Mindless Diversions and other things...

COMING SOON....

2010-01-04T15:42:00.002-06:00

More Mindless Diversions.....

Stay Tuned.....

I'm Back, Baby...

2008-09-08T14:02:00.009-05:00

What began as a bit of an unannounced break from Interwebland, turned into almost 2 months of your lives Sans Kris. For this, I apologize, as I know from my own personal experience that anyone's life completely Sans Kris is just kind of meaningless. I honestly didn't realize it had been so long, and if I had known my absence would extend into September, I would have gone out on a bit of a stronger note than with something bearing "ape tit" in the title. Well maybe not, but you could give me the benefit of the doubt. Unless you want to be a dick about it, of course.

My life went through a HUGE change about two and a half months ago, and the plan was to take a couple of weeks off from writing, in order to devote the needed time to this new endeavour. 2 weeks turned into 2 months and here we are. The good news is that the big life change I experienced was ALL positive. It's eaten up a lot of my time (more than I even anticipated), but my life is much more fulfilled as a result. Now I can get back to the business of wasting your time.

First of all, thanks so much to those of you that were kind enough to send me your thoughts and take the time to write. Extra Happy Thanks should go to Naibebbi Oujunina for taking the time to send me an email every single day. In retrospect, I can't say I completely understand what Nigerian bank transfers have to do with my little musings, but thanks all the same. It is appreciated, sir.

Secondly,

God. Damn.

Thirdly, expect a certified plethora of new content to read about here in the near future. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I'm sure to spend far more money than anyone really should on useless shit that completely loses its cultural relevance as soon as the clock strikes midnight on some arbitrary day. Since my psyche demands I justify everything I purchase, you will be hearing about it all. How does it feel to be justification? I bet it feels bittersweet.

Fourthly, I'm going to see against me! in two days. Yeah, that's right. Jealous? What the fuck do you mean "Who's against me!?". Bah.

Fifly, or fively? Semantics. I may get to see Blind Melon in two weeks. That one I know you're jealous about. Fuck your "they haven't been relevant in fifteen years" bullshit too.

Sixly, can I just say that if you haven't seen The Dark Knight yet, you should just kill yourself. Seriously, what the fuck are you waiting for? It doesn't get better with age. On your way out, whisper a little thanks to Chris Nolan for preventing the great nerd war of 2009. That shit was brewing, and I don't know about you, but I didn't want to have to fight a bunch of nerds to the death for my own survival. Seriously. If for some reason I need to know what the klingon word for spatula is, I would like to be secure in the knowledge that this kind of information is available. The Dark Knight brought us all together, and you should pay your respects. *

Sevenly, I have discovered the magic of podcasts...and they are good. I don't think I've listened to music at all in the last 2 months. Just fucking podcasts. Shit's addicting. Three good ones for you to check out. Feel free to google, as I am too inebriated to search for links. Who knows what the fuck you'll actually be clicking on if I try and provide that service right now. I would probably Rick Roll you.

Smodcast

The Ken P. D. Snydecast

Stuck in the 80s

Don't check them out unless you want to literally lose days of your life to catching up on all that podcasty goodness.

Eighthly, why didn't anyone tell me mussells were so fucking good? How I waited almost 27 years to try what is probably God's perfect food (right after Cherry flavoured Pez, ofcourse), is just beyond me. Can we please try and be more open in the future? These secrets have got to stop. They're tearing us apart.

Ninthly, if you ask me...turnips are vastly under-rated as a side dish. Why can't it be choice of potato, rice or turnip? I think the Turnip Council needs a new ad campaign.

Turnips.....Terrorists Hate them. You're Not a Terrorist, are You?

Tenthly, and most importantly... I missed you guys! :)

* Spellchecker has advised me that "klingon" should be spelled with a capital "K". Fuck that. War's back on.

Why Don'tcha Give Me Ape Tit for 200...

2008-07-11T08:33:00.006-05:00

I know my titles have a tendency to bear very little resemblance to the actual post itself. Sometimes I like to be a little obscure. That being said, today's title has really nothing to do with the below post, so allow me to explain.

Today is a grab bag, if you will. Just a few little things that don't really have enough substance to warrant their own complete post. Using this reasoning, I was going to call the post "Potpourri", after the Jeopardy category that utilizes a variety of topics all within the same column.

So as I was standing at the bus stop this morning, musing over how clever I am in my blog naming abilities and thinking about Jeopardy, a certain SNL skit jumped into my head. You may already know which one I'm talking about.

The scene in question involves Norm McDonald portraying Burt Reynolds in a round of Celebrity Jeopardy. That fucking line still makes me laugh.

Random Thing A

Ape tit....he he he

Random Thing 2

You know what gets me all worked up?

Well this picture usually does the trick, but that's not what I'm talking about

No, I mean worked up in an angry sense. Like most things that piss me off, it involves The Bus. I've probably beaten my hatred for public transportation into the ground by now, but I haven't covered this aspect. Surprisingly, the bus has very little control over this, and yet I still blame it. Goddamn bus.

What I'm talking about is Aisle Seat Sitters. If you've ever rode the bus, I'm sure you've seen this. Those inconsiderate people that choose to sit in the aisle seat, even when the window seat beside them is open. It's a subtle way of saying "Don't sit beside me you weirdo freak. I don't care if all of the other seats are full, and you have to stand, I want to sit alone". Well fuck that. If you want to sit alone, buy a goddamn car. You relinquish that right when you choose to travel by bus. This is becoming more and more common place, and I aim to stop it. The next time I see someone doing this, I'm jumping right the fuck into action.

Captain Justice: Excuse me miss...but I believe the seat beside you is open. Perhaps you should move over, lest someone else needs to rest their tired bones.

Random Bus Douche: You can't tell me what to do! This is where I want to sit.

CJ: I would like to sit, and if you refuse to move, I shall be forced to sit on your lap. Which would you prefer?

RBD: But there are lots of other seats open. Why can't you sit somewhere else?

CJ: Because I want to sit right...fucking...there. Now move over or I'll sneeze on you.

People on the bus are always afraid you're going to sneeze on them.

Random Thing III

I need a little advice from any bearded gentlemen out there. Or bearded ladies I suppose, as I really shouldn't discriminate. Recently I became afflicted with a condition that I've never seen or heard of before. Beard dandruff. Anyone else ever experience this? I guess the skin under my beard is really dry, to the point of flaking when I rub it. Although I'm not a chronic beard scratcher (beyond the usual stroking to make myself look scholarly when all I'm really ever thinking about is whether Ghost busters Ectoplasm is a superior commercial slime as opposed to the He-Man variety). I don't think this has ever been a problem before (I've been bearded since High School), but lately I noticed that after a bit of stroking, the front of my black shirt looks a little "salt and pepper" for my tastes.

Short of shampooing my beard with Head and Shoulders, I don't know what the fuck to do. Any help?

Random Thing the Fourth

As I'm approaching 30 at an alarming rate, I fear I am getting old. Now this fear has been confirmed. My seven year old son is now better than me on Guitar Hero. When the fuck did this happen??? How the fuck did this happen? When he first started playing, I had to hold the frets down for him while he strummed. Now he throws me a condescending laugh when he sees me play on Medium, while he thrashes away on Hard. I'm sure he's thinking something equally spiteful such as "Ha ha, old man. Your fingers are too old and brittle to keep up with those notes. Why do you even try?"

Fuck.

It should be a proud day when your little bundle of joy can come into his own and best you at your own game. Obviously I did something right in raising him into the fine little gentleman he is, right? I should be happy about that. Well I'm not dammit. I'm petty and jealous. Little bastard....

Ever Tried Making Sense?....

2008-07-02T08:36:00.009-05:00

Ever tried lying on a thousand vibrating cell phones?

That was the question I was greeted with this morning as I was enjoying my daily commute to the office. It was in the form of a bus ad for 5 gum, and I think it killed my brain a little bit.

Before I get into all out rant mode, let me say that 5 is my preferred brand of gum. As a smoker, it goes without saying that I buy a lot of gum (if something "goes without saying", why do we feel the need to say it?) and Wrigley's has definitely made some money off of me with this newish product. Is it the taste? The long lastinest of the flavour? Nope. It's all about the packaging baby. Take a look....

That is one sexy pack of gum. From the cool, flip open lid, to the stylish and vibrant colors (the black and blue really play off of each other nicely) it is a package to truly embrace. But does it taste like ass? Not at all. Although I would be hard pressed to say it tastes better than any other gum, it doesn't taste bad, and that's good enough for me.

Remember....I'm the guy that buys movies he doesn't even like because the DVD case has some cool gimmick involved. I'm the idiot that marketing gurus cream their pants over. An easy sell, through and through.

But there's one thing my love of pretty packaging will not abide by. Stupid fucking slogans. And puns. And sometimes Unicorns. And shouldn't Unicorns be called Unihorns? I hate mystical creatures that defy the laws of vocabulary.

So lets look at this again:

Ever tried Lying on a Thousand Vibrating Cell Phones?

How is that even possible? And what the fuck does lying have to do with anything? It's like the Chewbacca defense of gum marketing. It doesn't make sense.

Should it be "Ever tried Laying..." as in to lay down? Maybe its just me, but saying "Ever tried Lying" sounds like you're trying to tell a fib while talking on a thousand cell phones. Which is impossible. Unless you do it one at a time. But why would you? IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!

I could be completely off base here, as my command of the English language can be suspect at times, but this just feels misleading. And I don't tolerate misleading gum ads. Not since the Juicy Fruit debacle of '01 anyway.

Maybe I'm being too hard on Wrigley's. Let's assume for a second that it isn't misleading (and I'm not an idiot). So Wrigley's is telling us that chewing 5 is akin to resting on top of 1000 vibrating cell phones. That doesn't sound terribly comfortable. And are they ringing, or just vibrating? I need to know these things Wrigley's! Who exactly thought this would be a good slogan?

Bill: Hey Bob! How's It Going Today?

Bob: Not too shabby Bill. But I would be better if I could experience what it might feel like to lie down on top of 1000 vibrating cell phones....

Bill: Holy fuck Bob, do I have something for you to try!

No no no no no no no no no no no. And a French non for good measure. IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE.

Why would you want to experience lying down on 1000 vibrating cell phones? Hey Wrigley's, here's a slogan for you...

5 - Ever Had a Thousand Screaming Dildos in Your Ass?

Jesus Christ...

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

2008-06-29T22:56:00.006-05:00

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...

2008-06-26T09:53:00.006-05:00

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!....

2008-06-03T18:11:00.005-05:00

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.....

2008-06-02T22:17:00.012-05:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

"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.

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.

I love Winnipeg, but this is getting ridiculous.

My Tribute to....Friday the 13th Part V: A New Beginning...

2008-05-20T19:23:00.012-05:00

It's tough to find a film franchise more polarizing than the Friday the 13th series. Subjectively, the films are fairly awful. Cheesy, improbable plot lines, community dinner theatre level acting and the lack of any real continuity make the movies appear pretty amateurish. But you know what. I fucking love them. I'm just a fan, is all. I love the movies, much like an abused wife loves her abusive husband. No matter how many times the franchise slaps me across the face with a ridiculous plot twist, or kicks me in the stomach with hammy line delivery, I keep coming back for more. With a smile on my face all the while. I'm not sure which part of my brain relates so closely to slaughtering sex crazed, pot smoking teens, but I likes what I likes.

While the movies are by no means $100 million dollar blockbusters, they do have a pretty strong fanbase, and while a few of them came close, no Friday movie has ever lost money. Especially in today's market which is saturated with a new DVD re-release every time you turn around. Add that in with the fact that the films are fucking cheap to make (no name actors, and cookie cutter scripts tend to keep the costs down), and you have a guaranteed money machine. Which is why we have 10 movies to enjoy (11 if you count Freddy Vs. Jason), and another one on the way. But which Friday the 13th movie is the best? Although that may be akin to asking whether you would rather eat dog shit or baby vomit, it is a valid question all the same, and one that will net you a wide variety of answers. Admittedly, I don't think anyone is going to reveal that they think of Jason X as their personal favorite, but the range of answers is still pretty impressive.

Some will tell you that the first is the best, and that you can never top the original. All of the films that came after this one had a "been there, done that" quality to them. Plus Kevin Bacon has sex, smokes a joint and gets impaled through the throat.

Some will say Part II is the greatest, since it gives you what may be the most "realistic", and therefore (in some people's opinion) the scariest Jason.

Others can argue that since Part 3(D) introduced us to the iconic hockey mask, it is the first "true" appearance of Jason, and is therefore the best.

Me, personally? I have to say The Final Chapter is the best. There are many, many reasons I could give you to support this, but this post isn't about that movie. So I'll just sum up the greatness of Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter with one picture.

Corey Fucking Feldman with a bowl cut. Increases the greatness of any movie he is in by 34%.

If Part IV is my favorite, then why didn't I write about it? Simply put, because its been done. I've read more than a few tributes to Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter and wanted to break some new ground. One entry in the saga that you don't hear much about (unless it is in a negative light), is Part V: A New Beginning. It is probably considered one of the weakest entries in the series, but I never really understood why. Granted, its not my favorite, but its right up there. So in order to balance out some of the hate, I'm going to show it some love. In the form of a tribute. Originally, this post was going to be a review of the film, but I can't really be subjective enough to legitimately call it a "review". In my mind, I know this movie is no piece of art, but in my heart, it's all love baby. So instead of a review, you get a "tribute". Which is actually much lazier than a review, because basically, I'm just going to rehash the plot for you. And throw in some pretty pictures for you to look at. And maybe, along the way, we'll share a moment or two.

On with the show!

A New Beginning was meant as just that. A new direction for the adventures of Jason Vorhees. The Final Chapter finished up pretty conclusively, as Corey Feldman saved the day by impaling Jason's face onto his own machete. 80s Feldman does not fuck around. Part IV was originally planned to finish up the series, but dollar signs prevailed (as they usually do in Hollywood), and before you could say "That doesn't make sense", Part V was underway. But this puppy needed a hook. The executives didn't want to appear completely incompetent by just throwing Jason back out there with no explanation, after he was so convincingly dealt with (by Corey Feldman). Remember that at this point in the franchise, Jason was essentially human and the series was much more grounded in reality. How the fuck can he come back to life? He can't, because last I checked, there wasn't a miracle cure for a machete through your face. Hence the much needed hook. Oh, and by the way, if you've been wanting to see this flick since 1985, and just haven't gotten around to it, you should avoid the following massive spoilers.

The movie begins in true Friday the 13th fashion, with a cold open. I'm not sure why, but I love when a movie just kicks in with the opening scene before the credits are even underway. Return of the Living Dead utilizes this trick quite well. Tommy Jarvis (played once again by Corey Feldman) is striding through the woods, on his way to Jason's grave. It never does say why, but I like to think its because he wants to piss all over it. 80s Feldman's a badass like that. But before he can pull off the ultimate fuck you to Jason, two older kids come crashing noisily through the foliage, and approach the graveside, robbing Feldman of his chance. Seems they aim to dig up the body and, I don't know, maybe have a little fun with the corpse? Now I got up to a lot of shit in High School, but I can't remember ever turning to my buddies after a bit of partying and saying: "Hey, I know! Let's go grave robbing!" So while I don't completely understand the motivation here, I respect it as a way for us to see more stupid teenagers get gutted.

While Tommy watches, the teens dig up the (very shallow) grave and stand back to admire their handy work. Would you be surprised if Jason didn't rise up out of his grave right now and kill him some teenagers? No need to find out, because rise up he does, and after quickly dispatching disposable teens 1 & 2, he makes his way to where Tommy is (barely) hiding. As Jason raises his blade (who fucking buries a serial killer with his weapon of choice? Shouldn't that be in an evidence locker somewhere?), Feldman screams his only line in the entire film: "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

And he wakes up. It was only a nightmare. But what a nightmare! It aged poor Tommy by at least 10 years. See....

Granted, it doesn't say exactly how many years have passed since The Final Chapter, but the role, in its entirety, was originally written for Corey Feldman. The only problem was that he was too busy hanging out with Short Round and starring in Cyndi Lauper music videos to appear in more than a cameo here. So we get this guy. And the only reason I can think of for casting someone so much older in the part is this: You can't replace 80s Feldman with just any child actor. You simply can't. Well, maybe 80s Haim, but I digress. They won't measure up, and then you've got a mess on your hands.

So Tommy wakes up from his little nightmare, marvels at how well his voice deepened in the last 24 hours, and realizes that he is in the back of a van, on its way to The Pinehurst halfway house. Or if you're not feeling politically correct, a house full of fucking wackjobs.

One of the reasons this volume in the Friday saga holds up so well for me is the characters. This movie has some of the best characters in any Friday the 13th film. If a character stands out and is memorable, even though they are only onscreen a couple of times, and are really only in the movie to pad the kill count, you know the screenwriters and actors have done something right. As we arrive at our destination, we meet the first of these great characters. Billy, male nurse, really makes his presence felt, in all the right ways. As Pam Roberts, assistant director of the house, welcomes Tommy to his new home, she thanks Billy for delivering him. Billy responds with a friendly "Anytime, Doll", and then proceeds to tweak his right ear while simultaneously flicking his tongue at her as if he was enjoying a nice hot bowl of vagina right at that very instant. Who does that!?!?! Fucking Billy the male nurse, that's who. I hope we see Billy again.

Pam leads Tommy into the house and introduces him to the director of Pinehurst, Mathew Leonard. Mathew and Pam explain that the Pinehurt House is really the last step in Tommy's journey to re-entering society and being a normal self reliant adult. Preferably one that isn't prone to fits and delusions of serial killers coming back for revenge because you impaled their face on their own machete.

Before introducing us to the rest of our future corpses, Tommy gets settled into his room and nonchalantly pulls a 4 inch blade out of his jeans pocket. Wait, what?!?! Wasn't he just in state custody? How the fuck he managed to conceal this weapon until now, I'll never know. Personally, I prefer my mentally unhinged to be knife free. Worried about getting caught with it now, even though he just successfully smuggled it through god knows how many mental institutions, he stashes it safely beneath his mattress. Don't worry though, Tommy. You can come back for it later (I'm sure it will come in handy). Now you need to meet your new roommates.

Starting with Reggie, or as he likes to be known, Reggie the Reckless. Yes, he is one badass little kid, 80's style. Reggie isn't a patient of the house per se. His Gramps is the janitor/maintenance man, and Reggie is here to visit. While I think the appropriateness of visiting your grandfather at work is kind of a grey area, I think we can all agree that if the work in question involves living in a borderline mental institution, somewhere a line has been crossed. But Reggie can handle himself. He's reckless. Gramps, on the other hand, is a rare mis-step in this movie full of otherwise awesome characters. He has the potential to be great (old, black man, full of wisdom and clever sayings), but he just kind of disappears after a while, and they never utilize him in the way they should.

Tina and Eddie next enter the picture, delivered in the back of a police car. Tina and Eddie are a double homicide waiting to happen. Young, attractive, and prone to getting caught fucking on the neighbors property. It should now be painfully obvious that we WILL be seeing Tina naked and murdered at some point in the next 90 minutes.

The neighbors in question are a mother and son team. Ethel and Junior Hubbard. Their mission in life is to see the Pinehurst House shut down. They don't like living next door to a bunch of "loonies" and like it even less when two of the "loonies" have been fucking in their yard. Ethel is probably the dirtiest character I've ever seen in a movie. I don't mean filthy, as in she is perverted or likes to swear. I mean she is literally dirty. It looks like she hasn't had a bath in a couple of months. You can almost see a cloud of dust swirling around her, Pigpen style. Almost as dirty is her son, Junior. But he also wears an aviators cap and drives a beat up old motorcycle, so I think he wins. The dialogue between these two characters is pure fucking gold. Awful in the best possible way, and really needs to be seen and heard to be believed. After tearing a strip off of the Sheriff for not doing anything about the teenage sex happening under her nose, she threatens to blow the head off of anyone caught in her yard from here on out. Consider yourselves warned, sexy, soon to be dead teenagers. Ethel and Junior take their leave, but not before cursing everyone out, and flipping the sheriff the bird. Class act, that one.

After the excitement has died down and everybody has gone about their business, we meet Vic. Vic's job, apparently, is to chop wood. With a very big ax. Now, I know their trying to teach these kids responsibility and get them ready for life on the outside, but letting a very obviously disturbed young man wield a huge ax? You're the expert Mathew, not me. I'm sure it will be okay.

At some point here, we also meet Jake, another patient. Jake has a bit of a stutter and is absolutely forgettable. You won't see him much, and its really no big loss. In a movie full of great characters, the actor that plays Jake really got the short end of the stick. Gramps kind of suffers the same thing, but to me, it seems that Gramps' character at one point, had more to do, and just found his scenes destined for the editing room floor. Jake just sucks.

And here comes The Fat Guy. Every horror movie features The Fat Guy, and in this case, his name is Joey. The Fat Guy is usually featured as comic relief in these movies, and also as a slow moving victim for the killer to get warmed up with. Joey does seem to be more retarded than crazy, but he means well. He sees Violet and Robin hanging clothes up to dry and quickly tries to lend a hand. Violet and Robin aren't hearing of it though because they're afraid he'll fuck it up. The Fat Guy always seems to fuck things up. Poor Fatguy even offers up half of his chocolate bar if they'll let him help (the other half is already smeared all over his face), and is firmly rebuked. Not to be denied however, Joey grabs at the clean clothes, staining everything with his chocolaty fingers.

After the girls tell him to fuck off, he wanders over to Vic, still chopping wood. Vic also wants no part of Joey's bullshit and tries to ignore him. But Joey feels the moment calls for a heart to heart and reveals that he has never really felt like he belonged anywhere until now, being an orphan and all. Vic starts chopping wood with more intensity. Seeing as how Vic hasn't actually told him to get lost yet, Joey feels accepted and offers him a full chocolate bar that he was hiding from the girls. He places it on the stump Vic is chopping so that he can have it for later. Vic promptly chops the chocolate bar to pieces, because that's a healthy response. If you want to turn a nice Fatguy mean, all you need to do is fuck with his candy bars. After telling Vic off, he turns to go, but Vic isn't finished. What do you think happens next?

Yes, Vic slams the ax hard into Fatguys back at least three times, brutally killing him. Poor bastard never even got to enjoy that last chocolate bar. The police show up to collect Vic and the Sheriff questions Mathew about Joey. Seems his mother died in child birth and no one ever knew what happened to the father. What an odd bit of information to disclose since the character in question is already dead. Hmmmmmm.

As the first paramedic pulls the sheet away that's covering Joey, for no other reason than to be a dick, he makes a couple of snide comments we're treated to no less than three closeup shots of the second paramedic's face looking shocked, disgusted and then furious. His name is Roy and call me crazy, but I think the filmmaker wants us to file this little bit of information away for later.

Being witness to a brutal murder doesn't seem to do Tommy any favours and he begins to have horrifying visions of Jason returning, seeing him in mirrors and around every corner. He is definitely starting to lose it. This is further evidenced by an altercation at the breakfast table the morning after the murder. Eddie appears late, wearing one of Tommy's masks. If you've seen Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter, you know that Tommy in fact makes these masks himself, and is very territorial about them. After scaring the shit out of Tommy, Eddie pulls off the mask, and getting a laugh from the room, bounces it off of Tommy's chest. He then proceeds to tell Tommy: "Relax Chief. What's wrong? No sense of humor?". Followed by a couple of hard, playful punches to the shoulder. Eddie is a real dick. A rational Tommy would have laughed it off, while quietly plotting revenge of some sort. But rational Tommy left the building one sequel ago. This Tommy decides that flipping Eddie through a table and then pummelling the crap out of him, while crying no less, is the obvious response.

And unbeknownst to our heroes, the random killings begin. Our first victims are two greasers out for a moonlit drive through the woods. Of course, they experience car trouble, and their fates are sealed. Greaser #1 is dispatched via a lit flare jammed down his throat, while Greaser #2 is taking a shit behind a tree somewhere or something. He returns, sees his friend slumped over the engine, and starts threatening to kick his ass for not getting the car started. He gets in the car, cranks the engine a couple of times and leans back in triumph as it roars to life. Unfortunately, our killer is in the backseat, and slits his throat right at his moment of triumph. We never get to see the killer. Is it Jason? OooOOOooooOooOOOO. Mystery.

Cut to the outside of a little diner, late at night. A car speeds into the parking lot, horn blaring. Hey, its the return of Billy, male nurse! He's finished his day of emptying bedpans and is ready to party. He parks outside of the little restaurant and continues to lay on the horn. Here we meet Lana, but don't even worry about remembering her name. She won't be around for long. A little bit of playful banter transpires, and Lana retreats to the restaurant to get ready for their date. If it wasn't already decided, Lana then secures her fate by ripping her shirt open in front of the mirror, flashing her tits and proclaiming "Iiiiiiiiiit's Showtime!".

Back in the car, Billy patiently waits and decides that doing a little coke will pass the time nicely. I fucking love Billy's dialogue. Here's a sample: "And the forecast is.....cloudy in the mountains, sunny in the valleys, and snow flurries......UP your nose". SNOOOOORRRRRT. Beautiful.

Lana is prettying herself up in the bathroom when she hears a crash from inside the restaurant. Ooooooooooooooo. Is it Billy, coked up and ready to fuck? Is it Jason, back from the dead?. The music starts to build, and you're thinking Lana is going to be punished for showing titage in an 80s horror movie. Turns out its just your run of the mill flying cat. I say flying because the cat launches itself at Lana, face level, seemingly out of nowhere giving us a nice little scare. Ah Lana. You're alive for at least another couple of minutes.

By now Billy is becoming very impatient. He's coked up, and in no mood to wait. He opens the car door to yell for her to hurry her ass up, and gets an ax in the head for his troubles. Poor Billy. Only on screen for a combined 5 minutes, but still one of my favorite characters. Again, the killer is in shadows.

Lana finally makes her way to the now empty car, and then gets irritated when Billy isn't there. She forgets this irritation pretty quickly when she spies the mirror full of coke now resting on the driver side floor mat. She bends over to get a taste, only to see a pair of legs and a bloody ax through the still open driver's side door. Sorry Lana, but you're time is up. Ax to the gut? Check.

The next day, Tommy thinks he sees Jason standing outside the house, looking up at his window, ax in hand. An ax isn't usually Jason's weapon of choice though, but our last two victims were dispatched this way. Does this mean Jason is back, or is Tommy just hallucinating again?

We may get to find out soon enough, because Tina and Eddie are horny again, and not only that, but they also decide to smoke "the pot". Premarital sex while toking up? Fucking death sentance. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars. This is one of my favorite scenes in the movie because it involves not one, but two great moments. Some of the nicest breasts ever bared in a Friday the 13th movie, and one of the more inventive kills as well. Eddie has gone to the river to wash up after defiling Tina. Tina lays back on the sheet they laid out, seemingly satisfyed. Although I have no idea how, considering the sex lasted for about 10 seconds. Eddie must have an enormous penis. A pair of garden shears are in her future though. Goodbye Tina.

Eddie comes back, finds his love brutally slain, and backs into a tree in surprise. I'm not going to explain exactly how Eddie meets his end, but its fucking great. I need to give you some incentive to check out a cheesy 23 year old horror movie that I've just spoiled the fuck out of. I'll just say that it involves a stick, two metal hoops and a leather strap. The killer is still faceless.

Later that night, Micheal worries about the absense of Tina and Eddie, while Pam takes Tommy and Reggie the Reckless for a little road trip into town. Reggie's big brother (who goes by the name Demon) is in town and Reggie is excited to see him. As the truck pulls away from the house, we get the sense that someone is following them. Hmmmmm.

The gang meets up with Demon (who lives in a van, apparently) and his girlfriend Anita, who is casually smoking a joint. Bad idea Anita. Anita is pretty disposable, but Demon is another great fucking character. He's played by Miguel A. Nunez Jr, who also plays Spider in Return of the Living Dead. Another great 80s horror movie that I'll need to discuss at some point. While Pam and Reggie are visiting, Tommy goes for a walk and starts to have another one of his freakouts. Before he can though, Junior Hubbard enters the scene. Recognizing him as one of the "loonies", he tries to start a fight. Tommy beats the everloving shit out of him, no doubt adding more tension to the rivalry between Mathew's house and the Hubbards. Pam intervenes however, probably saving Junior's life, and in a fit of tears, Tommy takes off into the darkness. Pam and Reggie hurry back to the house, figuring that's where Tommy must have gone.

Meanwhile, Demon seems about to shit his pants due to some questionable enchiladas. He makes haste for an outhouse, while Anita chills out in the van. Probably smoking more pot. As Demon relieves himself (very pleasurably by the sounds of it) someone starts to violently shake the outhouse. Demon starts to get a bit worried before realizing that its only Anita, being a prankster. They share a laugh, and sing a brief motown like duet, all while he is suffering horrible diarhea in a really nasty outhouse. If I had a nickel for every time I dueted Motown while perched on a questionable toilet....

Suddenly, a slight gasp escapes Anita, cutting off the duet. The outhouse begins to shake again, more violently than before. Demon isn't putting up with this "Okay, I told you this wasn't funny. Now you're going to get it bitch". Demon's a badass. He gets up and buckles his pants (without wiping his ass first. Fucking gross. Do you ever notice that no one ever wipes their ass in the movies. Maybe we don't need that much attention to detail, but I always notice it.) and tries to open the door. Only problem is, Anita's corpse is blocking his way out, throat neatly slit. This seems to rattle Demon a bit, kind of calling an end to his tough guy persona. He presses himself up against the far wall of the outhouse, because that's a reasonable place to hide when the killer already knows you're in there. A sharpened metal bar (where the fuck is he getting all of these different weapons?) punctures througth the outhouse in various places. You know that magician's trick where the swords go into the box containing the assistant? Same premise, but with much more blood.

Pam and Reggie return to the house to be greeted with the news that Mathew and Gramps have both disapeared. Coupled with the fact that Tommy is still missing, everyone is getting a bit worried. Pam does the sensible thing and promptly leaves to look for Mathew, abandoning three mentally unbalanced teenagers and one adolescent to fend for themselves.

Meanwhile, at the Hubbard place. Junior has returned from getting his ass kicked by Tommy, and is driving his motorcycle up and down the porch, spinning donuts on the front yard, all while crying and screaming "THEY HURT ME MA! THEY HURT ME" Ethel is inside the house preparing Junior's dinner, and in a really nice touch, spits a huge loogie into the pot, because well, she's a stone cold bitch. Teach fucking Junior for making a ruckuss. You know what else will teach him a lesson? A fucking machete out of nowhere. And just like that, we have our first decapitation of the film. It really couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

Ethel hears footsteps on the front porch, directly in front of the window she's standing behind, and assumes that Junior has settled down and is ready to eat his loogie stew. "Bout time you fuckwad. Knew you couldn't pass up mama's stew". Again, I love the dialogue the writers serve up for Ethel Hubbard. Classic. I'm kind of glad Ethel gets to meet her end before she realizes that Junior's been beheaded. As much hate as Ethel shows towards her son in the movie, you can tell that she loves him to pieces. Our killer ensures they will be together soon, by cleaving her head almost in two, from through the window. There's a really nice shot of Ethel's hand clenching and squeezing the guts out of a tomato she was holding, as the butcher knife enters her head and her muscles tense.

Pam is still driving around aimlessly when her truck breaks down. Because, well, she really needs to be in peril at this point in the film. It also starts to rain, because well, Pam is wearing a white shirt, and it really should be wet.

Back at the house, Jake and Robin are watching a movie, while Jake awkwardly tries to put the moves on Robin. Now even though Jake is a loser, Robin really doesn't need to react the way she does at Jake's confession of love. She laughs in his face, sending him away in shame. The (still faceless) killer saves him the trouble of feeling too bad about himself though, by quickly dispatching him with the butcher knife.

Unaware of Jake's demise, Robin heads up to bed. She disrobes (more 80s boob), and as she looks at herself in the mirror, starts to feel bad for treating Jake so poorly. Oh well, let's just turn off this light and forget about it. Here we learn that Robin is very, very stupid. She climbs into bed (the top bunk of some bunk beds), and closes her eyes. She rolls over, opens her eyes and sees Jake's bloody, cut up face only 2 inches from her own. How the fuck do you not notice a corpse in your bed before you get in? Then the killer proceeds to grab her by the throat and run her through with the machete. The killer's hiding place? The lower bunk. Yep.

Meanwile, Violet pulls off some sweet robot dancing to "His Eyes" by Psuedo Echo. The killer enters her room and slowly advances on her. This is a great fucking scene. From the soundtrack to the way the camera flashes back and forth between robot dancing and the shiny glint of the machete and the killer's legs, as he moves ever so slowly in for the kill, is just great. Really nice filmmaking for a genre picture. He reaches Violet, lifts her clear off the ground, and stabs her in the stomach, ruining our chance of ever seeing her 80s boobs.

all of this mayhem is occuring, Reggie is sleeping blissfully on the couch. He awakens to an empty house and goes searching. Seeking out Tommy's room to see if he has returned, he is instead greated by the bodies of Jake, Violet and Robin stacked up on Tommy's bed. Hmmmmm.

Reggie is slowly backing away from the door when a hand lands on his shoulder. He screams, only to be met with the newly returned, suitably wet, Pam. Pam sees the bodies, grabs Reggie's hand and they bolt down the stairs. Reggie stumbles before they can escape (ofcourse) and we finally get to see our killer, who in a completely awesome entrance, literally explodes through the door. It's Jason! He looks much cleaner and less beat up than the last time we seen him. But there he is. Notice the blown apart door? Awesome fucking entrance.

Jason is nice enough to stand still until Pam and Reggie get their shit together and race off into the woods. They come across an ambulance parked on the side of the road, open the door, and the driver's body spills out. This is the same ambulance from the beginning of the movie, but where's Roy? Hmmmmmm.

Jason, doing what he does best, suddenly appears from behind the ambulance, defying all logic or laws of physics in the process. I love how even at a slow walk, Jason can outrun any olympic sprinter. When something is that awesome, it doesn't have to make sense. Pam and Reggie take off, back into the woods, where they proceed to lose each other. And where the fuck is Tommy? Hmmmmm.

Pam, while crashing blindly through the woods, stumbles upon Mathew's body, stuck to a tree, through his skull, via a rail road spike. She tries to take shelter in the Hubbard's house, only to have Gramps's body thrown at her right through the window. And it appears he has had his eyes plucked out. I don't know about you, but if I was in a Friday the 13th movie, I would be pissed off as all hell if my death was offscreen. She races back towards the woods, but trips into a mud puddle on the way. Jason advances. Instead of getting up and running away again, she decides it would be faster to crawl, while looking back every 3 seconds. Just before Jason can deliver the killing blow however, Reggie, out of nowhere, smashes through the side of a barn, driving a fucking tractor! He's had enough of this bullshit, and he's putting a stop to it, right now. He's reckless.

He slams the tractor's scoop into Jason's chest, sending him flying. Jason appears to be down for the count. That is until they walk over to the body to investigate. He grabs Reggie's leg, causing him to emit another girl scream. Before Jason can drag him down though, Pam and Reggie escape into the barn. Jason follows, only to be met by Pam, weilding a full on chainsaw! She promptly slices into his arm, sending him sprawling back in pain. That's strange. This Jason seems to show a lot more pain than the previous. Hmmmmmmm.

Advancing in for the killing blow, Pam is horrified to discover her chainsaw has run out of gas. She throws the useless chainsaw at Jason, and runs for cover, just as.....Tommy enters! Where he's been this whole time, I have no idea, but when he's needed, he arrives!

It's too bad that the sight of his old nemesis sends him into a bit of paralyzed shock. Jason gets in one good slash, cutting open Tommy's chest, and causing him to "wake up". He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the handy dandy knife from the beginning of the movie, and stabs Jason surprisingly close to his crotch. Jason goes down, and Tommy escapes to the loft, because a dead end is probably the safest way to go.

Jason follows up the ladder and discovers Tommy's motionless body, slumped over a hay bale. Believing him to be dead, Jason continues on the search for Pam and Reggie. Seeing as how they are in a hay loft, there is very little place to hide, and he quickly locates them. Overcoming all odds, they manage to knock him out of the loft and out of sight. Believing the horror to be over, they go in to investigate, you know, instead of getting the fuck out of there. Turns out, Jason is still hanging on to the edge and starts to drag Reggie and Pam over with him. Tommy comes out of nowhere, grabs Jason's machete, and severs the fucker's arm, freeing Reggie and Pam, and sending Jason down to be impaled on a convenient bed of spikes below. In the process, Jason's mask is knocked off and we see....

Fucking Roy! Bet you never seen that coming. In case you're thinking "What the fuck?", not to worry. The Sherrif soon appears to explain it all, nice and neat like. Turns out that Roy was The Fat Guy's dad. Surprise surprise, right? Seeing his son hacked to pieces by one of the patients at the house drove him a little crazy, and he decided to use Jason as his excuse for getting some revenge. See, it all makes sense! The horrors are over, and Pam, Tommy and Reggie can rest easy, taking comfort in the fact that they survived an 80s horror movie. Or can they?

The next day, Tommy wakes up in a hospital room, and is greeted by Jason standing over his bed. As Jason stares menacingly on, Tommy only stares back confidently. His eyes seem to say all that needs to be said. I'm over you Jason. you can't haunt me anymore. Jason fades away, being only a halucination. Tommy gets up slowly and walks over to the dresser, where he finds this.

The camera cuts to the hallway, where Pam is approaching the room. She hears a loud crash and rushes in to find the window beside Tommy's bed completely smashed out. Believing Tommy has jumped out of the window, she rushes over. The door slowly closes behind her, revealing Tommy, wearing the mask. He sneaks up behind her, brandishing a large knife.

Cut to black. Roll credits.

Kind of a strange ending, but it would have made much more sense in the grand scheme of things, if the series had continued as originally planned. The next movie was meant to feature Tommy as the new killer, because Jason was still very, very dead, and the series still featured a semi-realistic setting. However, audiences just didn't take to the idea that the Friday series should continue without Jason at the helm. What were the producers to do? I know! Let's make Jason essentially a zombie who can't be killed unless a member of his own bloodline stabs him with a mystical knife. What the fuck, right?!

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy all of the Friday movies, but I still have a special place in my heart for the early ones. Before Jason became an indestructable monster. I prefer my Jason inbred and antisocial.

And if it seemed like I was blasting the movie throughout the tribute, that's probably because I was. It's not a quality movie by anyone's standards, but I love it just the same. Faults and all. Don't any of you have a movie that you know is complete shit, but you love it anyway? I thought so.

Saturday Night Dead?...

2008-05-11T13:49:00.003-05:00

I fucking hate it when people call it that. Saturday Night Live is a show that has made me laugh consistently since I first started watching it in the early 90s. All you haters that have been proclaiming it Dead since way back when the second episode aired can suck it. I practically inhale anything SNL related. I just loves it, is all. It makes me laugh, and humour is the greatest aphrodisiac.

I think EVERYONE has a Saturday Night Live memory. Regardless of your feelings about the show now, you have to admit to yourself that, at some point in your life, you watched SNL. And you liked it. Ever stay up real late, maybe at a friend's place, and roll around together on the floor, laughing at the antics of Belushi and Ackroyd, while silently repressing the desire to just grab your friend by the face, look lovingly into their eyes and......wait......wrong childhood memory.

Have you ever tried so hard to stay awake for Update, only to have your eyes snap open suddenly, and discover only the test pattern? (For the kids: A test pattern was a bunch of colored bars on your screen, while an annoying tone plays in the background. Yes! TV stations did go off the air after midnight. They didn't broadcast 24 hours a day. And CDs were the size of your head and you listened to them by scratching needles across the surface. Or something like that.)

Have you ever quoted an SNL sketch? Even once? ONCE IN YOUR WHOLE LIFE? I bet you have. Fuck, half of the world's population was saying "Ve Vant to Pump........YOU UP" in the early 90s.

You want to know my clearest SNL memory? It's not a particularly funny one, and not one that is directly tied to SNL, but I will always remember where I was and what I was watching when I heard the news that Shannon Hoon had died of a drug overdose.

Shannon Hoon was the lead singer for Blind Melon. Blind Melon was then, and continues to be now, one of my favorite bands. I'm sure you are all familiar with Blind Melon, and this post isn't about them, so I'll be brief. I had bought their second album "Soup" the day it was released. I loved it, and listened to it on a constant rotation. I thought it was a great improvement on their first album, and was excited to see where they would go next. Now, I can't remember the exact length of time between this albums release, and Hoon's death, but it wasn't too long at all. I'm thinking less than 6 months? I could wikipedia it to find out for sure, I guess. But it's Sunday, and thou shalt not Wiki on the Sabbath. Anyway, I was at my Dad's place for the weekend. Everyone was asleep except for me and my brother. We were in the living room, all of the lights off, watching Saturday Night Live. I remember feeling very cool that I was up that late. Later than my Dad even! I was a cool kid to be sure.

So we were watching, and during a commercial, a news update came on the screen. It announced that Shannon Hoon had, that evening, been found dead in his tour bus. I still remember my blood running cold. I can't remember if SNL was particularly funny that night or not, but I'm sure that I didn't laugh much after that.

Starting to get my point? Love it or hate it, SNL is one of the most influential, and entertaining shows ever on television. Even though it seems fashionable to hate on the show now, I will continue to scream my love for it from the rooftops. Or at least from a properly railed balcony. I'm kind of scared of heights.

Any other SNL junkies in the building? Check out (if you haven't already) the book "Live From New York" by James A. Miller and Tom Shales. I literally read it to pieces. I don't know how many times I read it, but it ended up falling apart. It's the kind of book that you can flip open to any part of and just read a few pages for a quick laugh. You can get it on Amazon for like 6 bux right now. Fuckin 6 bux. You should totally order it. No, I'm not getting a kickback from Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Live-New-York-Uncensored-Saturday/dp/B0007XAWS0/ref=pd_bbs_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1210534446&sr=1-1

My fucking kingdom for someone who can tell me how I can compress that link down into just a simple word or something. I'm sure HTML has something to do with. Fucking HTML.

So what made me feel the need to preach about SNL on a Sunday afternoon? Quite simply, this:

Fucking hilarious. That was from last night's episode, hosted by Shia TheBeef. No doubt, 10,000 sad little people have already flooded the internet with critiques about how shitty last night's show was, and why SNL should be cancelled. Well fuck that. I've got news for you, sad little people. You're still fucking watching it! Why is that? Because if its so terrible, why do you consistently tune in every week? I thought so. And don't give me the whole "The show was so awesome when Farley and Sandler and Ferrell were on! Why can't it be that good now?".

I remember watching those shows, and then all you heard was "Oh the show was so rad when Carvey and Hartman were on. Why can't it be that good now?" (Yes, we used to say "rad").

Well I implore you not to laugh at McGruber. Double dog dare and everything. You can't do it, because that shit is hilarious. End rant.

Oh, and don't stop now. Continue reading down the page. This is the second post I've done in about 12 hours, so in case you haven't checked in a few days, there's more reading to be done. I'm not finished with you yet.

What the Fuck is a "meme"?....

2008-05-10T21:02:00.005-05:00

So glad you asked. Because I don't really know. And I love to have my shortcomings pointed out for me. As with any other question of this magnitude, I turned to the one source that always seems to have the answers. The one place I can go, where I know I will never face condesation (in which I mean the act of some one talking down to me, not like drops of dew forming on my face or anything like that.) or ridicule. Of course I'm speaking of thefreedictionary.com. I don't know about you, but I'm digging the future. Free dictionary at my fingertips makes me one happy panda. Plus I'm not really allowed back at The Dictionary Store. Not since the "unpleasantness" anyway.

So after being challenged to a "meme" by the (hopefully) litter trained Kittymao (found here: http://kittymao.wordpress.com/ ), I was left with little option, save for booting up the old internets and seeing what I could find. Well, first I cursed Kittymao for setting me on this journey. But then, should I expect less from a Chinese Dictator Cat? They're a devious lot, to be sure. And really kickass artists, although I don't think that's necessarily a result of the devious nature. After pondering this for a bit, I hit up freedictionary and found out the following:

meme

n.
A unit of cultural information, such as a cultural practice or idea, that is transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another

Okay, so "meme" is a noun? Did you get anything else out of that? Tell me I'm not the only idiot here, but that definition has me more confused than before. Fuck.

Clearly, this was getting me no where. A more direct investigation was needed, post haste. Because I was quickly losing interest. I was going to have to use......verbal communication. In the form of a telephone call. I briefly considered screaming "What's a meme?" for anyone to hear, while standing out on my balcony, but decided the odds of receiving a response beyond "SHUT THE FUCK UP", were slim at best. No, a phone call to a higher authority on the subject was the answer. I excitedly picked up the phone and started to dial, when it hit me. How do you pronounce "meme"? Fuck.

Like so many other times, Google saves the day. God bless Google. I'm very capable of making myself look stupid in any number of interesting ways. Mispronouncing words is a hassle I don't need. According to memecentral.com, "meme" is pronounced with a long "e". Like meem.

Armed with this new knowledge, I once again pick up my phone and confidently dial "The Friend". Or TF if you prefer. I kind of do.

TF: Hello

Kris: Hey buddy. How's it going?

TF: ...........who is this?

Kris: It's Kris! Look I need your help.

TF: Oh jeez. Not you again. Why do you keep calling here?

My friends are hilarious. They always play this game with me, where they pretend they don't know who I am. My friends are great. I have friends.

Kris: (whispers) look...just play along....HA HA. That's so funny, pal. I just need to ask you one question though. I need your help.

TF: Why were you whispering before?

Kris: Come on. Just answer one question for me, and I'll leave you alone. I promise.

TF: You won't call here anymore?

Kris: Never ever again. I promise....fingers crossed.

TF: You probably would have been better off just crossing your fingers, instead of announcing it.

Kris: PLEASE. JUST ONE QUESTION.

TF: Okay fine. But don't call me again tonight at least.

Kris: I can't promise that.

TF: Jesus Christ, just ask your damn question.

Kris: What's a meme?

TF: That's your question? What's a meme? Jesus Christ. A meme is like an FYI on you. Like a list of things about you. Interesting tidbits of your interests or personality. NOW FUCK OFF.

And just like that, I had my answer. On to Kitty's page to see what this actually entails. Kitty's page said this:

1) Link back to the person who tagged you. 2) Post the rules on your blog. 3) Write six things about yourself. 4) Tag six people at the end of your post by posting links to their blog sites. 5) Let them know they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their site. 6) And let your tagger know when your entry is up.

Holy fuck, she's really putting me to work, isn't she? Damn communist cats. Okay, so steps one and two are already done. 4 more steps to go. Spoiler warning: I'm particularly worried about step 4. I don't think I know any bloggers that haven't already been tagged by this shit. I may have to skip that step due to lack of options. So 6 things about me, huh? Pull up a chair. Because I'm sure a lot of you are standing at your computers right now.

1. I don't like to shit in public bathrooms. I have a bit of a phobia about it. But not the phobia you might be thinking of. The hygienic nature doesn't bother me. I mean, I'm not going to sit down on top of someone else's piss, but I'm not a germaphobe either. I don't carry around a little bottle of sanitizer with me. No, the thing that bugs me is those doors that don't quite reach down to the floor. Is a little privacy too much to ask for when I'm sitting on the toilet, log half way out of my ass? I'm sure there aren't people clamouring for their turn to peek in on me mid dump, but still. I just don't like the idea that some random weirdo could be a quick kneel away from gawking at me in a very vulnerable state. Call me crazy.

2. I'm a really fussy eater when it comes to meat. I'll eat just about anything, but if you try to offer me meat that has bones in it, huge marbled pieces of fat, or still resembles the part of the animal it came from, you will be firmly rebuked. Fried chicken is the sometime exception to this rule. But FUCK chicken wings. They look like little chicken arms, and you're gnawing on them! I'm not a member of PETA, like "Oh that's cruel. You shouldn't eat meat", but gnawing on a piece of meat, that is very clearly the arm of an animal grosses me out. The wings that are split so that they just look like little drumsticks are okay. But those ones you get at KFC? Gross. And maybe I'm weird, but I'm sure as hell not a dog, so you won't catch me chewing on any bones. My grandma cracks that shit open and sucks out the marrow. I love you Grandma, but that's fucking gross. And people that eat the fat off of steaks? It's the consistency of jello, people! And I don't know about you, but the idea of "meat" jello is not one I find appetizing.

3. I have a weird obsession with showing people music. I don't know why, but whenever anyone comes over to my apartment, I feel the need to say "Hey, have you ever heard this?". And then I cue up some random song. Often times, its a really cheesy 80's song. If even one of the songs I play is a hit, if it gets my guest to bob their head along in time to the beat, a huge smile spreads across my face. I just really get off on this. So if you ever come over to my place, be prepared to indulge my habit. There's just so much great music out there, that you may never come into contact with, if not for somebody saying "Hey man, check this out". Take this for example:

That was The Libertines singing "Can't Stand Me Now". If I just showed any of you a great song that you've never heard before, let me know!

4. I can't hold my liquor. Not even a little bit. I am a cheap drunk. Which doesn't make sense seeing as how I top 6' and weigh over 200 lbs. I used to be a real lush in high school. Getting drunk a couple of times a week or more was always the norm. And not always exclusively on the weekends. But when I hit legal age, I started bartending. And seeing people drunk all of the time, while I was sober, really turned me off of alcohol. So I pretty much stopped drinking. As it is now, I will maybe get drunk once every couple of months. And I never have a drink, just to have one. If I'm having a drink, I'm getting smashed. These days, that takes about 6 drinks. I know, right? One drink and I get all red in the face. If it's a double, the dance floor becomes irresistible. You know what, fuck that. The dance floor would be irresistible even if I was only drinking coffee. That's besides the point.

5. I am an unabashed car singer. If I have a car, and a working radio at my disposal, I immediately lose all inhibitions and forget the fact that a singer, I am not. I don't give a shit if you are stopped beside me at a red light, staring into my car with a disdainful look on your face. I will serenade the fuck out of you, hand motions and eye contact and everything. Just try and stop me. Genre won't even stand in my way. I'll throw some hip hop at you if that's what's playing at the time. Doesn't matter that I'm whiter than Bryant Gumbel. Is a Bryant Gumbel reference considered dated?

6. I have a slow building feeling of dread about approaching my thirties. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I've pledged to quit smoking by the time I'm 30. Tasty tasty carcinogens will be my undoing if I'm not careful. I've allowed myself to smoke until I'm 30 because everyone is allowed to do stupid things while they're in their 20's. Had a one night stand? Fuck, you're in your 20's! Have fun! Drank way too much and woke up with a new tattoo? 20's! Try and pull that shit when you're in your 30's and everyone's like "Oh, when is he going to grow up? You know he turned 30 last year, right?". It's like you're expected to completely grow up and have your shit together on the stroke of midnight of your 30th birthday. I'm scared.

And that's more information about me than any of you realistically needs. Try not to use your new found knowledge for evil. I would if I were you, but again, besides the point. Which brings us to step 4. Six people, huh? As I said at the outset of this little endeavour, I'm going to have to cheat a bit here. There's only two bloggers I know who haven't already been subjected to this madness, so two is all you gets.

Candice, over at http://furrychocolates.wordpress.com/ and Laurie, over at http://www.lauriekendrick.com/

Furry Chocolates is a fellow Canuck, and is definitely worth a click. No, I'm not being perverted. I mean, click on the link and check out her page. Fucking sicko.

Laurie is the coolest chick in Texas. If you are from Texas, you are not as cool as Laurie Kendrick. Unless you are Laurie Kendrick, in which case, you are exactly as cool as Laurie Kendrick.

Why do I get the feeling that tagging people in this way is the blogging equivalent of asking your friends to help you move? I feel so dirty.

I wonder what TF thinks about all of this? Excuse me while I make a call...

This Post has Been Rated Ambidextrious....

2008-05-05T17:59:00.008-05:00

My companion's mouth yawned slowly in disappointment, but quickly transitioned to a deft roll of her eyes. Before I could get to my feet, I realized that I probably wouldn't be having sex for good long time. I had outed myself.....as a nerd....

Let's rewind this a bit. If I'm any kind of a nerd, I'm a film and music nerd. I've never been a huge comic collector, and besides a lil' Star Wars fix every now and then, I'm not all that into science fiction. Not that I don't enjoy it, but I don't actively seek it out either, you know what I mean? Music and film, on the other hand, are things that I tend to obsess over. And when the two are brought together well? Immediate geek orgasm. Probably why I am such a big fan of Quentin Tarantino. He just knows the perfect song to couple with each scene in his films and it makes the entire experience infinitely more enjoyable as a result. The point of all of this exposition, is that I realized something while perusing some past entries of mine (yes, I go back and analyze my old posts. Don't judge me). Even though I have huge love for music and film, I haven't really utilized this outlet to push my tastes and interests on you, my unsuspecting readers. Clearly, this is something that needs to be rectified immediately. And here we are.

Half of the remainder of this post will concern a couple of upcoming albums that I'm looking forward to, while the other half will concern a couple of films I viewed recently. While the interesting part of this type of exercise would be to try and turn you on to something you haven't previously seen or listened to before, I have to admit that these initial entries skew pretty heavily to the mainstream end of the spectrum. I doubt I'll be telling you anything you don't already know, but what can I say.....I likes what I likes. I'll try and offer up some more eclectic choices in upcoming entries into this "series", but for now, allow me to be master of the obvious.

First up....MUSIC!

THE OFFSPRING

I've been a fan of The Offspring since way back in the early 90s, with their release of Smash. You may remember the songs Come Out and Play or Self Esteem. They have actually been around since the mid 80s, but I was too busy eating dirt and picking my nose to pay much attention to their first two efforts. Every album since Smash though, I have inhaled and enjoyed. Granted, "tolerated" might be more apt than "enjoyed" when discussing their last album, but I always hold out hope for the next one. Well I'm not going to have to wait much longer to find out how good the next one is. The Offspring are officially releasing their eighth studio album on June 17, 2008, and the title they've gone with is Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace. I'm still going to have to wait another month to see how the entire album flows, but Dexter Holland (lead vocals) has been quoted as saying the new album will be much more guitar driven and faster than Splinter (their last album). That definitely fills me with some hope. But fuck waiting a month, right? I want me some new Offspring right NOW. Well, through the magic of the Internet, we can get a little taste of what the album will sound like, through the release of the first single. It's called Hammerhead, and you can download it for FREE on The Offspring's official website. That's right. All you need is an email address, and you can get a great quality MP3 of the newest single for the low, low price of zip, zilch and nada. Check it out here: http://www.offspring.com/

My take? I love the first 75% of the song. I wouldn't put it up there with their best stuff, but its a good tune. I'm not really digging the last part of the song, but it seems like the kind of thing that will grow on me after a couple more listens. In any case, I'll definitely be picking up the full album on June 17.

WEEZER

I fucking love Weezer. Don't expect this portion to be anything less than biased, fan drivel, because Weezer is 10 lbs of awesome in a 5 lb bag. Somewhat like The Offspring though, I never really dug their last album. Beverly Hills was an okay song, but it wasn't anywhere near as brilliant as most of their stuff. Also like The Offspring, Weezer has a new album coming out in June. One week after the new Offspring album to be exact (what a great 2 weeks for new music!). This will be their 6th studio album and is following the same self titled trend as their first and third albums. This one will likely be referred to as "The Red Album", due to the color scheme they are following this go around. They have also released the first single from the album (entitled "Pork and Beans"), and although it is not free to download, you can listen to it for free at their official site http://www.weezer.com/

If you don't want to download the new Offspring tune, I understand, but by all means click over to Weezer's site and at least LISTEN to Pork and Beans. It will be 3 and a half minutes out of your life that you didn't really need in the first place. You probably don't have anything better to do anyway, if you're reading this right now.

I fucking love this song. Way better than anything on Make Believe, and it has me absolutely foaming at the mouth to hear the rest of the album. Now if they will just do a proper tour of Canada, I can die a happy man.

Now....onto MOVIES!

HAROLD AND KUMAR ESCAPE FROM GUANTANAMO BAY

FYI, I'm not a licenced film reviewer. This is going to be terribly disjointed and bound to contain a multitude of run on sentences. Deal with it. Also, I won't go into heavy spoilers, but I may say something you might not want to know, if you are still planning on seeing this cinematic "masterpiece", so be warned.

I'm going to start by telling you that I love Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. I think its fucking hilarious. So many parts that make me laugh. I'm definitely not a movie snob and I like all kinds of film, including stupid stoner comedies. In fact, I actually went out of my way, while on a trip to Minneapolis last year, to eat at White Castle, just because of this movie. Maybe it was my love for the first Harold and Kumar, that made my expectations unreasonably high for the sequel. But you know what, fuck that. I didn't think it was going to be high art. I just wanted something to giggle at while I was enjoying some, ahem, cigarettes. If a movie like this can't even make a smoker laugh more than a couple of times, somethings gone horribly wrong.

First off, the jokes that were even a little bit funny, were basically just rehashes of jokes from the first movie. We don't need no originality apparently. Secondly, Rob Cordrey is just really really bad in this movie. His level of sucktitude here drags down everyone around him. I find Cordrey extremely funny on The Daily Show, but his performance in this movie was bad. It felt horribly forced, and really just kind of sad. He plays a bumbling Homeland Security agent who is in charge of capturing Harold and Kumar after they escape from Guantanamo Bay. He plays it in a really obvious way, and is not funny at all. Big disappointment. I get what they were going for, but it just doesn't work. John Cho and Kal Penn were as funny as the script allowed them to be, which sadly wasn't very.

One brief bright spot came courtesy of Neil Patrick Harris, reprising his role from the first film (as a cartoony, coked up version of himself). He always makes me laugh, and here is no exception. But they managed to fuck his cameo up real bad, and I can't really figure out why they did this.

MAJOR SPOILER

Neil and the boys hit up a whorehouse. Neil does something really bad to one of the hookers (off screen) and they are chased out. Before Neil can make his escape however, the madam guns him down with a shotgun! Fucking shoots him in the back and kills him right on the steps of the whorehouse!

END SPOILER

It was just completely out of place in this kind of movie, took me right out of it, and left a bad taste in my mouth. Not cool. The other big problem with the movie is that it is just completely forgettable. I'm seriously having trouble stretching this "review" past a couple of paragraphs, because I can't really remember all that much of the movie. And no, it wasn't because I was too high. Fucking smartasses.

The ending is predictable at best, but then, that's the kind of movie it is. So I would recommend it if you are:

a) really stoned (not just a little loopy, but REALLY FUCKING GONE)

b) have nothing better to do

or

c) are feeling masochistic

But by all means, wait until it hits the cheap theater, or comes out on DVD. Don't shell out 10 bucks to see it. I could think of 37 better ways to spend 10 bucks.

Now, on to the good movie, and I'm sure you already know what it is.

IRON MAN

This movie fucking rocked. No other way to really describe it. It was balls out, one of the best superhero movies I've seen. I wouldn't put it on the same level as Batman Begins, but it was well written, superbly acted, and wonderfully directed. There wasn't a whole lot wrong with it really, and it easily deserves however many hundreds of millions of dollars it ends up with (currently at over $200 million worldwide after only 3 days)

Now I'm a bit of a pop culture nerd, we all know that. So purely in the interest of public service, and impartiality, I am going to offer this review in two formats. That's right dammit! I said two. I'm helpful like that. On top, you're going to see the standard English review, constructed for the average person to read and enjoy. Below that, you're going to see (in mighty italicization, mind you) the "geek" review, meant only for those of you currently living in your parent's basement, subsisting on hot pockets and healthy doses of shame.

STORY: The story is set in a more realistic world than some previous comic book movies. This is a place where superpowers come from high intelligence and modern technology. If you were bit by a radioactive spider in this movie, you would probably die a horrible, painful death (as opposed to developing the power to kiss Kirsten Dunst upside down in the rain). A nice change (from the usual fare) is that here we see a hero who actually CHOSE to do what he could to make a difference. He wasn't granted magic powers and a conscience. This is a character who makes a gigantic mistake in where he is leading his company, realizes it, and chooses to try and rectify it. It's a great story involving some strong themes including but not limited to the futility of war, and taking responsibility for your own actions. Not really mind blowing themes, but a fuck of a lot smarter than Harold and Kumar, which taught us that eating 30 White Castle hamburgers will make your ass explode.

My only complaint in this department is the same complaint that I have for most comic book "origin" films. It takes a good long time to get to the ass kicking, Iron Man action. This probably wouldn't have bothered me as much, but I had my children in tow, and their attention spans were truly fucking tested for that first 45 minutes or so.

This movie stays really close to the comics, which is the way it should be, right? They update the opening setting to Afghanistan instead of Vietnam, but that's only to bring it into the future. It doesn't really change anything important. And the terrorist group that kidnaps Tony Stark is called The Ten Rings. Fucking cool, right? A little foreshadowing for the Mandarin and his ten alien rings of power, perhaps? And don't worry, Mr. Stark enjoys a fair bit of alcohol throughout the movie. Maybe a bout of alcoholism is in the cards for the sequel!!!! Oh and I couldn't forget Tony's house robot, whose name just happens to be "Jarvis". A little Avengers, anyone?

ACTING: The film really fucking shines in this department. Robert Downey Jr. has long been a favorite of mine, and he does not disappoint here. He takes a role that a lot of actors might have just phoned in, and fucking explodes off of the screen with it. He was made to be Tony Stark, and I can't ever see them successfully recasting now that he has left his mark on it. The next time I see RDJ in a film, I'm going to be taken back to this movie.

Gwyneth Paltrow is actually really good here as well (playing Tony Stark's assistant Pepper Potts). I know she is a good actress, but I find her dead, soulless eyes to be terrifying at the worst of times, and distracting at the best of times. I really don't enjoy much that she is in. I think the difference is that she looks like she is genuinely having fun here, and it makes a great impact on her performance. Top Notch.

Terrence Howard is great as always (playing Tony's buddy Rhodes) except I still find his slightly feminine voice to be a bit off putting, especially in this very masculine role. The chemistry between him and RDJ is spectacular though, and Howard does seem to shine a bit brighter in scenes with Tony Stark, than in scenes without him.

Jeff Bridges as Obidiah Stane is wonderful as always. He has to deal with his character being more "comic booky" than any of the others, but he handles it well. By this, I mean his character is by far the most one dimensional and predictable. You know what though, even if Bridges was complete shit in this movie, I would still give him a pass. You can't fail The Dude. You just can't.

DOOD!!!!!! Did you see when Rhodes looked over at the silver Iron Man suit and uttered the line "Next time baby". WAR MACHINE!!!!!!! But was it just me, or was Pepper Potts a little too "into" Tony Stark? Happy Hogan did make an appearance, but only for a brief moment. Maybe Pepper and Happy will get together in the next one.

SPECIAL EFFECTS / ACTION: You know those special effects driven movies that incorporate a lot of bad CGI? It really takes you out of the film, and looks overly fake. This is not one of those movies. It is seriously difficult (in most scenes. There are some exceptions) to figure out which elements are practical effects, and which are computer generated. You will actually believe two guys in huge metal suits are tearing shit up during the finale. Spectacular job. Another thing that was done perfectly was that the characters felt like they had real weight. When Iron Man walks into a room, you can see the ground shake, as it should. A ton of special effects were used in Iron Man, and they damn near pulled them all off. The one exception is a scene in which Iron Man fires a missile at a tank and then walks away as it blows up. This looks a little too computer generated for my tastes, but it can't be perfect.

Sorry, no real geeky things to add in this department...

THE ENDING: The last line uttered in the film (before the credits) is fucking great. I won't say what it is obviously, but it brought a huge smile to my face. Kind of goes against what 99% of superhero movies will do, but it is so totally in character for the character in question. Awesome.

Geek Spoiler warning!!!!!!

Stay until after the credits. There is a scene featuring Sam Jackson as Nick Fury waiting for Tony Stark at his home. He is there to talk to him about.........THE AVENGER INITIATIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK YEAH! AVENGERS!

End Geek Spoiler!!!!!!

So yeah, go and see this movie NOW. You will enjoy it. I went with my special someone, her son and my kids. Of course I begged everyone to stay until after the credits.

"There's still more movie left! I promise. I read about it on the Internet!"

So we waited, and we waited, and we waited some more. The kids were starting to get antsy. Jeez, there's a fuck of a lot of credits, I thought. How many people does it take to make a movie these days?

Finally, we were rewarded with the scene (lasting about 20 seconds, after half an hour of credits).

At the conclusion of the scene, my companion had this to say: "We waited all that time for that? What the hell?"

I couldn't hide my geek smile "THAT WAS AWESOME!!! NICK FURY.....THE AVENGERS.....SAM JACKSON.......WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Cue the disappointed yawn and rolling of the eyes.

Dammit. Blue balls here I come...

Can You Sell Me Some Shark Repellent?...

2008-04-30T20:41:00.006-05:00

I hate blogging for blogging sake. I'm definitely of the opinion that you should only blog when you have something to say. Now I am well aware that what I have to say might not qualify as something you think really needs to be said, but these things are subjective, aren't they? I only begin this way because I have to admit that I genuinely wanted to publish a post today, regardless of the fact that I really didn't have anything to write about. Call me a hypocrite, but I just wanted one more post out of April.

So I wrestled with this "problem" for a short time. You see, I love the feeling I get when I publish a shiny, new post. I can't really describe it, but I think that other people who enjoy writing as much as I do may know what I'm talking about. I don't think its anything as major as a grand sense of accomplishment, but it just feels good. And I like to feel good. Much better than feeling bad. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a masochist.

As I alluded to before, the line between good writing and bad writing is subjective at best. Someone who I think is incredible, may just be "meh" to you. But I think we can all agree that writing with a purpose, even if it is only meaningful to the person writing it, will always create a better end result. So where the fuck does that leave me?

Write something just to pad my post count for the month, or allow April to slip away without a whisper. Never ever to return.

Pay no attention to the melodrama. It adds texture.

So I was mindlessly surfing random sites, while internally debating my little "problem", when I stumbled upon the coolest thing. And just like that, my problem had solved itself. I found something that I just needed to share.

It's no secret that I harbour slight nerd tendencies. One of the things I am slightly nerdy about is Batman. I don't care how cool you think you are, you have to admit that Batman is fucking awesome. You may think one iteration of Batman is far superior to others, but the case still stands that Batman is for everyone. From the campy TV show (shark repellent...Batman is ready for fucking anything) all the way to the current Christian Bale variety, there really is a style and format for anyone to enjoy. But enough defending my inner nerd, let's get to the point.

The Dark Knight opens in July and is easily my most anticipated film of the summer. I almost never go to movies on opening night, but this will be one of those rare exceptions. Don't worry though, I'm planning on leaving my Batman costume at home.

You may or may not be aware that there is a new trailer for the movie currently making the rounds on the internet. Problem is, I can't find it. It keeps getting yanked by Warner Bros. They are officially releasing it online on Sunday, and aren't too appreciative of people spoiling their debut. I can understand this, because the quality of these bootlegs is always piss poor, and Warner Bros is probably worried that a poor quality representation of the trailer will portray the film in a negative light. But that doesn't change the fact that I still want to see it RIGHT NOW. This is the year 2008, Warner Bros. I don't want to wait for my stimuli. I want it 10 minutes ago. This is the ADD generation dammit, and we need to digest this shit fast so we can move on to the next thing. Ultimately, while the viral marketing thing has been cool, just give me the damn trailer already.

In an effort to locate said trailer, I found the below video. It comes via collegehumor.com and is a side by side comparison of the trailers for the 1989 Batman film and The Dark Knight. And its fucking uncanny. I got a kick out of it, but maybe that's just me. Is anyone else a closeted Batman fan? Or just looking forward to The Dark Knight?

You know what sucks, though? I just realized that (for some reason) I cannot view this post, as I'm writing it, in "compose" mode with the video attached. It immediately shuts down my IE. So I'm going to cross my fingers, click "Publish Post" with my tongue (because my fingers are busy being crossed), and hope this works. If the formatting is all fucked up, you know why.

I hate HTML.

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor

A Slight Change....

2008-04-26T22:04:00.002-05:00

So I received more than one angry email telling me to "fucking change the colors back on your page. I can't read your new post!". Kind of surprising since I didn't do anything to change my font or background colors in the first place. Blogger is fucking with me I think. And I don't like it when my free services fuck with me. So for the time being, I've changed the colors and backgrounds to a new template, but I'm not crazy about it. In fact, the previous template I was using was about the only one I did like. So what should I do?

I'm thinking about transferring to a new blogging site. Anyone have any suggestions or recommendations? I'm open for input. Anyone previously post on Blogger, but changed to a new site and are happier with it? Let me know.

And while we're in the "interrogating" frame of mind, how many of you couldn't read my newest post? Maybe that explains the lack of comments. Except for good ol' Heather. The rest of you should sit in the corner for a bit.

Kris: The Official Motion Picture Soundtrack...

2008-04-23T17:10:00.012-05:00

If you could have absolutely anything your heart desired, what would it be? Anything at all. Your first impulse might be to imagine eternal happiness, world peace, true love, or a million dollars. While those are all noble answers (except the million dollars I guess, unless you're planning on donating it to charity) let's dig deeper than that. Let's really get to the root of the question and think about what you would REALLY REALLY want if by some weird (possibly sexual....no, probably sexual) circumstance, you were faced with a blue skinned, slightly effeminate, magical genie. Why is he slightly effeminate? Well why not, you homophobe. And is "magical genie" redundant? If I had just said "genie", you would have come to the same conclusion, yes? I'm voting for redundant.

Have you thought about it? Well so have I. And I've made up my mind. Taking a cue from Family Guy, I would have to say my answer would be.....my very own soundtrack! How fucking cool would it be to have your own soundtrack, completely in sync with your thoughts and actions! Imagine a world where a disembodied audience would collectively hoot and holler whenever you unleashed a particularly spicy double entendre. Or an emotional "awwwwwwww" when you romantically embrace your significant other. How about dark, ominous tones playing while you're hatching an equally dark and ominous master plan? You don't hatch dark and ominous master plans? Well maybe you should.

Wouldn't you love to be able to stage your own cheesy 80s montage with "Eye of the Tiger" dripping all over everything? You have to see the benefits to this plan by now. In fact, I would go so far as to say that if you ever ARE faced with a blue skinned, slightly effeminate genie, you would be a fool NOT to wish for your very own soundtrack. But just in case you still need convincing, here are some scenarios you may encounter in your day to day life, and how they would be enriched with the addition of a soundtrack. In order to really get you in the proper frame of mind, we're going to do this while utilizing my brilliant new "SOUND O' SCOPE MOOD ELEVATING MYSTERY MACHINE" (patent pending). I've included some videos to listen to while you read the scenarios. Click play on the video, wait 10 seconds or so (in order to really get into the song) and then read the corresponding paragraph below it. The first scenario even has more than one video! You'll be agreeing with me before you know it. And isn't that the first step on the road to being a better person? I've always said "The world would be a much better place if everyone would just blindly agree with me all of the time". That's not too much to ask, is it?

__________

Scenario The First

Your palms are sweating profusely, and refuse to dry off, no matter how many times you wipe them on your pant legs. Your throat is dry and your stomach feels slightly queasy. You've been seeing your significant other for a little over a year and have decided that this is the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. Even though you're madly in love, a slight bit of uncertainty clouds your thoughts. This will either be the defining moment of your life, or your greatest defeat. The sun is shining, and a slightly warm east wind is blowing the hair away from your forehead, doing little to ease your perspiration, while you slowly walk to her house to meet. You've played the scenario over and over again in your head, but are still afraid you're not going to be able to make a sound when the time comes. You thrust your hands into your pockets in order to fight the clammy feeling you know will be apparent to her once you embrace, but all you can notice is the way the muscles in your upper thigh are twitching in a combination of nervousness and anticipation. Even with some doubt however, you are optimistic and a slight smile curls your lips. You arrive at her door and ring the bell.

She opens the door and you are speechless. She is more beautiful than you even remember, and for a moment, you forget why you even came over in the first place. A quick shake of your head, and you're back on track. Seeing as its such a beautiful day, you decide to take her for a walk, to that special place you both hold so dear. Everyone has a special place, a landmark if you will. Once you arrive, you get down on one knee, and throw yourself at her mercy.

And she says yes, with tears sparkling in the corners of her eyes, like little salty diamonds. You say your goodbyes and share a slow, sweet, lips slightly parted kiss. Why are you leaving so soon after proposing? I don't know, you have shit to do I guess. Try to keep up.

All is right with the world, and nothing could bring you down at this moment. The occasion clearly calls for a strut. So you strut on down the street, completely full of yourself, and can't help thinking about how awesome you are. A bright cartoon bluebird chirps a friendly hello and lands on your shoulder. Except instead of just sitting there, he grinds his little bluebird ass up against your shoulder. Because you're that goddamn sexy.

Scenario The Second

You're having the worst day of your life. The alarm fails to wake you up on time and now you're rushing to get out the door, remembering very clearly that your boss has specifically told you never to be late again, unless you would rather be late for the unemployment line. There's no time to brew a pot of coffee, so you jump in your car, promising your tired, sleep caked eyes that you'll stop at the first drive thru you see. This is probably the best part of your day, as the drive thru manages not to fuck up your order for a change, and you're back on track. But you're still running a bit late, so you drive a little faster than you're used to, and conveniently forget that pothole that you manage to avoid every other morning. And now you're wearing your coffee. Fuck. You have little choice but to return home and change your shirt. You slam on your brakes at the end of your driveway and bolt into your house. You take the stairs two at a time, throw open your bedroom door and see.....your best friend, balls deep inside your wife, while your father in law films the entire thing. And he's jerking off. All over your favorite robe.

You blink in disbelief, but don't have the time to process anything you've just seen. You grab another shirt out of your closet, throw it on and run back out of the house. Your best friend didn't even slow down the pounding of your wife's vag while you were there, by the way.

You finally pull up to work and sprint to the elevator. Each second in the elevator feels like an eternity, as you can't get the image of your friend fucking the shit out of your wife, out of your head. You look at your watch and realize that you're over half an hour late. A small feeling of dread sits in the pit of your stomach as you anticipate what is coming. The "ding" of the elevator announces your floor, and you speed walk deftly in between cubicles to reach your office. You get a small feeling of hope as you realize your manager isn't around. Maybe this will turn out okay! Nope. The reason you didn't see him is because he is in your office, packing your shit into a cardboard box. And not even a new box. And old, battered one. He pushes your belongings across the desk at you and requests that you "have a nice day". That's when the vein in your head fucking pops.

Scenario The Third

You've lived your entire existence in the same neighborhood. This is your home. All of your haunts are here, as well as all of your friends. But all of this is in danger due to greedy land developers and their need for yet another golf course. And the land developer's son is a complete douchebag that almost killed your older brother, Josh Brolin. Luckily, you find an old treasure map in your attic, and embark on an adventure to find enough rich stuff to save the day! And there's this cool skeleton piano, and a pirate ship, and robbers chasing after you, and they're all like "Hey, you kids...give us that map!" And you're all like "No way, this is our map". And then a mutant swings across a lake that's hidden inside a mountain and saves the day.

Okay, so maybe this last scenario isn't entirely realistic, but come on! Wouldn't that be cool? I think I need to write a tribute to The Goonies.

__________

So? Are you convinced? All those videos were a pain in the ass to embed in the HTML, so you better be. Music is a fantastic addition to almost any situation, so you really can't lose with your own soundtrack. You would need the ability to mute it every now and then though, otherwise you would just go crazy. You can't listen to music and sound effects all of the time. Ofcourse, this is all rendered rather moot, by the sheer implausibility of a blue skinned, slightly effeminate genie just showing up and granting me my heart's desire. Clearly I need a more realistic option. Originally, I thought the way to go would be to strap a midget to my back and have him narrate my life for me. Not quite the same as your own soundtrack, but it kind of follows the same train of thought. Then I realized how fucking annoying that would be after the first 5 minutes. Plus I'm sure some human rights organization would come down on me hard for strapping a midget to my back. No, I would have to think of something better.

And then it came to me. An MP3 player! I can put on my earphones and pretend I have my own soundtrack! I can program playlists for different moods and even throw some sound effects and a laugh track on there for those "special" moments. Goddamn, my brilliance scares even me sometimes.

So I bought this thing.....

It has 4 GB of space and a built in radio and video and I loves it. Not quite to the point where I want to fuck it though, because I can't imagine microchips feeling all that great rubbing up against my cock. What was the very first thing I put on there, you ask? Half an hour of porno, because I'm all about being prepared. Think of me as an overgrown boyscout. Not that I will find many opportunities to watch porn while I'm walking down the street or riding the bus, but isn't it better to have porn and not need it, than to need porn and not have it? I think Confucious said that. Something to think about anyway.

Who's a Lazy Blogger? Not me...

2008-04-22T08:44:00.002-05:00

I swears it. My current lifestyle has kept me away from home (and by extension, away from my computer) for extended periods of time. I've actually written about 10 different things in the last week. Unfortunately, as I was away from a computer, I couldn't type them up fast enough and they escaped. So if you see any of these missing posts, be sure to let me know.

I'm at work right now, but wanted to let you guys know that I'm not dead. At least not officially. I've been battling a bit of a sinus infection for the last few days, so although I feel slightly dead, I have not been officially proclaimed as such. If I am dead, I'll be sure to let you know, post haste.

So tonight (hopefully) I'll have something up that's far more entertaining to read than excuses. In the meantime, here's some answers to the questions I was asked FAR too long ago. You can read my blog buddy's answers here: http://kelticdragonfly.blogspot.com/2008/04/kris-youre-it.html
Be sure to read some of her other stuff while you're slumming it over there (JUST KIDDING HEATHER). She's a great read, and probably other things, although I'm in the dark as to what those other things may be, as I don't know her in the biblical sense. She is from Ohio after all.

And I guess I should pass this thing on, lest I incur the wrath of some Blogging God somewhere in the interwebs. So CANADADAD......tag, you're it. Sorry buddy, but I'm really curious about what kind of tree you would be. On with the interrogation...

1. WHAT IS YOUR PERFECT FOOD?
That's easy....cherry flavoured pez. (QUICK! 2 points to whomever can spot the movie reference there). Actually, I would have to go with pizza. Any topping besides mushrooms. No scat pizza for me please. I know pizza is a pretty obvious answer, but literally, I could eat pizza every single day and not get sick of it. I usually do eat it 2 or 3 times a week. Mmmmmm.....

2. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE COLOR?
I prefer not to discriminate against colors of any sort. Unless we're talking about purple. That's where I draw the line. It's good to know your limits.

3. HAIR
I'm noticing an alarming trend as I get closer and closer to my 30s. My hair seems to be moving slowly but steadily backwards. My hairline has receded a bit in the last few years and I'm absolutely certain the hair hasn't fallen out. It's moving down my neck and onto my back. I'm a little worried that I will be the victim of heavy ankle hair by the time I'm in my 50s. Maybe eventually, it will move over the soles of my feet and back up the front. I'll keep you posted.

4. RECENT DVD WATCHED
Does Porn count? Okay, then I would have to go with "Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf". And no, my kids weren't over when I watched it. Fuck you for judging me.

5. GUILTY PLEASURE TV SHOW
I don't really watch TV now, but back when I did, it would probably have been Jerry Springer. There's just something about watching fucked up rednecks and trailer trash fighting over who gets to sleep with his own sister first, that just makes me feel better about myself. Thanks Jerry!

6. IF I WAS A TREE, WHAT KIND OF TREE WOULD I BE....
I don't think it matters what kind of tree I used to be, since I would be long burned down. Chain smoking trees don't carry an extra long life span, methinks.

So I don't think that really answered any questions about me that you may have, so lets keep this going. Anything you want to know about me? Anything you want to hear my opinion on? List some questions in the comments and I'll do my best to answer them in the least condescending and sarcastic manner that I can muster. I won't promise to answer all of the questions, as some may be too personal, but lets be honest. If I can tell you about my deep seated desire to fuck a sandwich, I can tell you just about anything.

And that goes for all you lurkers out there too. Let's see some questions. There are a fuck of a lot more people reading this than actually take the time to comment, so its high time you made yourself known.

Until later....

Microwave Goodness = Oxymoron?...

2008-04-13T15:53:00.006-05:00

It's been about a week, and I still can't get the awful taste of Aunt Jemima's breakfast abortion out of my mouth. I even tried eating a raw onion to overpower the sucktitude of said sandwich. No dice. I thought about setting my tongue on fire, but I'm not sure I want to resort to that level of insanity yet. I'm still debating the finer points of going through life without being able to taste anything, as opposed to tasting nothing but rotten "sausage" patty for another week. Sausage is in quotations because I'm not entirely convinced it was actually meat approved for human consumption. God damn that was an awful sandwich. Have I gotten that point across sufficiently? Good. Let's move on to something much more tasty, and much less "Holy fuck this sandwich is so awful, I want to kill myself".

You should probably know that my microwave gets more use than any other appliance in my apartment. That's if you don't count the steam-powered, pneumatic vagina that resides in my closet. But we're not counting that, are we?

Now don't get me wrong. I can cook. In fact, I'm quite good at it. I just don't like cooking for me and only me, and I live alone. Why spend an hour making dinner when there is no one to impress but myself?

"Wow Kris, this is a great dinner. You've really outdone yourself."

"Why thanks Kris. That's a nice new haircut by the way."

I'm not saying I don't have conversations with myself, but that's generally not one of them. And you all know what a comment whore I am. I need validation dammit, and preferably from someone other than myself. Telling myself how awesome I am kind of feels like a copout after all these years. Also, my 80s movies aren't going to watch themselves, and all those sweet toys on eBay aren't going to bid on themselves for my benefit. I just don't have the time to make big elaborate meals, when the only person I'm impressing is me. For these reasons, a large portion of my diet consists of frozen entrees. Utilizing this "expertise" in microwave dining, I can tell you that about 60% of them are edible, while 35% are so vile, your tongue will shake its fist at you. If it had a fist. Unless it had a mouth, and then it would probably just call you a cunt. Then there's the remaining 5%. This tiny fraction of the total number of frozen entrees on the market always genuinely surprises me. These are the proud, the few, the "holy shit, this actually tastes GOOD!"

Today's entry consists of a frozen sandwich that easily earns its way into the illustrious 5. I'm giving this product a serious recommendation, so check them out if they are carried in your neck of the woods. Keep in mind, they are microwaveable, so don't expect to experience the greatest meal of your life. But as microwaveable food stuffs go, this is THE SHIT. Take a peek....

What you are looking at is a Stouffers Bistro Panini. I chose the Philly Cheesesteak variety, because cheese + steak = 4 levels of delicious. There are other types, some utilizing chicken, but if I see Philly Cheesesteak flavour fucking anything, you better believe I'm buying it. I would chew that shit as bubblegum if the geniuses at Wrigley's would get off their asses and do something about it.

Seriously though, you can't go wrong with beef, cheese, peppers and onions. At least for my tastes. It's alarming the sheer number of food products these days that include mushrooms in the recipe. I'm sure a good portion of you are mushroom lovers, so I don't mean to offend but.....fucking gross, man. Mushrooms are grown on SHIT. Literally. I'm sorry, but there isn't enough soap in the world to make that sound appealing to me. Deluxe frozen pizza? Mushrooms. Alfredo anything? Mushrooms. Beef Stroganoff? Goddamn mushrooms. Cambells Chunky Steak and Potato Soup? FUCKING MUSHROOMS!

But there aren't any mushrooms on you, Philly Cheesesteak Panini, are there? Not a one. Just beef, cheese, peppers and onions. That's the recipe for deliciousness, I don't care who you are. Take another look at the picture. Notice anything? It's actually fucking toasted! In the microwave! I think we need to get the scientists at Stouffers to start working on a cure for cancer, because toasting something in the microwave is fucking impressive. It's not soggy or anything. Color me impressed. Which is a deep shade of purple if I'm not mistaken. But as amazing as it is so far, it would be a small victory to have toasted bread out of the microwave, if the insides taste like ass. And I'm saying that from the point of view of someone that doesn't like the taste of ass. If you like the taste of ass, then you should change the last sentence to "it would be a small victory to have toasted bread out of the microwave, if the insides didn't taste like ass".

Actually, I'm not sure what ass tastes like. I guess I shouldn't knock it until I've tried it, but I don't think I'm ever going to get the urge to eat an asshole, so I stick by my original point. And that is just enough talk of "ass eating" for a post about microwaveable paninis. A little more of that, and we would officially be "overboard".

Anyway....the entire point of that was to say that toasted bread in the microwave is great, but the filling needs to be equally great, otherwise the entire effort is for naught. Naught is a vastly underused word, by the way. Just thought you should know. Here, take a look at the inside....

This thing is as close to looking like the picture on the package, as anything could be. And the taste? Oh my god, it is good. The cheese is abundant and stringy, the beef is flavorful and not overly chewy, and the peppers and onions are just the right level of crisp. If I didn't have an aversion to scalding hot cheese burns, I would happily rub the finished product all over my naked chest as I danced slowly, in a sultry way. I think I have some serious issues...

So if you don't feel like spending more than a couple of minutes cooking dinner tonight, check these out. Probably the best thing I've ever eaten out of the microwave. Not really that impressive of an endorsement I suppose, but I still give it....

4 out of 5 badly veiled sexual connotations

Bon Ape Tit

Aunt Jemima Makes Me a Sad Panda...

2008-04-10T19:49:00.004-05:00

My computer lives! And just in the nick of time no less. You see, the last thing I need right now is an angry Ohioian on my tail. Any place (and by proxy, its citizens) that has declared Tomato Juice as it's "Official State Beverage" scares me just a little bit. So without further stalling...

I am not a "morning person" by any stretch of the imagination. Not even a little bit. I fucking hate alarm clocks with a passion that should really only be reserved for history's most heinous villains. My hatred of alarm clocks runs so deep that if I ever make a million dollars, the first thing I'm going to do is buy cases and cases of alarm clocks, just so I can fucking smash one every morning after it brutally wakes me from my peaceful slumber. For this job I will employ a comically over sized wooden mallet, and I will paint racing stripes on it.

I could easily sleep in until noon every day for the rest of my life, without once questioning whether or not I was "wasting the day". Sadly, office jobs rarely offer hours that begin at noon, so I'm forced to violently waken from whichever sweet dream I'm having, every morning at 7 am. Here's a rundown of an average morning in my life.

7 AM: My eyes fly open as the constant ringing from the alarm shocks me awake. Even though I wake up this way 5 days out of 7, my body seems to be genuinely surprised. I roll out of bed.

7:05 - 7:15 AM: Private time. I'll leave that to your imagination. Okay, I take a big shit. Have you ever thought about how difficult it is to sit on a toilet with a huge morning erection going on? Think about it.

7:15 - 7:30 AM: Time to prop myself up against the shower wall and let the water hit me in the face for fifteen minutes. Very little actual washing occurs, as I'm far too lethargic to lift a water heavy wash cloth.

7:30 - 7:55 AM: Check emails and chain smoke.

7:55 - 8 AM: Run out of my apartment in a mad rush as I realize I'm about to be late for the bus. (Seriously, I do this every morning. Fucking learn your lesson already, right?)

My morning ritual should tell you two very basic truths about me.

1. I'm a lazy bastard before my double double has a chance to kick in.
2. A complete breakfast is not a part of my vocabulary

The second point has a particularly nasty side effect. By about 10 AM, my stomach is calling me a huge asshole. And quite vigorously at that. But what am I supposed to do about it, really? Making breakfast is completely out of the question. It just isn't possible. How will I fit in all of the chain smoking if I have to cook on top of everything else? Wake up earlier you say? Quite impossible. I came to accept long ago that my destiny does not cross paths with breakfast often. Probably the reason I enjoy breakfast in the evening so much. But then, on an innocent trip to my local grocer, I spyed this. BEHOLD

A piping hot breakfast croissammich in 2 minutes?!?! I can spare two minutes. And it looks so tasty on the box. That must mean it IS tasty, right?

Hmmm.....is the sausage patty supposed to look that gray and diseased? Well, it doesn't matter what it looks like, right? It's the taste that counts, I rationalized.

Bite #1: I wonder if the croissant is supposed to be this crunchy?

Bite #2: Mmmm...I love mystery chunks of gristle....

Bite #3: Okay, something isn't right here....

Bite #4: I think I loudly proclaimed Aunt Jemima a cunt at this point, but to be fair, my memory is a bit fuzzy.

How could you subject me to this torture you call breakfast, Aunt Jemima? Haven't I always been there for you? I don't care if your syrup is a little more expensive than the generic brand. I stuck by you dammit. And for this, you pissed in my face. Et Tu Jemima....Et tu....

Maybe there is a silver lining though (I'm ever the optimist). Something this awful must be good for me! I can suffer a bit in the name of nutrition and proper dietary habits. I've abused my body pretty badly over the years, so the least I can do is give it a healthy meal every once in a while, regardless of the taste.

Wow. You are a cunt, Aunt Jemima. 350 calories and 23 grams of fat, in one baby fist sized croissant! I could almost eat an entire Big Mac for breakfast at the same fatty expense! You know how to kick a brother when he's down don't you?

FINAL SCORE: 1 out of 5 acts of corporate racism

I guess I'm just doomed to continue eking out a breakfastless existence. It sure as fuck beats waking up 15 minutes earlier....(shudder)

Next....a much more satisfying frozen dining experience....

I'm Holding Out for a Hero...

2008-04-03T19:02:00.004-05:00

As the average blogger goes, I am somewhat less than prolific. But I don't have to tell you that, do I? While some people post a bit of writing almost every day, I tend to stick closer to the "once a week" rule of thumb. It's not that I don't have anything to say on a daily basis, but probably that I don't want to wear all of you out. The average person can only handle so much exposure to my bullshit, so I need to be careful not to burn you all out too quickly. I must refrain from blowing my proverbial load, if you will. It's difficult to make a cum reference sound classy, but I think I nailed that one.

Actually, I just lead somewhat of a dull existence, and its tough finding tons of stuff in my day to day adventures that I deem worthy of writing about. And let's be honest, some of the things I've written about are pretty stupid. Imagine the stuff I DON'T write about. Fucking scary.

So it was with some amusement tonight, that I realized I have 4 things I want to talk about. Expect me to be a whole lot more prolific over the next few days.

First up is something that you're either not going to care about at all, or you will consider it "old news". Way to start out with a bang, huh? A co-worker was kind enough to let me borrow his Season One DVDs of the TV show "Heroes". And I fucking love it! At this point, (if you're a fan of the show) you're probably thinking "I was enjoying Heroes 2 years ago! Where the fuck have you been, you loser!"

First off, names hurt.

Secondly, I have a very good reason for not watching the show up until yesterday. I just don't watch a lot of TV. Every now and then I'll catch a certain program, but never with a specific schedule. I've found that I can't live up to the type of commitment required of a weekly television show. Now back when the show was just starting out, it seemed that EVERYONE was watching it. And wanting to talk to me about it.

"DID YOU SEE HEROES LAST NIGHT!?!?!?!"

You could just tell from the ravenous look in their eyes, that they absolutely fucking NEEDED to discuss every little plot point and character revelation with me immediately.

"No, I guess I missed it...."

This was always met with an incredulous stare, followed by an awkward pause.

"Oh......well it was awesome....."

The sheer disappointment of a Heroes fan with no one around to analyze it with. Truly heartbreaking. Obviously, I knew I was missing out on something that could have been great, but I already knew what would happen. I've been down this road before. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me six times...

I would watch an episode or two, and then miss one or two and now I've missed so much story that I don't know what the fuck is going on, and why is that character kissing that other one, they hate each other, and when the fuck did that guy die, and who's that girl and why is she acting like that......

And then I smash my TV. And TVs are expensive, so I tend the avoid the entire scenario in the first place by just not watching it at all. But perhaps I was missing out on something truly special. Sadly, by the time I came to this realization, I had already missed half of the season. FAIL. Better luck next time loser.

Fortunately I have been known, from time to time, to exhibit a wee bit o' craftiness. "That's it! I'll just pick up the DVDs when they come out. Then I'll watch all of the episodes in order! Kris, you sly son of a bitch you..."

And then....I just sort of forgot about it, to be honest with you. It completely dropped off of my radar. The DVDs were released a while ago, and up until yesterday, I still hadn't known the joy of Heroes.

Well, since I received the DVDs yesterday, I have watched 9 episodes. Let that sink in for a minute. Including the 70 minute pilot, that means I've watched a little over 7 HOURS of Heroes in the last 24 hour period. That's fucking crazy! How the hell did I even find the time? Oh, that's right. I decided I needed to know more about Hiro and Peter and Claire, than I needed to sleep. Seriously, this show has me addicted in the worst way. I want to put my arms around it and whisper sweet nothings in its ear. I want to gently spoon with it and make it believe that I'll always be there. I want to slap my cock up against.....wait....sorry about that. Took a disturbing turn there for a second.

Anyone else devoted to the church of Heroes? If you are....DON'T FUCKING SPOIL ANYTHING FOR ME. I will do terrible things to you, while softly singing the following song:

That was the song "Eyes" as performed by Rogue Wave. It's featured in the first and fourth episodes of the show, and like everything else Heroes related, is fucking awesome. I can't get it out of my head. Hopefully now you won't be able to either. You're welcome. I couldn't find an "official" video of the song, so I settled for the weirdest one on YouTube. Hope you like.

Oh, and I may have to go back on my word about the other 3 posts coming over the next couple of days (two "reviews" and something Slurpee related). My computer decided to be an asshole last night and crapped out right in the middle of writing this. If I can get it going over the weekend, new posts will appear, I promise. As it is, I'm finishing this at work, risking getting my ass fired so that you can read about my love of Heroes. God damn I'm dedicated.

An Easter Story Part II...

2008-03-29T13:14:00.010-05:00

Part I can be found here. http://mindlessdiversions.blogspot.com/2008/03/easter-story.html

___________________________________

The soft, yellowish glow from the open refrigerator door illuminated the half chewed carrots pooled around his feet. I choked back a generous amount of bile as I desperately fought the urge to get sick. The confidence I felt only moments ago was quickly fading, replaced once again with feeling of absolute dread. The gun in my hand wavered, and was feeling increasingly heavy.

"Put that thing down before you hurt yourself". Small pieces of the carrot he was chewing flew from his mouth as his raspy voice issued its warning. Complying, I slowly lowered the gun to my side, still unable to speak. He took a step closer and his full seven foot tall frame came into the light. His twisted snout was curled into a cruel grin, his long whiskers quivering. I shrank back instinctively. "What's the matter....don't you recognize your old friend?" He took another slow step towards me. "Why don't you sit down. We have some things to discuss".

I watched as he hopped over to the dining room table, receding into the darkness. I gave my head a quick shake, still not fully comprehending what I was seeing, carefully stepped over the pile of half chewed carrots, and followed him into the darkness, gun tucked safely back into my waistband. His large size dwarfed the dining room chair in which he was perched, making it appear comically undersized in comparison. I took a seat across from him and watched as he produced a large, perfectly rolled joint from behind one elongated, furry ear. He lit it, took a long, slow pull and then asked "You mind if I smoke this?"

I didn't answer, and he continued to draw on it, never offering it to me. We sat in silence, eyes fixed on each other, as he finished his joint and slowly crushed it out on the shiny, unblemished oak table top. The time for my silence was up. "How did you get in here?"

He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head slightly in amusement. "Are you joking? I'm the fucking Easter Bunny, you asshole. You know, hiding chocolate eggs in people's houses and all that shit?" He waved his furry paws in my face as if to emphasize this point. "It's what I do. Getting in here was the easiest part of the last few years. Finding your sorry ass....that was considerably more difficult. A fact that has made me one pissed off rabbit, let me tell you. So why don't we skip the part where we reminisce about old times and get to the fucking point?".

I responded through clenched teeth. "I told Kringle I was finished. End of story. You may as well just go back and tell him so, because I'm not going back there"

His deep, baritone laugh echoed maniacally throughout my empty apartment. "That's some funny shit. If I didn't know better, I would think you were the April Fool instead of some overgrown cherub with a clutch full of arrows..."

"Now wait just a goddamn..."

"NO, YOU WAIT JUST A GODDAMN MINUTE. JUST BECAUSE YOU REFUSE TO ACCEPT YOUR LOT IN LIFE, DOESN'T MEAN YOU HAVE A FUCKING CHOICE IN THE MATTER. What's wrong? You pissed off because you represent a fucking Hallmark holiday? Sick of helping other people find true love, while you go home to an empty house every night? WELL GROW THE FUCK UP! Look at me. I'm a goddamn seven foot tall rabbit that hides chocolate eggs in people's houses while they're asleep. What in the everloving fuck does that have to do with the resurrection? But does it bother me? Fuck no. I do my job, just like you're supposed to do your fucking job. Goddammit, now you've got my fur all ruffled." He produced another perfectly rolled joint, lit it, and inhaled deeply. "I should just eat you right now. Fuck what Kringle says"

"Then why don't you just do it already? I don't have any reason to live anyway." I hung my head in defeat.

"Well aren't you a sad sack of shit. Where's what's her name? You know, the entire reason you felt the need to throw off your responsibility and go into hiding without a fucking word."

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes, moistening the cracked lines forming there. " She left me when she realized I couldn't give her a child"

Once again, his deep, baritone laugh filled the apartment. And once again, I clenched my teeth. "That is abso-fucking-lutely hilarious. The great and wonderful cupid can find true love for anyone but himself? That, my friend, is irony."

His cold, dark laugh continued to ring out, filling my fragile head to its limit. He was so preoccupied with his own twisted sense of humor, he didn't realize I had the gun trained back on his head. I cocked it, and fired, abruptly halting the laughter issuing from his hideous snout. His head snapped back with the full force that only a gunshot can deliver. I sat and waited, watching the thin thread of smoke trail lazily out of the hot barrel.

Suddenly, his head snapped back to attention, exactly as it had before, except with a quarter sized hole now appearing directly between his eyes. The fur around his eyes was bloody, and matted. I knew the gunshot wouldn't have any effect on him, but I shot anyway.

"JESUS FUCK! WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO ACCOMPLISH? Beyond getting blood all over my fur? Do you know what a pain in the ass it is to get blood out of fur? Fucking hell."

"I wanted you to stop laughing. You stopped, so I guess I accomplished exactly what I set out to do."

"I'm a seven foot tall rabbit, and you're the crazy one. Jesus Christ." He wiped some of the blood out of his eyes, stood to his full height, and towered over me. It didn't seem possible, but his voice deepened by several octaves as he spoke. "Now if you're quite finished, we need to leave now. It's Easter tomorrow, and I've got a busy day ahead of me. So quit fucking around, or I'm going to have to get rough. I can't kill you, but I can sure as hell torture you for awhile before I hand you over to Kringle. So choose. What's it going to be?"

I sighed in resignation and lowered my head again. "Just let me get my arrows"

"See...its not so hard to accept your lot in life. You don't have to like it, just fucking do it."

"I'll be right back". I left him in the half light of the dining room, and returned to my chambers. Far back in the closet, below a hidden trapdoor, were my arrows. I didn't think I would ever have to look at them again, but here we are. Doomed forever to dispense happiness and love, while I suffer alone. That is more torture than Kringle or any of his cronies could ever dish out. I pulled a filterless cigarette out of the, now almost empty pack, and lit it, savoring the harsh, acrid smoke one last time. The clutch of arrows slung over my shoulder, I rose and walked back into the hall. The Easter Bunny was waiting for me.

"Ready to go? Kringle let me borrow his sleigh, so we'll be riding in style......"

He trailed off as I slowly lifted the still warm gun to my own head.

"Now what in the hell are you going to do with that? You can't fucking die you idiot. You're Cupid. Just hurry up and get it over with then. And don't splash any of your fucking blood on my fur".

A tight smile crept over my face. "There's something you don't know."

"Oh? And what might that be? You have magical holiday killing bullets in there? I know that's bullshit because you already shot me with that hunk of metal, and oh good golly, I'm still fucking here. So tell me another one".

"A holiday can't conceive a child with a mortal." He rolled his eyes at me, but I continued. "So I did what I had to do to make her happy. I cut off my wings." His eyes widened with slow realization. "But once I became mortal, we discovered that I was sterile, and wouldn't be able to give her a child anyway. How fucked up is that. A child is the most true expression of love that two people can share, and I, Cupid, am incapable of it. Now tell me why I should go back." I cocked the gun still pointed at my temple.

"......you cut off your wings.....you don't realize what you've done. Imagine a world without love. Don't you realize how important you are?"

"Fucking replace me then"

He lunged for me, but I was faster. The loud crack of the gunshot barely registered in my ear before everything went blissfully black.

The End

McTasty or McNasty...

2008-03-25T20:13:00.005-05:00

An Easter Story Part II is coming ( I promise ).....but first....

Fate smiled on me this past weekend, and I was lucky enough to enjoy the company of two very cool little people. But I'll have to tell you about my midget debauchery another time. Today is reserved for an experience that starts with my kids and leads into barbecue sauce soaked mouth ejaculations. Doesn't that paint a pretty picture? Now before you label me as some sort of sick, demented weirdo (as if that hasn't happened already), let me explain how my children can have anything to do with a poorly stretched orgasm analogy.

As I was saying: My kids came to visit this weekend and a magical time was had by all. There was much coloring and scissor handling, and numerous games of "Wait until Daddy is done this cigarette...". By the evening of the second night, I was exhausted and in no condition to cook a healthy, nutritious meal. That could only mean one thing.

"Guess what kids! WE'RE GOING TO McDONALDS FOR DINNER! YAYYYYYYYYY!"

That's right. I'm so close to collecting my "Father of the Year" trophy, I can taste it. And it tastes sweet. And kind of coppery.

Jackets were applied in a mad rush to get out the door, and reach our destination. I don't let my kids eat McDonalds too often, and I am kind of an evil prick, so in their heads, I could change my mind at any time. So until their little morsels of "chicken" mcnuggets were halfway down their cute little throats, nothing was guaranteed. Luckily for them, I was feeling generous that day, and so didn't feel the need to torment them with false promises of fast food.

We arrived at Ronald's Pleasure Palace, and walked towards the doors. As we were about to enter though, something caught my eye, and I slowed from a brisk walk to a gentle shuffle. My kids realized what was happening and started to panic. "Daddy's changing his mind" my 7 year old worried out loud. "Yeah, he can be such a douchebag" countered my adorable little 5 year old. I couldn't muster a response. Only a saliva garbled mumble, as I slowly pointed towards the sight that had captivated my attention.

Could it be true? Probably, since they were advertising it as such. The fabled McRib had finally returned home. What a day to be alive.

For those of you not "in the know", let me enlighten you. The McRib enjoyed a fair amount of popularity in that long ago time known by current historians as the "hairmetaloic era", or the 1980s. The patties themselves were each lovingly removed by hand, from the boneless rib cages of the (previously thought extinct) Horned Porkosaur. The patties were then fried up and generously dunked in barbecue sauce tastier than god's vagina (I'm going to hell for that, aren't I). Add some onions and some pickles, and you have a sandwich more addictive than heroin soaked crack. These things were fucking good back in the day. I mean, just look at this:

Don't you just want to grab it with both hands and fuck the shit out of it? Maybe that's just me. Another part of the McRib that made it so tantalizing was the way that the evil geniuses at McDonalds would let us get a taste for it, only to snatch it away from our collective hearts as if to say "That's enough fatty....that's enough". They've been doing this for a long time. Pulling it out of the restaurants, only to usher it back in a few years later for a "limited time only". Evil fucking geniuses. In any case, its been a long time since I've seen it in a Winnipeg McDonalds, and I was very eager to get my McRib on. Probably to be followed closely by the nasty McShits, but that's Future Kris's problem.

I think at this point my kids hit up the Playland, although to be honest with you, I'm not too sure. I kind of forgot about them as soon as the visions of boneless pork patties started dancing in my head. I'm pretty sure I had them with me when I left...Hmmm....

I strode confidently up to the nearest McDonalds employee and smiled a great big, toothy smile.

"WelcometoMcDonaldsMayITakeYourOrder"

"Yes...."

"............What would you like sir?"

"Do you have to even ask? McRib me! Post Haste!"

"Who talks like that, anyway?"

"People, that's who! And why can't I taste BBQ sauce yet?"

As the girl walks away from the counter, I silently wonder how well the BBQ sauce will hide the taste of human spit. Damn it. Before I could wonder too much though, my feast was presented to me, complete with backing orchestra. I swear I'm not making that up. Okay, I'm making that up, but c'mon! What would be more appropriate? I walked past the Playland (probably containing my kids), took my seat, opened the magical box and....

Wow, that looks pretty fucking gross, doesn't it? Even worse...I "posed" the sandwich before taking the picture. I actually cleaned that shit up a bit before documenting it. What's sadder: the fact that this sandwich looks like a porkified abortion, or the fact that I actually took the time and trouble to make it prettier before taking a picture of it in a crowded McDonalds restaurant during the dinner rush? Both pretty fucking sad I suppose...

I know the actual product never looks like the marketing, but they could have at least tried a little. I mean, look at the bun! It just stops before the patty is even fully covered. And it should be literally dipped in BBQ sauce, not just half assed smeared with it. I am unimpressed.

But who gives a shit what it looks like, right? Its the taste that counts, right? Right you are, and on that front...it fails miserably as well. Fucking Yuck. It feels like someone just kicked my taste buds in the balls. This is probably just confined to the restaurant I visited, but lets break it down:

1. Bun is way too small.

2. BBQ sauce is barely there

3. Patty was just a touch above room temperature. Fine dining, your name is not "luke warm mystery meat patty".

The fact that I can't enjoy a McRib the same way I did back in the day is tantamount to the greatest injustice in the history of the world. I am disillusioned and distraught and it's a good thing I didn't have a razor blade with me, I'll tell you that much.

Anyone else currently enjoying the resurgence of the McRib? What are your thoughts? I want to give it another chance, at another McDs, but am too afraid of being heartbroken again. I guess it will have to be enough that I know the McRib is available (for a limited time) if I feel the need to gastronomically torture myself again.

Now if Burger King would bring back those little 3 packs of mini burgers....

An Easter Story...

2008-03-24T12:39:00.003-05:00

I awoke with a start, feeling a solitary bead of sweat trickle slowly along the bridge of my nose. It seemed to hang, in midair, for a fraction of a second, before plummeting to the surface of my red silk sheets. The days that I woke in this fashion were becoming more and more frequent, to my ever growing alarm. What does a man have to do, in order to avoid sleepless nights filled with cold sweats and feelings of quiet dread? I groped blindly in the dark for the half empty pack of filterless cigarettes perched upon the nightstand, and slipped one between my lips. It sat there for what felt like minutes but was more likely a few fleeting seconds, before I worked up the nerve to hold flame to tip. Immediately, a racking coughing fit shook my frame and I had to brace myself to halt the inevitable fall to the floor. A couple more soft pulls on the burning death stick and I was ready to move.

As I hoisted myself off of my sweat damp sheets, my legs shook with anticipation. Cigarette firmly clamped between my teeth, I made the final push to stand, and stood, quietly shivering and sweating at the same time. With little thought, the cigarette dropped from my mouth, and I stubbed it out with one bare foot, slowly grinding it into the shag carpet. I need to redecorate anyway.

A silvery beam of moonlight twisted its way into my bedroom, through a ragged hole in the blinds. I walked over and quietly parted the blinds with two fingers. The moonlight illuminated my eyes, causing me to squint, exposing an alarming number of wrinkles that weren't there only 5 years ago. The promise of soft, pink glow emanating from beyond the horizon of cold steel and concrete told me that it was about 4 am. Another fit of coughs racked my body, obliterating the quiet solitude of my apartment. Two days removed from my fortieth year on this earth, so why did it feel closer to sixty? Jesus Christ I need a drink.

Spots danced inside my field of vision as I backed away from the window, the moonlight still leaving its distinct impression. My head was starting its eventual daily ritual of slow, soft throbbing. The throbbing was almost a pleasure compared to the pounding that would more than likely follow. A new day, a new hangover. I lowered myself carefully back into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, trying hard not to notice the way my knees were shaking at the effort. As I placed my unshaven face into my hands, a familiar smell crept into my nostrils. I could feel my throat growing dryer and more parched as the smell of her perfume completely invaded my senses. It had been months since she said goodbye for the last time, but still, her presence invaded every corner of my waking thoughts. I absent mindedly lit another cigarette, in a subconscious attempt to choke out the smell of her that seemed to cling onto anything and everything that she had ever come into contact with. Anybody else venturing into this room would never smell the faint odor of months removed perfume, but I had a feeling I would be smelling it for the rest of my days. Part of the penance for what I did, I suppose.

The sweet smoke curling its way down my throat did nothing to quench the sandy, gritty feeling that resided there, so I reached for the half empty glass sitting on the nightstand. The ice had long since melted, but the 30 year old scotch still held an intoxicating aroma. I fished the soggy, yellow cigarette butt out of the bottom of the glass and tossed it onto the floor. I raised the glass to my lips, and sighed in anticipation. As the warm liquid splashed across my lips, I heard the distinctive squeak of a loose floorboard, coming from the hall. The squeak ended as abruptly as it started, and was met with stark silence. The cold sweats were again starting to form at my brow and the base of my naked torso. Ever so slowly I set the half empty glass back home on the nightstand and stood, wincing at every creak and crack in my joints, imagining them as loud as hollow gunshots.

I stepped carefully around several floorboards that would have emitted their own telltale moan, had I not avoided them, and approached my bedroom closet. The door was slightly ajar, meaning I wouldn't have to cause any inconvenient sounds, as I reached up onto the top shelf. My hand closed silently on the cold, steel grip of my familiar friend, and I quickly tucked it into the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms. Confidence quickly replaced the fuzzy, thick feeling in my forehead as I eased the bedroom door open and made my way into the hallway.

Again, avoiding key floorboards, I made my way down the hall, a slightly nauseating crunching noise getting louder and more noticeable, the closer I made it to the kitchen. As the faint glow of light from the next room invaded the darkened hallway and washed over my grizzled face, I removed my pistol from the waistband, and deftly thumbed the safety off. A bead of sweat rolled down my naked back, I lifted the weapon into a comfortable firing stance, and closed the distance to the kitchen. As I entered the room I realized that the soft glow was coming from the open refrigerator door, partially blocked by a hulking, looming figure. I stepped back in shock and lifted the gun a foot higher. My grip on the pistol slackened, as the only thought running through my head was "How did the son of a bitch find me?"..................

My Heart isn't Bleeding, I swear...

2008-03-13T10:02:00.003-05:00

Ah, Spring! Winter is a harsh mistress up here in the Great White North, and mid to late March always has a way of energizing me to the fullest extent that a change in seasons can. The day that I can throw my big, ugly winter jacket back into the closet and don my comfortable, stylish spring jacket is a cause for celebration, akin to Christmas morning in March. Well my friends....today was that day.

I stepped out onto my balcony this morning, as I do every morning, to enjoy my first carcinogens of the day, and was immediately struck by how beautiful it was outside. The sun wasn't shining all that brightly yet, but it was 7 am, and already, the thermometer was showing a healthy couple of degrees north of freezing. This may not seem all that warm to some of you reading this, but believe me, after you have spent the last 4 months "enjoying" sub arctic temperatures, anything north of freezing feels like the fucking Caribbean.

I finished my cigarette, leaned out over the balcony to greet the day, and damn near broke into song. I'm sure if I had, countless people would have left their houses to join me. Everyone would have known the words, and it would have been highly choreographed. In short, this morning felt like the opening minutes of a fucking Disney cartoon. I fucking love Spring.

I deftly dropkicked my winter jacket back into the closet, giving it the finger all the while. Fuck you winter coat. I won't need you ever again, so get fucked. Until next November anyway. Then I'll need you again, so don't hold a grudge. Don't you hate when articles of clothing hold a grudge? I slipped on my cool, stylish spring coat and ventured out into the world.

As I strolled the couple of blocks to my bus stop, I breathed in the wonderful Spring air, and quietly enjoyed my surroundings. It was a moment, that's for sure. I took it all in, and it was magical. The glistening pools of melted snow, rippled by the tread of passing cars. The warm breeze gently blowing through my hair, seeming to kiss me sweetly on the forehead. The soft, melodic twittering of passing songbirds. The slow rustle of discarded trash dancing along the pavement. Wait....what?

What the fuck is up with all of this garbage littering the streets? It's seriously fucking with my perfect world view of all that is Spring. This is my first year living in the big, bad city, and I never realized how many assholes out there still throw their trash on the street. All of this trash builds up and builds up over winter, collecting underneath layers of snow, only to show its ugly face once the white stuff starts to recede. It's somewhat difficult to enjoy a beautiful Spring day, when you're busy dodging all types of dirty, smelly trash blowing about your feet. Fucking assholes I tells ya. Seriously, what kind of dick still throws garbage on the ground like the world is your personal fucking garbage dump? If you are this type of dick, stop getting enjoyment out of this blog right now. Keep reading it, because I like to see my hit numbers climb, but don't you dare fucking enjoy it.

Here is a small catalogue of what I witnessed on my walk to the bus stop. Keep in mind that this is only a 2 block trip, and I live in a relatively nice neighborhood.

36 empty crushed Slurpee cups
15 chocolate bar wrappers
2 empty quarts of motor oil (WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!)
42 random pieces of fast food trash (burger boxes, fry containers, empty bags)
28 empty potato chip bags
79 cigarette packages
1 used condom (what a lucky girl or guy that must've been. Getting plowed in a back alley. Tres Classy)

GROSS. G-R-FUCKING-O-S-S GROSS.

I'm just utterly confused by all of this. Now I'm not the bleeding heart type. I don't carry a massive boner for Mother Nature or anything, it's just that its fucking gross seeing all this garbage on my street. So why do people still do this? I know that we, as a society, are pretty goddamn lazy, but C'MON! Hold onto that trash until you see a trash can or something. They're fucking everywhere. I'm not asking you to carry garbage around in your pockets all day or anything. Come the fuck on. I seriously expected to see a Native American with a solitary fucking tear rolling down his cheek, as I rounded the corner to get on my bus.

So what can you do? I'll tell you, because I'm helpful like that. The next time you see someone throwing some garbage on the street, pick it up, and smash it right into the offender's face. The only way Mother Nature can fight back is by sending locusts or a swarm of frogs at us or some such shit, so believe me, this is the less violent approach. Smash that garbage right into the guy's face, then stand back and mock him a little. I recommend something along the lines of "Whatsa matter? Gonna cry? Huh, gonna cry?" Nothing is quite as infuriating to a grown man or woman as "Gonna cry?". Of course, if this action results in severe blowback in the form of a punch to your face, I accept no responsibility. But be confident in the knowledge that you made a difference. Good luck, and godspeed.

In which I confess to assholeishness...

2008-03-09T20:43:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I think it would be interesting to have a mirror that could show the reflection of your soul. That probably sounds a lot deeper than I intend it to so let me expound. How do you view yourself, as a person? Now think about that again without the obvious bias that comes with judging one's self. Would your answer change? I think everybody tends to think of themselves as generally a good person, but how accurate is this really? I'm sure super villains don't sit around thinking about how evil they are. Everyone has their own reasons and justifications for being the way they are and I think everyone (for the most part) would like to believe they are acting for the benefit of mankind. Take me for example. I think I'm a fairly good person. I don't intentionally run over small animals. I hold doors open for strangers, if I can help it, I don't piss on the toilet seat, and I try and follow the old "Do unto others" rule as closely as I can. But something happened a few days ago that made me really take a step back from myself and ponder that age old question: "Am I an asshole?". On that note, lets go off on a tangent. I'm a firm believer in tangents and like to utilize them whenever possible, but stick with me. It will all come together in the end...

Disclaimer: This is going to be a personal post, so if you are not comfortable with that, fucking deal with it.

I come from a broken family. I'm not looking for any sympathy, just stating the facts. My parents divorced when I was around 7 years old, and did not have the most civil relationship for a long time afterwards. They do a pretty good job of getting along now, but when I was a wee lad...not so much. I remember many occasions where my siblings and I were thrown into the middle of an ongoing argument between the two, and were essentially asked to take sides. This is not a comfortable position for a 7 year old to be thrust into, and definitely not one that I recommend. But such is life, and you have to deal with it. I'm also the type of person that doesn't really believe in regret. I think all of your decisions and experiences in life generally contribute to what kind of person you are now, and I'm pretty happy with who Kris is. Things could always be worse. Unless you're living in a ditch and subsisting on bugs and various small mammals. If that is your situation, I think regret is appropriate. As I have two beautiful children, live in a nice apartment, and have lots of family and loved ones around, I wouldn't change anything about my life and how it has played out so far.

Another thing I wouldn't change is who my parents are. I think they did a bang up job in sculpting a fairly well adjusted human being (if not a little conceited with subtle shades of delusions of grandeur) and they should be highly praised for doing so. Let's face it, there's a lot of fucked up people out there, and a lot of kids suffering in situations completely out of their control. My parents always had my best interests at heart, even if it didn't really feel like it sometimes. With age and maturity I have come to realize that just because you don't buy me a new toy every week, you're not the Antichrist. I have really young parents, and there were struggles growing up. But the cupboards were always full, and I always had two people in this world that cared about me more than anything else in the history of forever. Granted, in two separate households, but it was still pretty special.

After the divorce I lived with my dad for a short time. Exactly how long is a tiny bit of information that has been pushed out of my memory banks over the years, to be replaced with such gems as "Which film won the Best Picture Oscar in 1992" and "When did the Boston Bruins last win the Stanley Cup" (Unforgiven and 1972, respectively) It probably wasn't much longer than a year before I moved in with my mom. The exact reasons are a little too personal for this outlet, but it is what it is. So for the majority of my childhood, my mom was my primary caregiver. A lot of my personality traits and behaviors can probably be traced back to her for better or worse. But that's not to say my father was absent. I spent every other weekend with him and I can honestly say I cherish all of the time I was allowed to be in his presence.

My dad is one of the most genuinely caring, kind human beings I know. He hasn't exactly had an easy life, and has spent alot of it being kicked around, both physically and emotionally. Through all of this though, he has put us (meaning my siblings and I) first, and has always made sure that we are healthy and happy, sometimes to his own detriment. He has always had a really refreshing view of life and is always quick to spin off a little bit of wisdom that might not seem to make sense at the time, but always turns out to be insightful and significant. He can (in an instant) go from being the doting teddy bear-like grandfather of 3 grandchildren, to the foul, raunchy joke telling regular guy who is always fun to converse with.

He is a conservative through and through, but not in the preachy "I'm better than you" sense, and has a standard of morals that is hard to match. Even through all of the shit that has been sent his way over the years, he has always believed in turning the other cheek, and I respect the hell out of that. Too many people in this world are far too obsessed with what life HASN'T given them and all of the injustices in their lives, but my dad focuses on all of the great things that he has been given. Don't get me wrong. I'm not an emotionless bastard, there are people out there that have been handed a really shitty lot in life, and are due a little bit of sympathy. But those aren't the types of people I'm talking about. I think we all have that person in our circle of friends who feels the need to bitch and moan about all of the shitty things in his or her life. That individual that is always looking for a little bit of pity. If you are thinking right now "I don't know anybody like that", I've got news for you. You're probably that guy.

My dad enjoys an unending love of the Toronto Maple Leafs. He is hardcore about his beloved Leafs, even being able to boast that he was in attendance at the very first game played in the Air Canada Centre. His love for the Leafs shows how true and solid his character is, because let's face it, it's not easy to be a Leafs fan. It's been a long time since they've had a good hockey team (Hi Dad) so there have been plenty of opportunities for him to jump ship and cheer for a better team. The Bruins immediately come to mind, but I digress. He doesn't care how shitty they are because dammit, they're his team and he's in this for the long run. That loyalty speaks volumes about what kind of human being he is, and I respect the hell out of that too.

Although my dad is far from perfect, he is definitely one of those people that you can stand back confidently and remark about "If there were more people around like this, the world would be a far better place". He isn't a millionaire, but he is the richest guy I know in the currency that I myself value above all others. He is someone that I can truly admire and aspire to be more like. He is a role model of the highest order. Not in behaviors exclusively, but in pure human decency. It may sound cliche and contrived, but if someday I become half the man my father is, I'll know that I've done okay in this world.

If it hasn't been painfully spelled out yet, let me take over the role of "master of the obvious". I love and respect my father in amounts that can't even be measured. That's something that probably isn't said as often as it should be.

So let's tie all of this back into the opening paragraph. I was questioning whether or not I'm an asshole. My dad had a birthday come and go not too long ago. He turned 50. This is a fairly significant birthday. There just seems to be a distinction with 50. A party was in order and was fairly well attended. A great time was had by all. Now let me warn you. The next few sentences may cause a few of you to lose some respect for me. But if that is the outcome, so be it. If I can't be honest here, then what's the point?

I failed to get my father even a fucking birthday card. On his 50th birthday. Not even a fucking card. I feel more twisted and fucked up about this than I have about anything in a very long time. And I have to admit to something else. The fact that I didn't get him a card isn't even the worst part. The worst part is that I didn't even realize how much this hurt him until we had a heart to heart a few days ago. Am I that self centred? This is the type of thing that shakes me to the core, because as I covered in the first paragraph, I tend to think of myself as a good guy. And this behavior is so fucking far from good.

So of course I apologized profusely, but am still feeling really weird about the whole thing. It was the type of moment that really makes you question your motives and tendencies. I really don't know how I am going to make up for this, but it is going to have to be epic. And the amazing thing about my father, is that even though it did bother him, as soon as it was out in the open, I'm sure he never thought about it again. We talked about it, he expressed himself, case closed. That is the very definition of a forgiving nature. But it's still bothering me, and probably will for a long time.

And I think that very point there, is the very essence of what made me decide to post about this. You see, my Dad reads this blog. He's actually probably one of my biggest fans, always telling me how much he enjoyed the most current post. How can I not love this man? So I know at some point he is going to read this, and even though it doesn't absolve what I did, I would like him to realize how much this event has affected me, and probably will continue to affect me for years to come. I think we communicate better than a lot of fathers and sons, but some things are hard to put into words when you're face to face.

So to my dad (and all of you that have been privy to this pseudo father/son moment):
I love you to pieces pops. Thanks for putting up with a son that doesn't really deserve it. And even though I'm taller than you now, I'll always be looking up to you.

Adventures in Voicemail....

2008-03-08T20:52:00.006-06:00

I am well rested and better than ever! I probably got 12 hours of sleep last night, so now I'm ready to go out tonight and assault my body once again. It's all about balance, and I'm a firm believer in showing your body whose boss. It has to know who's in charge you see. So tonight will see me imbibing numerous cocktails, smoking many cigarettes, and maybe even embarrassing myself on the dance floor. I have to hold onto my youth as long as possible, because I sure feel fucking old. Maybe its all these late nights and alcohol fueled shenanigans.

But that isn't the reason I felt compelled to pull my chair up to the magic box tonight and spill my thoughts all over the keyboard like an overexcited porn star (is a cum reference too crass? What do I care?)

When I awoke from my mini coma this afternoon, I noticed the little voicemail indicator on my phone was lit. Here's another little aside into my twisted thought process. I love surprises of any kind, but especially voicemail. I love getting voicemail because the promise of that little light could mean anything. It could be a cute little message from my daughter. My son is usually too busy playing video games to call his dear old dad, but my daughter calls me every day. It could be a friend with a grand plan of drinking and debauchery. It could be a much needed moral reprimand from various family members. In short, it could be ANYTHING, and I love the mystery of that little light.

So I dialed in my password and waited for the pleasant voicemail robot to deliver the news. I had 2 new messages. What fun, I thought!

Message number 1 was a little odd. Can't say I've ever gotten a message quite like it before. It left me with the conclusion that I had either pissed somebody off, or one of my friends was drunk dialing me again. It really could go either way, and unless the person in question reads this, I'll probably never know the answer. You see, the message consisted of about a minute of somebody making fart noises at me. What the fuck, right? I shit you not, there was no greeting, no explanation, no talking of any kind. Just a minute of straight fart noises, and the occasional pause for the caller to take a breath. I really don't know what to make of it. I have weird fucking friends, so I wouldn't put it past any one of them, but I really don't know. If you're out there, CONFESS, or this will surely drive me insane. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but I'm all about closure. If the message had been a minute of fart noises, followed by a big "Fuck you", that would be fine. At least I would know if it was anger or fucktardary at play (thanks Laurie). Maybe it was a wrong number. But how fucked up is that person that they would leave a message like that on someone else's voicemail. This is seriously driving me crazy....

Message number 2 was much easier to figure out, and of the much more exciting variety. In disclosing its contents, I'm surely exposing myself as a sad little nerd. Oh well, fuck it. I'm comfortable with my level of nerdom. Fucking spell checker hates me. To get the full effect of this you need a little back story first. How many of you are familiar with The Dark Knight?

The Dark Knight is the new Batman movie coming out this summer. My name is Kris, and I am addicted to Batman. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Not a big weight mind you, but a weight nonetheless. Now don't get me wrong. You're not going to catch me partaking in any kinky Batman costume clad S & M. I don't collect the comics, and I've never been to a convention. I just like the history and the pop culture of the thing. And I fucking LOVE Batman Begins. It is the best comic book adaptation to film ever. This is fucking iron clad fact, so don't try and push your Spiderman or X-men bullshit on me. It just won't fly. So naturally, The Dark Knight has me very excited. I don't go to movies often on the opening day, but this will be an exception. It tells the further adventures of Batman while introducing the characters of The Joker and Harvey Dent.

Harvey Dent is running for District Attorney of Gotham City in the new film, and he is played by the very talented Aaron Eckhart, who is fucking great in "Thank you for Smoking". About 2 weeks ago, a movie website clued me in to ibelieveinharveydent.com. It's a website connected to The Dark Knight, and it offered updates and such on the movie. I entered in my information in order to receive said updates, as I am curious about any news regarding the upcoming film. After that I didn't really think anymore about it.

Fast forward to this afternoon. I had picked up my phone, had finished listening to the cryptic fart noises in the first message and was waiting for the next message to begin. A voice began speaking. This is what the voice said:

“Hello, I’m Harvey Dent, Assistant District Attorney of Gotham, and I’m calling to ask for your support. We all know what’s wrong with Gotham. Crime is out of control. And instead of protecting our streets, too many cops have become criminals themselves.
This is why my mission has been to stamp out police corruption, and this is why I’m considering a run for district attorney. But I can’t do it alone. I need to know if you, the people of Gotham, want change. Do you want a Gotham free from the grip of criminals and the corrupt? Are you ready to join a crusade to take back our city? If this is a change you desire, if you are fed up with living in fear, go to ibelieveinharveydent.com and see how you can join the struggle to take back our city. I’m ready to fight for Gotham, if you are ready to fight too.”

HARVEY FUCKING DENT CALLED ME!!!!!

Sure it was only a recording, and a million other people probably got the same message, but HARVEY FUCKING DENT CALLED ME!!!!!

Sure it is something that is probably only appropriately exciting if you are between the ages of 10 and 15 but HARVEY FUCKING DENT CALLED ME!!!!!

Sure I'm probably a huge loser for getting this worked up about a piece of movie marketing but HARVEY FUCKING DENT CALLED ME!!!!!

Fuck all y'all that don't think this is the coolest thing ever. It was Aaron Eckhart's voice and everything and HARVEY FUCKING DENT CALLED ME!!!!!

Okay, I'm going out to get smashed now. Don't wait up for me.

No, I'm not dead, although I kind of feel like it...

2008-03-07T10:05:00.003-06:00

Have you ever been so tired that you seriously considered intentionally causing a car accident? So tired that a coma actually sounds pretty good right about now? Before you feel sorry for me, you should know that this is all of my own volition. I am ultimately to blame. In the past 5 days, I have gotten a grand total of 12 hours of sleep. The hours that should have been spent sleeping, were spent getting to know a really cool individual, so I wouldn't do anything differently if I had the choice. I'm just choosing to ignore the sleep deprived portion of my brain that is calling me a fucking cuntrag right now. I'll just shut it up with copious amounts of Tim Hortons. Mmmmmmm......double double. And I don't even really like coffee....Fuck I'm tired.....

So yeah, that's the reason for the lack of updates. I do apologize for my life getting in the way of you reading more bullshit about 20 year old toys and various snack foods. But then again, that is based on the assumption that you give a shit. I choose to believe that you do.

But how could this happen? I have a pretty level head, not usually prone to 5 hour phone conversations. Well, there are two very good reasons why this person has captivated so much of my attention.
1. Without me even having to mention it, or without her reading this dumping ground, she confessed to a love of Mexican Chili Chips. That right there is number one on my list of attractive qualities in the opposite sex. If you don't love Mexican Chili Chips, you can just fuck off. Maybe that's bordering on harsh, but I stand by it. Mexican Chili Chips = <3
2. She's a dirty filthy cigarette smoker. I'm sick of seeing non-smokers, but for some reason, that's usually who I end up with. I know I'm killing myself, so why not find someone that's killing themselves too? I'm sick of feeling guilty for interrupting an activity because I want to go outside and enjoy my tasty, tasty carcinogens.

Anyway, that's enough of that. Probably a little more personal than you're comfortable with, but you've got to take the good with the bad sometimes. I promise to incorporate at least 35% more "fucks" in my next post. Because if there is one thing I've learned, its that people who read this blog, enjoy my many uses of the word "motherfucker". At least that's the assumption I'm making based on the fact that my last post (about my daughter) received the lowest number of comments of any post I've made thus far. I don't know, what do you think? Vote with your comments. Do you like hearing the occasional heart warming "fuzzy" post? Or would you rather I stick to exploring new and interesting uses for the words "douchebaggery" and "fucktard"?

So how about an update? I've got two posts planned for the weekend, so hopefully you'll all come back sometime over the next few days and check that out. One will be bordering on "fuzzy" and one will be all out filth with no socially redeeming value whatsoever. Something for everyone! And remember....35% more "fucks". How can you say no to that?

My Daughter is Cuter than Yours...

2008-02-29T13:13:00.005-06:00

As much fun as I have writing about potato chips and old toys, every now and then I feel the need to prove to you all how magical my sperm is. Because if there is one thing the world needs to know, its that I have magical sperm, capable of creating the most adorable offspring. Now I know what you're all thinking. I'm looking at my genetic byproducts through a father's eyes. Everyone thinks their kids are the cutest, yeah? Well that is why I have come to you today with irrefutable proof. Video proof in fact. You can judge for yourselves.

A few weeks (and one post) ago, I ventured into the savage wastelands of Saskatchewan to attend a show by Matt Costa. Upon returning, I played one of his songs for my 5 year old daughter. She absolutely fell in love with it, and has now vowed to someday marry Matt Costa. After listening to the song a couple of times, she committed it to memory and spent the remainder of the weekend singing along. I had little choice but to bring out my trusty camera, and film the results. No, I'm not going soft on you. I didn't film it as a means to look back on the cuteness years from now and fondly reminisce of a time before robots took over the planet. I fully plan on exploiting my little girls talents and good looks for every penny I can. I didn't say I wasn't an asshole.

So sit back, turn the volume up, and enjoy your first peek at the futures biggest star. And years from now, when you see her on MTV, you can look back at this fondly and say "I seen her first ever performance. It was on some blog written by that guy nobody's ever heard of. I think he was a hobo. With an Internet connection". At least I hope that's what you'll say.

Okay, all together now.....AWWWWWWWWWWWW. See, I told you so.
P.S. Did you know that spellcheck suggests you capitalize the word "internet"? Did I miss the meeting where the internet became a country and/or language?

I'm freezing but I'm burning for the girl in Saskatoon...

2008-02-23T13:05:00.008-06:00

First off, I guess I should apologize for the lack of updates the last few weeks. I should, but I won't. Fuck that. It's not like I'm getting paid for this. Get off my back already......okay, I'm sorry. I was just so busy eating Mexican Chili Chips, I couldn't make time to write. I now weigh roughly 400 lbs and have a permanent orangeish red five o'clock shadow from chip residue. It's really not a pretty picture. So what's been going on since I posted last? The only thing really worth writing about would be a little road trip I took last week. Guess where I went? If you said anywhere other than Saskatoon, you are officially a grade A fucktard. Or you can't read. But no worries. Even if you can't read, I've got some sweet video action later on in this post. And don't scroll down now and watch it. It will be completely out of context and 50% less awesome.

The first question that you should be asking yourself right now is "Why the fuck did you go to Saskatoon?" Actually the first question you're asking yourself is probably "Where the fuck is Saskatoon?". Both very good questions. Saskatoon is roughly 8 hours northwest from Winnipeg and located in the province of Saskatchewan (A province is like a state, for you Americans out there). 8 of the suckiest hours in existence, if your chauffeur is a genuine anti smoking Nazi. Now I understand that not everyone acknowledges the majesty of nicotine. I can handle that. What I can't handle is being told we can only pull over twice in an 8 hour span so I could freeze my ass off on the side of the road while I slowly kill myself with tasty, tasty carcinogens. It takes me 5 fucking minutes to hot drag a cigarette. What the fuck!?!?! Now don't get me wrong. I was very appreciative for the ride, but come on. Three extra stops would have added a measly 15 minutes to our trip. Apparently this was too much for the anti smoking Nazi. I think she was just trying to be a bitch, something she excels at (Hi Marlee).

My journey to Saskatoon happened due to the fact that my brother from another mother (or my bro from anotha ho, if you want to be all gangsta about it) decided to settle down there with his very cool girlfriend. I never thought my buddy would find a girl that could put up with his bullshit, but this one is made for him. They make a very good (albeit fucked up) pair. And I mean that in a good way. I love my buddy like family, but if I had a vagina, I would slap him at least 16 times a day. That's just who he is, and I hope he never changes.

So the bags were packed (mostly Jack Daniels and condoms), and we were on our way. Here, without further ado... is my review... of Saskatoon...That rhyming scheme would have worked out much nicer if the city was called Saskatoo.

Section 1: First Impressions

Saskatchewan is very similar to Manitoba, so my first impressions were pretty boring. Flat land, big sky, and fuck all to look at. It's not exactly an exciting drive. Luckily, I had a good friend to share the ride with. Oh wait...

There were a couple of things I noticed very quickly once we arrived in the city. Something I had never seen before, thank god. Apparently, Saskatoon government believes it is not their job to keep the streets clean of snow in the winter. What the fuck, right? Literally, snow was piled up 17 feet high, right in the streets. If there are any Saskatchewanians reading this...what the fuck?!?! What do you pay taxes for? Why do you stand for this outrageousness? Why do I rely so heavily on rhetorical questions? It boggles the mind. My mind at the very least, but that's not saying much.

Another thing that just blew me away: The number of uncontrolled intersections in the city. Keep in mind, there are probably a couple of hundred thousand people in this city. There is really no excuse for ANY intersection to be free of traffic laws. Put up a fucking yield sign for Christ sakes. Is that going to bankrupt city hall? There must be tons of money left over from not having to pay snow clearing crews. Sweet fucking Christ. Now I'm sweaty.

0 out of 5 absent yield signs

Section 2: Arts & Entertainment

What is there to do halfway between the US border and the arctic circle? Polar Bear baiting? Eskimo hunting? Igloo demolition? No, we didn't do any of that, but we did go and see a spectacular concert at a tiny little bar on the University Campus. Matt Costa was playing and that alone is reason for me to give this road trip 4 stars. I would post a video on here for you, but Blogger is an asshole and I can't figure out how to post a video easily if it isn't saved to my computer. Just check out "Matt Costa - Sunshine" on YouTube after you're done here. It will be worth the trip, I promise. So the concert was amazing, but what we witnessed afterwards was even more amazing. After stumbling out of the club and trying to figure out what to do next, we came across this scene:

Matt Costa AND roadside drunken wrestling? The trip had just started, and it was already epic.

5 out of 5 old Johnny Cash songs

Section 3: Local Cuisine

For some reason, we only ate junk on this trip. More money for booze that way I guess. So I can't base this rating on any fine dining establishments. The best meal I ate while in Saskatoon was actually some homemade lasagna at my buddy's place. His girlfriend's lasagna gets 5 stars. But the chances of any of you getting to enjoy Nikki's lasagna while you're in Saskatoon is fairly slim, so I'll keep my rating based on the food we enjoyed while out of the house. The best meal I had while out of the house were some nachos at a local pub. They were good fucking nachos, utilizing some kind of beefsteak chunks instead of the standard crumbled beef. Mmmmmm. Other than that, we ate greasy franchised portions of dead animals.

But there is one thing that I cannot forgive, no matter how hard I try. One thing that still makes me angry when I think about it. You ever have a craving for a shitty taco? You know there is no nutritional value whatsoever, and its probably just going to make you feel sick, but who cares. Sometimes the situation calls for a shitty 99 cent taco. Well good luck in Saskatoon. There is not a single Taco Bell anywhere to be found. The horizon is dotted with naught but TacoTime.

Fuck TacoTime. If anything could make Taco Bell taste like a 4 star gourmet restaurant, its fucking TacoTime. If you've never had the pleasure, let me paint you a picture. Imagine if you took a baby's shitty diarrhea diaper, rolled it into the shape of a taco, and then firmly wedged it into the fatty folds of a syphilitic sumo wrestler to warm it up. THAT would taste like fucking heaven compared to TacoTime. Fuck TacoTime.

1 out of 5 horrible taco restaurants

Section 4: Sporting Events

Drive about 2 hours south of Saskatoon and you will find yourself in Regina. Home of the Saskatchewan Rough Rider Canadian football league team. They are actually the reigning league champions, but in my opinion they are still assholes. I don't need to justify that. They beat my Blue Bombers in the championship game, so fuck em. You'll get no bonus points from me on this front Saskatchewan. Beyond that though, there really isn't much to offer in the way of sports. I'm sure the University has some teams or something, but that hardly counts. We're not nearly as enamored of collegiate sports up here in Canada, as people are in the US. So we were forced to create our own sporting events. A great deal of Jack Daniels was consumed on this trip, and we needed to watch something. But what could we do. We wanted to watch, not participate. We were far too drunk to do anything remotely physical. We surveyed our surroundings to see what we had access to. 2 things immediately stood out to me, but I was worried about the ethical ramifications. More Jack Daniels quickly quietened my inner saint. If its good enough for Micheal Vick, its good enough for me. The occasion clearly called for some dogfighting. Set to Flight of the Valkyries, because how could you not?

Now before you get all up in arms and angry, I assure you the dogs were fairly compensated with belly rubs and scratches behind the ears. We all got what we wanted. The hardest part was actually trying to stop the (male) dogs from fucking long enough to duke it out a bit. So what would you have rather seen? Some friendly dogfighting, or some hardcore gay bestiality? I thought so.

4 out of 5 homosexual mutts

Section 5: Accommodations

This isn't really that applicable, but I need 5 sections, dammit. 4 sections would totally fuck with the flow of this post, if there is a flow. I choose to believe there is, so you get this bonus section. I spent the weekend crashing on my buddy's couch. It wasn't a feather top mattress by any means, but it was actually really comfy, especially after a bottle of Jack. My roommates for the weekend were all great, and I wouldn't have been happier if I had stayed in a 5 star hotel. Plus, I snore like a motherfucker, and no one complained at all, so I didn't have to feel bad about that. And it was free, so again, more booze money. One hell of a nice stay.

5 out of 5 obscure Saskatchewan references

Summary

Saskatoon is like a poor man's Winnipeg. And that's fucking sad. Can't say I really have a ton of affection for the town. I mean, its okay, but just okay is not worth an 8 hour fucking drive (almost smoke free dammit). You know what is worth an 8 hour drive? Spending the weekend with a really good friend who I don't get to see nearly enough. For that alone I award Saskatchewan

24 out of 25 warm fuzzy moments

It would have been 25 out of 25, but I can't forgive TacoTime.

Fuck TacoTime.

Sex.......in potato chip form....

2008-02-06T19:27:00.000-06:00

Let me tell you a story. A story, at its heart, about how a huge corporation can take the dreams of the little people, and dash them so easily and forcefully against the cold, hard ground. A story about deceit, outrage, and regret. A story about life. This, my friends, is the story of Old Dutch and the Mexican Chili Chips.

The early 90s were a happy, carefree time for many. Grunge music was all the rage, snap bracelets were flying off the shelves in record numbers (who else remembers these?) and everything was painted in bright neon shades of pink, yellow and green. It truely was a Utopia of tastelessness. I was also "coming of age" during this period. You know what I mean. Drinking my first beer, kissing my first girl, participating in my first circle jerk........wait, strike that last one....please. So maybe I have a bit of a glamourized picture of that era in my mind. Doesn't everybody feel that way about their "coming of age". Well, maybe not if you were a total loser, but why would you bring that up? That's just not nice. A lot of people can tell you in vivid detail about their first love, the person they lost their virginity to, or maybe the first time they smoked pot. I can tell you about the first time I tried Mexican Chili chips.

It was a warm summer day in Southern Manitoba. The temperature was a balmy 28 degrees Celcius (doesn't mean anything to you? Learn the fucking metric system already) and I was waiting in line at my local corner store. It was lunch time, and I was doing what all kids in my small town did. Spending my lunch money on candy and all other things that weren't good for me. The corner store was only a few blocks from school, and so it was far too easy to indulge in this habit. I was trying to decide whether I should go for a big bag of penny candy, or if it was more of a Snickers type of day. This is the type of decsion that can make or break your afternoon if you're 11. Ofcourse I was going to get some gummi bears, that was a given. Here's a fun trick for any school age kids that might read this: Suck on a gummi bear and then throw it straight up into the air right over your teacher's desk. It will stick to the ceiling for between 10 minutes and an hour, at which point it will lose its hold, plummet and land on your teacher's desk, or better yet, in your teacher's hair. That never got old. A little riskier, but well worth the effort was to suck on a gummi bear and then put it on your teacher's chair right before they entered the room. About 1 time in 10, they would sit down without noticing. The next time they got up to write on the chalkboard, you would be treated to a view of a gummi bear plastered to the teacher's ass. Cue the giggles from the back of the room.

So gummi bears were a must, but what else? Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the chip rack. But not just the chip rack. I noticed something different about the chip rack. A different color scheme seemed to be popping out from the bottom corner. I moved in to investigate. Sure enough, there was a new flavor. Now I don't know about you, but a new chip flavor (or soda flavor) is a reason to celebrate. The results might taste like refried shit, but the experience of trying these wacky new flavors is a MUST. Take for instance Chocolate Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper. What the fuck, right? Those are flavors that should not be mixed in carbonated beverage form. And sure enough, it tastes like absolute hell. But the first time I noticed it in my local store, I immedietely had to throw a box of it into my cart. How can I continue on with my life, knowing that Chocolate Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper is out there, but I don't have the balls to try it? That, friends, is just not living.

I grasped the bag and slowly read the name. Old Dutch Mexican Chili flavored. Who knew that 5 little words would have such an impact on the next 15 years of my life. It was a defining moment, to be sure. The unopened bag held so much promise. Here was a flavor that my taste buds had no knowledge of. I knew what a Snickers bar tasted like, but this, this could be anything. I really had no other option. My turn at the register arrived and I easily parted with my lunch money. Now I can't be sure, but I think the sun was shining just a little brighter when I exited the store. I choose to remember it that way regardless. Just try and stop me.

I couldn't have been more than 2 steps outside of the store when I ripped the bag open. My nostrils were immedietly assaulted by a strong chili odor. And I mean Liza Minelli on testosterone pills strong. You don't want to fuck with that. I am a man that loves his spicy food, so this smelled like heaven to me. I slowly lifted a solitary chip to my mouth and lovingly placed it on my tongue, not unlike a hit of grade A acid. My tastebuds exploded in a frenzied orgy of flavor sensation. While my vocabulary may paint an eloquent picture of this first experience, I think my actual thought at the time was something along the lines of "FUCK THAT'S GOOD SHIT". By the time I strolled back into the school, my bag was empty and I had a new favorite potato chip.

And all was well, for a time. But then, the impossible happened. Mexican Chili chips became harder and harder to find. Some stores just stopped stocking them altogether. When I was lucky enough to find them, I would buy as many as I could, in a vain attempt to stock up and avoid what I knew was coming. The complete discontinuation of the greatest potato chip ever made. And sure enough, that's what happened. I can't remember the last time I had them, because I didn't think it would be the last time. If I had known, I would have comitted the moment to memory (this is the regret part of the story). I wanted to write an angry letter to Old Dutch, but I was too busy being sticky and smoking behind the tool shed, like all 12 year old boys. How could you do this to me Old Dutch? If you were just going to take them away, why did you even bother in the first place. Is it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? FUCK NO. Loss hurts. Obliviousness is painless at best. Damn you to hell, Old Dutch.

A few years later they released a flavor called "Southwestern Spice". It had essentially the same taste as Mexican Chili, but was not rippled. The ripple makes the chip. Old Dutch was just teasing me, as if they hadn't already done enough. Oh and there was no racist caricature of a lazy mexican wearing a sombrero on the bag. Ah, Corporate Racism.

And then some years went by. And some more. And nothing really important happened. Life was breezing by with no direction. Every now and then a conversation was shared with someone else who "got it".

"Hey, you remember those mexican chili chips? Those were awesome. Whatever happened to those?"

I'll tell you what happened. Old Dutch is fucking satan in corporate form is what happened.

But the rumblings persisted. People still talked about these chips, even after 10 years. Surely that meant something, right? Old Dutch continued to be apathetic. I was ready to stage a sneak attack on their mascot, but they don't really have one. What the fuck? Unless you count the windmill on their packaging, but how was I to attack a windmill? And wouldn't that cross the line from "playful" crazy", to "slinging my own shit like a monkey" crazy? I'd rather not cross that line, thanks.

And then, a couple of weeks ago, I received an interesting piece of news. Mexican Chili Chips were coming back. After all these years. I could barely contain my excitement, but at the same time, was worried. Would they fuck with the formula? Would they be rippless? This was Potato Chip Satan we're talking about, so they were bound to do anything. I could live without my favorite chip, but would I be able to live with the sullying of its good memory? I wouldn't have to wait long to find out because apparently they were going to be on shelves the first week of February.

And sure enough, there it was....

While the bag was slightly different, they immedietly got two things right. They are rippled (thank fucking christ) and the lazy mexican is firmly in place. Beautiful. I bought two bags and got the hell out of there.

Safely back at my apartment, I ripped open the bag. You see, I was afraid that if I tried these chips in public, the awsomeness would immedietly cause me to blow a load in my pants. This wouldn't do at all, so I waited until I got home. That's just common sense. It was a good thing I waited, because the smell was EXACTLY the same as I remembered. Bright heavenly light may have even poured out of the bag upon opening, although admittingly, I am a little hazy on that part. I was too busy reliving my coming of age, all thanks to the smell of Mexican Chili Chips.

I slowly lifted a chip out of the bag and looked at it for what was probably 5 seconds, but felt like 5 minutes. Here goes nothing....

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like for your tongue to have an orgasm? Well bow down before me, because I now know how that feels. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM....SO FUCKING GOOD. Imagine the best sex you EVER had. Then multiply that by a hundred. Well, the chips not that good, but you get my point. Old Dutch has redeemed themselves. The chips taste ALMOST the same. The only real difference is that they seem to be spicier now. Maybe tastebuds in the future need a little more punch in their potato chips. A friend and fellow Mexican chili chip coinesseur had a quick fix for that though. Dip them in sour cream. MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. God, I'm going to be in one of those little gocarts for fat people before you know it.

It seems some stories do have happy endings. Unless Old Dutch discontinues these chips again. If that happens, I will immedietly destroy the first windmill I see. Mark my words. In the meantime, you'll have to excuse me. I have to go roll around naked on a pile of Mexican Chili Chips.

Fuck, I can't wait to see the google hits I get from the title of this post....

I would like to thank the Academy.....and Satan....

2008-02-01T17:36:00.000-06:00

See that new box over there under my picture? I know its not sized properly, but HTML is an asshole. The folks over at The Rising Blogger (http://therisingblogger.blogspot.com ) have been kind enough to bestow upon me the honor of "Post of the Day" for my Burger King rant. Now I'm not sure how many people get nominated for these things, but I choose to believe it is THOUSANDS, and I came out on top. Prove me wrong.

Click on that link to check out their site and leave a comment. There's a lot of cool blogs getting pimped (including mine!) so I'm sure you'll find something to interest you.

Now if I could only figure out why none of my hats will fit anymore...

The Quest for Gremlins

2008-02-01T13:08:00.000-06:00

I'm sorry, but I have to start off with some bad news today. I sad to report that my "grandpa" passed away peacefully in his sleep last night. But you know what they say: "If you don't keep your mouth shut, you can't expect to not have your testicles hooked up to a car battery". He's in a better place now.

I'm glad that's out of the way. On with the show. This is (as the title suggests) my quest for gremlins. Now if you're thinking "Gremlins aren't real, what the hell is this guy trying to prove?", you obviously didn't read my earlier post. Next time you should do your homework. If you haven't read this yet (http://mindlessdiversions.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-have-gremlin-envy.html), you MUST not continue. Go and read it now. I'll save your place in line. For anyone else here's a picture to get you in the mood.

All done? Stupid, right? Now imagine if I kept that shit bottled up inside my head. We're all better off this way, trust me. This is my quest for a DVD copy of the movie Gremlins. The movie filmed by god himself and handed down for us mere mortals to enjoy. God's a great guy like that. If you had read my earlier post, you would also know that I have, what some may call, an "unhealthy" obsession with Gremlins. In fact, I would even go so far as to say that I would happily drift off to sleep every night, balls deep inside a Gizmo doll if it was socially acceptable to do so. As it is not, my fantasy remains a pipe dream. Someday Gizmo...someday. Wow, two testicle references in the first few paragraphs. I've got to pace myself.

So here is the problem. Gremlins = awesome. Kris's DVD shelf = no Gremlins. Pretty simple problem, and one that is easily rectified, no? So you would think. But as with all aspects of my life, my arch nemesis (public transportation) would rear its ugly head. As you may or may not know, I am currently without wheels. It is a long and sordid tale, that I will save for another time. For now all you need to know is that I ride the bus. And the bus hates me. Luckily, this quest would not require a bus, as I live within a 10 minute walk to both a large video store, and a large department store. Convenience, your name is city living. I had happened to spy a copy of Gremlins at the video store only a few weeks before and so thought this would be the place to start, and hopefully finish. Run to the video store, purchase Gremlins, retreat back to my cave to watch Gremlins. Short and sweet.

The only thing worrying me at that moment was the weather. The weather update on my computer told me that with windchill, the temperature was hovering around MINUS 40 DEGREES CELCIUS. That is a statement that can only be typed in all caps. I probably should have just stayed in my apartment, but the pull of Gizmo and Stripe and Phoebe Cates was far too strong. I wrapped a scarf around my face and boldly strode (strided?) outside to face my destiny.

Remember when I said that the walk was only 10 minutes? Well even though it was only 10 minutes, I looked like an arctic explorer by the time I got to the video store. Icicles in my goatee and everything. You know what feels really good? Feeling your nose hairs freeze together into one mighty nose hair. I know I live in Canada, but come the fuck on. But it would be worth it. I was only a few minutes away from clutching Gremlins tightly to my chest and exhaling the sigh of a pre-pubecent teenage girl with a crush on her history teacher. Descriptive, right?

I walk into the video store and strut confidently towards the appropriate rack. An occasion for Gremlins is an occasion to strut. Remember that. I scan the rack, but somethings missing. I can't see the angelic glow that usually surrounds every movie rack containing Gremlins. What the hell? I walk indignetly over to the clerk to demand answers.

Excuse me fine sir, but there seems to be a problem with your DVD selection

Clerk: What would that be?

You don't have any copies of the greatest movie ever made is all.

Clerk: What are you talking about? There are tons of copies of Titanic over there.

Whoa whoa there buddy. There's no call for that kind of fucking language! Just sell me a copy of Gremlins and I'll be on my way.

Clerk: What's a Gremlin?

Okay, in the interest of staying out of jail, I'm going to forget you said that. Please just let me give you some money, you can give me Gremlins and we all win.

At this point the clerk clearly thinks I'm insane, but I don't care. There's too much at stake to worry about public perception. He shuffles over to his computer and slowly types it in.

Clerk: Nope, sorry. We're sold out.

You can't be serious. I froze my balls off (that's three, folks) coming here, and I'm going to leave empty handed? That is unacceptable, and I will never return to your piece of shit store again!

Clerk: Oh come on. Don't be like that.

Okay, I'll probably be back, but I feel the need to be indignant right now. Is that cool with you?

Clerk: Whatever

I'm glad we agree. Good day to you sir.

And with that I took my leave. Not so successfully, but I think I proved my point. Whatever that might have been. Swing and a miss. Luckily, there was a department store right across the street. Surely in a large department store, there would have Gremlins. Right? Right? Before you answer, you should know that this wasn't any department store. This was fucking Zellers. If you don't know about Zellers, imagine a Walmart, but not as classy. That's Zellers.

I ran across 6 lanes of busy traffic, without thinking twice. The store was going to close in the next 10 minutes. I had no time to wait for the lights to change. Fuck it. I can still watch Gremlins from a wheelchair. I dodged car after car and miraculously made it in one piece. Things were starting to go my way. I entered Zellers, put my Gremlins strut back into use, and made my way to Electronics.

It became apparent very quickly that Zellers did not believe in the value of organized shelf stocking. The place was like a fucking war zone of clearance priced ugly sweaters and discount, no name everything. The DVDs were organized in no clear way that any sane person could have devised. It was like they handed six drunk toddlers stacks of movies and told them to "have at it". This was going to require the help of a cashier.

Hey buddy, I know you're about to close, but I could use your help.

Clerk 2: Sure thing. What can I help you find?

I really need a copy of Gremlins, and I need it tonight. I can't stress how important this is.

Clerk 2: Hmmmmmmmm..........hmmmmmmmmmmm......hmmmmmmmmm

Yes, yes?

Clerk 2: Did you look in the DVD section?

What? Well...no, not really, but its a fucking mess dude. I figured you could just save us the time and check it out on your computer. You know, tell me if you have any in stock. Because if I start blindly searching through that mess, we're going to be here for a long time. And I don't know about you, but I didn't bring my sleeping bag.

Clerk 2: What are you talking about?

Nothing at all. Can you search your computer for Gremlins please.

Clerk 2: No

........................................................................What the fuck do you mean, no? Aren't you here to make sure my shopping experience at Zellers is top notch?

Clerk 2: What I mean is, we don't have that capability on our computer system.

So you can't tell me what DVDs you sell? You do sell DVDs right? How can your computer system not do the most basic thing imaginable? Why am I asking you so many questions when we both know you're not going to be able to answer them anyway?

Clerk 2: Sir, if you would be so kind as to take your purchases to the front counter, the store is about to close.

WHAT PURCHASES?!?!?! You won't help me find what I want to purchase. I want to see the manager.

Clerk 2: I am the manager

You're like 16 years old though. What the fuck? Let me guess, you personally organized the DVD shelves, right? Don't answer that, please. I'm just going to go.

Clerk 2: Thanks for choosing Zellers!

I walked slowly to the exit, wondering if the automatic doors would even register my presence, since my very soul had just been wrenched from my body and shattered on the floor, like so much cheap, ugly Zellers merchandise. I hung my head and left, in a much less jovial mood than when I had arrived. It's moments like these when I really need some sound effects in my life. Don't you wish your life had a soundtrack? Think of it. When I left that store, all I could hear was the slow, meloncholy rhythms of REM's "Everybody Hurts". A tad melodramtic maybe, but appropriate nonetheless.

I shuffled along the sidewalk, back to my apartment, when I spotted something that gave me hope. But at the same time, filled me with horrible dread. The bus stop. Seeing that bus stop sparked some knowledge in my near frozen brain. By god, there's a Blockbuster Video not 10 blocks from here. I could easily take the bus there, and they HAVE to have Gremlins. It's Blockbuster law. This might actually work! I congratulated myself for a well thought out plan. Now all I have to do is wait for the bus to show up. Sure, I'm getting frostbite, but the bus is bound to get here soon. Right? Right?

So I waited......

And I waited.....

And just for fun, I waited a bit more.

Fuck. It was about 40 minutes into my wait for the bus (in sub Arctic temperatures remember), that I cried "uncle". I couldn't stands no more. My toes were probably turning black inside my shoes, and I needed to get to some warm, but fast. I headed home, defeated at last. As I was rounding the corner (about 5 minutes from the bus stop) I seen something that caused an uncouth comment to spring forth from my mouth. The goddamn bus was driving past me. Have you ever seen someone shake their fist at a bus, while they screamed "fucking cuntrag" after it? I'm sure someone got a laugh out of it, but I was not amused. No amount of running and waving was going to bring this bus to a halt, and the bus stop was too far away to make it in time. I gave up the chase, doubled over and fought to catch my breath. Winter is not a friendly time for smokers, no matter how you look at it.

Fuck it, I thought. I'm going home. I'll just order the son of a bitch off of Ebay.

And I did.

Help me....

2008-01-31T21:27:00.000-06:00

Hello.....

Hello.....

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.

BANG BANG

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.

Grandpa.....you 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

CRASH!!!!!!

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

Call Me SuperKris

2008-01-28T17:39:00.000-06:00

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...

2008-01-28T09:56:00.000-06:00

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?

QUEST FOR GREMLINS!!!!

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

A Lesson in Proper use of the English Language

2008-01-24T17:42:00.001-06:00

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.

Mmmmmm......Nuggets.....

2008-01-21T13:16:00.000-06:00

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 bread.....press 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 Bonus.....here'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)

Kris Vs. Burger King

2008-01-18T00:07:00.000-06:00

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.
Mr. Awesome: Oh, okay, that's great except I DIDN'T ORDER ANY FUCKING DRINK! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? AM I ON FUCKING CANDID CAMERA OR SOME SUCH SHIT?!??!?!?!

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.

Fuck.

I really can't make this shit up people.

Just a Quickie

2008-01-13T21:26:00.000-06:00

I just wanted to quickly thank 193.50.44.104 (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

2008-01-13T17:54:00.001-06:00

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.

Degenerate Act = Beautiful Outcome

2008-01-12T19:55:00.000-06:00

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.

Public Transportation oh how I hate thee....

2008-01-11T18:26:00.000-06:00

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.