What The Fuck?!?!?!?!?!

Sometimes you'll see an article somewhere that seems to factually incorrect that you start to wonder about the author behind the piece. Was he/she sane at the time of writing it? Was he/she drunk at the time of writing it it? Was he in the midst of becoming a she and was so doped up on anaesthetic that he thought it was a good idea and just start typing a bunch of random shit to take the focus off of his penis evolving surgically into a vagina? Okay, that last one definitely didn't happen. I know that when my junk is getting fucked around with I don't have the presence of mind to even start thinking about writing let alone actually doing it. But I digress.

What we have here is quite possibly the world record for most typos in one published article...

Click here.

Um, Michael, I hate to burst your bubble, but that article was not filled with typos and was actually quite straightforward to read.

I was afraid of that. Did you actually get the gist of what was being said, though?

Well, I, um.....looking back at it now....it seems to be saying that Patrick Swayze is experimenting with rap music....um....what the holy hell?!?!?! That can't be right.

You see? It's got to be the world's biggest collection of typos. There's no fucking way it could be saying that Patrick Swayze is experimenting with rap music.

"Swayze recently said he was experimenting with 'rap rhythms as an emotional uncurrent for ballads.'"

Pinch me, Michael. I'm thinking this is one of those dreams where I show up naked to school. It's got to be. You know? The kind of dream where a bunch of random shit seems to get spliced together? Unicorns and Volkswagens? A hoodie made out of big fat pickles? Patrick Swayze planning on releasing some of his very own rap music? It's got to be a dream.

*Pinch*

I'm afraid not.

Oh dear god! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Mickey D's

Click here.

Starting very soon at McDonald's restaurants you will be able to find the nutrition facts about most of their foodstuffs printed right on the package. That's right, I shit you not. You will, in fact, be able to check out how many calories are being consumed with every Big Mac as you are eating a Big Mac.

And you know what? Good for them. It indicates a desire on the part of the multinational to improve its image. Where once it was seen as a provider of "food" with questionable nutritional content it will now be seen as a provider of "food" with questionable nutritional content, but with the nutritional information printed on the packaging.

What I don't get is why there's such a big fucking deal over the nutritional content being printed at all. The fact that this is news on MSNBC means it's newsworthy to somebody. I mean it's not like McDonald's "food" is healthy. It was clearly demonstrated in Supersize Me. Is having the nutritional information suddenly going to make a big fucking difference to the people who eat at McDonald's?

How many people do you see driving around looking for a place to eat and basing their decision on an eatery on whether or not said eatery provides a nutritional content information box on the packaging?

Well, that documentary made me swear off McDonald's food, but I am hungry and they now print their nutritional content so it must be better. Kids, we're going to McDonald's!

That shit doesn't happen. Sorry, Mickey D's.

Nutritonal content information on fast food packaging is a moot point. If you eat fast food you know that it's not healthy. What the fuck do you care if you know specifically how unhealthy it is for you? If the lack of nutrition on most of a fast food restaurant menu really comes as a shocker to you then you should really continue to chow down on that stuff because you are a liability to humanity with all that ignorance. Maybe an early fast food funeral would do the species a lot of good in your case.

Also, why the fuck unveil the nutritional content information at the fucking Olympics? Wow, that should make for a headline. Today in the news, opening ceremonies for the 2006 winter Olympics in Turin, Italy were held. The event brings together the world in a celebration of sports and athletics. Also, some fast food chain is using this event as a springboard for launching nutritional content information on their artery-clogging hamburgers. Way to go world! I know if there's one thing that makes me want to eat a lot of Big Macs and large fries it's watching athletes in their prime competing for gold at the Olympics. Sadly, that's probably how it's going to be marketed. Even sadder is that it will probably work as far as marketing ploys go. Doesn't anybody watch athletics anymore and get inspired to be more athletic?

Apparently not.

Maw

When I finish I
swear you grow out
of my fingernails.
I’m clawing you off on
chalk boards and
hearing your screech shat
ter silences deftly a
diamond scratching glass.

What I don’t eat of you
wets my lips quench
es thirst where I lick
with a pointed tongue taste
last night’s wine and
a diet rich with fruit sweet
ness following every
stroke.

Feel you in the lush for
est of my hair dark and myster
ious coating chutes and
making undergrowth
in the shrubs and berries you
run wild through the barrows of
my phrenology and slide
gracefully down in droplets of my
sweat.

And what I don’t tell you is
that I’ve considered changing
my name to yours the
name in loopy neon letters
shining on the insides of my eye
lids pilot of this vessel reas
on for this being
guiding me down a jaded path

Lunar Park By: Bret Easton Ellis

A few days ago I finally completed my reading of Bret Easton Ellis' latest novel Lunar Park. Having read a couple of his earlier novels, Less Than Zero and American Psycho, I was already a bit of a fan of work and I went into my reading of this one with certain expectations:

1.) This book would portray the lifestyles of the upper-class in a rather negative light.

2.) There would be a lot of drug use on the part of the characters.

3.) Sex scenes would be very graphic and almost hard to read.

And you know what?

I think that with Lunar Park, Bret Easton Ellis took those expectations that I had of his work and turned them on their heads. What he has done has been to take some of the conventions that he subscribes to and craft a rather supernatural thriller of a book.

What I love most is how he has taken himself, Bret Easton Ellis, the novelist, and placed himself as the protagonist of the story, a man who is trying to build a life with what is, by and large, a surrogate family. Married to a movie star, an actual live-in father to two children, he is working on establishing a domestic lifestyle after years of reckless indulgence and controversy. It is that controversy, though, that seems to manifest itself in apparitions that begin to creep up around Bret's life as the novel progresses. I won't go into great detail as to what manifests itself so as to not spoil the surprises should you decide to give this book a read yourself, but above all else it should be noted that Ellis takes his undeniable writing style and applies it in a way that I haven't seen him apply it before. It's refreshing to read. He does new things with his old tricks. For example, mixing the elements of his real life with a fictitious world blurs that barrier between what I know is real and isn't real until I can suspend my disbelief easily, alarmingly so. He seems to reveal a lot about himself insofar as the specifics of his life and just throws in the supernatural bits and you can't help but question sometimes, Is any of this real? If so, how much?

If there is one downside to the book it's that once the climax hits and Ellis begins the denouement begins I found myself still left with a lot of questions. A few of them never really get resolved. I have to admit, though, that because this is a book that is about the supernatural it's not necessary for Ellis to explain precisely what happens or why it happens. As a reader I'm experience the story through his eyes and, in all likelihood, he knows about as much about the why's and how's of the supernatural happenings around him as I do. It makes for a book that is genuinely creepy to read at some points.

I'm not sure how I would rank Lunar Park against the other Bret Easton Ellis books I've read and I'm not sure if it would even be fair of me to do so. It's still a book that I found to be very enjoyable to read and I would highly recommend to anybody who's in the mood for a good book.

Also, the last couple of pages are some of Ellis' best writing. There is one monster of a paragraph that is written in such a way that it could easily be taken out of its context and read as, say, a prose, poem. Actually, as I was reading that monster I stopped about three sentences in and decided to go back and start reading it over again, this time out loud as I would a poem. It was almost worth the price of admission alone, for me anyway.

The Bottom Ten, December 2005

10.)The FTC- Wow! It's so great to live in a world where the FTC has finally taken credit for their "effective" stemming of the shit-tide that is spam. "Effective" to the FTC means 62% more spam in the last year alone. Does anybody ever actually check the results before they declare themselves victorious anymore. This reeks of GWB landing on the aircraft carrier and making that speech in front of the Mission Accomplished banner regarding the success in Iraq. I bet the FTC even had that same banner flown in for their press conference.

9.)The Canadian Supreme Court- The Supreme Court of Canada is currently mulling over the legality of swingers' clubs. What's a swingers' club, you ask? Well, it's a club where a bunch of adults go to participate in group sex acts or swap partners or do whatever else their kinky minds can think of. Newflash Canada: consenting adults fucking is legal. Consenting adults fucking in groups? Still legal! Okay, I can see the problem lying in the fact with what constitutes public indecency, but I really don't think the kind of people who go to swingers' clubs are the kind of people who think anything is indecent. So why the fuck not let them go about their business of fucking? Don't you have something more vital to do than stick your gavels where they don't belong?

8.) "People Are Still Having Sex" by: La Tour- I fucking hate it when I'm talking about something that pisses me off and a shitty one-hit-wonder from the 90's gets stuck in my head. Damn you La Tour! Damn you!

7.) Wal-Mart Sex Toys- I'll take words that don't belong together for $500, Alex. Answer: This greedy multinational with it's tentacles squeezing the life out of the world is entering the sex toy market. What is Wal-Mart? That's right. Cock rings and 13 inch wall-mounted dildos are coming to a Wal-Mart near you. It's funny that here in Canada we can't even make up our minds about whether or not groups of consenting adults can fuck legally, but you can bet your fucking ass we'll try to market anal lubricants and fleshlights to the Wal-Mart clientele. Welcome to topsy-turvy world, population: us. It's sad that the big boxes are now going to force the mom-and-pop "neck massager" stores out of business and, in turn, make fucking suddenly less cool. Discount anal beads, anyone?

6.) Flamboyant Celebrity Bachelor Parties- Bachelor parties by definition are supposed to scuzzy, sleazy affairs that usually end with multiple arrests and mysterious cases of "the herpes." I don't know what the fuck Elton John did, but that sure as shit wasn't a bachelor party.

5.) Prudes- "Oh my god! I can't believe how morally reprehensible I find it that your newspaper would run a story about a snow penis. I found the photo of the snowy phallus to be the most offensive thing I have ever seen! For shame!" I know what you mean, people. After reading the article about the snow sculpture of a penis and the controversy it created I felt compelled to go out and start raping people because that's what images of snow sculptures of penises do to my highly impressionable mind. Don't worry, I fought that snowy urge by dousing my eyes with gasoline and setting them on fire so those filthy thoughts could no longer be induced by that pornographic imagery. I especially love the letter that states, "May God damn this newspaper for running the photo of the snow penis." My first thought was, Yep, I'm sure God has nothing more important to do in this world right now than smite some newspaper for its story on a freakin' snow sculpture.

4.) Home Town Pride- Arnold Schwarzeneggar severed his ties with his home town in Austria after a number of officials from his town criticized the Terminator for his execution of Stanley Tookie Williams. You'd think that a man of Arnold's physical prowess would be a little less of a bitch when somebody back home makes a disparaging comment about him.

3.) Too Many Hyperlinks- I fucking hate websites that throw hyperlink after hyperlink at you with "witty" banter as some sort of segue between said hyperlinks. It reeks of effort.

2.) Fertilizer- Okay, I don't hate fertilizer just the fucking irresponsible abusive asshole parents who would make their four-year-old daughter drink the stuff down. People like this should be sterilized so they never raise children again. They have no fucking clue as to what it is they are doing and they are lowering the standards by which humanity conducts itself. No fucking excuse for this fucking behavior whatsoever.

1.) Santa Claus- At what age can you start to tell your children about the myth of Santa Claus and the rampant commercialization of the holiday season? It would all seem much easier to give your child the gift of cynicism than to track down a Ferby. Plus the jolly old elf never got me Hungry, Hungry Hippos and I never forgave him.

Classic Michael Appleby

Last week I performed "Vitriol" as a means of wrapping up the latest reading series by The Raving Poets. Here is the poem for those of you who aren't familiar with it. I will be back to my regular posting habits shortly. The past few days have been rather hectic and my sleeping patterns have been all over the map.

Vitriol
Fuck your tyrants, your pyros, the church spire steeples, the holier-than-thou hard dick like a cross indoctrinating peoples.
Fuck your five speed, pneumatic, microchipped, long-range dildonic devices, your intercontinental ballistic rectal rooter arms race strap-on motives.
Fuck your car, your hair, your icy blue-eyed stare, your mom if she cares, your planet if you dare.
Fuck your telescopic knee brace, broken down poker face homoerotic histrionics, Parliament Hill synonymy with ninja stealth boob job.
Fuck your phony cities of glass licking my ass, acerbic acroters applying the rim jobs on eternity, poke you in the eye with phallic imagery.
Fuck your credit card limit statements stuffing the mailboxes; the mailman’s arm pumping with pornstar precision.
Fuck your need for more speed, more tits, bigger dicks.
Fuck your procreation if the end result is just like you.
Fuck your recyclable telekinetic wishes, your dreams of unaided flight, your ideals of a bubblegum pop princess balloon.
Fuck your celebrity idolatry anal sex banter, your J.Lo hourglass hugging Brady Bunch trousers.
Fuck your statues of people, your history dizzy disease.
Fuck your alternative systems of homeopathy, your psychotic, homeostatic, armed to the braced teeth, low carb Atkins drink of doom.
Fuck your domestic origami, orgasms of renovate-ativity, your desires for dementia, schizophrenic duvet covers sheltering inability.
Fuck your forty-dollar two-piece birthday suit, your navel gazing, placenta-wet perfectly sculpted body.
Fuck your sex if it isn’t made kinky.
Fuck your commemorative plates, your dinner of battery heated gopher road kill du jour.
Fuck your matriarchal maitre d’, dressed to the sevens, Seven-11, dressed to the nines. 1 billion people starving. The other five smearing their genitals with peanut butter for dogs’ licking.
Fuck your fake love of fake arts, your pompous Pompadour pomander, pomegranate seed sperm, proliferate that shit sperm, hit-you-on-the-chin sperm.
Fuck your modification mortifications, your custom flame job on a penile implant, unhinged meat tube slapping you in the face.
Fuck your circus-time clowns, your wartime crowds, your mushroom clouds.
Fuck your family network of lies.
Fuck your Double-You Bush, your tree, your need to be green, your hip to the scene, your lists of currently has-been.
Fuck your executive privilege, balanced precariously on a high ledge, suicidal fuck fist raised to the heavens.
Fuck the feeling of being the last rebel.
Fuck the hopelessness against the empire.
Fuck George Lucas for making me think this could be Star Wars.
Fuck your lines of Pepsi, your love of being alert, your need to document it all, your diesel powered whisk stirred memento vat.
Fuck your word if your word is “YES!” when I’m asking you if you’re loving it wearing that Ronald McDonald vest.
Fuck your sleepless nights of cookie cutter x-ray scans.
Fuck your dreamless days of Richard Hamilton tans.
Fuck your institutionalized intentions intent on interns. All I do is cry.
Fuck your Windsor Pilates Tae-Bo.
Fuck your fuckee no more.

The Post In Which Michael Appleby Contemplates The Necessity To Vote In Federal Elections

For those of you who aren't aware of this, Canada is in the grips of not only Christmas fever, but also Federal Election Fever. It's some sort of double whammy because, on one hand, we can't stop shopping, and on the other hand, we can't stop listening to politicians. It's the most wonderful time of the year!

It was pretty much bound to happen. I saw this coming the last time we had a federal election. Paul Martin was burdened right from the start with the whole sponsorship scandal that plagued Jean Chretien's liberals during the last administration. It didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to see that only having a minority government would lead to a vote of non-confidence sooner or later. Things are just playing out like you would expect them to.

But what bugs the shit out of me during any federal election are the damn ad campaigns these would-be leaders flood the airwaves with. Holy shit!

So far my pick for the worst ad of the bunch is Stephen Harper's ad that's designed to depict him as a leader who plans on being tough on crime. Why do I hate the fucking ad so much? For starters it has him on some sort of talk show set, sitting behind a desk, but nowhere in the whole ad is this talk show premise even developed. All it has is some bitter old woman complaining about crime in a prepared video statement, Stephen Harper watching said video with the talk show host, and then saying that he's going to be tough on crime. News flash Stephen: there isn't a candidate in the whole damn election who's going to promise to be soft on crime! Fuck! Thanks for the update Stephen, you took valuable ad space that could have been used for scantily clad women selling me beer to tell me that some bitter old hag's wish for a leader who is tough on crime could come true if the country elects you.

And I'm sure the bitter old woman isn't a hag, but come on! Can't you get Stephen Harper to come up with something more substantial than, "I will be tough on crime." Yawn! That's an angry yawn, Mr. Harper!

So Michael, I guess that means you're a Paul Martin guy, huh?

Fuck no! There's a reason why he got the vote of non-confidence against him. He really hasn't been a good leader for this country. He hasn't been the worst, but just far from being good. I will say that of the major leaders so far I am leaning most toward voting for the Liberals if only because Paul Martin's ads haven't sucked as much donkey cock as his opponents. Whoever wins this election will likely face a vote of non-confidence in the near future and we will, once again, be holding another federal election in which a stalemate will be declared.

Have you seen the polls, Canada? Fuck, not one guy can get a definitive lead! Why is that? Can't we get one guy to run whom we like enough as a group to give him a good solid lead. This going to the voting stations every year is bullshit and it's enough to make a guy not want to vote anymore.

One thing that I do love about this election, though, is how all the candidates seem to have this, "It's us against them," attitude. "Them" referring to the United States. Why do I love it? Well, nobody is really that stupid, are they? Yeah, some of American policy has been bad for the world and for Canada, but it's so hip to be anti-American right now in Canadian politics that I love watching the potential Prime Ministers go through all the rigamarole of thumping their chests and saying "I hate GWB this. I hate GWB that. Softwood lumber demands need to be met!" But you know what? Secretly they all kiss America's ass because they are THE superpower.

So what's the point of this post? I suppose I just wanted to vent about the state of Canadian federal politics. I hate being up in the air on whether or not I want to vote. I don't really like any of the candidates and I'm almost 100% positive that whoever wins is going to win a minority government, which puts us right back to where we'll be in January. Sometimes democracy is a bitch! Fuck!

Also I really, really hate that Stephen Harper ad. I feel dumber each time I see it. I don't see how making a promise like that could possibly help him get voters. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that if a candidate made all the ludicrous promises like "going softer on crime," "hurting the economy," or "establishing Canada as a military nation," I would more likely vote for that candidate because he clearly has a twisted sense of humor.

Classic Michael Appleby

Sorry States
She tells me that she wants to come over to sleep. Just let her grab her toothbrush and she will be right over. And I am immediately concerned about the state of my place. It’s too messy. It’s too much of a mess. There are socks and jeans, old t-shirts, and boxer shorts strewn all over the floor. A haphazard congregation of empty bottles. Dust that has settled enough to develop its own layer of dust. Then there is me who has not shaved in three days. There is me who has been lounging around in a bathrobe all day. There is me who is messy hair, pizza breath, and needing to exfoliate.

This is why the mother’s proverb suggests to always wear clean underwear.

Jesus, how long could it take her to grab her toothbrush? How long will it take for her to drive here? There just isn’t enough time for proper preparation and yet my whole life seems to have been the endless prep work to accommodate this woman, this feminine presence.

Dilemma: Do I ready myself with a quick shower, a shave, brush of teeth, combing the hair, slapping on some cologne? Or do I ready this hovel and make it woman-worthy, comfortable and tidy, or as close to it as I can; wash the windows, pick up the clothes, actually wipe away some of the dust from my life?

By time she arrives neither this house nor I is presentable. Address and addressee are complete messes that mirror each other.

And upon apologizing for our sorry states I am quickly rebuked:

“I don’t date your house or the hair on your head. Your pell-mell pantry is not what I lose myself in. It’s not the excess of posters, piles of books, or blemished skin that could make me weep.

It’s you.”

"Gimme Food, Gimme Fire"

Reposted from the Raving Poets message board. Mike Gravel let's us know...


The Raving Poets: Gimme Food, Gimme Fire.

A Raving Poets Food Drive for the Edmonton Food Bank. (http://www.edmontonsfoodbank.com/webiq/)

Wednesday, December 14, 2005.
Yianni's Taverna, 10444 - 82 Avenue, Edmonton. 8:00pm.

This is our last show of the year. The Food Bank needs everyone's help at this time of year ( year-round for that matter). Come on down for some great fellowshipping, some amazing verse, and some Christmas goodwill.

This event will be a twenty-reader open mic as always. Everyone attending the event is encouraged to bring a donation. Any poet wishing to read that evening MUST bring a donation for the Food Bank. That's mandatory. No donation, no chance to read. And don't be a skinflint either. A $10.00 minimum donation (in either food or cash) is suggested. A single box of Kraft Dinner or two cans of beans is simply not acceptable. Cash donations will be accepted in lieu of a food donation.

See y'all down there!

The Most Important Picture Of All

Thank you, Trudy, once again. You were a great hostess and you must be a hell of a housekeeper if you had to contend with this mess.

Recovering From The Weekend

It's Tuesday already and I still feel like I'm recovering from the weekend. My friends and I had our annual Christmas dinner/party this past weekend at Trudy's house in safe, comfortable St. Albert. But just for that one night I think that our party made it that much more dangerous. Let's see some of the pictures. I had about 78 pictures on my digital camera by the end of the night and there are maybe four of them that I remember taking. There are also some pictures of us dropping trow and mooning for the camera which I've tastefully excised from the pictures here as that was a lot of pasty white ass to take in in one sitting. Here are some of the better pictures...


Jordan and Lori showing off Lori's winnings from the mini poker tournament that we had.


Ian is drunk and apparently maniacally so.


Darcy and Jay pose together. Darcy needs to work on his rock and roll look, though.


Jordan and our lovely hostess for the evening Trudy.


Lori and Brandon giving their reviews.


Playing Shrek Operation for drinks? Has that ever been a good idea?


Nadine is the night's first casualty after failing to successfully remove Shrek's tibia. Weak. I may not have graduated medical school, but I could at least remove a tibia from an ogre.


Jordan removes a tibia while Cory and Jay look on. See, Nadine? Was that so hard?


Yours truly takes another crack at removing a tibia. Why so many tibias you ask? Because Shrek has 17 of them because he's an ogre. Duh. Oh crap I hit the side. Now it's time for another shot. I guess Nadine was right. This does get kind of hard after you've been drinking for a while.

So after all the drinking game madness and poker many of us just passed out and slept over at Trudy's. Ah Christmas, it's a most wonderful time of the year.

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat. Part III: The Third One

Since I'm on a bit of a roll with my ranting about what's going on with North American cinema (I almost feel dirty calling it cinema sometimes with all the fecal matter that a lot of the major studios expect us to embrace), I thought that I would conform with Hollywood on this one and complete a "trilogy."

Click here.

If you just read that article I linked to you're probably shaking your head like I'm still doing. In fact, I've been shaking my head in disbelief for the entire two days since I read it for the first time. People have been stopping me to ask me what's wrong:

Michael, man, what's bumming you out? You're body language is scaring me. What could be so bad?

Cigarettes........no......cigarettes.......no cigarettes in Casino Royale........bad example.....for.....kids......

That's right. James Bond is not going to be smoking in the upcoming Casino Royale. And the reason for changing the famous spy to a non-smoker? Smoking sets a bad example for kids.

I'll let that sink in.

Smoking, not such a good example for impressionable youth. We can't have kids going around smoking cigarettes and ruining their lungs. That's bad. Violence? Nothing wrong with violence and international espionage.

Holy shit! You're going to excise smoking so that kids don't get any bad ideas, but you'll keep violence in there because there's nothing wrong with that. Are you batshit crazy or just regular crazy? Seriously.

If you want to make a movie that is kid-safe, fine, so be it. But if you're going to do it, do it right. Fuck.

And get this. One scene in Casino Royale will revolve around James Bond's genitals being beaten with a carpet-beater. So you can have genital torture scenes in a movie, but you can't have smoking? There goes your credibility out the window right there. I know that after I just finish torturing my genitals for a while there's nothing more satisfying than a cigarette. If James Bond doesn't light one up I'm going to be forced to hurl my popcorn at the projection booth and scream, "Fuck you, Hollywood! No cigarettes after wang flogging? That's bullshit, you fuckers!"

I suppose I should take solace in the fact that althought a generation of kids will grow up thinking that taking the genitals to task with torture is acceptable behaviour at least they'll have a lot of lung capacity for prolonged beatings thanks to the fact that they never took up smoking.

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat. Part II: The Revenge

Click here.

Movie Exec 1: Holy fuck we gotta do something about our box office revenues! Fewer and fewer people are coming out to see our movies.

Movie Exec 2: You don't think it could be our continued policy of translating shitty television shows for the big screen, do you?

Movie Exec 1: No, don't be a fucking retard! People love to see television shows make the jump to movie screens. I mean the line-up for tickets to the premiere of "CHiPs: The Movie" has been there for three weeks prior to it even opening. I read stories of people literally camping out for days in front of multiplexes just waiting for the "CHiPs: The Movie" posters to be plastered to the wall. Those were just the fucking posters, man! Movie translations are a gold mine because the audience is fucking stupid.

Movie Exec 2: Amen to that. What do you think we should do then?

Movie Exec 1: I do have a hot theory as to what will shoot the revenue right through the fucking roof.

Movie Exec 2: You're killing me with suspense. What is it?

Movie Exec 1: We need to find a way to show even more commercials before the movie starts. People love watching commercials. They're fucking stupid.

Movie Exec 2: You're a fucking genius!

There, do you see how the logic of the world works now? The movie executives really have their audiences pegged, don't they? I know from my own personal experience I only go to movie theatres to see the 10 minutes or so worth of commercials before the movie actually begins. It's not like there's anywhere else for an honest man like me to get his fill of vapid advertising. Hell, it's almost at a point now where I don't even stay for the movie because my appetite for entertainment has been sated by the latest Sprite, Nissan, and Canadian Armed Forces commercials. It's really great to see that they are going to add even more commercials to the screening schedule.

"Why are the box office revenues getting smaller?" asks one asshat.

Click here.

Finally, all the months and months of petitioning and letter-writing to the mega-producers in Hollywood has paid off. You know, for a while there, I almost thought that the corporate Hollywood machine was too big to listen to the little people in the world, but a big screen version of "CHiPs" is proof positive that...

...well...

...wait a minute! I was petitioning Hollywood for more chips with dip, not that fucking Wilmer guy from That 70's Show in yet another in a long line of shit-ass big screen adaptations of television shows that got cancelled for a reason!

I recall ranting about this kind of shit before, Hollywood! Are you that starved for ideas that you need "CHiPs" to be made for the big screen? There are so many talented writers out there with truly original ideas and they are literally starving because they can't get their foot in the door proper. Meanwhile Fez is strapping on a motorcycle helmet and driving on his merry way to felch some hot up-and-coming starlet and chase drug lords along the California highways. Yeah, that's a great concept. They loved it back in the 18th century when the t.v. show was on for all those years before it got cancelled.

Fuck!

Let shit like this stay dead. It had a time and place in history and that time and place are since gone the way of leisure suits and Eric Estrada popularity.

The Lounge Singer

The lounge singer performed The Monkees' "Daydream Believer."

It was actually pretty good.

But it's hard to fuck that one up when you're Davy Jones backed by Peter Tork, Michael Nesmith, and Mickey Dolenz.

What's sad is that I was there to witness it all.

editor's note: No I wasn't, but I just wanted to illustrate the fact that The Monkees aren't that good.

Incidentally

Happy belated 22nd birthday to Adam Snider. I was supposed to attend his birthday festivities this past weekend, but got sidelined by a broken alternator belt and having to endure having my car connected to a trickle charger all Saturday. Being stranded when there are places to be sucks. Anyway, happy birthday, Adam. Keep on slinging.

For Those Of You Who Doubt Your Faith

Click here.

In Roman Catholic news, the new Pope is being asked to suspend Limbo. What is Limbo, you ask? Well, it's that state between Heaven and Hell where babies who haven't been baptized go. Having never been in Limbo myself I would have to say that it's eternal mediocrity. Nothing is fantastic nor is it really shitty.

Okay Michael, you probably wouldn't bring stuff like this to our attention unless something about it was stuck up in your craw. What is it this time?

It's the whole notion of the Pope suspending something that's supposed to be part of God's design. Ultimately it comes down to a question of just how much authority over the infrastructure of the universe does the Pope have. Apparently since there is a movement to have the Pope suspend Limbo it would suggest to me that he can arbitrarily suspend other states for the human soul.

Why not suspend Hell?

This kind of reminds me of that question that gets asked of God by people who are having a crisis of faith. Namely that question is: Why does God let bad things happen to good people? As somebody who is, by and large, agnostic it makes me feel somewhat vindicated to know that the answer to that question was another question: Why does the Pope let bad things happen to good people?

Or maybe there are too many people who believe the Pope has more power than he actually does. Let me state, for the record, the Pope is a human male and controls the universe as much as any other human male.

That is to say that if Heaven and Hell and Limbo exist it doesn't really matter what some guy with a miter and lots of grey hair has to say about its existence.

Doesn't it bother anybody in the Roman Catholic church that you can just start a petition to have parts of your religious tradition stricken from the record arbitrarily?

Maybe I'm missing the point on this one, but if something's been taught throughout the history of your religion why would you just up and decide to change it? That really doesn't do much to instill a sense of faith in the institution. It's like admitting that you were wrong. If you can be wrong about this one piece of the puzzle what's to say that you aren't wrong about other facets of your belief system?

I'm just saying is all.

Kids Will Be Kids Except When We Tell Them To Be Kids

Stories like this always frost my ass. Click here.

Now, bearing in mind that the article is an editorial you have to question it's authenticity just a little, but then again, everything I write here is editorial so I guess you're getting the actual facts of the story third or even fourth hand. Aw fuck, that's not good. I know. But still, when you read it don't you get the feeling that you've heard shit like this before?

You know, the story of the overzealous school officials going to great lengths to prevent some form of student media from dispensing with information that (gasp!) could lead to immorality. That's what this story seems to be a case of. A textbook case of. A textbook on the textbook in fact. It's like Degrassi Junior High except it's real life and some kids might learn about about birth control (shudder!). Why shudder, you ask? Because some kids might read an informative piece about birth control and think that because they know how birth control works it's all the license they need to go out and fuck. Oh. My. God.

Can you imagine that?

Teenagers having sex?

Protected sex?

The end of days are truly upon us, aren't they?

Okay, because I am opinionated motherfucker who feels it's his duty to keep people informed about the world in which they live I am going to share with you some information that will literally make your jaw hit the floor. You may, in fact, faint and I am writing these words now as a disclaimer against any form of injury you may sustain from me having to tell you this. Don't fucking sue me. I warned you. If you have a weak bladder or the nerves of a pedophile tripping on meth in an elevator filled with police officers then maybe you should click on the archives links on the sides and read one of my older pieces of cock tattoos, cum stains, or donkey punching. For the rest of you people who feel up to facing the harsh truth of the world, please read on.

Here's some truth for you...

Teenagers fuck.

You can faint now or piss your pants or whatever it is you do when you have been enlightened. I know. I know. I was the same way when I found out. Teenagers fuck. Now say it with me... Teenagers fuck. There? Now don't you feel better? No? Well, I suppose that's to be expected.

And since I've already pulled you through the rabbit hole already why not dispense with some more information? Teenagers fuck and most of them probably aren't very good at it because they're fucking teenagers. Do you remember what it was like when you were a teenager? Hell, I just about had to change my pants every time a cute girl just looked at me the right way. And I don't mean to let you in on more information than you want to be privy to, but that's just how it is. Most teenagers are horny, depraved fuckers, who, thanks to advances in technology probably know some of the sickest, kinkiest shit out there and many of them probably enjoy it. Sleep tight, parents.

Seriously, though, they know what Google is and they know how to use it. Furries and adult baby fetishists have to get their starts somewhere and those starts usually occur somewhere in the teen years. Being a teenager is all about discovering yourself as an individual.

But fear not, people. Now while it's true that teenagers fuck. You can take solace in the fact that, as it has been throughout the history of humankind, teenagers are socially awkward and probably couldn't even get laid by a hooker. On double coupon day. So while many teens would fuck at the drop of a hat most of them can't because they're losers. That's okay. A lot of famous adults start out as losers. Hell, a lot of them end up as losers too.

Now, knowing that teenagers are raging balls of hormones and are just aching to get off as much as they can, why not arm them with some information about the ramifications of playing dunk the admiral? How is information about the deed going to be all the license they need to do the deed? Just because they know some shit about birth control it doesn't suddenly give them social skills with the opposite sex.

It takes more than knowing what the fuck a diaphragm is to get play with the ladies, I can assure you.

My approach usually goes...

So, anyway, I mean, like, you know, if you're one of those women who uses the IUD that's totally cool, like, you know. And I'm the kind of, you know, guy, who believes in using two forms of, you know, protection, so the IUD and, like, a condom, totally makes two forms, and we'd be pretty safe. Do you want to, like, go do it behind that row of porta-potties or something.

At which point Paris Hilton would say something like, "I want to do it inside the porta-potty because that's hot."

But seriously now, if I were a parent of a teen I would much rather that teen know his/her way around sex safely than not know anything at all. The fact that a student newspaper was dispensing with some information would probably make me feel better because it would prove to me that they at least care about what they are doing with each other. As a parent I would know for a fact that I can't watch them 24/7 and no teenager wants some gawking overprotective parent looming over them that much anyway. So if they're going to plug holes at least do it safely. They aren't going to be kids forever.

And luckily for me any teenager of mine will probably inherit my social graces and I can rest assured a massive comic book collection, bad acne, and an underdeveloped sense of personal hygiene will mean no nookie to worry about.

Some People Just Don't Have The Right Idea

Click here.

That's right a Chicago man has been arrested, accused of kidnapping a young girl for the purposes of performing a demonic ritual, which would have involved carving a pentacle into her chest. Why would anybody do such a thing, you ask? Well, it seems that the accused was going to perform said ritual to get his ex-girlfriend back.

If you click the link you can kind of get a few more details as to how this foolproof plan of his fell apart.

But here it is...

Now I'll be the first to admit that I am terrible when it comes to relationships. Every relationship I have ever been in has ended with failure and I've failed spectacularly on occasion. So be it. I mean a man who didn't get his first actual kiss until he was nearly 24 years old (!) is probably not going to be the smoothest man when it comes to wooing the ladies. I can live with that.

Oh come on, Michael! You're a dreamboat! Women swarm around you! How could you possibly be bad with ladies?

No, I'm serious here. I always say the wrong thing. I'm not romantic enough apparently. I make a ton of mistakes. I don't have ES fucking P. I'm moody. I'm introspective. I overreact. In other words, I'm a man. So sue me.

But as bad as I am with the fairer sex I think this might actual be one instance in which I can look down my nose at somebody. I mean seriously, you were going to try to get your ex back by performing a demonic ritual on a small girl? Seriously?

Call me old fashioned.

You're old fashioned.

I just think that if you've found your way out of a relationship, as I have many times now, and you want to get back into the life of that ex special someone, the best course of action has been and always will be to talk. Like I said, I'm old fashioned that way. I'm wired to talk things out when I'm facing relationship troubles. Maybe I've lost touch with reality, though. I'll admit that
there are a lot of things in this world that have simply passed me by. Boy bands have risen and fallen and risen again, but then fallen. Premium ice cream wars have left millions dead of obesity. Reality television has ruined any credibility that the television medium has ever had. All this passed me by.

Used to be that when a man wanted to get back together with a jilted lover he could buy her some flowers, maybe a box of candy, recite some Elizabeth Barrett Browning poetry shit, and voila, instant make-up nookie! Kids today, though, they have all these demonic rituals and instant messaging clouding their techniques. You want to get back with a lover today? You have to send them a sad smiley and text them, I'm sorryz! LOL! WiLl u TaKeZ mE bAcKoRz??? DaT wOoD rOxOrZ iF u DiD! and then you carve a pentacle in some innocent little girls chest because apparently that's what the ladies are looking for in a man these days.

Fuck! What the hell am I missing here? Am I supposed to really buy into any of this demonic ritual approach to relationships? Is that what you ladies are after in a man? A good rugged, demonic sort of fella who can come up with good kidnapping schemes? Is that it?

I'm at a loss.

Seriously, though, demonic guy, does that shit ever work? How many ex-lovers have taken you back after carving people up?

Some people just don't have the right idea when it comes to love anymore.

Congratulations

Congratulations to the Edmonton Eskimos on defeating the Montreal Alouettes by a score of 38-35 in overtime and winning the 2005 Grey Cup!

I was only able to catch bits and pieces of regulation time as I was at work on Sunday, but I did get to watch the thrilling overtime. It was one for the history books to be sure.

Way to go, Esks! Do it again next year.