I don't really think that it's a barbecue cover.
Sure, everyone says, "Cover the barbecue!
Gotta get the barbecue covered."
We don't need to cover our barbecues.
They're the heaviest appliance that humans have, next to the fridge.
Dishwasher.
Clothes dryer.
Hitachi magic wand.
They're the only things left outside that always survive hurricanes.
"The patio's gone!"
And the Landcruiser! How's we gonna live?!"
"Hey, lookit! The barbecue's still okay."
Steaks for everyone.
Steaks among the rubble.
Barbecues don't need a cover.
I think it's a barbecue hider.
That's why people use them; they don't want thieves thieving their barbecues.
Doesn't work, though.
Just makes it look like you have a barbecue with a custom-made tarp over it.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Small Package
The ineternet has few uses, sure.
But I have seen the fat person have sex.
And I have seen the midget have sex.
If you're curious to know which is less appealing, I'll say this:
Proportion goes a long way.
But I have seen the fat person have sex.
And I have seen the midget have sex.
If you're curious to know which is less appealing, I'll say this:
Proportion goes a long way.
Home Aloners
Seth Green is a Macauly Culkin who made it.
It's not really wrong to have sex with your cousin.
It's just wrong to have children with them
(this is the most insightful thing I've thought of in months, by the way).
The Royal Family are really professional visitors.
They just dress up nicely and go to events.
Stay until it's acceptable to leave.
And then they leave.
They never outstay their welcome.
They never have you over to their place.
People make every effort to make sure they're comfortable.
So far as I can tell, this is all they do.
For a Royal child, every day is like visiting an aunt that you just met.
The CBC once televised a how-do with a bunch of traditional Natives that the queen was at.
I watched the report with my parents over supper.
And there she was, in her mint green old person dress, smiling politely, while dudes in feathers danced around and beat the drum and so on.
While on camera, she leaned over and said something to one of her bodyguards.
And I said to mom and dad at the time:
"Guaranteed she just asked him what time this is supposed to be over."
Can you think of anything else they do?
They're celebrities that don't do anything.
At least normal celebrities do something.
Talentless celebrities. That's the royal family.
It's not really wrong to have sex with your cousin.
It's just wrong to have children with them
(this is the most insightful thing I've thought of in months, by the way).
The Royal Family are really professional visitors.
They just dress up nicely and go to events.
Stay until it's acceptable to leave.
And then they leave.
They never outstay their welcome.
They never have you over to their place.
People make every effort to make sure they're comfortable.
So far as I can tell, this is all they do.
For a Royal child, every day is like visiting an aunt that you just met.
The CBC once televised a how-do with a bunch of traditional Natives that the queen was at.
I watched the report with my parents over supper.
And there she was, in her mint green old person dress, smiling politely, while dudes in feathers danced around and beat the drum and so on.
While on camera, she leaned over and said something to one of her bodyguards.
And I said to mom and dad at the time:
"Guaranteed she just asked him what time this is supposed to be over."
Can you think of anything else they do?
They're celebrities that don't do anything.
At least normal celebrities do something.
Talentless celebrities. That's the royal family.
The Test of Thyme
Do you people dislike the adult content warning when opening my blog now?
Tough!
Tough for all of us; I have to personally bypass it every time also.
You're probably more irritated that every time you log on there's no blog to look at.
And here I am!
There's always the archives, people.
Want to find out how much I hated my job in 2008?
Whatever that was...
It's all there.
I made vegetable stock yesterday.
If you don't know what that means, think of vegetable water.
It's vegetable water.
I've bought thyme twice now to make it with.
A sprig. That's what the recipe calls for.
And twice I had it go bad because I take so frigging long to do anything.
My parents are away again and so I'm acting like an adult
(though I'm really at my most juvenile; using their paper towels
swallowing their prescription medicine).
Really they're the ones who took too long.
Not me.
Cooking is frustrating when mom and dad are here.
Because I can't have pornography on in the background while I do it.
Speaking of things I haven't done, I'm writing now.
I haven't been.
I haven't been.
I want to move to Halifax soon.
In order to do some writing, have some infidelities, or get mauled by a deer in a coffee shop.
Though I'd rather watch Peter White take the antlers than myself.
We can chalk all of this up to a relatively lax summer.
And a crippling video game addiction.
Which has only become so literal lately.
My thumbs kinda hurt.
25 years I've been playing video games.
Only taking breaks to lose my virginity, get an education, and check on the egg rolls from time to time.
My thumbs have never hurt before.
I suppose I'm not too surprised.
You play guns for a season's length and that's bound to catch up to you.
My colloquial (I can't pronounce this word out loud) term for this game.
I single-handedly convinced six people to purchase and begin playing it.
Alas, I believe it's time to take a step back.
Fun is fun, but that's long enough not making the vegetable water.
That being said, I'm no less afraid of doing things that involve money.
If someone wants to find me an apartment in Halifax so that I don't have to do it...
...You know the rest.
Do you stop being nice when you lose your virginity?
Did I?
Tough!
Tough for all of us; I have to personally bypass it every time also.
You're probably more irritated that every time you log on there's no blog to look at.
And here I am!
There's always the archives, people.
Want to find out how much I hated my job in 2008?
Whatever that was...
It's all there.
I made vegetable stock yesterday.
If you don't know what that means, think of vegetable water.
It's vegetable water.
I've bought thyme twice now to make it with.
A sprig. That's what the recipe calls for.
And twice I had it go bad because I take so frigging long to do anything.
My parents are away again and so I'm acting like an adult
(though I'm really at my most juvenile; using their paper towels
swallowing their prescription medicine).
Really they're the ones who took too long.
Not me.
Cooking is frustrating when mom and dad are here.
Because I can't have pornography on in the background while I do it.
Speaking of things I haven't done, I'm writing now.
I haven't been.
I haven't been.
I want to move to Halifax soon.
In order to do some writing, have some infidelities, or get mauled by a deer in a coffee shop.
Though I'd rather watch Peter White take the antlers than myself.
We can chalk all of this up to a relatively lax summer.
And a crippling video game addiction.
Which has only become so literal lately.
My thumbs kinda hurt.
25 years I've been playing video games.
Only taking breaks to lose my virginity, get an education, and check on the egg rolls from time to time.
My thumbs have never hurt before.
I suppose I'm not too surprised.
You play guns for a season's length and that's bound to catch up to you.
My colloquial (I can't pronounce this word out loud) term for this game.
I single-handedly convinced six people to purchase and begin playing it.
Alas, I believe it's time to take a step back.
Fun is fun, but that's long enough not making the vegetable water.
That being said, I'm no less afraid of doing things that involve money.
If someone wants to find me an apartment in Halifax so that I don't have to do it...
...You know the rest.
Do you stop being nice when you lose your virginity?
Did I?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
The Cold. Truth.
I need to watch a documentary every day.
Whether they're good, or they just depict a guy eating a lot of Big Macs.
Documentaries always put me in the mood to write after I see them.
Probably because they're well-narrated and they have upbeat songs during the closing credits.
So I've been...not around.
For the longest period since I began writing this blog in the first place.
I began writing this blog because Turpin convinced me to.
Did I ever mention that?
Oh! Speaking of.
She and I went on Maury Povich last month.
Turns out that I'm not the father of her child.
No, the father of her child is in fact a Western Lowland Gorilla living at the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle, Washington.
He won't return her calls.
I don't know why I've been gone for so long.
Mom and Dad went on a three-week vacation.
Which meant that I went on a three-week vacation.
It was okay.
I made my own pizza dough.
After that, I guess I just sort of reveled in my own sloth.
As I tend to do, given a chance.
I don't know about those bike lanes that the Doc stuck in St. John's.
To me, and I'm no transit expert, they seem like pictures of bikes and arrows painted on the road.
I guess those are the bike lanes.
Oftentimes when I'm driving (polluting!), the vehicle occupies the space in which the bike is supposed to be.
I haven't encountered a cyclist yet, but when I do, I'm going to assume I have the right-of-way.
When they invent robot maids, all human maids will have jobs assembling and maintaining the robot maids.
And they'll scoff these machines for being unable to feel love.
And for not stealing loose change when it's right there in front of them.
With their robot maid vacuum arms.
I missed you while I was gone.
And I felt as though I was doing the wrong thing.
Not writing.
Not texting.
Not looking at photos of you on the beach on Facefuck.
But that's changed now.
In truth, I'm fever-y and snotty and sick and I need you.
And whenever I need you, I'll always be there.
(This one's genius):
I tried an oxygen bar not that long ago.
I found I could get as good at home.
Whether they're good, or they just depict a guy eating a lot of Big Macs.
Documentaries always put me in the mood to write after I see them.
Probably because they're well-narrated and they have upbeat songs during the closing credits.
So I've been...not around.
For the longest period since I began writing this blog in the first place.
I began writing this blog because Turpin convinced me to.
Did I ever mention that?
Oh! Speaking of.
She and I went on Maury Povich last month.
Turns out that I'm not the father of her child.
No, the father of her child is in fact a Western Lowland Gorilla living at the Woodland Park Zoo in Seattle, Washington.
He won't return her calls.
I don't know why I've been gone for so long.
Mom and Dad went on a three-week vacation.
Which meant that I went on a three-week vacation.
It was okay.
I made my own pizza dough.
After that, I guess I just sort of reveled in my own sloth.
As I tend to do, given a chance.
I don't know about those bike lanes that the Doc stuck in St. John's.
To me, and I'm no transit expert, they seem like pictures of bikes and arrows painted on the road.
I guess those are the bike lanes.
Oftentimes when I'm driving (polluting!), the vehicle occupies the space in which the bike is supposed to be.
I haven't encountered a cyclist yet, but when I do, I'm going to assume I have the right-of-way.
When they invent robot maids, all human maids will have jobs assembling and maintaining the robot maids.
And they'll scoff these machines for being unable to feel love.
And for not stealing loose change when it's right there in front of them.
With their robot maid vacuum arms.
I missed you while I was gone.
And I felt as though I was doing the wrong thing.
Not writing.
Not texting.
Not looking at photos of you on the beach on Facefuck.
But that's changed now.
In truth, I'm fever-y and snotty and sick and I need you.
And whenever I need you, I'll always be there.
(This one's genius):
I tried an oxygen bar not that long ago.
I found I could get as good at home.
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