Would You Like a Lil' Diabetes With That?...

I don't really have a "sweet tooth" to speak of and if pressed for my opinion on snacks I always tend to stick to the "savory" side of the fatty fat fat spectrum. One simple reason for this is that sugar kicks my teeth's ass. Assuming my teeth has ass, which I like to think they do. I don't have black mouth of death cavities or anything, my teeth just don't appreciate sugar. Sometimes, however, I can't help myself. Such was the case yesterday when I stumbled across the coolest candy store ever to grace the planet earth. Or at least that I've seen. It was called Sugar Mountain, and it was glorious.

Sunday was spent with Mini Kris 1 and 2, exploring The Forks. If you ever get the chance to visit Winnipeg, The Forks is a MUST see. Set aside at least half a day as well, because there is alot to accomplish while you're there. Check out http://www.theforks.com/ to really see what its all about, because frankly, I'm here to talk about SUGAR, not be your tour guide to blah blah blah.

Back on point: We were strolling along, enjoying a gorgeous day, when Mini Kris 1 spotted a couple of train cars just planted in the middle of our prime strolling path. His line of sight bounced back and forth from the ground to the train car itself for a minute before I realized where his confusion stemmed from. There were no tracks anywhere to be seen. I could picture his little mind at work, puzzling over how the fuck these train cars arrived at this place, at this time. It made no sense, but Mini Kris 1 is a boy who loves his trains, and he is never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Clearly the situation called for further investigation. Mini Kris 2 came along as well, because she is only 5 after all and I'm not going to just leave her alone on the side of the road while we check out this oddity. What the fuck, right?

We went around to the other side and were greeted with a very happy looking sign proclaiming this particular train car "SUGAR MOUNTAIN". A fucking candy store......located inside two very retro looking train cars......called Sugar Mountain. Glory be to god in the highest. Or Moses or Mohammad or The Devil if that's how you roll. You get the point.

I love candy stores, which is strange, because as you now know, I don't like candy. If you've read this site more than once though, you know that I like weird shit and cool packaging. And an entire store devoted solely to candy is bound to have some cool shit that I haven't seen before. Or at least some stuff that I can't just pick up from the 7-11 down the street.

Remember Pic-a-pop? I have no idea how far reaching Pic-a-Pop was back in the 80s, so you may not know what the fuck I'm talking about, but they had it. And it was good. They also had about 5000 different types of candy to choose from. Big League Chew was there, and Red Vines graced us with an appearance. Candy Buttons made the scene, along with his good buddies Blackjack gum and Fizzes. In addition to all of the classic goodies, there was a ton of stuff I had never seen before. They had chocolate covered grasshoppers, 5 different types of Caramilk bars I never knew existed and energy drinks branded with Stewie from Family Guy. I think it was called Stewie's Domination Serum or something, but I can't be 100% sure. To be honest, there was way too many things going on to retain much of anything. I was like a kid in a....well a candy store I guess. Fuck, I hate being obvious.

I easily could have spent TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS there, but the Province of Manitoba demand that I feed Mini Kris 1 and 2 foods rich in vitamins and nutrients , and spending TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS on nothing but candy would have forced me to feed them nothing but dog food for the next couple of years. Sacrifices needed to be made, and we limited ourselves to one item each. The pic-a-pop from earlier doesn't count because it is a tasty tasty beverage, although I don't know why I feel the need to justify myself.

To my dismay the kids picked out some random crap devoid of any originality or cool, retro packaging. For a second I questioned their genetic lineage, before chalking it up to a simple fact. Candy is candy as far as young children are concerned. They are going to eat it, so it doesn't matter how cool the package is, as long as there is a pound of sugar crammed into every square inch of the winning confection. Understandable, but I mocked their lack of creativity anyway. How does that old parenting slogan go? Emasculate your young?

My pick, however, was much more enlightened. Well, maybe not, but I love surprises.

The almighty surprise bag!! What magical wonders does it hold. What mysterious secrets lie inside? I don't know about you, but I'm excited. Let's go in for a closer look....

We start with the classic Pixy Stix. Nothing says "I want to die at a young age" better than pure color treated sugar. My teeth started to hurt just holding this package.

Another classic, although very common item. I'm obligated to give it bonus points for being Cherry flavoured, but ultimately it is a fail. I could buy an entire bag of these just about anywhere I go. I even got one from the bank once. I don't need to rely on my Sugar Mountain surprise bag for a tootsie pop fix.

These were new to me. I don't know how retro they are, but the 25 cent price printed right on the box would lead me to believe they are not of this time. Companies don't seem to print prices right on the box anymore. I have no idea how they taste, but I think its safe to assume "grapey".

The Pepsi to Pop Rocks' Coke. Again, the gods have favoured me with a flavour in the Red section of the food pyramid (the tastiest section of all). But I must say....that is one fucked up looking guy on the package.

Good old Popeye brand candy cigarettes. That's right, I went there. These will always be candy cigarettes, and I don't care how fucking PC our society is today. Candy sticks my ass. Why are the tips still red!?!?!. Answer me that, Popeye.

Fun dip. Because sometimes colored sugar just isn't enough. You need more colored sugar (now in handy compressed form) to lick and stick it to. And is it just me, or is Wonka buying up all the candy brands? Everything seems to be Wonkafied these days.

I was almost at the end of my surprise bag, and starting to wish I had bought that five dollar classic Nintendo controller shaped tin of mints instead, when I reached in, and pulled out some pure 80s sex.

In card form.

Yes, god, fucking yes. Garbage Pail Kids cards from 1987. I used up alot of karma in this 10 seconds, so I fully expect the rest of the year to be absolutely shitty, just to balance things out. Take a closer look...

Beautiful

Captivating

Magical

He he he. Phil 'Er Up.

Okay, this one's fucking gross

I've been thinking about the Garbage Pail Kids movie alot lately (don't judge my thoughts) and a review of sorts is definitely in order once I finish with Masters of the Universe.

But my all time "want" in regards to useless 80s memorabilia? An unopened box of Garbage Pail Kids Crummy Candy and Cheap Toys. Does anyone remember these? The package was a little garbage bag, closed with a twist tie, and containing a tiny garbage pail kids figurine and assorted pieces of garbage shaped candy. Fucking impossible to find. Empty boxes go for more than a hundred bucks on EBay! If anyone can point me in the direction of this treasure, I will sign over my third born child to you. I'm going to keep my first and second born, because I've grown kind of fond of them over the years.

So that was my candy adventure. I'll definitely be going back (soon) so I'll let you know if I find anything else worth blabbing about. I think the chocolate covered crickets deserve a taste test, but we'll see. I'm kind of a girl about putting stuff in my mouth. Wow, that came out way wrong...

Forgive Me Blogger, For I Have Sinned...

Miss me? No? Jerk.

I'm not going to lie. There is a real reason for my absence these past few weeks, but its boring. So for your convenience, I've listed 4 alternate reasons below. Pick whichever one suits you, and we'll go with that.

1. It's all Heather's fault. You see, since she is the resident blogging authority, I live and die by her comments. When she didn't comment on my last post, it sent me spiraling down into a pit of self pity, remorse and my own bitter, salty tears. She finally commented a few days ago, just in time for me to move the razor away from my wrist. Thanks Heather.

2. I recently watched the live action spectacular that is Masters of the Universe. I hadn't seen it since I was a wee lad, and the sheer magnificence of seeing He-Man and Skeletor battle it out in all their live action glory caused my eyeballs to simultaneously orgasm. While totally worth it, an eyeball orgasm tends to leave a side effect not unlike cataracts. I've been stumbling around in the dark ever since, with my vision finally returning just this morning. Ofcourse the first thing I did upon being able to see the world again, was to write this post. How can you question that dedication?

3. I was abducted by aliens. Big, grey-headed ones that sounded suspiciously like pudgy, late 90s Corey Haim. It was pretty scary at first, but I was relieved to find out that they had reached the limits of what ass-raping anal probes can teach them about Human society. We embarked on a grand adventure that culminated with me saving the universe. Oh, Zeldor...the times we shared. I'll tell you about it some time. And you're welcome for that whole saving the universe thing. It was my pleasure.

4. My fingers were lopped off in a horrific camping accident. It's still a little too painful to go into much detail (it was only today that the nubs had healed enough for me to do any sort of typing), but let's just say that when they tell you not to feed the bears, man you better not stick your hands in their mouths. Not sure why I thought that would be a good idea, but then, cocaine is a hell of a drug. Huh?

Not to fear though, because I'm back and better than ever. I know the internet can be a scary place without me, so I'll do my best not to leave you alone for so long again.

I've got a couple of things planned for the next week or so. You will be hearing much more about the Masters of the Universe movie, and I'm even going to throw in a review of a product that shall remain nameless for now.

Until next time...

A Revelation!....

Second post in the last couple of hours, so keep scrolling down after you're done here. Or scroll down now, read that, and then scroll back up here in order to check this one out. But if you do that, for god's sake don't re-read this opening bit of exposition. Because it will still be the same, and you'll have wasted precious seconds of your day. Although if you're here, you must not have anything better to do. So maybe the whole thing's moot. I love Moot, because it sounds like it could be dirty, when its really not. Seriously....say this in your head: "Oh baby, your tongue feels so good on my moot". Then make an orgasm sound. Nice, right?

Where was I, again?

Ah yes. A revelation. I love revelations because, by definition, they are always new, and somewhat shocking bits of information. Name one thing that hasn't been instantly made superior by the label "NEW AND SHOCKING!!!" You can't, because there isn't. A revelation doesn't always have to be huge or life altering though, and I respect that.

Today, I revelized (patent pending) that you can get porn ... on EBay. Not really life altering maybe, but possibly a huge, never before utilized convenience! And I'm all for that. Gather round children, and let me tell you a little something about myself.

I am a man who likes his porno. No, I'm not afraid to admit it, and fuck you for judging me. Not to worry though, as my tastes run pretty normal. I know, to each his own, and as long as it isn't hurting me then blah blah blah....but if you let people shit in your mouth, you've got fucking issues. That's fact.

Porn on EBay though? Big deal, right? Exactly right. If you're me, it is a big deal. For two very important reasons that I'll tell you about now. Because it wouldn't really have made sense if I had mentioned them out of nowhere in the opening paragraph.

1. I don't enjoy shopping in "adult" stores. I have a crippling fear that the clerk is quietly judging me. I don't know about you, but I don't like complete strangers judging me based on something I'm going to beat off to later. (Oh grow up. Everyone does it. Yes, even you). And maybe I just haven't been to a "nice" house of pornography, but they all seem so sleazy and nasty. Like if I'm standing up to take a piss in the toilet, and there's a fucking glory hole 4 inches from my asshole, I have made a wrong decision somewhere in my day, you know what I mean?

2. I can't get my porn online, because I don't have a credit card. Not a single one. I am just far too susceptible to marketing and advertising of any kind. It is definitely a character flaw, but I've made my peace with it. I would be maxed out in fucking hours flat, all the while laughing at Future Kris, for the hell he was going to have to endure due to the fact that Present Kris is a weak willed little consumer.

So we have a bit of a dilemma. Not a catastrophe by any means. I don't NEED porn, it's just nice is all. I won't settle for dirty magazines from 7-11, because its just not that important to me. If I'm going to look at pornography, it better be full motion video and sound and there better be a little P in Va G action going on. Otherwise I'll just go without.

But maybe not. EBay always seems to know what I want. If EBay was a woman, I'd shit all up in her mouth...........I mean......disregard. I was checking out a DVD store on tha' Bay (as we call it in tha' hood), trying to find a copy of the live action Masters of the Universe movie from 1987, and I stumbled upon an entry that I had never seen in all my years of cruising EBay. For the title of the entry it said this:

Hidden - Requires Adult Verification

What the fuck!?!?! How had I never noticed this before? This has to be porn! I rubbed my sweaty hands together in anticipation and clicked the link. Still no porn, but I was once step closer. All that remained was agreeing to their guidelines for viewing the adult material, and I could theoretically have porno delivered straight to my door! But man, is EBay ever strict about this shit. Check out some of the things I had to confirm.

I will not permit any person(s) under 18 years of age to have access to any of the materials contained within this site.

Well I guess that's pretty reasonable. No big surprise.

I am an adult, at least 18 years of age, and I have a legal right to possess adult material in my community.

Again, very reasonable. They just want to make sure no laws are broken. So far so good.

I do not find pornographic images of nude adults, adults engaged in sexual acts or other sexual material to be offensive or objectionable.

Now we're entering a bit of a grey area. What if I do find the sexual acts offensive or objectionable, but that's what turns me on about them? What then? Hmmmmm.

I will exit from this site immediately if I am in any way offended by the sexual nature of any materials on this site.

This one just confused me. Can I still shop for non-porn items on EBay, or does the act of being offended immediately ostracize me from the EBay community? Maybe I'm taking this too seriously. Let's just click on "Agree". I was so excited. Can it really be true. Easy access porn!?!?! Oh god, here we go....

Please enter credit card information. Your card will not be charged and only be used for Age Verification.

Fucking hell. Cock blocked by a goddamn computer.

Adventures in Bum Lies.....

It has been a little less than a year since I made my move to the big, bad city. Up until now, my living arrangements had always been decidedly rural in nature. I don't know if you could say I'm proud of being raised in a small town, but I'm not really embarrassed about it either. It just is what it is. But even though I may be indifferent about this, I can still recognize some telltale signs that I just might be a little bit country. And no, I'm not nearly in the league of "redneck".

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1. I wouldn't think twice about handing my camera over to a complete stranger in order for them to snap a picture of me and the person I was with. I would probably then stand there, looking slightly confused, as he ran away with it.
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2. I appreciate the superiority of drinking in a barn, as opposed to a trendy nightclub. No liquor laws in a barn.

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3. I will open doors, pull out chairs and probably even lay my jacket over a mud puddle, if there is ever a lady in need. Unless we're talking about my leather jacket. Then she can get her fucking feet wet.
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4. Upon realizing that I need to venture out of my apartment for supplies, I can still be heard to remark "Hey, anyone want to go uptown?". A fact that my city-raised friends continue to mock me about.

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5. I cannot refuse someone begging for spare change. Well until a few days ago anyway. A few days ago, I hit my breaking point.


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90% of my life has been spent living in towns with a population of 5000 or less. As you can imagine, homeless people accosting me for my change has never been an issue I gave much thought to. I don't think I even seen my first bum until I was in my teens. It just wasn't something you see in small town southern Manitoba.

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If I happened to be visiting someone in a larger city, most of my time was spent seeking out destinations, not walking around questionable neighborhoods. The odd time that I did see a homeless person, I would gladly reach into my pocket and give them whatever loose change I had on me. It's not like I'm a saint or anything. I wasn't handing out paper, but it warmed my heart a bit when the recipient would smile and thank me excessively for my meager donation. A couple of bucks once every six months wasn't going to kill me after all.
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Even for the majority of my city living experience, I haven't really been exposed to that much poverty. While I don't live in a rich neighborhood, it is fairly nice. I can barely ever hear sirens at night, have never gotten my apartment broken into, and have never once been mugged. In my experience, those are all just things that happen "over there". Well lately, I've been spending more and more time "over there", due to the fact that the person I've been spending a lot of time with lately, lives "over there". It's not so bad that I have to worry about getting stabbed while I'm visiting, but its a bit rougher than my neighborhood, to be sure.

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Venturing into this neighborhood requires two buses. The first bus takes me from the safety and security of my nice little neighborhood, smack dab into the middle of downtown Winnipeg. I'm not sure how many of you are familiar with Winnipeg, but downtown Winnipeg isn't exactly the greatest place to raise your kids, if you know what I mean. Here, I have to wait for about 20 minutes until my second bus arrives and speeds me onto my destination. In that 20 minutes, I am usually asked to part with my change no fewer than 347 times. It's fucking crazy. Until I finally grew a set and started saying no, this 20 minutes would end up costing me roughly 50 bucks a week. Not Rockefeller dollars, I know, but I'm on a budget dammit. That unreleased bootleg DVD copy of The Video Dead ain't going to buy itself, you know.

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Saying I "grew a set" is probably still too generous though. You see, I still can't say no. At the same time, I'm sick of giving away all of my money. The only option is quite obvious. I lie. I fucking lie to homeless people. No, I don't feel good about it, but I do it anyway. Don't look at me like that. They fucking lie to me too. Take this example (100% true) from a few weeks back. I was standing by my bus stop, listening to my MP3 player, trying to pretend I didn't see the guy currently advancing on me (wearing expensive sneakers no less).

Bum: Hey buddy....got any change?

Moi: ........... (still pretending not to see or hear him)

Bum: (waving his hand in front of my face) Hey buddy...spare some change. I need to catch the bus.

Moi: FUCK YOU! Where did you get those fucking nice sneakers if you can't even afford bus fare. You fucking social pariah........

Is what I was thinking. What I actually said was more like this:

Moi: Sorry, but I only have enough change for my own bus fare. Maybe next time.

Bum: Hold on one second....

At which point he retreats back to the group of bums huddled just around the corner. They were coming up with a battle plan. By the way, don't you think there should be a specific term for a group of bums? Like: A gaggle of bums, or a flock of bums. Let's go with flock.

So the flock of bums is conferring and figuring out what to do. They seem to reach a consensus and the initial bum returns with a bus ticket in hand.

Bum: What if I sold you this bus ticket?

Moi: Well if you have a bus ticket, then why do you need my change?

This confused the bum, and he actually comically scratched his head. Realizing he had been defeated, he scowled at me and went on his way.

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Motherfucker lied to me! Now I may be old fashioned, but I likes my bread white, my coffee black and my bums honest. Bastard.

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"Sorry, I don't have any change"

"Sorry, I just have enough for the bus"

"I just gave it all to that guy"

"I don't speak English"

Any one or combination of these does the trick, although I don't understand why I can't just say "NO". Is it because I'm generally a nice guy? No, I don't think so. Is it because I care what bums think about me? Probably not.

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I think I'm just a chicken shit. I can be pretty intimidating when I want to be. Over 6' tall, topping 200 lbs. Broad masculine shoulders. Mysterious, piercing eyes....you get the picture. But the truth is that I'm so fucking white collar, its sick. I don't like to get my hands dirty, and lying seems much more attractive than possibly having to fend off dirty, pissed homeless people, you know what I mean? But my patience is starting to run oh so thin. Why can't I just fucking wait for my bus in peace, instead of having to deal with this shit? One of these days I'm just going to snap and respond "Yeah, I've got change. Lots of change. Don't you love the sound it makes when it jingles in your pocket? But you can't have this change. This is my change. You're going to have to get your own. Now fuck off."

And lest you think I'm a total asshole, I assure you I'm not talking about people that are just down on their luck and can't afford to eat. 9 out of 10 bums that confront me are drunk. And I mean "barely standing, slurring, smelly" drunk. The other one is usually wearing nicer clothes than I have. What the fuck!?!?!?! My kingdom for a nice, starving bum that isn't just looking for their next hit, or is just too lazy to find a job. Fucking McDonald's is always hiring. Grab a bath in the river and apply. They'll hire you.

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I love Winnipeg, but this is getting ridiculous.