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.
October 18, 2011
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.
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