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.

Later.

Later.

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.

Later.

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.

Later.

(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.)

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.

Later.

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.

Later.

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.

Later.

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?"
"Nope."

"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.)

Later.

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.)

Later.

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.

Later.

Helloween.

Halloween is now the fourth largest holiday celebrated in North America.

Ghosts, goblins and scaring ourselves rates up there with Christmas and Peace on Earth.

Tonight at my door I've seen witches, angels, hobos, pirates, Spiderman, Batman, Superman, and even Scooby-Do. Nothing really scary, except the couple of kids who were dressed up in suits and said they were Mormons.

It's not my favorite holiday, but then I'm not really a holiday guy. I find the build-up and the stress that people go through to have a "Perfect" holiday only adds to the annoyance of it all. (My favorite thing to do at Halloween when I was younger was to get loaded and have Roman Candle fights with my friends, so what do I know.)

My main frustration with this evening is that I keep having to stop typing to go hand out candy every time the doorbell rings. Unless it's the Playboy bunnies out trick or treating, I'm not going to be impressed.

There it goes again....

Wish me luck...

Later.

Capital N, Small Y......

Big Fucking Q.

Today I woke up feeling like shit.
Stuffy head, runny nose - all the usual things that generally just make you feel like you would rather just go back to bed and tell the world to Fuck Off.

Unfortunately I am also an incredibly responsible individual, so instead of doing the above I got my ass out of bed and went to work. The plus side is that if I'm going to feel like a sack of crap, I'm going to make sure the world knows about it. (If I can subtly infect some of the people that piss me off, then the day wouldn't be so bad after all.)

The strange thing is that going to work actually made me feel better. As long as I was busy and productive, my body didn't have time to realize how shitty it felt.

It wasn't until after I got home that I started to feel like crap again. But the solution to that is in the little green bottle pictured above. My friend NyQuil is going to solve all my issues. (The physical ones anyway.)

I thought I'd type a few words before the coma overwhelms me, but if I don't have a chance you'll all know what happenedlhajhgal khf;gah;fzz zzzz zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

That's some powerful shit right there.

Later.

I Feel...The Sith Version.

1. That it's all Obi-Wan's fault. He's the one that's poisoned the council against me.
2. Black is way more slimming than brown.
3. That to build a Galactic Empire you have to break a few eggs. And by eggs I mean Jedi, and by break I mean kill.
4. Jedi may have mind tricks; but only I can Force-Choke my own chicken.
5. One of the perks of being evil is that you get to push Lando around. He's such a fucking pansy.
6. That guys who fly X-Wings are trying to compensate for small dicks. The shit I'm packing needs it's own Star Destroyer.
7. That's there is nothing inherently bad about a LASER SCANNING DEVICE.
8. Hot chicks think respirators are sexy.
9. That just because he's a Jedi doesn't mean Mace is the only guy with a big purple Lightsaber. (If you know what I mean.)
10. No matter how bad it may get, at least I'm not taking orders from a little green midget.

Later.

Don't Get Me Angry.....

You wouldn't like me when I'm angry.
(Classic Hulk line. I had to do it.)

Nothing pisses me off more than when I'm working hard, (Well - just kinda hard. I am Management, after all.) and I go into the back and see somebody just goofing around. Especially when I just asked them to do a certain number of things in a certain amount of time.

It's not like I'm a dick or anything. All I ask is that you do your fucking job. I'm not asking you to dig ditches on the side or to build a ladder to the moon. Just do what I asked of you in a timely fashion.

I swear to God I'd like to take some of those lazy stupid fuckers and just kick them in the ass. Hard.

If it wasn't for the occasional bright moment while I'm at work I think I would go mad....

And then I'd bust out the purple pants.


Later.

Tickets.

I just bought tickets to The Tragically Hip concert in Victoria.

Why the hell do I want to see them, you ask?

I have to admit - I'm not a fan.
But I had said that about Pearl Jam and when The Sidekick dragged me to that concert, he proved me wrong.
Let's hope he can make it two- for-two.

Just in case, maybe I'll bring some eggs to chuck.
The concert's not until January, so I'll let them stay good and warm until then.
I figured I'd smuggle them in by stashing them in my pants.
(I'll at least get two of them past Security, right?)

I'm actually looking forward to it.
(But I won't tell the Sidekick that.)

Later.

A Bit Of Liquid History.

For years I was a pansy drinker.

It's okay to make jokes; I was a lightweight and young enough to be proud of that fact. I remember bugging my friends because I could get drunk on two coolers, and they had to waste their money buying more booze to do the same job.
Don't think I'm retarded, I was only 14.

And yes, I said coolers.

Before you go asking if I had a vagina back then, I must say that initially I hated the taste of beer. It was bitter, sour, and not really to my liking. So I stuck to coolers, which were more palatable. There's only one time that I can recall regretting the fact that I drank coolers.

• I brought along a couple Two Liter bottles of Canada Coolers Tropical Cooler to the 2nd Annual Arches Staff Camping Trip (ie: Three day weekend of Debauchery.) While sitting around the campfire one evening I finished my first bottle and proceeded to open my second. I was dared by people in the crowd to "chug" as much of it as I could. I accepted the challenge, and promptly downed the entire two liter bottle. Bad move. I lasted for about five or ten minutes, and then decided that I wasn't feeling too well. Excusing myself from the campfire, I walked away to get some fresh air. To steady myself I leaned on a convenient tree that wasn't there. I fell down an embankment and was found momentarily by two brothers who were also at the festivities. What did these two stalwart saviors of mine do? Nurse me back to health in the comfort of a tent? No- they dragged me around the campsite only pausing so I could throw up into the bushes. (Bastards.) In the morning you could see little furrows in the ground to mark where they carried me around.

Looking back, it's one of my fondest memories. (Thanks Bish.)

Shortly after, I decided to suck it up, be a man and drink beer. I switched to many different variates over the years, from Budweiser to Rickard's Red to Canadian (Still the favorite.)But beer can be a bit much at times and other alternatives are needed. (The only other acceptable beer is the Draft Beer at The Wee Hideaway in the 'Shwa. But only after hours and with two packs of smokes.)

I switched to Rum. Bacardi, in fact. But the problem with rum, like Vodka, is that everybody else likes it. I would go to a party, set my booze on the counter and when I went to mix another round - Poof! - it's gone. I needed a tasty solution.

I'll never remember how I stumbled upon Gin. I think I had heard of a Tom Collins and decided to try it out. After that, the gates were wide open. I started drinking Gin and Ginger, Gin and Tonic, anything that you could name. The great part of this was that no one else wants to touch the stuff, so it's mine! All mine! Hahahahahaha! - But I'm getting carried away. (I also introduced the Sidekick to Gin. But that's okay, I'm willing to share with him.)

At the last staff Christmas Party, I ordered my last drink of the night - Gin and Ginger - and noticed that the entire 26oz bottle was almost empty. I commented to the bartender about how much Gin she had sold and that it must be getting popular.

She looked at me and said "Nobody else has touched this - It's all you."

What can I say?

Later.

Big Picture.

I got a new T.V. today.

Nothing fancy, just a 32" RCA. (Old School style, not an LCD or Plasma.)
Needed to pick one up because mine was starting to crap out. This is not the T.V. I plan to have in the next 5 years.

This is the T.V. I hope to have in the next year or so. Ever since I got the LCD monitor for the computer I've been enjoying it's shiny goodness. I'd love to have that bright, clean picture while playing NHL '07 or watching Pearl Jam - Touring Band /Foo Fighters - At The Park. Oh, the glory.

But I have to save my pennies for that.

The new T.V. is five inches bigger, which is great. I have yet to hear any woman complain about the extra five inches, so I'm not going to either.

I'm just about to start my days off, which means I'll get to break this puppy in with some Holy Trilogy, and maybe some Indiana Jones just to shake things up. (I have a whole other blog about Indy - don't even get me started.)

So if you happen to see me in the next day or two and my eyes are like saucers and I've had no sleep, you'll know why.

Later.

No Thought.

Mark this day on your calenders.

I can't really think of anything to say.

There has been nothing incredibly dramatic or fantastic happening, and for the first time in a long time, I have absolutely nothing to bitch about.
I'm sure I could find something positive to say or regale all of you with sordid stories from my checkered past, but nobody wants to hear that stuff, right?

Don't worry - I'm sure something or someone will piss me off tomorrow.

My fortune cookie said so.

Later.

Fortune Cookie.

There it sits - The Fortune Cookie.

How they are able to cram enlightened wisdom and the knowledge of my future into a small, folded cookie will always remain a mystery to me.

A Fortune Cookie holds more than just a piece of paper with quaint words and lucky numbers; it holds optimism. You never see a shitty fortune in the cookie. It's always about different things or new horizons.

I'd almost like to be the guy who writes the bad fortune.
How much would it suck to open your cookie after a satisfying meal of Chow-mien and Chop Suey, only to find it says "You'll lose your job tomorrow." or "Your wife is sleeping with the pool boy."
Bet ya that settles the stomach, eh?

I hope that when I crack open it's crunchy outer shell the answers to life fall out.
Or at least the Lotto numbers.

Later.

Adoption.

I want to be reincarnated as an African Baby.

I know it's a tough life, but there is the off chance that you can be adopted by either Angelina Jolie or Madonna.
It's almost like the National Lottery.

I wonder if the kids adjust well to the shock.
They go from famine and poverty to luxury and riches. To go from the most undernourished society to a society that consumes vast quantities of food, and then throws it all up to be skinny.

I wonder if Christina Aguilera would feel about adopting?
Hopefully when she's ready she'll come looking for a Thirty-Four year old white guy instead of some Four or Five year old African kid. I'm way better on the playground. I promise you that.

Later.

Change of Tune.

I find that I'm in the middle of a musical self-revolution.

My musical tastes, which have always been pretty standard, are starting to change, and I'm becoming slightly more picky about what I like and I don't like.

I still appreciate other music, and can understand what others might find interesting about those styles. But you won't find any of them on my iPod.
(Don't worry, I haven't converted to Country - that will never happen.)

I've started to appreciate the "acoustic" side of things, and find myself leaning in that direction more and more. I really enjoy artists like John Mayer and Jack Johnson, but I also like other less heard of artists like Bernard Fanning, Dallas Green or Amos Lee. ( I highly recommend all of them.) The acoustic side of the Foo Fighter's In Your Honor is musical gold.

It doesn't mean I've gone soft, though. I still enjoy a harder style sound, like Audioslave or Arctic Monkeys, but I find that the lyrics have to be there for me to really enjoy it.

I think that is my problem with most Hip-Hop and Rap music that I hear - I'm just tired of listening to how much money and bling and all the bitches they have. (Don't worry Brian - I still enjoy the Rap stylings at the Brothers Bar and Casino.) I know I'm generalizing when I say that, but there is so much crap out there that I don't have time to sift through it all and find the gems.

For now I just stick with what I know and let my eardrums decide.
(Considering I just talked about how bad my hearing is, you think I'd be foolish to let them decide anything.)
But so far it's working out great.

Later.