sociopatrick

Yo, Everest College...Y'all Don't Know Me

2009-02-09T01:28:00.004-05:00

Look.

The next time some crooked-hat slacker yokel starts yelling at me from one of the four channels i get on my TV about how my life is passing me by because I haven't spent a small fortune to sit in an uncomfortable chair in the classroom of some half-assed, new-age DeVry where the only bit of amusement or stimulation i can find comes from my internal giggle at the stammering professer's chalk-covered eddie bauer sport coat i'm going to elvis the fuck up and bust-a-cap-in-that-glass like it was broadcasting robert goulet in a post-coital scene beside my own mother.

deep breath.

I worked all god damned day. I was on my feet for 9 and a half hours, just like i was the previous 4 days. I come home and i want to take off my boots and loosen my tie a bit (but not so much that it doesn't remain to look fiercely stylish on me). If i choose to sit down on the couch that I OWN, and watch the tv that I OWN for a minute so i can catch some jeopardy and stimulate my mind before i become another of the countless middle-class drones of the barely-veiled slavery doctrine that in one way and another and another lines the pockets of 10% of the population who use that money to further become the bane of our culture, the embarrassment of our species, and the destroyer of all life.

A 20,000 dollar piece of paper that says i'm qualified (paid) in (from their actual website) "Medical Insurance Billing and Coding" is going to put me right back here, on my couch, soaking my proverbial bunions to the soothingly endless card-read knowledge of alex trebek. After working the same amount of hours in a day, for the same amount of money, in a field that is so far from medical insurance billing and coding that it might as well just mean i have a degree in Life Fucking Up Via Massive Debt and Terrible Decisions (made at the exact moment i would ever have considered ANYTHING the TV tried to yell at me in the first place).

School is for learning. The workforce is for careers and applied knowledge.

Take your father's credit card down to the hallmark shop and buy him an apology note for all those nights you spent hitting the bong in front of family guy re-runs at your everest dorm room, where, ironically, you cheered every time that outdated-facial-hair-30-something-portraying-20-something-pop-collared-spokesbro popped up on the screen.

p.

Wheatgrass is good for you,

2008-12-28T01:35:00.002-05:00

Of course its good for you!

It tastes like the pureed asshole of that guy you know that is so fucking fat he often wakes up with chicken fingers on his chest and eats them between apnea ridden periods of sleep in which the sound he makes is so frightening that you don't think you'll ever sleep again.

On top of that, the same fat motherfucking loaf of moldy shit is simutaneously getting royalty checks from some backwards faux-japanese knockoff horror movie that sampled the sound and freaked out a generation of tweens who are old enough to wanna fuck but not old enough to wanna drink beforehand so they spend their friday nights at the movies with little cocktease fucking 13 year old whores who just learned that their tits alone can get them a night out on the town, all expenses paid.

Thats why i understand why the stripjoint exists. Theres no ambiguity. No bullshitting around the bush. Its a simple transaction; "heres too much money, let me see your boobs and think you might wanna touch my leg."

Its very convenient for hustle/bustle type guys on the go.

But i'm not hustle/bustle. I'm not even bustle. Maybe because i was as much onto this bullshit at the age of 13 that i am at the age of 27 is why i always feel uncomfortable in the strip joint.

The only way i'd ever pay to see tits would involve eating pizza three times a day for a year while i sit around doing so with my shirt off. Eventually, i will realize how much money it cost me at the same time that i realize theres a pair of weird tits within my reach that will not object to my hands. Unfortunately, those tits would be mine.

Come to think of it...all that pizza kind of makes it sound worth it.

p,

Comfort v. Embarassment

2008-09-28T04:38:00.002-05:00

I write to you, vacuous void that is the internet, because i have yet another poignant beef with some every day item that is oftentimes over looked (i've become so predictable).

This time the subject of my skewering happens to be the vinyl toilet seat. You know what i'm talking about. Your grandparents probably have one. You've definitely experienced many of them in your day, and probably have even noted its higher comfort level when compared to your regular, run-of-the-mill plastic joints.

I suppose it IS more comfortable, like a little cushion to make that early-morning-after-a-blurry-night-of-weird-drugs-and-drinking-anus-inverting-and-dipping-into-the-water-like-an-elephant-trunk-deposit a little bit more bearable. However, i have a serious issue with these seats, and i find that the increased comfort is not worth the hassle. Let me tell you why.

First off, ladies, you can go do something right now. Y'all is sitting all the time weather it be a number one, a number two, or a number 3 (don't ask). You're getting the full advantage of the softer vinyl commode. For the 50% of the world that is phallus-endowed however, its a different story. We have to put that shit up when we're standing to drain our main vein (terrible terribe euphemism, i know). Almost every time i have done this, the seat has fallen back down to its lowered position, interrupting the stream like and un-willing set of breasts to a girls gone wild super-soaker. This can make a mess, as much of the interruption can be strewn about the bathroom floor (not to be cleaned up anytime soon).

I know you're saying: "well hey, thats not so bad, why don't you just keep the seat down and try to aim a bit better". Well, i'll tell you. Its not that easy. I don't know why...it should be, but aiming that stream into the commode without touching the sides is comparable to removing the bread basket in a game of Operation. Red light, buzzer city. The problem lies in the fact that when a forceful (i have a strong prostate) stream of urine collides with these vinyl seats, it makes a pattering noise so loud that every single person in the house can hear it, and will know exactly what it is. The only option we're left with is sitting down, and frankly, thats not very emasculating.

So what to do? Hold the seat up with one hand, aiming with the other? Thats gonna throw the balance way off, and your floor is gonna get pissed on anyways. God knows i ain't leaving it down for y'all to hear how bad my eyesight and dick-eye coordination really is. The only option is to eliminate vinyl toilet seats (unless you live on the island of Lesbos, and no irresponsible dirtbag men will be using your lavatory). We need to start putting urinals in homes. Thus eliminating this entire rant from any weird relevance it may have. Its time.

p. (get it?)

STOP

2008-09-05T04:04:00.002-05:00

Stop using the phrase 'rocket surgery'. You're not funny.

p.

I'm back.

2008-08-31T06:18:00.003-05:00

i know it seems like a serious hip-hop thing to just up and say i'm peace-ing only to come back to whatever it was i was quitting in the first place. Well i do happen to be an MC (seriously: http://www.myspace.com/rustydarts) so go fuck yourself. Uh! One.

Anyways, while performing moderately back-straining light labour this past evening, i came to a realization. Any time something is invented, that is an improvement of an existing product or idea, the original one should be eradicated immediately.

For instance, i give you the classic dustpan:

Invented in whatever-hundred-and-who-gives-a-fuck, everyone is familiar with the dustpan. Anyone who has swept up after themselves at any point in their life has likely utilized one to the exact and direct purpose for which it was created. Its a very handy everyday item that serves a purpose and serves it moderately well. The problem i have is that somebody decided to invent a re-imagined dustpan of the not-so-distant-future:

They put an elongated handle on the regular dustpan, thus eliminating possible strain on the spine that could eventually lead to serious back problems later on in life (especially if you're one of those weirdo clean-freaks who sweeps their house 800 times a day to keep their mind of their failing marriage and inability to connect with their own children).

The human species is shaping and hindering the evolution of ourselves by not embracing its fundamental rules of natural selection. If we were talking about nature here, the regular dustpan would have came first, and evolved (through a series of mutations, and over a period of time not easily imaginable) an elongated stick handle, that would be CHOSEN over its outdated rival, due to its ease of use and virtually eliminated physical strain. But this is human nature. Human nature's version of "natural selection" or "survival of the fittest" is ass backwards because most households today still use the original style dustpan, even though it is obviously inferior and bad for your health. In fact, i don't believe i can even recall a common household that featured a handled dustpan.

We need to start acting and believing in the laws of the universe and the world (and richard dawkins' snooty and long-winded tirades). If we help the things we create to evolve on a similar, albeit much more expeditious level, pretty soon we'll all have some awesome fucking stuff. But no, people continue to use the shitty dustpan.

In summation...

Old dustpan - back injuries, more work, less ability to sweep, suicide over not being able to support your clean-freak addiction.

New dustpan - more practical, easy on the spine, keeps your weirdo OCD intact.

This is just an example...

p.

I'll show you green!

2008-07-05T04:04:00.004-05:00

Don't look at me like that.

Yeah, you.

I see you there on that bench beside the garbage can nose deep in a palahniuk novel shooting me the crook-eye for tossing that soda can into the improper receptacle.

Whats the problem? Are you upset that i'm sending old canny to the landfill rather than the smoke-billowing-smog-producing recycling plant?

"What an asshole", you think to yourself as you take a swig from your plastic spring-water bottle.

"This stupid kid doesn't understand that the world's climate is in crisis, and by tossing that soda-can he's totally fucking up his carbon-footprint numbers. It's this sort of apathy that is sending the world into disrepair."

Yeah I knew you were thinking that. I could tell by the distracted look you gave me as the can hit the bottom. I'm sorry if i interrupted the decemberists anthem you had going on your ipod, but I felt I needed to make a point, so i've collected every empty aluminum can i could find and dumped it in the garbage (thats where i was through those 8 chapters and two decemberists songs. wakka wakka).

Now your look has grown to a unique blend of perplexed-annoyed. This is great. Your parents would be so proud of you for speaking up to lower-class scum like me!

"You know, those can be recycled. Its people like you that are fucking up our climate, and our country's carbon-footprint. Why don't you try reading something once in a while? You know, make a difference."

Okay Mr. Bench-Sitter. I'll play your game. I'll relent, and rock a little devil's advocate on you.

So I ask: "uhhh...re-what-lying?" To which you reply:

"UGH! Nevermind! You are whats wrong with the world!"

Hahaha! That was fun! I'm really enjoying this but I'm late for work.

"Can I ask you one question?" (I say that as I reflect on the fact that i'm already in the middle of one).

"No, I don't have any spare change, what do you want"?

Your tone is really becoming more cocky and dismissive Mr Bench!

"Do you work full time?" (I ask, knowing that you must and gaging my judgement on your 6th generation iPod, and the 200$ american made [by dominican children, outside of america] sneakers you're rocking).

"Yes, I do, I work at whatevercorp in the inside-whatever-whatevers-department."

"Oh." (I say to sound surprised, and generally try to start developing some sort of rise out of you).

"Why? What is it?!"

Mr Bench-Sitter! You sound interested now! Not as dismissive as before! Funny how the conversation just turned around like that.

"Well, do you drive a car to work?" (I already know the answer to this as I see the easily recognizable Mazda logo glimmering from your electronic-entry-key).

"Yes, I work in Whatever-town, and I have a 15 minute commute, every morning."

I see. Interesting.

"Do you have a point here? I'd really like to get back to my book."

Well. I work full-time too. My commute is 45 minutes within the city. But you see, Mr Bench, I don't have a driver's licence. I've never owned a car. I've rarely driven them throughout my 27 years on this earth.

You look about my age, did you start driving around, say...18? (you nod) So thats 9 years for you. 9 years driving a car, nearly every single day. I bet your parents bought you one for high school graduation eh? (again, with the nodding) Thats almost 3300 days. In a row. Of driving.

You see good-sir, I don't often drink soda. When i do, i throw my cans in the garbage, because i don't want to throw them in the street. Hey, if there was a recycling bin closer to me right now, I likely would have went with that. Its not really that important. The climate has been in flux for quite some time, and this has been most notably covered by famous "Scientist-of-the-People" Carl Sagan many many years ago. (He died in 96...so...do the math. Okay, yeah well i know you're not doing math, you're an HR guy! Thats 12 years ago).

He predicted that our fossil fuel reliance and wealth-insecure society would come to a breaking point. He also urged people of all communities, not just the often impenatrable-language-scientific-community, that the climate would undergo great changes because of the apathy of the people, and the tilted balance of their consumption. He used the idea of a human future in space to try and unite all of the world as a species.

You know that guy thats #2 on your Myspace "who i'd like to meet" section? Yeah, that dude who comes in at a distant second to your #1, Lily Allen. Al Gore. The former Vice President of the United States of America. The guy who made the movie that eventually (if not expeditously) trickled-down and initiated the misinformed rhetoric-rockers movent you wear on your sleeve like an editors patch you bought at glastonbury. Well, he was inspired by Carl Sagan to do that. He was a student of Mr. Sagan. He even namedrops him in the film like hes a superstar producer on some dance-pop track you heard on Stereogum (even though Pitchfork gave the effort a 3.141592!).

You see, Carl Sagan is someone which i, as a child and an adult, have looked up to, and been fascinated by time and time again. I've read nearly everything the man put to paper, because I DO read, Mr. Bench-Sitter. I have a very keen intrest in many different things, most notably sciences like physics, chemistry, astronomy, and paleontology.

Anyways, i'm digressing a bit here. As an upstanding gentleman of upper-middle-class-society, i beg for your forgiveness and i get back to my point.

I can assure you now, that the minimal amount (i'm going with about 100 maximum per annum here) of canned beverages i consume and discard affects our environment, climate, and future as a species one fraction of a degree (thats less than 1%! ) of the amount that your galavanting around with your buddies on a thursday, just "cruisin, looking for something to do".

I ride my bike to work. 45 minutes of refreshing excersise a day, and absolutely no environmental impact. I've lived near the poverty line my entire life. I am proud of where i'm from, and i find great joy in learning and discovering things within an infinitely wide range of subjects.

So, Mr Bench. I would like to request that you take your bullshit "green-movement" passion and rhetoric and violently insert it into your rectum. Perhaps the next time you defecate it may form itself into a brand new idiom you can share with hollywood celebrities. Maybe you'll become a vegetarian. You'll spout off to meat-eating-leather-wearing-jell-o eaters endlessly because of the gigantic arsenal of rhetoric you amassed in such a short period of time. That will impress them! You'll be in the running for sexiest vegetarian at the Warped Tour PETA booth in no time!

At least this particular situation would ACTUALLY reduce your environmental impact (and the irony of the fact that you'll never understand how or why while you're running around like a sheep whos fur MUST NOT be harvested to make a sweater is more delicious than tofurkey!).

Oh. I'm sorry. Here. Have a tissue (made from non-recycled materials).

p.

Empire Waist Misuse

2008-07-02T02:03:00.004-05:00

EDIT: Apparently the almighty Maddox beat me to this. I'm humbled.

We all knew last years summer fashion blunder was the tube top. Fortunately for my eyes and your look, I have seen significantly less tube game today, in the summer of 2008 (although some gals are still rockin em, and rockin em wrong). Unfortunately, it seems the nohemian/pregnant-and-bloated-chic look has taken over. You already know. The fake-maternity tops/dresses (also known as the empire waistline) are huge right now. I don't know why but I can quickly assume that its congruent with the pregnancies of popular hollyweird actresses. Thinking over the last few days about how to attack this poignantly, I did a little research and realized that this cut can be rocked quite nicely with the combination of the right body and the right piece. Unfortunately still, you're all doing it wrong. I don't really wanna get into it.

This should do the trick:

YES

I understand this woman is un-humanly thin, and not really a very accurate representation of the way y'all should be rolling, but that dress looks ace on her and you know it (bonus points on the headband, thats the right hair game here).

NO

To be fair, the mannequin featured in the NO picture,has a similarly unhealthy shape as the model above, and as you can see the cut of that dress is not flattering. Notice the difference? That little pull-up-between-the-mams stitching combined with the basement-rec-room-curtain-esque frills/pleat takes you from ravishing (see fig. 1) to REFRIGERATOR. Unfortunately, so so many of you otherwise classy and respectable women are choosing to rock the latter style of dress (likely due to its affordable availability in shopping malls).

Tragic looks FTL.

p.

Neck Bandannas

2008-06-29T04:19:00.009-05:00

I know, I know. The bandana thing is played out. Kids have been rockin' them for years, but in a style that doesn't make any sense.

Sorry bout' that cheek action but that was the first relevant google image.

I don't get the back pocket bandanna. Skateboarding metalcore cats have been rocking them for years. Is this just the slow evolution from the late 80s/early 90s rocking them right on the head do-rag style? I predict in a few years that these kids will just have a little corner peeking out of their shoe before the whole thing goes extinct.

Anyways, back to the point. I'm for the neck bandanna. Its tight. Spices up a bit of worldly-class to your classic rock and roll jeans and a tshirt look. Throw in some decent shades and 3 days worth of facial hair and you're big time, jack. Take the neck bandana out of that equation and you're just some fucking dude who needs to shave, and possibly get some style tips. Heres a couple:

Red is off limits. Too loud, super whack. Blue and black are the most acceptable colors here. Jeans and a black tshirt is bullshit. Add a neckie and you might get yourself a phone number. Especially if you stop going between staring at the floor and then at a woman. This move doesn't work. Trust me. I know.

I know what you're saying. Classic "scene kid" staple that you associate with garbage like effeminate man-boy action and the Kieth Buckley fan club mosh crew. Too bad Ladyhawk is the antithesis of that, and just have a look at this:

Thats Duffy on the right. Lead singer of one of the best current independent canadian bands of today, Ladyhawk. Check out his neck game. You know that look is ace now. Huge display of the hood-up, neckie action. I rock that game, its tight.

For the ladies, i'll tell you, anything around the neck is super hot. A little silk scarf tied in a knot and pushed ever-so-slightly over to the side has me out ring shopping every time. Y'alls can get away with a ton more colors, fabrics, and styles too. And if you're not half asleep you can close up an immaculate coordination on your outfit game by tying one single knot. Grab yourself a couple of little silk neckies and knock em dead with your matching retro earrings and ultra-cute cork wedges with a bow.

i'm tellin ya.

p.

Actual Event

2008-06-29T04:09:00.003-05:00

Some Dude at Work: Guy, where did you get those jeans? They're so siiiiick[sic]!

Me: Uhhhh...they are tattered old levis i got second hand years ago, obviously. They're fraying and ripping all over the place and one of the back pockets is missing.

Dude: Oh so you didn't buy them like that?

Me: Uhhh....no, they're old, and i can't really afford pants.

Dude: (with an air of dissapointment)Oh...nevermind then.

This is 100% true. Apparently my ratty old hand-me-downs would be totally in if it wasn't for the little problem of them being totally authentic. This says a great deal about the current world we live in.

p.

Current Favorites

2008-06-22T04:41:00.004-05:00

EDIT: Upon taking 1 minute to actually look this up, rather than make it up in my head, i have now found the real facts on the happy days situation.

Phrase: Jump The Shark.

I just find it so mind-numbingly cool. A common english phrase plucked from 20th century popular culture used to describe something as past its peak, or prime. It was born when Arthur Fonzarelli (Happy Days) actually jumped a shark on water skis in a bizzare effort to boost Happy Days ratings. It didn't really work, as ratings for the show plummetted and voila! A phrase was born. The problem is, Happy Days ratings continued to rise, and the show stayed on the air until 84 (6 years after the shark jump). So its not real. The reference actually would mean the opposite, but I like the way it ended up better because its negative, which you know, is totally hot right now. It also just feels really awesome to say, probably because the word shark is involved. Its almost as cool as my new band name, Sharkitect.

Foodstuff: Frozen Fruit.

Take some frozen berries and throw em' in a blender with some juice and a dollop of yogurt or sorbet, and you've got yourself a smoothie. Add 8 ounces of grey goose and you've got yourself a party. Substitute the juice with redbull and you've got yourself a breakfast (grey goose still optional).

Record: Black Keys - Attack and Release.

No transcendent sardonic wit here, this is just a great release from a great band.

Sometimes, i wish...

2008-06-21T05:39:00.004-05:00

Sometimes i wish i could live in a world where i could be afforded the luxury of arguing with people that think twitter is stupid, rather than people who just don't have any idea what it is.

I guess its exciting for me because i don't do facebook.

Of all the things i blurt out randomly that i will never do, why is that the only one i ever have or ever will stick to?

I guess my subconscious knows what its capable of, where as my conscious mind barely knows what it looks like.

Apparently, I just went commersh

2008-06-21T05:36:00.004-05:00

Look whos name dropping me.

ZNAIMMMERRRRR!

Strange times are here to stay!

The Lower-Class Price of Gas: How $1.30L Validates me as a Piece of Shit

2008-05-29T01:57:00.003-05:00

I am 26.75 years of age.

I do not possess a valid driver's license.

I have rarely ever driven an automobile much farther than one or two blocks in my lifetime.

I have been harassed for years (10 now, to be exact) by various family members, girlfriends, and friends to get a driver's license. My Dad even still mentions it from time to time. I've never had an excuse. I could never even muster up bullshit (and still can't) when confronted about it. The only reason that exists is complete and utter laziness. I just never went. I never got the little book. I never saved up 100 dollars to write my G1 test (even though theres been many times where I've had it laying around). I sure as hell never had a problem walking long distances, or taking public transit. An idea, which to some people i know is a completely off-limits disgrace. These are the people still pumping gas into their cars.

Being a lazy piece of shit has really paid-off, especially as i see the price of gas constantly rising, and these people doing nothing but complaining at their poker games or to their wives (through their fists) while making no effort to accept the fact that they don't have to continue to drive as much to survive. In a way, I can relate to them, as they seem to have something in common with a reoccurring theme in my life:

Continuing to do something that is not at all beneficial (in this case, its draining the wallets of the entire middle class) with no efforts to even consider an alternative to a way of life, (the convenience of driving to avondale for pepperoni and mountain dew) just to have the right to continue to complain.

This is classic me, and frankly, you're doing it wrong.

In no way am I concerned about the environmental implications of driving less. I am a staunch 'apathist' on such subjects (in actions, not words, of course). However, I find it rather hilarious and a little bit comforting to know that in living my life as a lazy, avoiding piece of shit, I've been able to take something that made me seem borderline socially unacceptable and possibly obscured perceptions of myself into a person who is an advanced and passionate leftist/environmentalist. This is what I could say to pick up ardent, leftist, political-science majors:

"I'm DEFYING the oil-fueled right wing agenda by 'choosing not to drive'. I'm sending a clear message to the oil companies and its interests that I will not stand up for their economic raping of the middle-class! Do you wanna go back to my place and listen to some Springsteen records and make art with my non-recyclable garbage?"

But really, I don't give a shit, and we'd end up drinking wine, listening to Otis Redding, and making out furiously.

Where was I? Oh yeah...take the bus, babies.

p.

I hate to admit it but...

2008-01-20T13:51:00.000-05:00

...the tight denim tucked into high boots thing that about 60 percent of women i see have going on is tight as all get out. I don't know whether to feel ashamed for being generally aroused by such a staple of the shopping-mall-american-abercrombie-hollister-and-fitch camp, or to feel advanced because despite my pretentious elitism surrounding all forms of art, i can still be accepting of something so common (sort of like a cap'n jazz fan appreciating the new britney spears album). ANYWAYS, ladies, tight denim coupled with high boots instantly makes you look a little more fierce in a classy way, as well as (most of the time) really accentuating y'alls hindquarters. God this is trite.

Oh yeah, i have the internet again.

p.

Enjoying a life that looks misleadingly better than usual.

2007-08-22T20:04:00.000-05:00

Played some shows with new band this past weekend.

At the pinnacle of the debauchery (which happened a day after multiple pairs of testicles were marked with various slogans) i found myself in a Toronto bar (at 4am) with half of the Blue Jays' pitching staff.

I (finally) met Jeremy Accardo (and congratulated him on his 23 saves so far this season) and after a handshake told him i could hit anything he could throw at me.

He DIDNT punch me or even get annoyed. Success!

Oh, and when someone asked AJ Burnett how much money he gets paid, i rudely chimed in with "more than you should". Luckily this was said harmoniously with the same (or similar) sentiment from the man himself. We had a laugh, then he said he was from arkansas, but pronounced it Are-Kansas. He seemed genuinely interested in my pseudo-profound statement of rock stars wanting to be sports stars and vice-versa (lifted from klosterman, of course). Then i fell in love with 8 women and never talked to any of them. Typical night.

Im still more broke than i've ever been in my life.

p.

As my birthday fast approaches...

2007-08-01T19:15:00.000-05:00

BUY ME THIS

thanks in advance.

p.

Two words...

2007-07-29T13:43:00.000-05:00

=

NO SHIT.

explanation

p.

Ladies, please...

2007-07-18T14:03:00.000-05:00

If i contracted some sort of terminal illness and was laying up in a hospital somewhere there is a chance that via some charity organization I may be offered/granted a wish or two. Although I am not a child, I hope these superfluous and moderately unnecessary options are available to terminal adults. I would have to think long and hard about it. I'd need to wish for something that would potentially live on longer than I would.

After some careful thought, I have decided that my #1 wish would be for the eradication/criminalization of the tube top. Yes, I'm serious. Allow me to explain:

Now, I am no fashionista. Clinton Kelly and I have about as much distance between us as Darwin and Jesus. I'm not, nor will I ever claim to be an authority on fashion, trends, popular culture, or anything remotely related to such. I can't even understand how Stacey London can vehemently criticize fashion choices of middle-class Americans while wearing pointy-toed shoes. However, I know what I like, I know what i feel that looks good. The tube top is not a part of these feelings.

I've noticed a resurgence over the past couple of years in the tube top. This summer especially it has become a standard fashion item. I'm not even sure why I abhor it so intensely. Part of it may be the unflattering straight line across the chest. Perhaps its the fact that it can render the most desirable pair of mammary glands hideously squished and deformed (although, I suppose if one were the celebrity-idolization type, this could be a fast track to being instantly more like Tara Reid). I've even come to accept (and in fact quite enjoy) the riding pants tucked into boots look. Over sized sunglasses? Sure. I love the longer tshirt under the shorter tshirt. The halter top immediately stirs up ancient feelings in my pelvic region. Even the worst tank top, which is no more than a tube top with spaghetti straps, is acceptable to me. The tube top, however renders the most attractive female human unthinkably hideous.

This is a phenomenon comparable to the septum piercing. Now, as far as piercing/body modification is concerned I honestly have no hard-line opinion on such. I'm into plain Janes and Sara-plain-and-talls, but I really don't mind if you have stainless steel jammed through various parts of your body. Unless, of course, its in the septum. This instantly makes any female undesirable to me also. I often have a recurring nightmare about meeting the absolute perfect woman, falling in love with her, eventually getting to the alter, and then waking up after our wedding night to find her in a tube top with a 10g ring through her septum, as she puts on her pointy-toed shoes and drags me out of the house to a karaoke bar. Shudder.

ANYWAYS, just please, ladies. Take some advice from a quasi-intelligent pseudo-intellectual single bachelor and stop wearing tube tops. I see you wearing one, and you're adjusting it every three seconds. Isn't that just a bit of a hassle? Get rid of em. My opinion has to be at least slightly more valuable than that of the brothers down at Pi Beta Sigma (who happen to love the tube top). I would appreciate it, especially considering the fact that I'm dying of a rare form of lupus.

p.

i'm moving.

2007-07-08T22:58:00.000-05:00

i'm moving to st catharines, on. reasons for which are to be revealed later.
as i traverse this great northern land (from coast to coast) i promise to up the quotas for hilariously insightful blog posts.

things are finally coming up p.

p.

Wicked Excuse Train

2007-06-14T19:02:00.000-05:00

Oftentimes when i'm on a cigarette break at work (which tends to be happening more often than not) mothers will walk by with their small children. Cute little toddlers scuffling about with their newfound upright-movement; little red-headed baby girls with eyes the size of dinner plates riding joyously (and safely) in the spot for them on the shopping cart, glancing at me and giggling like they are having the time of their lives.

Sometimes it makes me smile, other times (read: way more times) i just get creeped-out.

Its when i see their little eyes focus in on the cigarette in my hand, or the smoke i'm exhaling through my stained-yellow teeth i feel a tremendous guilt. Look at this child, all curious and amazed by the smoke rising from my Peter Jackson king-sized Virginia fag.

Baby wants to join me in Cancer (formerly Flavour) country. Baby wants a smoke.

I start to feel sick inside knowing that everything these babies are influenced by for their next few years on this planet is possibly vitally important to the development of certain character traits (flaws) in the future.

Perhaps when they reach an age where the dirty kid from around the way offers him/her a cigarette, and maybe something, a force so great and instinctual that it transcends peer-pressure, subconsciously makes them have that puff. Eventually they end up smoking 2 packs a day through a hole in their neck at age 17.

ANYWAYS...When i snap out of this (as i have just demonstrated) i realize that i'm not influencing these children to smoke. They are looking at the all-encompassing example of what they by absolutely no means want to grow up to be. A notion so fundamentally prominent that most children are subconsciously and completely aware of it early on in the second trimester. Therefore, my smoking is helping babies.

p.

Months are not years!

2007-06-12T20:28:00.000-05:00

Perhaps this has happened to you.

"Ohhh dear, what a cute baby, how old is he/she"?

"Why, he/she is 18 months of course!"

WRONG!

Its a fucking one-year-old child. I'd even accept one and a half. This irks me.

From now on i'm going to tell anyone with a baby that i am 310 months old.

p.

List - 10 Things that interest me more than a 44 hour work-week.

2007-05-22T23:01:00.001-05:00

Michael Bublé
The Half-Life of YOP
The amount of tiles on my ceiling
The amount of tiles on your ceiling
A Friends "Best of Ross" marathon
Noam Chomsky's speaking voice
The 'anecdote/get-to-know-the-contestants' portion of Kid's Jeopardy
Human hamster wheel
Infant finger-paintings
Geological survey of Uganda

Ever see that scene in Scanners...

2007-05-19T19:20:00.000-05:00

My lack of inspiration inspires me to think paradoxically.

Your head just exploded.

Happy birthday to that lady that shacked me up for 9 months with free rent all those years ago.

p.

Rude awakening

2007-05-01T16:18:00.000-05:00

If you fall asleep with the TV on during The Colbert Report, theres a pretty good chance you'll wake up to some shitty prop-comic on Comedy at Club 54. This will ruin the rest of your day.

p.

Stones in my shoes

2007-04-27T18:14:00.000-05:00

There is a pebble in my shoe. Its been in there since Tuesday afternoon (today is Friday). For some reason whenever this happens rather than remove my shoe and easily discard the intruder I spend all day wiggling my foot around and maneuvering the stone into a comfortable position. (eg. between toes). I'm pretty sure this behavior says something about me as a person, but I'm way too lazy to even bother thinking about it.

Eventually, I develop a kind of relationship with the pebble. It'll disappear for most of a day and then pop itself out from hiding by jamming its jagged sides into the ball of my foot, and its like a surprise visit from an old army buddy who you haven't even thought about in a while.

My foot hurts.

p.

Apathy

2007-04-26T23:11:00.000-05:00

I feel very apathetic toward everything in my life all the time, especially lately. I recognize it, and it kind of sucks, but I can't really be bothered in making any effort to change. (Dr Phil calls this a 'shame circle').

I heard about these support meetings called 'apathetics anonymous' and started to consider that maybe i can no longer get away with writing it all off as silent-intellectual-introversion/existentialism so i actually made a decision to go to the meetings and make some sort of effort.

The day of the meeting finally comes. I awake to vague memories of a blurry saturday night and splash some cold water in my face. I looked into the mirror and said aloud: "I'm going to do something about this, its time to change", then proceeded to tie up my shoes and turn on my iPod.

I opened the door and breathed in the fresh, cool, spring morning. I envisioned the air in my lungs as pure white light when I inhaled, and disgusting black sludge as I exhaled. The iPod 'shuffle' feature was giving me track after track of uplifting, 'its going to be alright' styled anthems. I picked up my pace and was feeling increasingly more focused.

"Its time" I repeated aloud as I felt my brisk walk filling my entire being with a vague optimism I have never felt in my life. I considered people I have damaged relationships with for no reason. I pontificated about people I've scorned, and things I need to immediately make right in my life.

The moment had finally arrived. The walk seemed like 30 seconds, and I pulled out the iPod to confirm it had been 36 minutes. I walked up to the door, chin up and chest puffed like a mighty captain standing proudly at the foremast of his great ship. It had been a long fight, and the toll it had taken was slowly fading from his face like Marty Mcfly's family members in a picture of 1984 when he was in 1955.

I reached out and took hold of the handle with a grip more firm than I have ever had on anything. I went to pull the door open. It was locked. There was a small handwritten sign that was sloppily scotch-taped to the door. It read:

"The apathetics anonymous meeting has been canceled due to lack of interest".

I went home to sleep and dreamed about flying to the store in my lazy boy to buy cigarettes.

p.

Wet blanket

2007-04-25T20:08:00.000-05:00

i bet if you were stranded in the desert for a couple days a wet blanket would be something you would love to have.

p.

Tuesday's minutes

2007-04-24T20:04:00.000-05:00

Today i saw this old hag of a late-40's woman wearing a tshirt that read "If you're rich, I am single". Now, i'm so broke i can't afford to pay attention, and i can guarantee shes still single either way.

If you're one of those people who says they listen to "all music except country and rap" (everyone knows at least 100 people like this) i can guarantee that you don't listen to jazz, or j-pop. Actually, that usually means "i listen to pop top 40 AND rock top 40" (oooh how advanced).

Ever notice that the people who always chime in with "I hate to say i told you so..." are always the ones that clearly love to say it and relish every minute of telling you so?

fin.

p.

Tater Mitts

2007-04-23T00:55:00.000-05:00

Today on the telly i was blindsided by a 'slice-of-life' style ad (eg: "tired of putting your shoes on one at a time?"....etc). It was for a revolutionary new household item known as Tater Mitts. They appear to be large rubber gloves with an abrasive and rough surface on the palms and fingers. With these gloves you fondle your potatoes under running water and it peels them in minutes...taking off only the thinnest layer necessary to achieve skinless potatoes (maximizing potato size when peeled).

...it has just occurred to me that this is the most redundant thing i have ever explained.

ANYWAYS seems like an innovative product, appears to work, whatever. It always works in the commercial. What gets me about this whole thing is something that happened a few years ago.

I was working at the BEEF BARON, in the kitchen, (where i became an expert grill master) it was my first day. The first thing i had to do was turn on this gigantic machine the likes of which i have never seen. This machine featured a rickety lid, and had a big old drum that spun around like a rock tumbler with crack in it.

This part antique/part 40's sci-fi movie wreckage was a potato peeler. I had to dump 50 pounds of large potatoes into this thing (10 or so at a time) so they could bounce around until peeled. It took forever. I was sprayed in the eye multiple times with water, and even hit in the chest with an errant potato (i hadn't closed the lid properly). Partly because i was baked out of my face, (1) but mostly because i really didn't want to do them by hand, my next thought was about possibly inventing big rough-surfaced gloves like the Tater Mitts. I then realized that if i was going to use my hands, a potato peeler would probably be about 400x faster than the stupid sandpaper gloves.

So, FUCK TATER MITTS.

peace.

p.

1. (i used to go baked to the first day always, on the logic that if i ever had to go in to work baked, i would just look normal...in retrospect, that is fucking retarded, but only because i am not high enough right now to understand it properly)

Dear Hanttula...you fucked up.

2007-04-22T21:47:00.000-05:00

http://www.hanttula.com/exhibits/8ball/8ball.htm

you ruined it.

for me. for the children. for other immature 20 somethings running out of things to appreciate ironically to appear acceptable to their snobby, hipster doofus peers.

thanks a lot!

all signs point to DIE IN A FIRE.

at least we still have pogs.

p.

Fuck bees

2007-04-21T19:45:00.000-05:00

Apparently a link has been discovered between cellular phone usage and the deaths of massive swarms of bees. Cartoon bears everywhere are bummed about your pink RAZR that you spent 3 hours gluing rhinestones to only to have it turn out like crap, sending you into a downward spiral of cell-phone pimping apathy that you cite as an excuse to why its remained in its current state of freakish disrepair (much like the bill you are still 4 months behind on because you got locked into a shitty contract with fine print that you were too lazy to read and the thought of your phone looking so awesome with only one trip to the craft store distracted you from the details). These bears, however, still stack mad piles of paper (toilet that is, Charmin specifically) so they've still got some floss on.

I'm sorry, but i fucking hate bees. They are the worst...they are aggressive and make it nearly impossible to enjoy a package of fruit-snacks on a hot summer day (actual experience). And although i may never have been stung by one (mostly because they incite irrational levels of fear, thus leading to unimaginable levels of speed while running from them) i know what they're capable of. I've watched my brother sprinting barefoot home across the lawn as a child because dad was home with the corn flakes. He stepped on a bee, was stung on the foot, and dropped like a sack of potatoes.

That changed me.

Theres a reason why the fiercest troupe in the history of hip hop refer to themselves as the 'killer bees'. Its because bees are irrevocably fierce...in a WU TANG sort of way. I'm serious...the next time you stick out your tongue with anticipation of it making contact with that god damned astro-pop you just paid a ridiculous 3$ for at the beach this summer, and a bee crawls out from round it unnoticed (because you're too busy drinking warm beer with extra sand on the top and ogling women who aren't necessarily out of your league, but that you would never be able to find the courage or social capacity to talk to anyways because they are all wearing bathing suits and looking sharp in their large sunglasses and angular hostess haircuts) it will jam its sharp and mild-venom covered stinger right into it, not unlike method man's rusty screwdriver, BLAOWW!!

Point is...when i get paid i'm going to put some time on my phone and use it a bit.

I like texting but i hate using acronyms and short forms...i always bang that fucker out...so me sending one message appears as though im one of those people who go out to a party or a bar and just stand there hacking away having entire life-affirming conversations with friends.

what the fuck? i am currently laughing out loud and having a barbecue.

Parentheses' are a poor excuse for run-on sentences and unnecessary commentary (this side-note left blank...ed).

p.