Archive for November, 2006


Things My Brain Makes 7


  • A peanut is actually a “legume”, a “legume” is actually a vegetable, and a vegetable is actually a brain-dead person. You do the math. That means that every time you eat a Reese’s cup, you should be be feeling guilty for two reasons, one of which is cannibalism.
  • If your balls were actually two pieces of toast, you’d save time one morning. And then you’d be sterile.
  • I’ve never even finished a game of Monopoly before. I don’t know why, but it seems like no game I’ve ever been a part of has ever finished. Do you think there is a special part of the afterlife reserved for someone like me? If there is, I’m pretty sure it’ll be filled with kids from poor, non board-game playing nations…and Communists.

The Kinds of Scars You Can’t See

You know those flash “pranks” (or forwarded emails) where it appears to be an online game, asking you to do something that invokes your deepest concentration, like, I don’t know, finding three out of place objects in a picture, or count something or other, only to startle you a moment later with a scary face and loud screaming sound?

Odds are you’ve seen them before, and odds are it didn’t have a soul-shattering effect on you…..

Not so for this kid. PLEASE watch this, it is well worth 52 seconds of your life.

The best part is that the kid’s instinctual “self-defence” is to gently paw the monitor.  He’s like a kitten.



Unbridled Awesomeness

Pardon me. I’m just so frickin’ blown away by the sheer awesomeness of the banner graphic I just created, I can’t even put it into words. However, I’m also not one to sit quietly in awe at my own doing, modesty never being one of my stronger points.

What I will, instead, do is tell you that I drew the sharp, sleek and shiny red rocket you see above by using a wonderful application called Xara Xtreme. It’s a powerful piece of pixel-punching prowess.

Check it out if you aspire to emulate my brilliant rocket, or even if you want to do lamer things like drawing a train or like…uh…..a flower or something.

Either way, get ready for some tip top rejuvenation around here.



Filet-o-fishA colleague of mine, Eric, and I were talking about the usual random, disjointed, anecdotes and theories when he mentioned he used to work at McDonald’s, like a large number of the youth population did at one point.

Everyone who works there seems to have their own distinct “McTerror” story.  He is no exception.

He proceeded to tell me of a time during a particularly busy spell when he sliced open his index finger, I believe while chopiing some lettuce.  Being ever diligent, he promptly wrapped the julienned digit in some paper towel, so as not to disrupt the rhythm of his fellow Mcworkers.

Despite his best efforts to maintain the frantic pace of the assembly line, the no-doubt masterfully attached paper-towel slipped off his finger, and globules of his blood neatly deposited themselves on the tartar sauce atop the filet-o-fish he was assembling.

He turned briefly to re-bandage his finger, then turned back to discard the tainted sandwich, which was no longer there.

Eric: “Hey, Luke, where’s the Filet-O-Fish that was right here?”

Luke: “Oh, we served that sandwich.”

Whatever the implications of Luke’s error, health risks aside, and whether or not the customer tasted the extra iron, Eric and I agree on one thing:

Serves you right for ordering a Filet-O-Fish.

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