Similar to every other human rite of passage, the act of dying comes equipped with standards and traditions that have been passed down through the ages by pre-corpses the world over.
A dying human's last words and last meal are the same as a human wedding's vows and big cake - they're both anticipated ceremonial elements, homogenized to the point where a couple in Atlanta can have pretty much the same wedding as the damn Prince of England! Back in the old days when chivalry was today's "has an iPhone" and apples were as big as a horse's head, this would be unheard of.
When I'm ready to die, I want to be like the guy who gets married to a Pokemon while SCUBA diving, the ceremony presided over by a priest dressed as Gandalf. Last words and last meal? Trite. There's so many better "lasts" out there.
Last words are bullshit. Yeah right the most famous people don't plan that stuff because a famous person's reputation and mystique is what makes them famous. And even if they don't plan out their last words on purpose, it's bound to enter their mind at some point, especially if they know they're going to croak. I'm only a man of 30 and I'd be lying if I said it hasn't crossed my mind. The only trouble is that whenever I think of what I might say, it's usually in jest, which is all well and good now, I mean I want my mind to enjoy a healthy dose of har hars between all the complex equations and ancient rune definitions that are in there, but what about later on? If I don't stop joking with myself that the best last words are...
"5. 4. 3. 2. 1... still here, oops"
...then there's a good chance that when it's time to stop being, I'll panic and just blurt it out even if it was originally designed for my own amusement. I think I'll probably just go with:
"Shit!"
The "last meal" is also problematic. It's a fine thing for death row inmates who eat frogs all day and don't have access to fun things like calculators and travel mugs, they'll take anything they can get. Those who invented the death penalty were like "we gotta give them something before we murder them, let's just feed them slightly better than usual, tell them to shut up then sick the owl on them". It didn't work too well at first because after the meal, inmates would ask for desert, then the warden would be like "you didn't ask" then the prisoners would end up eating the executioner owl and there goes the budget.
"You can't eat an electric chair" - Innovative Warden
For all law-abiding citizens, the last meal just doesn't work and most of it comes down to timing. If you don't know exactly when you're going to die, the last meal is going to be a letdown. Here's why: if you jump the gun and eat too soon before you're reaped, you'll get hungry again and then you're left with three choices: eat the same last meal again, pick an entirely new one and eat that or just don't eat again.
Choose option A and you run the risk of getting tired of your last meal, a meal which by definition contains your favourite foods. You want to get to heaven and have access to unlimited lobsters only to realize you're sick of them?
Option B is utter horseshit. The whole point of the last meal is to pick one complete meal of all-stars. You're cheating yourself if you end up using your bench players and pretend they're your superstars. That's not what wins championships.
You could be stubborn and decide that the last meal is the last meal no matter what. The big problem with this choice is that if you're dying of something neat, like a witch bite, you may actually negate it by dying of hunger, which isn't exactly in vogue right now.
Having a last meal also comes at the expense of last poo. Some folk believe that in a perfect world, our last meal would be poo and then our last poo would be food, but unfortunately the aliens that invented us didn't know how to party. Anyway, what I mean is that if your last meal was amazing, your last poo turns into an extra goodbye. Whereas, if you were to eat say, sandpaper and glue as your last meal, your last poo is going to be a going away party, an all-out celebration of ridding your body of bad stuff, which in essence is what pooing is all about. Has there ever been a movie where the torture is have a guy eat sandpaper then poo it out? If not, called it.
If last words and last meals aren't going to be a part of your deathbed routine, why not add these to your repertoire of lasts? You know what they say -- dying is easy, dying cool is hard.
Last haircut
Make your last haircut count, man. If you've always gone to barbers, go see a stylist in a salon. You won't like their magazines or lack of framed sports photos and naked lady calendars, but you'll love the way they wash your hair and come up with new ideas for your head. I once went to a salon and got a haircut called "The Ferret's Brother" and when I left three sexy women approached me and asked for gum. If you're used to salons, go find a barbershop! You'll miss the cleanliness and salon-quality products, but you'll love hearing new swearwords you've never heard before and it may change your opinion of Italians one way or the other.
Last pitch
I'm already practicing a curve ball that I plan on pitching to the person I hate the most at the time of my impending death. If I succeed and strike him or her out, milks are on me.
Last email
Do it big. Add the biggest attachment you can fit, and don't be scared to mess around with HTML
Last lists
It would be very comforting creating lists of your favourites just before you die because it's the definitive guide. A lot of people say "my favourite soap OF ALL TIME is Zest" and yet they go on living another 50 years and become a Lever person. Also, it benefits your loved ones to have a record of you so they can properly discuss you once you're gone. "Oh, he sounded like a great guy. What kind of music did he like?" *checks list* "Butthole Surfers and all reggae".
Last insult
It's all well and good to be thought of as an angel when you die, but legacies are like pizzas -- they taste great with just vegetables, but become unforgettable once you add meat. People will probably remember you better if you go out in style and insult someone with a well thought-out burn. I can't reveal mine because I'm still working on it, but it does exploit humans' natural self-consciousness toward their own nostrils.
April 27, 2012
April 20, 2012
CHANGING THE WAY PEOPLE THINK ABOUT DEAD DOGS
In honour of 4/20, I had my staff compile exclusive snaps the world's most famous
stones doing what they do best. Got the munchies yet? ahahaha.
Don't get into any mischief today, just have some puffs and then
dream about your ideal universe. Mine is FULL of cold drinks.
This would also be a good time for you to re-visit last year's 420 bonus pack. Surgeon's General Warning - it may make you think your bathtub is the Caspian Sea. If you find yourself in this position, stop, drop, and rolllllllllll another big one!
Barack Obama, living legend
Ed Westwick (Gossip Girl), 2009's hottest desire
Jerry Seinfeld, sitcom guru
Alex Trebek, interrogator
Jay Leno, vaudeville
Canadian Tire Monty
CHARGE UP THE SLOP THEY'RE COMING
30 is an age that no one seems to like turning. This goes back to our tribal ancestors who believed that if you had more than 29 of anything, you were were probably a yuppy. In modern times, turning thirty is synonymous with settling down and having sex for kids instead of tickles.
I turned thirty on April 8 and now that I'm settled in I think I have a pretty good handle on what it's all about. Here's a list of 30 things about 30 that may help you when you turn two 15's and are locked in the cellar with a box of saltines and all the trophies you won when you were a kid, sobbing away, crying out for Papa and wondering if you'll ever be able to run as fast as when you were eight.
30 THINGS ABOUT 30
1. You all of a sudden feel like you should eat better. I once thought that heating beans in a wok was considered Chinese food but once I turned thirty I came to my senses and added pepper. Also, instead of adding a can of water to my condensed mushroom soup, I now add a can of condensed beef barley and end up with something that tastes like Sunday roast.
2. You'll probably get a tattoo of the Ferrari horse symbol with the words "Never Settle" underneath.
3. Fishing now makes sense. Before I turned 30, fishing was nothing but throwing string in the water. Now, all of a sudden, when I picture fishing, the water is made of smooth root beer and every fish looks like Princess Leia in her metal bikini, but with a more modern cut.
4. You have to start dressing like an adult. I went out and bought six pairs of collared pants and was mature enough to turn down the salesman's offer of a free penis tie.
5. Like coming home after being away for a long time, you start using Times New Roman again and it's like you never left. Armed with your old friend, you write the 3rd version of your Simpsons re-boot script, light up a cigarette and burn yourself on the forearm.
6. You start caring about our children's future. All of a sudden I can't understand why basketballs aren't painted like globes.
7. You may start experiencing male pattern baldness, but you'll definitely start experiencing male pattern boldness. Your female gawks get longer, your sweatpants become something other than pajamas and you flush pennies down the toilet because you're sick of winning so many at weekly Rummoli jams in your neighbour's garage.
8. You stop holding your breath every time you walk past a little person. Instead, you nod your head and shake your feet (in case they really little).
9. The only potential Halloween costume that ever comes to mind is to go as the guy on the Canadian Tire money. And every time, you realize he's the man you've always wanted to be and that Halloween would be a great opportunity to teach young trick or treaters about the 90's.
10. When you see a woman's breasts, you don't get horny you get sentimental.
11. You start talking to mascots at sporting events as if they're your boss.
12. You finally start using conditioner even though you still can't stand how it doesn't rinse as easily as shampoo. It lengthens your average shower time and in turn becomes your new favourite spot to fart.
13. You forget your timetables but remember Victor Borge's best bits.
14. You won't stop telling people at parties that the government should stop funding GI Joes and instead create some GI Jobs.
15. You get the chicken option at fast food places and then tell everyone around you, whether you know them or not, "the thing is, it still isn't good for you"
16. Getting carded by a bouncer at a bar is no longer a hassle, but a chance to converse with an authority figure. Share your thoughts about a reasonable career path and crack wise about catching an underage teen trying to get in and then taking him or her our back and make them eat cold Beefaroni until they say "I waste time" 50 times into a puddle of puke (a 'Cruddy Larry').
17. Your friends are all diet cola this and pilot's license that.
18. You can tell how well things are going based on the condition and breadth of your sock inventory.
19. You still have that thought of using the Bible for wrapping paper, but instead of it being just a funny thing, you think of it as a potential business.
20. Macaroni and cheese? Not anymore. From now on, capellini and figs.
21. You start using 24 hour time if only to make teenagers think you're a military man so they won't throw pens at you.
22. You make promises you can't keep then promise it won't happen again, then it happens again and then everyone goes out for coffee
23. You notice that engraving store at the mall and instantly think of several gift ideas and then someone's birthday rolls around and you forget and get them a gift card instead.
24. Pepsi or Coke? Nope. Vernor's.
25. You start looking at dinosaurs the same way you used to look at a girl with huge fake tits (pretty good, but come on)
26. Instead of moping around when no one notices your haircut you use it as a reminder to call your mom.
27. When you take out the trash you can't stop thinking of ways you could've somehow used that garbage in your "man cave".
28. Certain types of bloopers really lose their pizazz.
29. You use the "pizazz" a lot more.
30. RRSP? More like, Arrrrrrrrr Responsibility.
I turned thirty on April 8 and now that I'm settled in I think I have a pretty good handle on what it's all about. Here's a list of 30 things about 30 that may help you when you turn two 15's and are locked in the cellar with a box of saltines and all the trophies you won when you were a kid, sobbing away, crying out for Papa and wondering if you'll ever be able to run as fast as when you were eight.
30 THINGS ABOUT 30
1. You all of a sudden feel like you should eat better. I once thought that heating beans in a wok was considered Chinese food but once I turned thirty I came to my senses and added pepper. Also, instead of adding a can of water to my condensed mushroom soup, I now add a can of condensed beef barley and end up with something that tastes like Sunday roast.
2. You'll probably get a tattoo of the Ferrari horse symbol with the words "Never Settle" underneath.
3. Fishing now makes sense. Before I turned 30, fishing was nothing but throwing string in the water. Now, all of a sudden, when I picture fishing, the water is made of smooth root beer and every fish looks like Princess Leia in her metal bikini, but with a more modern cut.
4. You have to start dressing like an adult. I went out and bought six pairs of collared pants and was mature enough to turn down the salesman's offer of a free penis tie.
5. Like coming home after being away for a long time, you start using Times New Roman again and it's like you never left. Armed with your old friend, you write the 3rd version of your Simpsons re-boot script, light up a cigarette and burn yourself on the forearm.
6. You start caring about our children's future. All of a sudden I can't understand why basketballs aren't painted like globes.
7. You may start experiencing male pattern baldness, but you'll definitely start experiencing male pattern boldness. Your female gawks get longer, your sweatpants become something other than pajamas and you flush pennies down the toilet because you're sick of winning so many at weekly Rummoli jams in your neighbour's garage.
8. You stop holding your breath every time you walk past a little person. Instead, you nod your head and shake your feet (in case they really little).
9. The only potential Halloween costume that ever comes to mind is to go as the guy on the Canadian Tire money. And every time, you realize he's the man you've always wanted to be and that Halloween would be a great opportunity to teach young trick or treaters about the 90's.
10. When you see a woman's breasts, you don't get horny you get sentimental.
11. You start talking to mascots at sporting events as if they're your boss.
12. You finally start using conditioner even though you still can't stand how it doesn't rinse as easily as shampoo. It lengthens your average shower time and in turn becomes your new favourite spot to fart.
13. You forget your timetables but remember Victor Borge's best bits.
14. You won't stop telling people at parties that the government should stop funding GI Joes and instead create some GI Jobs.
15. You get the chicken option at fast food places and then tell everyone around you, whether you know them or not, "the thing is, it still isn't good for you"
16. Getting carded by a bouncer at a bar is no longer a hassle, but a chance to converse with an authority figure. Share your thoughts about a reasonable career path and crack wise about catching an underage teen trying to get in and then taking him or her our back and make them eat cold Beefaroni until they say "I waste time" 50 times into a puddle of puke (a 'Cruddy Larry').
17. Your friends are all diet cola this and pilot's license that.
18. You can tell how well things are going based on the condition and breadth of your sock inventory.
19. You still have that thought of using the Bible for wrapping paper, but instead of it being just a funny thing, you think of it as a potential business.
20. Macaroni and cheese? Not anymore. From now on, capellini and figs.
21. You start using 24 hour time if only to make teenagers think you're a military man so they won't throw pens at you.
22. You make promises you can't keep then promise it won't happen again, then it happens again and then everyone goes out for coffee
23. You notice that engraving store at the mall and instantly think of several gift ideas and then someone's birthday rolls around and you forget and get them a gift card instead.
24. Pepsi or Coke? Nope. Vernor's.
25. You start looking at dinosaurs the same way you used to look at a girl with huge fake tits (pretty good, but come on)
26. Instead of moping around when no one notices your haircut you use it as a reminder to call your mom.
27. When you take out the trash you can't stop thinking of ways you could've somehow used that garbage in your "man cave".
28. Certain types of bloopers really lose their pizazz.
29. You use the "pizazz" a lot more.
30. RRSP? More like, Arrrrrrrrr Responsibility.
March 23, 2012
HELMETS WERE ONCE HEAD THIMBLES
Toronto is in the midst of the warmest March in recorded history. No, really, I checked out the Hall of Records, which is a lovely Germanic-style vault located in the catacombs of the city's top ranked Subway franchise. The previous record was set in 1925 when the city's temperature reached a scorching 32 degrees Celsius due to a combination of a large, aggressive warm front as well as the unexpected eruption of the Hogtown volcano.
For you outsiders, the volcano was the sight of the final battle between Ken Toronto and David Brampton. Toronto was victorious and cast Brampton's golden shirt into the molten lava ending a decades old land struggle that started because of a stolen lemonade recipe. Anyway, by 1925 the 'cano was used mostly for sledding and BBQs, and by the fall of the next year, it was replaced with the Royal York Hotel.
But hey, if you wanted a history lesson you'd go read a KFC bucket, right?
Liv and I used the warm weather as a sign we should finally clean our place, which was beginning to take on the kind of smell produced when you leave an old lawnmower in a shed for awhile. Because of my hand injury, we hadn't cleaned in about 3 months, and I found enough crumbs in and around the couch to feed an entire poorly-catered, poorly-attended family reunion.
My most hated part of cleaning is mopping the floors because I'm never confident I'm doing it right. Is it: dunk, squeeze, on floor, squeeze, dunk OR is it dunk, on floor, squeeze OR dunk, squeeze, on floor, dunk, squeeze? Is there one right way or does everyone have their own style?
I shouldn't have even brought it up. There's a million better things to do in warm weather than clean. Take yesterday for example, I did laundry. That's still cleaning in a sense, but I think it's more akin to babysitting.
------------------------------
I wrote all that yesterday, and today it's not as warm or nice so there's no point in furthering the conversation.
This isn't even really a treat because it's probably not that interesting or funny to anyone who didn't create it or know us in high school, but here's a web site me and my best pals made back then:
http://www.angelfire.com/fm/mfo/index.html
My writing style hasn't changed all that much except I don't swear as much, nor do I accuse everyone in the world of being some variation of a "ball licker". It was the style back then, it wasn't my fault.
For you outsiders, the volcano was the sight of the final battle between Ken Toronto and David Brampton. Toronto was victorious and cast Brampton's golden shirt into the molten lava ending a decades old land struggle that started because of a stolen lemonade recipe. Anyway, by 1925 the 'cano was used mostly for sledding and BBQs, and by the fall of the next year, it was replaced with the Royal York Hotel.
But hey, if you wanted a history lesson you'd go read a KFC bucket, right?
Liv and I used the warm weather as a sign we should finally clean our place, which was beginning to take on the kind of smell produced when you leave an old lawnmower in a shed for awhile. Because of my hand injury, we hadn't cleaned in about 3 months, and I found enough crumbs in and around the couch to feed an entire poorly-catered, poorly-attended family reunion.
My most hated part of cleaning is mopping the floors because I'm never confident I'm doing it right. Is it: dunk, squeeze, on floor, squeeze, dunk OR is it dunk, on floor, squeeze OR dunk, squeeze, on floor, dunk, squeeze? Is there one right way or does everyone have their own style?
I shouldn't have even brought it up. There's a million better things to do in warm weather than clean. Take yesterday for example, I did laundry. That's still cleaning in a sense, but I think it's more akin to babysitting.
------------------------------
I wrote all that yesterday, and today it's not as warm or nice so there's no point in furthering the conversation.
YOUR FRIDAY TREAT
Take off your tie, throw it in the pot and make yourself some Business Tea, it's Friday! To reward you for all your hard work I've put together this week's treat. Don't read it all in one bite.
This isn't even really a treat because it's probably not that interesting or funny to anyone who didn't create it or know us in high school, but here's a web site me and my best pals made back then:
http://www.angelfire.com/fm/mfo/index.html
My writing style hasn't changed all that much except I don't swear as much, nor do I accuse everyone in the world of being some variation of a "ball licker". It was the style back then, it wasn't my fault.
March 14, 2012
AN AIRPLANE IS THE FASTEST CHAIR I'VE EVER BEEN ON
I went to the hand therapist today and got two whole pages worth of exercises that should give me the strength I need to be able to put on my pants without saying "oohhhh come on.... SHIT... ohhhhhh".
Besides exercise, the other option was to join Team Toronto at this year's Special Thumb Wars, where those with damaged thumbs are able to participate in our national sport without the embarrassment of losing to someone with the thumbs of titan (regular thumbs). I just don't think I'm ready for that level of competition. I tried a simple hitchhike from the SkyDome to Chinatown and though I did get picked up, I wasn't offered any mints because my thumb didn't extend high enough to warrant a minting. Basically, I jumped the gun and I don't want it to happen again.
So, now that my general health is inching closer to 100%, I'm running out of time to use my disability as an excuse to do nothing.
I have to start generating some career "heat" so that I'll finally be able to move out of my parents' bathtub and into my parents' dog's cage, which resides in a pretty good basement of a house that's small with a big backyard.
I scribbled some notes down on a kid I was babysitting, and then had her transcribe them while I say in the La-Z-Boy and watched her old man's Rumpole DVDs. These notes will form the foundation of my pursuit of golden success.
Step 1 - Increase Visibility
I'm going to have to put greater effort into attending this city's hottest events. I made the mistake of skipping the Holt Renfrew's recent "A Salute to Rubies" soiree in favour of my favourite hot dog vendor's birthday. He didn't even know it was his own birthday and forgot who I was. I still got what I wanted, which is one of everything except double root beers.
Step 2 - Network
It's one thing to actually attend these events, but it's a whole other thing to socialize and make important contacts. I've made the mistake in the past of forgetting my business cards, instead kissing those who request them, because I feel my kisses are memorable and really represent what I stand for -- wet tongues and sexual excitement.
Step 3 - Personal Brand
You can't be a visible personality without knowing what your brand is. Mine is high octane, pedal to the medal adrenaline meets Beavis, and in order to be successful I have to represent this whenever I'm in the public eye. I've been pretty lax lately, displaying a brand that has more to do with bad clowns and harmless old cats.
If you see me on the street, don't hesitate to invite me to your next power lunch or coffee circle. It's time I stopped pretending I'm a helpless little elephant who only uses his trunk to poke and prod at my own poo. And if there are any stylists out there who might be into dressing a slim guy who wears the colour blue better than Robocop EVER did, please reach out to me before I forget that I asked.
Besides exercise, the other option was to join Team Toronto at this year's Special Thumb Wars, where those with damaged thumbs are able to participate in our national sport without the embarrassment of losing to someone with the thumbs of titan (regular thumbs). I just don't think I'm ready for that level of competition. I tried a simple hitchhike from the SkyDome to Chinatown and though I did get picked up, I wasn't offered any mints because my thumb didn't extend high enough to warrant a minting. Basically, I jumped the gun and I don't want it to happen again.
So, now that my general health is inching closer to 100%, I'm running out of time to use my disability as an excuse to do nothing.
I have to start generating some career "heat" so that I'll finally be able to move out of my parents' bathtub and into my parents' dog's cage, which resides in a pretty good basement of a house that's small with a big backyard.
I scribbled some notes down on a kid I was babysitting, and then had her transcribe them while I say in the La-Z-Boy and watched her old man's Rumpole DVDs. These notes will form the foundation of my pursuit of golden success.
Step 1 - Increase Visibility
I'm going to have to put greater effort into attending this city's hottest events. I made the mistake of skipping the Holt Renfrew's recent "A Salute to Rubies" soiree in favour of my favourite hot dog vendor's birthday. He didn't even know it was his own birthday and forgot who I was. I still got what I wanted, which is one of everything except double root beers.
Step 2 - Network
It's one thing to actually attend these events, but it's a whole other thing to socialize and make important contacts. I've made the mistake in the past of forgetting my business cards, instead kissing those who request them, because I feel my kisses are memorable and really represent what I stand for -- wet tongues and sexual excitement.
Step 3 - Personal Brand
You can't be a visible personality without knowing what your brand is. Mine is high octane, pedal to the medal adrenaline meets Beavis, and in order to be successful I have to represent this whenever I'm in the public eye. I've been pretty lax lately, displaying a brand that has more to do with bad clowns and harmless old cats.
If you see me on the street, don't hesitate to invite me to your next power lunch or coffee circle. It's time I stopped pretending I'm a helpless little elephant who only uses his trunk to poke and prod at my own poo. And if there are any stylists out there who might be into dressing a slim guy who wears the colour blue better than Robocop EVER did, please reach out to me before I forget that I asked.
March 6, 2012
RUBBER CHUBBER
Every now and then I get an email from someone who meant to send it to someone else. Usually, these emails are fairly run of the mill, subjects like "are you still pickling things?" and "I went to the doctor and she said I could stand to clean my arms". But I got one the other day that is the perfect marriage between a standard email from a loved one and nonsensical spam email from a guy named Hotball Discovery.
This particular piece was supposed to contain pictures, except the sender didn't know how to attach them, so it ended up showing these little grey boxes. At first glance I'd easily be able to figure out what the pictures were since there are captions, and the subject line for the email is "Potential cake images...". I figured I was about to read captions like "Here's that car from Cars", but to my delight, I got the following:
Subject: Potential cake images...
This is Chatsworth - or 'don't know' as Benjamin calls him!!!
This is Mtambo - who is from Africa and has a triangle light!!
This is Frostini.
I realise that it will probably be too hard to make a cake with these characters but see what you think!!!!
Lots of Love,
Sharon xxx
I'm going to try to guess what she's referring to.
Mystery #1 - "Chatsworth"
To make sure I won't embarrass myself, I checked to see if there are any popular children's cartoon characters named Chatsworth. There aren't any. If there were, this whole post would be ruined and you'd have to go back to volleyball practice instead of sitting in the bathroom stall with an iPad and a 12" Pizza Sub.
"Chatsworth" kind of sounds like an English butler, but the fact that Benjamin's nickname for him is "Don't know", means that perhaps he's more like The Blank from Dick Tracy or Dark Man from Dark Man. With this in mind, we end up with something like this:
I could see this being on the cake, with a caption like, "Happy Easter Benjamin, Can I get you anything? A soul perhaps?"
Mystery #2 - "Mtambo"
We get a bit more specific with this one, as we know Mtambo is from Africa and has a triangle light. I'm pretty sure that means the picture she meant to attach was Dikembe Mutombo in an Iron Man costume:
Mystery #3 - "Frostini"
Sharon provides not further clues, but this one is obviously an Italian snowman:
It also sounds like it could a hip hop slang term for cocaine.
Other things to consider:
I wouldn't be Toronto's leading private investigator and collector of Kool Aid man memorabilia if I didn't consider all angles. There is a possibility that this "Benjamin" is not a child, but a full grown man/sex slave. Notice how Sharon signs her name with an "xxx", the worldwide zip code for everything kinky. Perhaps Chatsworth, Mtambo and Frostini are simply names for Penises that Sharon has conquered.
In conclusion, this is probably a mystery best left unsolved. Until next time, I'm Donald Faison.
This particular piece was supposed to contain pictures, except the sender didn't know how to attach them, so it ended up showing these little grey boxes. At first glance I'd easily be able to figure out what the pictures were since there are captions, and the subject line for the email is "Potential cake images...". I figured I was about to read captions like "Here's that car from Cars", but to my delight, I got the following:
Subject: Potential cake images...
This is Chatsworth - or 'don't know' as Benjamin calls him!!!
This is Mtambo - who is from Africa and has a triangle light!!
This is Frostini.
I realise that it will probably be too hard to make a cake with these characters but see what you think!!!!
Lots of Love,
Sharon xxx
I'm going to try to guess what she's referring to.
Mystery #1 - "Chatsworth"
To make sure I won't embarrass myself, I checked to see if there are any popular children's cartoon characters named Chatsworth. There aren't any. If there were, this whole post would be ruined and you'd have to go back to volleyball practice instead of sitting in the bathroom stall with an iPad and a 12" Pizza Sub.
"Chatsworth" kind of sounds like an English butler, but the fact that Benjamin's nickname for him is "Don't know", means that perhaps he's more like The Blank from Dick Tracy or Dark Man from Dark Man. With this in mind, we end up with something like this:
I could see this being on the cake, with a caption like, "Happy Easter Benjamin, Can I get you anything? A soul perhaps?"Mystery #2 - "Mtambo"
We get a bit more specific with this one, as we know Mtambo is from Africa and has a triangle light. I'm pretty sure that means the picture she meant to attach was Dikembe Mutombo in an Iron Man costume:
Mystery #3 - "Frostini"
Sharon provides not further clues, but this one is obviously an Italian snowman:
It also sounds like it could a hip hop slang term for cocaine.
Other things to consider:
I wouldn't be Toronto's leading private investigator and collector of Kool Aid man memorabilia if I didn't consider all angles. There is a possibility that this "Benjamin" is not a child, but a full grown man/sex slave. Notice how Sharon signs her name with an "xxx", the worldwide zip code for everything kinky. Perhaps Chatsworth, Mtambo and Frostini are simply names for Penises that Sharon has conquered.
In conclusion, this is probably a mystery best left unsolved. Until next time, I'm Donald Faison.
March 1, 2012
2 RATS FOR THE PRICE OF 2 RATS. WE'RE TALKIN' RATS, NO DEALS
Another February down the throat! It tasted like bile mixed with walnuts. That actually sums up February quite nicely because it basically boils down to:
Valentine's Day + RRSP Deadline = February
With everyone swappin' bile on V-Day and putting as many walnuts as they can into their RRSPs, we have a perfectly harmonious February equation.
I hope that made as much sense to you as it did to me while I was half asleep in the bathtub, listening to the audiobook of Christopher Pike's latest teen thriller, "www.thehauntedshed.com/blood".
Let's look ahead to March:
March is a gateway month. I don't mean that if you try a hit, you'll end up hooked on November by the time December rolls around, it doesn't work like that. I mean that once you step through March's hideous mouth, full of jagged teeth with remnants of winter's bagels between them, April's soft, warm Uvula is waiting to bat you around like an infant in a maze of speed bags.
I'm so glad I was born in April. Sometimes if I'm feeling down, I remember that I was born in a month that is universally loved, from school children who like drawing bunnies, to religious dudettes who cry softly, light candles and put on some Babyface while reflecting on the life of their main man Jesus, to the Crow who can't wait for April showers to make him sad enough to get out there and do the best damn job he can.
Let's see what's in the news:
Windows 8 is about to come out. I should update, I'm still using Doors '89.
The Monkees' Davy Jones died. Did you know he was going to be a jockey before someone realized little girls would want to have sex with him?
It's Justin Bieber's 18th birthday. When you have a certain amount of money, you shouldn't even be allowed to celebrate birthdays because birthdays were invented so poor people have something to look forward to. Rich people even started the tradition of giving gifts, because they thought the old tradition of eating roast chicken while your loved ones each tell you a story, was too boring. Now poor people feel they have to give presents and most of the time, the birthday boy ends up disappointed because he wanted a villa just like Justin Bieber but instead gets some new Leafs pencils.
I hope at least some of this either made your day better or helped you to cheat on a test somehow. Just in case you are cheating, and it hasn't, here's some bonus material that may help:
ROYGBIV
BEDMAS
Basketball Diaries starred Leo DiCaprio
> = greater than < = less than $ = no problems
Valentine's Day + RRSP Deadline = February
With everyone swappin' bile on V-Day and putting as many walnuts as they can into their RRSPs, we have a perfectly harmonious February equation.
I hope that made as much sense to you as it did to me while I was half asleep in the bathtub, listening to the audiobook of Christopher Pike's latest teen thriller, "www.thehauntedshed.com/blood".
Let's look ahead to March:
March is a gateway month. I don't mean that if you try a hit, you'll end up hooked on November by the time December rolls around, it doesn't work like that. I mean that once you step through March's hideous mouth, full of jagged teeth with remnants of winter's bagels between them, April's soft, warm Uvula is waiting to bat you around like an infant in a maze of speed bags.
I'm so glad I was born in April. Sometimes if I'm feeling down, I remember that I was born in a month that is universally loved, from school children who like drawing bunnies, to religious dudettes who cry softly, light candles and put on some Babyface while reflecting on the life of their main man Jesus, to the Crow who can't wait for April showers to make him sad enough to get out there and do the best damn job he can.
Let's see what's in the news:
Windows 8 is about to come out. I should update, I'm still using Doors '89.
The Monkees' Davy Jones died. Did you know he was going to be a jockey before someone realized little girls would want to have sex with him?
It's Justin Bieber's 18th birthday. When you have a certain amount of money, you shouldn't even be allowed to celebrate birthdays because birthdays were invented so poor people have something to look forward to. Rich people even started the tradition of giving gifts, because they thought the old tradition of eating roast chicken while your loved ones each tell you a story, was too boring. Now poor people feel they have to give presents and most of the time, the birthday boy ends up disappointed because he wanted a villa just like Justin Bieber but instead gets some new Leafs pencils.
I hope at least some of this either made your day better or helped you to cheat on a test somehow. Just in case you are cheating, and it hasn't, here's some bonus material that may help:
ROYGBIV
BEDMAS
Basketball Diaries starred Leo DiCaprio
> = greater than < = less than $ = no problems
February 29, 2012
I'D LIKE TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE -- TUB. OF. WASTE.
Congratulations to Snooki "Nicole Polizzi" Italian on her pregnancy. It takes a lot of guts and a relatively healthy penis and vagina to create a baby. People Magazine just released this exclusive ultra-sound photo:
"Congrats, it's an.... entity. Awwwwwwww"
I just got back from a week in Florida visiting my future mother of laws (I got engaged in December. I put the ring around a snake, then tied the snake into a ring, then put that around my neck. She cried weird, man).
We had a great time and I didn't even get sunburned because the whole time I wore a leather cat suit with "CREAMY STUD" etched into the back. Did I wear a hat? No, I just grew my bangs out and gelled them horizontally giving me a stiff natural, that not only keeps the sun out of eyes, but also gives me something to crunch with my fingers while I'm waiting for dinner to be served.
Did you know that the elderly in Florida have their own version of Gorillaz called Gaterz, which is a collaboration between Alan Thicke and Gary Larson? It's waltz music but with a sped up, jazzy vibe performed by a band of cartoons. There's:
Soup - Frontman. A cool flamingo who spends his nights searching for cola. He's got a very deep voice.
Sand Dollar - Bass guitar. A grandson who loves his pets. Has picture of ice cream sundae on shirt.
Deep C - Guitar. A fisherman whose guitar is shaped like a lighthouse. Married to a middle-aged mermaid ghost.
Cigar Ron - Percussion. A Cuban golfer who can take his eyes out and juggle them.
Most of their songs are about beach life but sometimes they mention pools.
In reality, we lied by the pool, shopped at outlet malls, marveled at foreign products in grocery stores and watched TV with commercials we'd never seen before. Do you think when Floridians come to our part of the world, they look at maple trees the same way we look at palms? We think palms are so cool, but I think I'd take a maple over one any day, even though I'm kind of bored of them. We just like palm trees because they scream "CORONA BEER BIKINI".
"Congrats, it's an.... entity. Awwwwwwww"I just got back from a week in Florida visiting my future mother of laws (I got engaged in December. I put the ring around a snake, then tied the snake into a ring, then put that around my neck. She cried weird, man).
We had a great time and I didn't even get sunburned because the whole time I wore a leather cat suit with "CREAMY STUD" etched into the back. Did I wear a hat? No, I just grew my bangs out and gelled them horizontally giving me a stiff natural, that not only keeps the sun out of eyes, but also gives me something to crunch with my fingers while I'm waiting for dinner to be served.
Did you know that the elderly in Florida have their own version of Gorillaz called Gaterz, which is a collaboration between Alan Thicke and Gary Larson? It's waltz music but with a sped up, jazzy vibe performed by a band of cartoons. There's:
Soup - Frontman. A cool flamingo who spends his nights searching for cola. He's got a very deep voice.
Sand Dollar - Bass guitar. A grandson who loves his pets. Has picture of ice cream sundae on shirt.
Deep C - Guitar. A fisherman whose guitar is shaped like a lighthouse. Married to a middle-aged mermaid ghost.
Cigar Ron - Percussion. A Cuban golfer who can take his eyes out and juggle them.
Most of their songs are about beach life but sometimes they mention pools.
In reality, we lied by the pool, shopped at outlet malls, marveled at foreign products in grocery stores and watched TV with commercials we'd never seen before. Do you think when Floridians come to our part of the world, they look at maple trees the same way we look at palms? We think palms are so cool, but I think I'd take a maple over one any day, even though I'm kind of bored of them. We just like palm trees because they scream "CORONA BEER BIKINI".
February 28, 2012
COME AROUND NOON, AROUND NOON, NOON
My hand is still strapped into a piece of mold-able plastic to keep my thumb from the dangers of city life, the most hazardously being potential thumbs up to those extra grungy pigeons who look smarter than teenagers and to local celebs who want to give autographs more than the public gives shits about them. But yeah, its functionality is returning!
My typing speed is back up to 900,000 bpm, and I'm slowly integrating my injured left hand back into my shower routine, meaning shampoo is being more evenly distributed over my baby sized/baby soft head and my right pit is getting the full soaping it deserves.
What does all this add up to? The return of the Jedi, "Jedi" being my old college nickname, given to me because I always got boners when I'd speak in front of a class. I got so tired of having to explain that I was hornier than crazy, that I'd pretend I was using the force to make it rise. I was later voted "Most Likely to Explode". School daze indeed.
Okay, so we're all back. First step of a comeback -- look at what you've done previously, beat the shit out of it and then try to remember the last time you saw Suburban Commando.
I've always had a hard time trying to figure out exactly what this blog is, which would explain rampant inconsistency, mostly due to battling with my inner-monologue over what's funny and what people want to read. Since it's been five years and over 500 posts, I don't think it really matters because as far as I can tell, Steven Spielberg hasn't read any of it, and any money I make outside of work is from selling fake Kate Gosselin autographed diapers to middle-aged women who only use the Internet to check postal codes.
What does that mean for you and your family? Much of the same! With my 1st meta-carpal bone now surgically repaired, I'm free to type until I learn backgammon, then it's allllll backgammon, baby.
Before the adventure continues, I just have to re-assure myself -- was my broke-ass paw a good excuse for writing next to nothing on this world-infamous website? Two new characters answer:
No, you could still type, granny style, and your brain wasn't all that effected by the whole thing.
This is true, but every humourous thought I had ended with "...but I ain't even got the thumbs for it."
No, you could've just typed short things that kept the audience interested.
Poetry is dead!!
No, you could've made little vlogs and posted those.
Nobody likes my voice. It was once likened to that of a "pre-pubsecant cat boy who is trying to imitate his gay dad"
My typing speed is back up to 900,000 bpm, and I'm slowly integrating my injured left hand back into my shower routine, meaning shampoo is being more evenly distributed over my baby sized/baby soft head and my right pit is getting the full soaping it deserves.
What does all this add up to? The return of the Jedi, "Jedi" being my old college nickname, given to me because I always got boners when I'd speak in front of a class. I got so tired of having to explain that I was hornier than crazy, that I'd pretend I was using the force to make it rise. I was later voted "Most Likely to Explode". School daze indeed.
Okay, so we're all back. First step of a comeback -- look at what you've done previously, beat the shit out of it and then try to remember the last time you saw Suburban Commando.
I've always had a hard time trying to figure out exactly what this blog is, which would explain rampant inconsistency, mostly due to battling with my inner-monologue over what's funny and what people want to read. Since it's been five years and over 500 posts, I don't think it really matters because as far as I can tell, Steven Spielberg hasn't read any of it, and any money I make outside of work is from selling fake Kate Gosselin autographed diapers to middle-aged women who only use the Internet to check postal codes.
What does that mean for you and your family? Much of the same! With my 1st meta-carpal bone now surgically repaired, I'm free to type until I learn backgammon, then it's allllll backgammon, baby.
Before the adventure continues, I just have to re-assure myself -- was my broke-ass paw a good excuse for writing next to nothing on this world-infamous website? Two new characters answer:
Sandra No'h
No, you could still type, granny style, and your brain wasn't all that effected by the whole thing.This is true, but every humourous thought I had ended with "...but I ain't even got the thumbs for it."
No, you could've just typed short things that kept the audience interested.
Poetry is dead!!
No, you could've made little vlogs and posted those.
Nobody likes my voice. It was once likened to that of a "pre-pubsecant cat boy who is trying to imitate his gay dad"
Malcolm "Yes"
Yes brother, do whatever you do, there are no wrong answers, only wrong people with wrong answers.
Poignant.
Life moves pretty fast; if you don't look at a bit you don't see it.
Alright.
Stalemate! Anyway, bear with me over the coming months as I re-integrate myself into cyberspace, where the stars are message boards and the planets tmz.com's. I can't promise you true happiness, but I can almost promise you that you'll never, ever barf from eating a Skor bar.
Yes brother, do whatever you do, there are no wrong answers, only wrong people with wrong answers.
Poignant.
Life moves pretty fast; if you don't look at a bit you don't see it.
Alright.
Stalemate! Anyway, bear with me over the coming months as I re-integrate myself into cyberspace, where the stars are message boards and the planets tmz.com's. I can't promise you true happiness, but I can almost promise you that you'll never, ever barf from eating a Skor bar.
January 24, 2012
LIVE FROM NY IT'S A RAT DYING IN A BASEMENT
My hand is alllll better..........
.............if by "better" you mean "butter". My hand is all butter because to a carnivore, this thing looks, smells and no doubt tastes just as good as a bag of hot buttered kernels down at the local screens. Don't believe me? Ask this bear:
Gotta say, he's on the mark on this one. Keep in mind though, if the injured hand is like your "popcorms", then something like, say, the human ass, would be the "hot perfect beef roast", you see? Main course. Like the hand is good, but I'd rather eat your heart mixed with from-the-ground pine needles and washed down with frog-piss swamp water. Keep asking me questions though, I'm enjoying this.
We don't have time. Plus, I know it was you who took the noodles that were cooling on my windowsill. You almost ruined Chinese New Year again. We ordered pizza and my guests said "nah-uh" so I had to convince them it was Chinese by slicing it with a rollerblade. Mission accomplished, barely.
.............if by "better" you mean "butter". My hand is all butter because to a carnivore, this thing looks, smells and no doubt tastes just as good as a bag of hot buttered kernels down at the local screens. Don't believe me? Ask this bear:
Gotta say, he's on the mark on this one. Keep in mind though, if the injured hand is like your "popcorms", then something like, say, the human ass, would be the "hot perfect beef roast", you see? Main course. Like the hand is good, but I'd rather eat your heart mixed with from-the-ground pine needles and washed down with frog-piss swamp water. Keep asking me questions though, I'm enjoying this.We don't have time. Plus, I know it was you who took the noodles that were cooling on my windowsill. You almost ruined Chinese New Year again. We ordered pizza and my guests said "nah-uh" so I had to convince them it was Chinese by slicing it with a rollerblade. Mission accomplished, barely.
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