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!

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".

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.

(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.

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?

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.

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.

'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".

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 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.

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".