Fart Head as I remember him!!!
Hear Pat read this entry
Hear Pat read this entry
I recall the moment as if it was yesterday. I'd been in Toronto for about a month, and had recently moved into Place Du Soliel. I'd met a few people, even had dinner with a couple of folks but had not yet formed any firm friendships. Frankly, I was feeling a little lonely. Deb had attended a marriage counseling session with me, but her heart wasn't in it and she had returned to Toledo for good. I knew the papers would be arriving any time now. As fortunate as I felt I'd been in coming to Toronto, I missed her terribly.
As I was walking down the hall to my apartment I noticed the door of the place across the hall was open. The sound of a hockey game could be heard coming from the TV inside. As I peeked into the door I saw what could only be described as a drunked up, deranged hippy sitting on the edge of a couch with a Labatts 50 in his hand, yelling at the screen like a lunatic! You've seen those old photos taken in Haight Ashbury back in the 60's of half-stoned weirdos with long hair, beards and a wild expression in their eyes? That was this guy 100%! Eventually the ref blew his whistle, and the wild man turned his head. It must've taken a moment for his eyes to focus on the door, but as soon as he could make out my outline a grin began to form on his face. His eyes lit up as his smile became bigger and bigger until finally he began to gesticulate wildly with his arm, I could see he was trying to invite me in.
“Whasss' yer namefffph?”
“Ummmm Pat Bergin” I replied
“Bourbon? Pat Bourbon? BLAH HAAAA HAAAA... Pat Bourbon!!!”
“No... Pat Bergin!”
“OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH BERGIN!!!!! Lessee... BERGIE, that's it BEEEERRRRRGGGGIE!!!! Here have'a 50!”
His demure and beautiful girlfriend was popping corn at the stove. She put cinnamon in it, and it had the most delicious aroma I'd ever smelt. Without blinking an eye she grabbed a 50 out of the fridge while stirring the popcorn with the other hand and deftly handed it to me... she'd obviously done this kind of thing before! The crazy man on the couch handed me an opener, waited while I popped the top on the 50, then started pointing at himself. I wondered what the hell he meant.
“You're Bergie... I'm Randy, but you need to give me a name!” He said, still grinning like a deranged Cheshire cat. I knew I had to come up with a fitting nickname for my new found BFF. Something that was not only descriptive, but memorable as well and I had to do it before the game started back up or I would lose him for sure.
“Ummmmmmmm... FART HEAD!!!!!!!”
His eyes lit up even more, you could tell he was mightily impressed by my ingenious nickname... obviously nobody had ever called him that before... I can't imagine why not!
“HAAAAAAAW, HAAAAAWWWWW, HAAAWWWWWW... FART HEAD... GOOD ONE EH!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, his girlfriend looking on with a mildly maternal look on her face as her man proceeded to go ape shit over his new found friend! I later learned that Randy was a drummer, and played professionally in clubs around town, his girlfriend Carrie had briefly sung with his band, but was now a full time homemaker.
In the coming months I would meet and become fast friends with Fart Head's other pals... Tony Carr, a former Mr Dominion of Canada and circus palm reader, “Too Tall Mike” a local small-time hustler who spent as much time in the clink as he did at home, Don “Burr Head” Weir, one of the greatest singers I'd ever heard, Owen "The Beard", “John The Boot”, “Accordion Vince”, “Pizza Dave”, and an entire assortment of wackos with whom I would spend many a beer soaked evening carousing, laughing and raising hell. And right now I was seated next to my new pal Fart Head, watching the Leafs lose as usual, and munching on the most delicious, cinnamon popcorn I'd ever tasted.
Life was GOOOOOOOOOD again!
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