Thursday, January 31, 2008

Help me....



Is there anyone inside this damn box? I'm not sure how much longer Kris is going to be away, but I know he talks to people on this magic box, so I'm trying to see if anyone is listening. You have to send help immedietly. I'm Kris's grandpappy and I need to get out of here. He's had me trapped for a couple of months, and he doesn't like to feed me. Keeps saying something about wanting me to change my will but I don't know what he's talking about. He drained my dry years ago. He already has it all, and its never enough! I don't know what to do. He refuses to change my diapers, and pays hookers to put in my catheder. But they have penises! I've never heard of such a thing. I'm 95 years old and just want to enjoy my final months without worrying about getting hit for talking out of turn. Is that too much to ask?

So you have to send help. Send it here now. Only problem is that I don't know where I am. I think there is a tree outside, but maybe not. He blindfolded me when he brought me here. Told me he was taking me to a surprise party. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure he's my grandson. He told me he was, but I'm kind of senile. Are you senile if you know you're senile? Now I'm confused.


Grandpa?! Open this door

Oh dammit. He's home already. I put a chair in front of the door, but he's trying to break it down. don't want to spend the night in the box again, do you? Open the door please. I brought home a trannie to change your catheder.

I don't know what a trannie is, but I bet it has a penis. Please help


Okay grandpa, what the fuck? What are you doing? Why are you typing what I'm saying? And those sound effects are just shitty. If you're going to try and report me, do it with some style for fucks sake. Okay play time is over. You know where your box is.

Pray for me. I don't want him to sic the Gremlins on me again.

Hi Heather :p

Monday, January 28, 2008

Call Me SuperKris

I have mad superpowers, yo. I bet you didn't know that about me. But I'm all about sharing and being honest in this, my outlet for soul unburdening and such. I hope you don't mind. Now before you call bullshit or shenanigans on my claim of magical powers, hear me out. Come back in time with me. Back to 15 minutes before now. Now as in my now, as I'm writing this, not your now as in whenever you're reading this which may be a year from my now. Got that? No one ever said time travel was easy.

So let me paint you a picture. Sounds of Black Francis wafted out of my speakers as I rapidly wrote on my computer. And when I say wrote, I mean I was typing. I wasn't drawing all over my monitor with crayons like some crazy person. Now try and get that image out of your head. I was writing about Gremlins, and enjoying myself. The music was great, I was comfortable, and the grape slurpee was mighty tasty. But suddenly I was startled away from my screen by a very unmusical ringing. I would rather listen to Black Francis right now, but it might be important. I reached over and turned the volume all of the way down, so that I could answer the phone.

Kris: Hello

Random Telemarketer: Hello sir. I am calling to see if I can interest you in...

Kris: No thanks

R.T.: But sir, I think that if you go with...

Kris: No, I'm good. Won't be needing any of that

R.T.: But once you've heard....

Kris: Okay, I can see you're not getting this. So I'm going to make it easier for you. There are three things that interest me right now. If your thing is one of these things, let's talk. If not, then no sell. Here it is. Are you ready?

R.T.: Yes sir, but...

Kris: Number one: another grape slurpee, Number two: Sing me a Black Francis song, Number three: talk to me about Gremlins. What do you say? Anything?

R.T.: *click*

Is it me, or do telemarketers just never want to talk about Gremlins? So that was 25 seconds that I wasn't getting back. I reached over to turn my speakers up, but was met only with silence. I cranked it right up and was promptly blasted with a fuck of a lot of noise as a new song started. "Jesus" I thought as I turned the music back down to a listenable level "I turned it up at the exact same moment the songs changed. That's weird" It is kind of weird, but coincidences happen, and I'm sure that's not the first time in the history of the world someone has done that. So I shrugged it off and delved back into the task at hand. I very quickly forgot about the last call as the sweet sounds floated back over me. Damn I love me some Black Francis.

As with most good things, this came to an end rather quickly, as my music bubble was once again shattered by the ringing of the phone. I silently vowed that if this was another telemarketer, I would pretend I was a phone sex operator. Don't ask me why, but it seemed like a good idea at the time. I once again turned down the music, picked up the phone, and thankfully it was not a telemarketer. It was a good call this time, but I have to keep somethings secret. Jeez, I'm telling you about my superpowers, what more do you want?

I hung up the phone, reached over and turned the volume up. Silence. So I can be kind of stupid at moments. This was one of those. Not remembering what happened only 5 minutes earlier, I cranked the volume right up again, thinking, I don't know, maybe the volume knob will turn the music on. Once again I was blasted in the face with 1000 decibels of rock music. I swatted at the speaker in a vain attempt to quieten the tunes before my landlord started banging on my door. Once I finally managed to get the volume down, it hit me. "I just turned the volume up at the exact moment the songs changed TWICE, in less than 10 minutes...."

In my world, this can mean only one thing. That's right....wait for it... SUPERPOWERS!. I have the power to spontaneously start a CD from the beginning of a song, without having to hit the skip button. Do you realize how much time this will save me? I pity all of you without superpowers. I'll try not to let this new power corrupt me, but its not going to be easy. I'm easily corruptible.

I Have Gremlin Envy...

1984 was a magical year full of highs and lows. Although I guess every year is full of highs and lows, so that's kind of redundant. Let's start over.

1984 was a year like any other, but a year nonetheless. I don't think there is any disputing that. I was a wee lad of only 3 years and as such had only just started smoking. I could also say "motherfucker" like a champ. I was a precocious little guy. You can't argue with the fact that it is hilarious to hear a toddler drop an F bomb. As long as it is not my kids. But this post is to sing the merits of 1984 (and one event in particular, but we'll get to that later), not to expound on the joys of juvenile cursing. So without further ado, let's see what happened in 1984....

1. The first Apple Macintosh goes on sale! A landmark event for nerds everywhere. I think this may even be tantamount to Jesus's second coming, for the computer set.

2. Australians finally get Medicare. Let me get this straight. An island that used to be a prison colony can get Medicare, but the USA still likes to allow insurance companies to decide who lives and who dies? Something seems odd about that.

3. The first MTV video music awards are held! I miss the days when MTV used to show music videos.

4. Ronald Reagan defeats Walter Mondale in the US Presidential election. Actually, mercilessly destroyed Walter Mondale is probably more apt.

5. Crack is introduced to Los Angeles. I know we all remember this, right?

6. Michael Jackson sets his hair on fire while filming a Pepsi ad. They really should have used this footage. Can you imagine that commercial!?!? Michael Jackson moonwalking across a stage while his head is fully engulfed in flames. Cue the huge flashing Pepsi logo. That's advertising gold right there.

But the event that would forever change the world happened on June 8. This is a day that rightfully should be expressed as an international holiday, where we would gather around the fireplace, mug of hot cocoa firmly in hand, and regale our loved ones with stories of how we first experienced this "event". And of course it would be a mandatory paid holiday, because we don't get nearly enough of those. So as if you haven't guessed by now, the event that I am referring to is the release of the greatest movie ever made in the history of the universe. GREMLINS! And if you think I am over exaggerating, you're wrong. This was proven and decided in the late 90's at a press conference in Zurich. Or maybe I just dreamed that. Is it weird that I dream about press conferences proclaiming Gremlins as the greatest movie ever? No, I don't think so either.

So let's delve a little deeper into the film, as a refresher to those of you that haven't experienced the magic in 20 years or so. Do I need to state the obvious and say "Spoiler Warnings" for a film that is 24 years old? If you haven't seen this movie, go and kill yourself now, because you haven't really lived anyway. I'll wait....

Our story begins in the quaint little town of Kingston Falls. Here we meet Randall Peltzer, who by all accounts, is a very shitty inventor. It is these shitty inventions though, that lead him to New York where he meets Mr. Wing. Mr. Wing is your typical Chinese movie stereotype. Full of wisdom and ominous as all hell. Like all other Chinese characters in the history of films he owns an antique shop where no one actually buys anything. Randall is looking for a present for Billy, his loving son, when he happens upon Mr. Wing's ancient dusty shop. Here he finds the perfect gift. A Mogwai. A cute little critter that talks in a voice which is guaranteed to make any woman instantly melt and want to hug and cuddle him. Randall offers Mr. Wing 200 bucks for said mogwai, only to have his generous offer rebuked. What up wit dat, Wing? I understand that Mogwais come with lots of responsibility, but why are you displaying the little fucker if you don't intend to sell him? I guess if Mr. Wing had kept him locked up in the storage room though, we wouldn't have much of a movie, so I digress.

Wing's grandson knows better though. He knows that his grandfather needs that $200, due to the fact that he hasn't made a sale over a hundred years. And before you can say "Ramen noodles", Randall and Mini Wing are making a shady back alley deal for the Mogwai, and the town of Kingston Falls will never be the same. Mini Wing does take the time to dictate three nonsensical rules to keeping a Mogwai.

1. Do not expose it to sunlight. Apparently, Mogwais are part of the vampire family.
2. Do not get it wet. Which always made me think: Mogwais must smell like ass.
3. Do not feed it after midnight. I wonder if they take daylight savings time into account?

Now we meet Billy, who illogically, gets to fuck Phoebe Cates. Little gremlin monsters, that I can believe. But Billy slamming Phoebe Cates, no sir. My suspension of disbelief does not travel that far. Billy means well, but he is kind of an idiot, and it shows. Three little rules to follow, and he can't even get that right. Before you know it, Gizmo (the mogwai) gets water splashed on him, and goes completely spastic. Little clumps of fur start popping off of his back (Gizmo's, not Billy's although that would have been a cool plot twist) and grow into new mogwais. But these Mogwais are decidedly more sinister, and soon trick Billy into feeding them after midnight. Remember, I said Billy isn't too bright. How the fuck do you let a bunch of little stuffed animals trick you, Billy? Really.

And that, my friends, is when the shit really hits the fan. Fried chicken + cute mogwai = evil, scaly, gremlins from hell. And they didn't hold back. These guys weren't just here to cause a little unpleasantness. They were actually killing motherfuckers. And forcing Phoebe Cates to serve them liquor. And watching Snow White and the Seven Dwarves! I mean, how evil can you get?

From there, things get worse and worse for the town of Kingston Falls, as the gremlins easily take over and cause all sorts of mayhem and destruction. This is where the movie really shines in my opinion. And not only because I like to see small towns destroyed, although that is pretty great. The evil gremlins are hilarious and every time I see it, I root for them. Sadly, it always ends the same way. The gremlins are destroyed and Billy saves the day. I hate happy endings for the sake of happy endings.

Not so fast! Mr. Wing shows up (conveniently AFTER the gremlins have already been destroyed) and snatches Billy's new best friend Gizmo, effectively shattering our happy ending. And then to add insult to injury, he slams the entire western civilization, by saying we're not ready to handle the responsibility of raising a Mogwai. Well maybe not Billy, but lets not lump all of us into that category of douchebaggery. Stereotyping is wrong Mr. Wing. I thought you were better than that.

So one of the things that I love most about this movie is the way people have remembered it over the years. 9 out of 10 people will happily remember this movie as "the one with the cute little teddy bear that drives a little toy car". While that description fits to a point, it is also a movie about sadistic demented monsters who will go out of their way to fuck your shit up. The movie is actually quite a bit darker than a lot of people tend to remember it, and I love that about it. Remember this speech from Phoebe Cates' character?

"The worst thing that ever happened to me was on Christmas. Oh, God. It was so horrible. It was Christmas Eve. I was 9 years old. Me and Mom were decorating the tree, waiting for Dad to come home from work. A couple hours went by. Dad wasn't home. So Mom called the office. No answer. Christmas Day came and went, and still nothing. So the police began a search. Four or five days went by. Neither one of us could eat or sleep. Everything was falling apart. It was snowing outside. The house was freezing, so I went to try to light up the fire. That's when I noticed the smell. The firemen came and broke through the chimney top. And me and Mom were expecting them to pull out a dead cat or a bird. And instead they pulled out my father. He was dressed in a Santa Claus suit. He'd been climbing down the chimney... his arms loaded with presents. He was gonna surprise us. He slipped and broke his neck. He died instantly. And that's how I found out there was no Santa Claus."

Remember, this is a film that was marketed primarily towards kids. Not only do they reveal the truth about Santa Claus, they do it in an anecdote involving the grisly death of a loved one. You're a genius Joe Dante. Except for Looney Tunes: Back in Action. What the fuck was that about, Joe?

So when was the last time you watched Gremlins? If it has been longer than 2 years, you need to rectify that immediately. I tried to do that last week, and realized that some asshole had stolen my copy. I don't know when, but I do know that this movie was definitely in my collection. And now it is not. And I am sad. You know what this means, right?


But not this post, because I've already wasted enough of your time today. Stay tuned....

Thursday, January 24, 2008

A Lesson in Proper use of the English Language

No time to write a real entry today, so I thought I would give you something to stare at instead. This video sums up my feelings to a "T". So by watching it, you can feel a little closer to me! That way we're all winners. I'm not sure how, but that sentence needed closure.

Enjoy, and oh yeah, probably not safe for work....Or if you have small children hanging around your computer right now.

Monday, January 21, 2008


So here I am, sitting at home, trying my absolute best to ignore this insatiable craving I'm getting deep down in the pit of my stomach. I've tried yelling at my stomach, punching it, calling it names and even reverse psychology, but nothing seems to work. Sometimes it wants what it wants. Now usually I'm not one to argue with my body's cravings. You see, the last thing I want is to make my body angry, lest it subject me to all sorts of unpleasantness. My body is kind of an asshole like that, and it won't hesitate to make me suffer if I don't heed its call. But tonight is different. Tonight my body is craving Chicken McNuggets from McDonalds, and there is no way in hell I am going through fast food purgatory again so soon (see last post). If I have to enter a fast food joint again so soon after the last encounter, I WILL kill somebody. And how will I unload all of this bullshit from my head if I am rotting away in a prison cell with no Internet access? No, no, no, that just won't do. As you can see, I am in a tough position. Do I ignore my body, and anger it to the point where it decides to spontaneously grow a tumor? Or do I give in, possibly commit murder, and spend the next 25 years banging on my cells bars and screaming "IT WASN'T ME DAMMIT. IT WAS THE STOMACH I TELLS YA!!"?

Luckily, this problem does have a solution, and like most of life's problems the solution is EBAY! Thanks to the miracle of 1993 science I can enjoy Chicken McNuggets without the need for murder! I bet you didn't think that was possible, but that's what I'm here for. To entertain and educate. Call it educainment. Or don't. Whatever.

Okay, so calling them Chicken McNuggets may be a wee bit generous, but work with me here! I'm trying to prove a point. There isn't really any chicken involved, but I think you'll agree that this is a good thing. Considering it has been sitting on a shelf somewhere for the last 15 years, chicken would be a very bad idea. But sacrifices must be made and we continue....

Here is our majestic creature in its natural state (i.e. washed and assembled....yes I washed it. I may be stupid, but I'm not a dumbass). Oh the anticipation! Within a few minutes I would either be completely satisfied, or vomiting uncontrollably. It's like Russian Roulette with old toys. Fun! Come along while we explore the task of preparing homemade McNuggets. We'll laugh, we'll cry, we may even learn something.....about ourselves....oooooooooooo. Overly dramatic you may think? You're probably right, but whatever. I'm enjoying myself.

The first step is to prepare our coating mixture. Using the included scoop, pour a small amount of "crisped rice cereal" into the hopper. Then simply grind the cereal into powder by cranking the purple handle. I thought about using Rice Krispies, but I'm no sellout. I will not give in to the pressure of product placement in blogs. At least not for free....

Step two is to fill the dipping receptacle with honey mixture (half honey and half water). Am I the only one who thinks its gross that honey is essentially insect regurgicant? I mean think about it! Bees suck up the nectar, chew it and digest it for awhile, and then spit it into the combs......that's fucking gross! I think we should all be a little more wary of what we're spreading on our toast. I'm just saying.

Step three! Press the shaper firmly into a slice of bread to load and insert into the machine. The instructions stipulated that I use Wonder Bread, and even went so far as to supply me with a coupon for 55 cents off the purchase of two loaves. Ofcourse the coupon expired in 1994, so any incentive to follow the directions was lost. I substituted my favorite brand and never looked back.

Now we get to magic time. In goes 3 misshapen lumps of white the handle and poof!

Out comes.....3 slightly formed lumps of white bread.....Can you believe it? If technology this spectacular was available way back in 1993, surely we can't be too far off from the flying car, can we? I want my flying car dammit.

Step four tells us to gently dunk the "nugget" into the insect regurgicant. Make sure you allow the excess bee vomit to drip off. Because a little bit is okay. Then transfer it to the crushed cereal and crank the handle once again to coat thoroughly. Don't half ass it either. It's important to take pride in your work.

And TA DA!

You very own homemade chicken mcnugget. And think, it only cost the equivalent of about 100 real nuggets. Spectacular. And now onto Step 5.

CONSUME! It all came down to this. My stomach wasn't going to take anymore. It had been screaming at me for nuggets for the last hour or so, and was at its limit. Any more hesitation would be met with angry gurgles of defiance, and that's just not pleasant. I slowly raised the "nugget" to my lips, murmured the lord's prayer and tossed caution to the wind. I chewed slowly at first, taking in all of the flavors that only 3 ingredients can provide. It was then that I came to a realization.

It's like there's a party in my mouth, and everyone's invited. The only problem is that everyone is also throwing up. And I'm not 100% sure, but I think a homeless guy just shit on my couch. Bleghghghghgh!!!!. I spit half chewed "nugget" all over my shiny new McNugget maker. Take that, you evil piece of licenced merchandise. I don't understand how its possible for such seemingly harmless ingredients to come together and form the evil nugget of fucking grossest thing ever (patent pending). It must be the honey. If you take a moral away from this, it is DON'T TRUST THE HONEY.

So now my stomach is angrier than ever, I have spit up ball of evil all over my Nugget maker, and I'm out like 20 bucks from Ebay. Fuck it, I'm going to McDonalds. I'll write you from prison.

Added's how you can make your own edible ball of evil in your very own home. You don't need no fancy McDonalds Nugget maker. Here's what you do:

1. Take a piece of bread and smoosh it all up in your bare hands, until you're left with a hand sweat moist ball of yeasty bread-like substance.

2. Pour honey all over. To ensure you don't miss any spots, pour honey everywhere. You're only doing it right if you make a big mess.

3. Now crush up some rice cereal in your hands and throw it at the ball. Make sure some sticks.

4. Shove the whole mess in your mouth and eat it.

It's just that easy! Sounds tasty, no?

Bon Apetit! (mwah)

Friday, January 18, 2008

Kris Vs. Burger King

Let me start with a disclaimer that no Burger King employees were harmed in the making of this blog entry, although there probably should have been. I also want to say that I harbour no disrespect for those of you that currently hold a McJob. It's an admirable profession, and somebody has to do it. Hey, wipe that smirk off your face. Yeah, I'm talking to you.

I have a long standing love hate relationship with fast food. On the CON side, you have the piss poor quality, the long term health ramifications and the oh so cheerful, please god fucking kill me now, employees. On the PRO side, there's nothing quite like a greasy burger when you have a nasty case of the munchies, or are just to lazy to fire up the stove. They also contain the holy grail of any eating establishment when you're a parent. The sole reason why its okay to let your kids out of their cages for the night and enjoy a meal you didn't have to cook yourself. I am of course speaking of the almighty PLAYLAND. This is a magical place where mothers and fathers can let their kids roam free, untethered, and without a care in the world. A place where a parent can for once enjoy a quiet, peaceful meal, without ever having to utter the phrases "Stop punching your sister in the face" or the classic "If you stick one more carrot up your nose, I swear to god...". You can see the dilemma I face in order to preserve my sanity.

So as much as I hate it, some days just call for that double bacon McFucking Fat meal. And don't forget my supersize, bitches. Tonight was one of those nights. I should also prerequisite this by telling you that I myself once held a fast food job. Between the ages of 13 and 15, I worked at a McDonalds. Because of this unique experience, I learned to hate mankind relentlessly, and only now, 12 years later, am I starting to see that the human race isn't really that bad after all. Except for mouth breathers. They can burn in hell. The point of all this exposition is that I know first hand the shit these poor bastards have to put up with. Working for slave wages, trying to please asshole customers that just can't be pleased. It is not a fun job. So I empathize with them, and always try to be as nice as humanly possible. Even though they always seem to screw up, 99% of the time I will smile graciously and thank them for a job well done, even if said job has been done piss poor. But I am only human, and as such get the urge to kill every now and then. This was one of those times.

I strolled happily into my local Burger King, not anticipating the frustration to come, although I should have seen it coming. The restaurant was completely empty, which gave me a false sense of hope. Surely if they weren't crazy busy, they could get my order right for once. Oh how stupid I am. I walked up to the customer service specialist, and although I don't carry a tape recorder with me for proof, our conversation went something like this. For my own amusement I will refer to the cashier from here on out as Ms. Cuntly. And just to mix things up a bit, I'll be Mr. Awesome.

Ms. Cuntly: Hi there, Welcome to Burger King. What can I get you tonight?

She managed to get this first sentence out without drooling all over herself, I noticed.

Mr. Awesome: Hi. I would like a King Supreme and a Spicy chicken sandwich please. But just the burgers, I don't want any fries or drink or anything.

It's rare that I order fries and drinks at fast food joints. I'm not sure why, but then I guess it doesn't really matter.

Ms. Cuntly: You would like hamburger?
Mr. Awesome: Um, no. I would like a King Supreme and a Spicy chicken. Burgers only, please and thank you.
Ms. Cuntly: What number please?
Mr. Awesome: Huh? I don't think we need to bring numbers into this. Just a King Supreme and a Spicy Chicken, please.
Ms. Cuntly: Okay okay. A hamburger and a chicken sandwich. Would you like anything else tonight?
Mr. Awesome: Wait wait wait. Let's back up for just a second. Let's do this one at a time. First, I would like a King Supreme. Punch that in, I'll wait, and then I'll tell you what else I want.
Ms. Cuntly: What number please?

It was at this time that I started to hear the Twilight Zone music in my head.

Mr. Awesome: There is no number. I don't want a combo or a value meal or whatever. Just the burger.

A look of realization slowly dawned on her face and I once again started to get my hopes up.

Mr. Awesome: Right on Ms. Cuntly, just one more item and we can wrap this up!
Ms. Cuntly: What did you just call me?
Mr. Awesome: That's not important right now. We're almost there. Now you just need to punch in a Spicy Chicken Sandwich.

She finished punching in the order and announced my total.

Ms. Cuntly: That will be $4.85 please

Now I'm not one to turn down a deal, but I knew immediately that this total was far lower than it should have been. And based on our conversation so far, I had a feeling that I was not going to get what I had ordered if we continued down this road.

Mr. Awesome: I'm sorry, but I really think the total should be higher than that. Can you read my order back to me?
Ms. Cuntly: Sure thing. You would like a hamburger and a spicy chicken sandwich.

The only thing that stopped me from jumping over the counter and making her my bitch at that moment was realizing that she got half the order right. We were making progress, and I had come to far to turn back now, or end up in jail on assault charges. Although I'm fairly sure I could have gotten off with a temporary insanity plea.

Mr. Awesome: No, no, no, no, no, no. I don't want a hamburger, I want a KING SUPREME. It's like a hamburger, but it has special sauce and lettuce on it.
Ms. Cuntly: Oh, you want a KING Supreme.

As if the inflection of the word King suddenly made everything make sense in her twisted little mind. She made the correction and announced my new total. It sounded right, but at this point I just wanted to start throwing my money at her in a feeble attempt to get the hell out the door with my dinner safely in tow. I moved along to the end of the counter to await the completion of my order, quietly thanking Jesus, Mohammad and Buddha for allowing me to survive this ordeal. Before I knew it, Ms. Cuntly was handing me my greasy sack of food complete with a well meaning smile. However, her other hand held a drink.

Mr. Awesome: What's this?
Ms. Cuntly: Your drink sir.

Okay, so I didn't really react like that, but I was sure as hell thinking it. My actual answer was probably something far less assholeish.

Mr. Awesome: Oh I didn't order a drink. All I wanted was the burgers thanks.

I wonder if the throbbing vein in my head gave away how pissed I actually was. If it did, she didn't seem to care. She slowly shuffled over to her cash register and started to push random buttons (or so it looked from where I was standing). She was trying to figure out how to refund the amounts so that we could start this whole process over from scratch. Well fuck that. We're not going there. I swooped (swept?, no, swooped) into action.

Mr. Awesome: You know what, I don't care if I overpaid. It's really okay. Please just give me my burgers and I'll leave peacefully. No one has to get hurt.

She shrugged her shoulders and handed me the greasy sack. I can't be sure, but I swear I heard a chorus of Hallelujah erupt from behind me as the bag touched my hand. I clutched it to my chest and ran like hell for the door.

Once I was safely in my apartment I opened the bag to enjoy my hard fought dinner. Inside was a regular hamburger and a spicy chicken sandwich.


I really can't make this shit up people.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Just a Quickie

I just wanted to quickly thank (based out of Toulouse, France) for finding my site via a google search of "fuck in public bus". I do apologize if the content wasn't quite what you were hoping for.

Is it wrong that I take some perverse pleasure in that? Awesome.

Start Rant

So I was using my favorite mode of transportation this evening (grrrrr), when I seen something that made me do a classic double take. I almost felt like taking a sip of my tasty beverage so that I could really make it a moment with a spit take. But I digress...

This (very white) guy gets on the bus sporting the usual array of faux gangsta bullshit. To top it all off, he was sporting what looked like a very new hat, the peak straight as straight can be, and still with the shiny size sticker firmly affixed. Now I'm not going to judge a man on how straight his peak is. That's purely a style choice. But the sticker? What the fuck. There is no question mark needed at the end of that. Just, what the fuck. The sticker is there to tell you what size the hat is, and is really intended to come off after the transaction is complete. It is definitely not an accessory. I mean, do you keep the tags on your ten sizes too big Levis after you securely fasten them around the lower part of your ass cheeks? I don't think so. So why the sticker? One of life's great mysteries I suppose.

Fuck, I think my "old" is showing. I've got to run. There's some kids playing on my lawn and I should really go and shake my fist at them menacingly.

End Rant.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Degenerate Act = Beautiful Outcome

So I thought I would follow up my last post about the single thing I hate most in this world, with this, a post about the two things I love the most. Their names are Kylie and Jared, and they are the single greatest accomplishment in my life. I apologize in advance as to the mushiness of this post, but sometimes it just needs to be said. Here are just a few of the reasons why my kids are better than yours.

1. To them, I am the funniest motherfucker on the planet. Chris Rock? Dane Cook? They've got nothing on me in my kid's eyes. Here's an example of the type of humor that works on my kids:
Daddy: "Hey Jared"
Jared: "What?"
Daddy: "Fart"
At which point he breaks into uncontrollable laughter that can last anywhere from 5 minutes to half an hour. I shit you not. Then a few hours later, I'll hear him giggle to himself. When I ask what he's laughing at he replies "You said Fart". Priceless.

2. My daughter is a maniacal genius well beyond her years. She will be 5 next month, yet clearly operates at evil mastermind levels. Whenever she talks to an adult, she uses this really sappy sweet voice that is just guaranteed to melt the heart of anyone outside of Hitler. Well, maybe even Hitler on a good day. I swear she is one step away from pronouncing her "L's" as "W's" as in "I wuv you daddy". I am absolutely powerless against this type of psychological warfare. But yet, when you catch her talking to her older brother, and she doesn't know you are listening, she turns into fucking Patton. Her voice turns steely and authoritative and you know absolutely that this is not a 4 year old to fuck around with. It is her way or the highway, and she will not take no for an answer. She owns her brother in these moments. Imagine if Puss in Boots from Shrek was a 4 year old girl. There you go.

3. My son loves to make you think he's a cold hearted bastard, but he's really one of the sweetest 7 year olds I've ever seen. He's completely the opposite of his sister in this way. If he knows you are watching, he will go out of his way to antagonize her. She could be walking past where he's sitting and out of nowhere, for no reason at all, he will stick his foot out and trip her, sending her crashing to the ground in a heap. I've seen her hug him only to have him respond with a sharp SMACK to the back of her head. It doesn't matter that he knows he will be punished. He gets off on that. It's as if this little 7 year old is saying: "What have you got old man? I'm a hard mothafucka and I can take it". But on the flip side, when he doesn't know you're watching, I've seen him help his sister up after she's fallen, and softly kiss the boo boo on her knee. I've seen him lovingly do up all of the buttons on her jacket because in his words "You have to dress up really warm Kylie, because I don't want you to get sick". AWWWWWWWWW.

4. I am the smartest man in the world to them and their leading authority on everything. It doesn't matter what subject we are talking about, Daddy must know the answer. I could tell them anything, and they accept it wholeheartedly and without question. This is a sacred trust that I would never abuse (well, almost never. I am human after all).

5. They have better taste in music than any human rightfully should at this age. You haven't lived until you've heard a 4 year old and a 7 year old argue over whether to listen to Green Day or System of a Down. My little princess would listen to Led Zepplin over nursery rhymes any day of the week, and that's fucking awesome. Or hearing Jared sing along to Mr. Lonely, and getting EVERY word right. Brilliant.

That is just a very small sampling, but its all that I'll subject you to at this point in our relationship. Needless to say, no matter where life leads me from here, I can feel all warm and cozy in the fact that my life has meant something to someone, and no one can ever take that away from me. Unless they have a time machine, but let's not go there. And someday, in some distant future, I can look proudly at my son and daughter and beam "I'm glad you guys didn't end up inside a balled up tissue like so many of your unborn brothers and sisters".

Sorry about that, but I had to go out on a low note after all of that love expressed above.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Public Transportation oh how I hate thee....

Now don't get me wrong. I'm all for ecology and saving the environment and blah blah blah, but sometimes it just needs to be said. Fuck public transportation, fuck it up its stupid ass, exclamation point, period. Here is a quick laundry list of why public transportation sucks. Don't feel the need to agree if you don't want to. Just be accepting of the fact that you're wrong.

1. The sheer inability to EVER keep a schedule. Especially on those really cold, testicle shriveling days. This is compounded by the fact that, as a beautiful girl told me recently, I live in the "boondocks" of Winnipeg. While the positive side of living in no man's land is that I don't have to worry about being stabbed on my way home, I do have to suffer on an outdoor bench while I wait for the bus in minus a million degree temperatures. No cushy indoor bus shelters for me.

2. People who ride the bus are a paranoid, skittish lot. Maybe its my small town upbringing showing, but I like to make friends wherever I go. Striking up a friendly conversation with a complete stranger can be a great way to meet new people and just pass along a smile. But don't you fucking dare try this on a city bus. You will be immediately branded with all sorts of fun titles including, but not limited to: pedophile, weirdo, creep, or the ever popular fucktard. ( a quick side note: spell check tried to correct fucktard with "fuckhead". Awesome. ) And don't even think about looking at an old lady with a friendly smile. She will clutch her purse tight and try and explode your head with mind bullets. And everyone knows that mind bullets are far more potent once you reach your twilight years. That's just common knowledge.

3. In this day and age, some people still haven't learned the fine art of bathing. Are people that really stink, just not able to detect the fact that they smell like moldy ass cocktail? Yep, there's nothing I like better after a long day at work than getting wedged in between two smelly motherfuckers for a 20 minute bus ride. Good times.

4. Bus drivers seem to have perfected the art of "stopping short". They must get some kind of sick thrill out of watching their passengers get tossed around the bus like commuting rag dolls. And I usually end up buried deep in the aforementioned smelly motherfucker's armpit. Tasty. I mean really! How many fucking times do you drive this route in a day? Like 200? Don't you know where the stops are by now? Nope, let's SLAM on the brakes at the last second.

I think I need to lighten the mood a bit. There's a lot of anger in this post, so before we continue let it be know that I love to color.

Now you know that about me. And we can all feel a little bit closer.
Does anyone out there (of my 5 or so readers) have any public transportation horror stories? Let's hear them.
Coming soon: a much less bitter post. Stay tuned.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

The Fountain of Youth

So instead of just jumping right into this with random pictures and weirdness, I figured I would start today's little musings with some exposition. Because knowledge is power. Alright, follow me....

I don't know what it is lately, but I've been feeling a little old. Maybe its that my birthday just came and went, and with it, my mid twenties. That's right folks, I am now closer to 30 than I am to 20. Most people would accept this as an eventuality, and just succumb to father time. Well not this guy. Fuck Father Time. Who's he to tell me what to do really? But what can I do, just stop celebrating birthdays? That won't do for 2 reasons:

1. I am a material little bitch and I like presents.

2. Just because I refuse to accept them, doesn't mean they aren't happening. Kind of like those people that stay on the 14th floor of a hotel. They know what floor they're really on.

So the answer is really quite obvious if you eliminate the other options. I must find......(drumroll)..... THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH!!!!!!

"Oh you clever little bastard" I smugly muttered to myself. In this day and age, finding the fountain of youth will be a snap. In ancient times, people would have to travel great distances in order to consult a wise man for the answers to their questions. These wise men were usually situated in appropriately inconvenient locations, such as the tops of mountains. But in the grand sparkly future, our wise men are much easier to access. You just have to know where to look.

Oh wise Wikipedia.......tell me all that you know about the fountain of youth. My computer is strangely silent. Shit, I never got around to installing that voice recognition software. Better just type this in.....

Okay here we are. Wikipedia has this to say about the fountain of youth:

The Fountain of Youth is a legendary spring that reputedly restores the youth of anyone who drinks of its waters. Florida is said to be its location, and stories of the fountain are some of the most persistent stories associated with the state.

Well shit. I can't go to Florida tonight. I have to work tomorrow! Dammit. And my plan seemed so foolproof. I guess I'll just have to rely on the next best source. EBAY!

Ebay is my new current addiction. There is just way too much cool shit on there to possibly resist. And there's nothing better for making you feel young again than buying a bunch of crap that you used to play with 20 years ago. Today we have two examples of this.

1. DINOSAURS ATTACK! Trading cards!!!!!

For the uninitiated, Dinosaurs Attack cards were released in 1988. It was a collectible card set containing 55 cards and 11 stickers. For a quarter you got 5 cards, 1 sticker and a piece of gum. You can't buy anything cool for a quarter these days. I remember collecting these cards back in 1988, when I was but 7 years old. This is kind of fucked up considering the content of the cards (which you will see soon). It just goes to show you that we are currently raising our children to be a society of weak willed little sissy men. What was considered appropriate back then is considered horribly inappropriate these days. Look at me, I turned out okay. I mean, I've only killed a few people, and I assure you it was just for profit. Isn't the future supposed to bring MORE liberal attitudes, not less. I guess not. But in the end, I'm really just a hypocrite, because there's no way in hell I would let my 7 year old son buy these cards. Here, take a peek:

Nice, eh? Just what any 7 year old should be collecting. Shit, no wonder I used to have nightmares. And what about the one titled "Time to Die..."? Isn't that just horrific? I mean, isn't the gruesome explicit artwork enough? Nope, they had to really fuck with kid's heads and include something guaranteed to scar you for life. A photo of someone burning to death at the hands of dinosaur Satan. And the tag line: "Helen, I'll love you always..." Just brilliant. But even though they scared the crap out of me, I loved them so much. Which is why I have tracked some down 20 years later. And for the low price of just 5 bucks plus shipping, I got an entire unopened box of packs!!!!!!

I did open a few packs, and I may open more yet, to try and get a complete set of opened cards, but I will definitely be keeping as many closed packs as I can. It looks so pretty on display. And in answer to your burning question, yes, I did try the 20 year old gum, and no, I'll never be the same again. And that's all we'll say about that.

2. VENOM - 15 year old unopened action figure!!!

While I never owned this particular figure while I was growing up, I did own a few from the same line. I'm definitely going to try and track down some more, but this will do for now. I can honestly tell you that not opening this sucker up has been the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I argue with myself on a daily basis as to whether I should or not. Something about owning a toy that's 15 years old and has never been opened is strangely appealing to me, but if I opened him up, I could make some sweet stop motion animation in which to post to YouTube. Life is hard I tells ya. For the time being, Venom is safe in his protective package, but I won't promise he'll be there forever. Stay tuned. Now check out the back of the package:

It seems that Venom squirts "Alien Liquid" at this enemies. While this is certainly a cool action feature for a toy, I can't remember Venom ever giving his enemies golden showers in the comics. Maybe I missed that issue.

So now I don't feel quite so old. I have successfully relived a part of my youth and no one got hurt in the process. Now if I can just resist the urge to open and fondle Venom.....