Do I ramble?

I am back. It is not quite as hot and muggy as it was yesterday. It has been more cloudy and smoggy, which has kept the direct sunlight away. It is obviously heating and stirring the toxic cloud above us here, but there should be some comfort breathing air that you can see. That is my take on it. It is better than the breathing in the cloud of death and watching people just collapse and die on the sidewalk. Come to think of it, that really does sound like the plot of a Stephen King novel (Maximum Overdrive, perhaps?).

I caught "Last Comic Standing" on NBC last night. I was not really impressed. Then again, the show is in the editing so....but there appeared to be no Alonzo Bowdens or Rich Vos, Gary Gulman type of personalities. I do not really know.

I had a friend, who became something less than a friend, who gave up his dental practice for stand up comedy. In high school, he was funny but more in the vein of nasty put downs. It became pretty clear that he was a "negative" personality and after a few years that really did not sit well with me. I basically just backed away from him when we were in university, about the time that he came out, to me. I swear it was the timing, not any homophobic tendencies on my part. I found he just drained my energy (not sexually or physically), he was one of those people who just talked and talked but said little. It was thousands of inane questions or obvious observations.

I recall being out with him and another friend and finally had enough. I turned to him and said,
"E. Do you ever shut up?" Funny thing is that he did not shut up so that answered my question. I guess "shut the fuck up!" would have been more to the point. He was flexible though. He once, in the back seat of my fathers four door large North American automobile, put both of his legs behind his head (I guess he would make some other gay dude very happy, or suck his own dick and never leave the house). I whipped into a turn hoping the back door would open (before child safety locks) and he would roll out of the car with his legs behind his head. No such luck, though he did end up like a pretzel on the floor of the car.

Anyway, he killed himself about eight years ago. Apparently, he and his boyfriend of 12 or so years were in the midst of a "bad" breakup. He was so "sensitive" that he could not cause pain so he gave up dentistry. He was so "sensitive" that he had no trouble putting down others but could not take the same treatment. That was what drove me crazy about him, was that he tried to use guilt (which I rarely feel, so it is a useless tool on me) to be treated "better". I am a guy, we tend to treat people shabbily, it is nothing personal. He was like a "girl" in that way, and that was something I did not stand for in my lady friends. He was so "sensitive" that he killed himself, videoed it with his video suicide note to his boyfriend (ex), leaving his body and tape to be found by his (ex) paramour. That was sensitive and a "fuck you" suicide. As I said, he was negative.

My only regret is that I never had the chance, or took the chance, to tell him that I did not want to hang with him because I found him negative. I did not care that he was gay. But, how do you tell somebody that, least of all when they are dead? I mean who feels better about it, me, I guess, him, not a chance. So I guess it is best that he never heard that truth.

I apologize for this posting. It was short on the funny but long on the self-indulgent. Then again, this blog is in an exercise in self-indulgence, so I guess you get what you pay for. Ciao!

The property of death!

I am back. I have to say it is another one of those days. You know where the adjustments are being made constantly. Okay, I will come right out and say it, my balls are hanging low and my scrotum keeps sticking to my thighs. It is as uncomfortable as it sounds. Now, that I got that off of my chest, say maybe I should type this in the nude, but what would people think?, I will ask another question.

Anybody missing a, what I think is, er was, a cat, with a pink collar, or pink flea collar? I have found it. I mentioned that I was doing some work on the A/C unit over the weekend. I put my utility knife on the deck beside me, but it must have fallen down, under the deck. I had to go around and go under the deck to retrieve it. I was down there when I thought that I should clean the dryer exhaust that is there. You know, remove whatever lint there was. I made a mental note to do that.

I finish with the insulation and head back under the deck with my gloves on. Like any red blooded Canadian, I wore hockey gloves, just in case I felt the need to throw down. Anyway, near the vent, now keep in mind that it is pretty dark down there with the only light being sunlight getting through the trees, lattice and floor boards, and I grab some lint. That was NOT lint.

On closer inspection, it was some sort of animal rib cage that had come away from the spine. I may have caused that one. I took a closer look and saw skull detached from neck, spine, tail, and hind paws. I thought it was a dead and decomposed squirrel. I did not shed a tear. Then, I looked again and saw a pink (flea?) collar around the remains of the neck. Now, either somebody (useless stupid fuck?) put a pink collar on a squirrel or that ain't no squirrel. I think it was a cat, hence, anybody missing a cat, last seen with a pink collar, I have some good news and bad news for you. The good news is we know what happened to your cat. The bad news is we know what happened to your cat.

The heat from my laptop is making my hands all sweaty, so I am going to disrobe, unstick my ball sac from my thigh and sit on a pack of frozen peas. Think temperate thoughts! Ciao!

Not much going on here but Memorial Day

I am back. It is a scorcher out there up here. It is nice in a way, but I hate putting on the A/C this early in the year. Then again, we are in for more "normal" temperatures by the end of the week, so the A/C will go off. It is good to know that it works, and works well, for when it is needed. I am glad I replaced the insulation on it when I did.

I did not send out Memorial Day greetings to my American friends, so that is what this is all about. I still have not received any answers to my "Indonesia" question of yesterday, what gives?

Anyway, that is all that my little, dehydrated brain can handle for today. Ciao.

"Karmic Conspiracy Theory"

I am back for a rare Sunday post. I was just struck by something, well it was more struck by a thought. The thought originated as a result of the earthquake in Indonesia that occurred this morning or yesterday morning (damn time zones have me confused as to a frame of reference). Is there something karmic going on, something very bad, perhaps.

Look at the evidence. Late in 2004, they get absolutely NAILED by a tsunami. Then between now and then, there have been a number of earthquakes (I will give you that it is such a dispersed island land mass, that's an archipelago for you folks, and the quakes have occurred all over, which on second thought reinforces my "karmic conspiracy theory"). Now, we have the current quake which was devastating. As well, there is a volcano that has been acting up and due for a full scale eruption at any time (the comes complete with tremors, earthquakes and the ever present belching of poisonous gases, makes you wonder what "Mother Nature" eats when she is releasing such noxious gas).

Add it all up and I am left to wonder what Indonesia has done to bring such despair on to itself. I know it is like blaming the victim, but I am still left to wonder. I do have a theory but it would be impolitic to discuss. Just why is karma doing this to poor Indonesia? Ponder it if you will. Ciao!

Give me some sleep, please

I am back. You would think that I would have much to rave on about, but I am somewhat subdued. That damn lack of sleep is getting to me. I was up, for all intents and purposes, around five this morning. Don't ask, because the reasons are mundane. Suffice it to say, the brain is moving rather slow. It is a problem when the damn sun rises around six these days.

I love this time of year and loathe it all at the same time. The abundance of light gets me up early and keeps me up later. That is good, but it does take its toll on the brain. It sort of screws things up. Which reminds me of a story.....

I take you all back twenty years, almost to the day. I flew to Europe, Amsterdam to be precise, on May 23rd, 1986. I arrived on the 24th, early in the morning, on a Saturday. There I was by myself, a stranger in a strange land. It was hard to tell who or what was more strange, me or Amsterdam. I am leaning to me, since Am-dam had been around for a while.

Anyway, it was get off the plane, get back pack, get passport stamped, and then ....... what the hell do I do now. A friend told me that he would be in Amsterdam soon after I arrived and that I should stay on a house boat, behind Central (Centraal) Station. By the way, the bastard NEVER showed, to this day I do not know if he was just bullshitting me or what, but then again, I have not seen or spoken to him in well over a decade.

I get a room, at around nine in the morning, on a crappy houseboat. The room is tiny with single bed and a sink. I do not recall if there was a toilet in the room even. I thought of turning around and getting back on the next flight home. I caught myself and realized that I had been up for a while and my body and brain were six hours behind on Toronto time, so it was really around three in the morning to me.

I was trying to stay up until the night so that I could get my body used to the time change, damn jet lag, so I decided to wander about and try to enjoy the day. I was too uptight to head to a hash bar, so I wandered the city with a map for a bit. I grabbed a bite to eat. It was authentic Dutch food--McDonald's. Man, they have those everywhere, and truth be told, they are good and bad. They are good because they are all the same, so there are no surprises. They are bad because they are all the same, simply crap, but no surprise there.

I saw some street performers doing their things in the various public squares. It was all good. I was getting to be really bagged though, and to make matters worse I was feeling the pain of Mr Migraine. I thought I should go back and take something for my head, and maybe lie down.

I get back and to my consternation, I brought Gravol but nothing for pain. I am the son of two pharmacists, suffer from migraines, though I did not realize it at the time, and I do not bring any fucking tylenol or 222s. I bring Gravol, yet do not suffer from motion sickness and figure it is better to puke it out and start fresh than fight the nausea anyway. See, the seeds of my insanity were apparent back then, when I was at my mental peak and could hide or repress the voices.

I have to say, I now let the voices speak fully. No sense fighting the inevitable. I could be son of Sam or Son of Dad. I take a quarter Gravol, pass out and wake up. I look at my watch and it is nine. Amsterdam is far enough north that the sun sets really late, so now I am not sure if it is 9 pm Saturday or 9 am Sunday. I walk into the houseboat office/pub and ask for a tylenol, but they do not have. I then ask what time it is. The lady looks at me wearing a watch and looks at me like I am insane. She says nine and then I have to ask "am or pm". I get another quizzical look before I find out it is nine at night.

Needless to say, I switched houseboats the next morning and still did not get a good night's sleep until two or three nights later. How is that for a story? Ciao!

My name is David and I am .......a Scribe!

I am back. I would say it is a record for me but there is so much to say. I am beginning to think that this, writing, is my destiny, or is that density. I mean twenty years ago, I finished off a stinit as Scribe for my fraternity. Weekly minutes were me.

It was fun, but meant that I had to give up my usual frat meeting role as shit disturber without portfolio to actually be responsible. I used to type up and print those minutes using our IBM PCjr using Homeword as the word processing software. That computer was not much more than an expensive typewriter with a color screen. It was crap when I look back on it. It had to have a processor speed of 50 kHz (now compare that to those 3 GHz machines they now make, the difference being kHz are thousands of cycles per second versus GHz being billions of cycles per second, how far have we, I am taking some of the credit for this like I deserve it, come, I know I came ten feet, a new record for me, I could put out somebody's eye from one end of the room which is as impressive as it sounds).

That crappy computer with the crappy Homeword program and all printed on a whisper quiet dot matrix printer. Of course, we had to use that dame printer paper with the perforated sides to remove the "holes" the allow the paper to be fed through the printer. I wonder whatever happened to that stuff?

It does make me put this compulsion I have about putting my observations into print into perspective. It is not something new to me, but something that I must do. I have too much to say and see too much not to share it. Well, it is all starting to make some sense. You know what that means, something is going to come along to fuck it up to remind me that whenever it start to makes sense is when it will begin to make nonsense. The comedy of life is what I call it and causes grown men to cry and mental defectives to take their own lives. Happy thought, huh?

Think about, ponder it, reflect on it and get back to me. I am outta here for now. Ciao!

Like the Beatles said, "Money can't buy you....good body smell"!

I am back. I was going to post today, but I figured I should do it while it is still in my mind. This all about Stinky Guy. I went to work out on Friday and as I was parking I wondered if Stinky Guy were there and would I be smelling him later. As I start to pull into a spot, I notice Stinky Guy walking from the entrance to his car. I am in a good mood. My olfactory senses are less likely to be assualted in the near future.

I get out of my car and watch him load his crap into a newish silver BMW 735i. I am astonished by the fact that he can afford a car like that but he cannot put out for a bar of fucking soap or the instructions in how to use it. I am flabbergasted by this turn of events. I would not want to be buying that car used. It will be unsaleable given his stench. That stank will just get into the carpets and the leather, eating away it at the paint, like acid. My eyes are watering now just thinking about it.

It did make me think that some of the things that money can't buy are love (though it can be used to rent sex, so that ain't too bad), happiness (but it can buy a better level of depression, and that has to be worth something) and good body scent (does good body odor (BO) make sense?, but it can buy some soap and deodorant, just not the will or the intelligence to use them).

That is that for this cool, damp and windy Victoria Day.

Commericial Housekeeping and I wonder....

I am back. On the news front, you may notice that I have decided to shill for the man. I got nothing against the man, and have no trouble shilling for anybody, provided they put down the money. That is why I tend not to wear anybody's brand or logo on my body where possible. As I see it, you want me to be a walking billboard for your brand AND I have to pay top dollar, an inflated retail price to show that I am "cool", "hip" and "with it", then you need some psychiatric help. Your break with reality is apparent. I do not PAY to advertise for somebody else. Is it just me or is that perverse. Pay to advertise for some company, especially one that merely slaps its logo on goods manufactured in a third world country, or China or India, for pennies.

I am no socialist/Marxist/communist, and I do not begrudge a company for doing this, if they can get away with it, and obviously they can. I just refuse to participate. I march to my own drummer so that I can call the tune. I will pay that price willingly because I know that I am true to who I am and I can live with that.

Anyway, please feel free, fuck it, I implore you to click on the ad links in this blog whenever you visit. I want to make some money, there is no shame in that, and besides I am not imploring to do anything beyond click the advertising links, you do not have to read or buy (I love click throughs for that reason). That being said, if I only get paid for you buying, then I will rethink the whole ad thing and try to come up with another way to monetize my writing here. That is a story for another day.

That is all the commercial housekeeping for today. I did have one thought, though, if grape seed oil is made from grape seeds, olive oil from olives, canola oil from canola seeds, then just what is baby oil made from? Makes you wonder, doesn't it. I was thinking that if put my new nephew in a cold press, we may gets some, not much since he is tiny, extra virgin baby oil. I am sick but I have to share that thought with my brother, he would enjoy that one.

That is it for the week. I think I posted every day this work week. I may or may not post on Monday as it is Victoria Day up here. It is our May long weekend, much like Memorial Day, next week, is the one for all my American friends (and those who dislike me, too, the day does not discriminate, but I do). Have a great long weekend to the Canadians and great weekend to the Americans. Ciao!

Ham Rugby and Buggering Weird Al

I am back. I have to say, I received no replies to my questions of yesterday. I am disappointed in all of you. Well, the hell with interactivity then, this is MY show and it is a one man show at that.

What was up that lady I saw carrying a ham like a rugby ball? I had half a mind (assuming I had some to spare) to tackle her. I thought better of it because store security may have been pissed. Then again, if explained correctly they may have agreed and tackled her themselves. Oh well, another opportunity to create complete mayhem squandered.

What else is there to say today? I could go on about American Idol, but I think the fix was in when Kat remained while Chris went home last week. Happily, I did not see or hear the show Tuesday but my sources (wife and son, so I am left to wonder about their credibility, but that is a story for another day) tell me that Elliott and Taylor were solid performers, but Kat was not so great for a third show in a row. Yet, she is still there for the final and the wolfman, Elliott, goes back to Virginia to howl at the moon and attack people on the moors.

Okay, back to reality, is my life really so pathetic that I am excited by white goods (washer and dryer) and American Idol? I hope not, because that is a sign to hang myself by the cord to my laptop (not my penis, sick people, though it is long enough to the do the trick, if I do say so myself). I am not going to do anything like that. I figure I have too many people in life to at least torment. Besides, that is ending life with a whimper and not a bang. I want to go out with a bang or at least take a few people with me. As I read that, I sound like a great candidate to be a suicide bomber. That is scary.

Speaking of scary, the wife says to me yesterday that she was looking in the mirror and thought that she looked like Weird Al Yankovic. She explained it was her curly hair and glasses. I am so disturbed by that thought on so many levels. I mean, how can I fuck, er make love that's the ticket, her again. I am going to be thinking of Weird Al while drilling her (I am too graphic and if she ever reads this I am going to be cut off, thankfully there is always masturbation). That is not good for anybody. Now, I am not gay, not that there's anything wrong with that, but if I were to switch teams, Weird Al does not do it for me. Then again, grab a handful of his long hair and you could ride him like a pony. Try to get that image out of your head now!

My work here is done. It is showmanship. Leave 'em with a really disturbed mental image, there is not much more disturbing an image than fucking Weird Al up the ass while you grab and tug his hair from behind, unless it Weird Al riding your butthole or trying to stuff his dick in your mouth while he sings "Eat It" (I do not know how I come up with these images but they flow so naturally from my sick mind). There try to sleep. Now you will know why I have not slept since I woke up Wednesday. Ciao!

Whatever happened to....

I am back. I want to make this more interactive so I will ask you these questions. I do expect answers, but you will all probably wimp (I was going to use "pussy" but that is an insult to pussy) out but here I go.

Whatever happened to Susan Powter (the "Stop the Insanity" chick/beast/annoying human being)?

Whatever happened to Neil Rich?

Whatever happened to Baby Jane? (I just wanted to see if you were paying attention)

Whatever happened to Ruben Studdard?

Whatever happened to Leon Trotsky? Oh yeah, he got an ice pick that made his ears burn ("No More Heroes", The Stranglers)

Whatever happened to Fantasia Barino (is there an American Idol theme going on here)?

Whatever happened to Arnold, Webster and Urkel?

I will leave it at that. I mean after seeing Todd Bridges (Willis) on Skating with the Celebrities, I know where he is at. Ciao!

Happy 200th posting to all of you!

I am back. This is my 200th posting since February of last year. I would say it is quite a milestone but in a base 10 world, it may have some meaning, but really it is as arbitrary a milestone as any.

I culled this tidbit off the AP wire. Just when I thought it was a "dog eat dog" world, I find out it really is a "bear eat monkey" world. All I thought I knew has been thrown into a state of flux and now I can say I do not really know who I am anymore. Damn disociative disorders! I do not know myself but I can pull out psychological and psychiatric diagnoses, will the wonders of the universe never cease.

Bears Eat Monkey in Front of Zoo Visitors
Mon May 15, 10:52 PM ET
Bears killed and ate a monkey in a Dutch zoo in front of horrified visitors, witnesses and the zoo said Monday. In the incident Sunday at the Beekse Bergen Safari Park, several Sloth bears chased the Barbary macaque into an electric fence, where it was stunned.
It recovered and fled onto a wooden structure, where one bear pursued and mauled it to death.
The park confirmed the killing in a statement, saying: "In an area where Sloth bears, great apes and Barbary macaques have coexisted peacefully for a long time, the harmony was temporarily disturbed during opening hours on Sunday."
"Of course the habitats here in the safari park are arranged in such a way that one animal almost never kills another, but they are and remain wild animals," it said.
Witness Marco Berelds posted a detailed report on the incident, including photos, on a Dutch Web site. He said one Sloth bear tried unsuccessfully to shake the monkey loose after it took refuge on the structure, built of crossing horizontal and vertical poles.
Ignoring attempts by keepers to distract it, the bear climbed onto a horizontal pole, and, standing stretched on two legs, "used its sharp canines to pull the macaque, which was shrieking and resisting, from its perch."
The bear then brought the animal to a concrete den, where three bears ate it.
The zoo said it "usually wasn't possible" for keepers to intervene when an animal killed another.
The park plans now to move the Barbary macaques — which are large monkeys but often inaccurately called "Barbary Apes" — to another part of the park, it said.

Give the bears credit for use of the electrified fence. They better not let these bears escape or we will be overrun by Uber Bears who will enslave us, or at least get us to stick our hands in the beehives to pull out bee larvae for them. Why should they get stung when they have us to do their bidding?

Now that would have been quite the zoo show. It is better than watching Discovery because it is live, well not the monkey anymore sadly, but it is a bear eat monkey world out there. Sometimes you eat lunch and sometimes you are lunch.

I had other shit to discuss here, but after reading that bear/monkey story, I forgot it all. It was brilliant, too. Of course, I say that as it came from my fertile mind, so I would question the source, if I were in your shoes. However, if I were in your shoes, they probably would be ill fitting and very uncomfortable, so I would be preoccupied with that discomfort and be unable or unlikely to think straight. What that all means, I have no clue.

All I know is that I have to write that shit down when it hits me. I usually do but somehow forgot. Prison Break was good as usual with more twists to the plot. Going to run, hope you enjoyed the read. Ciao!

This post brought to you by our sponsor, Denial

I am back. I want to wish all the mothers and mofo's out there a belated Happy Mother's Day. We did brunch here with the outlaws and my brother in law. My father in law was not as loopy, make the irrational, make that insane, as he is when the sun goes down. That was too bad, because it is a guilty pleasure of mine to watch his fears and agitition unfold and question the basis of its underpinnings. I would not accept those excuses from myself unexamined, so I won't do it for anybody else, least of all somebody I care about. No such luck yesterday. They were there by noon and out by two. In fact, my brother in law got here before they arrived, which is a double shock to my system.

It was nice though. Eat and eat and then they have to run. The lad had a birthday party playing laser tag. He came home a bit sweaty. I have noticed that he is running around and sweating more than I have ever seen of him. I am pleased. I was always "sporty" as far as I can remember, but it only came about because of my next door neighbor who was two years older, a bit of a tomboy and had athletic parents and older brother. I was the youngest sibling, which meant of her brother fought with her, she was sure to do the same with me. Being a stoic, I could never give somebody the satisfaction of crying or even giving up loudly. That was why the older kids liked to go on the "scary" rides with me (like the Zipper). I would not scream or cry but it would scare the living shit out of me, what with the height and my fear of heights, made worse by kids swinging those Zipper carts while I was in it. But no screaming for me, just silent white knuckle fear. I am not claiming it as a virtue nor is it really a vice. It is just being dignified when you fudged your jeans.

I was thinking about one of my wife's friends and it came down to the fact that I have underestimated the depth of her shallowness. There is an oxymoron if ever I heard one "the depth of shallowness". It was just one of those things where happiness was equated to conspicuous consumption. I just do not know where it ends because it is like spiritual fast food. It may go down well, quickly, but the hunger returns with a vengeance, and just as quickly. You cannot fill your soul with stuff. You can fill it with drugs and alcohol, though. And there is nothing wrong with that, numb the emptiness and you can avoid the difficult questions until sober or straight or both.

Of course, when the feeling of emptiness reappears, there is the shame of trying to self medicate, which always leads to worse feelings and a greater to need to numb it all over again. This public service announcement has been brought to you by our sponser Denial. Denial, Novocaine for your soul. Use some today!

Well, it is the season finale of Prison Break. It will be interesting to see what happens because they are at the point of no return, it has gotten more plot twisty, multiple connections and twists or kinks in the story lines and they have managed to get out of the prison, but the staff is on to them, so until tonight. Ciao!

Publish or perish

I am back. I am early and I am hypercaffeinated, so please excuse the rambling and randomness of it all. My mind is racing, along with my heart. I am like a hummingbird. My heart rate has to be at least 300 beats per minute. It may explode, so if this stops suddenly call 911 as my heart may have exploded. Either that or my brain exploded. In any case, I will have left a mess on my computer. Not, a gun shot to the head type of mess, but one of a different proportion.

I am thinking the world has gone crazy. Then again, I may just be more aware of it. You have people trying to tap into an oil pipeline in Nigeria, on a beach, that caused an explosion killing at least 200 and leaving charred remains on the beach. Then again, I have never really thought about the beach life in Nigeria. I hear "Nigeria" and I think, oil, instability, military rule, Muslim-Animist strife and, of course, internet cash scams. But tapping into a gas or oil pipeline to steal supplies for personal use just does not seem to be a good idea. That dealing with volitile and explosive materials in a careless manner, just not for me. Then again, I am not desperate and dirt poor, so it is easy for me to say.

That is my happy thought for the day. I will avoid Iran, Darfur and Sudan and bird flu in Djibouti. Chris voted off American Idol? WTF!!!! Has it occurred to anybody but me that Elliot Yamin looks like a werewolf? Take a good look on Tuesday and tell me I am wrong, I dare you.

I am looking forward to brunch here on Sunday. The outlaws are coming. It is called for noon, so you know they will be here around ten. My father in law will be itching to leave by eleven, wondering where my son and his son are. This will be a happy Mother's Day. He will be itching to leave as it will be dark, the sun will set, in seven hours. He has to be off the streets then, the vampires and zombies take over then. He just does not want to admit that is his fear. I should not make fun, but choice do I have, it hits me square in the face each time I witness it. Oh well, at least he is alive, which is more than I can say for my father, not that I blame him.

Oh yeah, Monday, this week started off with the ritual circumcision of my new nephew. What a way to begin the week. Holding my balls in fear and then eating. My people do have it down. There is never an occassion not to eat, except when fasting. Death, eat, wedding, eat, birth, eat.

That said, I am going to eat. Ciao and enjoy the weekend!

Freaky Things

I am back. There are some freaky things going on with this template. It is showing up like some old all text webpage. Those were back in the day, you know those mid 90s and early 2000s which were like the horse and buggy days of internet surfing and webpage layouts. Oh well, I just hope this posts properly. Then again, given my slow brain today, it may not make much of a difference.

It is raining here. The lads baseball game has been cancelled. I am ambivalent about it. I do not mind going and watching. I find it less nerve wracking for me than soccer. I find that when he is on, I pace the sidelines like a caged animal. Then again, I am a pacer. The advent of the cordless phone is one of those thing that I am not sure is good for somebody like me. When phones were attached to the wall or desk/table by a cord, I was forced to sit and talk (or stand in one place, like a dog on a chained up in the yard). Now, I can roam, which means pace as I talk. Really, it more like walk in a circle from the kitchen through the living room through the dining room through the kitchen. You get the idea. It is kind of like the mental patients, can I call them that?, who walk the floor, aimlessly, in a circle. The saddest part is I see the lad does it when he is on the phone, too.

We do need the rain. I will be damned if I will water the weed patch I refer to as a front lawn. In fact, I may have to mow the weeds and clumps of grass. Of course, it is better than the dirt patch I call a back yard. There is no sun back there (it was banished for some strange reason, and it is just our yard without sun) so for some funny reason, nothing, but weeds and moss, grows. It is just lovely back there, but I would not know because I avoid it. It is like a fucking jungle back there.

I like it that way. I get the sense I have gone away to some where exotic when I go back there in the summer time. I did find some lost children there last summer. They were being raised by squirrels so I am not too sure how bright they were, but they sure could climb and jump from tree branch to tree branch. Damn, feral children, go shit on somebody else's property. I may have to lay out the rodent poison for them as well. I could then scoop up the body in a shovel and dump it on the street for the city's animal control people to pick up. I am a responsible citizen. Oh yeah, disregard the poisoning thing, I mean I do not want the cops showing up here if some street urchin-type kid's body should turn up somewhere. That is not my scene, and I am taking the fall for that one. Then again, I could claim multiple personalities and go for the old insanity thing.

Where does that leave me? Pacing the floor in a circle! Just like I am on the cordless phone. I am right back where I started. It is time to get off! Ciao!

Just when I thought I was over the German cannibal

I am back. I was without thought today until I caught the story of the German cannibal and his reprosecution. This was the German dude who trolled the internet looking for a willing victim. He ate another dude's severed penis, which made me wonder if that was "gay". In any event, he was originally convicted of manslaughter but retried on a murder charge. It turns out his victim was willing and was a high ranking IT manager with Siemens.

He videotaped himself severing his "victim"'s penis with a knife before BOTH men tried to eat it. Now, for all the kids out there, this is NOT the way to try to suck your own penis. The penis is supposed to remain attached, unless it is the song "Detachable Penis" by a California band, that was an off-shoot (radical sect?) of Kamper Van Beethoven, King Missile (yeah, that's it, dig deep into my own mind, but sadly I do it through my nose, so it may look like I am picking my nose but I am really trying to remove a gem of information from deep inside my brain, so do not judge me, especially if I am in the car next to you, at a stop light with the windows rolled up).

Now, I have to ask the question, though the eating of your own penis makes anything that was done on Fear Factor seem very tame, trying to eat your own severed penis, gay or not gay? Anyway, bleeding profusely the "victim" passed out and our friend the cannibal kissed him before plunging a knife into his throat. He cut up the body and stored it in plastic bags. He would eat it with red cabbage and potatoes, how German, meat and potatoes with cabbage.

He was convicted of murder and the judge said he was psychologically sick. You think? No shit Sherlock! There is a judge with a knack for the obvious, don't you think?

Red cabbage and potatoes. Fava beans and nice Chianti. These are just a few of the suggestions of how to serve human flesh and enjoy a civilized meal. Consider this a public service announcement.

I am done, as I am feeling a bit hungry. Ciao!

Below the Border

I am back. I apologize for not posting on Friday (Stinko, er Cinqo de Mayo or as we say in Canada, May 5th) as it was the date of our annual pilgramige to Western New York (Niagara Falls/ Buffalo and environs). It is a "trip" that the wife loves so I go along. I do like to stock up on cereal and grits. Going is always a great way to observe others in a different environment.

Anyway, the drive was non-eventful. We first stop at the Target in Niagara Falls, NY. It was there I saw two big haired women. One had that Marlo Thomas "That Girl" style without the flip up from the ends. I pointed it out to the wife (this is something that I noticed, I can point out the flaws in other women without being screamed at, but heaven forbid I should ogle a pretty one, then all hell breaks loose, so the lesson is I can look all I want, I just have to criticize them even when I find little to criticize--do I understand women, or at least "my" woman?). She tells me that I am wrong, but that the hairstyle does make the woman look wide. I take another look and figure it ain't the hairstyle making her look wide, but her wide ass. That is just me, but I do prefer the simple explanations.

I needed food and coffee as it was after noon. That meant a stop at Denny's, happy to say no shooting going on there, either. They had some interesting "new" stuff on the menu that I would like to try but I am compelled to have my old standby, Chicken/country fried steak and eggs. Again, I have to either thank Willie, or curse him, for the introduction and obsession with chicken fried steak and eggs. Man, it is good though. I am sure my life has been shortened by eating it, but it is worth it. It made the four cups of coffee go down well. It was even better because the wife's meal came with bacon AND sausage, so she gave one of each to me and the lad. He did not get around to eating his extra sausage and bacon, so I polished off his sausage while leaving the tip.

Anyway, shopping was a bore. The wife really found nothing. We took a turn in Burlington Crap, er Coat, Factory. I could comment on the clothes there but it would be the use of nasty words and I just do not want to go there, so use your imagination. They built a Fuddruckers around the Galleria and Burlington Crap Factory. The last time I was at a Fuddruckers was when there was one in Toronto about 21 years ago.

The location nearest us, at the time, was on Keele just south of Finch. It was in what I call the Bermuda Triangle of restaurants. All the restaurants that locate there, disappear. There was Pietro's (1978-80), Frank Vetere's (1981-1984), Fuddruckers (1985), Pat and Mario's.....Hooter's (2000) and now the Hooter's is gone and it is a funeral home, which is appropriate for all the restuarants that died and were buried there.

The Outlet Mall and the Galleria were DEAD. I could not believe it. I figure that with the strenght of the Canadian dollar vs the US dollar, the Outlet Mall should have been full of cars with Ontario license plates. It was not. Stores were "gone" and big one's too. That was the case for both malls. Oh well, it has nothing to do with me and I am really not much for mall culture (there is an oxymoron for you, then again it is a subculture, and a deviant one at that).

I was happy to come home. Though, I find that on all my forays into the US, I tend to push my caffeine levels to ultra high and feel no ill effects. It is that sleeping in a strange bed syndrome, that lets me fall asleep but it is a fitful one, or was it all the coffee, Dr. Pepper (it is medicinal because it has a Doctor's name) and Coke, I did not think of that before.

Well, that is all for right now. Ciao!

Odds and Ends, now with 70% more odds

I am back. I have a hodge podge of crap that I wanted to write about so I will just begin. For your information, there is no theme, so do not be alarmed at the disjointed nature of the subjects and my lack of segues.

I wanted to write yesterday, but found myself with no time after the washer and dryer arrived. I had to do the set up and plumbing work. I ended up slicing my knuckle removing the bold that holds the motor in place for shipping. I will survive, but I did drip a lot of blood down my hand. It was kind of cool in a gruesome sort of way. I need to tighten one of the couplings from the hot water hose, but the drip is small. Besides, I tend to wash in cold, which is something that I could not do with the old beast for the past few months as something was blocking the cold water. I had to do months of wash in hot water. Oh well, that is over.

Anyway, I wanted to mark 21 years from the end of exams in my second year in university and what was known as Billfest '85. At Billfest '85, my friend Willie, who I really do owe a phone call and an evening of beer, booze and shmooze but that is a story for another day, had said he was going to drink until he puked that night, as he also was finished exams. I told many people about this pledge and they came to drink and watch Willie puke. Happily, or sadly, we drank a lot but there was no puking. Some people went home disappointed, not me as somebody puking, though funny, is not something that I would run to see, considering it could easily make me puke and thus begets the puke train, a chain reaction of people puking their guts up. Nobody really needs to see what we all ate for dinner, especially like that.

It was a fun night of drinking cheap beer at the old Morissey Tavern in Toronto. The beers were cheap and the crowd was a nice blend of old time rummies and college students. We did drink as we were supposed to. A bunch of us ended going back to Willie's for a hot tub and swim. Brilliant idea to bring bottles of beer into the hot tub considering a bottle fell in, broke and one guy, W, sliced his foot on the broken glass. This party ended up at the emergency room, where I fell asleep and was told by the duty nurse that I was snoring. The exam adrenaline had run out, oh well. All I know is that I came home at seven in the morning, bringing in the paper with me. We never did another Billfest, though, I wonder why that was.

The other thought that occurred to me today was the image of Queen Elizabeth giving her husband, Prince Phillip, a blow job. I mean, did, or does the Queen give head? Would she have some sort of female courtier nearby to take the cumshot (money shot for those playing at home)? I do not know where, or why, that thought came from, but now I am obsessed with whether the Queen blows, and if she does, does she swallow or spit. Has she taken it up the ass? I never thought I would ask those questions, but now I just wonder and I am sharing it with you. I will appreciate any and all answers or opinions on that one. Let me know what you thing. I am done for today, so ciao.

The view from, or is that in, public transit

I am back. On a happy note, my brother and his wife had a little, I do mean little (5 lbs, 9 ozs) baby boy yesterday. Unfortunately, the cops made them give it back and arrested them. Just kidding, they were not charged. Anyway, the are tired but doing fine.

I took the subway down to see them as it was so convenient. I am coming home in rush hour traffic and was sitting in this subway car. I had two most interesting views. To the left of me, there as a chick dressed in her finest X-tina wear. She was striking but I am not sure why she dyes the roots of her blonde hair black. She came complete with cleavage and pink Razr phone.

I then look to my right and get a bird's eye view of the ear hair in the old dude sitting next to me. That was quite the contrast in sights, ear hair to the right of me and X-tina to the left, with a bunch of mediocre things in between. Well, never a dull moment on public transit. Ciao!