http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/081112/health/health_britain_sperm_shortage
Wankers.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Pretty Tied Up
Holy My Michelle, b'ys.
They're releasing Chinese Democracy.
Will the tour involve Buckethead on top of a piano?
Only time will tell.
What A Way To Go
Everyone is getting off of the bus eventually.
That is, everyone's gonna die sometime...somehow.
This man's going to fall down his basement steps on his way to get some syrup from the pantry.
He's going to trip over the cat.
The cat's name is Trousers.
He'll haunt the cat.
This woman is going to fall off of a clift while skiing for the first time.
And her last words will be: "I think I'm off the trail."
But imagine dying because you went to an AC/DC concert.
I mean, I know Thunderstruck was a corker.
But goddamn.
...and Ticketmaster seals your doom...
As for me?
I'll probably be the first non-cartoon individual to have an anvil fall on my head.
Or, it'll be a platypus sting.
That is, everyone's gonna die sometime...somehow.
This man's going to fall down his basement steps on his way to get some syrup from the pantry.
He's going to trip over the cat.
The cat's name is Trousers.
He'll haunt the cat.
This woman is going to fall off of a clift while skiing for the first time.
And her last words will be: "I think I'm off the trail."
But imagine dying because you went to an AC/DC concert.
I mean, I know Thunderstruck was a corker.
But goddamn.
...and Ticketmaster seals your doom...
As for me?
I'll probably be the first non-cartoon individual to have an anvil fall on my head.
Or, it'll be a platypus sting.
Odd Man Out
My friends-my penis friends, that is-they think that I'm different on purpose.
That I just look at what they're doing and then I do the opposite.
To, y'know, stand out.
I don't need to put in effort to stand out.
My gap-toothed, hee-haw appearance gurantees that.
When I'm the guy on the flight who spills his shot-sized cup of coffee on his lap.
While the plane's still over the island.
I don't need to work at it. I stand out whether I like it or not.
I like it.
But still.
I don't avoid Wal-Mart because it's trendy to avoid Wal-Mart.
I avoid Wal-Mart because when I walk in there my brain immediately begins slamming itself against the wall of my skull.
Until I leave.
Because it's trying to escape.
It's a breeding ground for people who wear black jogging pants to 'dress up.'
Who communicate with their families by shouting obscenities.
I don't give a fuck if I'm saving 85 cents on orange juice if I have to buy it in that environment.
We did Cora's last monthish.
I showed up last.
Cause I'm always late.
I am punctuality's anti-Christ.
My penis friends are right on that one. No arguments here.
Anyway, I show up last.
They're already seated.
And all of 'em. Missuses. All of 'em.
They start laughing as soon as they look at me.
And I don't know why.
Turns out it's because I looked so gross.
Which is why I ran into my ex-girlfriend's entire family during the same breakfast.
Existence isn't a treat for me.
But at least there's fresh fruit.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm just whinging, as the Australians say.
I wouldn't trade 'em for all of the gold in Ja Rule's mouth.
That I just look at what they're doing and then I do the opposite.
To, y'know, stand out.
I don't need to put in effort to stand out.
My gap-toothed, hee-haw appearance gurantees that.
When I'm the guy on the flight who spills his shot-sized cup of coffee on his lap.
While the plane's still over the island.
I don't need to work at it. I stand out whether I like it or not.
I like it.
But still.
I don't avoid Wal-Mart because it's trendy to avoid Wal-Mart.
I avoid Wal-Mart because when I walk in there my brain immediately begins slamming itself against the wall of my skull.
Until I leave.
Because it's trying to escape.
It's a breeding ground for people who wear black jogging pants to 'dress up.'
Who communicate with their families by shouting obscenities.
I don't give a fuck if I'm saving 85 cents on orange juice if I have to buy it in that environment.
We did Cora's last monthish.
I showed up last.
Cause I'm always late.
I am punctuality's anti-Christ.
My penis friends are right on that one. No arguments here.
Anyway, I show up last.
They're already seated.
And all of 'em. Missuses. All of 'em.
They start laughing as soon as they look at me.
And I don't know why.
Turns out it's because I looked so gross.
Which is why I ran into my ex-girlfriend's entire family during the same breakfast.
Existence isn't a treat for me.
But at least there's fresh fruit.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm just whinging, as the Australians say.
I wouldn't trade 'em for all of the gold in Ja Rule's mouth.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Skin Ticket
I am a learning disability.
I don't know what beers go with what beer companies.
Okay.
You happy?
I said it.
I have no idea who brews India, and who brews Black Horse.
However, though my patriotism is damned already, it goes beyond that.
Coors. Whatever.
I don't know.
Are you happy, hot bartender waitresses?
I fucking hate it when I go to order a beer and then they don't even say that they don't have it.
They just shout "We only have Molson products!" over the din of people trying to have sex with one another.
"Canadian, then."
If it's Molson, it's Canadian. If it's Labbatt's, it's Blue.
I hate both of them.
There are times when not being cool can be very debilitating.
Like when Max King plays November Rain* at the dance, and you have no one to sidle up with.
You wanna dance with the heartthrob for that one.
Cause it's ten minutes long.
That's not a Jennifer Clarke.
That's a Dana Puddicombe.
But that's another humiliating story.
(Still being told).
*I already linked November Rain in another post. This is another G 'n R classic.
And I didn't want to link Paradise by the Dashboard Light.
I don't know what beers go with what beer companies.
Okay.
You happy?
I said it.
I have no idea who brews India, and who brews Black Horse.
However, though my patriotism is damned already, it goes beyond that.
Coors. Whatever.
I don't know.
Are you happy, hot bartender waitresses?
I fucking hate it when I go to order a beer and then they don't even say that they don't have it.
They just shout "We only have Molson products!" over the din of people trying to have sex with one another.
"Canadian, then."
If it's Molson, it's Canadian. If it's Labbatt's, it's Blue.
I hate both of them.
There are times when not being cool can be very debilitating.
Like when Max King plays November Rain* at the dance, and you have no one to sidle up with.
You wanna dance with the heartthrob for that one.
Cause it's ten minutes long.
That's not a Jennifer Clarke.
That's a Dana Puddicombe.
But that's another humiliating story.
(Still being told).
*I already linked November Rain in another post. This is another G 'n R classic.
And I didn't want to link Paradise by the Dashboard Light.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Mr. Warford is a Fraud
Dump the body in the dumpster behind Burger King.
It's Friday.
So, as I have hinted, I had an observation day on Wednesday of this week.
I got to go to a shop class.
I listened to a chapter of The Outsiders.
Though I have to say, it's just not the same if Harold Stanford isn't reading it to you.
For those lucky few who know Harold Stanford, imagine his voice saying:
"Stay gold, Ponyboy."
Kirk and I still talk about it.
H'anyway.
I'm trying to get used to calling teaching peers as 'sir' or 'miss.'
It's an adjustment.
These people are, for that day, your co-workers.
You know their first names.
Or, at least, you know that they have first names.
But as soon as you leave that staff room you have to say, "Hello sir."
Or, "You got some ass on ya, miss."
Now I'm being called 'sir.'
Or Mr. Warford.
It feels out of place.
Like I'm at the bank all day long.
It's Friday.
So, as I have hinted, I had an observation day on Wednesday of this week.
I got to go to a shop class.
I listened to a chapter of The Outsiders.
Though I have to say, it's just not the same if Harold Stanford isn't reading it to you.
For those lucky few who know Harold Stanford, imagine his voice saying:
"Stay gold, Ponyboy."
Kirk and I still talk about it.
H'anyway.
I'm trying to get used to calling teaching peers as 'sir' or 'miss.'
It's an adjustment.
These people are, for that day, your co-workers.
You know their first names.
Or, at least, you know that they have first names.
But as soon as you leave that staff room you have to say, "Hello sir."
Or, "You got some ass on ya, miss."
Now I'm being called 'sir.'
Or Mr. Warford.
It feels out of place.
Like I'm at the bank all day long.
"Tater, come ta Nan."
She: I'd say you're pretty virile for 26.
Me: Would you?
She: Well, you keep up with me.
Me: I get so winded...
She: I didn't say you were in shape.
She enjoys having cats placed on her head.
Literally.
She's asked me to do this for her on several occasions.
There's a long list of things that cats don't want to do for the benefit of humans.
This is just another one.
You should hear the way she talks to them.
She has a habit of saying the funniest things when I least expect it.
You should drive her through Island Cove sometime.
"Holy fuck! That yard has a horse in it!"
"Oh my god! What was that?! It looked like a field of rabbits back on buddy's lawn.
Or gerbils. They looked like they may have been gerbils."
So, we drove back down Bishop's Cove Shore, and we're all looking for the yard.
With the gerbilery in it.
"Oh, it was just cats," she muttered as we passed by.
Two of them. Two cats.
Colin said, "I'll tell ya one t'ing, a woodsman yer not."
Last night I wanted to pick up her Wendy's potato for her.
So that she could shower.
Allowing us time to catch the opening of Law & Order.
Me: So, ask him for the sour cream and chives, and you don't want anything else?
She: Yeah. They only have two kinds of potatoes; sour cream and chives, or theatre cheese and dodgy fuckin' bacon.
Me: Would you?
She: Well, you keep up with me.
Me: I get so winded...
She: I didn't say you were in shape.
She enjoys having cats placed on her head.
Literally.
She's asked me to do this for her on several occasions.
There's a long list of things that cats don't want to do for the benefit of humans.
This is just another one.
You should hear the way she talks to them.
She has a habit of saying the funniest things when I least expect it.
You should drive her through Island Cove sometime.
"Holy fuck! That yard has a horse in it!"
"Oh my god! What was that?! It looked like a field of rabbits back on buddy's lawn.
Or gerbils. They looked like they may have been gerbils."
So, we drove back down Bishop's Cove Shore, and we're all looking for the yard.
With the gerbilery in it.
"Oh, it was just cats," she muttered as we passed by.
Two of them. Two cats.
Colin said, "I'll tell ya one t'ing, a woodsman yer not."
Last night I wanted to pick up her Wendy's potato for her.
So that she could shower.
Allowing us time to catch the opening of Law & Order.
Me: So, ask him for the sour cream and chives, and you don't want anything else?
She: Yeah. They only have two kinds of potatoes; sour cream and chives, or theatre cheese and dodgy fuckin' bacon.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Kloreroe
In my first 'teaching English' class, I said that I was in the faculty because my mom made me apply.
Which is more or less true.
But, when I'm in doubt, and I think that I should maybe run off to some other province.
For some other exploit (dentistry, for example), I remind myself of what I said to myself when I brought in the application:
'Hey, if I teach for 30 years, at least the job will never be boring.'
More proof:
Tech education class. They're doing an animation thing in Paint.
Some random kid: Would it be inappropriate to do an animation with the Ku Klux Klan?
Teacher: Yes. Absolutely.
And I'm biting the insides of my face, I'm trying so hard not to laugh.
It's not just that this kid is saying this that's flooring me.
It's 9a.m.
If a kid is asking you that before recess, who knows what else the day might bring?
Which is more or less true.
But, when I'm in doubt, and I think that I should maybe run off to some other province.
For some other exploit (dentistry, for example), I remind myself of what I said to myself when I brought in the application:
'Hey, if I teach for 30 years, at least the job will never be boring.'
More proof:
Tech education class. They're doing an animation thing in Paint.
Some random kid: Would it be inappropriate to do an animation with the Ku Klux Klan?
Teacher: Yes. Absolutely.
And I'm biting the insides of my face, I'm trying so hard not to laugh.
It's not just that this kid is saying this that's flooring me.
It's 9a.m.
If a kid is asking you that before recess, who knows what else the day might bring?
Bees Attack Stars!
I just finished sticking a bunch of shit to my walls.
With that tacky adhesive gear that may replace scotch tape one day if it gets its act together.
It's a long shot, though; the Scotts don't go down easily.
The French, on the other hand...
But we're not talking global issues right now.
The stuff on my walls is a mish mash of mementos and used condoms that I have kept over the years.
Because, when not mocking old people or inhaling inhalants, I too can be wistful.
So, I watched Hey Rosetta! play music last night.
They look more like a Nova Scotian band than one of ours.
These days.
The bass player lost his glasses.
Not literally. Cosmetically.
Turpin and I watched the band for a while before we grew bored.
Then we watched the bassist (him again) make his bass-player faces.
And equated them to his having sex.
Because he was making fuck faces. Onstage.
I wonder if anyone has told him yet.
Hopefully his mom reads my blog.
Stars came on afterwards.
What a bunch of florist jerkoffs they are.
Throwing roses to the crowds, and rose petals when breaking into choruses.
Don't get me wrong; I dig the band.
But sometimes the stage antics of a group can really sour the milk, y'know?
Ever watch Thursday live?
Exactly.
Side note for all of you 7-foot tall, well-endowed assholes.
If you're at a concert. Or a play. Or one of those deals where people have orgies onstage.
If you're at one of those. You can look around and say to yourself,
"I'm easily the tallest person here."
So why are you standing in front of me?
And when you put your lightweight girlfriend on your shoulders?
Even better.
Next time I hope you drop her.
With that tacky adhesive gear that may replace scotch tape one day if it gets its act together.
It's a long shot, though; the Scotts don't go down easily.
The French, on the other hand...
But we're not talking global issues right now.
The stuff on my walls is a mish mash of mementos and used condoms that I have kept over the years.
Because, when not mocking old people or inhaling inhalants, I too can be wistful.
So, I watched Hey Rosetta! play music last night.
They look more like a Nova Scotian band than one of ours.
These days.
The bass player lost his glasses.
Not literally. Cosmetically.
Turpin and I watched the band for a while before we grew bored.
Then we watched the bassist (him again) make his bass-player faces.
And equated them to his having sex.
Because he was making fuck faces. Onstage.
I wonder if anyone has told him yet.
Hopefully his mom reads my blog.
Stars came on afterwards.
What a bunch of florist jerkoffs they are.
Throwing roses to the crowds, and rose petals when breaking into choruses.
Don't get me wrong; I dig the band.
But sometimes the stage antics of a group can really sour the milk, y'know?
Ever watch Thursday live?
Exactly.
Side note for all of you 7-foot tall, well-endowed assholes.
If you're at a concert. Or a play. Or one of those deals where people have orgies onstage.
If you're at one of those. You can look around and say to yourself,
"I'm easily the tallest person here."
So why are you standing in front of me?
And when you put your lightweight girlfriend on your shoulders?
Even better.
Next time I hope you drop her.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Half-Life
I'm not writing a bunch of stuff down for the likes of you people!
I'm kidding. You're a fine gaggle of readers.
This is me up for oxygen.
I've been sacrificing hygeine and sunlight for the sake of this game.
Though, from what the weather woman has been telling me, I'm not missing much.
You know the one.
With the gappy teeth and pleasant behind on channel 17?
I'm sure she has a lovely personality as well.
All weatherpeople do.
They're also great at making swooping, elaborate gestures with their arms.
Am I still talking about this?
I'm going to see Stars tonight.
Not the anvil-on-your-head kinda stars.
The band.
Shit!
My pie's burning.
I've got class anyway.
I might be back again later.
Maybe not (Fallout).
I'm kidding. You're a fine gaggle of readers.
This is me up for oxygen.
I've been sacrificing hygeine and sunlight for the sake of this game.
Though, from what the weather woman has been telling me, I'm not missing much.
You know the one.
With the gappy teeth and pleasant behind on channel 17?
I'm sure she has a lovely personality as well.
All weatherpeople do.
They're also great at making swooping, elaborate gestures with their arms.
Am I still talking about this?
I'm going to see Stars tonight.
Not the anvil-on-your-head kinda stars.
The band.
Shit!
My pie's burning.
I've got class anyway.
I might be back again later.
Maybe not (Fallout).
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