I did survive.
Monday, July 24, 2006
Happy Birthday
I just wanted to say happy birthday to Jordan. A little late, of course. As is my custom.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
The Shock Of The Finger
Watching MuchMusic tonight I happened to catch the video for the Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Can't Stop." I know what you're going to say and, yes, I swear I saw an actual fucking music video on MuchMusic, which is an anomaly given their round-the-clock schedule of playing second-tier reality shows and filler material that is thinly veiled attempts at fellating which ever pop star happens to big at a given moment. So, yes, I did see an actual music video amongst all that other shit and, while I was naturally in shock and finding myself having to stick fucking toothpicks in my eyes so that I wouldn't miss a single frame of one of the last music videos to ever play on a station that seemed to have a mandate to play music videos, I noticed on strang thing about the "Can't Stop" video that kind of bugged me afterward.
The video itself is actually quite well-done and has a very distinct visual appeal to it. What bothered me was one scene in which Flea, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist extraordinaire, wearing an oversized purple plush hippopotamus head, gives a hand gesture, which is digitally blurred out. The hand gesture, I can only assume, is the extended ring finger, standing alone and proud which means, "I just had anal sex with your mother." I know, it's pretty shocking. I don't make up what these hand gestures mean, I just play along. Everytime I fuck somebody's mom up the ass I am, in observance of proper etiquette, required to flash the hand gesture of extending my ring finger to them and, usually, sticking my tongue out and leering at the same time. It's quite the sight to behold.
But, in all seriousness, the hand gesture, though could not be seen by me through the digital censoring, was quite possibly, the bird. That's right, the middle finger standing alone on one's hand, proclaiming to the world, "I'm mad as hell and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you over there too, you motherfucking fuckheads! Go eat a bag of bull semen!" Or something like that. Naturally, it's a good thing the hand gesture got censored out because I just don't think I could handle seeing that. It would just be too much.
Does anybody actually get shocked any more by the sight of somebody giving the finger? I mean, we live in a world where violence is in the news, it's on t.v., Dennis Franz showed his bare ass on primetime, Dr. Phil continues to have a career, and Barbara Streisand threatens world peace with the promise of a comeback tour. Is somebody giving the finger really that much of a faux pas that it has be digitally altered?
Well, yes, you stupid shithead, we have to censor that because we really need to protect the impressionable children of the world.
Wrong. You know what? There are probably some children who would see an image of somebody giving the finger and try it themselves, probably at very inopportune times too, like when they're taking communion in church or when they're servicing their priest (interpret that one how you will), or when an international dignitary decides to pay a surprise visit to their town or to just pop over for dinner out of the blue. And you want to know something else? Big fucking deal. It's a fucking hand gesture. Those same kids who are in that monkey see, monkey do mindset are too fucking ignorant to know that it means, "Fuck you, you fucking douchebag. Go shove a lightbulb up your ass!" You gotta love how I was able to work that link in. But back to the topic, it would then fall on the parents to make sure their children are properly educated as to if and when deploying the bird is appropriate. The kids are going to learn all about the finger by time they're in elementary school so, really, how long do you expect to keep them in the dark through censorship?
Secondly, the whole censorship of a stupid hand gesture becomes more a double-edged sword in the sense that when one is confronted by an image that is censored there is an added level of attention drawn to whatever piece of the puzzle is censored out. People expound on it. They go on the internet and find the uncensored, unedited image. They write a fucking blog entry about it. By censoring the image we are added emphasis to how important, cool, edgy, etc. the hand gesture is. Right now as I am writing this I'm flipping you off because it's just too fucking cool! I can't stop!
And finally, is there anything more adorable than a wee child flipping you off? Even when they're gesturing to me, "Fuck you, you fucking failed cumstain! Go fuck a giraffe!" even I can't bring myself to say anything other than, "Awwwww, isn't that just precious? He thinks he's big people!"
The video itself is actually quite well-done and has a very distinct visual appeal to it. What bothered me was one scene in which Flea, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' bassist extraordinaire, wearing an oversized purple plush hippopotamus head, gives a hand gesture, which is digitally blurred out. The hand gesture, I can only assume, is the extended ring finger, standing alone and proud which means, "I just had anal sex with your mother." I know, it's pretty shocking. I don't make up what these hand gestures mean, I just play along. Everytime I fuck somebody's mom up the ass I am, in observance of proper etiquette, required to flash the hand gesture of extending my ring finger to them and, usually, sticking my tongue out and leering at the same time. It's quite the sight to behold.
But, in all seriousness, the hand gesture, though could not be seen by me through the digital censoring, was quite possibly, the bird. That's right, the middle finger standing alone on one's hand, proclaiming to the world, "I'm mad as hell and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you over there too, you motherfucking fuckheads! Go eat a bag of bull semen!" Or something like that. Naturally, it's a good thing the hand gesture got censored out because I just don't think I could handle seeing that. It would just be too much.
Does anybody actually get shocked any more by the sight of somebody giving the finger? I mean, we live in a world where violence is in the news, it's on t.v., Dennis Franz showed his bare ass on primetime, Dr. Phil continues to have a career, and Barbara Streisand threatens world peace with the promise of a comeback tour. Is somebody giving the finger really that much of a faux pas that it has be digitally altered?
Well, yes, you stupid shithead, we have to censor that because we really need to protect the impressionable children of the world.
Wrong. You know what? There are probably some children who would see an image of somebody giving the finger and try it themselves, probably at very inopportune times too, like when they're taking communion in church or when they're servicing their priest (interpret that one how you will), or when an international dignitary decides to pay a surprise visit to their town or to just pop over for dinner out of the blue. And you want to know something else? Big fucking deal. It's a fucking hand gesture. Those same kids who are in that monkey see, monkey do mindset are too fucking ignorant to know that it means, "Fuck you, you fucking douchebag. Go shove a lightbulb up your ass!" You gotta love how I was able to work that link in. But back to the topic, it would then fall on the parents to make sure their children are properly educated as to if and when deploying the bird is appropriate. The kids are going to learn all about the finger by time they're in elementary school so, really, how long do you expect to keep them in the dark through censorship?
Secondly, the whole censorship of a stupid hand gesture becomes more a double-edged sword in the sense that when one is confronted by an image that is censored there is an added level of attention drawn to whatever piece of the puzzle is censored out. People expound on it. They go on the internet and find the uncensored, unedited image. They write a fucking blog entry about it. By censoring the image we are added emphasis to how important, cool, edgy, etc. the hand gesture is. Right now as I am writing this I'm flipping you off because it's just too fucking cool! I can't stop!
And finally, is there anything more adorable than a wee child flipping you off? Even when they're gesturing to me, "Fuck you, you fucking failed cumstain! Go fuck a giraffe!" even I can't bring myself to say anything other than, "Awwwww, isn't that just precious? He thinks he's big people!"
Monday, July 17, 2006
It Can't Be Said Enough
So today I kind of made a rediscovery. I say "rediscovery" in a very loose sense of the word because, really, it was a discovery that never left me. In fact, I've probably been blathering on and on about this so-called "rediscovery" to just about everybody I talk about music with. That "rediscovery?" The Arcade Fire's Funeral.
If you haven't had a chance to check this album out you have to do so.
What really struck me this time as I listened through the album was how this was an entire album of potential singles. I hate saying shit like that because when a person is a fan of a band or an album, I mean a real fan, they tend to have a bias when they make bold statement such as calling each song a potential single. But really, folks, as I was listening I found myself able to hear it as a song that could be played on modern rock radio until the public got sick of hearing it. I really believe that in four years time when everybody is doing that "Top Ten Albums Of The Aughts" or whatever else they call their list, Funeral is going to be one of the albums that becomes a staple for listmakers.
That's really all I wanted to say. I'm listening to the whole thing again. I'm obsessed right now. I'll post something more substantial later.
Until then.
Go buy the fucking album all ready, jerk-asses!
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Maybe Arranged Marriages Aren't The Way To Go
For those of you out there who are single, for those of you out there who kind of just bounce from lover to lover like an endless game of hot-sweaty human pinball with all that bumping and dinging of bells and climbing scores, what with that coy pillow talk and long licks with hot, wet...ahem....ummmm, where was I again? Oh yeah, for all of you out there who aren't married, but spend considerable time wondering why you aren't married, why it can't be as easy as just having your parents arrange for you a spouse with a hefty dowry and all your problems solved:
Read this.
A Springfield, Massachusetts man is suing family friends (well, I suppose they probably won't be family friends after receiving the lawsuit) who had arranged a marriage between the man's son and their niece. Why is he suing his friends, you ask? Well, to put it bluntly, their niece is an eyesore while his son is handsome. You just can't have a handsome man marrying something that looked like it just walked out of a Hindu sideshow. When the marriage was being arranged the uncle and aunt of the blushing bride-to-be didn't string together the sentence, "Oh, by the way, our niece is a homely, homely girl and by saying this now it is our disclaimer that your handsome son stands a 50% chance of fathering some of the ugliest babies that ever popped out of a human vagina." They didn't say that. Not once. So, naturally, by failing to say those aforementioned words, the couple is clearly guilty of fraud and worthy of a lawsuit.
Now, I will admit that I'm not an expert on the ins and outs of arranged marriages. My parents repeated tried to marry me off for $200.00 and three fourth round draft picks and a conditional fifth round draft pick, but thankfully the other team declined the offer. But in all seriousness, the girl had "protruded bad teeth, and couldn't speak English to hold a conversation," and to top it off her complexion was also brought into question. Woof. Throw the dog a bone. Fuck.
But here it is, why not let her meet your son, buddy? They might hit it off. They might not. Maybe your son likes the uglies. Some dudes are down with that sort of stuff. I mean I see guys with ugly, ugly girls all the time. Conversely I see beautiful women with ugly, ugly men. It leads me to believe that we all march to the beat of our own drummers no matter how fucking homely they are. Sometimes we just see past the barbecue stains, the gangrenous left hand, the cleft lip, the thinning hair, the ingrown fingernails, the superfluous third, fourth, fifth, and sixth nipples, and whatever else they have for maladies and we still get hard-ons and wet cooches.
And, hey, if the son is really that repulsed by the sight of the ugly fiancee all he has to do is reply "I don't," when the priest or minister, or whatever official oversees the ceremony asks him if he takes her for the rest of his life. I know that for an ugly enough woman I would definitely be willing to say, "I don't."
I mean, what the fuck were you expecting your friends to say about their niece, really?
"Oh no, you don't want to wed your son to our niece because she is like looking at a horse's ass right after explosive curry diarrhea. She's a fixer-upper and he'd best start by installing a paper bag over her homely head."
Seriously? That's what you wanted them to say?
Maybe you should have asked for a picture up front. Maybe then they'd still be friends.
You don't keep friends by filing lawsuits against them.
Read this.
A Springfield, Massachusetts man is suing family friends (well, I suppose they probably won't be family friends after receiving the lawsuit) who had arranged a marriage between the man's son and their niece. Why is he suing his friends, you ask? Well, to put it bluntly, their niece is an eyesore while his son is handsome. You just can't have a handsome man marrying something that looked like it just walked out of a Hindu sideshow. When the marriage was being arranged the uncle and aunt of the blushing bride-to-be didn't string together the sentence, "Oh, by the way, our niece is a homely, homely girl and by saying this now it is our disclaimer that your handsome son stands a 50% chance of fathering some of the ugliest babies that ever popped out of a human vagina." They didn't say that. Not once. So, naturally, by failing to say those aforementioned words, the couple is clearly guilty of fraud and worthy of a lawsuit.
Now, I will admit that I'm not an expert on the ins and outs of arranged marriages. My parents repeated tried to marry me off for $200.00 and three fourth round draft picks and a conditional fifth round draft pick, but thankfully the other team declined the offer. But in all seriousness, the girl had "protruded bad teeth, and couldn't speak English to hold a conversation," and to top it off her complexion was also brought into question. Woof. Throw the dog a bone. Fuck.
But here it is, why not let her meet your son, buddy? They might hit it off. They might not. Maybe your son likes the uglies. Some dudes are down with that sort of stuff. I mean I see guys with ugly, ugly girls all the time. Conversely I see beautiful women with ugly, ugly men. It leads me to believe that we all march to the beat of our own drummers no matter how fucking homely they are. Sometimes we just see past the barbecue stains, the gangrenous left hand, the cleft lip, the thinning hair, the ingrown fingernails, the superfluous third, fourth, fifth, and sixth nipples, and whatever else they have for maladies and we still get hard-ons and wet cooches.
And, hey, if the son is really that repulsed by the sight of the ugly fiancee all he has to do is reply "I don't," when the priest or minister, or whatever official oversees the ceremony asks him if he takes her for the rest of his life. I know that for an ugly enough woman I would definitely be willing to say, "I don't."
I mean, what the fuck were you expecting your friends to say about their niece, really?
"Oh no, you don't want to wed your son to our niece because she is like looking at a horse's ass right after explosive curry diarrhea. She's a fixer-upper and he'd best start by installing a paper bag over her homely head."
Seriously? That's what you wanted them to say?
Maybe you should have asked for a picture up front. Maybe then they'd still be friends.
You don't keep friends by filing lawsuits against them.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
Battle Of The Cultural Monsters
Click here.
Have you ever seen one of those movies the revolve around a fight between two sides that you don't want to see win? A good example is a movie like Freddy Vs Jason or even any number of those Japanese monster movies where the two larger-than-life monsters square off in a fight that brings nothing but distruction to the Japanese countryside. Ooo. Ooo. Or how about Alien Vs Predator? The point is that I'm describing a movie where two evil, evil forces square off against each other and you just don't know who to cheer for or even why for that matter.
That's the story I have for you tonight.
Two sick, twisted, evil, revolting entities are, quite possibly, getting ready to do battle in a courtroom setting. And you know what? Much like the tagline for the aforementioned Alien Vs Predator movie: Whoever wins...we lose. The combatants in this fight for ultimate evil? Barbara Streisand and Barbara Streisand fans.
That's right Barbara Streisand. Barbara Streisand fans.
Whoever win...we lose.
Okay Michael, we get it. That crusty hideous 'diva' Barbara Streisand is evil incarnate. But her fans? Why, they're just a bunch of yuppie diva wanna-be's. Ohhhhhh, I see where you're going with this. They're evil because they're a bunch of yuppie diva wanna-be's.
Wow, you're getting good at this.
But no, not all of Bab's (I should almost punch myself in the testicles for referring to her as 'Babs') fans are yuppie diva wanna-be's. I'm sure there are fans of her work from all walks of life, but this story concerns a specific sect of her fans. The fans who could not only afford to throw away thousands of dollars to see the last shows she ever performed live back in 1999, but also afford the thousands and thousands of dollars it will take to sue the retired diva because she has just announced a new tour, thus negating those "final" live shows as being "final" live shows back in 1999.
So, there you have it, a bunch of Streisand's fans are threatening to sue her because they spent all that disposable income on tickets to her last shows ever just so that they could brag to friends that they got to see her last shows, which I'm sure led to numerous punches to the testicles and/or beef curtains because there is nary an evil force more annoying than somebody who brags about getting to see a Barbara Streisand concert.
On one hand, if Streisand wins the threatened litigation a bunch of people with too much money and who, for some insane reason, like Barbara Streisand, lose even more money, which is good because it would teach them all a valuable lesson about tying up the legal system with squabbles over what constitutes a "final" concert. On the other hand, if the fans win this battle, maybe Barbara Streisand will be forced to cancel her tour (it couldhappen!) and I won't have to listen to people at parties bragging about how they saw Barbara Streisand in concert, and it would probably cost the diva a lot of money, which she definitely has too much of.
So who the fuck is a guy supposed to cheer for here? Does my desire to see a bunch of yuppies humiliated in court outweigh my desire to see Barbara Streisand humiliated in court?
Whoever wins...we lose.
Have you ever seen one of those movies the revolve around a fight between two sides that you don't want to see win? A good example is a movie like Freddy Vs Jason or even any number of those Japanese monster movies where the two larger-than-life monsters square off in a fight that brings nothing but distruction to the Japanese countryside. Ooo. Ooo. Or how about Alien Vs Predator? The point is that I'm describing a movie where two evil, evil forces square off against each other and you just don't know who to cheer for or even why for that matter.
That's the story I have for you tonight.
Two sick, twisted, evil, revolting entities are, quite possibly, getting ready to do battle in a courtroom setting. And you know what? Much like the tagline for the aforementioned Alien Vs Predator movie: Whoever wins...we lose. The combatants in this fight for ultimate evil? Barbara Streisand and Barbara Streisand fans.
That's right Barbara Streisand. Barbara Streisand fans.
Whoever win...we lose.
Okay Michael, we get it. That crusty hideous 'diva' Barbara Streisand is evil incarnate. But her fans? Why, they're just a bunch of yuppie diva wanna-be's. Ohhhhhh, I see where you're going with this. They're evil because they're a bunch of yuppie diva wanna-be's.
Wow, you're getting good at this.
But no, not all of Bab's (I should almost punch myself in the testicles for referring to her as 'Babs') fans are yuppie diva wanna-be's. I'm sure there are fans of her work from all walks of life, but this story concerns a specific sect of her fans. The fans who could not only afford to throw away thousands of dollars to see the last shows she ever performed live back in 1999, but also afford the thousands and thousands of dollars it will take to sue the retired diva because she has just announced a new tour, thus negating those "final" live shows as being "final" live shows back in 1999.
So, there you have it, a bunch of Streisand's fans are threatening to sue her because they spent all that disposable income on tickets to her last shows ever just so that they could brag to friends that they got to see her last shows, which I'm sure led to numerous punches to the testicles and/or beef curtains because there is nary an evil force more annoying than somebody who brags about getting to see a Barbara Streisand concert.
On one hand, if Streisand wins the threatened litigation a bunch of people with too much money and who, for some insane reason, like Barbara Streisand, lose even more money, which is good because it would teach them all a valuable lesson about tying up the legal system with squabbles over what constitutes a "final" concert. On the other hand, if the fans win this battle, maybe Barbara Streisand will be forced to cancel her tour (it couldhappen!) and I won't have to listen to people at parties bragging about how they saw Barbara Streisand in concert, and it would probably cost the diva a lot of money, which she definitely has too much of.
So who the fuck is a guy supposed to cheer for here? Does my desire to see a bunch of yuppies humiliated in court outweigh my desire to see Barbara Streisand humiliated in court?
Whoever wins...we lose.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
I'm Sure This Matters
Click here.
A movie that is getting set for release, "Facing The Giants," is being bitch-slapped by the MPAA (the Motion Picture Association of America) with a PG rating because it was rife with religious content.
And the movie's makers? Pissed off.
Why are they pissed off, you ask? Well, the MPAA rated the movie PG instead of G. PG implies that there is material in a given movie that would require parental guidance whereas a G rating implies that any simp can go watch the fucking movie and there's absolutely no danger of being warped from the experience. As you can tell I was raised watching many G rated movies.
So there's the flap, the legal squabble. You have two sides splitting hairs over PG and G ratings.
Okay, picture it, if you will, you're a 5-year-old kid out on the town with your best buds, cruising the mall and picking up hot-looking toddler chicks and then you decide, Holy shit, dude, we should totally hit up the multiplex because I really need a darkened theater to put the sweet, sweet moves on this three-year-old nympho! So you go to the theater and, because you're only five fucking years old, you have a decidedly reduced choice of movies that you can get into. On one hand you could probably go to see "Cars" or you could go see "Facing The Giants" except that.... Oh what the fuck, man, that fucking movie's been slapped with a PG rating. We're going to have to sneak into that one! Fuck! And then, by that point, your plans of sneaking into the steamy PG rated movie as opposed to, say, its G rated counterparts, has taken so long that the three old nympho that you met at the food court has left to hook up with somebody who is old enough to get into PG rated movies with the parental units. Aw fuck! When will the MPAA ever learn?
Now, did you notice anything wrong at all with the previous paragraph? That's right, the last two sentence should have been italicized to keep in tune with the internalized voice I established before. Oh, and also there aren't many five-year-old fucking kids who cruise the fucking mall looking for three-year-old nymphos to hook up with at screenings of a PG rated Christian movie! It should pretty much be a given that if you aren't old enough to get into a movie by yourself you're probably going to be accompanied by an adult, thus satisfying the silly requirements of the almost entirely bullshit rating we know as P-fucking-G. In this day and age you mean to tell me that there are parents who would let little children just blithely wander into darkened movie theaters all by themselves when they're not old enough to get into PG rated movies on their own? With MySpace users and other sexual deviants comprising 73% of the general population? Are you people insane?
You're splitting hairs on a fucking rating that is useless. Way to go morons. I'm sure there will be a ton of parents who are going to be holding their kid's hand outside the multiplex looking at the movie poster and seeing that demonic PG rating and going, "Hmmmm, I wonder if little Sally is going to want to see a religious movie about a football coach or if she would rather see an animated movie about talking cars."
"Any strong or mature discussion of any subject matter results in at least a PG rating," Glickman said. "This movie had a mature discussion about pregnancy, for example. It also had other mature discussions that some parents might want to be aware of before taking their kids to see this movie."
Ahhhhhh...so the whole religious persecution was just a figment of the fundamentalist right wing's imagination. Those stupid idiots. All along they were crying persecution for their religious beliefs, but they failed to make a note of the fact that when the subject of pregnancy comes up in the movie there might be more than a handful of little five and six year olds who want to know about the mysteries of life, love, and donkey punching.
Do I intend to see the controversial "Facing The Giants"? No. And it's not because the religious themes don't mesh with my sensibilities. It's because it just doesn't sound that interesting to me, which I am suspecting is how a lot of little kids are going to be seeing this movie, especially when you put it next to movies about talking cars and forest animals with witty retorts to everything that comes their way.
Religious persecution indeed.
A movie that is getting set for release, "Facing The Giants," is being bitch-slapped by the MPAA (the Motion Picture Association of America) with a PG rating because it was rife with religious content.
And the movie's makers? Pissed off.
Why are they pissed off, you ask? Well, the MPAA rated the movie PG instead of G. PG implies that there is material in a given movie that would require parental guidance whereas a G rating implies that any simp can go watch the fucking movie and there's absolutely no danger of being warped from the experience. As you can tell I was raised watching many G rated movies.
So there's the flap, the legal squabble. You have two sides splitting hairs over PG and G ratings.
Okay, picture it, if you will, you're a 5-year-old kid out on the town with your best buds, cruising the mall and picking up hot-looking toddler chicks and then you decide, Holy shit, dude, we should totally hit up the multiplex because I really need a darkened theater to put the sweet, sweet moves on this three-year-old nympho! So you go to the theater and, because you're only five fucking years old, you have a decidedly reduced choice of movies that you can get into. On one hand you could probably go to see "Cars" or you could go see "Facing The Giants" except that.... Oh what the fuck, man, that fucking movie's been slapped with a PG rating. We're going to have to sneak into that one! Fuck! And then, by that point, your plans of sneaking into the steamy PG rated movie as opposed to, say, its G rated counterparts, has taken so long that the three old nympho that you met at the food court has left to hook up with somebody who is old enough to get into PG rated movies with the parental units. Aw fuck! When will the MPAA ever learn?
Now, did you notice anything wrong at all with the previous paragraph? That's right, the last two sentence should have been italicized to keep in tune with the internalized voice I established before. Oh, and also there aren't many five-year-old fucking kids who cruise the fucking mall looking for three-year-old nymphos to hook up with at screenings of a PG rated Christian movie! It should pretty much be a given that if you aren't old enough to get into a movie by yourself you're probably going to be accompanied by an adult, thus satisfying the silly requirements of the almost entirely bullshit rating we know as P-fucking-G. In this day and age you mean to tell me that there are parents who would let little children just blithely wander into darkened movie theaters all by themselves when they're not old enough to get into PG rated movies on their own? With MySpace users and other sexual deviants comprising 73% of the general population? Are you people insane?
You're splitting hairs on a fucking rating that is useless. Way to go morons. I'm sure there will be a ton of parents who are going to be holding their kid's hand outside the multiplex looking at the movie poster and seeing that demonic PG rating and going, "Hmmmm, I wonder if little Sally is going to want to see a religious movie about a football coach or if she would rather see an animated movie about talking cars."
"Any strong or mature discussion of any subject matter results in at least a PG rating," Glickman said. "This movie had a mature discussion about pregnancy, for example. It also had other mature discussions that some parents might want to be aware of before taking their kids to see this movie."
Ahhhhhh...so the whole religious persecution was just a figment of the fundamentalist right wing's imagination. Those stupid idiots. All along they were crying persecution for their religious beliefs, but they failed to make a note of the fact that when the subject of pregnancy comes up in the movie there might be more than a handful of little five and six year olds who want to know about the mysteries of life, love, and donkey punching.
Do I intend to see the controversial "Facing The Giants"? No. And it's not because the religious themes don't mesh with my sensibilities. It's because it just doesn't sound that interesting to me, which I am suspecting is how a lot of little kids are going to be seeing this movie, especially when you put it next to movies about talking cars and forest animals with witty retorts to everything that comes their way.
Religious persecution indeed.
Friday, June 30, 2006
The Bottom Ten, June 2006
10.) Window Coverings- Civic politics, man, civic politics. Euclid, Ohio, is finally tightening the thumb screws on those fucking asshole dickheads who hang blankets and bedsheets in their windows as window coverings. Those fucking monsters! I think it's about time some town council somewhere in the world whipped out testicles big enough to bring a law against this tasteless, vulgar display of interior decoration. I can just imagine the courtroom crammed with lawyers trying to defend these amoral, sick, sadistic window covering fuckheads. If I were living in Euclid, Ohio, I would definitely be one of those people willing to let rapists, murderers, serial jaywalkers, and child molesters rule the streets just so long as those hideous, hideous bedsheet-hanging pissflaps are finally, finally brough to swift and decisive justice. Hang the fuckers! And, yes, I do, in fact have a blanket hanging in my window, but that's I fled Euclid. I'm an outlaw and an exile. Fuck you!
9.) Menudo- Didn't the 80's end 16 fucking years ago? "If I wind up the next Ricky Martin or Marc Anthony, that would be great!" he said with a winning smile. Wow, that would be great! Holy shit! I take it all back about Menudo, folks. I mean, I thought that by saying that the 80's ended 16 years ago it meant that the shitty music of Menudo should have been over 16 years ago too, but then I had to take into consideration that Menudo launched the careers of not only Ricky Martin, but also Marc Anthony. Well shit, now I have to stand corrected because the 80's didn't just end 16 years ago, they should have been erased en masse from the collective human memory banks because we're still paying for our mistakes of letting Menudo fester in that decade like a cauliflower head of genital warts that also sings obnoxious pop music. Sorry, I was just looking for an excuse to use the analogy of a cauliflower head of genital warts and Menudo, for some reason, fit that analogy well. I mean Menudo does sound kind of like that STD we caught back in the 80's and we're still trying to forget. Looks like it's flaring up again.
8.) Bong Laws- So let me get this straight....you can't break into a tomb and decapitate the corpse that rests inside of it so that you can make a bong out of its skull? What the fuck is the world coming to when you can't desecrate a grave for the purposes of smoking weed, man? Fucking fascists!
7.) Age Of Consent- And then you mean to tell me that I can't cruise junior high schools looking for sweet, sweet poon tang with a 14 year old girl before going to desecrate graves so I can make a bitchin' bong out of a decapitated human skull? Are you guys trying to make a joyless robot out of everybody? Seriously. I had my heart set on doing the daytime talkshow circuit of Maury Povich and Montel Williams when they do that "Human Skid Mark Has Knocked Up My Daughter And Decapitated My Grandfather's Corpse" topic. They do that topic like once a week, but still. I had my eye on making a career out of bongs and banging 14-year-olds. Sigh.
6.) Britney Spears The Magazine- Britney seems to finally be at work on getting her own regular publication to newsstands everywhere and it's about time. If there's one thing that has been dominating my thoughts over the past number of months and leaving me sleepless over many, many nights it's that the former pop princess has yet to set the record straight regarding her marriage to K-Fed-eroo-dawger-snipesta or whatever the fuck that hillbilly she married is named. Yep, issue after issue of reading about the dynamics of the relationship between two of the most phony, one-dimensional celebrities out there. There is a god. Holy fuck, there's still time to get on board with a lifetime subscription to that one!
5.) Rush Limbaugh And Viagra Appearing In The Same Paragraph- Rush Limbaugh was caught in possession of somebody else's Viagra prescription. Limbaugh joked aout the search on his radio show Tuesday, saying Customs officials didn't believe him when he said he got the pills at the Clinton Library and he was told they were blue M&Ms. He later added, chuckling: "I had a great time in the Dominican Republic. Wish I could tell you about it." Ewwwwwwwwww! Does anybody else feel compelled to drink a cup of bleach when they imagine Rush Limbaugh with a Viagra hard-on? There are times when I think there are certain people who are so sexually unappealing that it should be a criminal act for them to engage in anything remotely sexual. Rush Limbaugh probably has to take Viagra because he gets to see himself naked. That would kill Michael-Jackson-In-An-Elementary-School-Strength Erections.
4.) The Food Shortage In Germany- Food is at such a premium in Germany right now what with the World Cup going on that Victoria Beckham can't even afford a sandwich. Okay, seriously, I think she's disappearing. I think that the world needs to intervene and start sending Germany emergency supplies of food lest the British affluent wither and die. We need a fucking Farm Aid concert or something.
3.) Ten Years Too Early- Ashlee Simpson to pose for Playboy? Not yet! I don't know who fielded the offer of $4 million to Vanilli Simpson to pose, but they forgot that the rule of thumb for pop princesses is that they don't pose until ten years after people have forgotten them. This fucks things up a little because this news keeps the lip-syncher in the spotlight into the 16th minute. So I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it keeps Ashlee Simpson in the news (if you call declining an offer from Playboy news) meaning I have to hear about her, but on the other hand it means that I won't have to see her nude in the pages of Playboy, which I read strictly for the articles and witty cartoons. So it's a mixed blessing.
2.) Getting Old- I really felt old tonight because I went to see the Wilco concert at the Jubilee Auditorium. The Wilco show itself didn't make me feel old. What made me feel old was the Jube. Fuck that place has changed. Not only that, but it's located right near my alma mater, the University of Alberta, and fuck that place has changed as well. Just walking from the parking lot to the Jube gave me a bit of a trip down memory lane because I used to park behind some of the dorms at Lister when I was still going to school what seems like eons ago. Sigh. Fucking age is catching up with me.
1.) Rush Limbaugh- Wasn't this pervert all for the impeachment of Clinton? I think that thinking about Rush Limbaugh having sex has given me a sexual disfunction.
9.) Menudo- Didn't the 80's end 16 fucking years ago? "If I wind up the next Ricky Martin or Marc Anthony, that would be great!" he said with a winning smile. Wow, that would be great! Holy shit! I take it all back about Menudo, folks. I mean, I thought that by saying that the 80's ended 16 years ago it meant that the shitty music of Menudo should have been over 16 years ago too, but then I had to take into consideration that Menudo launched the careers of not only Ricky Martin, but also Marc Anthony. Well shit, now I have to stand corrected because the 80's didn't just end 16 years ago, they should have been erased en masse from the collective human memory banks because we're still paying for our mistakes of letting Menudo fester in that decade like a cauliflower head of genital warts that also sings obnoxious pop music. Sorry, I was just looking for an excuse to use the analogy of a cauliflower head of genital warts and Menudo, for some reason, fit that analogy well. I mean Menudo does sound kind of like that STD we caught back in the 80's and we're still trying to forget. Looks like it's flaring up again.
8.) Bong Laws- So let me get this straight....you can't break into a tomb and decapitate the corpse that rests inside of it so that you can make a bong out of its skull? What the fuck is the world coming to when you can't desecrate a grave for the purposes of smoking weed, man? Fucking fascists!
7.) Age Of Consent- And then you mean to tell me that I can't cruise junior high schools looking for sweet, sweet poon tang with a 14 year old girl before going to desecrate graves so I can make a bitchin' bong out of a decapitated human skull? Are you guys trying to make a joyless robot out of everybody? Seriously. I had my heart set on doing the daytime talkshow circuit of Maury Povich and Montel Williams when they do that "Human Skid Mark Has Knocked Up My Daughter And Decapitated My Grandfather's Corpse" topic. They do that topic like once a week, but still. I had my eye on making a career out of bongs and banging 14-year-olds. Sigh.
6.) Britney Spears The Magazine- Britney seems to finally be at work on getting her own regular publication to newsstands everywhere and it's about time. If there's one thing that has been dominating my thoughts over the past number of months and leaving me sleepless over many, many nights it's that the former pop princess has yet to set the record straight regarding her marriage to K-Fed-eroo-dawger-snipesta or whatever the fuck that hillbilly she married is named. Yep, issue after issue of reading about the dynamics of the relationship between two of the most phony, one-dimensional celebrities out there. There is a god. Holy fuck, there's still time to get on board with a lifetime subscription to that one!
5.) Rush Limbaugh And Viagra Appearing In The Same Paragraph- Rush Limbaugh was caught in possession of somebody else's Viagra prescription. Limbaugh joked aout the search on his radio show Tuesday, saying Customs officials didn't believe him when he said he got the pills at the Clinton Library and he was told they were blue M&Ms. He later added, chuckling: "I had a great time in the Dominican Republic. Wish I could tell you about it." Ewwwwwwwwww! Does anybody else feel compelled to drink a cup of bleach when they imagine Rush Limbaugh with a Viagra hard-on? There are times when I think there are certain people who are so sexually unappealing that it should be a criminal act for them to engage in anything remotely sexual. Rush Limbaugh probably has to take Viagra because he gets to see himself naked. That would kill Michael-Jackson-In-An-Elementary-School-Strength Erections.
4.) The Food Shortage In Germany- Food is at such a premium in Germany right now what with the World Cup going on that Victoria Beckham can't even afford a sandwich. Okay, seriously, I think she's disappearing. I think that the world needs to intervene and start sending Germany emergency supplies of food lest the British affluent wither and die. We need a fucking Farm Aid concert or something.
3.) Ten Years Too Early- Ashlee Simpson to pose for Playboy? Not yet! I don't know who fielded the offer of $4 million to Vanilli Simpson to pose, but they forgot that the rule of thumb for pop princesses is that they don't pose until ten years after people have forgotten them. This fucks things up a little because this news keeps the lip-syncher in the spotlight into the 16th minute. So I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand it keeps Ashlee Simpson in the news (if you call declining an offer from Playboy news) meaning I have to hear about her, but on the other hand it means that I won't have to see her nude in the pages of Playboy, which I read strictly for the articles and witty cartoons. So it's a mixed blessing.
2.) Getting Old- I really felt old tonight because I went to see the Wilco concert at the Jubilee Auditorium. The Wilco show itself didn't make me feel old. What made me feel old was the Jube. Fuck that place has changed. Not only that, but it's located right near my alma mater, the University of Alberta, and fuck that place has changed as well. Just walking from the parking lot to the Jube gave me a bit of a trip down memory lane because I used to park behind some of the dorms at Lister when I was still going to school what seems like eons ago. Sigh. Fucking age is catching up with me.
1.) Rush Limbaugh- Wasn't this pervert all for the impeachment of Clinton? I think that thinking about Rush Limbaugh having sex has given me a sexual disfunction.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
And Now, The Bad News...
Last night the dream of a Stanley Cup being won by the Edmonton Oilers in 2006 came to an end.
For those of you out there who read my blog and are from the Edmonton area you are more than likely familiar with how the playoff run affected the city. Sure, there were riots and beer shortages and arrests and fights and just general mayhem, but while all this was going on, there was a sort of comradeship that bloomed here. It's really hard to describe. On one hand there was an almost tangible electrity in the air and just about everywhere you went you could just see how excited everybody was, especially these past couple of days.
More than anything else that is what is sad about the Edmonton Oilers cinderella Stanley Cup story coming to an end. Now the little microcosm of Edmonton devolves back into its normal state, people generally alienated from everybody else, loneliness, directionless. It's not that we are a people who are desperate, it's just that we will likely return our respective focuses to the other tasks and interests that consume our time. The playoff run was more of a thread that sewed all of us together, a sort of flag for us to collectively rally around.
And now that flag has been removed.
Even if the Oilers had won the cup the magic would have only been prolonged for a while longer. All magic like that is fleeting.
There is also some sadness I feel for the Oilers. Our city's boys put up a hell of a fight. For those of you not in the know on what was transpiring with the NHL, the Edmonton Oilers were the bottom-seeded team in the Western Conference going into the playoffs, meaning that they were underdogs insofar as the standings were concerned and, as such, we never had a series where we had home ice advantage. However, our team played like contenders throughout. They made believers of not only our city, but the whole hockey world. So yeah, I can be sad for our boys because they got so close. A one goal loss in the seventh game in the Stanley Cup Final is as close as it gets. But because nobody expected them to even get out of the first round, let alone get all the way to the finals, I am proud of what they were able to accomplish. So sadness, yes, but hope and optimism for the future always. Our team will be back. They will kick more ass. They have no reason to be down for too long.
For those of you out there who read my blog and are from the Edmonton area you are more than likely familiar with how the playoff run affected the city. Sure, there were riots and beer shortages and arrests and fights and just general mayhem, but while all this was going on, there was a sort of comradeship that bloomed here. It's really hard to describe. On one hand there was an almost tangible electrity in the air and just about everywhere you went you could just see how excited everybody was, especially these past couple of days.
More than anything else that is what is sad about the Edmonton Oilers cinderella Stanley Cup story coming to an end. Now the little microcosm of Edmonton devolves back into its normal state, people generally alienated from everybody else, loneliness, directionless. It's not that we are a people who are desperate, it's just that we will likely return our respective focuses to the other tasks and interests that consume our time. The playoff run was more of a thread that sewed all of us together, a sort of flag for us to collectively rally around.
And now that flag has been removed.
Even if the Oilers had won the cup the magic would have only been prolonged for a while longer. All magic like that is fleeting.
There is also some sadness I feel for the Oilers. Our city's boys put up a hell of a fight. For those of you not in the know on what was transpiring with the NHL, the Edmonton Oilers were the bottom-seeded team in the Western Conference going into the playoffs, meaning that they were underdogs insofar as the standings were concerned and, as such, we never had a series where we had home ice advantage. However, our team played like contenders throughout. They made believers of not only our city, but the whole hockey world. So yeah, I can be sad for our boys because they got so close. A one goal loss in the seventh game in the Stanley Cup Final is as close as it gets. But because nobody expected them to even get out of the first round, let alone get all the way to the finals, I am proud of what they were able to accomplish. So sadness, yes, but hope and optimism for the future always. Our team will be back. They will kick more ass. They have no reason to be down for too long.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
The Civil Service: The Sexiest Line Of Work Around
Click here.
Okay, today I have a strange one for you. Somewhere over in England there is an office in Newcastle, the Rural Payments Agency office to be precise, and it is the sexiest office in the world.
To borrow a few words from the linked article here's what's been happening in this sexy little government building:
"The agency said it was investigating claims that staff leapt naked from filing cabinets, had sex in office toilets, held break-dancing competitions during working hours and fought in a reception area."
My first reaction after reading this was Sign me up. I'll move to England, just get me a job in that office because that's where I want to be.
But then I thought about it some more and now I'm not wanting to move to England so much and it has little to do with the British Dental Association's care for its country's citizens or the fact that they speak English over there and yet there are numerous Brits whom I can't understand in the slightest. No, it's none of that.
What is keeping me here in Canada is the fact that this sexy little office is being investigated, most likely to curb any further shenanigans.
And that's what pisses me off about this whole matter.
You want to curb this kind of behavior from your government employees? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I mean seriously. Have you ever had to go to a government office for anything? I'm sure that there are many of you out there who have. What did you think about the experience? It was pretty fucking dull, wasn't it? You go and you sit and then some jerk in a cheap suit and reeking of B.O. takes you to his office where he sips criminally bad coffee and pores over a computer to review whatever file they have on you and it takes forever. Almost literally.
Now, if you had to, say, go to some office where all the workers were parading around naked, having breakdancing competitions, fistfights, and fucking like sex-crazed teenagers, would you find that dull? Do you have a fucking pulse?
I don't know about you, but I only wish the civil servants around here were that cool. Some buxom receptionist just typing away topless and I could gaze longingly at her heaving breasts. Meanwhile, some lowly mailroom clerk is breakdancing and these two other clerks are duking it out Muhammad Ali style. And naked diving off of filing cabinets? Brother, you ain't seen naked dives off of filing cabinets until you've seen these plucky Brits doing it.
That's civil service, fuckers!
If you ask me, they should be investigating that office to see how other offices should be run to make them just as exciting.
Not only that, but if I were the British government I would look into marketing that shit properly. I'd put out a line of DVDs and call it "Civil Servants Gone Wild." How fucking cool would that be? Just 2 hours of naked clerks and office shlubs filling out paperwork and breakdancing.
So, governments of the free world, take note of this sexy little office in Newcastle. If you want to lure people to join the civil service or even if you want to improve the dreary experience of having to go to a government office make like the civil servants in Newcastle and bust a move, bitches.
Incidentally, where I work people have sex in the toilets all the time. We even have this one employee we call Betty Blumpkin, affectionately, I might add. Our breakdancing isn't quite as good, but we do manage to spin and twirl fast enough that our wangs make that slapping sound good and loud. Sounds pretty cool.
That's because I'm not in the civil service.
Okay, today I have a strange one for you. Somewhere over in England there is an office in Newcastle, the Rural Payments Agency office to be precise, and it is the sexiest office in the world.
To borrow a few words from the linked article here's what's been happening in this sexy little government building:
"The agency said it was investigating claims that staff leapt naked from filing cabinets, had sex in office toilets, held break-dancing competitions during working hours and fought in a reception area."
My first reaction after reading this was Sign me up. I'll move to England, just get me a job in that office because that's where I want to be.
But then I thought about it some more and now I'm not wanting to move to England so much and it has little to do with the British Dental Association's care for its country's citizens or the fact that they speak English over there and yet there are numerous Brits whom I can't understand in the slightest. No, it's none of that.
What is keeping me here in Canada is the fact that this sexy little office is being investigated, most likely to curb any further shenanigans.
And that's what pisses me off about this whole matter.
You want to curb this kind of behavior from your government employees? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I mean seriously. Have you ever had to go to a government office for anything? I'm sure that there are many of you out there who have. What did you think about the experience? It was pretty fucking dull, wasn't it? You go and you sit and then some jerk in a cheap suit and reeking of B.O. takes you to his office where he sips criminally bad coffee and pores over a computer to review whatever file they have on you and it takes forever. Almost literally.
Now, if you had to, say, go to some office where all the workers were parading around naked, having breakdancing competitions, fistfights, and fucking like sex-crazed teenagers, would you find that dull? Do you have a fucking pulse?
I don't know about you, but I only wish the civil servants around here were that cool. Some buxom receptionist just typing away topless and I could gaze longingly at her heaving breasts. Meanwhile, some lowly mailroom clerk is breakdancing and these two other clerks are duking it out Muhammad Ali style. And naked diving off of filing cabinets? Brother, you ain't seen naked dives off of filing cabinets until you've seen these plucky Brits doing it.
That's civil service, fuckers!
If you ask me, they should be investigating that office to see how other offices should be run to make them just as exciting.
Not only that, but if I were the British government I would look into marketing that shit properly. I'd put out a line of DVDs and call it "Civil Servants Gone Wild." How fucking cool would that be? Just 2 hours of naked clerks and office shlubs filling out paperwork and breakdancing.
So, governments of the free world, take note of this sexy little office in Newcastle. If you want to lure people to join the civil service or even if you want to improve the dreary experience of having to go to a government office make like the civil servants in Newcastle and bust a move, bitches.
Incidentally, where I work people have sex in the toilets all the time. We even have this one employee we call Betty Blumpkin, affectionately, I might add. Our breakdancing isn't quite as good, but we do manage to spin and twirl fast enough that our wangs make that slapping sound good and loud. Sounds pretty cool.
That's because I'm not in the civil service.
Sunday, June 11, 2006
The Hottest Fashion Accessory For Your Ass Is Now Available
Click here.
Renova Black.
That's right, Renova Black.
What's Renova Black, you're wondering?
Well, idiot, Renova Black is quite simply "This season's must-have" according to the New York Times toilet paper critic. But what the fuck is it, you're still wondering.
It's black fucking toilet paper.
That's right, black fucking toilet paper.
All you chump sucka fools using three-ply white are all chump sucka fools because black is where it's at when it comes to toilet paper. This is a technological breakthrough. Finally, the tyranny of white toilet paper has come to an end, ending hundreds of years of apartheid in bathrooms across the world. Finally, the technology that allows us to have black toilet paper has been perfected.
Okay, first of all, why the fuck is this even considered groundbreaking? For years and years we've been able to put all kinds of shit on toilet paper, pun intended. We've had the faces of presidents we desise, names of countries we hate, and even Michael Jackson. Hell, I've even had a roll of toilet paper with pages of Mad Magazine printed on each square. You mean to tell me that with all of this great toilet paper being created we haven't once stopped to think, Hey, wait a second, why not black toilet paper?
But here's what really bothers me. The New York Times. Seriously, how fucking slow does a news day have to be before the New York Times exclaims, "This season's must-have" about black toilet paper. It's fucking toilet paper, morons, wipe your fucking ass with it and call it a day. It doesn't matter if it's white, black, purple, blue, or green, just wad up a fistful of it and start wiping before the diarrhea hardens.
Iraq?
Naw. Too ho-hum.
Our lunatic president?
Naw. Too predictable.
Brangelina?
Naw. It's been done.
Hey wait, I know. Let's get all over that black toilet paper craze that's sweeping the nation! Now that's newsworthy. Bump the impending nuclear armageddon to the lifestyle section and let's get that fucking black toilet paper page 1, front and center. Here's the fucking headline: Newspaper Editor Goes Batshit Crazy.
And, "This season's must-have"? What the fuck is that supposed to be? Does this all mean that next season there's going to be another hot toilet paper? Paper for your ass? Paper to wipe shit off your ass? Who the fuck goes to the toilet paper fashion shows? Who the fuck is a toilet paper designer by trade?
Renova Black.
That's right, Renova Black.
What's Renova Black, you're wondering?
Well, idiot, Renova Black is quite simply "This season's must-have" according to the New York Times toilet paper critic. But what the fuck is it, you're still wondering.
It's black fucking toilet paper.
That's right, black fucking toilet paper.
All you chump sucka fools using three-ply white are all chump sucka fools because black is where it's at when it comes to toilet paper. This is a technological breakthrough. Finally, the tyranny of white toilet paper has come to an end, ending hundreds of years of apartheid in bathrooms across the world. Finally, the technology that allows us to have black toilet paper has been perfected.
Okay, first of all, why the fuck is this even considered groundbreaking? For years and years we've been able to put all kinds of shit on toilet paper, pun intended. We've had the faces of presidents we desise, names of countries we hate, and even Michael Jackson. Hell, I've even had a roll of toilet paper with pages of Mad Magazine printed on each square. You mean to tell me that with all of this great toilet paper being created we haven't once stopped to think, Hey, wait a second, why not black toilet paper?
But here's what really bothers me. The New York Times. Seriously, how fucking slow does a news day have to be before the New York Times exclaims, "This season's must-have" about black toilet paper. It's fucking toilet paper, morons, wipe your fucking ass with it and call it a day. It doesn't matter if it's white, black, purple, blue, or green, just wad up a fistful of it and start wiping before the diarrhea hardens.
Iraq?
Naw. Too ho-hum.
Our lunatic president?
Naw. Too predictable.
Brangelina?
Naw. It's been done.
Hey wait, I know. Let's get all over that black toilet paper craze that's sweeping the nation! Now that's newsworthy. Bump the impending nuclear armageddon to the lifestyle section and let's get that fucking black toilet paper page 1, front and center. Here's the fucking headline: Newspaper Editor Goes Batshit Crazy.
And, "This season's must-have"? What the fuck is that supposed to be? Does this all mean that next season there's going to be another hot toilet paper? Paper for your ass? Paper to wipe shit off your ass? Who the fuck goes to the toilet paper fashion shows? Who the fuck is a toilet paper designer by trade?
Monday, June 05, 2006
Awwww Crap, I Spoke Too Soon
Click here.
This weekend it is predicted that there will be a nuclear attack, which makes the number of the beast 696 or possibly 6106 depending on how you carry the remainder and/or apply the exponents.
I propose a week of binge drinking and/or whooping it up on Whyte Avenue as long as we can keep the Canadian Armed Forces from nuking us.
This weekend it is predicted that there will be a nuclear attack, which makes the number of the beast 696 or possibly 6106 depending on how you carry the remainder and/or apply the exponents.
I propose a week of binge drinking and/or whooping it up on Whyte Avenue as long as we can keep the Canadian Armed Forces from nuking us.
The End Is Nigh
Some bookies are offering 10-1 odds that the world is going to end tomorrow.
Click here.
The above link goes to an article that offers some insight into the true meaning of the number of the beast, 666.
And the one thing that I can't figure out after reading the article is why there is such a fuss over the date. Yeah, okay, 6th day of the 6th month of the 6th year past 2000, 6/6/06, I get it. What I don't get is why didn't the world come to an end on June 6, 0006, or June 6, 1006, or any other combinations that come up with that same "mark of the beast."
Anyway, I just thought I would bring this to your attention.
See you on Wednesday. I'll be the one in the festive hat that reads "See You Again In 1000 Years." Tools.
Click here.
The above link goes to an article that offers some insight into the true meaning of the number of the beast, 666.
And the one thing that I can't figure out after reading the article is why there is such a fuss over the date. Yeah, okay, 6th day of the 6th month of the 6th year past 2000, 6/6/06, I get it. What I don't get is why didn't the world come to an end on June 6, 0006, or June 6, 1006, or any other combinations that come up with that same "mark of the beast."
Anyway, I just thought I would bring this to your attention.
See you on Wednesday. I'll be the one in the festive hat that reads "See You Again In 1000 Years." Tools.
And Now, Michael Appleby Answers Some More Hypothetical Questions
Once again, from the book of If.
Q: If you were suddenly naked in front of everyone at work, what would you say to them?
A: "Suddenly naked"? I hate to answer the question with another question, but I take it that by "suddenly naked" it means that I wasn't expecting to be naked in front of my coworkers as though it was some sort of freak accident that robbed me of my clothes or some ninja sliced my clothes off with a kitana or something. There's such a wide array of instances that would render me "suddenly naked" and I doubt that many, if any of them at all, would be so seemingly normal so as to let me say to my coworkers something banal and obvious like, "Yes, this is my penis. Now get back to work before I slap you with it." Hmmmm...this is a good question because now in my mind I'm going through more and more occurrences that would make me naked suddenly. I think that my best remark about being rendered naked by a twist of fate in front of all my coworkers would have to be something impeccably timed and funny so as to draw attention away from my penis that would undoubtedly be reacting in its own way to the shock sudden and unexpected exposure and the casino's air conditioning. Then I would probably pick up the nearest phone, calmly dial a lawyer and get the wheels turning on a law suit against the casino for having the fucking air conditioning turned up so high that it robbed me of my dignity. Air conditioning does that to penises.
Q: If you were to be any famous person's personal masseuse, whose would you like to be?
A: There are a lot of possibilities for this question. On one hand I could go with the obvious and start naming all of these starlets with sexy backs. On the other hand I could name a whole list of morbidly obese celebrities (okay, the three or four of them who actually exist anymore) just so that, as a masseuse, I could make a better living because with a bigger back comes more overtime, and with more overtime comes better pay cheques and a better quality of life. Decisions. Decisions. Well, most starlets wouldn't give me the time of day anyway. I'm not saying that because I'm trying to be Mr. Oh-Isn't-He-So-Adorably-Humble, but because, come on, I'm a freakin' masseuse and since when do you see starlets dating masseuses? That's like dating a maid or a butler. Sure, there might be a starlet or two who could be desperate enough to have sex with a masseuse just to make their male celebrity love interest jealous or for headline fodder, but how often, realistically, is that going to happen? Nope, I'm going to have to choose to be the masseuse of the fattest celebrity around. But who would that be? Louie Anderson? Those world's fattest twins who ride motorcycles guys? Somebody like that. It doesn't matter who. I'm a masseuse by trade, not for the socializing. Hello pay cheque!
Q: If you could have hit any homerun in baseball history, which one would you choose?
A: Barry Bonds' #715. If I could be Barry Bonds, having spent most of my professional career juicing up (allegedly, he says *snicker*), I would have done #715 with a bit more bitterness. I mean, since you're all ready despised by everybody and made a villain by the media, why not go into the insane level of villainy and rip up a picture of Babe Ruth right at home plate as you cross it? That would be so cool. Because if everybody is intent on putting an asterisk beside your name you should do something else to make them remember you for more than just your footnote.
Q: If you had to go tonight to be tattooed, where on your body would you have it done and what image would you select?
A: I'd want to get Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" tattooed on my back. Since it's a really long poem it would have to be done in really small lettering. Does that count as an "image"?
Q: If you were suddenly naked in front of everyone at work, what would you say to them?
A: "Suddenly naked"? I hate to answer the question with another question, but I take it that by "suddenly naked" it means that I wasn't expecting to be naked in front of my coworkers as though it was some sort of freak accident that robbed me of my clothes or some ninja sliced my clothes off with a kitana or something. There's such a wide array of instances that would render me "suddenly naked" and I doubt that many, if any of them at all, would be so seemingly normal so as to let me say to my coworkers something banal and obvious like, "Yes, this is my penis. Now get back to work before I slap you with it." Hmmmm...this is a good question because now in my mind I'm going through more and more occurrences that would make me naked suddenly. I think that my best remark about being rendered naked by a twist of fate in front of all my coworkers would have to be something impeccably timed and funny so as to draw attention away from my penis that would undoubtedly be reacting in its own way to the shock sudden and unexpected exposure and the casino's air conditioning. Then I would probably pick up the nearest phone, calmly dial a lawyer and get the wheels turning on a law suit against the casino for having the fucking air conditioning turned up so high that it robbed me of my dignity. Air conditioning does that to penises.
Q: If you were to be any famous person's personal masseuse, whose would you like to be?
A: There are a lot of possibilities for this question. On one hand I could go with the obvious and start naming all of these starlets with sexy backs. On the other hand I could name a whole list of morbidly obese celebrities (okay, the three or four of them who actually exist anymore) just so that, as a masseuse, I could make a better living because with a bigger back comes more overtime, and with more overtime comes better pay cheques and a better quality of life. Decisions. Decisions. Well, most starlets wouldn't give me the time of day anyway. I'm not saying that because I'm trying to be Mr. Oh-Isn't-He-So-Adorably-Humble, but because, come on, I'm a freakin' masseuse and since when do you see starlets dating masseuses? That's like dating a maid or a butler. Sure, there might be a starlet or two who could be desperate enough to have sex with a masseuse just to make their male celebrity love interest jealous or for headline fodder, but how often, realistically, is that going to happen? Nope, I'm going to have to choose to be the masseuse of the fattest celebrity around. But who would that be? Louie Anderson? Those world's fattest twins who ride motorcycles guys? Somebody like that. It doesn't matter who. I'm a masseuse by trade, not for the socializing. Hello pay cheque!
Q: If you could have hit any homerun in baseball history, which one would you choose?
A: Barry Bonds' #715. If I could be Barry Bonds, having spent most of my professional career juicing up (allegedly, he says *snicker*), I would have done #715 with a bit more bitterness. I mean, since you're all ready despised by everybody and made a villain by the media, why not go into the insane level of villainy and rip up a picture of Babe Ruth right at home plate as you cross it? That would be so cool. Because if everybody is intent on putting an asterisk beside your name you should do something else to make them remember you for more than just your footnote.
Q: If you had to go tonight to be tattooed, where on your body would you have it done and what image would you select?
A: I'd want to get Allen Ginsberg's "Howl" tattooed on my back. Since it's a really long poem it would have to be done in really small lettering. Does that count as an "image"?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Hockey Town
Click here (Not Safe For Work)
Click here (Safe For Work)
Above I've posted a couple of links to websites that are doing a good job of documenting the mayhem that is happening in Edmonton's famed Whyte Avenue party district during the 2006 NHL playoffs. BlueMile.ca is the not safe for work site and CopperMile.ca is the family-oriented site.
Anyway, Saturday was kind of a peak insofar as the rampage goes, with rioting on Whyte reaching a seeming apex what with the Oilers securing their spot in the Stanley Cup finals.
The best way to put, though, has to be the way that Mike Gravel put it here.
After reading his accounts of the frenzy I think that I might just have to go down there to Whyte at least once just to say that I was part of it. The planets are lining up for my little burg and if you blink you might just miss it.
I just hope that the crackdown in response to Saturday's festivities isn't too severe that it would prevent me from experiencing some of the madness firsthand.
It makes me wonder how much louder we can get if, nay, when we win the Stanley Cup.
Click here (Safe For Work)
Above I've posted a couple of links to websites that are doing a good job of documenting the mayhem that is happening in Edmonton's famed Whyte Avenue party district during the 2006 NHL playoffs. BlueMile.ca is the not safe for work site and CopperMile.ca is the family-oriented site.
Anyway, Saturday was kind of a peak insofar as the rampage goes, with rioting on Whyte reaching a seeming apex what with the Oilers securing their spot in the Stanley Cup finals.
The best way to put, though, has to be the way that Mike Gravel put it here.
After reading his accounts of the frenzy I think that I might just have to go down there to Whyte at least once just to say that I was part of it. The planets are lining up for my little burg and if you blink you might just miss it.
I just hope that the crackdown in response to Saturday's festivities isn't too severe that it would prevent me from experiencing some of the madness firsthand.
It makes me wonder how much louder we can get if, nay, when we win the Stanley Cup.
Friday, May 26, 2006
The Bottom Ten, May 2006
10.) Capatin Obvious- Click here. And click here. The media has become aware of MySpace. Apparently, MySpace is a haven for sexual predators and terrorists. Gasp! Newsflash, fuckheads in the media, I bet all of those same sexual predators and terrorists have probably been to Google too! Oh my god! People of all kinds use the internet! I even have sneaking suspicions that terrorists and sexual deviants have access to email and telephones! How's that for scary news, morons?
9.) Energy Drinks- I haven't had that many energy drinks since they've become so popular so I'm not speaking from a huge amount of experience here, but is there one energy drink that doesn't taste like cat piss? Not that I know what cat piss tastes like, but come the fuck on. Every energy drink I've tried tastes terrible. I think it's that putrid fucking taste that gives people the real energy. Sure, you can blame it on the caffeine all you want, but that fucking taste alone will wake me up every time because immediately I need to clense my palate with something that doesn't make me fucking gag.
8.) Fucking Taxpayers' Whining- Okay, I know that I'm a taxpayer and I'm whining with this one in a way, but click here. 72-year-old mayor exchanging water bill discounts for sex? Fucking rights! I say that if you've put in the work to become the mayor of some shitwater-burg you should be well within your right to give out water bill discounts, sex or no sex. Not only that, but the geezer is 72 fucking years old, any woman who is willing to fuck him should get a water bill discount and a fucking sympathy basket for having to try to get off while looking at pasty old man flab riding you like some sort of palsy-ridden life-size statue of skeletor wrapped in a sheet of cookie dough. I don't know where the fuck I was going with that simile either. But fuck! 72-years-old! He probably had to have his viagra on some sort of IV drip and his personal nurse there to encourage him on:
Good job, sir. Awwwww, who's got a stiff wee-wee? That's right, it's Mr. Mayor! Be gentle with her, sir. Who's a stud? Who's a stud? Peek-A-Boo!
7.) People Who Talk To Geezers Like They're Toddlers- I know that when I hit the twilight of my life I sure as fuck don't want some hairy-moled nurse babbling at me like some kind of drooling fucktard. Just change my geezer diaper and get the fuck out of my sight. I want to watch daytime talk shows and bitch about celebrities all afternoon and you're cramping my style.
6.) Congress- Click here. Can't leave MySpace alone, can I? Apparently not. Neither can Congress. Seriously, though, it's one fucking site on a network of millions. It's like trying to bulldoze one part of town because a few bad people have been there. Bad people have been everywhere and we can't bulldoze the whole fucking city. Why not put more effort into proper education? An informed child is a safe child.
5.) Paris Hilton- She's definately an easy target, not only for me, but for anybody. Easy, that is, that target. Click here. Anyway, she apparently has a video game coming out. If there's one thing that should get the video game geeks of the world to buy that product it's the chance to be like Paris Hilton. All video game geeks would kill to be her. I'm all ready looking into pre-ordering that shit right up because I've always wondered what it would be like to be useless.
4.) Tampon Commercials- Okay, I've resigned to the fact that women have periods and, as such, there are corporations who have the tampon for them. Naturally, when you have shit to sell you need television commercials. But have you ever noticed how the women featured in the commercials are never appear irritable or moody? I'm no expert on women (amen to that, brother), but last time I checked quite a few women get irritable and moody around that time of the month. I'm not saying you have to have a thirty second commercial with a woman yelling at the cameraman that she's bloated, but, at the same time, don't bullshit the world into believing that all your customers are walking on cloud nine. But, then again, maybe I'm wrong. I'm no expert on women. And seriously, do you need that many commercials? They're all over the airwaves!
3.) The Beer Shortage- The outlook is getting quite grim around here? Have you made your pledge yet? If things keep up we'll have to resort to (gulp) hard liquor.
2.) Barbaro- The sports world was rocked by the news of racehorse Barbaro getting surgery done to repair broken bones in his ankle. I think this is clearly a marketing opportunity missed. Do you know how much you could ask for a bottle of glue made from Barbaro? A lot. I can see why you want to keep him alive for breeding and whatnot, but fuck, that would be some expensive glue. Think of the possibilities, people!
1.) Clueless Columnists- Click here. I'm all for the legalization of prostitution because it's easier to regulate who and who does not participate in the sex trade. This columnist suggests that legalization won't happen because the fun of prostitution stems from the fact that it's illegal. That's pretty dumb. If breaking the law was really the fun part of prostitution why would one go out of the way to spend money to break the law? People can "walk on the wild side" for free by breaking other laws. Steal a car. Pirate a stack of CDs. Go on a killing spree. You can call sex the fringe benefit all you want, but in reality it's the product for sale.
9.) Energy Drinks- I haven't had that many energy drinks since they've become so popular so I'm not speaking from a huge amount of experience here, but is there one energy drink that doesn't taste like cat piss? Not that I know what cat piss tastes like, but come the fuck on. Every energy drink I've tried tastes terrible. I think it's that putrid fucking taste that gives people the real energy. Sure, you can blame it on the caffeine all you want, but that fucking taste alone will wake me up every time because immediately I need to clense my palate with something that doesn't make me fucking gag.
8.) Fucking Taxpayers' Whining- Okay, I know that I'm a taxpayer and I'm whining with this one in a way, but click here. 72-year-old mayor exchanging water bill discounts for sex? Fucking rights! I say that if you've put in the work to become the mayor of some shitwater-burg you should be well within your right to give out water bill discounts, sex or no sex. Not only that, but the geezer is 72 fucking years old, any woman who is willing to fuck him should get a water bill discount and a fucking sympathy basket for having to try to get off while looking at pasty old man flab riding you like some sort of palsy-ridden life-size statue of skeletor wrapped in a sheet of cookie dough. I don't know where the fuck I was going with that simile either. But fuck! 72-years-old! He probably had to have his viagra on some sort of IV drip and his personal nurse there to encourage him on:
Good job, sir. Awwwww, who's got a stiff wee-wee? That's right, it's Mr. Mayor! Be gentle with her, sir. Who's a stud? Who's a stud? Peek-A-Boo!
7.) People Who Talk To Geezers Like They're Toddlers- I know that when I hit the twilight of my life I sure as fuck don't want some hairy-moled nurse babbling at me like some kind of drooling fucktard. Just change my geezer diaper and get the fuck out of my sight. I want to watch daytime talk shows and bitch about celebrities all afternoon and you're cramping my style.
6.) Congress- Click here. Can't leave MySpace alone, can I? Apparently not. Neither can Congress. Seriously, though, it's one fucking site on a network of millions. It's like trying to bulldoze one part of town because a few bad people have been there. Bad people have been everywhere and we can't bulldoze the whole fucking city. Why not put more effort into proper education? An informed child is a safe child.
5.) Paris Hilton- She's definately an easy target, not only for me, but for anybody. Easy, that is, that target. Click here. Anyway, she apparently has a video game coming out. If there's one thing that should get the video game geeks of the world to buy that product it's the chance to be like Paris Hilton. All video game geeks would kill to be her. I'm all ready looking into pre-ordering that shit right up because I've always wondered what it would be like to be useless.
4.) Tampon Commercials- Okay, I've resigned to the fact that women have periods and, as such, there are corporations who have the tampon for them. Naturally, when you have shit to sell you need television commercials. But have you ever noticed how the women featured in the commercials are never appear irritable or moody? I'm no expert on women (amen to that, brother), but last time I checked quite a few women get irritable and moody around that time of the month. I'm not saying you have to have a thirty second commercial with a woman yelling at the cameraman that she's bloated, but, at the same time, don't bullshit the world into believing that all your customers are walking on cloud nine. But, then again, maybe I'm wrong. I'm no expert on women. And seriously, do you need that many commercials? They're all over the airwaves!
3.) The Beer Shortage- The outlook is getting quite grim around here? Have you made your pledge yet? If things keep up we'll have to resort to (gulp) hard liquor.
2.) Barbaro- The sports world was rocked by the news of racehorse Barbaro getting surgery done to repair broken bones in his ankle. I think this is clearly a marketing opportunity missed. Do you know how much you could ask for a bottle of glue made from Barbaro? A lot. I can see why you want to keep him alive for breeding and whatnot, but fuck, that would be some expensive glue. Think of the possibilities, people!
1.) Clueless Columnists- Click here. I'm all for the legalization of prostitution because it's easier to regulate who and who does not participate in the sex trade. This columnist suggests that legalization won't happen because the fun of prostitution stems from the fact that it's illegal. That's pretty dumb. If breaking the law was really the fun part of prostitution why would one go out of the way to spend money to break the law? People can "walk on the wild side" for free by breaking other laws. Steal a car. Pirate a stack of CDs. Go on a killing spree. You can call sex the fringe benefit all you want, but in reality it's the product for sale.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
A Desperate Cry For Help
Click here.
As many of you know I live in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. In fact, I've lived in the Edmonton area for all of my life. As such, the professional sports team that I follow most closely is the Edmonton Oilers.
Now, there may be a few of you out there who follow the National Hockey League with some interest. There are probably a few out there who follow it marginally, say, when they talk about scores on the local news or they catch headlines on the sports page. Then, there are probably a few of you out there who don't even know what the Edmonton Oilers are, what hockey is for that matter, where Canada is on the map, and, hey, what's that thumb doing up your ass?
Anyway, it's playoff time in the National Hockey League, and the Edmonton Oilers are going deep in the playoffs for the first time in a long time. It's been exciting watching the whole city rally around the home team. The air is electric. It's refreshing to watch Edmontonian riot in celebration with fellow Edmontonian. Edmontonians getting pepper-sprayed and stabbed with Edmontonians. The paradox of a huge ball of chaos, unified around a love of hockey and the Oilers.
Now, if you read the article I linked above you will see that our fair city is in a critical situation. The beer supply is running out. I never thought I would live to see the day that a beer loving burg such as ours would ever find itself running low on beer.
So I'm posting this with the hopes of calling out to all of Edmonton's neighbors, not only in Canada, but abroad. We need beer. Lots of it. Stat! If you have beer to spare please donate. For the cost of only pennies a day you can help ensure that Edmontonians will continue to revel in beer-fueled mayhem throughout the NHL playoffs and beyond. The city your money can help destroy may just be our own. Please donate.
Operators are standing by.
Please give.
Seriously, though, I couldn't be prouder to be an Edmontonian right now, riots or no riots. Kick some ass, Oilers!
As many of you know I live in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. In fact, I've lived in the Edmonton area for all of my life. As such, the professional sports team that I follow most closely is the Edmonton Oilers.
Now, there may be a few of you out there who follow the National Hockey League with some interest. There are probably a few out there who follow it marginally, say, when they talk about scores on the local news or they catch headlines on the sports page. Then, there are probably a few of you out there who don't even know what the Edmonton Oilers are, what hockey is for that matter, where Canada is on the map, and, hey, what's that thumb doing up your ass?
Anyway, it's playoff time in the National Hockey League, and the Edmonton Oilers are going deep in the playoffs for the first time in a long time. It's been exciting watching the whole city rally around the home team. The air is electric. It's refreshing to watch Edmontonian riot in celebration with fellow Edmontonian. Edmontonians getting pepper-sprayed and stabbed with Edmontonians. The paradox of a huge ball of chaos, unified around a love of hockey and the Oilers.
Now, if you read the article I linked above you will see that our fair city is in a critical situation. The beer supply is running out. I never thought I would live to see the day that a beer loving burg such as ours would ever find itself running low on beer.
So I'm posting this with the hopes of calling out to all of Edmonton's neighbors, not only in Canada, but abroad. We need beer. Lots of it. Stat! If you have beer to spare please donate. For the cost of only pennies a day you can help ensure that Edmontonians will continue to revel in beer-fueled mayhem throughout the NHL playoffs and beyond. The city your money can help destroy may just be our own. Please donate.
Operators are standing by.
Please give.
Seriously, though, I couldn't be prouder to be an Edmontonian right now, riots or no riots. Kick some ass, Oilers!
Friday, May 19, 2006
You're Never Too Young To Start Manufacturing Crack
Click here.
Yep. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, some elementary school students have been suspended for the manufacturing and distribution of "Happy Crack." What is "Happy Crack" you ask? Well, it's Kool-Aid crystals mixed with sugar by these enterprising junior Tony Montanas and distributed in plastic bags.
Wait a minute. What the fuck?
Kool-Aid crystals? Perfectly legal.
Granulated sugar? Perfectly legal.
Kool-Aid crystals And granulated sugar? Suspension material.
What the fuck?
Okay, sure, one could argue that meth is manufactured from a lot of perfectly legal components, but come the fuck on, Kool-Aid crystals and sugar? I could probably inject that shit raw into my veins and maybe, just maybe, I'll be a bit hyper for an hour.
What's the street value of that shit anyway? Maybe $0.50 for 30 lbs? I'm just guessing here, but this certainly is a very poor drug dealing operation at best.
And I know that you're probably thinking that I'm admonishing the educational system for suspending students for this. But you know what? I'm all for the suspensions.
You have to teach kids right and "Happy Crack" just isn't going to ween addicts off of their other joneses. It's a slap in the face for the education system when they can't even get their students to start a profitable drug distribution ring. You have to suspend those little bastards so that next time they'll get it right.
Yep. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, some elementary school students have been suspended for the manufacturing and distribution of "Happy Crack." What is "Happy Crack" you ask? Well, it's Kool-Aid crystals mixed with sugar by these enterprising junior Tony Montanas and distributed in plastic bags.
Wait a minute. What the fuck?
Kool-Aid crystals? Perfectly legal.
Granulated sugar? Perfectly legal.
Kool-Aid crystals And granulated sugar? Suspension material.
What the fuck?
Okay, sure, one could argue that meth is manufactured from a lot of perfectly legal components, but come the fuck on, Kool-Aid crystals and sugar? I could probably inject that shit raw into my veins and maybe, just maybe, I'll be a bit hyper for an hour.
What's the street value of that shit anyway? Maybe $0.50 for 30 lbs? I'm just guessing here, but this certainly is a very poor drug dealing operation at best.
And I know that you're probably thinking that I'm admonishing the educational system for suspending students for this. But you know what? I'm all for the suspensions.
You have to teach kids right and "Happy Crack" just isn't going to ween addicts off of their other joneses. It's a slap in the face for the education system when they can't even get their students to start a profitable drug distribution ring. You have to suspend those little bastards so that next time they'll get it right.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Classic Michael Appleby
Broccoli Farts
“Starting a poem ‘Love is’
seems just so…so…so…
unoriginal,”
I say.
“Stop worrying about it and
just do it. Who gives a fuck?
You’re the artist, it’s your art.
Do what you want,”
She replies.
I love it when she swears,
but I haven’t told her that before.
And she lets one rip,
long and loud, thick like I can see it,
a fart with dreams of world domination,
a war trumpet of the intestinal tract.
Giggles, then starts to billow the sheets
‘til we’re bathed in methane.
And really, I’m not reminded of dinner.
I’m imagining the scents of jasmine and lavender.
Detections of red rose,
white oleander.
Okay, maybe not.
But I abide. I don’t care.
I’m used to her scent by now.
And I let one roar of my own,
deep like a foghorn,
cutting through bedding
like an ocean liner through the mist.
She groans
and I reciprocate
by billowing the sheets some more.
“Take that,”
I quip.
And before I know it
I’ve rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp,
letting me scratch in my notebook:
Love is the broccoli farts
we feel wash over our skin
as welcomed matching
one piece footy pajamas
and we don’t care.
We’ll wear them with pride.
-Michael Appleby
October, 2004
“Starting a poem ‘Love is’
seems just so…so…so…
unoriginal,”
I say.
“Stop worrying about it and
just do it. Who gives a fuck?
You’re the artist, it’s your art.
Do what you want,”
She replies.
I love it when she swears,
but I haven’t told her that before.
And she lets one rip,
long and loud, thick like I can see it,
a fart with dreams of world domination,
a war trumpet of the intestinal tract.
Giggles, then starts to billow the sheets
‘til we’re bathed in methane.
And really, I’m not reminded of dinner.
I’m imagining the scents of jasmine and lavender.
Detections of red rose,
white oleander.
Okay, maybe not.
But I abide. I don’t care.
I’m used to her scent by now.
And I let one roar of my own,
deep like a foghorn,
cutting through bedding
like an ocean liner through the mist.
She groans
and I reciprocate
by billowing the sheets some more.
“Take that,”
I quip.
And before I know it
I’ve rolled over to turn on the bedside lamp,
letting me scratch in my notebook:
Love is the broccoli farts
we feel wash over our skin
as welcomed matching
one piece footy pajamas
and we don’t care.
We’ll wear them with pride.
-Michael Appleby
October, 2004
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