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.

As promised, here is the poem I performed at the inaugural Roar on 24th festival. This is a version of the poem that has been polished a bit more. This is, in fact, a second draft of the poem. The original was a prose poem. I think this version, while appearing to be more lyrical adds stresses to lines I want stressed and has some more color to it with regards to detail. Enjoy.

Ode To Frosty

"The mayfly lives only one day. And sometimes it rains."

-George Carlin
Napalm & Silly Putty

The worst.
The absolute worst
are the snowmen
of a mid-spring surprise flurry.

The kind that
leave a millimeter of snow
freckled green
with life coming below.

How fucking sad is it to be one of those guys?

Right from the moment of your erection---

“Erection”: a misnomer if ever there was one.

Mid-spring snowmen
being closer to one of those
sloppy seconds sex
floppy half hard-on’s
than actual throbbing cocks.

You look like shit
An upright melting tower of shit.
Your snow is half mud,
half dead leaves from last fall,
and some early lawn clippings
thrown in for texture.

Oftentimes
these sad-sack snow guys
don’t even have proper faces
when they are made
on that fluke spring day.
They’re given
these hollowed out pits for eyes
and a gaping, horrified pit of a mouth,
permanent silent shriek.

Like they took their broken tree branch arms
with crooked stick digits
and gouged out their own eyes
so they wouldn’t be able to see
how pathetic and short
their shitty stay in the world really is.

Tree branches for arms?
Jesus,
you can’t even masturbate properly
with a tree branch.
I know; I’ve tried.

There you are,
a droopy brown lump
on the side of a suburban yard,
spending your lifetime
wishing the weather had stayed warm all along.

Dying just a little more
as the lifetimes of shitty sandcastles are set to begin.

Everybody’s a fucking Picasso sometimes.

Sex Tapes And The Sex Stars Behind Them

Okay, seriously, I almost wish that I was making this shit up.

That's right, folks! Britney Spears and Kevin Federline might soon be coming to a porn store near you, starring in their very own sex tape!

Michael, why do you always go on and on about who's starring in which sex tape? I mean, I've been visiting your blog since day one and I've pretty much read every post you've ever written and I even bought an autographed jizz-stained t-shirt on eBay that came with a certificate of authenticity guaranteeing that the aforementioned jizz was 100% Michael Appleby jizz, and it seems like every third post revolves around some washed-up celebrity sucking cock on camera like it was a matter of life and death. Doesn't anything else happen in your little world?

No, but thank you for asking. The reason why I go on and on about sex tapes is that I find them a fascinating facet of celebrity. My theory is that celebrities record themselves hiding tubesteaks and eating hairy tacos not so much because it's the kinky thing to do, but rather because it's the most widely accepted manner of securing one's self an additional 15 minutes of fame. Does this mean that Michael Appleby will one day grace the celluloid when it looks like the world has finally given up on him? Who knows? For now I'll just bide my time perfecting my cum face a la that timeless poem by Mike Gravel.

But here's what's bothering me about the whole Britney and Cletus sex tape fiasco. If you read the article you will see that this is, once again, another case where somebody in the couple's entourage is threatening to "leak" the tape to the public. Every fucking time, it seems, some assistant or professional ass-kisser or ball washer or spineless douchebag who walks in the shadows behind the celebrities gest access to the sex tape and makes a copy to leak. Well, maybe not in the case of Tom Sizemore, who appears to have distributed his video his own damn self since nobody would want to make a copy of that, not even the hookers who are paid to latch onto his cock. What gets me is that the sex tape is just laying around waiting to be copied or the sex tape is entrusted to somebody in an entourage like it's no big fucking deal.

Now, I admit, I haven't really been fortunate enough to take a camcorder into the bedroom with me so I can't say that I'm speaking from experience on this one, but why the fuck would you just leave a sex tape laying around where people who are relatively much poorer than you have access to it? I mean I may not have starred in many sex tapes yet, but I sure as fuck know that I just don't go around to just anybody and say, "Hey check it out, it's me giving some lucky whore a pearl necklace." That's just fucking stupid. It shouldn't even be a threat to be "leaked" when it's coming from somebody whose claim to fame is being in an entourage. It should just be considered "leaked" as soon as you just leave it sitting on the coffee room table next to "Maid In Manhattan", "Uptown Girls", and "A Walk To Remember."

Don't mind me, Mr. and Mrs. Cletus. I'm just dusting around the double-wide for you. What's this video? Spearing Britney? Let's just pop this into the old VCR and see what this is all about? Oh my fucking god! My eyes! Mr. Cletus is giving Mrs. Cletus an Angry Dragon! I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Cletus, I didn't realize that it was a video of you two being intimate with each other. I'm so, so sorry.

But you know that in the back of his mind the assistant is thinking Ka-Ching!

Are we actually suppose to believe that this is how things went down? Seriously? Come on! Everybody knows that the promise of a sex tape getting "leaked" from a currently has-been pop princess is just the kind of headline grabber that puts people back in the spotlight.

Michael, you're just being too cynical. Britney and Kevin (it's Kevin, after all, not Cletus) are fine, upstanding people who really have no real need to so shamelessly chase fortune and fame. They'll be famous forever in our minds!

Keep telling yourself that.

I wouldn't have any problems with Britney and Kevin releasing a sex tape. I mean after seeing footage of Tom Sizemore brandishing a Heidi tattoo anything is a step up. You could have video footage of William Shatner smearing whipped cream on his nipples begging his viewers to call him a naughty boy and I would still say, "Well, I still want to wash my eyes out with bleach, but at least it wasn't Tom Sizemore's tattoo."

But please, enough with the bullshit, "Oh my god, my personal assistant is going to sell our sex tape!" It was original the first 3 dozen celebrities who used it, but now it's wearing thin. If you can't bear to tell the truth that you're just struggling to be talked about again at least make up something more fantastical to keep people like me entertained. Make up some shit about expert computer hackers using CGI video effects to make a fake sex tape for profit and not to believe any frame of their bogus "video."

I'm almost kicking myself for giving up that truly original premise for releasing a sex tape when I could have used that one for my own sex tape.

Seriously, folks, I was held at gunpoint by a team of angry trekkies and forced to perform cunnilingus on a crack whore on camera because of comments regarding William Shatner, nipples, whipped cream, and the term "naughty boy."

Michael Appleby Returns!

Oh my god! I almost lost you guys for good. Friday night after I got home from work I booted up my computer and got this strange message about my internet connection saying that I had little or no connectivity to Telus. So naturally that meant I couldn't log onto the internet to do anything. I couldn't check my email. I couldn't update everybody's favorite blog. I could hurl insults at Kevin Federline. I couldn't do anything at all!

After a number of frustrating phone calls placed to Telus technical support I could accomplish nothing with regards to restoring my connection and things were looking bleak because (gasp!) it was beginning to look like an anomalous hardware problem which would require an actual technician to go through my shit. I would have, of course, gone that route and hired a technician to get things running again, but it would have meant waiting until (gasp!) Wednesday since I have a couple of day shifts to plow through at work.

I had all but given up hope.

That's when I remembered that Windows XP comes with System Restore points. God bless you Bill Gates, you are a saint! After a quick restore to the last checkpoint before I had the problems with my connection I found myself back online and downloading porn faster than the speed of sound. Seriously, the porn stars are moving quicker than their moans and groans are heard. Wow!

So, anyway, it's good to be back where I belong. I apologize to anybody who was trying to get in touch with me and could not because of the aforementioned computer problems.

The Roar, since you are naturally asking, was a success. There was so much great poetry to take in and it was difficult to get around to see all the poets whose work I wanted to hear. There was a shitload of poets performing all over the place. My contribution to the whole festival went by quickly and was, by and large, rendered invisible, and rightfully so, by a finale show jam-packed with talent. Sheri-D Wilson was stellar. Ma Fletcher was unforgettable. Mike Gravel was transcendent. Francis Wiley? Well, he was beyond any words that I could possibly use to describe what he did behind the mic. Wow.

I promise, though, that I will post the poem that I performed for the large audience that was on hand at the finale. It's nothing spectacular, but on a less ethereal evening it might have been remembered by somebody.

A Light Bulb Pulse

A light bulb pulse
throbbing in a bedroom
the way a penis might
or a heart
when it’s dark
and lovely
or scary
or both

An epicenter
where the tiny throes
ruffle sheets
marked by the tiniest
seismologists
shouting out
hold on
this is going to get rough

and it does

A light bulb pulse
glowing in a bedroom
the way that skin might
bioluminescent
heaven-sent
and tumble clumsy
into laundry piles
and junk mail
magazine subscription forms
lava lamp wax
red
going from zero to lust
in just…

A kiss
where the lips bloom
bedroom blossoms
and it’s tongue and mash
and fluttering eyes
and
hold on
this is going to get rough

But knowing
when it’s done
it’s cum down
and come down
gentle coos
the way that a bird might
sleeping
or a snore resonates
not meaning anything
but the escape of breath
pacing itself for tomorrow

How I Was Almost Cool For Once

So today I went to one of the local malls to get a haircut at my regular salon. I won't tell you which mall or which hair salon it is because the last time I made that mistake I had fans and random yahoos waiting for me in throngs, literally throngs, that really made mall officials angry at me and subsequently earned me a permanent ban from Milbourne Mall. Damn you, Milbourne!

So, anyway, before I get off on a tangent about Milbourne Mall I should really tell you about this cool thing that I almost did while I was at the mall today.

Did you buy some Jennifer Lopez perfume for a special lady, Michael?

First off, I said "almost did." Secondly, Jennifer Lopez perfume is not cool. Thirdly, fuck you. In fourth place, up the ass. And coming up the rear, so shut up.

But seriously, folks, when I was leaving with my ultra-hotness new haircut I was walking to my car and I was thinking, fuck, is it cold out here.

And that was the cool thing?

Stop interupting.

And as I was getting closer to my car I happened to notice that parked in the vacinity was one of the photo radar vans that the Edmonton Police use. I say, "one of the photo radar vans" because I'm not sure exactly how many of the fucking things our tax dollars have bought, but at any rate, there was one of them parked near my car. Whoever was in charge of it must have been at the mall to buy some film for the camera on the van or getting the film from the camera developed at Black's.

So there I was, face-to-face, with what is perhaps the most loathed vehicle in the entire city.

And you know what?

I wish I had my camera with me. Because immediately I thought how cool it would be to go behind that van and take a photo of its license plate so that I could print it up and make up some childish looking speeding ticket, say made with crayon or something, attach said photo of photo radar van license plate to it and send it the police demanding payment. That would be funny. I actually spent the next 23 minutes in my parked car laughing about how funny that would be. In fact, in the amount of time that I spent laughing about how cool I would be for trying to ticket the police for a change I probably could have driven to my house (speeding naturally since the photo radar van was parked at the mall), got my camera and come back to snap the quintessential photo.

But Michael, the photo radar van saves lives. It prevents people from speeding and when people drive slower fewer accidents happen and fewer pedestrians get run down trying to cross in marked crosswalks.

Wrong! That's what the politicians tell you. Now I'm not expert on photographic technology, but from what I do think I know, there isn't a camera that has been invented yet that can actually physically prevent somebody from speeding in their vehicle. Okay, maybe the police have some sort of super-fancy ultra high tech shit that the normal photographer isn't privy to just yet. Maybe when they snap a picture speeders really do stop dead. I wouldn't know because I don't speed. It seems to me, though, that what the camera on board the photo radar van actually does is take pictures of speeding vehicles, which by my calculations...

...Hold on, folks, let me double check my calculations here because I have made mistakes with my math before...

Nope, it's still telling me that taking pictures of really fast things doesn't make them any slower, it still just gets you a picture that you can mail to them a week later demanding payment on a ticket.

Michael, I've seen it work, though. They took a picture and all the speeders stopped dead in their tracks.

No you haven't. Stop bullshitting me. If they really want them to stop dead they have to pull them over the old fashioned way or, at the very least, open fire on the speeding vehicle, hoping to incapacitate the driver with bullets. Turning the city streets into a strobe light discotheque only makes the speeders look really cool like their car is moving so fast that it has it's own lighting effects, like when you watch some sort of kung-fu movie that has at least one big fist fight happen on a dance floor.

Michael, what do you have against the police?

Nothing. I think that sometimes their finances get put into the wrong areas. Photography, while it's been a financial success for the police, was probably not an area that we needed the police to take care of. Crimefighting, maybe could have used some more money. Aside from that I think the police do a bang up job here in the city and I think, by and large, it's a thankless job due, in large part, to asshats like me spouting off about their cameras.

Seriously, though, I wouldn't actually do shit like that. Or would I?

Also, I mean there are better places, economically speaking to get your film developed other than Black's. Unless you have some sort of bulk discount for the photo radar van you should really look into throwing your business at one of the smaller, non-nationwide, chains. Just imagine how cool it would be to get not only the regular photo of your license plate as it speeds away, but also a few wallet-size, and, maybe, just maybe, a 10x13 of the same shot? I'd hang that sucker up on the wall if I got clocked going over 100 in a 60 zone. Of course the photo wouldn't have stopped me from going over 100 in a 60, but it'd give me some lasting memories. I 'd get it framed and call it "The Day The Police Noticed Me Doing Something Because I'm Cool."

Sorry, I'm just rambling now. Damn you, Milbourne Mall!

As Though You Could Possibly Have Anything Better To Do

The inaugural Roar On 24th is set to take Edmonton by storm this coming Saturday, October 8, 2005.

For those of you who will be in the Edmonton area on Saturday you should definitely make your way down to the 124th street area of the city and check out what dozens of the finest poets in Canada, maybe even the world, have to offer. Events for the festival kick off at 12:30 p.m. and should continue throughout the day and well in Sunday morning, when many of the rowdier poets will finally find their way home in the back of taxi cabs or squad cars. Maybe even jail. Yikes.

If you're wondering what part I have to play in all of this I am named among the ranks of my fellow Raving Poets set to perform at the Raving Poets wind-up party. I just got an email from Thomas Trofimuk with what kind of performance this is shaping up to be and, without spoiling the surprise, I'll go on record as saying I've never read poetry the way that we are going to read poetry that night. It'll be interesting feat of literary prowess.

Now you're probably saying out loud, But Michael, you go on and on about all this shit about poems and poets and people getting arrested or having sex in alleyways and in abandoned shopping carts, but you really having given us any specific itinerary of what's going to happen on Saturday or where, other than a vague description of the 124th Street area. That's why you should really check out The Roar On 24th website for all the details. In case you missed the underlined text, thinking that it was just funny colored, it's a link, dummy, click it and read all the shit that you have to read. The details are all there in plain black and white and I don't have to go through all the hassle of copying and pasting and then worrying if Thomas Trofimuk can sue me for copyright infringement for reposting his written material. I'm a legal hot potato that way.

Also, welcome back Mike Gravel. It's good to have you back in E-Town, where it suddenly returned to it's normal level of coolness. You'd be surprised how uncool this place is when you go out traveling.

And, before I forget, congratulations Jordan on your impending admittance to the Bar.

Fuck, can I pander or can I pander?

Where The Fuck Have You Been Michael?

Okay, so anyway, let me first congratulate Jay and the boys in the Murder City Sparrows for being named Sonic 102.9 radio's Band of the Month. It was one of those things that I could brag about at work when I heard their song "Burn In Water" get airplay. I called some of my cashiers over to have a listen to the radio and I got say, "Hey, I went to school with that guy." Of course, they're replies were more along the lines of, "Yay, aren't you utterly amazing. You went to school with somebody who's doing something with his life. We should nominate you for some sort of asset to humanity award, moron." Well, fuck you too. I did go to school with that guy.

Aside from that I had a headcold these past few days which really sapped me of my energy to the point that I was actually going to bed as soon as I got home from work. So if you've been emailing me or posting messages in the comments boards and I haven't replied that's why. I'm on the mend, though, and I'm almost well enough to start doing shit again.

The highlight of the weekend, though, had to be seeing the Audioslave concert at Rexall Place here in Edmonton. It was a fucking amazing show.

To be honest, I wasn't expecting it to be that great of a show on account of Seether being the opening act. I really don't like Seether very much, but I have to admit they put on an adequate show for the audience that had gathered to hear them play. Seeing Audioslave, though, was stellar.

Their set focused mainly on their hits. But what really wowed the audience, which was near capacity for that venue, were those songs which delved into the catalogue of not only Soundgarden, the band from which Chris Cornell arose, but also Rage Against The Machine, where the rest of the band came from.

The encore was hit after hit, starting with an acoustic solo performance by Cornell on "Black Hole Sun" and ending with the whole band ripping through "Cochise." The height of the encore saw the whole audience joining Cornell in screaming "Fuck you! I won't do what you tell me!" at the end of a spot-on performance of "Killing In The Name!" I attribute screaming "Fuck you! I won't do what you tell me!" to why I was hoarse, almost without voice, yesterday morning when I woke up.

Hearing Tom Morello play guitar on a CD is one thing, and it will leave you saying, "Hey, that guy is a pretty good guitarist." Hearing Tom Morello play live is a complete different beast, and it will leave you saying, "Oh my fucking god, his guitar playing is making my chest implode on itself! Wow!" At one point in the show, Chris Cornell disappeared from the stage to let the rest of the band do an instrumental version of "Bulls On Parade," the Rage Against The Machine song that probably has one of the greatest riffs in all of rock and roll, and although it made me sad that I couldn't hear Rage vocalist Zach De La Rocha's scathing lyrical attack, it did showcase Morello even more prominently and my ears rang for the rest of the night.

Also noteworthy was how the band brought an audience member up on stage with them just so that he could propose to his girlfriend in front of thousands of people. The band allowing an average schlub like that to have the spotlight even for a few seconds shows you what a class act they really are.

Long story short, I hope they come back to E-Town someday because I would love to take that show in again.

So, there you have it, a recap of where the fuck I have been the past few days. Now that the drought, insofar as my posting is concerned, is over we can now return to our regular scheduled programming.

Un-Rated, Extreme, Couldn't Show You This In The Theater Versions!

Coming soon to DVD, see the version of the movie that was too extreme to see in theaters. We're talking unrated, over-the-top footage that we could never slip by the censors. That's why this version is UN-RATED!

Increasiningly, I am getting annoyed with words like these being used to describe upcoming DVD releases. When I first started seeing "Un-Rated" DVD advertisements on television I used to think, Wow, that's going to be hot. There's probably going to people fucking and tits and ass all over the place. They'll probably have to end up selling the movie in a porno shop. But you know what? I watched a few of them and I began to see a fucking pattern. The movies were never really that extreme.

In fact, watching most of the so-called "Un-Rated" versions of the movies I couldn't even figure out why censors wouldn't let them run all the "extreme" footage. At most it would garner a movie an R rating, which really wouldn't put it over the top with the censors. It would just be an R rating. Big fucking deal. But you listen to the advertising and you'd think that it would cause most censors to commit suicide for desensitizing them so much to extreme footage that it would jeopardize their careers.

Now, that's not to say that all "Un-Rated" DVDs don't have some footage that would probably get red-lighted by a censor. What I am saying is that there is a trend now for more and more movies that are, for all intents and purposes, tame to get slapped with the "Un-Rated" label when they're marketing the DVD version just for the appeal of looking like a movie with balls.

Will Hollywood listen to me and stop with the "Un-Rated" hype? No, but I can complain about it here. Unless it has Tara Reid's nipple scar up close and personal it's probably not that extreme that I can't handle seeing it. Seriously, she should apply some foundation to that thing and at least try to make it look natural. Guh!

I'm just saying is all.

At Least We Have That Nipple Problem Under Control

Click here.

Yes, that's right. In the news today is Tara Reid who has now gone on record as saying that she has her "hooters under control" a year after inadvertently flashing a horribly scarred nipple on the red carpet at P Diddy/Puff Diddy/Diddy Puff Puff/Puff Daddy Piff/Pufferino Didderino/or that media mogul's current name is (I'll update as his current name barometer dicatates), anyway, that guy's 35th birthday party last year. First off, I need to hire a new publicist because I sorely need a red carpet and nipples at my next birthday party even if they are horribly scarred like from a Frankenstein movie (the nipples I mean, not the red carpet). Secondly, how the fuck does this even qualify as news? Holy shit! Are we so starved for an actual news story that Tara Reid declaring to the world that she's got her shit taped up and her scar tissue won't be haunting the dreams of prepubescent boys who thought googling "Tara Reid naked boobs" would be the source of all that was cool is actually considered a newsworthy item.

Ronny, stop the presses, quick! Tara Reid is holding a fucking press conference about her Frankentits! What's that you got on the front page? Horrible massacre in the Middle East? Thousands dead in flood ravaged and hurricane battered gulf coast? Fuck that, man! We've got a Pulitzer to rake in with Tara Reid's titties! Quick, get me Laurie Garrett on the horn! We need high calibre talent to cover this, stat! Where's my fucking coffee? This is going to be an all-nighter!

Okay, okay, I acknowledge the fact that showbiz news is showbiz news and in the western culture showbiz news if headline news. But, you better believe it that I can bitch about it.

Here in Edmonton, for example, we currently have in our midst Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie! Oh my fucking god! Everywhere they go in this town it's a fucking circus.

Today, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie were spotted in a Safeway buying groceries. Check out our exclusive footage of the Hollywood mega-couple seeing the best that our fair city has to offer. Still to come: how photographing Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie with a disposable camera could net two teenage girls tens of thousands of dollars from the American media. Later: thousands dead in huge motherfucking hurricane that has wiped out the Gulf Coast and caused gas prices to rise to astronomical heights, time permitting.

Don't get me wrong, our celebrity worship is great. Hooray for celebrities and their tits and their groceries, but, really, are we that deprived of an exciting world that seeing candid photos of the Crocodile Hunter taking a dump on a $13.00 hooker's chest really that noteworthy? Is it any wonder that so many celebrities go on shotgun murder sprees in crowded shopping malls what with all this media scrutiny that they face with every single thing that they do?

I'm not saying that we have to excise all celebrity news from our media, but we should really examine our priorities. Hey, I love a good nipple story just like everybody else, but come on! Every fucking day?

But Michael, aren't you being a bit of a hypocrite? I mean, you blog endlessly about celebrities when you could be focusing your attention on bringing us the real news in the world.

Well, well, aren't you clever? First off, blogging does not equal news. I'm not a newscaster. I just swear a lot. Secondly, this seems to be all the shit I can find. I'm getting all this shit second hand. If there was more critical news in my reading diet I would write more about critical news and I would find an amusing way to incorporate nipples into it because I don't think we could cut nipples out of our diet cold turkey and I care about the habits of my readers.

Also, Hugh Hefner, you're offering Tara Reid millions to pose nude for Playboy? What the fuck? Did you see the frankentits? Nothing against fake boobs, but you're going to need a bigger Photoshop to smooth those nipples out.

Relegated to the back page? Tom Delay indicted. But at least we have nipple problem under control.

"Reality" Television Part 2

So, okay, there is more that I wanted to say about this bullshit.

I mean can you picture the producers of the reality show in question talking to the families.




Okay, punk family...

We're not punks.

For our show you are. Just act really punk. I mean people have to know that you're the epitome of punk. Say, how would you feel about Junior getting a mohawk and cussing out Jesus a little bit. Our research has shown that people who wear mohawks and cuss out Jesus a little are definitely more punk than just being an aver 10-year-old boy.

But I love Jesus and my friends will laugh at me if I get a mohawk.

Look, we need a punk rock family, are you in or not? There are literally thousands of families who would jump at the opportunity that I am now just placing right in your lap. So you have to cuss out Jesus a little and look kind of silly, big deal. Wouldn't it all be worth it if, say, we gave you jet-skis?

But we don't even live near a lake and I hate the water.

That's great! So I'll just need you to sign here and we'll put you on t.v. just as soon as our image consultant is happy with the punk rock look you're totally going to pull off!

But my favorite is Lawrence Welk; he's not punk rock.

Shut it, kid! Just do this little bitty thing for us and you'll get your very own jet-ski.




But now imagine if they had tried that same shit with a true punk rock god.

Network Executive Type:
So, punk rock family...

Iggy Pop:
We're not "punk rock family". We're family and I'll fucking drink soup out of your fucking skull you shit-stain corporate weasel if you try to fuck with us.

Netword Executive Type
Mr. Pop, we would never dream of "fucking" with you. We just want to make sure that you're up-to-snuff on what we need from you and your family to make our wife-swapping reality based show the best show that it can be.

Iggy Pop lunges across the table and crushes Network Executive Type with his abs.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that the network executive types picked for this show what appears to be the most docile family of punks I've ever seen. It's like a friendly, more conformist breed of punk. And that's what makes no sense. How can something be its own antithesis?

Hi, we're the punk family. We've brought you a lovely bouquet of wild flowers and a gift basket filled with jams and jellies from around the world. We hope you love living in our neighborhood. Be sure to watch for us on network television this fall. We're participating in a reality based television show in which we swap wives with a clean-cut family. It promises to be wacky. And we love wacky because we're a wacky bunch of punks rockers, aren't we kids?

YAY!

Bah! They should have put me on the wife-swapping show. Of course, I don't have a wife, but I would make everybody in my surrogate family sit around and bitch about all the shit that they are powerless to change. It promises to be the most depressing, profanity laden fucking show on television. Come on, fuckers, give a guy a chance!

"Reality" Television

So, tonight, I was flipping through the channels on cable just to kill some time before I hit the gym (I'm a late night athlete, don't you know) and I found a reality television show that caught my eye. Basically, it was one of those shows where two households swap wives just to see what kind of wacky mayhem will ensue. This particular episode was one of those ones that really looks for contrast between the two families. One family was the clean-cut, baseball loving loving family and the other one was supposed to be the prototypical punk rock family who live in what appears to be Satan's den. Of course, you just know there's going to be some wackiness ensuing on this shit.

Sadly, I was only able to stomach watching the fucking show for about 10 minutes before it irritated me so much that I had to turn it off. But then I began to think about it a little. Something was definitely bothering me about what I had just seen.

The 10 minutes or so that I watched revolved around the mothers laying down the rules for their new surrogate families. Naturally, the punk mother was bent on getting the clean-cut family to cast of the shackles of conformity and told them that they would be attending a punk rock concert. And, of course, the clean-cut mother told all the punk rockers that they would clean up their act and that junior would have to get rid of his mohawk and black clothes so that he could go to a batting cage and practice his baseball technique. This was totally fucking wacky.

But you know what it was that was bothering me about all this shit? I could not think of any punk rock loving family that would put forth the effort to appear on a reality television show. And not only that, but I don't really know of any punk rock families. That is to say that I know of people who are into punk music, but you don't really see whole families embodying the punk ethos. It seemed kind of surreal. It didn't seem to make sense.

So I began to wonder, then, if, in fact, any of this show was real. Oh sure, they call it reality television and they do all that candid interview shit, but could it really be scripted and performed by paid actors? Of course it can. I would have an easier time believing a script with a punk rock family who would conform enough to want to appear on a major network reality television show than a reality where punk families are clamoring over themselves to appear on network t.v. Doesn't that seem odd to you, too?

Fuck. And the worst part of all of this is that here I am expounding on a fucking t.v. show that I don't even like just because it bugs the shit out of me how stereotypical the people participating it all seemed to be.

But Michael, sometimes the stereotypes are true. There are, in fact, punk families and there are probably punk families who would love nothing more than to be on a wife-swapping television show just so that they can be wacky for the whole nation.

Now I don't claim to be some hardcore punk. If you saw me you'd probably swear that I was exact opposite of a punk. So it kind of bothers me that I would profess to know anything about what the punk rock ethos is. But I was always under the impression that punk was about non-conformity. It was about being the counter-culture.

I'm not sure how appearing on a reality television show helps punks, but more power to them.

Interrogating Brodie...An In Depth Interview With Canada's Sweetheart

Recently, while on a bender in Tijuana I had chance to catch up with Canada's Sweetheart, Brodie Millar. I thought that, as per my promises in the comments, it would behoof me to follow through and provide you, my readers, with the world's first interview with this enigmatic character who had the unique sense of vision to donate 13 dozen boxes of Always Extra Absorbent to the relief efforts in New Orleans. What follows is a shocking dialogue not for the faint of heart.

Michael:
Okay, then. So for the record, what is your name?
Brodie:
Brodie "Sexy Beast" Millar
Michael:
Very nice. So how did you come by the nickname "Sexy Beast" or is it more of a very progressive middle name given to you by your parents?
Brodie:
No, no. My parents would never give me the name "Sexy Beast" - that's just wrong! It was a name given to me by my previous girlfriend Lucia, a 48 year old crack-whore from 97th Street... ahh I miss being 14.
Michael:
Lucia? From 97th Street? I dated her when I was 15! Wow, what a small world this is! To think, all those times that she said she was going to take her "Sexy Beast" for a walk I thought she was talking about her dog and I would say, "Okay then, see ya!" Wow.
Brodie:
Wow, really? I never knew that.
Michael:
Did you ever meet Fernando? That was her pimp for a while? He used to smack her around with ruler for a while.
Brodie:
Ah yes, I met Fernando... what a crazy fellow he was (and still is).
Michael:
So, do you have a personal motto that you live by?
Brodie:
No motto really... I just try to live each day as it comes, always striving to be my personal best and as always keep my genital herpes under control... Damn B-Day present from Lucia! I thought it was cologne!
Michael:
Does it itch?
Brodie:
Only on the first Tuesday of every other month... Other then that it's great!
Michael:
Lovely. Do you have any favorite authors or artists to recommend to your fans out there?
Brodie:
I don't support art or so-called "artists". They are too free-thinking for my liking - propelling the expansion of communism in our society!
Michael:
Those damn communists! So do you have any words of advice for, say, a 12-year-old indonesian boy with dreams of porno movie stardom?
Brodie:
My advice is: Viagra, Viagra, Viagra! Nothing better to keep a young man "going" if you know what I mean... I know from experience.
Michael:
Perfect. I'll let Ping Lau know what you said. So, some of the sexy women readers out there have been dying to know....baked or mashed potatoes?
Brodie:
Mashed, definetly mashed... Much better to use as a lubricant in the love-making process. The baked potato just gets in the way and causes "slippage". But I must say, those bacon bits on the baked potato are something that everyone must experience at least once while fornicating with their respective loved one
Brodie:
mmm... I'm starting to get hungry and turned on... Strange how a mashed potato conversation can do that to someone
Michael:
I'm sure the female readers appreciate it greatly. So do you have any final bit of wisdom to impart on the readers before I wrap this up?
Brodie:
Live long, laugh often and learn to respect the potato!
Michael:
Excellent...thank you very much

Sexiness And Fast Food Commercials Do Not Compute

In the news today was this. Click here. Oh, for fuck's sake, it's just a little tiny article about an ad campaign in Japan for McDonald's restaurants designed to be sexy. I swear, some of you people too fucking lazy to keep breathing sometimes. For those of you who actually took the time to read the article, thank you, for letting me save some time and space by not making me recap it all for you.

So there you have it, McDonald's is launching a new sexy ad campaign in Japan. I'm not entirely sure how you people think about it.

Michael, a hot chick in a dress made to look like Ronald McDonald's iconic costume is still a hot chick. She can dip my Man McNuggets any day.


It's called pornography, people, it's all over the fucking place on the internet. If you're that hard up for some sexy women, many of who don't wear even a single stitch of clothing, look that shit up. It's so depressing seeing people turning to McDonald's commercials for titillation. I mean, seriously, there's not really much that can appear in a commercial that could possibly provide that much stimulation, erotic or otherwise.

Not only that, but consider the possibility that if it comes from McDonald's it's probably swimming in grease, making you obese, and giving you heart disease. Chew on that while you try to ogle the sexy woman in the ad. If you think hard enough you might just hear her arteries clogging. How's that for sexy?

And no matter what, all this seems like some sort of response to a Burger King ad that featured Paris Hilton fellating a Whopper, or, at the very least, dry humping it. She sure as fuck wasn't eating it because I've snapped into Slim Jims with more meat than her. It's kind of like an arms race between burger superpowers. What I don't understand is why the fuck would McDonald's even break a sweat trying to one-up a commercial featuring Paris Hilton. News flash world: Paris Hilton is a media whore and nothing she does is worth batting an eye at unless it's finally to eat a damn sandwich already.

But Michael, Paris Hilton only wants to spread joy to the world through her lovable antics and free spirit.

Shut up. It's people like you who allowed this media monster to become as big as she is. And now we have every fucking greasy ass burger joint paying homage to her bullshit with ad campaigns that have nothing the fuck to do with food. If you really want to impress me, you fucking burger magnates, why not start by paying your acne scarred front line workers a bigger piece of the profits and research better food preparation techniques so that your clientele doesn't have to die young to enjoy your "food"?

It's great to see that the money is being earmarked just right with these greedy assholes.

The Bottom Ten, September, 2005

Here at Michael Appleby Technologies Inc. we are always looking for new and exciting ways to indoctrinate you, the masses. Tonight we present to you the first of what we hope will be many top ten lists. This list, however, is the bottom ten. The bottom ten what? Who the fuck knows. So sit back and enjoy the best of the worst.

10.) Signing one's name with an 'X'- I've come to the conclusion that there is good pretentiousness and bad pretentiousness. Signing your name with an 'X' falls into the latter category because it's been done before and probably by better people. This does not apply, however, if your name is Xavier, Xerxes, or Malcolm X.

9.) Neckbeards- See also: titbeards. I mean, seriously, it ceases to be considered facial hair if it's only sprouting out of your neck and/or man-breast.

8.) Answering machine messages that go "Hello?"- It was funny the first 3000 times this was done by clever assholes everywhere. Now it's time to move on.

7.) Wazzzzzzzzzup- Conversely, this is a fad that died altogether too quickly and I could easily listen to this another 3000 times before I might begin to think You know, maybe it's just not that funny anymore. We really need to bring this one back for an encore.

6.) Rock Star: INXS- Although it's great to see a Canadian guy winning the competition there's a part of me that gets the heebie-jeebies thinking that if Michael Hutchence wouldn't have committed suicide there would have been no justification for the competition in the first place. What's next? Renaissance Man: Leonardo, the reality t.v. show in which we, the audience, decide who gets to pick up where the late great Leonardo da Vinci left off when he kicked the bucket? You see? You can't just have a television audience pick some random fool to take the place of an artist. Once the artist is gone he/she is gone. That's it. It scares me to think that someday after ol' Michael Appleby suffocates while performing cunnilingus for 17 hours straight in a futile attempt at setting a world record some asshole is just going to take over my blog and write bottom ten lists of his own and they'll probably suck ass. Fuck. I've got to make plans to live forever.

5.) Ashlee Simpson- See also: titbeard. It ceases to be considered a singer when it's caught mid-lip-synch.

4.) Hand soap in public washrooms that is dispensed pre-lathered- I can't help but wonder about who is standing on some assembly line in a factory somewhere lathering soap up on his hands, scraping it off with a butterknife into a baggy, and then shipping it off so it can be placed in soap dispensers in public washrooms everywhere. One day somebody is going to find pubic hair in that pre-lathered soap and I'm going to seriously consider giving up the practice of washing my hands entirely.

3.) The television commercial advertising the genital herpes perfume- Okay, this one is obscure, but you can google a combination of the words genital, herpes, commercial, perfume, and bottle together to find a more in depth description of the commercial. Basically, though, some woman gets a romantic gift from her lover and it would appear to be a nice bottle of perfume until you see the label reads "Genital Herpes." First off: Worst Gift Ever! Secondly: The Genital Herpes fragrance would probably enjoy brisker sales if Britney Spears actually made an appearance in the damn commercial. Genital Herpes is one of her products, isn't it?

2.) Remakes- It seems like 67% of major box office releases these days are remakes of older movies. Only 12% of those remakes are actually tolerable. Of those 12% maybe 2 are movies that won't drive you running right up to the big screen and pissing on it out of spite. I swear, Hollywood, give me a million dollars and I'll deliver to you a memorable script about a man who finds forbidden love with conjoined kangaroos. I'll even write a part in it for that delightful scamp Andy Dick; he loves to appear in just about anything.

1.) Nascar- Yeah, okay. I get it, you guys love turning left so much you made a whole sport built around it. You never really get to appreciate just how densely populated (double entendre intended) the south really is until you watch a Nascar race on t.v.