Thursday, November 30, 2006


There they were.

Sitting in a little white bag on the counter.

Might as well have been crack, smack, or some other illicit drug.

I could have sworn I heard it's whispering from across the room.
"C'mon - you know you want to. You've been eating healthy for too long." They just wouldn't stay out of my head. I was fighting the urge with every fiber of my being, yet the voices just wouldn't stop.

I only ate them to stop the voices.

It was the voices I just couldn't stand.

But I showed them.

Polished off the whole fucking bag.

That'll learn 'em.

Who's in charge now, you little round fuckers?


Wednesday, November 29, 2006

Snow Sucks.

(At least today it does.)

Snow is an amazing thing.

Crystals, each one unique, destined to fall from the sky in a white curtain and blanket the land.

Why does it turn people into such complete retards?

Why does the guy in the jacked-up pickup truck suddenly think he is invincible and able to turn and stop on a dime? Why do these people think that their need to be somewhere quickly outweighs other peoples need for safety?

When there is no snow, people park between the lines, in an orderly fashion. With snow, all resemblance of order is gone. It's like people forgot the their car is supposed to be parallel to the other ones.

Some people welcome the snow. Others make it seem like it's fecal matter falling from the sky. (If it's that white, I think it means God has had too much Dairy.)

The only thing that drives me nuts is the fact that I've had to shovel about 4 feet of it off my driveway. I don't mind doing it once a day, but three times is just too much.

So for today, Snow sucks.

Ask me tomorrow, after I've built (another) Snowman with The Boy; I'll probably have changed my mind.


Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Zoned Out.

Today was a day where my mind shut off.

It's a talent I have, but I think that most men have it.

We as a gender are able to shut off our brain and yet still go through the motions of everyday life. Today I had conversations, completed tasks, worked hard, communicated, and I can't recall a damned thing. I don't think I had one significant thought besides whatever task was at hand.

I'm sure on a subconscious level things were going on fine, as I dimly recall smiling or chuckling when different songs came on the radio.

Normally I have tons of random thoughts scrambling in my head, waiting to jump out in conversation or online. I don't usually type up any random thing that pops into my head last minute, but as I sat down tonight to recall what I had been thinking about, I noticed that I didn't really focus on anything at all today.

That is how we men think - or don't, as the case may be.

Just watch - now I'll wake up at 4am with a head full of thoughts.
It'll be like Blue Balls for the brain.



Monday, November 27, 2006

The Long and The Short Of It...

I'm not a B.C. native.

I wasn't born here.

I was born and raised in the tundra of the Frozen Arctic, in the land of the Midnight Sun, far away from where I am now. Even though I have lived in B.C far longer than any other place, I still find that there are things that people do around here that I just can't understand.

Right now, according to my computer, it's -7° Celsius (With the wind chill, probably closer to 11.) it's been below freezing all day, and even I am feeling the cold through my protective layer of donut fat.

It still doesn't explain why I saw four different people today wearing shorts. Seriously, shorts. There was another guy who was wearing those retarded "holeys" shoes, and yet another who I saw wearing sandals, without socks. At first I just chalked it up to eccentricity, but by the end of the day I'm convinced that maybe our Government is doing secret genetic experimentation to build the ultimate Winter Warrior.

I've never been able to accept how really fat guys wear shorts year round, but there was only one fat guy out of the four people I saw today. (The whole fat guy/ shorts thing is another blog entry at another time.) I can't think of a reasonable explanation. Even going from your car indoors would be a stretch because of the wind. And walking on the snowy ground in just flip flops? Sheer madness!

In some way I look at these people in envy. They are out and obviously comfortable in the snow, and I have to bundle myself up just to walk to work. And I was born in the North! I used to scoff at B.Cer's who used to wear parkas at -1°, laugh at those who fumbled to make the perfect snowball, and frown with disdain at anyone who dared say it was "Too cold out." I was comfortable with the snow, and was in my element when surrounded by it.

Not so comfortable that I would wear shorts though.

Do I look crazy?

I felt like yelling at every one of them to put on some pants.



Sunday, November 26, 2006


I was told by someone today that I have a big ego.

I told them that if by ego they mean penis, they are correct.

Seriously though, have you ever thought about it? I don't think I have a huge ego about myself, but I do try to present a confidant manner and style. If that comes across as self centered and egotistical, than so be it.

(Plus, if I don't tell people how great I am, how will they know?)

I don't think that there is anything wrong about pointing out the things that you are good at. I'm not saying I'm the best at any given task, but there are a few things I do that I do very well, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm tired of some people decrying the fact that I take pride in myself and the things that I am able to do.

You are damned if you do and damned if you don't. If I didn't say anything positive, and only complained about how I think I'm overweight and didn't like how the world has treated me, then I would be called a whiny bitch. But it seems to me that most people you see nowadays are "whiny bitches" so the fact that someone is out there being positive about themselves, must seem odd and out of character.

I'd like to clarify - I don't go around saying how great I think I am and talking about my penis all day long. I'm not from Port Alberni. All I do is show some self-confidence and throw some humor along with it when I do happen to mention something.

I think people need to inflate their own egos a little bit now and then. Instead of looking in the mirror and being depressed about yourself, think about that one thing that you do great, and tell the next person you see.

(Unless the one thing is Masturbating and the next person you see is a Nun, this should work great.)


Saturday, November 25, 2006

Snowball Fight!

Just got in from a massive snowball fight in the front yard.

Okay, not really massive, just me and The Boy, but I really whooped his ass.
(Any four-year old who thinks he can take me is going to be in for a big surprise.)

It started out as shoveling the driveway, and then it escalated from there. Words were said, battle lines were drawn, and the warriors met over by the skinny tree on the front lawn.
He almost got the jump on me, but I told him Santa was standing behind him and tagged him good when he turned to look. That only phased him for a second. (He's quick - he has his Daddy's reflexes.) After he launched a barrage of snowballs at me, I realized that if I took one step back, I would be out of his throwing range. (The boys got accuracy, but not a lot of power - yet.)

Afterwards it was easy to pummel him into submission with a flurry of white doom. He accepted defeat gracefully, and the obligatory face-wash was punishment enough. I know he'll think twice before taking on the old man again.

As I walked back into the garage in Victory, he said he had a present for me. I turned to look, expecting a hug for World's Best Dad ™ and BAM! Snowball right in the face.

He's a crafty little bugger, I'll give him that.

Just like his Dad.


Friday, November 24, 2006

Geriatric Rock.

An Open Letter to The Rolling Stones:

Please, just hang it up already.

This letter is addressed to you because you guys are the figurehead band for aging rockers. Because of you, other bands who thankfully retired or disbanded years ago have decided that they are still relevant, and wish to tour and produce records.

I know that the touring is just a cash grab.
Don't tell me you are in it for the fans. If you were really in it for the fans, you would have stopped touring long ago. Does canceling tour dates to rest your voice sound like you are doing for the fans? How about missing other tour dates because one of you geriatric fucks thinks he's a monkey and climbs trees looking for coconuts?

And the performances aren't up to par.

You're resting on your laurels, and it shows. People only go to your concerts to say they've been there, not because it's an incredible rock experience. People are buying tickets for the memory of you, not for what you are now.
Mick, are you going to tell me that you can put on the same show with the same energy that you did when you were 25, or even 30? I'll bet the stage has non-skid floors so you don't slip and break a hip. When I saw Robert Plant, it was all he could do just to stand there and keep from dying. If that's what you think your fans want, I think you are sorely out of touch.

As for material, I don't think you guys have released anything good since maybe the early 80's.
Yet your continued release of albums, even ones that don't chart well, inspires other formerly great artists to give it another shot. I don't think the Eagles would have even tried to get back together except for the fact that they saw money to be made. I'm finding Aerosmith guilty of this as well. (Since Armageddon, they haven't made decent music at all.) And the list goes on: The Who, The Guess Who, Micheal Jackson, Hall and Oates, heck - even Duran Duran is in the studio right now. ( I would mention Guns and Roses, but they haven't released any albums, and barely tour.)

Won't any of you just die?

Collapse on stage. Mild stroke. Whatever. Just to show these other old fucks that there is a hazard involved in coming back. Then maybe they'll think twice before getting back on the bus or going into the studio again.
Is it too much for a guy to ask?

All the best on the last leg of the tour.

Fuck You.


Thursday, November 23, 2006

Snitch 2.0

I should invest in the stock market.

Almost a year ago I posted about how my son likes to tell everyone and anyone what he did that day, where he went and who he saw. I theorized that he would eventually say the wrong thing to my Wife and get me killed.

Close, but I'm not dead, so it's not as bad as you might think.

He's progressed from transcribing events to actually recalling what Bad Words Daddy might have said throughout the day. He's like a voice recorder, except I don't control the playback function.

I'm getting picked up from the gym tonight and once I'm in the car I'm asked about something I said two hours ago.
(There was a cop driving by with his lights flashing and a truck hadn't noticed - he kept on his way. Eventually he did see the police car, and pulled over, and I commented to myself that the guy was "Driving like a retard.")
The Boy had seen a cop car when he was with his Mom and told her that Daddy said a Bad Word about a cop. If he's going to squeal, I wish he'd get it right.
He then comments to her that I also said something bad about a car in the Tim Horton's Drive Thru. I'm left defending my actions (or trying to) and looking like a horrible Dad.

I think I'm going to have to get earmuffs for him or something.

I'm now waiting for the day when he confesses to me saying some woman has a nice rack.

I don't think I'll feel the knife slip through my ribs......


Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Five Things.....

  1. Until last night, I've never come across anyone talking on their cell phone in a movie theater before. I think that this crime should be grounds for justifiable homicide. Seriously, can't you turn the fucking thing off for an hour and a half? Are you so fucking important that someone has to get in touch with you at 10:45pm on a Tuesday night?

  2. I think I'm starting to develop gills. Not necessarily a bad thing. I'll be swimming (floating) around Waterworld-style, while the rest of you are paddling away trying to keep your head above water. (Seriously, what's with all the rain? If we were in New Orleans I could at least run around screaming "Make sure the Dykes don't crumble!" - if I did that here, a bunch of masculine women would kick the shit out of me. Or do my hair, I'm not sure which.)

  3. How many cups of coffee is too much? I've had about four extra large today. I think I'm trying to hit the hundred-cup feeling Fry had in that episode of Futurama. I will either step out of the time stream or see God, I'm not sure which. (If it's God, I'll ask him if he can top me up.)

  4. What is the difference between a burrito and a soft taco? Seems to me to only real change is the addition of lettuce. How does adding one condiment justify the addition of a whole new sector of a country's cuisine? (I will not except any answers unless they come from Mexico, or from someone who works at Taco Time.)

  5. I've been debating on getting a Vasectomy. I think I'll do it, but the only stumbling block I have is the fact that afterwords, every time I masturbate it'll be like lying to myself. I'm sure I'll get results, but it'll be like going to the store for a bagfull of air. What to do, what to do....


Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Blond, James Blond.

The sidekick and I just got back from the show.
What did we see? Take a look at the picture.

Here's my thoughts.

There are things I expect in a James Bond Movie:
  1. Good Bond - Check - Daniel Craig is spectacular, and covers both the action and serious parts well. He's great at switching from classy to kick-assy as the situation permits.
  2. The Martini - Check - We even get to see the origin of it in this one.
  3. The Car - Check - Aston Martin all the way. Both cars look equally phenomenal, and the homage to the original was a nice touch.
  4. Gambling - Check - Changing the Game de Rigour from Baccarat to Poker was a great thing to do. I never understood Baccarat, but I'm all about the Poker.
  5. Ladies - This one didn't disappoint on the ladies, either. Hotties? Oh Yeah.
But there are also things I didn't expect to see in a Bond movie.
  1. A Story - Usually Bond is all shoot'em up and high-tech gadgets. This one actually had a plot. You could imagine my surprise.
  2. Product Placement - Ford must have paid a bit, but I think Sony Ericsson must have sold their soul. According to this movie, there is only one cell phone manufacturer in the whole world.
  3. Physical Harm - James normally comes out of every fight a bit ruffled but none the worse for wear. In this movie he takes a shit-kicking and he shows some scars. Refreshing, nice to see that they've shown him as human.
I really enjoyed the movie, and I have to rank it up there with some of my other Bond Favorites, Dr. No and Goldfinger. As the Sidekick stated afterwords, Daniel Craig is the perfect mix of Sean Connery and Perice Brosnan. They have revitalized the series and I can't wait for another one.

It's getting late now and I'm off to bed - I think I'll dream of Chilled Drinks, Hot Women and Flashing my Licence to Kill.


Monday, November 20, 2006

The Most Dangerous Word.

Michael Richards fucked up.

Is he a racist?
I don't think so, but now he's guilty until the social conscience sees fit to forgive him.

The root of the problem is that he's a white guy standing on a stage shouting "Nigger". Nobody is ever going to say that that is a good thing, but the fact is it's a word. And in this day and age, it's a common word.

I think it's unfair how black people can throw that word around like it's just any ol' thing, but scream and shout when a white guy does it. I know that each race has slurs for it's own, but it seems like the N-word is used more than any other, especially by blacks in almost any type of entertainment; comedy, movies, music, you name it. (With all of these negative connotations surrounding one word, why is it used so frequently by people who are so offended by it?)

The word has entered the common vernacular.
It's almost lost all sense of it's root meaning.
It's tossed around so glibly that it's only a shock when it's used from one race to another.
If you don't like the word, don't use it. Don't make it acceptable for anyone to use it. But making it's use acceptable to only a few and not for all is what causes shit like this.

I'm not defending Michael Richards.
I saw the video - the guy fucking lost it.
A professional comedian should be able to take a bit of heckling.
If he would have lashed out and said he was going to kill them, nobody would have cared.
But he used that word.
So now he's fucked.

As for my own usage of the word?
I'll admit, I've said it.
When quoting Chris Rock, Dave Chappelle, Eddie Murphy and Richard Pryor.
Do I use it in my everyday life?

There's no way to solve this issue, and I'll admit I've re-read this post two or three times just to make sure I'm not coming off as a Neo-Nazi Hate Monger ™, but I just had to get this off my chest.

In the article I quoted, Comedian Paul Rodriguez said "Freedom of speech has limitations and I think Michael Richards found those limitations." So he's free to say anything he wants - almost.

That doesn't seem very free to me.


Sunday, November 19, 2006

Not The Best Medicine.

I work with this lady, and she has a really annoying habit.

She laughs after everything she says.
Everything. It doesn't matter what it is.

It's not really a laugh; it's kind of a titter or a giggle. (It's not just around me, although I do have that effect on women.) I've even asked other people if they've noticed it and it seems to be universal.

I just don't understand it, and it drives me crazy. How do you function in life like that?

How do you tell anyone anything bad?
"Sorry to hear about your mom dying." (chuckle)
"It must be horrible" (Snicker)
What kind of message does that send?

I read it as an intelligence deficiency or just not being socially aware enough to know what's funny. This forces her to laugh at everything, just in case some thing actually is funny.
It's like packing her own laugh track with her. (A busted one of course.)

Sometimes I feel like just being deadpan with her.
Just give her the stone face and see if she knows what is going on.

She'd probably just laugh.

We'll see if she laughs with a pen in her eye.


Saturday, November 18, 2006


I check Google News everyday.

I enjoy staying on top of world events and interesting things.

For each article they have they also list all the other relevant articles on that subject that have been published, so you may check another source and get a different point of view.

Pretty nifty.

The average report might have 200/300 other publishings.

Bomb attack? 600/700.

President Bush in Asia for Summit? 1500.
("Well I'll tell ya - I'd sure like the cream of sum yung guy." Heh, heh. "Get it? Cream..heheh.")

But the fact that Tom Cruise's wedding to Katie Holmes garnered 2592 articles just today is sad.
Forget war and famine. The couch-jumper is getting hitched.
I could care less about the celebrity weddings, especially this one.

Someone tell me, where did it all go wrong?


Friday, November 17, 2006

Private Time.

Listen buddy, I'm not here to make friends.

Why are you asking me questions?

Do my short, impolite answers not give you the hint you need?
The fact that I refuse to look at you? Is that not an unspoken gesture?

I don't care that you recognize me from where I work.
I don't have a clue who you are.
I don't care that you've been a customer of ours for years.
I don't want to talk to you right now.
I can't make it any clearer with out just telling you to fuck off.

I didn't come here to have a conversation with you.
I came here to work out.
Out there, on the gym floor, I might have a chat between sets.

But right now, when I just got out of the shower and I'm toweling my balls dry?

Not the best time to strike up a conversation with a random stranger.
Even if you do recognize me.


(And yes, I know they are impressive. Thanks.)

Thursday, November 16, 2006


I'm a Wallpaper junkie.

Not that faggy stuff that actually goes on walls, fools.

I change my desktop wallpaper every couple of days. I usually favor the minimalistic styles, as I find that a busy wallpaper tends to distract my eyes away from what I'm doing.

(That's why I've never really had erotic images as my wallpaper. Hard to complete anything when you keep switching to your desktop with one hand.)

I peruse image sites and I hoard anything that I find.
I'll go with photography, fantasy, digital, whatever.
There have only been a couple that have stayed on the screen for longer than a week.

Because I like that clean look on the desktop it drives me nuts anytime I see someone with a shitload of icons on their screen. I understand they are shortcuts, but that's what the Toolbar at the bottom of the screen is for. What's the point of having an image on the screen if you can see it for the ass-ton of icons on there? (Ass-ton. Like it? I came up with it by myself.)

What do you like to have on your screen?
Is it full of icons? (Better not be, you lazy bastards.)
I need new image sources.
Tell me where you go.


Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Thoughts I Had Today...

  1. Is it just me, or do I normally look this damn good?
  2. Why did I just scramble to put pants on, when answering the door in my underwear would have been a perfectly acceptable alternative?
  3. Boobies. Boobiesboobiesboobies.
  4. How come my hands are warm and my feet are freezing cold?
  5. Did Maury Povich just say "Fuck it" and decide to only do paternity shows?
  6. Does this belt go with these pants?
  7. What kind of sad individual actually buys Who's the Boss on DVD? Why not just stick your head in the oven and get it over with?
  8. Now why did that start itching?
  9. What would Shatner do?
  10. Why do other peoples houses smell like cabbage? Do they think my house smells like cabbage? What the fuck is with all the cabbage?
  11. Would an Oreo & Peanut Butter sandwich exceed my maximum caloric intake for the day?
  12. Can I spell out my whole name while I pee?
  13. Yep.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Space Pimp.

I've always admired James T. Kirk.

And who wouldn't?
The guy commanded a Starship, had the biggest fucking T.V. screen ever, and scored more chicks than anyone could ever comprehend.

I'm surprised the Enterprise didn't have to go back to Earth weekly just to get condoms. I bet you Kirk double wrapped it when he was banging the green hotties.

As much as he's a lover, Kirk is also a fighter. He's the only guy I've ever seen drop someone with a judo chop to the shoulder. I bet he kept in practice by beating the shit out of Chekhov every once in a while. (And why not? I bet that smarmy little Russkie deserved it too. "Nuclear Wessels" my ass.)

I guess that anyone who knows me may say that I have some Kirk-like tendencies. My gold sweaters and oiled up physique are two dead giveaways. Same with my habitual bossing around of minorities, telling Asian guys to steer my car and Black women to answer the phone. ( "Just pick the fucking thing UP!")

But I refuse to score with the green chicks, I don't know how he does it, but I don't think I could.
Unless she was hot.
And just green-tinted.
And I was drunk.

Then I'd hit it at Warp Speed.


Monday, November 13, 2006


I've got a cramp.

It's not a menstrual cramp. Or a Charlie horse.

I went to the gym today, and in my enthusiasm for rowing my ass off, I may have pulled something in my back. I didn't even know I had a muscle there. (I think my zeal on the ab machine might have had something to do with it as well.)

A hot shower really helped. (Is there anything a long, hot shower doesn't cure? Get out of here with your sick thoughts, people.)

I'm sure the pain will subside, but for now I'm just going to suck it up and deal with it. Sure, I could be a pansy and take actual medication, but why not add a few notches to my macho belt? Some lady may tell me about the pain of childbirth, but I can tell her I had a back cramp, and that will put me ahead, right?

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be the one wincing as I get up out of my chair.


Sunday, November 12, 2006

Gone For Coffee.

I'm going for coffee, which is a good thing.
I don't really have anything to say right now, and coffee with the Sidekick is usually a great cure for Writer's Block.

We'll see, anyway.


Saturday, November 11, 2006

174 Days.

That's how long it is until Spiderman 3 comes out.

I think that the Spiderman franchise is one of the few that seems to get better with every installment. After viewing the recently released trailer, I expect this one to be great for a multitude of reasons.
  • Sandman is an interesting villain. They've done something to make him more personal to Peter, but the fact that they are taking a chance with a different style character shows that they aren't just stamping out cookie cutter sequels.
  • Peter gets mean. As you can tell by the picture, Black Costume = Bad Ass. It's funny how in the movies the bad guys wear black, but in real life, they just wear wife beaters.
  • I was never a big Venom fan, but if it's done right, he can be a great character and opposing force to Spiderman. If they even hint of a Carnage appearance, I'm throwing my coke at the screen and leaving.
  • Mary Jane. Any movie with the sweet apperance of a slightly damp MJ is good enough for me.
Here's to hoping they don't fuck it up.

But as I said earlier, I don't think they will. The track record is good, and I think that it's the type of franchise the actors themselves care about.

Now I just have to find something to occupy my time for the next 174 days....
(And please don't suggest masturbating to visions of MJ in the alley. That only covers 157 days.)


Friday, November 10, 2006


Some times people as a whole just drive me nuts.

(This is no surprise to the regular readers.)

Dealing with people in the customer service industry can be rewarding and fulfilling. It can also be an excruciatingly annoying and can cause severe mental strain.

I'm trying to explain to a customer the need for a coupon in order to get the "special" price on the item she wants. She knows there is a coupon for it, she knows she doesn't have one, and yet somehow this is my problem. She sees no problem in me just giving away the items at that price, which would totally defeat the need for the coupon in the first place. (The coupons are needed so we as a company can get our money back from the supplier. They will only honor redeemed coupons, not made-up, special-just-for-her coupons.) As I explain to her the multitude of reasons why I can't do this for her, she then informs me that she "knows" the owner of the store.

Good for you, lady. Good for you.
I know him too, he signs my paychecks.

She then informs me that she'll speak to him and he'll make "The Deal" happen. I tell her that that is her choice and I'm just following the instructions of the same owner. She then tries to tell me that if he knew it was for her then he would okay it. Right.... He must have forgot to mention that when we were discussing handling the coupons. I'm amazed that he would have overlooked such a crucial subject.
"Hey guys, if this whiny bitch comes in without a coupon, just make it happen - she 'knows' me."

I can't believe I wasted ten minutes of my life debating with this lady.

I could have just caved in, but when people start sounding all arrogant and stuck up about these types of things, it just really sets me off. By the end of it, I was not going to let her have anything, even if she pulled a coupon out of her ass accompanied by sparkles and fanfare.
(Well maybe then.)

I can be just as Pigheaded as they can.


Thursday, November 09, 2006

Belinda Stronach = Yoko Ono.

Fuck You, Belinda Stronach.

You're tearing apart Canadian politics like Yoko did the Beatles.

Every week I hear that someone else has insulted you. I don't think our Government has done any actual work since the whole thing hit the papers weeks ago. Can't we as a nation just accept the fact that you love the cock and move on?

It's time to heal, Canada.

Quit calling her a dog.
She's not that ugly. If you want ugly check out Betty Hinton. (I bet the picture wasn't on the propaganda for that one, eh?) Compared to her, Belinda's quite the cutie.

So what if she crossed the floor. Hell, if I was in Parliament and had to watch the way the Conservatives were floundering around, I would have left too. And the fact that it was also a way to dump her Conservative MP boyfriend? We should reward her for killing two birds with one stone.

Everyone is in an uproar about her affair with Tie Domi. It just proves that she has no taste in men. Has no one even noticed that this mean Tie Domi is a Liberal? Who'd a thunk that one?

I think the only way that Canada can overcome this rift that we have with Belinda is to have her Gang-Bang the entire Legislative branch on C-Span. Once everyone in the building has had a piece of her, I'm sure the enthusiasm for her will wane and they can focus on more important things - like running the country. (And think of the ratings! It might just top a Leafs - Sens game!)

Don't tell me that little minx hasn't sat in her chair in the House of Commons and had the same thought. I wouldn't put it past her. Someone sneak some Lemon Gin into the caucus room and watch the magic happen.

I'm sure if Paul & George would have had a piece of Yoko o-so-many years ago, the band would have stayed together.

And Ringo?
Ringo would've watched.



Wednesday, November 08, 2006

That's No Moon....

I'm having a bit of nerd rage right now.

I'm perusing one of or fine local establishments and find my self in the Toy section.
(Don't look at me like that. The Boy likes the Toy section.)
We approach the Star Wars area, and I glance at the shelves, amazed at what things they have now that I wished for when I was a kid.

They have Lightsabers.
Plastic, but they light up and make noise. Oh how I would have killed for one when I was younger. All I had was a stick to hit my brother with. I had to provide all the sound effects myself.

And then I look and see these toys.

What the fuck are those?
When the hell did Darth Vader ever ride a chopper?

Admittedly, he is bad ass enough to ride a chopper, but come on, what kind of shit is this? There's even Luke and Bobba Fett choppers. (Of course Luke has Artoo where the girl would normally sit. That's 'cause his sister was busy giving Han a handjob in the Falcon.) I just have a hard time fitting customized motorcycles into the Star Wars universe. If they would have taken the wheels off and called them Swoop Bikes I could maybe forgive, but they slap the word "Chopper" right on the box.

I guess the Teutul's went from American Chopper to Galactic Chopper in a galaxy far, far away.

I knew George Lucas sold out the minute some kid said "Yippee" on film, but I didn't think he sold out to the latest fad to come around the bend. (And isn't the chopper fad over now? - I swear it went away at least a year ago.) What's next George? A Landspeeder Poker Table? Princess Leia Strip Poker cards? (Poker's hot right now, I'm surprised he hasn't sold out all over again.)

Eventually It'll be Star Wars Polygrip and Imperial Depends. (Just like Grand Moff Tarkin uses!) Anything for the almighty dollar.

And a little bit more of my childhood mythology falls by the wayside once again.... Shitty.


Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Why I like American Elections.

  1. Canadian elections are so boring. Our negative advertising involves fiscal spending, non-performance, and blindly following the party line. American negative advertising seems to stop just short of each candidate declaring that their opposite distributes kiddie porn.
  2. Coverage. Almost every channel I have is showing election results. I think that the only thing that would interrupt election coverage would be a nuclear bomb detonating. But only if it was in one of the "swing" states.
  3. They get to mix it up a little. Want social programs? Vote for a Democratic Governor. Still want to keep that Ak-47 for shooting squirrels? Vote for your Republican Senator. It's like mix and match specials at the all you can eat Democracy Restaurant!
  4. The chance for error. When you think about a country that voted for George W. not once, but twice, you know anything can happen. I wouldn't be surprised if an electronic voting machine started dispensing Crack and Colt 45.
  5. It's almost like every vote counts. Look at Florida and Ohio. Nobody even knew where Ohio was before the last election, now it's considered an important state. Canadian elections are usually decided by two French guys eating poutine at Wimpy's in the 'Shwa. The votes out west don't even seem to mater. Last election I wanted to put Obi-Wan as my write-in choice, just to see if it would be noticed.
I do kinda enjoy watching all the madness go on down South on a night like tonight. In the morning nothing will really change. Same shit, different people.

And that's the lesson I've learned on either side of the border.


(On a side note, it's nice to see the Governator repeat again. I guess the only one who'll be able to take him down may be a really buff Linda Hamilton running as a Democrat.)

Monday, November 06, 2006

Viral Distraction.

Wikipedia was used to help spread a virus.

That's like getting gonorrhea by fucking a nerd.

Not even fucking - just shaking the nerd's hand. No hot nerd sex for you, just a bunch of malware.

I'm still amazed at the amount of people that I help who have fucked up their systems with a virus or whatever by downloading and installing shit that they have no idea about. (I'm not even a tech guy; I'm sure Bish has way more stories about it than I do.)

I think it's just common sense.
If you are not 1000% sure of what's going on, don't do it.

I'm not even sure where I'm going with this, but the minute I read it, I thought of the nerd-fucking analogy, and I had to run with it.


Sunday, November 05, 2006

One Time.

I've always been a talker.

I think one of my strongest talents as a talker has been my masterful command of the one-liner or "zinger". You know, the comment that someone makes that just cuts to the chase and does it with style.
I don't usually do insults( mine are more of the silly, raunchy variety), but I have been known to pull off some pretty colorful shit. (The problem with trying to insult someone is if you are too intelligent with it, they just don't understand. Telling a retard that he's as smart as a paramecium isn't good. He's just not going to get it.)

But to see that MTV has a show all about trash talking is just going a bit too far.

Great, I'm glad Fez got some work after that 70's show ended, but come on, what the hell is this? Why would you even have a show that's all about belittling others in front of a National audience?

Better yet, do you think I could get on?
I mean, if money's involved, I'd tell a midget that the reason he's that tall is his momma swallowed the other half of the load.

That's MTV material right there.


Saturday, November 04, 2006

A Night Off.

I'm taking the night off.

No Computer, No Online Poker, Quick Blog and I'm out.

I think I'm starting to spend too much time in front of this damnable machine.


Friday, November 03, 2006

Liquid History Pt 2 (Continued)

So Mike and I headed to the Hospital.

In what must have been an amazing miracle, I wasn't forced to sit in a waiting room for hours. I guess looking into the eyes of Satan must be disconcerting for the general public, so they ushered Mike and I into a semi-private area that was curtained off.

Then they made me wait for hours.

During that time, Mike and I must have stolen about forty dollars worth of medical supplies. I believe I had the largest private collection of tongue depressors on the North Island after that visit.

When the Doctor finally showed up, we were going through the drugs prevention pamphlets, saying "Done it." or "Want to." The Doc didn't look too impressed.

So he checked me out, looked into my eyes, took my blood pressure, all that Doctor type shit. Then He started in with the questions.

"Have you been lifting anything heavy?"

"Have you been drinking a lot of alcohol this Friday?"
"No." (Technically not a lie. I was drinking heavily on Saturday.)

He started to look a bit uncomfortable. I think he knew that I thought these questions were funny, and that I wasn't taking them seriously. Still, he plodded on.

"Have you been constipated recently?"
"Er - No."
"No straining or forcing?"
"No, the plumbing is all fine."

"Have you had any intense orgasms during sexual intercourse recently?"
(I have to admit, this one caught me off guard. Props to the Doc for seeing what a player I am, though.)
"No Doc, but I wish I had!"

Looking at Mike, he could barely restrain himself. Hell, I was having trouble keeping myself from busting a gut laughing at these questions. I'm pretty sure the Doctor knew I was bullshitting him on the drinking, and he at least knew that my blood work would show alcohol.

He told me that I had ruptured some blood vessels in my eyes and that is what all the red was about. (I'm sure it was the dry-heaves puking that did me in.) He also told me that it would take about two weeks for the blood to fade away.

So I got too look like a possessed guy for two weeks and it wasn't even close to Halloween.
The thing that sucked was it went away in stages. The red progressed to purple, and then started to fade to sickly yellow. I went from looking cool and evil to looking jaundiced and sick. (Chicks think red eyes are creepy, but yellow eyes are a definite turn off, as I soon found out.)

It was a memorable Spring Break, but it did come to an end. Mike moved back in with his parents, I drank in moderation for the rest of the holidays, and then it was time to go back to school.

I've puked pretty bad since then, but never enough to pop those vessels again.

(I think I'm holding out for the intense orgasm. In fact- I know I am.)


Thursday, November 02, 2006

Liquid History Pt 2.

So it was Spring Break of my Grade 12 year. The air was warm, the beer was cold, and my best friend Mike had been kicked out of his house. I talked to my parents and we agreed that until Mike got things settled with his parents he could live with us. It was a no-brainer as Mike and I hung out all the time anyway.

There were a bunch of people we knew camping out at the local campground, and because some of them were hot chicks that we were interested in, Mike and I spent most of our evenings there. We'd drink all night, go home in the wee hours, crash for most of the day and proceed back to the campsite and get sloshed again that night. It was a perfect plan.

Except my body couldn't handle it.

I was drinking so much one evening that I actually started to make an ass of myself. I recall asking one girl (Who particularly annoyed me) if she could move to the left about a quarter mile as her gigantic ass was blocking what could be a beautiful moon in the sky. (I think I was trying to use my wit and charm to impress the ladies, but insulting their friends isn't the way to do it.)
I kept on drinking and ended up in a tent with my ex-girlfriend, where I proceeded to pass out. Shameful, you say? Maybe, but I passed out with my eyes open.

I awoke about ten or fifteen minutes later surrounded by people and the sound of girls crying.
Once I asked what the hell was going on, some of them thanked God I was alive and others said they were going to kill me because they thought I was faking it.
In the haze of the evening, all I remember doing is crawling out of the tent and going home. (Don't ask me how I got home, I can't really remember that.)
Before I left I went into the bushes and threw up for about fifteen minutes. I'm talking all-out, dry-heaves puking. It was not pleasant.

The next day I awoke and attempted to get ready for work. I showered, shaved, and made myself look presentable. (It's not a hard job, I clean up nice.) As I was tying my tie, I noticed that one of my eyes was a little bloodshot. I pulled down the lid to get a good look at the damage, and noticed that the entire bottom half of my eye was blood red. Was I worried? No way. I'm a manly man, and since there was no pain I was going to ignore it.

So I'm down at work and my boss comes in a couple of hours later. She takes one look at my eyes and asks me what the hell is wrong. Thinking it was just a bit red still, I go and check out my eyes in the mirror.

It was like looking at something from a horror movie. Everywhere my eyes should have been white, they were a dark, bloody red. I didn't look like I was possessed, I looked like the fucking Devil incarnate. It wasn't a pretty sight. I still felt fine, but ended my shift early to go to the hospital. I called Mike and he and I went to the hospital to get it checked out.

The story will continue ..... ( for those of you that haven't heard it already.)


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Maximum Heart Rate.

One of the things I said I would do when I got shipped back to the Big City was to start back at the Gym again. I really enjoyed it when I was going on a consistent basis, so time to get off my lazy ass and get back in there.

Today was my first day back.

I went through the formalities of signing up again, letting them know that I don't have heart disease or emphysema, and that there's nothing that is likely to cause me to die while on the Rowing Machine.

I came back on my lunch to do my workout, and it was fairly easy to slip back into the groove again. I did wonder what the point of filling out the medical information was, because there was a guy next to me in the cardio area who looked like he was going to soon cast off this mortal coil. After thinking for a moment how I didn't want to be a First Responder in that type of situation, I proceeded to cut that section of my cardio short and hit the weights. After Mr. Near-Death-in-Shorts left, I went back and finished my cardio.

One of the things I like most about the gym?
Showering in the middle of the day. I like coming back from my lunch all fresh and invigorated. (The showers are single booths, so don't think anything funny, okay?) Plus I just look really slick.

I'm going to go on my lunches like I did before, but I'll probably try to get an evening workout done once a week as well. I think it would be beneficial, and will help keep me focused.
I'm working on creating a playlist for The Nano that is the right amount of time and tempo to keep me on track for the work out. (Or is the iPod in the gym too Yuppie? Fuck it- they can pry it from my cold, dead hands.)

I'm off to wash my Gym wear, so I can look pretty while I sweat.