Based on true gaming events, the story of how thousands of Sunnyvale residents were locked out of Sunnyvale Trailer Park on the Eve of Goldie the Gold Fish's Bornt Day, due to an update to Trailer Park Boys: Greasy Money that made the game unplayabl...
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Sitting under the red tarp with Phil the Mustard Tiger. Camp lamp glow against the red really brought out the mustard streets across the taught orange tiger shirt.
"You looking at my gut, duck?" went Phil.
"No, no, just staring deep into the mustard stripes on the tiger, Phil. They may be caked on but the stripes are clean."
Rain pounded down on the tarp like an invasion of dump bees on a exploded 12 pack of Rambling Root Beer.
"Still waiting for the burgers to dry out," said Phil, "The grease was able to keep most of the rain off. Drops just bounced off the top. But they are damp, goddammit they are damp."
"Well then, Phil, we will need to move time over for a bit and I have just the bag to do it."
With that, I broke out a big fat pipe of the Green Rob Ford.
With the powerful thumping dub of Black Uhuru's Android Rebellion shaking the tarp, I started ripping away on my new neon green silicon bong with the picture of the boys along the side. Green Rob Ford clouded my lungs, causing lightening bolts of THC to shoot up my throat into the area formerly known as the brain. Vision fattens, perspective flattens, the frontiers of darkness with the faint violet shimmer in the distance unfold. Puff she puff. And Phil keeps grinning, holding up a cell phone to film it for the papers.
Wait, no, there was no cell phone. The cellular apparition is part of the Green Rob Ford strain's effects, a trait inherited from the strain's Rogers WiFi father. You imagine being filmed by cell phones and others insist there are none. It shows up on the CBC months later, but its all in the area formerly known as your mind.
"I am glad they brought you back as a character in the game, Phil.
"So am I, Buddy."
"I had missed you bad, Phil."
"Why's that Buddy?"
"You died, Phil. You died right when all the world knew the taste of the tiger's mustard."
"Well sure, Buddy. Like Ray says, that's the way it goes. But I didn't go anywhere Buddy. I am still here."
I looked. He was. And then another hit of the Green Rob Ford. Cheeks puffed out Dizzy style, getting redder than the tarp. Rain came down while the scope of legend unrolled underneath.
"You're right, Phil. The Grease Burger keeps on greasin', better than the restaurant. You will forever sail the greasy waves of the Tim's Secret Menu Sauce Sea to the shores of Cheeseburgerado. Your songs will be sung until the end of streaming itself."
Another draw deep of sparking Green Rob Ford and thoughts turn to the far off land of Cheeseburgerado, with the fried tater palm trees being tapped for rich ranch syrup. Giant patties heated by volcanic grill fields, with walls of golden cheese being dropped by from the sky by giant spatulas from the clouds, spatulas as big as the Yorkdale Shopping Center. With the shadows of the Buttered Buns mountain range in the back, one can stand and look out at the melted cheese majesty of the final hunting ground for Daddies who have passed on.
"You we always a great dad, Phil. You made a mean burger, but I remember you as a father first to Jacob and Thomas. You loved your boys."
"All three of them, Buddy."
"Three? Who was the third one?"
No answer. For awhile, everyone sat up in tarp city, thinking of the possible plot lines that could arise.
Then Donnie spoiled it by yelling out who. The fucker. Ah well, I have forgotten who it was already by the next rip. Lots of present tense with the Green Rob Ford. And most of the presents are fucking autograph requests.
"That's why I loved playing that damn game so much, Phil. It helped me keep together while my own dad was dying."
"Kinda skewing a little dark there for the cotton candy crowd, Buddy?"
"Maybe I am Phil. I don't know. I am beginning to realize that the Legend of Your Father keeps on when the actual father passes. You know, that whole feeling when your a kid of your dad having the reins to the stagecoach of the Universe. It's not so much all the rules he laid down to gooder yourself into a man, its the tales of his glory that you keep with you once he is laid to rest."
Phil laughed and his navel peaked out from under his orange tiger t-shirt like a sunrise behind Mount Logan.
"Legend is a funny thing, Buddy." Said Phil. He started to go transparent, faded away like a ghost. And the Green Rob Ford had nothing to do with it, I swear.
