Malcolm McKearney owes me a goose.
I’ll get to that.
If you don’t know Malcolm, he’s the one what’s always going on about being smarter than everyone he knows. And most that he don’t know. Trouble is with Malcolm, it’s easy to prove him wrong, right. At least, it’s easy to prove him wrong to others. But Malcolm’s belief in his knowledge is stubborn. You can’t convince Malcolm of anything if he’s got his mind looking in any other direction.
Anyways, I see him there sitting in the corner there of the Seal Club and Sandbar Lounge. This is, what, about 9 months ago or so. Just before the latest incident with the shit socks at the Seal Club. The one that shut them down for them couple of months. I see him there. Usually he’s with his boys, Arnold McCutcheon, DeBlois DeBlois, and Earle Stanley, but that night he’s sitting there all by himself.
He looks bored so I figure I’d take a trip over and gab a bit about this and that. You know, spill some time before heading back home. So I goes over and he looks up and nods.
“She’s some wet, what?” I go.
“Seventy-two millimetres since Sunday” he goes. Malcolm is all about the weather. He’s got all the amometers and measuring stuff that they got at the weather center in Charlottetown or wherever it is. He’s right into it, and it’s always a good way to start off a conversation with him by bringing it up. A sure-fire “in” if you know what I mean.
So I sit down and he brightens up and goes off on a long trail about the climate and his thoughts on all that. Me, I listen and nod every so often and take occasional swigs from the beer I brought to the table. He’s spouting off statistics and numbers and prognostications and whatnot, all about the weather. Honestly it was boring as shit, but I go along with the listening to it, just to pass time more than anything.
So that wraps up without much incident and then he goes off on another drive about stuff. Things he’s reading, ideas he has about things that should be invented if he had the time. You know, bullshit stuff.
Anyways, he goes “This May’s been the wettest May in the Northern Hemisphere since May 1912 when the Titanic sunk.”
And I’m thinking “Wrong!” Now I can let his wrong-headed opinions go because you can’t argue opinion, but I will always argue facts. And I know for a fact the Titanic sunk on April 14, 1912. Because April 14th 1925 is my Aunt Sadie’s birthday and they always talk about how it was her claim to fame that she was born on the same day as the Titanic sunk. Not the exact same date but the same day. So I know for a fact he’s wrong.
“Titanic sunk in April” I go. “Not May.”
“No, it sunk in May” he says. “Fact.”
“Not a fact” I go. He can’t go calling something that’s wrong a fact. “Titanic sunk in April. April 14th 1912. I’m sure of it”
Anyways, we go back and forth, both claiming to be right about which month the Titanic sunk.
Finally, I have enough. “Betcha double or nothing on one of your Christmas geese that you’re wrong and that the Titanic sunk April 14th.”
Malcolm is well-revered for raising top-quality geese. Geese ain’t as popular these days as they was back in the day, but enough people still like them for Easter or Christmas or Thanksgiving or any big celebration dinner over turkey. Enough for Malcolm to keep at it, raising and selling geese to those that want them.
“You’re on” he goes and slams his hand down onto the table and laughs. “Easy money! Pay up!”
“Hold on” I go. “You can’t prove the Titanic sunk in May ‘cause it didn’t. It sunk in April, and I can prove it.”
“You can’t prove it because it sunk in May” he goes. Stubborn to the core.
So I pull out my phone and ask Google. “Okay Google, what month did the Titanic sink?”
Quicker than a flash the phone goes “The RMS Titanic sank in the early morning hours of 15 April 1912 in the North Atlantic Ocean.”
“Yow owe me a goose” I go.
“That don’t prove nothing” he goes.
“Whattyamean” I go. “Proves everything. Proves you owe me a goose!”
“You can’t prove that machine is right” he goes.
I go “It’s Google. Of course it’s right.”
“Still” he says, “that’s not proof”.
“You owe me a goose” I go.
“I owe you nothing” he goes. “Titanic sunk in May.”
“You owe me a fucking goose” I go. I’m starting to get right agitated. He senses my irritations and goes even harder into his belief that the Titanic sunk in May.
“Sunk April 14th 1912. Same day as my Aunt Sadie was born, only thirteen years earlier.
“Wrong” he goes. “You owe me double a goose. And you don’t get the goose.”
I ask Google again and it says the same thing. “The RMS Titanic sank in the early morning hours of 15 April 1912 in the North Atlantic Ocean.”
“Aha” he goes. “You ARE wrong! Even if your Google thing is right, you said the Titanic sunk on April 14th. Google said it sunk April 15th. YOU ARE WRONG” he yells.
I ask Google again. Sure enough “The RMS Titanic sank in the early morning hours of 15 April 1912 in the North Atlantic Ocean.” My Aunt Sadie’s claim to fame was based on a lie.
I think for a minute and go “Well, it started sinking on the 14th probably. Probably took the better part of an evening to sink, and the actual sinking ended in the early morning of April 15th”.
“Either way, you said it sunk April 14th. Your Google says April 15th so you’re wrong. You’re both wrong, because it sunk in May anyway.”
And that was that. I tried a bunch more to get him to admit he was wrong but in his mind he wasn’t wrong. I went home furious and vowing to prove him wrong.
Month later I come into his shop – he’s an auto mechanic in the day, the goose stuff at night or whatever – with a picture of an old newspaper front page headline my nephew Donald got from provincial archives that states the Titanic sunk on April 15th.
“Could be photoshopped” he goes.
Fucking asshole. I knew then and there that I’d never get my goose outta him.
So I wrote this song about him.
Malcolm McKesrney’s Goose Is Sunk
It took an iceberg to sink the Titanic on April 15th 1912
Though probably started sinking the evening before.
But it would take something harder than that berg
To get Malcom McKearney to say he’s wrong.
He says it sunk in May. Don’t matter what Google says
Or the Provincial Archives, his ignorance stays alive.
How do you prove that two plus two is four?
Or that the sun rises high in the sky?
If Malcolm thinks otherwise you can’t.
No matter what he thinks
Malcom McKearney owes me a goose for Christmas.
Don’t make a bet with Malcolm McKearney even if it’s based on fact.
Malcolm ignores facts in favour of his own stubborn brain.
Don’t make a bet with Malcom McKearny and expect to get his goose.
No matter what he thinks
Malcolm McKearny owes me a goose for Christmas.