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.
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