Monday, April 30, 2007

Brutal Irony

You know what's awesome? Drinking your dumbass face off all night and getting completely hammered drunk. And what's even awesomer? Waking up the next morning and feeling like a million bucks. Those are the best days, you can get up, not feel queezy, not have to puke and not have a raging headache. I had one of those days this weekend. I even felt good enough to eat some food right away, had a huge bottle of water as well and none of it upset my stomach. I was having the greatest day of not being hungover. I was ready to go out and face the world. I had a shower, brushed my teeth put on some clean clothes. Yeah I checked myself out in the mirror for a few minutes cause I just felt so good. Nothing could have ruined my day, or so I thought. The worst thing that can happen to a guy who feels healthy and clean... I had to shit. Not a little "oh yeah I'll hold it for a bit cause I feel so good right now" no. It was a "get the shit outta my way I need to kill a toilet!" So I shit, and then I felt so dirty that it ruined my perfect day.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Tweeta-lee-diddly-dee tweet tweet.

So you're having a good day. The sun is shining, and things just seem to be going your way. Hell, you're walking on sunshine. So what do you do?
You start whistling, because you feel so damn good you think the world should know just how happy you are.
And it is a scientific fact that it's impossible to whistle when you're feeling blue.
So you're strolling around whistling a tune, showing your happiness off to the world. Now unless you are whistling the tune to Walk like an Egyptian, or The Andy Griffith Show you are a grade 'A' asshole.
These songs engage the general public. They transform this annoying high pitched noise into an invitation into your blessed world of bliss. People know the tunes once they hear them, and they are infectious.
But, if you're thinking you're some sort of Whistling-Mozart and you're making up your own respiratory symphony then you're effectively pissing off anyone and everyone within ear shot. We, as humans, quickly learn to hate you. You are definitely far to happy, and you're a greedy S.O.B.
Other Acceptable Tunes:
- Don't Worry Be Happy (Bobby McFerrin)
- Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (Monty Python)
- Joyride (Roxette)

Just remember, your whistling is less of a cunty move the more popular and catchy the tune.

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Titles are for those that have a point.

I write ads for a radio station. It is not glamorous but it is fun. There are boundaries. I am not allowed to mock religious folk, nor can I do anything overly sexual or crude which, according to some of our listeners, are one and the same. On the flip side, I get to sit and think up ways to make crappy things sound good, see what I can slip past the censors and be surrounded by interesting people all day long. Also, because of the nature of the job I pay more attention to advertising that I used to. It's interesting if you think about the images and tag lines companies use.
One that really makes me laugh is Royal. The toilet paper has kittens on their package and claims their product is kitten soft. I agree that most kittens are soft but I have never thought of wiping my ass with one. Now that I have thought of this, the thought makes me giggle with glee.
Other packages that make me smile are ones for douches. They have these demure, motherly women who are still young but have some undefinable trait that makes them seem more mature than they should be. Perhaps the fact that they use a douche makes them more grown up. Anyway, the thing that makes me laugh is the stark contrast between those packages and ones for hair colour. Hair colour models are either wild and crazy, sultry, or radiant. Never demure. They radiate confidence and seem to say, "Fuck yeah! Change your colour! Don't be a slave to nature!" whereas the douche models expression seems to say, "Goodness, is that scent me? I hope no one sees me buying this."

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

Danger is my middle name

Any one who knows me will tell you that I crave excitement and I thrive on danger. They all know I aspire to a world of intrigue and/or espionage; They can tell because everything I own has no less that 3 secret pockets in or on it.
Lately, I've been feeling playful. Up for a challenge and not a small challenge. I want something to test my wits, my guts, my metal.
I think I would like to commit a robbery. And no, I don't mean knock over a convenience store at axe-point. I mean an intricate and classy job. Think jewel heist, or just rent the newer version of Oceans Eleven. I think I have enough secret pockets in my closet to make me Danny Ocean.
I would love to assemble a crack team, break into a secure building without being detected and make off with the loot like a ghost in the night.
I think that could near be the greatest thrill in my life.
I along with my team would steal all of the books in a large library. Save for the dictionary, which would be open to the page that contains the word "ironic".

Monday, April 16, 2007


...make life rough for guys sometimes. Like for serious. Ill admit its happened to me, and Ive seen it happen. You go out with your buddies for a night of good times, good laughs, and yes, good drinks. You get home either that night or the next morning, and thats when the good times end! You come home that night only to find either 13 missed phone calls (from you know who) or and pile of messeges on your computer all saying..."where were you?" "who were you with?" "are you drunk?".....FUCK YOU! OF COURSE I'M DRUNK! "I went out with my friends and its 3:46 in the morning, I am hammered drunk." You tell them that, and then realize thats when you should have kept your mouth shut, then they just tear into you about how they were home alone all night or some bullshit like that, of course you dont remember what they said because you're hammered drunk. Then they call you, and ask you every 3 minutes if you're paying attention and listening to what they are saying, you tell them you are but really, all you want is to go to sleep. Then the next day, or maybe a few days after you gotta try to make it up to them somehow...which is dumb, yeah its just dumb. Because you shouldnt have to make up for anything, you went out with your friends, she didnt, big whoop! but it is a big whoop to her. Life seems like it might be easier with them, but for sure would suck without them at the same time.
Everyone knows this happens, and knows it will continue to happen, simply because guys like and want girls, and yes, i know my day will come again. I will fall for a girl again, and this whole cycle will start again, four five six!

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

This morning.

This morning I awoke to the sound of my alarm going off. At the same time I could smell an awful scent. The way i figure it, I must have farted in my sleep just moments before the alarm woke me up. This morning was terrible.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

I'm a Secret Agent, man.

I am a man. A man through and through. A being forged in the fires of evolution. And thus, I do not enjoy shopping. I don't understand why the fairer sex likes this so. How can they go to a mall *shudder* and try on countless pairs of jeans/shirts/jackets and what have you and then not buy anything from that store?
A guy, by definition, does not try on clothes.
He may, on occasion, hold the item up to his body and size it up, eye-ball it if you will. Colours and cuts do not really come into play when a guy is making a purchase decision.
This is what we, as guys, want everyone to believe.
The truth of the matter is there is one aspect of shopping that we do enjoy.
Men love hidden/secret pockets! The more pockets something has, the cooler it is. That item becomes exponentially cooler if these pockets are hidden - out of sight from the general public.
The sad truth is, these secret pockets are as close as many of us will come to being James Bond. Why do you think we keep our wallets in breast pockets whenever possible? It's not comfort, fuck comfort - It looks way cooler to pull something out of a breast pocket.