Blog Monkey

I wish there were reasons to blog.

2008-05-02T20:17:00.002-04:00

Perhaps the Blog has run it's course, or Facebook has stolen it's thunder, but I'm wondering whether this medium is still raking em in.

I just blogged, for the first time in months, and that is sincerely all i could come up with.

Lame.

Anyhow, I'm off to watch Battlestar and eat pizza. Because that is what men do.

Deadwood Drinking Game that ain't for Pussies!

2007-07-22T16:56:00.000-04:00

…All right fellers, after an exhaustive search for a good game online; i realized I’d have to devise one that didn't suck. So here it is.

"The Deadwood Drinking Game that ain't for Pussies".

What you need:

deck of 52. (*or 54, see below)
bottle of your favorite hooch. Whiskey preferable. 20 proof and up please.
Shot glasses or wee 3 ounce paper cups.
DVD of 'Deadwood'. Any episode will do.
pad(s) of paper and pens.

First, line up your glasses and cue up the DVD. Dealer deals one card to everyone.

Show your card. Here’s how it works. There are four suits; each one signifies a curse word or set of curse words.

Hearts: 'cocksucker" and ‘shit’.
spades: 'fuck' and it's derivatives like 'fucker' and ‘motherfucker’, ‘fuckface’
diamonds: 'asshole' and any other masculine insult like 'prick', Jesus Christ, etc.
clubs: 'whore' or any other feminine insult like 'cunt' or 'bitch'. Also, ‘piss’.

Gets better. The card you are dealt also determines the AMOUNT you drink each time the word is spoken. As such:

aces: full shot glass. Pray you don't get ace of spades.
10,j,q,k: 3/4 of a shot
6,7,8,9: 1/2 a shot
2,3,4,5: 1/4 of a shot

*54-card extra regulation: Get a Joker; you drink at every curse word, a quarter shot. Might as well start writing a will.

Now, you still have a wee bit of a chance. You can get one re-deal if you do not have an ace. If you have an ace, well, 'deal with it'. You are stuck. Everyone else can get another card and test their luck. If it's lower, great, but remember... you keep the original 'curse word' you were dealt with in the first hand. The new card can only change the amount of booze you have to imbibe, my friend.

Now, use the pad of paper and write your word and volume of your shots as you watch the episode. trust me, after a half hour, you'll be forgetting how much you drank, how much you are supposed to, your name, where your pants are and why in tarnation you were doing this in the first place.

You can time it a few ways. Re-deal every 20 minutes or determine it based on the amount of times a certain word pops up. Trust me; the guy with a full-shot 'fucker' is going to want to switch up after 10-15 minutes or drinks. If you keep this poor bastard going for the whole hour, you are going to have to hide his body afterwards.

If you want to prove that you ain't no pussy, then deal once and deal with the consequences.

Use the pads to keep track of the words. Later, probably the next day, you tally it up based on number of words times the volume in the glass per round, and the winner, obviously is measured in ounces. He gets a bottle of anything he wants as a prize, or some such. Maybe you can pitch in and buy him a new liver.

Waste, American-Style

2007-05-23T08:44:00.000-04:00

Chris Jordan knows a little bit about waste and decadence.

Seems like everywhere the poor guy looks, he sees the effects of our causal, flippant throw-away society, as well as our inability to sense the true scale of our collective footprint. In his 'Running the Numbers' series of images, painstakingly assembled from large quantities of smaller images, he hopes to set the scale and perhaps finally aggrandize our perception of the issues of our consumptive demeanor. We consume almost everything in vast and staggering volumes. From the artist, a point:

"Statistics can feel abstract and anesthetizing, making it difficult to connect with and make meaning of 3.6 million SUV sales in one year, for example, or 2.3 million Americans in prison, or 426,000 cell phones retired every day."

Humanity suffers from a catastrophic near-sightedness combined with a deific sense of self-importance, the results of which clog our waterways, render our air unfit and have hastened a holocaust of epic proportions toward endemic, and environmentally important, species. Perhaps, by showing the statistics the way they really should be seen, visual, tangible, one man can truly begin to make a difference by setting a perspective shift in motion.

Running the Numbers
An American Self-Portrait

More Dreck, Bollywood Edition. Tights, Camera... Aspirin!

2007-05-19T11:26:00.000-04:00

Well, in addendum to my previous post about the glamourously horrendous and miraculously profitable Bollywood industry, I submit the following. Incredulous comments to follow.

...

I mean, what the fleshy pink hell was that?!!? Oddly enough, you cannot look away. I dare you. Go, ahead, try. Even if you vomit, you will most likely end up doing so on your keyboard, as YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO LOOK AWAY. I wonder what their powers are? Perhaps he can bend steel, but not as well as he can mangle a note. I think her power is merely 'Arse Wiggling' and 'Warbling'. That is the biggest 'S' I have ever seen on any iteration of Superman... and those legs! The man looks like a blue popsicle (OR 'ice lolly' as they say in the colonies), those gams look like they've been stripped of all flesh and left reedy and skeletal. Dig those orthopedic shoes, Supe's gotta be comfortable with all that standing akimbo in the face of danger, ya know.

If given the opportunity to have my sole 15 minutes of celluloid fame, and the only two choices allowed were between having to effect the above routine, costumes and all, or fellating a goat on a bed of nails, covered in honey and hungry ants with three shaven chimps beating me with split bamboo rods in the midst of a hurricane in a razor blade factory, i'd most likely choose the goat. Less humiliating, and they'd let me kiss the bloody goat.

She has a nice arse, though. That's meant as a compliment. Gotta love the ladies. And their arses.

Worst Dreck Ever, The Celluloid Edition

2007-05-18T09:13:00.000-04:00

I take it back. 'mad Love' was not the "worst ever" pile of craptacular celluloid nonsense. The Drew Barrymore dreck-fest may be worthy of the pungent pantheon that the following clips command, but it merely holds the sweaty jock straps and sits on the bench as the following Heavyweights thunder and pound ample chest for the masses.

Why am I not suprised to find Bollywood fare in and amongst? That particular industry is a scourge on celluloid and nerve endings everywhere, and needs to be stopped, no, destroyed with a fury currently unbeknownst to man. Then we can all 'almost-kiss' and break out into high-pitched song and pseudo-synchronized dance to celebrate. To quote the venerable Hicks from the near-Shakespearean 'Aliens'(1986), "Best to nuke it from orbit, only way to be sure."

Indeed.

True, Fascinating and Useless Entertainment Facts and Trivia.

2007-05-16T14:05:00.000-04:00

Rob Zombie, the director and musician with a goulish bent, responsible for some hair-raisingly brutal and twisted aural and visual treats, apparently began his entertainment career as a production assistant on Pee-Wee's Playhouse.

Anyone who has seen the children's show in question will probably not find this news to be all that shocking.

Rob's remake of the John Carpenter cult classic, HALLOWEEN, will be in theatres this August.

Kelly Clarkson! Kelly F**king Clarkson!

2007-05-15T14:56:00.000-04:00

Kelly Clarkson has a new album or something, maybe it's a diet video, or some pilates thing coming out soon. While I find her music puerile and vomit-inducingly bad, filled with banal, prepubescent navel-gazing idiocies, I have found that one kernel of goodness. Within the video below lies a gem of a realization.

She actually admits, for the world to hear, that her music is indeed SHITE. well, call it paraphrasing, but when an 'artist' freely and openly admits that nobody likes her caterwauling, and even her friends and handlers openly despise her ouvre, then I think the term 'shit' is aptly and rightly appropriate. Thus, pay attention to the front end of the following interview:

Kelly Clarkson excited over upcoming summer tour

Well, I may not be a musical genius like Yo-Yo Ma, or David Lee Roth, but I think that when a musician actually admits to her utter crappiness, it's time to hang up the hair extensions and take a final bow.

Got that, Ashlee?

The Quotable Chicken

2007-05-15T13:20:00.000-04:00

"When I was kid, I was told i had something called a future."

Do parents still tell such horrible, horrible lies?

A Mother's Day.

2007-05-14T19:44:00.000-04:00

So, Mother's day come and gone. Great story on the TEE-VEE about how the initial concept of mother's day became perverted, toned town and commercialized. Just as wee baby Jesus' (not Morales) birthday was not initially intended as an end-of-the-year toy dump for the toy industry and reason to get shitfacedly drunken in the midst of total strangers, the original North American Mother's day was a solemn and heart-wrenchingly beautiful gesture.

In 1870, Julia Ward Howe wrote the Mother's day proclamation, a 'treaty' which called for those enbroiled in the harsh and bloody battles of the American Civil War, to lay down their weapons and work towards peace. Of course, this was all to be done in the spirit and sympathy towards the American mother, who were losing their sons in what seemed to be an increasingly futile series of campaigns. The concept is as apt today as it was then, with the endless and devastating march of our shattered sons and daughters to the dark, wretched pall of a human body bag, blindly lifted high upon the wings of an iron pigeon bound for home... But only for an instant, then dropped, quietly, hidden from view, into the near forgotten oblivion of an unjust grave, with only a mother and family to lament. The government dogs, nails soiled and scraped from digging these hasty graves, run foaming and greedy for newer and fresher bones. There is no pain like a parent that outlives a child.

Instead, now, we go for an overpriced brunch and buy her limp flowers from the convenience store. Or we make a phone call. Send discount candy. Crappy cards.

Look at you mother again. And, for the first time... Look at her as if for the last time. Life is delicate, and fleeting... For all of us. Don't let the card companies cheapen it.

Well, How Cool is This!?

2007-05-11T23:39:00.000-04:00

I mean, Michael Myers! C'mon! Halloween! Stabby! Scary! Knife-y!

I am actually looking forward to this. I love Halloween, kids. More than Christmas, Santa claus is a fat git. Candy, and costumes. Bloody hell.

Eco-Cite: Finally, Zero-Impact Living.

2007-05-11T13:24:00.000-04:00

Well, I'll be. My hometown, one which I never plan to return to, has put itself on the map, and this time, not for the elevated murder/suicide rate nor it's teenage pregancy problems.

I could go on about this project, but the site and blog do a better job than I could ever hope to do. Give them a peek.

With a delightful combination of thermal heating and solar panel technology, the hopes are that the building will be able to generate and maintain it's energy needs without having to be completely dependant on an external grid. During the day, it would essentially feed the grid, and, at night, or in periods of higher need, it would then withdraw, hoping to maintain a zero balance. Cool idea, helped in part by the inclusion of energy-efficient appliances and whatnot. The existing grid then becomes a two-way account, collecting, storing and dispensing.

I'll be damned. I went on about it.

We're Not Satisfied Until You're Not Satisfied

2007-05-10T15:56:00.000-04:00

Are my posts not fulfilling, sort of like those sugar-free muffins that have no dates or raisins in them? I take great pride in the fact that I ramble on incoherently. Even the banner above looks haphazard, an infantile mishmash of junk, with a screeching chimp thrown in, because all the world loves a chimp. I could have drawn it, I can actually draw quite well... but I did not, I just did a half-assed Google search. I even misspelled 'Chimp' (chmp, if you must know), further evidence of my laziness.

Anyhow, go here, buy a trinket... get me something while you're there. I'd like an ill-fitting T-shirt, perhaps, or one of those rubber grommets that keep your pencils from rolling off the desk. Do they sell those?

Despair.com

Tony Blair is Stepping Down

2007-05-10T09:26:00.000-04:00

Pardon me, but does anyone finish what they start these days? Tony 'Fuckface' Blair announced his terms and dates for stepping down, right in the middle of a bloody Iraqi quagmire. Bush is losing a lapdog, yes, but i imagine that shaven chimp will be seeing the dirty edge of a curb soon as well.

Who cleans up the bloody mess? Even Hitler saw his junk to the very end. Bloody crumpet-stuffed pussy. ...Makes me miss Reagan, Thatch 'the iron snatch' and Mulroney. They may have been tyrants, but at least they had some balls knocking about down south.

Tail between your legs, Blair.

Shittin' Where We Be Eatin'

2007-05-10T09:23:00.000-04:00

Bad case of the humans

We might be evil, destructive and filthy, but, dang! ...Are we fun or what?!

OR WHAT!!!?

David Banner? No, Chimpzilla Banner! What you say?!

2007-05-10T09:16:00.000-04:00

Look at that new banner WITH YOUR EYES! It's sassy.

Hey, ho, whoa... Whaz-zis?!

2007-05-09T17:05:00.000-04:00

Fer Chrissakes. Can't get my new banner the right size. Everybody stop what you are doing and help. This is more important.

Funky, Funky.

2007-05-09T14:57:00.000-04:00

Keepon Dancing to Spoon

I find pleasure in the simplest things. Like this robot. And masturbation.

Correction: 'Correction:"Jesus" Claims'.

2007-05-09T11:37:00.000-04:00

Ah, who'm I kidding?

...I really meant Jesus, son of that God dude, yesterday. Well, AND Jesus 'sand-eater' Morales, I rock his shit like no tomorrow. The author regrets the further confusion.

Ah, the Modern Child...

2007-05-09T11:26:00.000-04:00

What the hell happened to hello kitty, care bears and spankings? Used to be, I'd get beaten for THINKING this shit. Now, we think it's cute to slap it on our kids' chests. And we wonder why they dress like whores when they turn twelve? Beh! Bah!

I liked it better when kids cringed in fear. FEAR!

"Mom, can I pierce my ears?"

"WHAT?! YOU LITTLE TRAMP! GET OUT, WHORE! HUSSY! WE DISOWN YOU!"

Ah, the 'good old days'.

Correction:"Jesus" Claims.

2007-05-08T16:24:00.000-04:00

By "bigger than Jesus", I meant Physically, and by "Jesus", I meant Jesus Morales, the kid who lives three blocks down and eats sand when his mother isn't looking. The author regrets the error.

I'm Bigger Than That 'Jesus' guy!

2007-05-08T11:56:00.000-04:00

Does Jesus have a movie named after him? No? I can't hear you. I really can't.

What kind of wacko talks at their computer anyhow?

Lower Case 'e'.

2007-05-08T09:25:00.000-04:00

I'm not sure what everyone is on about. Certainly the environment takes back seat to the fact that there is a new Spider-man (note proper hyphenation) film and old so-and-so has shaved her head. Certainly.

Come on, the 'environment' is outdoors, people...! when's the last time you went 'out of doors'? Walking to your car? Did you get injured doing so? No? Well, then, not your worry! Who are these people?

Forbidden Sandwich Recipe, Beyond Compare.

2007-05-07T16:14:00.000-04:00

Recipe.

This blog is a fountain of knowledge. And I am hung like a swollen rhino. Be careful with this recipe, it is delicious enough to kill.

File under, 'death by condiments'.

also, Lookit!!!! These shoes are from the future, but here, now! How is it so?! I don't know!

My Dog Squeaks.

2007-05-07T16:07:00.000-04:00

Spring is Calling?

2007-05-07T15:21:00.000-04:00

Some guy at my company went for a smoke on Friday afternoon and wound up driving back home to Vancouver, never to return. He didn't even give notice, just hopped into his buggy and bolted. A dot on the horizon. Just drove away.

Talk about living the dream. Too bad it's gonna screw up his team, here. Balls like watermelons.

Bronson Chip Update

2007-05-07T11:51:00.000-04:00

The Bronson chip, sadly, did not survive the weekend. It has been summarily eaten. That is all.

Lofty, Schmofty.

2007-05-07T10:27:00.000-04:00

Hey, Monday morning! Bliss! Work!

Following tradition, well, new tradition at least, I will provide a brief and uninspiring window (intrusion) into my exploits. Sorry, quality is extra.

I have been packing for a move. I will be leaving the vast confines of my cavernous loft for the comfort of an apartment with amenities such as ‘rooms’. Loft living for some is bliss, for me, less so. Not a day went by where the rafters did not beckon my neck, so profound was the isolation. I’d relish the sound of retiree hacking phlegm at one in the morning as the signs of life in my concrete prison were nil.

Yes, it was pretty enough, a spacious area with a nice island on which to cook (which I didn’t) and a large veranda/deck on which to entertain (which I don’t), all stucco and brick and pretentiously placed railroad ties and ‘charming’ little windows which I could never cover due to their ‘eccentricity’.

But, not for me. The isolation is such that I crawl out from said rock every morning and slink home late every night, just to crawl into bed and close my eyes at the vastness. The place needs a couple or some such, and it rues my presence, quite nearly mocking me in its echoing vastness, making my furniture look insignificant, and my attempts at cozy-ing it up nearly futile (sigh, those red shower curtains, they looked fine at Home Depot)…

So, I will take flight to the comfort of rooms and neighbors who do not roll their eyes at my cloying attempt at cajoling them into tea, and instead sleep each night in the comfort of an abode which abides by my particular mental and social requirements.

Oh, I realized all too late I need to purchase another six-pack of underpants. Why always late Sunday do I realize this?

Labels?

2007-05-04T16:10:00.000-04:00

What's this 'labels' horseshit? Shouldn't they be invisible? Bad.

The Bronson Chip Conundrum

2007-05-04T16:05:00.000-04:00

SEE? Another post... so soon!

I have ten toes! TEN! TOES!

I have a potato chip which, if you turn it just so, has the unmistakeable profile of a certain Charles Bronson. I am saddened that it is not a holy icon, as Charles Bronson's stock has dipped of late, probably due to his being irreversably dead.

More!

2007-05-04T15:48:00.000-04:00

I have pledged, for now perhaps, to write here as often as possible.
This means, volumetrically, the quantity will rise. If you are of a certain mindset, then, this is good news. However, as in all things, quantity will generally outstrip quality, and the overall standards will most likely collapse into near-laughability.

Oddly, instead of sleepless nights, I find that I slumber quite solemnly.

After all, we live in a world where we have ‘luxury’ jeans and ‘quality’ fast food. If they are allowed the leeway to fool themselves and others, the same may be extended to my person as well.

So, fart jokes are in, cerebral humor is out by the seat of its brain-pan. What? Debate the issues? No, useless and uninformed opines are now paramount here. Respectful retorts are now rightfully replaced with insulting, terse tirades, even in the face of careful and determined thought. No longer need you sit through another dull pontification on the merits of self-respect and self-awareness, I am slipping off the ascot and slipping on the hot pants.

Penis and Vagina... RUN!

2007-05-03T18:00:00.000-04:00

My ex-girlfriend is getting married to some ass-pilot who used to purport to be my 'pal'. I hope their Frigging genatalia fall off.

Now, I'm not bitter. I just want what everyone else wants for them. Just so long as everyone else wants them to be locked in a room full of ravenous blood-bees.

COME AND GET IT, BIZNITCH!

2007-05-03T17:55:00.000-04:00

Should I continue this blog? Show my face, and allow it to be punched publicly? Since nobody is looking right now, maybe I can post all kinds of crap, without repercussions?

The trees in BC are dying, the news told me so, so I will make it my goal to personally kick the shit out of those pine beetles. Then, i'm going to personally filter the rivers and lakes with my own kidneys and get the pollution out. Then, I'm going to hoof every policy wonk in positions of power in the hairy beanbag.

And that's just a start. I 've bought new shirts for the affair. Mountain-pine boring beetle killing shirts.

Keiko, The Pale and Warty Truth

2007-02-24T13:59:00.000-05:00

Ah, the cold, dreary, oh-so-long and miserable days of February.

I want a vacation, I need a vacation, but none on the horizon. So, instead of leaving a 'gone fishin' sign here as i hasten to the sunny horizon, a rant.

Well a mini-rant. See above. Why nature rolled the dice and wound me up in the frozen north rather than some sun-blessed beach on warmer shores, nestled between the sweet, ample bosom of a honey-kissed lovely is beyond me. I must have been some serial rapist in a past life to deserve this Siberian Gulag of an existance. If buddha is to be trusted, as much as a balding fat guy with a penchant for yoga and loose-fitting robes could be, what I reap in this life is directly related to my performance last time 'round. Next life, I'm sure my fitting will be for a banana slug pullover.

Did you see this? Sad. Keiko's website, wherein white dudes can traipse down to Tokyo, violate her, and get free room and board... all for english lessons! But, it's a hoax... pics stolen from here, Jenny Cheung's site. she even blogs about it... phew!

However, this prank is rooted in a horrible reality. Japanese women have this thing for whitey that goes beyond ridiculous. If you are white, you could look like gilbert gottfried, have four teeth and lice the size of kittens... and you'd still be able to land a hottie. Proof... sad proof. Whiteys all look like Brad Pitt to them. Might be the fact that they ABSOLUTELY EAT UP all of the western advertising and propoganda, creating an inferiority complex in the face of the white west. To be with a white, no matter how gangly or uncouth, is to be white. Here's an insight.

I want to start a campaign in Japan to create awareness that their pasty white english-teaching pud-suckers are all in town BECAUSE NOBODY WILL TOUCH THEIR WARTY ASSES WHERE THEY COME FROM!

User Group? I heardly knew 'er!

2007-02-05T17:23:00.000-05:00

I just do not bloody get it anymore.

We have an internal mail system here at my company, and it is utilized by the entire staff, most of which I assume have had some sort of sympathetic rearing and at least a cursory tryst within a hall of greater learning.

However, on a daily basis I am stunned and horrified at the moronic sniping, puerile commentary and incessant back-and-forth detail-shagging and finger pointing. At the use of administration mail groups to expose idiocy within another department in amanner most infantile. People sending 7 meg image attachments of Bill in accounting’s head photoshopped poorly over a snapshot of a flatulent donkey. Spelling that looks as if one simply mashed the keyboard with one’s forehead in a fit if rage. Bloody hell, I’ve a mind to replace the cola vending machine with a diaper dispenser, and initiating time-outs and nappy time.

Slagging.
Sniping.
Posturing.
Off-color humor.
Pictures of bloody cats, kids, cuteness.
Excuses.
Bitching.

Bloody hell. i’d rather mediate a schoolyard, or herd cats. It’s gotta be easier.

Seems that the info age, the facelessness of technology, gives every basement-dweller the opportunity to be Captain Nutsack of the Hairy Beanbag Battalion. Tough guys, hm? Demi-gods? In person, they wouldn’t budge if I let fly and pissed in their lap, all the while massaging melted butter into their scalp.

Beh.

Of Sonnets and Solitude.

2007-02-03T13:46:00.000-05:00

interesting, sometimes, this:
Valentine's day coming up? Right? Yes? Okay.

I'm getting a little weary of the whole set-up thing. At first, a bit of a rush as you feel you are doing your cherubic best at cupid's bidding, but that wears on fast, and then you see what the situation is truly meant to do, decimate your hope for humanity.

I brunged two peeps together many moons ago, and recently I enquired as to how it was going. So, naturally, I asked the little miss, protocol in situations such as these. But, I was met with a situation I find almost consistent in situations such as these.

She clams up if she likes someone, like she's trying to hide a coke habit. Short, terse responses, and immediate deflections.

As in:

"hey, ...you get so-and-so's message?"

"um, yea- hey, are you still a drunk?"

Alas, broken be my heart. An honest and heart-felt query, met with the bedside manner of a KGB spook.
And, why do Valentine sonnets read aloud like Pirate banter? See for your damn self, I'm busy sulking. Alone.

Blog Monkey back in "da house"

2007-02-02T14:08:00.000-05:00

well, bloody hell.

Back after a layoff. Looks like only the ad bastards are interested these days, but I'll show those dangling dew-sacs. No retorts or trips to their penile-enhancing climes. I'm staying put for now, and kindly piss off, you and the horse on which you came.

Now, do I stick about? Perhaps I'll whine about my chosen profession a wee bit... I'm sure that these forums have never been utilized as such. Razing new paths, I am, and looking quite dashing for measure, hm?

Things to Do on a Rainy Day.

2006-09-09T18:18:00.000-04:00

It's raining again, can you believe it? The East Coast is acting all West-like, saturated in a foul-smelling rain.

...I did manage to carve a Tarbosaurus footprint, though. I threatened an employee with it.

I also managed to squeak out a Confuciusornis wing pattern. Odd bird, that. still had a manus like a theropod.

I went to the gym, sweated, emptied my bowel and took a Sauna. Fortunately, that was the order, and none of the above were done in tandem. Well, technically, 'sweated' could be applied to the sauna as well. Even though I did fart in the sauna, that hardly applies as 'emptying my bowel'.

I am at work. In my office. The walls are a soothing yellow and I'm looking at photos of my ex-girlfiends and trying to find creative, fiendish methods of come-uppance.

I'm thinking of dinner. Chinese? What's her name? Bad joke? You don't know me, so keep your judgements for your friends in AA and the guy at the bank who has one sole eyebrow.

I am thinking of buying a condo. And a hat. A nice one. A nice hat. And a condo. I feel it should be nice too, and in a nice area. My neighbors freak me out, and there are mullets in my vicinity. I was told the other day that a restaurant in my area was good by one of the denizens. upon further questioning, the main reasoning for such conclusions were the portion sizes, and that alone. I became sad and went home, removing my pants and watched the news. Hungry.

I'm hungry again today. Chinese. I heard that the 'Hong Kong House' has large portions. Good enough for me.

Let the Facts Speak for Themselves.

2006-08-22T14:03:00.000-04:00

“We think there were bombs set in the building.”

Louie Cacchioli, 51, Firefighter
-People Weekly, sept. 24, 2001

View the stunning and eye opening documentary here. Thanks to ' a Consequence of Monkeys' for the link.

Well, they said they would!

2006-08-14T16:02:00.000-04:00

Hey, They said they'd do it. Look what happens when Democracy goes on sick leave... The loonies run the Nuthouse.

Writing.

2006-08-03T19:33:00.000-04:00

if i don't wake.
up at seven, creaky and worn
not sure i can take another one of those storms
feels at times brittle bones like mine
will rattle and break when i'm kept up late.

if i don't wake you can have my shoes
i got some knick-knacks i never use.
i got a box with paint and stuff
you can paint a portrait, i know it's enough.
just don't you go on painting me,
another portrait i don't need.

where i'm going i don't need this shit,
and that's pretty much the end of it.

Smackdown!!!

2006-07-30T23:30:00.000-04:00

Ultimate Frigging Showdown!

Thanks to angela, in response to Meinert and Sinky going on about Shmooperman.

Chuck Norris does his worst, and RoboCop makes an appearance. No cooler, that! I expected Optimus Prime to do more asskickedness damage, but whaddya want, it's a cartoon.

Snakes on a muthafucking plane.

Dino-mite!

2006-07-28T09:18:00.000-04:00

I just got back from the American Museum of Natural History in NYC. That place always freaks me out.
Since I’m art directing an IMAX film about dinos I went and got the VIP tour and was allowed to touch some pretty rare fossils. I spent some time with Mick Ellison, the fantastic paleo artist, who I got along with like gangbusters. Turned out we both did a reconstruction of Mei Long at the same time for different publications, AND we both are proud owners of giant squid parts! Great guy. Then I went to maxilla and mandible and got to touch even more bones and weird shit. They have a wooly rhino skull, how cool is that? Huh? Not so much? What about a blue whale penis bone? Getting hot?
Then I went out and had a few drinks. Hey, it's frigging New York, what am I supposed to do, go to a church? Funny thing about NYC is ya never feel insignificant there. When you go to places like Toronto or L.A., you always feel like some dude's telling a joke and you are the punch line. Not so much in New York... I guess that's why the folks, they like it. Gonna grab some Joe and get to work. Dinosaurs don't design they-selves, ya know.

Having Trouble Holding My 'Water'... A Critique Most Unkinde

2006-07-19T23:53:00.000-04:00

...Saw M. Night Sharmalartinianarnian's new opus. Dog pat as per usual. It seems he progressively expands his role in each of his films exponentially each time. I expect he'll do a film one day soon with only a close up of his face and an internal monologue overplaying the entire debacle as he shows his dramatic reach, alternating between looking bored and looking bored.

However, a plus. It seems those million monkeys banging away on a million typewriters for a million years just had their first screenplay put to good use. I hope maybe soon they'll manage to string two sentences together that don't sound like they've issued forth from the strangulated bowel of a bloated water buffalo.

I get the whole fairy tale angle. What I don't get is the fact that everyone patters around like they're on Quaaludes and extra-strength Nyquil. I don't know who seemed more bored... me or the poor saps trying to 'act' through the methane haze that is mr. M's overly convoluted and ridiculous tale.

Thanks to the Procrastin8or for the invite!

Do They Stop Rampaging on the Shabbat?

2006-07-18T09:34:00.000-04:00

From the 'Why didn't I think of that' department:

George W. Bush, showing the tact and lucid acuity that his tenure has been most noted for, has issued forth, after much strained thought and superhuman effort, an epiphany of the highest order concerning the current plight rampaging within the confines of the Middle East. After all, a great man must have great ideas, am I correct?

On the current situation wherein Israel (America Junior) has attacked Lebanon to 'rescue' two soldiers and has wound up killing hundreds of innocents (at least 226 people have been killed):

"The irony is what they needed to do is get Syria to get Hezbollah to stop this s---, and it's over."

...There you have it. Amongst his grandest and most excreable achievements, George W. Bush will go down in the cascading halls of history as not only the ursurper of Democracy and a corporate shill, but 'The Man who Killed the Human Brain', to boot.

Beat the Drum Slowly

2006-07-17T12:16:00.000-04:00

Hi, just a quicky here, but is Israel bombing the shit out of Lebanon for 3 soldiers (one in Gaza), or am I missing something? Well, just as WW1 began with the inane situation of the murdered Archduke (Nobody that bloated is that well-liked!), I guess this deserves an equally ridiculous excuse.

Listen, I'm not retarded. You can't possibly believe I'd swallow this acrid pigswill without a defiant and cocked brow, knowing full well that, in the mad rush to put each and every soldier in harm's way that, suddenly, their lives are worth a damn to you chest-beating bureaucrats.

You wanna use your toys so bad, any excuse will do, admit that at least. Ten extremists run in, kill 8, whisk away 2 and you bomb the rest of the country to the stone age... killing hundreds? Also, I have not 'conveniently' forgotten that after one soldier... ONE, was taken in the Gaza strip, the Israeli air force instantly sent fighter planes into Lebanese and Syrian territory and buzzed targets, at the same time, just as Bush did after 9-11, INSTANTLY blamed the same two countries with complicity. With little corrobaorated evidence. Innocent until proven guilty is how it works, folks. Take the case to the UN or an international court. Prove it. They are executing without prosecuting... and innocents are dying.

So, soldiers that, under normal military auspices are viewed as little more than cannon fodder, suddenly have become so valuable that the military would waste millions, kill thousands, just to gently cradle the poor G.I., like a suckling lamb, back to the radiant land of Galilee? Bullshit. And fuck you for thinking we'd all swallow any of this. Between this administration and the Bush Kingdom, it would seem that whenever any of them spout rhetoric, they manage not to enlighten but subtract from the fountain of human knowledge.

Hey, neither side I champion as shades of grey make it difficult to determine friend from foe, but I know this: If Britain bombed the living shit out of Ireland over a few nuts in the IRA, we wouldn't sit idly by. Because we're white. Because we're Judeo-Christian.

The government of Israel is criminal. And they've been perpetrating horrors that would make Nazi Germany proud. They are becoming their worst nightmare... and mine. They have an administration so absolutely abhorrent and spiteful you'd have to wait in line to hate them.

Cup.

2006-07-03T10:58:00.000-04:00

Well, I will admit, I have been paying a bit of attention to the World Cup. I think that Germany is doing a bang-up job. Those dirty Huns sure know how to throw a party!

However, I notice I have been started to harbor a creeping resentment these last few weeks as we get closer and closer to the Final Outcome, and I will expound. Whereas the World Cup is a wonderful way to bring all of the nations together in harmony, it seems that it has the opposite effect in North 'Merica. There have been more racist slurs uttered in the last week in my presence than the last three and a half years combined, more resentment, more division, and what I have most feared about our society seems to be accentuated by the recent goings-on. We are not getting along as one huge family as we'd like to think, we are only self-segregating and allowing the rift to expand. The reasons I imagine have to do with sheer numbers, as certain populations have vast enough numbers so that they may fill out entire neighborhoods and never truly have to make any lasting contact with the 'others'.

What happens then is we have an Italian community, Portuguese community, Chinese, etc., that do not identify as Canadian, even if they are second or third generation. They identify more as Tunisian, Iranian, Egyptian rather than American... Now, I am a blend of Irish, Scotch and French, and of that I am guilty of pride and reverence, but I do not regard myself as a son of any of those nations. When Ireland wins an international contest i do not strap an Irish flag to my car, get blotto, block traffic and harass people for not belonging to my bloodline. The Portuguese community have blocked traffic and harassed our town twice in the last week... waving flags, etc. I admit to some hardcore racist thoughts at those moments, borne of frustration and bewilderment... How shitty is it in Canada that there are those that identify more with a country that they did not even originate in, that the flag of a nation with a near third-world economy that their parents fled is considered more of a home than the nation in which they were offered refuge? Are we being too Liberal in our views towards immigration, are we allowing subcultures to exist at the expense of our society... does this mean anything towards a broader picture, say, like that of National Unity?

There is a debate in the U.S. right now about making English the ONLY national language. Because of Mexican influence many neighborhoods are developing where you have third generations that have no requirement of English within America. They live, eat, work, sleep in Spanish only. Should this be tolerated? If this continues, honestly, you will have the same issues that Quebec has in Canada, a growing rift, a lack of understanding and bigotry aimed in either directions... with little or no hope of reconciliation. Take the unfortunate case of some Islamic communities, or the Hasidim, to integrate fully is to allow their identity to be compromised, so cultural contact is verboten, and we all go to our corners, ignorant, dutifully donning our Dunce Caps with weary compliance. Right and wrong in this case depends on which side of the line you are on. Both sides are complicit, we need to take steps to understand each other, and find a common ground we can agree on.

The fact of the matter is this: North America, as it was imagined, will never work. The races refuse to agglomerate, associate, nor cooperate as cultural concessions are difficult to make and, as the populations grow the divide may get even wider. Now, I do not offer a solution, I am merely posing the question here.

Rock the Reichstag

2006-06-29T10:17:00.000-04:00

Cats that look like Hitler... And why the hell not?! If anything, a lame and hackneyed attempt at paying a tribute to our punctual hosts of the world cup! There hasn't been so much giddy excitement in the streets of germany since "Kristallnacht"!

In related news, a movement has been put forward to consolidate the blogs of "A consequence of monkeys', 'Sink Chicken' and yours truly into one big three columned, tag-team-esque, information overloaded, Newspaper-style blog. Why, you ask? Because we care about your need to know. Because we strive for integrity and justice. Because we're too lazy to update our own blogs on a scheduled basis that is any less than glacial and haphazard.

Comeuppance, From a Brothers Grimm Point of View

2006-06-20T14:29:00.000-04:00

Suburban Vancouver woman finds bear eating oatmeal in kitchen

In a startling twist of fate, and after about a hundred years of waiting for the proper moment, a bear has seen to it that Goldilocks' theft of oatmeal in the famous nursery rhyme has been avenged.

Now, I'm not the eye-for-an-eye type, but I suppose it is only fitting that the theft, so many years back, when petticoats and chastity were de rigeur, has finally been adressed. A woman in West Vancouver, Canada, who we will name 'Goldie' for the expressed purpose of this article (though it is not clear whether or not she is a descendant) came home last Thursday to find an Ursine friend chowing down on oatmeal in the kitchen.

"It sounds like a nursery rhyme, doesn't it?" West Vancouver police Sgt. Paul Skelton said. "At least we have a health-conscious bear on our hands."

"The bear didn't appear to be aggressive and wasn't destroying the house, so they just let it do what it was doing and eventually the bear decided to make its way out of the residence and down toward a forested gully," Sgt. Skelton added. "It ended the best it could."

At press time, it is not known whether or not the Bear tried out all of the chairs in the home, or took a nap in one of the three beds in the residence, one of which has been descibed by 'Goldie' as "just right".

The Mutant Revolution Begins Thanks to Lax Environmental Regulations.

2006-06-02T14:57:00.000-04:00

Who'd a thunk it that X-men would become reality in our lifetimes? In related news, George Bush swears alliegance to Emperor Palpatine and vows to destroy the Rebel Alliance.

Humor aside, the bizarre mutation may have plenty to do with this study. A new report by Environmental Defence, entitled Polluted Children, Toxic Nation: A Report on Pollution in Canadian Families, has determined that the blood and urine of Canadian children contained an unhealthy cocktail of toxic chemicals such as flame retardants, mercury and lead amongst others.

Amy Robertson, a volunteer in the study, opined, "I feel victimized by the air that I am breathing and the things I have no control over."

The laboratory tests found a staggering total of 46 of 68 suspect chemicals in the volunteers, including toxins that can cause cancer, reproductive disorders, disrupt the hormone system and cause developmental delays.
On average, adults had 32 toxins, and 23 were found in children.

"It's not fair that children should be so polluted with these chemicals," said Aladin Bonin, one of the testees. "I hope that adults do something now to fix the problem."

Don't hold your breath.

Understanding.

2006-06-02T09:42:00.000-04:00

Since, in my previous post, I pointed out what I considered a backhanded comment, I feel it is only fair that equal time should be given to the ultimate understanding we have reached. I appreciate the candor of Scout, and I hope to dialogue more with said individual in the future, as it is heartening when one can admit error (unlike a certain President, alas.) I too, commited an error of better judgement and slung barbs. As warranted as I perhaps felt they were, no excuse can be made for their existance that is not of the juvenile variety. I hope we can continue speaking in a civilized manner, with only the content of our characters, not broad generalizations, as fodder.

Scout's comment:
At first view I thought you'd taken a hairy turn at my very first (tongue-in-cheek) line and gone off on a wild tirade of absurd apology. But having now re-read my post I have to agree that what was intended as somewhat tongue-in-cheek has come off as simply insulting. So I sincerely apologise Monkey.

My response:
As do I. After reading my post this morning I realized that I may have ranted a bit myself. Your commentary is obviously welcome. My hopes are soon, there will be a revolution in technology that can effectively express sarcasm, irony and a plethora of other conversational variances. As is, faceless interaction such as this does not do a good job of projecting nuance.

When I first published the original post I realized how slippery the slope was as the language was not easy in coming, and no matter what I wrote, and no matter how eloquently I tried to put it, it came across as arcane and Neanderthal, which made the emotions become even more unreasonable and compounded. Should I feel guilt for having said thoughts (not raping and killing, mind you, just 'lust' in it's basest and most primitive form.) How do we understand it without coddling it?

As men, we need to find a way of expressing our tendencies in a constructive and unapologetic manner. I’m not sure this is the forum for it, but it is a start. The reason I use the term 'unapologetic' is, just as a lion acknowledges its desire to eat mammals, we harbor these drives within, and I fear the suppression of discussion (not implementation, by all means) exacerbates the situation creating that unfortunate 51% statistic. ...Which might explain all those icky wars.

In Response to my Previous Post

2006-06-02T00:22:00.000-04:00

Felt it was important to paste some obvious hate mail and my retort. And I'm leaving it at that. Don't retort if you have no intention of furthering the discussion. I'm not interested in being flamed for throwing some thought around. Everyone who knows me knows I am a progressive thinker who will always deal with heady subjects, even if, like this case, that subject is the darker side of my Id. If responses like this were the norm, I am sure Jung, Freud et al would have been stoned to death at a very young age. (not that I claim to be peers with either, sincerely)

The response generalizes AND insults, not exactly kosher in any debate, but what the hell do you want with knee-jerk armchair prosthelizing?

The retort from 'Scout':
"Emasculation?
Here BM, pack your horse and take your pick -

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polygamy

...and I'll be happy to throw you a pack lunch on your "Woe is me, for I am no longer 'MAN'" journey.
Just be sure not to scream at, beat, rape, or kill, that woman you're passing when the 'extreme frustration and utter despair' at your inability to be able to fuck everything that moves, comes along.
Think - if you can manage that, you'll be doing something that that a full 51% of the Canadian male population are totally incapable of doing."

And my response (I apologise if i seem angry, but I do not like being attacked):
"Poor scout, typically, manages to bypass the point and jumps to heady conclusions about the orientations of others.

ah, to live in such a state of anger instead of seeing the point. instead of seeing the occasion to begin dialogue, here we have a commentary that veers towards hate and name calling straight ahead. the assumption that i am a polygamist based on my understanding of my biological drives does not make me a beast for aknowledging it exists.

i, unlike you do not see any issue with understanding the feral, basic state, but then again, i believe we are animals, primates whereas you probably believe god created wee-wees to give us shame. go back to thine hutterite community and contine wearing the horse blinders and leave the hard thinking to the rest of us.

oh, nice way to generalize men as well, which makes my point in the first place.

nowhere in the body of my argument did i mention any desire to beat, rape, murder any member of the opposite sex. my frustrations, as i stated, lie in trying to re-wire the desires we all have deep within. i advocate a deeper understanding of the male sexual drive as a way of understanding the gap between men and women, to avoid the 'coming to blows'. however, you want an argument.

because, obviously, you are an intellectual lightweight, always looking for the easy blame. go check http://www.ihatemen.com/ , if you know how to cut and paste a link, and bitch about your shitty boyfriend there instead of taking it out on everyone in blogland, k?"

Po-tay-to/ Po-ta-to.

2006-05-30T16:06:00.000-04:00

Below is the comment I posted concerning this article on sexual dimorphism in humans. Full article here. You will find the below comment if you scroll down. Have a read.

"it seems futile to post a ‘I wholeheartedly agree’, but I will.
I am happy that the ‘trap’ i am caught in at the moment, the biological pressure to dispense affections or ‘fuck the world’, is not brought on by megalomania nor perversion. having said that, as natural as these urges are, they are distracting, frustrating and extremely uncomfortable, to the point of utter despair.
i would urge the ladies not to roll their eyes thinking that this is a problem that men enjoy, but an uncontrollable aspect of their nature that, unfortunately, plays against our western culture, media and progressive thought.
we are meant to feel guilty for these leanings, which is unfair. it needs to be discussed and understood by the opposite sex, dealt with just as we have dealt with and accept their pms, obsession with toilet seats and the need to have their minds read and their insecurities coddled.
to often, the harsh realities of masculine nature are met with critizism and the cocked brow of detractors who believe ‘we do it because we want to’, not because of nature’s decree. i’m all for greater understanding of the sexes, so long as it doesn’t mean the emasculation of men and ‘having fun’ at their biological tendencies."

My Conquest So Far

2006-05-30T13:36:00.000-04:00

Following the well worn lead of dear old 'A Consequence of Monkeys', I have decided to ape his second most recent post in a feeble attempt to introduce copious amounts of filler to titillate and maintain readership.

Below, hence, is a map of all the areas on our glowing blue orb that I have been to. This brings up more realizations than I suppose it should, such as: almost all of the countries I have visited are known as, or were known as, bloodthirsty and warmongering, with allusions toward world domination either financial or by force. There are huge swaths of the planet that have not yet known the delicate imprint of my foot, shown in a depressing and bleak 'grey' tone. The grey tone is apt, however, as they have yet to experience my shining, life-giving example. However, I have pledged to soon grace these poor, soul-less denizens with my gentle visage and stunning guidance as soon as I am able, vacation time willing.

I look forward to paying pennies for your earnest toil and efforts, shunning your toilets and bathing habits, and making off with your religious icons as trinkets. It's the least I can do.

Pathetic, hm?

create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

X3: X-men, The Final Stand: A One-word Review.

2006-05-29T17:13:00.000-04:00

X-crement.

Yeah, I like Macs. I feel your eyes.

2006-05-24T22:22:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's because I am an artist, or because i like well designed items, or maybe because i have opposable thumbs... but I'll take my Mac anyday.

Yeah, I am a mac bitch. Hey, I don't have the sticker on my car, but i have it in my heart. hell, I'd write a Haiku to my Mac if i was drunk.

...ah, what the fuck, I have some time.

I sit, at my mac
every pixel is complete;
no bluescreen.

tip your waiter.

German Ghosts and Other Inane Thoughts Brought on by the Rain.

2006-05-21T23:44:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here, just minding my own business, and every now and again... I smell the unmistakeable odor of peach schnapps. German ghost? Neighbor spilled a snifter? I dunno, but it is freaking me out.

Raining here for the last 10 days straight. Here I was, thinking the doldrums of winter would be dashed... rather they have been replaced with an even more insidious doldrum, the fruitless and frigid 'spring of no respite indeed'.

On the plus side, my neighbors have sex right next to my head at night, and my car is still in the shop. How's by you?

"Shaking One's Booty 101"

2006-05-19T15:49:00.000-04:00

Do you like to dance? If yes, you are an idiot and need to feel shame. If you like to watch others make fools of themselves, you are a demi-god and should divert your attention here.

Ah, the sweet melodies of Mr. Vanilla Ice. Those were honey-dusted, magical times...

When Foresight is 20/73...

2006-05-17T22:20:00.000-04:00

My friends' father is seeing a younger woman. Commendable? Depends on your leanings, i suppose. I've seen May/December things work before. However, I find this case more than a tad bizarre, it leans towards the ridiculous. She is 20, he is... wait for it... 73. This is beyond May/Dec. That's Devonian/Holoscene.

Am I missing out on something here, or perhaps I'm behind the times? Perhaps it is cool to date your Grandfather these days, I suppose being lulled to sleep in the arms of some tired Geriatric windbag is all the rage, enthralled by his tales of the great depression, Hitler's taste in cars and the day he discovered fire by rubbing two stones together... I'm sorry, is there something inherently sexy about men with excessive ear hair, or perhaps it is the plaid trousers wrenched defiantly up to one's armpits that gets the Gap set steaming?

That, my friends, is a colossal 5o-year difference. Now, I'm not one to meddle in the affairs of others, but I am tempted to fill up the Charger with dry goods and a change of clothes and go directly to the stage of this union and show them basic math! Perhaps, she, tired of all of the clawing, cloying habits of the 'younger man' has been lulled by his dastardly laid-back outlook and retiring demeanor? Not long before she discovers that by 'laid-back', I mean 'too pant-wettingly senile to care' and by 'retiring' I mean 'corpse-like state of eternal stupor'. On his hand, he must at times feel like he is conducting a pre-school class composed of the better parts of the 'glint in the milk-man's eye' and Ova#326. The post-coital conversation must be a doozy. To be a fly on that wall.

A blind, horrified fly.

Leonard and Steamed Spinach

2006-05-10T22:44:00.000-04:00

For steamed spinach, use salt, just a pinch, and be sure to rinse thoroughly. Toss steamed spinach with pressed garlic, fresh lemon juice and olive oil. Sprinkle with a little Parmesan cheese.

In a related topic, last night, as I was strolling from my favorite haunt, I had the great fortune to come across one of my personal (though unbeknownst to him) muses, Mr. Leonard Cohen. As I am not one to gush, or even approach someone without an introduction, I merely offered a glance, which was exchanged, and allowed him to continue wresting the gumballs he seemed intent on attaining from the slot-fed contraption he was huddled over. I was stunned by his diminutive size, but oddly, he seemed larger than reality, like no earthly vessel could contain his spirit. He is now old, but he is radiant in that way we can never explain. He wore a hat similar to the image attached. Though I did not want to bother him with my thoughts, I want to thank him for his words.

"There is a crack, a crack, in everything... That's how the light gets in."
No-one else can say so very much with so little.

Phone Etiquette for the Discriminating Gentle-person

2006-05-08T20:40:00.000-04:00

Not one to rest on his laurels and simply be a source for entertainment and pathos, I have decided to enrich your life with my well-worn and painfully useless knowledge.
Here's a handy tip when talking on the blower (phone) with pesky telemarketers, boorish co-workers or nagging family members. I call it the 'Talk, Hang and Hold' response.

1) TALK like you are actually interested in what the other has to say. Sound engaged, even though you secretly wish to impale yourself or set your hair on fire rather than to continue listening to the blathering sweat-flap on the other end.

2) HANG up the phone NOT during one of your guests' inane retorts, but rather whilst you are in the process of making an observance or query. This works on two fronts. Firstly, your captor will never suspect that you have 'hung up on his ass' as no reasonable gentleman would ever hang up when it is he who is making a point, would he? Secondly, it gets you off the phone post haste, no muss, and avoidance is what this is all about in the first place.

3) HOLD off answering the phone for some time. He/she/it may try a few different phones (cel, home, a friends) thinking perhaps it was his line that failed. Do not, under any circumstances, answer the phone, as you need to continue the charade that your line has become inexplicably dead. He may, in a wily and coarse fashion, get a mutual accquaintance to attempt to reach you. No dice, as you are not answering, for no-one, no-how, right?

Left alone, you may continue with your evening unmolested, free to sip martinis with that Spanish fashion model, or drive an expensive car, or watch television in your underpants. The next you meet, be sure to have a 'likely excuse' for the person you have sleighted, and he will be none the wiser.

You may thank me for this gem by wiring me a sum of money, if you wish.

What is this Thing Called, Love?

2006-05-08T00:27:00.000-04:00

I guess it is dawning on me that the now-mythical horseshit I went through last year with the ex has scarred and twisted me more than I ever realized. Deep within, a hatred is roiling that I fear I will never quell, and I only have myself to thank for the mess.

All I had to do was open my heart when the first request came in. I did not, and the rest is history. No use bitching about it, I guess, and I'll move on. Just thinking out loud. Felled by my own axe. Insert cliche here, I am too weary to continue.

Masterpiece Theatre on the Cheap

2006-05-06T20:25:00.000-04:00

Here is a triumvirate of DVDs I think you should all take a look at this weekend, plus a little review of each so you do not have to go on IMDB or worry that it may be soft porn. The latter, I understand, could become an issue if you have a movie night planned with your church or knitting groups. Actually, if you have taken up knitting, odds are you haven't seen a naked person in ages, unless you count that nutty guy at the retirement home in which you reside forgetting to don pants yet again.

The three recommendations I will post all have one thing in common, they all have the word 'blade' in the title. Otherwise, they are all quite diametrically opposed.

1) BLADE RUNNER.
The seminal thinking person's science fiction film. Less heady than 2001 and more palatable than all those other science fiction shoot-em-ups, this classic future noir created a niche that many films aspire to, but few will ever attain. Harrison Ford may have been nominated at the Academy for his work on Witness, but I think this is indeed his best performance. His nuanced, pained weariness oozes through; every step leads you closer to the discovery that he will never be the man he attained to be. 'What is Human?', this film asks, and you walk away with more questions about our path than you ever wish to answer. Slow, but worth every detailed moment. This future is happening, and it is worth taking a look at what we are bargaining for. It is the Nostradamus of science fiction.

2) SLING BLADE.
Before he was the nutjob, knife weilding toupe-jockey he has become, Billy Bob Thornton could actually act. His thoughtful and revelatory portrayal of a man newly freed, long in an institution due to a mini-massacre he commited within his family is one I shall never forget. The fragility of life in a small community is exposed when he is taken into the arms of well-wishers, and he realizes that his place is elsewhere, where his heart may never be broken. A real heart-breaker, though it is done in a manner that is not manipulative nor crass.

3) BLADE.
As far as actioners go, this is one I recommend wholly. As far as the whole hackeneyed half-vampire crap goes, it's fairly palatable in this film due to the portrayal of the lead, Wesley Snipes. Where The Matrix' effects sequences and bland portrayals have become dated and cliched, Blade rises above all that by having fresh, interesting portrayals of unique characters, and, importantly, a bit of a sense of humor about itself. Nothing worse than a Vampire flick that tries to take itself too seriously. Throw in some nifty martial arts, good production values and a cool-looking Dodge Charger (I am a '72 Charger owner, myself...) and you have the makings for a memorable flick. You definitely need popcorn for this one.

Wedded Blissful Ignorance.

2006-05-04T23:30:00.000-04:00

On a more personal note, it turns out my ex girlfriend, who is now with my ex-friend, are getting married. May I be the first to wish them both to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut? I believe I will. I wish you both paunch and hairlessness, and that your horrid children are born two-headed and with cloven hoof.

She's 27, dresses like a Bangkok slut and is a terrible, incompetant receptionist with a neurotic demeanor that just screams 'eternal victim'. He's 47, and a drug-addicted, unemployable, alcoholic douchebag with the personal grooming habits of a drunken flophouse Hobbit and the mental acuity of a tea towel.

The reception will be held at the communicable diseases walk-in clinic. Dress accordingly, as this is a White Trash Event.

Don't get me wrong, mind you.

2006-05-03T23:05:00.000-04:00

Robots, whether real or imagined, are coolness. I think about robots often during an average workday. I think, "What would Robby the Robot, or perhaps even Tobor the Great do?" when faced with a moral or pedestrian dilemma, like, say, filling a stapler, or reloading the toner in the photocopier, or 'offing' my know-it-all assface co-workers. RoboCop is my hero, I have seen the film 73 times. I wish I was like him. I would love to have one long, black strip of glass instead of two eyes, and no penis.

"Kiss my shiny metal ass", indeed. I love robots. Just not asinine, six legged, minefield traipsing shoe robots (see last post). Those kinds of robots are retarded. RoboCop may have no penis, but he is not retarded, just penis-less.

Shoes For Walking in Fucking Minefields!

2006-05-03T00:54:00.000-04:00

Jesus H. Crispy Christ. This could be the dumbest invention ever, Right after the 'cut-and-suck' and the 'Adult Diaper'. Shoes for walking in motherfucking minefields!.

I have a better idea!

...don't.

My Colon Hates Me.

2006-05-02T22:09:00.000-04:00

The past three days I have been conducting a little experiment. Due to a crushing workload and poor constitution, I have been consuming coffee as my only source of sustenance. A few notes at this point:

a) The jitters, heart palpitations and paranoia I can deal with, but the twitching eyes make it difficult to drive, especially since the only speeds I can deal with at this point are 'impending doom' and 'full screeching stop' . The fact that the vibrations in my orbits give everything a '2001' slit-scan-stroboscopic impression makes it difficult to discern friend or foe before me, or, more likely, in the rear view mirror.

b) It is true what they say, it most definitely IS a potent diarrhetic. I am a human fetid sluice-gate... toilets of the world, cringe in fear. However, time spent on the porcelain throne has been halved. So, not ALL bad news here.

c) My mouth tastes like paint stripper and urine. My sweltering, dog's-ass breath could be used to de-louse death-row inmates. (Wow, hyphens, like in the old-en days. Lost is the art of the hy-phen. L-ost.)

d) My sleep patterns are all discombobulated. I wake at odd hours and drift off during phone calls. It has activated my Night Terror reflex I had as a child. ...Instead of an imp on my chest with 'hypno-toad' eyes, it has evolved to Carl Rove brandishing a dry sausage rifle, wearing a hat made of felt flower cutouts and a papier-mache matrix mixed with yogourt.

e) I DO get my work done, but when I hand it over, it's like I'm handling snakes or something. It is gingerly accepted and those accepting; back away cautiously. Maybe my jitters make me look like a malfunctioning pinball machine. However, seeing as I do not have four legs and blinking lights, nor am I surrounded by thirty-something high-school dropouts wearing 'Slayer' jean jackets, I may be mistaken in that assumption.

f) I go to the gym and work out like a redneck on a mission. You know what the hell I'm talking about (see Ghost World). It's like being fit will matter. But, no mullet. I even shaved and oiled my chest.

g) I'm starting to 'get' Robin Williams. That scares me. It should scare you, too. And, I spend hours on 'Kittenwar', like some kind of idiot (not sure which 'type' of idiot as of yet, though).

h) Where I used to get headaches before my first cup o' the day... I get migraines between sips.

Now, what the hell do I do to de-tox? At this point, I think switching to eating lead paint chips is healthier. Or, drinking Lemon Pledge.

Chakra Schmakra

2006-05-01T22:31:00.000-04:00

Just as my weekend was something of a marathon of pleasant experiences, this Monday has been a parade in polarity. Whether or not it is nature's way of balancing Karma, chakra or, uh, Shakira, I will never rightly know. But know this, I am not amused in the very least and will take unholy vengeance upon the fates for this cosmic testicle-slapping.

Work, love, life; all have taken the express train south. Amazing the difference a day makes.

So, I will write a country song, I think. That is what people of poor breeding do when the fortunes of life are dashed upon the unwavering rock of fate, correct? Or should I sit near-naked on my balcony drinking cheap domestic beer and yell at passers-by? I always fancied the genteel and distinguish'd manner of those heros of the working class, the proud and flatulent 'Beer-swilling Balcony Ape'. Perhaps I will go work on my car in nothing but a pair of red adidas shorts from 1983 with my friends in a public parking lot, blasting Ted Nugent and the very best of Whitesnake? Perhaps I should just call Sink Chicken, A.K.A 'The King of Pain'? Perhaps I will bake a pie? No, I couldn't roll a crust if my life was at stake. A fantasy pie?

What the hell am I going on about, again?

Sun, Sand, Poop.

2006-04-30T17:52:00.000-04:00

This weekend, so far, has been quite agreeable.

The weather has been rosy; my pallid tone of blue, mottled with fleshy pink striations and patches of outright translucency has been replaced with a healthy near-white thanks to the sun’s warming rays. I have had no bill collectors come to my door, wielding bats, wrenches, large frozen cod or any implements of torture whatsoever. In fact, I was told on Thursday by my accountant, who I will have sex with thanks to this windfall, that I will be receiving a near eight-thousand dollar claim. Butter up your pock-marked back end, Angelo; you deserve the kind of love only I, a jolly claimant, can give.

A friend has lent me a car as I await mine from the garage. So, I am mobile. The engine I am restoring will be done soon, and I will have my 1972 Charger back within a week or so. It doesn’t end there, I have found an online business that actually sells fiberglass replicas of 72 charger parts… and they have both fenders… for a good price. They are a killer on eBay, even in poor shape. Hell, a box of corroded metal filings, congealed into what can only be described as a ‘rust nugget’ is often bartered on eBay as ‘a 1972 Dodge Charger fender. In need of TLC, but still workable’. I’m not about to plunk down 1000 bucks on a fender only to be told the pitting and rust is out of control, that I was better off with plywood, rusty nails and three rolls of duct tape. So, happy the man, I got me new fenders.

Also, this weekend, I actually had some leisure time and did laundry, which is not only momentous, but outright miraculous. No longer do my pantaloons stand on their own. Now, I have to actually make the effort to search for my underpants, gone are the days of merely following the malignant stench in order to locate a near-usable pair. Oh, and business is going all right. Looks like I’ll be doing some cool dinosaur stuff again, and that makes me happier than Steven Harper lying in a vat of brownie batter.

…And lastly, since you asked, my bowel movements are smooth and enviable, with a consistency both material and timely that one hopes to set standards for within the breadth and scope of their lives. Nothing else matters when you cannot crap properly, time stands painfully still whilst pulling at the seat front as you prepare to pass what feels like a deck chair, unfolded, from a hole no larger than an eye socket. Because, when you boil it down (no mental images, please), it’s all about the poop. Nothing says 'bad day' like a ceramic dish of bloody offal and cold sweat.

So, good day all 'round.

No Happy Ending

2006-04-30T00:06:00.000-04:00

Well, I was mildly disappointed today concerning a massage. It was one of those places that stay open late, and all that that implies. well, i guess implications are not enough, as the place turned out to be a bust on all fronts. Let it be said at this point I was not interested in more than a massage, I'm not that type of bloke, and I can get 'it' very well on my own, thank you verily... But this place confounded me.

All the signs were there when i went in that this joint was 'that' kind of place. the non-english speaking masseuses, the showers within the rooms, the late hours, the signs that say 'no sex' (they only place them there as a conversation starter and to throw off the cops). The biggest giveaway was the horrible and untalented masseuse (massage therapist I think not) who rubbed my back like she was trying to get a stain out of a prom dress, with a desperate aimlessness. When her unable hands violated my aching joints I grew nervous and weary, that the final 'happy ending' would be impending as i lay helpless upon the slab, like some poorly tenderized loin, so much so that my tension spoiled the weak affair even further. But it never came. She just left. And now, as I lay here in my bed, typing this, I am conflicted.

The massage was so awful, it only seems fair to recieve said bonus, as unwilling as I was to recieve it. I think, perhaps, teh offer alone would have been satisfactory, then I could decline and make sense of the situation. How can they stay in business with such poor service? Perhaps I am supposed to initiate? What the hell was that all about? What an odd affair.

You can Run, You can Hide, But You Can't Escape Enrique.

2006-04-26T17:02:00.000-04:00

Enrique Iglesias in Concert. The sound tech recorded his voice as he was lip-synching. Well, at least he wasn't just moving his lips. Has he become tone deaf due to the volume, or is he just simply a no-talent with a raisin-sized wart on his face? You decide.

I laughed until I didn't. See if you can get all the way through. It's painful.

The Bizarre World of Don Waller

2006-04-15T23:06:00.000-04:00

I have been fortunate in my days to accumulate a bizarre assortment of friends; artists with élan, panache and vision so bizarrely skewed that one suspects a pod somewhere, hidden in the far reaches of their attic, from whence the current oddity oozed forth...

One of these fellows is the grand wizard of weird, the one and only Don Waller. From his abode in sunny California, adorned with Harryhausen artifacts, Monster paraphernalia, odd knick-knacks and severed heads has he toiled in the film industry and imbued it with his energetic, tongue-firmly-planted-in-cheek sensibility. This seems to have had an effect most bizarre on his mindset, and the most glorious ideas burst forth... after all, this gentleman was responsible for some of the most wacky imagery on television, the warped and wonderful 'pee-wee's playhouse' claymation. Yep, Don worked on that. He also Toiled on RoboCop, Dinosaur, Jurassic Park, The Last Samurai and The Addams Family.

It's only fitting that he worked on the Addams clan, as Don's artwork most reminds me of the sublimely baroque pen of Mr. Chas. Addams himself, like perhaps Don is channeling his ghoulish soul. However, the similarity goes beyond eerie and twisted content, but even technique, as the brushstrokes are quite similar (though Don, I insist, is more accomplished in this arena, see, especially the Casper image below). The images are striking, tongue in cheek and quite humorous, but in a cocked-eyebrow-and-low-chuckle kind of way. It is like Halloween lives on daily in his heart, with a bowl of candy corn left out for all of us to partake (but watch out for the hidden spiders!). There is a feeling of nostalgia, and oddly, innocence in his earnest strokes. He takes the icons of yesteryear and allows them to be affected by modern times, but they do not lose their souls, oddly, they transcend the times. They do not feel like modern day is tainting them, but rather, they are strutting their invincibility to us. Heckle and Jeckle, though now gay, still retain their integrity, though they hold placards that are most definitely modern. Like the Mona Lisa, the characters are universally recognizable, timeless, endearing, enduring. I love his paintings. Here is a sampler:

Save Me a River... 'The Rupert, to be Exact'

2006-04-13T10:14:00.002-04:00

The Quebec Government is at it again. Even though there is an initiative to start developing alternative energy sources, such as wind, that grabby publicly owned, but privately run monopoly, Hydro-Quebec is up to it's old tricks, massacring and poisoning the water tables and diverting rivers up north.

Out of sight, out of mind? Sign the petition to announce your displeasure with the spoiling of this pristine gem, the Rupert River.

I'd love to think this will make a difference, but I'm not stupid enough to believe it will. Accountability in Government is at an all-time low. But, at least make your displeasure known.

To paraphrase Bruce Cockburn:
"Nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight
Got to kick at the darkness ’til it bleeds daylight"

"Oh Long Johnson", and other Brilliant Observances by Felines

2006-04-11T16:10:00.000-04:00

Once, My ex-wife had taught her cat to say 'Mama' for a mouthful of fishy, kippered snacks and I was stunned (mostly stunned that she took the time to teach the frigging thing, to be honest). Little did I realize that this was no fluke. Cats are developing the tools for speech. Take a look. Cat lovers rejoice, cat haters, you may retch and heave.

Now, if they could all learn to stop pissing everywhere, if they're so damned smart.

For the politicos out there: click here to see a man with serious balls.

At First I Thought it was an Aneurism...

2006-04-10T17:00:00.000-04:00

After about ten minutes of head scratching and ponderance, I realize that this riddle will be left the ages to solve. This is a particularly horrid example of English being mangled beyond recognition in Asia (in this case, Korea).

Well, at least they are trying. No need to raise their voices at starangers in strange lands like we North Americans in hopes that, magically, the decible level will act like some sort of pant-soilingly frightening translation device. Personally, I'd prefer a polite "Solly, we rike to make eating on today's. is Hamburger here for to take away with?" rather than "CHANAGARNARGHHHHCHOO-CHOO?!! ...KAKALAKAMAKKADAKKA?!!? GEARRRRGHARRRGHCHANKUPUKU"

We have much to learn from those Asian people. Bless their tiny, midget hearts.

Beep Beep Zoom

2006-04-09T13:13:00.000-04:00

Nice day today. Took out the 'ol ’72 Charger. Put me in mind of the other night when I was taking pics at the Tariq Khan show.

Picture, if you will, a dark and cold night. The music was hot, but the ambient temperature outside chilly and dropping. I was car-less, and the subway was shut down. Night buses would have taken me more than an hour to get home. So, here I am, out of the goodness of my shrivelled heart, taking snapshots for the band, and why not? I’m a good Samaritan. I’ve passed coin to the begging poor, and given reason for hope to many a young, wayward lass...

So, here I am, burdened with equipment, looking for some charity to make its way to me in the way of a lift. That’s the way karma works, right? Because I’ve given lifts so often, my middle name should be ‘Otis’. Was I ever wrong. There must be something way amiss in the karmic heavens, because I’ve never had to sift through so much eye-rollingly obvious horseshit in my lifetime. The band, understandably, are car-less. They’re artists, for Pete’s sake, they’re lucky to own pants. It’s the supporting staff... they’re acting like their cars can only drive in one direction or something. Ten minutes is going to kill them?

“uh, sorry man, I, uh, left a roast in the um, oven and... (trails off and skulks away.)

“shit, I’d love to give you a lift, but I plan on, er, giving, uh, birth, on the way... home...”

“I live too far from you. Huh? Three blocks? That’s too far.”

“I’m... sleeping in my car tonight. Yeah, just outside, here. I plan on vomiting the whole time.”

“I can’t. my car is filled with bees.”

Ah, bullshit. This town is fucking tiny and they’re acting like I want a lift to Alaska. Now, I will still give a lift to my friends, because I’m not a GREEDY CAR DRIVER, but I want those who have cars to realize what assholes they are being when they won’t carpool and give a person a lift. One day, karma is gonna visit you, my insolent little friends, ring your bell, pelt you in the nuts with a well-aimed kick and run off sniggering. You’ll be laying prone in a fetal position, with one nut leaking your vital fluid into your soiled trousers and in need of assistance.

...and I’ll probably still give you a lift to the hospital, though I shouldn’t. but don’t expect me to slow down when I push you out of the car in front of the hospital.

End of transmission (and not just the one in my Civic).

Tariq Khan and the High Breed

2006-04-07T13:52:00.000-04:00

Went out the other night and took some pics at the Tariq Khan show. Interesting ensemble. Nothing is rehearsed, they just sit down and pull every tune out of their asses as they go along. The results are often astonishing. Then, they record it all and put it out on a disk for sale the next week. The band leader is the multifaceted Tariq, he plays drums as he sings. He's Kashmiri, so this week he broke out the Tabla. I'll be editing pics for some time, so I will toss a few more up here soon. He's also into some heady charity work.

I suggest you hunt down the disk. Their Myspace link here..

Domo Arigato, Officer Roboto

2006-04-06T17:12:00.000-04:00

This made me laugh when I traipsed across it.

...It would, wouldn't it?

Yes, I have a soft spot for old ironloins here. More funny posters here. Good clean fun. Well, if you consider 'Try My Semen' good and clean. If you do, I would like to invite you to my wholesome sleepover on friday night. Bring mouthwash.

Car.

2006-04-05T15:42:00.000-04:00

Well, I have officially had it with my god-damned Honda Civic.

What the hell is it with ‘modern’ cars? In addition to my Civic, I also have a 1972 Dodge Charger. Not the big gas-guzzling Hemi version, but the slant six version, with reduced emission standards. This monster is 17 feet long, green, and bizarrely beautiful. Full of character, she is. The engine is 34 years old and still runs, but is in need of a rebuild. It’s a tank. The body is holding up nicely, with a little rust, but it’s still in wonderful shape. Nothing a little love couldn’t handle. She’ll outlast me.

Now, the Civic, what a money pit. It started rusting three weeks after I got it, the bastard. Everyone said they were worth it, really reliable. Reliable compared to what? A hot-dog cart? I’ve been screwed at the garage so often with this steaming mound of cow-pat I'm starting to wonder if i should be offering flowers and chocolates as I enter. I have nightmares where the damned thing is laughing at me and running off with my wallet, with acrid black clouds in its stead.

Since I got the ‘remon’ (Japanese for lemon, seriously) I have had to:

Replace the engine
Replace the transmission
Replace the starter
Suspension went
Scooter slammed into the side two weeks after I got it
Brakes died twice in three years
The rear bumper nearly fell off due to internal rust
The automatic starter died
The car got stolen and stripped, lights and all
Oil pan damaged during theft, had to be replaced
Bearings replaced twice
Radio stolen
Antenna broke off
Midsection fell out
Got ticketed for the muffler, had to replace it
Transmission died a week later (two days ago)

Now, I’d love to buy a hybrid, but if the problems I’ll have to put up with come even remotely close to this, I’d rather buy a fucking bow-legged camel. Nobody should have to put up with this. Greenhouse gases aside, the turnover on these rusting hulks has got to be addressed. The scrap piles of four-year old cars that have fallen apart must be an awesome spectacle indeed. They should put out a reliable re-useable car that you can buy a new motor for instead of having to pitch the entire auto; which is safe, cheap, customizable, modular and efficient. Pitch that in a meeting in Detroit or Osaka. They’ll look at you like you have a fucking hand growing out of your face.

I’m going to set the Civic on fire, drive it off a cliff and beat the smoking remains into the ground with a garden trowel.

What the hell happened to 'Quality'? Refer to the ‘slow life’ post a while back, if you truly want to know my thoughts on this (and Mr. Sinky's as well, though the entire 'putsch' originated with yours truly, ME.). Quality is on a beach somewhere in Acapulco, and who’s 'temping' in his absence? Profit-driven bottom lines.

News You Needn't to Know

2006-04-04T10:55:00.000-04:00

Proving she's as dumb as a bag of hammers, or at least suffering from a slight stroke or trickling aneurism, Sex and the City's resident neurotic stick-insect was recently quoted as spewing:

"Sometimes I read an entire book in my head in an upper-class British accent," admitted the former 'Sex and the City' star.

You needed to know that. (Hell, I wasn't even sure she could read, but this informative tid-bit has quashed my preconception.) Personally, I feel the best way to enjoy literature is to read aloud at bus terminals wearing nothing but a hat made of tinfoil and orange peels, whilst perched upon an oversized replica of a pomeranian made of wadded paper and cat vomit. It's a lot more sane than mysterious inner voices reading aloud like a constipated John Cleese.

Oh, by the way, ONE more woman tells me to watch that damned show in order to 'understand women' and I'm going to go underwear-on-the-head, eyebrow-shaving, axe-swingingly mad-koo-koo-go-nuts. People, you gotta start turning off the idiot box and start talking to one another.

Look where it's gotten Sarah Jessica Parker, mumbling idiocies, believing her banal chocolate-coated epiphanies are worthy of print. Uhmm, not... unlike... this blog... (Insert sheepish grin here.)

Wallet.

2006-04-02T23:30:00.000-04:00

Got my wallet back, finally. It was found in the 'shitty' part of town. Coincidentally, the same borough I grew up in.

Why does it seem that all roads lead back to that place?

At times, I feel like I will turn a corner and find myself mysteriously transported back to the old neighbourhood, like all of my efforts at growing and soaring well beyond its confines were in vain. I suppose in adolescence we all have that detachment fantasy, wherein those who grew up in some state of poverty or misery (and even those who suckle a golden teat, as well, I suppose) conspire against fate to ‘make it’ and leave that den of teen inequity, that barren schoolyard behind, never to return. I feel, though, sometimes, the further away I travel, the closer I get, like I am circumnavigating my life in such exactitude that the closing coordinates are similar in nature to those of the initial onset.

So far, I do not see my footprints leading to the horizon, I see no signs of crossing my own path. Hm. What happens if I catch up to myself? I know I should be happy to get my 'identity' back... but, why there? Why must my 'Identity' wind up in the last place I want it to be associated with? Mind you, that was my initial thought, second was 'I am happy to get it back' (and I am.)

I certainly hope that it is merely my fears playing out in order to maintain my focus and not a realization. If my lot is to be transported back to the crippling confines of my hometown, to sit ineffectual on some lopsided porch, jealous of the horizon, cursing its rejection of me, well then, end it now and spare me the effort.

Won’t stop me from pushing on, though. Better to try to live the dream than to stand idle before a nightmare.

Visual Linguistics vs. Divine Table-scribblings

2006-03-26T17:55:00.000-05:00

"You are very lucky to have such God-given talent!"

I take offense whenever someone makes the biased assumption that one's talent is bestowed upon them by some unseen hand rather than the culmination of long hours of singleminded determination, trial and error, toil, sweat and study. It trivializes everything an artist aims for, in that we would rather our talents are seen as something worthy and noble, rather than the luck of some cosmic draw.

I, for one, am getting tired of people looking at my profession as if it were some sort of goofy hobby-horse, meant for after-hours or phone table scribblings. Artists are linguists, in visual form. We learn to speak through repetition and observation, not through the unseen willing of some otherworldly force... some of us master spoken language in ways that can only be seen as stirring, lyrical; full of pith, meaning, depth. Nobody would say that our mastery of spoken communication is due to the intervention of God, Jesus, Allah, or Pat Robertson.

...Visual linguists, or 'artists' are the same. Not that I do not appreciate the obvious regard for my efforts, mind you, it's just the compliment strikes me as backhanded.

I use the term 'artist' in parentheses due to the lack of a better term. It's a little broad for my liking.

Pinched!

2006-03-24T14:05:00.000-05:00

Now my wallet, pants and watch have been stolen.

I went for a nice relaxing swim and came out to find my lock hacked, my trousers pinched and my billfold and timepiece purloined.

On a happier note, the malaise of winter is lifting, and, I have decided to buy a washer and dryer for my solitary use. No longer do I need to socialize with angry loners and college students, I can wash my linens in the comfort of my own lair. My gradual descent into full-blown hermitism is near complete. If i can find a method of growing bean sprouts in my bath-rug and mushrooms under my refrigerator my goal of pasty-skinned introversion will be attained.

This weekend I will change my muffler, which I regret as the warm, friendly glow of the police car will then be left behind, and going about my day unmolested will seem out of sorts. Next week I will then attempt to wash the winter off my car, albeit I fear whatever i may find. I imagine the soot and grime of yet another over-long winter may be the only thing holding the poor rusted dear together. I do intend to clear the trunk and make space back there as soon as I'm able. How else will I transport the beaten and battered bodies of those who raided my locker and spirited away my goods.

The washer and dryer will then come in quite handy as well, blood is not something that goes un-noticed in a launromat. At least not in my neck of the woods.

Jailbirds and Hungry Bees.

2006-03-16T11:50:00.000-05:00

"They are infants, they are not even walking and they are still in diapers," she said in Fredericton.

"And adults are having sexual intercourse with them. There are pictures with animals."

The above words stopped me dead in my tracks. I could not finish the rest of the article for fear of a welling resentment that would make the remainder of the day unbearable. Suffice it to say, I applaud the officials in charge of infiltrating, tracking and busting the internet ring that was trafficking in the aforementioned heinous acts of human cruelty. Those involved in the operation must have spent some awfully fitful nights as their minds ran those horrible images over and over… a job I’d wish on no-one, but one I’m glad is being done nonetheless.

This type of depravity is almost unfathomable to me. I’d love to close my eyes and ears to this, but I cannot. It has to be discussed out loud, in front of everyone if nothing more than a mirror to all those who partake, they must be drawn out.

Full article here.

Those implicated should be locked in a room without food, together. With sharp implements. And bees. Hungry bees.

Paved Paradise

2006-03-10T17:25:00.000-05:00

There are times, such as the one I am about to account, that I have serious doubts about the sanity and lucidity of humanity as a whole.

As my previous post states, I have a deep, nagging concern that perhaps there is hole we are blindly digging, one that perhaps has gotten cavernous enough that crawling out has become a nearly insurmountable task. The following is an account of such an event unfurling in my home province of Quebec, Canada. Keep in mind that I am cobbling this together from radio, newspaper and television accounts. It’s about as accurate as I can manage, considering they sometimes present conflicting stories. As is, it is an event ‘in-progress’.

The last few days, the news-station I listen to in the morning has been reporting, to my disgust and utter horror, the salacious and despicable efforts of the provincial government to cut swaths out of a provincial park at the base of Mount Orford in the Eastern Townships. The intention is to sell the tract of land for $15 million dollars to a private developer in order to build condos in this pristine, undeveloped area. Many residents, in the recent past, donated countless hectares of their own land to public trust in a valiant effort to stave off the creeping development of this area, as the encroachment threatened the very ecological health of the area. The donors got nothing in return for their forward-minded deed, nothing besides a promise from the government that the land would be held in stewardship for future generations to enjoy. Now, that very body has turned their backs, ignored their duty and, in an act both callous and vulgar, has begun plans to dismantle and sell off this rare, precious resource. It is a bad day indeed.

Quebec, surprisingly, has only 3.5% of its land in public trust or in provincial parks, which should be a complete source of embarrassment considering that lesser-off Costa Rica has about 35%, and Australia has 18%. It is no secret that for some time, Quebec has been ‘for sale’, with every precious resource cut up, sucked dry and farmed out for mere pennies, with little or no consideration for future generations. What this amounts to is a land grab for the rich, fat hogs that sidle up to the governmental trough, stumbling glassy-eyed over each other as they greedily try to mop up every ounce of runoff from the wasteful, bloated governmental machine. The lies being offered in earnest by the Premier, one bloated and poorly-coiffed Jean Charest, are bordering on sociopathic, in which the admitted governmental intention is to sell off part of the park to buy another area to expand on the further side. the government promises to use the proceeds to almost double the size of the 5,200-hectare park to 10,000 hectares. Experts are crying foul as the area that they intend to purchase would estimate towards $150 million, a far cry from the $15 mil they plan to take in for their efforts. So, somebody is getting a deal, and it ain’t us… unless you count ‘raw deals’ into the mix. Helps to be a buddy to the Premier...

It gets funnier. Or sadder, depending on your sense of irony. Thomas Mulcair, the previous minister of the environment, was pushed out in an unexplained move during a cabinet shuffle and demoted, irregardless of his spotless record of good service and pro-active policies toward sustainability and conservation. He was replaced by, yep; you guessed it, the previous minister of ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT, Claude Bechard. Almost immediately, before he had a chance to warm the seat, he announced the plan to dismantle the park would go forward. Needless to say, Mulcair quit in disgust. You see, Mulcair had been against the project and held by his principles. The project, now in the hands of a mock-environment minister, is defiantly moving forward, a gesture so brash and disgusting one can nearly see from afar their swollen, ruddy cocks defiantly jutting skyward as they traipse about, their forward vision obviously obstructed by the immensity of this towering, pulsing righteousness. They answer reporters’ questions with the air of disinterest and malice one sees only in pro athletes, who know at the end of the day that the ‘little people’ do not truly count, they are merely pests to be tolerated.

An act of good faith has been sullied in a manner most undignified. The water table will be poisoned; the lake near the mountain will be awash with diesel fumes and waste. The trees will be cut, and nothing will be the same. One of the opponents to the project, Orford County Mayor Pierre Rodier, said yesterday that the community's water supply could not sustain such a major development.

This madness must stop. They dance on their rooftops as the city burns.

Thoughts

2006-03-08T13:21:00.000-05:00

This past weekend I went through a particularly bad spell and wound up in a dark place. My sister fell ill, I had a heavy run-in with business partners, my womanizing collided with my world, commitments went unfulfilled among other things.

So, in this tender, exposed moment i took a look about me for solace... and found little. Since then, Things are coming 'round, but after a bit of hand-wringing I have decided to lay my thoughts bare in this forum.

I might be anonymous, but I am honest. Now, Iam no poet laureate... more akin to a pimply 14-year-old railing against the sodding planet, but it should make some sense. Feel free to comment.

Today I awoke to find the world crying.

I realized that not only have our children and fathers lost their way, but the return to the proper path may be difficult as it is overgrown and difficult to find as it is no longer in use. But the path is not yet effaced. A trace may still be left, but one must look carefully, and if it does not become well-worn once more I fear it may be washed away in the acid rain or taken away on the poisoned breeze.

The massive industrial expressway, black as death, seems our only future.

I wake in the morning to not a new dawn, but to a permanent midnight. It goes deeper than the self, deeper than the flesh... it pervades the bone, the structure, the shape. Looking out the window to the smudged horizon, the lonely grey towers, the failing trees, I feel little hope. We see no further than the now, and who can blame these poor souls, when tomorrow seems like suicide?

We rape our young for material gain. We are the pornography generation, twisting and perverting the beauty of youth until we are nothing more than a writhing mass of poisoned flesh. Our children deserve more hope than this.

The soil is giving up on us. The glaciers retreat from us. The ocean rises against us. The air wheezes and gasps above us. The food poisons us. And still we defy them.

We lock our doors and suspect our neighbors. We lock away all we covet from the world in hopes that these items will give us happiness. It is an empty house and an open heart that will bring happiness.

We covet. It is us, we are inseperable from this desire. We fight wars to maintain the levels of greed and waste we are accustomed to. We view competition as strength, cooperation as weakness and condemnation with passive hearts.

We defecate where we sleep, we foul the water we depend on for life, we inject poisons in our precious veins and we spew death into the air we breathe. Because we covet. We covet material goods, so industry murders us with kindness, greedily catering to our unnatural desires. What good is it to devise a burning iron box to visit nature if it is that very paradise that is fouled by the process?

Those tasked to represent us dance in some macabre masquerade, in which they do not represent us at all. The cancer grows as they wear their tattered robes of public office, through which we can see the corporate branding, and they make deals with the devil behind closed doors, selling our children’s blood for plastic baubles.

What good is it to find new lands and usurp them? To force them by political and economic means to adopt our ways? To force them to give up their soil due our mismanagement, to give up their water since we have used ours as a public toilet? We go not to other lands with the open arms and laurel as friends and equals, but as conquerors and parasites. We stick our steel spikes in and suck the earth’s blood beneath their feet, force upon them our shoddy goods and beads, rape their children as we have our own, push our icons… and recoil in horror when they push back.

We brutalize the earth, our neighbors and friends, our families and ourselves because we covet. The deeper we look within, the wider the abyss, yet we stack broken furniture and old clothing against its walls in a feeble hope to fill the mocking emptiness, instead of lighting the fire of paradise and filling the void with the warmth and light of human understanding, love and compassion.

We cannot love paradise because we do not love ourselves.

now, back to happiness!

Live Action Simpsons!

2006-03-06T10:00:00.000-05:00

D'OH!

Mars is Attac- er, Pissing on Us!

2006-03-05T22:07:00.000-05:00

On 25 July, 2001, blood-red rain fell over the Kerala district of western India. Now, at first scientists speculated that perhaps it was dust... swept up in the wind and trapped in a rainfall, but it seems that perhaps it could have been of extraterrestrial origins.

Read the entire account here.

Personally, I would not be surprised. If 'aliens' have been coming to earth for decades for what seems like the sole purpose of gleefully sodomizing gap-toothed yokels, it stands to reason perhaps they'd probably get a further kick out of pissing out the passenger windows of their saucers on the rest of us.

If you find pods growing in your attics, remember where ya heard it first! Odd news. Then again, perhaps 'tis a sign of the impending Apocalypse... The proverbial 'Rain of Blood'? (Nah, I don't believe that crap either.)

'Meinert', Not Merely a Bizarre Name

2006-03-03T09:18:00.000-05:00

This is my friend Meinert's (yeah, it's a real name, isn't that nutty?) blog.

ha ha. I knew he'd get addicted to blogging. It's like crack, but without the false sense of invincibility. Which reminds me to buy band-aids.

He likes to rant about typical old-dude stuff, such as the weather, space modules, adult diapers and 'How the kids of today are going wild, but I can't stop looking at them'. He is also an artiste and interested in space to a degree I find not only unhealthy, but downright frightening. Also, his dog eats cat turd. What his cat eats, is anyone's guess, but I bet it's particularly tasty if it's that delicious a second time 'round.

I recommend you all check it out. Not only is it a frightening portal into meinert's mind, but it is also a good half-assed way to see if he is still alive, without having to actually pick up the phone, or climb a tree and look through his bedroom window at 3 in the morning!

Read, and be nearly amazed!

420 Ft High, 120 MPH Down...

2006-03-02T09:16:00.000-05:00

With a record-breaking height of 420-feet and record-breaking speed of 120 mph, Top Thrill Dragster delivers on its promise of thrilling riders this summer at Cedar Point, Ohio.

I like roller coasters as much as the next simian, but perhaps this time they have gone too far? Are they trying to scare people to death??!! Check it out. I particularly like the last snapshot, I think it should be used to advertise the ride.

One thought occurs to me. These harrowing pics were snapped in what appears to be the bone-numbing dead of winter. To replicate what must be the feeling, blaze down the highway in the dead of winter in an out-of-control convertible. Now, wet yourself.

A Toast to Our Hardworking Olympians, to The Exclusion of Some, Alas

2006-02-26T21:08:00.000-05:00

Well, a toast is in order for all those who scrimped, saved, sacrificed and dug deep for the Olympics this year. My heart goes out to speed skaters Cindy 'Klassy' Klassen for her determination and spirit, garnering five medals whilst maintaining her ‘aw, shucks’ demeanor throughout, and Clara Hughes, for cruising in the 5000 for gold. The men were no slouch either, netting silver in the relay. Kudos to the golden men’s curling team, who rallied after an unsettling loss and made the folks back home proud.

24 medals in total, hard earned and worth every nick and scrape. A toast held heartily high to all those who know what determination and hard work are all about. This is not to disparage those who did not medal, for they gave their all as well, their defeat is no less noble.

All save for a group of men, whose wretchedness and disinterest nearly spoiled the party for the rest of the hard toiling athletes. These pampered of which I speak deserve no credit, no praise because their defeat was not hard fought and earned. I speak, of course, of the men’s hockey team. While their female counterparts were dazzling the field with their drive and sparkling play, these millionaire loafers did their utmost to embarrass their homeland, the ‘birthplace of hockey’. If Canada is the birthplace, then stillborn are these sons. They played with a dispassion best held for clerk positions in a field that towers above all, above even their ridiculous paychecks for their mercenary play back home in the NHL. The fact that they showed no drive for all those back home should result in them stripped of the maple leaf, for it is not for the leaf they play, but the billfold it seems.

But the blame does not solely lie with the players. The management that saw fit to include bums, yes, bums… known for antisocial violence (Todd Bertuzzi) as well as a man who is responsible for the death of a team-mate (Danny Heatley), among others. Also, they excluded a hot young talent, the hungry and passionate Sydney Crosbie, for reasons known only to them. Top that off with the inclusion of a coach from a bottom-feeding team (Pat Quinn) whose obvious inclusion is to please CBC brass who have been pushing the Toronto Maple Laughs as ‘Canada’s team’, and you have a recipe for disaster.

Hang your heads low, boys. Shouldn’t be hard, you’ve never looked past your doorstep since you were drafted. If you did, you’d see the thousands you’ve disappointed. Perhaps your 'Olympic Spirit' is merely a ghost of what it could be.

Talk about letting the country down.

Everyone else, take a bow, we’re proud of you. Ladies, in particular, I salute your noble efforts. Ater all, they account for a good two-thirds of our medal haul.

What's in a Number?

2006-02-24T11:51:00.000-05:00

Hey ladies and gents.
This pic is amazing, I like it very much. Outside of what it infers, with its 'David vs. Goliath' overtones, I think the composition is striking and eerie. Now, on to the next topic.

...I'm too lazy to truly post, so I'll just post up an inane but interesting tidbit that keeps circulating. Now, I cannot verify the accuracy or truth of any of this, as i cannot actually add, but it's a diversion all the same.
Oh, before anyone starts cursing me, arranging a fatwa, or questioning my alliegances, let me first stipulate:

I don't particularly give a damn about any of this, honestly.

New York City has 11 letters
2) Afghanistan has 11 letters.
3) Ramsin Yuseb (The terrorist who threatened to destroy the Twin Towers in 1993) has 11 letters.
4) George W Bush has 11 letters.
This could be a mere coincidence, but this gets more interesting:
1) New York is the 11th state.
2) The first plane crashing against the Twin Towers was flight number 11.
3) Flight 11 was carrying 92 passengers. 9 + 2 = 11
4) Flight 77 which also hit Twin Towers, was carrying 65 passengers. 6+5 = 11
5) The tragedy was on September 11, or 9/11 as it is now known. 9 + 1+ 1 = 11
6) The date is equal to the US emergency services telephone number 911. 9 + 1 + 1 = 11.
Sheer coincidence..?! Read on and make up your own mind: 1) The total number of victims inside all the hi-jacked planes was 254. 2 + 5 + 4 = 11.
2) September 11 is day number 254 of the calendar year. Again 2 + 5 + 4 = 11.
3) The Madrid bombing took place on 3/11/2004. 3 + 1 + 1 + 2 + 4 = 11.
4) The tragedy of Madrid happened 911 days after the Twin Towers incident. Now this is where things get totally eerie: The most recognised symbol for the US, after the Stars & Stripes, is the Eagle. The following verse is taken from the Quran, the Islamic holy book: "For it is written that a son of Arabia would awaken a fearsome Eagle. The wrath of the Eagle would be felt throughout the lands of Allah and lo, while some of the people trembled in despair still more rejoiced: for the wrath of the Eagle cleansed the lands of Allah and there was peace."
That verse is number 9.11 of the Quran. Still unconvinced about all of this..?! Try this and see how you feel >afterwards, it made my hair stand on end: SERIOUSLY DO THIS-- Open Microsoft Word and do the following:
1. Type in capitals Q33 NY. This is the flight number of the first plane to hit one of the Twin Towers.
2. Highlight the Q33 NY.
3. Change the font size to 48.
4. Change the actual font to the WINGDINGS

What do you think now?!!"

...Beh.

Guten Tag (Good tag?)

2006-02-21T11:05:00.000-05:00

A Consequence of Monkeys, a name and fellow close to my sweaty dew-flaps, has posted his tag.

I personally think it, and he, are (is?) humorous, and he deserved a read. I also deserve kickbacks for pushing his sorry ass on the blog community. Nothing if not helpful!

And, speaking of sweeties in the blog community, thanks to 'Special K' at Rhodian Attic for the monkey pic you see featured here. I want one for Kwanzaa!

...And, no thanks to Sink Chicken for nothin'. Hasn't posted in a bit. Sad, really. He even started a 'Star Wars' blog, which he doesn't update.

Here's something fun. A 'Dear John' I recently recieved, from a girlfriend who I was waiting to return from Vienna.:

"Dear So-and-so,
How are ya?
I have a news for you.
Now i'm in frankfurt Germany.
I have a boy friend.I will live in frankfurt with My boy friend.
I am sorry about that.I never come back to (town name deleted).
I don't want that you call me.anyway (her professor) doesn't know my nummer too. (can't spell)
I told him that i can't go to (town name deleted).
Sorry again.
I thought in vienna about you, (deleted)
We can"t match eachother.
I don't know What i left behind you. (my guess: I don't know what I left at your home)
Through (throw) away every thing.
ciao."

I have all the fun. Good riddance. I love when people vanish, you worry, and they only resurface to tell you they are in the midst of a new relationship.

Driving is Fun Again!

2006-02-20T14:23:00.000-05:00

You gotta see this.

This is the Carver three wheeled car. It's like nothing I have ever seen, but everything I have dreamed of. It's unique construction allows the maximum in control while still giving you the ride of a lifetime. I imagine such a little package is easy on gas as well. However, I'd hate to be nailed by an SUV whilst tooling about in this l'il beauty.

In related news, I got a ticket today for having an exhaust that is too large. The cop tried to tell me that it was because they were trying to crack down on 'polluters'. Bullshit. The exhaust I have helps pull the exhaust out of the engine, allowing for more efficient fuel ignition. I have a catalytic converter anyhow, so it does not stink, and I get constant tune ups. My car is four cylinders and i can fill the tank up on 25 bucks and go more than a full week on it.

The cop that stopped me was driving a six-cylinder chevrolet, a pollution machine, and three SUVs slid by while they were nailing me. Ironic.

Obit: Cowsills' lead singer William Cowsill

2006-02-20T13:27:00.000-05:00

This is in honor of my good buddy, Travis Cowsill. His father died recently, not long after finding his uncle's body, a victim of Katrina's wrath. They were original members of the famed 60's group 'The Cowsills', inspiration for the "The Partridge Family," and who recorded a series of top hits between 1967 and 1970, including "The Rain, The Park and Other Things" and "Hair."

OBIT

I'm thinking about you, big guy. I hope things turn around.

Oh Dear.

2006-02-15T10:39:00.000-05:00

A cautious word of advice to this (fortunately)unknown gent.

Next time you attempt to sell a well-appointed dining table online, perhaps a keen eye for environment and a pair of well-fitted trousers might come in handy? see pic below. Click on it for a larger version (i'm sure he'd love a similar offer, but nature does not work in that fashion, alas.).

Also, something I never wanted to know from my pal Meinert's new blog. His dog eats cat turd. This is something perhaps he could have told me on the many occasions his dog licked the hell out of me. Often, I eat snacks at his house, like Tortilla chips... with my bare hands. Thanks, Meinie!

Did anyone else know that dogs chow down on feline scat?

I'm all 'It'. (And a Bag of Chips)

2006-02-13T16:30:00.000-05:00

Well,

Time to get to my tag. Both sink chicken and Rhodian Attic tagged me, so I guess I'd better 'hop to'! Those I have tagged, it is simple, answer the following as I have and pass it on ad nauseum.

My added feature is a brief explanation.

FOUR JOBS I'VE HAD-
McDonald's employee (fired... 'does not work well with others')
Used car salesperson (I bet your are not surprised)
Storyboard Artist (Got carpal tunnel from this job... 'love' life suffered)
Creative director (current)

FOUR MOVIES I CAN WATCH OVER AND OVER-
RoboCop (Witty and horribly violent. I like my women that way, too)
Blade Runner (Who doesn't like it? You? Then you are an idiot.)
The Transporter (What?! Stop laughing, Dammit. My sole guilty pleasure that isn't porn.)
Yojimbo (Kurosawa, the father of modern cinema.)

FOUR PLACES I'VE LIVED-
Squalor
With roomies, broke (Less than squalor, learned to enjoy the warm glow of starvation.)
With wife (Sigh.)
Alone (Current. I clip toes in bed without reprimand.)

FOUR TV SHOWS I LOVE-
Nightly News (Comedy, drama and fiction all in one!)
Northern Exposure (I lament good television when I see this gem.)
Futurama (Ditto.)
Test Pattern (More cerebrally stimulating than 'survivor'.)

FOUR PLACES I'VE VACATIONED-
Japan (From Osaka, to Kyoto, to Nara and places in-between)
Italy (Rome, and the northern parts, and the Alps)
Germany (Berlin, mostly. where men are men, and women are men.)
California (Where men are metrosexual, and women are men, and some men are women, and everyone is certified bonkers, wearing pajamas to parties.)

FOUR OF MY FAVORITE DISHES-
Tofu Hot Pot
Canard confit
Saag Lamb
Coriander Chicken

FOUR SITES I VISIT DAILY
Robocop archive (heeeee!)
Mine (...And why the hell not?!)
Musclecarclub (Yeah, they are noisy, dirty and brash. But I love em.)
Hollywoodgifts (Toys! autographs! blaaaaergghhahah...ooooh-haaaaa-!)

FOUR PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT NOW-
Someplace Sane.
Shanghai (Gotta go to China one day, ya know!)
Darjeeling (Tea!)
Under the sea or by it.

FOUR BLOGGERS I'M TAGGING/SLIGHTLY ALIENATING-
Angela
What the Hell
The Procrastin8r
aconsequenceofmonkeys

Blade Runner Coat

2006-02-13T15:06:00.000-05:00

Love the flick, love the book, love the concept. Now my nerdism goes into high gear... shall I spend the cash required to acquire this?

However, the collar is incorrect as it should have a dense cordeuroy, and this does not seem to sport that feature. I may wait for a later model as they might nail it somewhere along the line.

Help!

A Good Day for Politics, or, “I Love the Smell of Napalm in the Senate”

2006-02-10T17:23:00.000-05:00

This week has been a windfall for politicos, as we politically adept and minded voyeurs are being treated to an early (or late) Christmas of political intrigue, bounding and out-and-out irony on both sides of the border.

Two tidbits that ticked my incredulousness bone this morning:

AMERICAN FRONT:
Former FEMA head Michael Brown has taken to blaming the Department of Homeland Security for the failures apparent during the Katrina hurricane mess. Mr. Brown, who quit under duress as chief of the Federal Emergency Management Agency mere days after nature decided to bitchslap the Gulf Coast area, maintains that FEMA's mission was marginalized when it was inhaled by the newly minted (and obviously mismanaged) Homeland Security agency. Homeland Security had “terrorism prevention”, not disaster response, its top priority, Brown noted. It makes one think, after all the posturing of being ready for any disaster, that the Feds sat around on their hands for days while disaster relief teams from Vancouver were in there helping folks out. Within days, it was ‘Lord of the Flies’ on the ground, with rapes, death, carnage, shootings, police corruption, you name it, taking over and they had no idea how to respond. There was little to no preparedness… AND THEY KNEW IT WAS COMING. Now, imagine the chaos that would result if they didn’t, like in a terrorist attack.

"There was a cultural clash that didn't recognize the absolute inherent science of preparing for a disaster," he told the Senate Homeland Security and Government Affairs Committee. "Any time you break that cycle … you're doomed to failure."
He added: "The policies and decisions implemented by the DHS put FEMA on a path to failure." In other words, you’re screwed.

CANADIAN FRONT:
Our newly minted cabinet seems to be off on the (far) right foot. Not only did they appoint a minister from the opposition who, in an act befitting of Benedict himself, spat in the eye of his electorate and jumped ship to the Tories, but they seem to be nearsighted as well when it comes to the cultural makeup of this country.
They have appointed Ted Menzies, a unilingual Anglophone (English only, please), an Albertan farmer, as parliamentary secretary to Quebec City’s Josee Verner. H e would be answering questions when she was not available. Sound harmless? Not quite. His department is in charge of, yep, official languages and francophonie. In other words, he’s in charge of representing the FRENCH-SPEAKING voters of this country, all without speaking a lick himself. The closest he’s been to French in the far west has probably been French fries.
"I can understand a lot of conversational French but I just haven't quite got up the nerve to speak it yet," said Menzies, an Alberta farmer before he was first elected in Macleod riding in 2004.
Until I'm fluent in French I will listen to the translation and I will answer in whatever language I'm capable of answering in at that time.”
I wish I could be given a choice job irregardless of my qualifications. You can't work at a fucking McDonald's in Canada without Speaking French, and this arsehole gets a cabinet position that requires it? I thought this governement was all about 'ethics'? They're about as much about ethics as Paris Hilton or Bai Ling is about 'taste'.

On the Emerson front:
New Democrat MP Peter Julian sent a letter to House of Commons Ethics Commissioner Bernard Shapiro requesting an investigation into a possible breach of the Ethics Code involving Prime Minister Harper and Trade Minister David Emerson. Let’s hope he gets nailed.

WORLD FRONT:
Yep, last I heard they were still burning flags over cartoons. Sigh. What a world. Calgon take me away.

Turncoat David Emerson, A Political Journeyman and Bounder of the Week.

2006-02-09T12:55:00.000-05:00

David Emerson, former chair of the Vancouver International Airport Authority, stunned the country on Monday as the former Liberal cabinet minister is staying in cabinet-as a Conservative.

The people of Vancouver, who not only voted for the man, but also financed his campaign, were staunchly opposed to nearly all of the Conservative agenda. You see, the agenda (with a capital 'A') that was being presented by the conservatives flies directly in the face of many of the values that that particular area holds dear and incorruptable. Like a good many East-Coasters, they are socially democratic, lax on pot, easy-going towards gay marriage and racially mixed and religiously flexible. They are wary of hawkinsh politics and are concerned about the environment. The Liberals may not be all those things, but they have the willingness to explore the issues and take tenative steps towards a good many social reforms. The Cons are not. They will put gay marriage to a vote in commons, bring Christian religious ideals back to the political table, will scrap the child care act and have expressed a desire to back out of the Kyoto accord. This, is not what they voted for in Vancouver.

Mere days after the vote, the elected Liberal minister, David Emerson, defected his party. He left his constituency looking for answers, wounded to the core. They had effectively been taken for a ride, their contributions spent... Paid for one thing, got another. On CBC radio this morning, Emerson offered no apology, reiterating he can do more from within than without... which is bunk politics at best. No one person can sway an entire party's politics, unless they are leader.

...And he is definitely not leader, but a follower of the worst kind, the kind that shrugs their shoulders at decency and ethic and pisses in the pond with all the other bullies. A by-election should be held and the vote repealed. If they wanted a Conservative MP, they would have damn well voted for one.

Remove the bastard.

Since We All Seem to be Revealing Vices...

2006-02-07T11:54:00.000-05:00

Since Sinkford P. Chicken has come out of the closet with his impossibly nerdy admission of a Star Wars toy fetish, I thought I would come clean with my three obsessions. I collect almost anything pertaining to Blade Runner, Nightmare on Elm Street and, most ridiculously, RoboCop.

I have purchased a full Robo suit and am currently refinishing it. It has cost thousands, this retarded collection of mine. The photo above is my mouth photoshopped into a robo picture. That is how bad it is, it's gotten to the photoshop stage.

My Blade Runner collection includes books signed by Syd Mead, Ford autos, the glass he used in his apartment, his gun, kits of the car, lobby cards, etc. Nightmare was really bad in my youth... i had countless gloves, cards, sweaters, hats, autographs, toys... sticker albums, etc.

But Robo is becoming the maddest of them all. I will have the full costume. Anyone else got this madness in them?