Even a part-timer can be shiftless

Jimmy: Freakin’ zoo critters got bigger cages than our apartment. Bert:

Better imagine. Jimmy: Not gonna rag me again about Thanksgiving dinner, are you? I done my best. Bert: Grilled cheese with sliced turkey from the deli counter, that’s your best? Jimmy:

I put in some mushrooms for the stuffing. Bert: So festive. And as for the pie— Jimmy: Not my damn fault the damn Safeway was out of pumpkin pie. Bert: Key lime: not quite the same. I’m pretty sure the early pioneers weren’t plucking a lot of limes off the back forty. Jimmy: OK already. Bert: You should at least have bought pecan, Jimmy. Jimmy: Yeah yeah. Bert:

And the cranberries? If they were any more fossilized, they’d have been picked in the Olduvai Gorge. What did you do, laminate them? They were cranrocks, cranboulders. Meet the Cranstones, they’re a page right out of history. Probably the same cranberries they served at Lower Fort Garry before that bastard Riel started filling everybody with lead. Jimmy: Least the wine was OK, you gotta admit. Bert:

Though when I said it would be nice to try domestic, I didn’t mean it had to be from Manitoba. Jimmy: I didn’t get it ’cause it was from Manitoba, I got it ’ cause of the duck on the label. A duck’s a domestic animal. Bert: You see anyone walking one lately? Jimmy: No, I meant there’s tons of them in Canada. Anyhow, I’ll like to see you do better next year. Bert:

Next year we’re having Thanksgiving dinner at Salisbury Today we continue the satirical chronicle of Bert and Jimmy, two fictional characters whose lives are told in transit. food as well, I’d fighting House. They’ve got a special. Jimmy: Well I’da done that but I lost fifty bucks on the Red Sox and I’m a little skint this week is all. Bert: Maybe you ought to work more, bet less. Jimmy: Nah, I’m gonna make it all back. I got 75 riding on the White Sox. Bert: My shiftless son. Jimmy: I’m not shiftless, I’ve got two-and-a-half shifts at the bar this week. Bert: I stand corrected. Jimmy: It’s not my fault they’re such lousy tippers. Bert: I’d say the name “Scottish Social Club” was a good clue. You ever hear the one about how copper wire was invented? Jimmy: Nah. Bert: Two Scotsmen over a penny. Jimmy: Well that part’s true. Bert: And further— Jimmy: And for cripes sakes, it’s not like you’re some captain of industry, Dad. Bert: You try getting laid off at 53. You try that sometime. Jimmy: Bottom line, it’s not the same without Mom around.

Jimmy opens the bus window a few inches. Bert: Have you gone mad, man? Does the sign on the front of the bus say Florida? Jimmy:

Just a little fresh air, man. You’ve got your silly toque with the pompom on, you’ll survive. Bert: This from a man wearing a Brandon Wheat Kings jersey that’s two sizes too tight.

The bus hits a bump. Jimmy:

Big shame ’ bout that earthquake in wherever it was. Bert:

Pakistan, Jimmy. Thirty thousand souls perish in a horrible earthquake, and you know what the main topic of discussion in Canada is? The merits and demerits of the shootout. Jimmy: Hate the shootout. It’s not hockey. Bert: I don’t expect you to understand this, but that’s not an argument. It’s a selective definition that through exclusion closes off the possibility of an argument. It’s like saying abortion is OK because the fetus is not human. Same logic. Jimmy: Well when I served my mashed potatoes, which were good by the way, and not as lumpy as you made them out to be, you looked at them and said, “That’s not food.” So there. Bert: Jimmy, it’s been three days now, I am still picking your mashed potatoes from my teeth. ❚

Route scheduling note: This column will run on Thursdays until Sept. 20, 2007.