The Good Stuff. -By Jimmy Dejeuner

2003 03 24

    The most talented ears in Toronto had finally healed. It was March, spring was in the air and you could smell the slaughterhouse on Wellington. A couple blocks north on Niagara things were looking up.

    Jack Breakfast was late. He was always late, he never figured on stopping at the LCBO, but he always did. He was always nervous before these sessions, and Jack had the idea that scotch would help. He always drank too fast and would be feeling woozy by suppertime. Maybe he should have bought the good stuff but he always showed up with the cheap swill. But things worked out alright.

    “Don’t be so modest JB,” said James Paul, “this new album’s so hot it’ll fry an egg!”
    “Yeah, she’s a real hellcat,” said Breakfast, “maybe we’ll win some Junos, what do you think?”
    “Oh, at least six or seven,” said James Paul.

    Things were good at The Rogue, but Jack still had trouble sleeping. James Paul was no stranger to this sort of thing, having suffered himself. He was sympathetic.

    “Although lately, I’ve been sleeping better.”
    “Let’s keep it that way, JP. Anyhow, how’s Tallulah?”
    “The kid’s an angel. She loves The Beatles, and she’s only two,” James would brag. “She seems to like Ringo the best.”

    Breakfast was terrified of compression. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat. Even the Amato Pizzeria menu couldn’t lift him from this stupor. He had to get help.
    “Don’t be ridic,” said Doc. “I’d think someone like you would like that sort of thing, what with all your squawking and noisy bits and all.”
    “Natch,” said Jack, “still,I can’t help but worry.”

    It was a cold and rainy March 22nd when they finished the album. The war had begun. The air was ripe with the fresh smell of mud. When the wind came from the south the stink of the abattoir drifted by. Jack Breakfast and James Paul drew deeply on their Cohibas and exhaled. Breakfast didn’t worry anymore, and James Paul was never worried in the first place.
    “We’ll probably sell ten thousand copies,” Jack said.
    “At least,” said James.

    “Hey JP, pour me some of the good stuff.

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