Get off Phelps’ back

My opinion is this! Michael shouldn’t have to apologize
to anyone, and it is no one’s business except his [“Give
Phelps a break,” Issue #19 Vol. 35, February 16", 2009].
Mike, you did nothing wrong. You can’t help if you are
a little more enlightened than most. Good luck and keep
the faith. Peace.

Kevin Maher

Phelps guilty of worse than
lighting up

Phelps is a coward, and a hypocrite, and I hope he is
ruined and forced to clean toilets for a living. He shills
for McDonald’s and Coca-Cola, drinks booze, drives
drunk, gropes strippers, then apologizes for smoking pot
[“Give Phelps a break,” Issue #19 Vol. 35, February 16th,
2009]. Funny that he was shilling for McDonald’s, Coca-
Cola and Kellogg’s—there are millions of kids in the
U.S. who have diabetes, and that isn’t because they were
smoking pot.

Russell Barth

Federally licensed medical marijuana user
Patients Against Ignorance and Discrimination on
Cannabis (PAIDOC)

www.paidoc.org

 

 

 

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LETTITOR

 

 

“You know you ghetto when your boys push crack

And you buyin’ crack from them so you can go smoke out back
You know you ghetto when your mom’s part of your crew
And your grandmom is only five years older than you”

—Kardinal Offishall, “U R Ghetto When”

A beautiful day in my
neighbourhood

I talk a lot about where I’m from, the subpar
suburb known as Port Coquitlam. It must seem
old the way I complain about it so frequently
but if you’ ve ever live there for as long as I
have (and please, if you don’t live there now,
don’t bother trying it out) you know that living
there does some crazy things to your mind.

I was at a pub the other week and I guess
one of those moments that made me question
my sanity (or at least choice of residence)
happened. There were four of us drinking in
this somewhat white trash place when a 40-
something homeless-looking man we named
“Biker Jacket Guy” came in and sat with us for
a little while. It was somewhat awkward, but
at least it was non-threatening. I guess he had
been in this bar earlier, because the bartender
came by our table and told the guy he had been
warned, and it was time for him to go. And
it wasn’t like it was even late or anything, it
was like 4 p.m. Hell, that has to be a record
or something, getting kicked out twice before
dinner.

But Biker Jacket Guy wasn’t finished;
he left alright, but that didn’t mean he was
finished. Not 20 minutes later, Biker Jacket
Guy was back in the bar, back at our table, but
now he was trying to make amends with the

establishment. He brought some lovely flowers,
lovely flowers that he clearly just ripped out of
the ground mere minutes earlier, roots dangling
and dirt flying everywhere. He was making

a mess all over the floor, our table, even one
guy’s beer. His attempts at reconciling with the
bar that shunned him were not going well.

“Look!” he said, excitedly thrusting the
bouquet of flora and soil into a waitress’ hand.
“T picked them especially for you!”

“Oh... thanks...” the waitress said back.
“T’ll go find a vase.”

The waitress disappeared, but instead of
finding a vase, she found two big guys from the
kitchen to show Biker Guy the door. Poor Biker
Jacket Guy; he thought he was doing so well.

“What? What did I do?” he said to the
kitchen staff. “I’m just trying to bring a little
happiness to this world!”

Sorry, Biker Jacket Guy, no good deed
goes unpunished. He was threatened for a little
while and then left for good. The cops came,
took a statement and we never saw him again.

Sorry, that’s not true; / never saw him
again. One of the guys I was drinking with
did, at a different PoCo white trash bar. Same
leather biker jacket, same messed up behaviour,
and best of all, same routine with the flowers.

I used to think stuff like this was a sign
that PoCo was a place I should get the hell out
of, but with stuff that bizarre, I’m thinking we
might just have a very active performance art
community.

Your friend in high fidelity,
Liam Britten

Editor in Chief

The Other Press

 

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