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I hab a code in by dose
 Well, Christmas is finally over and I've had a cold since Christmas Eve. Despite that, this has been the best Christmas since my mother died nearly ten years ago. My son is two now, and it was so great watching his excitement at opening presents. I don't think he quite understands the concept of Santa Claus at all, perhaps because I haven't taken him to see Santa since his first Christmas. Something about paying for a Polaroid of my precious child on some stranger's lap is a major turn off.  He is, however, aware of The Grinch. I bought him a tape of the Jim Carrey movie, and it absolutely terrifies him. He now uses the stuffed toy which came with the tape to terrorize his other toys. A Fisher Price firefighter and truck set I bought him for Christmas come to the rescue to beat up the Grinch and exile him to the kitchen, where he lays hidden behind the curtains.
Strangely enough, the boy adores listening to readings of How The Grinch Stole Christmas, either by me or from a tape BeX bought accidentally (thinking it was the 1966 Boris Karloff movie), featuring Walter Matthau reading the tale along with badly animated scenes from the book, and released in 1957. It's a good thing Walter's dead, or he'd be forced into the kitchen, where evil goes to die.
It's Nice To Be Worshipped
 I babysat my four-month-old niece Maddy for the first time on the weekend. I wasn't sure how it would go, as my sister said she'd been "making strange" with a lot of people lately. Most of the way over to their place, I was feeling a little apprehensive, although I have looked after Whe's son many times, but he's a toddler now.
The moment I arrived, Maddy started giggling. My sister was trying to breastfeed her but she wouldn't eat because she couldn't stop looking at me and laughing and smiling. This was a good sign. Still, I felt nervous about looking after a four-month old. Just before they left, my sister and her husband told me that if she got fussy, to put her in her crib and to just let her cry, even if it was for 10 or 15 minutes. "Of course," I lied, knowing I could never handle doing that. Maddy and I got along famously for the first hour and a half after her parents left. Then she got a little fussy so I put her in her crib. She cried and I picked her up and rocked her til she was smiling again. Then I put her back in her crib and she cried again so I picked her up. This went on for a half an hour until finally she went to sleep, for about two hours. She woke up crying and I rushed upstairs to take her out of the crib. As soon as she saw me, her eyes lit up and she started cooing at me. I picked her up and started preparing a bottle of breastmilk my sis had pumped earlier in the day. While I was feeding her, she looked up at me with her shiny blue eyes the entire time. When my sis and her husband stepped in the door about 5 minutes later, Maddy was in my arms and drinking from the bottle. My sister said: "What a great feeling it is to come home and see this." The rest of the evening, and this morning, my sister noticed that Maddy could not stop looking at me and smiling. "She loves her auntie," my sister kept saying. It melted my heart.
Fights Between Stupid Objects
 by CrotchCannibal Kool-Aid vs. Grape Juice One thing I've always wondered is who would win in a fight between Kool-Aid and grape juice. As you can tell, I spend a great deal of time considering the important things in life, and I rate this one near the top of the heap. I mean, c'mon, I just know there are millions of people out there in the world who struggle with this type of moral dilemma every day. Well, folks, that's why I'm here, to help you sort this shit out. For a start, let me explain that this particular battle would not involve any outside characters (like that big, red Kool-Aid guy who busts through walls) or obvious advertising gimmicks (like the vividly realistic drawing of a bunch of grapes on the side of the grape juice container). This contest would consist of nothing more than a small puddle of red Kool-Aid squaring off against a small puddle of grape juice (color is insignificant, but for this case let's say purple). Two liquids. No rules. To the death. I'm betting that when things started out, the puddle of Kool-Aid would probably start drifting over towards the puddle of grape juice, since Kool-Aid is known to be aggressive and antagonistic, while grape juice is more reserved and cautious, and would likely wait to see if it could anticipate the Kool-Aid's plan of attack. I don't know for sure, I mean who can really say? But that's what I imagine would happen. Once the grape juice had an idea of what the Kool-Aid was planning, I think it would probably try to deliberately run into the Kool-Aid and hope to entice some of the Kool-Aid into a brawl, since the grape juice has a pretty good ability to absorb the heavy shots and an overall edge in stamina. But the Kool-Aid has a little more punching power, so this move could potentially backfire on the grape juice. If the Kool-Aid tried to dribble around the edges of the grape juice it might get ugly. The density of Kool-Aid is slightly greater than that of grape juice due to the abundance of sugar molecules. If the Kool-Aid managed to outflank the grape juice, in my opinion it would be good night, game over, drive home safely. But it's a crapshoot, really. THE END Play-Doh Starfish vs. Oblong-Shaped Ball Of Silly Putty One thing I've always wondered is who would win in a fight between a Play-Doh starfish and an oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty. Maybe you think I'm strange to even consider such nonsense, but your opinion is basically meaningless to me, so why don't you go chew my poop? I don't exactly know how such a fight would be organized, but let's just say that there was an empty card table somewhere with a Play-Doh starfish and an oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty on it. That spells trouble with a capital "T", people. No fucking joke. Somebody's gonna get hurt here. Perhaps the Play-Doh starfish slept with the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty's girlfriend, or maybe the Play-Doh starfish just didn't like the way the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty was looking at it, but these minor details are insignificant. What matters here is that it's fucking ON, motherfuckers. I imagine that this type of fight would be really sloppy and violent, with pieces of Play-Doh and Silly Putty flying all over the place and a lot of taunting and sucker punching going on. The Play-Doh starfish might try to wrap its arms around the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty, but that maneuver is fraught with danger. Everyone knows that an oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty can just roll away, then pick up a print from a newspaper or comic strip. Once it had the replica print on it, the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty would distract the Play-Doh starfish with the colorful diagram. While the Play-Doh starfish was busy reading the print, the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty could get a choke-hold on the little Play-Doh bitch and it would all be over real quick. So, I guess I'm saying that the oblong-shaped ball of Silly Putty would be the eventual winner. It might not play out exactly as I've described it above, but I'm fairly certain the outcome would remain the same. THE END Plastic Fork vs. Wooden Chopsticks One thing I've always wondered is who would win in a fight between a plastic fork and a set of wooden chopsticks. Before you yell at me that it's an unfair fight because it's two against one, let me just remind you that this is not some kind of "spork" hybrid we're dealing with. I'm talking about an honest-to-goodness real plastic fork, with three tines. Now it's not so easy to judge, huh? Whenever utensils engage in conflict, I think it's kind've a sad reflection on the disharmony and mistrust that pervades our turbulent society. After all, most plastic forks seem to have an innate dislike of wooden chopsticks, since they've never really been exposed to Oriental culture or Eastern philosophy in any substantial capacity. It's a crying shame, but prejudice is an eternal disease. That's life. So, anyway, the wooden chopsticks would probably do some nifty kung fu screamy-kicky-choppy-chop moves on the plastic fork and that would be that. Sayonara, forky. THE END Marshmallow Hippo vs. Cardboard Kangaroo One thing I've always wondered is who would win in a fight between a marshmallow hippo and a cardboard kangaroo? I've spent years in pursuit of the solution to this riddle. Perhaps a few moments of careful consideration here in the bowels of this extremely gay thread will furnish me with the answer. Let us embark... Now, to clarify things, this fight would not involve weapons or military vehicles of any kind. It would simply be a contest of physical strength and mental determination in a quest to vanquish one's foe. No rules of etiquette would be observed, other than the previously mentioned barring of outside armaments, so it would, in essence, be a struggle to the death between two naked warriors. One of which, I remind you, is a marshmallow hippo, and the other: a cardboard kangaroo. When analyzing the physical attributes of each combatant, it would appear that the marshmallow hippo enjoys a considerable size advantage, as well as possessing the fluffy lightness and mobility gained by being made out of marshmallow. The cardboard kangaroo on the other hand, could possibly suffer from stiffness, creasing, and, depending on whether his country of origin was Korea or Taiwan, brittle flimsiness. Plus, he would be susceptible to any manner of salivary or urinary attacks, due to his diminished sturdiness when soggy. But, my friends, do not count our rigid marsupial out just yet. He would still retain the considerably vicious abilities to kick, jump, flail, and box that are the hallmarks of any ordinary kangaroo. Perhaps his offensive maneuvers might lack the sheer power and destructive force of a flesh and blood kangaroo, but nevertheless, he could fuck some shit up if he needed to. The question is: would he be able to fuck up enough of the marshmallow hippo's shit to gain the victory in this match-up? When the battle commenced, I'm certain that the marshmallow hippo would attempt some sort of crushing or ramming tactic, trying to use his edge in sheer girth to disrupt the balance and equilibrium of the cardboard kangaroo. Normally, this would have a devastatingly fatal effect on the hapless kangaroo, but seeing as how this hippo consists of corn syrup, sugar, albumen, and gelatin beaten to a light spongy consistency, the impact of such an attack would be minimal at best. Besides, the cardboard kangaroo could easily deflect such an assault by either flattening himself out (thereby allowing the hippo to pass harmlessly over him), or by jumping on top of the fat, marshmallow bastard and simply springing away to safety. If the cardboard kangaroo were wise, he might even use this opportunity to hop up and down on the marshmallow hippo's head, which could possibly stun or disorient the lumbering beast. Of course, the blows from a cardboard kangaroo's feet wouldn't exactly pack much of a wallop, so I suppose the damage he inflicted could probably be easily shaken off by the marshmallow hippo once he managed to dislodge the kangaroo from his backside. The cardboard kangaroo would have to get really lucky with a well-placed blow to the hippo's cushiony dome to have any hope of injuring it. So, I figure that after an initially spirited engagement, both of these fascinating creatures might quickly lose stamina and the whole fiasco could eventually degenerate into a sluggish, clingy, grasping bore. There is clearly no insurmountable advantage for either one of them. That's why I'd probably run over them with a Tonka dump truck and then flush their sorry asses down the toilet. THE END Vacuum Cleaner vs. The Holy Bible One thing I've always wondered is who would win in a fight between a vacuum cleaner and a copy of The Holy Bible. Actually, I've never thought about that at all, but let's just say that I realize one of them sucks. THE END ~ as posted on Reality Sucks.
Freak of Nature or Miracle?
 When I think back to the time that I was confirmed in the Catholic Church, at the tender age of 13, I shudder. I told my parents I didn't want any part of it because I was already becoming somewhat disillusioned with the Catholic faith. Of course my parents (especially my mother) insisted upon it.
Being forced into the process anyway, I had to chose a "saint's name" as my confirmation name. My mother wanted me to take Saint Teresa and, mainly because of this, I decided I wanted someone else. I mean, fuck, if I was stuck doing it the least she could concede me was the damn name I was going to use. So I decided to do a little research and thought that Saint Bernadette probably wouldn't be too bad. At the age of 14, she apparently had visions of The Virgin Mary by some stream in Lourdes, France. The stream became famous for its healing properties after that and Bernadette joined a convent and became a nun. She died, at the age of 35, on April 16, 1879. That's about all I really knew about Saint Bernadette until last night. While flipping channels, I came across a show called Morbid Curiosities or something like that. It had a feature story on Bernadette. I learned that her body remained buried in a damp grave for thirty years until the cause for beatification (the first step towards sainthood) was taken up. She was exhumed, and what I didn't know is that her body looked exactly the same as it had on the day she died. It still looks the same, as in the photo above, 122 years later. As much as I still regret being confirmed in the Catholic Church, at least I know that the saint I chose has a sort of freakish story...
AIDS has touched many lives
I miss My friend Rick. Although he was always very careful, Rick was gay and had contracted HIV in the mid-1980s when not many people were aware the virus really existed. Rick and I used to hang out a lot together when I was in my 20s. We'd go out drinking or he'd bring me to the hair salon where he worked and give me a make-over. He had a beautiful condo with an awesome view where I spent a couple of nights standing by his huge window, our arms around each other, looking at the Toronto skyline. He was one of the sweetest guys I've ever known.  Rick had no idea he was infected with HIV until it actually became full-blown AIDS. He found out when a tooth he'd had pulled wasn't healing. He couldn't understand why and went to his doctor, who gave him a blood test and the bad news that not only was he HIV positive, but it had progressed into the AIDS virus and only had about 6 months to live. He was only 25 or 26 at the time.
I remember one of the last times I saw him, he was very depressed and I asked him what was wrong. He told me he'd quit his job and his tooth had been really bothering him. I noticed he looked a little gaunt and told him he should be eating more. "But I've got to keep my fabulous body, girlfriend," he'd said. I didn't find out he had AIDS until a few weeks later. When Rick called me to tell me the bad news and explained to me, over the phone, that he wanted me to remember him as he was, young and pretty, I remember hanging up the phone and crying for hours. I couldn't believe I would never see him again. It was hard, but I honoured his wish. A couple of months later, a mutual friend told me he had died. I wish I had more pictures of Rick. The one on this page (from a flyer for a band he was in, he loved singing) is the only one I have. Everytime I see it, it brings tears to my eyes. I like to think of him now, wherever he is, listening to Elton John and drinking a pitcher of beer with Truman Capote and Freddy Mercury. It makes me smile to imagine it.
Desperation!
I'm going to start hocking stuff. First up is a lovely Pierre Laurent watch, complete with different coloured bezels. It actually still keeps time too! Next will be an Esquire Watch, given to me on my birthday two years ago, instead of the couch I'd asked for. I also have a couple of teacups and saucers that are sort of antique and a United States Mint Proof set from 1997. I also came across two Hellraiser Epic comic books, Book 1 and 2. They are in mint condition and could be worth something, who knows? Being poor has its ups and downs (mainly downs). I cut my own bangs today and, although they're uneven, I can see again! Going through my stuff and getting rid of some of it is probably a good thing though, as I own too much garbage as it is. Most of the stuff I plan to hock, my ex-boyfriend gave me. Last to go will be my emerald ring. Not that it has any sentimental value, in fact, when he gave it to me on Valentine's Day he hastily commented: "Don't worry, it's not an engagement ring." But I was born in May and my grandmother, who I was named after, used to buy me emerald rings when I was a kid. She died almost 20 years ago so this was the first emerald ring I'd owned in a long time. So, anyone in the market for an antique teacup?
Canadian Psycho?
 I was up until 3 a.m. last night, reading American Psycho, good book, although my mother tells me apparently it's the novel that inspired convicted rapist/murderer Paul Bernardo's killing spree. The scary thing about this book is that I can identify with the some of the main character's thoughts, like murdering people when he's out to dinner with them, because they are annoying or boorish. I guess the difference between Patrick Bateman and so-called normal people is that sure, we think about things like that but we would never actually go through with them!
Anyway, I'm up until 3, probably didn't get to sleep until 3:30 and at 8 this morning my room mate comes into my room, says she's slept in and can I drive her to work? I can barely open my eyes, but I drag my lazy, unemployed ass out of bed anyway and drive her in. After I dropped her off, I thought about how nice it was that I didn't have to drive into my old office this morning. I hated working for that balding, fat, short, little Mussolini. In fact, I used to have fantasies about an ex-employee walking into that office with a high-powered shotgun and blowing him away. I'm now an ex-employee. Would it be worth 25 years in jail? Nah. I'm just be grateful for the fact that I never have to see the fucker's fat ugly face again.
Ignorant bitches are getting me down
Bible Quote of the Day: Tim 5:13-AND WITHAL THEY LEARN TO BE IDLE, WANDERING ABOUT FROM HOUSE TO HOUSE; AND NOT ONLY IDLE, BUT TATTLERS ALSO AND BUSYBODIES, SPEAKING THINGS WHICH THEY OUGHT NOT. The stupidity of some people amazes me. On a less 'catty' note, page errors are bringing me down.
Fuck, I LOVE Survivor!
 This week's episode breathed new life into a series that, although still enjoyable, was getting predictable. Switching tribe members was an awesome rule change and Silas going this week was funny. I always love it when, the episode before, the person is bragging that they are going to "win it all" then they get voted off the next week!
I have to admit, I'm damned grateful that the gorgeous men are still on it and have dedicated a page to them. Ethan makes me weak in the knees and Lex, well, who wouldn't wanna have just one night of hot, dirty sex with him? Still, I miss Jeff Varner from Survivor 2. He's still the most attractive man from all the shows combined. This show definitely has its Hunks, though...
So It's Come Down To This...
I am very, very poor right now. I have $4 in my wallet and when I went to the bank today, to take out the pathetic $10 I had sitting in there, it turns out it was all gone in service charges. I had 11 cents left. I am now, officially I would say, a fucking bum. At least I sure as hell feel like one. I'm going over to my younger sister's house tomorrow. The last time I saw her, she told me not to feel embarrassed if I needed to borrow money, like $50, say. I honestly had hoped I wouldn't have to take her up on the offer. But what the hell am I supposed to do? I have just over half a tank of gas in my car, a pack of cigarettes that whe gave me, and little else. Oh yeah, here's the topper: My ex-boyfriend (the rich bastard) keeps leaving messages on my phone, saying he'd heard I'd lost another job, and asking if there's anything he can do to help me. In fact there is: he can reach back into the past and unfire me from what was probably my best job ever. That and he can also put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. What an Asshole. I just keep believing that things will get better, they always do...
CrotchFartibal
More Farting Basics by CrotchCannibal 'Member when you were in Junior High School and you had to take the physical fitness test? You had to do like, ten push-ups, ten pull-ups, fifty jumping-jacks, run a mile, and lastly... do about twenty sit-ups while some other kid held down your feet? Didn't that suck? Well, not for me, 'cause I'm a physical marvel and I've always been in great shape. But, if you happened to be one of the unfortunate few who, whilst engaged in doing the "sit-up" portion of the event...accidentally released a bit of "ass chatter", well...you became the laughing stock of the entire school for the next three weeks. Yet, as sorry as I feel for those who "bursted in error", I feel even more sympathy for the poor, innocent sod who had the misfortune to be partnered with the farter as their thankless foot holder. I mean, heck, that poor fellow not only had to suffer the verbal barbs of his immature classmates for being in the closest proximity to the farter, but... ...they fuckin' got farted on to boot!!!
Butt plugs
 Blarx's site is back up and running. It feels good to plug Blarx again. Now if only Bob Barker would come back online.
I get my best plugs from The Godfader. Godfader has helped me out so much this past year, and I've never been able to return the favour (mainly because I'm utterly useless). But today he asked me for something I could actually help with: man porn. It seems a woman posted on his board asking for man smut, so Godfader thought I might happen to have some on my hard drive. Fuck me if this was all I could come up with. It seems I have more pictures of nekkid women than men, which is odd, seeing that I love men. The only nude and semi-nude pics of men I have are of camboys. Maybe it's a girly thing. I'm more attracted to a man's body if I know his personality. Speaking of which...  I think I'll start posting with huge-ass fonts from now. It takes less time, but it's more filling. Why can't you just eat hash? It's so fucking harsh. Little hash pills would do me just fine.
Why won't I go to bed??!!
My brain is floating, and my head hurts, but I sit here and continue to work. I'm fucking insane! I would like to thank J35U5 for not only finding a javascript for our new cam-o-rama page, but also for doing the coding for me. The cam pics rotate with each refresh, and feature regular posters of our forum. I also re-did our Celebrities Without Makeup pages, so if you're feeling like a hag due to lack of sleep, check it out. Ok, I'm finally going to bed before my brain disintegrates.
I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone
 Here's a lame test for you try, if you're totally bored out of your skull to the point of wanting to insert pencil points inside your eyeballs. Otherwise, don't bother. I scored 97 per cent, by cheating. (Although I do have lots of Ramones albums on vinyl.)
Boo!
Burping is fun. Burping is good. Burping is often Misunderstood. Happy Hallowe'en, you motherfuckers!
Surrealistic Pillow-Biter
There's a new boy in town... camboy that is. Our very own CrotchCannibal has agreed to become a camslut, and already has the wimmen folk in a lather. CC had a wee bit of trouble setting up his cam, but now that he's up and running expect frequent updates, and tons 'o fur-faced fun. Crotchy is more than just a pretty face, though. The following is the first installment of a series he wrote this summer on a subject very near and dear to his ass. 
This Post Is Basically About Farting You ever get in one of those situations where you feel about as significant as amoeba snot and about as valuable to society as a fifty mile long asteroid hurtling towards the earth? Ever do or say something that would make God, if God actually existed, give you one of those really disappointed looks, sigh, and go, "Ugh, you fuckin' suck, loser!"? Well, I've been there on occasion, and I just wanted to offer a small tidbit of advice to others about a surefire method I've devised for extracting oneself from such perspiration-inducing, soul-destroying predicaments. Just fart. That's right, unleash your ass gas. Toot your own horn. Stoke the fecal wind. Punctuate the moment with a burst of your disgustingly putrid butt emissions. Trust me here, kids, nothing but nothing will remove you from harm's way faster than a generous dosage of poo-vapor. And I'm not just pulling your finger here. I can back this theory up with hard evidence. Hard as a petrified lawn cigar. Believe me. So, without further ado, let's have a whiff, shall we? Situation #1: The Date Gone Bad So, I've finally gotten that gorgeous piece-of-ass friend-of-a-friend to agree to go on a date with me. Holy fuckin' peckerpoles, she's hot. I've showered, shaved, dressed in my finest regalia, and screeched to a halt directly in front of her incense-scented, one-bedroom apartment at pre-fuckin-cisely 8:29 PM. In other words, my dick still has a chance of raiding the Ol' Honeysuckle Tomb. If I can stay this consistent for the remainder of the evening, I've got bush. Plus, I remembered to brush my tongue. Fast forward to the restaurant. A fancy one, of course. It's been great so far, the conversation is fuckin' robust. We're gettin' along like gangbusters, laughing like hyenas, and generally eyeballing each other with big happy faces engraved on our peepers. It's goin' good. But, like everything in my life, it's all been merely a setup for disaster. It's been a fuckin' prelude to ruin. It's been a long drive up a steep mountain in a car with sketchy brakes. Story of my goddam life. 'Cause this little, pleasantly aromatic rose garden we've planted is about to magically transform itself into a rather large pile of rhinoceros excrement. And that, my dear friends, is not good.  So we're sittin' there enjoying our Filet Mignon, our bottle of cabernet, and our complementary bread sticks, when along comes this fucking SMOKIN' babe from the other side of the joint. She's got it goin' on, and on, and on. Legs, tits, ass, hair, and lips that could suck my soul through a garden hose. A total fuckin' knockout. So, being the nut-noggined jerk-pea that I am, I gawk like a vulture at a lion kill. I mean, I stared HARD. Couldn't help myself. I might've even muttered a quick "hot damn!", thinking it'd go unnoticed. Well, it didn't.
Fuck me. There's nothing worse you can possibly do when you're out with a girl than to look at another chick. I could've chewed with my mouth open, told her I had genital herpes, even admitted to being a serial killer, and it would've just been water under the bridge. But me gazing stupefied at some bodacious honeymuffin while my poor date sits forgotten is, to put it mildly, a bad move. It's a broomstick in the spokes of romance. It's the squishy sound a body makes when it hits pavement after a four-story fall. In other words, it's all over. No emergency surgery, no CPR, no miracle of modern science for me. I'm fuckin' toast. Sooo... I stare deep into her hate-filled eyes, lean to one side, wrinkle my nose, and cut a loud fart. You shoulda seen her face. Fuckin' priceless. She flashes me a look of "I canNOT believe you just did that!" There's so much rage and embarrassment in her expression that I bet, if she'd had a gun, she would've seriously considered murdering me. Well, boo-fuckin-hoo, slut. I'm stifling my laughter, of course, 'cause farts are hilarious. Somehow, she doesn't seem amused. The patrons at the adjacent table, who've been pretending they didn't hear my bomb go off, are nervously picking at their food and rubbernecking. So, being the caustic funny-man that I am, I look over at them and spit a big chunk of chewed meat into their fuckin' Creamed Barley soup. Motherfuckers. Meanwhile, my date is grabbing her purse. She stands up, pours her glass of wine in my lap, and heads out to find a taxi. I motion for the waitress to bring me the check, put it on my Visa Gold card, leave a 25% tip, and exit the fuckin' building. What a disastrous evening. But, the point is, I got out of it. By farting.  Situation #2: You Fucked Up Bad At Work
Let's just imagine for a second that you've gone and done something really, really horrible at your place of employment. Y'know, your job? You've missed the all-important meeting, you've botched the quarterly earnings report, you never received that super-urgent memo from the CEO. You. Broke. The. Coffee. Machine. In other words, you're totally fucked. Whatever it is you've done, the boss is pissed. Everyone's avoiding you like the plague. So, your boss calls you into the office, closes the door, tells you to "have a seat", and -- this is an important detail -- doesn't sit behind the desk, but just sort've leans against the front of it, towering over you. Oh shit. Well, before your boss starts in with the inevitable tirade, before they open their big fuckin' yapper to chastise you for some pointless bullshit, before you get reprimanded because you've made a couple insignificant "policy breaches"...try this: Yelp in pain, grab your jaw gingerly with both hands, scream out "TOOTHACHE!!! TOOTHACHE!!!", and cut the most thunderous, bellowing fart you've ever attempted in your life. Then, dash out of the office, jump in your car, and speed away -- making sure to cradle your jaw and look pained throughout the whole charade. That's it. That's all you've gotta do. Problem solved, stressful situation avoided, and boring lecture nullified in one fell swoop. Your boss and coworkers will be too stunned to say anything and too shell-shocked to try 'n stop you. If they try calling you at home, just don't answer. And if they try calling you at the dentist, well, believe me...they ain't gonna call the fuckin' dentist. You're off scot-free. So enjoy the rest of your day. When you wake up, you'll have forgotten all about it. Then, the only thing you'll need to worry about is finding a new job in a totally unrelated field. But, c'mon, how hard can that be? I mean, even if you do find a new job and, for some reason, it doesn't work out...hey, at least you've got an escape plan. Another one of life's sticky situations solved with gas power. Situation #3: You've been kidnapped by Islamic Fundamentalists OK, I admit it, those first two examples are some pretty far-fetched scenarios. I mean, would you ever really have a bad date or fuck up at work? Nah, I didn't think so. Never gonna happen. You need a more realistic situation where my "Fart Your Way To Freedom" hypothesis might actually come into play, where you might actually benefit from the expulsion of your malodorous hind-cloud. A situation that could potentially mean the difference between life and death, with life hinging on whether or not you can deliver a resounding butt-boomer and death resulting from an unfortunate, untimely indication that you are "Temporarily Out Of Gas". The kidnapping possibility. Let's say you've decided to take a well-deserved vacation. You've passed on the "usual" destinations: Hawaii, The Caribbean, Paris, Disneyland. Yawn. You want an adventure this time, a real change of pace, a breath of fresh air in your otherwise droll existence. You're off to picturesque... Afghanistan.  Now, maybe you didn't exactly read all of the paragraphs in that vacation pamphlet you checked out at the travel agency. Maybe you weren't exactly "listening" when the travel guy begged you to reconsider. Maybe you haven't exactly been "following world events" too closely for, oh...I don't know...the last twenty, twenty-five years or so. You figured, "Ah, who cares, it's just another slice of the world, right?" You figured, "Hey, I get along with cab drivers all right." You figured, "What the Hell, let's do it honey! Grab the kids 'n let's go!" Well, you my friend are a dumbass. 'Cause Afghanistan is one fucked up piece of real estate. It ain't no friggin' Jellystone National Park. They don't have Yogi and Booboo and picnic baskets. They don't have Ranger Smith. They don't have "smarter than your average bears".
They have wars. Violent, bloody, unrelenting wars. With real guns. In other words...it's kinda dangerous. So, when you find yourself smack dab in the middle of some bombed-out, rubble-filled, bullet-riddled alleyway in deepest Kabul, don't be surprised if you and your family get nabbed by a gang of hooded thugs carrying AK-47's and shouting "funny language" at you. That's what happens to Americans (and don't go pinning maple leafs on your backpack to try 'n avoid controversy, either -- they kill Canadians by the truckload over there). Don't argue, resist, or run away. Just shut the fuck up and get in the van. Then, when they've taken you back to their rundown headquarters to "interrogate" you, remember this valuable token of advice: Fart up a storm. Break wind like a goddam hurricane. Blast the walls with your Hi Fi anal stereo. You'll be on a plane to a neutral country faster than you can whistle 'Dixie' outta yer ass. It's a bona fide guarantee of freedom. Just think about it. Would you really want to blindfold, torture, starve, and butt-rape a putrid, stinky, foulness-emitting American farter and his innocent family just for some meager political gain? Ask a hundred Afghani terrorist factions and they'll all tell you the exact same thing: "Hay-ell No!" Conclusion: So you see, simply by farting the situation is resolved. The stench of life hangs over you like a happy, little cloud and the world is a better-yet-smellier place. It's easy when you toot your troubles away. Life's a gas, so live it like there's no tomorrow. Let the winds of good fortune break across your freshly-sliced cheddar. Reek the day! "And in the end, the rips you take, are equal to the smell you make." - Paul McFartney THE (rear) END
Bastard Sons of Scums, I'll tell ya!
 This weekend, someone stole my son's car, which I bought for his last birthday. My kid is only two years old! He cherished that car.
That Cozy Coupe was the only thing he got from us for his second birthday, and he played in it everyday. The neighbourhood kids, who are all several years older, would push him up a hill in the car, and then run with him down the hill. Suddenly it was gone from our front yard. I was furious. I wanted someone dead. I didn't care if the thief was a kid, a teenager or an adult. I wanted to hunt them down. Normally, I'm a pretty calm person. But someone stole something belonging to my child. My boy, who I take care of every breathing moment of my life. I wanted to see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I wanted to get that car back. My baby's father informed me he'd already done a search of the neighbourhood, including a nearby park. The only car he saw which fit the description was parked in the yard of people who live a block away. He didn't think it was the same car.  I pulled on some jeans and we all went to the house. From my first sight of the car, I knew it had to be it. I checked it close-up. Same licence plate sticker torn off, same sticky door.
We just picked the car up, and took it home. No scene, no confrontation. How could I start a fight with someone, for allowing their kids to come home with someone else's toy, in front of my son? I just had to suck it up, and enjoy the huge grin on the boy's face. He was so happy to get the car back, that he pushed it into the living room as soon as we brought it inside the house. Then he turned on the cartoon network and sat in the car, watching Johnny Bravo. We had to say to him, "We're going out again, sweetie. Get your coat back on." He gave the car roof a little pat before he turned to walk out the front door. Later that night, I remembered why I'd been keeping the car outside. The boy took a full glass of juice, and poured it in the trunk. Ah well, my son's a maniac, but he's no thief.
More Border Bullshit
I spent 17 torturous hours in my car on Monday. Left my house in Toronto at 6:30 a.m. and didn't arrive at Eigh's place until just before 12 a.m. Tuesday. It took me over an hour to get across the Ambassador Bridge in Detroit, only to be turned back to Canada because I am unemployed. I couldn't believe it when the bastard of a U.S. border guard (whose fucking face would have cracked if he actually knew how to smile) put a big red sticker on my passport, placed it under one of my windshield wipers, told me to pull my car over for "a more extnesive search," and then asked me to head into the immigration office. In the office, a customs official proceeded to search my entire wallet, taking out personal lists and reading them. I felt so violated. Then I was given a sheet that stated: At this point in time, you do not appear to be clearly admissable to enter the United States as a temporary visitor for pleasure. I wasn't quite sure what to do. Our fucking immigration offices were keeping us apart. Eigh didn't get into Canada last month because of a DWI conviction two years ago and now I couldn't get into the U.S. The prick told me to go through the toll, then turn the car around and head back to the Canadian side, where my passport would be returned. What I did instead, however, was take the westbound Detroit exit, gunned the gas, and headed towards Wisconsin. I kept looking in my rearview mirror, expecting to see flashing police lights behind me. After about 15 minutes of driving like an hysterical madwoman, I decided I didn't really feel like being a fugitive on the run in the U.S. Not to mention the fact that I really wanted my passport back... So I returned to the border, got the passport without a problem and headed for an alternate border. Although it took me five hours and about 500 km out of my way, I didn't particularly care when I was given the green light to proceed into the U.S. at the other border crossing. Once I got out of earshot, I yelled "WOO HOO" several times at the top of my lungs and proceeded to the closest telephone booth to inform Eigh of my success. My only worry, once it got dark when I was still about 150 miles outside of Chicago, was that I might fall asleep in the car. I remedied that by opening my car window, sucking back as much caffeine as possible and smoking like a fiend. When I finally pulled up in front of Eigh's place, I almost passed out when I got out of the car. But I made it here once again and here I will stay, for at least another week...
Hello Wisconsin! Once again, I’m off to visit my man in the land of milk and cheese. I’m very excited, as usual, but I always feel bad about leaving my cat. Every time I get a suitcase and start packing it to go away somewhere, Mokie knows. She starts hanging around me a lot more and she walks around my bedroom crying. I leave tomorrow morning for my fourth visit to see Eigh. I like going to see him, but the drive is a bitch. Ten to twelve hours in my car and ALWAYS, ALWAYS some sort of delay in Chicago. Every single time I go through that city I am cursing it. I mentioned to Eigh last time I was in Wisconsin, that when I first got my car, I would get into it and feel a sort of mad glee. After five long years, I finally had a car again. I used to drive around mindlessly on my lunch hours at work. Why? Because I could! I now look at it as a sort of medieval torture chamber. Obviously, I do it to myself but, I admit, when I finally arrive, it's worth it…
Home Sweet Home
Life can kick you in the teeth sometimes but then again, it can also be like a soft pillow, waiting to catch you if you’ve fallen. Well, shit, I think everything just tends to balance itself out actually. I don’t mean to brag, well actually I do, but the house my roommate and I moved into a month ago is fucking fantastic. Besides our landlord being a complete fuctard (he’s constantly telling the two of us that he can’t believe there is no MAN living here) we got quite a steal. It’s huge. It has a family room, living room, huge kitchen, four bedrooms, washer/dryer, dishwasher AND a fireplace. My roomie was also generous enough to offer me the master bedroom, which has it’s own little two-piece bathroom. Unfortunately, the landlord is a nosy, sexist, bastard. One day, he asked me if I had any children and I said no. Then he asked me if I wanted any. I said I didn’t know. And he kept on prying until finally I just walked away from him. The best, though, was last week, when he saw I was home again and said: “Don’t you ever work?” I should have told him, no, that in fact I was on my way to the unemployment office, but instead I lied and said I had the week off. It's none of his bloody business! All in all, however, I am very happy with the place. Life kicked me in the teeth last week but my consolation prize is getting to hang around a beautiful, big house all day long. Not a bad trade-off, in my estimation. You can check out My New Digs by clicking on the link.
Jobless Again
Yes, that's right. This is the third time I have been unemployed. It's weird because each time it happens it gets easier and easier to handle. The first time I lost a job, I was a lifestyle/entertainment reporter. My boss brought me across the street to the publisher's office, where I was told they would no longer need my services. I sat there like a stone, I was in such shock. It wasn't until I got home, grabbed a beer out of the fridge, stepped into the bath and phoned my mom that I started to bawl my eyes out. The second time, I worked for my boyfriend, he called me into his office and asked me to shut the door. I knew what was happening and immediately proceeded to stomp my feet, scream, and cry at the same time. It was quite the performance. Maybe I should have sued the bastard... Yesterday, my boss called me into his office and told me there is no more work for me to do and he was laying me off. He looked like he was going to cry. I almost rolled my eyes at him. I just said: "Oh, OK." I hated that job anyway. The money was good but the job itself was truly one of the most boring I've ever had. I felt like he was almost doing me a favour. After I left the office, I drove to the liquor store and bought a bottle of champagne, which my room mate and I enjoyed last night. Today, I slept until 11:30, woke up a little hungover and I'm currently sitting here in my bathrobe, enjoying my third cup of coffee. My immediate plan is to live off my unemployment cheques for at least a month. I really needed a vacation...
Take You Down
She's So Good-Looking But She Looks Like a Man: When we were in college, Rebecca and I would go up north to escape our parents and sit around wasted at night listening to compilation tapes. We made awesome tapes. I can still remember the song order on them. My tapes always included the song Polythene Pam, tucked in between, say, The Replacements and Husker Du. As soon as Polythene Pam came on, we'd jump up and run to the middle of the room and dance along with it the way Pee Wee Herman danced to the song Tequila in Pee Wee's Big Adventure. We looked ridiculous, but it was so exhilarating. I still listen to that song when I'm down, playing it over and over. Sometimes I skip right to it, other times I allow Mean Mr. Mustard into the mix. But I haven't danced like Pee Wee in a couple of years. I've got to get back into that. And now, a few words from CrotchCannibal: I recall hearing a Beatles parody somewhere (can't remember where) about them recording tracks over John's old demos (a la 'Free As A Bird'). Except, instead of songs, they were using his answering machine message. It was all, "Hi, this is John. Please leave a message...blah blah blah". But it had the others singing harmonies and playing instruments over it. Fuckin' hilarious. Anyone wanna take a stab at who'll be the next dead Beatle? While popular opinion would be Ringo, as he's the oldest, or maybe Paul, as he's the most publicly visible, I'm going with George, 'cause there's only so many times you can rely on your wife to fend off those knife-wielding stalkers. Hare Krishna my ass. (take yer fuckin' vitamins, it's a j-o-k-e.) ++++++++++++++++++++ If you should call for me Between this multitude of psalms Do not await my reply For the sound is stuck fast In the branches of a dream And I'm only sleeping Sleeping awhile beside life (CC)
Border Bullshit
Eigh was supposed to visit me for an extended long weekend in Toronto. So this week I busied myself going grocery shopping, cleaning my house and generally preparing for his arrival. Unfortunately, the assholes at the Canadian border fucked up all our plans. A driving while impaired conviction Eigh received about 2 years ago made him ineligible for entrance into Canada, or so they say... So I'm sitting at work at about 4:30 p.m. on Wednesday and my phone rings. It's Eigh telling me the situation and asking if I could drive to Detroit to meet him and maybe figure out a way to get him across the border. So I race home, pack an overnight bag and hop on the 401 West in a pouring rainstorm. The rain was so goddamn heavy that there were points during that drive when some people were just pulling over and parking their cars at the side of the road. Not me. I don't understand what the point of pulling over is anyway. Just drive through it and it will eventually end, which it did. When I got to the Detroit tunnel, I was getting a little freaked, knowing I was driving underneath all that water and wondering what would happen if it caved in. I am claustrophobic enough as it is. This was also the first time that I felt actual fear about entering the good old U.S of A and I have been to America more times than I can count. I met Eigh at the Days Inn Detroit and it was so great to see him that I basically forgot about all the bullshit that's been going on, at least for a little while. The next day, we find out he's supposed to mail in some dumb form and pay $200 Canadian to apply for a Minister's Permit, which could still be denied. We decided to spend the weekend in Wisconsin and headed for the highway. In Chicago, Eigh decided to take a sort of shortcut route around the main interstate highways, which took us through some very scary looking neighbourhoods in a city I already can't stand. Some bastard in a pick-up truck was behind me at one point and wanted in. I didn't even see him and was driving behind Eigh and didn't want to lose him but I had to let the guy in when he started yelling something like: "Fucking let me in," as if he owned the road. Men normally deal with stress and bad situations by getting angry. So do I (I have been told I was a man in my last life and don't doubt it) but my foolish female hormones kick in and the stupid crying begins. I hate crying and try to stop myself but it seems the floodgates opened a week or so ago and it's tough to close them back up again. So needless to say, I start bawling my eyes out in the car. I was tired and afraid. We somehow managed to get out of Chicago and we're safe and sound in Wisconsin. Now, however, I am completely paranoid about driving back across the country by myself on Sunday. I've heard reports that another terrorist attack could take place in the U.S. this weekend. Wish me luck...
911
I found a strange email in my inbox last Tuesday morning. It was from Nicholas Longo, the CEO of CoffeeCup Software, in regards to the attack on the World Trade Center. It included the line: "We would like to also say on record that if any country is found responsible for these attacks, we call for that country's complete destruction and annihilation." I can understand his anger, but it freaked me out. It was unnerving to see such a personal and emotional reaction sent out under the 'letterhead' of a commercial business. Two days later, Longo sent out another email, offering free software for one day to those who put up a banner for the Red Cross (we didn't get the software, but put up the banner anyway).  Now this disturbed me, because the original url the banner is linked takes you to a page at Amazon, rather than directly to the Red Cross Disaster Relief Fund. Amazon isn't matching donations, so why not cut out the middle man instead of taking the opportunity to advertise their crummy business? Oh that's right, they're money-grubbing bastards. Longo's email ended with an explanation of his previous comments: In my last e-mail I was angry. Now I am angry and saddened. My thoughts were emotional, not political or commercial. I will stand by my conviction that those responsible should not walk with us on this planet. I will though take back the word 'annihilate', this was anger speaking from someone that has now cried for the victims of this attack. This may surprise some people...... I am only human. Anyway kids, check out Rantbox for a perpective on the attack and its aftermath from New York residents. Donate blood to the Red Cross (that's 1-888-2-DONATE in Canada, 1-800-HELP-NOW in the United States) or money, clothing, food etc. to the United Way.
Day of Infamy: How many of us woke up today and had an inkling of the events that changed our world so drastically in the course of a matter of minutes? Not I. Watching the footage of the New York World Trade Center first exploding and then collapsing was shocking and terrifying. The aftermath of that event and the explosion at the Pentagon, could affect generations all over the world for years to come. Is World War III coming? It's very likely. Can us Canadians really blame the U.S. if they seek revenge and perhaps blow up the Middle East? In the next few hours, days or weeks, we could very likely see even much more violence to come. The numbers of innocent people killed in the United States today has not been released yet. It's expected to be many thousands though. What a sad day for our neighbours to the south. My heart goes out to them.
If you grew up watching the Brady Bunch, you must see our latest page, the b.r.a.d.y.c.a.m.s. Chat with the Bradys on our message board. Do it now, or Mike will take the strap to you! And now, an indepth look at the tortured relationship between Jan and Marsha: Many feel that Jan was inferior to Marcia, but I disagree. Look at the similarities. Jan vs. Marcia Jan was busted by Bobby for not setting the table Marcia was busted by Alice for not turning off the hi-fi. Jan thought Aunt Jenny was ugly Marcia thought Charlie was ugly. Jan was devastated over wearing glasses. Marcia was devastated over wearing braces. Jan created an imaginary romance with George Glass. Marcia created an imaginary romance with Dr. Vogel. Jan was named the most popular girl in her class in Jr. High. Marcia was named co-hostess of the Jr. High Banquet. Jan wanted to be an only child. Marcia wanted to disown Cindy after she lost her diary. Jan helped new girl Kerry Hathaway. Marcia helped shy Molly Webber. Jan volunteered Mike to build sets for school play about Benedict Arnold. Marcia volunteered Carol to perform a duet for the Family Frolics. Jan was allergic to Tiger's flea powder. Marcia had new school-itis. Jan wore a silly brunette wig to Lucy Winter's birthday party. Marcia wore a silly brunette wig to trick Kerry Hathaway. Jan tried to rub off her freckles because she was ashamed of her appearance. Marcia tried to hide her nose in the water fountain because she was ashamed of her appearance. Jan got a swollen head after being named Most Popular Girl. Marcia got a swollen head after being named Juliet in the school play. Jan failed to make the pom pom team. Marcia failed to make head cheerleader (Greg chose Pat.) Jan promised Herman that Greg would help him with algebra. Marcia promised her class that Davy Jones would perform at the prom. Jan frantically tries tap dancing, being a drum majorette, and acting trying to find herself. Marcia frantically joins yoga, karate, scuba diving, and the Westdale Boosters trying to find herself. Jan is tricked by Myron the mouse. Marcia is tricked by Jerry Rogers. Jan froze during school debate. Marcia froze during driving test. In a historic moment in Brady history, in episode # 104 "Marcia Gets Creamed," Jan was chosen over Marcia by Mr. Haskell to work at the ice cream parlor. From the wonderful and informative The Brady Residence.
Devil Doll
She came in a lovely little coffin and includes gris-gris dust (used in rituals) and 4 voodoo pins: Red for love. Black for hate. Green for money. Blue for luck. I apologize for the poor quality of the photo I took of Marie tonight. She doesn't photograph very well when she's agitated."
Moving Day From Hell
You should have been reading this last night, but the fact that you couldn’t was only a minor glitch in what turned out to be one of the worst moving experiences I think I’ve ever had. My new roomie and I packed up everything on Friday night and Saturday morning and the moving men were scheduled to show up at 2 p.m. I had originally scheduled the service elevator for 11 a.m. – 2 p.m. but couldn’t book a mover until 2 p.m. So I called my building super at least three times this week to ask her to change my elevator booking. Well, the fat bitch didn’t do it. So when the movers arrived around 1:30, the security guard looked at the schedule and told them I’d already moved out. So they left. Meanwhile, up in the apartment, I’m wondering where the fuck these guys are. 2:30 rolls around and I’m starting to panic a bit. At 2:45 I go down to security and the guy tells me he told them I’d already left. Of course I start freaking but calm down enough to sweet talk him into using his phone (I’d had mine disconnected) and I phone the moving company and get their bloody answering machine and explain what happened and ask them to PLEASE send someone over as soon as they can. An hour later, no one has shown up. I’m bawling my eyes out because the cut-off time for the service elevator is 4:30 p.m., my new roomie is hugging me and she’s practically in tears too. I’m trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to get a day off work next week to move. But all I really wanted to do was start throwing things because I was also very, very angry. Then there’s a knock on the door. I answer it and it’s the moving men. I was so happy to see them I wanted to hug them. They apologized and I said: “No, need, I know it wasn’t your fault.” They pack everything up and we get to the new house, and as soon as the truck backs into the driveway, our new neighbours on both sides come out to watch. They sat on their front steps the entire time we moved in. Even the moving men said: “What’s up with your neighbours?” I’ll tell you what’s up, I thought – they’re fucking freaks. When we get inside I try out the phone line. It’s not working, even though I had arranged to have it connected on Saturday. What a surprise. I was able to at least dial the phone company and they said it should be connected within three hours and if not, they have booked a service man is come to fix it the next day. So later, I drop my new roomie off at her current residence (she’s moving next weekend) and come home to find a car in my driveway. I have no idea whose car it is. There are cars parked all over the street so I have to park nearly a block away. When I try the phone it still isn’t working (which meant, no online time also) so I can’t even call a tow truck or my new landlord. The cable is not working so I have to wait until September 6th to see any new TV shows. That was the soonest a so-called “technician” can come over to hook it up. What the hell am I going to do without my daily fix of The Bold & The Beautiful?! Not to mention, Big Brother? Probably one of my worse moments just before getting ready for bed was, having found the coffee maker and not being able to find the coffee. Then I found the instant coffee but not the kettle. Nah, that doesn’t even compare with misplacing my cigarettes for about an hour… It’s now 1 a.m. Sunday morning. My cat Mokie has finally come out from her hiding place, behind the toilet. She’s crying a bit but is walking around me in circles. I’m so happy to see her. I’m also very happy that moving day is over…
Moving Day
The worst thing about moving has got to be packing loads and loads of all the crap you've accumulated over the years into a bunch of boxes. It always amazes me just how much junk I save and continue to save, usually for sentimental reasons. Something I'm enjoying about this particular move is filing away gifts and cards, etc., from my ex - under garbage! I have moved at least 12 times in the past 10 years. Usually, I can call in favours and get my brother and brother-in-law to pitch in and it basically costs me a 2-4 of Molson Canadian and a couple of pizzas. This time, sadly enough, I have no one to help except my future room-mate, who, like me, is a female and unable to lift heavy furniture. So, poor as I am, I had to hire a moving company. I guess in many ways it's a good thing, since my back is already killing me.  There are some mixed feelings floating around in my head at the moment. I feel a little sad because I have enjoyed living alone in a condominium for three years, there's a certain anonimity to it, but the rent is just way too expensive. I also feel pretty happy though. The house my friend and I are renting is huge, with four bedrooms, 2 1/2 bathrooms, a dishwasher, a washer/dryer AND a fireplace! I have always been obsessed with fireplaces and this is the first time I will ever live somewhere that actually has one. There will be many an evening spent building and sitting by the fireplace this winter!
The big move takes place tomorrow afternoon and I'll be sure to post pics of my new abode on the site, once I'm unpacked and settled in.
Rubber ducky, you're the one
and the shitty duck from hell.  Last week was rough. All kinds of shit was going down in my life. But let me tell you, you ain’t seen shit fly until you’ve seen the damage our family dog Mr. Happy can do when he puts his pea sized little canine mind to it. Arriving home with my two small children in tow after a grueling day at the office, I joined the kids in greeting Mr. Happy. I took one look at his pathetic, pain-filled brown eyes and I knew that Mr. Happy had committed some sort of vile dog crime against humanity. That’s when it hit me. The smell. The vile smell of Mr. Happy poo. Mr. Happy had pooped and puked in nearly every room in our house.  Alright, so it was looking like dinner would be back burnered for awhile. I grabbed a mop and bucket, donned my latex gloves and got busy with the clean up. Scrubbing away, I worked my way upstairs. There, perched on top of a pile of poo, I saw what appeared to be a chocolate ducky. Upon closer inspection, I realized that this was no present from the Easter Bunny, this duck had been passed through the entrails of our 85 lb Rottweiler. It was the shitty duck from hell.
So what in the world would possess this animal to ingest a rubber ducky? Could Mr. Happy be the hired hitman for Bert from Sesame Street? Had Bert hatched some sort of bizarre plot to eliminate the object of his gay lover Ernie’s affection: the innocent little rubber ducky? Was it a subliminal message planted in Mr. Happy’s impressionable little brain by Art Vandelay, self professed ducky hater? Here is a quote from Mr. Art Vandelay as posted on a public message board:
Indeed blood may roll of a duck’s back even easier than water, but does dog bile? Was Mr. Happy just a pawn in another ducky hater’s fowl game of chess? Well, whatever the root of this evil deed, I feel no pity for the dog who committed the crime. Let him suffer the horrors of severe gastrointestinal distress. It serves him right for subjecting poor little rubber ducky to the distress of passing through the entrails of hell.
Caves, Mounds and Showers
Had another interesting trip to Wisconsin to visit our camboy Eigh. The nearly week-long adventure included touring a cave, lots of late nights, sleeping late, several road trips and of course, shopping! Interestingly enough, I learned that Americans have many, many more television channels than we Canadians do. Would you believe they have a Game Show Channel and a Soap Opera Network? Lucky for me, the Soap channel was running a Knots Landing Marathon and I saw a couple of early episodes of the show. That was cool. And Eigh and I watched an episode (from the 1970s I think) of The $100,000 Pyramid, hosted by Dick Clark. Getting to see a brand new episode of South Park was also a bonus. For some reason, we don't get the new ones in Canada any longer... Something else I always notice when I'm at Eigh's is the purity of the air in Wisconsin. It actually smells sweet (as opposed to the smog in Toronto) and besides the mosquitoes, being outside there is quite a pleasant experience. Wisconsin, Part 2 can be found by clicking here.
Alive and Well!
I made it back to Toronto from Wisconsin in only 11 hours and drove my usual speed of 130-140 km an hour (80-90 miles an hour for you Americans)! I'm exhausted but appreciative of the comfortable temperatures I drove in today. What a difference a week makes!! Some of the highlights of my drive included the ungodly smell when I hit Detroit - it smelled like a combination of shit and methane gas - and the many morons who tailgated and/or cut me off on the way. I guess the real highlight though would have to be the Ontario truck driver who was waving at me like a madman in the Chicago area when he saw my Ontario license plate. With all the driving I've been doing lately, I certainly have a lot more respect for truckers than I used to, but that's another topic for another day. I had a really great time while I was in Wisconsin and will report on my second visit with Eigh later on this week.
Why Didn't I Get Air Conditioning?
After a rather harrowing 12-hour drive on Wednesday, I made it to Eigh's place in Wisconsin in one piece. The drive was particularly hellish, due to the 40 degree temperatures, no air conditioning in my car and the fact that I got lost in Chicago. I was on the correct highway, going in the correct direction, but the map I'd downloaded from the internet told me the highway I should be on was north but instead it was actually west. So I end up turning off the correct highway and got lost. Not too lost, mind you, but I was still a little worried. A trucker gave me directions back to the right highway and basically gave me bad directions. Then some guy saw me freaking in my car at a stoplight and asked me if was lost. I said yes and he actually did give me perfect directions to my destination. When I was lost, everyone I dealt with was nice to me, which was a relief. I got a pretty bad sunburn (even though I used a sunscreen of 30 in the car and kept slathering it on) that has turned into a nice tan. The bad news is, it is only on my driver's side arm. What kind of bullshit is that, I'd like to know?! Eigh and his sis and I went to the "big city" and saw the capital building and shops downtown. And of course, Bath & Body Works, which, just like the damn Body Shop keeps discountinuing all the scents and products I like. DAMN. This afternoon, Eigh heroically killed a wasp that was threatening to fly up the bottom of my bath robe. As always when confronted with a wasp, I jumped up, screeched and waited for someone else to bring it to its untimely end, which he did! Woo hoo! Tonight, we watched the movie Final Destination. Pretty lame but great and very creepy plane crash scene. It was the highlight of the entire film but of course, it was one of the first scenes in the movie. We also checked out Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon which was totally excellent. The high temperatures seem to be gone for now, I just hope it stays cool for my drive home...
The secret word of the day
If I see the word fucktard one more time I am going to vomit. It is now the most overused word on the internet. Somehow it's not as irksome when it's spelled 'fuctard' but that's just me. So if you use the word fucktard, please be prepared to have your eyeballs raped by Satan. Speaking of Satan, I received this creepy tidbit from the Comtesse DeSpair, who does the Morbid Fact Du Jour mailing list:
It's almost enough to make you use the word fucktard, isn't it? Snuff Movie / Numb Me numb me this reeking film i'm making fades into the compost flesh i've become the action was a murder plot the movie made itself go through the motion the spectator hypnotic numb me i am endangered to the point where slashes in my flesh are mere shadows all film is now considered outlaw all actors pure filler this woman the promotional victim numb me disfigure flesh until it carries an ultimate reflex the alphabet of russian roulette lens and shutter were not spared when metal and plastic fluttered and fell it could have been skin numb me rescue these crazy-mouthed symbols this voice devastating terror i'm rotting and bleeding it's already knee-deep the audience the torture artist the spotlight a knife it could have been limbs stray pieces of severed arm (Toronto: Coach House Press, 1977). © 1977-2001 Judith Fitzgerald. All Rights Reserved.
Hot Enough For Ya?
 While our politicians continue to do sweet fuck-all about the toxic chemicals filling our air, the ozone layer continues to deplete and the earth continues to get warmer.
So far this summer, Toronto has experienced 15 or 16 "smog days" compared to three last year and record high temperatures are being reported all over North America. Rising global temperatures raise sea levels and also change precipitation and other climate conditions. Changing regional climates can alter forests, crop yields, and water supplies. It also threatens human health and harm birds, fish, and many types of ecosystems. People are protesting in the streets (and getting killed) over the poor state of our environment. This terrible heatwave is just one symptom of how bad things have gotten. Meanwhile, governments keep raking in the dough from corporations who continue to lobby (and likely bribe) for their right to pollute. When are our politicians going to wake up and actually do something to reverse this process before it's too late? Fuck, it's hot...
Oh Canada!
 On Monday, Canada became the first country in the world to legalize doctor-prescribed marijuana for those suffering from terminal illness and chronic pain.
It's a move that's being criticized by some and hailed by others and although the new law has its flaws, I see it as a huge step towards the legalization of marijuana in this country. Under this new law, medical marijuana users can grow their own supply, designate someone else to grow it for them, or wait until Health Canada has its product available, their expected harvest is September. The problem is, if you're not dying of a chronic illness, you have to get two doctor's signatures and go through a lot of bureaucratic red tape to get permission to use it. Health officials are also concerned that recreational users will fake illness or somehow get around the regulations. I mean, who isn't going to try? As for me, I think I've developed arthritis... At the very least, I think decriminalization is imminent and will occur within the next two years. For someone who frequently enjoys the recreational use of marijuana, this is excellent news.
Damn You - Damn You All To Hell!
Planet of The Apes opens in theatres today. It's a movie I have been dying to see since I heard, about a year ago, that Tim Burton was doing a re-make. In this version, Mark Wahlberg stars as Leo Davidson, an astronaut stranded in a strange world where apes are gods and humans are slaves. Tim Roth, one of my favourite actors, stars as Thade, Davidson's nemesis and the ape commander. Does anyone remember the first time they saw the original movie? I was with a boyfriend who absolutely insisted I watch the movie with him. I didn't want to because all I could think of was the horrible Planet of the Apes tv series that used to run on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid. Needless to say, I was very pleasantly surprised and enjoyed the movie from it's interesting beginning to surprise ending. And who can forget Charleton Heston's over-the-top, hilarious performance? Heston has a cameo in the new film, as does Linda Harrison, who played his love interest in the original. According to a couple of reviews I have read so far, the re-make lives up to all the hype. I may wait a week or two to go see it (I hate crowded movie theatres) but it's gonna be tough. Until then, all I can ask is that you Keep your filthy hands off me - you damn dirty apes!
She's Got The Cutest Little Baby Face
I've become an Auntie for the first time!! My sister gave birth to a 7 lb, 12 oz baby girl on July 22nd. Little Madison was very sleepy when I visited her in the hospital yesterday and I had the privilege of helping my sis change her diaper! I wasn't sure how I was going to feel about this baby. I had been very envious of my younger sister when she first announced her pregnancy to my family this past xmas. But I've gotten over it during the past few months, mainly due to a love for my sister and a realization that I may never have a child and, maybe that's not such a terrible thing. As soon as I held my little niece in my arms, it was love at first site. This little one will need me in her life and I can't wait to be a big part of it! On another note, I'd just like to say a belated Happy Birthday to our good friend (and camboy) Eigh at Fish-Zine. He turned 27 last week and celebrated the event by shaving off his goatee!
I Want To Be Beautiful Too!
 Imagine having the money to hire your own make-up artist? Imagine what it would be like if almost every picture ever taken of you was airbrushed to hide every flaw?
If you're a celebrity, this is your reality. The whole world believes you're perfect and one of the most beautiful people on earth. No wonder the rest of us feel so insecure about our looks. I mean, how many times have you gotten up in the morning, looked at yourself in the mirror and thought: "I look awful. I wish I looked like (for example) Cameron Diaz or Goldie Hawn." Well, don't feel so bad, you are not alone. And, as you can see from the less-than-flattering celebrity pics we have uncovered, you probably look just as good in real life, if not better, than Goldie and Cameron. These pics prove that when it comes to being famous, it's all about make-up (and lots of it) and vaseline smeared on a camera lens. My personal favourite is the Goldie Hawn pic, found by our friend Mal Lee. Goldie is even wearing make-up in it. Too bad no one was around to airbrush it for her, however. These types of pictures always make me feel better about myself. Hope they brighten your day a little too... (More "Beautiful" Celebrities!) There's a new website called Korean Ghetto, so check that out after you're done making fun of famous people.
I can smell a pig from a mile away
Cowboy, Baby.
Guest columnist CrotchCannibal philosophizes
I don't believe in God. When we die, that's it. Game Over. No angels, no heaven, no eternal happiness, no door prize. Just your body, the cold earth, and the fucking worms (unless you're cremated -- in that case, you get either an urn or a windy day). Whenever I see people acting kind for the sake of "God's grace", I wanna puke. Big, steaming chunks. Are these people blind to the truth? Are they suffering from some cruel illusion? Fuck the righteous path, man, just walk wherever the fuck you want to. As long as you're not murdering (*without merit), abusing, or robbing anyone, and as long as you're doing what you enjoy, I say...you're living a good life. If the religious masses would disagree, then they are -- quite clearly -- in the wrong. I also think good beer should be cheaper, space exploration should be better-funded, and that I deserve a higher quality stereo. *it's OK to murder fuckin' pricks.
The Ungrateful Dead
 Why is it that family members tend to treat you like you’re a doormat?
I had my Aunt Anne (who is only a year older than I) over to my place on Saturday evening, after the baby shower I threw for my sister. It was not a pleasant experience. She drank most of my booze, smoked a lot of my drugs and then still complained when I wasn’t waiting on her hand and foot. And she is probably one of the most brain dead people I know. I had almost forgotten why I hadn't invited her over in a couple of years. The day of the baby shower, Anne calls me on the phone and says she hadn’t had time to pick up a present for my sister yet and she’d slept in that day. Please bear in mind that this is a woman whose only job EVER was working at a t-shirt factory for ONE DAY. Fool that I am, I told her that I had bought plenty of gifts for my sister so she could just give her one of the things I bought and I would buy a card while I was out that morning, as long as she paid me back. Anne was quite pleased with the gift and the card that I chose, and even wanted my sister to read it out loud because: “I pick out the funniest cards, don’t I?” she told everyone. Afterwards, I told her she owed me $25. Her response: “Hmmm, $25 seems pretty expensive, can I see the bill?” Later on, we rented a movie, Castaway, which I paid for. She didn’t even offer to pay half. So, there she was, drinking my beer, watching a movie I paid for and I’m filling a pipe with the drugs I bought and she begins complaining that I didn’t put enough weed in the pipe. “What’re you, cheap?” she said several times. When I told her at one point: “No, you can’t have another one of my beers,” she got very insolent and told me I was a “fucking bitch.” Anne is also quite boring. She has suddenly become obsessed with a new friend of hers, named Irna. Every second word out of her mouth was "Irna does this, Irna does that." At 1 o’clock in the morning, she wanted to phone Irna. She wanted me to bring the 2 ½ hour movie I had rented over to Irna’s the next day and sit there and watch it again because Irna had never seen it. When I said no she got pissed off. What topped it all off though had to have been when I dropped her off at good old Irna’s apartment. Irna asks her if she got the $100 Anne was owed by a friend who actually lives near my place. Anne sheepishly admitted that No, she was too gutless to go over and get the money. So Irna says, “You phone that girl right now and tell her your niece will be over there to get your money.” Anne smiled at me as if to say: “That’d be nice if you did that for me,” and I just said: “I’m not collecting your money for you – no way.” Irna was not impressed with my answer, not that I gave a rat’s ass at that point. As I left Irna’s apartment, relieved out of my mind that I was finally getting rid of my aunt, the two of them were giving me the dirtiest look. It was a rather satisfying feeling as I looked at them both, laughed, wiped my feet on Irna’s doormat and got the hell out of there.
God, I love camboys
 Long time no update, and you're not getting much of one until later. Meanwhile, Bob Barker is back from NYC, baby! Go check out his adventures and tell him to update his damned cam!! Speaking of camboys, recently the godfader wrote our website initials on his forehead when he was on cam (see picture above). That one little act thrilled us to bits. This was the same night Burn shaved his entire body on cam. How's a girl expected to get any sleep around here? Check out Eric's new venture at Society for Sale. Some of you are familiar with his work at Everything I Hate, but he now has a real domain but the same pissy attitude. You've got to respect that. Here's a snippit from his latest rant: "GIVE ME MY MOTHERFUCKING COUNTRY BACK! I DON'T WANT TO DEAL WITH ANY OF YOU MOTHERFUCKING BIBLE PUSHERS, TREE HUGGERS, OR WHINY LITTLE BITCHES EVER AGAIN! AMERICA... THE LAND OF THE FREE. ALL OF YOU CAN KISS MY WHITE, CORNBRED, AMERICAN ASS." If you haven't been there before, go visit another favourite American of ours, Blarx. And J35U5 just returned from a family vacation, so read his travel tales.
Big Hollywood Kissies
Dick Pierce's Behind Hollywood by Dick Pierce  Hello, Hugs and BIG Hollywood-style kisses to all my fans!!! I know its been so long since I've been here 'online' as the kids say, and I'm SO sorry, but there has been ALOT of things going on in my life, like for instance, I HAD to rewatch the ENTIRE 2000-01 season of Dharma & Greg again, Relive the laughs and tears of the best season EVER!!!! Man oh man, this is the reason TV was created!!!!
This and 'Coach' of course... Also I've been in my 'Think-Tank', as you know I'm famous for my weekly Xena parties, where we all sit around and watch 'Xena: Warrior Princess', and then we all go and gather around my new water cooler and discuss the episode, we discuss the action scenes, the clothes, the latent homosexual vibes between Xena and Gabriel! Welp last week was the last episode of Xena, that's right no more Xena parties for me. Sure I could still have them for the re-runs of the show, but come on Xena, re-run costume parties? That's a bit too white trash for me, plus that's so totally gay!!!! So if you can think of any new ideas please email me, k? Or send it by 'Snail mail', sorry for all the net jargon here, but I just bought a copy of 'The Internet for Dummies'! Lotta cool stuff in it...didja know McDonald's is on the web? Anyway let's get on with the show, the first part of course is my Ramble Goose section, where I just ramble on and create things for you and yours to discuss around your water coolers...then I give my tip of the week, my video tip of the week and also I answer a LETTER or two, and remember the winner of the LETTER OF THE WEEK, gets an autograph of me and someone famous!!!!!!!! Here we go!!! RAMBLE GOOSE: TIP OF THE WEEK!!! Go ahead and buy a subscription to 'Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen Magazine'..why? Well this way you won't have to worry about going down to the stand and seeing a empty slot where MKAOM is supposed to be, also you will get your copy early and you will have the advantage at cocktail parties...you can impress your friends with such facts as that 60% of girls ages 10-12 LOVE Heath Ledger, but think that Mel Gibson is 'so done'....also you can join their EMAIL CLUB!!! Get all the info on their home videos!!!! Man I should go down to Vegas and bet on them...YOU CAN'T LOSE!!!! BURIED GEM OF THE WEEK: The 1996 hit 'Ed', not to be confused with the NBC show starring John Stewart!!!! This is about a Monkey and his 'Friend', the friend of course being Matt Lablanc...this movie is GREAT, and was SO robbed at Oscar time, it's a heartwarming movie, and ED is the best baseball monkey since EVER!!!!! Go here for more on ED. Welp my little Snorks Clock(I LOVE the snorks) is telling me that its time for bed!!!! So I will leave for now...and remember Hollywood isnt just a city, its a State....OF MIND!!!! Lots of Hollywood kisses and Hugs to my fans!! Oh and as you know Im very inter-net savy now, so here is a joke I got in my email today from the Joke of the Day place: Why did the cookie go to the hospital? Cause it was feeling crumby!!!! XXOOXXXXXOOO Dick Pierce Dick Pierce is the award winning syndicated writer of 'Dick Pierce's Behind Hollywood." He has been a syndicated writer for, oh, let's say 20 years... that's a good round number ain't it?
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Two German men were jailed for life in April, 1999 for murdering a prostitute to make a "snuff" movie. The woman was tied up, raped and tortured before being strangled and her ordeal captured on video. It was cheaper than employing actors and special effects, a court in Hagen, Germany, was told. Ernst Dieter Korzen, 37, and Stefan Michael Mahn, 30, picked up the 21-year-old Turkish prostitute in Cologne and took her to their isolated farm. Her body was later found on a rubbish tip, her hands and feet bound with metal and a rope round her neck.
