Tuesday, March 30, 2010


Against my better judgement I checked out the trailer for the movie Marmaduke.  I'll share the pain ...

The screwiest problem that I see, besides the movie itself, is that the movie is rated "PG: Some Material May Not Be Suitable For Children".

W... T... F...

Who in the hell is their target audience?!!?
It's Marmaduke ... A big fuckin talking dog!!!  With a shitload of other talking dogs.
Are the producers shooting for the over 35, bacon eating crowd? ... The after-dinner with wine groups?

In a few weeks are we gonna get the red band trailer that includes the scenes where Marmaduke, crushed by his failure in Hollywood to break into the sitcom circuit, develops a crack habit and descends into the life of a prostitute?  Then finally, in a cocaine infused haze, he snaps dealing death to the unwary dogs, who only moments before were enjoying a robust session of line dancing.  The unpleasant movie finally ending with Marmaduke's incarceration and eventual murder in some gang related incident.

Oh ...I get it ... They're not looking to make money.  They're waiting on that special call from Oscar.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Weekend Roundup

This past weekend was filled with a bunch of get-togethers with friends.  One of them was that I got to try Canada's other sport, curling, for the second time in my life.  While it was a good time, I gotta say that 95% of my energy, both mental and phsical, was spent on trying not to pull something in my groin.  Everyone figures that they're fairly coordinated until they gotta mosey around on the ice with one shoe sporting a base of teflon.  There's just something so primally funny about watching your friends slip and fall on their ass.

Some of the topics of conversation throughout the weekend included : sex dolls for dogs, the medicinal uses for limes and the obvious advantages for the every day wearing of adult diapers.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

4165 Dried Fruit Rep -- 4166 Dunk Tank Carney -- 4167 Pigeon Racer

Mike Tyson's Pigeon Show Cruel : PETA

Never mind the loony crap about PETA and the reality show.  Ask yourself this one question:  If you were to make a giant list of all the things that Mike Tyson could be when he grew up, where on this list would pigeon racer fall?

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Hot Chicks Can Get Away With Anything

Ummm ... Wow.  I came across this by accident(as usual) on the MSN homepage.  It's a hot chick's "music" video. 

Right off the bat, I'm gonna go with the car wreck analogy.  You know, the " it's scary to see but I just can't stop looking," sort of thing.  But... the chick's really hot so it's not actually that scary to look at.  Then again, the video is really, really bad, the song is annoying and she's not a very good singer so the wreck part definitely applies. 
But ... she's hot and frolicking on a beach, in various states of undress, so you gotta keep watching.  On the other hand, the video's so ridiculously bad that there is a real danger of suffering some sort of epilectic seizure if you actually sit through the whole thing. 
It's hot.  It's crap.   What to do?... What to do?...

But ... where was I again?!?

Thunderbolts And Lightning Very, Very Frightning

OK ... So 2 days after I put up the post ragging on the Lysol soap dispenser, I got a really nasty cold.  Irony is a nasty, spiteful, old hag.

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Hand Over The Waterskis Fonzie

Well that's it.
It's done.
I have officially become Over The Hill. The other day I went to the local public library to take out some books. (Yes, I know, just mentioning the words library and books pre-qualifies me for some sort of old fart award). As I fidgeted with the chunk of plastic that I gotta carry around in my wallet, looking for my library card, the young 20ish chick behind the counter piped up and said, “Boy, you sure have a lotta cards there don't you".
To which I replied (thinking I was one very clever bunny), “Yeah I know. I hate messin' with my Costanza wallet".

I got nothin'. A complete air ball. No smile. No snicker. I got the stare of complete indifference. And with a Seinfeld joke no less. Frankly, I would have preferred getting the stink eye. At least with that I would have known where I stood ... somewhere in the realm of suckage I'll admit, but the big nothing left me hanging out in the middle of nowhere.

I remember the days when Seinfeld small talk was a sure thing.  Everyone knew what the fuck you were talking about.  Standing around the water cooler was filled with yada yada this and master of my domain that, you couldn't get away from it.  Those days are over.  Now I'm gonna be relegated to using the generic stuff like: how it was when I had to spend hours walking to school or how fat your mom is.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Some Home Cooking

I'm gonna get a little hometowny for a bit.  On Sunday I took my kids to see a hockey game involving The Montreal Canadiens Alumni and the Quebec Nordiques Alumni.  I must say that I was hugely unaware that the Nordiques were such a big draw for the wallet chain wearing lesbian community.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Daylight Savings ... My Ass

 Here's another little nugget of information that I wish to put out there for everyone's benefit. I realize that at this time of year complaining about the loss of the hour of sleep is basically digging up the horse corpse to go a few more rounds but I'm gonna grab the shovel anyway.
Folks, I found out the hard way, that executing a proper hangover recovery is a really tough proposition when you discover that the one hour and 3 minutes of sleep time that you still had in the bank before you had to get ready to take the kids to the old timers hockey game had suddenly melted into 3. (Also of note: nagging children do not show compassion in this type of an instance)
Although the benefit of having the extra hour of sunlight for the next six months would seem to far outweigh the extra hour of sleep(recovery time), my friggin' head hurt too much to really give a shit. (Note #2 Advance planning in all facets of this dilemma would probably have served me better)
In other words, don't drink too much on the eve of Daylight Savings when you gotta take the kids some place at some time that resembles something like Sunday noonish.

Time To Self Assess Myself

  A couple of friends came over on Saturday night for a fondue dinner to celebrate a buddies' birthday. Some of the main topics of conversation included: The pros and cons of sitting while peeing (indoor and outdoor), the horror of developing runners' bleeding nipples and how to fit a 21 gun salute into a wedding ceremony (we currently own 2 BB guns between all of us). There was a forth topic but my wife has insisted vehemently that it was something way too inappropriate for public consumption.
I'm beginning to wonder if my friends are a bad influence...

Friday, March 12, 2010

!!?$#@%!!?? Spring...

We love to think of spring as a time of rebirth when everything should bloom anew. Unfortunately it is also the time for the rebirth of dogshit. Being the owner of a 90 pound Lab, I get nailed by this from two ends.

The first is self-inflicted. I get lazy and so Fido gets to make a couple of quick trips to the back yard for a dump on those cold winter nights. Quite an impressive shit and snow lasagna can build up after a rough winter and 27 different snowfalls.

Then there's the second... The nasty surprises left behind by the dog-walking, sneaky-shitters.  Those night walking bastards that strike without mercy or the desire to poop 'n' scoop, their whole modus operandi centered around the covert hit and run. 

Ironically, there can be enough dogshit laying around the backyard to make it look like a WW1 battlefield but WHOAAA-NELLY ... But if we discover any signs of foreign turdosity planted in the front yard, we walk around for days muttering to ourselves, waiting for the green light to go postal.

The only really effective method that I can think of for stopping the sneaky-shitter,  is to treat one of your street-facing rooms like a clock tower and hide out there, surveying the front lawn like a sniper (naked or not depending on your comfort level), waiting until the offending dog and walker make their presence smelly.  Then it's game on.  Follow them home then, a la Jim Carrey in the movie Me, Myself and Irene, grab some reading material, drop trow and get some fecal revenge (or if you prefer your revenge served cold, spend the next winter squatting and planting for the next spring’s great reveal).

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Hee Hee Heeee ... Aw Crap Now I Gotta Change My Pants

I so happy I found this 'cause lets face it, this dude's just a whole bucket o' funny.

Enhancing My Funny

Here's another hugely unknown movie that I am jonesing to see.

I don't know exactly how I'm gonna get to see this but hey, one can dream...

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Wednesday: Bingo And Death Metal Night

The other morning I was watching the show Private Sessions on A&E.  The featured artist was Hall and Oats and they were playing a selection of their hits.  As I watched, I said to my wife, " You know, for some odd reason I have always liked Hall and Oats.  It might be cool if we were to get the boxed set of all of their music".
My next thought was then "I'm an old fucker...".
That then got me wondering...What kind of music am I going to be listening to when I'm 65, an even older fucker?
Right now, I would assume, the vast majority of the seniors homes are ripe with the sounds from old doo wops and sock hops.
Now think about it, every generation seems to lock in for life the music that spoke to their teenage angst.  For me that would be 80's Alternative and New Wave. 
So I'm thinking:  am I gonna be spending my golden years sportin' an adult diaper and a Flock Of Seagulls wig?
In 30 years are the rest homes of Scandinavia ( a hotbed of 90's Death Metal) gonna be filled with the soothing sounds of Dismember or Visceral Bleeding? 
Seriously , what about Gangsta Rap and meatloaf Mondays?

The Johnson Debate

It is almost the official start of Spring and the weather has begun to change for the better.  That can mean only one thing: the beginning of lawn shoveling season.  It's that magical time of year when retired men from all walks of life try and establish their neighourhood superiority through the lack of lawn snow.  It's the geriatric version of the dick measuring contest.  
Every season brings a new contest: Summer ... the cleanest car;  Fall ... the least amount of leaves;  Winter ... the cleanest driveway.

Look around your neighbourhood, watch the old retired guys as they shovel, wash and rake, jockeying for the big one like Leno vs O'Brien.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Okay ... So I'm Immature

This past weekend I played the board game Settlers Of Catan for the first time.  All I've gotta say is the line " I've got wood," just will never get old.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

The Silence Of The Sheep

In an effort to do my part for public good I feel it is my duty to inform everyone about the horrible scourge that inflicts many an innocent movie-goer.
Scooch Turf Tear Syndrome or STTS
There you are 20 minutes into the movie and feeling the need for a position change. How simple it will be just to scooch down a little and get more comfortable. Then... Whammo.

PAIN... The kind that is delivered by the gods. Somehow and at some time parts of your nether-turf became entangled in your bloomers only to be torn out upon execution of the scooch like dandelions being yanked from a pristine lawn.
There you sit, eyes filled with tears, movie forgotten, groin on fire and worst of all, you can't scream out.
And folks, it is a lingering pain, making the movie a very secondary concern .... pretty much there went ten bucks plus treats.

STTS is silent, unexpected and indiscriminate, striking any (except maybe Brazilians) like a killer whale on an unsuspecting trainer.

Be warned, movie-scooch with caution.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Ahh The Internet... Is There Nothing It Can't Do?

There I was a few weekends ago, with a few friends, gathered around the souvlaki trough, when one of my buddies remembered reading something about a really nasty means of revenge.  It seemed to involve something about taking a dump in the tank of the offending person's toilet.  With a quick jaunt to the computer, in mere seconds we were able to uncover the official title and technique:
Just think, if this was 20 years ago, what would we have done to find the answer?  There were probably no reference books at home for that sort of thing.  I suppose we could have tried to return to the source of  the information (if my buddy could have remembered where he read it).  Maybe we could have called someone who knew someone, who knew someone, who knew someone that may have engaged in THE POOPTANK.  The conversation probably would have sputtered and died, rooted firmly in the realm of the urban legend.

But no... thanks to the internet the conversation was granted a new set of legs and we were able to milk another half an hour out of it.  Think of how many millions and millions of inane (important) guy conversations that have been salvaged by the instant information available on the internet (isn't that why it was invented). 

Yes America, You Were Right.

After watching all the festivities that made up the opening and closing ceremonies of the Vancouver Winter Olympic Games, I was struck by one giant revelation ... America is right about us Canadians. 

We do all live in igloos (or some form of hut);  we drive caribou (caribous?!?) to work;  our recreation consists of running screaming through field or forest;  we eat nothing but poutine, maple syrup, and beer;  our greatest accompishments are snow and canadian bacon (whatever the fuck that is);   it is winter, or some form of it, all year long;  and we are a large, friendly, cohesive nation of fiddlers (I guess they forgot my fiddling pedigree on my birth certificate);  and the tuque is a religious artifact the brings us closer to our snow gods (thanks Mr. Fox)!

"EH"... Don't leave home without it.