Fuck the Narrows. Fuck Amherst Rock, the gull shit, the Castle. Fuck Marconi. Fuck the charming little hippy-stained row houses in the Battery. Fuck the Battery. Fuck your harbour clean-up. Fuck the bubble. Fuck the other bubble and fuck the harbour squid. Fuck the Scademia. Fuck the whales and fuck the puffins too. Fuck the Port Authority. Fuck the Keg and fuck that crowd that the Keg fucked over. Fuck your sirloins. Fuck foot-n-mouth. Fuck mad cow and fuck Alberta. Fuck out-migration. Fuck the foreign sailors. How many times do we gotta hear about soccer on the waterfront? Fuck off. Fuck the seal hunt and club-fuck your cutesy whitecoats. Fuck CNN and fuck The Humane Society. Fuck Paul McCartney. Fuck Danny’s heated driveway. Fuck cluster-fucked, choked-up Water Street with its so-called celebrity lawyers and slumped-over suicidal meter maids. Fuck the fifteen dollar parking tickets. Fuck them squeegee drummer kids who spends the winter hunkered down in Mount Pearl with Mom and Dad until the weather gets warm enough to come out and play homeless. Fuck Mount Pearl and fuck Mom and Dad. Fuck dripping testosterone George Street and fuck every binging, botched coulda/woulda/shoulda-been circle-jerkin ex-high school hockey star on it. Fuck two-for-one Wednesday and fuck tag-team Tuesdays. Fuck the desperate buskers. Fuck that creepy guy with the carnations who never fails to make you feel like shit for not buying a fuckin half-dead shriveled three-dollar flower. Cause you’re always with the wrong woman anyhow. Fuck the wrong woman. Fuck Junctions. Fuck them big Club One gorillas. Fuck Folk Night at The Ship. Fuck The Ship. Fuck the old Spur. Fuck the new Spur. Fuck the Five and Dime, or whatever it is they’re calling themselves these days. Fuck the late night greasy drunk-starved sausages that linger in your guts for days and pretty much guarantee you’re going home that night alone.
Fuck the culture. Fuck the battered skyline. Fuck the Basilica. Fuck the Rooms. Fuck the Beothuks. Fuck the Black Plague. Fuck Leif fuckin Erikson. Fuck Lancy Meadows. Fuck Cabot. Fuck the missionaries for enforcing the most predictably dull sexual position in the history of fucking. Fuck Labrador. Fuck Free Newfoundland and fuck this hipster Liberation Army slop. Fuck the paper-thin Republic. Fuck the friendly Newfoundlander and fuck Living Planet for not wanting to sell this on a t-shirt. Fuck whoever gave KFC the best view of the harbour. Fuck the harbour, did I say that? Well fuck it again.
[more here, this is just the start]
Causes martin ewen Supports
The Enterprise Foundation
Solar Neighbors Program