If you're going eighty-five in the passing lane on the 401 with nobody in front of you, don't hit the brakes and flip me the finger when I flash lights at you to move into the right lane. You're not passing the car in that lane, fall in behind it so I don't hit you going 35km/h faster than you. Thanks.

Heh... Yeah. Hehehe... Wow

So I'm drunk and full of food on the company's dime... Lunch was over almost an hour ago. I dunno when I'm going back to work but I just want to sleep. So full of booze and food and booze... Ah. Every work day should be like this. Oh... I have to go urinate ... Badly

Oh my god. What did I ... I'm going back to bed.

I fell asleep just past five. Minutes later Christina comes in my room. "Can you do something with my motorcycle? It's in the middle of the sidewalk. I'm going to take your car or I'll be late again, why'd you park so close if you knew I was leaving?" She left. Confused silence. This might account for the thought I woke up to: government should be like two women. One hot chick to admire and be proud to associate with, and a body building lesbian no one wants to fuck with or fuck over; angry and determined.

Okay. You guys expected me to post more often now that I've found a way to do so from the phone, now you have to live with the consequences of your demands. Hey.. How many potheads does it take to answer the door if the girlfriend of the one who's in the washroom and taking a leak comes to give him a ride home? Hm? Give up? Four. One to do nothing, another to try to text message the one taking a leak, and another to walk to the bathroom to tell the forth to get the door. It's true, we tried.

Oh no. Oh my god. Free mobile Blogging? No good can come of this. I can now rant AS THINGS HAPPEN? This is AWESOME! ...oh yeah, this is a test. You know, just to see if it works. ...Art

...ungh

Seven-and-a-half hours...

...Art

Kill me

*hic*

Okay. So. I started with the hiccups some time before four today. It's currently just after 10. Well over six hours and counting.

I think I'll go to sleep. Maybe that'll fix it.

Though, honestly, I dunno that this'll let me sleep.

...Art

My blog fucked up. (UPDATED)

I dunno why, but it seems like it's stopped displaying everything completely today. So, I guess I thought if I posted something, maybe it'd sort itself out again.

Probably the Koreans behind this one too. Oh, did I mention that my Korean-made Nokia's been gotten rid of? It seized a phone line to place a call, but wouldn't send or receive any audio? Started ringing without an actual call coming in? Announced calls on the screen without ringing? Randomly froze?

Yeah, I'll bet Blogger's coded by some Korean.

...Art
(UPDATE: It did fix things. Yay! Enjoy the newly reposted blog in its completeness!)

OMG...

Oh... my... god.

What the hell was that?

I uh... can't begin to explain how odd yesterday was, nor how totally awesome.

I'm not sure what the highlight of it all was. I'm not even sure how to go about evaluating anything over anything else. This was everything I hate about pro-wrestling, only worse, yet somehow... somehow it was all so much better.

It was a visual overdose; glittery outfits, spandex, midgets, women… all stuffed into a syringe and jabbed into the vein of sanity. It left me confused, amused, and grinning like an idiot for hours. There’s no way this should be legal.

I hate the WWE events. All that horrible acting, the staged fights, the stupid egos. I get annoyed watching pro-wrestling in mere moments. If I happen to be stuck with friends in a room where there's nothing else going on but friends watching wrestling, I can't hold back comments. The groans. It pains me to watch.

Last night, all the shit I hate about the WWE was there. But it worked. It worked, and I loved it. It totally took the genre and laughed at it. It did to pro-wrestling what the Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy or Red Dwarf does for space travel and exploration. Even the announcers were mocking it with comments like "HOLY SHIT! Oh my GOD! That wasn't in the fucking rehearsals!"

It's fun to see just how totally into this some people got too. So many people in the audience were walking around in those creepy Mexican wrestling masks, which at first bothered me... I don't much like not seeing people's faces. But yeah, some of them were wearing nice suits, spiffy shoes, and masks. Others wore just the suits and had some random trophy-chick walking around with them. Some of them started fights in the audience; fan matches I guess to prove whose acid trip was more vivid than the other fan’s. The whole event happened all around you so that I felt a little worried and claustrophobic. It’s sort of like the Oscars, only… only on five tabs of LSD.

Yeah. Wow. Some of these guys got clocked hard. Staged or not, when someone runs into someone who’s busy flying through the air at them feet first, you can’t fake that whiplash. So much senseless violence. Even the girls involved in the between-fights burlesque show got into it when one girl took exception to another one sharing her spotlight. Some shoving later, into the ring they went. Mmm… Violence against women’s AWESOME when it’s another scantily clad women administering the hurt.

Oh, and midgets. Did I mention the midgets? The main midget fight involved two evil small people on one team against two even smaller good small people on the other. The smaller guys I swear look like spandex-wearing infants, only unlike infants they’re able to walk. And wrestle. And climb ropes. And fly off those ropes into other midgets sending them scattering like marbles. SO good. The main midget fight ended in a way that made everything right in the world… the good midgets, the smaller ones, triumphed over their evil adversaries… the slightly less small midgets. It’s kind of like David winning over Goliath, if only Goliath was another half-pint. Good wins over evil, all is right in the world.

Yes, last night was truly a contest of good vs. evil. Right, and wrong. But how do you know who’s good and evil? You can tell. The costumes, their attitude… that should be enough to clue you in. If you’re REALLY dense there’re usually other clues to let ya know who you should cheer for, and who’s getting booed. And for the borderline retards, here’s a tip. Cheer for the team that walks out carrying the Canadian flag. Boo the other guys loudly. They’re the ones carrying the provincial flag of Quebec. Those evil Frenchie bastards!

Ah, yes, so good. The midget whacking the scantily-clad girl piñata was wicked… She wore sparkly party hats around her waist filled with confetti and candy… the midget chased her around the outside of the ring taking whacks at her. Confetti and candy everywhere. This… this is what life’s supposed to be like.

I wanted to take home a little something from the show, something to let me recreate the goodness of it all in the comfort of my living room. I looked at the Mexican wrestling action figure set with a half dozen guys posed in random “I’mma gunna kick yo’ ass, Chico” poses, and Mexican wrestling mask hackysacks, but I don’t hack and action figures aren’t quite my thing. I almost bought nipple tassels, but they were $20. I’ll use that as my excuse for not getting them. I’m sure Iza would have LOVED to wear them for me and make them spin like twin props on a Cessna. …yeah, it was the COST that stopped me.

Marcus had mentioned seeing custom-made Mexican wrestling mask styled beanbag chairs. I haven’t been able to look at our beanbag chairs the same way since. I’m getting needle-and-thread itchy.

That’ll about wrap it up for this time folks. I wish I had pictures to show you, but as I feared the lighting was too poor in there for the minicam I snuck in. Had I known cameras weren’t banned, I would have brought my camcorder, but oh well. The effect this event had on me was so strong I really won’t need pictures to remind me of the good times I had.

I won’t ever be able to shake these images from my head.

…Art

...ok... WTF?

So I'm kind of excited and confused.

The other day, Marcus had this stunned look on his face. I wondered what was up.

"Did you hear that ad?"

Well, no. But the next time it aired, he called my attention to it. I was stunned. Like what the hell? Tomorrow, I'll be going to an event with two co-workers... an event like no other.

Co-hosted by that host from Beat The Geeks... it's a good old fashioned burlesque, with Mexican wrestling, and... midgets. With a DJ. I shit you not.

No, honestly, I'm not making this shit up.

Anyone who knows me knows how much I hate wrestling. But this is Mexican wrestling, which... is just odd. And a burlesque. Which is just ... odd. And midgets. ...everyone loves midgets.

I'm bringing my little camera, but I dunno how well lit the place is going to be, so I dunno that any pictures'll turn out. ...we shall see.

There'll be a blog about the aftermath, I'm certain.

Thought I'd share.

Oh, and to anyone who's following the Steve soap opera... Today he saw Marcus reading in the lunchroom.

"You're reading and eating?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"I can't do that", he says.

"Sort of like chewing gum and walking, Steve?"

"Yeah!"

...Ah, Steve. Nice guy, but GOD FUCKING DAMN he's not too bright.

See ya all later.

...Art

When things get past their expiry date, you really should throw them out

This is mostly a rant. This is what was removed from the previous blog ‘cuz it made it too fucking long. For that matter, on its own, it’s still too fucking long. Feel free to read the first little bit however, as it shows what kind of environment I work in and is light-hearted. I’ll let you know when you should start skipping things to avoid the outright rant.

So. There’s three yogurts in the fridge at work that expired January 3rd. No one’s claimed them. No one’s thrown them out. Steve, a co-worker of mine, he’s an actor, and … well, Denfo says he’s hot but he’s not too bright. Apparently he’s hot enough to have Denfo overlook his lack of smarts and go out with him, then have “intellectual affairs” to make up for it. Heh, “intellectual affairs”. That’s a great line. Anyway, he saw the expired yogurt containers today and says he’ll give me $100 if I eat one.

I took him up on that.

I mean, sure it’s two months expired. But what’s a little sour dairy going to do to my gut? It’s been in the fridge the whole time so it shouldn’t be too horrible, and shit I need the money.

I pulled back the foil and looked inside. No mould. Looked good. Smelled it. Smelled fine. Steve got upset that it wasn’t all rancid or something, and announced that he wasn’t going to pay me.

I told him I’d sue.

He said we didn’t have a verbal agreement.

I pointed out that he said he’d give me $100 if I ate the yogurt, and I agreed to do so. That was a binding contract. We also had a witness to this as Marcus was in the lunchroom at the time.

He said that he didn’t have to pay because I didn’t eat the yogurt. So I told him that since he backed out of the agreement before I started to eat the yogurt, there’s no need for me to go ahead with my half of the agreement. He was in breach of contract already and I was going to go after him for damages.

Marcus offered to pay the court costs incurred to launch this case.

Ah, I love my co-workers.

Anyway, all of this goes back to one thing… if you’ve got stuff that’s beyond it’s expiry, you really should get rid of it. Like I did when I threw out the yogurt. Which brings me to something else that’s well past its expiry and should be taken care of.

*This is where the rant starts, feel free to ignore all of the following. You’re not really missing much. Thanks for reading, I’ll talk to you all later.*


I wanted to kill someone the other day. An old lady. Essentially, I wanted to finish the job that god had started but got distracted by something sparkly somewhere in the universe… and just forgot to return to. This old lady lives up above Joe’s dad’s store, and, well, her spunk used to impress me. I thought it was cool that someone as old and fragile as she is had that much get-up-and-go. But this day… this day I wanted her to get-up-and-drop-dead.

See, the alleyway behind the store isn’t maintained. Hasn’t seen a plow all winter. So, what you essentially had was two ruts where the car tires beat a path through the snow, only by now the snow had melted and refrozen a few times leaving ice at LEAST 15cm thick. That’s like… six inches to you non-metric kids. Anyway, I was turning off the path when my back tires got caught in the trench… and well, now my car was perpendicular to the path with my rear wheels stuck in one of the ruts. Essentially stuck in a 6-or-more-inch deep tire death trap made of ice walls. My front wheels, the drive wheels, spun uselessly on a sheet of ice.

After looking at things for a little bit, I thought I’d try rocking the car. Nothing. Couldn’t get enough traction on the ice to make with the happy. I got out and looked at things again, and the old lady came out of her hole to peer down from up above. She informed me that I had to move.

I told her I was stuck. She told me to just move the car. I repeated that I was stuck. She started going on about something in her not-quite English and from the few words I could make out, she said I just had to move forward a bit.

I tried telling her I was stuck again, and even got into the car and spun my wheels a bit to illustrate my point. While doing so, the car slid a little bit and so I tried rocking it again while turning the front wheels… anyway, I heard the lady yelling at me, going “HELLO? HELLO?”…

Yeah, bitch, I’m stuck. You telling me to move, WON’T MAKE IT HAPPEN. I closed my door. Ah, peace.

FOOMP. Snowball on hood. Old lady yelling. I pretended not to notice. FOOMP. Snowball on windscreen. I opened my sunroof to look up at the hag. “WHAT?”

More broken English. Something about moving somewhere. “Yeah, I’m stuck, I’m on ice, I don’t know what the hell you’re going on about.”

I closed my sunroof. She yelled some more. The car wasn’t going anywhere, so I turned it off and stepped out. She yelled. “Get some salt! You get salt you go no problem! I see people they stuck get salt and go!”

“There’s ice this thick”, I yelled back while indicating with my hands just how thick it is. “It’ll take days for salt to melt that.”

Anyway, to shorten this story a little bit, I went to get some things to try and un-stuck me. Wood. A pair of slip-joint pliers used to chip away at ice. A plastic shovel.

I jacked the car up, got some cinder blocks under the front which lifted the side up enough for me to get the jack in to lift the back wheel out of the trench, the plan being to stick another cinder block under the back wheel and just drive out of the rut.

Plan didn’t go to plan.

The car slid on the ice, sideways, off the jack. The jack jammed between my car and the ice, bending it. I couldn’t work the bent jack to lower it, so my car was good and thoroughly stuck now.

“Just take-a the salt and put on. Here, like this.”

I told her a dozen times to get away. She threw salt at my car. At my jack while I was trying to work it. My jack made cracking sounds as salt got ground up in its workings.

I told her to get away.

She grabbed the plastic shovel and started pushing at the ice.

I told her to get away.

She went around to the back of my car, where I started to hear sounds that sounded very much like shovel-against-bumper sounds. I went around to the other side…

I told her to get away. I told her that she wasn’t helping, and that if she keeps hitting the car that I’ll have to charge her for the damage.

She told me to just try now that there’s salt there. I showed her the jack, and how the car was stuck on it… she threw salt at it, and at my rear wheel. I wasn’t about to tell her I drove a front-wheel drive.

I told her to get away.

She brought a hammer earlier. I tried to chip away at the ice around the jack, hoped to free it. No dice. She came along.

I told her to get away.

She grabbed the jack, and wiggled it.

I told her to go away, that if that jack slips out the car’ll come down on her arm and shatter it.

She walked around, slipped on the ice. I grabbed her and stabilized her. Told her to go away.

She told me that the stupid city doesn’t clear the snow. I told her it was a privately owned alley and parking area and that it’s not the city’s responsibility. The city doesn’t clear my driveway, it’s not their problem, why should they clear her parking area? I pointed to the side street and said that road’s their responsibility. Avenue Road is their responsibility too, and it was also cleared. The city’s doing a fine job, they’re doing their job, and their job isn’t to clear her property.

She said, “the winter really bad this year, make lots of trouble”… I thought it was kinda mild myself. Started rather late… She then told me that the city didn’t clear the snow now it’s ice and a problem. Apparently my explanation fell on retarded immigrant ears.

She suggested that we get Joe’s dad and that the three of us could push the car out. Well, only one of us drives stick, and the remaining two people aren’t going to lift the car up and out of that trench. She said she’d push. I told her the car weighs 25 times as much as she does, and told her to get away from the car.

She told me a story about how in ’68 her husband died. Or maybe that’s the date she bought the house she was talking about. In any event, she said that she had this house and her husband died and she did all the work around it herself. I don’t doubt it, she must have been quite the powerhouse in her youth. I had to wonder if her husband died to get the fuck away from her though.

She threw salt at my car, grabbed the hammer, and chipped away at some ice. She hit the wheel. I told her she was going to do some damage; I told her to go away.

She went away.

While walking away, she put the hammer down.

…she put it down on the hood of my car.

Hammers aren’t good for the painted and clear-coated finish on cars, I’m certain of this.

I threw the hammer to the side, and plotted her death.

Eventually, I just called in a tow truck. They raised my car up off the jack, and were able to put the cinder block under my wheel. Mmm… hydraulics. It was all rather easy at that point, my jack stopped the car from sliding anywhere, it all went off without further problems.

The old lady started yelling at me to clean up the boards and blocks and such. I was trying to talk to the driver and sign the invoice and shit. Like, bitch, fuck, let me finish up one fucking thing, then I’ll clean up. I really don’t intend to leave shit sitting around. I looked at the shovel and thought about how great it would feel to bury it into her chest.

Too bad it was plastic and would be about as effective penetrating her chest as it was at chipping away at ice.

Then I thought it’d be more fitting if I bludgeoned her with the hammer that she thunked onto my hood. Yes, that’d be most satisfying… Then I realized something else. I started thinking about her moving that jack. And I think I concluded that if the jack HAD somehow slipped out, and the car DID land on her… I don’t believe I’d call for help. I really think I’d walk away silently, walk into the store, and call for a tow truck after about an hour went by. With any luck, she would have passed away by then. Maybe god would remember to take her this time.

My only regret is that it wouldn’t be my job to get rid of the garbage.

I then realized something else: I really am a horrible horrible person.

…Art