From Tabusintac to Tokyo | Page 5

got out of high school and went to university, I tried to put my past behind me. Some people fall away from the Church, I standing-broad-jumped-away from Catholicism. I spoke English all the time and put my French heritage into a locked box.
But my past does come to haunt me. I find myself breaking into French patois from time to time, befuddling my friends. Sometimes I eat tortiere.
I frequently worry what's going to happen to my soul when I diea€|am I going to make it to Heaven or will I get stuck in Purgatory and spend a few millennia working off my sins. I obsess about getting my virginity back.
My history has cast a pall over my whole life: I've gotten professional, high paying jobs, earned the respect of my colleagues and friends, travelled to other countries, drunk fine wines and gambled hardly at all. I've even experimented with marijuana (but never inhaled).
Nothing seems to ease the pain of my birth and upbringing. Will no one have mercy on my tortured spirit?

A Shad in the Bed
Is not necessarily worth two of anything, anywhere else. But it can certainly be a heck of a lot of fun.
During my days as an inmate in Bridges House at the University of New Brunswick, I shared this space with about 99 other testosterone-addled "young adults" whose charming tendency to get completely out of hand was barely held in check by the rod of authority of the Don and Resident Fellow. This is not to say that these two worthies weren't good at their jobs; more accurately, their task was more akin to herding catsa€|fairly obtuse, barely socialized cats.
Given the state of controlled chaos that existed, it wasn't unusual for little conflicts to arise from time to time. Being rather physically small and odd, I came in for a certain amount of abuse from someone called Scut, a large and obnoxious Newfie (hmmm, that's like saying that water is wet). I can't remember what it was he did to me, but it was serious enough that I decided to get my own back.
It's been said that revenge is a dish best enjoyed cold. I think revenge is a dish best enjoyed in secret with no chance of counter-revenge to spoil the occasion. And so it was that I laid my plans against Scut.
The occasion and place were set. My means of entry was secured. Now I needed material. For me, the only good fish is a live one. Even though I hale from NB, I really don't like free-swimming seafood. Considering the unimaginative cuisine of my youth, it's surprising that I eat anything at all.
So with dead, smelly fish in mind, I persuaded my friend Shan to pick one up when he was down at the Saturday Farmer's Market. He returned with a four-pound shad, frozen solid. Shad has even more bones than other fish and you'll never see it featured on any cooking show (except maybe Iron Chef, where the disgusting and unusual seems to be standard). It took me all day to thaw out the fish in the lounge sinka€|an activity which elicited howls of complaint from the guys trying to watch TV.
That evening was our "Social". Socials were an occasion for us to invite people from other residences, preferably the women's residences. Thereupon, various debaucheries would take place, mostly related to drinking, dancing and falling over; sometimes on top of someone of another sex, more frequently into a snow bank.
It continues to amaze me that we drank as much as we did with impunity. We had our own bar in the Lower Lounge. We didn't even need to smuggle in booze, we just went to the liquor store, frequently in Locutus' car and bought our stock. A few years ago, I visited Bridges House again (it's a bisexual residence, now), and was astounded and heartbroken to discover that our bar had been turned into a computer room. Oh, the days of my youth are forever gone!
While the social was in full swing, I crept into Scut's room, pulled the covers back and gently laid the now fully defrosted shad in his bed. I was reasonably certain that Scut would get completely stocious at some point in the evening, stagger back and, with any luck, go to sleep hugging the fish. I had thought about gutting the fish in his bed, but hey, I'm a civilized trickster. Besides the carcass smelled bad enough just as it was and the aroma would permeate the bedding.
Having carried out this brief commando raid undetected, I retired to Shan's room (coincidentally just across from Scut's) to drink and await developments.
Some time later, Scut returned. And he brought a little girl buddy with him! Yep, our boy was gonna get screwed! Shortly after entering the room with his