r0x0r3d!

Yeah. Went to the Concert for Toronto thing. And even though I hate the Stones, RUSH, AC/DC, that Justin Timberlake dude (dunno if that's how you spell it, nor do I care), and most everyone else there... damned if I didn't have a great time.

Sure, the Tea Party set was like 15 minutes long. It was in the early afternoon. Dendrie and I looked at eachother and figured that we can leave at that point, but we stayed. And it was a good thing that we did. Excellent weather, great vibe, no riots which is a little unfortunate... I was looking to administer an ass-whoopin'. All in all, we showed the world how to have a good time, too bad no one out in the world noticed.

Anyhow, I'm pooped. So I guess I'm hitting the sack. My soul thoroughly rocked.

...Art
Shaken AND stirred.

Get laid?

Normally the word "laid" in reference to my life would make me happy. Problems occur when "laid" is followed by the word "off". Yes, Rofo's been laid off. No work. No money. No place to live.

...I think it's time to get that silly amount of heroin. You know, the heroin-overdose suicide idea? 'Cuz you know, I'm really too much of a pussy to go any other way. Lucky for ... you? Me? I dunno, lucky for someone, I don't have any heroin connections. So, if any of you guys have a supplier, please let me know.

Okay. So, I'm sitting in a library. Soaked. Why? Good question. Seems as though this whole hanging a key on your home door isn't making it easy enough for people to gank your shit. So they invented the concept of an "Open House". This is an event when a total stranger who is taking a few percent of the value of your home, settles in and relaxes on your sofa, watches your TV, and drinks your booze. And while they're doing this, you get to leave.

So I left. As did my parents, and my sister. Only they took my car. And it's raining. So I walked around the neighbourhood, in the rain. I came across a library, and oh look. Here I am.

Blogging.

Someone please tell me it gets better than this. Soon. Fuck it, this afternoon. Yes, this afternoon all my troubles are gone! Yes yes? No? Fuck.

Dunno what else to say, teh weather is teh sux0r. I have a headache. Fmeh.

Oh, I've recently discovered a new waste of time on the television. This shit is BRILLIANT. Sweet Jesus. God bless black people and the white people that funded that show.

I guess I'm off. I'm in a library, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this already. A LIBRARY. I feel smarter already, it's a disturbing feeling... I like not thinking. Maybe I can find some comic books in this place. Or a pop-up book. That'd be fucking sweet.

See all you niggahz another tizzle, fo' shizzle...

...Art
Generally less hazardous to your health than smoking

Hey, what are you snooping around here for?

Meh. So much with the suck. No, god dammit, the suck! The! STOP FUCKING AUTOCORRECTING IT! T-E-H suck! Stupid technology. …or maybe not, maybe it’s a stupid user. I mean, who intentionally wants to misspell “the”? Meh. Whatever.

So I came home today to see a little box hooked to the door. It has the house key in it. I dunno, I’m a little uncomfortable with the concept of open and free access to my abode to anyone who wants to wander on in. Seriously, what’s to stop people like me from going home to home clipping these boxes off with bolt cutters and cracking them open? There must be a ton of goodies inside, stereo equipment, computers, satellite receivers… What’s to stop me from heading off on a bit of a looting spree? My conscience, I suppose some would say. But I mean, seriously. We’re talking about ME here. So who wants some free shit? Give me a call, we’ll set a date. I’ll make a trip to Princess Auto and pick up the tools we’d need. It’s not exactly a break-and-enter charge if we use a key, right? Get rid of the broken key box, and there’s no evidence at all.

I guess it’s fitting that I took another one of those silly tests. Here is what the quiz pegged me as:


paranoid


Which Personality Disorder Do You Have?
brought to you by Quizilla

I don’t entirely agree with it though. I don’t think everyone’s out to kill me. I’m certain that everyone’s out to rape me anally. Without lube. Using rusty hedge-trimmers. The electric kind. Like Telus. And Best Buy. And Samsung.

I’d like to wrap this up with something insightful, intelligent, entertaining… fuck, ANYTHING, but I can’t. Maybe I’ll make up for it some other time, but not this time folks. No, this time you’re the ones getting shafted. Shafted with a shitty blog entry that wasn’t worth your time surfing over to read.

Hah.

Take that, you fuckers.

…Art
Best served warm

4Running from responsibility

Okay, so I’ve been getting some flak from you people for neglecting my blog the last little while. While I’m tempted to say “fuck all y’all bitches” and point out that really my blog is in a stage where it can be easily discarded without any impact on the world, I’ve chosen to update it. BECAUSE IT SUITS ME, not because you rotten bastards have asked me to. Hey, at least I didn’t neglect mine for 11 months like this guy. 11 months? That’s almost 20!

So what’s been up? Well, it’s been a strange time the last little while. So strange in fact that I’ve actually eaten at McDonald’s. That’s right. McDonald’s. I had a Crispy Chicken Warm… fuck, I dunno, one of these. Those of you who know me well know that it’s been my first McMeal in easily a decade. In my defence, I wasn’t buying, and there really weren’t any alternatives in the neighbourhood… but still, it’s a pretty good indicator of what’s been going on as of late. As far as shite goes, it was good. And, it had enough trash left over to contribute to the demise of the planet, so hurrah for me.

Just what has been going on? Well, I guess I’ll start off with the good. Iza and I celebrated a fractional anniversary yesterday. Yaaaaaay! That’s right, we’ve officially been going out for ½ a year. Half a year. Big whoop, you say? While I sort of agree, I think it’s a staggering accomplishment considering the crazy religious politically-minded cheating unsexy birthday-ruining bitch she is. Those aren’t my words, read July 8th’s entry, you’ll understand. So thanks, Iza. It’s been fun. Hope there are a few more happy weeks ahead for the two of us.

On the same day of our half year anniversary, I’m sorry to say I lost a dear friend. The ‘Runner has been a part of my life for over 13 years. Thirteen happy years. But yesterday, July 19, just after 4pm, she was put on the back of a tow truck and hauled off to Orangeville. Her final resting place. It was a sad moment, tears were shed, hearts sank, as just moments earlier the radio played a broadcast from Edge102 and the headlights shone for the last time. We miss you, babe. You’ll always hold a special place in our hearts and the memories will live on forever.

434,322.4km showing on the odometer, though there were approximately 2,000kms where the odo-cable was broken. She treated us well.

Rest In Peace 1990 Toyota 4Runner SR5 V6 Burgundy 4-Door, November 1989-July 2003.


Hey, let's play a game. Guess who's selling their house? Right. Guess who needs to get storage, move crap, and figure out where he's living soon? Right. Who has money for none of it? Right again. Damn you guys are good.

So then. On a lighter note, I thought I’d take that Dante’s test to see how rough my time burning in Hell for all eternity is going to be. Here I present the results.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Very High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test

Interesting results. Why? Well… considering the fact that I’m an agnostic/borderline atheist with some deviant behaviours and enough hatred and rage to sink Noah’s boat… I’ve been banished to the Seventh Level of Hell. Iza, who is too much of a Roman Catholic for my liking is rotting in level 8. Go ahead and read what goes on in level 8. Is that how God would have his followers and believers treated? I mean, damn, I’ll gladly carry on living a more sinful life. “Some wallow in human excrement. Serpents writhe and wrap around men, sometimes fusing into each other. Bodies are torn apart. When you arrive, you will want to put your hands over your ears because of the lamentations of the sinners here, who are afflicted with scabs like leprosy, and lay sick on the ground, furiously scratching their skin off with their nails.” God DAMN.

This is old news now, but I had it pasted in my Blog-In-Progress file on my desktop so I might as well toss it up now. Joe got a fan. He’s quite happy with his fan. It’s remote controlled. Just like all fans should be. …unnh?

[22:31] Yiddles: mm fan
[22:31] Yiddles: .. with remote
[22:32] RawEffect: Yeah, explain to me why a remote is needed for ... a fan.
[22:32] RawEffect: Not like you're setting a temperature
[22:32] Yiddles: probably isnt
[22:32] RawEffect: ...and it's not like the fan isn't in nearly arm's reach at all times.
[22:32] Yiddles: I can set the speed though.. and control the oscillation
[22:32] Yiddles: and like, move it to blow in different directions
[22:32] RawEffect: So it's like sex. Only with... machinery.
[22:32] Yiddles: yeah

Joe’s silly. Marcus, a co-worker, appears to have fallen to Special Ed Syndrome too now. He told me the following joke at work last week:

How many retards screw in a light bulb? Yaaaaay!

…yes, Marcus. Yaaaaay indeed. Yaaaaaay!

So there you go. Happiness, sadness, eternal damnation, and retards. What every great blog entry should have.

...Art
Judge, Jury, and Executioner

Hit the road, Jack

Holy shit.

No, seriously people, holy shit.

Not only did I remember the password I used, but I actually USED IT. Wow. Maybe this blog thing’ll live on. I mean, a second entry in under 11 months? I’m doing better than someone else I know…

So then. Therapy. This is why I have a blog… let the bitching begin.

Some of you may know about the mess with Telus. Those who don’t, it’s a billing dispute. And, since I haven’t settled on a carrier yet, I expect my phone number to change yet again some time in the not to far future. This kinda sucks though… at least for someone who is looking for work and sending out resumes. I mean, it’d be nice if people could actually contact me, no? So, I thought, hey, I have a toll-free number. Those stay the same no matter what carrier I’m on. I’ll give everyone that number. SWEET! I basked in my brilliance for a good many seconds. But since this is my life, I should have known some big-assed damned dirty ape would throw a monkey-wrench into the system. And the damned dirty ape did.

My toll-free number was disconnected for non-payment. To the tune of just under $400. Unfortunately, my name isn’t Michael, and my toll-free bill was up to date. So no problem, call the carrier get it reactivated, right? Well, no. Apparently when a toll-free number’s disconnected, it STAYS DISCONNECTED for several months to ensure traffic to that number has stopped, then it gets reissued to someone in North America by some toll-free number managing group stateside. The carrier told me that if I wanted to wait a few months, they could apply for that number when it becomes available again and see if I can get it back. But even then, it might just get assigned to another customer, so my best bet would be to just get a new number.

…I hope anyone interested in an interview can retrieve the new number from the psychic they have on staff. I look forward to your call.

F*cking F*CK.

Anyway, moving on to happier things, I guess I’m looking for a new girlfriend now, as things with the current chick appear to be in trouble. Check out her blog if you want, or just sit back while I cut and paste the relevant bits here. But first, some background. With the abundance of time at her disposal that comes from not working full-time, she did some research online a few days ago. Here are some of her results:

The Death Test told her that she should expire on March 17, 2051. March 17th is my birthday. It’s also St. Patrick’s Day. So, from 2051 onwards, instead of heading out for a pint of Guinness at the local pub, I’ll weep. Huge sorrow-swollen tears. Unless, of course, I choose instead to turf her ass now, while I still can. This would prevent her from ruining my birthday celebrations in the future.

Turf Her Ass: 1. Stay Together: 0.

The results of her sex test were as follows:

The Sex test told her that she’ll first have sex at 21. That’s not any time this week. Or next. Sorry, don’t think I can wait that long. Chalk one up for Turf Her Ass. She’s also apparently 24% sexy, so I guess I’d be best off not having her around. I mean, who wants a mostly unsexy partner? Not I. Another for the Turf Her Ass column. Furthermore, in her life she’ll have sex with two people, both male. She’ll only love one of them. Assuming I’m one of the males she has sex with, she’s still going to cheat on me. That’s not cool. I don’t even want to guess if I’m the one out of those two guys that she loves. With my luck, it’s a very safe bet the answer’s no. Two more to the Turf-count. Oh, the test goes on to say, “prepare yourself for a long and fruitful relationship”. What, sneakin’ around behind my back? Leechin’ my goods? Not if I have anything to say about it.

Turf Her Ass: 6. Stay Together: 0.

The results of her personality test were also concerning:

She’s a Politician (dominant extrovert abstract thinker). Man, I fucking HATE politicians. It also says she has a propensity for cheating. Splendid.

Turf Her Ass: 8. Stay Together: 0.

Compatibility test looks okay, she’s 71% compatible with her current significant other.

“You're SO in! I mean, this is a match made in heaven. You're in there like swimwear. You've found your match and you better hold on tight, because it don't get no better than this. Congratufreakinlations!”

I’ll assume this is with that “other” guy. Good for them. I sure can’t be 71% compatible with a cheating politician, who’s out to ruin my birthday celebrations.

Turf Her Ass: 9. Stay Together: 0.

Oh, more on this compatibility test: her bitch rating is higher than the worldwide average. Who needs a bitch around to uh… well, bitch? And to top it all off, “women who like the taste of beer are more likely to cheat on their boyfriends”. Well yeah. Obviously.

Final total as I see it… Turf Her Ass: 10. Stay Together: 0.

Now, just in case you guys think I’m just being silly, over-reacting or whatever… consider this: when she reported the beer and cheating connection in her blog, she followed it up with “Hmmmm, I don’t think it’s true. Art’s, it’s not true….. REALLY”.

How politician-like of her. She doesn’t “think” it’s true… but it could be. That leaves a nice loophole for all sorts of back-peddling, denials, twisting of … stuff. And in case she can’t make that work, “Art’s, it’s not true” with it’s strange possessive apostrophe “S” on my name is sure to get her off the hook, either as a typo carefully placed to dismiss the entire statement at trial, or … something super-crafty with the whole possessive thing that I just don’t understand. I’m an engineer, not a word guy. I’ve said this before, and IT’S TRUE. So while I don’t know what exactly she’s trying to pull here, it’s clearly confirmation of all my fears.

I'm taking applications... got to have back, and not steal my stuff.

Hrm. I'm SO p0wn3d. 10-0, and I'm STILL hers.

Good night, all. Or, good 3:15am as it were.

Rofo Luv, from up above.

...Art
Symptoms consistent with sugar pill

Let's get things started...

So here it is.

It's arrived.

It's online.

It's everything you never really cared for in Internetdom.

It's my blog.


Why, RoFo? Why a blog? No one gives a rat's ass about what you have to say in real life, why would they online? Hrm... why would they indeed? Truth is, they won't. Want more truth? I don't care.

Perhaps therapy. Yes, that's it. This will all be therapeutic. I'll come here, I'll vent, I'll share, I'll laugh, I'll cry. It'll help heal. It'll shove a big broad beam of happy sunlight through the dark miserable clouds that are my life. ...that is my life? Hrm. Shit. Not a good way to start blogging, is it? Would I use "are" because I'm talking about the clouds? There's more than one cloud, so "are" not "is" yes? But then... I'm talking about my life too. The clouds... THAT IS my life? THAT ARE my life? Fucked if I know. I'm an engineer, not a word guy. Maybe I really should have paid more attention in school.

...though, really, I'm a poor engineer. I staple boxes for funds. Boxes. Some of you may already know that I do this, and those who don't... well, now you do. Here's some more useless irrelevant information for you who didn't know: The box ends are glued. I make glue faces. Sometimes they're smiling. Sometimes they're sad. Sometimes they're smiley faces that are smoking joints. A few have held guns to their heads. A few times I got fancy and poured aluminum shavings into the glue gun to make sparkling glitter raver-kid faces. I would imagine dumping conductive metal into a heating element that's plugged into the wall is a fire or electrocution hazard... meh, what the hell. I don't know why I do this, but it makes me feel better about the job. Maybe this blog will make me feel better about the stuff I do to make me feel better about my job. I doubt it. For now, I snicker as I think of the tens of thousands of glue faces shipped world-wide. I often wonder if anyone's opened up their box and noticed that the glue smears resemble a face. I doubt anyone has. It's too bad really.

I've just put Kermie to bed... hey, let's test the inclusion of links in a blog concept, shall we? This link should take you to a picture of Kermie. The word on the street is that Kermie is the bizzomb. That's a good thing, for those of you living in the real world with your real words and shit. I hate you guys. I hate you because you know if I should use "is" or "are".

Stay tuned for more revelations kids. The fun's just begun. ...or it might have ended already. Who knows? I might update this even less often than I update my webcam. Mmm... clicky goodness.

...Art
Ask your doctor if it's right for you