December 23, 2011
December 7, 2011
THERE'S A FIRST TIME FOR EVERY STRING
In the past I've talked about how so far, in my life, I've been immune to major injuries.
No more! I broke a bone somewhere in hand thumb area while rescuing a super model from a snake man and his family. This means I can only type with one hand, which then means I don't want to type anything. In the time it took me to write this I could've been to Lime Rickey's and back, armed with an arsenal of the season's hottest salads.
I'm not going to mope, I'm going to stay positive, as represented by this info-graphic:
Yesterday, I had a thought that if the world's smartest people got together, they could trick us so bad. Chew on that and poo it out next time you need a conversation starter.
No more! I broke a bone somewhere in hand thumb area while rescuing a super model from a snake man and his family. This means I can only type with one hand, which then means I don't want to type anything. In the time it took me to write this I could've been to Lime Rickey's and back, armed with an arsenal of the season's hottest salads.
I'm not going to mope, I'm going to stay positive, as represented by this info-graphic:
Yesterday, I had a thought that if the world's smartest people got together, they could trick us so bad. Chew on that and poo it out next time you need a conversation starter.
November 22, 2011
THE KEY TO HAPPINESS IS OF COURSE A BEAUTIFUL, ORNATE KEY
This is only my second post in the month of November, and you know why? That's right! I was in surgery to add an extra cage of ribs to my slender frame. First day out of the hospital I tested myself by taunting a local bully named Hot Beer, who once beat up the principal just because the principal said he liked cranberries. Anyway, the look on his face when he realized he had broke through one ribcage, only to find another was worth the three million dollars and strange shape my body now has. It's looks like I'm starving and healthy at the same time and the only shirts that fit are football jerseys. I have one for every day of the week, numbered 1-7 and each nameplate has the name of a Macaulay Culkin character. For example, today I'm wearing #3 "TYLER" jersey, after his character, Richard Tlyer, in the Source Award winning (Best Bitch '94) "The Pagemaster".
The tough thing about doing stand-up comedy, being on Twitter, writing this thing and writing other things, is that sometimes you don't know where to put an idea. Recently, I jotted down this gem, that I think will make it into the live show. Normally, I wouldn't share it until I do perform it live and no one laughs, but I'll make an exception today because I'm pretty sure only three people regularly stop by:
- peeing in someone's mouth, they go to the bathroom and spit it into the toilet
Let's shift in today's SECOND GEAR
Here's my input on the Jerry Sandusky football boy university sex scandal:
Marry/Fuck/Kill - The cast of The Flintstones.
Jerry - Marry Bamm-Bamm, Fuck Bamm-Bamm, kill uhhhh, Bamm-Bamm.
Me - You can only choose one character per action.
Jerry - Hmmm, marry that little alien boy who grants wishes and ask for Bamm-Bamm's phone number, fuck Bamm-Bamm, and killing is wrong, no comment.
Me - Just pick one
Jerry - Alright, alright, who are Bamm-Bamm's legal guardians?
Me - Barney and Betty Rubble. How do you know who Bamm-Bamm was and not those guys?
Jerry - Listen man, I dig kids.
Me - Whoa! Did you know that the Flintstone's Sabretooth tiger is named "Baby Pussy" according to Wikipedia? You wanna change your answers?
Jerry - Not unless Baby Pussy has a little brother.
Me - Gross!
Whoooooaooaoooaoaooa controversial! Let's slide into today's THIRD BASE
Comic books are very popular these days, providing source material for major motion pictures and re-igniting the imaginations of children whose brains are polluted with Internet smut, Hungry Man Dinners and female peers who start flashin' bra at age 7. As a creator of content, I gotta get in on this action. I have a mouth to feed and watches to buy, so that I'll have so many watches that someone will ask "why are you wearing so many" and I can say with a wink and nod "I got too much time on my hands". Here's my pitch:
Our Hero - "Excellent Dude" - a paper boy who can fly and puke bullets.
His nemesis - "The Woman" - a woman
If interested, contact my agent, who is me. I'd rather work with Warner Brothers rather than Universal because I like how they handled Harry Potter.
The tough thing about doing stand-up comedy, being on Twitter, writing this thing and writing other things, is that sometimes you don't know where to put an idea. Recently, I jotted down this gem, that I think will make it into the live show. Normally, I wouldn't share it until I do perform it live and no one laughs, but I'll make an exception today because I'm pretty sure only three people regularly stop by:
- peeing in someone's mouth, they go to the bathroom and spit it into the toilet
Let's shift in today's SECOND GEAR
Here's my input on the Jerry Sandusky football boy university sex scandal:
Marry/Fuck/Kill - The cast of The Flintstones.
Jerry - Marry Bamm-Bamm, Fuck Bamm-Bamm, kill uhhhh, Bamm-Bamm.
Me - You can only choose one character per action.
Jerry - Hmmm, marry that little alien boy who grants wishes and ask for Bamm-Bamm's phone number, fuck Bamm-Bamm, and killing is wrong, no comment.
Me - Just pick one
Jerry - Alright, alright, who are Bamm-Bamm's legal guardians?
Me - Barney and Betty Rubble. How do you know who Bamm-Bamm was and not those guys?
Jerry - Listen man, I dig kids.
Me - Whoa! Did you know that the Flintstone's Sabretooth tiger is named "Baby Pussy" according to Wikipedia? You wanna change your answers?
Jerry - Not unless Baby Pussy has a little brother.
Me - Gross!
Whoooooaooaoooaoaooa controversial! Let's slide into today's THIRD BASE
Comic books are very popular these days, providing source material for major motion pictures and re-igniting the imaginations of children whose brains are polluted with Internet smut, Hungry Man Dinners and female peers who start flashin' bra at age 7. As a creator of content, I gotta get in on this action. I have a mouth to feed and watches to buy, so that I'll have so many watches that someone will ask "why are you wearing so many" and I can say with a wink and nod "I got too much time on my hands". Here's my pitch:
Our Hero - "Excellent Dude" - a paper boy who can fly and puke bullets.
His nemesis - "The Woman" - a woman
If interested, contact my agent, who is me. I'd rather work with Warner Brothers rather than Universal because I like how they handled Harry Potter.
November 4, 2011
TOYING
Steve "America Needs More" Jobs died a little while ago, which was very sad because he invented many things that make our lives cuter and cooler. I have to admit, he was a pretty interesting man who made billions by working hard and adding colour to stuff, and somehow, post-death, he's gotten even more interesting. Since that dark day we've learned:
- Why he wore turtlenecks all the time (he was imitating some Japanese guy and wanted a personal uniform that he could wear every day)
- Why he never had license plates on his car (he took advantage of a California law which gives a maximum of six months for new vehicles to receive plates; Jobs leased a new identical SL every six months.)
- His last words ("Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow")
The uniform idea is decent because women are known to love a man in uniform, but his uniform looks like it belongs to the Albanian Chess Team, who won gold in the 1978 Autumn Olympics in San Jose, California. I think he could've made it more stylish with a bit of tinkering:
He should have a number on his back too. He looks like a number 10 to me.
Hmm, okay. I don't really understand why he hated license plates so much. Probably because they can't connect to the Internet. Or maybe because there aren't enough characters on a license plate to fit his dream vanity - "SNAKEASSASSIN", which was also his dream nickname, which was also the original name for the first generation iPod prototype.
Those are actually pretty good last words, but I feel like he was planning them for years. It's like when someone asks you if you've ever been to Hawaii and you haven't but you want to look cool, so all you say is "oh wow, oh wow, oh wow". Then again, if he went to all the trouble to plan his last words carefully, he probably would've said something better, such as:
"God is ushering me into his tank"
"I own an alien -- here are its coordinates..."
"I always just peed wherever I wanted, and if that's what brings me to Hell, I'll accept it."
"My last name is actually 'Shitter'."
"I hid millions of dollars in the butts of dogs all over the world. Have at it."
"I forced George Lucas to make all those changes to Star Wars because he once told me my egg salad sucked"
In the coming months I'm sure we'll hear more posthumous factoids about the man TIME magazine called "..this generation's Saruman", but until then, I have some new tidbits that I gained access to by playing around with a Ouija board last name:
The name "Apple" is a nod to the Bible and the part where Jesus makes enough cider for all of Brazil to enjoy.
The first Mac computer was built entirely out of backpacks
Steve Jobs' glasses are edible and taste like licorice all sorts
The Apple logo is an upside down butt with a turd coming out of it, and the bite represents the time Jobs got bit in the hind by a famous tiger
Goin' to the Keg tonight! Wish me steak!
- Why he wore turtlenecks all the time (he was imitating some Japanese guy and wanted a personal uniform that he could wear every day)
- Why he never had license plates on his car (he took advantage of a California law which gives a maximum of six months for new vehicles to receive plates; Jobs leased a new identical SL every six months.)
- His last words ("Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow")
The uniform idea is decent because women are known to love a man in uniform, but his uniform looks like it belongs to the Albanian Chess Team, who won gold in the 1978 Autumn Olympics in San Jose, California. I think he could've made it more stylish with a bit of tinkering:
He should have a number on his back too. He looks like a number 10 to me.Hmm, okay. I don't really understand why he hated license plates so much. Probably because they can't connect to the Internet. Or maybe because there aren't enough characters on a license plate to fit his dream vanity - "SNAKEASSASSIN", which was also his dream nickname, which was also the original name for the first generation iPod prototype.
Those are actually pretty good last words, but I feel like he was planning them for years. It's like when someone asks you if you've ever been to Hawaii and you haven't but you want to look cool, so all you say is "oh wow, oh wow, oh wow". Then again, if he went to all the trouble to plan his last words carefully, he probably would've said something better, such as:
"God is ushering me into his tank"
"I own an alien -- here are its coordinates..."
"I always just peed wherever I wanted, and if that's what brings me to Hell, I'll accept it."
"My last name is actually 'Shitter'."
"I hid millions of dollars in the butts of dogs all over the world. Have at it."
"I forced George Lucas to make all those changes to Star Wars because he once told me my egg salad sucked"
In the coming months I'm sure we'll hear more posthumous factoids about the man TIME magazine called "..this generation's Saruman", but until then, I have some new tidbits that I gained access to by playing around with a Ouija board last name:
The name "Apple" is a nod to the Bible and the part where Jesus makes enough cider for all of Brazil to enjoy.
The first Mac computer was built entirely out of backpacks
Steve Jobs' glasses are edible and taste like licorice all sorts
The Apple logo is an upside down butt with a turd coming out of it, and the bite represents the time Jobs got bit in the hind by a famous tiger
Goin' to the Keg tonight! Wish me steak!
October 25, 2011
THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT DID
I have an injury.
It's been awhile. So long, in fact, that I can't even remember what my last injury was -- probably last June's questionable haircut. I have so few career injuries, all of them minor, that I'm either UNBREAKABLE or just really cautious. Probably the latter. For example, I head in the opposite direction of every dog bark I hear, I wear a jock strap while babysitting and I pay more attention to expiry dates on food than I do firey babes on street, who, by the way, can also be dangerous depending on how much judo they know. Remember that phrase and film "If Looks Could Kill"? I haven't heard anyone say it in awhile, but I hear they're putting out a sequel to the film called "...I'd Be In Jail".
I sprained my big toe. That's the injury. It happened during a game of co-ed floor hockey, which won't impress any action sports athletes sponsored by Monster Energy Drink, Red Bull Energy Drink and/or Mountain Dew green drink, but it will give me an excuse to get out of anything I want in the next week:
"Hey, wanna go play Monopoly with my dad and his his friends who all have warts?"
"Nah, can't. Sprained my toe."
"Excuse me, do you have time to complete a survey and socks and undies?"
"Sprained my toe."
"I need you bad right now baby, the fire burns within."
"I sprained my toe, but maybe you can send me an email."
If that weren't enough to convince you that I'm the physical equivalent of a young Shirley Temple, I recently bought a tub (calling it a 'tub' adds a touch of much needed manliness. You'll see) of yogurt that looks like this:
I bought ladies yogurt. Look at this shit. It's even called "svelte". Seriously though, since when did women take over yogurt? Last time I checked, yogurt was one of the more manly foods a human could scarf; it's a delicious goo made up of bacteria, which I figure a lot of women find grossatating. But then all of sudden they put this poo bug in it that makes your dumps more regularly-scheduled, and BAM, yogurt's been Oprah'd. All my favourite man brands are extinct:
Bill's Yogurt
Flamethrower Yogurt - The Chunkiest
Heinz Brown Yogurt
The World Wrestling Federation presents Yogurt
Cousin Eli's Old Time Country Style Stiff Milk
Hooters' Restaurant's "Semen in a Barrel" (dine-in only)
Orville Redenbacher Microwavable Yogurt
Burger King Yogurt Whopper with jalapenos and a spicy Regal sauce
Halloween is almost here! The other day this equation came into my head:
Carrots + Halloween = Pumpkins
My mind has been described as "beautiful".
It's been awhile. So long, in fact, that I can't even remember what my last injury was -- probably last June's questionable haircut. I have so few career injuries, all of them minor, that I'm either UNBREAKABLE or just really cautious. Probably the latter. For example, I head in the opposite direction of every dog bark I hear, I wear a jock strap while babysitting and I pay more attention to expiry dates on food than I do firey babes on street, who, by the way, can also be dangerous depending on how much judo they know. Remember that phrase and film "If Looks Could Kill"? I haven't heard anyone say it in awhile, but I hear they're putting out a sequel to the film called "...I'd Be In Jail".
I sprained my big toe. That's the injury. It happened during a game of co-ed floor hockey, which won't impress any action sports athletes sponsored by Monster Energy Drink, Red Bull Energy Drink and/or Mountain Dew green drink, but it will give me an excuse to get out of anything I want in the next week:
"Hey, wanna go play Monopoly with my dad and his his friends who all have warts?"
"Nah, can't. Sprained my toe."
"Excuse me, do you have time to complete a survey and socks and undies?"
"Sprained my toe."
"I need you bad right now baby, the fire burns within."
"I sprained my toe, but maybe you can send me an email."
If that weren't enough to convince you that I'm the physical equivalent of a young Shirley Temple, I recently bought a tub (calling it a 'tub' adds a touch of much needed manliness. You'll see) of yogurt that looks like this:
I bought ladies yogurt. Look at this shit. It's even called "svelte". Seriously though, since when did women take over yogurt? Last time I checked, yogurt was one of the more manly foods a human could scarf; it's a delicious goo made up of bacteria, which I figure a lot of women find grossatating. But then all of sudden they put this poo bug in it that makes your dumps more regularly-scheduled, and BAM, yogurt's been Oprah'd. All my favourite man brands are extinct:Bill's Yogurt
Flamethrower Yogurt - The Chunkiest
Heinz Brown Yogurt
The World Wrestling Federation presents Yogurt
Cousin Eli's Old Time Country Style Stiff Milk
Hooters' Restaurant's "Semen in a Barrel" (dine-in only)
Orville Redenbacher Microwavable Yogurt
Burger King Yogurt Whopper with jalapenos and a spicy Regal sauce
Halloween is almost here! The other day this equation came into my head:
Carrots + Halloween = Pumpkins
My mind has been described as "beautiful".
October 18, 2011
THE DUNKAROOS KANGAROO IS BASED ON A REAL KOALA
October Checklist
√ Feed the rest of the summer corn to the man in the toilet
√ Replace racy mannequin with vulgar scarecrow
√ Dig the monthly hole
√ If we find "it" in the hole, defrost all that pizza dough and call the newspaper
√ don't bother rapping
√ stop calling those bobblehead toys 'dildos'
√ knit something for Christ's sake
√ decide on Halloween costume - either pterodactyl, mouse pad or sexy mule
I'm back from New York, and no, I didn't find Crocodile Dundee's apartment, but yes, I did bury my time capsule in Central Park, and yes the time capsule was a Pearl Jam box set. Seriously though, it was a great trip. Here are today's *sound effect of glass breaking* Quick Points *sound effect of Pat Sajack saying "spin the wheel"*
- Stayed near that building on which King Kong raped that woman
- Went to Brooklyn and decided that I prefer the other Burroughs -Manhattan, Queen and St. Louis - a bit better
- Saw first hand that "Occupy Wall Street" is just a band who won't leave downtown until someone signs them
- Went to 30 Rock, did 10 Bloody Mary's in the mirror of the NBC store and ended up with a free 'Chuck' key chain
And that's pretty much all I did minus the showers walking in between things. This has been *sound effect of jack hammer* Quick Points *sound effect of Jason Mewes saying "Snoogans"*
POSITIVE MESSAGE
When I'm feeling a bit murpy and even pizza tastes less zingy, I usually try to imagine telling my teenage self what I'm up to now, which allows me to appreciate my current stats. For example, on Saturday I got this text:
Bret Hart just told us the funniest story about yokozuna. Amazing.
If the younger version of me knew I'd be getting messages such as this AND over a mobile phone no less, he'd be very satisfied thus convincing present Glenn that everything truly is a-okay.
Wasn't that nice? Time for lunch. I'll probably eat some combination of both plants and animals.
√ Feed the rest of the summer corn to the man in the toilet
√ Replace racy mannequin with vulgar scarecrow
√ Dig the monthly hole
√ If we find "it" in the hole, defrost all that pizza dough and call the newspaper
√ don't bother rapping
√ stop calling those bobblehead toys 'dildos'
√ knit something for Christ's sake
√ decide on Halloween costume - either pterodactyl, mouse pad or sexy mule
I'm back from New York, and no, I didn't find Crocodile Dundee's apartment, but yes, I did bury my time capsule in Central Park, and yes the time capsule was a Pearl Jam box set. Seriously though, it was a great trip. Here are today's *sound effect of glass breaking* Quick Points *sound effect of Pat Sajack saying "spin the wheel"*
- Stayed near that building on which King Kong raped that woman
- Went to Brooklyn and decided that I prefer the other Burroughs -Manhattan, Queen and St. Louis - a bit better
- Saw first hand that "Occupy Wall Street" is just a band who won't leave downtown until someone signs them
- Went to 30 Rock, did 10 Bloody Mary's in the mirror of the NBC store and ended up with a free 'Chuck' key chain
And that's pretty much all I did minus the showers walking in between things. This has been *sound effect of jack hammer* Quick Points *sound effect of Jason Mewes saying "Snoogans"*
POSITIVE MESSAGE
When I'm feeling a bit murpy and even pizza tastes less zingy, I usually try to imagine telling my teenage self what I'm up to now, which allows me to appreciate my current stats. For example, on Saturday I got this text:
Bret Hart just told us the funniest story about yokozuna. Amazing.
If the younger version of me knew I'd be getting messages such as this AND over a mobile phone no less, he'd be very satisfied thus convincing present Glenn that everything truly is a-okay.
Wasn't that nice? Time for lunch. I'll probably eat some combination of both plants and animals.
October 5, 2011
(T)RICK "SHOT" JENNINGS - WORST NICKNAME
Last weekend was one of the most hectic I've had in like, 5 birthdays.
On Friday I didn't really do anything. That's okay though, Friday aren't what they used to be. I think I've talked about this before, but the basic tenets of my hypothesis are that when you get older, an ideal party is you at your house with a lot of snacks and no work the next day, and Friday is the perfect day to make this happen because you've already worked and you're like "gotta not work". So I did. So.
Saturday.
Saturdays are for sleeping in and long showers, but unfortunately for me I was scheduled to assist in a move. Not human moving (the couple involved is very mobile and both great dancers) but house moving, like stuff, human stuff; couches and ink jet printers etc.
I just realized that taken individually, the parts of my day won't garner many "boo hoos" from you guys, so I may use some extreme language to make them more interesting. The media does this all the time according to Naomi Klein and her latest, groundbreaking work, "Go to Hell, Guys".
Next up was a softball double header against the hated Second City squad. If you'll remember correctly, last Saturday was cool and windy, like a fart from the rear of James Dean, so it wasn't exactly ideal weather for a sport that's 90% standing around. Luckily, team owner Gary bought 40 tacos and 24 beers for the team between games and this other guy Stein brought some bourbon to warm our bones and impair our judgements. If you're a regular reader of this site or you're my dad or my doctor, you'll know that I have a sensitive stomach that doesn't react well to taco meat and brown liquor, but I ate and drank anyway because I'm a fuckin' renegade.
We lost both games, but that doesn't matter because baseball is really about who can eat more grass than the other team, and once were drunk and full of tacos, a few blades were just what the doctor ordered. Most people think that grass turns your poo green, but in reality all it does is give it a low level hum.
After that I didn't have much time for much needed rest before my sister and I headed off to................. CIRQUE DU SOLEIL. You know? That human circus that French people invented that takes buskers and clowns off the streets and into your hearts? Not just buskers and clowns, but flippies who don't know the meaning of "get a real job". Anyway, it was my first time at one of these, and it was fantastic, especially this part where five or six Asian women rode big unicycles and flipped bowls onto their heads from their feet a la Helen Hunt in "Twister". No wait, she didn't do that, she was a doctor who loved wind. It's too bad I felt like I could've pooed throughout the whole show thanks to the whiskey, beer and tacos bubbling like hot magma in my core.
Normally I'd be off to bed without supper after a day like that, but instead, after that, I went to help my friends LIFE OF A CRAPHEAD with their Nuit Blanche project that looked like this:
I played the curator of the Queen West exhibits and interviewed the "artist" (the real artists were actually piloting the Inukshuks). I successfully convinced people that there existed a Scotiabank Scene Card contest on scotiabank.ca, and that the default password for Scene members is 01234. I went to bed at 4:00am and I couldn't even sleep. Mr. Sandman? Bring me some cheese if you're not going to bring me some sleep. There's probably a lot more I could tell you about this, but honestly, it's all a blur and some of the stuff you wouldn't even believe. Okay, here's a hint - naked water. Figure it out and write me a story.
The next day I wanted to lie down anywhere, all day, but instead I played floor hockey and did stand up comedy. I scored 5 goals and successfully debuted a joke about penises. So yeah, a busy, yet wholly satisfying weekend.
Pretty good little personal recap huh? Tomorrow I'm off to NYC (New York Crazy) for a few days just to see what's up with the world's top urban destination. Will I see Donald Trump? Will I kiss a navy man? Stay clicked and find out some time if I decide to tell you about it. Otherwise, live long and proper.
On Friday I didn't really do anything. That's okay though, Friday aren't what they used to be. I think I've talked about this before, but the basic tenets of my hypothesis are that when you get older, an ideal party is you at your house with a lot of snacks and no work the next day, and Friday is the perfect day to make this happen because you've already worked and you're like "gotta not work". So I did. So.
Saturday.
Saturdays are for sleeping in and long showers, but unfortunately for me I was scheduled to assist in a move. Not human moving (the couple involved is very mobile and both great dancers) but house moving, like stuff, human stuff; couches and ink jet printers etc.
I just realized that taken individually, the parts of my day won't garner many "boo hoos" from you guys, so I may use some extreme language to make them more interesting. The media does this all the time according to Naomi Klein and her latest, groundbreaking work, "Go to Hell, Guys".
Next up was a softball double header against the hated Second City squad. If you'll remember correctly, last Saturday was cool and windy, like a fart from the rear of James Dean, so it wasn't exactly ideal weather for a sport that's 90% standing around. Luckily, team owner Gary bought 40 tacos and 24 beers for the team between games and this other guy Stein brought some bourbon to warm our bones and impair our judgements. If you're a regular reader of this site or you're my dad or my doctor, you'll know that I have a sensitive stomach that doesn't react well to taco meat and brown liquor, but I ate and drank anyway because I'm a fuckin' renegade.
We lost both games, but that doesn't matter because baseball is really about who can eat more grass than the other team, and once were drunk and full of tacos, a few blades were just what the doctor ordered. Most people think that grass turns your poo green, but in reality all it does is give it a low level hum.
After that I didn't have much time for much needed rest before my sister and I headed off to................. CIRQUE DU SOLEIL. You know? That human circus that French people invented that takes buskers and clowns off the streets and into your hearts? Not just buskers and clowns, but flippies who don't know the meaning of "get a real job". Anyway, it was my first time at one of these, and it was fantastic, especially this part where five or six Asian women rode big unicycles and flipped bowls onto their heads from their feet a la Helen Hunt in "Twister". No wait, she didn't do that, she was a doctor who loved wind. It's too bad I felt like I could've pooed throughout the whole show thanks to the whiskey, beer and tacos bubbling like hot magma in my core.
Normally I'd be off to bed without supper after a day like that, but instead, after that, I went to help my friends LIFE OF A CRAPHEAD with their Nuit Blanche project that looked like this:
I played the curator of the Queen West exhibits and interviewed the "artist" (the real artists were actually piloting the Inukshuks). I successfully convinced people that there existed a Scotiabank Scene Card contest on scotiabank.ca, and that the default password for Scene members is 01234. I went to bed at 4:00am and I couldn't even sleep. Mr. Sandman? Bring me some cheese if you're not going to bring me some sleep. There's probably a lot more I could tell you about this, but honestly, it's all a blur and some of the stuff you wouldn't even believe. Okay, here's a hint - naked water. Figure it out and write me a story.The next day I wanted to lie down anywhere, all day, but instead I played floor hockey and did stand up comedy. I scored 5 goals and successfully debuted a joke about penises. So yeah, a busy, yet wholly satisfying weekend.
Pretty good little personal recap huh? Tomorrow I'm off to NYC (New York Crazy) for a few days just to see what's up with the world's top urban destination. Will I see Donald Trump? Will I kiss a navy man? Stay clicked and find out some time if I decide to tell you about it. Otherwise, live long and proper.
September 26, 2011
GOOD COP/BAD BREATH
Did I ever tell you about the time in University when I had a steamy afternoon with Mavis Beacon?
I was walking across campus in early October listening to a new batch of sound effects I had downloaded the night before. Just as "Burp 3" was finishing, I noticed a group of well-dressed students filing into my second favourite lecture hall, the one that had the funny desk graffiti about John Candy. My curiosity got the best of me and I made my way over to see what was going on.
"What's this all about?" I asked an unassuming female dressed in her Orchestra/Funeral/Wedding/Job Interview outfit of a black knee-length skirt and well-pressed white blouse.
"Mavis Beacon is here today to talk about typing and maybe even teach us a thing or two about typing," she answered excitedly, while coyly eying my baseball uniform up and down.
"Play ball," I replied.
I wasn't as interested in the presentation so much as the presenter. Before my parents could figuratively afford to steal a computer from my neighbours who didn't even appreciate theirs and kept saying how "kinda dumb" they are, I'd spend time at my best friend's house looking up our favourite hobbies on Microsoft Encarta. Did you know that "Rugby" is named after the plac e where they invented it? All the while, this beautiful woman would stare down at me from the bookshelf that held software boxes and I'd get so horny that any words with "s" sounds would give me an embarrassing public erection of the dick. This woman was Mavis Beacon. Smart, beautiful, nice, rich, stylish, a girl. She had it all.
I managed to get a seat between the two ugliest people I could find, a lesson I learned from the July 1999 issue of Chatelaine, the one controversial one where Camilla Scott is on the cover with blood all over her face. Anyway, what a plan. It worked. Mavis took the stage in a black leather catsuit and before addressing the crowd she stopped, looked my way and licked her lips in way that suggested it was a natural instinct rather than a purposeful seduction. As her presentation began she couldn't seem to concentrate as I drew her attention to me by flexing my muscles for the entire three hours.
"Typing is, uh, hold on. Typing is... no, okay, the letters on the keys are the same as the alphabet and the numbers are there too, they're the same old shapes you know, that they usually are, like a 'seven' is the standard horizontal meets vertical and there are some symbols and the F keys, which are like, well you know, I mean, they do different things for different people."
With those words the presentation concluded and before I knew it I was neck deep in hanky panky with the world's most powerful keyboardist in a tiny storage room lit by an overhead projector we found in the corner. It smelled like dust at when we first entered, but we left it smelling like an old lasagna, know what I mean?
I was walking across campus in early October listening to a new batch of sound effects I had downloaded the night before. Just as "Burp 3" was finishing, I noticed a group of well-dressed students filing into my second favourite lecture hall, the one that had the funny desk graffiti about John Candy. My curiosity got the best of me and I made my way over to see what was going on.
"What's this all about?" I asked an unassuming female dressed in her Orchestra/Funeral/Wedding/Job Interview outfit of a black knee-length skirt and well-pressed white blouse.
"Mavis Beacon is here today to talk about typing and maybe even teach us a thing or two about typing," she answered excitedly, while coyly eying my baseball uniform up and down.
"Play ball," I replied.
I wasn't as interested in the presentation so much as the presenter. Before my parents could figuratively afford to steal a computer from my neighbours who didn't even appreciate theirs and kept saying how "kinda dumb" they are, I'd spend time at my best friend's house looking up our favourite hobbies on Microsoft Encarta. Did you know that "Rugby" is named after the plac e where they invented it? All the while, this beautiful woman would stare down at me from the bookshelf that held software boxes and I'd get so horny that any words with "s" sounds would give me an embarrassing public erection of the dick. This woman was Mavis Beacon. Smart, beautiful, nice, rich, stylish, a girl. She had it all.
I managed to get a seat between the two ugliest people I could find, a lesson I learned from the July 1999 issue of Chatelaine, the one controversial one where Camilla Scott is on the cover with blood all over her face. Anyway, what a plan. It worked. Mavis took the stage in a black leather catsuit and before addressing the crowd she stopped, looked my way and licked her lips in way that suggested it was a natural instinct rather than a purposeful seduction. As her presentation began she couldn't seem to concentrate as I drew her attention to me by flexing my muscles for the entire three hours.
"Typing is, uh, hold on. Typing is... no, okay, the letters on the keys are the same as the alphabet and the numbers are there too, they're the same old shapes you know, that they usually are, like a 'seven' is the standard horizontal meets vertical and there are some symbols and the F keys, which are like, well you know, I mean, they do different things for different people."
With those words the presentation concluded and before I knew it I was neck deep in hanky panky with the world's most powerful keyboardist in a tiny storage room lit by an overhead projector we found in the corner. It smelled like dust at when we first entered, but we left it smelling like an old lasagna, know what I mean?
September 21, 2011
IN THE GAME OF LIFE THERE ARE GOALIES AND REFEREES
FILM REVIEW
'DRIVE'
Here's a new movie starring Ryan Gosling about a guy who just loves to drive. Like that's all he does.
He has two jobs -- mechanic of cars and Hollywood stunt driver, also of cars. When he's bored he either drives or fixes a carburetor on his kitchen table. When he's a bit horny, he visits his blonde neighbour, played by presumably licensed driver Carrie Mulligan, watches TV with her son, then goes out and drives for a bit.
His best friend is also a mechanic and stunt driving coordinator, played by real life dad, Bryan Cranston, and there isn't much to their relationship besides their love of driving and cars (they don't kiss in the movie).
The Driver (you never learn Gosling's character's real name, but in early versions of the script it was Ford Taurus) almost always wears his white scorpion driving jacket that he manages to dry clean between every blood-splattered murder he commits and won't drive a car or punch a guy without his brown leather driving gloves. Early in the film, he also likes chewing tooth picks, but halfway through he stops, probably because he realized it doesn't have anything to do with cars. Or maybe he just ran out, I don't know.
In the beginning of the film, life is going pretty good for our hero -- he owns a car, he can drive whenever, his buddy Bryan Cranston buys a stock car using Albert Brooks' mob money and wants him to drive it, and his neighbour wants to hang out with him while her husband is in jail. If all a poet needs is his guitar and his dog, all The Driver needs is a car and his scorpion jacket.
Liv said "the only good thing about Drive is the font"
Things get "funky" once the husband is released from prison and is forced into robbing a pawn shop by this bald man who protected his punk ass while in jail. The Driver decides to help him out either because he just loves driving, or because he feels bad about watching TV with his son while he was away.
Things go wrong, but not really too wrong considering it was a heist, and the Driver has to kill everyone that knows him if he wants to stay alive and keep driving.
CONCLUSION
Expectation going in - a gritty action thriller with good car chases, the odd tit, and quotable lines such as "I'm driven.... to drive" and "I've got plenty of gas and my car loves to fart".
Reality - This baby was artier and slower than I thought it would be. That being said, the actors were all great and the opening scene was really good.
Final Grade - 583 out of 937
Notes
- I saw Yuk Yuk's Mark Breslin in the audience. All I could think of when I saw him was "this guy is so rich that going to the movies for him is like buying sour keys for me." Then I thought "I wonder if he thinks this is going to be funny?"
- The lady beside me got up twice in the last ten minutes. Diarrhea? Barf?
- The ladies behind me brought what sounded like an entire picnic dinner -- pop cans opening, bags opening, closing and krinkling, things being crunched.
He has two jobs -- mechanic of cars and Hollywood stunt driver, also of cars. When he's bored he either drives or fixes a carburetor on his kitchen table. When he's a bit horny, he visits his blonde neighbour, played by presumably licensed driver Carrie Mulligan, watches TV with her son, then goes out and drives for a bit.
His best friend is also a mechanic and stunt driving coordinator, played by real life dad, Bryan Cranston, and there isn't much to their relationship besides their love of driving and cars (they don't kiss in the movie).
The Driver (you never learn Gosling's character's real name, but in early versions of the script it was Ford Taurus) almost always wears his white scorpion driving jacket that he manages to dry clean between every blood-splattered murder he commits and won't drive a car or punch a guy without his brown leather driving gloves. Early in the film, he also likes chewing tooth picks, but halfway through he stops, probably because he realized it doesn't have anything to do with cars. Or maybe he just ran out, I don't know.
In the beginning of the film, life is going pretty good for our hero -- he owns a car, he can drive whenever, his buddy Bryan Cranston buys a stock car using Albert Brooks' mob money and wants him to drive it, and his neighbour wants to hang out with him while her husband is in jail. If all a poet needs is his guitar and his dog, all The Driver needs is a car and his scorpion jacket.
Liv said "the only good thing about Drive is the font" Things get "funky" once the husband is released from prison and is forced into robbing a pawn shop by this bald man who protected his punk ass while in jail. The Driver decides to help him out either because he just loves driving, or because he feels bad about watching TV with his son while he was away.
Things go wrong, but not really too wrong considering it was a heist, and the Driver has to kill everyone that knows him if he wants to stay alive and keep driving.
CONCLUSION
Expectation going in - a gritty action thriller with good car chases, the odd tit, and quotable lines such as "I'm driven.... to drive" and "I've got plenty of gas and my car loves to fart".
Reality - This baby was artier and slower than I thought it would be. That being said, the actors were all great and the opening scene was really good.
Final Grade - 583 out of 937
Notes
- I saw Yuk Yuk's Mark Breslin in the audience. All I could think of when I saw him was "this guy is so rich that going to the movies for him is like buying sour keys for me." Then I thought "I wonder if he thinks this is going to be funny?"
- The lady beside me got up twice in the last ten minutes. Diarrhea? Barf?
- The ladies behind me brought what sounded like an entire picnic dinner -- pop cans opening, bags opening, closing and krinkling, things being crunched.
September 16, 2011
THE BITCH BOTCHED
TIFF 2011 ROUNDUP
Plus Bonus Blog Content Grab Bag 2011
It's almost time to close the book on another year of glitz and glamour at the Toronto International Film Festival. 78 days of films, parties, stars and submarine shawarmas (Holt Renfrew TIFF Food Mansion favourite), has left this reporter with little to no sleep and a vow to never wear heels again!
Now I'm going to go to sleep for like, ten days, and hopefully eat something other than popcorn and champagne. My favourite movie was the one that I heard about that had a mystery, and the best party was the Levi's Presents a Nabisco Production: Lights, Camera? Acting? sponsored by Perrier's Sparkling Water for Liberia International Celebrating 50 Years featuring DJ Human Cheese, hosted by the cast of Paramount Pictures' presents a Fox Searchlight film, The Big Cop with an exclusive Midnight set from Naughty Marge brought to you by Fruit of the Loom, Ages 18 and up free admission with TIFF Nabob VIP wrist chains. I got TONS of great gift bags, but the best one was so creative! It was like one of those airline sick bags, but instead of vomit, it was full of USB sticks. When you put them in your computer there were tons of high quality HD videos of people barfing. Great. Idea. Kudos to the folks at Sauce and Juice Digital Interactive for putting a great package together.
But it wasn't all fun and games. I worked with the folks at Gallop Polls to get an idea of what TIFF patrons are all about. I did some quick, street-level polling and got some great info that should help the festival gauge its audience and help steer its programming in future years:
CURRENT RANKING OF FUNNIEST NATURAL HUMAN NOISES
1. Farts
2. Burps
3. Crying
4. Sneezes
5. screams
6. talking (a lot of people elaborated on this one "lisps" and "Chinese" were popular)
That wasn't really me talking, that was a character who's a girl and who works in PR or journalism or something. Trust me, she's smoking hot and doesn't mind when her boyfriends go out with their buddies. I didn't really need to preface that with "Trust me", but when you have a gun to your head and have to type 600 coherent words in 10 minutes or else you get pencils up your nose, you don't tend to consider these things.
That wasn't real either. I really want to see that new Ryan Gosling movie called "Drive". The reviews are good, and I have to admit, that guy is a pretty good actor who, with this film, should be able to crossover from Actor Who Women Want To Rub Their Boobs Upon to Actor Who Women Want To Rub Their Boobs Upon and Men Think is Pretty Alright All Things Considered And Probably Wouldn't Mind Their Wives Rubbing Him.
January Jones had a baby and I'm pretty sure it's the spawn of Satan since she's been so close lipped on the daddy and because she looks like she likes evil men, or at least regular men whom she seduces, has her way with, then devours.
Plus Bonus Blog Content Grab Bag 2011
It's almost time to close the book on another year of glitz and glamour at the Toronto International Film Festival. 78 days of films, parties, stars and submarine shawarmas (Holt Renfrew TIFF Food Mansion favourite), has left this reporter with little to no sleep and a vow to never wear heels again!
Now I'm going to go to sleep for like, ten days, and hopefully eat something other than popcorn and champagne. My favourite movie was the one that I heard about that had a mystery, and the best party was the Levi's Presents a Nabisco Production: Lights, Camera? Acting? sponsored by Perrier's Sparkling Water for Liberia International Celebrating 50 Years featuring DJ Human Cheese, hosted by the cast of Paramount Pictures' presents a Fox Searchlight film, The Big Cop with an exclusive Midnight set from Naughty Marge brought to you by Fruit of the Loom, Ages 18 and up free admission with TIFF Nabob VIP wrist chains. I got TONS of great gift bags, but the best one was so creative! It was like one of those airline sick bags, but instead of vomit, it was full of USB sticks. When you put them in your computer there were tons of high quality HD videos of people barfing. Great. Idea. Kudos to the folks at Sauce and Juice Digital Interactive for putting a great package together.
But it wasn't all fun and games. I worked with the folks at Gallop Polls to get an idea of what TIFF patrons are all about. I did some quick, street-level polling and got some great info that should help the festival gauge its audience and help steer its programming in future years:
CURRENT RANKING OF FUNNIEST NATURAL HUMAN NOISES
1. Farts
2. Burps
3. Crying
4. Sneezes
5. screams
6. talking (a lot of people elaborated on this one "lisps" and "Chinese" were popular)
That wasn't really me talking, that was a character who's a girl and who works in PR or journalism or something. Trust me, she's smoking hot and doesn't mind when her boyfriends go out with their buddies. I didn't really need to preface that with "Trust me", but when you have a gun to your head and have to type 600 coherent words in 10 minutes or else you get pencils up your nose, you don't tend to consider these things.
That wasn't real either. I really want to see that new Ryan Gosling movie called "Drive". The reviews are good, and I have to admit, that guy is a pretty good actor who, with this film, should be able to crossover from Actor Who Women Want To Rub Their Boobs Upon to Actor Who Women Want To Rub Their Boobs Upon and Men Think is Pretty Alright All Things Considered And Probably Wouldn't Mind Their Wives Rubbing Him.
January Jones had a baby and I'm pretty sure it's the spawn of Satan since she's been so close lipped on the daddy and because she looks like she likes evil men, or at least regular men whom she seduces, has her way with, then devours.
September 13, 2011
'NFL'? MORE LIKE, 'SOUNDS LIKE A DEAF PERSON TRYING TO SAY "ANY FELLA"'
Let's jump right into the action today, with news of the world:
Woman bakes again and husband doesn't care
Granola Bars - the cause of divorce
Nothing is truly "giant" in this world, geez
Camera bag used as regular bag to astounding results
Subhead: Pop cans are almost the size of lenses, fit great
I don't have the proper links to these stories because my newspaper, "The Screamer" isn't online. My mom got my a subscription in grade 1 instead of a new bike and she said "One day you'll thank me" and I was like, "for what?" and she said "I just...come on man, I let you watch Married with Children".
I was once like you -- doe-eyed, innocent, full of goo, liked hats until high school, got back into hats recently so I'm still like you in that regard -- but now I know what I want in life and know how to get it. What do I want? Honestly, all I need is my guitar and my dog. How do I get it?
COMICS
I drew two brand spankers that you may distribute around your community and inside this year's Halloween cards.
Remember that Canadian hip hop crew The Homo 'sup! iens?? I went to school with DJ Hugh Mann, and he ate every lunch with a pair of needle nose pliers. Even sandwiches. Even his juice box. He only had one juice box a month. He was saving up all year for turntables. His dad bought him some in January and kept them secret until Christmas. He didn't know his son was drinking with pliers to save juice to save money. That inspired the Juno winning song....
SAD CHRISTMAS
So that's all silly, but what about me? Nothing much to report. I swear, every day is like a Hardy Boys novella - same boys, different day. On the weekend I entered a contest at some outdoor festival thing while Liv was busy trying to throw something in the garbage, I forget, I was busy filling out the ballot. Yesterday the contest calls me and says I've won a trip. I was almost excited but realized within seconds that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be since the man was obviously calling from a crowded room of other Indians calling other me's. He also wanted me to write down all the details, like how the trip started in "Orlando". Noted. Then he asked for a credit card so I hung up on him, booked a real trip, drove to India, found him, showed him my real plane ticket and said "now THIS is a vacation".
Woman bakes again and husband doesn't care
Granola Bars - the cause of divorce
Nothing is truly "giant" in this world, geez
Camera bag used as regular bag to astounding results
Subhead: Pop cans are almost the size of lenses, fit great
I don't have the proper links to these stories because my newspaper, "The Screamer" isn't online. My mom got my a subscription in grade 1 instead of a new bike and she said "One day you'll thank me" and I was like, "for what?" and she said "I just...come on man, I let you watch Married with Children".
I was once like you -- doe-eyed, innocent, full of goo, liked hats until high school, got back into hats recently so I'm still like you in that regard -- but now I know what I want in life and know how to get it. What do I want? Honestly, all I need is my guitar and my dog. How do I get it?
COMICS
I drew two brand spankers that you may distribute around your community and inside this year's Halloween cards.
Remember that Canadian hip hop crew The Homo 'sup! iens?? I went to school with DJ Hugh Mann, and he ate every lunch with a pair of needle nose pliers. Even sandwiches. Even his juice box. He only had one juice box a month. He was saving up all year for turntables. His dad bought him some in January and kept them secret until Christmas. He didn't know his son was drinking with pliers to save juice to save money. That inspired the Juno winning song....
SAD CHRISTMAS
So that's all silly, but what about me? Nothing much to report. I swear, every day is like a Hardy Boys novella - same boys, different day. On the weekend I entered a contest at some outdoor festival thing while Liv was busy trying to throw something in the garbage, I forget, I was busy filling out the ballot. Yesterday the contest calls me and says I've won a trip. I was almost excited but realized within seconds that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be since the man was obviously calling from a crowded room of other Indians calling other me's. He also wanted me to write down all the details, like how the trip started in "Orlando". Noted. Then he asked for a credit card so I hung up on him, booked a real trip, drove to India, found him, showed him my real plane ticket and said "now THIS is a vacation".
September 1, 2011
BUZZER LAD
GUIDE TO AUTUMN
Autumn (or "brown time") is a season best known for boring fruits and vegetables and dead leaves. Here in the Northern Hemi-smear, autumn runs from around September to December, covering some of the world's most unpopular months including October and November.
Notable autumn-ites include the Scarecrow, Remembrance Day John, Salami Butcher, That Thing That Eats Leaves, Wiener Dog Wearing Sweater, Farmer, and Frumpy Teacher.
Your autumn wardrobe should consist of a good mixture of lightweight, necked long sleeves and heavier woolens. You'll probably want to pack a decent slicker and a Halloween costume too. If you can't think of anything good, just put everything on and say you're dressed as a traveling peddler whose wagons and horses were stolen under moonlight by a band of husbands.
Hats. Hats and Autumn go together like forks and soft buns. At any given moment it can rain or snow, so you need something versatile and warm. Rubber toques are great but are hard to find outside of Brazil, so you may want to carry around a few options in your garbage bag just in case.
Here are some good shots of good hats (thanks models! Your key chains are in the mail.)
Corby models an Ultra Bean stitched in the Memphis style.
Harrence shows off an 'Wicker Boomerang (Option B)' while on a train to get his autumn spices
Standard 'Sporting Maximizer' (rare misprint, supposed to be MY DAB)
Tony gives us a great example of a 'Natural October' just before hitting the sack before his first day of high school
And finally, here's Rhino wearing a Nancy Butterstiff original East Northern Soft Tip in Blink 182's home studio, San Diego, California
Autumn (or "brown time") is a season best known for boring fruits and vegetables and dead leaves. Here in the Northern Hemi-smear, autumn runs from around September to December, covering some of the world's most unpopular months including October and November.
Notable autumn-ites include the Scarecrow, Remembrance Day John, Salami Butcher, That Thing That Eats Leaves, Wiener Dog Wearing Sweater, Farmer, and Frumpy Teacher.
Your autumn wardrobe should consist of a good mixture of lightweight, necked long sleeves and heavier woolens. You'll probably want to pack a decent slicker and a Halloween costume too. If you can't think of anything good, just put everything on and say you're dressed as a traveling peddler whose wagons and horses were stolen under moonlight by a band of husbands.
Hats. Hats and Autumn go together like forks and soft buns. At any given moment it can rain or snow, so you need something versatile and warm. Rubber toques are great but are hard to find outside of Brazil, so you may want to carry around a few options in your garbage bag just in case.
Here are some good shots of good hats (thanks models! Your key chains are in the mail.)
Corby models an Ultra Bean stitched in the Memphis style.
Harrence shows off an 'Wicker Boomerang (Option B)' while on a train to get his autumn spices
Standard 'Sporting Maximizer' (rare misprint, supposed to be MY DAB)
Tony gives us a great example of a 'Natural October' just before hitting the sack before his first day of high school
And finally, here's Rhino wearing a Nancy Butterstiff original East Northern Soft Tip in Blink 182's home studio, San Diego, California
Autumn isn't all bad. It's a great time for making, baking and eating pie, or buying, warming and eating pie, or stealing, throwing, scraping and eating pie.
I'm going to take this autumn to grow back all the hair I lost in the summer. Weird, it's the first time this has happened. I guess because it's been so hot, hahahaha mammals, right? Once it grows back I'm going to get my barber to give me a Chris Gaines.
I'm going to take this autumn to grow back all the hair I lost in the summer. Weird, it's the first time this has happened. I guess because it's been so hot, hahahaha mammals, right? Once it grows back I'm going to get my barber to give me a Chris Gaines.
August 29, 2011
E.T. THE EXTRA TACO
Yesterday I started an entry about "roofing" things, but it didn't really have the legs because there isn't much to roofing and I don't know if kids even do it anymore because they're busy with growing up too fast. I'll boil it down for you just in case you're interested:
- if you're significant other dumps you, roof their stuff
- if you have garbage and you don't know what to do with it, roof it
- definitely roof dog shit
- go on roofs to find what people have roofed
It's not a roof unless it stays roofed. Nice rainbow though, good for roofing
If I were to write an essay on roofing those point form notes would be my starting point. My intro would begin, "For centuries man has used roofs to hold up houses and jump off into snow banks, but our ingenuity has produced some surprising uses, the foremost being roofing". Keep in mind, this is the first draft so I'd probably add bigger words after, words like extinguish. My conclusion would go something like, "Perhaps we won't need roofs when we go back to teepees but we can still throw towels and stuff up there, right?". ALWAYS END WITH A QUESTION. It leaves your audience wanting more and increases their appetite and when they quench their hunger they associate that moment with your tasty essay. A+.
I've never really had a problem remembering my dreams and I feel bad for people who don't. It's like going on vacation and being asleep the whole time. Whoa that's a poignant thought I think: "A dream is a vacation when you sleep, but if you sleep through a vacation your dreams don't come true". That's the first thing I'm going to say to my baby when it's born and GUARANTEED it'll grow up to make at least $50,000 dollars a year and will have a subscription to at least one thought provoking magazine.
I'm not a perfect dreamer. I rarely, if ever, have a lucid dream and most of my sex-themed dreams rarely get sexy because even in dreams I'm like "I can't cheat" or the woman has reservations despite it being my fantasy. I'm a nice guy! Anyway, last night I had a really weird one where I woke up and found a body bag in my wardrobe. I woke Liv up in the dream and she peaked inside the bag and was like "It's Anna Nicole Smith". I called 911:
"We found a body in our place."
"Do you know who it is?"
"The actress, Anna Nicole Smith"
This must've taken place in 2007. The rest of the dream was us trying to figure out why and how someone got into our apartment and dumped Anna Nicole Smith's body. The cops didn't even question me.
As I was applying my fourth coat of mousse before work today, the dream was still fresh in my mind and I thought it might make a good TV show where every day a guy wakes up and a new dead body is in his wardrobe. He doesn't even care about the bodies, he's just pissed someone keeps doing it. People are such idiots in the morning right after a night of dreams. More robberies should happen in the morning. "Honey there's a man looking through your jewels, but I'm tired and I had a dream about Kathy Ireland".
- if you're significant other dumps you, roof their stuff
- if you have garbage and you don't know what to do with it, roof it
- definitely roof dog shit
- go on roofs to find what people have roofed
It's not a roof unless it stays roofed. Nice rainbow though, good for roofing
I've never really had a problem remembering my dreams and I feel bad for people who don't. It's like going on vacation and being asleep the whole time. Whoa that's a poignant thought I think: "A dream is a vacation when you sleep, but if you sleep through a vacation your dreams don't come true". That's the first thing I'm going to say to my baby when it's born and GUARANTEED it'll grow up to make at least $50,000 dollars a year and will have a subscription to at least one thought provoking magazine.
I'm not a perfect dreamer. I rarely, if ever, have a lucid dream and most of my sex-themed dreams rarely get sexy because even in dreams I'm like "I can't cheat" or the woman has reservations despite it being my fantasy. I'm a nice guy! Anyway, last night I had a really weird one where I woke up and found a body bag in my wardrobe. I woke Liv up in the dream and she peaked inside the bag and was like "It's Anna Nicole Smith". I called 911:
"We found a body in our place."
"Do you know who it is?"
"The actress, Anna Nicole Smith"
This must've taken place in 2007. The rest of the dream was us trying to figure out why and how someone got into our apartment and dumped Anna Nicole Smith's body. The cops didn't even question me.
As I was applying my fourth coat of mousse before work today, the dream was still fresh in my mind and I thought it might make a good TV show where every day a guy wakes up and a new dead body is in his wardrobe. He doesn't even care about the bodies, he's just pissed someone keeps doing it. People are such idiots in the morning right after a night of dreams. More robberies should happen in the morning. "Honey there's a man looking through your jewels, but I'm tired and I had a dream about Kathy Ireland".
August 18, 2011
YOU SCREAM FOR ICED SCREAM
I'm going to the Scottage this weekend, but before I go I have several things to take care of. Going away for a relaxing few days in lake country isn't as easy as tying your pet to the fridge, throwing some gum and paper towels in a grocery bag and threatening someone for a ride. You gotta be organized! Let me take you through "Phase 1" of my cottage summer weekend planning package.
TASK ONE - Car Ride
Some people sleep during car rides, other puke, but me, I like good old fashioned conversation. I always aim to have a few topics ready before I get in the car and this time I think I want to talk about how Hitler didn't use the Pyramids as his base.
TASK TWO - Food
Classic cottage food is stuff like hamburgers, s'mores, beer and toads, which is easy to plan for, and execute when it comes to time to "make some poo". My dad taught me to never take the easy way out unless you're in the house of an asshole, so I like to mix it up. This year I'm encouraging my friends to make all their meals out of plasticine before making them for real. When everyone is done their models, we'll judge which one looks the best and the worst. Whoever gets picked as the worst has to eat the entire plasticine meal while the winner gets to sit on the best chair in the joint until sunrise.
TASK THREE - Activities
- someone play dead and drift to the middle of lake in canoe
- rubbing feet against stone - biggest callous at end wins. Top bleeder gets first shower in the morning
- penis length contest
- try to replace all the lake water with Coke (need buckets)
- force some idiot eat tree sap
- make up a verbal Internet
- make mosquito chamber, put man in it, see how many bites it takes to die
- play Uno
- make some art out of crud
- Listen to the audiobook of Tim Allen's "Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man" around the campfire
- pee all over the place
And that's Phase 1! Phase 2 is all about execution and making decisions on the fly. One year we didn't even make it to the cottage because we decided that Wendy's has better hamburgers so we stayed there the whole time. By my 19th Junior Bacon Cheeseburger I was so out of it that I thought my nose was a gun and anytime someone burped we would rave for 3 hours. See you next week!
TASK ONE - Car Ride
Some people sleep during car rides, other puke, but me, I like good old fashioned conversation. I always aim to have a few topics ready before I get in the car and this time I think I want to talk about how Hitler didn't use the Pyramids as his base.
TASK TWO - Food
Classic cottage food is stuff like hamburgers, s'mores, beer and toads, which is easy to plan for, and execute when it comes to time to "make some poo". My dad taught me to never take the easy way out unless you're in the house of an asshole, so I like to mix it up. This year I'm encouraging my friends to make all their meals out of plasticine before making them for real. When everyone is done their models, we'll judge which one looks the best and the worst. Whoever gets picked as the worst has to eat the entire plasticine meal while the winner gets to sit on the best chair in the joint until sunrise.
TASK THREE - Activities
- someone play dead and drift to the middle of lake in canoe
- rubbing feet against stone - biggest callous at end wins. Top bleeder gets first shower in the morning
- penis length contest
- try to replace all the lake water with Coke (need buckets)
- force some idiot eat tree sap
- make up a verbal Internet
- make mosquito chamber, put man in it, see how many bites it takes to die
- play Uno
- make some art out of crud
- Listen to the audiobook of Tim Allen's "Don't Stand Too Close to a Naked Man" around the campfire
- pee all over the place
And that's Phase 1! Phase 2 is all about execution and making decisions on the fly. One year we didn't even make it to the cottage because we decided that Wendy's has better hamburgers so we stayed there the whole time. By my 19th Junior Bacon Cheeseburger I was so out of it that I thought my nose was a gun and anytime someone burped we would rave for 3 hours. See you next week!
August 17, 2011
SIGMUND FRAUD
UPSIDE BACKWARD
A short story of neo-fiction
Mikk and Drip work for the city.
They've been best friends since the day they met, Marf 36th, 3045. Over the years they shared many interests - tubby girls, vintage silk, and finding the freshest produce in town. They'd share ripe Zengarn Apples picked fresh off the trees growing out of the side of the cat museum and talk about their future while pulling carrots from the toilet garden in the new mall powered by hugs. Back then it didn't really matter where they'd end up in life, as long as they were together.
They had originally applied to be garbage makers, but when the clerk saw they had filled out their applications using a sugarcane quill with blueberry ink, they were immediately flagged and sent to Zone West for a then top secret municipal project. Opportunities for young bucks fresh out of water school don't come around that often so the choice to stick around was an easy one.
Training took the better part of a lunch hour and by the time the fresh week began the two faux brauxthers hit the streets with new responsibilities, new equipment, new belts, and new names. Mikk took the name "Penis" after the great liberator who freed the basketball players 250 years prior. Drip always liked him name so he dropped the "D" and added a "P". The woman working down in name tags had never tingled as fiercely as that afternoon when Prip put in the request. His daddy used to say "If you make the girls tingle, soon they'll want your dingle".
Their first call came that same day when the Priest of Police himself rang their bell and alerted them to a hot spot at a nearby domed barn. It was dark. Training was always so well lit! Hearts pumped and sweat said hello as they cautiously made their way through the barn looking like Frankenstein when he went anywhere. When they smelled it they knew they were in the right spot.
Unnatural. Thick. Somewhat desirable, then very desirable. Right outta the guidebook. The Great Masters said anti-freeze tastes like a cool summer breeze, but that don't make it right. They proceeded blindly into a large chamber, whispers in the dark. A low level sizzle could be heard, but where was it coming from?
"By the order of the Mayor and all his birds, we order you to cease and turn some lights on."
Prip knew it was an empty statement, but rules are rules. Surprisingly, the suspects obliged and the chamber was alight.
Three men. Four men? No, seven. Seven men, two units, three shelves. The calculations seemed quick enough to Penis but before he knew it an eighth man had him upside down by his feet. Prip wasn't faring any better, as two men proceeded to drag him to the bigger of the two units. It wasn't rocket math to figure out what would happen next.
The shortest man in the bunch attended the active unit and removed an alloy cage from it, moving its brown contents onto what appeared to be toilet paper laid out on a platter. Penis recognized the spread from one of the visions they were fed in training - fried bird and potato fries. A Class 5 violation punishable to either death or hung feet first from a helicopter for three weeks straight. He went for his flasher but was quickly detained by his captors and led to the shelves where he saw boxes of Class 4 cocoa strips and some other illegals he didn't recognize.
They got fed fried chicken and candy (which is illegal in the future) and they loved it so they quit.
It's not done yet, but I didn't want to rob you of a satisfying conclusion. The future. Live well. The end.
A short story of neo-fiction
Mikk and Drip work for the city.
They've been best friends since the day they met, Marf 36th, 3045. Over the years they shared many interests - tubby girls, vintage silk, and finding the freshest produce in town. They'd share ripe Zengarn Apples picked fresh off the trees growing out of the side of the cat museum and talk about their future while pulling carrots from the toilet garden in the new mall powered by hugs. Back then it didn't really matter where they'd end up in life, as long as they were together.
They had originally applied to be garbage makers, but when the clerk saw they had filled out their applications using a sugarcane quill with blueberry ink, they were immediately flagged and sent to Zone West for a then top secret municipal project. Opportunities for young bucks fresh out of water school don't come around that often so the choice to stick around was an easy one.
Training took the better part of a lunch hour and by the time the fresh week began the two faux brauxthers hit the streets with new responsibilities, new equipment, new belts, and new names. Mikk took the name "Penis" after the great liberator who freed the basketball players 250 years prior. Drip always liked him name so he dropped the "D" and added a "P". The woman working down in name tags had never tingled as fiercely as that afternoon when Prip put in the request. His daddy used to say "If you make the girls tingle, soon they'll want your dingle".
Their first call came that same day when the Priest of Police himself rang their bell and alerted them to a hot spot at a nearby domed barn. It was dark. Training was always so well lit! Hearts pumped and sweat said hello as they cautiously made their way through the barn looking like Frankenstein when he went anywhere. When they smelled it they knew they were in the right spot.
Unnatural. Thick. Somewhat desirable, then very desirable. Right outta the guidebook. The Great Masters said anti-freeze tastes like a cool summer breeze, but that don't make it right. They proceeded blindly into a large chamber, whispers in the dark. A low level sizzle could be heard, but where was it coming from?
"By the order of the Mayor and all his birds, we order you to cease and turn some lights on."
Prip knew it was an empty statement, but rules are rules. Surprisingly, the suspects obliged and the chamber was alight.
Three men. Four men? No, seven. Seven men, two units, three shelves. The calculations seemed quick enough to Penis but before he knew it an eighth man had him upside down by his feet. Prip wasn't faring any better, as two men proceeded to drag him to the bigger of the two units. It wasn't rocket math to figure out what would happen next.
The shortest man in the bunch attended the active unit and removed an alloy cage from it, moving its brown contents onto what appeared to be toilet paper laid out on a platter. Penis recognized the spread from one of the visions they were fed in training - fried bird and potato fries. A Class 5 violation punishable to either death or hung feet first from a helicopter for three weeks straight. He went for his flasher but was quickly detained by his captors and led to the shelves where he saw boxes of Class 4 cocoa strips and some other illegals he didn't recognize.
They got fed fried chicken and candy (which is illegal in the future) and they loved it so they quit.
It's not done yet, but I didn't want to rob you of a satisfying conclusion. The future. Live well. The end.
August 16, 2011
I'M STUNNED BY HOW MANY WARTS SHE HAS -- THAT MEANS SHE'S STUNNING
Unless you've been living inside of a dog for the last 13 cycles, you'll know that I've been working in an office for as long as this blog has existed. Like everything in life expect for water parks, working in such an environment has its positives and its negatives. On the positive you get air conditioning and a computer. On the negative you have to dress like a golfer and you look forward to going to the bathroom, a tendency normally reserved for constipates and poo champions. The number one best part? You get your very own email signature, which for all you miners out there is like a regular signature but with more raw data. Here's a simple example:
Horton Donkey
Junior Picker
The Pelt People
T: 345-345-NNNN
E: H_Donkey@email.hotmail
Since email is an office's number one form of communication, I see about six million email signatures a day from all over the world. Facts -- It's standard for Polish people to include their last dead relative's nickname on line 4, while over in China, every signature is annotated with what each word is supposed to smell like. We don't have them here, but over there desks contain tiny compartments full of smells and combinations of smells so that each signature can be read properly. That's why you'll see North American businessmen bring local soups and perfume samples when traveling to the far east for meetings. (This paragraph smells like pesto)
I thought this would be an opportune time to post some of the WaCKiEst email signatures I've ever come across, since 79% of this summer's blockbuster films were about email.
MR. JOHN McTHICK
CEO
Great Muscles Entertainment
000-346-43454
CEO@GME.ca
"Im being held captive this is the only way i can communcicate send helpp or call my kids pleas';43'"
GREAT MUSCLES named one of the 50 best employers in the North by WORKIN' Magazine
Ben Puffy
Attorney at Law
(I also play pool)
784-395-3232
(That's the pool hall's number)
8ball@snookerworld.co.uk
"Lawsuits, Corner Pocket" - The Hustler
Cyril Smench
Vice Guru of Curiosity
The WHAT IF company
Numbys - 416-000-0007
EEm - the_duke@???.!!!
We Don't Do Anything
Sarah Longshits
Model
Top Notch Bodies Inc.
I have to see you before I talk to you
Same with email
Fax - 679-888-4928
Measurements 32-25-9 Beat That
Horton Donkey
Junior Picker
The Pelt People
T: 345-345-NNNN
E: H_Donkey@email.hotmail
Since email is an office's number one form of communication, I see about six million email signatures a day from all over the world. Facts -- It's standard for Polish people to include their last dead relative's nickname on line 4, while over in China, every signature is annotated with what each word is supposed to smell like. We don't have them here, but over there desks contain tiny compartments full of smells and combinations of smells so that each signature can be read properly. That's why you'll see North American businessmen bring local soups and perfume samples when traveling to the far east for meetings. (This paragraph smells like pesto)
I thought this would be an opportune time to post some of the WaCKiEst email signatures I've ever come across, since 79% of this summer's blockbuster films were about email.
MR. JOHN McTHICK
CEO
Great Muscles Entertainment
000-346-43454
CEO@GME.ca
"Im being held captive this is the only way i can communcicate send helpp or call my kids pleas';43'"
GREAT MUSCLES named one of the 50 best employers in the North by WORKIN' Magazine
Ben Puffy
Attorney at Law
(I also play pool)
784-395-3232
(That's the pool hall's number)
8ball@snookerworld.co.uk
"Lawsuits, Corner Pocket" - The Hustler
Cyril Smench
Vice Guru of Curiosity
The WHAT IF company
Numbys - 416-000-0007
EEm - the_duke@???.!!!
We Don't Do Anything
Sarah Longshits
Model
Top Notch Bodies Inc.
I have to see you before I talk to you
Same with email
Fax - 679-888-4928
Measurements 32-25-9 Beat That
August 15, 2011
PLEASE? IN A POD?
I'm sooooooooooooooooo sorry! I'm also very embarrassed. My face is red, my brow is sweaty and my pants are pissed. Next time I see you in person I owe you a wet sloppy one, free of charge and I'll even moan a bit.
For those of you who don't listen to my Sirius/XM 24 hour news channel, "A Toronto Star"(formerly "The Global Male", formerly "A Toronto Son"), I got an Amazon Kindle for my birthday and didn't share it on the Internet. To many, four months is nothing, but when you're a teen heartthrob and an internationally recognized intellectual whose expertise is Carl Reiner movies about summertime, four months is four months I could've spent analyzing the court scene in Summer School in preparation for my next TED talk.
Oh god, I'm so sorry. There's so much I could've done with this rather large addition to my life, but I guess there's nothing I can do right now; the news is simply too old according to the modern blogging bible, 1994's "Geocities Guide to Web Logging" which came with a free CD-ROM full of Under Construction animated GIFs. Back then, an 'e-book' was any book within 6 feet of your modem.
UPDATE
Talked to my lawyers, The Baxter Twins, and they said I could give a small sampling of what I would've written and I should avoid jail time so long as I don't provide a full feature or say anything bad about Queen Elizabeth. Since I'm already on parole for ruining feeding a cat some tea, I'm a little nervous to even try my luck, so I'm going to keep this bare bones.
LEGALLY CLEARED BLOG CONTENT ABOUT GETTING A KINDLE
"I love the Kindle, but the 'Print' option seems a touch unnecessary."
Does that satisfy you? I have way more material like this fake viral video where I pick a book, then buy as many Kindles as there are pages in that book, then attach the Kindles together where each one is a page, get it? I'd of course film the whole process, speed it up, put a modern, hip, ambient music track behind it, say it was an art project called something like "What's Old is Neu" and set the Internet on fire.
I know my rep has been tarnished with this blatant disregard of a major purchase that absolutely should've been shared, but I hope I made it up to you. If not, here's something that should satisfy:
For those of you who don't listen to my Sirius/XM 24 hour news channel, "A Toronto Star"(formerly "The Global Male", formerly "A Toronto Son"), I got an Amazon Kindle for my birthday and didn't share it on the Internet. To many, four months is nothing, but when you're a teen heartthrob and an internationally recognized intellectual whose expertise is Carl Reiner movies about summertime, four months is four months I could've spent analyzing the court scene in Summer School in preparation for my next TED talk.
Oh god, I'm so sorry. There's so much I could've done with this rather large addition to my life, but I guess there's nothing I can do right now; the news is simply too old according to the modern blogging bible, 1994's "Geocities Guide to Web Logging" which came with a free CD-ROM full of Under Construction animated GIFs. Back then, an 'e-book' was any book within 6 feet of your modem.
UPDATE
Talked to my lawyers, The Baxter Twins, and they said I could give a small sampling of what I would've written and I should avoid jail time so long as I don't provide a full feature or say anything bad about Queen Elizabeth. Since I'm already on parole for ruining feeding a cat some tea, I'm a little nervous to even try my luck, so I'm going to keep this bare bones.
LEGALLY CLEARED BLOG CONTENT ABOUT GETTING A KINDLE
"I love the Kindle, but the 'Print' option seems a touch unnecessary."
Does that satisfy you? I have way more material like this fake viral video where I pick a book, then buy as many Kindles as there are pages in that book, then attach the Kindles together where each one is a page, get it? I'd of course film the whole process, speed it up, put a modern, hip, ambient music track behind it, say it was an art project called something like "What's Old is Neu" and set the Internet on fire.
I know my rep has been tarnished with this blatant disregard of a major purchase that absolutely should've been shared, but I hope I made it up to you. If not, here's something that should satisfy:
August 12, 2011
EYE PLUGS
FRIDAY FLIP SIDES
Welcome to Friday Flip Sides, a new and innovative feature that was brainstormed by myself, a well-respected local businessman, six drama teachers and a coupla dogs over more than a few pots of coffee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:::::::::::&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
You know that they call that in the hacker-led cybertopia of the year 2050? Punk-Uation. The colons mean I'm serious, the ampersands act as a bookmark for your convenience and the exclamation points simply look radical.
If this feature could talk it'd say "let's take things slow". If this feature were an animal it'd be The Automobile (innovative, kind of annoying).
Flip Side 1
It's mid-August, the weather is warm and sunny.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE....
everyone like, stinks.
Flip Side 2
Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has divided the city with his politics and attitude.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE...
It's mid-August, the weather is warm and sunny.
Flip Side 3
The U.S. debt crisis has led to market turmoil and does not bode well for the worldwide economy.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE...
Hamburgers still grace the grills of the world.
Now keep in mind that this was my team's first stab at this feature. Don't forget that the first time they tried Double Jeopardy on that show Jeopardy, there were 2 casualties and several ghosts.
Welcome to Friday Flip Sides, a new and innovative feature that was brainstormed by myself, a well-respected local businessman, six drama teachers and a coupla dogs over more than a few pots of coffee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!:::::::::::&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
You know that they call that in the hacker-led cybertopia of the year 2050? Punk-Uation. The colons mean I'm serious, the ampersands act as a bookmark for your convenience and the exclamation points simply look radical.
If this feature could talk it'd say "let's take things slow". If this feature were an animal it'd be The Automobile (innovative, kind of annoying).
Flip Side 1
It's mid-August, the weather is warm and sunny.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE....
everyone like, stinks.
Flip Side 2
Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has divided the city with his politics and attitude.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE...
It's mid-August, the weather is warm and sunny.
Flip Side 3
The U.S. debt crisis has led to market turmoil and does not bode well for the worldwide economy.
BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE...
Hamburgers still grace the grills of the world.
Now keep in mind that this was my team's first stab at this feature. Don't forget that the first time they tried Double Jeopardy on that show Jeopardy, there were 2 casualties and several ghosts.
August 11, 2011
THE FURM
The last time I honked your way I told you that I was going to London, England. I went, I came back and now that I've cleared customs, I'm legally entitled to write some stuff vaguely related to the trip as well as import 1-3 bottles of Pimm's. To all of you who were concerned for my safety concerning the riots that spread due to outrage over Rowan Atkinson crashing his McLaren F1 super car, I thank you for thinking of me amongst your other thoughts like what tomorrow's sandwich will be. Here is the aforementioned stuff, complete with punctuation:
I've been lucky enough to travel all over Europe, North America and whatever continent the Dominican Republic is in, but traveling actually causes me a great deal of stress, mentally and physically. That basically means I get diarrhea. I'm the type of guy who concerns himself with tiny things and humongous things -- in a given day I'll get stressed out about the length of my fingernails, while fascinating myself with thoughts about outer space, the biggest place in the world. I don't know where I was going with this, but be thankful, because any bit of information I hand out could be used against me in a lawsuit or game show. Anyway, I think it might just mean that I don't understand politics. Here, how about this:
I see "The Airport" as a giant challenge. I'm on time for everything because my brain is mostly clock, whereas scientists' are mostly calculators and everyone else's is mostly naked people. If flying was as simple as showing up on time and getting on a plane, it'd be easy pie, no stress, "let's do this again", but it's more like a video game -- there's a bunch of little tests and you can only pass them if you're early enough and have in your possession certain items (passport, shoes not made of bombs).
An airplane is like a bedroom full of people you don't know and instead of beds there are chairs that you have to sit in when told. Even if you are able to get up the only place you can go is the bathroom and the bathroom is as big as one human and one human only.
Then you get to where you're going and no one likes you because you're not from there. I hate tourists because they don't know any of my secret handshakes.
Then you have to go to the airport and airplane again and when you get home you get stressed because you haven't been on the Internet in a week and you're weird about that kind of thing. Chances are, all I missed were some Tweets about food, some Tumbls about Garfield and some Facebook invitations to events whose titles give no indication of what the event is, but I still end up feeling like I did when my family went to Medieval Times without me.
That being said, I had a great time! Every time I got stressed I'd eat beans and things would get funny after that. Laughter is the beans of the soul, and beans are the soul of laughter. I don't mean to slap myself on the cheeks, but that last sentence was very good, and I didn't even think about it, it just came out. Isn't the world weird?
PLATINUM USER SPECIAL CONTENT
People who haven't bought a Platinum Account won't be able to access this content. If you're seeing this and you don't have a Platinum Account, the FBI's Cyber Terrorism Team, the "Big Brown Bears" have been notified and should be at your place of computer in 6-11 days.
I tore this ad out of an in-flight magazine. It's the airline's CEO selling his music. Click on it to make it bigger.
This guy is a few lawsuits and a failed brewery away from being Frank d'Angelo. My favourite is the album "Mostly About You". It's like he had nine good songs about his lovely wife but then wrote a real slammin' track about licorice and just had to put it on. I also like the following cover of him crooning on the wing of an airplane, mid-flight:
As they say in SCUBA diving, "Swimming Rules". BUH BIIIII
I've been lucky enough to travel all over Europe, North America and whatever continent the Dominican Republic is in, but traveling actually causes me a great deal of stress, mentally and physically. That basically means I get diarrhea. I'm the type of guy who concerns himself with tiny things and humongous things -- in a given day I'll get stressed out about the length of my fingernails, while fascinating myself with thoughts about outer space, the biggest place in the world. I don't know where I was going with this, but be thankful, because any bit of information I hand out could be used against me in a lawsuit or game show. Anyway, I think it might just mean that I don't understand politics. Here, how about this:
I see "The Airport" as a giant challenge. I'm on time for everything because my brain is mostly clock, whereas scientists' are mostly calculators and everyone else's is mostly naked people. If flying was as simple as showing up on time and getting on a plane, it'd be easy pie, no stress, "let's do this again", but it's more like a video game -- there's a bunch of little tests and you can only pass them if you're early enough and have in your possession certain items (passport, shoes not made of bombs).
An airplane is like a bedroom full of people you don't know and instead of beds there are chairs that you have to sit in when told. Even if you are able to get up the only place you can go is the bathroom and the bathroom is as big as one human and one human only.
Then you get to where you're going and no one likes you because you're not from there. I hate tourists because they don't know any of my secret handshakes.
Then you have to go to the airport and airplane again and when you get home you get stressed because you haven't been on the Internet in a week and you're weird about that kind of thing. Chances are, all I missed were some Tweets about food, some Tumbls about Garfield and some Facebook invitations to events whose titles give no indication of what the event is, but I still end up feeling like I did when my family went to Medieval Times without me.
That being said, I had a great time! Every time I got stressed I'd eat beans and things would get funny after that. Laughter is the beans of the soul, and beans are the soul of laughter. I don't mean to slap myself on the cheeks, but that last sentence was very good, and I didn't even think about it, it just came out. Isn't the world weird?
PLATINUM USER SPECIAL CONTENT
People who haven't bought a Platinum Account won't be able to access this content. If you're seeing this and you don't have a Platinum Account, the FBI's Cyber Terrorism Team, the "Big Brown Bears" have been notified and should be at your place of computer in 6-11 days.
I tore this ad out of an in-flight magazine. It's the airline's CEO selling his music. Click on it to make it bigger.
This guy is a few lawsuits and a failed brewery away from being Frank d'Angelo. My favourite is the album "Mostly About You". It's like he had nine good songs about his lovely wife but then wrote a real slammin' track about licorice and just had to put it on. I also like the following cover of him crooning on the wing of an airplane, mid-flight:
As they say in SCUBA diving, "Swimming Rules". BUH BIIIII
July 28, 2011
RED ROVER RED ROVER WE CALL DIMPUS OVER
On Sunday I'll be flying over Lake Atlantic to Great Britain to celebrate the union of my cousin and his bride. I hear British weddings aren't all that different from North American weddings, except you're only supposed to use a spoon at dinner, and traditionally, the groom isn't allowed to see the bride until their 10th anniversary.
I think I'm finally getting excited for the trip. This always happens. Maybe 28 Christmases and birthdays have conditioned my brain to save excitement until close to game time in order to lessen what doctors call "jumping the fun gun". Or maybe I'm not that excited at all because my ancestors left the same general area long ago to escape streets full of people eating old coal and rats smoking cigars. They crossed the tub and found a pretty cool place where Native Canadians taught them about hip hop and how to make out in a canoe.
I've been to London once before, when I was a fresh-faced University graduate eager to eat fried food on a different continent and then think critically about it using the teachings of Marshall McLuhan. This prevented me from eating the newspaper my fish and chips came wrapped in while my friend who took film studies ate his, but did it in an aesthetically pleasing way using tracking shots and great lighting. Anyway, this all means that I''ve seen all the major sites - London Bridge, Millennium Bridge, Tower Bridge and James Bond's gun shaped bungalow. So I'll be spending the bulk of the week off the beaten path, searching for London's best Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and maybe some new clothes for the wedding.
I already purchased tickets for my family to tour the Buckingham Palace State Rooms, which also includes a viewing of Kate's famous wedding dress! I can't wait to see the famous HP stain up close. It's kind of embarrassing for her, but it's hard to eat a cake made of brown sauce and mash potatoes and not get any on yourself. So far this is the only planned activity, so I thought I'd take a few hours of your time and brainstorm the rest of my itinerary:
Soccer is popular in London so maybe I should try and kick someone?
Here's a group of Londoners, similar to the kind I'll be making fun of in my head during my trip. If I were to kick any of them, I'd probably start with the bottom row, because I don't think I can kick higher than that. But since they're all kids, I'd probably just like, fake it, make them cry then say I'm a street performer named "Scrumkins".
Okay, that probably won't work and besides, I prefer spitting to kicking. The British are known for their dry sense of humour, and since I'm a comedian, maybe I can try out some of my material. Here's a new joke I've been working on:
"(find audience member with drink) So I see you got a drink there, what is it? (wait for answer) I'm a gin man myself (if the person's drink is gin say "I'm a gin man too) You know what I like to drink gin with? (look for someone with a hat) DEFINITELY not that hat! (if no one's wearing a hat, use your shoe and just like, make fun of yourself a bit)
Should I slime him?
Maybe I'll just spend most of the time doing some English Surfing. Don't worry, it's a lot simpler than it sounds. It's just falling asleep on the upper level of a double decker bus, and you have to wear sunglasses. I forget who told me about it. Whoa, I wonder if they have Turkish Delight M&Ms over there?
I think I'm finally getting excited for the trip. This always happens. Maybe 28 Christmases and birthdays have conditioned my brain to save excitement until close to game time in order to lessen what doctors call "jumping the fun gun". Or maybe I'm not that excited at all because my ancestors left the same general area long ago to escape streets full of people eating old coal and rats smoking cigars. They crossed the tub and found a pretty cool place where Native Canadians taught them about hip hop and how to make out in a canoe.
I've been to London once before, when I was a fresh-faced University graduate eager to eat fried food on a different continent and then think critically about it using the teachings of Marshall McLuhan. This prevented me from eating the newspaper my fish and chips came wrapped in while my friend who took film studies ate his, but did it in an aesthetically pleasing way using tracking shots and great lighting. Anyway, this all means that I''ve seen all the major sites - London Bridge, Millennium Bridge, Tower Bridge and James Bond's gun shaped bungalow. So I'll be spending the bulk of the week off the beaten path, searching for London's best Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, and maybe some new clothes for the wedding.
I already purchased tickets for my family to tour the Buckingham Palace State Rooms, which also includes a viewing of Kate's famous wedding dress! I can't wait to see the famous HP stain up close. It's kind of embarrassing for her, but it's hard to eat a cake made of brown sauce and mash potatoes and not get any on yourself. So far this is the only planned activity, so I thought I'd take a few hours of your time and brainstorm the rest of my itinerary:
Soccer is popular in London so maybe I should try and kick someone?
Here's a group of Londoners, similar to the kind I'll be making fun of in my head during my trip. If I were to kick any of them, I'd probably start with the bottom row, because I don't think I can kick higher than that. But since they're all kids, I'd probably just like, fake it, make them cry then say I'm a street performer named "Scrumkins".Okay, that probably won't work and besides, I prefer spitting to kicking. The British are known for their dry sense of humour, and since I'm a comedian, maybe I can try out some of my material. Here's a new joke I've been working on:
"(find audience member with drink) So I see you got a drink there, what is it? (wait for answer) I'm a gin man myself (if the person's drink is gin say "I'm a gin man too) You know what I like to drink gin with? (look for someone with a hat) DEFINITELY not that hat! (if no one's wearing a hat, use your shoe and just like, make fun of yourself a bit)
Should I slime him?Maybe I'll just spend most of the time doing some English Surfing. Don't worry, it's a lot simpler than it sounds. It's just falling asleep on the upper level of a double decker bus, and you have to wear sunglasses. I forget who told me about it. Whoa, I wonder if they have Turkish Delight M&Ms over there?
July 21, 2011
TOON TANG
TODAY IS THE HOTTEST DAY OF ALL TIME
And I'm not even exaggerating like when I said nectarines are better than chocolate bars. Luckily, I'll spend the majority of the day in a modern, air conditioned office enjoying viral videos of Torontonians cooking things on things that aren't stoves and monitoring the news for stories about people complaining.
I could tell you about 50 ways to beat the heat, but you can't beat heat like this. You can't even wound heat like this. If you took this heat out for dinner it'd order the most expensive dish, make you pay then wait to take a dump at your place because it thinks the toilet paper at your place is better than the restaurant's.
To keep things light and airy today, here are the tombstones of three people who died from the heat today. And don't worry, all three were assholes and all three wouldn't shut up about how fans "just move the hot air around".
Imagine Christmas was in the summer? Is that what "Another Earth" is about?
And I'm not even exaggerating like when I said nectarines are better than chocolate bars. Luckily, I'll spend the majority of the day in a modern, air conditioned office enjoying viral videos of Torontonians cooking things on things that aren't stoves and monitoring the news for stories about people complaining.
I could tell you about 50 ways to beat the heat, but you can't beat heat like this. You can't even wound heat like this. If you took this heat out for dinner it'd order the most expensive dish, make you pay then wait to take a dump at your place because it thinks the toilet paper at your place is better than the restaurant's.
To keep things light and airy today, here are the tombstones of three people who died from the heat today. And don't worry, all three were assholes and all three wouldn't shut up about how fans "just move the hot air around".
Imagine Christmas was in the summer? Is that what "Another Earth" is about?
July 20, 2011
WEATHER AND CAKE
Fashion Watch Trend Hunter Report On Clothes, Autumn 2013 Season
The award for "Silliest Trend in Most Important Job" goes to judges and barristers who wear those wigs. If it's frowned upon to wear a hat at Red Lobster, I think these guys can retire the wig and just rely upon a great haircut combined with product to suit their style and hair type. ← Those are the words of the ignorant!
The number two rule of fashion behind, "if you're ugly it doesn't even matter" is "if it's silly now, it's expensive later". That means that by the time you and I are grandpas and Grand Moffs, the cultural elite will likely be wearing these wigs. The only thing that will stop them will be judges themselves, as they are amongst the elite of humanity.
People forget that! Judges are so smart that once I was behind one at a McDonald's drive-thru and in the short time between the order window and the food window the guy managed to stick his head out the window and say this to me:
"If you're entering a store that sells doors and the door isn't very good, walk out the door, find another door store and make sure their door is good."
On the flipside, I was adopting a kitten two years ago and a judge was in there at the same time as me and she somehow tricked me into getting three guinea pigs instead while she took the fluffiest kitten I'd ever seen.
I used to strap one of these on my kid Brian every time he looked at me. The only people I want looking at me are pitchers and any woman with a chest over a D Cup. And what's with all this beer with lime in these days? When I played in the big leagues we used to add tobacco and white rum to our beers. Is that a seagull sitting on my Trans Am? Hold on a sec.... killed it. Now I have something to leave on my neighbour's porch as a retaliation for asking me what day garbage day is. Who am I, the mayor?
The award for "Silliest Trend in Most Important Job" goes to judges and barristers who wear those wigs. If it's frowned upon to wear a hat at Red Lobster, I think these guys can retire the wig and just rely upon a great haircut combined with product to suit their style and hair type. ← Those are the words of the ignorant!
The number two rule of fashion behind, "if you're ugly it doesn't even matter" is "if it's silly now, it's expensive later". That means that by the time you and I are grandpas and Grand Moffs, the cultural elite will likely be wearing these wigs. The only thing that will stop them will be judges themselves, as they are amongst the elite of humanity.
People forget that! Judges are so smart that once I was behind one at a McDonald's drive-thru and in the short time between the order window and the food window the guy managed to stick his head out the window and say this to me:
"If you're entering a store that sells doors and the door isn't very good, walk out the door, find another door store and make sure their door is good."
On the flipside, I was adopting a kitten two years ago and a judge was in there at the same time as me and she somehow tricked me into getting three guinea pigs instead while she took the fluffiest kitten I'd ever seen.
WADE BOGGS' Accessory of the Hour
Batter Up! Stepping up to the plate, the 6'9" Real Life Zorro combined with Billy the Kid, husband to the world, father to some, BIG DADDY WADE BOGGS. Glad to be back.
First off, I think a dusty old Rawlings mitt and an untied bowtie are the best fashion accessories around, but heck, they got no place in gay Pairee, right? HOHOHO I met a girl from over there who could blow smoke through her nipples. I nicknamed her "Stripes" because the French don't have that word. Did you know that in Your'up they don't throw up in toilets?
There's one accessory that never goes out of style, whether you're getting kinky with the umpire's mother or just heckling the opera -- The Dunce Cap:
Batter Up! Stepping up to the plate, the 6'9" Real Life Zorro combined with Billy the Kid, husband to the world, father to some, BIG DADDY WADE BOGGS. Glad to be back.
First off, I think a dusty old Rawlings mitt and an untied bowtie are the best fashion accessories around, but heck, they got no place in gay Pairee, right? HOHOHO I met a girl from over there who could blow smoke through her nipples. I nicknamed her "Stripes" because the French don't have that word. Did you know that in Your'up they don't throw up in toilets?
There's one accessory that never goes out of style, whether you're getting kinky with the umpire's mother or just heckling the opera -- The Dunce Cap:
I used to strap one of these on my kid Brian every time he looked at me. The only people I want looking at me are pitchers and any woman with a chest over a D Cup. And what's with all this beer with lime in these days? When I played in the big leagues we used to add tobacco and white rum to our beers. Is that a seagull sitting on my Trans Am? Hold on a sec.... killed it. Now I have something to leave on my neighbour's porch as a retaliation for asking me what day garbage day is. Who am I, the mayor?
July 15, 2011
VEST PROOF BUL,LETS
I was in Lyon last week covering the Tour de France for Toronto-based cycling mag Two Wheels and a Seat when my duffel bag was stolen. All my gold, travel documents and bathing suits were in it, so I was, as they say in France, fuckéd.
I was staying at a beautiful hotel shaped like Napoleon's hat, but once they realized I couldn't pay for the room and dijon mustard shooters I'd ordered the night before, I was told to vacate or be handed over to the local orphanage.
I called my money man, Steve McNews who managed to wire me a few clams to get by on. Unfortunately, because of the bike race, most of the rooms in town were booked, even the conceptual hotel where you live like a beaver.
Now I've stayed in some nice hotels, some decent motels and even some friendly hostels. But after the experience I had that night, I'd recommend staying well away from a MOSTEL. It was all I could afford and was the second worst experience of my life next to learning "The Human Transformer" sex move from an Indian guy who claimed he was Ben Kingsley.
Luckily, I still had my JamCam as I had taped to the back of my neck to see if any girls noticed the new patch on the seat of my jeans, so I got to document my experience:
The lobby. The woman at the top of the stairs said her name was "Forever" and the whole time I was there she was in every room. Her ferrets were pretty cute but they kinda freaked me out when they joined together to form something that looked like a dog with the face of a human baby. It cleaned the whole place and did a great job all things considered. In fact, when I got to my corner in chamber 12, I noticed there wasn't a waste basket, so I knocked on the wall as Forever instructed and 2 minutes later, the amalgamated ferret showed up with a pretty decent one:
At first, I couldn't tell what the wood thing was above my bed, but it all made sense when the snakes passed through.
Here's the dining room. There didn't seem to be any food, but a seven foot tall man whose voice had a ton of reverb showed me the bucket on the shelf that contained generic suckers, all orange.
I sucked down three for dinner and headed to the bathroom to freshen up where I met Wally:
Wally said it was one of the better mostels he'd ever been to. The last one he stayed at didn't even have floors. He said the key is to get as much sleep in the tub as possible before retiring to your corner because scorpions don't like moisture.
On my way back to the chamber I ran into this group of American college students who had been lost in the mostel for 15 days. When I told them to use the stairs, they told me every time they tried they ended up at the bottom of another set. I told them they should put Canadian flags on their backpacks.
I only managed to get six hours of sleep and the continental breakfast was corn served on old office supplies. The next day the authorities found my bag and there was a note in it that read:
Do come again.
Forever
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooOoOOOoOooOOooOOOOOOOOoOoooOOoOOOoooooooooooooo
I was staying at a beautiful hotel shaped like Napoleon's hat, but once they realized I couldn't pay for the room and dijon mustard shooters I'd ordered the night before, I was told to vacate or be handed over to the local orphanage.
I called my money man, Steve McNews who managed to wire me a few clams to get by on. Unfortunately, because of the bike race, most of the rooms in town were booked, even the conceptual hotel where you live like a beaver.
Now I've stayed in some nice hotels, some decent motels and even some friendly hostels. But after the experience I had that night, I'd recommend staying well away from a MOSTEL. It was all I could afford and was the second worst experience of my life next to learning "The Human Transformer" sex move from an Indian guy who claimed he was Ben Kingsley.
Luckily, I still had my JamCam as I had taped to the back of my neck to see if any girls noticed the new patch on the seat of my jeans, so I got to document my experience:
The lobby. The woman at the top of the stairs said her name was "Forever" and the whole time I was there she was in every room. Her ferrets were pretty cute but they kinda freaked me out when they joined together to form something that looked like a dog with the face of a human baby. It cleaned the whole place and did a great job all things considered. In fact, when I got to my corner in chamber 12, I noticed there wasn't a waste basket, so I knocked on the wall as Forever instructed and 2 minutes later, the amalgamated ferret showed up with a pretty decent one:
At first, I couldn't tell what the wood thing was above my bed, but it all made sense when the snakes passed through.
Here's the dining room. There didn't seem to be any food, but a seven foot tall man whose voice had a ton of reverb showed me the bucket on the shelf that contained generic suckers, all orange.I sucked down three for dinner and headed to the bathroom to freshen up where I met Wally:
Wally said it was one of the better mostels he'd ever been to. The last one he stayed at didn't even have floors. He said the key is to get as much sleep in the tub as possible before retiring to your corner because scorpions don't like moisture.
On my way back to the chamber I ran into this group of American college students who had been lost in the mostel for 15 days. When I told them to use the stairs, they told me every time they tried they ended up at the bottom of another set. I told them they should put Canadian flags on their backpacks.I only managed to get six hours of sleep and the continental breakfast was corn served on old office supplies. The next day the authorities found my bag and there was a note in it that read:
Do come again.
Forever
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooOoOOOoOooOOooOOOOOOOOoOoooOOoOOOoooooooooooooo
July 14, 2011
OIL EXECS LOVE FINDING "STUFFED CRUST"
This image fits what you're about to read so perfectly that I don't even care if you read the rest. Most of the world is hot right now, except those dumb places in the arctic and shit where they don't even have TVs so they don't know what's going on and who's banging who etc. The rest of us are having BBQs in swimming pools and breathing heat and farting lava. This weather is great for playing sports and providing an excuse for dumb haircuts, but I think it's more powerful than that. Here's what I mean:
What happens when you get hot? You get nude and thirsty. The popular belief is that either whales, Bono or aliens will create world peace, but I have a simpler, more refreshing idea - COLD DRINKS.
After most people take a glug from a coldy, they make the noise "aaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" because it feels so damn good lubing up your hotter-than-hell throat. We wouldn't need cold drinks or cough lozenges if God had only blessed us with cool throats. Would our singers improve? Maybe that's why he did it. His favourite song is the one about pasta by Pavaroti, one of our best hot throats. Anyway, have you ever heard of someone murdering someone else while enjoying a cold glass of iced tea? If I walked down the street right now with a wagon full of cold piss I'd sell out in 5 minutes, making enough money to buy myself a drink that isn't piss but then would turn into more piss to sell, ice cold.
Instead of Earth Day lets just have Drink Day. The collective "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh" would be so loud and comforting that dolphins would get nervous.
So yeah, pat me on the back and buy me a Mr. Big for this idea, but don't start praying to me yet. I know how to save the world but I also know how to destroy small parts of it. Yesterday, we left a window open by accident and instead of a cool breeze, the only thing we brought into our house was like, 30 flies. Flies mean two things - buzzing and... flies.
I killed so many damn flies, probably 20 at least. Like, I fucked up a lot flies. All I used was a t-shirt for whipping and a can of air freshener, which makes flies die from smelling good. You know the term "dropping like flies"? I experienced that term yesterday. After I freshened a couple of hard to get butt fuckers, they'd fly around for a bit, probably trying to find a pile of shit to eat before they die, and then they'd just fall out of the sky. I almost felt bad but then I pictured them being larvae and I was like "you're born disgusting then you turn disgusting, shit-eating and annoying. No pity".
This is how I picture my opponents when I play sports or go out looking for tailJuly 13, 2011
BACK IS BLACK
I want to discuss how hot it is outside, but looking back, I've already written extensively on the topic. That's not to say that every hot day is the same, I mean some melt popsicles faster than others, but I don't want you to feel like I have 100 hot day anecdotes filed away in a shoe box mistakenly labelled "Polaroids of boys with silly eyes". The silly eye box actually has my collection of magazine ads with lingerie models who look like Christopher Lloyd, which I keep in case the Internet breaks so I can quench people's thirst for memes and become king of the new world. Are you confused? I hope so. Everything I own is mislabeled in case my worst fear comes true where moving companies take over the world by stealing and moving everyone's stuff to a dog-guarded, cat-encrusted mega warehouse where they'll stage a garage sale that will make them the richest labour force in the modern world, richer than the guys who clean volcanoes . If the unthinkable happens, I'm covered. Good luck categorizing my shit, AMJ Campbell.
Don't worry, I'm not actually going to stop myself from spewing out sentences about myself living in summer. I'm a mature man now. I own two bathing suits. One's for oceans, lakes and chlorine pools and the other is for ponds, rivers and streams. Just joking, they're both for water no matter where it gurgles, except that one is aimed at making blondes melt while the other gets the brunettes weak at the knees. I keep laminated copies of my phone number stashed in each suit's underpant lining just in case I meet a hot slice of Eve down in the depths.
Surprisingly, I haven't heard too many people complain about this latest stretch of heat. You know what would stop people complaining altogether? Palm trees. Palm trees looks like a reggae man's head, produce delicious palm treats (genus - nut, species - coconut) and can be found in Earth's mist acceptable hot ass places. When it's hot outside and I stop to scope out an extra-white birch tree I'm all like "you make me want to hang myself". You see, deciduous trees are just like us - they hate squirrels and they change with the seasons, so when we look at the them it's like we're looking at our frowning selves staring back at us. When you look at a palm tree you see Summer Dude who cringes at sweaters and has never even tasted snow.
Not THE summer dude, but A summer dude
Here's a summer poem written last summer. That means it's "vintage" now and THAT means it's smellier and cheaper but more fashionable than last time.
The Weather this summer
Holy shit it’s been hot
Imagine you were a bear?
Those guys have body beards
And sweat their fair share
Hairy men suffer too
But enough with the gents
Are tits like insulators?
Are vaginas like vents?
Maybe women are like camels
Their humps keep them icy
But hot milk goes sour
Does heat make tits smell not nicey?
Picture a bear with big tits
she’d be in summer hell
Full circle poem huh?
Hot, bear, tits, milk, camels
This one is all wrapped up
So feel the damn heat
And men just remember boys
Chill out your wife’s teats
Don't worry, I'm not actually going to stop myself from spewing out sentences about myself living in summer. I'm a mature man now. I own two bathing suits. One's for oceans, lakes and chlorine pools and the other is for ponds, rivers and streams. Just joking, they're both for water no matter where it gurgles, except that one is aimed at making blondes melt while the other gets the brunettes weak at the knees. I keep laminated copies of my phone number stashed in each suit's underpant lining just in case I meet a hot slice of Eve down in the depths.
Surprisingly, I haven't heard too many people complain about this latest stretch of heat. You know what would stop people complaining altogether? Palm trees. Palm trees looks like a reggae man's head, produce delicious palm treats (genus - nut, species - coconut) and can be found in Earth's mist acceptable hot ass places. When it's hot outside and I stop to scope out an extra-white birch tree I'm all like "you make me want to hang myself". You see, deciduous trees are just like us - they hate squirrels and they change with the seasons, so when we look at the them it's like we're looking at our frowning selves staring back at us. When you look at a palm tree you see Summer Dude who cringes at sweaters and has never even tasted snow.
Not THE summer dude, but A summer dudeHere's a summer poem written last summer. That means it's "vintage" now and THAT means it's smellier and cheaper but more fashionable than last time.
The Weather this summer
Holy shit it’s been hot
Imagine you were a bear?
Those guys have body beards
And sweat their fair share
Hairy men suffer too
But enough with the gents
Are tits like insulators?
Are vaginas like vents?
Maybe women are like camels
Their humps keep them icy
But hot milk goes sour
Does heat make tits smell not nicey?
Picture a bear with big tits
she’d be in summer hell
Full circle poem huh?
Hot, bear, tits, milk, camels
This one is all wrapped up
So feel the damn heat
And men just remember boys
Chill out your wife’s teats
July 12, 2011
IT'S A FREE COUNTRY EXCEPT YOU CAN'T EVEN STEAL SHIT
I wrote the following last week, so most of it doesn't even matter anymore. The main character, "the zit" is nothing more than a shell of its former self. Now I have bigger things to worry about like haircuts and beatin' the heat, which doesn't exist in Africa because people are more concerned with lions than sunburns. Only place in the world man, only place.
That being said, I'm not that happy with this story about my latest pimple. I don't think it has enough intrigue and not nearly enough nudity. Judge for yourself lest ye be judged by an intelligent turtle judge whom human criminals love to hate. The location of his house is a secret to protect him and him family (wife's a frog) but most people figure he lives in that mansion in the bayou.
LATEST ZIT (title added after introduction added to separate it from the introduction. If this makes you uncomfortable, simply copy and paste everything under this title and title disclaimer into your favourite word processor or text tool and enjoy)
I got a zit man. It's a big guy. One of those three-headed monstrosities at the usual spot to the right of my nose just above nostril level. When I was a teen I found that whenever I washed my face I seemed to get zits and then I watched this episode of Street Cents and they were like "actually, washing you face can lead to zits" so no wash cloths for me. What most people think is a beard is really 15 years of dirt and other people's hair, so I guess it kind of is a beard.
I'm a lifelong picker. When you got a zit and it gets a big head on it, you have to pick it (or pop it, depends on how you were raised). Despite what doctors tell you, this does get rid of zits. It's a trade-off though. A whitehead is a homing beacon, luring the eyes of your dream babe into the puss zone, and the sooner it's gone the more confident your face will feel. The only problem is that once you pick, the surrounding area turns a deep shade of zitty red. I personally prefer the red to the head, but that's just me.
People get nervous around whiteheads for two reasons -- first, they're a ticking time bomb and seem to say to the world, "I'm about ready to burst, so don't get in my way". Second, they tell everyone around you that you don't know you have a zit as most people eliminate them as quickly as possible. That makes people uncomfortable because they don't know whether to tell you or not. You might as well have a chicken wing on your face.
That being said, I'm not that happy with this story about my latest pimple. I don't think it has enough intrigue and not nearly enough nudity. Judge for yourself lest ye be judged by an intelligent turtle judge whom human criminals love to hate. The location of his house is a secret to protect him and him family (wife's a frog) but most people figure he lives in that mansion in the bayou.
LATEST ZIT (title added after introduction added to separate it from the introduction. If this makes you uncomfortable, simply copy and paste everything under this title and title disclaimer into your favourite word processor or text tool and enjoy)
I got a zit man. It's a big guy. One of those three-headed monstrosities at the usual spot to the right of my nose just above nostril level. When I was a teen I found that whenever I washed my face I seemed to get zits and then I watched this episode of Street Cents and they were like "actually, washing you face can lead to zits" so no wash cloths for me. What most people think is a beard is really 15 years of dirt and other people's hair, so I guess it kind of is a beard.
I'm a lifelong picker. When you got a zit and it gets a big head on it, you have to pick it (or pop it, depends on how you were raised). Despite what doctors tell you, this does get rid of zits. It's a trade-off though. A whitehead is a homing beacon, luring the eyes of your dream babe into the puss zone, and the sooner it's gone the more confident your face will feel. The only problem is that once you pick, the surrounding area turns a deep shade of zitty red. I personally prefer the red to the head, but that's just me.
People get nervous around whiteheads for two reasons -- first, they're a ticking time bomb and seem to say to the world, "I'm about ready to burst, so don't get in my way". Second, they tell everyone around you that you don't know you have a zit as most people eliminate them as quickly as possible. That makes people uncomfortable because they don't know whether to tell you or not. You might as well have a chicken wing on your face.
June 28, 2011
JUMPING IS FUN WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT IN SCIENTIFIC TERMS
Dear Pretzels,
Evolve. You covered yourself in chocolate? Avoid the tricks. We all wear masks to hide our true forms.
Love yourself.
Sincerely,
Thanks to my Honk, my lead researcher for unearthing the above letter for today's edition Cory-spondence. The letter was addressed to a Mr. Uncle Cory, Pretzeldent of Rold Gold Corporation, Mordor, Alabama "Doughville USA". Sender: Unknown.
I like to pick my Cory letters personally, but this week I was too busy rating last week's Sunshine Girls.
I love the human female form so much that I'm not even gay, but I don't really look at Sunshine Girls to get zingy. I prefer to read their profiles, then cross reference their dreams and ambitions against their height, looks and style. I like to think of myself as a talent agency, the Sunshine Girls being my potential clients.
The most common girl is in her early 20's, just over five feet tall, loves the outdoors, dogs, and the Leafs and wants to be an actress/model. Most likely they'll continue to love dogs, the Leafs and the outdoors but most will probably end up being the hottest girl in East Sudbury.
Okay, hold on, I gotta get something off my chest and it's not this great shirt that's just see through enough to prove I have chest hair.
I bought these shoelaces and they keep coming undone. Shoelaces have been around since shoes and shoes have been around almost as long as feet, and in today's world, where flying to outerspace is old news, how in the name of Holy Shit are there still shoelaces that come undone?
If I have to double-knot a shoelace just so it won't come loose, then it seizes to be a shoelace, but rather a peice of reject material that is too ugly to be a Bolo tie and too slippery to be a shoelace. The double knot should only be used as a backup, and is by no means is it a primary knot. High performance athletes use the double knot, knot guys like me whose idea of exercise is wearing a metal watch.
Seriously, do people even test these things? Give me five minutes, a pair of shoes, your brand's laces and a peice of ground and I'll be able to tell you if your laces are fit for sale.
To all the fat cats living off lace money, lighting their their cigars with shoelaces that were lit with money that was lit with a Zippo with a picture of a shoe on it -- I wish nothing but zits for your babies. I wish nothing but interference on your satellite dishes, and nothing but Ringos at your birthday where you demanded your wife get a Beatle perform your favourite Beatles song, which knowing you is probably the widely panned and unreleased "Pinky's Tinky".
Evolve. You covered yourself in chocolate? Avoid the tricks. We all wear masks to hide our true forms.
Love yourself.
Sincerely,
Thanks to my Honk, my lead researcher for unearthing the above letter for today's edition Cory-spondence. The letter was addressed to a Mr. Uncle Cory, Pretzeldent of Rold Gold Corporation, Mordor, Alabama "Doughville USA". Sender: Unknown.
I like to pick my Cory letters personally, but this week I was too busy rating last week's Sunshine Girls.
I love the human female form so much that I'm not even gay, but I don't really look at Sunshine Girls to get zingy. I prefer to read their profiles, then cross reference their dreams and ambitions against their height, looks and style. I like to think of myself as a talent agency, the Sunshine Girls being my potential clients.
The most common girl is in her early 20's, just over five feet tall, loves the outdoors, dogs, and the Leafs and wants to be an actress/model. Most likely they'll continue to love dogs, the Leafs and the outdoors but most will probably end up being the hottest girl in East Sudbury.
Okay, hold on, I gotta get something off my chest and it's not this great shirt that's just see through enough to prove I have chest hair.
I bought these shoelaces and they keep coming undone. Shoelaces have been around since shoes and shoes have been around almost as long as feet, and in today's world, where flying to outerspace is old news, how in the name of Holy Shit are there still shoelaces that come undone?
If I have to double-knot a shoelace just so it won't come loose, then it seizes to be a shoelace, but rather a peice of reject material that is too ugly to be a Bolo tie and too slippery to be a shoelace. The double knot should only be used as a backup, and is by no means is it a primary knot. High performance athletes use the double knot, knot guys like me whose idea of exercise is wearing a metal watch.
Seriously, do people even test these things? Give me five minutes, a pair of shoes, your brand's laces and a peice of ground and I'll be able to tell you if your laces are fit for sale.
To all the fat cats living off lace money, lighting their their cigars with shoelaces that were lit with money that was lit with a Zippo with a picture of a shoe on it -- I wish nothing but zits for your babies. I wish nothing but interference on your satellite dishes, and nothing but Ringos at your birthday where you demanded your wife get a Beatle perform your favourite Beatles song, which knowing you is probably the widely panned and unreleased "Pinky's Tinky".
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