I Miss You, I'm Not Gonna Crack

Remember when he was on that really bad show about the alien family?  Remember it occurring to you that John Lithgow was on television and you had to wonder if he owed a shit load of money to the IRS?

Ya, it's like that

And just for shits and giggles...

Blessed Farewell

I'd heard The Bruce Springsteen Band was nearby at a club called The Student Prince. A rainy, windy night it was, and when I opened the door the whole thing flew off its hinges and blew away down the street. The band were on stage, but staring at me framed in the doorway. And maybe that did make Bruce a little nervous because I just said, "I want to play with your band," and he said, "Sure, you do anything you want." ~ Clarence Clemons on how he met Bruce Springsteen and began playing with the E Street Band 

I'm On The Right Track Baby

Oh Gags... what we gonna do about you?

I do love you.  You manage to stay relevant even if your music isn't so much revolutionary as it a version 2.0 of Madonna and Cyndi Lauper.  You bring two of my favourite things together: chair dancing and sociology.

The meat dress.  Was it really a statement or did you do it just because you could get away with it?  Sometimes I wonder if that is your gig; let's see how much bollox you can thrust upon the world and how much of it the world will consume.  If I were in your position, I would push that shit as far as I could, just to see how far consumers will let a celebutante go.  I wonder if they know you are laughing on the inside.

I watched you awkwardly climb out of a fiberglass egg people are saying you lived for three days.  I call bullshit but the minivan majority gobbled it up.  Or the monsters.  Whichever.  Well done Mi'Lady.

I held back the laughter when you accepted some award on some award show and said "Born This Way" was inspired by Whitney Houston.  You had people believing the fake tears, the fake accent, the fake shoulder protrusions.  Quick somebody get the whiskey and the tea cup.

The new video is going to piss off a lot of people.  But you like it like that, don't you?  I'm totally up in the pink hair and I think you need to whip it harder.  Not sure about the underwear parts.  Haven't you already done that?  Bit old, non?

The schtick is bigger than the music.  And I kinda dig that.

Maybe we shouldn't do anything and just see how far this thing will go.

PS: Are you birthing that gun or riding it?

Wordless Wednesday

Mr. Hanky, My Not So Christmas Poo

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on March 19, 2010)

I don’t know what’s wrong with people. Who knew my poo would cause such a crisis in someone’s life.

When I poo, sometimes it’s stinky. And guess what, it happens to about 6 billion people every day, including you. Sometimes, it will happen twice if you have a healthy colon and a high fibre diet.

Soooo, when you get all puritanical because people are pooing in the office bathroom, my advice to you is to get over yourself and your aversion to feces. It's a friggin' bathroom and designed for some pretty specific uses, one of which happens to be pooing. Oh I know, you don’t fart in front of anybody and you only poo when you are completely isolated from society, but I’m fairly certain the only person in the world who shits glitter and baby powder is Lady Gaga. For your own sake, relax and ixnay the poo perturbation. Ya, I know, I had a poo in the office bathroom but the poo-approved bathrooms on the other side of the building are under renovation and, for the next four to six weeks, you will have to deal with it.

Now, when you came to my desk with the air freshner and acted like I had shat toxic waste (which I didn’t… for what its worth you only knew I poo’d cos I farted), that was precious. It must have pissed you off that I didn’t rush to admit I had poo’d in the poo-free bathrooms and then apologize profusely for ruining your day. Really, it wasn’t necessary, was it? We both know what your motivation was. Epic fail if you were trying to make a point. You should know it gave me great pleasure to smile and tell you the scent was nice (scent of the freshner, not my poo). Honestly, it took all I had not to laugh and ask you if you were the corporate shitologist but I realized after that thought left my brain but before it had left my mouth that I was really close to crossing the line.

I'm not sure what is more cryptic to me...
1] Your reaction to poo.
2] The fact that, on a regular basis, you shit in that poo-free bathroom yet the rest of us are forbidden to use the bathroom for one of its originally intended purposes.
3] How the hell a bathroom became a poo-free zone.

Just wondering out loud, ‘kay? Don't hate the pooper, hate your shitty game.

By the way, I still have gas from the turkey rice soup I had yesterday. Yes, still. You should also know, I’m bloated so there’s more farts and poo to come. It’s gonna be great. And now thanks to you, it will also be “meadow fresh”.

Oh Henry

(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on January 24, 2010)

This week I received another sign that Armageddon is on the way.

Our anger shaman, Henry Rollins, has a girlfriend.

Say whaaa?

First things first, I’m not seeing Edmonton on your tour schedule, and now you publicly admit to being attached and in a committed relationship? WTF, Hank? Clearly, pigs are about to fly and that weasel Garry Bettman is giving Satan his own NHL franchise.

Henry, my friend, I thought we had a deal.

The Rollins Church of Cynicism cannot exist when our jaded leader falls in love. And how the hell am I going to convert others to your pontifications when you and the Bon Jovi Mobile are steering clear of E-Town?

I feel exactly like I did when I found out the Tooth Faerie is a hoax. Cheated and holding a box of manky old teeth. But without the box of teeth.

I swear to gawd, if Lady Gaga gets caught in jeans and a tee shirt, I’m jumping off the roof.

I was also cheated in another way this week. Book number three of the year was supposed to be Salman Rushdie’s The Enchantress of Florence. I am abandoning it. I am on page 184 out of 349 and this story still hasn’t picked up. As a matter of fact, after 184 pages, it’s been a complete snore and somebody really needs to liberate Rushdie’s thesaurus; his writing is excessively wordy and quite frankly, hollow. Oh ya, I went there. I’ve also dropped a couple of Rushdie’s books off my “I Must Read This Before I Die” list. Life is too short and he’s already shaved way too much time off my life with this piece of doo-doo.

I accept part of the blame for this situation. I did pick the book myself after reading stellar reviews and watching it appear all over Best Seller lists. Generally, I am not persuaded by a journalist’s review of a book or Best Seller lists. Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. And a Best Seller is exactly that, a best seller, and never a clear indication of what the quality of the book is.

Let me take a moment to remind you that Britney Spears is a best selling author.

Ya, that’s right, now you get it.

Literature is subjective, as are all art forms, and I should know better than to allow another person to sway my choice. The last time I picked up a book that people were gushing over was Sara Gruen's Water for Elephants. After four attempts, I still haven’t got past the second chapter of that cure for insomnia.  Just shoot me if I pick up anything by Stephenie Meyer.  Gawd, her writing is shite.

So, after reading The Dalai Lama’s Little Book of Inner Peace by His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, Stuck in Downward Dog by Chantel Simmons, and abandoning The Enchantress of Florence by Salman Rushdie, I am rounding out the month of January with Cosmic Jackpot: Why Our Universe is Just Right for Life by Paul Davies. I have flipped through it and it promises to be a mind-fuck for sure… leptons and quarks, big bangs and big rips.

This better be good Trev or you owe me $34.95 and your testicles. And don’t think I won’t collect either.

He's Bringin' Hanson Back

My cousin Brad is an awesome guy.

Sure, he's a Leaf's fan, had a bit of the Bieber Fever, and he almost became a golf pro, but he's a stand up guy who, no matter the distance, I know he has my back.

His taste in music is, well, politely put, sketchy.

He punished me for not going to the Bon Jovi concert with him by neglecting to tell me that he had tickets to Lady Gaga.

I went to see Lady Gaga.

You whaaaa?

The Gaga.  I saw her.  Fucking fantastic.

This is punishment for not going to Jovi with you, isn't it?

Yes.  Yes it is.

But I couldn't do it... the permed  hair, the purple tin foil coat in a cherry picker, throwing roses to fans in Brazil killed it for me years ago.  He's still singing about Tommy and Gina.

*shrug*

And now there's this:



No, Brad.  You are NOT bringing Hanson back.

Somewhere a Blues Brother is weeping.

So Lady Gaga Was In Edmonton...

...and The Gaga or someone in her crew took this pic and posted it La Ga's Twitter account...

Uh huh.  Fecking awesome.  I love that my lady crush has a sense of humour.

City council sure could use one.  Especially the mayor of Oil Cuntry.

Oh and *Mayor* Mandel, enough with the epic drama queen I'm all offended hissy fit "poor taste" act that you specialize in when pandering to the mini van majority.  As a matter of fact, why don't you STFD and STFU while you re-evaluate your actions and the perks you've enjoyed while being the mayor of Edmonton?

I'm sorry, a bit louder for the kids at home, what's that about alleged private back room off the record meetings with hockey franchise owners that allegedly involves kick backs and spending my tax dollars without me really knowing about it so the two of you can build a hockey arena, hotel, parking, and shopping complex in the downtown core and die years later gagging on twenties?  Ya, you betta recognize.

Dood, I'm actually surprised you aren't more familiar with the C-bomb.  One could speculate that you hear it being said to you several times a day.

Just sayin'.