Saturday, October 15, 2011

Rules For a Couch Gypsy by Lannon Mcgregor



There are several steps to ensure that you get sufficient rest while sleeping on a couch. Trust me, I know, I've grown up moving from couch to couch – belonging to family and friends whose hearts are way too big for human chests.

There was the Radonich era. Now THAT, was a couch. Double-wide, soft and nicely broken in. And faithful Buddy, my best friend, occasionally sleeping right at the foot.

Then there were the Riders’ Pub days. First with Jaymie, my cousin who occupied a bachelor suite. Coulda been trouble, but we were often too drunk to care.

And Chris down the hall. His couch was not quite as comfy, but a classy one nonetheless. (That is, until a lady friend and I had an accident and broke it. Sorry Chris).

Which brings us to Jenna and Ryan (who hold the glory of coining the phrase "couch gypsy"). These were (at least) four months of the most unforgettable couch surfing the world has to offer.

More recently, and not to be forgotten, the Topnik residence.

 So here’s some couch gypsy rules:

The first step is:



1. Forget it's a couch. It's really just a giant pillow of surreal comfort.



2. The backrest is your friend. Sure, you don’t have the full room of a bed in the conventional sense, but if you put yer leg up on that baby – POW - queen size!



3. Try and have clean clothes to slip into. This goes double if you've been drinking ‘cause you'll sweat like a bastard.



4. Always respect and honor those who have giving up their private comfort for your night of sanctity. Trust me, I've been on the other end, and it can be a real sacrifice.



5. Fold the damn blanket after you use it. These people were kind enough to share their space for the night, so do your best to clean u

p after yourself.



Follow these quick and easy rules for a night of unforgettable sleep. Whether it's a hide-a-bed or a love seat, just remember, it beats fighting off junkies in an alley for a piece of newspaper to lay on.

Peace out.

Little Miss Whalley

Through skin and scabs, 


In hopes of finding a vein; 


Beneath the bathroom’s light, 


Maybe this hit might, 


Kill off all her pain. 


The blood looks black,


But she pours it back, 


Through a hole between her toes; 


She rolls her eyes, 


With a pleasured sigh, 


Forgetting everything she knows. 


She awakes,


To hunger pains,

But not ones for a meal; 


So she walks the streets,


A piece of meat, 


What she'll do just not to feel.