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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.
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