OK, it’s finally time to weigh in here-
I’m the old guy. So step back; gimme some room to add some cognisant coherence to your inarticulate ramblings.
<diatribe>
And Des- stop using so many damned apostrophes- what did ya do, pick them out of your alphabits cereal as a kid and hoard them for 30 years?
STOP! Stop using apostrophes, even if the word is damn well possessive! When in doubt, NEVER use an apostrophe. NEVER! Got that?-I shall issue an apostrophe license (similar to a marriage-license) to you when you can pass the test. - BIG REWARD!
We English Quebecois fought long and hard for our sacred apostrophe. DO not self-abuse with it. Give your right (typing) hand a rest, maudit crosseur.
With this excessive apostrophical ejaculation of yours, I - not you- am going blind!
</diatribe>
OK- now listen:
I used to shop at Eatons’ (oops- an apostrophe!) back in the ’60s and ’70s. Usually to buy shirts and slacks, and underwear. This was the limit of my sartoria as regards to Eatons’. My seersucker suits were usually picked up at Ogilvie’s or Howarth’s.
But at Eatons, I invariably got “served” by a woman who had a French accent, and, reeked of perfume. And had way too much make-up. Migod,, some of these bitches coulda subbed for Vampira on channel-12′s late-nite horror movie, except they were too ugly.
But I digress-
The French lady always did her best to “serve” me in English, particularly when I was attempting to buy underwear. These broads seem to just somehow know when to zero in…
Anyhow at that time, there were FOUR big department store in Montreal.
There was Eaton’s, Simpsons’ and Morgans’ – ostensibly “English”.
Then there was the 4th one. I forget its name, but it was attached to Archambault’s music store down on Berri and St-Catherine st…
Pianos in the window; underwear is upstairs.
Why didn’t these “nationalistic” assholes shop there? The place finally went broke.
So they came to Eatons. To steal sports-jackets.
“It wasn’t my fault! It was the fat English lady! And all those evil English homophobes!“
Ever wonder how much pension that fish-lipped ex-”minister” is pulling in each year?
For the fukkin’ REST OF HIS LIFE? Which should be another 40 or 50 years, assuming he does not catch some… umm, disease and die.
He should move out to Vancouver and open up a same-sex marriage haberdashery with that other repressed kleptomaniac.
“OK, Svend! You sell the engagement rings and I’ll sell the sports jackets. It’s what we’re comfortable with, bien sur?”
“Hey! At the wedding reception, Svend, mon ami- you steal her ring, and I’ll steal his jacket! Then we’ll re-sell them! Hostie- at this rate we can finally refuse these obscenely huge pensions we’re getting every month, and we’ll be respected heroes to the people once again!”
And now for that great patriot M. Bouchard:
The hick moved down from Shawinigum or some other godfersaken place to see “la grande ville Montréal” and - got the shock of his life.
The city was full of chinks, spics, niggers, wops and kikes! With a large percentage of English, Scots and Irish also!
He observed:
“OMG, we’re LOSING it! Montreal is no longer a great French city! “
So he immediately set about trying to correct this error. Montreal must, once again, become a great FRENCH CITY, and return to its past glories.
Hello! Lucien?
Montreal was never a “great French city”.
Never.
It was a “first nations” ( or whatever you call ‘em these days) village for perhaps thousands of years, then briefly (150 years or so), it was a, run by Louis XVI, priest-ridden courier-du-bois village, replete with priests burning acolytes at the stake, and drunken fur-trappers cheering them on, when there wasn’t a convenient drawing-and-quartering to gawk at.
In 1759 (perhaps 1760+) the British took over this little town. And it was British ever since.
Just as was Halifax, Sydney, Mumbai, Calcutta, Singapore and HongKong.
La Ville de Québec, the ‘big town’ in Lower Canada, was left to the French habitants. The British had no or little interest in it.
The rural “habitants” soon moved to Montréal however, in spite of the priests’ warnings about English and Jewish “Christ-killers”.
(How ya gonna keep ‘em down on the farm?)
And so, Montreal became a Grand Ville du Monde. And- it was built by the Brits.
But somehow, les Vielle-Souche think a bunch of Brits and Jews snuck into Montreal in 1930 or so, and magically changed all the street name and building names to English, while les vrais Francais were asleep.
Sorry. That didn’t happen.
Just look at the flag of Montreal. See any Bonaparte there?
The people /politicians in le vrai Francais / whitey-only Cité de Québec HATE this fact.
Lucien- perhaps it’s time to retire to your lovely California. You still there?
Oh. We don’t speak about that now?
OK, then- how about a cabinet post in the Conservative party? I hear there’s an opening. And there’s always a good pension.
Gee can you collect two pensions? Oh. Already there? umm, Well, three? four? Probably. Hey, in politics, anything is possible.
/30
Grrr… bottle of plonque consumed tonight (2010-04-18) – must end this diatribe#2 now – but it shall continue tomorrow!…
