LYON!!!!!!!!
me: nope. but your mom's vagina is so big, by the time i walk out and trip over the labia minora i'm home!
[click]
me: hello?
----
curt (calling back): hello.
me: did you hang up on me cuz i was talking about your mom's vagina?
curt: are you done?
me: no! in fact...
[click]
----

ahh thursdays, always a good day.

i'm a suave motherfucker.

me: hey darlin' how's it goin?
her: i'm drunk as fuck. 
me: me too, and my hand is on your ass!
her: is that what that is? it is so helping me stand up!
----

me: umm... awkward, but did we we have sex?
her #2: (all snotty like) uhhh, i don't think so. 
me: you don't think so? 
her #2: uhh, yeah. 
me: so you don't know if we've had sex? SWEET! I LOVE SLUTS!  let's try to jog your memory.
----

me: oh hey, i know you. you're one of the twins.
her #3: uhh... no. they're over there.
me: so... you like fat guys?
----

so right now, i am a gassy mofo. drank a bunch of blue tonight at our neighborhood bonfire then went to the bar. somewhere in the midst of all this my farts somehow smell like dead rats on white castle hamburgers, burned in an oil fire. yeah, i so strafed the bar on my way out, and so told everyone i was doing so. i'm a baaaaaaaaad man!