Monday, December 28, 2009

Hilarious and Insightful Blog Post About Something

Witty opening line, just off-kilter enough to grab your attention.

Slightly more detailed explanation, followed by disclaimer about how, regardless of what I type afterward, I'm not judging anyone who believes differently than I do (even though, let's face it, I am.)

Silly anecdote about what prompted me to write this post, likely referencing a friend/co-worker/smelly fellow bus passenger.

Paragraph containing comments and observations written with humour and light-hearted teasing, used to disguise (thinly) my distaste and reproach for subject matter.

Ha ha ha I'm so funny aren't I witty? don't you just hate it when blah blah blah blah blah.

Slightly more sensitive comment about the serious problems faced by poor people/cute little animals/something else that's lame.

The word 'fuck' a bunch of times, interspersed with words that aren't 'fuck' so I don't sound like a complete jackoff.

Summary of my point/argument/spazz-fest, which is hilarious but also almost reveals that I'm actually upset/sad/care about something.

Just kidding. Everyone can blow me.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Barf, Swallow and Repeat

I did the unthinkable today. I uttered words I never thought I would ever utter. I had to force myself to say them, and then I barfed a little in my mouth, then swallowed my barf then barfed up it up again, plus a little bit more. Six words which, on their own, are completely harmless, but when combined caused the very fabric of my existence to disintegrate. Six words I have never said or even thought before today. Six words which, when I type them in just a few moments, will likely make me do the whole barf-swallow-and repeat thing again.

"I wish I had a boyfriend."

Barf. Swallow. And repeat.

I said those words to a very good friend of mine, who belongs to the unfortunate set of ears into which I unload everything that's ever bothered me EVER. He's either a very patient man, or he's just biding his time until he comes up with the perfect way to murder me without getting caught. He's a good sounding board, because he's the most honest person I know and always tells me what I should hear, whether I want to hear it or not. In fact, I often know as I'm asking him a question that the answer will piss me off, yet I ask anyway because I know he's only going to say what he's going to say because he knows it will be good for me to hear it. Also, he can move pretty quickly, so if I ever try to take a swing at him, he knows damn well he'll get out of the way in time.

So I said the "Sickening Six" words today, and he almost immediately had advice. That advice was Internet dating. Aaaaaaaaaaaand.....barf-swallow-and repeat. No, I said. Weirdos, I said. I need to actually see someone IN PERSON to know if I'm interested, I said. Give it a chance, he said. There are good ones on there, he said. Barf-swallow-barf, I said.

Sitting at home now, and just closed the Internet window on which I had been perusing a local dating site. I pretty much do everything my friend tells me to, because he's usually right. Usually. You were not right this time, good friend. One check-mark in the loss column for you. Your winning streak is over.

I have learned three very important things from the half hour I spent on that website.

1) Knot vary meny peeple r gud spellerz anee-more

2) A lot of men who shouldn't have mustaches DO

3) Men who are bald on the head can still have an awful lot of hair on their shoulders

I have also learned that at least three people on Earth still say they like "long walks on the beach" (barf-swallow-and repeat), a lot of men have been burned (or, in one case, 'berned') by women in the past, and anyone can cut and paste a picture of a sexy fireman into their profile, even if they are not, in fact, a sexy fireman.

Listen, I know there are good people to be found on the Intertubes. I have friends who have found them. Unfortunately for the rest of us, they found them all and now there are only bahd-speling, inappropriately-mustached, bald-yet-hairy-shouldered ones left. To those friends of mine, I say "Good for you. Now go clone your men, invent a way to make them age quickly to about 30 or so, slow their development down to normal levels, give me one, and I will name a building after you."

To my friend who is forced to listen to my rantings and ravings and whinings and bitchings and mopings and irrational gibberish, yet continues to be my friend for some reason I have yet to figure out, I say "You have until tomorrow to come up with a way to get me a boyfriend. You might by spry now, but someday you won't be as quick as you are, and I will be able to get a few punches in before you can get away."

Friday, November 20, 2009

If I Give Up Beer, Movies and Groceries, I Can Afford a Parking Spot So I Can Drive to Work

A few years ago - when I was apparently being punished for being Satan in a past life - I had to ride the #14 OC Transpo bus to and from work. The #14 is commonly known (by me) as The Wacky Bus to Crazy Town, The Red and White Sin Shuttle and That Bus With All The Drug Dealers On It. Riding that bus regularly is about as comfortable as riding a pony made of razorblades and hate. I came up with a list of rules for the people riding that bus with me, which I have since lost. It made mention of the importance of brushing your teeth at least once a month and possibly showering occasionally.

Now, I ride the #7. Seven is half of 14, and it seems fitting that the #7 only sucks half as badly as the #14 does. I should also point out at least half the people riding the #7 with me at any given time appear to be employed, which is more than I can say for the #14. On that bus, I'm fairly certain the driver and I were the only ones with jobs that didn't involve poles, baggies or the job title Guy That Picks Cigarette Butts Up Off the Sidewalk.

For the most part, the #7 isn't a bad bus. No more than 15 or 20 minutes to get to and from work, and most of the people don't have actual stink-lines rising off them like Pig Pen in the Peanuts comics. However, motivated by an incident last night that involved a crazy (I hope) man "Air-Wanking" at me as he walked up the bus aisle, I feel it's important I come up with a set of rules for the #7.

1. Don't Air-Wank at me. For those of you unfamiliar with Air-Wanking (which is a phrase that, as far as I know, I invented yesterday) it is when one mimes the act of wanking, aka Jerkin' It.

2. People who sit on the outside-seat next to an empty inside-seat on a full bus are dicks. You think I want to sit beside you? I do not. But that old lady carrying the one little bag of groceries that would be nothing to you but is basically a sack of heavy rocks to her might want to have a seat. You are a selfish piece of shit, and I hope you get cold sores on your eyeballs.

3. Your kid is staring at me. Make that stop. It's important to note that if your kid is staring at me on the bus, chances are good your kid is not actually sitting on the bus seat. No, your kid is propped up on his toes, his back to the front of the bus, leaning over the back of the seat, while you check for text messages from the guy who's his daddy this week or count your pocket change so you can get a coffee at Timmy's or pick stuff out of your belly button that you may or may not but probably will eat. Not only is your kid creeping me out by staring at me (likely with snot bubbles popping merrily from his nose) but if the driver happens to hit the brakes really fast, your little baby-bonus cheque angel is going to spend every other bus ride for the rest of his life sitting comfortably in the disabled seating section. Then you'll have a disability cheque in his name that you can cash-in to buy cigarettes with as well.

4. No one cares. Doesn't matter what it is: phone conversation...what you did last night...what you're doing tomorrow awesome the songs on your iPod are...that you missed your stop because you were like, totally looking at that like, cute boy...that your nose ring fell out...that you're drunk.......NO ONE CARES SHUT UP I HATE YOU AND WHY ARE YOU DRUNK AT 9:00 A.M.?????

5. No matter how hard you stare at my crotchal-region, you will not be able to see up my skirt. I'm not a moron. I know how to sit properly while wearing a skirt. I will not be giving you a Sharon Stone peep-show, accidentally or otherwise. This goes double for the kid who was staring at my Area while he was sitting next to his mom. That was extra-awkward for everyone involved, and I hope she beat your ass when you got home.

6. Please do not scratch your balls near my face. Sometimes buses are very full, and people have to stand up in the aisle. Sometimes when I am sitting down, someone will be standing right next to me, with their crotchal-region quite near my face. Sometimes those people get itchy in the balls. To those people, I say subtlety is an important skill, especially when it comes to scratching your balls.

7. Just because you're not getting off the bus doesn't mean I can't. I am truly sorry you had to sit next to me. Really. I'm more sorry for me than I am for you, but at least I'm sitting next to the window, loser. However, I have to get off the bus now, so please move. Seriously, get up. MOVE, ASSHOLE. Pulling your legs under the seat does not count, and I will step on you if I have to.

8. Why do you need a stroller that big? This topic came up recently when Ottawa City Council debated the possibility of banning strollers on the bus unless they could be folded up if more space was needed. I understand this debate, having seen some of the Humvee-stroller-hybrids people bring on the bus. You could fit five kids in one of these things, or, as is often the case, one kid and shopping bags from every clothing store in a mid-sized mall. And three boxes from pretentious gift shops. And a car. So, yes, even if I crack my ribs and collapse my lungs so I can squeeze by this monstrosity to get to a seat, I might brush up against it a little. I don't need you snarling at me with your freshly-painted bitch-red lips like I just dropped a rock on your baby's head.

9. Showers are not how the Devil gets inside you. Admittedly, not as many people on the #7 stink quite as strongly as those on the #14, but there are still a few out there. To those people, I say: TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER. I DO NOT CARE IF IT'S ONLY ONCE A WEEK, JUST DO IT. I saw an ad on a bus a few weeks ago asking people not to wear strong perfumes or colognes on the bus because it could bother other passengers. Quite frankly, I'd prefer having Drakkar Noir squirted directly up both nostrils over sitting next to Dirty McWaterIsPoison. I will obey the "no strong perfume" signs when I start seeing "wash your filthy self because you smell like wet socks and dog shit" signs. It's like sitting next to a rubber boot with a hole in it that's been walked through a manure pile.

I hate the fucking bus.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

I Watch the Glittery Vampire Movie, and Don't Totally Hate It Even Thought I Really REALLY Want To, and Also, What's the Deal With That Guy's Nose?

Tuesday night, Law and Order: SVU and CSI:New York are over. My quota of murder, sexual tension and lame quips sated (but still I am left unfulfilled by the lack of shirtless Chris Meloni) I scan the Rogers OnDemand for something to watch. After several severely-pixelated failed attempts to watch Fox Mulder have a bunch of The Sex on Californication, I decide to take the plunge, swallow my pride, and watch that loathed vampire abomination Twilight.

I love vampires. I watch the movies and the TV shows, I read the books, I picture the good-looking guys I know with fangs and silvery eyes. I accept different, varying takes on the legend: can't go out in the sun ... can go out in the sun ... crosses and church and garlic bad ... crosses and church and garlic do nothing ... they do have souls and reflections ... they don't have souls or reflections. Whatever. To me, there are only three things that don't vary: fangs, blood and lack of glitter.

Which takes me to everything I perceived would be wrong with Twilight.

First, the little buggers don't have fangs. Second, abundance of glitter. (Please note: in order for there to be an abundance of glitter, there really only needs to be one glitter. Glitter = Lame.) To be fair, I didn't make the No-Glitter Rule until after Twilight was created, because until then, NO ONE WAS DUMB ENOUGH TO THINK THAT WAS A GOOD IDEA. You suck, Stephanie Meyer Or However the Hell You Spell Your Last Name, Because I Don't Feel Like Looking it Up.

They manage to pass the Blood Rule, because feeding off animals is an acceptable vampire practice as far as I'm concerned. See: Stefan in Vampire Diaries (which was a book WAY before Twilight was, so shut up with your little copycat theories, TwiTards.)

Before I get into the Everything I Thought Sucked About This Movie portion of the evening, let's go over what I DID like -- and there was actually quite a lot. The clothes were pretty awesome. The actress who plays Bella was good. She's pretty, and she does "moody" well, without being annoying. Her truck was pretty cool, however, I question how she was able to pick up driving a standard so quickly, after having to ask which pedal was the clutch.

The setting was great. I've seen photos of the real Forks, Washington, and this portrayed that well. Yay for Vancouver -- you're really good at being damp and rainy.

The main components of a good vampire movie were there for the most part: the vampire guy who doesn't want to love the human girl because he doesn't want to hurt her, the conflicted human girl who trusts the vampire guy, the kindly vampires resisting their nature, the mean vampires who just want to eff everything up for the kindly vampires for some reason, the borderline-violent kissing. Overall, not a bad story, although they fell in maddeningly sickly love just a little too fast for my taste.

Now let's get to the fun part, where I bitch about Twilight. I've been bitching about it forever without actually knowing much about it, and I feel like less of a dick now that I can bitch about it after seeing it.

They glitter. THEY GLITTER, for crying out loud. When the vampires go out in the sun, they fucking glitter. I figured it would be lame, but the glittering in this movie far out-lamed anything I could have ever imagined, even in my Liberace-iest dreams. Really? The effects on a film with a decent budget couldn't have been just a little better? Did they cover him in glue and blow arts and crafts sparkles at him? No. Just, no. Don't ever do that again.

No fangs. Don't really have to go into any great detail about that. Self-explanatory, really. Vampires. Have. Fangs.

In Twilight, the vampires have venom. Venom is for snakes. That is all.

The vampires can run really fast, which is fine. How they carried out this particular trait in this move is NOT fine. It's the opposite of fine. I can't really explain it properly, because something in my brain short-circuited every time it happened and I can't really remember what it looked like. I just remember thinking of cartoon characters running in place, and then my eyes would roll back in my head for a while from the sheer dorkiness if it all.

The first half of the movie held my interest, but they lost me part way through. I think it might have been WHEN THE VAMPIRES PLAYED FRIGGING BASEBALL. Seriously, Stephanie Oscar Meyer Wiener Breath? BASEBALL??? Jackass. No one likes you.

Some of the acting was ass. Most of the acting was pretty good. I especially liked the long-haired native boy who is probably a werewolf. (Spoiler Alert!)

And then there's Edward. Edward, Edward, Edward. I actually really liked the character, but I rather wish the actor would get hit by a train. Failing that, I wish he'd wash his hair and get less ugly. What the hell is wrong with his nose? Did someone pound him in the face with a shovel? I know all women everywhere who have ever opened their eyes find him attractive, but I just don't see it. I shouldn't really judge, though, since I keep a picture of Shirtless Keith Richards on my bedroom wall. I shouldn't judge, but I am. Please, women of the world, do not encourage him. At least refuse to drool over him until he buys some Pantene. I beg of you.

So, despite all my preconceived notions, I didn't hate Twilight. I didn't love it, but I didn't want to gouge my eyes out with a pickle fork after having watched it. Will I see the next 43 Twilight movies? Meh. Perhaps. Maybe one day, when they're on the Movie Network and I'm done watching whatever incarnation of CSI/Law and Order is done for the night. Unless Chris Meloni takes his shirt off.

When that happens, Melanie needs some alone-time.....which made Oz difficult to watch.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

I Violate Football

I don't know anything about football. I don't have anything against it, I just don't watch it or pay any attention to it or really care about it in any way whatsoever. Today, Hopper was doing his football picks for a football pool thingy, and I decided I would do some, too. What I have done flies in the face of statistics or fan devotion or logic or anything, really. I just decided which one of the competing teams' things-they're-named-after could kill the other in real life.

I apologize to people who love football for basically making fun of it. If it makes you feel better, I once dressed up as Strawberry Shortcake for a tap-dancing recital. You can poke fun at me for that if it makes you feel better. Although, I'm not sure a Strawberry Shortcake costume is more embarassing than those pants football players wear.

Also, I feel the need to stress that I did research for this. Actual research. Because who the fuck knows what a "49er" is? (They were gold prospectors, by the way. Don't care.)

Titans v Steelers
(Titans, because they're gods. Can't beat gods.)

Dolphins v Falcons
(Falcons, because they could probably get a falcon-gang together and swoop down and peck the dolphins' eyeballs out. The dolphins would be all "Wah! Let's all get along! Boo hoo! I'm a pretty dolphin! Love me! Oh no -- my face is bleeding and now I'm dead.")

Chiefs v Ravens
(Chiefs, because they could just shoot the ravens.)

Eagles v Panthers
(Panthers, because the eagles would swoop down, and the panthers would be all "screw you, bird!" and chomp them right out of the air with their pointy teeth.)

Broncos v Bengals
(Bengals eat horses. Fact. Probably)

Vikings v Browns
(Vikings will pillage the village, bitches.)

Jets v Texans
(Jets, because they'd just crash into the Texans and pulverize them.)

Jaguars v Colts
(Sorry, little horsie. Kitty gonna eat you.)

Lions v Saints
(Lions eat everything.)

Cowboys v Buccaneers
(Buccaneers were dicks and they were good at killing, so they'll totally win.)

49ers v Cardinals
(Cardinals are pretty, but they're dorks. They lose.)

Red Skins v Giants
(Giants squish things. They get to win. Also, 'Red Skins' is racist. Fix it.)

Rams v Seahawks
(seahawks would probably dive bomb rams, but then the rams would ram them with their rammy heads. Rams win.)

Bears v Packers
(Bears. What the fuck are packers? Like, luggage packers? Meat packers? Why would you name a team that? That's stupid.)

Bills v Patriots
(The Bills are basically named after Buffalo Bill Cody, who was a big fan of Native and women's rights, and also shot buffaloes. Patriots, I imagine, are named after the Americans who fought against British rule. Both could fight, but Buffallo Bill could fight BUFFALOES, which are WAY bigger than British people. Bills win.)

Charges v Raiders
(Chargers are horsies, I guess. Raiders are pirate-guys? Raiders, then. It would be way cooler if they were Cylon Raiders like in Battlestar Galactica.)

***So those are my picks for this coming whatever. You guys are all gonna feel really dumb if I'm right.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Small Talk Causes Herpes

Not really, but if it DID, maybe people would stop doing it. Or at least put condoms over the heads while talking, then suffocate. Some topics are so ball-meltingly boring, that I cannot even comprehend discussing them at length. Yet EVERY FUCKING DAY I run into at least five people who manage to create entire conversations about nothing. Like…..

The Weather. “Golly gee, it’s COLD outside!” Yes, it is. “Don’t you think it’s COLD outside?” Yes, I do. “When you were outside just now, didn’t you find it COLD?” Yes, I did. “When you go outside later, I bet it will still be COLD!” Probably. “Why is it so COLD out?” Because it’s December, you stupid, boring asshole. Unless it’s 30 Celsius in February, a hurricane hits downtown Ottawa, or it snows blood, weather is boring. It’s also not something only the conversation-starter is aware of. I know it’s raining/hot/cold/snowing/windy/ninja-toads are falling from the sky because I, like you, CAN FUCKING SEE/FEEL IT.

What Day of the Week it Might Be. “Wow! It’s Friday!” It sure the fuck is! Guess how I knew that? Because I don’t pour lead paint on my Honey Nut Tard-ios every morning! If you go to bed on a Monday and it is Friday when you wake up the next day because of some cosmic re-aligning of the bloody calendar, then -- AND ONLY THEN -- are you allowed to talk to me about what day of the week it is without me kicking you square in the nutsack.

Something Someone Said to You About Your Lawn. “My neighbour just can’t figure out how I keep my lawn in such good shape!” I’m going to guess it’s because you have a lot of spare lawn-tending time, what with all the not-getting-laid you’re doing. The only reason to try to start a conversation that way is to get the person you’re about to bore into a stroke to ask you about how awesome you are. Well, I won’t do it. I will stare blankly at you until you cry if I have to, but the only thing I’m going to ask you about your lawn is what the soil is like, as it pertains to digging graves.

Something I Just Told You I Already Know. “Did you hear about that woman who set that guy on fire yesterday?” Yes. “The one who doused him with vodka and threw firecrackers at him until he caught fire?” Yes. I read that. In the newspaper. “And then she pushed him into a bathtub to put the fire out?” Yep. Read that part. “And then she rolled him in salt and bees?” Oh, wait -- nope. That's a completely different story than the one I read about. Thanks. Drop dead.

I Just Saw Something With My Eyes, and Now I’m Going to Say What I Saw Out Loud With My Mouth. “You have a blue shirt on!” “Hey, that’s a dog!” “You are running at me with a knife screaming ‘SHUT UP!’” I eat at my desk at work. A co-worker who I will call Jackass McDoucheGargler sometimes walks up to my desk, stands there, and says “You’re eating a bagel/apple/fistful of glass.” Then he continues to stand there, trying to turn his ability to convey something he has seen into word-form into a long, drawn-out conversation. To my credit, I haven’t punched him in the throat yet.

We’re all guilty of small talk sometimes, out of boredom or nervousness or being too drunk to say anything to the guy at the bar beyond “you have pretty teeth.” But more often than not, small talk is used by people who cannot stand being silent. It is used by people whose own thoughts bore their brains SO MUCH that their bodies repel those thoughts out into the world. It is used by people who have so little going on in their own heads, they have to speak so their brains don’t flat-line, turning them into drooling morons who walk around licking things off the surface of parking lots.

I just read back over this, and it kinda makes me sound like a bitch. I’m OK with that.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Why Are Some Women So F***ing Stupid?

The Hopper showed me a survey statistic the other day that suggested one-third of women have PRAYED for a boyfriend. I have a survey statistic that suggests 100 percent of those women are stupid. It’s a survey I did of me, where I asked myself what I thought of those women, and I answered “they’re stupid.” It’s re-enforced my belief that some women need to go to a special school to learn how to not suck. According to some guys I know, they also have to go to a different special school to learn HOW to suck, but that’s not really something I think we need to discuss right now.

I should confess right now that I am not an expert on boyfriends. I haven’t had one in none-of-your-fucking-business-how-many-years. But I've spent a great deal of time observing people and picking them apart, and I think I’ve figured out what these women are doing wrong. I’ve decided I should tell them all about it, because people love to hear about how stupid they are, and they never ever get angry about it. Please don’t be offended. I mean well. Probably.

I think the first thing some women do wrong is LOOK for boyfriends. Boyfriends are not shoes. There is not a Boyfriend Store. I get that you want someone to keep you company and tell you you’re pretty, but looking for a boyfriend just for the sake of HAVING a boyfriend is not going to end well. Think of it this way: You want a red dress. You go from store to store looking, but can’t find one that fits you just right, so you buy the one that’s closest to what you’re looking for. Except it’s one size too small and it’s itchy. So you wear this too-small itchy dress, and you try to make it work, because you wanted a red dress SO DAMN BAD. You give up pizza so you can lose a few pounds and fit into it more comfortably, and you spend tons of money on expensive lotion to get rid of the rashes because of the itchy fabric. Now you’re pissed off because you can’t have pizza and you’re broke from buying lotion. In a blind rage, you rip the dress off, cut it up with scissors, and set the shredded bits on fire.

Now, picture doing that to the boyfriend you settled for because you wanted one SO BAD and couldn’t wait until the right guy just came along. You changed yourself and gave up your comfort, to make what you managed to find work for you. Not fair to you, not fair to him – especially since he’s the one that got set on fire.

This next one should go without saying, but it apparently doesn’t, so I’m going to say it: If you sleep with him the day you meet him, he’s probably never going to be your boyfriend. Sure, it happens sometimes. Happened to me once, and it lasted quite awhile. Quite a long, miserable, while. A long, miserable, holy-shit-I-hate-him-and-I-wish-he’d-fall-off-a-cliff while. As best as I can figure, here’s the thought process: “Um, like, if I sleep with him RIGHT NOW, he will, like, totally think I’m the COOLEST chick ever and he will TOTALLY want to love me forever and marry me and have babies with me and we will live happily every after on a unicorn farm.”

Nope. If you sleep with him RIGHT NOW, he’s going to think: “Yay. I got laid.”

Here’s a fun game I’ve seen some women play: It’s called “I’m Going to Say I Just Want No-Strings-Attached Sex, But I Really Want Him To Love Me, And I’m Sure He’ll Do Just That After I Sleep With Him For A Few Weeks.”

Nope again. That game ends with him telling you to go away, and you crying into the purple fur of your most-favourite Care Bear every night for three weeks. Also, it screws up things for women who actually DO want no-strings-attached sex, because men stop believing it when women say that. So quit it.

Finally, you need to stop being anyone other than exactly who you are. Pretending to like something or be something because you think it will makes guys think you are awesome is stupid. Ask yourself this: Do you really like UFC? REALLY? My friend Kristi does. You can tell, because when she has conversations about it, she actually knows what she’s talking about. I’ve heard other women talk about it, and…….not so much with the knowing-what-the-fuck-they’re-saying. Guys do not care if you like UFC/hockey/wrasslin’/NASCAR/chugging beer/farting contests. That’s what their guy-friends are for. It’s completely OK if you like those things, but it’s OK if you don’t. And eventually, they will figure out you’re pretending, then it’s back to crying into your Care Bear.

Do you really, really want to pretend to like something you hate or be someone you’re not for the entire length of your relationship? Because you’re options are: a) eventually crack, admit to who you are, and basically show him you’ve committed Relationship Fraud, giving him every right to ditch your ass, or b) pretend to be someone you’re not for the rest of your life. Both of these options can be avoided by just being yourself, you stupid fucking idiot.

Here endeth the lesson.

Monday, June 1, 2009

Useless Waste of Soundwaves, Part 3

This song redefines 'suck.'

Sometimes When We Touch - Dan Hill

You ask me if I love you (nope)
And I choke on my reply (I got something for ya to choke on)
I'd rather hurt you honestly
Than mislead you with a lie (wimp)
And who am I to judge you
On what you say or do?
I'm only just beginning to see the real you

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die (that’s fucking creepy)
Til we both break down and cry (if a chick cries when you hold her, that’s called RAPE)
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

Romance and all its strategy
Leaves me battling with my pride
But through the insecurity
Some tenderness survives (lame)
I'm just another writer
Still trapped within my truth
A hesitant prize fighter
Still trapped within my youth (continuing lameness)

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much
And I have to close my eyes and hide
I wanna hold you til I die (seriously – think of the fucking TRAUMA that would cause to the person you’re holding)
Til we both break down and cry
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides

At times I'd like to break you (wife-beater)
And drive you to your knees (that sounds dirty)
At times I'd like to break through
And hold you endlessly (So, you want to pound her, and then…………..pound her?)
At times I understand you
And I know how hard you've tried
I've watched while love commands you
And I've watched love pass you by (Oh my FUCK this is lame)

At times I think we're drifters
Still searching for a friend
A brother or a sister (INCEST)
But then the passion flares again

And sometimes when we touch
The honesty's too much (That doesn’t even MEAN anything, you jackass!)
And I have to close my eyes and hide (Closing your eyes does not make you HIDE, retard. Just because you can’t see someone, doesn’t mean it can’t see you.)
I wanna hold you til I die (please fucking do, if it means you will never sing this song again)
Til we both break down and cry (I already am)
I wanna hold you till the fear in me subsides (Fuck off. This song is shit.)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Avril Lavigne is a Jackass.

Song #2 in my list of Shit Music that Rapes My Ears

I enjoy listening to Avril Lavigne about as much as I would enjoy listening to the sounds my dog would make if she were being skinned alive. That said, I do not know and do not care if she’s ever actually written any word of any sentence of any song she’s every ‘performed.’ But the shit comes out of her mouth, so she’s the one I’m taking it out on. I’ve also only added selected excerpts (they are listed in order as they appear in the song) because it’s a very long piece of shit, and I don’t want to over power my computer with it’s stench.


Uh huh, life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh, that's the way it is
Cause life's like this
Uh huh, uh huh that's the way it is

***That’s deep. Thanks, retard.

Chill out whatcha yelling' for?

***Cuz I hate you.

You come over unannounceddressed up like you're somethin' else

***”Dressed up like you’re somethin’ else,” Avril? Like perhaps a cool punk-rock-but-not-too-offensively-punk-rock chick, instead of a skank-whore from Napanee?

Trying to be cool you look like a fool to me

***I really like those commercials you’re in for digital cameras these days. They in no way make you look like a moron.

Chill out whatcha yelling for?

***Again, because I hate you. Already told you that.

Lay back, it's all been done before

***Too easy.

"Cecilia" is a Stupid Song

The first in my ongoing series of Songs That Are Stupid and Why.

I hate this song. Not only does it get stuck in my frigging head for a week any time I hear even one NANO SECOND of it, but it might be one of the most glaring examples of pathetic loserness that has ever been written.

Cecilia, you're breaking my heart
You're shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees
I'm begging you please to come home

Cecilia, you're breaking my heart
You're shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees
I'm begging you please to come home
Come on home

***Up to this point, there's nothing really odd about this song, except how fucking annoying it is. Shit starts to go wrong

Making love in the afternoon with CeciliaUp in my bedroom (making love)

***Nothing wrong there.

I got up to wash my face

***What exactly is this guy doing during sex that requires him to wash his damn face? If you're face gets dirty, you're doing it WRONG.

When I come back to bed
Someone's taken my place

***Cecilia's a whore, dude. Also, unless you take a very, very long time to wash your face, this other guy was in your room the whole time, and he was probably naked. Watching you boink.

Cecilia, you're breaking my heart
You're shaking my confidence daily
Oh, Cecilia, I'm down on my knees
I'm begging you please to come home
Come on home

***Now this particular clump of dialogue, which was not-weird at the beginning, becomes much more weirderer. You are begging this bitch to come back? Dude -- WHORE.

Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I am laughing,
Jubilation, she loves me again,
I fall on the floor and I am happy.

***Jubilation because a whore has taken YOU back after SHE banged some guy mere seconds after you left the room to wash your face in the middle of sex? You're an asshole. Also, you probably didn't fall on the floor because of laughter. Cecilia probably gave you syphilis, and you've fainted. Go to a doctor.

Monday, March 2, 2009

Anger is Bad. I Guess.

I've been told I have "anger issues." I think I have people-who-should-shut-up-and-mind-their-own-damn-business issues, but I guess they have a point. Sometimes. The following is a write-up of some of the things that make me angry, why those things shouldn't make me angry, and what I should do instead of being angry.

Makes me angry: My dog barking
Why it shouldn't: She's a dog. It's how she talks.
What I should do instead of getting angry: Get her her own apartment.

Makes me angry: Bad drivers.
Why it shouldn't: No matter how loud I swear at them, they can't hear me from their car.
What I should do instead of getting angry: Call the police. Give them the bad driver's licence number. Say they were driving erratically through a school zone, flinging baggies of marijuana onto the playground and firing guns.

Makes me angry: Winter.
Why it shouldn't: It's Canada. Winter is a fact of life. But so is beer.............
What I should do instead of getting angry: Get drunk November 1st. Stay that way until April.

Makes me angry: Nickelback.
Why it shouldn't: It has been scientifically-proven that being angry at Nickelback won't make Nickelback go away.
What I should do instead of getting angry at Nickelback: Go to Scientist School. Become a scientist. Invent and construct a machine that will beam Nickelback to Jupiter. Beam Nickelback to Jupiter.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

My Friend Got a Parking Ticket For No Good Fucking Reason

Job Application - Parking Meter Fuckhead

Thank you for taking the time to fill out this application to become a Parking Meter Fuckhead. We will go over your application and get back to you within 3 business days.

1. Please select the phrase that best describes you:

a) Decent Human Being
b) Incomparable Asshole
c) Shit-for-Brains
d) Giant Douche

2. How would you deal with a confrontation between yourself, and someone who is obviously right?
a) Accept that the other person is right and apologize
b) Throw a fit like a whiny little bitch
c) Tell the obviously in-the-right party that you've "already started the ticket"

3. You believe people should get parking tickets when:
a) They are parked in a no-parking zone, or the meter has run out
b) You feel like it, whether they are illegally parked or not, because you are an asshole

4. Your career goals to this point have been:
a) To do well at a job that you enjoy
b) To be a police officer, but you failed the test because you're a fucking idiot
c) To be a mall security guard because you failed the police test because you're a fucking idiot, but you failed the mall security guard test too, because you're a fucking idiot, and now you're just trying to get ahold of any power you can, regardless of how insignificant you are.

If you answered "a" to any of the above questions, please do not bother handing in this application. You are obviously a decent, mentally-functioning human being, and this job is not right for you.

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Movies I Haven't Bothered to See, Because I Know I Will Hate Them

There are some rather popular movies that I have not seen, because I know I will hate them. Everyone tells me how good they are. I don't care. They either look stupid, sound stupid, or are based on something I think is stupid. I'm not saying they are stupid, I'm saying I think they're stupid. You are free to have your own opinion. Who am I to judge you for enjoying crap?

1. Spiderman, and all the little Spiderman sequels that came after it. Some might theorize that my hatred for Spiderman has something to do with my crippling fear of spiders. The same crippling fear that makes me squeal like a piggy and do that ridiculous fear-dance that is so frantic that my feet don't touch the ground for a good ten seconds. That's not why I hate Spiderman. I hate Spiderman for one very simple reason: My first exposure to Spiderman was that shitty Spiderman cartoon. The one with the reusable skylines that Spiderman just kept swinging through on his stupid Spiderman web, over and over and over and over and over. Did he not notice he was swinging by the same effing building EIGHT DAMN TIMES????? But that's not why I hate him. I hate him because in that stupid cartoon, the stupid 'spider' on his stupid Spiderman pyjamas often ONLY HAD SIX LEGS. That's not a spider. That's a tick. He's Tickman. And that is why I refuse to watch any of the Spiderman movies.

2. Titanic. Boat full of rich people sinks. Boo-fucking-hoo.

3. The Lord of the Rings. It is often said you can't judge a book by its cover. I agree. You can, however, judge a book by the stupid shit written in it. That's how I feel about The Lord of the Rings. I HATED those books. I tried to read them, I really did. I. Hated. Them. The very thought of perhaps accidentally watching a movie based on even five words out of one of those books makes me want to drown kittens.

4. Star Wars. I just can't make myself care about Star Wars. I think light sabers or whatever they're called look lame. Yoda looks like this cross-eyed inbred cat we had on the farm when I was a kid. I know a lot of you are cursing my name right now, but nothing about Star Wars appeals to me. Actually, this entry is a bit of a lie. I have seen one of the Star Wars movies. It was the one with Jar Jar Binks. I thought he was funny. I told a friend of mine that I thought he was funny. That statement was enough to convince my friend to stop trying to convince me to watch the other Star Wars movies. Apparently, liking Jar Jar Binks is the Star Wars equivalent of being retarded.

5. Harry Potter. It's about a boy who is a witch. A boy-witch. Will he grow up to be a manwitch? He plays games that are called stupid things like "Quidsplitch" or whatever. He likes a girl and he has a friend who has red hair. There are some wizards, and some of them probably die. They all go to witch-school together. He either kisses the girl, or his friend kisses the girl, or one, two or all of them die. Or none of them die, and some of them live happily ever after. Any of those things could happen. I don't particularly care.

6. Twilight. Here's how the vampires from this dreck are described on Wikipedia: "Twilight vampires have many distinct differences from other vampires that have been seen throughout history, such as not having fangs but instead strong piercing teeth, glittering in the sunlight rather than burning....." Vampires have fangs. Vampires that don't have fangs are just regular, everyday assholes that bite. Vampires do not 'glitter.' Vampires blow all to shit when the sun hits them. The way I understand it, the 'vampires' in Twilight drink animal blood, and never have to drink human blood unless they decide to. Of course, once they decide to drink human blood, nothing is ever the same, and they will always crave it. The woman who wrote this word-vomit has tried to turn vampirism into a cautionary sex tale for tweens

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

7 Things I Seriously Consider Doing Every Time it is This Effing Cold

1. Setting everything around me on fire.

2. Killing people.

3. Blasting that insane bitch on The Weather Network with liquid notrogen and smashing her frozen body to pieces with a sledgehammer every time she SMILES while talking about how effing cold it is I hate her so much I wish she would fall into a shark's mouth and the shark would eat her and poop her out into the coldest part of the ocean and then she would be absorbed in poop-form into the water and a sea monster would drink the water and then whizz her out and she would never be heard from again.

4. Moving.

5. Injecting myself with bear DNA so I can hibernate.

6. Screaming until my head explodes, showering me with my own warm brains.

7. Killing people who are bigger than me and living inside their carcass until it cools off, then repeating that until summer or until they put me in prison.

Monday, January 12, 2009

11 Things I Saw at the AC/DC Concert, in No Particular Order

1. A train.

2. An inappropriately-shirtless guy, dancing inappropriately.

3. A slutty chick's right boob on the jumbo screen.

4. A slutty chick's left boob on the jumbo screen.

5. AC/DC.

6. My mom, who is still much, MUCH cooler than me. (She actually had to tell me to stand up when the band came out, because I am lame and tend to sit down during entire rock concerts.)

7. Enough flashing devil-horn head bands to set off a seizure in every epileptic on the planet.

8. A 35-dollar hat, which I proceeded to buy because apparently I just poop out money now.

9. A giant, inflated, heavily-boobed plastic woman named Rosie.

10. Cannons.

11. My life flashing before my eyes as we tried to leave through a crowd of drunken fools stumbling like extras in a George Romero zombie movie who'd been dosed with qualuudes.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Some People Should be Beaten With Their Own Phone

I love what I do for a living. I would prefer to be repulsively wealthy, but until then, I love what I do for a living.

Except when I answer the phone.

The best way to describe many of the people who call radio station newsrooms is this: When it comes to the human body, the asshole makes more noise than the brain. These callers are no different. The ones who have valid points or normal questions speak normally, speak politely, and don't yell. The assholes make way more noise.

Of the four companies I've worked for, only one would let me tell these people off. The rest generally frown on suggesting a listener stick their own head up their ass, then crap it out onto a hot rock. When I'm unfortunate enough to answer one of these calls, I have to bite my tongue, try to be helpful, and not bang my fist on the desk hard enough for the person on the phone to hear it.

The following are real calls I have answered. I've paraphrased, of course, but will try to do them justice. Along with the description of the call, I will describe how I responded...........and how I wanted to respond.

1. Two weeks after the transit strike started, a woman called to tell me there was a transit strike going on. She asked me how long it was going to last, and how she was supposed to get her kids to school and herself to work. I thanked her for letting us know about the strike, told her we had no way of knowing how long it would last, and apologized for the hard time she was having getting around the city. What I wanted to say was "Fuck off. I hate you. I know there's a strike. I've known since the day it started -- two weeks ago. I pity your children for having such a stupid mother. Go eat some knives."

2. During the blackout a few years ago, a woman called the newsroom. She asked me what she should do about the meat in her freezer. I told her to keep the freezer shut, and it would hold in the cold longer -- thus keeping her meat fresher a little longer. (I don't really know if that's true. I was annoyed, and had to make something up fast before my eyeballs exploded. It sounded reasonably scientific.) What I wanted to say was "Eat it. It all the meat now, before it goes bad. Don't waste valuable time cooking it. Eat it all, eat it raw, get e-coli, and die."

3. Someone called once, looking for the phone number of a specific local business. I opened the phone book, found it, and passed it along. What I wanted to say was "Hey, asshole -- you had to look up the number to call why exactly couldn't you look up the number to call them???" I hope that person has a tapeworm now.

4. "My hydro is out, but my neighbours have power." Me in Real Life: "I will call the hydro company and find out what's going on." Angry Me Holed Up Inside My Head: "Did you pay your bill, asshole?"

5. This one I feel a tiny bit bad about. An old lady called to find out about a group that was collecting books for kids displaced by a hurricane. At least, I think that's what she was asking about. Hard to tell, what with the slurring. After telling her I hadn't heard of this group, she proceed to slur in my ear that she'd spent nine dollars on these books, and that she was blind. I covered the mouth piece of the phone, and quietly announced to the newsroom that someone else was going to have to take the call, because I was dangerously close to telling a kindly old lady to go fuck herself. What I really wanted to do was tell a kindly old lady to go fuck herself.

6. Roughly 7,000 people have called in the last 5 years, asking about a news story that was actually a commercial. I always explain that a sale at Bob Knob's Toyota is not a news story, and that if they have any questions, they should call Bob Knob's Toyota. What I would rather do is scream directly into the phone until my throat explodes and showers my desk with blood -- shorting out my computer and electrocuting me to death so I don't have to answer the phone anymore.

7. My favourite call came when I worked at the job before the job I work at now. A man called to explain to me just exactly how much of a dirty whore bitch I was. He made some valid points, but overall, I felt he was overreacting. Lucky for me, this was one of the newsrooms that didn't suggest I be kind (or at least non-confrontational.) I held the phone away from my ear, flipped a switch, and blasted that fucker with a screeching tone that would make your balls climb right into your chest.

Best. Call. EVER.