Thursday, December 29, 2005

What The Fuck?!?!?!?!?!

Sometimes you'll see an article somewhere that seems to factually incorrect that you start to wonder about the author behind the piece. Was he/she sane at the time of writing it? Was he/she drunk at the time of writing it it? Was he in the midst of becoming a she and was so doped up on anaesthetic that he thought it was a good idea and just start typing a bunch of random shit to take the focus off of his penis evolving surgically into a vagina? Okay, that last one definitely didn't happen. I know that when my junk is getting fucked around with I don't have the presence of mind to even start thinking about writing let alone actually doing it. But I digress.

What we have here is quite possibly the world record for most typos in one published article...

Click here.

Um, Michael, I hate to burst your bubble, but that article was not filled with typos and was actually quite straightforward to read.

I was afraid of that. Did you actually get the gist of what was being said, though?

Well, I, um.....looking back at it seems to be saying that Patrick Swayze is experimenting with rap the holy hell?!?!?! That can't be right.

You see? It's got to be the world's biggest collection of typos. There's no fucking way it could be saying that Patrick Swayze is experimenting with rap music.

"Swayze recently said he was experimenting with 'rap rhythms as an emotional uncurrent for ballads.'"

Pinch me, Michael. I'm thinking this is one of those dreams where I show up naked to school. It's got to be. You know? The kind of dream where a bunch of random shit seems to get spliced together? Unicorns and Volkswagens? A hoodie made out of big fat pickles? Patrick Swayze planning on releasing some of his very own rap music? It's got to be a dream.


I'm afraid not.


Wednesday, December 28, 2005

Mickey D's

Click here.

Starting very soon at McDonald's restaurants you will be able to find the nutrition facts about most of their foodstuffs printed right on the package. That's right, I shit you not. You will, in fact, be able to check out how many calories are being consumed with every Big Mac as you are eating a Big Mac.

And you know what? Good for them. It indicates a desire on the part of the multinational to improve its image. Where once it was seen as a provider of "food" with questionable nutritional content it will now be seen as a provider of "food" with questionable nutritional content, but with the nutritional information printed on the packaging.

What I don't get is why there's such a big fucking deal over the nutritional content being printed at all. The fact that this is news on MSNBC means it's newsworthy to somebody. I mean it's not like McDonald's "food" is healthy. It was clearly demonstrated in Supersize Me. Is having the nutritional information suddenly going to make a big fucking difference to the people who eat at McDonald's?

How many people do you see driving around looking for a place to eat and basing their decision on an eatery on whether or not said eatery provides a nutritional content information box on the packaging?

Well, that documentary made me swear off McDonald's food, but I am hungry and they now print their nutritional content so it must be better. Kids, we're going to McDonald's!

That shit doesn't happen. Sorry, Mickey D's.

Nutritonal content information on fast food packaging is a moot point. If you eat fast food you know that it's not healthy. What the fuck do you care if you know specifically how unhealthy it is for you? If the lack of nutrition on most of a fast food restaurant menu really comes as a shocker to you then you should really continue to chow down on that stuff because you are a liability to humanity with all that ignorance. Maybe an early fast food funeral would do the species a lot of good in your case.

Also, why the fuck unveil the nutritional content information at the fucking Olympics? Wow, that should make for a headline. Today in the news, opening ceremonies for the 2006 winter Olympics in Turin, Italy were held. The event brings together the world in a celebration of sports and athletics. Also, some fast food chain is using this event as a springboard for launching nutritional content information on their artery-clogging hamburgers. Way to go world! I know if there's one thing that makes me want to eat a lot of Big Macs and large fries it's watching athletes in their prime competing for gold at the Olympics. Sadly, that's probably how it's going to be marketed. Even sadder is that it will probably work as far as marketing ploys go. Doesn't anybody watch athletics anymore and get inspired to be more athletic?

Apparently not.



When I finish I
swear you grow out
of my fingernails.
I’m clawing you off on
chalk boards and
hearing your screech shat
ter silences deftly a
diamond scratching glass.

What I don’t eat of you
wets my lips quench
es thirst where I lick
with a pointed tongue taste
last night’s wine and
a diet rich with fruit sweet
ness following every

Feel you in the lush for
est of my hair dark and myster
ious coating chutes and
making undergrowth
in the shrubs and berries you
run wild through the barrows of
my phrenology and slide
gracefully down in droplets of my

And what I don’t tell you is
that I’ve considered changing
my name to yours the
name in loopy neon letters
shining on the insides of my eye
lids pilot of this vessel reas
on for this being
guiding me down a jaded path

Thursday, December 22, 2005

Lunar Park By: Bret Easton Ellis

A few days ago I finally completed my reading of Bret Easton Ellis' latest novel Lunar Park. Having read a couple of his earlier novels, Less Than Zero and American Psycho, I was already a bit of a fan of work and I went into my reading of this one with certain expectations:

1.) This book would portray the lifestyles of the upper-class in a rather negative light.

2.) There would be a lot of drug use on the part of the characters.

3.) Sex scenes would be very graphic and almost hard to read.

And you know what?

I think that with Lunar Park, Bret Easton Ellis took those expectations that I had of his work and turned them on their heads. What he has done has been to take some of the conventions that he subscribes to and craft a rather supernatural thriller of a book.

What I love most is how he has taken himself, Bret Easton Ellis, the novelist, and placed himself as the protagonist of the story, a man who is trying to build a life with what is, by and large, a surrogate family. Married to a movie star, an actual live-in father to two children, he is working on establishing a domestic lifestyle after years of reckless indulgence and controversy. It is that controversy, though, that seems to manifest itself in apparitions that begin to creep up around Bret's life as the novel progresses. I won't go into great detail as to what manifests itself so as to not spoil the surprises should you decide to give this book a read yourself, but above all else it should be noted that Ellis takes his undeniable writing style and applies it in a way that I haven't seen him apply it before. It's refreshing to read. He does new things with his old tricks. For example, mixing the elements of his real life with a fictitious world blurs that barrier between what I know is real and isn't real until I can suspend my disbelief easily, alarmingly so. He seems to reveal a lot about himself insofar as the specifics of his life and just throws in the supernatural bits and you can't help but question sometimes, Is any of this real? If so, how much?

If there is one downside to the book it's that once the climax hits and Ellis begins the denouement begins I found myself still left with a lot of questions. A few of them never really get resolved. I have to admit, though, that because this is a book that is about the supernatural it's not necessary for Ellis to explain precisely what happens or why it happens. As a reader I'm experience the story through his eyes and, in all likelihood, he knows about as much about the why's and how's of the supernatural happenings around him as I do. It makes for a book that is genuinely creepy to read at some points.

I'm not sure how I would rank Lunar Park against the other Bret Easton Ellis books I've read and I'm not sure if it would even be fair of me to do so. It's still a book that I found to be very enjoyable to read and I would highly recommend to anybody who's in the mood for a good book.

Also, the last couple of pages are some of Ellis' best writing. There is one monster of a paragraph that is written in such a way that it could easily be taken out of its context and read as, say, a prose, poem. Actually, as I was reading that monster I stopped about three sentences in and decided to go back and start reading it over again, this time out loud as I would a poem. It was almost worth the price of admission alone, for me anyway.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

The Bottom Ten, December 2005

10.)The FTC- Wow! It's so great to live in a world where the FTC has finally taken credit for their "effective" stemming of the shit-tide that is spam. "Effective" to the FTC means 62% more spam in the last year alone. Does anybody ever actually check the results before they declare themselves victorious anymore. This reeks of GWB landing on the aircraft carrier and making that speech in front of the Mission Accomplished banner regarding the success in Iraq. I bet the FTC even had that same banner flown in for their press conference.

9.)The Canadian Supreme Court- The Supreme Court of Canada is currently mulling over the legality of swingers' clubs. What's a swingers' club, you ask? Well, it's a club where a bunch of adults go to participate in group sex acts or swap partners or do whatever else their kinky minds can think of. Newflash Canada: consenting adults fucking is legal. Consenting adults fucking in groups? Still legal! Okay, I can see the problem lying in the fact with what constitutes public indecency, but I really don't think the kind of people who go to swingers' clubs are the kind of people who think anything is indecent. So why the fuck not let them go about their business of fucking? Don't you have something more vital to do than stick your gavels where they don't belong?

8.) "People Are Still Having Sex" by: La Tour- I fucking hate it when I'm talking about something that pisses me off and a shitty one-hit-wonder from the 90's gets stuck in my head. Damn you La Tour! Damn you!

7.) Wal-Mart Sex Toys- I'll take words that don't belong together for $500, Alex. Answer: This greedy multinational with it's tentacles squeezing the life out of the world is entering the sex toy market. What is Wal-Mart? That's right. Cock rings and 13 inch wall-mounted dildos are coming to a Wal-Mart near you. It's funny that here in Canada we can't even make up our minds about whether or not groups of consenting adults can fuck legally, but you can bet your fucking ass we'll try to market anal lubricants and fleshlights to the Wal-Mart clientele. Welcome to topsy-turvy world, population: us. It's sad that the big boxes are now going to force the mom-and-pop "neck massager" stores out of business and, in turn, make fucking suddenly less cool. Discount anal beads, anyone?

6.) Flamboyant Celebrity Bachelor Parties- Bachelor parties by definition are supposed to scuzzy, sleazy affairs that usually end with multiple arrests and mysterious cases of "the herpes." I don't know what the fuck Elton John did, but that sure as shit wasn't a bachelor party.

5.) Prudes- "Oh my god! I can't believe how morally reprehensible I find it that your newspaper would run a story about a snow penis. I found the photo of the snowy phallus to be the most offensive thing I have ever seen! For shame!" I know what you mean, people. After reading the article about the snow sculpture of a penis and the controversy it created I felt compelled to go out and start raping people because that's what images of snow sculptures of penises do to my highly impressionable mind. Don't worry, I fought that snowy urge by dousing my eyes with gasoline and setting them on fire so those filthy thoughts could no longer be induced by that pornographic imagery. I especially love the letter that states, "May God damn this newspaper for running the photo of the snow penis." My first thought was, Yep, I'm sure God has nothing more important to do in this world right now than smite some newspaper for its story on a freakin' snow sculpture.

4.) Home Town Pride- Arnold Schwarzeneggar severed his ties with his home town in Austria after a number of officials from his town criticized the Terminator for his execution of Stanley Tookie Williams. You'd think that a man of Arnold's physical prowess would be a little less of a bitch when somebody back home makes a disparaging comment about him.

3.) Too Many Hyperlinks- I fucking hate websites that throw hyperlink after hyperlink at you with "witty" banter as some sort of segue between said hyperlinks. It reeks of effort.

2.) Fertilizer- Okay, I don't hate fertilizer just the fucking irresponsible abusive asshole parents who would make their four-year-old daughter drink the stuff down. People like this should be sterilized so they never raise children again. They have no fucking clue as to what it is they are doing and they are lowering the standards by which humanity conducts itself. No fucking excuse for this fucking behavior whatsoever.

1.) Santa Claus- At what age can you start to tell your children about the myth of Santa Claus and the rampant commercialization of the holiday season? It would all seem much easier to give your child the gift of cynicism than to track down a Ferby. Plus the jolly old elf never got me Hungry, Hungry Hippos and I never forgave him.

Monday, December 19, 2005

Classic Michael Appleby

Last week I performed "Vitriol" as a means of wrapping up the latest reading series by The Raving Poets. Here is the poem for those of you who aren't familiar with it. I will be back to my regular posting habits shortly. The past few days have been rather hectic and my sleeping patterns have been all over the map.

Fuck your tyrants, your pyros, the church spire steeples, the holier-than-thou hard dick like a cross indoctrinating peoples.
Fuck your five speed, pneumatic, microchipped, long-range dildonic devices, your intercontinental ballistic rectal rooter arms race strap-on motives.
Fuck your car, your hair, your icy blue-eyed stare, your mom if she cares, your planet if you dare.
Fuck your telescopic knee brace, broken down poker face homoerotic histrionics, Parliament Hill synonymy with ninja stealth boob job.
Fuck your phony cities of glass licking my ass, acerbic acroters applying the rim jobs on eternity, poke you in the eye with phallic imagery.
Fuck your credit card limit statements stuffing the mailboxes; the mailman’s arm pumping with pornstar precision.
Fuck your need for more speed, more tits, bigger dicks.
Fuck your procreation if the end result is just like you.
Fuck your recyclable telekinetic wishes, your dreams of unaided flight, your ideals of a bubblegum pop princess balloon.
Fuck your celebrity idolatry anal sex banter, your J.Lo hourglass hugging Brady Bunch trousers.
Fuck your statues of people, your history dizzy disease.
Fuck your alternative systems of homeopathy, your psychotic, homeostatic, armed to the braced teeth, low carb Atkins drink of doom.
Fuck your domestic origami, orgasms of renovate-ativity, your desires for dementia, schizophrenic duvet covers sheltering inability.
Fuck your forty-dollar two-piece birthday suit, your navel gazing, placenta-wet perfectly sculpted body.
Fuck your sex if it isn’t made kinky.
Fuck your commemorative plates, your dinner of battery heated gopher road kill du jour.
Fuck your matriarchal maitre d’, dressed to the sevens, Seven-11, dressed to the nines. 1 billion people starving. The other five smearing their genitals with peanut butter for dogs’ licking.
Fuck your fake love of fake arts, your pompous Pompadour pomander, pomegranate seed sperm, proliferate that shit sperm, hit-you-on-the-chin sperm.
Fuck your modification mortifications, your custom flame job on a penile implant, unhinged meat tube slapping you in the face.
Fuck your circus-time clowns, your wartime crowds, your mushroom clouds.
Fuck your family network of lies.
Fuck your Double-You Bush, your tree, your need to be green, your hip to the scene, your lists of currently has-been.
Fuck your executive privilege, balanced precariously on a high ledge, suicidal fuck fist raised to the heavens.
Fuck the feeling of being the last rebel.
Fuck the hopelessness against the empire.
Fuck George Lucas for making me think this could be Star Wars.
Fuck your lines of Pepsi, your love of being alert, your need to document it all, your diesel powered whisk stirred memento vat.
Fuck your word if your word is “YES!” when I’m asking you if you’re loving it wearing that Ronald McDonald vest.
Fuck your sleepless nights of cookie cutter x-ray scans.
Fuck your dreamless days of Richard Hamilton tans.
Fuck your institutionalized intentions intent on interns. All I do is cry.
Fuck your Windsor Pilates Tae-Bo.
Fuck your fuckee no more.

Thursday, December 15, 2005

The Post In Which Michael Appleby Contemplates The Necessity To Vote In Federal Elections

For those of you who aren't aware of this, Canada is in the grips of not only Christmas fever, but also Federal Election Fever. It's some sort of double whammy because, on one hand, we can't stop shopping, and on the other hand, we can't stop listening to politicians. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

It was pretty much bound to happen. I saw this coming the last time we had a federal election. Paul Martin was burdened right from the start with the whole sponsorship scandal that plagued Jean Chretien's liberals during the last administration. It didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to see that only having a minority government would lead to a vote of non-confidence sooner or later. Things are just playing out like you would expect them to.

But what bugs the shit out of me during any federal election are the damn ad campaigns these would-be leaders flood the airwaves with. Holy shit!

So far my pick for the worst ad of the bunch is Stephen Harper's ad that's designed to depict him as a leader who plans on being tough on crime. Why do I hate the fucking ad so much? For starters it has him on some sort of talk show set, sitting behind a desk, but nowhere in the whole ad is this talk show premise even developed. All it has is some bitter old woman complaining about crime in a prepared video statement, Stephen Harper watching said video with the talk show host, and then saying that he's going to be tough on crime. News flash Stephen: there isn't a candidate in the whole damn election who's going to promise to be soft on crime! Fuck! Thanks for the update Stephen, you took valuable ad space that could have been used for scantily clad women selling me beer to tell me that some bitter old hag's wish for a leader who is tough on crime could come true if the country elects you.

And I'm sure the bitter old woman isn't a hag, but come on! Can't you get Stephen Harper to come up with something more substantial than, "I will be tough on crime." Yawn! That's an angry yawn, Mr. Harper!

So Michael, I guess that means you're a Paul Martin guy, huh?

Fuck no! There's a reason why he got the vote of non-confidence against him. He really hasn't been a good leader for this country. He hasn't been the worst, but just far from being good. I will say that of the major leaders so far I am leaning most toward voting for the Liberals if only because Paul Martin's ads haven't sucked as much donkey cock as his opponents. Whoever wins this election will likely face a vote of non-confidence in the near future and we will, once again, be holding another federal election in which a stalemate will be declared.

Have you seen the polls, Canada? Fuck, not one guy can get a definitive lead! Why is that? Can't we get one guy to run whom we like enough as a group to give him a good solid lead. This going to the voting stations every year is bullshit and it's enough to make a guy not want to vote anymore.

One thing that I do love about this election, though, is how all the candidates seem to have this, "It's us against them," attitude. "Them" referring to the United States. Why do I love it? Well, nobody is really that stupid, are they? Yeah, some of American policy has been bad for the world and for Canada, but it's so hip to be anti-American right now in Canadian politics that I love watching the potential Prime Ministers go through all the rigamarole of thumping their chests and saying "I hate GWB this. I hate GWB that. Softwood lumber demands need to be met!" But you know what? Secretly they all kiss America's ass because they are THE superpower.

So what's the point of this post? I suppose I just wanted to vent about the state of Canadian federal politics. I hate being up in the air on whether or not I want to vote. I don't really like any of the candidates and I'm almost 100% positive that whoever wins is going to win a minority government, which puts us right back to where we'll be in January. Sometimes democracy is a bitch! Fuck!

Also I really, really hate that Stephen Harper ad. I feel dumber each time I see it. I don't see how making a promise like that could possibly help him get voters. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that if a candidate made all the ludicrous promises like "going softer on crime," "hurting the economy," or "establishing Canada as a military nation," I would more likely vote for that candidate because he clearly has a twisted sense of humor.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Classic Michael Appleby

Sorry States
She tells me that she wants to come over to sleep. Just let her grab her toothbrush and she will be right over. And I am immediately concerned about the state of my place. It’s too messy. It’s too much of a mess. There are socks and jeans, old t-shirts, and boxer shorts strewn all over the floor. A haphazard congregation of empty bottles. Dust that has settled enough to develop its own layer of dust. Then there is me who has not shaved in three days. There is me who has been lounging around in a bathrobe all day. There is me who is messy hair, pizza breath, and needing to exfoliate.

This is why the mother’s proverb suggests to always wear clean underwear.

Jesus, how long could it take her to grab her toothbrush? How long will it take for her to drive here? There just isn’t enough time for proper preparation and yet my whole life seems to have been the endless prep work to accommodate this woman, this feminine presence.

Dilemma: Do I ready myself with a quick shower, a shave, brush of teeth, combing the hair, slapping on some cologne? Or do I ready this hovel and make it woman-worthy, comfortable and tidy, or as close to it as I can; wash the windows, pick up the clothes, actually wipe away some of the dust from my life?

By time she arrives neither this house nor I is presentable. Address and addressee are complete messes that mirror each other.

And upon apologizing for our sorry states I am quickly rebuked:

“I don’t date your house or the hair on your head. Your pell-mell pantry is not what I lose myself in. It’s not the excess of posters, piles of books, or blemished skin that could make me weep.

It’s you.”

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

"Gimme Food, Gimme Fire"

Reposted from the Raving Poets message board. Mike Gravel let's us know...

The Raving Poets: Gimme Food, Gimme Fire.

A Raving Poets Food Drive for the Edmonton Food Bank. (

Wednesday, December 14, 2005.
Yianni's Taverna, 10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton. 8:00pm.

This is our last show of the year. The Food Bank needs everyone's help at this time of year ( year-round for that matter). Come on down for some great fellowshipping, some amazing verse, and some Christmas goodwill.

This event will be a twenty-reader open mic as always. Everyone attending the event is encouraged to bring a donation. Any poet wishing to read that evening MUST bring a donation for the Food Bank. That's mandatory. No donation, no chance to read. And don't be a skinflint either. A $10.00 minimum donation (in either food or cash) is suggested. A single box of Kraft Dinner or two cans of beans is simply not acceptable. Cash donations will be accepted in lieu of a food donation.

See y'all down there!

The Most Important Picture Of All

Thank you, Trudy, once again. You were a great hostess and you must be a hell of a housekeeper if you had to contend with this mess.

Recovering From The Weekend

It's Tuesday already and I still feel like I'm recovering from the weekend. My friends and I had our annual Christmas dinner/party this past weekend at Trudy's house in safe, comfortable St. Albert. But just for that one night I think that our party made it that much more dangerous. Let's see some of the pictures. I had about 78 pictures on my digital camera by the end of the night and there are maybe four of them that I remember taking. There are also some pictures of us dropping trow and mooning for the camera which I've tastefully excised from the pictures here as that was a lot of pasty white ass to take in in one sitting. Here are some of the better pictures...

Jordan and Lori showing off Lori's winnings from the mini poker tournament that we had.

Ian is drunk and apparently maniacally so.

Darcy and Jay pose together. Darcy needs to work on his rock and roll look, though.

Jordan and our lovely hostess for the evening Trudy.

Lori and Brandon giving their reviews.

Playing Shrek Operation for drinks? Has that ever been a good idea?

Nadine is the night's first casualty after failing to successfully remove Shrek's tibia. Weak. I may not have graduated medical school, but I could at least remove a tibia from an ogre.

Jordan removes a tibia while Cory and Jay look on. See, Nadine? Was that so hard?

Yours truly takes another crack at removing a tibia. Why so many tibias you ask? Because Shrek has 17 of them because he's an ogre. Duh. Oh crap I hit the side. Now it's time for another shot. I guess Nadine was right. This does get kind of hard after you've been drinking for a while.

So after all the drinking game madness and poker many of us just passed out and slept over at Trudy's. Ah Christmas, it's a most wonderful time of the year.

Sunday, December 11, 2005

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat. Part III: The Third One

Since I'm on a bit of a roll with my ranting about what's going on with North American cinema (I almost feel dirty calling it cinema sometimes with all the fecal matter that a lot of the major studios expect us to embrace), I thought that I would conform with Hollywood on this one and complete a "trilogy."

Click here.

If you just read that article I linked to you're probably shaking your head like I'm still doing. In fact, I've been shaking my head in disbelief for the entire two days since I read it for the first time. People have been stopping me to ask me what's wrong:

Michael, man, what's bumming you out? You're body language is scaring me. What could be so bad? cigarettes in Casino Royale........bad

That's right. James Bond is not going to be smoking in the upcoming Casino Royale. And the reason for changing the famous spy to a non-smoker? Smoking sets a bad example for kids.

I'll let that sink in.

Smoking, not such a good example for impressionable youth. We can't have kids going around smoking cigarettes and ruining their lungs. That's bad. Violence? Nothing wrong with violence and international espionage.

Holy shit! You're going to excise smoking so that kids don't get any bad ideas, but you'll keep violence in there because there's nothing wrong with that. Are you batshit crazy or just regular crazy? Seriously.

If you want to make a movie that is kid-safe, fine, so be it. But if you're going to do it, do it right. Fuck.

And get this. One scene in Casino Royale will revolve around James Bond's genitals being beaten with a carpet-beater. So you can have genital torture scenes in a movie, but you can't have smoking? There goes your credibility out the window right there. I know that after I just finish torturing my genitals for a while there's nothing more satisfying than a cigarette. If James Bond doesn't light one up I'm going to be forced to hurl my popcorn at the projection booth and scream, "Fuck you, Hollywood! No cigarettes after wang flogging? That's bullshit, you fuckers!"

I suppose I should take solace in the fact that althought a generation of kids will grow up thinking that taking the genitals to task with torture is acceptable behaviour at least they'll have a lot of lung capacity for prolonged beatings thanks to the fact that they never took up smoking.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat. Part II: The Revenge

Click here.

Movie Exec 1: Holy fuck we gotta do something about our box office revenues! Fewer and fewer people are coming out to see our movies.

Movie Exec 2: You don't think it could be our continued policy of translating shitty television shows for the big screen, do you?

Movie Exec 1: No, don't be a fucking retard! People love to see television shows make the jump to movie screens. I mean the line-up for tickets to the premiere of "CHiPs: The Movie" has been there for three weeks prior to it even opening. I read stories of people literally camping out for days in front of multiplexes just waiting for the "CHiPs: The Movie" posters to be plastered to the wall. Those were just the fucking posters, man! Movie translations are a gold mine because the audience is fucking stupid.

Movie Exec 2: Amen to that. What do you think we should do then?

Movie Exec 1: I do have a hot theory as to what will shoot the revenue right through the fucking roof.

Movie Exec 2: You're killing me with suspense. What is it?

Movie Exec 1: We need to find a way to show even more commercials before the movie starts. People love watching commercials. They're fucking stupid.

Movie Exec 2: You're a fucking genius!

There, do you see how the logic of the world works now? The movie executives really have their audiences pegged, don't they? I know from my own personal experience I only go to movie theatres to see the 10 minutes or so worth of commercials before the movie actually begins. It's not like there's anywhere else for an honest man like me to get his fill of vapid advertising. Hell, it's almost at a point now where I don't even stay for the movie because my appetite for entertainment has been sated by the latest Sprite, Nissan, and Canadian Armed Forces commercials. It's really great to see that they are going to add even more commercials to the screening schedule.

Friday, December 09, 2005

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat.

Click here.

Finally, all the months and months of petitioning and letter-writing to the mega-producers in Hollywood has paid off. You know, for a while there, I almost thought that the corporate Hollywood machine was too big to listen to the little people in the world, but a big screen version of "CHiPs" is proof positive that...


...wait a minute! I was petitioning Hollywood for more chips with dip, not that fucking Wilmer guy from That 70's Show in yet another in a long line of shit-ass big screen adaptations of television shows that got cancelled for a reason!

I recall ranting about this kind of shit before, Hollywood! Are you that starved for ideas that you need "CHiPs" to be made for the big screen? There are so many talented writers out there with truly original ideas and they are literally starving because they can't get their foot in the door proper. Meanwhile Fez is strapping on a motorcycle helmet and driving on his merry way to felch some hot up-and-coming starlet and chase drug lords along the California highways. Yeah, that's a great concept. They loved it back in the 18th century when the t.v. show was on for all those years before it got cancelled.


Let shit like this stay dead. It had a time and place in history and that time and place are since gone the way of leisure suits and Eric Estrada popularity.

Monday, December 05, 2005

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed The Monkees' "Daydream Believer."

It was actually pretty good.

But it's hard to fuck that one up when you're Davy Jones backed by Peter Tork, Michael Nesmith, and Mickey Dolenz.

What's sad is that I was there to witness it all.

editor's note: No I wasn't, but I just wanted to illustrate the fact that The Monkees aren't that good.


Happy belated 22nd birthday to Adam Snider. I was supposed to attend his birthday festivities this past weekend, but got sidelined by a broken alternator belt and having to endure having my car connected to a trickle charger all Saturday. Being stranded when there are places to be sucks. Anyway, happy birthday, Adam. Keep on slinging.

For Those Of You Who Doubt Your Faith

Click here.

In Roman Catholic news, the new Pope is being asked to suspend Limbo. What is Limbo, you ask? Well, it's that state between Heaven and Hell where babies who haven't been baptized go. Having never been in Limbo myself I would have to say that it's eternal mediocrity. Nothing is fantastic nor is it really shitty.

Okay Michael, you probably wouldn't bring stuff like this to our attention unless something about it was stuck up in your craw. What is it this time?

It's the whole notion of the Pope suspending something that's supposed to be part of God's design. Ultimately it comes down to a question of just how much authority over the infrastructure of the universe does the Pope have. Apparently since there is a movement to have the Pope suspend Limbo it would suggest to me that he can arbitrarily suspend other states for the human soul.

Why not suspend Hell?

This kind of reminds me of that question that gets asked of God by people who are having a crisis of faith. Namely that question is: Why does God let bad things happen to good people? As somebody who is, by and large, agnostic it makes me feel somewhat vindicated to know that the answer to that question was another question: Why does the Pope let bad things happen to good people?

Or maybe there are too many people who believe the Pope has more power than he actually does. Let me state, for the record, the Pope is a human male and controls the universe as much as any other human male.

That is to say that if Heaven and Hell and Limbo exist it doesn't really matter what some guy with a miter and lots of grey hair has to say about its existence.

Doesn't it bother anybody in the Roman Catholic church that you can just start a petition to have parts of your religious tradition stricken from the record arbitrarily?

Maybe I'm missing the point on this one, but if something's been taught throughout the history of your religion why would you just up and decide to change it? That really doesn't do much to instill a sense of faith in the institution. It's like admitting that you were wrong. If you can be wrong about this one piece of the puzzle what's to say that you aren't wrong about other facets of your belief system?

I'm just saying is all.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

Kids Will Be Kids Except When We Tell Them To Be Kids

Stories like this always frost my ass. Click here.

Now, bearing in mind that the article is an editorial you have to question it's authenticity just a little, but then again, everything I write here is editorial so I guess you're getting the actual facts of the story third or even fourth hand. Aw fuck, that's not good. I know. But still, when you read it don't you get the feeling that you've heard shit like this before?

You know, the story of the overzealous school officials going to great lengths to prevent some form of student media from dispensing with information that (gasp!) could lead to immorality. That's what this story seems to be a case of. A textbook case of. A textbook on the textbook in fact. It's like Degrassi Junior High except it's real life and some kids might learn about about birth control (shudder!). Why shudder, you ask? Because some kids might read an informative piece about birth control and think that because they know how birth control works it's all the license they need to go out and fuck. Oh. My. God.

Can you imagine that?

Teenagers having sex?

Protected sex?

The end of days are truly upon us, aren't they?

Okay, because I am opinionated motherfucker who feels it's his duty to keep people informed about the world in which they live I am going to share with you some information that will literally make your jaw hit the floor. You may, in fact, faint and I am writing these words now as a disclaimer against any form of injury you may sustain from me having to tell you this. Don't fucking sue me. I warned you. If you have a weak bladder or the nerves of a pedophile tripping on meth in an elevator filled with police officers then maybe you should click on the archives links on the sides and read one of my older pieces of cock tattoos, cum stains, or donkey punching. For the rest of you people who feel up to facing the harsh truth of the world, please read on.

Here's some truth for you...

Teenagers fuck.

You can faint now or piss your pants or whatever it is you do when you have been enlightened. I know. I know. I was the same way when I found out. Teenagers fuck. Now say it with me... Teenagers fuck. There? Now don't you feel better? No? Well, I suppose that's to be expected.

And since I've already pulled you through the rabbit hole already why not dispense with some more information? Teenagers fuck and most of them probably aren't very good at it because they're fucking teenagers. Do you remember what it was like when you were a teenager? Hell, I just about had to change my pants every time a cute girl just looked at me the right way. And I don't mean to let you in on more information than you want to be privy to, but that's just how it is. Most teenagers are horny, depraved fuckers, who, thanks to advances in technology probably know some of the sickest, kinkiest shit out there and many of them probably enjoy it. Sleep tight, parents.

Seriously, though, they know what Google is and they know how to use it. Furries and adult baby fetishists have to get their starts somewhere and those starts usually occur somewhere in the teen years. Being a teenager is all about discovering yourself as an individual.

But fear not, people. Now while it's true that teenagers fuck. You can take solace in the fact that, as it has been throughout the history of humankind, teenagers are socially awkward and probably couldn't even get laid by a hooker. On double coupon day. So while many teens would fuck at the drop of a hat most of them can't because they're losers. That's okay. A lot of famous adults start out as losers. Hell, a lot of them end up as losers too.

Now, knowing that teenagers are raging balls of hormones and are just aching to get off as much as they can, why not arm them with some information about the ramifications of playing dunk the admiral? How is information about the deed going to be all the license they need to do the deed? Just because they know some shit about birth control it doesn't suddenly give them social skills with the opposite sex.

It takes more than knowing what the fuck a diaphragm is to get play with the ladies, I can assure you.

My approach usually goes...

So, anyway, I mean, like, you know, if you're one of those women who uses the IUD that's totally cool, like, you know. And I'm the kind of, you know, guy, who believes in using two forms of, you know, protection, so the IUD and, like, a condom, totally makes two forms, and we'd be pretty safe. Do you want to, like, go do it behind that row of porta-potties or something.

At which point Paris Hilton would say something like, "I want to do it inside the porta-potty because that's hot."

But seriously now, if I were a parent of a teen I would much rather that teen know his/her way around sex safely than not know anything at all. The fact that a student newspaper was dispensing with some information would probably make me feel better because it would prove to me that they at least care about what they are doing with each other. As a parent I would know for a fact that I can't watch them 24/7 and no teenager wants some gawking overprotective parent looming over them that much anyway. So if they're going to plug holes at least do it safely. They aren't going to be kids forever.

And luckily for me any teenager of mine will probably inherit my social graces and I can rest assured a massive comic book collection, bad acne, and an underdeveloped sense of personal hygiene will mean no nookie to worry about.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

Some People Just Don't Have The Right Idea

Click here.

That's right a Chicago man has been arrested, accused of kidnapping a young girl for the purposes of performing a demonic ritual, which would have involved carving a pentacle into her chest. Why would anybody do such a thing, you ask? Well, it seems that the accused was going to perform said ritual to get his ex-girlfriend back.

If you click the link you can kind of get a few more details as to how this foolproof plan of his fell apart.

But here it is...

Now I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible when it comes to relationships. Every relationship I have ever been in has ended with failure and I've failed spectacularly on occasion. So be it. I mean a man who didn't get his first actual kiss until he was nearly 24 years old (!) is probably not going to be the smoothest man when it comes to wooing the ladies. I can live with that.

Oh come on, Michael! You're a dreamboat! Women swarm around you! How could you possibly be bad with ladies?

No, I'm serious here. I always say the wrong thing. I'm not romantic enough apparently. I make a ton of mistakes. I don't have ES fucking P. I'm moody. I'm introspective. I overreact. In other words, I'm a man. So sue me.

But as bad as I am with the fairer sex I think this might actual be one instance in which I can look down my nose at somebody. I mean seriously, you were going to try to get your ex back by performing a demonic ritual on a small girl? Seriously?

Call me old fashioned.

You're old fashioned.

I just think that if you've found your way out of a relationship, as I have many times now, and you want to get back into the life of that ex special someone, the best course of action has been and always will be to talk. Like I said, I'm old fashioned that way. I'm wired to talk things out when I'm facing relationship troubles. Maybe I've lost touch with reality, though. I'll admit that
there are a lot of things in this world that have simply passed me by. Boy bands have risen and fallen and risen again, but then fallen. Premium ice cream wars have left millions dead of obesity. Reality television has ruined any credibility that the television medium has ever had. All this passed me by.

Used to be that when a man wanted to get back together with a jilted lover he could buy her some flowers, maybe a box of candy, recite some Elizabeth Barrett Browning poetry shit, and voila, instant make-up nookie! Kids today, though, they have all these demonic rituals and instant messaging clouding their techniques. You want to get back with a lover today? You have to send them a sad smiley and text them, I'm sorryz! LOL! WiLl u TaKeZ mE bAcKoRz??? DaT wOoD rOxOrZ iF u DiD! and then you carve a pentacle in some innocent little girls chest because apparently that's what the ladies are looking for in a man these days.

Fuck! What the hell am I missing here? Am I supposed to really buy into any of this demonic ritual approach to relationships? Is that what you ladies are after in a man? A good rugged, demonic sort of fella who can come up with good kidnapping schemes? Is that it?

I'm at a loss.

Seriously, though, demonic guy, does that shit ever work? How many ex-lovers have taken you back after carving people up?

Some people just don't have the right idea when it comes to love anymore.

Monday, November 28, 2005


Congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos on defeating the Montreal Alouettes by a score of 38-35 in overtime and winning the 2005 Grey Cup!

I was only able to catch bits and pieces of regulation time as I was at work on Sunday, but I did get to watch the thrilling overtime. It was one for the history books to be sure.

Way to go, Esks! Do it again next year.

Walk The Line

On Friday night Jessica and I attended the late screening of the Johnny Cash biopic Walk The Line. This was a movie that I had a lot of high expectations for as I am quite a fan of the legendary Johnny Cash's work.

I'm pleased to say that all of the high expectations were warranted and met. It was an exceptional movie.

Joaquin Phoenix as Johnny and Reese Witherspoon as June Carter give what are likely the performances of their lives as they bring the story of young Cash's life to the silver screen. I think that the two of them would be cheated if their names weren't on Oscar ballots come the spring. In fact, not only was their acting top-notch, but all the singing? Yep, it was done by them too. It's uncanny how well Joaquin Phoenix, especially, can sound like the Man in Black. I'm almost of the mind that he should try releasing a few albums under the production of Rick Rubin since Johnny isn't around to do that anymore.

What I appreciated most about the movie was that it was a fairly well-rounded biopic. If you take a movie like La Bamba, which chronicled the life of Ritchie Valens, you'll see a movie that is more linear with its narrative. It was a good movie, don't get me wrong, but basically you have a story of a man who was afraid of flying and, through a tragic turn of events, dies in a plane crash, but it's very straightforward. Walk The Line was layered very well and presented a very dynamic Johnny Cash in the sense that it's not entirely a movie about his rise to fame, it's not entirely about his fight with Columbia to record and release At Folsom Prison, it's not entirely about his struggle with drug addiction, or the evolution of his relationship with June, or his dealing with the untimely death of his older brother and reconciling differences with his father. All of these little subplots seem to be woven together and present a good tapestry that was Johnny Cash's life. Mind you, some of these subplots are kind of underdeveloped, especially Johnny's reconciling of his differences with his father, but I would imagine some of the exposition had to fall by the wayside for time constraints and to keep a smoother flowing movie overall.

What this does, ultimately, though, is make me want to learn more about the man life. I think I should definitely check out his autobiography sometime.

If you're a fan of Cash or you're in the mood for a good rock and roll story, Walk The Line is definitely the movie for you.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Classic Michael Appleby

This time around, "Classic Michael Appleby" presents a poem that was inspired by one of Michael's fellow Toolarmy members by the name of Random_J, who, in a poem of his evoked the image of two lovers merging their veins as a sign of their love for each other. Michael was moved by that image and decided to take it a bit further. Talking about one's self in the third person totally kicks ass! Enjoy.

We’re each other’s marionettes
now that our limbs have been opened

by crudeness in dirty steak knives and sandpaper,
a serrated cut, jag slicing long slits
before wearing away the excess skin curtain
until all the strings exposed,

allowing the wiring of our veins
to be stretched out
and tied together,


grafted by surgical staples and a scintilla of stitches.

Your heart thumps
and I feel your blood pumped
into me
before my heart bumps
and pumps it all right back into you.

Do I make you blush?

What an odd couple we are
connected like this.

I stretch my arms back and to the sides,
striking a messianic pose
to draw you nearer to me

for a kiss

and tasting my own body
in this flesh loop.

Who leads whom
in this postmodern dada dance?

Sometimes when I walk
you allow yourself to be forced to follow,
your feet mimicking my pace,
but when you want to
you can stand
and in my weakness

I fall,

trying to walk away,
but tethered helplessly to you.

Do you mean to drag me
to all your gynecologist appointments?
When you put your feet up in those stirrups
it’s also my legs that are being spread,
my genitals on a cold medical table,
not for examination,
but on display nonetheless.

Mealtimes are messy
because we can never
quite get the rhythm of our eating utensils in sync
I’ll try to chew on my meat
when you spoon some more of your soup
which means I am forced to shovel
even more chow into my mouth.

You choke me
and I choke you
when I manipulate

more soup into your gullet.

In simpler days,
we were still in love
and this commitment
of slavery to each other
seemed idyllic in every sense,
but it’s only gone to show
how out of rhythm we really are
and would it not prove fatal
to sever our connection,
let our spewing veins


four ruby fountains
into their native bodies,
I would suggest scissors.

Now here we are,
stuck together,
two marionettes
and puppeteers,

two people who can’t agree
where the other should be going.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

The Bottom Ten, November 2005

10.) Waterproof Uno Cards- Who the fuck goes to the pool to play Uno? Why do I get the tingle up my spine that tells me that in a boardroom some committee was trying to come up with a way to better their product, in this case Uno cards, and the best they could come up with was to waterproof them since there was an increasing demand on the part of deep sea divers and olympic swimmers for aquatic card games? Certainly the best way to improve any card game is to make it capable of an underwater setting.

9.) The Default Profile Settings On For those of you not in the know, is kind of like a site where people can post their profiles and meet others near and far, socializing with them through the magic of the internet. This service sets itself apart by virtue of the fact that you can register your cell phone with your account to receive text messages from your online friends. Why is it making the list? The default settings make it so that every time somebody wants to add you to his/her buddy list you get a text message. They cost money to receive and you are likely to get a ton of them. The kicker? Not one person who has added me as a friend has actually ever tried to contact me. If you go through this service make sure you set it so that you don't get text message notification of people trying to add you to their buddy lists.

8.) Pretty White Girls Who Go Missing- Really I have nothing against pretty white girls, but consider the fact that every day there are hundreds of people who go missing. Yet, if you watch the news, the only people who ever go missing that need to be mentioned are pretty white girls. Has anybody who isn't a former beauty pageant contestant been kidnapped? Apparently not. The message is that if you plan on going missing make sure you get the necessary surgery to transform you into a pretty white girl so that the media will notice. You just have to love objective journalism, don't you?

7.) Scientology- I blame you for Tom Cruise going bat-shit crazy and for John Travolta's horrible romp through the shitastic Battlefield Earth. For those two reasons alone you are a religion that should be relegated to Dungeons & Dragons basement nerd cult status.

6.) People Upset At Holiday Trees- Believe it or not there are still people in North America who still think that the whole population is Christian. These are the same people who get upset with cities like Boston who call their civic decorated spruce trees "Holiday Trees" say, as opposed to, "Christmas Trees." Is it all just PC bullshit? Yes it is, but for fuck's sake it's trivial. For all I care they can call it "Tree Loaded Down With Too Much Gaudy Shit" and I would still see it for what it is: a staple of a highly commercialized holiday season. If you can point out where in the Bible Santa comes down and leave presents under an evergreen for all the good girls and boys I'll let you call it a "Christmas Tree" again. Until then get over yourself and try to cope with the undeniable fact that we live in a melting pot. Santa died for your sins so try to at least honor his teachings.

5.) Tyrell Owens- I'm not a huge NFL fan, but I know a gigantic asshat when I see one. Having talent is one thing, but if you're not a team player in a team sport you're useless.

4.) iBoxers by PLAY- What are iBoxers, you ask? Well, simply put, they're men's boxer shorts with an extra pocket sewn in for a place to put your iPod. You know what? iPods are everywhere, I can deal with that. In fact, I'm giving careful consideration to buying one myself. However, who the fuck is really that desparate for another pocket to cram full of iPod that they would consider letting one ride in a sweaty pocket right next to their sweaty junk? I would hate to imagine my grief if I rolled over on my morning wood and crushed my iPod and I've had some mighty, mighty moring wood before.

3.) Michael Jackson Controversies- Does anybody take anything that Michael Jackson does seriously anymore? The latest controversy? He's made antisemitic comments in voice mail messages that have now surfaced in the media two years after they were made. What I don't get is why anybody gives a shit what a formerly accused child molestor has to say about Jews. Formally accused child molesters rank just above presently accused child molestors and two notches above convicted child molestors on my scale of credibility. If I were Jewish and a formally accused child molestor made disparaging comments about my people I'd give myself a big old pat on the back.

2.) XBox 360 Stampedes- Ohmygod! Ohmygod! Ohmygod! I have to be the first to own a gltichy, overpriced gaming console because if I don't get one I will be the laughing stock of all humanity and I'll have to move to Siberia to live underneath a rock. Fuck, people, it's called "patience." From what I've read about the supplies of XBox 360's, there will be plenty of glitchy overpriced gaming consoles from Microsoft to go around.

1.) Police Ticketing For Profits- Word in Calgary is that police have been asked to issue out an additional million dollars worth of tickets over the next year or so because the city's budget wasn't as good as it was hoped to be. Aren't traffic laws and such in place for public safety and sanctity? Yes. Let me get this straight then. If the citizens of Calgary were to theoretically improve their behavior and abide by the law more over the next year you would still issue out the additional million dollars in tickets because you have a fucking quota? How exactly can this logic lead anybody to believe that the police force is here to keep the public safe? The extra sad part is that Calgary isn't the only municipality where shit like this goes on.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

R.I.P. Sam

Sam: The World's Ugliest Dog

The world's ugliest dog has passed away. I learned the news today while browsing through Fark.

Interestingly, further surfing from the news story led me to the official homepage of Sam, the world's ugliest dog.

Click here.

I just thought I would mention it because the holiday season is nigh approaching and what better way to say "I Love You" or "Merry Christmas" than with a Sam, the world's ugliest dog T-shirt or coffee mug?

Also, there is an email address where you can reach Sam, which kind of surprised me because he must not only be the world's ugliest dog, but he might also be the first dog ever who had the ability to answer emails. If somebody could get me some sort of confirmation on this I would appreciate it.

He was one ugly, ugly animal and he will be missed.

One other link you might want to check out is the semi-official Sam, the world's ugliest dog blog where you can get all the latest news on Sam's passing. Here's the link.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

Friday Night At The Movies

I had Friday night off and as I am rather unaccustomed to unstructured time and having nobody to spend it with I decided that it was as good a time as any to take in a movie at a proper theather for a change.

Naturally, I did so alone.

Going to the movies alone is an art that I feel I've perfected. My problem this time around was the fact that I was at the theater a whole hour and a half before the late showing of Jarhead began. So I took out some cash from the bank machine and proceeded to waste an hour at the multiplex's video arcade. Then I spent twenty minutes or so sitting at the coffee shop located in the lobby where I drank a blue raspberry frappe.

So I was quite amazed at my patience. An hour and a half surrounded by people who were happy. People who had people to spend time with.

And there was me. Just pumping tokens into any video game that would take them, glancing at my watch every five minutes or so, checking my cell phone as though somebody might call me (nobody ever does), and waiting. Waiting. That was me.

I couldn't help but think of all the productive things I could have done with that time waiting for the movie to start. Blogs could have been updated. Novels could have been worked on. Poetry could have been created.

But the movie was good. The popcorn was too salty.

Saturday, November 19, 2005

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed a cover of "Honkey Tonk Women" by the Rolling Stones.

Closing my eyes I could almost imagine that it was the Stones themselves who were performing that song I was hearing.

Well, the Rolling Stones if Mick Jagger said before the song, "Fuck it, you wankers are such a shitty audience that I'm going to get Keith to sing this one," and then Keith Richards steps up to the mic and you realize that he's in the middle of a heroin binge and he has a syringe sticking out of his bottom lip.

So all you really hear is Keith's syringe tapping against the mic everytime he hits the chorus, which really isn't hitting the chorus at all since he can't even seem to muster the senses needed to belt out the first word of the first verse. You just guess that the syringe is tapping against the mic during the chorus because that's what part of the song that the band seems to be playing except the band is comprised, inexplicably, of rhesus monkeys used previously for clinical tests of psychotropic drugs.

But yeah, I could kind of hear the Rolling Stones when I closed my eyes.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Pornography Storm!

While browsing through Fark tonight I stumbled upon an interesting article that was posted on some sort of religious website. Here's the link to the article in case you want to read it...

Click here.

To sum it up, though, what's written is basically that there is a leading Catholic cardinal who is warning parents about the dangers of giving their children wireless devices as gifts this coming holiday season. Why the warning, you ask? Well, it seems that devices like iPods, cell phones, PSP's and the whole array of shit like that make it a lot simpler for pornography to fall into innocent hands.

First of all, welcome to the age of technology, Catholicism. It's nice to finally have you on board. Pornography in the hands of children, you say? Oh my god! The humanity!

How long have we had the internet for? Correct me if I'm wrong, but hasn't the internet been around for a while now? How many fucking people are left who haven't at least heard of the internet? Not many I reckon.

So how the fuck is pornography falling into the wrong hands suddenly a menace worth warning parents about? You see, don't get me wrong, there is too much porn within eyesight of people who aren't old enough to really understand what it's all about, but unless you've been living in a cave where the only porn is some sort of scantily clad glyph you're probably aware that getting porn is almost easier than breathing. If you're so behind on what technology is capable of you might want to trade your children in for a puppy and leave the parenting to somebody who's a little more equipped for these modern times.

Also, I'll admit that I don't have a lot of these new-fangled gizmos in my possession, but from what I do know, these devices all have really small screens. I think that if your child is getting porn on one of these devices and can actually make out what's happening and be aroused by any of the teeny-weeny dimensions of it all I say you should pat yourself on the back for having a child with a strong imagination. I try to take pictures with my cell phone and it all come out looking like fucking mud it's so pixellated and distorted. Fucking mud, I kid you not.

If the children switch getting their porn from the internet on a full size screen of a computer monitor to a puny cell phone I say good on them for cutting down on their porn intake. Literally.

Finally, when the fuck is this "perfect storm" of pornography going to hit me? The cardinal in the article mentioned the "perfect storm" that is about to hit and I haven't seen a nipple slip or ass cheek of it yet. And I'm always looking for a nipple slip and ass cheek. Seriously, though, don't ask me what constitutes a perfect storm of pornography or what the fuck it looks like, but I imagine it's sexy.

Anything to get rid of the barrage of war images and hotel bombings.

If all else fails just make your kid walk around with a blindfold wrapped around his/her head until the age of 18. No exceptions and definitely no pornography ruining them for life. If that's what ruins people for life.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Where I've Been

There are probably a few of you out there who are probably wondering why the past couple of days have been kind of devoid of posting here at

I've been busy with live shows. Mind you, not my own shows, but rather a couple of actual big name acts that rolled through the city.

Tuesday night saw Henry Rollins grace the stage of the Winspear Centre once again with nearly three hours of spoken word greatness. This was the fourth time I've seen him live and once again it was absolutely incredible how a man can just talk for three hours straight and I could listen and my ass wasn't even getting sore just sitting there. He told a lot of great stories and got the audience laughing out loud on numerous occasions. What I love most about Henry Rollins' shows is that he is a grateful pseudo-celebrity. He touched on, in his talking, the sort of big names of the current North American cultural landscape like Paris Hilton and Ashlee Simpson almost with a contempt. I found myself thinking about why Henry is so great and I think that what it is is that he is truly appreciative of the audience he gets and I think he really realizes how lucky he is to be the man that he and have the job that he does. It's always a treat to see him and I hope he comes back to Edmonton sooner rather than later.

Wednesday night had Nine Inch Nails come to town with Queens Of The Stone Age and Death From Above 1979. This show was loud. My ears are still ringing. I was really there to see NIN and QOTSA, but I have to admit that I was pleasantly shocked by the music of DFA79, whom I never really heard at great length before. Queens rocked as I expected them to with a set that played most of my favorites by them except "Hanging Tree." Nine Inch Nails, of course, were stellar. Their set was interupted much to the crowd's dismay when the security barricade was broken and Trent Reznor had to instruct the audience to step back a few feet to let security repair the damage. A lot of NIN were played and I can honestly say that I have never seen a show like theirs live before. It was a truly unique experience. The highlight of the night for me was "Eraser" which was performed with a giant transluscent video screen in the foreground displaying images of war and greed. Amazing stuff.

I promise that I will return to form in the next-to-immediate future. Sorry about the interuption in my service.

Monday, November 14, 2005

That Last Little Bit Of Incentive

Click Here.

Okay, I do feel kind of like a dick for saying anything about this, but Bruce Willis has made it public that he will offer the handsome reward of one million dollars for information on the whereabouts of al-Qaeda leaders Osama Bin Laden, Ayman Al-zawahiri, or Abu Musab Al-zarqawi.

Why do you feel like a dick, Michael?

Well, for starters, why the fuck does this million dollar reward offered four years, two months, and two days after the fact need to be made? I mean, what's the significance of the timing of this offer?

Is anybody else like me on this and imagining Bruce Willis stunned by 9/11, so much so that he sits transfixed on his television's replaying of the tragedy around the clock for four years, two months, and two days, and then finally snapping out of it and going, "Oh my god, I will offer one million dollars for information on the persons responsible! This is a fucking outrage!"

That can't be what happened, can it? He's been in some movies since 9/11, hasn't he? So that pretty much proves he hasn't been lying on his couch for over four years, unaware that the world has gone through a whole plethora of significant events.

The government agencies are already offering rewards of 25 million dollars for the same information. So then you have to wonder if that one million dollar added bonus is the magic amount of money that's finally going to bring the information forward.

Somewhere you just know some guy's got the goods on the al-Qaeda leaders, but he wasn't going to just, you know, give up the information for a measly 25 million dollars. Fuck no. I mean a guy would pretty much be reduced to living on bologna sandwiches for the rest of his life after getting only 25 million. 26 million dollars, now that's where it's at.

It's almost a situation where one million dollars is a moot point, if you can imagine that. If 25 million isn't going to get the information readily, 26 millions probably won't get the information any faster.

Now the other thing that I wanted to touch on was Willis' comments on how you don't see a lot of the good things that are happening in Iraq being reported on in the news. You know, the feel-good war stories? Where the fuck are they?

Indeed, Bruce, where are those feel-good war stories? You'd think that all this war hullaballoo was all serious gnashing of teeth and wringing of hands, people fighting and all that nastiness. Where the hell are the clowns and the tumblers? Methinks we've got a severe shortage of clowns and tumblers in this here war. That must be why people are so darned serious about it. When will the world ever learn?

Sunday, November 13, 2005

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed a cover of Sheryl Crow's "If It Makes You Happy."

And, indeed, when I closed my eyes I could imagine Sheryl Crow up there on stage, in person.

Sheryl Crow, if she had suddenly taken on a diet of raw sandpaper, shards of broken glass, and had mysteriously contracted a rare medical condition that doctor's refer to "chronic off-key screeching."

Then, yes, the lounge singer did sound just like Sheryl Crow.

Friday, November 11, 2005

On The Stigma Of Gang Violence

I remember what it was like when I was much younger and heard of the shootings that accompanied the early screenings of John Singleton's Boyz N The Hood and thinking, "Wow, that movie must really be some kind of experience if it would bring people to shoot other people."

Click Here.

And now it seems that the 50 Cent vehicle Get Rich Or Die Trying is behind similar violence. And, luckily for all parties concerned, I'm cynical enough to be be bothered by this for all the right reasons.

Now please bear in mind that I don't know anything about the attack whatsoever so if you are a gang member who is looking to "pop a cap in my ass" at least hear me out first. This fatal shooting bothers me. I'm not going to climb up on a soap box now and start running my damn fool mouth about how we should all just get along. That wouldn't be fucking realistic in the slightest. It would be ideal, don't get me wrong, but for right now that shit ain't happening. I've accepted it. You should too.

What bothers me, though, is that it was at a screening of a 50 Cent movie that this would happen.

What?! Movies only cost 50 cents to get into again?! God bless America where inflation has been finally defeated. Ma, get the kids together we're going to see a 50 cent movie!

No, no! Hold on their Pops McGee, the movie didn't cost 50 cents to get into; it stars 50 Cent. He sings the rap music. Kids are into that sort of thing.

Sorry about the bad humor. If it's any consolation to you, I'm laughing at it.

But anyway, back to the point. I loathe the fact that the violence would happen at a screening of Get Rich Or Die Trying. Why? Because that's where the violence would be expected to break out when it comes to movie theater shootings. It's disheartening to see that people are still offing each other at movies where you'd expect people to off each other.

Can't they shoot each other at Jennifer Lopez romantic comedies? I think that's why I make it a rule for myself that I not attend screenings of Jennifer Lopez romantic comedies. I just don't think I could trust myself to not leap over the row in front of me and start beating the shit out of the first person I actually hear laughing at that celluloid fecal matter.

It bugs me because seeing a 50 Cent movie might not actually be that bad. I haven't seen it yet, but I think that I would liken it to Eminem's first movie 8 Mile, which was actually quite good. So I would have to say that I would give Get Rich Or Die Trying a chance at least to impress me. Hearing about people taking the time to kill a guy at that theater screening it either means they were so thoroughly unimpressed with the film that killing a guy seemed like the only way to derive any entertainment from the movie-going experience or they loved it so much that they decided killing a guy was the only way to make the movie-going experience absolutely complete.

The other thing that irks me about this news is that killing somebody at a 50 Cent movie really isn't very original or interesting at this point. If they had only saved it for date night when their dates would undoubtedly dragged them to Maid In Manhatten or The Wedding Planner I would have been shocked. I have to admit that the shock value of gang violence at a screening of a movie about gang violence is kind of ho-hum. Sorry gangs.

Really, save it for the Jennifer Lopez movies, you'll actually be a lot more likely to go down in history for that. The problem is that you actually have to stay awake long enough through that hour and a half smegma stain on the big screen to commit actual violence. Hell, if you can stay awake through an entire Jennifer Lopez movie you've already proven yourself to be a more resilient man than anybody I've ever met or likely will ever meet so I guess you probably don't even need to commit violence to impress me.

What's the conclusion? Well, I suppose there are a number of conclusions you can draw from this meandering rant, but there is one message that I think I desperately want to make, one point that most of humanity wants to make. Hollywood, please, enough with Jennifer Lopez!

I beg of you.


Thursday, November 10, 2005


"Feathers" is the poem that I performed this week at the "Five Wednesdays; One November" reading for the Raving Poets. It is part of the Sometimes Sinister sequence. I have it at one point in the plot of the series of poems that the wreck of the woman just leaves the protagonist. One morning he just wakes up and she's gone. I've hit on that part of the series with an earlier poem called "Vapor Trails."

Anyway, after the reading Adam Snider came up to me and asked me if I was recycling lines from some of my other works. At the time I said no, but after I had left and was given some time to dwell on it I do believe that he was actually on to something. I have used some of the elements in "Feathers" in previous poems and now I'm sure of it. What "Feathers" then becomes, in essence, is a complete redraft of those earlier poems. What I wanted to really incorporate into this one were the images of the "molted plumage," the idea of the protagonist openly admitting that he is making a project of the woman he loves as opposed to just loving her, and some of the imagery associated with the truck stop clientele. I guess it all just goes to show that Adam pays attention. I totally forgot that there were elements in "Feathers" used elsewhere in my work, but I think that with this incarnation of those elements I am a lot happier with the outcome.

Also, on Ron Silliman's blog there was recently a discussion regarding line breaks. As I sat down to write this draft of "Feathers" I was cognizant of where my line breaks were and I was thinking about how the poem would sound when read aloud, bearing in mind that each line ends with a slight pause. I actually consciously sought to place the line breaks in places where they would be rather unnatural in my typical work and I kind of like the results here.

So anyway, without further ado. Here is "Feathers"...

I keep looking for your molted plumage caught
in an updraft or
dancing in warm blasts from
central heating systems down
among these mouth-breathers,
these heavy set knuckle dragging shamblers,
sloped foreheaders,
Nascar enthusiasts.

And all I find are nosebleeds and
racing hearts and sciatica,
big belt buckles
Everything is bigger in Texas
and Pepback pills.
In every truck stop
and 24 hour diner,
bar and grills
where cocaine residue makes
mime time of
counter tops, makes
that public washroom smell of
every room
just a little more toxic,
a little more forbidding and
electrically charged.

this is where instinct tells me
to look for you.

Make a project of
a woman,
let her become your
and when that weight is
lifted or vanishes
where do you go except
to drift through
galleries of abuser and users,
shift jockeys and pushers?

To say
I miss you
doesn’t capture,
doesn’t compute.

You gravitational core.

Sometimes I’ll catch
a feather lofting gently to
a coffee stained tile floor,
hear the buzz of a neon beer sign
and know
I’m not that far behind.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Tasers Gone Wild!

Click here.

Reading that news story brought to mind a couple of things.

First of all the point of the story is that Taser has developed a camera that attaches to their product.

But what's their product?

Tasers, idiot. Your parents must be proud that you can even manage to dress yourself each day.

Hearing that Taser will have a camera available really made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. No, seriously. Isn't it great? Finally I will be able to see actual video footage of people getting Tasered by jittery police officers! Yes!

But Michael, those Tasercams are only going to be used to answer questions regarding tactics. They're not meant for entertainment value. You're a monster!

Uh-huh, and you just know that nobody would ever find any entertainment value in video footage of a person getting Tasered. I mean our society has the highest standards when it comes to entertainment. Illustrious shows such as Jackass, Monday Night Raw, and Will & Grace are all indicative of these impeccable taste we have. Yeah right! Shows like the ones I just named off the top of my head only go to show you that Taser: The Television Series is only a few overworked police officers away from fruition.

Oh Michael, stop being so melodramatic. I think that there are a lot of great television shows out there. There will be no need for Taser: The Television Series.

Au contraire, mon frere, you simp. Just look at this excerpt from the script for an episode of Will & Grace entitled "The Donkey Puncher" and try to tell me with a straight face that we are not heading down the road to entertainment anarchy.

Grace: Hey Will, what were you up to last night.

Will: Oh not much Grace. This latest man and I had a lovely night full of hot passionate man/sausage love.

Grace: Oh Will, your monkey shines are too much for me! How was the sex?

Will: It was all going according to plan until I found out he was a donkey puncher.

Grace: A donkey puncher? What the hell is a donkey punch.

Will: I'll show you. Turn around.

See? We're fucking doomed! It'll only be a matter of months before any police force with the entrepreneurial know-how and the greed to do so figures out that you can sell DVD compilations of the best Taserings and slap a title on it like Tasers Gone Wild! and total morons will practically rip apart their pants because they can't find their wallets fast enough to buy that shit. Hell, I've practically got my Visa card on standby for the when they finally release Volume 1. Come on, police, I know you can do it!

And here's the other thing that bothered me about the article...

Apparently a six year old kid got Tasered by police which prompted the Taser company to develop the camera so that police can see the how and the why of the situation that would prompt a cop to Taser a child.

The article discusses how the child was threatening to slash himself or any approaching officer with a shard of broken glass. grow up so fast these days. I'm seriously this close to crying. Wow.

But fucking come on! He's six years old! You're a cop! You can't figure out a way to stop the kid from hurting himself other than Tasering him? That's just laziness I think.

I mean, he's only six fucking years old. Just tackle him and give him an arm bar.

Not only that, but if the kid is threatening to hurt himself with a piece of glass I say let him. I remember what I was like when I was six years old and I couldn't hurt myself wielding a piece of glass. I couldn't even make safety scissors work properly, how the fuck am I going to do anything substantial with a piece of glass?

I think by giving the kid a good old Taser shock you pretty much did all the work that he wanted to do for him. How's he ever going to learn to get stuff done on his own if you keep smothering him?

In the end the message is that the children of today are spoiled. If I wanted to hurt myself so bad when I was his age I would have had to throw myself off of a balcony my own self. I didn't have these fancy police officers offering to Taser me. No sir.

Damn kids.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Classic Michael Appleby

I apologize for the silence on my part. I've been switched to day shifts for a little bit here and it's been difficult, to say the least, adjusting to being a daytime kind of guy. Naturally, I'm tired as hell. Anyway, since many of you out there probably aren't too familiar with some of my older poetic works I thought that maybe once in a while when I'm too lazy to come up with new material I would just give you what is ultimately a rerun for me. Seriously, though, I will get back to normal here before long. More night shifts start at the end of the week. In the meantime, though, come down to Yianni's Taverna on Wednesday night to check out the latest from the Raving Poets. For now enjoy "Fists For The Uncreator," a piece I wrote back in 2002.

Fists For The Uncreator
this fleeting bit of cosmic debris could come all apart at any moment.

could crack. a fissure, a widening canyon beneath the morning sky. sun glaring off the shiny bits of glass of the skyscrapers’ tears. families, once huddled, arms locked over their numbers, reduced to single temporary entities where the ripping was too intense. the falling stars dripping into the chasms, all infinity being sucked in. a huge inverted light, a vacuum at the top of a rabbit hole pulling you up and out and your scream is drowned by agriculture, flocks of sheep, herds of cows, instant carnivorous fantasies, fields of prime rib, green grass painted red before a bite and a swallow, mother nature working toward indigestion. a chorus of car crashes. freight train smash. giant forests now kindling and splinters; forests of severed toothpicks. island nations everywhere.

could melt. urban candles, skyscrapers sinking slowly from the long burn. bridges that spanned now merge, all sense of defiance against water lost. aggressive morning dew on the lawn that didn’t know a limit to ambition -- and won. the sense of touch that became fuzzy then gooey until no sense was left at all. when the lovers grope each other they press that much harder with each passing moment, losing nerve endings inch-by-inch, whole bones disappearing into liquidity, they are forlorn, longing to lust, now forgetting that sex even existed. a wet consummation, oceans growing with the pouring of highways into the horizon. a drought that became a bay slowly and now a sea endlessly, dark tides that sway with the seeping moon overhead, lunar viscosity with a dissipating gravity until all waves are the thrashing of our elements changing.

could explode. a chorus of inflated shopping bags all popped at once, millions of oxygen molecules set free in one fell swoop, rushing toward the atmosphere. tanker trucks as grenades with 18 wheels; the pins’ pulled; the times’ waning; all become sources of shrapnel. You might be hitching a ride alongside a trucker and boom you join an overstatement of all existence, vast universes turning into powder kegs, sudden and painless, one big burst. skeletons leaping out of their bodies before that instant orgasm into endlessness, a restlessness that went too far, too fast, became fire and oxygen, a second-long incendiary before dust and big black burns on a sheet of time. vehicles along roadways as firecrackers, a divine fuse cut short, illuminated.

could disintegrate into dust. the death’s wind catching a sail and blowing right through it, a momentary mist of canvas blues and reds on the gust before the whole boat is fiberglass particles swirling faster than it has ever sailed before. evaporated milk, evaporated land, evaporated water, the level of the world low and flat getting flatter, whole utah harems joining their salt lake on air currents. the scents of baked goods are the actual baked goods in easy-to-consume forms. no fear of smoking. the ash tip becomes the ash cigarette becomes the ash smoker becomes the ash smoker’s shoes, becomes ash everything, a kiss for the omniscient, powdered war paint on the face of god.

the route to here forgetting itself for you until you want only to lie on your belly limbs outstretched as far as they can reach with fistfuls of dust handfuls of dirt clutching holding everything together if only where you are.

the route to here forgetting itself for me until I want only to punch at nothingness, swing, crazy, mad, with fists for the uncreator, knock the belligerent down, though he is a higher power than me.

kiss you. it seems appropriate at the end, a lasting token for the last, my coin for charon, a toll for the lethe.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

On A Side Note

Yesterday was my 69th posting in this blog and I forgot to make a juvenile comment about the sexual position. I'm losing my touch.

Anyway, a belated "Uh, Huh, huh, huh I said '69'," to all of you.

69 indeed.

Incidentally, for those of you out there who are not up to snuff on sexual positions, 69 is the position that leaves everybody in need of a Tic Tac.

And apparently they eat Tic Tacs around the world, which just goes to show you that 69 knows no boundaries.


I've been waiting anxiously for the past number of weeks. Why? Because The Tragically Hip's first ever box set Hipeponymous was slated for a November 1, 2005 release. Naturally, this being November 2, you can bet your ass I hauled my sorry carcass down to the nearest HMV to buy myself a copy yesterday, the day of, as soon as I woke up at noon, which is much earlier than I am used to getting out of bed.

I have to say that I am quite partial to The Hip. There's something that just makes listening to them a particularly Canadian thing to do. I've been a big fan of their work ever since I heard the opening bars of "Grace, Too" for the first time, which for those of you in the know, was actually not the very beginning of the band's rise to fame. I was quite late getting on The Hip boat, but now that I'm here I'm quite comfortable.

I've been fortunate enough to see them perform live three times, each time being a remarkable experience. The best show I saw was easily when I was able to see them perform at the New City Liqwid Lounge as a special club tour that the band went on in the week leading up to the release of In Between Evolution. But that's more of an aside to show you how much of a fan I am.

Anyway, back to the box set. The set is quite handsomely packaged, containing the double disc greatest hits package Yer Favourites as well as the live DVD That Night In Toronto. Both Yer Favourites and That Night In Toronto are being made available separately. What the box set has that neither of those packages have is a bonus DVD containing the entire Tragically Hip video catalogue, a documentary about the band, and a series of artistic shorts called The Right Whale. Naturally, the completist in me coveted the bonus DVD so I absolutely needed to get Hipeponymous as opposed to the smaller, more incomplete greatest hits and live concert DVD packages.

The actual greatest hits are pretty damn good, but I am not really that drawn to them because, while there are many, many great songs on the two discs of hits provided, there are many more songs that I would have loved to hear that didn't make the cut. No "Dire Wolf"? For shame. But it's really more of a trifle for me to complain about one or two songs that were excluded because I am aware there is a deep catalogue to cull from and only a limited amount of space for fan favourites.

The live DVD is awesome and makes me really want to see them play Edmonton again just for that Tragically Hip experience. The footage was shot in Toronto as the name of the DVD That Night In Toronto would suggest. Apparently it's not just a clever title. If you've listened to Tragically Hip live footage or you've seen them live you're probably familiar at least somewhat with Gordon Downie's on-stage presence. He rambles. He improvises spoken word parts into many of the songs. He dances spastically. Basically Gordon Downie is that weird uncle you would probably be embarassed of at family outings, but are strangely compelled to visit every chance you get. Hearing The Tragically Hip studio albums and listening to them live are definitely not one and the same and it's nice to finally have a high quality live performance recorded other than the live album Live Between Us, which is also worth checking out.

The bonus disc is just icing on the cake to resort to using a cliche. Being a fan of the music video medium it's nice to have a copy of the Hip catalogue so far. The videos for "Poets" and "Ahead By A Century" being two of my favourites, though I could certainly ramble off about a half dozen other titles worth checking out, which is a testament to how deep the Hip catalogue is. The documentary has some good footage of the band in a non-performance light, giving interviews and just being normal human beings. I haven't really delved into The Right Whale yet, but that will be on the itinerary in the very near future I'm sure.

I think that in Canada and being a poet, it's almost a requirement that you want to perform your work alongside Gordon Downie or to perform Gordon Downie or to be Gordon Downie. This is a package that will give you insight into his methods, though you still won't be able to write like the guy. There can be only one Gordon Downie. Sadly.

You have to check it out.