THIS WEEK: Shish taouk,
Thom Yorke’s turd!

PLUS: A snapped leg, a diabetic episode!!

M I just wanted to say that if I hear another local metal band use the word PROGRESSIVE, I’m going to shoot myself in the head. [BLEEP!]

F This is for the guy that said Radiohead is gay-ass emo bullshit, worse than Morrissey. Worse than Morrissey! Obviously you were born in ’89 and you’re a homo-repressed closet gimp that frequents the saunas in the Village because you really can’t get your rocks off otherwise than with a fisting prostate stimulation. And what you should do, for future reference, to understand Radiohead and what it is they’re trying to get across, is take Thom Yorke’s TURD, stuff it between a very crispy flaky croissant with a piece of Havarti, and really enjoy and digest every piece of Thom Yorke’s turd. And then maybe you’ll have a miniscule idea, an inkling that your two brain cells can rub together, of what music is. Meanwhile, I want you to keep blasting Lil Wayne. Have a nice day. [BLEEP!]

M Yeah, I’m just calling to say that I love Radiohead and yes, I would love to suck on your anus, man. [BLEEP!]

M My rant goes out to [names club in Old Montreal]. I’m not too sure what everyone was HYPED up about regarding their little Sunday soirée. I was REPULSED to see people SMOKING in the club when clearly the Quebec government has imposed a non-smoking law. So if you mo-fo organizers think you’re above the law, well think again. I just conveniently called the Ministère de la Santé du Québec and told them about this event, giving them the coordinates, date and time. And guess what? The inspectors are going to be all over your fucking ass. We don’t pay $10 to come to your club and be obliged to second-hand smoke. Got it? Peace out. [BLEEP!]

F Hello, first time caller here. This rant is about all the misunderstood UNEMPLOYED Montreal ARTISTS. Please, keep sitting on your couches in your shitty apartments, smoking joints and complaining about corporate America. It leaves more room for those of us who actually have the drive to succeed. Bye. [BLEEP!]

M What up, Montreal? What up, SHISHTOWN? I’ve got a question for the shish connoisseurs. I smell you. Sweating from the pores like so much cheap afterhours eats. I need to know where to find a shish in this city of shishes that won’t make me shish myself two seconds after eating it. Does anybody else get this? Not going to name names for fear of not getting printed, but there’s no easy answer to this. It doesn’t matter how good quality it seems to be going down, it all comes out shish-tified the other way. So I’m thinking either it’s my digestive system—which it may well be—or these cuts of CHICKEN spinning on a spit are not quite living up to the health codes. Or maybe it’s the spice. I don’t know. Where do I get a shish that doesn’t make me shit myself? Please advise. [BLEEP!]

M So what the fuck? Is it the end of the world or not? [BLEEP!]

M I’m going to rant about the utterly deplorable medical services they have in Montreal. I’m at Trenholme Park right now with my NDG team and we’re supposed to be playing, but there’s a girl who has to stay on the pitch because she broke her leg. It SNAPPED in half, honestly, and she’s waiting for the freaking ambulance to come. They asked for it an hour and 45 minutes before and the stupid thing isn’t here. Honestly, what the fuck are we paying taxes for?! [BLEEP!]

M Hey Rant Line™, listen, I have a rant. I was drinking at Madhatter’s all night with my friends and then we went across the street to Crowbar— fucking long story short, I got really DRUNK and then I decided to go to the metro. So I took a bus and I went to Sherbrooke metro and I slept on the bench, and somebody—I don’t know who—called 911 and said I was having a DIABETIC EPISODE. I don’t have diabetes. And the paramedics showed up and they kept me for an hour and a half. And I was shivering and it was cold and they kept me in the ambulance and then the cops would not drive me home. They just kept asking me if I was okay, if I took anything. “Did you take anything? Did you take anything? Did you take anything?” And I’m, like, “Yes, I took, like, 24 beers—would you just let me go?” I was, like, you’re keeping me for an hour and a half in the ambulance, taking blood tests, they’re pricking my finger and my left index finger because I play GUITAR and would not actually take a prick so they had to prick my finger down on the lower part of the index and that hurt. And finally when they let me go, I was, like, “Can you just drive me down the street because I’m freezing because you guys kept me here for a fucking hour and a half, and you know, it’s your fault and I want to go home.” But they wouldn’t drive me home so I had to fucking wait for the 24 bus. That’s fucked up. So I’m not okay with that, I’m not okay. And whoever the person was that called the ambulance and said someone’s having a diabetic episode, there happened to be a bum 25 feet away from me, passed out, covered in puke, why didn’t you call the ambulance for that guy?! He was in worse shape than me, okay? Seriously. Thank you, Rant Line™. I love you. [BLEEP!]

M This rant’s for all the stupid FROSH KIDS who come to town. Seriously, I’m sick and tired of having to fix my flat tire every single day because you idiots think breaking glass is a fun game. Seriously, go home. Just go home. [BLEEP!]

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