My Home Town
Welcome to the quaint little village known as St. Chrysostome. Approximately 50 kilometers south-west of Montreal this primarily french speaking, charming village lies in the middle of a picturesque corn field.
Employment opportunities are quite plentiful, ranging from the service industry to many types of legal agriculture or illegal horticulture. However, approximately 50% of the villagers can't be bothered to work and instead choose the Bougons lifestyle and have government money directly deposited into their bank accounts so they won't miss a minute of satellite tv.
St. Chrysostome is quite famous for its collection of five star restaurants; that is, the twenty-three village restaurants combined equals five stars. Yum, yum poutine, pizza and chest-hair.
A fact that resonates quite proudly with the St. Chrysostome populace is that despite being a small village Labbatt brewing company sells more products here than anywhere else in Quebec. Labbatt in turn rewards this local alcoholic hedonism by offering beer to the residents at less than whole sale cost. In fact, a case of 24 Bud, Blue or Bud Light costs less than a case of spring water. Therefore, children are encouraged to start drinking at an early age for economic reasons.
People look funny here, look at you funny and talk funny; all adding to the charm.
On a more bizarre note, this village is often referred to by outsiders as St. Chromosome-ostome. This term pokes fun at the rumour that some residents have an extra chromosome or are missing several to many chromosomes. Local folk-lore states that rampant inbreeding is the cause of this chromosome issue; while some village elders suggest that the village's many illegal garbage dumps contain PCB's and spent uranium rods. I tend to believe the inbreeding theory as the St. Chrysostome phone book only contains five last names.
Only in St. Chrysostome will you find a depanneur that proudly displays a sign featuring a piece of drunk-bacon, drinking a beer with cholesterol clogged arteries (the Ice Storm of '98 knocked the cigarette out of his mouth). On the one hand this little bacon man appeals to the heathen in me saying "the hell with everything come on in, get drunk, eat 3 pounds of grillade, smoke your lungs out and be dead by sundown". However, a person with the smallest shred of moral decency will be quite upset with the message this sign is sending.
Not including the Catholic church, Mr. Drunk Bacon is perched at the highest point in the village professing the townspeoples' pride. I blame my penchant for the drink on the blatant, non-subliminal message this sign has been sending me all of my natural life. Here I am yet again helplessly buying another case of beer. How come nobody ever did anything about the evil nature of this sign?
Employment opportunities are quite plentiful, ranging from the service industry to many types of legal agriculture or illegal horticulture. However, approximately 50% of the villagers can't be bothered to work and instead choose the Bougons lifestyle and have government money directly deposited into their bank accounts so they won't miss a minute of satellite tv.
St. Chrysostome is quite famous for its collection of five star restaurants; that is, the twenty-three village restaurants combined equals five stars. Yum, yum poutine, pizza and chest-hair.
A fact that resonates quite proudly with the St. Chrysostome populace is that despite being a small village Labbatt brewing company sells more products here than anywhere else in Quebec. Labbatt in turn rewards this local alcoholic hedonism by offering beer to the residents at less than whole sale cost. In fact, a case of 24 Bud, Blue or Bud Light costs less than a case of spring water. Therefore, children are encouraged to start drinking at an early age for economic reasons.
People look funny here, look at you funny and talk funny; all adding to the charm.
On a more bizarre note, this village is often referred to by outsiders as St. Chromosome-ostome. This term pokes fun at the rumour that some residents have an extra chromosome or are missing several to many chromosomes. Local folk-lore states that rampant inbreeding is the cause of this chromosome issue; while some village elders suggest that the village's many illegal garbage dumps contain PCB's and spent uranium rods. I tend to believe the inbreeding theory as the St. Chrysostome phone book only contains five last names.
Only in St. Chrysostome will you find a depanneur that proudly displays a sign featuring a piece of drunk-bacon, drinking a beer with cholesterol clogged arteries (the Ice Storm of '98 knocked the cigarette out of his mouth). On the one hand this little bacon man appeals to the heathen in me saying "the hell with everything come on in, get drunk, eat 3 pounds of grillade, smoke your lungs out and be dead by sundown". However, a person with the smallest shred of moral decency will be quite upset with the message this sign is sending.
Not including the Catholic church, Mr. Drunk Bacon is perched at the highest point in the village professing the townspeoples' pride. I blame my penchant for the drink on the blatant, non-subliminal message this sign has been sending me all of my natural life. Here I am yet again helplessly buying another case of beer. How come nobody ever did anything about the evil nature of this sign?
posted by The Bad Monkey at 6:35 PM
2 Comments:
It is quite disturbing to think that a bacon can/and like to be drunk...But even more so : that a dep would advertise that as being an incentive... See you guys soon...
Thanks BJ. I only speak the truth. You also have become more alchoholicy since moving near the Drunk Bacon(TM).
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