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So, because of the sub-arctic temperature currently sodomizing Calgary, someone thought it'd be a good idea to light the hair salon across the street from Beano on fire, which meant that for about half an hour, we were invaded by live-action versions of Bratz.
I must admit: when they're at the counter ordering their non-fat lactose-free goop, I sometimes have to keep myself from reaching over and poking their faces, just to see whether or not they're made out of plastic.
Luckily, it turned out that it was only their garbage bin in the alley that was on fire, so they were soon able to return to their hyperbaric chambers before their otherworldy skin-sacs burst and showered us with a poisonous rainbow of candy-coloured nail-polish and lip-gloss distilled from the crushed hopes and dreams of every little girl whose daddy wouldn't buy them a pony or call them 'Princess'.
Yes, I am an asshole.
Stuff:
1. On the Scientology front: apparently I am out of touch, as a group known as Anonymous has DECLARED WAR on the (alleged) Church of Scientology. Despite the casiotone inflection of the narrators, (or maybe because of it), these videos are creepy as fuck.
2. McDonald's has no idea what "I'd Hit It" means. Or else they want us to do really bad things to their cheeseburgers.
That's about it for now; anyone who likes good music should pick up Useless Trinkets, the new compilation by The Eels (or if you'd prefer, simply 'Eels'...). It features a cover of Prince's "I Could Never Take The Place Of Your Man", as well as close to 50 other tunes to teach you how to be happy about depression. Also: the movie Sunshine, about people flying to the sun to try and blow it up so that it doesn't die? Fan-friggin'-tastic. Just try not to watch it with someone who constantly berates the qualifications of FICTIONAL CHARACTERS IN FICTIONAL SITUATIONS, i.e., "...see, none of these people would ever make it onto a spaceship, because none of them would get past the Psyche Tests..."; See, this is why people beat up pregnant ladies.
Oh, I am SO going to hell for that one...
Also also: Shauna, your mix-CD is ready. Now get off my back.
1. The delivery room at the Foothills Hospital is on the fifth floor.
2. I am allowed to cut the umbilical cord if I want.
3. Contractions feel like holding onto an ice cube for about thirty seconds, but if you breathe properly it ain't so bad.
4. The acronym that helps you diagnose whether or not your pregger is going into labour is TACO (time, amount, colour, odour). Try not to giggle when your instructor uses it.
5. The vagina looks nothing like a stovepipe, but you can fit a baby through either one.
Other terms to remember:
1. "Giant ball of snot."
2. "Pinkish strings."
3. "Muconium."
4. "Stovepipe." (I couldn't get over this one.)
Also, apparently it's important to bring snacks.
The ladyfriend gets bonus points, though, for pointing at everyone in the room and stating, "Guess what? None of these people know how to use a condom!"
That is all. I will go shoot bunnies now.
Here's a good way to start the day: DON'T have a dream where your girlfriend is lying in bed in her underwear with a guitar player named Mott Lee while you're driving around St. Louis with a street map from 1978 and an empty baby carseat and a dying cel phone, and while she's telling you about Mott's new band and how great it is and how they're gonna be the biggest band in the world, you're trying to get a word in about how you're lost and that there's a very good chance that you might've left the baby at the grocery store. That just don't feel good.
But anyway: yes I am old today. Let's stop talking about numbers and start talking about how my girlfriend is pretty much the best thing in the universe, NOT because she got me the Twin Peaks Box Set and a housecoat and underwear and even made me a scarf with her own hands, but because she listens to me (even when I'm not paying attention to what I'm saying), which is why she got me the Dvd and housecoat, etc - and that's as mushy as I'm gonna get, so, um, there.
Seriously: who names their kid Mott?
Stuff:
1. While this is somewhat horrifying, there's a small part of me that thinks that this show is less about making people choose between money and dignity, and more about forcing people to realize that sometimes the money isn't worth it..
...nah, I take that back; it's ALL horrific.
2. Acoustic Invisibility Cloak. Let me repeat that: Acoustic. Invisibility. Cloak.
3. Area 51 has a new name. Which is really dumb.
4. Apparently Bigfoot lives on Mars now.
That is all, as now I must go and serve ridiculous coffee beverages to people who have more money than sense and really only deserve to drink my spittle out of a used toilet bowl. It'll be fun.
(Lemme just say that if this man and his girlfriend invite you over for dinner, you should do so, as a great time will be had by all, and your belly will be full of good stuff.)
I've heard the phrase "Not My Problem" so many times today that I'm starting to think I'm living in an Ayn Rand novel; this is to say nothing of the fact that apparently it's perfectly acceptable in this city to completely ignore a pregnant lady who's on the side of a road trying to change her car's battery. Kudos, Calgary; no wonder no one wants to live here anymore.
(Thanks to Brandon, Grant, and Lee, all of whom actually helped my Ladyfriend out in her time of need. Each of you gets to be Jesus for a day, but without all the hurty parts.)
Of course, I'd probably feel a lot better if it hadn't taken me the entire day to realize that I'd put my underwear on backwards. I am a supergenius.
There ya go: my 100th post on Blogger. Happy bloggiversary or something. I'm gonna go celebrate by fighting psychotic rabbits for a while. The rest of you? You just sit there and think about what you've done.
Okay, I wasn't gonna post this, as I'd already linked to a ridiculous Christian website a few days ago (here, if you missed it and you want to know why God hates you for being a one-armed drummer...), and as much as I think that it's a little foolish to make yourself and everyone else suffer in this life because God's gonna give you a gold-plated gun that shoots ice cream in the next life, I also think that everyone should be able to believe what they want, so long as it doesn't involve possessing the right to throw molotov cocktails into people's wombs, y'know? So, I was a little hesitant to play Mock The Christian Openly again, but then I read some of the quotes on this site, and my brain farted and began flying around the inside of my skull like a leaky balloon.
So, enjoy: Top 100 Quotes from Fundies Say The Darndest Things ('Fundies' being Fundamentalists; yeah, I was confused, too, as I thought fundies were some type of novelty underwear you'd get at those weird shops in malls that are always changing names yet continue to sell the same novelty shit that no one ever buys! I don't get it! It's like Satan opened a store that'd sell you your deepest, darkest desire, but then totally screwed up on guessing what people would want: "I know what you desire! A motorized sunflower that wears sunglasses and plays the ukulele while it does a hula dance! HAHAHAHAHAHA!")
(Okaybutanyway.)
Also: this is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever seen, but now that I've said that, I'm pretty sure I'll see something tomorrow that causes me to take the business end of a hammer to my head in order to stop the pain. Like the fact that someone needed to prove in court that a chimp is not a person.
Actually, no, the truck nuts are worse.
And also: seriously, I have a lot of respect for men and women who'll strap themselves into a big can and allow themselves to be basically exploded through the atmosphere into outer space where everything's all floaty and you can die because there's NO AIR (mainly because none of them would ever write a sentence like that...), and I'd like to think that whatever it is they're doin' up there is worth doin', as it usually ends up meaning I get to make waffles in my microwave or something equally as awesome, but: launching a paper airplane from a space station and watching it survive re-entry?
Really?
No, really?
And last but not least in the category of Insane People Saying Insane Things: Tom Cruise talks Scientology. Grab yourself some popcorn for this one, as it's ten minutes long, but it's worth it, even if it might make you double-bolt your doors to make sure the moonies don't break in to worship your spatula or something...
That's all for now. Got dishes to wash and orcs to kill. Go be somewhere else for a while.
Yes, we have joined the cult of Wii. Expect much silliness to follow, and prepare to be amazed at how gigantic my forearms will soon become, as one cannot play a game of tennis or enjoy a boxing match on this thing without afterwards soothing one's tired muscles in a vat of thrice-warmed baby fat and regaining one's equilibrium by inhaling an entire tank of pure oxygen.
Dr. Punchy is coming to wreck your section, yo. Y'all best just give up now.
Okay, MAYBE I'd asked her to wake me up at 1:00 so that I could get to work on time, and MAYBE she was just doing what I'd asked her to do, and MAYBE I'd already ignored her the first two times she came in to wake me; all I'm saying is that it's very RUDE to pull the covers off of me and remove them from the bedroom ENTIRELY, leaving me to shiver all fetal-like with nothing to use as a blanket except for dirty laundry and all the baby stuff that everyone's been so kind to donate to us. That's just the calling card of a great, big MEANIE.
Let me tell you, it's very hard to keep warm underneath a collection of onesies, sleeping caps, and baby booties.
BUT! I will forgive her, if only because she gave me three of my birthday presents early, which meant that Chris got some movies (Syriana, Starsky & Hutch, and a couple volumes of Ghost In The Shell) plus a book of essays by David Foster "I'm Gonna Pretty Much Vomit Onto The Page And You're Gonna Like It" Wallace. (Go on, TRY and read Infinite Jest. I DARE you.)
I will also forgive her because she drove me to work today, and because she's pretty and I like her, but YOU JUST WATCH YOURSELF LADY!
Also: we finished Season 3 of LOST; are you seriously trying to tell me that I'll have to wait another YEAR before Season 4 comes out (No, I will not watch it on TV, because that just hurts...)? Or, given the writer's strike, possibly longer?
Oh, this will NOT do at all...
Of course, this gives me and the Ladyfriend plenny o' time to argue over whether or not the castaways are all dead and the island is really Limbo, or that the island is a quantum mechanism that broadcasts certain numbers into the world to alter time and space so that the castaways had no choice but to be on that plane that crashed on the island because it needs human lives as data so that it can work towards a formula that describes our reality's entire existence.
Or, dinosaurs. Lots of 'em.
A couple of things:
1. Cappuccino Spycam: um...no. You do not want to see what we do with our hands while we make you your non-fat decaf sugar-free-vanilla latte (Or as we call it, a "Why Bother?"...). I yell at people on an hourly basis for making ridiculous requests of me ("Could you add about an inch of water, and then a dash of cinnamon, and then steam up about a thimble-full of rice milk to serve on the side? And then if it's not too much trouble, could you serve it to me on the back of one of those miniature ponies, and play some Barbara Streisand to accompany it's approach?"); what makes you think I won't be adding my own 'personal crema' to your drink while you're not looking? Do you really want to SEE that? Didn't think so...
2. Oh, fuck right off...
3. ....man, those cavemen sure were pretty,weren't they? This one gets a couple points simply because it has Rampaging War-Elephants, which are all kinds of awesome. The rest of it will be stupid beyond belief, but think about it: WAR-ELEPHANTS.
4. I want to be Patton Oswalt's winter wife.
That's all. I have to go make a CD for Shauna, and then pretend to be an Elf-Goblin for a couple of hours. Because I gave up on nerd-dom long ago. Really.
So. A bit of advice to those of you out there who might've been born without, I dunno, a brain: if you happen to be allergic to a certain substance, like, say, hazelnut, don't ask us to ADD hazelnut to your drink, leave the store, then call us back fifteen minutes later in a panic demanding to know why we would put such a life-threatening substance in your drink. Just, y'know, don't. We can do without that kind of grief.
See, I'm inclined to think that this is just natural selection at work, like this case here (no, Rachel, this is where you actually READ the link), but when I say stuff like that at work, everyone says I'm grumpy.
Sorry: work's been a little frustrating lately, as my night-shift partner-in-crime decided to go AWOL and build a pirate ship in Vancouver without telling anyone (jerk), so now I'm constantly surrounded by GURLS, who apparently have FEELINGS, which means I have to contain my naturally crude self, and causes me to relive Grade 12 Drama, where myself and Curt McKinstry were forced to deal with twelve teenage ladies whose, um, biological rhythms, shall we say, were in perfect sync for six months. Great times. Really.
(Dawn, Gina, Kyrsten and Laura: I'm only kidding. Please don't make my girlfriend stop having sex with me.)
Has everyone heard that new version of Sabbath's 'War Pigs' as done by those smug Californian jerks known as CAKE? Of course you haven't, because most of you have dismissed the fine fellows in CAKE as smug Californian jerks who are possible one ironic song away from appearing on that KOOKY ROCK BANDS OF THE MILLENIUM compilation K-Tel's got simmering on the back-burner for the next holiday rush. The thing is, those smug Californian jerks are fully aware that most people regard them this way, and are quite fine with the idea, as it doesn't take a supagenius to realize that sometimes we attach a bit to much importance to all these nancyboys with bad posture who play plonky sounds on out-of-tune instruments while pretending to call it art or whatever, and that sometimes it's okay for some smug Californian jerks to put out a collection of songs that, while it might not plumb the depths of your mortal soul, will still make you throw up the devil horns while you enjoy a second Long Island Iced Tea.
What I mean to say is: 'War Pigs'. Done by CAKE. Effing YES. They also do a FABULOUS cover of Kenny Rogers' 'Ruby (Don't Take Your Love To Town)', so, um, there.
Oh, and speaking of squonky sounds: that new Radiohead is top-notch. Isn't it great to listen to a band that doesn't start to suck after three albums?
Okay, some stuff:
1. While I do agree that these are pretty cool outfits, I also agree that by wearing them you're pretty much asking the police to beat you about the cranium with heavy objects: "Hey! Let's go out at night dressed as serial rapists!"
2. Apparently, God has given up hating fags and is now just focusing on goths. ("Find out why Goths are just as responsible for the Twin Towers attack, as those towel-headed cavemen in Afghanastan...For some strange reason we seem to get a lot of hatemail from Goths, when we have done nothing but try to help them. These freaks are pathetic." I WISH I could come up with stuff this funny.)
3. THIS IS THE MOST AWESOME WEBSITE EVER! LOOKIT WHAT I CAN MAKE IT DO!
4. The Post-Apocalyptic Workout; because you KNOW it's coming. (This came close to being the Most Awesome Website, but then I found Death By Led Zeppelin, and, really, who can argue with me?)
5. Warehouse 23. (Obviously NOT the Most Awesome Website, but still a lot of fun for when you just wanna waste time clicking, and clicking, and clicking...)
That's all I got for now. It's my brother's 28th birthday, so I gotta go compose a horrendously rude birthday note for him. Also I have lots of nerding out to do, as my Xbox ain't gonna play itself, although that'd be pretty cool if it could. Also also: I know I talked about these guys about a year ago, but if you're still not listening to Cloud Cult, then frankly I just don't know what to do with you.
Apparently, being drunk means that I can no longer prevent myself from making pawing motions in the air with my hands at random intervals, as though I were chasing the bats away from my face, but had found myself possessed of tiny useless Tyrannosaurus Rex arms.
I cannot explain this, although I do believe that more wine might help.
I am coherent enough to realize that this is a silly way to ring in the new year, yet inebriated enough to not care.
Oops! I must get back to my chips!
All I'm saying is: you don't get to demand that I get drunk, simply because you are NOT ALLOWED TO DRINK, due to your being pregnant and whatnot, and then turn around and leave me alone to do nothing but watch more episodes of X-Files. I did not get here by myself; I seem to recall a rther cutelady urging me to polish off a bottle of wine in something like fifteemn minutes. You don't get to do this to me, only to pass out on me. This is not ALLOWED. This is twice in two nights, and it very reprehnsible. Reprehensible. There, I got it.
NOR do you get to offer all MY Christmas chocolates to any visiting friends who might be watching TV with you whilst I am slaving away at work on a holiday. This is simply NOT DONE. I do not care if the chocolate has nuts in it, which means I won't eat it anyway because putting nuts in chocolate is just WRONG. YOU don't get to offer my chocolate to ther people; that's MY job.
Also: I can't remember what else I had to say, so I'm going to drink the last of this wine, and watch more of X-Files, because it's not my fault that Scully is hot.
Good Day.
So, because of the sub-arctic temperature currently sodomizing Calgary, someone thought it'd be a good idea to light the hair salon across the street from Beano on fire, which meant that for about half an hour, we were invaded by live-action versions of Bratz. 
