I’m Cured

Apologies for the infrequent posts but it’s been a crazy couple of months for me. Luckily I’ve been cured of at least some of my insanity as you will soon discover.

I lost a part of myself again on Tuesday; something that my own body created to express my masculinity to all who dare gaze upon my face. It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that my moustache is gone for the time being. I could go on for days expressing the great pain that I have inflicted upon myself and the rest of humanity but now is not the time for it as I’m still in mourning. Instead of my usual MO of trying to bring down everyone with me I’ll share with you all the single positive element to be born of this experience:

The day started as any other with me waking up promptly at 10am ready to take on the world and rape all of it’s precious metals. Scarfing down two soft-boiled eggs along with the usual anti-depressants I began going over the day in my head. There was really nothing pressing for me to do so I sat back in the dining room chair and stroked my victorious moustache in reflection. Seeing as my mind is usually only occupied my what my hands are touching at that time of the morning I decided to re-evaluate my facial hair situation.

The sentence was death. 

It was a young moustache, precision cut from my beard no more than two weeks ago. Although mighty and virile I figured the loss of it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Also I was sick of shaving and as summer turns to fall I felt it easier to just let everything grow.

With a heavy heart I stumbled gracefully into my bathroom and stared in the mirror for a good twenty minutes giving me time to say goodbye to my multi-coloured mouth accessory. With manly tears of regret I reached for the electric razor and commenced my ritualistic castration. I began by trimming down the handlebars on each side making my moustache into something more straight and pedophiliac(I don’t know if that’s a word but it seems like it should be). Seeing how something so panty-drenching could turn into a line of failure below my nose was more than I could bear. Shaver in hand and failure in my heart I trimmed it down to a single patch of hair right beneath my nose in the style of Robert Downey Jr in the movie about that old guy who was a communist. Although the moustache in it’s current state could never be worn outside it occurred to me that some of the internet people who I’ve never met would get a kick out of seeing a picture of me like that.

That’s where I stopped.

My image in the mirror began swirling and distorting. A large void opened up in front of me and I could see the whole of time and space in one instant. This in itself was not unexpected as the loss of my facial hair releases so much energy into the universe that a wormhole must be created every time I shave otherwise the whole planet would be in danger. 

From the void appeared an image of my future self. A figure with fire in his eyes and a moustache that would turn Lemmy into a crying mess. I had a 60oz bottle of Jack in my left hand and in my right was some kind of flamethrower/lazer/air compressor. From the top of a pile of charred corpses my future self growled to me in a deep weathered voice:

Stop what you’re doing right now! The next step you take is the most important one you have ever taken. Both of us know that looking like Hitler is pretty much the funniest thing you could ever do but think about the consequences first! Posting such a picture is simply giving ammunition to the pussyfaggotcommies who want nothing more than to bring you down. It’s easy for them to take it out of context and vilify you more than you deserve. Having such a thing last forever on the internet will destroy all that you have worked so hard for. For my sake and the sake of the entire earth please continue shaving.

I was taken aback! Never before have I thought of the consequences of my actions thinking it was only something that the Belgians did. I watched the void close before me and was back to staring at my own reflection. Taking my own words to heart I put down my camera phone, did about 20 minutes of Hitler pantomime and shaved the remainder of my upper lip.

When it was all over I walked out on the balcony to have a smoke and survey the land around me. Deep in thought I realised that even a few months ago I would have just posted a picture of myself as Hitler without a second thought. It was at that moment that I knew there was a scratch of sanity left in me. I cracked a slight smile and continued smoking knowing that all I surveyed would soon be mine because of my actions today.

Here’s a picture of two penguins wearing sweaters.


Drink Fight Fuck

Most things in pop culture I tend to find out about after everyone else is done. There’s this new movie starring Eric Robert’s less-talented younger sister called Eat Pray Love which is based on some book of the same name. Now I haven’t read the book or seen the movie and I have no intent to do so but I’ve heard enough about the general idea of it that I feel like I’m qualified to comment on it. As always I trust the opinion of Stephen Hawking who referred to the film as “shameless wish-fulfillment, a Harlequin novel crossed with a mystic travelogue, and it mercifully reverses the life chronology of many people, which is Love Pray Eat.”  Not sure what he meant by that but the dude knows his way around a black hole so I’ll just assume he’s right about this.

It turns out that in the movie Erin Brockovich ends up travelling around and doing stuff that other women would do if they had an advance on a book large enough to let them travel around the world to find themselves because they can’t seem to get their shit together. The climax is Pretty Woman hooking up with that guy from No Country For Old Men that used the air compressor to kill people(I really don’t understand why Hollywood hasn’t made an entire franchise about that guy but I guess no one else has the same vision that I have). I can only assume that the body count rises exponentially after this point in the film which would redeem it in the eyes of all the bored husbands and boyfriends forced to sit through two-plus hours of the bad kind of chick porn.

All of this money has inspired me to come up with my own enlightenment plan geared towards men. In the spirit of the original work I have titled it “Drink, Fight, Fuck” which I believe better serves my target audience. I would ask for a book deal but men don’t read books and I really don’t have the patience to write one anyway. A movie could be ready by next summer if Hollywood decides to get off their asses and stop blocking my calls.

I will now outline(AT NO COST TO YOU!!) my programs for better male enlightenment and feminine oppression. All of my programs will cost you less both in time and money than the alternative Italy, India, Bali excursion. Please take into account that all prices are based on half-assed estimates and probably don’t represent anything close to reality. 


DFF Gold Package ($500 – whatever)

This is for guys that can get at least a week off of work. It could be crammed into a long weekend but really a week is better since it’ll give you some recovery time. As with all the packages this one is pretty flexible but there a few core points that need to be hit for the mission to be deemed successful.

  • you must travel a minimum of 200 km from where you live
  • the place you go must be somewhere you’ve never been and you’re pretty sure you won’t run into anyone you know
  • take up residence in the cheapest hotel/motel you can find
  • stay away from tourists, drink only with the locals
  • drink, fight, fuck, repeat

Since I’m not good at explaining stuff clearly or whatever I’ll give an example of how I would go about one of these sojourns.  First step is to buy a one week round trip ticket to Budapest, 6 pairs of underwear, 8 pairs of socks, a pack of baby wipes, box of condoms and 17 mini-bottles of Baileys. Put all of the items into a sturdy plastic grocery bag and hop on the plane. Make sure to finish the Baileys as fast as possible as the stewardess will try to take them from you once she realises that you plan on drinking all of them. Get sick since you’re lactose intolerant and spend the rest of the flight in the bathroom with the baby wipes. The whole air travel sickness is to get your mind and body ready for the week ahead.

Upon arrival make sure to get into an argument with the customs agent regarding his/her english speaking skills and the sexual promiscuity of his/her mother and/or sisters. This will save you at least 1 nights hotel stay since they’ll most likely want to keep you around until they figure out what to do with you. Jerk off in the holding cell while you wait. You now have one DFF under your belt without even trying.

If they’re actually dumb enough to let you into the country you should then wander the streets in search a small bar where you’ll find no native english speakers or sanitation practices.  Order the cheapest drink you can get and find a small corner where you can scope out a good target for your next fight. When you have your mark try to get him involved in some light conversation. This is good opportunity to develop your social skills and learn about a different culture while also giving you a chance to identify the target’s weaknesses. As the night rolls on become more and more insistent with every drink that the man you’re drinking with is displaying homosexual tendencies by wearing those shoes. If you’re mouth isn’t full of blood by midnight you should probably just give up and shoot pictures of bridges for the rest of your trip because you’re obviously not meant for this kind of thing. If you have success then celebrate by finding the most cracked-out whore possible and haggle over the price of handjob. Be sure to refuse payment as this could potentially make you a target for her pimp thereby setting up the next fight for you.

Continue the week in the same manner trying variations of what was done previously. Try to become more efficient at starting fights and make sure to sample as much local booze as possible. On the flight back home try to convince the stewardess to at least rub your ass just so you can finish off with a bang. Also try to walk through customs coming home without stopping since after all you’re a citizen and don;t have to put up with stupid questions like  “do you have any fruit or vegetables?” or “what is that purple stuff oozing from that gash where your ear used to be?”.


DFF Silver Package($20 – $500)

Similar to the Gold Package except that you can just go out to a bar where you live. Try to find a place that you wouldn’t normally unless you like the idea of your friends and neighbours never speaking to you again. As for the fucking part you can just pussy out and come home to your wife or girlfriend if grabbing random sluts isn’t your thing. Prostitutes also work as with the Gold Package


DFF Bronze Super-Saver Package($20 and an internet connection)

  • down 40 oz of jack
  • troll message boards
  • jerk off and fall asleep


I expect to hear a lot of success stories in the future regarding this program. Feel free to pass it on to your friends so long as I’m credited if it works out. If it doesn’t work out then I don’t know who you are or where you got that information and really fuck you for asking.


The Great Ketchup War

Marriage is a wonderful institution. You always have someone around to scratch your back, you get to wear a super cool ring without feeling like a fag and the sex can last up to five minutes. It’s also great for turning two people into stubborn, childish idiots who cannot let even the smallest matter go without a fight. What follows is my description of one of my more recent confrontations which I shall refer to as “The Great Ketchup War”.

A little background on the situation and my state of mind. I’m very obsessive when it comes to cleaning up and discarding anything I can’t use. I have enough shit to sort through already and most of it just needs to go. In my opinion you shouldn’t own more than what you can fit into a small minivan in case the apocalypse comes and you need to get the fuck out of dodge fast. Conversely I also despise wasting anything since I was brought up in a household where to not finish your plate or throw something useful out was right up there with theft and genocide on the list of shit you should never do. This basically means that it takes a lot for me to just throw something in the garbage if it has any use. Usually I prefer to give stuff away or even better sell it so I can start saving up for a one way ticket to Belize if I ever get too frustrated with my life in general.

Now that the foreplay is finished I can begin the penetrative tale of the kaustic ketchup kontainer. I don’t care much for the condiment in general. If it’s already on a burger that I order or someone has it on some fries they’re sharing with me I’ll eat it but that’s just because I’m not a picky eater. You will never see me putting ketchup on anything myself. My wife is very similar to me in this except that she will only put ketchup on a burger. It of course follows that any ketchup in our fridge gets about as much use as that delicious box of baking soda that’s been slowly disintegrating since Biggie was shot by the CIA. As a result the ketchup bottle that started this whole skirmish belonged in a museum rather than being stuck in the back of our fridge.

It reminds me of Miami Vice

It reminds me of Miami Vice

As you can see the labelling on the bottle itself looks rather retro. If one were to try to date it would probably fit nicely in with the late 90’s era of product packing developments. The actual date of purchase on the bottle is unknown since careful inspection revealed no date information whatsoever. Not even an expiry date which as you’ll see was part of the problem. By the most conservative estimates the bottle is at least 7 years old since it comes from a time when my wife moved out of her mother’s house and took the ketchup bottle with her. How old the bottle was before that I cannot being to speculate.

Since most people don’t enjoy keeping old disgusting relics in their fridges unless they’re trying to hide something from the authorities I decided to clean out everything we didn’t use or that looked gross. Now I can clean like a fucking meth addict at 4am on a Tuesday; getting rid of everything in sight that I deem unworthy. This time however my wife yelled out a stern “No” when I was about to throw away the wretched bottle of red sadness. When I gave her all of the logical arguments for removing such a biohazard from our lives she was unmoved and would not change her mind.

These were all great arguments on my part by the way. Here’s a list of some of my better points:

1. Our average ketchup consumption is less that a tablespoon a month.

2. Ketchup is similar to a food.

3. Food doesn’t last forever which is why it needs to be refrigerated after opening.

4. Even in the fridge food will eventually go bad.

5. Food that does last forever is not really food and thus doesn’t belong in the fridge at all.

6. Ketchup sucks.

7. Glass is a much safer way to store food as it does not leech chemicals like plastic does.

8. The cost of a small replacement glass bottle of ketchup is about $2.

9. The cost of getting sick from bad ketchup is much greater than $2.

In the spirit of fairness here are some of her points:

1. It’s still good.

There are many confrontations in our marriage that I choose to let go of mostly because they aren’t worth the trouble. When it comes down to it you can’t be picky about everything and fighting over something as pants-shittingly retarded as the fate of a condiment really isn’t worth more than 5 seconds of my life. In this case I used my powers of awesome to concede and let the bottle stay in the fridge. Better to focus my energy on paying the rent and dealing with my crippling depression. So I guess you could say my wife won.

Of course that was just the first battle in a war that spanned years. Every few months I would start on another mad cleaning spree and again pick up the ketchup bottle and present it to the little lady. Every time this was brought up I received the same answer. I even started plotting a way to get rid of the bottle without her knowing. I could have simply thrown the whole thing out and the issue would be resolved except that knowing my luck the very next day she would want the ketchup for something and I would have to explain to her what happened to the bottle which at this point I was starting to resemble the Ark of the Covenant both in age and Nazi-killing power. I could have just bought a new bottle first but I never remember to buy it for the same reason I don’t buy adult diapers.

Some of you might be thinking that I’m some kind of stereotypical neutered male like you see in every fucking television commercial. Well you’re fucking stupid. I can handle my own as a man but as any great warrior knows you have to choose your battles.

After careful consideration I decided to conduct my plan of attack like the siege of Constantinople(history!). My plan of slowly cracking her outside walls with cannon and starving her until she had to give up seems like the best plan of attack. All that was required was a bit of patience and some light jabbing. After four years of pummeling the castle walls she herself would admit how disgusting this entire ordeal was and promptly end it by buying a new bottle and saying those magical words that really deserve to be said more often than they are.

“Tony, you were right.”

Turned out that a half filled bottle of ketchup of an indeterminate age doesn’t really taste too great. Of course she later explained to me that if I hadn’t made such a big deal about hating the ketchup bottle she would have thrown it out years ago. Spite is a very important part of marriage and if you’re not acting out of spite 70% of the time your marriage is surely doomed. Spite keeps us aware and ready to strike at the first sign of some invading military force trying to steal our carefully stockpiled warehouse full of ammunition and fleshlights. Evolution has given us spite and we should embrace it just as we embrace our natural fear of anything that’s different.

So what can we learn from the Great Ketchup War? For me it solidified my long held belief that when you know you’re right you should just shut up and wait for the world to evolve around you. Any intervention on your part will simply delay the process of enlightenment and make people think of you as a dickish know-it-all. People, much like the crotches of my pants, can be worn down over time when treated with just the right amount of friction.  

I could also say that my wife has learned that in most circumstances I’m usually right and disagreeing with me just for the fuck of it will only bring sadness and mild symptoms of food poisoning. I know better than that. In the end nothing was learned and we’ll both just continue on with the many other campaigns that are already well under way.

Neither of us would have it any other way.



According to some smart motherfuckers a spring is defined as:

a source of supply; especially : a source of water issuing from the ground

I prefer to think of a spring as a piece of some material wound in such a way that applying pressure to one end will contract it and create resistance in the object but that really isn’t important. My point is that people don’t appreciate springs enough and I think it’s about time they got their due.



Did you know that without springs we wouldn’t have foldable metal futons? That awesome Swiss watch that you’re going to buy me? Worthless without a spring. Our entire society would be overrun with mice and rats if it weren’t for the spring powered mouse decapitation device.

The real victor is mankind.

The real victor is mankind.

Now when I speak of springs most people will think of a Slinky and normally I would think the same thing but there are a few things on my mind regarding the Slinky that you should be aware of:

  1. A Slinky is like a spring that’s been through a lot of trauma and is weak because of it. There’s almost no tension on the thing and that alone should make it inferior.
  2. One used to be able to hurt people with a Slinky even though they were the theatre-loving cousin of the almighty spring. The ends were just a thin piece of wire that could break skin and lodge into the eyeballs of your enemies. This one activity accounted for 90% of child blindness in the 70’s and 80’s. Now they have these little caps on the ends to make sure that no small children will be maimed. This is why China is going to take us over one day.
  3. The name Slinky is weak and kinda creepy. If an old man came up to you in a park and said that he’d let you play with his Slinky I’m willing to bet that you’d be hearing rape whistles sounding from every treetop.
  4. It doesn’t go up stairs, you have to actually pick it up and carry it up a bunch of stairs in order to have any fun with it(except for the fun activities outlined in point 2). Any “toy” that requires that much effort is not worth the .01 cents of metal it’s cut from.

So I guess the point of all this is that you all should start giving springs some respect. I’m not asking for a donation or anything like that to save endangered springs(even though that would be a good start). I just think that you need to take a look at the world around you and appreciate the little things in life because my penis gets enough attention as it is.

Ok I’m done.


I was born on the SAME DAY as Rosario Dawson!!

My birthday is many things to many people. For some it is the time where they thank me for all of the joy and entertainment I’ve provided them in the past year. Others see it as a time of misery knowing that I’ve still gone on living another year without you fuckers getting to me and don’t think that I don’t know who you are because I do know and the only reason you’re still alive right now is that I’m much to busy trimming my moustache to give a shit about you but you should still watch your fucking front because I’m too much of a man to attack someone from behind.

Also it was mother’s day this year. I have another rant relating to that subject but we’ll leave it for another time.

enough with the bullshit

enough with the bullshit

I had something really great to write here but looking at that picture has made me a bit distracted. It’s not just her dead-fucking-sexiness that has me at a loss for words, it’s also the whole idea of her.

I’ll can explain.

Every year I look up people to see who has the same birthday as me along with other notable events that have happened that day. When I first started doing this I was pleased to find myself among the likes of Ghostface Killah, Mike Wallace, Billy Joel and Candice Bergen. Also on that day in 1950 L. Ron Hubbard published his masterpiece of erotic fiction “Dianetics: The Modern Science of Mental Health“.

All of these wonderful coincidences pale in comparison to the big revelation; that someone who I find totally fucking sexy was born on the exact same day as I was! This gets me thinking about how many ways this could be used to my advantage in building my future life with Rosario.

Reasons why Rosario Dawson should totally get with me

We were born on the same day 

Of course this has already been mentioned before but allow me to elaborate. If I were to allow Rosie into my life birthdays would be very convenient since I would never have to worry about forgetting hers. We could even have our first date on our birthday so it would be easy to know how long we were together when the paparazzi asks. Then when we decide to settle down and get married we could pick that day as well making the entire history of our passionate affair revolve around the greatest coincidence in the history of whatever.

Some would say that it sucks to share your birthday with anyone but those people are generally un-evolved and think only of themselves. A birthday celebration involving Ros’ and me would be a spectacular annual event making the Oscars look like your last birthday party where only three people came and they were all from work. I guarantee these naysayers will be begging to get over the 16 metre electric fence that we set up around the private island where Ro’ and I will be holding this extravaganza.

We both got our start in films made by perverts about kids having sex

Of course the only public screening of my film was at the trial and my only compensation was two snickers bars and the loss of my innocence.

She dated the guy who played Pacey on Dawson’s Creek 

I’ve been told by some that I look like a bloated, more rugged version of Joshua Jackson. They probably broke up because she’s more into the alpha male type which works more in my favour. Also I’m willing to bet that she got sick of the whole “Dawson’s Creek star dating someone who’s last name is Dawson!” thing.

We are both really hot North Americans of African descent

When you think about it we’re all from Africa if you look back far enough. I learned this from “Boyz n the Hood”. What the fuck happened to Cuba Gooding Jr?

Women love married men who write about all the celebrities who should hook up with them on blogs that nobody reads

I am so fucking in!

Feel free to call on me anytime R-Daws. Probably best to just send a text since I’m super busy thinking of ways to stalk Katy Perry.



The Facial Hair Chronicles

I originally wrote about this subject a few days ago but was retarded and forgot to save my work. Please trust me that the original was much funnier and was written so well that Margaret Atwood would have to blow me if she even read one sentence. Sorry to disappoint but you should be used to it by now.

Up until last week I hadn’t shaved or cut my hair all year. I did this for two reasons, the first being that I’m an incredibly lazy slob who really doesn’t like shaving and the second being that I wanted to see if I could look like “that guy from The Hangover”. Since I can only look like a dirty hobo for so long and since I’ve been told no less than 60 times in the last few months that I looked like Zach Galifianakis I decided it was time for a change.

Now as my longtime readers(ha!) know I generally sport a moustache because it both shows off my awesome face while perfectly framing my mouth. Since I had a decent month or so of hair growth in my beard(I did trim the the beard a couple of times because much like myself my facial hair has a mind of it’s own and would have choked me if it had the chance) I was picturing how impressive a moustache carved from such sturdy cloth would be. I spent weeks just looking at my face and trying to find the perfect angles. I went over my shaving plan in detail and every slight snip was mapped out. This was going to be epic, I’m sure some of you are shitting your pants in excitement now and I can’t say I blame you.

So after months of looking like a man of the verge of a Micheal Douglasesque breakdown here was the crowning achievement of my experiments in shaving:

Apologies for the ruined panties.

Apologies for the ruined panties.

I know what you’re thinking now. How do they allow that much man to be posted on the internet? What if a little boy is searching for information about bikes or tortoises or whatever and then comes accross that picture? Surely he will grow up feeling insignificant and feminine since there is no way in hell that he could possibly to be that awesome.  Why do you hate children?

There’s no need to worry anymore. The glory that is depicted in the photo above is gone; a shadow of it’s former greatness. As men have known since the beginning of time there is only one enemy capable of taming such power.


Now of course I’m not suggesting that dames aren’t totally wet over the ‘stache or the slick-as-fuck hair. In fact I got more attention than ever with it. But that didn’t stop me from selling out and trimming it down a bit because what many fail to realize is that while broads go apeshit at my appearance it doesn’t do me any good because I’m not interested in any of them. I already have a wonderful wife who satisfies all my needs which aren’t related to alcohol.

She hates the moustache.

So I’m left with a choice. Keep an epic moustache to exhibit my glory to the world or continue getting laid on a regular basis. As much as I love the way I look I love orgasms much much more. Of course I expect a lot of comments about me being cunt-whipped but that’s not what this is about. As a highly evolved organism I have the ability to empathize and not think only about myself for short periods of time. My wife is so into me that even a layer of hair separating her from me is traumatic. So it’s really in my best interest to make her happy as it will inevitably make me happy which is more important than funding abortions in impoverished countries(politics yo!).

So yeah the moustache is still there but it has been tamed. Now I can get the the subject of my hair:

I cut it.

Since I spent close to 700 words talking about my moustache I’ll say only this about hair: I hate going to work on the day after a haircut. Everyone feels the need to make a comment about it and very rarely is it something other than “you got a haircut” or “hey you cut your hair”. It’s conversation like this that gets me back to figuring out a way of blowing up the sun just to shut everybody up.


Until Today I Thought That Miniature Horses Only Existed in the Imaginations of Boring Little Girls

They are real and they are scary.

I was first made aware of these freaks of nature when someone on twitter linked to this story. A record breaking horse usually isn’t a big deal to me but since previous to reading that article I thought the entire species was just some kind weird folklorish joke like unicorns or global warming; the story blew the fuck out of my mind and shook my soul down to my highly impacted colon.

So now that the horse is out of the barn. I have a few questions that I can’t be bothered to google the answer  to.

Question 1: What the fuck?

I’m not really expecting a good answer to this one but I just had to get it out there.

Question 2: Seriously who’s idea was this?

Perhaps repeated exposure to South Park has turned my brain into some kind of pop-culture quoting automaton but when I try to imagine the being responsible for this blasphemous creation I find myself thinking of a cross between Bill Nye and Kimmy Gibbler. The two names aren’t really related to each other in any way but they were the first to come to mind and if you really think about it it could make sense.

Question 3: What purpose do these monsters serve?

Now I know that you’re getting into strange territory when you’re looking to justify the existence of anything but nevertheless I need to ask in this case. I can understand owning a dog for companionship and such and I can even accept that some people are into really small, yappy dogs that can fit easily into a designer purse; but I can’t imagine these little equine nightmares being anything but a giant chore.

Sure horses have been around man for thousands of years and we’ve accomplished quite a lot together. For a long time they were one of our most reliable forms of land travel and history would have been much different if we went around riding on ostriches. Most of the horse’s life was spent outdoors as they are known to produce jaw-dropping loads of shit every 4 minutes or so. Living in the city as I do I couldn’t see anyone having the room to have a miniaturized version of this poop machine.

Also horses aren’t as affectionate or cool with people as dogs are so the whole thing sounds a lot like trying to train a gerbil to give you anal pleasure.

Question 4: What the fuck?

I think I already covered this one.

Question 5: Where can I get some?

I was thinking of re-creating the battle of Stirling Ridge using ring-tailed lemurs for the English and sugar gliders for the Scots. Both of these mammals can fit on the back of one of these horses and I’m sure the battle would be epic. I even have a large cardboard cutout of Mel Gibson that could be used to remind everyone just what kind of low-life, hypocritical racist he is.

Question 6: Does this mean that miniature hippos are just around the corner?

The answer better be yes.


Three Things That People Should Protest But Don’t

So I just saw a news story in the elevator at my office talking about increased security at the G8 summit in Halifax. There are probably much more important stories that I could cover but since I only get my news from elevators and by listening in on other people’s conversations this is the best I can do right now.

Personally I’ve never been much of a protester. It’s not that I’m not angry at the world or that I see no injustice in the way the lower classes are treated; it’s just that I have three seasons of Veronica Mars to get through so I don’t really have much time to hang around government buildings with a bunch of smelly “anarchists”.  After some deep examination of my own mind and a lot of prescription drugs I’ve come up with a few things that given the chance I would totally go out and protest if it weren’t for the Veronica Mars situation mentioned previously.

1. Parking spaces for people with children

Congratulations, it’s a girl! Now you get to lord your ability to fuck without birth control above everyone else who hasn’t sacrificed everything they had for a child who will most likely end up disappointing them in the end. But not just that you get to park closer to the store because businesses want your money more than money belonging to non-breeders who have much more disposable income.

I’m willing to bet most businesses hate this kind of pandering as much as I do and the only people in favour of it are new moms who feel that the entire community should recognise how special they and their children are. These spots teach our children that they are entitled to special treatment because of their age which is something that a fascist would do.

My plan here is to find one of these retailers and have a group of people outside who are unable to have children. Try to convince anyone trying to get into the store that the policy of reserved spaces for families violates the charter as it is basically discrimination against those who are unable to have children. One could argue that not being able to pro-create is a disability since it’s as much a part of life as being able to breathe and walk without assistance.

I guarantee that this would work and it has the added bonus of putting parents in their place.

2. The cost of stamps

Anyone know how much it costs to send a letter? I don’t and since I’m a pretty smart guy I doubt others do as well. The next time Canada Post tells of an increase everyone should line up at their nearest post office and ask for a one cent stamp. then go to the back of the line and wait to buy another one. The time this will take up would ruin any other business that the post office and make them think twice about charging an extra cent to send something across the country.

3. Poorly labeled mp3s

This is fucking 2010 and whenever I steal mp3s from Metallica whoever ripped them has failed to include any ID3 tags. For fuck’s sake pretty much every program for ripping CDs out there will auto-populate the ID3 tags so how come I still get albums with names like “Track 1” and “Weather Girls – 1982 – IT’S RAINING MEN(1982 1ST JAPANESE PRESSING ripped by – eV1lRet4rd3648” with no information regarding the artist and album. It’s refuckingdiculous that I have to go in and manual change every tag so my mp3 library doesn’t look like it was sorted by an 8 year-old with cerebral palsy.

Since the 3rd circle of Hell is reserved for people who mislabel mp3s their punishment on earth needs to be more severe than the other two cases already discussed. In this case I propose finding out who these people are(it won’t be hard really since anyone with half a brain knows how to label their shit) and just fucking murdering them. In my experienced legal opinion these people do not actually count as one of us due to their limited intelligence and lack of motor skills. Perhaps some torture before the actual killing could take place but really it’s up to you guys to do what feels right.

After about 5 or 6 people die because of this I guarantee you will never find a badly labeled track on any filesharing site again.

You’re welcome.



I Just Want to Drive

I failed my driving test yesterday. The following entry is just me outlining how I got into this whole thing. It will most likely be unfunny, pointless and rather boring for anyone who isn’t me so if you’re looking for some entertainment I suggest you go elsewhere. Just think of this as my own form of therapy. Now that you all understand my intentions I will continue for my own benefit.

As someone who was born and raised in Toronto I never felt much of a need to have a driver’s license. When I was a teenager I could get anywhere I needed to go quickly using either public transportation or paying for a cab. I also didn’t have much money at the time and what little I did have was spent on brown liquor and strippers and there was no way I was going to trust myself to drive after a night of partying.

I figured I had lots of time to do this whole driving thing and since there weren’t many times where I NEEDED to drive to whole issue fell to the back of my mind(as most things that don’t have anything to do with sex, money or drugs tend to do). I got my G1(or learners permit for those unfamiliar with Ontario’s crazy laws) when I was 17 and now that I was approaching my 30s I thought it time to got my act together and learned to do what most 16 year-olds who can’t grow a moustache could already do.

With the encouragement of my dear wife who was in a similar situation we signed up for driving school. Naturally I resisted making appointments for lessons so it took me much longer to finish the course than her. I should note that this was the second time I had paid for lessons since I tried the whole thing out a year or two earlier but never went to more than two classes(anyone see a pattern here?).  She completed the course, took her road test and passed on the first try.

Since I tend to avoid “doing stuff” as much as possible it was impossible for me to follow so simple a path. I had finished my lessons and tried to book a test online. I thought I had everything ready to go when I realized that a computer error had made it so there never was an appointment for me. Shortly afterwards my G1 expired again(as it does every 5 years) and I stopped caring. It took at least another year for me to go down to the government office and get another one. My reasoning for waiting so long was that the government sucks and I didn’t feel like spending 4 hours lining up with a bunch of kids and foreigners so some failure could take my picture and write some stuff in a computer. I’m really great at rationalizing anything that allows me to be more lazy.

This all happened last year and I was firmly determined to get everything right this time. I booked a road test for the beginning of September and was planning to go out and get some practice before that. Then the driving examiners decided to go on strike for FOUR FUCKING MONTHS! I kept making appointments during that entire time just in case the strike would be over soon. Not only was I making appointments but I was also booking those days off of work so every onth of the strike sucked up more of my vacation time. Finally when the strike ended in January I was ready to go and nothing was going to get in my way.

So I failed the first test.

The tester had to grab the wheel since I wasn’t paying attention at a red light. Instant fail but the guy giving the test said that otherwise my driving was excellent and if it weren’t for that one incident then he would have surely passed me. I re-booked as soon as possible and got even more practice in. Now that I knew what my mistake was I could be better prepared for the next test.

Which I failed.

This time it was just nerves. I kept trying to not fuck up but all that did was make me fuck up more. The guy just said I made too many mistakes and seemed like I was drifting off(which I was). Once again I had to pay $40 and book another test. This time I only had to wait ten days for another appointment and since it was early in the morning I didn’t have to take the day off work.

And yes in case you didn’t already figure it out I failed for the third time.

I didn’t give the right of way to someone and that equals failure. At this point it almost feels like the universe is telling me that I shouldn’t be on the road. Though I haven’t given up yet I doubt my sanity or my wallet can take much more than this. I have something booked at the end of this month and if I can’t get it this time I’m thinking of just bringing some bribe money and see if I can pay off one of these guys. This has been way too much stress for something that should have been finished when I was 18.

Nothing to do really but sit back and laugh at dogs.




Problems I’ve Noticed With The World Since 3:30

  • It’s almost impossible to get a decent soda that doesn’t have sugar in it from any place that isn’t either a large convenience store or a grocery store.
  • There aren’t enough shorts.
  • People using action as a verb has become totally acceptable and annoying.
  • I need new shoes.
  • Kristen Bell has still not contacted me after I’ve mentioned her on this site about 12 times. This leads me to believe that she hates common people and wouldn’t piss on me to stop a fire that I started just to get some attention.
  • Not enough people pay attention to what I say.
  • April Fool’s day brings out the lamest shit you will ever see on the internet. None of you are funny especially myself.
  • More attention should be paid to the wind.