The Bottom Ten, January 2006

10.) Super Bowl Ad Hooplah- Why the fuck does anybody get excited about seeing the new commercials that get aired during the Super Bowl telecast? You're lying to yourself if you think that all the excitement surrounding the Super Bowl has to do with football. I'm not the biggest fan of football, but I do watch it on occasion and I would be personally insulted if I watched a news broadcast after the biggest game of my life only to see the fucking anchors toting out highlights of the best Super Bowl commercials. And they love to do that on the news for some reason. On tonight's news: See the best that this year's Super Bowl telecast had to offer when it comes to corporate propaganda and...if we have time, you know...maybe we'll show some of the highlights of the football game...maybe a piece on that toxic cleaner spill into the city's drinking water. Fucking liberal media, my ass!

9.) Laughter Therapy- Click here. Pentagon officials have decided that one way to help military families cope with the tough times of war and bloodshed is to teach them how to laugh. Laughter therapy is pretty much a practice of laughing for no reason at all. Why no reason? Because the soldiers are off at war and getting injured and killed. But you folks, you go on ahead and laugh because that's one way that the Pentagon feels will help you cope. Hey Pentagon, laughing for no reason whatsoever is all well and good, but did you ever stop to think that what might work even better would be to bring your troops back home and end the bloodshed? I hate to be Captain Obvious on this one, but something has to be said. Plus, it's kind of creepy seeing people laughing at nothing. So much so that it puts me just inches away from calling the men in the white coats to come and take such people away where there will be plenty of meds to help them cope even better.

8.) Irony Being Such A Bitch- Click here. "A political party, in order to be viable, is one that professes peace, in my judgment, in order that it will keep the peace." -George W. Bush regarding Hamas.

7.) My Humps- When you hear stories about songs that get played to torture political prisoners and prisoners of war, do you ever wonder if "My Humps" by The Black Eyed Peas gets a lot of play? I think it's a safe bet that it does. Imagine that song on repeat for two or three hours. If you don't know the information that your captors want you better make some shit up fast! They say 20 minutes of that song is enough to cause massive brain trauma.

6.) The Planned Buttafuoco, Amy Fisher Television Reunion- It's happening. Remember when the public still gave a shit about this saga? Neither do I.

5.) Parents Just Discovering That MySpace.com Could Be Used By Sexual Predators To Meet Young, Unsuspecting Victims- Last time I checked it was still called the fucking internet and sexual predators have been using it all along to meet young, unsuspecting victims. How the fuck does one website in particular suddenly change the rules you should be governing yourselves by, as parents in the information age? Take your heads out of your asses and be involved with what your children do on the internet. Fuck! The emergence of MySpace isn't suddenly like the technology just became available for predators to prey on the innocent. It was there all along. So instead of demonizing the MySpace service why not just do your fucking jobs as parents?

4.) A New Season Of American Idol- Sure, the audition shows are mildly amusing to watch for the sheer ruthlessness of Simon, but you just know that when the season finally wraps up you're going to be left with yet another pop star that you won't give two shits about a week after the last episode airs. Why not just make a show about Simon insulting the fuck out of delusional people for an hour and skip this pop star bullshit?

3.) The Alberta Advantage- A $400.00 cheque is coming in the mail for each and every one of Alberta's citizens as part of surplus that the provincial government found itself. So instead of, say, putting more money into education, or health, or social assistance, just to name a few areas that could always use more money, we all get $400.00 to spend on lapdances and champagne enemas. It's great to be Albertan!

2.) Great Concerts That Sell Out Even Before You Knew They Were Happening- Why, oh why, couldn't The Arcade Fire play a bigger venue? My one regret for the year 2005 was missing seeing that band play live.

1.) Magazine Subscription Forms- One of those fucking things per issue should suffice, publishing world. If I wipe my ass with one of them I'm probably just going to wipe my ass with the other three fucking dozen of them you cram into each magazine. How many fucking subscriptions does one reader need to buy each month?

Shamelessness

Click here.

You have to click the above link this time around. You have to. Why? Because it's a link to a video clip of Kevin Federline (aka Cletus, aka Mr. Britney, aka El Numero Uno Douchebago) rocking out to his musical debut "Popozao" which I believe is a trailer park word for a delicacy made from raccoon entrails.

And the reason why I ask you to watch this is so that you get a good idea of what not to do when you are a creative person who wants the world to take you and your craft seriously.

You see, Kevin Federline, in this video clip, basically introduces the track inside a recording studio and as the track begins to play he proceeds to "rock out" to it. Seriously, watch the idiot go. I swear he practically jizzes his pants listening to his own song.

And one word to describe the song? Forgettable.

You never saw Salvador Dali pause in front of his own works and say, "Oh my fucking god, I'm so fucking cool! Look at this, motherfuckers! I'm a fucking artistic genius!" You never saw John Coltrane pause mid-song and exclaim, "Holy shit, I'm fucking light years ahead of the rest of you motherfuckers. You should be lining up to blow me I'm so fucking great."

Do you know why? Because they let the creative works do the talking for them. They weren't trying to sell themselves as being cool, they let the work convince the world that they were cool. If you have to sell it to the world, it probably isn't worth shit!

Anyway, I just thought I would pass the link along to you. Who knows how long it will be up, but enjoy it while it lasts. Watching it myself it really makes me appreciate the creative folks who I am privileged enough to call my peers because they produce kick-ass work and they're humble about what they do. It also really makes me wish I could punch Cletus in the throat.

What Exactly Is Wrong With Looking Like A Crazy Prick?

Click here.

Jelena Dokic's father is a pretty cool guy. I mean he has a top-ranked tennis player for a daughter, he smokes a pipe, he has a beard, and he wants to drop a nuclear bomb on Sydney, Australia.

Wait! What!?!?!?!

Michael, I didn't know that you followed the happenings of the tennis world too.

I don't, but for me to write about this one little thing suddenly adds more depth to my character, giving me this false sheen of being omnipotent. But anyway, that's an aside.

No wait! He didn't say that, did he? There seems to be a controversy, albeit a minor one, over whether or not Captain Beard-o actually said that he wanted to drop a nuclear bomb on Sydney.

Okay, I mean motherfucking "Wow!" on this one. After reading the article I have decided that Damir Dokic is a kooky kind of cat, in a homicidal nut kind of way. He wants to kidnap his own daughter? He wants revenge on Australia because his daughter lost at the Australian Open? He thinks hot sausages before a tennis match in sweltering heat is bad? He thinks the Vatican and Croatia are in cahoots in convincing his daughter to leave Serbia to move to Australia?

He is clearly a man with a lot on his mind.

But then he denies ever having said that he wanted to drop the nuke on Sydney?

Okay, here's the deal with soccer mom style rants, Damir, or may I call you Captain Beard-o because that is not just a beard, it's a fucking adventure? Okay, then, Captain Beard-o, the deal with soccer mom style rants is that the zanier they get the more memorable they become. Nobody remembers the simple, "The ref made a bad call at yesterday's game," rant. Why? Because those rants are boring.

I mean you are so close to having a crazy rant for the ages from the sound of it. Being pissed off with Australia in general? Check. Accusing the Vatican and Croatia of shit they probably don't even give a fuck about? Check and check. Meeting with high ranking Serbian politicians to plan a kidnapping of his daughter to return her home land? Check. Hot sausages? Oh hell, motherfucking, yeah!

So Captain Beard-o, why even deny making statements to the effect that you want to nuke Australia? You're so close to some sort of soccer mom hall-of-fame rant here and that may just be the ticket to put you over the top.

Besides, who hasn't thought about dropping a nuclear bomb on Sydney? The world's leading psychologists all agree that the thought of dropping a nuclear bomb on Sydney crosses the average person's mind at least twice a day. And we don't even have tennis star daughters who were lured away from us to go live there.

Damn You, George Clooney! Damn You To Hell!

George W. Bush is quite possibly the scariest man on the face of the Earth. Now, now, don't just stop reading right here because you think this is some sort of partisan politics bullshit rant where I go on and on about all the wrong that Dubya has been responsible for over the past five years. Fuck, there are enough rants out there like that. If I'm going to pick on the douchebag I'm going to pick my targets wisely and stick to them. But really, though, there's no denying the fact that George W. Bush is the scariest man on the face of the Earth.

I mean, here you have a man who has access to the largest army in the world and questionable morals to boot. He has clearly exhibited a propensity to go to war and, thus, become indirectly, or directly maybe, responsible for the deaths of thousands and thousands of people.

But George W. Bush is a man of integrity. He stands for family values and is building a better future whether you like to admit it or not, Mr. Appleby. True, he was the president who went to war, but there were WMD's out there and are probably still out there, waiting to be found. He has done nothing that is morally reprehensible in the slightest and my only regret is that American presidents can't serve more than two terms because his is the greatest presidency ever!

Shut the fuck up! Go ahead and believe whatever you want about the guy. He's still fucking scary.

I want to go back to 2004. That was the election year if you'll recall. I remember all year long paying rather close attention to the unfolding of the election campaign for months leading up to November. I would wake up each morning thinking, Oh God, they have to vote somebody else in there. Somebody, anybody. This evil, evil capitalist can't keep ruining the world, can he? Somebody, please, save us!

Then November rolled around and...What the fuck! The tyrant got re-elected! Fuck! Fuck!

And you know what? The Democrats really didn't deserve to win the election. For the longest time I thought it was because John Kerry wasn't a strong enough opponent for an evil tyrant. Today, though, I found out the real reason why the Democrats lost the election.

George fucking Clooney.

That's right.

George fucking Clooney.

You see, apparently during the campaign trail John Kerry was inviting numerous actors onto his election train. I mean, natrually, actors have a lot of pull with the American electorate and George Clooney, being the King of Actors, probably has the most pull in all of America. If George Clooney gets behind you come election time you might ass well get your ass in shape for sitting behind the desk in the Oval Office because Mister, you're fucking elected! That's the nature of George Clooney. People look up to him. He can't help it.

So anyway, back to the train...

John Kerry invited all these actors to ride on the John Kerry Cross-Country Election Express, destination: Washington fucking D fucking C, bitches! I mean, it was a veritable who's who of the silver screen. There was Carrot Top and Rosie O'Donnell and, oh my God, look over there! It's Jane Seymour!

But where the fuck was George Clooney?

He turned down the invitation to get on board the train?!?!?!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And that's how George W. Bush beat John Kerry in 2004. Oh sure, you might have thought it had something to do with party platforms, partisanship, maybe even candidate personality. But no, you'd be fucking wrong, dummy! It was all because George Clooney turned down a train ride.

Either American voters are really, really, really fickle.

What?! George Clooney ain't on the train?! Fuck John Kerry! Cletus, I'm voting for Bush! Yee-haw!

Or maybe some celebrities should really stop to consider that maybe a presidential candidate is fully capable of losing a damn election on his own. It's noble you want to be the whipping boy for the whole election debacle, but you're premise is just a shade too far-fetched.

Clean Of You

Clean Of You
Going to bed clean
of you
for the first time in
a long time.

Learning the differ
ences between heart
and brain are more
than spatial and
function
al.

Heart arhythms
for your nakedness claw
ing its way up under
neath the bed
sheets and smother
ing mine the way it used
to.

Brain knows, “Good
for me. I’m bet
ter off alone.”
In every connotat
ion there could possibly
be.

Going to bed clean
of you
for the first time in
a long time.

Dreaming of sex, hold
ing your hand, and
every other bad thing
that I could ever
do.

A Literary Dilemma

I work with a lot of people who read. It's not difficult in this world to find people who read. A lot of the world is comprised of literate people. The people I work with are also big fans of Oprah.

Now when it comes to the literary world it's really no surprise that the biggest, most powerful book club around is the Oprah Book Club. Oprah Winfrey has a seeming Midas touch when it comes to driving her favorite books to the top of the bestsellers lists. Why? Because Oprah is a powerful, powerful force to be reckoned with.

That being said, I'll admit that I bought James Frey's A Million Little Pieces and have been reading it because a large number of the people I work with have either read it or are in the midst of reading it. They all seem to be amazed by the book and Frey's tale of redemption. For those of you not in-the-know about A Million Little Pieces, it's a recount of Frey's six-week stay in rehab after years of drug abuse. It's an uplifting tale of going to the edge and managing to turn one's self around before it's ultimately too late. Mind you, I haven't finished reading it (I'm creeping up on page 120 or so).

I was very leary of buying any book with the Oprah Book Club sticker on it partly because she tend to choose very "safe" literature for her club and partly because I really don't want to contribute to Oprah's seemingly ever-ballooning ego. But now that I've had the book for a few weeks now timing is proving to sometimes be a funny thing.

Click here.

As part of my regular internet rituals I was visiting fark.com and came across a link to a Smoking Gun article about A Million Little Pieces. The article, which is the link I provided with the "Click here" goes into detail about how Frey's book, while being touted as a brutally honest, gripping piece of nonfiction, is, in fact, fictionalized in a number of areas at the very least. Accounts of court cases and arrests that happened involved Frey could not be found by the people at The Smoking Gun. What they also found odd was how many of the real life characters who helped Frey on his road to recovery were either all dead or could not be found.

Which leads me to the whole dilemma of the matter.

Since it appears as though this could in fact be an elaborate ruse for money on Frey's part should I stop reading the book?

What's odd is that if the book had been marketed as a piece of fiction I would probably say that it's a pretty decent piece of fiction so far. It's writing is pretty gritty and he does some pretty cool things with the language like eliminating quotation marks and not breaking the dialogue up with too many "he said" or "she said" type insertions.

It's just unfortunate that the whole marketing ploy behind the book is that it's 100% real. It's all about its credibility, which would seem to be a veneer now that I've read the TSG piece on it.

There are other books I could start reading right now instead of A Million Little Pieces. The question is, should I?

Won't Somebody, Please, Think Of The Hoodies?!?!

Okay, first off, let me start this off by saying that violence isn't cool. I know that the "cool" people's propaganda machine has made it out to seem that boot-fucking a fellow human's skull is somehow "hip" or "righteous," but try to think of it from the perspective of the person being boot-fucked. Now does it seem so cool?

Speaking from experience I can remember many instances from my youth in which I faced a lot of peer pressure to commit acts of violence.

"Come on, Michael. Let's go club that old lady with these 4 month old baguettes!"

or:

"Gee, Michael, wouldn't it be swell if we tried to take on that whole playschool class walking down the sidewalk in a battle royale to the death? Come on, I'll go get my ass-whomping boots!"

Certainly, there were other instances, but I'm just naming some of them off the top of my head. I mean, they were some nice "ass-whomping boots," but that doesn't justify pummeling a couple dozen playschool kids.

Okay, Michael, where the fuck are you going with all this? You're rambling is making me want to go pull my ass-whomping boots out and whomp your ass! Wow me for fuck's sake.

Okay, okay, Mr. Impatient. Here it is.

Click Here.

Oh, those wacky Britons! Anti-crime crusaders have lambasted this French company for producing a hoody that can zip it's hood all the way over and convert into (gasp!) a ski mask. Why? Because “It might look good on a ski slope and keep you warm, but it would look terrifying in any British street late at night.”

But this is where I really need you to click that link. The images contained in the article are copyright to the Sun and I certainly don't need the Britons lambasting me next for reproducing their images. Doesn't the guy wearing the hoody look like a Luchador? His professional wrestling name could be El Camo Pinto! And his finishing move could be a sort of half-swaton-bomb, half-fall-off-the-top-rope-because-the-mask-has-poor-visibility-and-scream-oh-fucking-blimey-I've-soiled-me-luchador-knickers! That would be quite the move, trust me people who aren't familiar with pro wrestling or its moves. It's a move that I just made up off the top of my head and I have it copyrighted in case you were interested in starting a lucrative career in the field of pro wrestling and needed a finishing move.

But now I'm rambling again. Back to the task at hand...

Seriously, though, what the fuck? You're upset because when the hood is zipped up all the way it can be used to conceal the identity of an attacker? Seriously, that's what the fucking problem is?

Newflash: there's a lot of shit out there that can be used to conceal the identity of an attacker! Lots of shit! If an attacker wants to conceal his/her identity that badly there is always a way. It doesn't take a fucking hoodie to suddenly turn somebody into Mr. Incognito, Rapist-At-Large! It's like you think that the gene that makes people evil somehow also makes them fucking stupid.

Well golly gee-whiz, I could never go on that massive murder spree that I've always wanted to go on because nobody made a hoody that not only kept me warm, but concealed my identity as a mass murderer. Now with this hoody I the puzzle is complete and people can die! Thank you French company who makes these hoodies!

Does that really happen? Come on, really? I hate getting all rhetorical on your ass, but sometimes it's necessary to prove a point.

Tonight that point is this. It's not the clothes that make the man or woman or whatever a criminal. It's the fucking crime that makes the criminal! If you're so concerned about stopping crime stop fucking around with French hoody manufacturers and start focusing your attention on criminals!

Besides, and I hate to really mention this because I'm not what you could call a fashion expert, that hoody is pretty fucking silly looking. I don't think this is going to be the next big thing in fashion. I doubt that there will really be that many people who wake up and say, "Holy shit! I want to look like I'm into the whole bondage culture, but I really don't want to have to contend with the chaffing of tight vinyl." That being said, pointing a criminal out who accosted you wearing such a silly-looking thing should be pretty easy. Just look for the big fucking zipper running up the middle of his face!

Good Night Dr. Layton

R.I.P. Irving Layton
1912-2006


Irving Layton's homepage

The Real Sin City

Click here.

An article in the Detroit News, which is by far the most clever name for a newspaper ever, has labeled Windsor, Ontario as a sort of hedonistic hotbed of sin and numerous vices. I mean think about it, just across the Canada-United States border from Detroit perfectly legal sex-for-money escort services and Cuban cigars can be had. This, of course, is brought to the forefront as men flock to Detroit in time for Super Bowl XL. And, all of this, of course, upsets the mayor of Windsor.

All I have to say about this is: Why?

Oh, boo-hoo, some media in Detroit have called my city, MY CITY, the Super Sin City because escorts here can legally fuck you for money, we sell Cuban cigars, our beer isn't American, and we have strippers dancing like there's no tomorrow. Oh, woe is me! Whatever will Mommy and Daddy think of my beloved city if all we have are escorts, cigars, beer, and strippers.

Rich! That's what, you stupid moron. Fuck, if my city was being shunned for its sex and cigars just in time for Super Bowl you better believe that I would start an ad campaign singing the praises of sex and cigars just for all that American testerone bag male tourist money. I'd be on television as much as possible in Detroit yelling, "Come up north, fellas, we have all the Cuban cigars, sex, Canadian beer, and strippers you could possibly want! This is the fucking place to be Super Bowl week!" There would be strippers and escorts getting each other off with Cuban cigars in the foreground, in the background. Hell, a couple of them would probably be using some sort of strap-on Cuban cigar dealy they'd refer to as the Cuban Strap-On Crisis. Above all else, though, you hear them moaning over pints of Molson, "Cum to Canada! Cum to Canada! Oh God, yes! Cum to Canada!"

I guarantee you that Super Bowl week would be a week of economic boom in Windsor thanks to horny tourists visiting Detroit for the Super Bowl.

I mean what the fuck is the big fucking deal? You have sex-for-money escorts, tons of strippers, Cuban cigars and beer that isn't watered down to the point of being Perrier with a Budweiser label. Not a word of the article is a lie so why get all bent out of shape about it? There are fucking hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of dollars to be made from American men looking for their jollies come Super Bowl week and suddenly you want your city to be seen as some sort of bastion of high morality and fucking family values? Who exactly votes people like you into office?

Ewwwwww! Ewwwwww! Tourism profits! Get it away! Get it away! Ewwwwww!

I guess it all just goes to show you that politicians can be idiots as much as everyday people like you and me.

The Dawn Of The New Year

First off, let me start off this post by saying Happy New Year to you, my readers and regular visitors. May 2006 bring you all the joy and success that is humanly possible.

Secondly, I apologize for the relatively quiet December I hadwith regards to keeping this blog regularly updated. I had an actual busy holiday season this time around. It was kind of nice. Now that things are slowly, but surely, settling down a little bit I can get back into a routine that is comfortable and productive (hopefully).

So, anyway, I thought that I would write a little bit about some of the resolutions that I have made for myself this year. I know that most of you probably think the idea of making resolutions is kind of corny on my part since I'm such an outside-of-the-box kind of thinker, but it has been my experience in the past that resolutions can work.

This year, then, I resolve to...

Write More Often- with so many projects on the go between this blog, my poetry, Sometimes Sinister, and my attempt at a novel which I call Chicken Little: A Novel so far, it's definitely hard to physically sit myself down and write any of this on a regular basis given the demands of my life outside the page.

Stop Reading So Much Junk Publications- junk publications, you ask? I mean stuff that doesn't make me feel enriched after reading it. Even really bad books can give a guy a little bit of enrichment, but what I'm referring to specifically are men's lifestyle magazines like Maxim, FHM, and Stuff. I'll admit that sometimes there are bits and pieces in there that make me laugh, but, as a whole, they do little but make me sad because I wasn't reading something with more to offer, I spent too much money for such a trifle of a publication, and I'm addicted to them for some reason. I always get asked if I get them just for the pictures of starlets in states of semi-undress, but that's not it at all. I could go online and get fully nude women all the time if that was the selling point. I think I'm more addicted to the yuppie male lifestyle that this publications champion. More than half of each issue of those magazines is built around trying to sell you something. It's not just the ad space either, which there is alarming amounts of, but a lot of the regular features are parades of gadgets, the latest offerings from the entertainment industry, and the latest fashions. Why? So that you buy into it all. That's why most of the stuff is even referred to with a price point. Maybe I just like to fantasize about owning Burton's Audex Bluetooth jacket ($600), or a bottle of Navan cognac ($39), or the Bowflex Revolution ($2,399). Sad part is is that all the items I just mentioned all came from one article; it was just a parade of stuff I could buy. Part of me is going to miss the parade of consumerism I think. Sigh.

Get In Shape- okay, okay, this one is the resolution that just about everybody makes. Truth be told, I'm not in that bad of shape, but I definitely could be in better shape. I was visiting the gym quite regularly throughout most of 2005 until basketball season started and I started spending more time on the hardwood, but now I need to put forth the effort to not only keep playing basketball, but start going to the gym during those basketball weeks for weight training. I also want to eat a bit better. I want to gain some weight, but I want to gain healthy weight.

Well, that pretty much wraps up my small list of goals for this new year. I figure that if I make them known it will help me keep them because people can always start asking me how my resolutions are going and I definitely want to make progress then so as to not look like a failure.

Once again, Happy New Year and I'll be keeping you up to date on all kinds of shit in 2006. Kick ass!

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 now....it seems to be saying that Patrick Swayze is experimenting with rap music....um....what 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.

*Pinch*

I'm afraid not.

Oh dear god! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

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.

Maw

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
stroke.

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
sweat.

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

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.

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.

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.

Vitriol
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.

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.

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.”

"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. (http://www.edmontonsfoodbank.com/webiq/)

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.

"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........no......cigarettes.......no cigarettes in Casino Royale........bad example.....for.....kids......

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.

"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.

"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.