Tour Gets Cut Short As Gaston Loses His Mind

So it’s come to this, and frankly, I’m not surprised. Gaston has always said there’d be a day of reckoning. He’s so full of it.

 Gaston is blaming me for the untimely and grizzly decapitation of LaBois. He says it was me, and only me, who cut off his uncle’s head with a chainsaw.

 Hey Gaston! Ever think about stand-up comedy?

 I was nowhere near LaBois at the unfortunate time. I was, uh, at the mall, yeah the mall, that’s it.

 If you go back a few pages to where there’s a photo of Gaston making a spectacle of himself by flinging himself upon his dead uncle, who, by the way, used to talk behind Gaston’s back, you will see that the deed was committed by someone with a chainsaw, and I don’t even own a chainsaw. My neighbour does, but I don’t.

 Hah!

 Anyway, Gaston says I should be put in prison and the key should be thrown away, but I pay no attention to him, or his picture, because I was at the mall. And I don’t own a chainsaw. And there’s no fingerprints on LeBois.

 So the tour is cut short today because of Gaston’s accusation.

And it’s too bad. There’s lots of Powell River to be seen.

Please disregard Gaston’s photo as he thinks he’s funny and my being accused of chainsaw decapitation is no laughing matter. Disregard the photo.

You can find the full tour simply by clicking “Tour of Powell River’ over in ‘categories’. Trust me, Gaston’s sort of normal in most of them.

2 thoughts on “Tour Gets Cut Short As Gaston Loses His Mind”

  1. DK,

    So, you’re not satisfied with dissing Gaston, you’re determined to slag him until he what? falls on his knees and begs for mercy? agrees to turn over his inheritance to you? acknowledge that Mom luuuved you best? or simply to assuage your pathological jealousy which, of course, can never be exorcised regardless of how often how you assail him (so G is a better fan than you, hey, get over it!). That YOU are lying is as obvious as the Habs sweater on Gaston. Liars always do the same things and you are no different: they deny (you couldn’t have killed him, you don’t own a chainsaw (yeah, right: your wife owns the weapon), they arrange semi-true alibis (you were at the mall – right to get gloves so the murder weapon wouldn’t slip in your hands), they yell there is no proof (water washed awawy the prints, eh), they stutter/get vague/look away, they accuse their victim of irrational behaviour and/or evil intent towards their tormenter (bad G is accusing you), they blame their victim for causing others to suffer (Gaston’s fault the tour is cut short), as always, the liars seeks to control the info (whose camera? who’s taking the pics?), they`tell’ everybody else what to think so it’s G did this (tell the truth), G did that (tell more truth), G thinks/feels/says this and that, and, of course, they try to deflect the light of revelation from themselves by making the ordinary sound as if it is something heinous (G’s uncle `used to – he’s dead now!’ talk behind G’s back ..uh? everybody does that pretty much all the time, hell some of us talk behind other’s back to their faces like, for example, me and Lawrence, so what? gossip and figuring other people out is perfectly normal acceptable behaviour but slandering, engaging in deliberate character assassination which you are doing to G right now is somehow supposed to be okay? Ha!), also, G being upset by the death of his beloved Unc is somehow unnatural whereas your indifference to not only unc’s untimely demise but G’s grief is not? Ha! Finally, and most tellingly, the absence of a body, of concrete proof that Unc is, in fact, kaput. Why, who knows? Maybe he’s off canoodling with the waitress who doped G’s drink?; Maybe it only `looks’ as if his head was lopped off, it’s there only we can’t see it; no bod no crime, eh? How, well, convenient. Poor Gaston, to be so helpless, to be at the mercy of such a malicious murderous masterly-mendacious monologuist. There is no justice.

  2. le monde,

    Au secours de Gaston! Vivre Gaston! Vivre Gaston libre!

    Help save Gaston from a fate almost worse than death — send cash so I can fight effectively for G’s rights.

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