"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...

...well...

...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.

Fuck!

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.

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.

Incidentally

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.

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.

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.

Congratulations

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.

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.


Marionettes
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,

bonded,

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

retract

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.

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 sms.ac- For those of you not in the know, sms.ac is kind of like a myspace.com 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.

R.I.P. Sam

Sam: The World's Ugliest Dog
1991-2005

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 www.michaelappleby.blogspot.com.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Enough.

Feathers

"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"...

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
jitters,
racing hearts and sciatica,
big belt buckles
Everything is bigger in Texas
and Pepback pills.
Poppers.
Zappers.
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.

Sad
this is where instinct tells me
to look for you.

Make a project of
a woman,
let her become your
anchor
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.

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.

Awwwwwww....kids 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.

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.

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.

Hipeponymous

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.

The Singularity Is Near by: Ray Kurzweil

Last week I finally found a copy of Ray Kurzweil's latest offering The Singularity is Near. Ray Kurzweil is best known as a prominent inventor, having developed reading devices for blind people and working with synthesizers as well. He does also dabble in books.

His latest book seems to continue with some of his thoughts that arose in his last book Age of the Spiritual Machines and, yes, that was the book that inspired that Our Lady Peace albume Spiritual Machines.

I've only just started to read The Singularity is Near and it's likely going to take me a while based on the fact that when a lot of thought-provoking concepts are introduced in a text I tend to have to put the book down to ponder them awhile. So far this is proving to be the case with his writing once again.

One of concepts that has always fascinated me when it comes to Kurzweil's books is how he explains how our lives will be lengthened perhaps indefinitely. Advances in computing and the emergence of nanotechnology, Kurzweil believes, are going to transform humanity into beings capable of transcending the limitations of their own biology. The thought is that we could very well be living hundreds of years if not as long as we want to live.

So far what I have read into his latest book he explains how most people look at human advancement as being linear in nature. He argues, though, that it should be viewed as being exponential. That is to say instead of judging how much we will advance technologically over the next 50 years, say, by judging how far we advanced technologically over the past 50 years, we should actually be thinking about it in terms of exponential growth. The rate at which we develop technology as a species is increasing as well so the sheer volume of advancements we are going to be making is only going to go up as well. Reading it like this things tend to make sense.

But, alas, that's just the beginning of the book and I'm already raving about it. I'll keep you posted on how things go as I make my way through the body of the text. Last time I read a Kurzweil book it affected my poetry greatly and I wonder if the same things will happen this time around.

Time will only tell.

Announcement

Starting November 2, 2005, the Raving Poets will be starting a brief reading series at the downstairs lounge of Yiannis Terverna (10444 - 82 Avenue) in Edmonton. The series will be running on Wednesday nights in November starting at 8:00 p.m. each time.

It will be exciting to be part of a regular reading scene, as brief as it may seem. So if you find yourself in the Old Strathcona area on a Wednesday night in November and you don't know what to do just remember that some of Edmonton's coolest poets are kicking some ass behind the mic at Yiannis Taverna.

I hope to see you there.

And Then Some Celebrities Are A Little Too "Down-To-Earth"

Click Here.

My last post dealt with how some of our beloved celebrities (we love them, don't we?) make the most ludicrous demands of hotels they plan on staying at, which could easily one to believe that these celebrities all have overdeveloped egos. And then today I get this shit.

Yes, that's right, Paris Hilton fucked her new boyfriend in a porta-potty according to insiders. At this time I'm going to be skeptical of the story because she hasn't actually bragged about it herself in the media. I'm sure, though, that if it is true it'll become chic to take your lovers into porta-potties and fuck the shit out of them.

Guh!

I think it's fucking gross to fuck anybody in a porta-potty. I know I've ranted about people who have problems taking a shit in public washrooms before, but playing horsey on your lover's schlong in an outhouse goes well above and beyond the stigma of that public washroom B.M.

I know what it's like to be so turned on by somebody that you could literally have sex in some pretty strange and disgusting places like the back seat of a Volkswagen, behind a dumpster, on top of stack of old newspapers outside your neighbor's house before the garbage men make their rounds. But come on, a fucking porta-potty? Now granted, all I know of where this happened was that it was at a Hollywood party, and I don't know much about Hollywood, but couldn't you get a fucking cab to take you someplace other than a porta-potty for sex? You are a fucking Hilton, aren't you? Don't your folks own a hotel you could go to for some naked fumblings?

I also know what it's like inside a porta-potty from numerous years spent at summer concert festivals in Camrose. Porta-potties are definitely not a place that I would even think about having sex in. Sure, it's kinky, but the smell is enough to wilt tulips let alone a penis. Paris' new boyfriend must be into some hardcore shit in his sex life or he doesn't have a fucking sense of smell. I mean wouldn't lighting up a cigarette for that post-coital bliss ignite the fumes in one of those things?

I guess the message is that some celebrities are so out-of-control when it comes to egomania and then there's Paris Hilton.

She'll fuck in a porta-potty.

They really do come in all shapes and sizes, don't they?

Guh!

I Just Love It When Celebrities Refer To Themselves As "Down-To-Earth"

Click Here.

From now on when a celebrity refers to him/her self as "down-to-earth" or is referred to as being "down-to-earth" by entertainment journalists (oftentimes a shameful besmirching of the term "journalist") I'm going to put my boot through the fucking television or whatever medium this message is being pushed through. If I see it on the newspaper you happen to be reading at the time be prepared to taste steel toes.

Did you read what some of those celebrities request from the hotels they stay at? Holy shit! There are way too many delusional celebrities out there. J-Lo needs an entirely white room? Mariah Carey needs brand new toilet seats and gold faucets? Justin Timberlake requires that nobody on the hotel staff address him personally?

Has the world ever been this bad? I mean, more specifically, have we, as the North American society, ever found ourselves in such a state with our cultural icons where we have to install brand new toilet seats, furnish rooms in all white, and not address hotel patrons because some people have egos that out of control? I suppose there have been moments that Elizabeth Taylor has had or maybe members of the Rat Pack, but it seems like things are way out of hand now.

It's times like these that I wonder what Bill Hicks would have to say about many of these icons in our midst. It's times like these that I really think the world needs Bill Hicks more than ever.

The Quest For A More Manly Michael Jackson

This month in Blender magazine's news roundup one story that was given a brief blurb had to do with everybody's favorite Martian, Michael Jackson. It would seem that according to some insiders, the former King of Pop is currently seeking to establish a more macho image for himself. To accomplish this miraculous makeover Michael Jackson plans on lifting weights to attain a beefier appearance and wearing shorter wigs among other penile enhancing techniques.

I wish I had a link to post so that you can verify this story for yourself. You'll just have to take my word for it now unless you pick up the November 2005 issue of Blender featuring a very hot looking Natalie Portman in all her punk glory on the cover.

You know what?

Good for him. Good for Michael.

Obviously this man has done his homework regarding the whole "macho" image. I mean when I think of the manliest men alive (naturally, yours truly numbers among those testerone enriched beefbags) I think of weightlifting and short wigs.

Wait a minute...

Wigs?

He wears a fucking wig? Is he a chemo patient that we haven't heard about? No? Well, what the fuck then?

I know what will make people think of me as being more of a man and less of creepy pedophile! Shorter wigs!

I know, I know. There are other ways he's going to enhance his image to ooze machismo, but come on, wigs?

And why the sudden interest in looking manly? He's already established himself as a certifiable lunatic. Did you see some of the shit he buys when he goes shopping in those posh Las Vegas stores in that Donald Bashir documentary? First of all, when I think of manly men doing manly man things I don't think of shopping in posh Las Vegas stores. What he needs to do is call a press conference where his sole purpose of being there is to leap onto the back of an angry bull and kill it with a pocket knife and gumption. That's manliness.

But Michael, there have been plenty of macho men throughout the ages who didn't have to go through such an absurd ritual to prove their mettle. Why should Michael Jackson have to slay an angry bull?

Well, I don't write the rules. Basically, the way I look at it, he's done so much to build this image of the wacky pseudo-human with the horribly disfigured plastic body who gets a bit too friendly with unassuming kids and lives in a constant state of delusion thinking that he's still relevant to our culture. Now to suddenly become manly, and thus become the antithesis of everything he's already established himself as, he's going to have to kill a fucking bull. I don't write the rules. I just observe them.

But in all seriousness, this just weirds me out. The thought of a "manly" Michael Jackson. It gives me the heebie-jeebies. There are certain archetypes that keep the society balanced, precariously, but balanced nonetheless. One of those archetypes is that of the freakish man/child/alien/attention whore. If this asshole undergoes the transformation into manly man who the fuck is going to take his place?

I suppose the universe rights itself eventually and having a "macho" Michael Jackson going around and talking in a deep voice about how his sleeping with young boys is purely platonic and clearly "manly" might cause some chaos in the order and stability of the cosmos, somebody, somewhere, is going to step up to the plate and restore things to normal by being the freak for a while.

Good luck with the shorter wigs, though.

Happy 2000th Pageload Massive Missives!

2000 page loads just goes to prove that my refresh button still works.

This Is How It All Went Down

So this is my first post since the Calgary road trip this past weekend.

Finally, Michael, what the fuck took you so long? You said you'd be back to posting Saturday!

Meh. I remember what I said.

But here it is. I was absolutely exhausted by time I got back home from the brief trip. I departed for Calgary early, early, early Friday morning after working the Thursday night shift. I got home and made a phone call to Jessica, then I packed, and then I was out the door and on my way.

The drive down to Calgary was amazing. Easily one of the most pleasant drives I've ever been on. Next time I go on a longer road trip like that I should really remember that hitting the road before dawn makes for a nice stress-free ride. The highlight of the drive down was definitely catching sight of the mountains once I got south of Red Deer and seeing it by the light of dawn.

Since the trip was made after a night of work and not a night of sleep I was naturally tired by time I reached Jordan and Lori's place. I killed a bit of time with my friends and by 1:30 we found ourselves at the Court of Queens Bench to take in the ceremony whereby Jordan got sworn into the Law Society of Alberta.

Then it was back to the apartment where I had a drink and took an hour long nap. After the nap it was off to the Weaselhead Bar and Grill for dinner and drinking.

Most of what happened at the bar was kind of blurry due to my exhaustion and excessive drinking. I do remember performing "Put Your Head On My Shoulder" for the karaoke portion of the night. I also remember and argument I had with my stomach in the men's room after downing a shot of Jagermeister. My stomach thought it would be wise for what George Carlin would call an involuntary protein spill and I thought it would be more pertinent to shrug it off and continue drinking. It was one of the few times I was able to win an argument with my stomach and I drank quite a bit more.

Sleep that night was light and troubled because I was having numerous epiphanies regarding my novel and Sometimes Sinister. Waking up Saturday left me with a huge hangover. Jordan and I spent a few hours eating lunch and checking out some of the cooler little shops in the Kensington area of town.

After that it was time to go back home. I waited until 6 before I departed and it made for a beautiful sunset to watch over the mountains in the west and a nice drive at night along Highway 2.

What a perfect weekend.

So why haven't I posted anything yet since getting back? Well, I stopped at Best Buy in Red Deer and purchased a couple of Playstation 2 games, Capcom Classics, and Street Fighter Anniversary Edition. Naturally, I've been enjoying this sort of retro video gaming spree the past couple of days.

But now I'm back after I've had my fill of old school video games. It's good to be back.

Here's the best picture of the weekend...

Leave A Message After The Beep

So long, suckers. I'm going to Calgary almost immediately after I post this message. I'll be back Saturday, October 22. So if you're wondering why there's little or nothing posted in the interim, that's why. See you people when I get back. I'll try to get some pictures of my trip.

BEEP!

From The 'Why The Fuck Would Anybody Want To Do That?' Files

Click here.

So, there you have it. David Copperfield, the magician whose most famous illusion was making Claudia Schiffer fall in love with him, is about to strike again. This time, though, his goal is to knock a girl up without even touching her.

What the fuck?

No, seriously. What the fuck?

If there was ever proof that a man needs to get his head examined, this would be it. Why the fuck would anybody want to do that?

But Michael, lots of perfectly sane men would love to become fathers.

Hey, no argument here. But come on, if you're going to impregnate a girl why not at least get your rocks off in the process? For most men that's at least half the benefit to knocking a girl up.

See, I don't claim to be any sort of sexpert, but it seems to me that getting a girl pregnant traditionally involves sex. Last time I read up on the sexual process the man writes into Penthouse and tells their editors that they're probably not going to believe this. He meets some really friendly girls and by friendly he means that they refuse to wear pants. He inserts his penis into a vagina and just goes hog wild all up in there what with the bucking and groaning and the pushing and moaning. He drops a load and nine months later a baby emerges and gets smacked on the ass. With talk like this I bet you're wondering why I haven't made my foray in fatherhood yet.

But anyway, for a lot of men, the only reason to be a father is so you get to do all that fucking. For a lot of guys a child isn't even wanted, but kind of an inconvenience when it's on the way. I'm not trying to be a dick here, but that's just the way it is. Some girl gets pregnant by accident and calls her sexual partner to let him know and he might not take it as good news. I don't make this shit up. That's just how it works sometimes.

But David Copperfield wants to get a girl pregnant, on purpose, without even touching her? What the fuck? David Copperfield wants to pay child support for some kid of some girl who he didn't even fuck? That's either mighty noble of him or mighty stupid.

I don't get it. I just don't see how this can be that great of an illusion.

Hey David Copperfield, it's called artificial insemination. Look it up. Men have been knocking up women without having to touch them for years. Now if you can somehow get the woman to get pregnant without touching her and then have her give birth to a 70 pound hippopotamus after being pregnant for only 16 minutes, I'll call that a magic trick.

Human Hot Box

Human Hot Box
Nothing short of remarkable
the way your friends’ smell
transposes itself into my wardrobe.

I always get asked
if I just got home from Amsterdam.

People rib me
by referring to me as the human hot box.

I go to work
and my cubicle
fills with the stench
of cheap pot
and sour failure.

I’m carrying a half a dozen
different taints
around with me in the world.

Today I found an old roach
in my jacket pocket

and decided that I need
to invest
in a closet that locks

and a doormat
that insists
this house enforces
a no failed cum stain policy.

If I Can Get Political For A Moment Here

What the fuck is up with this? Click here.

So George W. Bush talks to God? George W. Bush talks to God? What? Wait a minute. My mind is in the midst of being blown. George W. Bush talks to God? Huh?

Didn't Clinton almost get impeached for getting a cum stain on some intern's dress? George W. Bush talks to God? What? God told him to invade Iraq to end its tyranny? Huh?

Okay, seriously. What?

I don't get it.

Michael, George W. Bush is a very religious man and, in all likelihood, did have a conversation with God and if George W. Bush said that God told him to go to war with Iraq, amassing thousands and thousands of casualties then obviously it's what God wanted because George W. Bush is a very religious man and he would never dream of lying to the American public. Michael, take your head out from between your taut buttocks and listen to reason.

No, you are right, my buttocks are rather taut. I've been working out. But seriously, what? You can sit there with a straight face and tell me that you actually believe George W. Bush got instructed to invade Iraq by God? And Clinton was almost impeached for a cum stain in the Oval Office?

Here's my problem with all of this. You just know I have a problem with this because I'm writing about it. My problem is that a vast majority of the time when anybody says that God told him/her to do something and then, in turn, that action leads to even one death we tend to, as a society, label that person as insane. Why do we do that? I think it has to do with a fundamental belief that God loves the world and probably doesn't want to see us killing each other off. Most, if not all, religions have a "Thou Shalt Not Kill" clause somewhere in the deal. So, naturally, if God is telling somebody to kill people we just automatically assume that the person is certifiably crazy.

Shouldn't that mean that George W. Bush needs some quiet time and some meds, at the very least? Shouldn't he get a padded room and a staight jacket? Did God tell him to lie to the American public about WMDs to get them to rally behind his call to war?

There's so much that just isn't adding up here. I really hate getting political because before you know it I'll have a thousand right wing nuts coming in here and accusing me of trying to undermine the current administration because I'm some sort of left wing hippy. Really, the Democrats didn't offer up that great of a candidate and it cost them the last election so I really wouldn't go so far as to label myself a Democrat. I'm not even American.

Really, I just thought I would bring up the whole whacko idea that God's going around telling George W. Bush what to do. What I hate about it is that if things should ever go horribly wrong as a result of his executive decisions he has God as a scapegoat. If you want to go to war that badly go to war, but make it just and make sure that you're the one who's going to take the blame when all those people die. I'm not a religious man, but I hate it when deities take it on the chin because somebody has to be an ass-clown on the planet.

I'm just saying is all.

One From The Vaults

INTERNATIONAL ROPE SHORTAGE!

Officials Somberly Consider Legalizing Pot In Hopes Of Stemming Crisis

In my travels and daily activities I will, on occasion, encounter people who are staunch supporters of legalizing marijuana. When I do meet these people it is usually at parties where many a joint is being passed around and, get ready to be shocked into shitting your pants, these people are high when I meet them. You can change your pants now. You can tell which people I am talking about if you just bring up the topic of legalization around a bunch of pot smokers. They’re the ones who cough uncontrollably for a moment or two like they’ve just been asked to take stage and they take stage and have no qualms about launching into a 30-minute tirade on the virtues of weed.

Now, don’t misunderstand what I am about to say. Really, I am in favor of legalizing pot because over time it has demonstrated more benefits than drawbacks. The way I see it, tobacco and alcohol have demonstrated more drawbacks than benefits, and yet those are drugs which society has deemed safe enough to be legal. So why not make pot legal? I believe I know the answer to this question now and it came to me over a number of years of listening to these soapbox speakers. It’s the fucking legalization activists themselves who are keeping pot from being deemed perfectly safe from a legal standpoint.

I mean have you ever really listened to somebody who is really, really high try to make a sound argument as to why he should be allowed to enjoy mary-jane without the man coming to bust him? Try to piece together a coherent sentence or two. Sadly, these are the same kinds of arguments that are thrown around at pot rallies too. Why? Because everybody is fucking high!

Dude, let’s like totally rally to extol the virtues of weed!

Sounds good. How do you propose we do that?

Let’s like go to the Legislature and get totally fucked up. That’ll show them!

Keep thinking that, hippy.

And the worst, the absolutely fucking worst reason why marijuana should be brought to the realm of legal acceptability in society has to be the fact that hemp is capable of producing a mighty fine rope. That’s right, you heard it straight from the horse’s ass, you can make some great rope from hemp cord. Wow. And you know what else? That’s considered one of the best virtues of weed. Meanwhile, the person who is most likely spewing on and on about how pivotal rope is to the stability of the free world is Tommy Chong high. That’s really fucking high.

That’s right, dude. You can like totally make some great rope out of hemp, man.

Okay, so you readers out there must be dumbfounded like me by a statement like this. I mean, it’s not so much the fact that “some great rope” can be made out of hemp. That has, indeed, been demonstrated in the past and I’m sure they still make lots of great rope out of hemp in parts of the world where the growth of cannibis is not so tightly scrutinized by the government. What blows my fucking mind more than the puffs of smoke being blasted into my face during the tirade is the fact that the world must be in some sort of rope crisis if we have to consider the legalization of pot. When the hell did this happen and why has CNN not informed me of this international rope shortage?

The only way to find out just how devastated the rope industry is might just require me to take a trip of the vehicular variety to the local hardware store. I mean, wow, we are standing on the precipice of legalizing fucking cannibis to secure a more stable and readily abundant source for rope. I bet there must be the fucking apocalypse outside with all that shit being left untied.

Stay here, I’ll be right back. I’m going to scope the crisis out for myself.

[intermission]

Okay, I’m back. I sped to the hardware store like a bat out of hell. I tell you. I was expecting to have to be able to beat back hordes of shit-grinning fucktards who want to buy all the rope before me. So I asked the first store clerk I saw if I was in time to be able to secure myself some rope, precious rope. I was exasperated, frantic. He could see the manic look in my eye. And you know what he did?

He fucking laughed at me. He laughed and laughed and then he stopped to catch his breath before he laughed some more. Then he directed me to an area of the store where there were spools, I shit you not, of rope. Glorious rope on, honest to god, spools! There were all kinds of rope to be had and not one whacked out rope-crazed crack whore tried to beat me down to get at the prize. You can change your pants again. The apocalypse of ropedom was just a figment of the pro-legalization movement’s collective imagination. There was rope. There was even steel cable available. And chains, too! Fucking chains! I had to change my pants to be quite honest.

So, what’s the message behind this bullshit satirical article? The message is this: Potheads, our rope situation is good. Technology has us set for all of our tying-shit-up needs. It even has us set for all of our kinky bondage freaky sex needs as well. So what the fuck?

I would much rather you argue your point honestly. For instance, you might want to mention that the primary active substance in marijuana, THC, gets you totally high, man. At least you would be more true to your own reasons for wanting to see weed made readily legal. Tell me how it improves diminished appetites, reduces nausea in chemotherapy patients, or to treat glaucoma. At least these are qualities an average guy like me can look at and think: wow, this shit can’t be all that bad after all.

This whole rope approach to your arguments is moot. I saw so much fucking rope in that one hardware store that I’m sure the rope supply in many of the other hardware stores around town is healthy as well. If anything, there’s too much fucking rope! Somebody oughta make that shit illegal! Too much fucking rope and not enough shit to tie down with it! I’m like totally starting a petition, dude. Sign your name down below, you fucking hippies.

The Bottom Ten, October 2005

10.) People Showing Their Disdain For Gas Prices By Riding Horses Everywhere- Okay, yeah, we get it. Gas prices are high. The sky is blue. Grass is green. Where the fuck are you going to park a horse? If I go out to my car one day to find horse shit on the hood I'm going to be royally pissed off.

9.) Jessica Simpson And Nick Lachey's Will They Or Won't They Break Up Saga- How many different magazine covers have been besmirched by this long-running story? 1.7 million. I counted them. How many times have I had to be admitted to the emergency room for breaking my jaw yawning over such a non-story? 1.7 million. I should sue Nick and Jessica for medical costs and for making the "drama" of the world so fucking boring.

8.) The Comeback Of The Care Bears- Is this proof that evolution is, in fact, cyclic as opposed to linear? Does this mean that given a long enough span of time we're all going to be walking around dragging our knuckles on the ground and struggling with the whole making fire deal? A chilling thought. Maybe fads should just stay dead after they've died and I wouldn't have to sit around and ponder these things.

7.) Coffee Shops That Have Branched Into Selling Music- I just get weirded out thinking about one day going into Starbuck's to buy CD's. Can't CD's be sold in record stores anymore? Am I going to have to go to HMV to buy my coffee now? The whole world is going plum loco methinks.

6.) The Proposed Book On Fitness By Dick Cheney- Excuse me, Skeletor, but aren't you like a hard coughing fit away from a pine box? Unless your fitness advice to me is to do the exact opposite of you I'll keep my health and well-being in my own hands, thank you very much.

5.) Martha Stewart Opting Out Of Her Recent Trip To Canada For A Pumpkin Regatta- She must have heard my plans of waiting for her at the border and pelting her with rotten crab apples. It's funny how we go to great lengths to extradite working class criminals and how we would just about kill ourselves to bring a white collar criminal into the country. I would have prayed for her pumpkin to sink under the weight of the massive ego it would have been carrying.

4.) Fox Canceling The Simple Life- Okay, if I made top ten lists this would have been number 1, but since I only do bottom ten lists (for now) this will have to settle for number 4. Don't ask me how my ranking system works. I'm glad I won't have to watch rich, smarmy cunts treat people like shit for a living anymore.

3.) Turkey Leftovers- Turkey is good the day of Thanksgiving, but a week later it's like shoe leather.

2.) Beer Commercials That Remind How Sad My Life Is- Okay, you're the singer in a band, but whatever you do don't sing. I wish I was the singer in a band who wasn't supposed to sing. Sigh.

1.) Martha Stewart In General- So bad is she that I just had to bring her up for an encore. I saw a clip of her talk show while watching her interview on Larry King and all I can say is that the new facade of being warm, funny and personable is still just a facade.