The Michael Appleby Theory Of Women's First Names And Relative Hotness

Before I begin this post I have to give a shout-out to Adam Snider (@ink_slinger if you do the whole Twitter thing). Thanks to a small series of recent tweets from Adam, I arrived at the following theory. So without the tireless efforts of Adam Snider (or here if you do the whole World Wide Web thing)(here if you have no idea what a World Wide Web is)(here if you are clinically considered to be a vegetable) I wouldn't have some fresh new material to present to you fine folks in Internet land! Thanks Adam!

Let's face it, this is the 21st century and there is less and less that seems weird to us. Kids walk around with lime green hair and chains in their wallets and we actually mock those kids not because they walk around with lime green hair and chains in their wallets, but because lime green hair and chains in wallets is soooo 2006. This is the brave new world that Huxley was talking about. I think. Okay, I don't know for sure. I'm just putting Huxley's name out there so that you think I'm smarter than I am. It's called name-dropping people! Look it up!

That being said, women's names are becoming more and more varied and unusual. Girls named Copernicus are spelling it cOpernicus as a sort of nod to iPods and any other cutely named piece of kitsch technology. Don't believe me? Just try to spell that girl's name the old fashioned, capital-letter-goes-in-front way and they will rip your nuts off with a kung-fu grip. One of the latest trends in naming girls fresh from the womb is to give them names that were often reserved for the dick-waving gender of the species. Meeting women named Carl, Gustav, Jonathan, Frank, or even Bernard is not that unusual. That, or you met pre-op transexuals named Carl, Gustav, Jonathan, Frank, or even Bernard, but that's a whole different can of corn, Esther!

Aside: I'm not sure who Esther is or what she's doing with cans of corn. It's not an old adage. Seriously, I just made that shit up. That's how creative I am. I make up my own adages!

The name that triggered all this was Michael. Apparently there are more and more women showing up in places who are named Michael.

I have to admit that when I first heard of girls being named Michael I was a bit put off because it meant that my name was creeping toward androgeny where once it had be squarely in undeniably testosterone-laden-cock-and-balls-punch-you-in-the-face masculinity. The knee-jerk reaction to this would be, of course, to get a name change to something that could not ever be given to a girl. But then I thought about it and I'm beginning to think that there is no name left that is so manly it could never, ever be given to a girl. Don't eulogize your testicles just yet gentlemen.

But Michael, I will never, ever meet a girl named Keith or Chuck or Allen!

Wrong! It'll happen. There might not be many or any at all just yet, but give it time. That will change.

Here is my theory. Girls who are burdened with man names are named such so as to limit the number of suitors she will receive especially during the formative years when parents hope and pray their little girls don't come home from dates knocked up.

Think about it: you're some dude looking to get his rocks off. Are you really going to get it on with a girl named Brent? Hell no! Factor into this the fact that more and more relationships are forming online where one of the earliest things we learn about people we interact with are names. If you meet some girl on Craigslist who has a name like Douglas or Clive are you seriously going to believe they're a girl or a "girl"? Exactly.

That's not the end of it, folks! Those same girls with the manly names, thanks to Darwinian law, have to evolve to compensate for the biological setback of their manly names. Biologically speaking they are supposed to find a mate and they are being held back by a name. So what do they do? They blossom into more attractive-looking women. Those dudes who wouldn't even look at a girl named Eric let alone fuck one are now finding themselves looking beyond the name because girl is smoking hot. The girl has evolved because of the setback her parents gave her.

Now, to get back to the name Michael, would I ever want to be with a girl named Michael? Well, I suppose if the right Michael came along I would consider it. Sex with her would be a little like masturbation I suppose. Except, of course, instead of it just being me alone in bed screaming, "Oh Michael!" (whose name did you think I would scream?), there would be two of us in bed screaming, "Oh Michael!" And the kicker is that she would probably be screaming my name. And me, being me, would probably be screaming my name too! I'm that good.

Another thought that just hit me is that if it got to a point where I was marrying a girl named Michael the J.P. or priest or whoever it is we get to perform the ceremony, that guy would say, "Do you Michael take Michael to be your Michael for Michael and Michael?" I know, that sounds too fucking awesome to be real.

I now pronounce you Michael and Michael. You may kiss the Michael. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you for the first time Michael and Michael Appleby!

The universe would fold in on itself and all existence would simply cease to be. The perfect storm of kick-assery would have occurred.

So, if you find yourself wondering what Michael and I would name our prospective first daughter, the name would be Richard. Really, you could draw a manly name out of a hat filled with manly names, but I think Richard would be a huge obstacle for our precious little daughter to overcome.

She'd be so beautiful it'd make you blind just to look at her.

You, Sir, Are A Master Debater

The other night I was privileged enough to bear witness to one of the great debaters of our time. For free! Can you imagine it? It was sort of like going to a local outdoor basketball court and finding Michael Jordan shooting hoops or like going to a local hockey rink and getting a chance to watch Wayne Gretzky play shinny. It was that rare of an opportunity! For the few brief moments while I got to watch this man at the height of the debating craft I was in awe.

But wait, I should back it up a little bit and give you some premise.

So there I was on a Friday night in the casino. It was actually a slower Friday than what we in the casino biz are used to. I welcomed it, though, because it made for a more leisurely and pleasant pace in which to toil away.

At one point in the evening one of the cocktail waitresses on duty approached me to tell me about a customer who was being quite rude with her every time he placed an order for drinks. Because of his continued rudeness she decided that it was in her best interests to refuse him further service, which meant that if he wanted to get a drink he would have to go up to the bar to get it himself. Stuff like this happens from time to time. Customers who have been drinking can become a little ornery and unpleasant to have to deal with.

As the cocktail waitress was telling me the story about this man who should approach us where we were standing? That's right, the very man in question! Fireworks were about to fly. You could just look at the situation developing in front of you and just know this was two great pugilists about to do some mighty verbal battling over a refusal of service.

The man starts in with something like, "Hey, did you bring me those beers that I ordered?"

I should note that most of these quotes aren't verbatim because my memory isn't photographic.

The cocktail waitress then explains to him, "No, I did not bring the beers you ordered because as I already told you I'm not going to serve you any more."

"Why not?"

"Because you were quite rude to me."

And this was the moment in the little verbal exchange when you could see our man's eyes light up. She left an opening in the lane and he was coming in for the slam dunk to end all slam dunks.

Now this part is verbatim because you can't even willingly wipe these sorts of counterpoints from your memory even if you tried.

He came back at her explaining to him that he was rude to her with, "Well, whatever, you're ugly."

OHHHHHHHH SNAP!

I'm not sure how our cocktail waitress found the intestinal fortitude to refuse him service after a counter-argument like that, but she did. I guess that goes to show the power of her conviction. You just don't fuck with her like that. She'll throw down!

But seriously, guy, "Well, whatever, you're ugly?" How the hell is that going to convince the waitress that she should continue to serve you drinks? Is this some sort of transcendental form of reverse psychology that you picked up in your years and years as the captain of your high school debate club?

Now, if you had, say, apologized for being rude earlier. Maybe even tip the girl for her trouble. Don't you think that would have gone much further than insulting her in regards to getting her to bring you beers? Then again, I never was big on debate in high school, though, trust me, "Well, whatever, you're ugly," is now going in my big book of utility comebacks for arguments all shapes and sizes. It's comeback gold. Believe you me.

Secondly, I'm no expert on ugliness, but I'm pretty sure that if I had polled the people in the casino which person was more attractive, you or the cocktail waitress, I'm pretty sure that all the men would find her more attractive. And the women too. It's one of those pot calling the kettle black kind of stories I guess.

And, just between you and me, if you considered letting the blue jeans ride a bit lower than 4 inches below your armpits you might have a more successful time with the ladies in general. They weren't blue jeans, they were an adventure.

The Bottom Ten, April 2007

10.) 107 Wives- Click here. A 74-year-old man from Indonesia was recently put in jail for beating up his wife because he suspected her of infidelity in the marriage. I can't figure out why the fuck any woman would want to be unfaithful to a husband who has 106 other wives. That's not a typo. He has 107 wives in total. From those 107 wives he has 41 children and a small city's worth of grandchildren. This man has made polygamy an extreme sport. But why would a woman even dream of cheating on a husband who has 107 women to try to keep up with. Give the guy a break! Fuck. Imagine, you come home from work and all you want to do is put your feet up and relax, but nooooooo, 30 or 40 of your wives want you to do some menial chores, another 10 or so want to have sex, 50 of them want to argue with you over the fact that there are about 104 shades of lipstick on your collar, and the rest want you watch your 41 kids while they go out shopping with their friends. I mean how bad could a 74-year-old man beat a woman? A 74-year-old man who has had 107 wives for who knows how many years. Women sap men of their will to live. This man must have the physical strength of an anemic kitten with some manner of degenerative bone disease. I bet that when somebody opens a window in his house the breeze that comes through pins him against the wall. If you're getting attacked by this man all you have to do is blow him a kiss and he'll get a concussion. I almost think this man should get some kind of award for having the balls to marry that many nagging women.

9.) "Progressive Uniforms"- After reading my earlier rant on the topic of uniforms the bigwigs at McDonald's changed their signage to read that with employment at one of their fine "restaurants" comes "progressive uniforms." Progressive? Progressive? How the fuck can a shirt and pants be "progressive." Does that mean the uniform isn't even a shirt and pants at all, but forward-thinking leather chaps and pasties? Maybe a beanie with a motorized propeller on the top? A cleverly inserted banana? You fuckers should really do away with the corporate bullshit jargon nonsense and just say what you mean: employees will wear clothes to work that we tell them to wear. How difficult is that?

8.) The Magic Word- Okay, you ask somebody to do something and you carelessly, or maybe even carefully, omit the word "please" when you ask them. Six times out of ten people you ask to do whatever will just do it as long as you're not sounding rude or asking the impossible. Those other four people will stop to ask you, "What's the magic word?" Those four people can kiss my ass! The magic word is "You're wasting precious time between me and my goal with your cutesy etiquette games, you inefficient, ineffectual fuck-ass!" Besides, everybody knows the magic word is and always has been "Alla Kazaam" which has no bearing on your concept of politeness and common courtesy. If you're so desperate to hear somebody say a monosyllabic word because it's "polite" you are too easily satisfied by minutia and you keep the lowest common denominators in our culture on top. Politeness is something that can easily be implied without a fucking monosyllabic word. Example? When people do something that I ask them without fuss I'll give them oral sex. Sure, "please" might satisfy some people when it comes to etiquette, but oral sex will please everybody if it's done right.

7.) Cigarette Pack Warning Labels- Does any smoker ever look at a warning label on a pack of cigarettes and actually say, "Holy fuck, I should really quit smoking these things! Look at that cancer-ridden lung!" No, they don't! Why? They've lost their shock value. You can walk into a whole group of smokers, hardcore smokers, and not a one of them will even notice a warning label. The warning labels, then, only serve the purpose of nauseating non-smokers who were already smart enough to not start smoking in the first place. So what then? Two options, really. One, do away with the stupid warning labels entirely because nobody gives a shit. Or two, make the pictures on the labels even more graphic to re-establish the shock value of them. Instead of a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth or a black lung, why not a picture of a fetus with two cigarette butts mashed into the little hollows where it might one day have eyes and perhaps being sodomized by a lighter? Oooo Oooo...and you can have some rusty syringes being poked into its scalp for good measure! Syringes have nothing to do with smoking really, but if you're going to go for shock value you might as well go hog wild. If that doesn't stop a smoker from smoking, well then, that smoker is fucked beyond salvation.

6.) You Mean It's This Easy?- Click here. So if I ever really need to get laid all I have to do is make up a story about needing to apply medicative cream to my shlong and some woman will be gullible enough to believe it means I have to have sex with her, that it's all part of the treatment for whatever the cream is meant to do? Clinical or not, ladies, what would possess you to even be able to get stimulated enough by a guy who has to have ointment put on his penis to have sex with him? I hate to pry, but, guh, if a woman approached me saying that she had to have ointment applied to her vagina and then I was medically responsible to have sex with her I just don't think I could physically do it. Ointments are bad news. There just aren't any sexy ointments out there. The word "ointment" itself is proably enough to keep me soft for a week. Guh! But to think that all these years I was investing all that time into being a cool guy, a good guy, a romantic guy so that I might fool some woman into having sex with me and no success. But some guy can talk about a "condition" with his penis that require the application of "ointment" and he's knee-deep in nookie. Wow!

5.) WOW! This easy?- Click here. So instead of ointment and venereal diseases I can just save up a bunch of fake gold in a computer game and I can get laid? Dammit! What the fuck am I doing wrong in life?

4.) Jack Thompson- In the early hours of the CNN media blitz surrounding the massacre at Virgina Tech Jack Thompason was thoughtful enough to call in and give his two cents on the topic of the motives of the killer. His summation was that it was video games. Bravo, Mr. Thompson. Bravo. I wish there was an emoticon for sarcastic applause. You've done a bang-up job of placing the blame solely on electronic entertainment. For a while there I was worried that it was the guy with the gun, but I'm so glad, and enlightened, to learn it was the video game designers who were the real culprits behind the attack all along. Whew! Okay, if I can be serious for a second here, the psychological make-up of 99.9% of people is a lot more complex than "video games did it" will allow. If video games were really to blame then how does a multibillion dollar industry not churn out more killers? I'm willing to wager that a vast, vast, vast majority of people who play video games have never killed a person. A slight case of over-simplification? Oh hell yeah!

3.) The Disappearance Of Adults Only Rooms From Video Stores- As a kid growing up I was always fascinated by the room that I was forbidden to enter every time we went to the video store for movies. Then I grew up and there's nothing that could hold me back from entering the Adults Only room except the fact that there aren't any Adults Only rooms left in most video stores. And that's a shame. Not because I want to rent porn. I have the internet after all. It's just great to have a room in the video store where children and their crying to get the latest Pokemon movie can't disturb me. If there were more Adults Only rooms in video stores I would have more places to take the boxes of Pauly Shore movies to read up on their intricate plotlines. Those fucking movies are too damn complicated!

2.) Shoe Lace Nibs- Fuck. How old would you say shoe lace technology is? At least 12 years. 12 years ago some guy invented shoe laces (probably) and the shoe lace nib (most likely) and how far has the technology progressed since then. Velcro? Fuck velcro. But, seriously, shoe lace nibs are always cracking and falling off and then lacing your shoes becomes next to impossible. Why the fuck can't we create shoe lace nibs that don't crack and fall off? We have fucking titanium razor blades, why not titanium shoe lace nibs?

1.) Titanium Razor Blades- And since I'm on the subject of titanium razor blades... If you're a man and you need to use titanium razor blades to shave because the steel variety just aren't strong enough I don't think you're shaving right. You're trying to cut off the hair growing out of your face, not skin yourself down to your fucking skull? Note to the razor industry: who the fuck needs to shave so close that you can see their skull? That's not hot. That's not even in the same vicinity of smooth. That's a Halloween costume. Your efforts in pushing razor technology forward are misguided. Make a razor that just sits in my medicine cabinet and shoots at my facial hair with a laser cannon. That's an advance! Skinning me down to my cheekbones won't get me laid, not even for all the fake gold and penis ointments in the world.

Here's A Headline For You, Asshole: NOBODY CARES!

So, here's another story from my job. It's kind of funny in that sort of way that makes me wish that the rest of humanity was rendered sterile so that people would not be able to bring more fuckwits into the world.

Let me first set the stage a little for you because I could potentially lose you in my little narrative if I don't. Our casino recently converted all of its slot machines to a system we call TITO, which is not only named for the most famous of the Jacksons, but is also a clever acronym for Touch It To Orgasm, no word of a lie. Actually, I lie, TITO actually is a clever acronym that stands for Ticket In Ticket Out, though maybe I should Touch It To Orgasm before I continue.

Ahhhhhh, much better.

So, anyway, Ticket In Ticket Out means, in a nutshell, that instead of slot machines giving you a shitload of coins every time it pays you out for anything you get a little ticket with a barcode on it that can be scanned by a cashier or automated ticket redemption machine and turned into cold, hard cash. It's a great system because the tickets are more accurate and they never short people what they are owed. However, since this system is relatively new in our casino there's a bit of a learning process involved in properly running it. So there are a bunch of little things that a guy like me has to learn as the situations arise.

This is a story about one of those little things.

All tickets that get printed by a slot machine have an expiry date on them. The tickets themselves are good for a month and after that they cannot be cashed in properly. Pretty simple concept, right? Say you have a ticket for a hundred bucks. The expiry on the ticket makes it so that you have to cash that ticket in within a month's time before that ticket is no good anymore. It's like milk or pills. You don't drink expired milk. You don't pop expired pills. Expired tickets aren't as grave a matter as milk or pills, but how hard is it to get a ticket redeemed within a month's time or receiving it?

And if you have your thinking caps on, people, you're probably wondering what kind of person would get a ticket for a substantial amount of money and just hold on to the ticket until it expires since what the fuck good is a ticket to a person when they could instead have the cash. Well, to be honest, I wondered that shit too. I mean, who just keeps the ticket? Why would you want a ticket instead of money?

Last night I found a man who, for some reason or other, thought that holding onto a ticket for $75.00 was way cooler in the long run than cashing that ticket in and actually having $75.00. He let that ticket expire (our casino has been converted to TITO for over a month now) and last night decided, Oh hey, the novelty of this stupid ticket with its sexy barcode and black ink lettering has worn off enough that I think I'll cash this ticket in and get the cash.

Except, of course, the ticket was expired.

After being notified that his ticket could not be redeemed by the cashier because the ticket was expired he demanded to talk to the manager, me:

Are you the manager? Good! This girl won't cash in my ticket because she says it's expired! This is an outrage I demand that you give me the money that I am owed!

So I look at his ticket and, yes, it is expired. When I noticed this I said, "But sir, this ticket is expired. We shouldn't cash this in. These tickets have expiry dates clearly printed on them. Why would you hold on to a ticket for that long?"

The man, in order to establish the upper hand in this debate came back with this:

Fine then! I'll go to the newspapers and tell them my story! This will make the front page!

I guess his strategy by threatening me with a newspaper article was that it would somehow put the fear in me and make me see things his way. Really, though, dealing with these matters was all new to me as I stated earlier. I was going to need to consult with my boss through a telephone call before I ultimately ended up paying him his money because I guess the rules leave it up to the discretion of the managers in charge whether or not an expired ticket gets paid. I paid him, though not because of the newspaper threat, but just because I have to pity anybody who would somehow treasure a ticket more than the money that he would keep the ticket on his person for over a month when he could have easily had the cash for it a long, long time ago.

I mean seriously, does this guy go home and erect a shrine to his unclaimed tickets? You know, just light some incense in front of them. Pray to them. Frame them and show them off to his neighbors and family. That's the only kind of person that I could think of that would want to have a fucking stupid-ass ticket for that long. What the fuck, man?

And another thing, what exactly would you tell the people at the newspapers?

Hi there. I was gambling in a casino and I got a ticket out of a machine and the casino refused to cash the ticket in like they're supposed to because they said the ticket was expired! This is an outrage! I'm bringing this story to you because this is the scoop of the century! I admire your publication and I think this is the type of story that belongs on page 1! I'll even pose for a picture holding the ticket that the evil scumbag slot manager refused to authorize the redemption of! When's a good time for me to come down for the exclusive interview?

I'm sure the editor of a newspaper would do that thing where he's sipping on his morning coffee when he takes this phone call from the ticket fetishist and he would spit the coffee out of him mouth like somebody just punched him in the stomach. There might even be somebody sitting across his desk from him when he spits and whoever it is gets soaked in the ensuing geyser of hot coffee. Then the editor says something almost like Charlton Heston, something along the lines of:

"OH

MY

GOD!

STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES! I HAVE THE SCOOP OF THE CENTURY! SOME GAMBLER FEELS HE WAS THE VICTIM OF RANDOM CASINO DISCRIMINATION! WE NEED OUR ACE REPORTER ON THIS ONE, STAT! SOMEBODY BRING ME ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE! SOMEBODY GET ME OUR BEST PHOTOGRAPHER TOO! THIS GUY WANTS TO POSE FOR A COVER PHOTO! WAIT! WHAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ON TOMORROW'S FRONT PAGE? DEAD SOLDIERS IN AFGHANISTAN? FUCK THOSE GUYS! THIS GUY WAS SHORTED MONEY AT A CASINO! HURRY THE FUCK UP PEOPLE! WE DON'T WANT TO LOSE THIS STORY TO TIME MAGAZINE LIKE WE DID THE LAST TIME SOME GUY WAS DENIED HIS MONEY! I SMELL A PULITZER PRIZE FOR THIS SCOOP FOR SURE! FINALLY I WILL HAVE REDEEMED MYSELF IN MY FATHER'S EYES!"

Then the editor would sort of shake his head a little as the euphoria of this monumental story of hardship and injustice washes off. Then he thinks to ask:

"Okay sir, I've got everybody scrambling over here to get your story to our newspaper's front page for tomorrow. I just need a couple of details. How much money were you denied? Was the ticket actually expired?"

Our hapless victim, then:

$75.00 and, yes, the ticket was expired. But I had a good reason to hold onto that ticket for as long as I did.

"What reason would that would be?"

Fuck expiry dates! That's why!

"OKAY BOYS, I MAY HAVE JUMPED THE GUN A LITTLE BIT ON THAT ONE! START THE PRESSES AGAIN! THE ONLY HEADLINE I CAN COME UP WITH FOR THIS STORY IS: NOBODY CARES!"

Look, sometimes when you go to a casino, or any other place of business for that matter, there are new concepts, new ideas, new procedures, etc, that the staff has to learn their way around. Innovations work like that. Implementation of some things takes longer than others. When you know that the staff has to deal with things that they haven't had to deal with before you can expect a lot of delay and for there to be no cast-in-stone rules. Be patient. The first thing out your mouth doesn't have to be a threat to go to a newspaper because while you're mouth might be saying, "I'll go to the press with this! You'll be eaten alive and made a fool on CNN! They'll skewer you on the Larry King Show for months and months! What they did to Anna Nicole Smith will be done to you tenfold! Tenfold!" All I hear is, "I'm a jackass and I let my ticket expire because I can't read expiry dates."

And given the sheer number of stories of hardship that the press has to report to the people I doubt that your $75.00 ranks so high that your story is front page, banner headline material.

So just take a deep breath and calmly say, "Look, I wasn't aware that tickets expire. Could you do something to see to it that I am reimbursed for the money that I am missing because of this expired ticket, please?" I would hear you much more clearly then.

Bad Idea #238

So I was doing my regular perusal of the news around the internet thanks to the good folks at Fark and I found a link to this article on CNN:

Click here.

The link goes to an article about porn addiction. I'm sure it's something that affects somebody somewhere. Okay, maybe not just "somebody somewhere," it affects a lot of people. Okay, you're clearly onto my clever ruse, I have a window open on my desktop with a huge pair of tits that are practically begging me to lick them. Yeah, giant pair of titties on my desktop, I'm looking at you. Thankfully, I'm an accurate typist otherwise these worlds would all be fucked up beyond all recognition. Okay, you got me, I'm typing this one handed.

Wait for it. Wait for it.

Oh god yes!

At this time I would like to thank my proud sponsors at Kleenex.

Okay, but if I can be fucking serious now...

So, if you look at the article I linked to there will be some stats right at the top of the screen. That's what I want you to see. The article itself is not as pornographic as you're probably hoping it is. Now, can anybody guess why I want to draw your attention to the stats at the top of the article?

Is it because you want us to be aware that at any given point in time there are approximately 28,258 people viewing pornography on the internet?

Noooooooo, but you're close. And, if I might just do a little aside here (it's my fucking right as a blogger to have an aside), that number is disappointingly small. Think about it, there are probably hundreds of thousands of pages of porn, hundreds and hundreds of thousands of videos, erotic text, and interactive video games, and, at any given time only a fraction of it all is actually being used by somebody. Now, unless these people, wankers most of them, are multitasking and viewing four or five different pieces of pornography at one time then we clearly have a waste of valuable pornographic resources happening constantly. But that's just an aside. You should open up some porn at this point as you continue to read my brilliant missive so that all that porn isn't going to waste. Back to my tirade.

What I did actually want to draw to your attention, first and foremost, is breakfast.

You mean the breakfast event that was designed for men to talk about how pornography is having an affect on their lives and verility?

Yes, that bit. You are an astute audience if ever I did write for one.

Now, we've all had breakfast before. Isn't it great? You sit yourself down at the kitchen table or Denny's or wherever the fuck you are. In front of you is a plate with a short stack of pancakes covered with maple syrup, maybe a few sausages and some buttered toast or an English muffin, a tall glass of milk. It looks like a fucking breakfast feast, that's what that is. You are about to be thoroughly satisfied. You take your fork and knife and you cut through that first pancake and it's literally dripping with maple syrup, the nectar of the gods, if the gods were all maple trees, and then somebody speaks up:

Hi, my name is Frank, and I'm addicted to porn. I started young, looking at my dad's Playboys and touching myself. I use to shoot loads and loads of hot, sticky cum into an old gym sock and...

And, suddenly, breakfast takes a very weird, very horrible turn for tragedy. I mean, there you are, and you've just stuffed this wonderful bit of pancake into your mouth and it's just so delicious and when you put it into your mouth there was so much maple syrup on it that some of it dribbled onto your chin before some guy named Frank had to go and start talking about splooging into a sock.

How the fuck do you digest food listening to that?

Hi there, my name is Dave, and for me it was always the sick, twisted Japanese stuff that works for me best. I love, I mean, I absolutely love watching barely legal Japanese girls when they shit on older men's chests.

And you've just started eating your sausages.

I like Bukkake! some anonymous weirdo blurts out like that's just something you say to a room filled with strangers.

That milk you just finished sipping doesn't seem so good now, does it?

Now, I'm sure that whoever had this brainchild had good intentions, but there's a time and place to talk about porn and anything to do with male plumbling. If people need help with their porn addictions they need help with their porn addictions. Bravo for trying to be there for them. Breakfast, though you might think that it's perfect for such things, is actually not.

Holy shit. If some guy comes up to me when I'm dining on an exquisite breakfast and starts talking about how the night before he watched a movie where a woman sucked off a zebra I'm stabbing that fuckwit in the face with my fork. There are about 375,234 things you can start discussing at any meal that will make me want to vomit on your shoe and zebra blowjobs are easily somewhere in the top 50 or so. I don't know where it is precisely on the list insofar as rank goes because it makes me want to puke even going through the list, but, trust me, it's there.

It's great that you want to "help" all these people with porn addiction, but couldn't it wait until they're not stuffing their faces full of sausages and pancakes? I don't know. It's just a suggestion. I'm just just trying to help poor people with their meals. Call me a concerned citizen. I have the welfare of innocent eaters on my mind.

In all seriousness, though, only a small fraction of all the porn on the internet is getting used at any given time. A small fraction. That's wasteful. Wasteful, indeed. Make sure you do your part to give all that porn a reason for being there. If there's one thing that makes the internet cry, it's a waste of resources.

If this porn keeps getting wasted like that I'm afraid I'll have to shut down the internet. Don't let it come to that.

Free Uniform? Thanks, But No Thanks, Assholes!

About two weeks ago I was finding myself a few spare moments to eat a very quick dinner after work. I was on my way to the weekly Raving Poets show at Yianni's, but didn't feel much like eating Greek food that night. So anyway, a little bit of time, a quick dinner? I went to McDonald's.

Now, bear in mind that I've drastically cut down my McDonald's intake over the past few years. In fact, I can hardly keep up with all the weird shit they've been doing with their menu (a topic for another rant should be how fast food joints get away with calling their list of barely passable food as a "menu") so in order to get something that I want to eat I decided it best to forgo the drive-thru where I would hold up traffic while I ponder the french fry du jour and other possibilities.

While inside the restaurant I looked up at the menu board and noticed a Help Wanted graphic on the display, which is really no rare sight in Alberta these days, but what struck me about this Help Wanted ad was that it gave a fairly comprehensive list of the advantages of working at McDonald's. The listed off things like scholarships and growth potential, but one peculiar thing I noticed that was also listed was "Free Uniforms."

Free uniforms?

Free uniforms.

You mean to tell me that if I get a job at McDonald's I can get a free uniform?

Yes.

Holy fucking shit! I can't sign a job application fast enough for that shit! Why didn't you assholes tell me about the free uniforms sooner?

Alright, here's the deal. If the job ad you are looking at touts free uniforms as one of the deal-closing advantages of the job opening you are considering yourself for it's probably not that good of a job. In fact, "free uniforms" should read, if only in your mind, "free corporate whore costume."

Okay, I'm probably being a little too harsh on people who have to wear a uniform to work. Really, they're good people and they're not actually "corporate whores," but it just bugs me, the gall of whoever puts the help wanted ads together to suggest that being required to wear a uniform to work is a deal-closing advantage. It's like the ad is geared toward people who have trouble coordinating their outfits and are looking for an employer who will offer free help for their socially debilitating disease. Maybe it's people who just lost all their clothes in a fire or ninja attack and they need free clothes, any clothes, even McDonald's uniforms just so that their wangs aren't hanging out.

Either way, I just can't see in my mind's eye somebody walking in to a McDonald's restaurant, seeing the Help Wanted ad, noticing the "Free Uniform" advantage and practically jizzing their underwear to fill out a job application based on the fact that they might finally get a job where they can dress exactly like everybody else in the room. I'd even go so far as to suggest that if somebody did come in, jizz their pants at "Free Uniform" and immediately apply for a job, that I wouldn't hire that person based solely on the fact that something is fucking wrong with their heads, not too mention the jizz stains.

The rule of thumb for "Free Uniforms" being listed as an advantage of any given job should be as follows. If the uniform is such that the Chief Executive Officer of the company is willing to wear it to work each day then it's a uniform that can feasibly be listed as being an advantage because the only Chief Executive Officers who would be willing to wear a shitty looking, stigmatizing uniform to his cushy six figure desk job are the same Chief Executive Officers who suffer from something so bad that I don't think I can understand what it is. All other uniforms, then, are not listed as an advantage to a job. It might even be listed as a drawback.

That should be the rule.

The Bottom Ten, March 2007

10.) Tony Blair- Click here. Apparently in his youth the current Prime Minister of England made a lewd hand gesture in a photograph once. Gasp! On top of that he flashed an office full of secretaries through a window in a building across the street. Shudder! Why is any of this even news? Nobody fucking cares what happened over 30 years ago with a lewd hand gesture and/or flashing a bunch of middle-aged secretaries. No complaints were made at the time so why the fuck should complaints be made now? I'm no fan of Tony Blair, but come on, a scandal is whipping your dick out of window and probably not even being seen by anyone?

9.) Pantyhose For Men- Click here. I don't even know what the fuck to say about this. Gah! There, that's my quick response. What the hell is there for any man to gain from wearing pantyhose?

8.) The P-Mate- Click here. Between this and the pantyhose for men I'm predicting a totally androgenous society by the year 2013. Enjoy your genders while you can, folks.

7.) Dick Cheney- Click here. Oh, so when Dick Cheney leads police on a high speed chase all he gets is sent in for a psychiatric evaluation. This is bullshit! I fucking wish I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.

6.) Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj- Okay, so there's a sequel to National Lampoon's Van Wilder. It stars Kal Penn, that guy from the original movie who went on to be Kumar of Harold And Kumar Go To White Castle fame. Van Wilder, for those of you out there who aren't familiar with the movie is about a guy named Van Wilder and his college adventures (or at least that's the movie in a nutshell). Kal Penn didn't play Van Wilder in the original and yet the sequel still bears the name Van Wilder. Only there's no Van Wilder in it at all. Now, I'm no tinseltown big shot, but what we have here is a movie which bears the name of a character who doesn't even appear in the movie. Can you imagine if they made an Indiana Jones movie without Indiana Jones in it? How the fuck did this movie even get a green light? Who sits behind a desk and thinks to himself, "I know, I'll make a sequel to that movie about that guy Van Wilder, but I won't actually put that character in that movie at all. And I'll keep the title of the movie Van Wilder just to fuck with people's heads. I'm a fucking genius!" It's really been a long time since I've seen a movie idea this bad. Incidentally, you can rent Van Wilder: The Rise Of Taj on DVD now. You know, if you're a glutton for punishment or something.

5.) Rise Of The Zombies- Click here. I, for one, welcome out forthcoming zombie overlords and I would like to inform them that as a somewhat middle-tier internet celebrity as well as being a man wih years of supervisory experience under his belt I would be most excellent at rounding up fresh human brains for you to pilfer and snack on. But seriously, zombie cows? Wouldn't the necrosis of zombie flesh make zombie beef a little on the gamey side?

4.) The Resemblance Of A Bearded Man Being Likened To Jesus- Click here. Why is that every time an ultrasound scan or a grease stain or an oil spill or a pancake takes on the resemblance to an image of a bearded man it gets called an image of Jesus? Why don't any of these naturally occurring resemblances to bearded men get likened to ZZ Top or Santa Claus? I think ZZ Top and Santa Claus have beards that are just as majestic and just as likely to be seen in a grease stain or pancake as that of Jesus.

3.) Oh Snap!- Click here. What's the proper salutation on an email to your college professor when you've accidentally submitted a CD-ROM filled with child pornography instead of a CD-ROM with your final exam on it? That's right, "Oh snap." Why the fuck would a college professor even have students do final exams on CD-ROM at home anyway? What guarantee is there that the student who is supposed to be taking the test is the one writing the test? I hate how whoever wrote this article failed to even look into why students at this college get to write their final exams at home on their computers while for five years I had to slug it through the cold Canadian tundra to write my final exams on old-fashioned paper? It ain't right! I am outraged by this story!

2.) Anna Nicole Smith- Proof that there is life after death for B-list celebrities even if it's only on CNN.

1.) Fall-Out Boy- That ain't a song, it's a goddamn waste of 5 minutes of my life!