Wednesday, January 28, 2009

mount douchemore revealed (kind of)

Ladies and Germs,

After a week of fierce competition and a massive voter turnout (I want to personally thank all 18 of you... Well not you, Oil Can, but everyone else is cool. Who am I kidding? You're cool too Can) it gives me great pride to present to you the four-headed monster you created...

Your 2009 Dream Team: Mount Douchemore.

George W. Bush

Herb Mathisen (fuck the heck?)

I feel like Charlie Kauffman. I wrote myself into my own Mount Douchemore.

Patch (Name withheld to protect identity)

Whoops... sorry, Darc

and... a tie!?!?!?!? What the... Stephen Harper and Tom Cruise

Before we can proceed with the grand unveiling of the monument, we need to get this tie-breaker rectified.

So after calling a meeting with myself and conferring with myself and getting outside consultation from myself, I -- myself -- have decided to reopen the polls (or poll) for 48-hours only, to answer the question that has plagued man since he first began drawing pictures on cave walls out of his own poop: who is a bigger douche:

Is it Stephen Harper?

Or Tom Cruise?

Let it be known, the eternal question will have a definitive answer in just two days.

Vote now. Vote often.

For transparency's sake, here are the results from the original Mount Douchemore election:

George W. Bush - 7
Herb Mathisen - 6
Tom Cruise and Stephen Harper - 5
Allison Stokke's boyfriend - 4
James Blunt, Emrah Bulatci and Dane Cook - 3
Derek Jeter - 2
Todd Bertuzzi, Howie Mandel, Nicolas Sarkozy, Isiah Thomas, Kanye West, Robin Williams - 1

And Adam Sandler and Chris Wallace (Grizz GM, not Biggie) are vindicated as being undouche.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009


I'll tally up the massive amount of votes for Mount Douchemore in a couple days (it's going to take that long) so in the meantime, just a quick couple thoughts from the last few days.

My boy Slader said it a while ago and I have to agree... if I had millions upon millions of millions, my one luxury would be slipping my feet into a new pair of socks every morning. That's it. Nothing too too crazy. Just a brand new pair of socks each day. Nothing feels better than a new pair of socks in the morning... And I just don't see a multi-multi-millionaire rolling up socks out of the dryer and spending a half hour searching for the missing sock.

Benji just said octuplets were God's way of punishing someone. I just imagine the poor high school kids. Guy knocks up girl. Girl goes to doctor, finds out it's octuplets. She tells guy she's pregnant.
Her: "I'm pregnant."
Him: "Shit."
Her: "I'm having octuplets."
Him: "Damn, that's more than one right?"
Her: "Yeah."
Him: "Octuplets? That's like three right?"
Her: "Eight."
Him: "Oh."
Imagine that.
I mean, whenever your kids are being called Baby A and Baby H, you're in some kind of trouble.

Benji: "At what time do you start calling it a litter of babies?"

Sunday, January 25, 2009

the man, the myth

Dilla dog


Alex Ovechkin

Slingin Lingo is a proud supporter of Alexander Ovechkin.

I'm pretty sure anyone who can have fun with their selves is anti-douche. Doucheness involves taking one's self far too serious.

Hold it out for the whole vid...

Being a goof is an automatic anti-douche. Remember that when voting, Herbiberous is more goof than douche. Don't listen to the Can.

Kudos, Super 8.

Saturday, January 24, 2009

oil can rocks the vote

Warming it up with the Can

What's shakin, slingas of lingo?

It's the Can, checking back in with a brand new plan... 

How you doing? How are the little ones? Crawling already? Well dang...

I appreciate all the letters y'all sent me, wishing me well for the holidays, wondering if I'd ever come back and just generally making me feel like a well-loved kind of guy. And I gotta say, sometimes those little words are pretty damn powerful with the shit I been through the last few miles of my trip, man...

This recession is really startin to crush the Can, man. 

Can't get a job. Nope. None. Baltimore Orioles passed me up for a pitching coach job. Then caught a train out to the Pacific Northwest, but the Seattle Mariners said no. Even the New York Mets turned me down. I mean, damn! The Mets? Shit...

Not all is going down the tank though. I'm pretty jacked up about my boy Obama getting into that White House. I ain't ashamed to say I got a bit misty eyed at that ceremony, standing there with millions watching that historic shit go down.

Caught up with the man himself to see if he had a spot for me in his administration, but shit, Barack said he didn't have room for a pitching coach with all them secretaries of state and foreign affairs... I said, damn, how many secretaries does one man need?

Visited this blog a couple times and figured I put my stamp on this ridiculous vote. 

Now, I never called no one a douche before, but after reading through some of the nominations, I think I know what it means and I'm rockin my vote...

I'll even let you in on the who and the what...

1. George W. Bush
Now this man is straight up douche. He's a real mothafucka. He's a bad dude. Like Kanye said, he don't care about black people but I don't think he cares about any people... except rich people. And don't get me started on rich people. I fuckin hate rich people, man.

2. Derek Jeter
He's rich people. He's a Yankee. I used to play for the Sox, and even though things ended up pretty shitty in Beantown, I still hold a grudge against anyone who suits up in them pinstripes. It gets in your blood... Also, he did give herpes to all those pretty ladies and man, that's douche.

3. Herb Mathisen
Y'all were expecting someone else? Ha ha, yeah man. Can't stand the guy. I stayed at his spot in Iqaluit over the summer and shit now I hate all Canadians (just kidding, I love y'all). But this kid snores like a damn jet any time he closes his eyes, he breathes super ass loud when he eats and I never once saw him clean a dish or take out the trash the whole two months I was there. So I took all his beer and bounced...

Let's not end it here though, people... I wanna hear some more douchish shit about old Herbiberous, because I'm willing to bet my job that he's done some shit supremely douchish to some of y'all.

Send em in, baby. 

I'll have my own contest... What's the most douchebag thing Herb Mathisen has done to you? Put your name with your story and let's see shit get out of hand...

Awww yeah.

how could i forget this guy?


Hit the showers, Bono. Seriously, you look grimy...

Maybe I'll have to have a Mount Turd Sandwichmore...


Sean Penn is also a douche

Oh, stop smiling. I'll get you next time, douche

Thursday, January 22, 2009

have you seen this man?

Richard Golden:

Richard Golden, WHERE ARE YOU? And more importantly, where is any evidence of your beautiful, unintentional comedic gold commercials... Also, this is apparently what went for sexy in the late 1980s.

A little background:
As a youngster growing up in Yellowknife, my sister and I spent an inordinate amount of Saturday mornings slurping cereal and munching cinnamon-sugar toast in front of the TV, while snow blasted into the side of our apartment and made outdoor fun torturous.

Unfortunately, a side effect of being a Canadian kid with the most basic of cable in the late-80s, early-90s was the fact that the best Saturday morning shows were shown on the three major American networks: NBC, ABC and CBS.

For some reason, our feed came from Detroit, meaning we were definitely up on our Detroit Tigers (Alan Trammel and Lou Whitaker baby!) and the daily hand-gun murders delivered from the mouths of trustful local TV personalities. WDIV's Carmen Harlan and Devin Scillian, anyone?

These two introduced me and my sis to gangland violence, Halloween firebombs and rape between Hang Time and Saved by the Bell...

Also, we got the run of local, Detroit commercials, which included Mel Farr, who dressed up like Superman to sell Fords, the non-stop hit-and-run, drinking and driving or personal negligence slickster attorneys and the one and only Richard Golden -- the spokesperson, president and pimp of D.O.C.s "Sexy Specs."

Please tell me you remember this guy and his commercials.

They basically began with him saying, "I'm Richard Golden and these glasses are so sexy, they'll make you want to dance...." Then this funky music would start up and he would put on his glasses, walk into a classroom or on to some graffitied up street corner and start busting out some moves, with his feet just sliding and tapping and twirling, which people would watch with shit-eating grins and be all into it.

He's been memorialized in pop art. But there is no documentation of the classic commercials on the internet... that I have been able to find?

I remember watching him and not being able to decipher whether Richard Golden was psychotic, cool or just delusional. Was this normal behaviour or was this guy a complete loon?

It's a lot for a kid to take in... Here's some white guy in a leather coat, popping his collar then rocking some fancy footwork with no invitation to dance from anyone and people just watching him giver in all these different settings... I didn't know if that was socially acceptable. What would happen if I could just start busting a move during class or something, with my hand on my hips? Did people really do that shit in public? It was very confusing.

But looking back, it's absolutely ludicrous and hilarious, which is why I'm making a formalized plea for your memories of this guy and more importantly, a link to one of the commercials.

I can't pay you -- what with the economic slow down being what it is -- but I can promise that whoever is able to provide me a link will get the most flattering photo of their likeness posted on this blog, with an even more flattering write-up.

Please find me Richard Golden. I think this commercial would become the No. 1 viewed and adored video on youtube. It was so ridiculous.



Wednesday, January 21, 2009

kimmirut stock photo

IE, I got mine too...

Healing stone

This must be the stock photo op in Kimmirut, like it's version of the Eiffel Tower or Leaning Tower of Pisa...

I bet anyone who's visited Kimmirut has this picture somewhere.

I see a growing trend here, with Herb Mathisen nearly jumping to the front of the horse race to eternal douchebagdom... Am I really as big a douche as Stephen Harper (I know I wrote Harber, my bad) and Tom Cruise? Or twice as big a douche as James Blunt or Dane Cook? Or four times as big a douche as Howie Mandel?


Tuesday, January 20, 2009

vote or die

You better vote in that Mount Douchemore poll or Puff Daddy might kill you:

favourable treatment

Bruce Cockburn

Quick question: How do you get Cole-burn out of Cockburn?

Ohhhhh!!! Your sex is on fire!!!! No, seriously, my cock is burning....

It's like everyone subconsciously agreed to call him a name that clearly isn't his. And no one snickers when they say his name on TV or the radio.

I don't know how Mr. Flaming Rod pulled it off, but kudos are in order I suppose.

I think I'll start calling him Bruce Penisfire all the same.

Monday, January 19, 2009


I have been tagged by a ballooning rock 'n roll icon in Iqaluit and although I usually throw chain letters in the trash, this one requires minimal effort on my behalf to keep alive and there was no accompanying threat to my life or love life or luck or testicles if I didn't keep it going, so I will be a good soldier and post the sixth picture in the sixth folder of my documents folder, as per instructions. (Now that's how you write a run-on sentence!)

A shady character

This picture was taken on National Aboriginal Day last year on the N'dilo/Yellowknife border (aka Erasmoose's backyard) overlooking calm Back Bay during the very brief 2am sunset on the longest day of the year. Looking back at pictures of that time, I had an infatuation with fire (I'll post a couple goofy fire pictures at some future juncture.) Beauty night with some beauty friends, featuring some guest appearances from the Dene National Chief, then some friends' parents who partied harder than we did, an impromptu boat tour around the houseboats and Latham Island and a late-night/early-morning hooka session at the house. Probably the highlight of my time spent in Yellowknife last summer...

Wow, thanks for the tag most-Inflatable one. That was fun to pass the time and brought back some grand old times...

hmmmm... I tag Mongoose, perhaps the most active participant in the Mount Douchemore sweepstakes. (Vote or Die!)

Keep this alive or we take balls, Tyler Durden-style.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

allison stokke update

For those of you not already familiar with Allison Stokke and how I feel about her, here is some very brief background.

Now, I don't want to judge here. For all we know, this gentleman may be caring, witty, giving and an all-around good guy and who am I to talk...

But based on first impressions, I'm just going to say "Why, Alisson? Why?" (followed by the sound of Herbiberous whimpering...)

I mean, if I was her dad and I saw this picture, I'd be shaking my head.

Can we nominate this guy for Mount Douchemore based on one piece of drunken, photographic evidence?

This is strong enough for me.

Friday, January 16, 2009

two days left for your nominations

Hey folks,

Good work on the nominations. I think we can make a case for each one of them.

Quick recap of the week:
I wrote a story about our Premier getting in a little on-ice dust-up and subsequently got beat up the next day for kind of being a douche and then got blindsided by angry letters for the rest of the day for that and other things. Rough damn day. Got a little solace from the fact that the Globe and Mail picked up on the story, called all the people I spoke to, and it made the CP rounds. A little solace.

Environment Canada had been predicting plus temperatures for the weekend and Monday, to which I said I'll believe it when I see it. I mean, if I did see rain in January in Yellowknife, I think I'd shave my head, get an Oak Tree tattooed on my forehead and become David Suzuki's foot-soldier. It's not going to happen though. They were calling for -5 today. It got up to -14. Fuck off, weather people.

Big thumbs up to the pilot of US Airways 1459. Those are the most apocalyptic pictures I've ever seen. I can't get over the fact that each one of those 150 people got on the plane, yawned, opened a book, waited to turn on their iPods, thought of how they were going to get to wherever they were going once they got to Charlotte or who was going to pick them up, picked their noses, closed their eyes, the plane took off, and then 5 minutes later they're standing on the sinking jet's wing in the Hudson River. And no one died.


Anyways, here are the nominations thus far to determine the three heads to share Mount Douchemore with the Patch Man:

Todd Bertuzzi (nearly murdered a guy, but more disgustingly joined the Calgary Flames)
James Blunt (sad sack, lame-o)
Emrah Bulatci (guilty until proven innocent under the douche law)
George W. Bush (star of Unilateral Damage)
Dane Cook (his parent's names were "Dou" and "Che"... put it together)
Tom Cruise (stole Katie Holmes from us)
Herb Mathisen (yep)
Stephen Harper (prime wienerster)
Derek Jeter (spreading herpes, one starlet at a time)
Howie Mandel (just shake hands, you knob)
Adam Sandler (what happened to you, Happy?)
Nicolas Sarkozy (leader of snoot)
Isaiah Thomas (NBA player legend/GM urban legend)
Chris Wallace (only other GM to give Isaiah run for money)
Kanye West (love lockdouche)
Robin Williams (definitely the hairiest person on the list. No offense, Bertuzzi)

Dutchess of Douche:
Tyra Banks
Courtney Love
Sarah Palin

Nominations will end Sunday night. I have included myself -- I was nominated twice -- because of various things I've done this week.

Omissions: Roberto Luongo because it was such a baseless attack against a miraculous human being by someone who is obviously smarting from having a certain, overpriced Finnish backstop clogging up cap space and ass space in the Saddledome's blue paint. 

Over the line?

Aziz Ahmed and Coach because no one who reads this -- other than anonymous people -- will know who they are.

Cece Hodgson-McCauley because, although I don't want to seem biased, she writes a column for a paper that employs me.

Alright, we'll keep them coming people...

Monday, January 12, 2009

mount douchemore

Mount Douchemore is my little baby.

Down in Rossland a couple weeks ago, me, Patch, Bearclaw and John spent what would be my last night in that paradise ski town, battling it out in front of a crib board, locked into two of the longest, most often interrupted games ever completed in the history of the sport... and then a third game that took an hour to never get started.

It was hilarity. Beerlarity, actually. John, a 55-year old Legionnaire (guy who frequents the Legion often?) who I dubbed the cribmaster general, was my partner and we took game one. Patch and the Claw took game two and that took about four hours.

Game three began, but Patch kept talking his way out of it, as me and John pegged out to a 11-0 lead. It was like our red crib pegs got of the blocks like Usain Bolt on a Ben Johnson supplement regiment and their blues were mired in quicksand. It was awesome, but Patch was claiming all sorts of shenanigans, pulling every piece of possible douchery out of his brain. He was being generally douchish and I said these actions had solidified his spot as the fourth head on Mount Douchemore.

Patch, not missing a beat, pressed me on who the other three were.

Being somewhat unsober... and deliriously tired... I mumbled out Michael Jackson, O.J. Simpson and.... Robert Downey Jr.? (reformed douchebag?)

Anyways, I would like to take back my three douches -- Patch notwithstanding -- and resubmit my choices for the three other heads on Mount Douchemore.

And I would say Bill O'Reilly or Geraldo or someone like that but they're blowhards. And there's a big difference between a blowhard and douche.

I'm not going to explain what a douche is. You should just know. You should be able to look at someone -- or smell someone -- and immediately feel icky and that should tell you all you need to know.

(Note: Generally, as a rule, men are more likely to be douches than women. It's like a 10 to 1 thing. I would say Belinda Stronach was a douche for a while there, but her douche was cancelled out by Peter McKay's overpowering douchessness)

Douche #1:
Derek Jeter
I know Alex Rodriguez is probably the obvious pick here, but I'm gonna go with Jeter. The smarmy, overrated shortstop oozes arrogance. He is untouchable in the media, even though he selfishly kept the SS when Rodriguez came over even though he's a below-average fielder. He reads cliches like they're original. He's completely bought into his own legend, as this generation's New York Yankee hero, even though the Yankees epitomize everything that is wrong with sport and the world. Plus he gave herpes to Jessica Alba and I think anyone who gives someone herpes earns douche points. And he's dated a lot of women since...

Douche #2:
George W. Bush
Easy pick, I know, but in 8 days no one will care about him any more. He's a definite in the douche Hall of Fame.

Douche #3:
James Blunt
Now I had a historical douche, but it's been a long day and I completely forgot who it was going to be. So I'll go with someone that I'm sure no one will dispute. This is self-explanatory. You don't walk through the rain singing "you're Beau-ti-fa-oll." That video is pretty much a 3-minute documentary of douche. That's it. The guy just seems sleezy, like the kind of guy that would give someone herpes. Accents can definitely diminish or increase doucheness and in this case, it just multiplies his douche factor. He's a 140-pound douche in a 70-pound douchebag. I've always wanted to start a band just so I could call it "The James Blunt Beatdown."

Honourable douches:
Stephen Harper
Ronald McDonald
Jeffrey Skilling (of Enron infame)

What I really want though is your thoughts on who should be included with old Patchy boy on Mount Douchemore. I'll take submissions in the comment section here for a week or so and then if I get enough nominations, put up a poll or something and take some votes and then perhaps put together a nice little graphic... and that'll teach Patchy not to mess with that crib board.

And while we're at it, so we're not being sexist, let's name a Dutchess of Douche. I will humbly submit Sarah Palin.

Note: Just performed a quick google search and looks like my baby has been around the block already and it wasn't a Herbiberous original. Shoot!  I was two months too late. Oh well. We can still play this little game, eh? The site I stumbled across offered up Donald Trump, Tyra Banks and Kevin Federline. I can't argue with those...

Friday, January 9, 2009

commercial fallacy

Is this guy white enough to make the cut for old Timmy Hos?

Was sitting stunned and stupid in front of the TV the other day with my roommate Feltch and watching one of those horrible hokey folky Tim Horton's commercials.

You know the ones... 
(Deep guy voice, scenic shot of a Tim Horton's at sunrise): "Serving up all that fresh coffee"
(Skinny white lady smiling): "From Coquitlum, BC.
(Down home white-haired old East Coaster): "To Gander, Newfoundland."


Anyways, Feltch says something interesting. "That's not fucking Tim Hortons. There's no Filipinos or 13-year-olds in the commercial."

It's true. I don't think I've ever been to a Tim Horton's that was staff by exclusively white adults, like the commercial depicted, whether Yellowknife, or Leduc, AB, or Hamilton, ON. It was a blatant misrepresentation. And Tim Horton's sells itself as a cup of Canadiana. 

What is your picture of Canada, Tim Horton's?

It's a beef I've always had with commercials. You see all these TV ads or promotional brochures for schools or organizations and they always make sure to include all different races of people.

Someone is missing. Do you know who it is?

There is always a white person, black person, Asian person, Arab person. I swear, I saw a commercial with a family with a black mom, Asian dad and two white kids. How does that work?

What's the matter with that? Nothing, really. But my beef is that they always neglect one very important group. There is never a token aboriginal or Inuit person in these commercials. Ever. 

You only really find it in the Territories on government-issued propaganda... er... promotional fare...

Let's take a look at the numbers nationally and see if this is deserved.

According to 2006 Census:

Aboriginal, Metis and Inuit population: 1,172,785
South Asian: 1,262,865
Chinese: 1,216,570
Black: 783,795
Filipino: 410,695

I think, according to these numbers, a token aboriginal person in TV commercials is justified. 

It's only fair.

If I started a petition, would you all back me?

I include the following photo only because it came up when I searched "Tim Hortons commercial" on google images.... And because there are a couple people who visit this blog that would appreciate it far more than they would the preceding post.

You know who you are.

Megan, why won't you return my calls?

Thursday, January 8, 2009

quick movie idea -- to be elaborated upon later

Sorry for the brevity. Just jotting this down while I have a chance, while I'm in front of a computer, while I'm relatively sober.

Imagine this, old reader.

An oblivious man or woman in North America sends out $15 per month to some third world country, as part of the Foster Parent's plan or whatever it's called, to feed, cloth, house and educate a young person and keep them from starving, freezing, being homeless and dumb.

Said child grows up healthy and wise, all thanks to this unknowing, altruistic person across the world... and this child grows up... to be the next Pol Pot or Hitler... They murder and massacre hundreds and thousands and millions and tens of millions.

And the history books will tell of the one gladhanding North American who allowed it all to happen.

Any thoughts?

By the way, Hollywood...
(c) 2009 This is a Herbiberous copywrite boyee!

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

are you experienced? HA

That's me on the left in St. Barths with Hov and B (they're soooo jacked to be getting a picture with me).

Man... I just woke up today (like super late cuz I don't gotta work like some bitch or lame HA) and was just thinking about what I want to do with my life... I mean, I was up so late cuz I got so much shit on my mind... Like damn. Like I'm old and stuff. And there's things I want to do... Like wear designer high-tops exclusively and hang with Jay and them (that's me with Hov and Beyonce down in St. Barths) And I was just like marinating some on life though... I mean, it's sooooo great right? But it's bad sometimes too. I don't know. It's crazy though. Right?
I mean, I couldn't put a price on life. But if I could, it would be lots. My life is kind of like Porsche sunglasses or Raf Simons high-tops. You prolly wish you could live like me, just swagger jackin and stuff... HA

Someone herb over at said I shouldn't be flaunting all my gear during a recession. I say, you're daddy shoulda produced some hot shit so you could live like I do. Plus, I would also say as a sidebar to supplement what I said earlier that it's not easy being me. Do you know how hard it is for me to decide what to wear when I wake up every morning??? IT'S STUUUUPPPPIIIIDDDDD! Like damn. HA! (I don't even know why I laugh like this)

Plus, I'm 19 and I already have my OWN blog. I'm my OWN blogist! HA.

Check out my new SWAG. IT'S DUMMMMMBBBB!

Flaming Nike Sneakers
$11dy billion

Well I said I would only wear designer swag (and cuz lames like you can't afford ish) but them Nikes are on fire, so I guess that means they're hot, right? They're STUUUUUPPPPIIIDDDDD HOOOOTTTTTTT!

Can you handle THIS experience? I don't know if you think so. It's hot.

Damn, this is some straight talk though, right? I mean. Damn. Right?

Like here's one for all you heads at home waiting for what I'm gonna say on my blog:
What are thoughts?

Think about it for a while.

I'm gonna take a picture of myself looking deep with a guitar in the meantime...


Message from the real world to all the Aaron Reids: Quit playing yourselves and wake up.

Thanks to the good people at for the link to the link to the blog... HA

And yes, I'm fully aware I'm picking on a teenager.

Monday, January 5, 2009

pet peeve

I said pet peeve people. Not pet perv.

Other than people using the phrase pet peeve, I hate it when after telling a joke or a funny story or something, the person you're telling it to says. "That's hilarious."

But they don't laugh.

If it was hilarious, you'd laugh mothafucka.

Kills me.

Sunday, January 4, 2009


Maybe it was the merry two-week holiday, spent with my not-so-near but dear friends and family, the manic trip to beautiful BC where I skied and sauna-ed and laughed and had the philosophy of life flipped on its head and now have a lot to think about, the two over-12 hour drives in crazy weather separated by 18 hours this weekend that turned me into a zombie, or the fact that I haven't blogged in over a week, but I forgot slinginlingo's password when I tried to log in today and had to get it sent to me from the Can.