Log in

No account? Create an account
Damon Harris' Journal

> recent entries
> calendar
> friends
> My website/podcast
> profile
> previous 20 entries

Monday, November 26th, 2007
5:51 am - Apocalypse Nigh!

As I came back in from plugging in my car outside, I couldn't help but notice that my car is pinioned underneath mountainous volumes of snow. And by that I mean 3.5 inches. This is normally no big deal. But this is the first REAL snowfall of the year. And it, of course, had to happen during the overnight before the weekly Hell Spawn that is the Monday morning commute. We allegedly have 24/7 snow plows, but they haven't been out there yet. They are apparently somewhere else, in some magical land I have yet to see, plowing and salting imaginary roads. So the conditions are just shy of murderous out there.

In my own humble villa, with it's rolling hills, and wandering minstrels, the roads are now made out of pure ice and dead minstrels. Driving is an exercise in violently accelerating your Honda Civic or Volvo until the spinning wheels produce forward motion, and then praying to god (or science) that eventually your vehicle will stop and that when it does stop you will not be occupying the same time and space as another vehicle, ditch, mailbox, or person. Many travelers have already suffered greatly, launching their vehicles off the road or into other cars, creating minor emotional dents and scratches with psychological deductibles that will last a lifetime.

3.5 inches of snow is no joke my friends. In ideal conditions, 3.5 inches of snow would be blasted to hell by salt and then plowed into some ditch, revealing a beautiful canvas of asphalt on which you can paint the story of your epic journey to Wal-Mart and Arby's. Unfortunately, here the snow goes nowhere. It lingers and grows stronger with each moment of below-freezing temperatures. Right now, temperatures are colder than a lady's heart (-15 degrees Celcius). The ice is taking hold and there might not be any way of stopping it. People out here are not used to this yet. The only hope of survival is global warming, or just waiting a few days. Whichever comes first, I guess.

As a former occupant of sleepy mountain town Tumbler Ridge, BC, I have a great deal of experience driving on snow and enduring the hardships of cold weather and frozen particles of water. It is a fairly routine thing back there. Not to mention, Edmonton is flat and mostly free from icy death hills with intersections at the bottom. I'd like to share some travel tips with everyone with regards to this all:

What to do:

-Avoid driving whenever possible. This will prevent you from accidentally parking your car in somebody's front yard, causing it to either get towed or decorated with Christmas lights.

-Drive slow and cautiously. The road is trying to get revenge for years of abuse and mistreatment by you, the common motorist. Do not let it. The road is your enemy, so ride that bitch hard. Also allow plenty of extra travel time, you fat hog.

-Avoid ditches, vehicles, people, horses, yards, and other tangible objects that are not roads. Be extremely cautious about colliding with warlocks or other evil spirits capable of cursing you.

-Scrape your windows clean so that you can actually see the road. While the sight of a menacing white blob of snow moving down the road is likely to make other drivers yield out of fear, you are most certainly going to cause an accident, if not spend the entire day driving around your yard blindly smashing into things.

-If driving proves stressful, take a few swigs of whiskey from your flask to ease your nerves.

-If you are driving and things get too scary, just come to a stop and abandon your car in the middle of the road, preferably perpendicular to the flow of traffic. If you're screwed, make sure everyone else is too.

-It is sometimes necessary to kill a hobo, hollow out his innards, and sleep inside them for warmth if you cannot find shelter. That is the tragic consequence of abandoning your car and trying to walk home.

What to do if you know what you're doing:

-Drive as much as possible, wherever you damn well feel like.

-Drive fast and recklessly.

-Leave at the last minute, arrive at your destination not a second too soon.

-Do a non-controlled power-slide into a handicapped spot at Costco (only if you are handicapped).

What not to do:

-Ghost ride the whip. In these conditions you could easily slip and accidentally run over yourself. Also, keep your stunna shades off unless the snow is blinding you.

-Tailgate nervous people in smaller cars to try to bully them into driving faster. All this does is cause them to wet themselves in terror, which, because of the cold, instantly freezes. Then they have to drive to the hospital to have their crotches amputated and you look like a big jerk in your high and mighty SUV.

-Remain calm. This could be the end of all things. Do not be complacent.

Gah, Winter.



current mood: Booo, winter.

(2 comments | comment on this)

Saturday, November 17th, 2007
6:55 am - Hey Damon, What's Going On, Man?
Oh you know, same old.

Been laying low a little bit this year. This year has been a bit twisted, not so much in the fun and tasty Twizlers way (I don't care what anyone says, those are delicious.) It's been a year marred with a cornucopia of things that are not fruit, or vegetables, or nuts, or sea bass. Yes, my Horn Of Plenty, has been plenty uncool.

I make a motion to veto 2007.

I bring you to a sun speckled early-September morning. Following the delivery of my new washing machine and dryer (which followed the explosion of my old washing machine and dryer), I was taking the abnormally large cardboard boxes and styrofoam remnants to the trash on the otherside of the parking lot. After attacking my girlfriend with a makeshift styrofoam Excalibur, I couldn't help but notice random papers strewn about the parking lot.

"That's weird" I said, thinking things were weird.

"Those look like someones insurance papers..."

Realizing I've been exposed to the Sun's harmful gamma radiation, I slowly start to head back inside.. none the wiser.

"Dude, where's your car?" she said somewhat shocked. (with no intent of relation to the movie of similar title)

My thought process at this point was slightly reminiscent of that scene from 'Beavis and Butthead Do America' when they realize their TV was stolen. I see the mess of papers on the ground, the empty parking space where my car used to be, as I piece together the tragedy.

The sad part is I walked through that very spot on my way out and had no idea. Had it not been pointed out my car wasn't in my spot, I would have probably gone back inside and attempted to smash zombies with a bowling ball in Dead Rising.

Hilarity did not ensue. 6 weeks of battling with insurance appraisers/adjusters, banks, rental car companies. Some of the most vile people in Earth's history. Not unlike Hitler or Yeti-Christ. My car was recovered a week later, sitting on it's axles in some random unfavorable neighborhood, gutted. (and written off, eventually)

That was just a 6 week slice in the year of suck. The early portion of the year had me back home "Garden State" style. (Minus everything that made that movie happy and/or good). The remainder of the year has been a confusing mash up with regards to work, and relationships.


And what now? Still some of 2007 left? Is it possible to salvage this dismal trainwreck of a year? Well, right now it's starting to be the colder part of fall when fall turns into winter. The jacket you wore during the earlier part of fall might not be warm enough, but your winter coat might be too warm. Try wearing your winter coat unzipped. That's what I do and I think it works.

Thinking about staying warm, I used to wear mittens when I was a kid, but nobody wears mittens as an adult. At what age do mittens stop working? I don't know. I can't have all the answers. I think you should wear mittens. I'll get some mittens and wear them too. We'll bring them back for grownups if we all do it together.

My last suggestion is for you to have a good weekend. Maybe watch TV, but not too much TV. Time is infinite, but we only are around for part of time. Use that time wisely. Build a shed, paint a picture of a beautiful woman, or smash a few zombies in the face with inanimate, and possibly blunt objects.

Also, hug somebody. Just make sure they want to be hugged before you hug them, I've been down that road.


current mood: *yawn*

(4 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, October 4th, 2006
2:59 pm - Everyone's Gone Mad...
CALGARY, AB (October 4, 2006) Shaw communications is proud to support the Thanksgiving holiday by launching Turkey TV, a signature channel featuring all turkey, all the time. Tune in to Turkey TV on Thanksgiving Day for on-going coverage of exciting turkey action and entertain your family and friends with this exclusive, premiere holiday blockbuster.

Turkey TV will offer continuous coverage of a beautiful, roasted turkey, surrounded by fresh greens, carrots and tomatoes in an open flame forno oven. Coverage will include up to the minute bastings and exclusive stoking of the fire that will be sure to keep viewers on the edge of their seats throughout this thrilling turkey program.

I wonder what the executive meeting for this idea was like?

current mood: confused

(1 comment | comment on this)

Thursday, June 1st, 2006
4:01 pm - What kind of Voodoo do you do?
As you may be aware, I've moved. As you may not be aware, the place I'm moving to is not quite ready yet, and won't be for a few weeks, so I'm currently sharing a room with Dr. Matumbe... and he's always staring at me, and he's starting to creep me out..


current mood: :o

(1 comment | comment on this)

Tuesday, May 30th, 2006
6:58 pm - Almost there..
I'm hiring movers next time.



(2 comments | comment on this)

Tuesday, April 25th, 2006
4:44 pm - Hot diggity damn.
I'm going to the Oilers/Red Wings playoff game tonight.

That is all.


(5 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, April 12th, 2006
8:57 am - So...
How's everybody doing these days?

current mood: curious

(13 comments | comment on this)

Saturday, March 25th, 2006
2:56 pm - Heil, I have received your transmission!!
Greetings, fellow dwellers of the internet!

I trust you've not been acting like dirty heathens during my regular hiatus from the blogosphere! The last time I came back, I found that you had left your sweaty soiled gym-socks on my living room coffee table. Shame on you. You better not have drank all my beer, otherwise I'd be upset something fierce! And believe you me, this is 5'7" of terror you do NOT want. I'm just kidding, you know I can't stay mad at you. Seriously though, stay out of the fridge.

While adding to my mason jar toe-jam collection last fortnight, I had an epiphany that hit me like the burning fury of an out of control stock-car careening over the protective fence at a NASCAR event. Yes, I realized that I should really be utilizing something as a creative outlet (Other than shooting damn dirty zombies, Resident Evil 4 style). This also means my prized toe-jam collection will soon be available on eBay.

So, once again, I've come crawling back to you people. As I have many times before, I will try to attempt to fill up this empty white box with diatribes of crap on a semi-regular basis. Starting today!

Rather than getting all the details lathered up in vegetable oil, and trying to slide them into your brain via a funnel apparatus in your ear, I'll just say not much has changed. Apart from the fact that I will be a homeowner within the next 10 weeks, not much has changed at all.

Yes, this means I will be moving. Again. I have a love/hate relationship with moving. The last 4 times I moved, I hated it. The only ray of sunshine, and potential love, in the vacant and cold cave that is the idea of moving, would be that I will no longer have a roommate. Or at least no longer have a roommate who's idea of a party is back to back to back World of Warcraft sessions mixed in with online poker, and a monumental buffets of Kraft Dinner 4 times a week. (The leftovers of which will sit on the stove in the pot for 5-10 days, because I boycott cleaning that shit. At this point he will put the pot in the sink and fill it full of water, and let that sit there for another 5 days. I dare not venture into the kitchen without a full set of flares, a machette, pickaxe, BBQ apron, tranquilizer gun, and a welding helmet)

So needless to say, a change of venue is needed. Sans-slob. To put it in perspective for the teeming-masses, I'll take some pictures of the beast in it's natural habitat. Come to think of it, I'm going to get on that right now.

Stay tuned, kiddies!


current mood: determined

(1 comment | comment on this)

Monday, October 24th, 2005
10:05 am - The 20-year speedbump
I remember a mythical time of yore when I could eat anything and get away with it. You see, my body was an entirely different creature back during my youthful days of ignorance and bliss, a wonderful machine which possessed the power to transform blatantly unhealthy objects like Kool Aid and chocolate-dipped GI Joes into vital chemicals that my system needed, such as energy, and protein. I would spend hours in my room, with Mario, Luigi, and the gang, while inhaling bags of Cheetos and raw corn starch by the metric ton. Anything containing at least 100% unrefined or 100% refined sugar was an excellent culinary target, as you can plainly see in this diagram of my three basic food groups:

FOOD GROUP #1: The Sticks Group - Includes Pixie Sticks, cheese sticks, cotton candy, beef jerky, ham turkey, lard jerky, nacho cheese bacon salsa jerky, custard-filled glazed donuts that have had a stick jammed into them.
FOOD GROUP #2: The Deep Fried Group - McDonalds, Wendys, Taco Time, Pizza Hut (I would buy pizzas and bring them over to McDonalds where they agreed to deep fry them for me in exchange for promising to never ever ever sue them).
FOOD GROUP #3: The Fruits Group - Watermelon Hubba Bubba, cherry Slushies, grape Nerds, strawberry Fun-Dip (which could also be classified under the "Sticks" group due to the fact that each pouch came with one of those thick white sticks composed entirely of sugar and various interdimensional substances).

I never gain a single pound and usually remain underweight despite my seemingly intentional efforts to make my body die a slow and doughy death. My parents would say utterly insane things like "stop drinking so much pop!" and "eat your vegetables! You need some vitamin N in your diet or else you'll grow up and have ungodly teeth like Gary Busey!" Of course I never listened to them, usually because I was too busy trying to finish whatever Final Fantasy game I was playing at the time. I was under the impression that things such as "vitamins" and "foods which weren't composed of 98% congealed lard" were myths like dry land and would do absolutely nothing for my health and general well being.

Then I turned 24.

Although that day was nearly a year ago, I still recall the harrowing moment when I hit that 20 Year Speedbump and discovered my body's digestive system could not act like Superman, unless of course we're referring to the Superman who was nearly killed by a horse. I was sitting around in a darkened room, engaging in an intense political debate with "aNiMeFaN-7283," on one of the too many online communities I have accounts on, when my gut began to suddenly clench and produce a series of comical noises resembling an otter caught in a Volkswagen's fan belt. Despite the fact that I had recently gorged myself on a monumental buffet of Domino's Pizza, I could brainstorm no logical reason as to why my stomach suddenly turned on me.

"That's odd," I thought. "My stomach doesn't normally produce such violent noises unless I'm trying to digest entire bicycle parts." I promptly forgot about the incident and went back to typing "LOL" as fast as I could.

Eventually it dawned on me that perhaps, just perhaps, my numerous ill effects were not directly caused by third party sources such as the phase of the moon, but rather due to something more personal: my diet. If you take away anything from my journal, and I am fairly certain that you will not, I would like you younger assholes to realize that you will all eventually hit a pothole during your body aging process, a catastrophic event which will turn your entire world upside down and topsy turvey and catercorner and helter skelter and snuffleupagus. You know all that stupid crap your parents used to endlessly babble about the importance of eating vitamins and objects that were not 98% man-made chemicals? Well it all eventually starts to come true like a darkened bloody prophecy in your mid-20s.

Fourunately, it appears that I still have the remnants of the seemingly mysterious alien-power metabolism which allows me to digest items like ranch filled cheddar bacon puffs, and convert them into nutrients my body needs. However, it's becoming ever-so apparent that this power will eventually dwindle and become the hollow memory of man who spends his spare time engaging in lengthy pantless conversations with his pets about why there should be a sequel to River City Ransom. As such, I'm thankful that my health and eating habbits aren't as bad as I'm making them out to be, and that it gives me much needed motivation to make sure I get off my lazy ass and go to the gym.

So what changes does the average fleshy human shell experience after plowing over the 20 Year Speedbump? Here is a brief list of items that I could recall offhand, although you'll have to bear with me because my memory isn't quite as good as it used to be and I have a tendency to either repeat things or forget them completely.


SYMPTOM #1: Your memory isn't quite as good as it used to be and you either repeat things or forget them completely.
SYMPTOM #2: You realize that you're suddenly required to work out and maintain your work out routine, and failure to do so results in your body slowly metamorphisizing into an uncanny replica of the Golden Buddha's unemployed brother, "Fat Eddie."
SYMPTOM #3: Your stomach begins generating copious amounts of acid like the nefarious predators from the movie "Aliens." Drinking a glass of orange juice will bestow upon you the ability to spew a stream of liquid powerful enough to vaporize entire living room sets.
SYMPTOM #4: If you don't consume at least nine pounds of fresh vegetables and vitamins every day, your body will refuse to produce any energy and you will have to be lifted from your bed by a complex series of pulleys and levers attached to a cargo helicopter.
SYMPTOM #5: You notice that a majority of your conversations revolve around the weather.
SYMPTOM #6: When shopping, you often turn products over so you can analyze their nutritional label. Additionally, you fail to snicker if you see that there's 69% of a particular ingredient.
SYMPTOM #7: Your memory isn't quite as good as it used to be and you either repeat things or forget them completely.
SYMPTOM #8: You begin to complain about how old you're becoming on your blog.

I just want all you whipper-snappers out there to know I was once like you. I could eat tons of junk food, never exercise, and somehow get away with it. I naively assumed my body would be able to keep up its seemingly insatiable fat-burning engine which required absolutely no maintenance on my part. My body was a GIPO machine, a Garbage In, Poop Out system which allowed the bad things I routinely crammed down my gaping maw to effortlessly slide out of my rectum like a small Crisco-covered Jewish man gliding over a Slip N' Slide. Once I hit the 20 Year Speedbump (which can occur at any age from 20 to 29), everything changed and my GIPO system was transformed into a GISF computer, allowing garbage to come in but then deciding to save the fat and hold onto it as if it were a precious jewel sought after by bloodthirsty Nazi mummy Frankensteins.

So in the interest of providing the best life possible for youth all across the world, please take my advice: LIVE THE ABSOLUTE MOST UNHEALTHIEST LIFE POSSIBLE WHILE YOUR BODY CAN STILL SUPPORT IT. Dine at Kentucky Fried Chicken every day, demanding they use your french fries as sponges to absorb excess spilled grease across their countertops. Chain smoke so many cigarettes that Hunter S. Thompson spins in his grave. Break into your parents' liquor cabinet and chug whiskey until they come home and discover you're on the verge of dying from alcohol poisoning. Refuse to exercise on the grounds that it violates your ethical religious beliefs. Also be sure to watch a lot of pornography. This won't really affect your digestive system that much, but hey, you'll probably have fun doing it. Your body will heal itself and continue to run in top shape until you hit the dreaded 20 Year Speedbump. These are the best years of your life; why not fill them with the worst things of your life?


current mood: productive

(6 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, September 21st, 2005
11:45 pm - A reflection about balls. Paintballs.
While wandering aimlessly about the desolate halls of my work, as I normally do during my graveyard shifts, I happened to notice a piece of paper hanging on the wall. I ignored it and continued to haplessly mosey up and down the halls for a good half an hour before I came to realize that this paper was, in fact, a sign up sheet for a company Paintball tournament.

Paintball eh?

Allow me to bring you back. Bring you back to a time when things were simple. A time when I could eat 4500 metric tons of refined sugar, pizza, and refined sugar pizza, only to have my metabolism scoff and beg for more. I like to refer to this time as 1997

Now, if you're unfamiliar how paintball works, I'll give you a brief tutorial: A bunch of raving gun nuts and some college/highschool kids, square off, usually into two teams, to either capture a flag or eliminate every member of the opposing team. This is done by using a paint ball gun, naturally, which is a pump-action or semi-automatic projectile weapon that propels marble-sized spheres of washable paint using compressed carbon dioxide. I say weapon because if you've ever been shot repeatedly in unprotected areas by a paint ball gun you know that they do a little more than sting, they will raise welts, bruise you, possibly even break your bones if you have that disease that Samuel L. Jackson had in "Unbreakable".

Despite the fact that actually being shot by a paintball gun sounds about as pleasant as having your toe-nails pulled out by a Colombian drug lord's hit squad, the game is actually extremely fun! I haven't played it in a few years but I used to own a paint ball gun and play every month or so. Sometimes several times a month. Like with any hobby there were (and I assume still are) two general levels of people involved in paint ball. There were the passing enthusiasts like me, who maybe owned gun and a mask, maybe just rented gear on the course, but just enjoyed the simulated event of shooting another person to death. Then there were the raving fucking paintball batshit loonies. These people scared the hell out of me, not because they were intimidating, but because they were spending thousands of dollars to play a game against a ten year old boy who cries when you shoot him in the back from 50 feet away.

My personal style when playing paint ball was always to catch people off guard with my daring and downright idiotic bravado. I single handedly pioneered the "On-course Paintball Drive-by shooting", which involved my team using an abandoned course automobile to pave the way for our future love for Grand Theft Auto video games. I would sing really loud stupid songs while I was playing and charge forward to capture objectives and yell taunts at ex-Navy SEAL members who were wearing some sort of fiber optic camouflage that made them blend in with the trees and using guns that called in paint ball bombardments from orbital weapons platforms. One of my favorite anecdotes involves a group of these guys who played ever week at a local course. The first time we played them it took us about five seconds to know we were out classed. They had camouflage netting they wore over fatigues, state-of-the-art paint ball guns (you'd be surprised how high-tech and expensive these things can get, I believe these ones were in the +$1300 range), combat webbing, custom face masks, and I think at least one of them had human ears on a necklace.

Of course they kicked our asses. I don't have an underdog story to tell about how we rallied to beat the crazy Vietnam vets at their own game. I think in 5 consecutive matches maybe one of them got shot and the ball didn't even break on their netting shit so it didn't count. However, in between matches one of my friends and I made an interesting note. They were using two-channel voice activated radios to communicate with one another. After getting our asses handed to us for the last time that day my friend and I went out to radio shack and bought the cheapest set of multi-channel walkie-talkies we could find. The pieces of junk were like fifteen dollars. A few weeks later we showed up at the paint ball course and the death squad was there again, ready to take us down. So we explained the plan to our friends; we would stow the radios in the bullpen where you go when you've been "killed". The people who are eliminated can then use the radios to continue a little informational warfare against Cl4n D43th's H34d out there.

Right away I got pegged. I either do really shitty or really good (for a lazy amateur) in any given game of paint ball, and I think I actually wanted to be the first out so I could try to mess with them. So I hoofed it to the little shack where everyone stows their gear and pulled out one of the Radio Shack radios. I tuned through the channels on the walkie talkie and very quickly found the one they were using. I then listened to them for a minute or two, knowing I didn't have long before the noose tightened on the besieged defenders of our flag.

Doing my best impression of one of the guy's voices I said "I have the flag, pull back". A second later I heard "confirmed". Stifling a girlish giggle I waited to see what would develop. It didn't take long before "this is Bravo, please verify flag position" crackled over the radio.

I didn't wait for someone else on their team to respond, I cut in "I'm under heavy fire (pulling the trigger on my unloaded paint gun so they could hear convincing pops of compressed air) I'm by the big log."

I didn't know if there was a big log or not, but I was going to try to convince them there was one. They were good though, as amusing and effective as that brief distraction was it was only maybe ten seconds later that I realized the jig was up.

"Say again? Who is this?"

"This is Echo Charlie," I replied, "I'm by the log! Dammit I need help here guys!"

"This channel has been compromised." Cold, calculated, I think I pissed them off.

But I wasn't done yet. A few more casualties from our team had returned to the base and I could see one of their guys solemnly walking to the dead pool as well. This was a major victory! We'd bloodied their nose!

Frantically, telling the other guys from my team to shut the hell up, I dialed through the channels on the radio looking for the alternate channel. The enemy team members were just chattering with one another, asking for status and various other bullshit. I looked down at the walkie talkie and saw my path laid before me in poorly molded yellow plastic, assembled in Taiwan. I motioned for the guys to watch the dead man walking from their team and they leaned across the benches to see. I hit the yellow button.

The poor guy looked like he had been shot for real, and he tore his headset off in frustration, letting it drop limp on some sort of complicated clip that attached to his ridiculous battle harness. I think it took them a disastrous ten whole minutes to mop up our entire team, but we got one of them, and ten minutes was a lot better than the five it normally took. The angry looks in their eyes told us that we had won the battle and lost the war. Another hint was when they put their radios in their duffle bags after that match and proceeded to whip our asses three more games in a row.

But they were shaken, and I had achieved my favorite goal in life; making something that much less fun for someone else.

Ahhh, yes. Reflection. :)


current mood: happy

(4 comments | comment on this)

Tuesday, June 21st, 2005
4:24 am - Hey, this is a Blog!
It just occured to me today, that I haven't updated my blog in a while. I mean, all of you are so diligent with updating your blogs, and my blog is falling to the back of the pack. My blog doesn't belong there, it's a good blog, it's a blog of all blogs.


No matter where you go, no matter what news site you read, no matter what television channel you switch to, no matter what radio station is on, we are constantly reminded about this exciting newfangled device called "a blog."

The news media has adopted the word "blog" as their "horribly annoying catchphrase of the decade," opting to drone on and on about such an exciting topic nonstop until the Internet decides to take its own life. Blogs turn any average drooling idiot into a seasoned news reporter! Blogs bring the world together and share intimate moments with complete strangers, most of which who are probably masturbating! Blogs allow fair and balanced news reports by offering both sides of the political spectrum equal chances to make up lies and get away with it! Blogs can cure cancer! Blogs will colonize space! Blogs will transform the human race into a hyper intelligent race of androids able to travel through time and shoot laser beams from their eyes! What on Earth can't blogs do?


Hey everybody (especially the media), I'm talking to you: nobody on the Internet gives a shit about blogs anymore. Shut up about the damn things already. Internet users were well aware of the whole blogging trend about a decade ago, and the rest of you (the folks who learn critical parenting advice from Dr. Phil and ask their doctors about each and every medication they see advertised on television) had the concept thoroughly hammered into their brains early last year. Here's a proposal for you, news media: instead of constantly throwing cake icing on a mound of dog shit and presenting it as a new and exciting and fabulous story about the wonderful world of blogging, one we've all heard rehashed countless times before, just copy and paste the following "news" story of mine. This should make everybody happy the next time some delirious senior executive sends out an email to his entire staff, convinced the American public really wants to hear another damn story about blogging:


PERSON USES INTERNET TO DO SOMETHING THE INTERNET WAS CREATED TO DO - Someplace on the Internet: Somebody somewhere used the Internet to accomplish one of the primary goals of the Internet today, to share data with large groups of people. This genius act of uploading data to a location where other people could read it was heralded as a "groundbreaking act of incredible power and limitless freedom" by somebody who works in the cubicle next to us. People around the Internet rejoiced at the news, declaring this creative act as "a new dawn of the Internet."

"I totally can't believe it," admitted one stunned Internet user who uses the Internet on the Internet. "Somebody writing some stuff on the Internet and placing it in a location where other people besides him could view it? That seems magical, almost impossible! What's next, a way to instantly message other Internet users and send them comical smilie faces depicting various emotions?"

The announcement of this web log, or "blog" as the hip and underground culture labeled it, has sparked the interest of users all across the globe. Petr Gregorivich, an Internet user in Moscow, recently held a press conference to declare his intent of beginning his own blog. On the Internet.

"I have dreamed of this day for a long time, ever since I was a child who tried over and over to use the Internet but couldn't because it was 1978 and it hadn't been invented yet," Gregorivichvorgcvz commented to a stunned audience of the press and scientific community. "But today, well the technology here, and there's nothing stopping me from revealing to the entire world what Modest Mouse song I'm listening to and what my current mood is." He then paused and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "And my current mood is 'happy'."

Media analysists have predicted nothing but a positive future for the Internet on the heels of this discovery. "A universe of data in a journal format, updated so often that it appears to be live?" Questioned a top scholar of Internet studies at Internet University. "It's such a revolutionary concept! What on Earth would we call it? What name could we possibly use to refer to these journals that are updated live?"


The media claims the biggest and most revolutionary lure of the blogging scene lies in its ability to turn any idiot with a computer into a reporter. We've been presented with the same shreds of proof over and over again: some soldier in Afghanistan takes pictures of dirty little kids hugging charred logs of plywood dressed as dolls, adding a couple sentences of bittersweet reflections regarding the US war on terror below each photo. A teenager in Raccoon Esophagus, Texas writes an update protesting his principal's refusal to let him attend the school prom dressed as a bloody Jesus Christ, hoisting a 90-pound crucifix on his back. Some obese balding man fired from the Republication National Committee offers an exclusive "behind the scenes" look at the buffet table at a conservative fundraiser while copying and pasting his groundbreaking opinions from Rush Limbaugh's website. What can blogs offer that the average newspaper or magazine editorial can't, besides a complete lack of accountability and journalistic integrity?

Maybe it's just my cynical, bitter nature, but I fail to understand the media's obsession with blogs. They're not new, they're not revolutionary, and 99.9% of them do nothing but take up valuable bandwidth debating which Dragonball Z character could best beat up Superman if they teamed up with Sailor Venus. Christ, even Wired has fallen prey to the lure of blog obsession, and that's a magazine so anti-trendy that they go out of their way to write about the most least interesting things possible, just to make sure they never accidentally slip up and become popular.

The simple reason the term "blog" is on every suit-and-tie-wearing idiot's mouth is simple: the media wants to be hip. It doesn't matter if they're recycling Internet crap which hit its peak popularity in the mid-1990s, it's news to them as long as the other networks have failed to thoroughly beat the term into the ground and pile drive it into the shattered shores of painful overexposure. Hey, have you guys heard about this crazy "Numa Numa" dude? What about "all of your bases?" How about this hilarious site called E-Bam's World which posts tons of funny original content like "man falls off motorcycle #742" and "Michael Jackson soundboard #1124"? The news media is perpetually five years behind the Internet's popularity tide.

So here's a little tip for all the vigilante 60-year old news reporters prowling websites on their son's dialup AOL account: don't bother. I have yet to discover a single television or radio show able to report on the Internet without spewing the same tired cliched crap every other television and radio show has dutifully reported on for the past six months. I guess it's pretty sad that the Internet, by far the most factually incorrect, illiterate, immature, idiotic form of communication in the history of mankind, seems to be setting the trends which other media outlets vigorously pursue. Please do the world a favor, news media: stop latching onto an Internet concept or pseudo-celebrity and then promoting the hell out of it in a futile attempt to trick the world into thinking you guys are hip to these super-bitchin' techno trends on the k-rad information superhighway. Leave us lonely and pathetic Internet wretches alone with our endless rolling sea of one-hit wonders, tragically unhip anti-celebrities, and cutting edge software which stopped cutting years ago. This crap is bad enough on the Internet; the last thing we need is to see it plastered all over our newspapers and television screens.

PS. Level 4 Future Goku + Sailor Venus > Superman


current mood: happy

(11 comments | comment on this)

Monday, April 4th, 2005
1:37 am - BREAKING NEWS!!!
Today I got the chance to finally watch (in it's entirety) filmmaker-turned-professional-fatty Morgan Spurlocks' documentary Supersize Me. Some things came to mind for myself about this film. This is unfortunate, seeing as how the wake of media frenzy from this film has pretty much beaten every dead horse, and then some. This is the kind of media frenzy that Michael Moore would kill for. After all, he was making documentaries and getting fat before it was cool. So the question is, what the fuck is wrong with people?

The first and most obvious problem with the media's championing of "Supersize Me" is that they are interpreting it as an indictment of McDonalds. And granted, the film certainly doesn't make McDonalds look like the Gandhi of the food service industry, but then again, Gandhi could have benefited from a Big Mac or two. The point is, "Supersize Me" isn't about how healthy or unhealthy McDonalds is, it's about how unhealthy *people* are. The news media has done a fantastic job of ignoring this fact using a tried and true technique that we in the business call the "Putting Your Fingers in Your Ears and Going 'La La La La La La La'" Technique. As I was saying, I've come across newspaper and magazine articles trying to make their fat cash off of "Supersize Me" by trying to get some suitably evil quotes out of McDonalds PR staff and legal representatives. Let me say this again: the movie is not meant to attack McDonalds. It's meant to attack people whose idea of a balanced diet is getting peanut M&Ms in their McFlurry. Spurlock's results wouldn't have been any different if he had eaten three meals a day at Burger King instead of McDonalds (and I swear that for every email or message I get about how Burger King is healthier than McDonalds, I will personally kill a whole bushel of penguins, and believe me, you don't want that on your conscience). But even more than any of that, what really stings my clicker is, why is this movie creating such a fuss? What is it telling us that we didn't already know?

Look at it in its two-patty deliciousness. What could that bun be hiding? Ketchup? Mustard? Barbecue Sauce? Two strips of bacon? Guess what?


It absolutely blows what's left of my mind that there could possibly be a single person out there who thinks that eating fast food is the secret to a long and healthy life. Are there honestly people who believe that all that grease on their burger is some kind of magical artery lubricant that helps their blood pump more efficiently? I don't know about you, but I was brought up with the impression that on the list of things that were good for me, fruits and vegetables were near the top, whereas fast food was only a couple steps above chewing on carpet tacks, or paint chips (I call it wall candy). Stopping in at McDonalds or Wendy's was always a luxury in my childhood. It meant my parents thought I had been good recently and deserved a treat, or that they were feeling a little carefree themselves and were willing to give their diets a little hit. But you want to know what thought never crossed my mind during those trips? "Gee, Mommy and Daddy must love me. Finally, they're giving me some proper nutrition!" True, that's partly because the previous sentence was the first time that I've ever used the phrase "proper nutrition," but that's not the point. The point is, who is so hemorrhage-inducingly stupid out there that "Supersize Me" could actually teach them something new about their diets? And more importantly, are these people being allowed to breed? When I heard that Morgan Spurlock was going to eat nothing but McDonalds for thirty days, I didn't think, "Oh, what a marvelous scientific experiment that nutritionists everywhere will surely benefit from." I thought, "Oh man, this guy is going to mess himself up something fierce. This should be hilarious." I thought of it much the same way I think of the stunts they pull on Jackass. Stupid, clearly dangerous, and mildly entertaining.

If you ask me, "Supersize Me" is the answer to all those whiny lardladen tubs of polyunsaturated waste that try to make a quick buck by suing fast food corporations for making them obese. (I talked about those heathens in this article in case you missed it ----> Click Me.) Spurlock goes into his thirty day fatfest a pretty averagely built guy, he eats heaping boatloads of fast food (giving audiences everywhere the uncomfortable sensation of having to watch another person eat), and he packs on the pounds like a widowed Anna Nicole Smith. There. Video proof that eating lots and lots of fat means there's lots and lots of fat in your body. And what do we call it when there's lots and lots of fat in your body, boys and girls? That's right, we call it being fucking fat. You are what you eat, right? From now on, whenever some angry parents roll their butterbarrel children into court, claiming that evil fast food companies made their babies too fat to reach their hair, the judge should be able to cite the case of Morgan Spurlock v. His Waistline and promptly dismiss the case. (America is the only country in the world I know of with a "Cheeseburger Act" which does this) Furthermore, under this rule, I think the judge should also be able to reassign the children to foster parents who aren't complete mental defectives. The original parents will be burned at the stake, then chopped into patties and served as McMorons, soon to be seen on dollar menus everywhere. That is a service that "Supersize Me" has provided for America, and for that, it should be praised. However, all the idiots out there who think Morgan Spurlock is some sort of dietary messiah who sacrificed his body for the greater good need to pick their chins up off the floor and line up for their asskickings.

Fast food is bad for you.

Fast food has always been bad for you. If you currently think, or have ever thought anything to the contrary, well then frankly I'm amazed that even have the mental capacity to read this. Fast food companies have always advertised their products as being tasty and inexpensive. They never tried to pretend this stuff can provide the nourishment you need to run a marathon. Find me one ad where they have a doctor giving a testimonial about the phenomenal nutritional value of the Whopper, and I'll find you a better medication. Come on, people. Let's stop treating Morgan Spurlock like he's anything other than a guy with a video camera who made a huge amount of money by taping himself doing something incredibly stupid. In other words, he's just another modern icon.


current mood: good

(10 comments | comment on this)

Monday, March 28th, 2005
6:54 am - I'm your demographic!
Hey, how's it going? I just wanted to let you know that my favorite movie of all time is a Will Smith action vehicle being released this summer. I just can't get enough of his wisecracking and punching things. Maybe they'll give him a gun in this movie or maybe they'll just have him rely on his wits and sex appeal. It doesn't matter what he uses to overcome the villain, I know I will enjoy it. Will his buddy be another black guy or will it be a white guy? Maybe it will be Ben Stiller. Boy, that would make it double the best movie ever. Almost more than I could handle.

I can handle a lot too, believe you me. Why do you think Taco Bell just added those half pound burritos that taste like a cat's lemony asshole? Yup, all me. I wanted bigger and worse and that's what I got. Thank you, Taco Bell. And those pizzas with cheese in the crust weren't enough so if you don't mind I went ahead and asked Pizza Hut to start putting cheese all through the bottom part too. Dominoes wouldn't play ball, but at least they introduced some sort of new 5 for 5 deal where I can get enough pizza to choke a dolphin. If I can't get what I want then at least I can get a lot of it.

God I loved New Coke. I wish they would bring that back. In the meantime at least I have Cherry Vanilla Lime Coke. I think I might ask them to add another flavor to that. I'm thinking either maple syrup or butter. And Grape Pepsi?! Whoever thought of that is a genius! Twice as good as Surge. Although, on second thought, maybe I'll go for a brewski. I could get a Miller or a Bud, but I've been hearing an awful lot about this new beer that has coffee and ginseng in it to make you smarter. Oh, that's right, it was my idea! Who wants a Red Bull?! Whoop, there it is! It sure doesn't taste that great, but that little can is cool and it gives me energy to eat some more pizzas.

I know! Let's play some videogames. I've got Madden, Halo, Grand Theft Auto, Tony Hawk, and Luigi's Mansion. I don't actually own a Game Cube, but somehow I got Luigi's Mansion. Let's forget about that though, let's talk Tony Hawk! Woo, did you see this shit? I can put myself in the game and I can play as Bam's fat dad! Man I love Bam. Did you see the time he stole something from one of his friends and then defaced it with vandalism? I know! Totally hilarious. Whatever will Bam think of next? If we're all really lucky maybe we'll get to see Johnny Knoxville too.

I'm getting a little bored here though. Let's turn on some reality TV. Some college age girls are about to get drunk and dance, let their inhibitions run wild, and then there may be drama in the house because one of them will start making out with one of the guys! I think the blond is the hottest. I like her boobs. I like boobs in general. The bigger the better. I like them so much that I am responsible for breast implants. I want a woman to stick so many of those into her chest that her tits look like pillowcases full of dodgeballs. Haha, Dodgeball. What a great movie! The part where they raise money by doing funny stuff, it almost reminded me of something Adam Sandler might do. Man, that guy is ready for a comeback. Lunch Lady dude! And sing the piece of shit car song!

I've got the mp3 on repeat in my ipod. I love my ipod so much it's like a part of my body. Did I tell you that I got the 500 Gig Generation VIII? Yeah, I'm still demanding more and more, because I want to be able to hit play and then just sit back and wait to die knowing I'll never hear the same song twice. Let me take some pictures of me with my ipod and post them on my blog. I'll write something up about politics and sex. I think I can cover both in three sentence fragments and capture my opinion with this emoticon. Then I'll fill out an online questionnaire that will determine which character I am from Star Wars.

Did you see my new tattoo? Yeah, it's a tribal. It's based on some Indian shit I saw at a bus station. I think it means "BOSS." I'm also considering a sleeve done on the other arm to look like barbed wire with a skull in the middle. Man, that would rock! Or some Kanji. Can't get enough Japanese shit I can't read. Let's do up my whole back like a sheet of rice paper and for nostalgia's sake put some woman on there. With big tits. Huge ones. Big enough to choke a fucking dolphin.

Whoah, look at what time it is. I've gotta blow this pop stand. Hey, yeah, I see you admiring the way I parked. That's because I drive an SUV and it requires two parking spaces. People probably understand that my car is bigger so it needs bigger spaces and if they don't then they should probably buy an SUV too. Then they will understand. Oh, you want a ride? Well, usually I drive alone so that I can enjoy both heated seats at once, but I guess there's a first time for everything. Hey, I know, we can see what's on the radio. Hmmmm…now I'm torn. Howard Stern or Bob & Tom? It's a tough call because they're both so in my face and original. I know!

I am really worried about terrorists. They are everywhere and nowhere at the same time, like the Force or Jesus, only evil. Like Jesus if he got bit by a vampire. I will buy anything you're selling as long as you tell me that this rock keeps away the tigers. I mean terrorists. Do you have some snake oil? How about duct tape? A war maybe? Sure, ring 'em all up and you can just take it out of my unborn children's paychecks. Oh, and while I'm here I might as well get some of these incredibly helpful yellow ribbon stickers. I'm showing my support guys. Couldn't get off my fat fucking ass to drop a quarter in a bucket for veteran amputees but by God the tail end of my Excursion is going to look like an explosion at the sticker factory.

I have a confession to make. I own every single "Girls Gone Wild" video. No, look, it's not porn because these are real people. Just your average girl, only she's gone wild. They hit the switch on her. Snoop Dogg and that guy from the Man Show who is even less funny than the other faggots hit her bad girl switch. Now she's out of control, like a charging rhino with two sleeping bags packed tight with cannonballs stapled to her chest. They can't help it because it is a primal urge brought on by the moon and Snoop Dogg. It's nature. It's a nature documentary.

Oh, before I drop you off do you mind if we make a quick stop at Wal-Mart? No? Good, there are a couple things I need to pick up. Check out this poster of John Belushi wearing the "college" sweatshirt. That is so totally me! Hmm, $8.99 is a little pricey though, and the printing has the look of "Made in America." Wal-Mart should know by now that I absolutely only buy things made in third world countries. Here we are, just I was looking for. They've got the censored lyrics version of the new Linkin Park album and they have a copy of "The Nutty Professor" for only nine dollars! I can't leave here without that! Oh, shit, they've got a bundle with "Nutty Professor" AND "Dr. Doolittle" for only $15.99!! I hated both of those movies but for a price that low I can't pass them up. Right there is a full night's entertainment. Now I just have to get a six pack of Red Bulls and five pizzas from Dominos.

Or maybe a diet lemon lime vanilla cherry coke..


current mood: refreshed

(21 comments | comment on this)

Tuesday, March 1st, 2005
3:26 pm - Taco Grande!
I don't know about you guys but I could sure go for a taco. I don't even have a good reason why, but that's the beauty of the taco. It just is, man. It doesn't need a reason. It doesn't need the pomp and circumstance that surround spaghetti or pork chops or garlic lemon prawns. It is a meal for every man that transcends borders and cultures and locked doors and your pleas and muffled screams for help. Umm.. yeah.. anyway, moving on!

Any time is the right time for a taco, provided you live in the GMT time zone. For everyone else, the right time is any time minus two hours. Unless you're on Pacific Standard Time, in which case it's any time, PLUS one hour. Have one as a breath freshener after drunkenly vomiting at your kids' birthday party, in celebration after your favorite athlete scores a goal or sexually assaults a woman, or as your last meal on death row! Make a time machine so you can have one with your great great grandfather, then attempt to make him rich by telling him last week's winning lottery numbers. Swim across the nearest ocean to eat one on foreign soil, realize you forgot the taco and swim back, then just say "fuck it" and take up cheese appreciation. The taco won't think any less of you, for it is compassionate beyond all comprehension. It knows you touch yourself at night and it doesn't judge you. In fact, it wants to join in like the saucy little minx that it is. Umm, yeah... moving on again!

We place so much importance on money today but there are some things money can't buy, like ground beef, cheese and tortillas, which just happen to be the main ingredients in a taco. The taco is the silent communion of the modern godless man. To eat a taco is to save your soul. If you order one from Taco Bell, know that it has baked under a heat lamp all day for your sins. If you're a scientologist, order the nachos. They're pretty good too.

Sometimes I don't know whether I love my family or tacos more. How can someone be expected to make a decision such as that? They're both really great but if you put a gun to my head and made me decide, I'd probably duck really fast and try to knock you over with some crazy kung fu kick. Ever since I was a little kid I was an excellent ducker. My teachers would meet with my parents and shake their heads solemnly, saying things like, "He doesn't grasp even the most basic math concepts or how to hold a pencil and he frequently distracts the other children by being significantly uglier than them, but he sure can duck!" If they had replaced the Science Fair with the Ducking Fair I would have gotten first place, only when the principal went to put the medal around my neck I would have ducked and everyone would have laughed. I would have done pretty well at the Forgetting Your Lunch At Home Fair if that existed too, but ducking during that awards ceremony wouldn't have gotten the same amount of laughs.

Some people might think it's silly for me to ramble at such length about tacos, but you know what? People thought it was pretty silly when Uwe Boll announced he would legitimize movies based on video games by signing on to direct House of the Dead, Alone in the Dark, Bloodrayne, Hunter: The Reckoning, Far Cry, and Tetris, in rapid succession despite the fact that he had never made a good film. Two out of every three people thought RC Cola tasted better than its unnamed competitor. One time I didn't sleep for three days and I thought I was invisible. So there you have it.


current mood: hungry

(3 comments | comment on this)

Sunday, October 24th, 2004
2:40 pm - Damon - The Jerk

You may, or may not have ever met me before. You probably aren't able to spot my face in a crowd of people, but be assured that you know who I am. You may not know the sound of my voice, you most likely can not determine the color of my hair, and you will never guess my race or gender... yet you know me.

Let me take a moment to describe myself.

I am the person who, during rush hour traffic, decides to stop and stare at the abandoned shoe alongside the highway, thereby causing everybody else behind me to slow down and create a traffic jam which makes you an hour late getting to work. I am the guy in your office who has the same tastes as you and eats all your favorite food products from the vending machine before you have a chance to purchase any, causing you to settle for a damn 'Big Turk' chocolate bar. I am the guy in charge of programming the LCD and change-dispensing unit on those vending machines to insure you never get the correct change. Ever. I am the person on your cable modem branch who saps all the bandwidth from everybody else by constantly downloading high-resolution episodes of "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" 24 hours a day. I am the guy who goes into your campus computer labs and clogs up all the computer peripherals with wads of dark brown gunk that come from another dimension. I'm the jerk in your office who constantly hums the theme song from "Jeopardy!," forcing you to lose your concentration and have the song stuck in your head until the day you die. I'm the person who accidentally dials the wrong number and calls your house, then continues to do it two more times since it takes a lot to convince me that I'm really the one at fault in this situation. You might know me as the guy whose cellphone plays "La Cucaracha" during the middle of a movie in a large cinema. Somehow, and in some way, I am additionally the man who is also calling my phone during that movie.

I am responsible for forwarding those sentimental Jesus-centric emails to approximately 50,000 random people on a mailing list, then replying to each and every one of them with single-sentence quotes such as "LOL" or ":-P." I am the person on every forum who claims to know a lot about guns and never stops writing about them, yet I routinely make mistakes such as claiming a 9mm pistol uses .45 caliber bullets. You might know me as the man who posts pro-Star Trek messages on the Star Wars forums and vice versa. I let Playstation 2 fans know that I like the Xbox, I let Xbox fans know I prefer the Gamecube, and I let Gamecube fans know I'm heterosexual. If I ever get an email or Instant Message demanding I forward it to 10 other people or else I will have remarkably bad luck, I make sure to forward it to at least 20 people just to be safe. I don't run an anti-virus or spellcheck program, and I don't believe in installing patches or defragmenting my harddrive. I install every Internet program that prompts me to install, I enjoy punching the monkey, and am great friends with Bonzi Buddy. I send emails with attached 800k Photoshop .psd images of my vacation in BC, even though they could easily be converted to 27k .jpg files.

I am the one passenger on the hijacked airplane who voted not to try and overpower the Taliban hijackers during the 9-11-01 attack. I am the guy who knows the person responsible for sending out all the Anthrax-laden mail envelopes, but I'm too lazy to get up and actually phone the FBI with their name. I am the person who came into your office one day wearing a sombrero with flashing Christmas tree lights wrapped around it, thereby causing your boss to implement a strict dress code policy. I am completely responsible for forcing various companies to add seemingly inane warning labels to their products after I misused them.

For example: I took a Q-Tip and kept pushing it into my ear canal until it rammed some soft, squishy substance inside my head, immediately making me dizzy and remember the time back in fifth grade when I took one single piece from every classroom jigsaw puzzle and threw it in the trash.

I am in charge of selecting the largest and loudest speakers for Barbara Streisand concerts. I helped the "Dude, You're Getting a Dell" guy rise to fame. I work with the Highway Safety Commission to randomly place orange cones all over certain lanes of the highway for no reason; it doesn't matter if they're working on the road or not, I just put up the cones whenever I feel like it. I help design the 43-ton garbage trucks that thunder down your street at 3:30 am, making enough sound to vibrate the foundation of your home. I brainstorm ideas for national retail chain stores, such as the "Three-Year Service Plan" and the hardball approach every store employee should take when attempting to sell you one. I work for fast food restaurants and help them come up with ideas like abolishing the "small" and "medium" sized drinks, and instead starting with size "large" and going up to "super-super-super-jumbo-mega-quadruple-size." I have designed each and every outfit for Elton John. I developed the popup ad. I created the popup ad with sound. I thought of the popup ad with sound and Flash and no way to close it except physically turning off your computer and manually replacing the motherboard. I start up telemarketing companies and make sure that all calls are made during dinnertime, selling products that nobody anywhere could ever be interested in. I am in the record industry and choose which bubblegum teenage pop tune should be played on every radio station every other song. I am the lawyer who tries to sue entire state governments when somebody either dies from chain smoking or being shot by a criminal's gun. I was the guy in the Jar Jar Binks costume.

In short, you know me. Our relationship will stay this way until the day you die. I can simply hope to speed up that process while remaining the enigma I am.

Thank you.

That is all.


current mood: amused

(4 comments | comment on this)

Friday, August 27th, 2004
4:41 am - Times Like These
It's funny how something as simple as an unexpected voicemail messge can remind you who your best friends are.



current mood: Bahahahaha!

(comment on this)

Friday, August 13th, 2004
5:54 pm - Dating for Dummies (Dating for Damons)
It didn't seem like all too long ago where I was plunged back into the icy waters that are the modern dating world. At first, I looked upon this time in my life with a fresh outlook, and relative optimism. Months later, I find myself looking back, recoiling in horror, and hoping that my future ventures into the dating/relationship world do not hold as many awkward social moments than the entire series of "The Wonder Years" as it seems they have been doing.

Anyone that's been exposed to my personal track record with regards to most relationships of mine at any moment in time for the last four years, can sympathize with me on this one.

Bearing that all in mind, I can honestly say I've gained an immense amount of knowledge during this time. Hopefully this knowledge will assist me in my present/future dating endeavours, because dammit, I think I'm hopeless.

Many women, much like men, judge everything on first appearances, so it's important to look attractive and remove all the Taco Bell chalupa wrappers from your beard. In fact, women are almost exactly like men, except they are all weird and emotional and crazy and confusing and contradictory and they don't have penises and they don't like anything men like and they are completely different in just about every aspect. But besides all that, they are just like men.

Now, beyond this, I've come up with a short list of "dos" and "do nots" that should be kept in mind when preparing to woo the woman of your dreams.

Dry clean your dress clothes in a laundromat. Steam clean your dress clothes in a White Castle.
Take a shower in clean water for 10 minutes. Watch someone on Baywatch go swimming for 10 minutes.
Wear a shirt which matches your pants. Wear a shirt which matches the theme of your Underoos.
Tell your family that you're going on a date and they should watch over your house while you're away. Tell your family that you're going on a date and they should refresh your Livejournal for by-the-minute updates.
Try to freshen up by spraying cologne on your neck. Try to build up an immunity by spraying mace in your eyes.

Knowing this, the task of figuring out what type of female companion you are looking for comes next. Much like rare Pokemon, different types of women hang around different types of locations. However, unlike Pokemon, you simply cannot throw a metal ball at them and enslave them for life. :(

Many people believe that bars are a suitable place to find said female companion. I am not part of this majority, however. Bars are essentially high school lunchrooms for folks over 18 years old. All the old cliques, generic personality types, backstabbing fake friends, and retarded politics resurface here, as 100 men compete for the attention of a single woman with a crooked nose and mole the size of Vancouver Island. Only the most competitive men go to bars looking for women, as bars are tilted heavily towards the female's advantage. For example, take the whole concept of "happy hour"; bars bribe women to come in and get drunk so they might have a serious lapse in judgment and sleep with another person there. Some people might call this cheap or disgusting, but many of today's parents call it conception.

Fortunately, I'm dedicated and committed (not in a mental ward), so I know I will eventually find success for myself in the world of dating, and not having to resort to posting any of those last ditch effort "WHY DON'T GIRLS LIKE NICE GUYS LIKE ME?" entries on Internet journals. This is because, with any luck, I will be too busy posting "GIRLFRIEND DRIVING ME CRAZY, WHAT DO I DO?" entries instead. :)


current mood: good

(4 comments | comment on this)

Tuesday, June 15th, 2004
3:19 pm - .........
It's.... red!

Picture 1

Picture 2



current mood: red

(12 comments | comment on this)

Wednesday, May 12th, 2004
5:24 am - The Highway Shoe
As noted hour after hour after hour on The Discovery Channel, mankind has created many wonders of the world. Fantastic structures such as Stonehenge, the Egyptian pyramids, and the Domino's Pizza box, have confused scientists for hundreds of years, causing them to relentlessly wonder "who built these?", "why were they built?" and "I wonder if I get a goddamn check for being on The Discovery Channel every 20 minutes, asking the same question over and over again and never finding out any answers?" Leading scientists, college professors, and various other bearded men swarm upon such mysteries of the unknown and attempt to unravel them by using a method known as "science." Enchanted Science Sticks and Science Guns are used to prod and poke various highly scientific objects, but when their hour of airtime expires, they find themselves no closer to unraveling the origin of UFOs, Bigfoot, or Louie Anderson. This is because there are some universal secrets mankind was simply never meant to unravel: such as the Highway Shoe.

One of the first images of the Highway Shoe, circa 1979

Ever since both the highway and shoe were invented, the mystical Highway Shoe has been appearing to millions of people worldwide, often at the same time in completely different locations. Thousands of confirmed reports have been filed, each and every one describing "a single shoe" laying in the middle of the highway. How did it get there? Who's shoe was it? Why didn't anybody pick it up? How can somebody not realize they lost a shoe while driving?

What is The Highway Shoe?

The Highway Shoe, simply put, is a ratty, filthy sneaker that is seen lying in the middle of most major highways. Scientists have been unable to successfully carbon date the shoe to determine its origin, as the Highway Shoe promptly vanishes after it is seen. However, witnesses speculate that the Highway Shoe was born sometime in the late 1970's, as the color pattern and design witnesses describe match up with a popular line of running shoes manufactured in 1976. How this lone shoe was able to survive for over 20 years despite suffering extreme weather conditions and vehicular damage, is a complete riddle. US Government scientists have been actively pursuing the Highway Shoe in the attempt that they will be able to catch it, study its chemical composition, and then create nuclear tank armor based off the same substance.

The most common question people have regarding the Highway Shoe is simply "why?" Why is there just one shoe lying in the highway? Why does it disappear after a day and then show up in an entirely new location, miles away? Why does it insist on repeatedly appearing throughout major roads across North America? I've investigated many leads, and done considerable amounts of research, often in bars or other drinking establishments. And as a result have hypothesized the following theories:

Theory 1: The Highway Shoe is the result of a ghost.

Leading ghost experts (also known as "unemployed people") have proven that 1950 was the most popular decade for ghost exportation. During this hectic 10-year period, thousands of teenagers participated in drag racing against other teenagers in an attempt to win the heart of a pretty high school cheerleader who would only date the person with the fastest and most fuel noxious car. These illegal races ended up with at least one of the vehicles flying off a cliff and exploding, usually in midair, as oxygen was a lot more dense back then and could easily rupture gasoline tanks. All these deceased drag racing greasers resulted in great influx of the ghost population, flooding the streets and highways with puffy white specters with packs of cigarettes rolled up in their sleeves. One of our Highway Shoe theories hypothesize that a dead drag racer known as "Great Greaser's Ghost" cruises the highways at night, attempting to keep other kids from speeding (and ultimately flying off a cliff) by pulling their foot off the acceleration pedal. Unfortunately, Great Greaser's Ghost usually succeeds in only yanking the shoe off his intended victim, and flinging it to the ground. This cursed shoe is then forced to eternally wander the mean streets, while Great Greaser's Ghost continues his reign of terror, transforming innocent shoes into haunted footwear.

Theory 2: Mother Nature is turning against us.

As popular Japanese Anime has taught us time and time again, the Earth is slowly trying to kill us because we use soul-destroying technological things like PDAs, combustion engines, and plastic Richard Nixon masks. Many members of the illustrious "white trash" race are to blame for the largest effronteries to Mother Nature, deciding to litter their yard with rotting cars propped up on concrete blocks and decorate their trailer parks with old milk jugs and used urine sample containers. On hot days, these white trash members usually drive around with their legs hanging out the window for reasons I'm still not exactly sure of. Mother Nature reacts by stripping them of their precious footwear and tossing it into the middle of the road. The white trash are unable to retrieve their shoes because their vehicles usually lack the option to go into reverse, and even if they did, the driver wouldn't be able to figure out how to work it. If this is indeed the case, we can only fear what fiendish tricks Mother Nature has in store for us next, such as hordes of flying turtles, man-eating flowers that grow from our sewer pipes, and red mushrooms that cause us to grow twice our size when we touch them.

Theory 3: Highway Shoe is a supernatural entity like the Yeti or Santa Christ.

Since Highway Shoe seems capable of traveling large amounts of distance in short amounts of time, we must assume that it has magic powers along the lines of the Lucky Charms Leprechaun or that little worm which was Oscar the Grouch's friend. We know that it has the power to disappear at will, as well as change shape and form, so the only logical conclusion we can irresponsibly jump to is that Highway Shoe is here to signal an incoming invasion of alien footwear. These Highway Shoes from another galaxy will attack by first cutting off major highways and all passages of transportation. They will mark their targets with an intricate series of directional charts ground into cornfields, and will more than likely terrorize farming families if they're headed up by notorious farming sensation Mel Gibson. Luckily, these Martian Shoes can be repelled by throwing water on them, as even shoes on Mars are produced by cheap Taiwanese companies and fall apart at the slightest touch of moisture.

Despite these theories, I'm afraid I simply don't have enough information to determine what exactly the Highway Shoe is, much less the motives behind its actions. Its powers are immeasurable: it is immortal and can withstand nonstop damage from two-ton vehicles, it is capable of teleporting hundreds of miles seemingly at will, and it may or may not be have been responsible for the popularity of that stupid movie "The Ring." Regardless, it is clear that scientists from around the globe will need to start stepping up to the plate and blabbering on and on about their scientific findings during specials on The Discovery Channel. If they don't, then the terrorists have already won.


current mood: puzzled

(6 comments | comment on this)

Friday, April 30th, 2004
2:10 am - Courtesy of www.whiteninjacomics.com



current mood: amused

(5 comments | comment on this)

> previous 20 entries
> top of page