Archive for March, 2006


Pamela Anderson at the Juno Awards

Expect the ratings for this year’s Juno Awards to climb.

In a move widely being regarded by the Canadian community as “bold”, the Juno Awards have chosen the buxom Ms. Anderson as their host. Representing the core Canadian values of “smily” and “warm-blooded”, Pamela is expected to bring in droves of adolescent boys, who would normally be decapitating pigeons and huffing liquid eraser on a Sunday night.

“This is huge for us,” says Chris Topping, manager of public events for the Canadian Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences (CARAS).

“I mean, let’s face it, most of our fiercely Canadian female singers just aren’t much to look at. Alanis Morisette, Sarah McLachlan, don’t even get me started on Jann Arden,” added Topping. “Sure, we’ve got Shania, who’s a looker, but we’ve already used her, plus we don’t want to be pegged as a loser country because of her pop/country hybrid music. We’re in lame enough waters as it is.”

Pamela AndersonWhen asked about the event, Anderson (pictured topless at left) claimed that she is extremely honoured to be able to showcase her remarkably ample bosom in yet another venue, particularly one so patriotically affiliated. Continue reading ‘Pamela Anderson at the Juno Awards’


Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy–BUT IT SHO’ IS FUN!!!

"Dammit HO!!!! Das all the money you brought me!?"

Eustace wound up and laid a back-hander on the side of Chipita's head. Her silken hair followed the motion of her head as she fell to the grainy concrete of the parking garage. As much as his abuse hurt Chipita, it hurt Eustace a thousand times more inside. If there was one thing pimpin' wasn't, it was easy.

"Eustace baby, you know I loves ya," gasped Chipita, looking up at Eustace with salty eyes.

"Den why do you treat me like dis' baby? You know I look out fo' ya, don't I?" Eustace asked. Chipita nodded.

"You know I won't let anybody hurt y'all…dey be messin' with Eustace Jones if they be messin' wit' my hos," Eustace continued. Chipita nodded again. "You just betta have my money by FrIZday, HO!!!"

Chipita nodded once more, got up off the ground, gave Eustace a peck on the cheek and stumbled off. Eustace maintained a hard stance as he watched her leave the Eaton Centre's parking garage, or his "office", as called by the pimpin' industry–one of the world's oldest industries.

As soon as the garage was clear, Eustace fell to his knees and began to sob. Masses of tears streamed down his face until his frill collar was soaked.

"Man, I gotsta get myself a pint o' Strongbow. DAMN!!" He wiped his face on his velure cloak and slowly got to his feet.. Continue reading ‘Pimpin’ Ain’t Easy–BUT IT SHO’ IS FUN!!!’


For the second time.

You know when you're looking into a bottle to see if you got the last sip, and someone accidentally bumps into you?  Then the neck of the bottle gets mashed into your ocular cavity and you're forced to seek medical assistance?  The problem is, one eye is blinded, and the other is swollen with tears making it hard to focus, so you're left crying on the floor either until someone arrives and hears the screeching, or you pass out from shock?

That's the worst.


Quality Party Banter

A FlyI may be unprofessional at times, but I assume others find it extremely endearing. A scene from last night's party:

Me (standing behind our little coat-check table talking to the coat-check girls): "Hey guys, we're gonna be having the speeches soon if you want to come in to the—SHIT, my fly's undone. (Fixing the problem) This suit is great, but the fly has this problem where you zip up and sometimes the teeth come undone from the bottom up, making you sort of have to zip down then up again to make it catch one more time (gesturing). It's like re-cocking a shotgun."

Girls: (continue taking guests' coats)

Me: "I don't know, maybe I'll have to pin it at the bottom. Or something."

Girls: (hanging up goats)

Me: "Yeah, so remember to come inside in a few minutes for the speeches."

I love parties.


You look meritorious.

I’ve been out of commission this week due to the planning of a large business reception that took place last night. A few big-name Canadian socialites attended (one of the sons of arguably Canada’s most famous Prime Minister–no, not the universally reviled Ben Mulroney), and the hors d’oeuvres abounded.  I was in my sharpest suit, teeth freshly shined and ready for some hardcore liaising and schmoozing, two honed skills I’ll step up to defend if anyone wants to challenge…   that’s what I thought.

Anyway, I must say, all of my office co-workers (there’s only 8 of us, I being one of only two gentlemen) were cleaned up very nicely.  People were looking good, in short.  Lo and behold, out comes the “Nick, you look very spiffy tonight.”

Can someone, anyone please explain to me the genesis of this word, “spiffy”? Is it a compliment, or is it a way of pointing out the obvious, that someone is dressed up in a more fancy way than they would normally dress?  Is it for people who don’t want to go as committal as “you look handome” or “nice suit”?

If somebody looks good, you tell them that.  The end.  Don’t worry, it wont be misconstrued as romantic intention or unwanted flattery.  It won’t lead to a chain reaction of sexual tension that will culminate with you or I spread eagle over the paper shredder (the ramifications of which are astounding in and of themselves).  And it certainly won’t lead to anything more than a “thank you”.

But if you tell me I look spiffy, I’m more tempted to say either “I know” or stay silent, causing an awkward silence that may once again lead to the paper shredder.

The end.


The Nativity

Today I have completed the 26th year of my life with great relish. On the day of one’s birth, one must take stock of one’s accomplishments and prepare to change or stay the course for the future year.

Here are some things that I’ve discovered with one extra year of knowledge:

1. I am physically incapable of biting through a pencil.

2. Back to the Future II is my favourite Back to the Future.

3. I have at my command the wisdom of the ages.

Here’s to me!


How does a boy pee?

It’s the most darling thing possible. On checking my blog’s stats today, they reported to me that someone had stumbled onto my site while searching in Google for “how does a boy pee”. Oh, my, the little darling!

What innocence! What bright-eyed wonder! That little girl is a treasure! Playing marbles in the early springtime sun, when she overhears: “Boys don’t pee sitting down, stupid!” This sends her little mind reeling. At home that night, her parents give her a half-hour of supervised “inty-net” time to look at pictures of penny-whistles and moonpies. When mommy goes to change her tampon or something, she secretly sneaks a peek at google, “the grownup page”. She only has time for one question: “how does a boy pee?”

A Darling Girl Questions the Activity of the Male UrethraAnd, unfortunately, for her, she only has time to click on my link, when there were so many more authorities on the manner in which pee comes out a boy’s urethra. Instead, she’s brought into a world where vaginas speak freely, monkeys play pro sports, and mysteries take place in five seconds or less.

Oh, little girl! I never wanted for it to be this way! You should be finding out about the world through My Little Pony, The Popples, and watching a boy’s pee-stream behind the porta-pack.

Oh, sweety! Let’s forget you ever found this vortex of depravity and cynicism. Let your wonder of the phallus blossom and grow until such a time where you are either sick of seeing them or physically unable to accommodate one. Until then, may you continue to ask of the world the dearest questions. And may the answer to those questions be only ones that you can mispronouce in a cute way.
Muse on, my dear! Muse on!

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