Thursday, December 30, 2010


1.  Hi!  This is Facebook!  Your friend Blorp has tagged you in the "The Things You Should Know About Me (But This is Not Just Me Being Self-Indulgent) Questionnaire!  Do you want to do it?  No.

2.  But Blorp really wants to know about you.  Don't you want your friend to know really important things about you, like the last time you were kissed and what your favourite ice cream is?  Again, No.

3.  Bitch.  That's not a question.

4.  OK.  WHY are you such a bitch?  Because this is stupid and I don't wanna do it.

5.  Please?  For Blorp?  He took the time to tag you :(  FINE.  I will do it.  Jesus Christ.

6.  Did you read Blorp's answers yet?  No.

7.  You should.  I mean, it will help you better know your friend.  Don't you want that?  Look, I barely know the guy.  I went to high school with him or something.  I just accepted his friend request because it seemed rude not to.

8.  Oh -- and it's NOT rude to ignore something he thought was important enough to share with you?  FINE, GOD DAMMIT.  I WILL READ HIS STUPID ANSWERS.

9.  Are you done?  Did you learn all about Blorp?  Yep.  Sure did.  Now that I know what colour the death of his first pet felt like, I totally understand him.  Wow.  He's deep.

10.  Cool!  Ready to start your answers?  Sure.  Whatever.

11.  What flower do you think of when you think of the person who tagged you in this questionnaire?  The kind of flower that I allegedly sat beside in math class and haven't seen in 15 years.

12.  Have you ever REALLY loved someone?  Yes, until the drugs wore off and he woke up and started crying.

13.  What feat are you most proud of?  Not setting my computer on fire.  Yet.

14.  If you were an animal, what kind of animal would you be?  Whatever animal Blorp might be allergic to.

15.  If you could say one nice thing about the person who tagged you, what would it be?

16.  I said: If you could say one nice thing about the person who tagged you, what would it be?  I know what you said.  You said "IF you could say one nice thing..."  I can't.  So I didn't.

17.  Wow.  You are so not taking this seriously, are you?  I'm really not.

18.  Huh.  Guess you don't care about Blorp, then?  I really don't.

19.  Fine.  We'll skip to the last few questions.  Think you can act like a grown-up for a few more minutes and try to connect with your friend on a higher level?  Sure.  This could be fun.

20.  What's your favourite flavour of ice cream?  Hmmmm......I like lots of flavours, but I only eat ice cream recently purged by bulimics.  It's delicious.  Soft soft serve.

21.  Quit being such an asshole.  What are the first three things you see when you look around you as you type this?  A jar of peanut butter, a dog, and Blorp's naked mom.

22.  Not cool, dude.  Blorp's mom has a borderline peanut allergy. Last question - and please try to take it seriously:  What's the first thing you're going to do after you complete this questionaire?  (Hint: saying you're going to send a message to Blorp to catch up and see how he's been doing all these years and maybe invite him to meet up for coffee would be a pretty great answer!)  I'm going to block the fucker, report him for porn, then videotape whatever his mom is about to do with that dog and put it on Youtube.

23.  Thanks for taking the time to fill this out and read your friend's answers!  Now you'll get all those obscure references in the note he leaves behind!


Monday, December 13, 2010

(What I Can Only Assume Are) Actual Thoughts Had By People I Have Been Exposed to Recently

"My current employer?  The drivers of cars waiting at the red light at the St. Laurent off ramp." ~ Guy who stared in my car window for a full minute while holding a cardboard sign requesting money.

"Fuck it -- I'll just kill people with my car." ~ Everyone driving through the St. Laurent Centre parking lot Saturday.

"Fuck it -- I'll just get killed by a car." ~ Everyone walking through the St. Laurent Centre parking lot Saturday.

"This is probably where used Kleenexes go." ~ Some guy at the convenience store where I stopped to buy milk today, as he tucked a snot-rag among the chocolate bar display.

"It is a scientific fact that bathroom stalls block out the sounds that farts make." ~ Woman in the same bathroom as me.

"I'm not creepy."  ~ Guy at La Senza.  Looking at bras.  Alone.

"I'm not a douchebag." ~ Douchebag walking down the street yapping loudly and with great self-importance into his Bluetooth.

"I'm super-coordinated and don't look ridiculous." ~ Chick balancing tray holding five cups from Starbucks while talking on her cell phone.


Monday, November 1, 2010

Can I Fix You a Shit Sandwich?

I have this thing where my brain frequently thinks thoughts that are stupid.  I think it's called "being alive."  

My most-stupid frequently-thought thought is "(blank) should not happen/I should not be expected to (blank)/(blank) is not fair, because I'm still a frigging KID."  Except I am NOT a frigging kid.  I'm 31 years old.  I'm not sure why my brain is stuck in perma-young person mode, but it is.  Maybe I'm mentally deficient.  I'm probably mentally deficient.

After having the "I'm just a kid" thought today (because someone was mean to me or I imagined someone was being mean to me, and why would they do that?  Don't they know I'm just a kid?) I gave my brain a swift, metaphorical (obviously) kick in the head, then sat quietly and pondered stuff for a while.  All that pondering has led me to the conclusion that I need to grow the fuck up and start acting like a grown-the-fuck-up person.

Sure is a good thing Maury Povich exists.

So now begins the tedious task of training my brain to think like the brain of a 31-year-old woman, and not the brain of a wimpy little teenager afraid of loud noises and her own shadow and what people are thinking and also squirrels.  What better way to do that than by using goofy photos, lots of cursing and self-deprecating, often rambling humour?  Actually, there are probably a million better ways to do it, but this is the one I'm going with, so go fuck yourself if you don't like it.  

And with that, I present to you: Shit I Know Now That I'm in My 30's (a.k.a. Grow Up and Deal With it, You Turd) feat. T-Pain.

Because everything's more awesome when it feat.'s T-Pain.

1.  'Cheerios' aren't a supper food.  In the same vein, 'Absolutely Nothing' isn't a breakfast food.  And it is not acceptable to have three cookies and a pen lid for lunch.

2.  People can see the dirt you've swept into a corner and hidden by leaving the broom there.

3.  Comfortable shoes are better than awesome shoes.  It doesn't matter, and I will still continue to wear awesome shoes instead of comfortable ones, but at least I know I'm an idiot for doing it.

4.  You shouldn't lie to people who trust you.  Even little tiny lies that you think you're telling for the right reasons. Even lies you think you are telling to protect yourself or someone else.  That's not to say I think you should run around confessing your dirtiest little secrets (I'd be fucked with a harpoon to the moon and back if I did that) but if someone who trusts you asks you a question, you should answer it, and you should answer it with the truth.

5.  Underwear goes under your clothes.  Always.

6.  If a pillow isn't comfortable enough to lay your head on, you don't need it.

7.  Sometimes, people have other stuff to do.  Don't be sad if that stuff keeps them from being around.  It's OK.  They still like you.

8.  Sometimes, YOU have other stuff to do.  Don't put your life on hold every single time someone needs something.  It's OK.  You still like them.

9.   Porn isn't a bad thing.

10.  But tequila is.

11.  There's a fairly good chance 95% of the people you talk to each day don't give a shit about what you're saying.  And be honest -- you don't care about most of what they have to say, either.

12.  Posters of musicians stop being acceptable bedroom decor the second you move out of your parents' house. Which is why I took down my Who and Rolling Stones posters.  (About a month ago.)

13.  Furry cheese is still good.  Just peel the fur off.

14.  Some people aren't people you need to be friends with.  You might not like them.  They might not like you.  Or you might like them, but being friends with them does not make you happy most of the time.  Stop hanging out with those people, even if it makes you sad for a little while.

15.  Ice cube trays don't fill themselves.  Which is why I buy ice by the bag at the convenience store.

16.  Sometimes, you will do bad stuff.  Sometimes, when you do that bad stuff, you won't feel bad about it.  Did anyone die?  No?  Then don't worry about it.

17.  Buying celery is pointless if you don't eat it.

18.  Crying about something probably won't fix it.

19.  If you briefly forget you're a grown-up and you do something shitty to someone, say you're sorry.  And forgive yourself.  You didn't mean it.

20.  Most of the people around you don't always remember they're grown-ups, either.  If they do something shitty to you, forgive them.  They're sorry.  They didn't mean it.

So that's the list.  I don't really think it's my strongest work, but I like it anyway.  If you like it, feel free to print it off and make it into a needlepoint picture and frame it and hang it in your bathroom.  If you don't like it, feel free to eat a shit sandwich.

Well of COURSE I was going to find a picture of a shit sandwich.  Duh.


Wednesday, October 13, 2010

This One Isn't Funny

First, I'd like you to watch this.  It's a little over 12 minutes long, and I will understand if you don't want to watch it -- but I think you should.  Especially if you have kids, because I want you to see that while it does "get better" (as all the celebrities are rightly saying in the anti-bullying videos making the rounds these days) it never ever really goes away.

I'm willing to bet every single one of you reading this has been teased or picked on in your life, for silly things or serious things or things you don't understand.  For many people, it's nothing.  It's one jerk saying something mean to you, or a friend who takes a joke too far, and sometimes it hurts like hell.  Then you forget about it and move on and it never comes up again.  But think of one of those times right now, and try to remember how bad you felt in the moment it happened.  Now, try to think of how much of that you would be able to take before you jumped off a bridge or hanged yourself in your bedroom or shot yourself in the head.  Because that's what has been happening.  Kids are being terrorized and kids are killing themselves.

I was bullied when I was a kid.  From kindergarten until the day I graduated high school, I was teased and tortured almost every single school day.  It felt awful and it felt like it would never end, but it did.  I finished high school a year earlier than I had to and I left and I will be perfectly happy if I never see any of the pathetic pieces of shit that bullied me ever again.  But as bad as it was for me, I never wanted to die because of it.  That's why it's like a punch in the heart every time I see a story in the news about a bullied kid committing suicide -- because I know how much it hurt when I was bullied, yet I can't even begin to comprehend how much it has to hurt before a person takes their own life.

It's pretty common, I think, for adults to tell kids to be tough or suck it up when someone teases them.  Sometimes it's what you have to do, to help a kid grow up strong and able to stand up for him or herself.  But for fucksake, do NOT ignore your son or daughter if they say they're being bullied or you think they're being bullied -- because while it does get better ( I know this because it got better for me) the effects of being bullied never completely go away (I also know this because it also happened to me.)  You'll see that if you watch the video I linked to at the beginning of this post.  You'll see a man who has grown up to be very successful in his life and his work after a childhood of being terrorized.....but you'll also see a man who is obviously still hurting from everything that happened to him and everything that was said to him all those years ago.  

There are people who argue being bullied makes a child a stronger adult.  I agree with that, but it pisses me right the fuck off anyway.  Yes, maybe I'm tougher now because I had to be when I was a kid -- but I was forced into it.  I'd rather be able to say that I'm tough because I chose to be, not because I had to be because the alternative was to fall apart.  I hope if you're a parent, that's what you want for your kids, too.

So we can confirm (based on my scientific analysis of me) that being bullied can lead to tougher adults.  I guess in the grander scheme of things, that's not a bad thing.  But do you know what is a bad thing?  Wondering if people actually like you, or if they're just putting up with you until you go away.  Not being able to fully believe that a friend's light-hearted, good-natured teasing isn't really cruelty in disguise.  Thinking that you're alone at night not because you just happen to be alone, but because there's no one who can stand being around you.  Being afraid sometimes that everything bad everyone ever said to you might be true.

I'm never telling anyone the things people said or did to me when I was a kid.  I've tried to before, and it hurts like hell just to almost say those things aloud.  But I will tell you that I sometimes feel all of those things I mentioned above.  I graduated high school when I was 18.  I'm 31 as I write this.  It's been 13 years since I was bullied (don't bother pointing it out if that number is wrong -- I am well aware I blow at math) and it still affects me.  I think it always will.

I'm not writing this for sympathy.  I'm not writing this because I actually want to talk to people in great detail about it, despite my protests that I don't.  Ask almost any adult you know who was bullied as a kid to describe the things they were bullied about, and I wish you luck getting them to answer you.  We losers and nerds and punching bags don't particularly want to re-live the specifics of our loser-ness and nerd-ness and punching bag-ness.

So, no -- I'm not writing this for attention.  I'm writing this and I'm telling you that it still affects me because I want you to be able to help your kids so that it won't be affecting them when they are 31.  It's hard to stop it if you don't know it's happening ( I didn't exactly come home from school and tell my parents that everyone thought I was a loser) but the way things are now, I think parents need to pay better attention.  Kids are killing themselves.  I can't believe that there aren't signs well in advance that something is going wrong.  

I don't have kids.  I don't know the answer.  I don't know how to let your children know it's OK and it's not weak to come to you for help, but you have to find a way to do just that.  Please please PLEASE don't let your children grow up to be like me.  Don't get me wrong -- I think I'm pretty awesome.  I have a kick-ass job and very awesome friends.  I'm smart and I'm funny and I'm cute and I'm nice.  I don't punch babies or kick dogs.  I've never killed a hobo and left his carcass on train tracks.  I will probably never be described by my neighbours as someone who "seemed so normal until they found all those bodies in her basement."  But I'm also very insecure a lot of the time.  I can be paranoid, and I often wonder if people actually like me.  And a lot of the time, I wonder why they do.  I cry sometimes when I (mistakenly) think people are being mean to me, and I cry sometimes when people are being nice, because deep down, I don't think I'm always sure I deserve it.  And the entire time I'm feeling any of those things, I know I'm being a dumbass -- but I truly can't help it.  You don't want that for your kids.  You don't want your kids to grow up and wonder even one-percent of the time whether they actually deserve to be happy.  

As much as it sucked when I was a kid, and as much as it affects me now, at least I'm still here.  I wish I could say that for Tyler Clementi.  And Ryan Halligan.  And Megan Meier.  Phoebe Prince.  Jared High.  April Himes.  And who knows how many more.  

To my friends who have kids and my friends who will: Please don't let them to grow up to be insecure.  Please don't let them grow up questioning whether they are worthy of their friends.  Please don't let them grow up to be someone who cries when someone says something nice to them because sometimes they just can't fathom another person seeing anything good in them.  And please make sure I never have to read their name in a news story about a kid who just couldn't take it anymore.


Monday, October 11, 2010

Thanksgiving: An Important Day, and Also an Opportunity to Post Photos of Adult Movie Covers and Zombies

According to Wikipedia (which is pretty much Google with fewer pictures of naked asses when I search for 'butt load') Thanksgiving is "as annual Canadian holiday to give thanks at the close of the harvest season."

They just harvested your grandma.
I didn't harvest anything this year because I'm lazy, and because my neighbours would probably get pissed off if I started growing corn in the front yard.  Mostly because this is what I'd put up to keep the crows away:

Also effective against anyone who might want to come to my door to "talk to me for a minute."

I am, of course, thankful for my family*.

Fairly accurate, actually.

My immediate family is pretty small, but I have lots of aunts and uncles and cousins.  Almost everyone I'm related to is insane.  Some people have boring families -- I have the least boring family ever.  And somehow, all the genetics and traits of all my ancestors combined to make a whole bunch of really cool (insane) people.  I'm thankful that I'm one of them.

(*Thankfulness does not extend to all members of family.  Null and void for the stupid ones that I don't like.)

I am thankful for my friends.

I'm not implying all my friends are jackasses.  I'm flat-out saying it.  You are all jackasses.

And that's why I like them.  I'm a jackass, too, so I prefer to run with a herd of jackasses.  You guys are all the best jackasses ever.

I'm thankful for my job.

This is not my job, but it has some similarities: There are some dicks, they can be hard (to work with), but it often works out in the end. (Ha ha!  Get it?  The END!!  HA!)

Maybe this is shallow, but I'm thankful for the things I have. 

My car:

Looks just like this, but without some guy in it.  And not parked in front of a church (because of the whole bursting-into-flames thing)

My house:

Like this one, but shitty.

My DVDs:

Right now you're wondering if I'm kidding.  And also if you can borrow them if I'm not.

I'm thankful that I live in a country where I can write a blog featuring photos of pornographic movies.  Where I can call a politician a moron.  Where I can learn and work and live my life without being told that I can't.  Where I never stop before I walk outside and think "I hope I've covered up enough of my body to be allowed out in public."  Or "I hope the place where I work is still standing when I get to it."  Or "I hope I'm still around to come back home later today."  I'm thankful that I live in a place where people get angry when they hear a news story about someone being beaten or bullied for being different.  Where thousands of people will come together and walk along our city's streets to raise money for people who are hurting.  Where they will gather in public and hold signs and yell at the top of their lungs about something they care about, even if it's something I think is complete bullshit.  (And quite frankly, I usually think it's complete bullshit.)  But I'm thankful that there are so many people who care enough about something to tell the rest of us about it.  I'm also thankful for the middle fingers I have on both hands which I can show these people when I drive by them.

So thanks, Thanksgiving, for giving me an opportunity to write this.  It's nice to say thanks for everyone and everything I love having in my life.  You all make me a better person, and I'd hate this world if even one of you wasn't on it.

As of midnight tonight, Thanksgiving will be over.  Which means I can go back to being greedy and thankless, and you can all go screw yourself until next year.


Friday, October 8, 2010

Something About Rabbits and Dildos and Self-Realization and Pooping Red

Some days, I'm a dildo.

Today was definitely one of those days.  There are a few people who know that better than anyone, since they were the unfortunate victims of my dildo-ness -- including one poor guy who made a harmless damn joke, then found himself faced with this:

.....and then this:

.....and then this:

Yet he somehow managed not to do this:

Which he would have been totally justified in doing.

So that was Dildo Move Number One for me today.  Followed closely by several more dildo-esque reactions and overreactions and one instance of me telling a homeless guy to fuck off.  And then I couldn't find my car keys, so I swore within earshot of a child.  And then I found my car keys, but I couldn't find my stupid parking slip, so I swore again.  Still within earshot of the child.  And then I got stuck waiting behind an idiot at the pay-station at the parking lot who couldn't figure out where to put her fucking twoonie. 

(This is not the first image that comes up when you do a Google search for "stick it up your ass.")

And I thought "WHY THE SWEET CHOCOLATE FUCK DOES EVERYONE IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD FUCKING HATE ME TO-FUCKING-DAY?????"  So I got in my car and drove to my appointment, all the while hoping I would get an opportunity to kill a squirrel.  But for the first time in the HISTORY OF FUCKING MAN, there were no squirrels squirrelling about on the road.  Because even the squirrels hated me enough this morning to not let me kill them with my car.  Assholes.

Pissed and miserable and ready to crack in two, and not even able to satiate my rage by leaving a trail of squirrel carcasses along Bank Street.  Life sucked.

(I would like to take this opportunity to tell you all that I don't actually drive around trying to obliterate squirrels.  I've only ever run over three, and they were all accidents.  But I do hate squirrels very, very much.  They know why.)

So I went to my stupid appointment and did all the stupid things I needed to do and got some stupid Starbucks and craved a stupid cigarette and continued to try to figure out why everything and everyone hated my stupid guts.

My stupid, delicious guts.

Then, while driving along (a little more aggressively than perhaps I should have been) I had an epiphany.  "Holy fucking shit!" I said.


"Holy fucking shit!" I said.  "I'm not the center of the fucking universe!"

"Wait -- when did I start thinking I was the center of the fucking universe?"

"And why the hell am I talking to myself?  Out loud?  In my car?"

"Right -- I'm in my car.  I should probably be paying attention to the ro-"


(That last one came when I made a left turn into on-coming traffic at an intersection.  Lucky for me, the guy driving toward me had obviously been taking really good care of his brakes.  He and I have never and likely will never meet, but I'm pretty sure he knows enough about me to know he'd like to punch me in my face.)

I immediately pulled into a gas station parking lot, shut off my car, gripped the steering wheel, and made this face for a while:

Eventually, my eyeballs went back into my head. I started my car, unlocked my knuckles and drove away.  Much less aggressively (with no desire to murder any squirrels) and with a newly-clear mind.

At some point -- unconsciously and without any malice -- I decided I was the center of the universe.  Not the "PAY ATTENTION TO ME WHY AREN'T YOU LOOKING AT ME STOP IGNORING ME" center of the universe.  More of a "Why would you do/say/think that about me and why doesn't anyone realize I'm here and how come people don't understand that I'm just as important as they are" center of the universe.  Which I suppose we all feel, to some extent.  Any given person is technically the center of their own universe.  But I lost sight of that.  Something somewhere in my brain forgot that while it's totally fine for me to be the center of MY universe, it WASN'T totally fine for me to expect me to be the center of anyone else's, even if I wasn't aware I was expecting it.  Nothing in those last few sentences makes and sense, but I think you know what I mean.

I felt this post was getting too serious and thought it would be funny to put this here. 
There's a poet named Heather Darling-Cortes who wrote a poem (obviously) with this line: "To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world."  You would think the important part of that would be the second half, and maybe you're right.  (You're not.  You're wrong.)  It's the FIRST half that's important.  "To the world you may be one person."  Yes.  That's exactly what you are.  That's what I am.  That's what we all are.  We are all just one damn person, and we're never going to be nearly as important to anyone else as we are to ourselves.  And that is okie fucking dokie.

There is nothing on the Internet that says 'okie fucking dokie.'  But there is this, and it has 'jackers' in it, and that is funny.
It's fine that we're all just one person to the world.  What the hell else are we supposed to be?  Even if you find your true love and spawn many younglings and have a bazillion-zillion friends, you will NOT be as important to any of them as you are to yourself -- or vice versa.  Doesn't mean they don't care about you or you don't care about them.  Doesn't make you or them selfish.  Doesn't not mean nuthin'.  (Triple Negative.  Remember math?  Remember how two negatives make a postive, then if you add a negative to that positive you get a negative again?  Exactly the same, but with words.  Try not to think about it too hard, because I made it up anyway.  Math makes my brain explode.)

Needed exploding-brain picture.  This one seemed good.

This post is getting really fucking long, and I think I've kind of made my point.  Or not.  Pretty much I realized that no one does or SHOULD care about any given person more than that given person does.  If you know someone who cares about you more than YOU care about you, then you're a dummy.

Not this kind of dummy, you dummy.

OR this kind.  Quit being an asshole.

THIS kind of dummy.  The really dumb kind.
And don't be all "Waaaaah!  She called me a dummy!"  I just mean that if you don't care about yourself more than anyone in the world, then you're ignoring the attention of the most important person you'll ever know.  And that would make you a fucking idiot, now wouldn't it?

Thanks for stopping by, folks.  Let's wrap this all up with a picture of food someone made to look like a circle jerk.  

For some reason, THIS is the first image that comes up if you search for 'circle jerk.'  Probably best if you don't think about why I was searching for that.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Dear The Comedian (Like Dear Abby, But Without That Annoying Uppity Bitch Abby)

Dear The Comedian:

I have a job working as a telemarketer for a very annoying and pointless company that seems to think calling people at 6:30 on a Sunday evening will make them want to buy the product and/or service it provides.  Judging by the responses I get from 99.999999999999999% of the people I call, they do not wish to ever for any reason in the history of time buy said product and/or service.  And many of them would also like me to go fuck myself.  I understand that they might have things to do at 6:30 on a Sunday evening such as "spending time with my children" or "reading a book" or "masturbating furiously while thinking of your mother, you annoying telemarketing piece of shit," but I have to make a living somehow and this is the only way I can do that, since I'm a big giant asshole who either didn't bother finishing school or perhaps went to university for something retarded and now can't find a job in that field, because the only job on Earth available in that line of work is being the person who teaches the course at the university I went to, and that person hasn't died yet so I can't have their job.  What can I do to make potential customers buy the shit I'm trying to sell?

Just Wants to Talk About the Sale We Have on Right Now

Dear Just Wants to Talk:

Kill yourself.

The Comedian

Dear The Comedian:

I am a douchebag who stands near the bus stop outside the mall, trying to pick up women.  I use great lines such as "Hay bayby" and "Due yoo wanna tuch it?"  I am so obviously stupid that when I speak, people can hear the spelling mistakes I would make if I were writing the words down instead of saying them aloud.  Once -- it was a Friday, I think -- I had a shower.  I even almost used soap.  No matter how hard I try or how many times I grab my junk through my grey track pants and shake it in the direction of a pretty girl, I never get any action beyond stuffing my dick into the vacuum when I get home.  It's a good thing I've never used the vacuum to actually clean my floors, or I might get some sort of STD.  I know you can't get STDs from plain old floor-dirt, but sometimes my roommate Ted whacks off and leaves his spew on the floor, and if I vacuumed up his spew and then got it on my dick while it was stuffed in the vacuum, I might get the herpes Ted has. Can you tell me what I need to do to finally meet a girl who will let me stick it in her?

Dirty Douchebag with Brown Stuff in His Teeth and Half a Boner At All Times

Dear Dirty Doucebag:

Kill yourself.

The Comedian

Dear The Comedian:

I live in a townhouse complex surrounded by normal people, but I am a giant ass-zit who plays really loud music of such compelling genres as "Death Metal" and "Cats in a Blender."  Sometimes I play it during the day and drive everyone nuts, and sometimes I play it at night and drive everyone nuts.  I don't understand why my neighbours all refer to me as "Dick Face" and "Shut Up You Piece of Shit" and "I Hope You Die in a Fire."  I have a bicycle that only looks like it's been hit by trucks seven or eight times max, and I'm pretty much only 97% physically repulsive.  I suppose if you saw me from a distance and the sun was shining in your eyes and I was facing away from you, you might think I was OK-looking.  I'm not, though.  I have no redeeming qualities and I should probably move away and leave all these nice people alone.  My question for you is: would you like to come over tonight and listen to some death metal with my in my basement?  I am very lonely, since I am such a useless pile of balls.

Death Metal Rules and I am Very Cool Because I Like It

Dear Death Metal:

Kill yourself.

The Comedian

If you have a question for The Comedian, please send it (along with a self-addressed stamped box large enough to hold whatever dead animal I decide to mail back to you) to:

The Comedian Hates You
123 You Fucking Suck Avenue
I Hate Your Gutsville

Monday, September 27, 2010

I Do Not Know if These People are Good At or Bad At Dying.

I'm going to tell you right now NOT TO READ THIS if you have problems with the words "horse" "fuck" and "ass" being used in the same sentence more than just that one time.  I'm super-duper not kidding about this.  It's not often I get an opportunity to use the words "horse" "fuck" and "ass" in the same sentence, so I'm going full-bore with this.  Consider yourself warned.


The guy who owns the company that makes Segways died this past weekend by Segwaying his Segway off a cliff.

Nothing is funnier than that.  NOTHING.  Well, not today, anyway.  I'm sure some moron somewhere will top that epically ironical feat sometime really soon.  Until then, I'm going to laugh at that poor man's death pretty much consistently for the rest of today.  I truly hope that, as he was losing his battle with gravity, he had a moment to realize just how hard a good chunk of the world's population was going to laugh when they found out how he bit it.

After laughing at this poor man's death for a length of time that can only be described as "psychotic," I started to feel bad.  Not because he died.  Not because I laughed at it.  Because it is not even close to the most embarrassing death ever.  I don't know what the most embarrassing death ever is, but these three have got to be high on the "Fuck -- REALLY?  This is How I'm Going to Fucking Die?" List.

(And I'm serious about the "horse" "fuck" and "ass" thing.  Really, really serious.  If you don't want to read it, you'd better stop after these next two stories.)

Let us consider the case of wrestler Mal "King Kong" Kirk.  1987.  Shirley "Big Daddy" Crabtree (who the fuck thinks up these names?) does the "Belly Splash" onto Kirk.  The "Belly Splash" is exactly what you think it is, unless you think it is what I thought it was after watching an "art film" in the Internet this one time.  I guess sometimes a thing can be two things, as in the case of the "Belly Splash."

So, yeah -- Kirk gets smooshed, Kirk gets heart attack, Kirk gets dead.

"King Kong" Kirk died while wearing tight man-panties.  With another man in tight man-panties laying on top of him.  A man named Shirley.  Who had just done something to him called the "Belly Splash."

(One more story til the horse thing.  Really.  It's right after this one.  I'm probably not going to warn you again.  But just so you know, the horse wins in the story.  The horse.  Totally.  Wins.)

Michael Anderson was convicted of murder in 1983, and sentenced to death by electric chair in South Carolina.  Lucky for him, the people who decide not to execute people who are sentenced to be executed decided not to execute him.

Too bad he was a fucking moron. what Michael Anderson would hear people say, if he weren't dead from being a fucking moron.

While sitting in his cell, on a metal toilet, he tried to wire something up on his TV.  Cut to screaming spasms and the foul stench of fried ass hair.

(Ok.  Last warning.  It's the horse thing.  Again, the horse was fine.  Probably.  I mean, depending on how you look at it, the horse pretty much had nothing bad happen to him at all.  I think he might even have had a pretty awesome day, for a horse.  Plus, the bad guy is dead, so the horse came out on top, I think.  The previous sentence will be extra funny once you finish reading this next story.)

In 2005, a man named Kenneth Pinyan in Seattle, Washington, died after he LET A HORSE FUCK HIS ASS.

His ASS.


Because some horses like to give, and some horses like to take.

And then he died.  Because of how very, very much he deserved to.

So, see, Segway Guy -- your death isn't that bad.  No one flattened you while wearing underpants.  Your ass didn't catch fire.  And your death didn't even involve one single horse dong.  Go gentle into that good night, Segway Guy.  Go gentle into that ironic, retarded good night.


Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Random Schmandom

Jamie Lee Curtis' ability to poop does not impress me, Activia.  In fact, I pretty much can't eat yogurt anymore because of you.

Jim Carroll knew exactly what people would say about him after he died, died.

On some tampon boxes, it outlines how many grams worth of 'liquid' the different strengths of tampons can hold.  Because all women measure that.  On a related note, I just barfed 20 grams of barf. 

Humidexes (Humidices?  I don't fucking know) are stupid.  It is 30 degrees, but it feels like 40 degrees.  So, it's 40 degrees.  

No, guy at the checkout counter at Mac's -- I do not save 30 cents if I buy two chocolate bars instead of one.  

Whenever I call Telus Customer Disservice about problems with my BlackBerry, they tell me to pull the battery out and put it back in again.  I'm glad this isn't how we fix problems with all things that run on batteries, because lots of people with pacemakers would be dead.

What is Liza Minelli?

The members of The Who didn't need to hope they'd die before they got old.  They could have all just shot themselves.  Guess they didn't want it that bad, after all.


Tuesday, September 7, 2010

I Would Like For My Balls to Be Pink

Holy CRAP.

I have been trying for the last half hour to write something even remotely post-able.  It is all SHIT.  If it's not totally whiny and pathetic, then it's full-on crazy and terrifying.  "Boo hoo -- won't somebody fix me?  Waaaaaaaaaah."  "BLARGH ARGH BOOGLE -- I'M GONNA GO EAT BABIES!!!"

Lettuce helps in the digestive process.

So now I have four unpublishable half-posts and 30 wasted minutes that I could have spent doing something productive like wondering what the sweet fuck I'm supposed to be doing.  Because I don't have one goddamn bloody idea.  Sleeping?  Probably.  Making lunch?  Wouldn't be the worst idea ever.  (No baby-sammidges, I promise.  I'm totally out of babies.)  Deleting the posts I've written so far today so no one will ever see them and I won't end up locked in an out-of-the way hospital ward where hopefully someone will remember to come change my big-girl diaper every week or so?  YES.

I think mostly I just want, like, a hug or something.  Because I'm bored and annoyed and stuff didn't work out today the way I intended it to and I got aggravating news about shit that I can't do a frigging thing about and try as I might, I can't do anything even half-right this afternoon. I dunno.  I don't really like people touching me, but that's what I feel like I need today.  A hug.

From him.

Hugs are good.  I'm learning that.  And I'm learning that none of us get enough or give enough of them.  A little while ago, I had this big epiphany and I was going to hug at least one person a day and I made it my Facebook status (which is basically like enacting a law) and it was going to make me allllll better and I was going to always be happy and cheerful because YAY!  HUGS!!! and then I did it for, like, a week, and then I stopped.  Because it seemed creepy.  And also because I forgot.

Everyone makes such a big deal out of talking and expressing 'feelings' and blardy-blar-blar, but we kind of forget about how nice it is to just get a kind smile or a hand on our arm or a hug.

From this guy.

I don't know about you, but a lot of the time, words don't work.  Words just give me something to try to figure out, because heaven forbid I just believe what someone is saying to me.  "Everything will be fine" probably means "You're screwed."  Or "You're crazy."  Or "I'm only saying this so you will shut up and go away because mostly right now I want to go to Science School and become a scientist and learn how to make balls grow on women so I can punch you in your balls."

I would like for mine to be pink, please.

Hugs are better.  You can't second-guess a hug or over-think a hug or dissect a hug.  But I suppose sometimes you could get a cold from a hug or possibly head lice.  Most of my friends don't look like they have head lice though, so I'm not too worried about it.  Most of them.  And sometimes people are afraid to hug because they don't want to seem weird or have it taken the wrong way.  And sometimes I start sentences with the word 'and,' even though that's grammatically retarded.

What about this guy?  Can I have a hug from this guy?

This is getting rambly, but I can't imagine that's really a fucking surprise. (See: everything I have ever written.)  I can't figure out if this is me trying to teach an important life lesson using humour and pictures of hot guys and pink testicles, or me trying to type some of the stupid out of my brain, or me just blabbering on about whatever crud is running through my head, or me being tired and perhaps I only think I'm typing words but all you will see is "aiweuhfdmusfaiq834kqjfgvgr ggdderlwd;'rieumdms," or maybe I really just don't want to do laundry, and I'm justifying my laziness with "What?  I'm busy expressing myself.  That's waaaaaaaay more important than having clean clothes to wear tomorrow.  My friends won't care if I stink."

Come to think of it, maybe they do.  Maybe that's why I'm hug-deprived.....

Nope.  I think maybe hugs are just going extinct.  I think touch in general is at the very least an endangered species.  They way we interact with each other is much more different than it used to be.  Touching is bad.  We don't even want kids kissing each other on the playground, for fucksake.  I can remember holding hands with my best friend when I was little.  Just walking around, holding hands.  Running up and hugging her each time I saw her for the first time any given day.  Watching TV at her house and putting my head on her shoulder just because.  Can't do that now.  We grow up, and it becomes weird.

I've lost interest in this.  I'd delete it, but it's the only thing I've written today that makes any sense (unless I'm right about only thinking I'm writing words, in which case I hope you've at least gotten a good laugh out of it) plus I think somewhere in the midst of Don Draper and pink balls and eating babies I've made something almost point-like, so I'm going to post it.  Take from it what you will.  Ask someone for a hug.  Give someone a hug.  Picture Don Draper with bright pink balls.  Call the people with the long-armed white coats and send them to my house.  Whatever.  I'd looking fucking HOT in a straight jacket.  Plus, it's just like giving yourself a big, crazy hug :)

See?  Happy!

Also, why don't more of you people look like George Clooney or Brad Pitt or Don Draper?  And how come NONE of you have bright pink balls?  You all suck ass.


Friday, September 3, 2010

Why Does Lorenzo Lamas Still Exist? Dolly Parton Has Giant Boobs. This is About Hurricanes.

Many of my posts over the last little while have been a little serious, which I'm totally OK with, but I think it's time for something goofy and ridiculous.  So let's make fun of hurricanes.  Devastating, horrible, violent hurricanes.

You know what I would name a hurricane?  Not Earl.  Or Teddy.  Or frigging Cristobal.  Actual hurricanes have actually been named these actual names.  Actually.  I'd go with something a little more.......kill-y.  Hurricane Trailer Launcher.  Hurricane Wind Fuck. Hurricane Death Sneeze.  I'd be much more likely to flee the area if Hurricane Tree Through Your Head were on its way to my town than I would be if forecasters told me to run away from Hurricane Dolly.  

Hurricane Dolly: Often followed by the rare Double Rainboob.

Teddy, Cristobal and Dolly are real hurricane names, by the way.  So are Mindy, Karl, Humberto (huh?) and Floyd.  Floyd killed 57 people in 1999, and the name was retired.  It was replaced with Franklin.


Since 1979 (The year I was born.  Coincidence?  Yes.) there have been six lists of names for hurricanes that rotate every six years.  They alternate boy-girl and are used alphabetically, except for the letters Q, U, X, Y and Z.  So there will never be a Hurricane Queen Latifah.  :(

Some of the names used do suit a giant death fart: Hurricane Victor.  Hurricane Bret (The Hitman OH MY GOD WHERE DID MY HOUSE GO???)  Hurricane Igor.

Winds so strong, his eyes were blown in opposite directions.

On the flipside, we have Hurricane Nana.  Hurricane Nestor.  Hurricane Joaquin.

Off!  Fuck

There are several hurricanes with the same names as people I know.  Does it make me a bad person that I hope those ones have wicked-cool death tolls?  (It does.)  Does it make it more acceptable that I want those tolls to include a certain lead singer of a certain band whose name rhymes with Dicklecrack?  (It does.)

This, but in a tree.

So, in summary, whoever picked most of the hurricane names sucks.  They should let Quentin Tarantino do it.

Also, I'm not travelling anywhere where hurricanes go in 2013.  If I die in something named Hurricane Lorenzo, I'll kill myself.

He was in Grease!  And also Mega Shark vs. Giant Octopus!