Category Archives: Scott Tremblay

Whether you’re a millennial who just moved out of your childhood bedroom, finally an adult and ditching the roommates, recently single and living alone again, or a widow/widower mourning the death of a longtime soulmate, living alone can be hard. So here’s a quick guide to make sure you go to bed the *right* way.

1. Lock the door to your apartment – there are creepers everywhere folks!
2. Turn off the lights in your house/apartment – unless you need a night light (I won’t tell, wink)
3. Make sure there are sheets on the bed! This might seem like a no brainer, but if someone else (mom, girl/boyfriend, recently deceased spouse) has been making the bed for the past 10-60 years, its an important step…SHEETS!
4. Take off your daytime clothes and put on sleepy time clothes (or stay nakey if ya want) – remember, there’s no one in your life to judge what you sleep in! So go nuts (out)!
5. Lie down under the covers, but on top of the fitted sheet (the one with the elastic corners) with your head on the pillow – generally, unless you’re Manut Bol, you should fit on the bed! You can lie in the middle or on either side, cuz remember, there’s no one sleeping in the same bed as you anymore (cuz they’re dead or sleeping with your best friend or your mom).
6. CRY – cry your eyes out until there’s no tears left, then cry some more, after all, you’re alone!!
7. Stay there until the sun comes up, hopefully you’ll have slept at least 30 minutes
8. Go live your day and pretend everything is ok! Smile and nod!
9. Wait until it’s dark again, then go back to STEP 1

It’s a pretty simple routine, but it might take some practice to get it just right. So don’t worry, you’ll have all the time in the world since you’ll be alone forever most likely.

As above, so below.

Scotty Tremblay – 9.14.2018

I’m going to be honest: this is the worst story in the world. This is not an overly dramatic statement for effect to get you to keep reading. This is just a statement of fact. After you finish reading this, you will agree, this is the worst story in the world. “Worst” is a term that’s used all too much these days, but I promise you, this really is the worst story in the world. Actually, it’s barely a story. It’s not a story in the sense that it has all the classical elements of a story, like a beginning, middle, end, characters, plot, etc. But it is a story.

I only tell you it’s the worst story in the world because I don’t want you getting your expectations up and thinking this is going to be a good story. Because I promise you again, it is not. It’s “the worst” as my ex girlfriend (and countless other ex girlfriends) would say. If I had a girlfriend currently, I’m certain she would describe this as the worst story in the world as well. I told this story at a party recently (I was a few drinks deep) ((ok, more than a few)) already knowing it was a bad story. But the reaction of everyone listening, particularly the cute brunette lady I was trying to impress, was utter boredom. Two of the people that heard this story at said party haven’t talked to me since. Yes they are dating, so I’m pretty sure its a couple thing that both of them have cut me off socially, but that’s still two people who used to talk to me that no longer talk to me. Not because they were offended or anything, just because the story was so bad. It was the worst.

I’m sure some of the folks reading this will feel the same, but that’s why I’m being up front from the beginning about how bad this story is. I don’t want to lose any more friends (or acquaintances even) because of this story. This story has already done its fair share of damage. And I’m not even the subject of the story. It’s a story I heard. Yeah when I first heard it, I thought it was a bad story. I thought I could punch it up and add some artistry to it that would make it somewhat entertaining and listenable (is that even a word?). But in the four times I’ve told this story, it hasn’t gotten any better. It’s probably gotten worse. I’m just making things up at this point to try and get people to think its a tellable story.

It’s now so far removed from the original story like a bad game of telephone that I don’t even remember the original story in its entirety. I’m not sure what’s real and what I made up to try and fluff it up. In fact, I can’t even remember what story I’m talking about now. I don’t even think I have a story.

Wow, that really was the worst story. So bad it wasn’t even a story. It was a story about a bad story that wasn’t even a story. Sorry if you got this far expecting a bad story, I don’t even have that. Hope you have a nice day.

Scotty Tremblay – 8.8.2018

Dear guy who got hot at the craps table,

Firstly off, I am sorry I never got your name. The dice were flying so high and loose that my manners temporarily evaded me and I did not ask your name. Though in all fairness, you did not ask mine. So maybe we are both to blame here. What could have been if either of us had been polite enough to ask for the other’s name? Who knows! But the one thing I do know is that I probably would not be writing this letter to you. We would be off on the road somewhere together hopping from casino to casino taking those craps tables for everything they got! I know that for sure. I lied earlier when I said “who knows!” a few sentences back. Because I do know. That’s how fairy tales like ours turn out. But then one of us (probably you, because it definitely would not be me) would get greedy and screw everything up. We would be in our Travelodge room and I would be showering before bed. You would go into my pleather wallet with S.M.D. branded on it (my initials, but you would not know that) and take my share of the cash we had stockpiled over the course of several (wild) weeks. Then I would hop out of the shower into a cotton robe and we would start discussing our plans for the next day. Then I would realize I had been robbed by my best friend. We would fight. I would head to the bus station with the small stash of money I had hidden in my unders. But then I would get a phone call right before the Megabus departs. You would say, “I am sorry, friend. Meet me at table 12 at Bucky’s for one final score. Come alone.” We would win big (we always win), then you would turn on me for one last time. As we were walking back to your Dodge Caravan, I would hear a ‘click’ of a gun cocking behind me and I would say “et tu, Brute”. You would not get the reference; you were always the dumber of the two of us. Then I would slowly turn around. We would face off. Stare. Then I would draw my pistol and we would fire simultaneously, each hitting the other in the chest. We would bleed out right there in the Bucky’s Casino parking lot. I can say this confidently as I have seen it 100 times. What a ride.

Anyway, thanks again for your hot roll streak at the craps table. I won $700 and could afford my child support that month (after a hearty beef stew dinner of course). Glad we did not have to kill each other.

Good luck,

Scott

Scott Tremblay – 4.5.2018