Sarah Palin 2012 – Why Sarah Palin Will be the Republican Nominee for President

Disclaimer: I do not support or endorse Sarah Palin in any way. I do however believe that the GOP is going to make her the Republican presidential nominee for the November elections. This is why:

Once upon a time, like a year or so ago, the Super Secret Shadow Council of Rich White Guys Who Run the GOP got together to figure out who would be their next presidential candidate. They took a good, hard look at the potential nominees:

Sarah Palin shows off her assets.

1. Sarah Palin. Pros: She's purty. Cons: Bat shit crazy. Dumb as a bug. If she gets too much exposure over the next year she'll be about as likely to be elected as she is to count past 17.

2. Rick Santorum. Google his fucking name. Next.

3. Ron Paul. Pros: Makes the rest of the nominees look sane. Cons: Uncontrollable. Would turn on his masters, Frankenstein's Monster style. Ok, perhaps a bit more Frankenweenie than Frankenstein, but you get the idea.

4. Newt Gingrich. Pros: Degenerate whore, loyal to whomever lines his pockets the best. (Yes, to the GOP, this is a pro). Cons: He's named after a small lizard. His last name sounds like a vaginal wash. Serial adulterer. Left his first wife while she was in the hospital recovering from surgery. Left his second wife after she refused his demands for an open marriage. About as likely to be voted President of the USA as Ted Nugent's left testicle is to be voted “Miss Congeniality”.

Sarah Demonstrates safe sex.

5. Mitt Romney. Pros: Really, really, really looks like a president. Cons: Believes in the wrong Jesus. Favours moronic, foolish things like universal health care.

6. Tim Pawlenty. Pros: Tim who? Cons: Tim who?

7. Herman Cain. Pros: Negates Obama's “Black Advantage”. Cons: Dumb as a bug. People might find out about his numerous charges of sexual misconduct. Besides, have you seen this dude's smile? Creeeeepy. 

8. Michelle Bachman. Pros: She's purty. Cons: Dumb as a bug, and quite possibly malformed on a deep, genetic level.

9. Rick Perry.  Pros: From Texas. Likes killing bad people. Cons: Dumb as a bug. Hunting Lodge with a name white people aren't allowed to say. Apparently unable to maintain cogent thought processes about 40% of the time.

Sarah and her "Dwarf Gittar"

So the Super Secret Shadow Council of Rich White Guys Who Run the GOP sat back, looked at their list of potential nominees, and shuddered. They realized that their candidates would face intense media investigation over the better part of a year. They also realized that any such scrutiny was bound to reveal that each and every one of the candidates was either immoral, stupid, or borderline insane.

In the end, not a single one of them could possibly beat Obama. So they decided to change the game.

After considering all the pros and cons, the Super Secret Shadow Council of Rich White Guys Who Run the GOP decide that Sarah Palin would make the most tractable, easily-controlled stooge president and should be their nominee. However, they also realized that there was no way she could stand up to a year of in-depth examination and extended media coverage.

So they took Sarah Palin out of the game. 

The myriad of Republican Presidential Debates were nothing more than a side show, bread and circuses to entertain the masses. Wow, Herman Cain sure did sexually interfere with a lot of ladies! Haha, listen to Ron Paul talk with his silly ideas! Wow, Newt Gingrich really did cheat on his cancer-ridden wife!

The plan was to shake things up and let the scum sink to the bottom. One by one, candidates dropped out as it became more and more obvious that they were, by and large, useless puddles of ambulatory protoplasm. Eventually, the Super Secret Shadow Council of Rich White Guys Who Run the GOP knew, they would be left with only one remaining candidate.

They also realized that whomever this candidate was, he/she/it would most likely be roundly loathed by Republicans and Democrats alike. The Republicans would be left with someone they had been forced to accept by default, not someone that they actually wanted to choose. Kind of like being taken to an all-you-can-eat buffet consisting of raw sewage (collected from the homes of poor people), pubic hair (hastily scraped off the groins of people without medical insurance) and camel testicles and being told that you had to eat one of them, or your next president will be a Democrat.

So the Super Secret Shadow Council of Rich White Guys Who Run the GOP knew that whoever they put forward as the Republican nominee for President would most likely be largely hated, reviled and ridiculed. So what could they do? Well, that's where the “Brokered Convention” comes into play.

When the time comes for the official Presidential Primary, Romney will fail to garner enough votes for a majority. Meanwhile, Sarah Palin will step in to “save the party”. She has spent the majority of the previous year out of the media circus, stepping into the limelight only long enough to remind us all that she still exists.

Palin will be touted by FOX “News” and the entire GOP machine as the “last hope of the Republican Party” and “the only one who can beat Obama”. Horses will be traded, backs scratched, and quicker than you can say “Mitt Romney's numerous legal-but-highly-unethical-tax-loopholes”, Sarah Palin will be the 2012 Republican Party Nominee for President of the USA.

TL;DR – Kittens be cute. Especially in baskets. All Hail Sarah Palin, Queen of 'Murica.

The Seven

[I wrote this while I sat contemplating a picture representing the Seven Deadly Sins. For those interested, The picture is the hanging on the wall in the graphic art piece I did below.]

The Seven

Elsie was younger than the rest, and prettier. She had hair that caught the sunlight and stored it to be released after dark. Her smile was your first love’s smile, and her lips could hold a man’s attention and her eyes his soul. She was an angry drunk, and had played host to many a venereal parasite.

Theodore enjoyed tarts, pastries and pies, and the occasional trollop. He was known to his friends as King Beer Bong, and his mother would mutter about large bones and fat camp. Theodore did not enjoy the stereotype of the jolly fat man, and instead went to great pains to puncture that belief with a cutting wit and less than ideal personal hygiene.

Simon wore his father’s coat and hat, which he inherited upon the Old Man’s death. Some, new to the neighbourhood, whispered of the son’s devotion. Simon was simply loathe to waste good clothing. He had inherited quite a bit, and saw no reason to waste any on extravagances like new clothes or employee health benefits.

Eve entered a room like the eye of a hurricane. Eyes followed her like e’s after c’s. Her silent acceptance of worship and adoration soaked through her pores like the sweetest perfume. Her every step a movement of grace, her every whisper a command. So perfect that none dare criticize, thus never learns from mistakes she cannot acknowledge.

Echo despised the wealthy, that self-serving plague upon humanity. What do they give back, for all they are given? What sets them apart, makes them special? Why should they have so much while so many work so hard? Why’s the bitch next door get to drive a brand new Porsche while she has to be seen in a 4-year old BMW? Guess we know who had to suck what to get her car.

Randy’s back had hurt for as long as he could remember to. Sometimes after football he’d feel so bad he’d have to go to the Day Spa for a massage and rumoured hand release. He made sure to always take his back medication, as well as to frequently inhale an herbal remedy that he grew himself in the room another man would have put his children in.

Dan was proud to boast, “If there’s a fight, you want to be around Dan.” Most others would say, “If Dan’s around, there’s going to be a fight.” His Guidance Counselor had told him to do what he was good at. For the longest time he worried that flushing other kids heads down the toilet in high-school had not adequately prepared him for life in the real world. Then he discovered the police force.

Yoga Farts

Smells like teen spirit.

Ok. People occasionally fart during yoga class. I get that. It happens. We're stretching our bodies out into bizarre shapes and unfamiliar elongations, so a little escaped methane is only natural. No worries, we're all adults. No one giggles, no pointy fingers; we just ignore and move on. Ok, maybe a few plugged noses, but that's about it.

But there are limits.

Today an individual in my yoga class farted six times. Not over the span of the entire class, but in a row, one after the other, over a 10 second span. They just kept coming, fart, after fart, after fart. And not shy, embarrassed little squeak farts either. Loud, brazen, beans in a truck stop kind of farts. Cheek slappers. Vulvuzela farts.

While we all know everyone farts, I like to think that most people, if they feel a fart coming, do their best to suppress it. Or at least let it slip out quietly. Farts can slip out unexpectedly, but if you know one is coming it's polite to try and stifle it. But farting six times in succession? After - oh, I don't know, the fourth fart - I would think the individual would begin to suspect that more farts might be coming. If they can't be controlled, you could at least aim your butt away from your neighbour's face.

Green Things - a Poem

What do you find at the back of the fridge?

What grows on the feet of your cousin Midge?

Green things.

What tickles your nose when you have to sneeze?

What do doctors insert when they work on your knees?

Green things.

What do frogs mate with when they are in heat?

What do you find when you turn down the sheet?

Green things.

What goes into your dog and out of your cat?

What grows under logs and smelly door mats?

Green things.

BANG.

There's very little an armed gunman can do to treat a heart attack victim. I mean, sure, my .38 came in quite useful for its intended purpose - scaring the shit out of the variety store clerk - but when said clerk falls to the ground clutching his chest and turning a rather startling pale blue/gray colour, the gun has really outlived its usefulness.

It was late at night, about 3 am. No sense robbing the place when it's going to be busy. It was just me and him. "Him" being a tall, rather rotund white guy in a Maple Leaf jersey. I pointed the gun at the guy and before I could say, "Don't move", he falls to the floor and starts twitching.

I'm not totally heartless. Sure, I could've just grabbed what I came for and ran, but shit. Someone has a heart attack right in front of you, least you can do is try and help. As I've made it my life's goal to do the least I could, I knelt beside him and lifted his head onto my lap.

"Hey man," I slapped his cheeks, and his eyes focused weakly on my face, "you got any pills, something I can give you?"

He shook his head 'no' ... or maybe it was a spasm. Beats me. I was out of my element the moment his fat ass slapped the floor. I was at a loss, and it wasn't like Tubby McHeartpopper was helping much.

I emptied the cash register, then tossed it through the front window. The alarm bell sounded immediately. I grabbed a couple of cartons of smokes and shrugged down at him apologetically. "The alarm will bring the cops. Sorry about the heart attack."

I turned away from him to pull the DVD out of the security camera recorder. That's when the fucker shot me in the back. I was like, what the fuck? Here I am trying to help - putting my self at risk of being arrested, I might add - and the bastard waits until my back is turned and shoots me.

I dropped down to one knee, turning to see his sweaty, pale face. He was still holding the gun - a .22, thank God - in one hand, but another spasm caused him to drop it to the ground.

“Lucky for me,” I gasped, my bruised ribs aching with each indrawn breath, “I come prepared.” I pulled myself to my feet, lifting my jacket so he could see the Kevlar vest beneath it. "Lucky for you, I'm not a vengeful guy. But still, shooting a guy in the back is kind of prickish, so..."

I pointed my gun at his knee, then paused. "You really need to get some exercise, so I won't cripple you." I raised the gun slightly, and shot him in the left bicep.

I looked up at the sound of distant sirens, then smiled down at the clerk. "I gotta go. Hit the fucking treadmill why don't you?"

He nodded weakly as I left.

Funny how some people live their lives so poorly that when confronted by an angry man with a gun, the most dangerous thing in the room is still their own overworked heart.

Confidence Tricks: The MOVIE!

Hello all! I'm going to be filming my screenplay, "Confidence Tricks" in the New Year, and am looking for some help with funding. Please visit the link below, read/watch the appeal, and if you'd like to help out and offer your support, please make a contribution.

Also, please share this link with your Facebook friends, Twitterfolk, or anyone else you think might be interested. Even if you can't contribute financially, helping to spread the word is very much appreciated!

http://www.indiegogo.com/Confidence-Tricks?a=337325

Piping Ceremony

Today, I did something good. Not good for the environment, or good for the economy, or even for the good of my fellow human beings. I did something good for me. Thanks to the support and encouragement of my wonderful friend Laura, and to the help and assistance of my good friend Gary, I attended my first Native Piping Ceremony today.

My day began early. Crazy early. 7:30 am early. You may not think that particularly early, but I normally get up at noon, so for me, it was early. I prepared for the day, and left the house bundled up in layers, ready for any weather. I literally had no idea as to the nature of the event what I was about to attend, and wanted to be prepared.

I arrived at Gary and Laura's promptly at 8 am. I met up with Gary and Laura, their son Dax, and our friends Chris and Alex. Our two car caravan was off, stopping only to pick up one more friend of Laura's along the way. We didn't have time to stop for coffee, so as you can imagine, my mood was one of hopeful anticipation mixed with ... well, whatever that feeling is you get when you hadn't had your morning coffee. Ah well, I thought. I wanted a Tim Hortons coffee, but sometimes you just don't get what you want.

We arrived at the lodge, which I can best describe as a really large tent. But instead of interlocking plastic poles and nylon strings, the frame was constructed of hand-hewn wood. The walls of the structure were made of tarp, overlapping to keep out most of the weather, yet open at the top, and with the occasional gap to keep the air fresh and pleasant.

Almost immediately, I was made welcome by our hosts, and offered a cup of .... Tim Hortons coffee. The universe provides. That first sip was bliss. We were made welcome and took our seats on a bench along the southern-most wall. I know it was the southern-most wall because Gary informed me that the entrance to a lodge always faces east.

A fire was burning in the center of the lodge, housed carefully in a deep circular pit. Despite the early-morning November chill the lodge was comfortably warm, yet the air circulated well and was never stuffy, smokey or uncomfortable. I noticed at the edge of the pit closest to the entrance there was what appeared to be a small shrine, consisting of a small stone, a hand-carved horse and a small sprinkling of tobacco.

There's no point in trying to describe the ceremony itself. I'm not that clever, and it's something to be experienced, not described. I have written and deleted this same sentence seventeen times in a row, trying to capture the essence of the ceremony, but it's pointless. All I can do is record my impressions.

The people. The people were welcoming, gracious, kind, polite, loving, caring, and above all - at least to me - exhibited a gentle yet irresistible sense of humour. There were a few moments of natural levity during the ceremony, culminating in a slight "slip" towards the end, that had everyone in tears of laughter. Even the gentleman beating the drum and leading the singing skipped a beat or two as he joined in. No one was embarrassed. No one was upset. The moment was accepted for what it was - a part of the natural flow of the ceremony.

The inspirational Josephine Mandamin

The lodge had a special guest that day, a beautiful, self-effacing woman named Josephine Mandamin. I had no idea who she was. I had no idea how incredible she was. I had no idea I should feel privileged to hear her speak. Once she began to speak, I very quickly learned how lucky I was to be there at the same time as Josephine. I won't go into detail as to who she is - as you can learn that at www.motherearthwaterwalk.com - but I will say I was totally enchanted and taken by her wisdom and humility, her gentle humour, and her strength.

After the ceremony was over, we walked across the street to a local recreation center for more information about Josephine and her works. There, I discovered that there would be a man from a reptile conservation center with a wide selection of animals to display; snakes, geckos, tarantulas, and even a large tortoise.

It was one of those days where things kept getting better and better. After enjoying Josephine's stories, and watching the kids handle constrictors and monitor lizards (and even checking out a few myself - having a tarantula in your hands is cool!) I discovered that they were going to feed us lunch. Soup, sandwiches, wraps, very delicious!

Then there were door prizes. Wait ... what? Door prizes? You invite me to attend your sacred ceremonies, you teach me, you entertain me, you feed me, and now you're giving away prizes? For FREE? This doesn't seem like a viable business model!

Because it's not. It wasn't about business. I'm still not 100% sure what it was about, but to me, the day was about unity over strife. Friendship over distrust. Shared laughter over shame. Sharing what you can, taking what you need, giving that which is needed.

It was a good day for me.

ROMINS (Reviews of Movies I've Never Seen): Fast Five

Fast Five is the fifth and, God-willing, final installment in the seminal "Fast and the Furious" film series. The movie tells the story of Armand Fist (played by Vin Diesel), a spunky young amateur masturbator who decides to enter the BNIC (Bukkake Night in Canada) held in Temiskaming Shores, Canada ("Temiskaming" being a Native word meaning "Mauling the Moose").

Known for his incredible dexterity and machine-like stroke speed, Armand (or "Fast Five" as he is known, due to his dextrous digits) must overcome the prejudices of his rural hometown of Splooge, North Dakota in order to become the cream of the crop. His first barrier to stardom is his girlfriend, Betty (played quite ably by television's Nel Carter) who's intense and constant desire for sex is a constant drain on Armand's stamina, and makes practicing next to impossible.

Bite Sarge's Salty Meat Stick

Armand finally is forced to flee his home after his father is convicted of baby battering. Armand is broke, but he manages to earn enough money for bus fare by slinging yogurt at a local restaurant. His big break comes when he is hired on as a celebrity sponsor for Old Sarge's Beef Jerky.

Armand makes his way to the BNIC, where he originally views others men as competitors only, but after striking up a friendship with Dick Juice, last year's winner of the BNIC (played by a pile of Johnny Depp's haircut clippings), comes to see men in a different light. Armand and Dick at first are enemies, but come to be friends after they realize how much they both love butter.

Watch for cameos from Shia Labeouf as Mr. Nononononono!, Renee Zellweger as a piece of discarded licorice, Jeff Bridges as Fluffy McNutbutter, and Natalie Portman as Squeegee Von Creamsicle.

Armand eventually wins the BNIC, and uses the proceeds to buy his girlfriend Betty a pearl necklace. I give this movie two thumbs up Julie Andrews.

Then and Now

I was browsing online today when I say this picture. Highly NSFW btw.

NSFW Accidental Wedding Photo

I thought, man, that pretty much sums up the differences between today, and when I was a kid. When I was young, if someone got drunk at a wedding and accidentally suffered a nip-slip, only one or two people would likely have noticed. They wouldn't say anything, but might keep the knowledge to hand if needed to get one over on you.

We just didn't have the technology to take her picture and get it on Facebook within 30 seconds.

So I guess, yeah, the major difference is, we were a lot more relaxed back then.

Back Words

I have taken my back for granted. After all, it doesn't really make much of a fuss most of the time, and it spends it's time behind me, so it's not something I used to spend much time thinking about. Until the day my back decided to stab me in the ... well, in the back.

I had just shut my front door, and was turning away when I felt a spasm, a tear, in the small of my back. It hurt, but not terribly. At the time I thought, "Well, that was annoying", and then went back to ignoring my back ... for awhile. The pain kept growing gradually worse, much like Michelle Bachman's media presence. By the time I went to bed my back was big bucket of agony, making sleep very difficult.

I got out of bed at 8:30 am the next day. It took me about 20 minutes to do so. I had originally decided to just ride out the pain, but this had become impossible. I went to the Urgent Care center in Stoney Creek. Sure, St. Joe's downtown is closer, but the last time I went there was about 2 months ago, and the wait for a doctor was so long I still haven't had my turn called.

There was no one ahead of me at the hospital, which was nice. For the first time in my life I rode a wheelchair for real, because walking was a torment. Sitting hurt to, but nowhere near as much as walking.

The doctor was great, and gave me a shot of morphine to help with the pain. I have to admit I was disappointed ... I had heard so much about the affects of morphine, and all I got was mild reduction in pain. The doctor later informed me he had given me a very small dosage as this was my first exposure to the medicine and he wanted to make sure it didn't like, kill me. For my part, I wanted buckets full of the stuff to take the pain away. Oh well, I guess better safe and sore than pain free and, like, dead.

So now I'm on 3 meds - Oxycodone for the pain, cyclobenzaprine for the swelling, and Naproxen for ... oh, I don't know, let's say to prevent involuntary spontaneous decapitation. I shuffle around like a refugee from a bad zombie movie, and am pretty much confined to quarters for the next few days. The pain is still present, but manageable.

All in all, it could be worse. I could be Stephen Harper.

ROMINS (Reviews of Movies I've Never Seen): Green Lantern

Nel Carter as Green Lantern

Green Lantern is a fantastic, roller-coaster ride of a movie, starring television's Nel Carter as Bobby Greenpants, an average, everyday high school student and part-time cattle prod.

Bobby is living a do-nothing, go-nowhere life when suddenly everything changes. He meets up with The King of the Lanterns, played quite ably by television's Nel Carter. The King gives Bobby a choice: continue to live your boring little life, or take on the role of a super hero called the Green Lantern!

Of course, Bobby chooses the latter, as being normal sucks dirty donkey dicks. However, he should have asked some questions first, as it turns out his super power was to fill a lantern with his own mucus and then fire green snot-rays at bad guys. Effective, yes, but super, super gross.

Bobby is almost immediately attacked by his arch-nemisis (which is weird because before that moment he didn't even have an arch nemesis), the evil Kleen-X, played by television's Nel Carter. Bobby - now Green Lantern - barely escapes with his life. He limps off to lick his wounds and refill his lamp.

Meanwhile, Kleen-X goes after Bobby's high school sweetheart, Mary-Becky-Anne-Joe-Jenny-Kate-Ashley-Anne McGillicuty (played quite ably by - you guessed it - television's Nel Carter). Kleen-X kidnaps Mary-Becky-Anne-Joe-Jenny-Kate-Ashley-Anne and whisks her away to his secret hideout in the nose of the Statue of Liberty.

I won't spoil the rest for you, but rest assured the movie is filled with more action, romance, and mucus than any one human being could ever be comfortable with. Watch for cameos by Nel Carter as the Liberty Island Caretaker, Nel Carter as the Ferryman, Nel Carter as the little boy who can't spell "apples", and Nel Carter as herself.

I give this move three thumbs up Nel Carter.

Papyrus Air

I'm a member of a great film production crew called Yard Sale from Hell Productions. This year we entered the Hamilton 24-Hour Film Festival and actually managed to produce a fully-animated film in less than 24 hours. This took a lot of hard work and dedication from the entire team, but especially from the inestimable Mr. Craig Rintoul.

It stars the voice talents of Gary Reid, Erin Pratt and Asher Hunter and features the inestimable machinima talents of Mr. Craig Rintoul.

Each year the film festival presents 3 random elements which have to be incorporated into the film. This is to guarantee - at least in theory - that the film is produced in 24 hours and is not done earlier.

This year the offers were:

1. An abnormally large paper airplane.

2. Something significant had to occur in an reflection.

3. A line of dialogue. This year it was from the movie "Fatal Attraction", and the line was "Sure, bring the dog. I love animals. I'm a great cook."

Check out the video below!

My Boston Shirt

I don't actually look this good in my BOSTON t-shirt

Ok, so I have this shirt that says "BOSTON" on the chest. I like this shirt, because I bought it while I was in Boston on business.

Yes, I was actually in Boston, on business. How weird is that? It still freaks me out a little.

The company I worked for needed someone to train a classroom full of new hires. We have locations in Burlington and Boston. No one in Boston could train them as well as I could, so my company paid to fly me down and put me up in a hotel for 18 days to train them.

I am proud of that fact. I was good enough at my job for someone to be willing to pay to fly me to Boston rather than have someone there do the job less well than I would. They even put me up in a Westin hotel. Ok, the Westin isn't exactly Ritz Carlton, but it's a far cry from Best Western.

While I was in Boston I picked up a souvenir t-shirt that read "BOSTON" across the chest. I love that shirt. I'm proud of what it represents to me. Its not often that I succeed in the business world ... ok, so this was the first and quite likely the only time ... so it's nice for me to have a reminder that I had done so, if only once.

So the other day I was wearing my "BOSTON" t-shirt. For me, it was just another day. Unbeknownst to me, there was some kind of big hockey game going on. I was visiting friends down on Kennilworth and was standing on the sidewalk saying goodbye when someone drove by and yelled something at me from their car window.

I turned to my friends and said "Did they just call us prostitutes"? They said, no, they were yelling at me for being a Boston fan. I was a bit taken aback by that. But, I thought, no big deal. I said goodbye, got on my bike and rode home.

I was yelled at and honked at several more times on the way home. One guy gave me the finger.

It still surprises me sometimes that people take sport games so seriously that they can't imagine that someone else might not actually give a shit. Hockey is great, but come on, it's a game. You wouldn't yell at someone for wearing a Monopoly t-shirt, even if you preferred Clue, so why would you yell at someone for liking a different sports team?

It saddens me to think that some peoples' worlds are so small that they can't even conceive the notion that someone might actually wear a "BOSTON" t-shirt for reasons other than a silly hockey game. Not everyone has their emotions ruled over by the tyrannical random acts of fate that is represented in the outcome of a game.

So, if you ever find yourself getting angry at someone for liking something different than you, try to relax and enjoy yourself buddy. It's just a freaking game. Oh, and try not to burn your freaking city down if you lose. That shit's just whack.

Dear Tim Hortons Person

Here's a copy of a letter I wrote to Tim Hortons a few years ago:
________________________________

Dear Tim Horton’s Person:

I recently had the misfortune of trying your new English Toffee Cookie. The experience was, to say the least, extremely disagreeable. I like your English toffee cappuccino. I like English toffee ice cream. It would therefore come as no surprise for you to learn that I like English toffee. It was, however, a surprise to me that I very much disliked your English toffee cookie.

The experience of eating one of your English Toffee Cookies can be referred to as unpleasant; in the same way that being buried alive under a pile of rotting dead toads can be referred to as unpleasant. It would be an understatement to say that your English Toffee Cookies are disgusting. It would be similar to referring to the bombing of Hiroshima as a “tad unpleasant”. If given the choice between suicide, and eating an English Toffee Cookie, I would, of course, eat the cookie. I’m not insane.

But I would seriously have considered the options.

If asked to explain the taste of your English Toffee Cookie to someone lucky enough to have never tried one, I would have to compare it to the taste of a dried sponge, soaked in perfume, and then baked to perfection in a compost heap. On the big list of Gross Things to Eat, it would fall squarely between “oil-soaked Styrofoam” and “your own anus”.

What, dear God, were you thinking?

I can only assume that someone was actually responsible for creating the English Toffee Cookie; most likely a mid-to-high level executive with more clout than working brain cells and/or taste buds. As all executives should be held responsible for their decisions, I suggest that this individual be dealt with in order with the magnitude of his crime. I believe a suitable punishment would be to confine him to a stalled elevator, alone with a flatulent Jehovah’s Witness, who happens to sell life insurance. For eighteen hours.

Then, please fire him.

A Mildy NSFW-ish Rant

Coffee FORTY

Factory Disgorged

Congratulate me, I just rolled back my 40th Timmies Roll Up the Rim cup today. As I was unrolling the rim, I was pleased to note that it was a nice, tight rim. Firm, but still yielding. In other words, a virgin rim.

Sometimes a rim rolls up a bit too easily, and you know someone's been there before you. Someone who shouldn't have been. The rolling is still fun, but you can't help but be a bit disappointed because its not the ride you were promised.

As I gently unfurled my nice, tight rim, I thought to myself, "Hey, rim, you'd better be a fucking big screen TV". But it wasn't. It was a coffee. Sadly, after rolling up 39 rims in a row for nothing, the fact that I had ACTUALLY WON A COFFEE felt, to me, just as good as actually winning the TV.

To be completely honest, I did not go 39 rims in a row with no winners. No, I only went 38 rims in a row with no winners.

That's thirty-eight fucking cups of coffee ... IN A ROW .... WITH NO WINNERS.

One-in-six odds my ass. How is 38 in a row even possible?

However, my 39th rim rolled back to reveal a donut, which, while technically a "winner", meant nothing to me as I don't eat donuts. (Much in the same way that I don't eat Elmer's glue mixed with high-fructose corn syrup and Play-doh).

I know, a prize is a prize, and I probably shouldn't complain, but fuck that. I'm from Hamilton. I've been drinking Tim Horton's coffee since I was fucking FIVE, and Tim Horton's should know I don't eat their donuts by now.

I know, a prize is a prize. Except it isn't. Anyone who's ever "won" a goldfish at a fucking county fair, only to discover that they now have to carry this damn living creature from ride to ride - because what's more fun that an open-topped container full of spilly water and a live fish at the carnival kids? - keeping it alive in 35 degree temperatures, keeping your sister from "feeding" it ice cream, only to have it die in the fucking car ride on the way home can tell you that A PRIZE IS NOT ALWAYS A PRIZE.

But rim 40 ... ah, that was a coffee. I won't say it made it all worthwhile, but at least it was a coffee. Which in the end, I enjoy. Which is really what its all about, I suppose. I guess caring about whether I roll up a winner or not is really only secondary to the primary experience I enjoy. I understand that it is silly to devote so much attention to what is really only an ancillary experience.

But still ...

Fuck you people who run Tim Horton's.

You'd shit on a buttercup

if given half a chance, you

collection of brain-dead twats.

Yard Sale from Hell News

Fair Copyright?

Over the past few years I have been reading a lot about copyright law and the rather draconian methods that have been employed by businesses masquerading as creators. I have also spoken to many of my friends and colleagues who are producers in various artistic endeavours, and have encountered many different opinions; some disagree with what our government (largely driven, as seemingly is the case in most major issues in Canada, by what is happening in the United States) is up to, while others support it.

I think it is important for content creators to understand all sides of the issue. Most of my friends who support stiffer copyright do so out of fear of their own product being ripped off or plagiarized. This is of course an entirely understandable and logical concern; one which I share myself. Unfortunately, the various aforementioned businesses and industries have muddied the waters to the point where many people confuse laws which promote reasonable self-interest with laws which support business models at the expense of creative artists.

I am not going to try to argue one side over another. After all, many people far more erudite and intelligent than myself have written about these issues. So, rather than try and reinvent the wheel (let's face it, mine would be lopsided and bubblegum flavoured - fun, but hardly useful) I will occasionally post links and summaries to some of the more interesting - or, one might say, categorically insane - examples of how various content-related distribution industries are abusing their powers to the detriment of both the consumer and the artist.

The artistic relationship is between the artist and their audience. Anyone or anything who enters this relationship alters it, and rarely to the advantage of either the artist or the audience. Businesses are about the bottom line. Money. Profit. More, not less. This is an attitude that works wonderfully for the profit margin, but not quite as well for the creative process. When businesses define not only how we can create, but how our audiences can experience our creations, our fundamental, primary relationship with the audience is weakened. Here are a few examples.

#1 - Dumb and Dumbererst

Deep Purple recently played a concert in Russia. The Russian Authors' Society (NGO) fined them $1,000 per song for performing their own songs. NGO did so to protect the copyright holders from unauthorized infringement. Problem is, Deep Purple holds the copyrights. So the fine money will go from Deep Purple ... to Deep Purple. After NGO takes its "administrative fees", naturally.

Worst Christmas Spirit Ever

Years ago, I used to work for JMG CompuSmart in Hamilton. One of the owners - let's call him David (because that's his name) - had what I think might be the worst, most disturbing view of Christmas I've ever seen. Apparently David really, really doesn't like to be disappointed on Christmas morning. To avoid disappointment, David will go out and buy ALL OF HIS OWN PRESENTS.

He has them wrapped, and placed in a spare room in his house. Friends and relatives then come over and speak to David's wife, who lets them know what gifts are "available" for David. The person picks a gift, pays David's wife, and she gives them the receipt and then lets them write their name in the "From" part of the gift tag.

When David first told us this one day at work, everyone got this uncomfortable look on their face and said nothing. Except me. I thought he was kidding. I really didn't think a grown man - co-owner of a multi-million dollar business - could be so infantile. I laughed out loud, and said something along the lines of, "Can you imagine anyone actually being that fucked?"

Problem was, David wasn't kidding.

I was fired a few weeks later. Which I am sure was simple coinincidence.

Anyway, Merry Christmas to all.

Stalker Ads...

Imagine the following scenario: you receive a phone call from a close friend, who tells you that "some people" have been coming around and asking questions about you. What kind of food do you eat? What clothes do you wear? Where do you like to shop? How much do you usually spend?

What's more, it turns out these unknown people aren't talking to just one friend. In fact, they're talking to lots of people. They want to know what kind of beer you drink, what TV shows you watch, how often you eat fast food.

You finally track one of these anonymous question-askers down and you confront him. Instead of denying his activities or apologizing, he says, "Yes, I have been following and asking questions of all the people you know, delving into your spending habits."

Would that bother you?

Now imagine he says this: "I have to tell you, following you around and asking people questions about your spending sure is time consuming. would you mind carrying around this little plastic card and using it whenever you shop? That way I can automatically build a database of all your spending habits so that I can figure out how to best target advertising directly to you. Tailer-made to present the most psycholigically effective advertisments directly to you."

Would you use the card? What if they promised that if you used the card you would get all kinds of free stuff? How much "free stuff" does it take for you to surrender your privacy to an organization who's stated goal is to figure out what advertising you are most vulnerable to and then use that information against you?

It's called Air Miles.

Nothing is free ... especially when lawyers tell you it is.

Family Photo

This is a picture my sister uploaded to Facebook. It used to have my stepfather in it, but thanks to Photoshop I was able to give the pic a colonectomy.