Two Newfoundlanders in a Bar Talk about Nirvana’s “Sliver”

-This one. Nirvana. The poor fella.

-Too young, b’ye. Too young.

-And such success he had. Stadiums! Limos! Ladies! Fellas even!

-I don’t know about that.

-What don’t you know?

-The fellas bit.

-I’m only saying.

-Well, he was tortured, I’ll give you that. A darkness, you know, tended to take hold.

-Stomach pains. He wrote that one song about it. He was dogged by awful stomach pains.

-I’ve got a touch of the reflux.

-Oh that’s a trial.

-It is. Doctor says it’s the coffee and the booze and the smokes, and the fry-ups: not good either.


-I know. It’s like some kind of medical Lent he’s putting me through.

-Never works. The Lent. We try though don’t we?

-We do. See, for this fella he couldn’t give up.

-The heroin.

-It’ll get ya.

-Janis, Jimi, the other one.

– The other one?

– Your fella with the leather pants.

-Who? Spook?

-No, not Spook. Spook is still alive as far as I know. Saw him yesterday.

-Was he wearing those pants?

-No. It was Tuesday. Not a big leather pants wearing day.

-I suppose. Although, Spook, he loved those pants.

-Sure he did.

-Lived in em that one summer.

-They were as greasy as a whale’s arse after a time.

-Disgusting, really.

-Morrison! Jim Morrision!

-The fella who does the dry wall?

-No, not him. The singer. From California. He was a poet, that one.

-Gone too soon.

-Yes, too soon.

-Like this one here. Listen to him. Quite a screamer.

-Angry. Very angry. You’re angry that much, it’s a wonder he could even get out of bed.

-And then one day, he didn’t.

-That’s how it works, b’ye.

-You’re right. We all get there.

-The fry-ups!

-Delicious, though

-Satan’s nectar, they are.

-Why is everything so good so bad for you, John?

-Dunno. Christ, everyone has habits, b’ye.


-Might as well have em with a side of rashers.

-Yes. Might as well.

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