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

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

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

Guh!

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

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

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

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

She'll fuck in a porta-potty.

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

Guh!

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

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

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

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

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

The Quest For A More Manly Michael Jackson

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

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

You know what?

Good for him. Good for Michael.

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

Wait a minute...

Wigs?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck with the shorter wigs, though.

Happy 2000th Pageload Massive Missives!

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

This Is How It All Went Down

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

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

Meh. I remember what I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a perfect weekend.

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

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

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

Leave A Message After The Beep

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

BEEP!

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

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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.