fair and balanced - restaurant survey edition

I think I'm just going to start watching Fox News now, because there isn't anything really this funny on TV. 

Found this on www.dailykos.com:

Fox News reporter polls average Americans in a battleground state (click for link)

The fact that it's so audacious and stupid -- and also taking into account the reaction of the people in the restaurant afterwards --makes me think this can't be staged. It isn't a funny enough premise if it is staged.

Yep. Fair and balanced, indeed. Just like a symmetrical poop at a carnival. 

Nope? Oh, well. I tried.

i don't really like you anymore, facebook

No, this has nothing to do with the goofy new format (which I still can't quite figure out), but with those damn relationship statuses.

It used to kind of make me laugh, you know, watching people go from "single" to "it's complicated" to "in a relationship with..." back to "single" again, all in one week. I would try to imagine what this person's life looked like, or how happy or maybe confused they were with the relationship, and chuckle in incomprehension trying to understand why they would tell the whole world about it, even as it changes forms so drastically in days. Do they even talk to the other person?

We all know a facebook Sara. But does she exist in real life? Or is it all an attention ploy? From the looks of it, she's been dumped more than a recyclable colon camera.

In the past, I've taken the plunge and erased the "single" thing from my profile, but it always came after great consideration and with great care. You have to be ready for the inevitable "who's the lucky girl" or "yeah yeah" or "taking the facebook plunge, eh?" I've bugged friends about it in the past, claiming now things were serious and official.

One friend fell asleep with her profile open and a roommate changed her status from "single" to "engaged." The next day she received calls from people she hadn't heard from in years -- family members even -- congratulating her on the news and asking her all about who the guy was. She had no idea what they were talking about, until they brought up the facebook status change.

Another friend was involved in a break-up, and he said changing the status was the definitive moment commemorating the end.

It's powerful stuff.

Anyways, two great friends (who I will keep anonymous for some reason) recently edited their profiles and 'facebook broke-up', even though they were together and in great shape. 

I called them late the night I saw the news, having returned from a night out, and was shocked, choked, hoping everyone was okay. The young man answered the phone. The two of them (who live in separate cities) were together, painting. They were fine. 

I felt like a douche and asked: "Fuck the heck?" 

They gave me some weird, convoluted logic about not needing facebook to say they were a couple or something (I think?). I said, just wait for the backlash.

I went to sleep feeling better that they were still together, but I felt played and facebook played a part.

Now, whenever I see that damn status thing change, I'll never one-hundred percent believe. (And can we put a ban on people being "married" to their friends? That can't be funny anymore, can it?)

I really don't like you, facebook, for fucking with me. I don't think I'll ever trust you again, facebook, and when the trust is gone, it's only a matter of time before we part ways.

Note: The next day, the still-healthy-couple's statuses had comments from people sympathetic and worried.

I wrote on one of them: "good, you can do a lot better."

A day later, the girl told me she had received a bunch of emails from her friends calling me an asshole for being insensitive. She had to explain everything. 

But that's what happens when you mess with the almighty facebook status. 

Beware of the power.

Oil Can's All-Stars: #3

In our neverending quest to open the non-sports fans' eyes to the enchanting world of ridiculous athlete names in professional sports, we now name the third member to the Oil Can All-Star team...

Now Can told me he had trouble with this one, as he was close to naming the entire late-90s and early 00s (what are we calling this decade? we still haven't figured that one out yet, eh?) New England Patriots secondary (Ty Law, Lawyer Milloy, Assante Samuel) or anyone of the new hybrid NFL Le-names (Ledamlian, LeMarcus).

He finally came to a choice though, and I fully endorse it.

So without further delay, the third Oil Can All-Star is...

BOOF BONSER!!!!!

You've just been boofed!

Boof has been Boof since 2001, when he legally changed his name from John Paul. Maybe he didn't like sharing the same name as a famous steamship captain. Or he must of thought his named sounded too pope-like. And when someone hears Boof, I'm sure they don't think Pope. To me, Boof seems like a verb an immature person (totally not me) would use to describe coitus.

I did a google search for the word Boof. It brought up a kayaking and cold-weather gear company, and the last name of feminist author. Apparently, a boof is a wheelie in a kayak. I have no idea how this pertains to the pitcher, Boof Bonser.

Bonser has been a major league pitcher with the Minnesota Twins since 2006, when his great name broke into the bigs and had a nice little run. Since then, his weight has ballooned and Boof's been bounced to the bullpen. The Jays beat him up quite memorably during their impressive August/September run. I took no pleasure watching Boof berated.

mccolonbuster

The Michelin Man: Early years

Before I get started, I just want to leave you, the reader, to decide whether I should keep things like this to myself in the future. Let me know...

I was driving home today with a rock really low in my belly that needed a little goading on. 

I saw the golden arches from a block away and decided to pull into the drive thru because, in my experience, anything McDonalds acts like a catalyst to spur on bowel movement. My friend's dad used to call it the "Rectum Rocket" when we were kids. We'd all laugh because he said rectum.

I had the fries picked away by the time I got home and then slammed down most of a Big Mac and six nasty nuggets before I started to feel ill.

10 minutes later though, guess what?

It did the job. It greased me up. The rock was gone, flushed through the system by my mclunch.

That food, man. There is something in that stuff that mirrors the company. Their business is so competitive that I'm convinced that McDonalds has even engineered their 'food' to bully and push out all other competition, in the form of partially digested food contents in the human belly, so it alone reigns as king in the person who eats it.

Note: Scary how time dilutes feeling.

Like heartbreak, things that once felt so strong become mere afterthought.

Case in point, my feelings toward McDonalds. 

After reading Fast Food Nation, and learning about the amount of diseased beef making its way into our diets, the horrifying contents of chicken nuggets and the appalling work conditions many in big cities were forced to put up with, I weaned myself off fast food for quite some time.

And then, Super Size Me completely turned me off the arches and I stayed away for over six months.

You're sick, Clown. Do you know how old those McNugget twins are? You're going away for a long, long time. Boy, am I gonna enjoy knocking that silly grin off your smug mug.

Gradually, though, hungover or in a rush, I'd stop in and have some fries or one lone cheeseburger. As time wore on, and the info faded away, I visited that terrible place with more frequency, and now I don't even think about all the awful.

I feel like I've been reverse-brainwashed, like Winston at the end of 1984, when he finally accepts he loves Big Brother... because he sucks.

did you ever have to make up your mind?

...and this is probably my present-life's sad equivalent to the Lovin' Spoonful song of the same name...

I was at Harleys tonight, meeting some buds for drinks, laughs, etc.

Anyways, a young lady 10ft from where I sat, took off her clothes to music, with a television on the wall beside her playing the top 100 most memorable sports plays of all-time.

Seems innocent enough, right? Nice, relaxing evening where I would not have to once use my brain or have any kind of consequential thought? Well, not so much, actually.

I felt like an addict. 

Like a character from a movie I can't remember (ouch) that takes hits of heroin instead of making love with his lady, with another character explaining that a person is a junkie if they choose the stuff before sex.

I sat there at Harleys watching the damn highlights. Now, I will say the girl on stage was not the most attractive lady ever brought up to Yellowknife to strip, but still... I couldn't turn my eyes away from the highlights.

One-handed catches, miracle plays, crazy buzzer-beaters... I know. A sad state affairs. I really don't know how to explain myself. A woman was dancing naked, and I stared at the TV beside her.

Note: I know the blogging has taken a hit since I got back to Yellowknife, but it's only because I've sort of been trying to catch back up with things.

I went shopping last night and skipped down the cereal aisle when I saw that Cheerios only cost $4.00 a box here, as opposed to the $8.50 I'd been dropping in Iqaluit. 6 bags for $77... ahhh....

It's ugly outside and I'm sure I'll be bored again soon with the rest of the week off and having polished off the first season of Mad Men faster than an 800-pounder through a box of Oreos.

What would Don Draper say about my choice this evening?

"Herb, don't be such a Pete Campbell."

And anyways I've got to get in some sort of retort to Oil Can's Urkel comparisons.

And you can't even blame it on the 80s, Can. Upper Deck came out in the 90s. You're rockin Urkel specs...

Come on, folks. It's not even close. Can is a deadringer.

Herbiberous is an Urkel

Herbiberous, you look like an Urkel because you is a damn Urkel.

AHAHAHAHHHAHHAHAH!!! And the same style too! HAHAH

And you're a dang Music Nazi too... 

Try living with that kid, shit! Drove me crazy. I mean, how many times can you listen to the same damn Kings of Leon song? All them songs sound the same... 

I seen you doing your little air guitar thing in the mirror too. Get a life, dude. For real.

And the Can is doing fine, everybody. Thanks for all your letters. I'm just taking things easy, you know, plotting my next move. No work in Baltimore, not much work anywhere. Heading out West now. This economy is shakier than Herbiberous' singin shower voice that you could hear from the gahdamn hallway, man!

We'll see what happens next, but I'll keep y'all posted.

Oh, and Herbiberous: "I'm higher than the jeans on Urkel/and then I murk you"

Elzhi - Mowtown 25 from The Preface

hahahaha

That's right, beeeeeeiitch.

damn, i must be getting old

This kid Stevie played ultimate with us for a month or so. He's a weird little dude, and I called him a whole bunch of nicknames... Stevie Wonderkid, things like that.

Anyways, one time, I called him Steve Urkel. Expecting a reaction, and getting none, I said it again. Again, nothing. He just looked at me.

Oh, that zany Urkel...

Then it dawned on me, he had no idea who Urkel was. Of course, he's only like 12 or something. And I realized I must be getting old, when Urkel is a dated reference. This is how old people must feel when they say they aren't able to communicate with youth these days.

What's going on, Old Man Urkel?

And now I realize something else, looking at that picture of Jaleel White...

FUCK! I kind of look like Urkel! Brutal.

if you dream it...

Spent last night (my first of four) in a hotel room and had one of those really weird dreams you tend to have in a foreign bed.

I was running around Iqaluit doing ridiculous errands (the types of things that don't even make an ounce of sense once fully awake) and the sky was grey and the snow was coming down in bathtubs. The snow was unrelenting and really coarse, like tiny throwing-stars. The flakes kept getting bigger too, and started to impede me from the things I needed to do. By the end of the dream, every grain of snow had become the size of a daisy, and looked like them too, except for the monotonous white colouring.

I woke up, snowblinded.

I pretty much hate winter, what with the cold and the darkness (not good for a Northerner, I know) and took the dream as an omen.

The room was cold, and I rolled around in bed for a lot longer than I should have, which is the norm. Eventually, guilt led me out of the warm pocket of air crafted between mattress and blanket.

Wiping the fog from my eyes, through the window, I noticed the fog outside, and the ubiquitous white on the ground, tops of buildings, roofs of cars, fading into the sea. About a three-inch layer of snow covered the city, the first real snowfall of the year (or the first time the Earth hadn't rejected the white stuff).

Seriously? Snow? Had I woken up in the middle of the night and unknowingly seen this, thus influencing the dream? Or (remember, I'm still very much asleep and full of magical thoughts) had I dreamt this snow into existence?

Still in a daze, and because my dream had climatized me to the season, I walked to work, soaking my sneakers, making my feet stinky(er), and allowed the nostalgia of winter to splash over me. I love walking through the snow in warm weather. Reminded me of BC ski towns, and hot springs, and primetime schoolyard snowball fights and all the things to look forward to for the next eight months. Basically, I was all about winter with a good connotation this morning.

Got to work and Carolyn said she and her boyfriend had both dreamt of snow the night before, too. Bizarre.

Of course, the snow didn't last. As the mercury slowly pushed past zero, the snow disappeared first on streets and then on paths where people walked and eventually from the entire lower city, and then receded gradually up the hills.

That was immaterial, though. The point was taken and the lesson learned.

No better way to wake up to winter, than to dream of a blizzard and awake to bliss.

Tonight, I think I'll dream about Amerie, or Zooey Deschanel, or Allison Stokke, or Obama in the White House.

Probably the image I'll wake up to tomorrow morning: "Look, I'm sorry..."

Canadian identity at stake in US election

I can fully understand why some people wouldn't be paying attention, since it's not our country and because it's such a nauseating, lie-filled, childish and moronic campaign. But, depending on who the Yanks decide to vote for, this election could have serious ramifications on our country's sense of self.

A McCain/Palin White House would seriously erode Canadian identity.

Now you could argue that there is no such thing as a Canadian identity -- but I believe there is a difference between an American and a Canadian (aside from the notches needed in belts above and below the border... I'm just saying). 

Some of you may disagree, but I have found that one key pillar of what it means to be Canadian is to play, watch, enjoy, or discuss hockey. If you think about it, what is the one piece of major (non-life-or-death) infrastructure found in communities across the country? The hockey rink. 

Kids dream about making the big leagues, parents sip coffees and talk about life and local politics while their children play, and large groups of people squish into bars or living rooms on frigid Saturday nights to cheer on their teams. And we all feel a quiet pride in being the first nation in hockey. As lame as it sounds, hockey is quite the unifier.

What happens if Palin, the self-described 'hockey mom', sidles into the White House? She'll make hockey America's national pastime. Kids will be drafted to hockey camps at young ages and there will be no dodgers fleeing to the North because they'll be subjected to hockey here too. Palin will make it her mission to destroy us on the ice. She will declare America's rise to supreme hockey nation, God's wish.

Thou shalt not hit from behind, for whoever disobeyith that commandment shall be given a match penalty and a game misconduct.

When 300 million Americans invade Canada with stick tape and hockey skates, what will we have left? Curling? Lacrosse?

We need to do something. This is a call to anyone who could care less about the election to call their crazy American uncle or ex-wife and plead with them to vote Obama/Biden for the sake of our poor, fragile Canadian sense of self.

Or you could ask them to vote for Obama because he's not a liar, or spin-meister, or incompetent, or dirt-bag, or embodiment of soullessness and pure evil...

It's definitely one-sided, but food for thought...

But, then again, if McCain/Palin do get voted in, then it will further reinforce (and probably confirm) another strong area of Canadian identity: the perception that Canadians are smarter than Americans...

let's just enjoy it for what it is... (what i'm saying to avoid jinxing)

Funny thing that you would ask, Hadlarski.

I was actually going to attach this rant to the end of my last post, but there was no way I could connect DMX groupie poo-poo bums and the Toronto Blue Jays improbable September run of 10 in a row. (Although, you could make the 'Jays are bums' connection.)

Who's this happy guy? Looks like some guy I used to watch on TV when I was a kid...

I'm very appreciative about the Blue Jays latest run. It's coincided with a spell of chilly, ice-cold rainy weather and a little lingering cold I've been battling of late. So I've been able to watch a bunch of the wins they rattled off on this streak (which tied a Major League record of 10 Ws against teams with .500 or better records), and am actually kind of excited about this team and their chances next year.

They really -- finally! -- look like a team. I mean, everyone is doing what they were brought in to do. 

Rios is raking singles and doubles to the gap with ease. I almost don't even care if he never hits another long ball. Wells is starting to look like a 126-million dollar man in the last six weeks (damn, that's still a lot of cheese). If these two can stay healthy for a whole season, the Jays at least have two capable run producers. And with chubby 20-year old Travis Snider and his sweet swing, the Jays may have a future star and a potential number 5 bat to accompany the Rios-Wells combo. Overbay's a solid bat who gets on base like crazy and Lind can hit righties, lefties as a DH or play some OF to give one of the other guys a rest. Teams can do a lot worse than Barrajas at C. Rolen, while I haven't been sold on him over the year because he can barely hit the ball out of the infield with his one arm, can still play the shit out of 3B. When they get Hill back, they'll only have one hole left to fill at SS. I know, I know, Johnny Mac has a glove (and the same name as our first Prime Minister) but we need someone who has actually hit a baseball before. Man, let's bring Robbie Alomar back -- if only to be able to watch the McCain's 'Catch the Taste' commercials again.

Overall, though, that's a pretty solid line-up, from start to finish, if it's healthy. And over this winning streak, they've shown they can put together some nice rallies at the right time, which winning teams seem to do.

And defensively, they're leading the league in fielding percentage and having their best season in franchise history, in that category.

The best part about watching the team this year, though, is the pitching staff. The bullpen has been lights out with Downs, League, Carlson, and the rest. I would say it's a good sign of depth when your closer is your worst reliever. All our middle relievers and set up men are locked up until at least 2011, too.

Halladay should win the Cy Young this year. He has been the man, as usual. 

Can we get this guy a playoff appearance, please? Soon? Before the rock of our franchise becomes... 

... a broken man.

(Note: Milk is always a bad choice.)

And even though Burnett is leaving, Marcum, Litsch, Purcey and McGowan will be a young rotation as strong as any team in the league (that may be a bit presumptuous, but I'm a homer). The Jays have allowed 26 fewer runs than any other team in the league this year. Quietly.

So yeah, there is a lot to be excited about, for next year.

Then they rally off 10 in a row and people start going, "hmmmm, what about this year?" I won't say I didn't think about it, but I stopped short of verbalizing it aloud. Call me superstitious -- every sports fan is -- I didn't want to lay the jinx down.

Then on Wednesday, I got a couple emails and tsn.ca ran a story after win #10, and wouldn't you know it, they lost their next one. Jinxed. Not that one loss means they won't get in or make the run, but you can't start talking about the playoffs when they are 7 games back of the Wild Card with 20 left to play. You just have to enjoy it and not talk about it, like an extra-marital affair. Treat it like a goalie working on a shutout in hockey. Think about it, but make every effort to talk about something else. If it gets to 3 games, then it's there to debate. 

Any discussion of playoffs puts unreasonable expectation on the team. I don't want to say that's why they lost that game 6-5 to the White Sox on Wednesday -- because they won the next night -- but I think we should just enjoy the ride. And if they can sweep the Red Sox this weekend (putting them 2.5 back) then we can legitimately start thinking October.

For now, though, like I said, we need to put away all nostalgic '92 and '93 thoughts (and Candy Maldonado pennants), and just enjoy the ride. 

And worship the Cito.

Note: In researching this post, I stumbled across a blog that deserves your visiting:

A beard a day.

I really wish I would have thought of that... It's right up with the cats that look like Hitler website.

daily dose of crazy

Don't know if you've gotten your daily recommended intake of crazy yet, so I'll pass along these links my buddy Jay threw my way today. I know I need a little pick me up what with the elections in Canada and the States and their inevitable, depressing outcomes, wearing me down and making me question my faith in humanity.

Friend of slinginlingo, DMX, has fallen on some hard times recently, as he was arrested twice in three days about a month back.

Uhhh... I don't feel so good...

X isn't all doom and gloom though, as he gives us all a glimpse into his mind in a newly posted interview. It's a regular smogasborg full of groupie stories, car chases, poopoo and even a sexy groupie-poopoo hybrid tale.

DMX, tell us some cracky tales! (all the real goodies are on page two)...

Some of my favourite quotes:

When asked about any memorable groupies he encountered, DMX responds: "Yeah, there was one that took a shit and didn't wipe her fucking ass, man."

(Note: what is the benefit of telling anyone this? It doesn't make you, or her, look good.)

Describing his way to break the awkwardness in the morning, after a hook-up:

"'So what you gonna do?' See that's the famous line. 'What are you getting ready to do?' Because whatever you're doing, I'm doing something else."

Ahhh... that was fun. I feel a bit better, don't you? No? Still not feeling it?

Well maybe this little clip about a seven-year old that could probably whoop my ass jacks up your dosage of zaniness. You know, just to cheer you up with one of those soft, fluffy, lighter-side-of-life, little rascal style stories.

Latarian Milton takes something

I wouldn't want to be around when mom tells little Latarian it's time to put the video games away and go to bed. Things will get smashed. Just ask his grandma's SUV.

I guess it's kind of unfair that the news guy asks him questions. I mean, he's only seven. It's not like he's old enough to know right from wrong... or what a clutch is.... or how to park at a CostCo...

Does everyone feel better after that? Do you have a little more faith in your fellow crazy human?

Noteworthy question: If that entertains me, what does that mean?

there's running up the score, and then there's just d-baggin it

I don't know what kind of lesson to pull from this...

Slovakia 82 - Bulgaria 0 ... in HOCKEY!

Don't piss off a Slovakian chick, maybe?

one more peep and i'm calling the fuzz

I don't know if it only popped out tonight, or if it's just that I've gone without noticing it for the last month I've been here, but the neighbour's baby will not shut up. 

It's been a hyper-crackhead, crying baby all night. It sounds like it doesn't breathe. If I wasn't so annoyed, I might actually be impressed. (I should probably feel some compassion and be concerned though, right?)

I thought it was a cat at first and it was being beaten horrifically. But now, I can tell it's a baby, because cats can't say "mah." 

"Yaaa-yaaa-yaaa-yaaa-yaaa"

Now it's getting more spastic, and faster...

"Ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya"

This isn't good.

Hey, I wonder if this is in any way connected to Oil Can leaving?

Hmm.... Interesting development, n'est pas?

leaving on a jet plane

I'm just warmin up, baby

Or I should say, trying to be leaving on a jet plane.

Yessir, boys and girls, it's true. I'm gone. I'm out. Sitting in Pearson in T.O. right now, waiting for my damn delayed flight to Baltimore (I told y'all, them Orioles need some help). 

Don't worry yourselves none though, kiddies. I'll still be contributing to this goofy thing. Just had to get out, ya know? Need to get some more sun. Playoffs is starting up here soon too. It was too damn cold up there, man. Shit was madness.

I don't want to see no tears, though, aight? I'm still that man. I'm still your Can, baby.

P.S.

And Herbiberous, I'm sorry dog, but you need to wash them sheets... and counters... and damn telephone too... Heh heh! That's right, man. I got some cuttie in every room of that apartment, baby! Every dayum square inch of that joint got the old rub from the Can and a lovely woman...

oil can and herbiberous break-up (no homo)

Well, it finally happened.

After almost a month without seeing the guy and a week without word, the Can is gone.

I found a note in my once-full 30 pack of beer.

Thanks, Can. He's fully aware there's nowhere to stock back up in Iqaluit.

To tell you the truth, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did. I kind of actually expected this. First, the man does not belong in this climate. He hates the cold. He's thrown enough household objects in my direction to convince me of this.

Second, the ball here wasn't doing it for him. He's not a slo-pitch player, even at his age... (He's not going to like me saying that.) He still thinks he's got some years left in his arm, and I tend to agree, after seeing how much velocity that chair he chucked at me a couple months ago had.

He told me he was eventually going to head back to the States, so maybe he finally did. September is here and snow is an inevitability, so maybe he was just being proactive. I can respect that.

There's another thing. I knew he didn't like me boasting on here about picking Team USA over Angola. How do I know this? Well, he beat the shit out of me over it. After I recovered, (the doctor says I may never see completely out of my left eye again) I didn't see him too much (especially from the left side). He's a super-competitive dude, but I don't think he felt very good about crunching me to a pulp. He was hanging onto some shit. Brooding, that's for sure, and it was about more than silly Olympic picks. There may have been too much to move past to become pals again.

Oil Can still has the password to this blog and he's got my digits, so we'll keep in touch. Maybe the time and distance will allow us get past all the beatdowns and such. Maybe Can did the right thing. A pretty mature move, actually. 

Kudos, Can. Best of luck in your future endeavors.

I'm just going to take a quick piss, before I wrap this thing up.

Oh, Can. For real??

At least we know the Can practices safe sex...

Great.

most wonderful day of the year

Folks, the excitement is building... 

We are a mere five sleeps from the greatest day of the year. No, it's not a birthday, or Christmas, or Halloween, or anything else Hallmark would have a card for... (Although they should. I'd show up at a buddy's house with one...)

September 9 marks the release of the latest installment of EA Sports' NHL series... NHL 2009.

Unfortunately, I do not return to Yellowknife -- and an XBox 360 -- before the 19th, so that should give some of you (read: Kev) a chance to build up some much needed confidence and get some practice in before Daddy SweetThumbs (am I allowed to self-nickname? Sir Score-a-lot? Dr. Kev Kill? Annihilatatron?) returns to reestablish his dominance with a tyrannical reign of beatdowns, shutouts and mid-game-pause-and-resets-because-the-game-is-so-out-of-hand... eh? eh?

I do have a beef, though: Phaneuf is on the cover. 

Dion Phaneuf has 45-minute conversations with rocks.

I've never been so in love with something that has such a horrific and unpalatable appearance.

It would be like a girlfriend coming back from a week long vacation with a Mike Tyson-style facial tattoo. Or being covered in feces or ebola or something... I'll get over it, but I might cringe as I take it out of the packaging.

One other thing. The official trailer kind of pisses me off.

NHL 2009 Trailer

Awesome! Phaneuf lays out the Twins twice, and the Canucks look like a bunch of flunky jabronies... 

At least now, I think we can officially kill the long held (and baseless) conspiracy theory from bitter Oilers/Flames fans that Canucks players' ratings are inflated because the game is made in Burnaby, BC.

No Canucks fan would ever endorse Dion Fanook doing something like this. 

I need something to cheer me up...

Oh, yeah!!! This right here.

Ahhh... much better....

douchebag + freudian slip = awesome new word

I hate that I'm actually wasting my time watching this B.S-fest, but...

the Republicans have a lady addressing their convention who is a former CEO of Hewlett-Packard. A former CEO? Dude, you're getting slammed for being out of touch with low-income and middle-income Americans and pandering to the wealthy, and you get this ridiculously rich human with absolutely nothing in common with the average Joe, to speak glowingly about your candidate?

Who's organizing this thing?

Oh.... right....

Anyways, in the middle of this lady's boring, predictable speech, (she hit: Maverick, reformer, war hero, put country first, horse patooter. I want to vomit) it sounded as if she slurred two words together, to accidentally define every single person watching these mindless asstalkers on TV.

She was trying to say citizen, but it sounded a lot like cynicism...

Cynizen.

Yes. That's beautiful.

I am definitely a cynizen.

This gentleman is a shorter cynizen... and a pimp.

Note:

I haven't been able to get a hold of Oil Can in some time. I haven't seen in days. I don't know if he's even been by here. Baseball season's over, up here. Hmmm... I'll keep you updated...

poop musings

Statutory holidays are severely unproductive days.

Maybe that explains why my mind has wandered and stepped in poop. I will now attempt to scrape it off my brain.

I'll never forget something DA once told me: "Everyone takes shits, Herbie."

It's obvious. It's stupid. But it's so true. Everyone does.

Abraham Lincoln used his toilet time, maybe, to flush out the details of his Emancipation Proclamation.

"Can I get a little privacy, please? I need to get some work done."

Rene Descartes' original meditation was, "I stink. Therefore, I am."

The most revered and sacrilized figures in history have, at some time in their lives, fought through constipation and the runs. Call me weird, but I find that kind of comforting.

After the Last Supper, Jesus dropped the Last Crapper. Maybe he laughed when he accidentally let out a preemptive fart.

I mean, after chowing down a double Quarter Pounder meal, super sized, Queen Elizabeth II would make a run for it, on the crapper, pushing red-faced, white-knuckled, crafting a nice double-coiler, without pomp or circumstance.

A very relieved Queen, after just working through a three helping, meatloaf dinner...

It's humbling really.

And in honour of the subject, I'll make this post a two-parter...

Number Two (pun intended):
Is there any time in a human's life where he/she is more vulnerable than when dropping a deuce? You have to be completely relaxed...

With the exception of Raab Himself, humans can't run and poop at the same time, which leaves us prone to attack. I wonder how many brothers and sisters we've lost whilst dumping deuce --those brave souls who were either pounced on by tigers, or chomped by hippos, or mauled by bears (or for all you creationist crazies, bitten in half by T-Rex's) while pushing out turds?

You think I care that you're taking a dump? I'll eat your ass first! I do what I want!

Fortunately, most of us, at least in North America, can now poop, in a calm, four-walled environment.

And that's why I think the greatest advance we've made as a species, is now we can safely deposit our feces.

Interesting development:

I just spent the last four hours in an Entourage coma, and Ari pulled out a book called, you guessed it...

I need to read this book now, just to find out how an apple poops... Kudos on the shot of the horse's patooter, too.

Another one of those interesting coinkydinks.