Okay, so I had the strangest dream.
I was, I guess, for lack of a better word, a minister. The church I presided over was one of those churches where people tend to sing gospel music more than preach (the kind of church that is actually a lot cooler than 60 minutes of being told you are going to hell). I had just been promoted to minister since the last minister of the church had just recently died.
So anyway, I had to help lead all the songs that were being sung. And, if you know me, I don't know any gospel songs really. So people would be singing and I'd be fudging the words and mumbling incoherently or doing that thing here you sing, "la la la la" to at least make it look like you are interested. And if you do that in church you can get away with it because other people's voices tend to drown you out. In the dream, though, I couldn't because I had a microphone, like a game show host has a microphone. A long skinny one, and whenever the songs would break down into this sort of spot where everybody would hum in unison or something like that, almost like people just know when a good spot for an instrumental section comes. During those spots, I would wander out into the audience and ask them to share stories of their hardships and triumphs with the congregation.
Pretty weird, huh?
But then... finally a song was played that I knew the words to and I was just belting it out with the guest singer who was Gordon Downie, except that he was trying to dress as the devil (who in my dreams wore tacky, tacky, but evil pajamas). Anyway, we were singing "Pretend" which isn't gospel music at all, but for some reason it was on the list of songs to sing. Then just before I wandered out into the audience for more testimonials Gord came up close to me to say:
"Hey, that was pretty good. Pretty good job, kid."
Yeah, it was a pretty good job, wasn't it?
Friday, January 26, 2007
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Viagra Makes My Nose Stop Working? Oh Nose!
Click here.
A German research team has discovered that larger doses of Viagra can cause a decrease in a man's ability to smell things. Viagra, for those of you who just woke from a 30-year-long nap, is the pill that men can take to get erections for hours on end. The reason why the pill also decreases the ability to smell is nasal congestion.
While this may seem like a drawback to Viagra I think it's quite the opposite.
But Michael, the sense of smell is a wonderful thing. Why when I pop a Viagra and make some quality time with my special lady I like to have a lot of those aroma therapy candles burning not only for mood lighting, but also because the smell is transportive and it's ceases to be us just "making love" and it becomes two souls really "bonding".
Seriously, who the fuck talks like that?
Viagra inhibits my abiliy to smell? Good!
Okay, first off, don't get me wrong. Sex is good and all that, but Viagra hard-ons last quite a while. And I don't give a fuck who you are, after hours of sex, something in that bedroom is going to smell not quite right. If I can't smell it because I'm on Viagra that's a good thing. It can stink and stink and stink and the only person who has to deal with that stench is the woman? Bonus! Maybe if the smell is strong enough it will be incentive enough to have that orgasm she's always bothering me about so we can get the fuck out of the bedroom and into some place with fresh air or soap and water for our naughty bits.
But, here's another way to look at Viagra. Instead of it being strictly a pill for erectile disfunction it can now be marketed as a pill for people who have to work in smelly environs. I mean, take the lowly sewer worker. He goes to work each day and all he gets to smell is shit. What does he do down in the sewers? Nobody really knows, but in addition to doing whatever that is he also has to breathe. I can't imagine being a sewer worker because I just don't have the constitution to deal with that smell.
But now? Oh shit, just bring it on. I'll pop Viagra like Pez just so I don't have to smell anything.
But Michael, won't you also have a huge erection that won't go away?
Yeah, but so what? It's just another hook for me to hang tools off of while I'm sloshing around down there in the sewers.
But what about the people who have to work with you?
Those people are just going to have to give me a wide berth in which to work. Oh no! You mean I won't be able to spoon my fellow sewer workers without it turning into a gay thing? Damn! Besides, if I happen to encounter a willing woman down in the sewer (hey, it could happen; I saw documentaries on sewer prostitutes in one of those third world nations) then it's always go time. Thanks to Viagra I can't smell fecal matter and I'm ready and willing for any sewer prostitute I encounter.
And consider this...would your coworkers bug you to borrow your tools if they knew where those tools were just hanging from?
I didn't think so.
Viagra: The Hard-On Stimulator AND Smell Inhibitor.
I'm a marketing genius.
A German research team has discovered that larger doses of Viagra can cause a decrease in a man's ability to smell things. Viagra, for those of you who just woke from a 30-year-long nap, is the pill that men can take to get erections for hours on end. The reason why the pill also decreases the ability to smell is nasal congestion.
While this may seem like a drawback to Viagra I think it's quite the opposite.
But Michael, the sense of smell is a wonderful thing. Why when I pop a Viagra and make some quality time with my special lady I like to have a lot of those aroma therapy candles burning not only for mood lighting, but also because the smell is transportive and it's ceases to be us just "making love" and it becomes two souls really "bonding".
Seriously, who the fuck talks like that?
Viagra inhibits my abiliy to smell? Good!
Okay, first off, don't get me wrong. Sex is good and all that, but Viagra hard-ons last quite a while. And I don't give a fuck who you are, after hours of sex, something in that bedroom is going to smell not quite right. If I can't smell it because I'm on Viagra that's a good thing. It can stink and stink and stink and the only person who has to deal with that stench is the woman? Bonus! Maybe if the smell is strong enough it will be incentive enough to have that orgasm she's always bothering me about so we can get the fuck out of the bedroom and into some place with fresh air or soap and water for our naughty bits.
But, here's another way to look at Viagra. Instead of it being strictly a pill for erectile disfunction it can now be marketed as a pill for people who have to work in smelly environs. I mean, take the lowly sewer worker. He goes to work each day and all he gets to smell is shit. What does he do down in the sewers? Nobody really knows, but in addition to doing whatever that is he also has to breathe. I can't imagine being a sewer worker because I just don't have the constitution to deal with that smell.
But now? Oh shit, just bring it on. I'll pop Viagra like Pez just so I don't have to smell anything.
But Michael, won't you also have a huge erection that won't go away?
Yeah, but so what? It's just another hook for me to hang tools off of while I'm sloshing around down there in the sewers.
But what about the people who have to work with you?
Those people are just going to have to give me a wide berth in which to work. Oh no! You mean I won't be able to spoon my fellow sewer workers without it turning into a gay thing? Damn! Besides, if I happen to encounter a willing woman down in the sewer (hey, it could happen; I saw documentaries on sewer prostitutes in one of those third world nations) then it's always go time. Thanks to Viagra I can't smell fecal matter and I'm ready and willing for any sewer prostitute I encounter.
And consider this...would your coworkers bug you to borrow your tools if they knew where those tools were just hanging from?
I didn't think so.
Viagra: The Hard-On Stimulator AND Smell Inhibitor.
I'm a marketing genius.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Classic Michael Appleby
From the regional finals of the 2005 National Poetry Face-off. It's a shame I couldn't go further into the contest with this. I just read it back for the first time in a long time and didn't think it to be half bad. Maybe I'll have to do this one for a Raving Poets show one day since it's only ever been performed once and almost forgotten since.
Nuclear Families
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And have that bagged lunch of the peanut butter sandwiches,
crusts cut off,
handed to me at the door.
It was fun to wait for sleep at night
and giddy in my imagination
and the billion or so what if’s
that rained down on me in the dark
soaked to the bone with
my own personal utopia.
It was fun to think that a hammock could be anything more
than a cradle swinging me into my grave
and that the Sunday afternoon summer picnics
were anything more than fast food take out eaten on a wooden bench
in the park
with the initials M.A. + C.I. carved precariously close to wads of dried gum
and the edge from which we inevitably fall.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to go through motions like reaching for her hand
and moving in for a kiss goodnight, close my eyes doing so.
Only expecting a hug when one of us was sick.
It was fun to talk about things that didn’t mean much,
pretend to be Professor Frink to her rest of the population of Springfield,
explain concepts and ideas that nobody could be interested in except me
and accept the Wow, that’s interesting with a shower of fingernail clippings
and the agitated roll of paper, the turning leaves in a magazine.
It was fun to quote Downie’s line about brassieres
and know that all the while I thought it to sound romantic
for her to think it to sound perverted and creepy;
cull love songs from my CD library
and have each of them dismissed:
thoroughly obscure
tragically cacophonous.
It was fun play make believe one more time.
It was fun to be struck out of nowhere
by You were really good to me and all. Very nice, but…
and actually know every single word that would follow that but
right down to a perfectly played apology
and feeling more like an operator at a psychic hotline
than a man who just had his heart broken.
My lucky numbers that day were 13, 27, and 36.
I could see a long, hot shower in my immediate future
and lo and behold
I went to bed clean.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And hear nothing in response except the slap of my own hand against my forehead:
Oh yeah. I forgot.
It was fun to get completely lost again
wondering how I would ever manage to fit in with people anymore.
Back to my curmudgeonly little room:
computer games with strangers from across the world
and literary self-abuse.
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world,
maybe next time I’ll stay long enough to put my feet up for a change.
-Michael Appleby
January, 2005
Nuclear Families
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And have that bagged lunch of the peanut butter sandwiches,
crusts cut off,
handed to me at the door.
It was fun to wait for sleep at night
and giddy in my imagination
and the billion or so what if’s
that rained down on me in the dark
soaked to the bone with
my own personal utopia.
It was fun to think that a hammock could be anything more
than a cradle swinging me into my grave
and that the Sunday afternoon summer picnics
were anything more than fast food take out eaten on a wooden bench
in the park
with the initials M.A. + C.I. carved precariously close to wads of dried gum
and the edge from which we inevitably fall.
It was fun to play make believe one more time.
It was fun to go through motions like reaching for her hand
and moving in for a kiss goodnight, close my eyes doing so.
Only expecting a hug when one of us was sick.
It was fun to talk about things that didn’t mean much,
pretend to be Professor Frink to her rest of the population of Springfield,
explain concepts and ideas that nobody could be interested in except me
and accept the Wow, that’s interesting with a shower of fingernail clippings
and the agitated roll of paper, the turning leaves in a magazine.
It was fun to quote Downie’s line about brassieres
and know that all the while I thought it to sound romantic
for her to think it to sound perverted and creepy;
cull love songs from my CD library
and have each of them dismissed:
thoroughly obscure
tragically cacophonous.
It was fun play make believe one more time.
It was fun to be struck out of nowhere
by You were really good to me and all. Very nice, but…
and actually know every single word that would follow that but
right down to a perfectly played apology
and feeling more like an operator at a psychic hotline
than a man who just had his heart broken.
My lucky numbers that day were 13, 27, and 36.
I could see a long, hot shower in my immediate future
and lo and behold
I went to bed clean.
It was fun to put on stupid ties
and silly little hats:
Well honey, I’m off to work.
And hear nothing in response except the slap of my own hand against my forehead:
Oh yeah. I forgot.
It was fun to get completely lost again
wondering how I would ever manage to fit in with people anymore.
Back to my curmudgeonly little room:
computer games with strangers from across the world
and literary self-abuse.
It was fun to be among you again,
you nuclear families of the happy little world,
maybe next time I’ll stay long enough to put my feet up for a change.
-Michael Appleby
January, 2005
Friday, January 12, 2007
A Taste Of Chicken Little: A Novel
So I'm keeping up with pretty much all of my new year's resolutions so far despite the depression, depsite the heartbreak, and despite the weather. One of the resolutions that I had, if you might recall was to resume work on my novel, which I've tentatively tiled Chicken Little: A Novel. Maybe it won't go anywhere. Maybe I won't have the discipline to finish it. Maybe it won't get published. Maybe it's all a dead end, but it's helping me cope. So if nothing else comes of it I've had a bunch of words to rest my head on to cry. Anyway, I'll try to keep you all posted on my progress. My plan isn't to post the whole thing as it's being written because I really like to revise and I just don't like the permanence of posting. But I'll maybe throw a bit to you here and there. If something I'm sharing needs some context I'll give it, but otherwise you can kind of get an idea of what my opus is like even if it's only in snippets and excerpts. I'm still just getting into the meat of the manuscript, here's a bit from the early pages.
So this is it?
Once a month a mortgage payment, a car payment, bills from credit card, line of credit, cable, electric, gas, water, phone, cell phone, internet, condo fees, and a gym membership.
And that’s it.
That’s how you get to mark your time on the planet. Every month it’s the same group of envelopes sitting on my kitchen table for a few days before I actually put in the effort of to go pay them. They get paid and a month later another group of those same envelopes from the same representatives of those same companies, those same utilities are delivered to my mail box, forwarded to my kitchen table, waiting to be paid for.
And that’s it.
Sometimes a cheque will come. Sometimes a pre-approved credit card application. Sometimes a letter from my folks to let me know how old so-and-so, a relative that I don’t even remember having, is doing, when are you going to settle down, we’re in Hamburg for a while and then it’ll be off to who knows where, but when we get there you should take some time off work to come visit.
And that’s it.
I get preoccupied with trying to remember even five years back when my responsibilities were minimal, when I was this 24-year-old boy. I could stay out all night drinking, having fun. I spent all my free moments with my friends. I had a roommate and we split the rent on a two bedroom townhouse; threw parties all the time. Work was just a job. If things didn’t work out I could just quit and take a job somewhere else. All I really had to worry about was making my rent payment. Sometimes I’d even wake up with a girl sleeping beside me.
When you talk to a lot of people my age, you’re going to hear the same thing over and over again: Where did it all go? Or maybe it’s supposed to be: Where did it all come from? Responsibility. Duty. Career. Family. Life. At some point between the ages of 26 and 29 everything really starts to get a whole lot more complicated. You can’t just shirk your commitments for the sake of fun. You get a whole lot more institutionalized. Fall into a cookie cutter, button down collar and briefcase, lifestyle and live the dream. I just can’t remember really having this dream, but here I am. My friends are all married off or moved away, honoring their own professional promises, living their own monthly bills.
I’m all alone.
And that’s it.
So this is it?
Once a month a mortgage payment, a car payment, bills from credit card, line of credit, cable, electric, gas, water, phone, cell phone, internet, condo fees, and a gym membership.
And that’s it.
That’s how you get to mark your time on the planet. Every month it’s the same group of envelopes sitting on my kitchen table for a few days before I actually put in the effort of to go pay them. They get paid and a month later another group of those same envelopes from the same representatives of those same companies, those same utilities are delivered to my mail box, forwarded to my kitchen table, waiting to be paid for.
And that’s it.
Sometimes a cheque will come. Sometimes a pre-approved credit card application. Sometimes a letter from my folks to let me know how old so-and-so, a relative that I don’t even remember having, is doing, when are you going to settle down, we’re in Hamburg for a while and then it’ll be off to who knows where, but when we get there you should take some time off work to come visit.
And that’s it.
I get preoccupied with trying to remember even five years back when my responsibilities were minimal, when I was this 24-year-old boy. I could stay out all night drinking, having fun. I spent all my free moments with my friends. I had a roommate and we split the rent on a two bedroom townhouse; threw parties all the time. Work was just a job. If things didn’t work out I could just quit and take a job somewhere else. All I really had to worry about was making my rent payment. Sometimes I’d even wake up with a girl sleeping beside me.
When you talk to a lot of people my age, you’re going to hear the same thing over and over again: Where did it all go? Or maybe it’s supposed to be: Where did it all come from? Responsibility. Duty. Career. Family. Life. At some point between the ages of 26 and 29 everything really starts to get a whole lot more complicated. You can’t just shirk your commitments for the sake of fun. You get a whole lot more institutionalized. Fall into a cookie cutter, button down collar and briefcase, lifestyle and live the dream. I just can’t remember really having this dream, but here I am. My friends are all married off or moved away, honoring their own professional promises, living their own monthly bills.
I’m all alone.
And that’s it.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
What's In A Name Really?
Talking with a coworker recently I discovered that she knew somebody who, as a gift for one of his loved ones, bought the naming rights to a star. And I have to admit that's a pretty good gift idea. I mean who wouldn't want to have a gigantic ball of burning gas named after them?
But then it really got me to thinking. For instance, how would I feel if out there somewhere there was a star named after me? Okay, the whole vanity part of the star naming thing would be kind of cool, but then, what are the stars to us, really? Picture, if you will, astronomers looking up through their telescopes and at charts and seeing all these named stars. Do you know what they're going to see? A bunch of little lights with names like Lisa, Shannon, David, Bruce, and whatever the fuck else people get named these days. And do you know how exciting it would be to actively seek out some star named for a guy named Doug? Probably about as exciting as taking a shit. Now the whole prospect of having a star named after me doesn't seem all that great because there would only be a few people in the world who would care to look for a star on some chart because its name has some significance personal to them. The rest of the people probably only care marginally at best.
So then, if all this naming bullshit is spoiled by the fact that people's names are boring, why not buy the naming rights to stars and do something totally exciting with it? Why not name a star "I Shit On All The Other Stars" or "Kleegor: Destroyer Of The Universe"? Those are the kinds of names that people will see on some chart somewhere and say, "What the fuck?" and then they'll have to look it up because, come on, destroyer of the universe, that's fucked up.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that the idea of naming a star after somebody is only half the battle really. Getting a star that somebody will want to look at is the other half and, without having actually checked how many stars are named "Muldron: The Dwarf Star Of Pure, Unadulterated Evil" or "Happy Fun Bags," I can probably say with 99% confidence not many people are looking at those stars as closely as you would hope they would.
I'm just saying is all.
If they ever name a star after me I hope it's given the title "Nerdiest Corner Of The Universe Ever, LoL!" You know, for the internet age of astronomy.
But then it really got me to thinking. For instance, how would I feel if out there somewhere there was a star named after me? Okay, the whole vanity part of the star naming thing would be kind of cool, but then, what are the stars to us, really? Picture, if you will, astronomers looking up through their telescopes and at charts and seeing all these named stars. Do you know what they're going to see? A bunch of little lights with names like Lisa, Shannon, David, Bruce, and whatever the fuck else people get named these days. And do you know how exciting it would be to actively seek out some star named for a guy named Doug? Probably about as exciting as taking a shit. Now the whole prospect of having a star named after me doesn't seem all that great because there would only be a few people in the world who would care to look for a star on some chart because its name has some significance personal to them. The rest of the people probably only care marginally at best.
So then, if all this naming bullshit is spoiled by the fact that people's names are boring, why not buy the naming rights to stars and do something totally exciting with it? Why not name a star "I Shit On All The Other Stars" or "Kleegor: Destroyer Of The Universe"? Those are the kinds of names that people will see on some chart somewhere and say, "What the fuck?" and then they'll have to look it up because, come on, destroyer of the universe, that's fucked up.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that the idea of naming a star after somebody is only half the battle really. Getting a star that somebody will want to look at is the other half and, without having actually checked how many stars are named "Muldron: The Dwarf Star Of Pure, Unadulterated Evil" or "Happy Fun Bags," I can probably say with 99% confidence not many people are looking at those stars as closely as you would hope they would.
I'm just saying is all.
If they ever name a star after me I hope it's given the title "Nerdiest Corner Of The Universe Ever, LoL!" You know, for the internet age of astronomy.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
The Bottom Ten, December 2006
10.) Ghouls- Click here. So the owner of the car in which Princess Diana was a passenger on that fateful night all those years ago when she died in that accident wants to get the car back from authorities so that he can sell it as a souvenir. That's right, a souvenir.
Hey Tommy, what's new?
Oh not much, did a bit of shopping on eBay the other day.
That's cool, what did you get?
Oh, you know, some porno DVDs, one of those fake mounted fish that sings that song "Hooked On A Feeling."
I remember when those were all the rage.
But get this man, you know what else I got?
What?
The Princess Diana Death Car!
No fucking way!
Yeah, hey, check me out, I'm Princess Diana's mangled corpse in the backseat!
This is too fucking cool! That's so awesome! High five!
I mean, come on man, who's going to pay for that shit? That car needs quite a bit of body work before it can be road-worthy again. I don't even know what you'd use to get blood stains out of the leather.
9.) Theft Alarms- Anybody who has gone shopping knows about this one. When you're about to exit a store with a theft alarm at the top and somebody has forgotten to remove one of the security devices from an item you bought and the alarm goes off, isn't that embarassing as fuck? But now, I was in Walmart the other day and somebody set the alarm off at the front door and you know what? There was a disembodied voice that asks the customer who triggered it to turn around and report to the greeter because apparently one of the security devices hadn't been removed by the cashier. So, if this voice says that every time somebody triggers the alarm why the fuck do they even have an alarm? I mean it ceases to be a theft alarm and starts to be a our-cashier-fucked-up alarm, which is a pretty useless alarm if ever one existed. I'd like to hear that voice just once yell out, "Holy fuck! Thief! Thief! Thief! Somebody taser this fucking asshole shoplifter before he gets away! Thief! Thief! Thief!" Knowing my luck, I'll be the one who triggers it that time. Stupid fucking alarms!
8.) The Guy Who Invented Those Theft Alarms- Seriously, that's how pissed off those inaccurate, annoying pieces of shit make me. Newsflash asshole inventor man: real thieves know how to get by your system. All you're doing anymore is embarassing people who wouldn't even dream of stealing anything. That makes you a douchebag.
7.) The Saddam Hussein Deathwatch- Wasn't watching CNN for news on the latest regarding the recent execution of Saddam Hussein unacceptably like waiting for the latest update on Terry Shiavo? Now that that one man the U.S. armed all those years ago is dead all those billions and billions of dollars and hundreds of lives lost to bring him to justice are vindicated. As Hannibal would say on "The A-Team", I love it when a plan comes together.
6.) Post-Christmas Shopping- Almost as bad as pre-Christmas shopping. I love when fist fights and arguments over gift returns come together. 'Tis the season.
5.) Tandem Bicycle Assholes- Tandem bicycles are one of the most egotistical and cocky things a person can own. What makes you so sure that I want to help propel your stupid looking piece of shit bicycle, putting my hands on a pair of useless handlebars that are dangerously close to your ass? Exactly. You can't walk fourteen feet in this town without some jerk on a tandem bicycle asking you to hop on. Fuck you, I'd rather walk. Last thing I need is you farting in my face and blaming it on that pre-bike-ride breakfast burrito. Okay, maybe there aren't as many tandem bicycle riders in the winter time or tandem bicycles for that matter, but it's my list so fuck off tandem assholes!
4.) 1.65 Trillion Dollars- Click here. Reading that article I couldn't help but picture the head of the RIAA being Dr. Evil saying, "1 million dollars" except in the case of suing some Russian website when he says "1.65 trillion dollars." Now, if and when the Russian company that owns the website loses the case, does the man who runs the company say, "Okay, let me just go grab my chequebook. I just have it out in my car. No, don't worry. I will be right back. Here, I'll leave this Subway Sub Club card with 9 stamps on it just so you know I'll come back because, come on, a free sub. Trust me, I'm good for this 1.65 trillion dollars." Who comes up with these ridiculous numbers? Some pissed off RIAA executive phones his lawyer and tells him how mad he is with the Russian company and the lawyer comes back with, "Let's sue those fuckers for 17 bajillion bucks! I am 67.8 gazillion percent positive I can win this case for you." Then the nurse comes by and gives the lawyer his daily shot before locking him back up in his padded room.
3.) A Kinder, Gentler Rambo- Click here. Many people know by now that there is a Rambo IV movie coming out some day. Most people did not know, however, that the fourth installment of that Cold War propaganda movie machine is being turned into a chick flick:
Thai authorities are apparently asking that the upcoming "Rambo IV: In the Serpent's Eye" be a kinder and quieter version of the saga reports Variety.
And I welcome this news because, finally, movie audiences will be able to see Rambo, the franchise the way it was originally intended to be made, with sweeping epic drama, brilliant dialogue, and replete with the nuances of the human condition. I smell an Oscar for Sir Sylvester Stallone already.
2.) Limousine Assholes- See: Tandem Bicyle Assholes. Except with a mini-bar and gaudy lighting.
1.) Toxoplasma Gondii- Click here. Oh, so Mr. Toxoplasma Gondii, when you infect men they become stupid and when you infect women they become sexier. Fuck you. You either make us all sexy or all stupid right now or I'll fucking sue your parasite ass for 88.539 bamillion Euros for discrimination!
Hey Tommy, what's new?
Oh not much, did a bit of shopping on eBay the other day.
That's cool, what did you get?
Oh, you know, some porno DVDs, one of those fake mounted fish that sings that song "Hooked On A Feeling."
I remember when those were all the rage.
But get this man, you know what else I got?
What?
The Princess Diana Death Car!
No fucking way!
Yeah, hey, check me out, I'm Princess Diana's mangled corpse in the backseat!
This is too fucking cool! That's so awesome! High five!
I mean, come on man, who's going to pay for that shit? That car needs quite a bit of body work before it can be road-worthy again. I don't even know what you'd use to get blood stains out of the leather.
9.) Theft Alarms- Anybody who has gone shopping knows about this one. When you're about to exit a store with a theft alarm at the top and somebody has forgotten to remove one of the security devices from an item you bought and the alarm goes off, isn't that embarassing as fuck? But now, I was in Walmart the other day and somebody set the alarm off at the front door and you know what? There was a disembodied voice that asks the customer who triggered it to turn around and report to the greeter because apparently one of the security devices hadn't been removed by the cashier. So, if this voice says that every time somebody triggers the alarm why the fuck do they even have an alarm? I mean it ceases to be a theft alarm and starts to be a our-cashier-fucked-up alarm, which is a pretty useless alarm if ever one existed. I'd like to hear that voice just once yell out, "Holy fuck! Thief! Thief! Thief! Somebody taser this fucking asshole shoplifter before he gets away! Thief! Thief! Thief!" Knowing my luck, I'll be the one who triggers it that time. Stupid fucking alarms!
8.) The Guy Who Invented Those Theft Alarms- Seriously, that's how pissed off those inaccurate, annoying pieces of shit make me. Newsflash asshole inventor man: real thieves know how to get by your system. All you're doing anymore is embarassing people who wouldn't even dream of stealing anything. That makes you a douchebag.
7.) The Saddam Hussein Deathwatch- Wasn't watching CNN for news on the latest regarding the recent execution of Saddam Hussein unacceptably like waiting for the latest update on Terry Shiavo? Now that that one man the U.S. armed all those years ago is dead all those billions and billions of dollars and hundreds of lives lost to bring him to justice are vindicated. As Hannibal would say on "The A-Team", I love it when a plan comes together.
6.) Post-Christmas Shopping- Almost as bad as pre-Christmas shopping. I love when fist fights and arguments over gift returns come together. 'Tis the season.
5.) Tandem Bicycle Assholes- Tandem bicycles are one of the most egotistical and cocky things a person can own. What makes you so sure that I want to help propel your stupid looking piece of shit bicycle, putting my hands on a pair of useless handlebars that are dangerously close to your ass? Exactly. You can't walk fourteen feet in this town without some jerk on a tandem bicycle asking you to hop on. Fuck you, I'd rather walk. Last thing I need is you farting in my face and blaming it on that pre-bike-ride breakfast burrito. Okay, maybe there aren't as many tandem bicycle riders in the winter time or tandem bicycles for that matter, but it's my list so fuck off tandem assholes!
4.) 1.65 Trillion Dollars- Click here. Reading that article I couldn't help but picture the head of the RIAA being Dr. Evil saying, "1 million dollars" except in the case of suing some Russian website when he says "1.65 trillion dollars." Now, if and when the Russian company that owns the website loses the case, does the man who runs the company say, "Okay, let me just go grab my chequebook. I just have it out in my car. No, don't worry. I will be right back. Here, I'll leave this Subway Sub Club card with 9 stamps on it just so you know I'll come back because, come on, a free sub. Trust me, I'm good for this 1.65 trillion dollars." Who comes up with these ridiculous numbers? Some pissed off RIAA executive phones his lawyer and tells him how mad he is with the Russian company and the lawyer comes back with, "Let's sue those fuckers for 17 bajillion bucks! I am 67.8 gazillion percent positive I can win this case for you." Then the nurse comes by and gives the lawyer his daily shot before locking him back up in his padded room.
3.) A Kinder, Gentler Rambo- Click here. Many people know by now that there is a Rambo IV movie coming out some day. Most people did not know, however, that the fourth installment of that Cold War propaganda movie machine is being turned into a chick flick:
Thai authorities are apparently asking that the upcoming "Rambo IV: In the Serpent's Eye" be a kinder and quieter version of the saga reports Variety.
And I welcome this news because, finally, movie audiences will be able to see Rambo, the franchise the way it was originally intended to be made, with sweeping epic drama, brilliant dialogue, and replete with the nuances of the human condition. I smell an Oscar for Sir Sylvester Stallone already.
2.) Limousine Assholes- See: Tandem Bicyle Assholes. Except with a mini-bar and gaudy lighting.
1.) Toxoplasma Gondii- Click here. Oh, so Mr. Toxoplasma Gondii, when you infect men they become stupid and when you infect women they become sexier. Fuck you. You either make us all sexy or all stupid right now or I'll fucking sue your parasite ass for 88.539 bamillion Euros for discrimination!
Friday, December 22, 2006
A Note To Let You Know Where I've Been/What I've Been Up To (The Seasonal Blah)
First off, I just wanted to thank all of you who have contacted me to find out what's been up with me and why I haven't been updating my page very frequently of late, sending me Are you okay? emails, passing along 24-hour psychiatric helpline numbers, and whatnot. Please rest assured that I'm not trapped at the bottom of a well and I haven't fallen resulting in my inabiliy to get up (I wonder whatever happened to that woman from all those years ago).
Anyway, maybe it's my impending birthday. Maybe it's the seasonal shift. Maybe it's my job. The weather. The holiday. The fact that I live in a basement. The diet. The bad sleeping habits.
But I think I'm actually battling a bit of depression. Really, I haven't felt like doing very much at all. Hmmmmm...maybe it's lethargy. Or just assholishness (is that even a word).
I don't want anybody to worry, though. I mean it's not that I'm never happy. I just get moody and introspective and it makes my brain awful company to be with (and I have to be with that fucker 24/7).
What I do want all of you to know is that I'm not going to take this blah dominating everything for very long. I'm kind of come up with a plan to overcome.
I do want all of you to know that if I'm acting aloof, distant, you can't get a hold of me, or if you talk to me and I lose myself in the conversation, if any of that kind of stuff happens, that I am sorry for that whatever it is. Also, please accept that as my reason for being so hard to communicate with lately, why this page has kind of been left to gather dust for almost 2 weeks. So on, so on. Talking to people who are daydreaming or off in the la-la's can be frustrating. I'm a frustrating person to be around sometimes.
Now, to combat my little bit of sadness I'm going with a few resolutions that I'm going to start on as soon as I can. Namely, I'm going to force myself to write more (it can be anything at this point, I really just need to get my hands moving and my brain thinking like I know it's capable of thinking), though I really want to get down to my novel Chicken Little, I also intend of getting back to the gym as often as I used to, which just changes my whole self esteem entirely, and I'm going to alter my diet to allow me to eat regularly and drink more water, less soda. The sleep issue may be somewhat of a lost battle at this point so I'll try to let it slide for a bit here. I might also try tanning (at the suggestion of a friend) because I understand that sunlight, albeit artificial sunlight, help immensely with feeling the way that I do.
Okay, there, that feels a bit better. I hate doing updates like this on my page, but I just wanted to ease people's minds who may have been a bit worried and this seemed like a good way to go about doing that. Maybe I'll delete this post when it becomes a reminder of a bad time in my mental health.
I'll keep you posted on how my resolutions go.
Anyway, maybe it's my impending birthday. Maybe it's the seasonal shift. Maybe it's my job. The weather. The holiday. The fact that I live in a basement. The diet. The bad sleeping habits.
But I think I'm actually battling a bit of depression. Really, I haven't felt like doing very much at all. Hmmmmm...maybe it's lethargy. Or just assholishness (is that even a word).
I don't want anybody to worry, though. I mean it's not that I'm never happy. I just get moody and introspective and it makes my brain awful company to be with (and I have to be with that fucker 24/7).
What I do want all of you to know is that I'm not going to take this blah dominating everything for very long. I'm kind of come up with a plan to overcome.
I do want all of you to know that if I'm acting aloof, distant, you can't get a hold of me, or if you talk to me and I lose myself in the conversation, if any of that kind of stuff happens, that I am sorry for that whatever it is. Also, please accept that as my reason for being so hard to communicate with lately, why this page has kind of been left to gather dust for almost 2 weeks. So on, so on. Talking to people who are daydreaming or off in the la-la's can be frustrating. I'm a frustrating person to be around sometimes.
Now, to combat my little bit of sadness I'm going with a few resolutions that I'm going to start on as soon as I can. Namely, I'm going to force myself to write more (it can be anything at this point, I really just need to get my hands moving and my brain thinking like I know it's capable of thinking), though I really want to get down to my novel Chicken Little, I also intend of getting back to the gym as often as I used to, which just changes my whole self esteem entirely, and I'm going to alter my diet to allow me to eat regularly and drink more water, less soda. The sleep issue may be somewhat of a lost battle at this point so I'll try to let it slide for a bit here. I might also try tanning (at the suggestion of a friend) because I understand that sunlight, albeit artificial sunlight, help immensely with feeling the way that I do.
Okay, there, that feels a bit better. I hate doing updates like this on my page, but I just wanted to ease people's minds who may have been a bit worried and this seemed like a good way to go about doing that. Maybe I'll delete this post when it becomes a reminder of a bad time in my mental health.
I'll keep you posted on how my resolutions go.
Monday, December 11, 2006
Daysleeper For Me Is Big Right Now
Daysleeper
by: R.E.M.
Receiving department, 3 a.m.
Staff cuts have socked up the overage
Directives are posted.
No callbacks, complaints.
Everywhere is calm.
Hong Kong is present
Taipei awakes
All talk of circadian rhythm
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Daysleeper
The bull and the bear are marking their territories
They're leading the blind with their international glories
I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night.
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Don't wake me with so much.
Daysleeper.
I cried the other night
I can't even say why
Fluorescent flat caffeine lights
Its furious balancing
I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Don't wake me with so much.
The ocean machine is set to nine
I'll squeeze into heaven and valentine
My bed is pulling me,
Gravity
Daysleeper. Daysleeper.
Daysleeper. Daysleeper. Daysleeper.
Did you know that I didn't go to bed until at least 10:00 a.m. this morning and I woke up at 9:00 p.m.? Probably not.
If you are one of the many people who can't get in touch with me or has trouble finding me at functions or places where I said that I would be and I'm not. I'm sorry.
As scary as my sleeping habits are, you should check out my diet. One meal per day on more days than it should be like that.
I'm making a new year's resolution right now. In the new year I resolve to be more normal.
by: R.E.M.
Receiving department, 3 a.m.
Staff cuts have socked up the overage
Directives are posted.
No callbacks, complaints.
Everywhere is calm.
Hong Kong is present
Taipei awakes
All talk of circadian rhythm
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Daysleeper
The bull and the bear are marking their territories
They're leading the blind with their international glories
I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night.
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Don't wake me with so much.
Daysleeper.
I cried the other night
I can't even say why
Fluorescent flat caffeine lights
Its furious balancing
I'm the screen, the blinding light
I'm the screen, I work at night
I see today with a newsprint fray
My night is colored headache grey
Don't wake me with so much.
The ocean machine is set to nine
I'll squeeze into heaven and valentine
My bed is pulling me,
Gravity
Daysleeper. Daysleeper.
Daysleeper. Daysleeper. Daysleeper.
Did you know that I didn't go to bed until at least 10:00 a.m. this morning and I woke up at 9:00 p.m.? Probably not.
If you are one of the many people who can't get in touch with me or has trouble finding me at functions or places where I said that I would be and I'm not. I'm sorry.
As scary as my sleeping habits are, you should check out my diet. One meal per day on more days than it should be like that.
I'm making a new year's resolution right now. In the new year I resolve to be more normal.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
The Bottom Ten, November 2006 (At Last!)
Thank you for your patience. I would have had it up sooner, but it was an exhausting weekend for me at work.
10.) Britney Spears Going Commando- Click here. I almost want to devote a whole rant to this topic because I find it so, so, so captivating a topic and I feel like I could expound on this for days. Seriously, Britney Spears has been photographed by members of the paparazzi not only wearing a short skirt (gasp!), but also wearing no panties (double gasp!). For shame, Britney Spears! You've tarnished the wholesome image that you've established in my mind forever. Now when I see you, for all intents and purposes, nude in one of your music videos I'll won't have to wonder if you wear underwear when you go out in public because I'll have photographic evidence that you don't. So not only does she parade around in hoochie mama MILFwear in her videos, but she has the nerve to go without underwear when she's among the members of the public at large. I certainly hope she loses her custody battle for this because, people with no underwear on? No child could ever hope to be raised properly by a parent who chooses to not wear underwear. Everybody knows that parenting skills come from underwear. Hitler's parents didn't wear underwear and look how he turned out.
9.) The Arms Race Of Toothbrushes- Click here. There are probably a few of you out there who brush their teeth from time to time. I brush sometimes too. I just became aware of the Oral-B Triumph, an ICBM of a toothbrush if ever one existed. Seriously, who's obsessing over their toothbrushing habits that they have to time themselves and adjust the types of brushing they're doing? How much cleaner are your teeth going to be with a fucking onboard computer on your toothbrush? And you know what, there comes a point when teeth get too white and it's freakish to look at. Is that what you really want? Try not to look like an outcast from the human race, brush low-tech!
8.) The Hot Wheels Radar Gun- Click here. Ahhhh, just in time for Christmas! Finally, a radar gun for kids! I've always wondered how fast Billy was traveling on his skateboard, now I'll know. This has the potential to be interestingg for exactly 8 minutes! I'd be able to clock one or two things, realize that it's lame, and move onto petty vandalism and arson for fun. A big pat on the back to the kids who appear in the commercial for this travesty of a product for doing everything in their power to make it look exciting. But seriously, all I can do is clock how fast things are going? Yawn!
7.) The Jesus Doll- Click here. And since I'm on the topic of toys why not talk about the Jesus doll that a Toys For Tots program rejected, albeit temporarily? It was rejected for a time because the Marine Reserves didn't want to offend members of other religions by giving their underprivileged children talking Jesus dolls. This is an interesting debate because on one hand you want to be mindful of the plurality of society as a whole, but on the other hand Christmas is traditionally supposed to be a Christian holiday, and....wait a minute....I lost my train of though....somebody makes a talking Jesus doll? If you want a child to get beat up by his peers for having lame toys get him or her a talking Jesus doll. The Marine Reserves should have upheld their decision to reject this toy not so much on the whole religious debate, but simply because they don't want to make children cry for getting a horrible gift. Wow, I wish I had doll that I could just pull a string on and listen to it preach to me. Play time just isn't play time without religiou propaganda spewing forth from a doll.
6.) The Police- No not the 80's rock band fronted by Sting. Click here. I'm talking about the real police. I mean if you can't get a good crack high lighting up in a police car I don't know what this world is coming to. The poor guy in this news story is being charged with third degree arson for torching a police car while trying to smoke some crack. If the police had been doing their jobs none of this legal hassle would be necessary because they would have been holding the lighter for him. It used to be that police force was in place to help the public, but now? It's all about the doughnuts. It's common knowledge that the best highs come from inside police cars. All this guy wanted was that peak and all he got were third degree arson charges.
5.) Four Words That Should Have Never Appeared In The Same Sentence- Dustin Diamond Sex Tape.
4.) The Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez- Children who are raised by parents who refuse to wear underwear and give gifts like talking Jesus dolls and Hot Wheels Radar Guns are apt to grow up into recipients of a Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez. That's how you know you've hit rock bottom in your life, getting the old Dirty Sanchez from Screech.
3.) Fruit Cakes- An even shittier gift than anything I've already menioned (aside from a video of Dustin Diamond administering a Dirty Sanchez because that's just Christmas gold) are fruit cakes. Where the fuck do all of the fruit cakes come from this time of year? Have you ever seen anybody make a fruit cake? No! Have you ever seen anybody eat a fruit cake? Hell no! Fruit cake is made by ninjas and delivered with perfect stealth upon unsuspecting victims then it is regifted because nobody wants a fruit cake. I'm not sure why ninjas do this to people, but it's the cruelest fucking holiday joke I can think of.
2.) Hypocrisy- And the sad part is that there is probably a fruit cake wrapped out there with my name on it from somebody who thought, "Wow, Michael likes fruit and I fucking hate fruit cakes. This will make a perfect gift and I won't even have to do any shopping for that asshole!" Then, I'll open the gift and have to pretend that it's absolutely the best gift I ever got. Ever. Then next year I'll be giving that same fruit cake to somebody else as a gift and they'll have to do the same damn thing. It's cyclic. Like a bloodstream of shitty baked goods.
1.) Porno Plots- Okay, seriously. If you're writing a script for a porno movie and you feel the need to incorporate some kind of plot or story into the movie could you, from now on, at least make a decent plot to follow or no plot at all. I understand that you have only a minimal amount of time to devote to story development because the producers want to have most of the movie for the naughty bits, but come on, if all it really took to get a woman to have sex with me was to give her a credit check and tell her that her credit was bad and that she would have to find some way to get me to approve her vehicle lease, well then, I'm in the wrong line of work. I use that credit check line all the time and still no sex. Also, why are there so many guys hanging around a used car dealership's office anyway? And what kind of used car salesman brings handcuffs to work? A fucking whip!?!? Do you see what I mean? All these little things take away any enjoyment of your cinematic creation. It can't be that hard to come up with some plausibility, could it?
And for god's sake, DO NOT try to work a Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez into the storyline! Just saying those words makes me vomit just a little. Those poor, poor girls.
10.) Britney Spears Going Commando- Click here. I almost want to devote a whole rant to this topic because I find it so, so, so captivating a topic and I feel like I could expound on this for days. Seriously, Britney Spears has been photographed by members of the paparazzi not only wearing a short skirt (gasp!), but also wearing no panties (double gasp!). For shame, Britney Spears! You've tarnished the wholesome image that you've established in my mind forever. Now when I see you, for all intents and purposes, nude in one of your music videos I'll won't have to wonder if you wear underwear when you go out in public because I'll have photographic evidence that you don't. So not only does she parade around in hoochie mama MILFwear in her videos, but she has the nerve to go without underwear when she's among the members of the public at large. I certainly hope she loses her custody battle for this because, people with no underwear on? No child could ever hope to be raised properly by a parent who chooses to not wear underwear. Everybody knows that parenting skills come from underwear. Hitler's parents didn't wear underwear and look how he turned out.
9.) The Arms Race Of Toothbrushes- Click here. There are probably a few of you out there who brush their teeth from time to time. I brush sometimes too. I just became aware of the Oral-B Triumph, an ICBM of a toothbrush if ever one existed. Seriously, who's obsessing over their toothbrushing habits that they have to time themselves and adjust the types of brushing they're doing? How much cleaner are your teeth going to be with a fucking onboard computer on your toothbrush? And you know what, there comes a point when teeth get too white and it's freakish to look at. Is that what you really want? Try not to look like an outcast from the human race, brush low-tech!
8.) The Hot Wheels Radar Gun- Click here. Ahhhh, just in time for Christmas! Finally, a radar gun for kids! I've always wondered how fast Billy was traveling on his skateboard, now I'll know. This has the potential to be interestingg for exactly 8 minutes! I'd be able to clock one or two things, realize that it's lame, and move onto petty vandalism and arson for fun. A big pat on the back to the kids who appear in the commercial for this travesty of a product for doing everything in their power to make it look exciting. But seriously, all I can do is clock how fast things are going? Yawn!
7.) The Jesus Doll- Click here. And since I'm on the topic of toys why not talk about the Jesus doll that a Toys For Tots program rejected, albeit temporarily? It was rejected for a time because the Marine Reserves didn't want to offend members of other religions by giving their underprivileged children talking Jesus dolls. This is an interesting debate because on one hand you want to be mindful of the plurality of society as a whole, but on the other hand Christmas is traditionally supposed to be a Christian holiday, and....wait a minute....I lost my train of though....somebody makes a talking Jesus doll? If you want a child to get beat up by his peers for having lame toys get him or her a talking Jesus doll. The Marine Reserves should have upheld their decision to reject this toy not so much on the whole religious debate, but simply because they don't want to make children cry for getting a horrible gift. Wow, I wish I had doll that I could just pull a string on and listen to it preach to me. Play time just isn't play time without religiou propaganda spewing forth from a doll.
6.) The Police- No not the 80's rock band fronted by Sting. Click here. I'm talking about the real police. I mean if you can't get a good crack high lighting up in a police car I don't know what this world is coming to. The poor guy in this news story is being charged with third degree arson for torching a police car while trying to smoke some crack. If the police had been doing their jobs none of this legal hassle would be necessary because they would have been holding the lighter for him. It used to be that police force was in place to help the public, but now? It's all about the doughnuts. It's common knowledge that the best highs come from inside police cars. All this guy wanted was that peak and all he got were third degree arson charges.
5.) Four Words That Should Have Never Appeared In The Same Sentence- Dustin Diamond Sex Tape.
4.) The Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez- Children who are raised by parents who refuse to wear underwear and give gifts like talking Jesus dolls and Hot Wheels Radar Guns are apt to grow up into recipients of a Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez. That's how you know you've hit rock bottom in your life, getting the old Dirty Sanchez from Screech.
3.) Fruit Cakes- An even shittier gift than anything I've already menioned (aside from a video of Dustin Diamond administering a Dirty Sanchez because that's just Christmas gold) are fruit cakes. Where the fuck do all of the fruit cakes come from this time of year? Have you ever seen anybody make a fruit cake? No! Have you ever seen anybody eat a fruit cake? Hell no! Fruit cake is made by ninjas and delivered with perfect stealth upon unsuspecting victims then it is regifted because nobody wants a fruit cake. I'm not sure why ninjas do this to people, but it's the cruelest fucking holiday joke I can think of.
2.) Hypocrisy- And the sad part is that there is probably a fruit cake wrapped out there with my name on it from somebody who thought, "Wow, Michael likes fruit and I fucking hate fruit cakes. This will make a perfect gift and I won't even have to do any shopping for that asshole!" Then, I'll open the gift and have to pretend that it's absolutely the best gift I ever got. Ever. Then next year I'll be giving that same fruit cake to somebody else as a gift and they'll have to do the same damn thing. It's cyclic. Like a bloodstream of shitty baked goods.
1.) Porno Plots- Okay, seriously. If you're writing a script for a porno movie and you feel the need to incorporate some kind of plot or story into the movie could you, from now on, at least make a decent plot to follow or no plot at all. I understand that you have only a minimal amount of time to devote to story development because the producers want to have most of the movie for the naughty bits, but come on, if all it really took to get a woman to have sex with me was to give her a credit check and tell her that her credit was bad and that she would have to find some way to get me to approve her vehicle lease, well then, I'm in the wrong line of work. I use that credit check line all the time and still no sex. Also, why are there so many guys hanging around a used car dealership's office anyway? And what kind of used car salesman brings handcuffs to work? A fucking whip!?!? Do you see what I mean? All these little things take away any enjoyment of your cinematic creation. It can't be that hard to come up with some plausibility, could it?
And for god's sake, DO NOT try to work a Dustin Diamond Dirty Sanchez into the storyline! Just saying those words makes me vomit just a little. Those poor, poor girls.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
The Bottom Ten, November 2006
Oh my god. Give me a day or two more to get this one out to you. I know that everybody just falls all over themselves to read what I have to bitch and moan about at the end of every month. I was typing this thing out and I got to about number 6 on my list at which point I had to check out my sources on a story about Mike Tyson becoming a male prostitute (it was a story that turned out to be a hoax, thus nixing number 5 from my list). Anyhow, when I clicked a bookmark from my bookmarks folder to check said source I forgot that the blogger dashboard clears itself when I try to re-enter it. So I basically got a really good start and then it all fell to shit. I think the blogger dashboard might just make my Bottom Ten list one of these months for shit like this. Arrrgh.
But now it's late and I should really be getting to bed. So now I'll have to attempt to transcribe my brilliance again in the near, almost immediate future before I end up putting the November Bottom Ten out in late December or early January. That would sincerely suck on a biblical scale.
I assure you it will be up very soon. Sorry for the delay.
But now it's late and I should really be getting to bed. So now I'll have to attempt to transcribe my brilliance again in the near, almost immediate future before I end up putting the November Bottom Ten out in late December or early January. That would sincerely suck on a biblical scale.
I assure you it will be up very soon. Sorry for the delay.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Weekend In Pictures
I promised photos from the big Christmas bash with all my friends this past weekend. So here are said pictures. Enjoy.
This is the group photo. I already miss everybody.
Quite possibly the scariest picture of Jeff (or anybody) ever taken.
Those are Jordan's real teeth.
Jeff zonks out with his fake cock out while Trudy and Dave look on.
Jeff attempts to give head to Trudy's hot water bottle.
Lori's flatulence is keeping that hat upward more than her hand. Jeff concurs.
The view of Pigeon Lake from Mulhurst Bay as we were leaving. It was all very beautiful in a stark white kind of way.
Sigh. That was so much fun. Now it's back to the ho-humness of my everyday life. I already can't wait for next year.
This is the group photo. I already miss everybody.
Quite possibly the scariest picture of Jeff (or anybody) ever taken.
Those are Jordan's real teeth.
Jeff zonks out with his fake cock out while Trudy and Dave look on.
Jeff attempts to give head to Trudy's hot water bottle.
Lori's flatulence is keeping that hat upward more than her hand. Jeff concurs.
The view of Pigeon Lake from Mulhurst Bay as we were leaving. It was all very beautiful in a stark white kind of way.
Sigh. That was so much fun. Now it's back to the ho-humness of my everyday life. I already can't wait for next year.
Friday, November 24, 2006
A Quick Note To Let You Know That I'm Doing Okay
In case you are wondering why the posts slowed to a trickle this week I should tell you that I am preparing for a weekend away at tropical Pigeon Lake, Alberta. I am having my annual Christmas party with all of my oldest and closest friends. We rented a cabin for the weekend and it will be fun to rough it with my best buds, eating turkey, playing poker, getting drunk, and braving the elements, everything that a Canadian Christmas party should be.
Anyway, expect pictures when I return. I'll be back home on Sunday. So if I don't post until Monday (or later) it's the fucking mother of all hangovers.
Pray for me.
Anyway, expect pictures when I return. I'll be back home on Sunday. So if I don't post until Monday (or later) it's the fucking mother of all hangovers.
Pray for me.
Saturday, November 18, 2006
10 Songs That Have Been Dominating My iPod Lately
There are 3178 songs on my iPod right now. These are the top 10 that have been getting the most play lately.
1.) "St. Elsewhere" by: Gnarls Barkley - The title track from Gnarls Barkley's absolutely amazing debute (my prediction is that this will make many people's lists of top albums of the decade in a few years) is the best track on the album. Why? Cee-Lo Green's lyrics on this track are stunning and his delivery is phenomenal. The coup de grace comes at one minute and eight seconds into the track with layered vocals that send shivers down my spine every time I hear it.
2.) "Welcome To The Black Parade" by: My Chemical Romance - This is MCR's attempt at being Queen for the aughts. Highly theatrical and almost too over-the-top to be taken seriously this song is really saved by the guitars. Those comparisons to Queen don't only come from Gerard Way's theatrics, but guitar-work that sounds like Brian May doing a guest spot, even though, of course, it isn't.
3.) "Level" by: The Raconteurs - Jack White can be in as many bands as he wants to be if all the bands he appears in can produce work that's as intrinsically cool as this. Kayboards and guitars, oh my!
4.) "----------------------------->" by: The Dears - Don't ask me what to call it. I just call it the right arrow, but who can really say for sure what it is except The Dears? This song is so sad and haunting to me. The guitar is perfect and lead singer, Murray Lightburn, has an incredible, probably often overlooked voice, in the contemporary music scene.
5.) "A Method" by: TV On The Radio - You can't help but sing along with this song. I think it helps if your learn the lyrics. I still haven't done that so I look like a goober when I'm just mumbling incoherently in many parts until the chorus comes up, "There is hardly a method you know," and then you just know I'm all up in there like I'm a part of the band. Why aren't these guys huge all over the world yet?
6.) "Om" by: John Coltrane - This is probably the strangest inclusion on this list, but it's so utterly compelling. It opens with this spiritual spoken word part that ends with, "I am Om, Ommmmm, Ommmmmmmmm!" and erupts into spectacular, awe-inspiring noise. When I hear this song I feel as though I am making a connection to the intangibles in the universe. Save your bubblegum-pop pap for the teenagers! I'm transcendental in a state of bliss on this track. Wow! For and extra treat, try listen to song and read from Jack Kerouac's Some Of The Dharma at the same time. I swear you'll see cherubs on your shoulder, you're scraping the top of the universe so closely.
7.) "Rosetta Stoned" by: Tool - Of course Tool was going to appear on this list somewhere. "Rosetta Stoned" is Adam Jones canoodling with his guitar and Maynard really letting his vocals go from spoken word to just some of the best screams and howls in the business. Plus, any song that can make a refrain out of "Goddamn, shit the bed!" has to be pretty awesome.
8.) "The Lost City Of Refuge" by: ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead - This one is really good to just chill out to, which is odd because Trail Of Dead are not really a band that one traditionally chills out to.
9.) "Cherry Waves" by: Deftones - Cheno Moreno doesn't even sound like he sings from the Earth. He transcends time and space with his vocals sometimes. "Cherry Waves" is possibly Moreno at his vocal best. That's a bold statement too because I'm talking about a band that released songs like "Pink Maggit" and "Minerva." It's a shame that Deftones don't get more recognition like they used to get circa "White Pony" because they continue to release engaging music.
10.) "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by: Johnny Cash - There's a part of me that wished "Hurt" would have been Johnny Cash's swan song, or kind of, you know what I mean. It was such a perfect last big hit for a legend. Now "God's Gonna Cut You Down" is starting to get some play and although "Hurt" was flawless I'm beginning to think that it didn't have to be a swan song of any sort because songs like this would be overlooked. For an extra treat you should watch the video that has surfaced in support of this single. It's a who's who of who's who. And Keith Richards? In all his beef jerky-faced glory.
1.) "St. Elsewhere" by: Gnarls Barkley - The title track from Gnarls Barkley's absolutely amazing debute (my prediction is that this will make many people's lists of top albums of the decade in a few years) is the best track on the album. Why? Cee-Lo Green's lyrics on this track are stunning and his delivery is phenomenal. The coup de grace comes at one minute and eight seconds into the track with layered vocals that send shivers down my spine every time I hear it.
2.) "Welcome To The Black Parade" by: My Chemical Romance - This is MCR's attempt at being Queen for the aughts. Highly theatrical and almost too over-the-top to be taken seriously this song is really saved by the guitars. Those comparisons to Queen don't only come from Gerard Way's theatrics, but guitar-work that sounds like Brian May doing a guest spot, even though, of course, it isn't.
3.) "Level" by: The Raconteurs - Jack White can be in as many bands as he wants to be if all the bands he appears in can produce work that's as intrinsically cool as this. Kayboards and guitars, oh my!
4.) "----------------------------->" by: The Dears - Don't ask me what to call it. I just call it the right arrow, but who can really say for sure what it is except The Dears? This song is so sad and haunting to me. The guitar is perfect and lead singer, Murray Lightburn, has an incredible, probably often overlooked voice, in the contemporary music scene.
5.) "A Method" by: TV On The Radio - You can't help but sing along with this song. I think it helps if your learn the lyrics. I still haven't done that so I look like a goober when I'm just mumbling incoherently in many parts until the chorus comes up, "There is hardly a method you know," and then you just know I'm all up in there like I'm a part of the band. Why aren't these guys huge all over the world yet?
6.) "Om" by: John Coltrane - This is probably the strangest inclusion on this list, but it's so utterly compelling. It opens with this spiritual spoken word part that ends with, "I am Om, Ommmmm, Ommmmmmmmm!" and erupts into spectacular, awe-inspiring noise. When I hear this song I feel as though I am making a connection to the intangibles in the universe. Save your bubblegum-pop pap for the teenagers! I'm transcendental in a state of bliss on this track. Wow! For and extra treat, try listen to song and read from Jack Kerouac's Some Of The Dharma at the same time. I swear you'll see cherubs on your shoulder, you're scraping the top of the universe so closely.
7.) "Rosetta Stoned" by: Tool - Of course Tool was going to appear on this list somewhere. "Rosetta Stoned" is Adam Jones canoodling with his guitar and Maynard really letting his vocals go from spoken word to just some of the best screams and howls in the business. Plus, any song that can make a refrain out of "Goddamn, shit the bed!" has to be pretty awesome.
8.) "The Lost City Of Refuge" by: ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead - This one is really good to just chill out to, which is odd because Trail Of Dead are not really a band that one traditionally chills out to.
9.) "Cherry Waves" by: Deftones - Cheno Moreno doesn't even sound like he sings from the Earth. He transcends time and space with his vocals sometimes. "Cherry Waves" is possibly Moreno at his vocal best. That's a bold statement too because I'm talking about a band that released songs like "Pink Maggit" and "Minerva." It's a shame that Deftones don't get more recognition like they used to get circa "White Pony" because they continue to release engaging music.
10.) "God's Gonna Cut You Down" by: Johnny Cash - There's a part of me that wished "Hurt" would have been Johnny Cash's swan song, or kind of, you know what I mean. It was such a perfect last big hit for a legend. Now "God's Gonna Cut You Down" is starting to get some play and although "Hurt" was flawless I'm beginning to think that it didn't have to be a swan song of any sort because songs like this would be overlooked. For an extra treat you should watch the video that has surfaced in support of this single. It's a who's who of who's who. And Keith Richards? In all his beef jerky-faced glory.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
No Word Of A Lie
I'm not sure what made me think of this instance, but it was one of those moments when you think of the perfect comeback only it's months later and you have a beard or you're drunk in bed with some hooker who looked a lot better when you spotted her underneath the streetlight than she does in your bedroom. Wait a minute, what the hell do beards and hookers have to do with this little post? Okay, forget that I mentioned beards and/or hookers at all. I suppose my delete button could make you omit that from your memory, but I'm on a tangent right now and I have to roll with it.
So anyway, bearded hookers got their humble beginnings in 1912, when a much overlooked streetwalker forgot to shave for three months and happened upon a strapping young pervert by the name of Wendel and they....
Bwahahaha, I'm just joking with you. Seriously, this post has nothing to do with hookers or beards.
So anyway, just tonight I was thinking back to this one occurrence at the casino where I work. I work in a casino, by the way. This one time I actually had a customer stop me to complain about the long time she had to wait for customer service. Now that I'm in the twilight years of my twenties my memory isn't entirely accurate, so I will quote her as saying the following, though it's not verbatim. This is what she said:
"You guys should have more staff on duty this time every month because this is when the welfare cheques go out."
Now, bear in mind that's not a verbatim quote from the lady. She wasn't quite that eloquent and I'm sure there a lot more expletives peppered throughout her little tirade that followed. But the important part was the part about the welfare cheques.
Welfare cheques. This lady was obviously gambling with the money she got from her monthly welfare cheque.
My reaction?
"You're absolutely right, Miss. I'm sorry about the delay in service. I will see to it that my staff addresses your problem right away."
That quote from me is probably verbatim. It's almost a form letter for me to say that to people who complain about service.
Then I thought about it later and the comeback I should have used was:
"Stop gambling with my tax money!"
But now, tonight, I came up with a better, more eloquent way to address the lady's concerns:
"I apologize for the lack of speed on our part, Miss. We are short-staffed, as are many places. This is due to a booming economy here in Alberta where there are too many jobs available and not enough people to fill them all. If the speed of our service is of such concern to you perhaps I could interest you in a job here. I could make sure to schedule you to work this time every month, when the welfare cheques are sent so that all the people who are blissfully unaware of what welfare is intended for can come flush away government assistance more effieciently."
Yeah, that would have been the perfect thing to say. Sigh. I kind of wish I could go back in time a few months just so that I could say that to her face.
So lady, if you're out there and you're reading this post, job applications are at the front desk on your way in and
Stop gambling with my tax money!
So anyway, bearded hookers got their humble beginnings in 1912, when a much overlooked streetwalker forgot to shave for three months and happened upon a strapping young pervert by the name of Wendel and they....
Bwahahaha, I'm just joking with you. Seriously, this post has nothing to do with hookers or beards.
So anyway, just tonight I was thinking back to this one occurrence at the casino where I work. I work in a casino, by the way. This one time I actually had a customer stop me to complain about the long time she had to wait for customer service. Now that I'm in the twilight years of my twenties my memory isn't entirely accurate, so I will quote her as saying the following, though it's not verbatim. This is what she said:
"You guys should have more staff on duty this time every month because this is when the welfare cheques go out."
Now, bear in mind that's not a verbatim quote from the lady. She wasn't quite that eloquent and I'm sure there a lot more expletives peppered throughout her little tirade that followed. But the important part was the part about the welfare cheques.
Welfare cheques. This lady was obviously gambling with the money she got from her monthly welfare cheque.
My reaction?
"You're absolutely right, Miss. I'm sorry about the delay in service. I will see to it that my staff addresses your problem right away."
That quote from me is probably verbatim. It's almost a form letter for me to say that to people who complain about service.
Then I thought about it later and the comeback I should have used was:
"Stop gambling with my tax money!"
But now, tonight, I came up with a better, more eloquent way to address the lady's concerns:
"I apologize for the lack of speed on our part, Miss. We are short-staffed, as are many places. This is due to a booming economy here in Alberta where there are too many jobs available and not enough people to fill them all. If the speed of our service is of such concern to you perhaps I could interest you in a job here. I could make sure to schedule you to work this time every month, when the welfare cheques are sent so that all the people who are blissfully unaware of what welfare is intended for can come flush away government assistance more effieciently."
Yeah, that would have been the perfect thing to say. Sigh. I kind of wish I could go back in time a few months just so that I could say that to her face.
So lady, if you're out there and you're reading this post, job applications are at the front desk on your way in and
Stop gambling with my tax money!
Friday, November 10, 2006
Go To Hell, Tic Tacs!
Tic Tacs, man. Fucking Tic Tacs.
For a while there was this thng that kind of upset me on the subject of Tic Tacs, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Recently, though, through an intense session of meditation and self-discovery, I finally arrived at that one intangible that was bothering me all these years.
And you know what it was? The two fucking calories per Tic Tac.
Every Tic Tac is two calories. Every Tic Tac is two calories.
I'll let that sink in for a minute.
Every Tic Tac is two calories.
Why in the living fuck would anybody give a shit?
I mean have you ever been out with your friends and you go to offer one of them a Tic Tac and they politely refuse your offer, saying, "Oh, no thank you, I simply can't allow myself to have one. I'm trying to watch my figure. Those two calories would go right to my hips." Have you? Seriously?
Think about it, you're there and you're probably just finished commenting, "Holy fuck, Jim, your breath smells like you just did a line of rimjobs for people with explosive diarrhea! Have a fucking Tic Tac before I have to vomit from having to talk to you!" And then, Jim, fresh from the rimjob factory, or wherever he works (he probably puts on a hardhat and safety goggles before work each day), has the nerve to say, "Thank you, but not thank you. If I eat one of those breath mints I'm liable to need new coveralls." In some cultures punching Jim in the face after hearing and smelling him say such a thing is not only perfectly acceptable, but also legally necessary.
And when you watch one of those daytime talkshows on the topic of human manatees, those people who are so morbidly obese that in order to get out the front doors of their houses they have to hire contractors, how many times have you seen the host of the show ask, "To what do you attribute your massive girth?" Then, while turkey legs and/or gravy seeps out from their massive jowels, they say, "Tic Tacs. Lots and lots of Tic Tacs. I could never have fresh enough breath." That never happens. You will never see that on a daytime talkshow. They could round up every one of those people who can no longer walk of their own volition and ask them that same question and I can guarantee you that not one of them will offer up Tic Tacs as the main culprit behind their planet-crushing size.
So then, bearing that in mind, why the fuck do the people who make Tic Tacs insist on mentioning in their commercials that there are only two calories to every Tic Tac? It's a moot point. Tic Tacs were never meant to be some kind of minty-fresh meal replacement. You don't go to fancy restaurants and order Tic Tacs off the healthy choices menu. They're fucking breath mints! You suck on them so that people don't pass out around you, suffocating, starving for air that doesn't smell like ass.
So, people out there who are going through the whole moral dilemma of whether or not you should have a Tic Tac because it might affect their weight and/or figure, fucking forget about it. Go hog fucking wild with the Tic Tacs. You probably burn two calories just sucking on the mint in the first place.
I mean who came up with that marketing scheme in the first place. "Hey Morty, you know what would be a great selling point for our line of breath mints? How low in calories they are!" Yep, because if there's one thing that people split hairs over when it comes to the right breath mint for them it's the fucking caloric intake.
I should develop my own line of breath mints that are just mint-flavored cubes of bacon fat. You know, for the people who want a healthy alternative to being so obsessive about counting calories.
For a while there was this thng that kind of upset me on the subject of Tic Tacs, but I could never quite put my finger on it. Recently, though, through an intense session of meditation and self-discovery, I finally arrived at that one intangible that was bothering me all these years.
And you know what it was? The two fucking calories per Tic Tac.
Every Tic Tac is two calories. Every Tic Tac is two calories.
I'll let that sink in for a minute.
Every Tic Tac is two calories.
Why in the living fuck would anybody give a shit?
I mean have you ever been out with your friends and you go to offer one of them a Tic Tac and they politely refuse your offer, saying, "Oh, no thank you, I simply can't allow myself to have one. I'm trying to watch my figure. Those two calories would go right to my hips." Have you? Seriously?
Think about it, you're there and you're probably just finished commenting, "Holy fuck, Jim, your breath smells like you just did a line of rimjobs for people with explosive diarrhea! Have a fucking Tic Tac before I have to vomit from having to talk to you!" And then, Jim, fresh from the rimjob factory, or wherever he works (he probably puts on a hardhat and safety goggles before work each day), has the nerve to say, "Thank you, but not thank you. If I eat one of those breath mints I'm liable to need new coveralls." In some cultures punching Jim in the face after hearing and smelling him say such a thing is not only perfectly acceptable, but also legally necessary.
And when you watch one of those daytime talkshows on the topic of human manatees, those people who are so morbidly obese that in order to get out the front doors of their houses they have to hire contractors, how many times have you seen the host of the show ask, "To what do you attribute your massive girth?" Then, while turkey legs and/or gravy seeps out from their massive jowels, they say, "Tic Tacs. Lots and lots of Tic Tacs. I could never have fresh enough breath." That never happens. You will never see that on a daytime talkshow. They could round up every one of those people who can no longer walk of their own volition and ask them that same question and I can guarantee you that not one of them will offer up Tic Tacs as the main culprit behind their planet-crushing size.
So then, bearing that in mind, why the fuck do the people who make Tic Tacs insist on mentioning in their commercials that there are only two calories to every Tic Tac? It's a moot point. Tic Tacs were never meant to be some kind of minty-fresh meal replacement. You don't go to fancy restaurants and order Tic Tacs off the healthy choices menu. They're fucking breath mints! You suck on them so that people don't pass out around you, suffocating, starving for air that doesn't smell like ass.
So, people out there who are going through the whole moral dilemma of whether or not you should have a Tic Tac because it might affect their weight and/or figure, fucking forget about it. Go hog fucking wild with the Tic Tacs. You probably burn two calories just sucking on the mint in the first place.
I mean who came up with that marketing scheme in the first place. "Hey Morty, you know what would be a great selling point for our line of breath mints? How low in calories they are!" Yep, because if there's one thing that people split hairs over when it comes to the right breath mint for them it's the fucking caloric intake.
I should develop my own line of breath mints that are just mint-flavored cubes of bacon fat. You know, for the people who want a healthy alternative to being so obsessive about counting calories.
Saturday, November 04, 2006
To The Men And Women Who Take Sex Offender Photos:
Click here.
I thought that I would bring this little story to your attention tonight because just before I logged into my blog to make a post I was checking my MySpace account to see what kind of action is happening down at everybody's favorite social networking site on the internet. So it seems appropriate. In more ways than it seems.
So anyway, the story I linked to revolves around a man in the U.S. somewhere (the article doesn't clarify where in the U.S. because why would anybody want to know the whereabouts of a registered sex offender?) got arrested after updating his MySpace profile to include his sex offender registry photo. So? you're probably thinking. Well, if you're a sex offender and you want to have a MySpace profile you have to register your internet ad for poon with the police.
My first reaction to reading this article is that he must have one fucking sweet-ass sex offender registry photo. I mean think about it, you could get a picture of yourself from anywhere. Paying to have photos digitized is rather cheap these days. Fuck, even buy digital cameras and or internet cams is cheap. You could have photos from just about anywhere, really. And this guy? Well, he thought that nothing says, "Come to poppa!" more than the photo that is on his file with the sex offender registry. Which either means this man is an huge fucking idiot or that the photographers at the sex offender registry are doing too good of a job when they are at work.
Okay, Mr. Sassy Sex Offender, there's this bad boy in you that I just know is waiting to come out for me. Have you ever done any modeling before? You look like you know your way around in front of the lens. Now, give me lots of attitude! Give me your "I'm a bad widdle boy" face! Ahhh, that's it! Brilliant! Now give me the sexy sex offender. The sex offender who's not afraid of what the man has to say about his sexual preferences. Wow! You're blowing me away! You surely must have done some modeling before this. Listen, I'm putting together a little photo exhibit, "The Sex Offenders of New York State" up on the internet and your shoot has to be up there! I simply must have you! You are just too hot!
So then after that photo shoot with the sex offender registry our guy goes home and decides to join the internet phenom MySpace and what better photo to have that really captures who he is than the photo from that Sex Offender exhibit? And then, boom, it's back to jail with him!
It kind of made me laugh actually.
But seriously, sex offender photographers out there, you don't have to pull of miracles with the pictures. They only have to say to me, "Don't have sex with this person." That's it. Obviously, you're going above and beyond the call of your duty and this man felt compelled to include your work with his MySpace profile. So just cut it out. Make it more utilitarian. Who would want to use some kind of mugshot for a MySpace profile? Just give us mugshots. That's it. Leave the artistic stuff to all the people who aren't sex offenders.
Why is this pertinent, though, you ask? Because I had a friend request in my MySpace queue tonight and the profile that requested me to be on another friends list was deleted before I could approve or deny the request. So Bubba, if it was you who was trying to add me and then the police deleted your account before I got to your request, I just wanted to personally say, sorry, but I can't accept the offer to join your friends list as it clashes with my anti-pedophilia philosophy.
I just thought I would let you know.
I thought that I would bring this little story to your attention tonight because just before I logged into my blog to make a post I was checking my MySpace account to see what kind of action is happening down at everybody's favorite social networking site on the internet. So it seems appropriate. In more ways than it seems.
So anyway, the story I linked to revolves around a man in the U.S. somewhere (the article doesn't clarify where in the U.S. because why would anybody want to know the whereabouts of a registered sex offender?) got arrested after updating his MySpace profile to include his sex offender registry photo. So? you're probably thinking. Well, if you're a sex offender and you want to have a MySpace profile you have to register your internet ad for poon with the police.
My first reaction to reading this article is that he must have one fucking sweet-ass sex offender registry photo. I mean think about it, you could get a picture of yourself from anywhere. Paying to have photos digitized is rather cheap these days. Fuck, even buy digital cameras and or internet cams is cheap. You could have photos from just about anywhere, really. And this guy? Well, he thought that nothing says, "Come to poppa!" more than the photo that is on his file with the sex offender registry. Which either means this man is an huge fucking idiot or that the photographers at the sex offender registry are doing too good of a job when they are at work.
Okay, Mr. Sassy Sex Offender, there's this bad boy in you that I just know is waiting to come out for me. Have you ever done any modeling before? You look like you know your way around in front of the lens. Now, give me lots of attitude! Give me your "I'm a bad widdle boy" face! Ahhh, that's it! Brilliant! Now give me the sexy sex offender. The sex offender who's not afraid of what the man has to say about his sexual preferences. Wow! You're blowing me away! You surely must have done some modeling before this. Listen, I'm putting together a little photo exhibit, "The Sex Offenders of New York State" up on the internet and your shoot has to be up there! I simply must have you! You are just too hot!
So then after that photo shoot with the sex offender registry our guy goes home and decides to join the internet phenom MySpace and what better photo to have that really captures who he is than the photo from that Sex Offender exhibit? And then, boom, it's back to jail with him!
It kind of made me laugh actually.
But seriously, sex offender photographers out there, you don't have to pull of miracles with the pictures. They only have to say to me, "Don't have sex with this person." That's it. Obviously, you're going above and beyond the call of your duty and this man felt compelled to include your work with his MySpace profile. So just cut it out. Make it more utilitarian. Who would want to use some kind of mugshot for a MySpace profile? Just give us mugshots. That's it. Leave the artistic stuff to all the people who aren't sex offenders.
Why is this pertinent, though, you ask? Because I had a friend request in my MySpace queue tonight and the profile that requested me to be on another friends list was deleted before I could approve or deny the request. So Bubba, if it was you who was trying to add me and then the police deleted your account before I got to your request, I just wanted to personally say, sorry, but I can't accept the offer to join your friends list as it clashes with my anti-pedophilia philosophy.
I just thought I would let you know.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
The Bottom Ten, October 2006
10.) Cyberbullies- Click here. If you read the linked article (it's quite short) you'll probably be alarmed by the growing trend of cyberbullying. What I like about the article is how they said, "Cyberspace bullies can strike from anywhere and can steal a child's pride instead of lunch money." Oh no, not my pride! Anything but that! Whatever will I do if my pride gets stolen? "While the act of bullying is nothing new, the cyberbully has certain advantages over the traditional bully." And, while the cyberbully gets to use people pride to buy things like shiny sports cars and big fancy boats....What? Wait, what do you mean, "Um, Michael, people's pride doesn't buy anything at all." Well, fuck me up the ass. You mean I just took out my very first mortgage using all that pride I horded from all those years spent in Internet Relay Chat making fun of sucka-fools and it's pretty much useless? Fuck!!! Damn you, technology! When will pride replace money as acceptable currency for big-ticket purchases? Never? Fuck you! Also, while the cyberbully enjoys "certain advantages" (conveniently, none of them are actually listed) they also suffer a horrible, horrible disadvantage when it comes to dealing with their bullying victims. Victims or cyberbullying, read this next part carefully. When you are confronted by a cyberbully there's a little X at the top right hand side of the window where your bully is attacking your from, if you click it he/she no longer has access to your precious, precious pride, which should leave you enough to take out a mortgage of your own....oh, wait, I forgot, your pride has no actual measured value. Damn you, internets!!!!
9.) Bob Barker's No-Nudity Clause- Click here. So most people have probably heard the news that soon-to-be-83-year-old Bob Barker, the cryptkeeper-like host of The Price Is Right is calling it a career.
He said he'd take on a movie role if the right one came along, but filmmakers, take note: "I refuse to do nude scenes. These Hollywood producers want to capitalize on my obvious sexuality, but I don't want to be just another beautiful body."
Obvious? Refusing to do nude scenes? Good luck trying to get work in the film industry, Bob. Gah!
8.) The Impractibility Of Bleach- Why can't somebody invent a bleach that will safely erase grotesque images from the brain without killing a guy?
7.) Really Bad Ideas- Click here.
6.) AMC Commercials- American Movie Classics channel has a great number of commercials featuring soundbites from random yahoos talking about all the various minutia they love from their favorite films. And I watch these commercials and I think, "Oh wow, I would love to watch these movies right now because, man, they sound so fucking awesome." Why is this on my Bottom Ten? American Movie Classics never play any of these movies that the people in the commercials are raving about! Fuck! They should just have a channel where people rave about movies 24/7 and have it be just an elaborate infomercial for Blockbuster where all these movies can be found as opposed to, say, the fucking channel airing the fucking commercials in the first place! They should end each of those commercials with, "Wouldn't it be cool to see one of these movies right now? Fuck you, asshole, you're going to watch whatever we feel like showing. You want to see 'Rushmore' right now? Go suck a dick because that won't be happening here, assface!"
5.) Oblivious People- Okay, you're in a parking lot and you've just started your car and you're getting ready to throw the car into reverse and you're going to get the fuck out, right? Wrong! Because some dipshit cruising through the lane behind you has spotted a friend of his on foot and has stopped to have a conversation with him, oblivious to the fact that his vehicle is boxing yours into its spot for the sake of his social life. Listen, dicklock, just give me a call, tell me what you need to say to your friend, I'll write it down in my blog for him and give it a title like, "Message to that random fuckface in the mall parking lot from his asshole friend who can't fathom the concept of there being vehicles in the public parking lot other than his own because obviously he is the fucking universe unto itself." That message reads: Yeah, so in case you missed my last voicemail to you, it's true, I'm still a retard.
4.) The Caramilk Mystery- After years and years of research, after having following clues to the four corners of the globe, after years of countless interviews, dead end searches in pornographic magazine warehouses, a nagging case of syphillis, three blood transfusions, a mild concussion, and leads that led nowhere, after all this, my crack team of researchers have finally discovered the mystery of how they get the caramel in the Caramilk bar. The answer: Who gives a fuck?
3.) Christmas Shopping- It's coming up on that time of year again and I have to admit that I actually like Christmas shopping. It's the fucking Christmas shoppers I can't fucking stand.
2.) The Death Of My Old Computer- Shopping for a new computer seems to occur with increasing frequency as years go by, which is perfectly understandable as computers go obsolete faster and faster. It just really sucks to have to set up a new computer just the way you like it. All those RSS feeds of porn are lost!
1.) And The Loss Of Data- I lost most of my digital photographs from the past four years too and that makes me want to cry. Not to mention all the great material that I culled to put together the Bottom Ten lists each month. I really had to patch this one together at the last minute because of the data loss. It's a fucking shame about those pictures though. The only photograph of my bare ass lost to the ether. Sigh.
9.) Bob Barker's No-Nudity Clause- Click here. So most people have probably heard the news that soon-to-be-83-year-old Bob Barker, the cryptkeeper-like host of The Price Is Right is calling it a career.
He said he'd take on a movie role if the right one came along, but filmmakers, take note: "I refuse to do nude scenes. These Hollywood producers want to capitalize on my obvious sexuality, but I don't want to be just another beautiful body."
Obvious? Refusing to do nude scenes? Good luck trying to get work in the film industry, Bob. Gah!
8.) The Impractibility Of Bleach- Why can't somebody invent a bleach that will safely erase grotesque images from the brain without killing a guy?
7.) Really Bad Ideas- Click here.
6.) AMC Commercials- American Movie Classics channel has a great number of commercials featuring soundbites from random yahoos talking about all the various minutia they love from their favorite films. And I watch these commercials and I think, "Oh wow, I would love to watch these movies right now because, man, they sound so fucking awesome." Why is this on my Bottom Ten? American Movie Classics never play any of these movies that the people in the commercials are raving about! Fuck! They should just have a channel where people rave about movies 24/7 and have it be just an elaborate infomercial for Blockbuster where all these movies can be found as opposed to, say, the fucking channel airing the fucking commercials in the first place! They should end each of those commercials with, "Wouldn't it be cool to see one of these movies right now? Fuck you, asshole, you're going to watch whatever we feel like showing. You want to see 'Rushmore' right now? Go suck a dick because that won't be happening here, assface!"
5.) Oblivious People- Okay, you're in a parking lot and you've just started your car and you're getting ready to throw the car into reverse and you're going to get the fuck out, right? Wrong! Because some dipshit cruising through the lane behind you has spotted a friend of his on foot and has stopped to have a conversation with him, oblivious to the fact that his vehicle is boxing yours into its spot for the sake of his social life. Listen, dicklock, just give me a call, tell me what you need to say to your friend, I'll write it down in my blog for him and give it a title like, "Message to that random fuckface in the mall parking lot from his asshole friend who can't fathom the concept of there being vehicles in the public parking lot other than his own because obviously he is the fucking universe unto itself." That message reads: Yeah, so in case you missed my last voicemail to you, it's true, I'm still a retard.
4.) The Caramilk Mystery- After years and years of research, after having following clues to the four corners of the globe, after years of countless interviews, dead end searches in pornographic magazine warehouses, a nagging case of syphillis, three blood transfusions, a mild concussion, and leads that led nowhere, after all this, my crack team of researchers have finally discovered the mystery of how they get the caramel in the Caramilk bar. The answer: Who gives a fuck?
3.) Christmas Shopping- It's coming up on that time of year again and I have to admit that I actually like Christmas shopping. It's the fucking Christmas shoppers I can't fucking stand.
2.) The Death Of My Old Computer- Shopping for a new computer seems to occur with increasing frequency as years go by, which is perfectly understandable as computers go obsolete faster and faster. It just really sucks to have to set up a new computer just the way you like it. All those RSS feeds of porn are lost!
1.) And The Loss Of Data- I lost most of my digital photographs from the past four years too and that makes me want to cry. Not to mention all the great material that I culled to put together the Bottom Ten lists each month. I really had to patch this one together at the last minute because of the data loss. It's a fucking shame about those pictures though. The only photograph of my bare ass lost to the ether. Sigh.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
The Tragically Hip's World Container
You knew this was going to be coming from me sooner or later. Many of you who know me personally out there know that I am a big fan of The Tragically Hip.
They're coming back to Edmonton to play a concert on January 14, by the way. Me? Row 31.
So anyway, that's not what I wanted to discuss. I didn't want to come online to brag about getting row 31 tickets to see The Tragically Hip in January. Truth be told, row 31 is not all that spectacular for a show at Rexall Place. It's good, but you're not going to win any medals for getting tickets for row 31. I got to see the Hip in a night club once. I should have got a medal for that one. But enough of this concert talk.
The new album by The Tragically Hip came out recently. It's called World Container. I would have done a review for you, my gentle readers, almost right after the fact had it not been for all of my recent computer problems, which you undoubtedly read about in my last post.
World Container is yet another strong outing by Canada's favorite band.
It's different then what listeners would come to expect from The Hip in recent offerings, though. The sound this time is a more concise rock record. There are more tracks here that a really indicative of a rock n' roll band's as opposed to a band fronted by an amazing poet. Don't get me wrong, the lyrics here are tremendous, "World Container" and "In View" are prime examples of that, but not in the way that the lyrics on In Violet Light or In Between Evolution are tremendous. Frontman Gord Downie, whom I am probably forever in debt to for almost literally making my head explode with lyrical appreciation over the years, doesn't canoodle the English language as much as he's done in the past, offering here a more sparse effort with his words, but it's more of an exercise in minimalizing than producer Bob Rock throttling the singer. I think that Bob Rock's production really sheds more light on the guitars of Paul Langlois and Rob Baker. Songs like "Family Band" and "The Drop Off" show off a couple of meaty riffs from Langlois that brought mind the old days of Up To Here.
So where does this sit in The Tragically Hip canon? I'm not entirely sure. I've listened to it a few times now and I can't decide entirely how it measures up to their previous efforts, especially In Violet Light and In Between Evolution. I think this is the kind of album that would win back any fans who have been alienated by the band's more esoteric direction with its latter albums, but it's not so straight-forward that the people who appreciated those colorful works could see it as a step backwards.
I guess I would have to say that this is the right album for them to do at this point. It's half way between old Hip and new Hip. It's calculated, laced with some really catchy songs and I don't think this could distance them from any of their fans, whether it's the arthouse crowd or the beer-swilling mullet-heads. And they might just get a few new fans (if there are any people who haven't heard them yet) to boot.
Thumbs up indeed.
See you in January.
What we have here are all flaws in progress
where all songs are one song and
that song is, DON'T FORGET
-Gordon Downie
"World Container"
Some Housekeeping Notes
First off, I apologize for the delay in updating my blog. Has it been 10 days since my last post? Already? Wow. Time flies when everything is fucking up around you.
So for those of you who aren't in the know, my computer passed away suddenly and tragically just over a week ago. On Tuesday I finally got a new computer and since Tuesday I've been spending my free time getting my new computer set up just right. I'll be getting back to posting on my blog with some regularity very soon.
Aside from that you should head down to the Raving Poets website regarding news about our imminent return to rock Edmonton down to its foundation. Starting Wednesday, November 1, and going on every Wednesday night in the month of November, the Raving Poets will be doing a new series of readings: Five Wednesdays One November. It takes place at Yianni's Taverna, Kazbar Lounge (10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton) kicking off at 8:00 p.m. each time. It promises to be a hell of a series because I'm sure I'm not the only Raving Poet who has had some time to put together a whole arsenal of ass-kicking, donkey-punching, mule-throttling work. Expect blood.
Now that I'm back, let me just say that it's great to be back. I think that I might one of those people with an internet addiction problems. I had the shakes bad. Now begins the morphine drip of my life.
So for those of you who aren't in the know, my computer passed away suddenly and tragically just over a week ago. On Tuesday I finally got a new computer and since Tuesday I've been spending my free time getting my new computer set up just right. I'll be getting back to posting on my blog with some regularity very soon.
Aside from that you should head down to the Raving Poets website regarding news about our imminent return to rock Edmonton down to its foundation. Starting Wednesday, November 1, and going on every Wednesday night in the month of November, the Raving Poets will be doing a new series of readings: Five Wednesdays One November. It takes place at Yianni's Taverna, Kazbar Lounge (10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton) kicking off at 8:00 p.m. each time. It promises to be a hell of a series because I'm sure I'm not the only Raving Poet who has had some time to put together a whole arsenal of ass-kicking, donkey-punching, mule-throttling work. Expect blood.
Now that I'm back, let me just say that it's great to be back. I think that I might one of those people with an internet addiction problems. I had the shakes bad. Now begins the morphine drip of my life.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Party With Britney And K-Fed On Halloween
Click here.
lYke OMG doodz, i'm So toTTally goin ta win dis conTest, yo! Gettin mY PartEE on wid Bee-Ritney and K-Fed on HallOween wood Make me da c00lest, yo! Partyin it up double-wide style, boyz!*
*I apologize for this brief, momentary lapse of character on my part. I read an article about how Britney Spears is asking people to whore her husband's attempt at music out to innocent friends and families (a fucking crime against humanity if ever one existed) with the promise of getting to party with Mr. and Mrs. Spears on Halloween in yon double-wide mansion and something just snapped in me.
We now return you to your normally sane and humble narrator.
Although one of those gaudy medallions would be really sweet. Okay, just one of you do me a favor and buy his stupid CD for idiots so that I have enough sales attributed to me to qualify for one of his replica medallions. I've always wanted to look like an upper-class white boy co-opting a culture I not possibly be any further removed from and a replica K-Fed medallion would be the coup-de-grace for my transformation.
lYke OMG doodz, i'm So toTTally goin ta win dis conTest, yo! Gettin mY PartEE on wid Bee-Ritney and K-Fed on HallOween wood Make me da c00lest, yo! Partyin it up double-wide style, boyz!*
*I apologize for this brief, momentary lapse of character on my part. I read an article about how Britney Spears is asking people to whore her husband's attempt at music out to innocent friends and families (a fucking crime against humanity if ever one existed) with the promise of getting to party with Mr. and Mrs. Spears on Halloween in yon double-wide mansion and something just snapped in me.
We now return you to your normally sane and humble narrator.
Although one of those gaudy medallions would be really sweet. Okay, just one of you do me a favor and buy his stupid CD for idiots so that I have enough sales attributed to me to qualify for one of his replica medallions. I've always wanted to look like an upper-class white boy co-opting a culture I not possibly be any further removed from and a replica K-Fed medallion would be the coup-de-grace for my transformation.
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