Gnawing My Way To Freedom
If I had known back then what I know now
I would have double-bagged it with you,
triple-bagged it with you,
sealed the base off with a length of duct tape
from my department of homeland security home starter kit,
established a thirty-foot perimeter of razor wire,
anti-personnel mines,
guard dogs
and short-tempered security guards,
who, in essence, would just be paid to deploy tasers first,
ask questions later.
I would have thrown it in a safe,
hid the safe in a concrete bunker
buried down deep with Jimmy Hoffa bones
and any shred of dignity that I had left.
I would have crossed my fingers,
kissed a mangy rabbit’s foot,
swore to a higher power,
become the devoutest of Catholic sodomites,
praying for you to not breathe on me so much
while we made love
the way zoo animals do or
PCP-crazed chocoholics might,
me, doubled-over, in a pool of my own sweat,
you in your leather harness
and monogrammed rubber gloves.
I would have lopped it off with rusty pinking shears
and made confetti of it with an angry wood chipper
and closed eyes.
Something.
Anything.
There’s a reason why the surgeon general warns against huffing paint thinner with maneaters.
And, trying not to wake you as I escape into the morning,
wondering what my shoulder tastes like
and if I will ever actually need my left arm again.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
An Email That I Should Share With You
Today I received an email from the grand poobahs of the Raving Poets that I feel I should share with you, gentle readers in case you were interested in making a trip down to the Kasbar to see twenty kick-ass poets duke it out for a chance to win $300.00 in Canadian money, which, by my calculations, is enough for 7 good lap-dances or approximately 150 really, really shitty lap-dances (not including medical charges for a broken lap and/or emotional trauma). Here's the email...
First, the Raving Poets invented the "Cheap Scottish Bastard Poetry Award".
Then there was the "Golden Fez Poetry Prize", recently awarded in Edmonton, Canada.
Topping those amazing prizes in one fell swoop, and upping the ante to poetry crews everywhere, the Raving Poets are proud to announce "THE RAVING POETS ROYAL FEZ POETRY PRIZE".
Not content to close our spring series with a pathetic, despondent whimper, The Raving Poets (a notorious, financially unstable organization) are giving away 300 clams to one poet. You read that right. And we're not kidding.
Interested? Here's how this cash prize deal is going to work:
The Raving Poets highly successful spring reading series, Rock the Kasbar, comes to a close on Wednesday, April 26, 2006. On that night, we give away 300 big ones to the "best" poet of the evening as voted by our celebrity judge panel.
Simple you say? Not so fast. JUST TO MAKE THINGS EXTRA INTERESTING, we've thrown a little curveball into the mix.
Each Raving performance consists of a 20-reader open mic with readers placed on the performance list on a first-come, first-served basis. At the end of EACH Raving Poets performance in April (April 5, 12, 19), the Raving audience will vote for their favorite poets. The top TWO poets from each Wednesday evening in April will automatically advance to the FINAL EVENT on Wednesday, April 26th, 2006. Those six lucky poets will have "performance priority" on the final night (i.e. – they get to choose where they are placed on the performance schedule). The remaining spots will be filled on a lottery draw basis. And at the end, our "Celebrity" judging panel decides who walks away with the 300 bucks.
Where does all this happen?
The Raving Poets Experience
Open mic spoken word/poetry
Yianni's Taverna – Downstairs Lounge
10444 – 82 Avenue, Edmonton.
8:00 signup; show @ 8:30.
20 readers only; no cover.
Bring your friends. See you there.
First, the Raving Poets invented the "Cheap Scottish Bastard Poetry Award".
Then there was the "Golden Fez Poetry Prize", recently awarded in Edmonton, Canada.
Topping those amazing prizes in one fell swoop, and upping the ante to poetry crews everywhere, the Raving Poets are proud to announce "THE RAVING POETS ROYAL FEZ POETRY PRIZE".
Not content to close our spring series with a pathetic, despondent whimper, The Raving Poets (a notorious, financially unstable organization) are giving away 300 clams to one poet. You read that right. And we're not kidding.
Interested? Here's how this cash prize deal is going to work:
The Raving Poets highly successful spring reading series, Rock the Kasbar, comes to a close on Wednesday, April 26, 2006. On that night, we give away 300 big ones to the "best" poet of the evening as voted by our celebrity judge panel.
Simple you say? Not so fast. JUST TO MAKE THINGS EXTRA INTERESTING, we've thrown a little curveball into the mix.
Each Raving performance consists of a 20-reader open mic with readers placed on the performance list on a first-come, first-served basis. At the end of EACH Raving Poets performance in April (April 5, 12, 19), the Raving audience will vote for their favorite poets. The top TWO poets from each Wednesday evening in April will automatically advance to the FINAL EVENT on Wednesday, April 26th, 2006. Those six lucky poets will have "performance priority" on the final night (i.e. – they get to choose where they are placed on the performance schedule). The remaining spots will be filled on a lottery draw basis. And at the end, our "Celebrity" judging panel decides who walks away with the 300 bucks.
Where does all this happen?
The Raving Poets Experience
Open mic spoken word/poetry
Yianni's Taverna – Downstairs Lounge
10444 – 82 Avenue, Edmonton.
8:00 signup; show @ 8:30.
20 readers only; no cover.
Bring your friends. See you there.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
Something To Watch
For those of you who appreciate a little synchronicity in your lives, you may want to keep your eyes open for this unique chronological event that will be happening in just a matter of hours.
At two minutes and three seconds past 1:00 a.m., Wednesday, April 5, the time will be:
01:02:03 04/05/06
But you have to appreciate it really quickly because it will be over in just a second.
At two minutes and three seconds past 1:00 a.m., Wednesday, April 5, the time will be:
01:02:03 04/05/06
But you have to appreciate it really quickly because it will be over in just a second.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Stay Away From My Daughter!
Click here.
While browsing on Fark today I found this amusing little story about Basic Instinct 2's own Sharon Stone.
While shopping in Britain one day Sharon Stone happened upon a young girl trying clothes on with her mother. The girl was trying on some rather provocative outfits and her mother was visibly apprehensive of the message such outfits might send about her daughter. Anyway, the mother stepped away for a few moments and Sharon Stone, being the superhero that she is, took it upon herself to approach the young girl and talk to her about sex, advising her to just dispense with blow jobs if she wasn't comfortable having sex yet at that stage in her life.
Now, I admit, I've never been to Britain. I'm sure that in the streets of London it's perfectly normal for 48-year-old milfs to approach complete strangers and just talk about sex. I guess that's what makes Europe so damned progressive. Bam, you're walking down the street one day and some strange woman approaches you to ask if she can shove a dildo up your ass and hang her hat off of it. Those crazy Europeans! Here in Canada we're just a tad on the more conservative side when it comes to talking about sex with total strangers. If I approached a young girl and told her that giving out blow jobs is definitely the way to go in life I'd be updating this blog from jail.
I think that the lesson here is that if you see any sexpot celebrity approach your daughter you should probably just mace him/her first and ask questions later because before you know it you're daughter will just blow some guy who's just walking by. Sure, she might be more popular with the guys who are walking by, but think of her breath at the very least. Is it really in your breath mint budget to have a blow job happy daughter?
Now the other thing that I was drawn to in this article is a comment that Sharon Stone makes about Sienna Miller possibly stepping into the role of Catherine Tramell, Sharon Stone's role in the first two Basic Instinct movies, for a possible third installation of the series. In essence, Stone says that Sienna Miller isn't even woman enough to get sodomized by Catherine Tramell let alone play her in a movie, or words to that effect. Notice I didn't use quotation marks in case you're planning on suing me for libel. In actuality, she called Miller a "silly girl" and incapable of handling a character like Catherine Tramell.
What gets me about that statement is that Basic Instinct and Basic Instinct 2 are not movies that are going to be regarded as classics years from now. Sorry to say it. Ask yourself, if the producers of the series were to remove all the nudity would the movies be as successful with audiences? If you answered yes to such a question, get yourself sterilized because you owe it to the human standards for generations to come. Oh sure, Basic Instinct had that famous scene in which we see Sharon Stone's cooch in an interrogation, but can anybody tell me what the hell happened in the plot? No? That's because the whole movie was built around the crotch shot.
So to say that Sienna Miller is incapable of handling a character like Catherine Tramell stupid. It's the equivalent of saying that she's not able to flash her cooch or her rack in a movie that will ultimately wallow in mediocrity with or without copious nudity.
You know, and maybe I'm wrong about the Basic Instinct series. I just didn't think that the first one was that good to warrant a sequel. Given that I just don't think that a sequel to a movie could be so good that it would warrant a third movie. Which means I could very well be wrong here since the sequel is about to be released and now there's talk of making a third one. If I'm wrong I apologize and I welcome you to defend your beloved movie in the comments section.
While browsing on Fark today I found this amusing little story about Basic Instinct 2's own Sharon Stone.
While shopping in Britain one day Sharon Stone happened upon a young girl trying clothes on with her mother. The girl was trying on some rather provocative outfits and her mother was visibly apprehensive of the message such outfits might send about her daughter. Anyway, the mother stepped away for a few moments and Sharon Stone, being the superhero that she is, took it upon herself to approach the young girl and talk to her about sex, advising her to just dispense with blow jobs if she wasn't comfortable having sex yet at that stage in her life.
Now, I admit, I've never been to Britain. I'm sure that in the streets of London it's perfectly normal for 48-year-old milfs to approach complete strangers and just talk about sex. I guess that's what makes Europe so damned progressive. Bam, you're walking down the street one day and some strange woman approaches you to ask if she can shove a dildo up your ass and hang her hat off of it. Those crazy Europeans! Here in Canada we're just a tad on the more conservative side when it comes to talking about sex with total strangers. If I approached a young girl and told her that giving out blow jobs is definitely the way to go in life I'd be updating this blog from jail.
I think that the lesson here is that if you see any sexpot celebrity approach your daughter you should probably just mace him/her first and ask questions later because before you know it you're daughter will just blow some guy who's just walking by. Sure, she might be more popular with the guys who are walking by, but think of her breath at the very least. Is it really in your breath mint budget to have a blow job happy daughter?
Now the other thing that I was drawn to in this article is a comment that Sharon Stone makes about Sienna Miller possibly stepping into the role of Catherine Tramell, Sharon Stone's role in the first two Basic Instinct movies, for a possible third installation of the series. In essence, Stone says that Sienna Miller isn't even woman enough to get sodomized by Catherine Tramell let alone play her in a movie, or words to that effect. Notice I didn't use quotation marks in case you're planning on suing me for libel. In actuality, she called Miller a "silly girl" and incapable of handling a character like Catherine Tramell.
What gets me about that statement is that Basic Instinct and Basic Instinct 2 are not movies that are going to be regarded as classics years from now. Sorry to say it. Ask yourself, if the producers of the series were to remove all the nudity would the movies be as successful with audiences? If you answered yes to such a question, get yourself sterilized because you owe it to the human standards for generations to come. Oh sure, Basic Instinct had that famous scene in which we see Sharon Stone's cooch in an interrogation, but can anybody tell me what the hell happened in the plot? No? That's because the whole movie was built around the crotch shot.
So to say that Sienna Miller is incapable of handling a character like Catherine Tramell stupid. It's the equivalent of saying that she's not able to flash her cooch or her rack in a movie that will ultimately wallow in mediocrity with or without copious nudity.
You know, and maybe I'm wrong about the Basic Instinct series. I just didn't think that the first one was that good to warrant a sequel. Given that I just don't think that a sequel to a movie could be so good that it would warrant a third movie. Which means I could very well be wrong here since the sequel is about to be released and now there's talk of making a third one. If I'm wrong I apologize and I welcome you to defend your beloved movie in the comments section.
Monday, March 27, 2006
The Bottom Ten, March 2006
10.) National Holidays That Just Don't Seem Right- Click here. Terri Schiavo Day? Ahhhh, nothing will make the members of the public stand up against euthanasia than a national holiday. Why is it that when special interest groups want to promote awareness of their cause the plan of attack they seem to always come up with is to petition for a national holiday? Newsflash special interest groups: national holidays are viewed by most of the working class as another day off for drinking and partying and not having to go to work. If you want people to believe in what you believe in petition the government to take away a Saturday as a day off and make it a work day until people start voicing their support of your cause. I guarantee that they'll all be on board after year one of that fiasco.
9.) Competitive Eating- Click here. Okay, I'll admit there is a sort of mild fascination I have with watching gluttony at it's most professional level. But do you ever think when you're watching these guys dunk hot dogs in water and eat, like, 40 or so of them in one sitting, Hey, I wonder if they ever broadcast these eating contests in those countries where Sally Struthers goes?
8.) Those Anti-Piracy Public Service Announcements They Show Before Movies- Okay, sure, it's cool and noble that the major film production companies want to protect their profit lines with brilliant PSA's with awe-inspiring informative missives like "Stealing is illegal." But one obvious thing that those PSA's fail to address is the coolness factor associated with being a pirate. Because if illegally duplicating those intellectual properties is piracy, the people who perform such deeds are pirates. They need to make PSA's that let the public know that pirates aren't cool, but everybody knows that's just a flat-out lie.
7.) Ty Pennington- He's the host of ABC's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and he is quite possibly the most obnoxiously enthusiastic person on television. Which is odd because pretty much every family that gets a makeover for their home is some sort of tv-movie-of-the-week tragedy. I think the guy is doing some sort of drug behind the scenes to make him that hyper.
6.) Larry The Cable Guy- A source of pride in my life up to this point has been the fact that I have not been familiar with the work of Larry The Cable Guy. People would come up to me at parties and such and ask, "Hey Michael, did you see that Larry The Cable Guy in concert DVD yet?" To which I would reply, "No. No I did not." Now I still haven't seen that hillbilly comedy DVD yet (another source of pride in my life), but now I have been made somewhat more familiar with the work of Larry The Cable Guy because now he is appearing in a movie named for him! So much for my sources of pride. I used to be able to say, "I don't know who Larry The Cable Guy is, but he sounds like a flash-in-pan lowering of comedic standards if ever one existed." Now, though, I have to say, "I know who Larry The Cable Guy is. He's that flash-in-the-pan lowering of comedic standards that now has his own movie." Why is this so bad, you ask? Now I have to change my business cards.
5.) People Who Park In Fire Lanes- Lazy people in general piss me the fuck off, but I hate people who somehow justify to themselves, and to the world, that they're not lazy; they're just parking in the fire lane because they only have to be inside a given building for five minutes, tops. Ladies and gentlemen, five minutes is never five minutes and parking in the fire lane when there are perfectly good parking spaces that wouldn't block a fire truck trying to get through in an emergency like 10 feet further back from where you parked makes you an inconsiderate, lazy douchebag.
4.) Exploiting Hard Luck Cases For Ratings- Yeah Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, I'm looking at you.
3.) The Opening Of The First Upscale Walmart Store- Wrapping a turd with tin foil doesn't make it candy. If you haven't heard, they've opened a Walmart store in Texas where they serve Sushi and have a selection of fine wines, high end electronics, etc. etc. If there's one thing that I know about rich people it's that they would absolutely love to be able to say they were caught shopping at Walmart. I think that if your niche is a cesspool of savings then you should just stick to what you know instead of trying to dress it up by serving sushi. I think that Walmart has bigger fish to fry right now than trying to find a way to appeal to the upper class.
2.) Nude Photos Of Britney Spears Being Bought By An Online Casino- Click here. In a shocking bit of news, nude photos of Britney Spears not only exist, but they've been bought by an online casino. Now the whole world could potentially see the last remaining 3.7 square inches of her body that haven't appeared in photographs made public yet. What I don't get is why she's so angry about the matter. She been pretty much nude in half the stuff she's appeared in, so what the fuck is left to show that would come as some sort of surprise to people? A nipple? Gasp! Oh god! No! If the public saw Britney's nipple the whole perception of her being an overhyped skank would be tarnished!
1.) Ineffectuality- Do you know that the guy whom Dick Cheney shot in the face with birdshot from a fucking shotgun did as the result of the now infamous incident? He apologized to the vice president. That's what he did. There, that ought to show him. Sir, anybody who apologizes for getting shot should just surrender his testicles because clearly they're only there for decoration.
9.) Competitive Eating- Click here. Okay, I'll admit there is a sort of mild fascination I have with watching gluttony at it's most professional level. But do you ever think when you're watching these guys dunk hot dogs in water and eat, like, 40 or so of them in one sitting, Hey, I wonder if they ever broadcast these eating contests in those countries where Sally Struthers goes?
8.) Those Anti-Piracy Public Service Announcements They Show Before Movies- Okay, sure, it's cool and noble that the major film production companies want to protect their profit lines with brilliant PSA's with awe-inspiring informative missives like "Stealing is illegal." But one obvious thing that those PSA's fail to address is the coolness factor associated with being a pirate. Because if illegally duplicating those intellectual properties is piracy, the people who perform such deeds are pirates. They need to make PSA's that let the public know that pirates aren't cool, but everybody knows that's just a flat-out lie.
7.) Ty Pennington- He's the host of ABC's Extreme Makeover: Home Edition and he is quite possibly the most obnoxiously enthusiastic person on television. Which is odd because pretty much every family that gets a makeover for their home is some sort of tv-movie-of-the-week tragedy. I think the guy is doing some sort of drug behind the scenes to make him that hyper.
6.) Larry The Cable Guy- A source of pride in my life up to this point has been the fact that I have not been familiar with the work of Larry The Cable Guy. People would come up to me at parties and such and ask, "Hey Michael, did you see that Larry The Cable Guy in concert DVD yet?" To which I would reply, "No. No I did not." Now I still haven't seen that hillbilly comedy DVD yet (another source of pride in my life), but now I have been made somewhat more familiar with the work of Larry The Cable Guy because now he is appearing in a movie named for him! So much for my sources of pride. I used to be able to say, "I don't know who Larry The Cable Guy is, but he sounds like a flash-in-pan lowering of comedic standards if ever one existed." Now, though, I have to say, "I know who Larry The Cable Guy is. He's that flash-in-the-pan lowering of comedic standards that now has his own movie." Why is this so bad, you ask? Now I have to change my business cards.
5.) People Who Park In Fire Lanes- Lazy people in general piss me the fuck off, but I hate people who somehow justify to themselves, and to the world, that they're not lazy; they're just parking in the fire lane because they only have to be inside a given building for five minutes, tops. Ladies and gentlemen, five minutes is never five minutes and parking in the fire lane when there are perfectly good parking spaces that wouldn't block a fire truck trying to get through in an emergency like 10 feet further back from where you parked makes you an inconsiderate, lazy douchebag.
4.) Exploiting Hard Luck Cases For Ratings- Yeah Extreme Makeover: Home Edition, I'm looking at you.
3.) The Opening Of The First Upscale Walmart Store- Wrapping a turd with tin foil doesn't make it candy. If you haven't heard, they've opened a Walmart store in Texas where they serve Sushi and have a selection of fine wines, high end electronics, etc. etc. If there's one thing that I know about rich people it's that they would absolutely love to be able to say they were caught shopping at Walmart. I think that if your niche is a cesspool of savings then you should just stick to what you know instead of trying to dress it up by serving sushi. I think that Walmart has bigger fish to fry right now than trying to find a way to appeal to the upper class.
2.) Nude Photos Of Britney Spears Being Bought By An Online Casino- Click here. In a shocking bit of news, nude photos of Britney Spears not only exist, but they've been bought by an online casino. Now the whole world could potentially see the last remaining 3.7 square inches of her body that haven't appeared in photographs made public yet. What I don't get is why she's so angry about the matter. She been pretty much nude in half the stuff she's appeared in, so what the fuck is left to show that would come as some sort of surprise to people? A nipple? Gasp! Oh god! No! If the public saw Britney's nipple the whole perception of her being an overhyped skank would be tarnished!
1.) Ineffectuality- Do you know that the guy whom Dick Cheney shot in the face with birdshot from a fucking shotgun did as the result of the now infamous incident? He apologized to the vice president. That's what he did. There, that ought to show him. Sir, anybody who apologizes for getting shot should just surrender his testicles because clearly they're only there for decoration.
Monday, March 20, 2006
Hug A Rich Person Day
Cynicism today is so easy. I mean it's easy to be cynical. It's especially easy for me to be cynical of rich people. Why? Because there are so many rich people who are bent on becoming richer. It's no secret that there are greedy rich people. What does seem to be a secret, though, are those rich people who are actually taking measures, throwing their money around and what not, in a manner that benefits not just themselves, but the people around them, the less fortunate, the people of the world.
Click here.
Reading this story actually made me feel good. It's nice to be proven wrong about your cynicism sometimes. I just thought I would throw that link at you. Next time you see a rich person being nice to somebody go on and give him/her a big hug because their income bracket is all-too-often misunderstood.
Click here.
Reading this story actually made me feel good. It's nice to be proven wrong about your cynicism sometimes. I just thought I would throw that link at you. Next time you see a rich person being nice to somebody go on and give him/her a big hug because their income bracket is all-too-often misunderstood.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Roll Call or: Why I Never Went To Many Parties In New Sarepta
Here's the poem that I used to wrap up the Raving Poets show on March 15. It was one that was constructed largely on my lunch break at work that day. It's sort of list poem I guess you could say. This is just a collection of hyperboles of redneck archetypes that I suppose you could say exist, although not so exaggerated as they are here, in many of the small prairie towns in Canada. It also gave me a chance to name drop my old home town of New Sarepta and although it's a poem that probably paints a rather negative view of New Sareptians (?), it was a great place for me to grow up and I wouldn't have changed it for the world. Still wouldn't. New Sarepta, don't you ever change. Ever.
Also I apologize for the formatting here. The lines should be broken in a sort of hanging paragraph format, which is hard to render in HTML.
And remember, none of these people actually exist. I just wanted to work with caricatures of character types I saw around me.
Roll Call
or:
Why I Never Went To Many Parties In New Sarepta
irradiated spermbag walking hard-ons following the weatherveins [sic] in their cocks in
winds of perfume and feminine hygiene products.
slopey foreheads, hairy dragging knuckles who call their lovers "bitch," "slut," or "sugartits."
5'6 mall creatures made 6'3 by baby blue lycra push-up bras, whale-tails indignant at you for staring at their breasts even when their nipples are poking you in the eyes.
militant homophobic single helix primates, lower echelon bottom feeders, testosterone bulls who call their friends "dude," "dudester," and "dudeness." Conversely referring to strangers and enemies as "fag," "faggot," or "cocksucker." Nary a shade of grey to be found.
greased mullets who spit when they talk.
razor-knuckled STD banks in their budweiser thread bare halter tops, masks of near-clown make-up and running open sores threatening to extinguish their home-rolled cigarettes on your forehead for even suggesting you have no desire to have sex with them.
mouths full of chipped chiclets looking for a fight, looking to score, knowing that in a place like this fighting and fucking are one and the same.
puke-stained flannel jackets floating almost disembodied through throngs, wildly gesticulating at this group or that group, tossing out beer from plastic cups until it becomes pale, golden rain.
overbearing glad-hands, complete aliens really, people you can't recall coming at you with "you old son-of-a-bitch" and not knowing if it's a term of endearment or some sort of redneck throw-down.
five ounce brains rattling around in 10 gallon hats.
shitkickers actually used for kicking shit.
belt buckles the size of pro wrestling championships.
wolf whistles punctuated by friendly gropes and innuendo as thick as sledgehammers to the face.
yeah you.
i'm looking at you, new sarepta.
where are the numerators
in this crowd of denoms?
the red-blooded humans
among the cromags?
my mind is starved
and this is a feast of crumbs.
Michael Appleby
March, 2006
Also I apologize for the formatting here. The lines should be broken in a sort of hanging paragraph format, which is hard to render in HTML.
And remember, none of these people actually exist. I just wanted to work with caricatures of character types I saw around me.
Roll Call
or:
Why I Never Went To Many Parties In New Sarepta
irradiated spermbag walking hard-ons following the weatherveins [sic] in their cocks in
winds of perfume and feminine hygiene products.
slopey foreheads, hairy dragging knuckles who call their lovers "bitch," "slut," or "sugartits."
5'6 mall creatures made 6'3 by baby blue lycra push-up bras, whale-tails indignant at you for staring at their breasts even when their nipples are poking you in the eyes.
militant homophobic single helix primates, lower echelon bottom feeders, testosterone bulls who call their friends "dude," "dudester," and "dudeness." Conversely referring to strangers and enemies as "fag," "faggot," or "cocksucker." Nary a shade of grey to be found.
greased mullets who spit when they talk.
razor-knuckled STD banks in their budweiser thread bare halter tops, masks of near-clown make-up and running open sores threatening to extinguish their home-rolled cigarettes on your forehead for even suggesting you have no desire to have sex with them.
mouths full of chipped chiclets looking for a fight, looking to score, knowing that in a place like this fighting and fucking are one and the same.
puke-stained flannel jackets floating almost disembodied through throngs, wildly gesticulating at this group or that group, tossing out beer from plastic cups until it becomes pale, golden rain.
overbearing glad-hands, complete aliens really, people you can't recall coming at you with "you old son-of-a-bitch" and not knowing if it's a term of endearment or some sort of redneck throw-down.
five ounce brains rattling around in 10 gallon hats.
shitkickers actually used for kicking shit.
belt buckles the size of pro wrestling championships.
wolf whistles punctuated by friendly gropes and innuendo as thick as sledgehammers to the face.
yeah you.
i'm looking at you, new sarepta.
where are the numerators
in this crowd of denoms?
the red-blooded humans
among the cromags?
my mind is starved
and this is a feast of crumbs.
Michael Appleby
March, 2006
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
What Motomaster Gadget Are You Going To Use For This One, Biatch?
The other day Nilos emailed me a link to a story that he happened upon...
Click here.
That's right folks, the Canadian Tire couple is no more! Canadian Tire has decided to go in a new direction with its advertising, opting out of the "demo-mercials" featuring the smug, condescending couple Ted and Gloria.
I've written about the terrible twosome before on this blog so it's very gratifying to see their trail of destruction come to end.
But you know what? I think that the end is too abrupt.
When I found out that their television days were numbered I thought that it would be best to sort of have a finale for their series of commercials. Over the years one got used to Ted's, "You stupid fucking idiots. If you had just bought Motomaster's [insert marginally useful gadget name here] you would be in such a fucking mess right now. I mean look at me. I'm doing this shit with ease thanks to Motomaster. How many fucking times do I have to tell you, just sell your soul to Canadian Tire and it will take care of the rest. You stupid, stupid fucking idiots." Or something like that. Ted probably didn't actually curse so much, but, hey, if you're going to be a smug condescending bastard to your neighbors all the time, why not be a smug condescending bastard with a potty mouth as well?
Anyway, what I thought Canadian Tire should do with regards to phasing out Ted and Gloria from the pop culture landscape would be to have a demo-mercial where Ted and Gloria are getting a divorce and they're in a meeting room with their lawyers hashing out the conditions. So anyway, throughout the meeting both Ted and Gloria start being all smarmy and smug, talking about Motomaster divorce kits or Motomaster briefcases. And, get this, they keep talking like they do in the fucking Canadian Tire commercials that their lawyers decide to team up and screw both of them in the divorce. So that in the final scene we see the two condescending assholes that are Ted and Gloria living in squalor, having been fucked by their lawyers, and fighting almost to the point of fisticuffs because they couldn't successfully get a divorce. Ted could say something like, "Yeah, I'll start with you, bitch!" putting a spin on the Canadian Tire motto before some more spousal abuse. Then fade to black forever on a dark chapter in Canadian television history.
Knowing how important the past decade of depicting Canadian people as being self-fellating, holier-than-thou jerks, Canadian Tire would probably have to get the rights to run a song like "Time Of Your Life (Good Riddance)" by Green Day or one of those other songs that always gets played when a long running television staple reaches its finale. It's probably the broadcast rights for such a song that is keeping Canadian Tire from actually putting together a demo-mercial for the Motomaster Divorce Kit and thus providing the closure that Ted and Gloria sorely need before they are officially history. Might I suggest to Canadian Tire that they just do away with the whole emotional song nonsense and just show the stuff that the people who despise Ted and Gloria salivate for?
Click here.
That's right folks, the Canadian Tire couple is no more! Canadian Tire has decided to go in a new direction with its advertising, opting out of the "demo-mercials" featuring the smug, condescending couple Ted and Gloria.
I've written about the terrible twosome before on this blog so it's very gratifying to see their trail of destruction come to end.
But you know what? I think that the end is too abrupt.
When I found out that their television days were numbered I thought that it would be best to sort of have a finale for their series of commercials. Over the years one got used to Ted's, "You stupid fucking idiots. If you had just bought Motomaster's [insert marginally useful gadget name here] you would be in such a fucking mess right now. I mean look at me. I'm doing this shit with ease thanks to Motomaster. How many fucking times do I have to tell you, just sell your soul to Canadian Tire and it will take care of the rest. You stupid, stupid fucking idiots." Or something like that. Ted probably didn't actually curse so much, but, hey, if you're going to be a smug condescending bastard to your neighbors all the time, why not be a smug condescending bastard with a potty mouth as well?
Anyway, what I thought Canadian Tire should do with regards to phasing out Ted and Gloria from the pop culture landscape would be to have a demo-mercial where Ted and Gloria are getting a divorce and they're in a meeting room with their lawyers hashing out the conditions. So anyway, throughout the meeting both Ted and Gloria start being all smarmy and smug, talking about Motomaster divorce kits or Motomaster briefcases. And, get this, they keep talking like they do in the fucking Canadian Tire commercials that their lawyers decide to team up and screw both of them in the divorce. So that in the final scene we see the two condescending assholes that are Ted and Gloria living in squalor, having been fucked by their lawyers, and fighting almost to the point of fisticuffs because they couldn't successfully get a divorce. Ted could say something like, "Yeah, I'll start with you, bitch!" putting a spin on the Canadian Tire motto before some more spousal abuse. Then fade to black forever on a dark chapter in Canadian television history.
Knowing how important the past decade of depicting Canadian people as being self-fellating, holier-than-thou jerks, Canadian Tire would probably have to get the rights to run a song like "Time Of Your Life (Good Riddance)" by Green Day or one of those other songs that always gets played when a long running television staple reaches its finale. It's probably the broadcast rights for such a song that is keeping Canadian Tire from actually putting together a demo-mercial for the Motomaster Divorce Kit and thus providing the closure that Ted and Gloria sorely need before they are officially history. Might I suggest to Canadian Tire that they just do away with the whole emotional song nonsense and just show the stuff that the people who despise Ted and Gloria salivate for?
Monday, March 13, 2006
Birthday Wishes
Happy belated 29th birthday to Lori. Your party was a blast this year and all of us should definitely get together like that more often.
Friday, March 10, 2006
The Scourge Of White Earbuds
I am an iPod user. As such I own a pair of white earbuds. The white earbud is the way that iPod users and iPod pretenders identify ourselves to each other. It's similar to a tiger having stripes or a leopard having spots. We spot each other grooving in our own little universes, sporting the white earbuds and nod because we know how fucking cool we are. I mean if you have an iPod you are coolness defined, aren't you? The commercials don't lie, but then again commercials have never lied to anybody, EVER!
No, no. Stop cursing me and calling me a heretic. You can put away your burning effigies of me for now. I admit, I was being sarcastic.
But I do want to talk about the earbuds, though. Those white earbuds. I pay attention to the media around me as much as I can. Sure, sometimes it gets muted to a sort of drone that can easily be tuned out and forgotten, but I do my best to see what's shaking and shaping our world insofar as what goes out into the ether of public consumption. Or something like that. Rereading that sentence even I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.
But I have a bit of a beef with the whole phenomenon surrounding white earbuds. You might not realize it, but they are, indeed, a phenomenon. They're everywhere! You can't escape them. It's not just iPod propaganda anymore. The commercial world seems to have latched on to the iPod staple and turned it into some sort of coolness calling card.
I was flipping through a recent issue of Rolling Stone and noticed that the ad on the back cover was for the Acura TSX, which I discovered with some quick research stands for Toronto Stock eXchange. So there it was, a picture of the Acura Toronto Stock eXchange (worst car name ever!) and its seeming owner, this smug yuppie son-of-a-bitch with, yep you guessed it, white fucking earbuds connecting him to his car, parked somewhere, oh say about 30 fucking feet behind him.
The ad reads: "Your life. Your car. Connected. The Acura TSX is compatible with you. Your mp3 player. Your Bluetooth-enable phone. And just about every other part of your digital life. Man and machine never had so muchin common. The TSX."
And I'm not bringing that up because I'm trying to suck Acura's dick or anything. I just want to point out that I don't want to be on the road with any guy who's plugged into his mp3 player, his Bluetooth-enabled phone, and just about every other part of his digital life. Do you want to know why? Who the fuck is paying attention to the road? Seriously. The yuppie bastard is wearing his earbuds, can he even hear it when I'm honking my horn in frustration, stuck behind him at some greenlight he hasn't noticed yet because he's perfecting his Tiny Tim mix and jabbering at his yuppie scumbag wife on the old Bluetooth? Probably not.
I suppose if there were ever an ad that needed a disclaimer it would be this one. It could read: Warning, do you really fucking need to listen to your mp3 player and talk on your fucking Bluetooth every fucking minute of every fucking day? Wouldn't driving your car when you're behind its wheel seem more appropriate? Don't be a douchebag.
But now I've kind of gone off on some sort of organic tangent because I meant to talk about the earbuds.
So anyway, this Acura ad isn't the only place you see people sporting the white buds. Every time I notice somebody depicted wearing them I cringe. They're becoming a crutch for characters to be seen as hip and contemporary. These are people with modern day crises. They wear white earbuds.
The reason why I cringe is because in my experience with white earbuds so far (they make me a contemporary man, don't you know) I have found them to be really uncomfortable. At least the factory ones anyway. They're too big for my fucking ears, which either means I have freakishly small ears or I bought the iPod For Giants version.
This being said, if I'm a human of average dimensions, then why the hell are so many people sporting uncomfortable white earbuds that pop out of the ear canal every two minutes? Wouldn't people look more hip and more intelligent if they sported listening devices that were more carefully tailored for the human form?
I don't know. It's just a thought. I suppose that it's easiest to depict people in "modern" times if they're wearing white earbuds.
No, no. Stop cursing me and calling me a heretic. You can put away your burning effigies of me for now. I admit, I was being sarcastic.
But I do want to talk about the earbuds, though. Those white earbuds. I pay attention to the media around me as much as I can. Sure, sometimes it gets muted to a sort of drone that can easily be tuned out and forgotten, but I do my best to see what's shaking and shaping our world insofar as what goes out into the ether of public consumption. Or something like that. Rereading that sentence even I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.
But I have a bit of a beef with the whole phenomenon surrounding white earbuds. You might not realize it, but they are, indeed, a phenomenon. They're everywhere! You can't escape them. It's not just iPod propaganda anymore. The commercial world seems to have latched on to the iPod staple and turned it into some sort of coolness calling card.
I was flipping through a recent issue of Rolling Stone and noticed that the ad on the back cover was for the Acura TSX, which I discovered with some quick research stands for Toronto Stock eXchange. So there it was, a picture of the Acura Toronto Stock eXchange (worst car name ever!) and its seeming owner, this smug yuppie son-of-a-bitch with, yep you guessed it, white fucking earbuds connecting him to his car, parked somewhere, oh say about 30 fucking feet behind him.
The ad reads: "Your life. Your car. Connected. The Acura TSX is compatible with you. Your mp3 player. Your Bluetooth-enable phone. And just about every other part of your digital life. Man and machine never had so muchin common. The TSX."
And I'm not bringing that up because I'm trying to suck Acura's dick or anything. I just want to point out that I don't want to be on the road with any guy who's plugged into his mp3 player, his Bluetooth-enabled phone, and just about every other part of his digital life. Do you want to know why? Who the fuck is paying attention to the road? Seriously. The yuppie bastard is wearing his earbuds, can he even hear it when I'm honking my horn in frustration, stuck behind him at some greenlight he hasn't noticed yet because he's perfecting his Tiny Tim mix and jabbering at his yuppie scumbag wife on the old Bluetooth? Probably not.
I suppose if there were ever an ad that needed a disclaimer it would be this one. It could read: Warning, do you really fucking need to listen to your mp3 player and talk on your fucking Bluetooth every fucking minute of every fucking day? Wouldn't driving your car when you're behind its wheel seem more appropriate? Don't be a douchebag.
But now I've kind of gone off on some sort of organic tangent because I meant to talk about the earbuds.
So anyway, this Acura ad isn't the only place you see people sporting the white buds. Every time I notice somebody depicted wearing them I cringe. They're becoming a crutch for characters to be seen as hip and contemporary. These are people with modern day crises. They wear white earbuds.
The reason why I cringe is because in my experience with white earbuds so far (they make me a contemporary man, don't you know) I have found them to be really uncomfortable. At least the factory ones anyway. They're too big for my fucking ears, which either means I have freakishly small ears or I bought the iPod For Giants version.
This being said, if I'm a human of average dimensions, then why the hell are so many people sporting uncomfortable white earbuds that pop out of the ear canal every two minutes? Wouldn't people look more hip and more intelligent if they sported listening devices that were more carefully tailored for the human form?
I don't know. It's just a thought. I suppose that it's easiest to depict people in "modern" times if they're wearing white earbuds.
Monday, March 06, 2006
And Now, Michael Appleby Answers Some Hypothetical Questions...
I have a few books from the If series. The premise of these books is to just ask a bunch of hypothetical questions if, when read alone, will lead you down a path of self-discovery (or some kind of bullshit like that) or, if read in groups, should spark a heated debate that will either end in heated fist fights or copious amounts of jizz stains. So anyway, when I feel like the creative well is dry, which it seems to be of late, I'll flip through the books I have and see if I can find a few questions to answer for you people. Feel free to debate me (though you would probably be wrong) in the comments.
Q: If you could decide what will be written on your gravestone, what would you have inscribed?
I should hope that when I die I will still be viewed as a sort of outside-the-box kind of thinker. That being said I would like something simple, yet profound. Hmmmmm...how about something like No Refunds? Yeah, that seems pretty cool. If I have a lot of fans of my work when I die I'm sure that one or two of them might make some sort of pilgramage to the old eternal resting place and if they saw No Refunds they might say something like, "Dude! That is so, like, thought-provoking! I mean, quick, like hand me the water bong for a second, I want to take a great big hit and then just try to wrap my head around that no refunds comment." Of course, my fans will likely be hippy-dippy stoner types. However, I am a bit of a joker, so maybe if my epitaph read, Post No Bills my rotting, maggot-infested corpse can laugh in the afterlife for years.
Q: If you were elected to be the leader of the United States tomorrow, what would be your first act?"
I think that my first act as president would be to make a formal apology to the international community for the foreign policy of the past number of years and promise to repair as much of the damage that has been done as is humanly possible.
Q: If you could pick one famous person to be your neighbor, who would you have next door to you?
There are a number of famous people I would love to live next door to. Certainly names like Maynard James Keenan, Gordon Downie, and David Cross come to mind with just a minimal amount of thinking. But the name that sprang into my mind immediately after reading this question was Chuck Palahniuk. It would be great to live next door to somebody who could talk shop with me as a writer, you know, give me advice and inspire me. Stuff like that for writers is invaluable.
Q: If you were going to turn to crime to support yourself from now on, what kind of criminal would you become?
A politician of some sort. If, though, we take into consideration that I would try to be a more diplomatic, more honest president from the question about being the president, I suppose I can't say that politics would be my choice for criminal activity. Since politics is now ruled out I suppose that I would sell marijuana because it's quite possibly the least morally reprehensible crime I can think of since pot should be decriminalized and/or legalized on the basis that, as a drug, marijuana kills far, far, far fewer people than alcohol or tobacco. I have a heavy conscience so selling pot would be something I could justify to myself.
Q: If you had to describe the single worst thing a friend could do to you, what would it be?
This is kind of a weak question I know. I mean, how do you descibe being kicked in the testicles repeatedly? Sure, it's easy to say, "Kick me in the balls repeatedly," and you can picture the repeated kicking and possibly me hunched over and in pain, but how do you really "describe" the pain of it? It's probably the worst thing that anybody could do to me, not just my friends.
Q: If you could decide what will be written on your gravestone, what would you have inscribed?
I should hope that when I die I will still be viewed as a sort of outside-the-box kind of thinker. That being said I would like something simple, yet profound. Hmmmmm...how about something like No Refunds? Yeah, that seems pretty cool. If I have a lot of fans of my work when I die I'm sure that one or two of them might make some sort of pilgramage to the old eternal resting place and if they saw No Refunds they might say something like, "Dude! That is so, like, thought-provoking! I mean, quick, like hand me the water bong for a second, I want to take a great big hit and then just try to wrap my head around that no refunds comment." Of course, my fans will likely be hippy-dippy stoner types. However, I am a bit of a joker, so maybe if my epitaph read, Post No Bills my rotting, maggot-infested corpse can laugh in the afterlife for years.
Q: If you were elected to be the leader of the United States tomorrow, what would be your first act?"
I think that my first act as president would be to make a formal apology to the international community for the foreign policy of the past number of years and promise to repair as much of the damage that has been done as is humanly possible.
Q: If you could pick one famous person to be your neighbor, who would you have next door to you?
There are a number of famous people I would love to live next door to. Certainly names like Maynard James Keenan, Gordon Downie, and David Cross come to mind with just a minimal amount of thinking. But the name that sprang into my mind immediately after reading this question was Chuck Palahniuk. It would be great to live next door to somebody who could talk shop with me as a writer, you know, give me advice and inspire me. Stuff like that for writers is invaluable.
Q: If you were going to turn to crime to support yourself from now on, what kind of criminal would you become?
A politician of some sort. If, though, we take into consideration that I would try to be a more diplomatic, more honest president from the question about being the president, I suppose I can't say that politics would be my choice for criminal activity. Since politics is now ruled out I suppose that I would sell marijuana because it's quite possibly the least morally reprehensible crime I can think of since pot should be decriminalized and/or legalized on the basis that, as a drug, marijuana kills far, far, far fewer people than alcohol or tobacco. I have a heavy conscience so selling pot would be something I could justify to myself.
Q: If you had to describe the single worst thing a friend could do to you, what would it be?
This is kind of a weak question I know. I mean, how do you descibe being kicked in the testicles repeatedly? Sure, it's easy to say, "Kick me in the balls repeatedly," and you can picture the repeated kicking and possibly me hunched over and in pain, but how do you really "describe" the pain of it? It's probably the worst thing that anybody could do to me, not just my friends.
Monday, February 27, 2006
At A Risk Of Sounding Unpopular
You know what really pisses me off? Television commercials.
Wow, Michael, how original. Somebody who is pissed off by television commercials. Why you haven't been nominated for some sort of award for insight is beyond me. Excuse me for being too moved by your revelation to applaud you, you mental giant.
Now, now. Hear me out. I should clarify a bit by saying television commercials that have disclaimers printed somewhere on the screen. You know the kind. For instance, if you're watching a car commercial and you get to watch all sorts of fancy driving, there on the screen, somewhere, it will read something like: "Professional driver on a closed course. Do not attempt." Lately, I've noticed a cell phone commercial with all of these supposedly average people jumping off of bridges and doing flips and shit, playing some sort of fucking, Hey look at me, world, I have a fucking cell phone, game of Marco Polo. There on the screen it reads: "Professional athletes. Do not attempt."
Do you know why I hate these television commercials with the shitload of disclaimers? It's a constant reminder of how stupid people are. Well, not so much everybody, more or less, it's you. You see, I know I sure as fuck didn't do anything so stupid that corporate lawyers felt it necessary to put disclaimers on television commercials to keep me from hurting myself. But somebody did. Somewhere along the way somebody watched a commercial and did something to hurt his or her self and corporate lawyers devised a plan for advertising that would wash their hands of any further responsibility for people's stupidity. Since I know that I have done nothing that was shown in a commercial, by process of elimination I know it's somebody out there reading these words. Maybe it's a bunch of you fuckers. At the risk of sounding unpopular I will say that I hate you people. It's because of you that corporate America treats me like a toddler.
I mean, fuck, did you just turn on the television one day and say, "Holy fuck, that guy doing all those somersaults off of that bridge is so fucking cool! If he can do it then surely I can do it. It's on t.v. it must be feasible." Never you mind that you're lugging around a 170 pound gut full of cheetos and your doctor says that your arthritis is so bad that you're lucky to even be able to walk thirty feet without snapping in half. You are fucking convinced that graceful somersaults off of a fucking bridge are in your immediate future. And then, poof, you're a fucking vegetable in some hospital bed for the rest of your life and your relatives have to sue the company behind the commercial to keep your damn stupid-as-shit brain operating at an even more abyssmal level.
Now, for the rest of eternity, I have to have some waiver flash across the screen every time something even remotely dangerous is being depicted so I don't actually go out and attempt shit by myself.
I wonder, though, if enough litigation goes on will more and more shit be disclaimed as it's being portrayed on the screen. For instance, if, say, somebody is shown tossing a Cheerio into the air and catching it with his mouth, then some asshat does the same thing except he chokes to death, resulting in a lawsuit, will there be a disclaimer about the actors who are throwing food into the air and catching it with their mouths? Why, with enough lawsuits, it'll get to be that depictions of people getting out of bed in the morning will be complete with waivers of liability. Caution: man getting out of a bed is a paid professional. Under no circumstances should getting out of bed be attempted by anybody without proper training and certification.
You know what, you people out there who hurt yourselves trying all this shit because you saw it on television piss me off so much that I wish that a disclaimer appears on everything shown on television. Imagine, a constant fucking disclaimer reading: "You stupid fucking people, don't try any of this shit at home because you're only going t fuck it up so bad that you're going to get hurt. Remember when you didn't have to be reminded that you are a bunch of fucking simps? We do. Fuck it would be great to just have entertainment without having to start spouting off all these legalese bullshit just to keep you morons from killing yourselves. But here we are. Shit happens." I think that a disclaimer like that should be the burden that all of have to bear until every last one of you stupid motherfuckers finally learns that, hey, if you haven't successfully done a fucking somersault off a bridge before in your life seeing that shit on television doesn't suddenly turn you into Mary Lou fucking Retton, you fucking idiots.
Then maybe some of us sane, rational people can enjoy our entertainment in peace.
Wow, Michael, how original. Somebody who is pissed off by television commercials. Why you haven't been nominated for some sort of award for insight is beyond me. Excuse me for being too moved by your revelation to applaud you, you mental giant.
Now, now. Hear me out. I should clarify a bit by saying television commercials that have disclaimers printed somewhere on the screen. You know the kind. For instance, if you're watching a car commercial and you get to watch all sorts of fancy driving, there on the screen, somewhere, it will read something like: "Professional driver on a closed course. Do not attempt." Lately, I've noticed a cell phone commercial with all of these supposedly average people jumping off of bridges and doing flips and shit, playing some sort of fucking, Hey look at me, world, I have a fucking cell phone, game of Marco Polo. There on the screen it reads: "Professional athletes. Do not attempt."
Do you know why I hate these television commercials with the shitload of disclaimers? It's a constant reminder of how stupid people are. Well, not so much everybody, more or less, it's you. You see, I know I sure as fuck didn't do anything so stupid that corporate lawyers felt it necessary to put disclaimers on television commercials to keep me from hurting myself. But somebody did. Somewhere along the way somebody watched a commercial and did something to hurt his or her self and corporate lawyers devised a plan for advertising that would wash their hands of any further responsibility for people's stupidity. Since I know that I have done nothing that was shown in a commercial, by process of elimination I know it's somebody out there reading these words. Maybe it's a bunch of you fuckers. At the risk of sounding unpopular I will say that I hate you people. It's because of you that corporate America treats me like a toddler.
I mean, fuck, did you just turn on the television one day and say, "Holy fuck, that guy doing all those somersaults off of that bridge is so fucking cool! If he can do it then surely I can do it. It's on t.v. it must be feasible." Never you mind that you're lugging around a 170 pound gut full of cheetos and your doctor says that your arthritis is so bad that you're lucky to even be able to walk thirty feet without snapping in half. You are fucking convinced that graceful somersaults off of a fucking bridge are in your immediate future. And then, poof, you're a fucking vegetable in some hospital bed for the rest of your life and your relatives have to sue the company behind the commercial to keep your damn stupid-as-shit brain operating at an even more abyssmal level.
Now, for the rest of eternity, I have to have some waiver flash across the screen every time something even remotely dangerous is being depicted so I don't actually go out and attempt shit by myself.
I wonder, though, if enough litigation goes on will more and more shit be disclaimed as it's being portrayed on the screen. For instance, if, say, somebody is shown tossing a Cheerio into the air and catching it with his mouth, then some asshat does the same thing except he chokes to death, resulting in a lawsuit, will there be a disclaimer about the actors who are throwing food into the air and catching it with their mouths? Why, with enough lawsuits, it'll get to be that depictions of people getting out of bed in the morning will be complete with waivers of liability. Caution: man getting out of a bed is a paid professional. Under no circumstances should getting out of bed be attempted by anybody without proper training and certification.
You know what, you people out there who hurt yourselves trying all this shit because you saw it on television piss me off so much that I wish that a disclaimer appears on everything shown on television. Imagine, a constant fucking disclaimer reading: "You stupid fucking people, don't try any of this shit at home because you're only going t fuck it up so bad that you're going to get hurt. Remember when you didn't have to be reminded that you are a bunch of fucking simps? We do. Fuck it would be great to just have entertainment without having to start spouting off all these legalese bullshit just to keep you morons from killing yourselves. But here we are. Shit happens." I think that a disclaimer like that should be the burden that all of have to bear until every last one of you stupid motherfuckers finally learns that, hey, if you haven't successfully done a fucking somersault off a bridge before in your life seeing that shit on television doesn't suddenly turn you into Mary Lou fucking Retton, you fucking idiots.
Then maybe some of us sane, rational people can enjoy our entertainment in peace.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
The Bottom Ten, February 2006
10.) Britney Banning Cletus From Piercing Their Baby- Click here. Oh come on, Brits. Your child is already destined for a life of being psychologically warped, why not at least try for a grand slam of bad parenthood?
9.) Groundhog Day- Here, in Alberta, it would seem that the little rodent's predictions of a prolonged winter have come true, but despite the success of that one prediction, the whole business of consulting some stupid fucking ground-dwelling animal for accurate weather forecasts keeps the whole human race a lot closer to the days when we all had big sloped foreheads, furry hands, and struggled to make fire from rubbing two sticks together. Fuck. Can we please evolve past this one now too, please. I'll just keep living my life despite the weather so I really don't give a fuck what your rodent has to say.
8.) People Who Are Too Insecure To See Brokeback Mountain Because Of The Whole Gay Thing- George W. Bush? He did the same thing in that KSU question period. The White House had requested a copy of Brokeback Mountain for review well before that incident. Then George W. Bush won't even admit to having watched it. Homophobia? Probably. People who avoid this movie like the plague because it depicts two men falling in love with each other irk me. Watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre doesn't make a person a chainsaw wielding cannibal. Watching The Wizard Of Oz doesn't make you a munchkin. Watching Brokeback Mountain won't make you a gay cowboy. Then there are those other people who are angry because it besmirches the archetype of the cowboy. Cowboys aren't supposed to be gay. For those people I submit the cowboy from The Village People. How you like your archetype now, asshats?
7.) People Who Think Too Much Of Canada Being Ousted From Medal Contention In Men's Ice Hockey- There are people all over Canada right now speculating on what Wayne Gretzky should have and should not have done when it came to the assembly of Canada's entry this year into the olympic tournament. The belief is that on any given day, Canada CAN beat any nation in the world at ice hockey. What they fail to see is that it doesn mean that on any given day, Canada DOES beat any nation in the world at ice hockey. The team we sent could have won, but they didn't. There are a lot of good countries out there when it comes to hockey. We'll just have to try harder next time. It's not the end of the world. So please feel free to let Mr. Gretzky get back to his job.
6.) Oprah's Valentine's Day Popularity- Click here. Oprah tied for third with Nicole Kidman and Terri Hatcher as the celebrity that men would most like to send a Valentine to? Women ranked Oprah higher on that same list than Brad Pitt? If this isn't proof that Oprah has entirely too much power in this world than I don't know what is. Seriously, though, guys, Oprah in third place? I could name dozens and dozens of celebrity women I would rather send Valentines to than Oprah. Were you just saying that because your wives would have killed you otherwise? Or does Oprah just have that certain intangible what with her massive ego and never-shutting mouth?
5.)The Resurgence Of Suicide Via Crucifixion- Nothing makes a bold statement that you are, indeed, a martyr suicide like good ol' crucifixion. Just be sure to do one thing if you decide that hanging from a cross is the right way to go for you. Ask for help first.
4.) Waiting For A New Tool CD- This time last year I could comfortably think, Yeah, it'll be a while before Tool is set to release a new album. Now I know that a new offering is just around the corner and the wait becomes its most unbearable because the light at the end of the tunnel is just out of reach. It's like how the wait for Christmas seems to be most excruciating when its just days away as opposed to say in July. That's when every minute feels like eternity.
3.) Pot Flavored Candy- Click here. The state of Georgia is considering banning or restricting the sale of pot-flavored candy. Candy that tastes like pot? Does anybody just look at a bag of pot and think, Goddamn, smoke that shit? Nuh-uh I want to fucking eat it! Nooooo. And why is that? Beause it looks like fucking mulch. I don't think that a candy that tastes like mulch and doesn't actually get you fucked up is really in any danger of becoming the candy of choice among the highly impressionable. If I actually saw kids reaching into bags of lawn clippings for a snack I might reconsider.
2.) Winter Driving- We've had a very mild winter here in Alberta, but the past couple days, as per the predictions of that fucking rodent, we've had a little bit of snow. And what happened? Every fucking driver on the road suddenly starts driving like the conditions are all-to-shit. It's just a little snow. And it's not even that cold outside. Fuck.
1.) The Practice Of Buying People The Worst Fucking Shots Under The Sun For Their Birthday- Okay, this a person whom I respect and I would even consider my friend. What better way than to show this person my respect and admiration than by having the bartender throw a bunch of random shit into a shot glass and make him drink it? Brilliant! It's the drinking equivalent of pot-flavored candy probably.
9.) Groundhog Day- Here, in Alberta, it would seem that the little rodent's predictions of a prolonged winter have come true, but despite the success of that one prediction, the whole business of consulting some stupid fucking ground-dwelling animal for accurate weather forecasts keeps the whole human race a lot closer to the days when we all had big sloped foreheads, furry hands, and struggled to make fire from rubbing two sticks together. Fuck. Can we please evolve past this one now too, please. I'll just keep living my life despite the weather so I really don't give a fuck what your rodent has to say.
8.) People Who Are Too Insecure To See Brokeback Mountain Because Of The Whole Gay Thing- George W. Bush? He did the same thing in that KSU question period. The White House had requested a copy of Brokeback Mountain for review well before that incident. Then George W. Bush won't even admit to having watched it. Homophobia? Probably. People who avoid this movie like the plague because it depicts two men falling in love with each other irk me. Watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre doesn't make a person a chainsaw wielding cannibal. Watching The Wizard Of Oz doesn't make you a munchkin. Watching Brokeback Mountain won't make you a gay cowboy. Then there are those other people who are angry because it besmirches the archetype of the cowboy. Cowboys aren't supposed to be gay. For those people I submit the cowboy from The Village People. How you like your archetype now, asshats?
7.) People Who Think Too Much Of Canada Being Ousted From Medal Contention In Men's Ice Hockey- There are people all over Canada right now speculating on what Wayne Gretzky should have and should not have done when it came to the assembly of Canada's entry this year into the olympic tournament. The belief is that on any given day, Canada CAN beat any nation in the world at ice hockey. What they fail to see is that it doesn mean that on any given day, Canada DOES beat any nation in the world at ice hockey. The team we sent could have won, but they didn't. There are a lot of good countries out there when it comes to hockey. We'll just have to try harder next time. It's not the end of the world. So please feel free to let Mr. Gretzky get back to his job.
6.) Oprah's Valentine's Day Popularity- Click here. Oprah tied for third with Nicole Kidman and Terri Hatcher as the celebrity that men would most like to send a Valentine to? Women ranked Oprah higher on that same list than Brad Pitt? If this isn't proof that Oprah has entirely too much power in this world than I don't know what is. Seriously, though, guys, Oprah in third place? I could name dozens and dozens of celebrity women I would rather send Valentines to than Oprah. Were you just saying that because your wives would have killed you otherwise? Or does Oprah just have that certain intangible what with her massive ego and never-shutting mouth?
5.)The Resurgence Of Suicide Via Crucifixion- Nothing makes a bold statement that you are, indeed, a martyr suicide like good ol' crucifixion. Just be sure to do one thing if you decide that hanging from a cross is the right way to go for you. Ask for help first.
4.) Waiting For A New Tool CD- This time last year I could comfortably think, Yeah, it'll be a while before Tool is set to release a new album. Now I know that a new offering is just around the corner and the wait becomes its most unbearable because the light at the end of the tunnel is just out of reach. It's like how the wait for Christmas seems to be most excruciating when its just days away as opposed to say in July. That's when every minute feels like eternity.
3.) Pot Flavored Candy- Click here. The state of Georgia is considering banning or restricting the sale of pot-flavored candy. Candy that tastes like pot? Does anybody just look at a bag of pot and think, Goddamn, smoke that shit? Nuh-uh I want to fucking eat it! Nooooo. And why is that? Beause it looks like fucking mulch. I don't think that a candy that tastes like mulch and doesn't actually get you fucked up is really in any danger of becoming the candy of choice among the highly impressionable. If I actually saw kids reaching into bags of lawn clippings for a snack I might reconsider.
2.) Winter Driving- We've had a very mild winter here in Alberta, but the past couple days, as per the predictions of that fucking rodent, we've had a little bit of snow. And what happened? Every fucking driver on the road suddenly starts driving like the conditions are all-to-shit. It's just a little snow. And it's not even that cold outside. Fuck.
1.) The Practice Of Buying People The Worst Fucking Shots Under The Sun For Their Birthday- Okay, this a person whom I respect and I would even consider my friend. What better way than to show this person my respect and admiration than by having the bartender throw a bunch of random shit into a shot glass and make him drink it? Brilliant! It's the drinking equivalent of pot-flavored candy probably.
Friday, February 17, 2006
The RIAA Can Kiss My Skinny White Ass
Click here.
The Recording Industry Association of America now says that ripping CDs that a person owns to his/her iPod is not fair use. How is that for customer service?
Think about it, you buy one of those 60 gig video iPods, like I just did. 60 gigs is a lot of mp3's, it's hundreds of CDs worth. Now, if ripping the music from your CD library to your iPod is made illegal what that essentially means is that in order to fill your iPod with music you have to pay for downloads. Do you know how much money it would cost to buy enough mp3s to fill a 60 gig iPod? At $0.99 per song at iTunes we could be talking about thousands and thousands of dollars all just to play by the RIAA's rules. Sure, you might already own many of those CDs, but it would be illegal to transfer them to your player.
That's bullshit.
I think that the RIAA is still bitter over the fact that they mishandled the emergence of mp3s from day one. They could have done some great things with the technology, but instead they chose to ignore it until it bit them in the ass and now they want to get their revenge on legitimate music buyers.
Bravo, asshats, bravo.
The Recording Industry Association of America now says that ripping CDs that a person owns to his/her iPod is not fair use. How is that for customer service?
Think about it, you buy one of those 60 gig video iPods, like I just did. 60 gigs is a lot of mp3's, it's hundreds of CDs worth. Now, if ripping the music from your CD library to your iPod is made illegal what that essentially means is that in order to fill your iPod with music you have to pay for downloads. Do you know how much money it would cost to buy enough mp3s to fill a 60 gig iPod? At $0.99 per song at iTunes we could be talking about thousands and thousands of dollars all just to play by the RIAA's rules. Sure, you might already own many of those CDs, but it would be illegal to transfer them to your player.
That's bullshit.
I think that the RIAA is still bitter over the fact that they mishandled the emergence of mp3s from day one. They could have done some great things with the technology, but instead they chose to ignore it until it bit them in the ass and now they want to get their revenge on legitimate music buyers.
Bravo, asshats, bravo.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Joey Jo-Jo Come Back!
One of my favorite moments from The Simpsons occurred in the episode in which Homer was tempted to cheat on Marge with his new co-worker Mindy. In the episode Homer goes to Moe's to ask Moe for advice on the situation and asks him in the way that implies it's a friend of Homer's who is having the problems. Moe asks Homer what the name of his friend is and Homer ad libs the name Joey Jo-Jo Junior Shabbadoo. To which Moe replies,"Good god, that's the worst name I've ever heard." And at the other end of the bar a man bursts into tears before running out the door with Barney calling after him, "Joey Jo-Jo come back!"
Thinking about this moment from The Simpsons always makes me smile. Right now I need to keep smiling because I can't go to the Raving Poets show tonight due to illness. I have a bit of a head cold and it's pissing me off.
Anyway, for now that is all. I'll post something more substantial when my wits are back about me.
Thinking about this moment from The Simpsons always makes me smile. Right now I need to keep smiling because I can't go to the Raving Poets show tonight due to illness. I have a bit of a head cold and it's pissing me off.
Anyway, for now that is all. I'll post something more substantial when my wits are back about me.
Friday, February 10, 2006
The Lives Of The Plastic Ones
Click here.
Wow. Barbie and Ken might be getting back together after two years of being apart. No, seriously, folks, this is an actual news story. Alright, calm down. I think you're hyperventilating. Take slow breaths. I know that many of you can hardly contain youg excitement over this latest development from Mattel, but you should really calm the fuck down.
Barbie and Ken might be getting back together.
Holy shit! Saying it again like that just got to me and now I'm hyperventilating. Okay, calm down, old boy. Calm, blue ocean. Calm, blue ocean. Repeat after me. Calm, blue ocean. Calm, blue ocean. Okay, now just give me a second to change my pants. It seems in all that excitement over the made-up bullshit lives of some chunk of plastic and her on-again, off-again fuck-buddy piece of plastic I seem to have soiled myself.
Five minutes later...
Awwww fuck, I did it again. Be right back.
Five minutes later and a third pair of pants...
Ken, who appears to have spent time in the gym and at the stylist, returns wearing a beach-wear ensemble complete with board shorts and white T-shirt.
For her part, Barbie publicist Lauren Dougherty said Barbie "appreciates the new look Ken is sporting. He really looks great. But we'll have to stay tuned to see whether these two will get back together."
At a press conference unveiling Ken, Bloch said the company was going for a "worldly, European thing," and "definitely wanted to be looking hot."
Why the fuck does any of this matter? No, seriously. Who wakes up each day and wonders, 'I wonder if Ken and Barbie are back together yet.' There has to be people out there who do that. I mean you don't just have a press conference and start discussing the lives of pieces of fucking plastic unless somebody out there was actively expressing interest in that kind of shit.
Think about it. There is a significant number of people in this world who are moved enough by the love life of Barbie that they hired a fucking publicist for a doll and had a press conference to discuss it. And you can't just say it's one or two people out there who are affected by it. You don't schedule a press conference and get attention from the media unless the numbers are there.
So, then, with that in mind, knowing that there are a significant number of people who give a shit as to what goes on with Barbie and Ken, doesn't that make you the slightest bit uneasy? Sure, a few of them are probably grounded enough to realize that interest in this bullshit is sort of a lark, but you know that there are probably just as many of those people who are so out-of-touch with reality that they would split your skull open and eat the gooey insides if you try to suggest that none of this is actually real. Maybe some of those freaks are people whom you trust with your life. They could be doctors. They could be politicians. They could be members of the police force. Or firefighters. Or paramedics. You just don't know.
Sleep tight.
And seriously, a publicist? For a fucking doll? I bet that looks great on the old resume. Publicist for a doll. I don't know if I could ever be paid enough to not only pretend in public that my doll client is real, but also that her love life matters to the members of the public.
Monday, February 06, 2006
More Poetic News
The Raving Poets are set to return this week!
Wednesday nights at 8:00 p.m. starting February 8, 2006, the Raving Poets present "Rock The Kasbar," the latest and greatest poetry reading series to hit E-Town's own Yianni's Taverna's downstairs Kasbar Lounge (10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton).
This series will pick up with all the momentum built by the end of the all-too-brief previous series to take place at Yianni's and will add to it. By April and the end of the series we're going to be one sweaty, lumbering beast of a poetic community. Once again, each show will be a 20 reader open mic set with ambience and music provided by the Raving Poets Band.
Do check it out!
Wednesday nights at 8:00 p.m. starting February 8, 2006, the Raving Poets present "Rock The Kasbar," the latest and greatest poetry reading series to hit E-Town's own Yianni's Taverna's downstairs Kasbar Lounge (10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton).
This series will pick up with all the momentum built by the end of the all-too-brief previous series to take place at Yianni's and will add to it. By April and the end of the series we're going to be one sweaty, lumbering beast of a poetic community. Once again, each show will be a 20 reader open mic set with ambience and music provided by the Raving Poets Band.
Do check it out!
What's Love Got To Do With It?
Bring a lover, bring a friend and experience provocative poetry in a way you never heard it before, from some of Edmonton's most insightful and daring wordsmiths. Be seduced by urban poetry and the sensuality of East Indian tabla drumming in the ambiance of the Blue Chair Café.
Featuring poetry by Delvina Greig, Laurie MacFayden, Dawn Carter & Michael Appleby.
Music performed by Katrina Campos.
Blue Chair Cafe
9624 - 76 Avenue, Edmonton
7 pm, February 9, 2006
No cover
Featuring poetry by Delvina Greig, Laurie MacFayden, Dawn Carter & Michael Appleby.
Music performed by Katrina Campos.
Blue Chair Cafe
9624 - 76 Avenue, Edmonton
7 pm, February 9, 2006
No cover
Friday, February 03, 2006
Classic Michael Appleby
Longitudinals
Right now there is only one thing that I want to ask you
And the telephone is an atlas and an encyclopedia away.
And I don’t want to say this room reeks of loneliness because that would be too desperate.
And I want to tell you that all I smell right now is jasmine from the incense burning atop my bookshelves and when I shamble by them I am really burying myself deep in the mess of hair atop your head and looking for a suitable spot where I can sleep.
And I want to tell you that John Coltrane is playing “Blue Train” and it’s still upbeat and lively in here while his saxophone tumbles down notes that disappear, fall from their longitudinals, dropping out of sight
And it’s all so lovely because the bass strings your skin and I am the bass player and I’m thumping along, keeping up clumsily, dreaming I’m playing you, strumming you; find a rhythm and slither down in heat, beat, push pulses down to the tips of our toes.
Do you dance?
I want to ask.
And I’m tired of being maudlin, it’s one of the worst drug habits a junky like me can ever hope to find; prop your head up against a fire hydrant, drunk, throw out your love blithely and hope that some of it comes back to you.
And the operative wish right now is that I will find you in bed with me in the morning and it’s the operative wish because I know that when I wake up I won’t wish I was somewhere else and I won’t wish I hadn’t just finished making a mistake.
And I want to tell you that all I want is to find that right thing, the thing that feels right, the thing that doesn’t fill me with regret, the thing that just is because it was meant to be. That’s some thing.
And I don’t even know if you could listen to this music or read these words or smell this smell, walk these paces, trace this face, know my name and fall into it
And I want to get up to walk across the world in 276 pages, across the accumulated knowledge of species summed up tidily in 26 volumes I never have the patience to read.
And I want to get up.
And I want to get up
And get to that phone and dial your number and even if it’s really late and I have to wake you up for art.
And even if it’s really late and I have to wake you up for art I still want to ask you for a dance because the drum rolls through “Locomotion” and it’s calling me and I’d like to believe it’s calling you.
And I’m still in my house-slippers and it’s okay. I’m still in a bathrobe and that’s just fine. I’m still waking up as an antithesis to the rest of the sane little world.
And the atlas makes the world seem like a great big place. 276 pages big.
And the encyclopedia is huge, it’s everything that we know.
And if I could just get up right now I know I could walk past it all to call you and ask:
Do you dance?
And there are cabbies who are practically bedding down in their taxis tonight; it’s getting late.
And somewhere far off I can imagine the midnight janitors mopping away wolf whistles, black sky in copier toner; picking up the pages of the written words tossed confetti down the linoleum hallways of our workaday world.
And the incense is burning down to thin stick; the ashes are accumulating.
And I wish that tomorrow wasn’t a part of the financial scheme.
And I wish that “Lazy Bird” drifted along ad infinitum.
And it was you and me and these dying snare drum hits that roil against death, sound out.
And it was you and me and the tumbling and the ease and I want to ask you, if you please:
Do you dance?
Right now there is only one thing that I want to ask you
And the telephone is an atlas and an encyclopedia away.
And I don’t want to say this room reeks of loneliness because that would be too desperate.
And I want to tell you that all I smell right now is jasmine from the incense burning atop my bookshelves and when I shamble by them I am really burying myself deep in the mess of hair atop your head and looking for a suitable spot where I can sleep.
And I want to tell you that John Coltrane is playing “Blue Train” and it’s still upbeat and lively in here while his saxophone tumbles down notes that disappear, fall from their longitudinals, dropping out of sight
And it’s all so lovely because the bass strings your skin and I am the bass player and I’m thumping along, keeping up clumsily, dreaming I’m playing you, strumming you; find a rhythm and slither down in heat, beat, push pulses down to the tips of our toes.
Do you dance?
I want to ask.
And I’m tired of being maudlin, it’s one of the worst drug habits a junky like me can ever hope to find; prop your head up against a fire hydrant, drunk, throw out your love blithely and hope that some of it comes back to you.
And the operative wish right now is that I will find you in bed with me in the morning and it’s the operative wish because I know that when I wake up I won’t wish I was somewhere else and I won’t wish I hadn’t just finished making a mistake.
And I want to tell you that all I want is to find that right thing, the thing that feels right, the thing that doesn’t fill me with regret, the thing that just is because it was meant to be. That’s some thing.
And I don’t even know if you could listen to this music or read these words or smell this smell, walk these paces, trace this face, know my name and fall into it
And I want to get up to walk across the world in 276 pages, across the accumulated knowledge of species summed up tidily in 26 volumes I never have the patience to read.
And I want to get up.
And I want to get up
And get to that phone and dial your number and even if it’s really late and I have to wake you up for art.
And even if it’s really late and I have to wake you up for art I still want to ask you for a dance because the drum rolls through “Locomotion” and it’s calling me and I’d like to believe it’s calling you.
And I’m still in my house-slippers and it’s okay. I’m still in a bathrobe and that’s just fine. I’m still waking up as an antithesis to the rest of the sane little world.
And the atlas makes the world seem like a great big place. 276 pages big.
And the encyclopedia is huge, it’s everything that we know.
And if I could just get up right now I know I could walk past it all to call you and ask:
Do you dance?
And there are cabbies who are practically bedding down in their taxis tonight; it’s getting late.
And somewhere far off I can imagine the midnight janitors mopping away wolf whistles, black sky in copier toner; picking up the pages of the written words tossed confetti down the linoleum hallways of our workaday world.
And the incense is burning down to thin stick; the ashes are accumulating.
And I wish that tomorrow wasn’t a part of the financial scheme.
And I wish that “Lazy Bird” drifted along ad infinitum.
And it was you and me and these dying snare drum hits that roil against death, sound out.
And it was you and me and the tumbling and the ease and I want to ask you, if you please:
Do you dance?
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