You Could Scare Your Girlfriend With This!

Just the name should alone, should have been a warning, “The Big One”. It is 7 inches long and a staggering 56 ring gage. Really but why would I expect a cigar (that is so comically large it could be used by anti-tobacco fascists to beat smokers to death) to be anything less than a big pile of smoldering cow dung.

There is not a self-respecting cigar maker, outside of the USA, that would have the gall to make this cigar. Given it had an after taste of burning latex and KY jelly, I can only assume this black monster was actually made by a dildo manufacturing company trying to diversify.

Besides the asinine name, it looked good .It had dark oily wrapper and smooth construction. I had high hopes when I went to light it. It did not so much as light, but it took four matches to get it to start melting like plastic. It smelled like, what I imagine the Dow chemical plant explosion in India, smelled like in the 80s.

I was banished from Dave’s car for smoking the putrid phallic anomaly that made the eyes water and children cry.

A ragged homeless man came by looking for change and cigarettes. I gave him 50 cents and asked him to dispose of this toxic log safely. I guess I should feel guilty for letting the most vulnerable in society smoke this to feed there addiction but I doubt it is any worse for him than the Lysol and Shoe polish cocktail that he had for breakfast.

I just hope he doesn’t use it to rob a liquor store or rape innocent school girls.

Sure, his father was Kenyan but Barack Obama’s Mother was white.

Black History Month teaches us that Black is as much about shared culture,  history and struggle as it is about the color of skin. Well, his White Grandmother raised him in Hawaii.

He has no familial connection to the slaves, forcibly brought to America in the 1600’s. His familial roots are closer to that of retired white people playing shuffleboard in Hawaii.

Barrack Obama is not the first black president from Chicago. He is the first white president from Hawaii

Now I will concede he is not as white as my bare ass but he aint as black MLK

Barack Obama is not a ghetto as Black America likes to think he is

Someone like you might need the Coles Notes

“ I writed a book so revalutionry it scared the people that makes books. They want to change my words and what they mean. To there own purpose. I told them I would take the book to another book maker if they kept changing my motives, but they didnt believe me so here I am now. So now I give you the book you had the hear. If you don’t like It that is okay. Not everyone can get the meaning.” William M Norton author.

We have published the book the way it was meant to be read, un-rated, uncensored and dumbed down for the masses. So kick back and let yourself be inspired by a journey that will transform your life….. you know, if you are capable.

Here is an excerpt from The Way of the Passive Aggressive Warrior:

“You ugly bastard you kept me down all my life. You complained about the way I dressed and the women I married. So I dressed bad and married bitches just to spite you, because of that my life has been unhappy. Then I tried to be like you but I realized god does not want junk.” I said this looking at a plot of grass and an empty space where a head stone should be.

I mean to visit my dad ever year on Fathers Day, the anniversary of his death, but I get there by labour day if it suits me. Each year is the year I promise my brothers I will finally bring the head stone, and each year I talk to an empty plot of grassless dirt, much like my dad’s head ha ha…. Just kidding. The Stone was gathering moss in my backyard and now has a fuller head of hair than old baldy ever had. I use it as a block to prop up my Bitchin Camaro that will be fixed up soon!

Some thoughts on the book by leading critics

“I invited William Norton to speak at one of my seminars in Tahiti knowing full well he could not afford the flight and accommodations.” Tony Robbins- Motivational Speaker

“I do not have to take this guy’s shit. Say for instance that a coworker cheerfully agrees to refrain from a specified uncool act, and then does it anyway. Is this passive-aggressive behaviour? No, this is being an asshole. Comforting as it can be to pigeonhole our tormentors with off-the-shelf psychiatric diagnoses, sometimes its best just to call a jerk a jerk. Billy Norton you are a jerk” Dan Simpson- Harvard Review

Order the book now! Before its February 12^th release and we will throw in a copy of The Cynical Bastard’s Prophecy for only $15.99. Can they can be yours? Only if you wife lets you use the Visa to shop online!

Just Leave Your Credit Card Information in the Comments section of this post and we will all be good!

“For once, I am grateful this stomach churning  piss water, you call coffee, is a luke-warm inconvenience and not a piping hot serving of karma.” I dabbed my shirt with a napkin making it worse. ” How about you cancel that french toast, Ruby, and get my scrambled eggs on the go. Oh yeah and get me me another cup of this swill… and throw it in the microwave for a minute…I should be safe this time.”

“They say God works in mysterious ways and no doubt, God was looking out for you when that element burned out last week” Ruby responded head down and a smile creeping across her face.

“Well, thank your God-that-don’t-believe-in for that!” Yeah, that was the last thing I needed. Someone else’s God looking out for me.

Ruby ran off to the kitchen to place my order and I sat trying, in vain, to get the coffee stain out. There was no washing machine in my near future and one of the two shirts I own was on Wendy’s back right now.

It was 10:00 am and I had no place to stay, no money or gas , I had to be in Reno by 6:00 PM  and I kind of looked like the skid mark on my underwear. Forcing my way out of this situation would only make it worse. I had to think my way out of this, but sadly my best thinking is done on the crapper and I aint  shit right for a week. I don’t know if it was the food they were serving me here, or Wendy’s never ending string of insults, but my morning constitutional had gone the way of socially acceptable smoking.

Ah to hell with it. I will just go sit on the john and hope something comes out. If it is a plan that gets me out of this shit … great and if it was a foot long turd as heavy as a bull elephant…even better! If it was both then I was going to reconsider my scepticism of Ruby’s mysterious God.

“Don’t worry, I aint bailing on the bill. I am just going to pray for salvation and a religious movement from that god of yours Ruby.”

“Ok, God be with you, Mr William.” She yelled from the kitchen curiously.

Great that is just what I needed. The mental image of God sitting in the next stall, coaching me through a bowel movement. I could not shit in public under the best circumstances and certainly not with someone else in the other stall, much less someone else’s higher power.  The sound of another man grunting out a turds made it hard to focus and if they were in and out quicker than me, well that just made me envious. Either way it detracted from the task at hand. Shitting.

It was a dingy tile covered room with a urinal and two stalls. It had not been painted since a time when bowel movement were not openly discussed on daytime television. The mirror was gone and the sink leaked non-stop. The graffiti in the stall reflected that business had been bad in East Wendover for more than a decade. It would appear some kid name Sam thought of Sheryl while sitting here 12 years ago. Hopefully that was not a sign of things to come in their relationship. All the kids (well the ones that hung out in public restrooms) felt Tupac deserved to be immortalized in a crapper in Utah in 1997.

I checked for toilet paper. These ragged yellow briefs were my last pair, best not take chances. There was a 1/2 roll of Utah’ finest single ply sandpaper. I dropped my jeans and sat on the cold cracked plastic seat and emptied my mind to allow my brain and colon to warm up. 

Wouldn’t you fuckin’ know it! The door to the men’s room creaked and a pair of green Converse danced across the space under my door and plunked down in the stall next to me. Shit shit shit shit. My ass hole tightened up like a Catholic confessing his sins in an open door confessional. Nothing was coming out of there today. I may as well pull up my pants go eat my last meal.

I wonder how long a person can go, before their shit goes toxic. I have never been constipated, but I don’t think it has ever killed anyone, has it? It was a mind fucking game, the more I wanted to go the less likely I would. I had been god damn afraid it would come loose when I was least ready- like while fucking Wendy and just bam! Shit everywhere. My shit on the sheets. My shit on the bed, My shit on the walls. My shit all over Wendy’s ass. If it turned out that it turned Wendy on; I really did not want to know about it.

… And Green Converse had something to say too…

“It is a funny thing shitting in public. Most people rush the process along, so they can get in and out quickly, and forget the experience- but somewhat ironically, they end up bringing along some tangible memories of the experience, that their wives and strangers sitting next to them on the bus, will notice. My wife refuses to do my laundry after a road trip and I never ride the bus. Well god be with you.” and Green Converse got up and left the washroom. With out fucking washing his hands either

“What the fuck are you…” I started to say and I farted. Then came the single most painful thing I have ever experienced and it was coming out of my ass. It was not a slow rumbling but a sudden flash blocking the rest of the world out. And there at the bottom of the toilet was a 3 pound foot long monster and at that moment I knew what I was going to do. Everything was clear. How I was getting money and how I was getting to Reno. The only thing I did not know was how I was going to get that shit to go down the toilet. I flushed and it folded in half and blocked it up almost  bringing the toilet water over the edge.

I could not leave it there. What would Ruby think.Sure, I would never see her again but it was just wrong to leave that there as my last marker in East Wendover Utah.

“Well isn’t that just great.” I grabbed the plunger from beside the sink and poked it. It was not moving.

I loved the act. I adored the taste. I relished the way it felt filling up my lungs.

Sure it was a crutch. No doubt it was a prop. Definitely it was an identity and under the right circumstances it was a god damn weapon, but at $10 a fuckin pack it was a liability when times were tough. I could live with out whiskey and hookers in a pinch but if I could not smoke an Export A filterless “Green Death” cigarette with my morning coffee there was a damn good chance I was going go off on someone that day. More often than not it led to a black eye, but on occasion it landed me in prison and even though they were required to hand out tobacco rations, it was still an ugly place to be when you had to trade your tobacco just so you did not have to smoke some other “stick”.

When the shit was flying, you know, when your girlfriend was throwing your shit out on the front lawn screaming about infidelities and STD tests, I could sit of the curb and focus on the smoke, instead of getting some gasoline and lighting the shit hole trailer on fire. It was like meditation and it prevented me from doing anything stupid, or at least gave me time to consider the repercussions of doing anything stupid without an alibi.

It was an extension of my hand when I talked, it hung off my lip when I worked, and reaching for the pack in my pocket was a subliminal warning to the guy sitting across the pool table.

My “Green Death” Export A’s were part of my identity from the time I was 13. They were a family tradition. They killed my father and his father before him, and damn certain they were going to be the death of me. Because they did not have a filter, people were reluctant to borrow one- unless there was no other choice, and when they did it was a pleasure to watch them hack a fuckin’ lung.

They talked of the 80′s being the decade of the “Cola Wars”, but that was for the Top Gun watching, Depeche Mode listening sissies. In Calmar your smoke said more about you than your car. Everyone was either a Player’s Man, A Dumaurier Man, An Export A man, or they were a god damn faggot. There was no negotiating these battle lines. Real men hand rolled their cigarettes or at least bought the filterless kind.

I stuck a burning cigarette in a man’s eye at the bar and it bought me enough time to find a pool cue and knock him out. A non smoker would have been trying to talk his way out of it while he took a shiv to the lung, and an ex-smoker would have tried offering him a piece of gum and been beaten senseless with his tinkerbells before he could blow a bubble.

So it was a major lifestyle choice when I decided to quit, and that was during the Great Marijuana Drought of 2003. I could not scrape two nickels together and welfare -in Alberta- was only a one way Greyhound ticket to B.C, or enough enough money for a shot of Alberta Brand Vodka on welfare Wednesday at the end of the month.  I quit cold fucking turkey and went stark raving insane for two months. I was hallucinating while chewing on licorice and taking five showers a day. It aint right that I smell that clean, but no matter how hard I tried I could not smoke in the shower.

Five years later Dave offered me a cigar, a Romeo and Juliet # 2. With such a girlie name I was surprised how it kicked me in the head. Chandler, from that chick show “Friends” (my girlfriend watched it and it was on TV 5 times a days), said it best-

“Oh Dark Mother, once again I suckle at your smoky teat.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was like rediscovering a long lost friend. You know a friend that titillates you and then tries to kill you slowly. I did not inhale, so I told myself that  I did not have a problem.

This smoke was a thing of beauty and the taste was divine. I wondered how anyone could smoke that foul tasting, chemical laden shit they pushed into tubes and sold at corner stores. It was the difference between a fine wine and the piss ass moonshine my father made out of potatoes peels and rotten apples.

It was also something that offended smokers and non smokers alike. I could sit on the patio smoking a fat cheap Dominican and sure enough fat cheap house wife would go by saying “That Fucking Reeks!” not-so-under their breath. All I could do was smile and say not-so-under my breath  “get your ass back on the treadmill.”

I was down at The Roasterie Coffee House, in Calgary, one Sunday last summer. IT was populated by the freaks and the geaks and the hipster douchebags one come to expect in every cities independent coffee house. It was the last refuge for smokers to smoke inside and I am certain it is what gave their self roasted coffee the kick. However, every Sunday middle aged cyclists and their spandex gangs would take up all of the seats outside. That one day a week the Spandex Army would roll in, judge everyone, leave a mess, and tip poorly. I sat down at the last available seat and sparked a Partagas Series P torpedo.

Immediately a 60 old woman in blue spandex that pancaked her floppy breast against her belly snorted,” Could you please do that somewhere else!”

“Uh sorry I am in my rights to smoke here. I am 1 metre away from the door” I responded calmly ,but wouldn’t you know it, her husband got up and paced it out.

“Really could you go somewhere else, you are ruining our coffee” she wined looking down her nose at me.

“Could you please, please not wear you spandex in public and keep your camel toes locked in the privacy of your own homes!” and I and calmly and blew a big plume of smoke to their table.

They shut the hell up and did not say another word. I would continue to smoke cigars on Sunday mornings, joined by freaks and geaks and hipster douche bags- and they still showed up flying their spandex gang colours making obvious coughing  gestures.

Then one day after Wendy had smashed all the glasses in the motel, I lit up a Don Tomas Classico in anger and inhaled deeply off the first pull. Oh god I hacked and turned blue but it sent electricity firing through my body lighting up the

world making everything brilliant and calm and right. The next day I was back to smoking two packs of Green Death a Day. Wendy hated the damn things. She only smoked those girlie ultra lites with 2 inched of filter. What was the point of that.

I still smoke cigars and I don’t inhale them.

Some one once asked me, ” Billy why do you take that cigar around with you when you aren’t smoking it”

I answered with the only answer that makes any sense,

” IT is more socially acceptable than playing with my penis is public!”

Well Damn I knew that she might get spooked at the last moment but never did I imagine she would hurt Olivia and remind me that I have seen better hair days. Is nothing sacred anymore. I have to think quick. I have to get to Reno and I have no money for gas.

“Ruby doll, how would you like to see the world outside of Wendover?” I turn to the still stunned Ruby.

“Ruby, can you hear me? Ruby?”

“I am sorry mister William. What did you say? I can not believe she just did that. It was so sudden. She was nice one moment and then saying mean things to me and ….,” She was babbling but a smile was creeping on to her face. It was now or never.

“Come with me Ruby. Come to Reno. I will show you a life that you never new existed. The sound of screaming sirens bearing down on us as we cross the dessert. The bright lights of Reno. A chance to taste the the adrenaline. Loud lewd music and the odor of a fine cigar.” I stood up and touched her shoulder. ” There are place out there waiting to experienced. Leave this drab diner and ride shotgun with me.”

Ruby was silent. She was thinking, dreaming. ” I can not Mr William. I cant leave Gabriel my father. He needs me to help him here.”

“Gabriel be damned, Ruby. We both know he is not your father. This diner is the end of the road in that life. We were the only customers for the last week. Does Gabriel know you are taking birth control pills?”

“What do you….” she stammered and looked outside to see if Gabriel was still there and not  over her shoulder.

“Come now Ruby. Why else have you not given him more children. You know you want to leave him someday and you did not want to be tied down by a child.”

“I did not want to bring a child into this….. to be married off to some old man at 14…” There was anger in her voice now

“How do you feel when he comes to you at night….”

“I hate him. I hate my parents for giving me to him….. “

“This is you chance. Come with me now. We can be gone before he notices you are gone.” She was undoing her apron and a spark came to her eye. We were going.

” I will meet you at the car. Come out after Gabriel Comes back in. Be calm.”

I went out to Olivia. Gabriel was sweeping up the glass in the parking lot.

“I am sorry Will. Woman are an unpredictable lot if you do not keep them in their place. Fortunately it does not rain much this time of year. You should be fine until Reno.” Gabriel said dispassionately. Irony was probably against his religion so there is no way he was going to get any chuckles out of what was coming next. He took the dust pan of glass and headed back inside.

I still needed money and I doubt Ruby had any stashed anywhere.

I wonder if Gabriel had any here?

Ruby came from around back now wearing a jean jacket over her full length dress. That dress is going to make getaways a pain I thought.

She hopped in the passenger side and I got in the drivers side (brushing glass off the seat).  Does Gabriel keep any money in the Diner?”

“I thought you might ask Mr William.” and she pulled out an envelope from her pocket. ” Don’t you worry… I paid you tab for you before you left.” She smiled a wicked smile. “Lets get out of here before he realizes I left my birth control pills in the safe instead”

- On “Running From From My life”

“Over easy … you know Doll, just how I would like to turn you over in the middle of the night and…,” I said to the beautiful, too young for me, and quite unavailable Ruby- because flirting is something I have always done, whether the women were young /old  pretty/ugly it  did not matter- and just because I had gotten older, wiser, and balder,  it was not going to change.

What did stop me however, was the shooting pain in my right hand, from the fork Wendy had stuck in me. It went almost clear through the fleshy part between my thumb and index finger. I recoiled my hand instinctively towards my mouth and and stuck myself in the eye with the handle increasing the volume of the now steady howl of pain.

“Fuck you Bill. I know you are just using me for my money, until you can find a younger pretty girl to use. Well flirt with this…” Wendy screamed.

Ruby was just in shock and did not move as Wendy picked up a half-full bottle of Heinz Ketchup and swung it across the table catching me just above the right eye.

” … and you. You little tramp, ” Wendy growled right at the stunned Ruby, “Why don’t you just stick to flirting with your uncles and the prophets in your little community!”

Wendy got up and left  Mom & Pop & Mom’s Diner with the bottle of ketchup still in hand.

As I lay face down on the table, blood pooling around my face (maybe it was ketchup) losing consciousness, the last thing I heard was the smash of glass from the parking lot and Wendy screaming,

“This is what happens when your poor choices “Catch Up” to you Bill”. The Bitch had thrown the bottle of ketchup through the driver side widow of my Bitchin’ Camaro.

As Ruby and her “Dad” came to me with a towel in one hand and dialing 911 on a phone with the other, the last thing that went through my mind was,

“How could I have made better choices, and well…, how the hell was I going to get the ketchup stains out of  Olivia’s seats?”

Make a Better Choice

“Sunny side up Ruby, my day has gotten better with each second since the sun rose.” I said just a little over the top but with a smile as wide as the Utah desert and cupping the side of Wendy’s face with my right hand and I leaned in and kissed her.

“Aw, that it just so romantic Mr William. If you two aren’t just the cutest outlaws I have ever met.”

“You … Are… One … Smooth… talking bastard Billy.” and she kissed me on the lips in between the words, “Sometimes I fear I will regret running away with you, but at moment like this I can not help but feel we were meant to take off across the desert together!”

We played footsies under the table and quietly drank our coffees until Ruby brought us our breakfast. “The It Killed My Father Special” for me and two slices of french toast for the lady. ” It is 8:30 now and the bank opens at 9:30. We will go  pack up after breakfast and go to the bank. I will drop you off at work and then I will get on the road. I have a line on an apartment in Reno and it will be set up with in the week. You get your last check  next Friday and you can take the bus to meet me in Reno.”

“Are you sure $2000 is enough.” Wendy asked. She did not have any more than that but the desire to make me happy was a good sign. We had cleared the little hurdle  this morning. I was afraid she was going to back out . I needed that money if I was going to pay off those bastards and get what was mine back.

“Yeah, it wont be no palace but it will be ours to make our own, babe.” Wendy almost visible melted in the booth. She is a hard jaded 45. Never married but dumped more often than she could count on two hands and one foot. She chose men that promised the world and made the grand romantic gestures but had little to back up the promises (like me). The grand romantic gestures were Wendover Bus station grand not Grand Central Station grand. Everything is relative.

I suppose I feel some twinge of guilt that I am taking her for her life savings. I was even starting to enjoy her company. She could hurl obscenities like any farmer in Calmar and when she was taking a strip off me I felt important. I was not here to make someone’s life complete (even mine)  I was here to get to Reno… alone with $2000 and the shit in Olivia’s trunk.

“That’ll be $8:50 Mr William” Ruby says after we had scarfed down our food and finished the coffee. “Are you going away today?”

“Yes Ruby, my time in east Wendover is over for now. Thank You for the good service and bright smile the last week.” I said as I handed the bill across the table to Wendy.

“I sure will miss you guys and your stories. I want to go up to Edmonton and see this mall and meet more people that have seen the world and broken all the rules, ” she sighed too heavily for a  girl of 22, ” I want to break rules and make some people’s eyes bug out of their heads. Someday”

“Take this Ruby.” I handed her a card with my email, Facebook, and web site on it.

“Oh you think the tales he spins in person are bad. Wait until you read what he writes. ” Wendy exclaimed while rolling her eyes. ” Really after what you have put me through this morning you want me to pay for this?”

“Well uh, yeah. What do you expect me to pay it with? Dirty underwear and ashtrays I have stolen from motels? Because that is all I have in the trunk of my car.” Wendy just looked at me. She knew this routine and it was a formality we went through every time. ” And make sure you leave the lovely Ruby a generous tip.  I don’t want you to make me look cheep!” I stood up and ran for the can just as she fired a fork in my direction.

As I stood at the urinal peeing way slower than was probably right, I thought about Wendy. I liked her. Could I some how do the right thing and make this work? I was tired of being alone. I had not been in a steady relationship since my still legal marriage in 1997. My life had been a series of one night stands with middle aged women flirting with ugly after years of smoking and alcohol abuse and 10 dollar hookers with more scars on their arms than teeth in their mouths.

Wendy was some how different.