On retrouve Maureen, Russ, Chester, Sheila et Gary, également connus comme le Hack Pack, qui ont plein de choses à nous dire à propos de leurs expériences de la pandémie.
En anglais seulement.
Besoin de vous rafraîchir la mémoire ? Voici tous les épisodes précédents de cette équipe de curling mésadaptée de disfonctionnels :
Oh God, it’s you again, what do you want? There’s no curling leagues, so I don’t know why you’re here filming me. It’s hopeless, 7 months and counting. I don’t even get dressed anymore. Tank hates the idea of me walking around in my underpants.
Maureen: Russ! Who’s at the door?
Russ: Those annoying filmmakers.
Maureen: Are you in your underwear again? For God’s sake, put some pants on! Did you forget your meds? Oh my goodness, sorry about him. Hi Guys! So nice to see you again!
Russ: Yes, I took my nitro pills
Maureen: And the hemorrhoid cream?
Ugh, never mind her. You guys know you can’t come in, right? Okay, look, you’re probably wondering what Tank and I have been up to since we can’t curl right now. Well, to be frank, Tank’s gotten into bird watching. Something about the need to get outside and get fresh air: apparently, Vitamin D helps against the plague. As for me, well, hunting season is right around the corner, so the freezers are primed for all the tasty treats of the wild. Been watching Meat Eater on the Netflix, hoping to drop a few pounds so I can go outfitting in Montana one day. For now, I stay in my drawers drinking beer and yelling at sports re-runs. You might have better luck with the others, now beat it. No, really, get lost.
Easy there, Daisy almost done. No, don’t kick the bucket!
Ah, what in tarnation! Not again, you’re not getting any corn for a week. Oh, it’s you guys! Welcome back to the barn, fellas. Daisy’s been having an off day. Don’t cry over spilt milk, though.
The pandemic, yeah, I admit it’s overblown, but I still take precautions. It’s like setting up a well-placed guard for shot rock; sometimes prudence wins the day. If you must know, I turned the basement into a bug-out bunker with food to last for 3 years. Got solar panels on the roof, a filter to recycle urine and a methane capture box for the cow fumes. It makes a decent replacement for propane. Yeah, I’m off the grid completely. Can never be too careful.
As for curling, our local club has taken many steps to ensure the safety of its members. We’ve got hand sanitizer and wipes everywhere, but it’s practice only. I really miss the gang. Stubbs seems really down in the dumps. Is he still not wearing pants? Yeah, sad flabby sight. At least Tank has her bird watching hobby.
Linda thinks I’ve taken this too far; she’s threatening to throw this stuff away and refuses to buy any more groceries. Need to use up the strategic reserves first. Canned beans with our beef for the next few years, I reckon. Anyways, good to see you guys again. Have a look and see what Fish and Mr. Clean are up to. Tell them Buzzard says hi.
(alarm bells ring)
Gary: Intruder!!! Intruder!!!! Be gone viral zombies!!! Sheila, fire the Purel cannon!
Sheila: Shut up, Gary!
Gary: Don’t open the door; we’re all going to die!
Sheila: Will you cool it! Yay, hi guys, welcome. Oh my God, I haven’t seen you guys since the Brier. You remember that, don’t you? Mike McEwen is still thinking about me, but now the CCA has banned me from attending live events for the next 5 years. I admit, things got out of hand, but I haven’t had any excitement for months. My husband is crazy. Let me shut the door; we’ll talk in the driveway.
Gary: I’m making you quarantine in the garage for two weeks for this.
Sheila: I’ll make you eat dog food for two weeks for this!
He’s really living up to his name. Since March, Mr. Clean hasn’t left the house and insists on wearing a hazmat suit at all times. He even has a rebreather like a scuba diver. I haven’t kissed him in months. He’s paranoid because they say most contractions of the virus happen in the home. So I tell him to live outside. He grumbles and then walks off. My marriage is being stretched to the limits, and I emptied the wine cellar again last week. Seriously, get me out of here! I don’t know how much more I can take of this. I miss my friends, I miss my family, and Zoom calls just don’t do it for me.
What’s that? Oh, what a great idea, yeah! I’ll organize a Zoom call with the others, and you guys can tune in. We can make a drinking game out of it, and Gary will probably think we can infect each other through the computer. What a psycho. Okay, so here’s the rules: Take a sip if:
- If Stubbs isn’t wearing pants.
- If Buzzard says tarnation or some other redneck lingo.
- Gary talks about cleanliness.
- Whenever I take a drink.
- Someone gets up to use the bathroom.
- If anyone mentions silly hobbies they’ve taken up.
- Finish your drink if anyone says, “It is what it is,” “social distancing,” or “new normal.”
Oh my God, this will be so much fun. So, I’ll let you guys set it all up, and I’ll tell the others. See you soon. Oh curling, yeah, we’ll be back before you know it. I’m optimistic; we can’t live in fear. Bye!