Archive for the 'Self-Help' Category


The Six Stages of Growth

So, it’s become clear to you that there’s no way to avoid it: you’ve registered on the Movember website. Your future living under the ‘stache is now written in stone–and coming up on ya. Perhaps you’ve been a clean-shaven gentleman all your life; perhaps you thrust yourself proudly into your goatee years. Or maybe you sported a beard so thick in the past few years that not even light could escape it.

Regardless of your recent follicular history, the decision has been made—you’re venturing forward into the single most decisive facial statement a man can make. But what of your delicate sensibilities? You’re full of questions, comments, concerns. Who’ll be there when the first hairs start to sprout? Who’ll come over to pick the pieces of napkin out of your Velcro-like lip stubble? Who’ll applaud when you first realize you’re able to sip boilings liquids without flinching?

I will.

Until Nov 30th, however, you need to know what awaits you. It is with the greatest sense of masculine care that I hereby present to you: The Six Stages of Growth.


cautious optimismStage the First: Cautious Optimism

You’re shaved, you’re excited, and, by gum, you’re ready. Maybe you had a hot towel shave or maybe you let a Bick double blade disposable do the talking. However you reaped your facial crops, you’re now ready to sew the seeds of mandom. Grab your cardigan. Get your fine slacks out. Then put them on. Now step outside. You want to shout to the world: “I’m a man, consarnit! My prostate and I are in this together!” And you’re right to shout. After all, it’s 4 A.M. How else would your neighbours hear you?


movember shameStage the Second: Shame

The honeymoon period is over, and people are beginning to ask questions. Your girlfriend finds your lip too abrasive, and you’re beginning to run into people you haven’t seen since high school. You’ve got sales to close and international conferences to attend, yet people are expecting you with your well-recognized chinstrap. When you look in the mirror, you don’t even recognize what you see. Instead, you turn away in disgust. Why, you ask yourself, have you thrown away a face that, while not exceedingly handsome, you’d grown accustomed to, like a dog grows accustomed to the taste of its own feces? You realize that, yes, these are indeed dark times.

Please, continue soldiering on! Believe me, before long, your shame will subside, your spine will straighten, and you’ll be proceeding to:


movember defensivenessStage the Third: Defensiveness

Stand tall! No one’s going to come between you and your facial hair! Even if that were physically possible, you still wouldn’t have it! Don’t let anyone tell you that your moustache is outdated, outlandish, or out-of-style. Defend your prostate. Defend other men’s prostates–violently if necessary. But do it with the absolute certainty that what you’re doing is right. Dare others to turn their nose down at you. Write manifestos letting society know what you’re prepared to do to those who disparage the moustache, then leave those manifestos between the shelves at the library, on bus-stop benches, and under your tip at the restaurants you frequent. In this author’s opinion, a pseudonym may prove useful.

If people are cowering before your burgeoning mo, then it’s time to proceed to:


crustacheStage the Fourth: Crustache (click to enlarge).

This can be a terrifying stage for many. You may think that looking like you forgot to wipe your mouth after eating a beef taco is unattractive.

You’re right. It is.

It’s also well worth your time to buck up and deal with it.

Why? Four words:


the sanchezStage Five: The Sanchez

Over the mountain there lay a shining light. And its name was Sanchez.

By now, your mo will be developing its own shape, luster and character. Do not be surprised when both women and men respond to you differently, as, if you’ve made it this far, you’ll have developed the facial qualities, vocal cadence, and odour of a Latin lothario.

At this point, you’re no longer growing a moustache…you have a moustache. Enjoy being here. And enjoy the choices that come along with it. Do you grow it further? Do you keep it neatly trimmed? Hell, you could even bleach it blonde, if you really wanted to. That’s the point. No one can say anything anymore. You’re officially a better man. And there’s only one place left to go:

movember moustachelandStage Six: Moustacheland

In Moustacheland, you can lean against a post at the supermarket all day, and people will not call the police. The police will call you for advice.

The End.



Self-Inflicted Cuts

cutsteak.jpgIt’s not common that my dreams recount tales of organized social self-harm networks, so it is with the spirit of novelty that I share the following trip into my brain’s darkest recesses, from not two night ago. (Well, actually, it was exactly two night ago.)

The scenario:

In the large courtyard of what appeared to be a Chinese monastery, I gathered with a group of young men. In reality, these men were my dear friends, normally the types who would shun self-inflicted pain (though I imagine that for the sake of the dream, they were humouring my subconscious). I won’t pretend to remember all the details, but the jist of the dream, I believe, can be conveyed in the following statement:

We each took turns slicing one another severely with extremely sharp paring knives.

Sort of dark for a guy who writes about bowel movements and rocketships, no? Well, my friends, I’m a deep swirling whirlpool.

Anyway, back to the cutting. Each person in the “club” was first given two cuts by others, and then had to self-administer the third (and worst one). What was interesting was experiencing it from the perspective of the “role” I was playing in my dream. I mean, as a member of this slicing society, I was obviously for this type of behaviour. And it was weird feeling the odd emotional coolness and detachment that went along with that. The other strange thing was actually feeling the sensation of each cut (as my ‘non-cutter’ brain imagined they should feel).  Allow me to go into further detail. In fact, consider this a thorough review of the three cuts I was required to do in my dream.  (Warning: maybe you shouldn’t read this if you actually cut yourself or are thinking about it) Here is:


Cut the First: Horizontally Across the Forehead

Performed about an inch below the hairline, this is far and away the most gentlemanly of cuts. With little muscular or nervous tissue between skin and bone, the knife slides gracefully across the brow with little pain, though it does provide a refreshing sting. I found that a main benefit of this cut was that, due to the thick skull bone, the depth options are minimal. Push as hard as you want—you ain’t getting’ through that skull with a paring knife. Whether self-inflicted or performed upon a consenting party, this entry-level cut rates top of the list.

Grade: A+

Continue reading ‘Self-Inflicted Cuts’


Colour Inside the Lines! with Jocelyn Quim

Jocelyn QuimChildren, please take your seats. I shan’t be repeating myself twice. It has come to my attention that, while a good number of you are proficient in basic motor skills, an even larger number of you are constantly attempting to stray from the good Christian paths we have carved out for you.

Please, children, turn your eyes to Percy, for instance. Percy, would you please lift up the sheet that henceforth we will loosely refer to as your “drawing”? What’s it entitled? Oh, yes….”Me and My Family Under a Rainbow”. Dear Lord, Percy. Laaaaame.

As bored to tears as I’m sure we all are with the title alone, it is the artistic proficiency of the drawing itself that we shall be scrutinizing.

Now, when we’re critiquing a drawing, it’s important to–I…um…I’m sorry….is that brown in your rainbow, Percy? God Almighty, boy! Have you not heard of a little thing called ROY G. BIV? Wikipedia that shit, Percy. That’s right. No brown in there.

Let us now move on to more detailed criticism. Would that I could say that the following problem applies only to Percy, but sadly, this is emphatically not the case.

Colour inside the lines, children! Nothing separates honest Protestants from a pack of bedouin savages better that the ability to maintain clear, concise outside lines in one’s illustrations, however otherwise flawed they may be.

I suppose the first rule in becoming a proficient line-abiding colourist is not to be born the son of a shoepolish-huffing reprobate. Sorry Clarence; you’ll be behind from the get-go.


Special Guest Author: Chrism!

There comes a time when I must step aside and let other great comedic authors shine. I hope that I can have this as a recurring feature here, but that is yet to be seen. My best friends and I used to have an emal "round-table" where we'd often compose random pieces of brilliance for each other's entertainment, but those wells appear to have dried up as of late. For now, here's a great article written by a good friend of mine with great comedic timing. I've revamped it with some pictures, but the content is untouched. To be fair, this piece was actually written at least five or six years ago, but it's still as poignant as ever, so pardon him if some of the references are a bit old. Without further ado, I give you:





by Chrism



Shave your balls? Hell, why not! After all, you shave your face, don't you? A lot of you have shaved your heads! And some of you may even shave that shit-crusted tuft of hair sprouting out the back of your ass cheeks! So why not give your balls a once over? Like Dr. Evil once said: "There's nothing quite like the sight of a shorn scrotum. It's breathtaking, really." And if you can't believe a fictional character, then who can you believe? Isn't that right, Jesus? Hey hey!

So why don't you put down that writing assignment and give yourself a treat? The feeling of a cool summer breeze wafting over a freshly mown batch of testicles is one of the true joys of life. Just follow these simple steps, and soon you too can savor the freedom!



looking.jpgStep 1: Do You Have Balls?

It's a well-known fact that over 50% of the population do not have balls. "Good lord!" you exclaim. "No balls? That's DISGUSTING!" Yes, it is! But it's true! Industrial accidents, over-zealous exploratory masturbation and advanced leprosy are some of the leading causes of de-balled existance (or, as it is known in the medical community: "Good Lord! What on earth have you done to yourself?")

If you're a member of this segment of society, don't panic, run off and go kill youself. At the beginning of the 21st century, obtaining a fresh set of hairy balls has never been easier! If you can't borrow a set off a friend, try Chinatown, the internet, or the dumpster behind the Backstreet Boys changing room. Once you've got your balls (either your own or packed in ice), you can safely proceed to…

Step 2: Time to Get Naked


Would you take a shower with your clothes on? Of course not. That would make about as much sense as packing your ass with gun powder and sitting on a camp fire surrounded by young children. What are you, an idiot? Take your fucking clothes off so you can get AT those balls!

You may be tempted to just take off your pants, or just cut a whole in the crotch of your underwear so you can stay warm while you get down to business. All I can say is this: don't be so goddamn lazy! Laziness leads to sloppyness. Sloppyness leads to cut balls. I'll never forget the time my friend Oz went to shave his balls wearing just a saddle. He came back 2 minutes later whimpering like an abused Terrier, holding a soap dish filled with unmentionable nastiness in his hand. You don't want to be like Oz, do you? Having sex with a watermelon in the backroom of a Loblaws because no one will look at your shredded undercarriage? Of course not.

Step 3: Wash Them Balls!

Before you shave your balls, you better make damned sure they're clean. So give em a good scrub! Scrub a-dub-dub! After all, who likes filthy balls? Nobody, that's who. In fact, go up to someone in the street and ask them if they'd rather like

a) to suck on your dirty balls, or

b) a solid gold bar.

Chances are reasonably good that they'd choose 'b', which is too bad because now you've effectively paid someone not to suck your balls. You're like an anti-prostitute, which means if you ever get stuck in a room with Anna Nicole Smith, you'll cause an explosion that will wipe out the universe. Either that or she'll attempt to marry you for your fortune (which you just gave away in the form of a solid gold bar). Continue reading ‘Special Guest Author: Chrism!’


Balance your Humours! with Millicent Forsythe the Second

tophat.jpgAh, the humours! The essences of which flow through our very innards! These four liquids, black bile, yellow bile, phlegm and blood, not only compose us, they shape our very constitutions. It is absolutely essential to the gentlemanly theatregoer or the delicate homemaker that their internal fluids be balanced in a upstanding manner, neither one being more greatly balanced than another.

In today’s hectic horse-driven world, it is so often taken for granted that one’s constitution will resemble that of a Warsaw Pole, though we more sensible English know that this is hardly the case! The moist London air, coupled with frequent trips to the den for bi-nightly opium binges, can leave one’s tender humours sorely in need of recombination!

Let it never be said that Millicent Forsythe the Second shews not care for the commoner! Quite the contrary! Here, for nary the price of a stagecoach waxing, I have provided for the ignorant masses a compendium of the choicest facts on the ever-changing nature of the human bodice. As a bonus, I have composed it in such a simple vernacular that even someone with the brain-pan of an olive merchant could comprehend.

If you find yourself switching between temperaments too often, then you have come across the answers to your plight! Let us delve into the body’s humours like a Dane into the Mediterranean.

Yellow BileHumour the First: Yellow Bile

Related temperament: Choleric

Do you find yourself wildly screeching at the chambermaid more often than not? Has caning impoverished children become more of a habit then a lark? You, my good friend, have an excess of yellow bile. Produced in the liver, yellow bile is that most putrid of fluids, hot and dry, resembling fire. My good man! The only thing for it is a prescribed cold bath. A frigid self-soaking has been shewn to greatly calm the levels of yellow bile, and assuage even the most choleric spirit. Let the canings continue, though only for the young who warrant it.

Black BileHumour the Next: Black Bile

Related temperament: Melancholic

Is the weight of the world crushing your already feeble spirit? Does the sight of an orphan eating a cup of rancid blood pudding cause tears to well up in your eyes? My god, man! Put away that tuppence! It’s not your place to change his lot in life…you’ve got an image to uphold! Rather, focus on the fact that you’re swimming in black bile! Produced in the brain and lungs, black bile is both cold and dry–not somewhere you’d want to be when the chips are down! My good man, rid yourself of that heavy fluid through a moist, hot compress or, for more pressing bouts of melancholy, through a healthy purge. Soon, fellow socialites will marvel at your insensitivity to those less fortunate!

PhlegmHumour the Third: Phlegm

Related Temperament: Phlegmatic

Ah, the mysteries of a phlegm surplus. Find yourself couging, do we? It can be nothing other than the body’s way of telling you that it has some excess phlegm to expel. Lethargic are we? Exceedingly calm? You no doubt find yourself in the throes of a phlegmatic lull. Become a bastion of dryness and heat for this ailment! As this particular fluid is cold and wet, and generally expelled through the mouth, there can be no other choice: a good emetically induced vomit should clear things right up! Let it never be said that you were above self-induced wretching! (Note, expelling the sputum in small oral burts, while quite fetching, may only exacerbate the dull lethargy you are experiencing).

BloodHumour the Last: Blood

Related Temperament: Sanguine

If the urge to sing and consume libations in quantities that would make Sicilians look like puritans, then I’m afraid you’ve forgotten yourself! Is the desire to fornicate singlehandedly outweighing both the urge to partake in your nightly Euchre and that of the subsequent foxhunt? My poor soul, you have an excess of blood, the hot and wet humour that is the cause of many an Englishman soiling his good nation’s reputation! We are not to be taken for Mediterranean pagans who do nothing other than consume wine and rejoice. A proper English life is one of temperance , tongue-cluckery and pomposity, and leaves no room for the Latin vices of song and dance. Get thee to a barber-surgeon at one, and have at minimum three pounds blood withdrawn with the aid of leeches. With that done, you will quickly regain the constitution of a properly-schooled Londoner.


There is something to be said for balance. For every savage in the world, there is a properly comported Brit. For every Slav, Chinaman, or Hindu there is a proud Welsh, Scot or Englishman. For every choleric outburst, there is a sanguinous loining. Using the above guide with the proper and attentive combination of diarrhoea, purging and blood expulsion, your internal fluids will be a beacon onto others and the envy of every Protestant blessed enough to cross your path.

Though my Christian name may be that of a girl, by calm masculinity has once again prevailed. This is Millicent Forsythe the Second wishing you the greatest of equilibrium in your humours!


Move Your Bowels! with Petty Officer Alan “Scoops” McQueen.

sailor faceDo you use the word “strain” as often as you use the word “the”? Did you just drink a J.D. and prune juice? Is creamed corn looking tastier all the time? Let’s cut to the chase: If you’re reading this, it means that you’re not sitting on the toilet in peace moving your bowels! That’s my business!

Ahoy there, first mates and swabbers! Scoops McQueen here! Staying regular is no joke! And I know that an impacted anus can mean more than just trouble in the bathroom! It can mean trouble in the bedroom, too! Ha ha, Ok, that’s enough shop-talk…let’s get right to it!

Your bowel is your best friend: always behind you and ready for action. No one’s gonna stick with you like your bowel will. No one’s gonna be there for you after a night of double-hot wings like your bowel will. No one’s gonna leach the water out of your nearly-digested foodstuffs like your bowel will. Fuck no, they won’t. And that’s why it’s you and your bowels for life. You’ve heard of liver transplants, heart transplants, kidney transplants, knee transplants and marrow transplants…but bowel transplants? That’s kind of personal, isn’t it? You’re with those puppies till the day you die.

If relieving yourself from “back there” *snicker* has you tightening up and straining like you were trying to melt yourself out of a giant ice cube, then it’s time to stop right now! Dab a moist sponge on your face and come with me! It’s time to get your colon in motion! You’re only three steps away from a bowel so smooth–so clean–you could serve dinner off it.

Step 1: Move it to the morning, pinko!

Nothing’s worse than having your day’s first BM in the PM. I mean, you’ll get out of bed, go through your entire routine, and you’re telling me your bowel doesn’t need a “good morning” too? Damn straight, it does! Sit yourself down and talk to it. I don’t mean a quick “how’s your father”, I mean a real, heartfelt sit-down while you’re sitting. Here are some potential discussion topics:

1) Which gums are less likely to “chew down”.

2) Power-move codes for “Street Fighter”.

3) Favourite Rememberance Day moments.

4) Skin-care secrets.

By the time you get through to the time you held your girlfriend as she cried during the Last Post, you’ll have effectively spilled your guts to your bowels, and your bowels will no doubt be more open to spilling their guts for you. So remember: start your day with your large intestine on your mind.

Step 2: If you sit there, it will come.

What is this, a race? Relax! If you don’t have time to wait for your bowels, then I’m not surprised they don’t have time for you. Oh, shit, I’m sorry! Is performing an essential bodily function not worth your precious millionnaire time? Is clearing out your body’s waste not hip enough for you? Oh, pardon me for interrupting your day full of high-powered business and cocaine parties! Can your bowels and I get a minute? I mean, COME ON, man! Get into it or bust! You say you don’t have time to sit around all morning. Do what it takes. Read the paper. Drink your coffee in there. Surf the internet from the toilet. Call your work and tell them you’ll be late. Bottom line, show some effort and I promise, it’ll pay off in all the booty candy you can imagine.

Step 3: Let ‘Er Rip!

When the time comes, hoo boy! You’ll know it, that’s for darn sure! Properly releasing is just that: releasing properly. Letting your bowels know that you’ll poop with vigour every day is how you ensure an active and high-yield relationship with your bowels. Make noise. Get into it. Savour what’s happening.

Basically, make a bowel movement the highlight of your day, and, mark my words, you’ll secure a lifetime of defecation on a higher scale than you ever though possible. Your bowels will be waiting in anticipation for the very moment they can show you how much they “got your back.”

So there you have it! I can feel a smile creeping over your face as you begin to realize the world of enjoyment and healthy waste-expulsion that awaits the new, more vigilant you. So march in there, take down your slacks, and show your bowels what’s what. Yes, it’ll all be coming together for you now, and it’s all because you opened your heart, your mind, and your anus.

Go get ’em, Tiger.


Empower Yourself! with Petty Officer Alan “Scoops” McQueen

Did that car just splash you when it drove by, making a slush splotch on your otherwise splotch-less pants? Did they make that McDonald’s sandwich tasteless just to spite you? Do even firemen have time to stop and laugh at you as they race past you toward a burning building? Is that mustard on your neck? Consarnit, it is!

Smear that on your shirtsleeve and come with me! Your days of rifling for previously viewed VHS tapes in a bin are over! People with self confidence don’t buy “Stuart Saves his Family” simply because it’s $4.99. People with self confidence don’t camp out for CFL tickets. People with self confidence don’t shout at the weatherman on TV.

Just by having begun to read this, you’re saying to me “take me and change me.” A bold statement if I ever heard one. Good: you’re gonna need bold to make the new you work. In just a few minutes you’ll be well on your way to becoming less socially loathsome.

Well, swab me embarrassed! I nearly forgot to introduce myself! Ahoy there, mates and rear admirals! I’m Petty Officer “Scoops” McQueen. You may remember me from such self-help vehicles as “Selling your semen: You’re a modern day superhero” or “Vomit your way to a size two“.

If you’re tired of feeling like you’re half-cocked, unstrung, and empty-basketed, Scoops’s revolutionary new technique will electroshock you back into the winner’s circle! Never been in the winner’s circle before? I’ve got something for you too!

My approach to self-empowerment is a simple three-tiered venture:

1. Self-refusal

2. Self-reliance

3. Self-RESPECT!

Step 1: Self Refusal as a Lifestyle

You’re fat. You’re creepy. You’re stupid. You’re a pervert. You’re a Nazi. All the things you are come from all the things you do. You’re fat? Deny yourself that bacon sundae. You’re creepy? Quit masturbating in public lavatories for six weeks. You’re stupid? Quit watching reality television. You’re a pervert? Quit standing outside schoolyards at recess. You’re a Nazi? Quit painting swastikas on synagogues, asshole.

You see? It’s all your fault! The problem isn’t society or discrimination or your parents…it’s you! You’re in an abusive relationship? Quit being in it! You make a fool of yourself at the discoteque? Quit dancing!

Have you quit it yet? Ok…I’ll wait…..

Good. You’re now one step closer to empowerment. You’re also ready to move onto:

Step 2: Self-Reliance

The very nature of this step precludes my involvement. Go do it yourself.

Okay, did you do it? Awesome. Let’s move on.

Step 3: Self-RESPECT!

You smell that? Yes, that scent. It’s…unmistakeable. It’s the putrid, piercing smell of self-empowerment. Don’t worry, it gets putrider. Problem is, you’re not quite there yet. If you really want to smell success you gotta emit success like a fine pheremone. Try coating yourself in “essence of pecunia.” It’s a delicate oil emitted from the fibers of pressed money. I know how to make it, you know. I also have a press at my house.

If you send me, say, $25 to press, I could easily send you back a vial of some of that.

Empowerment off the starboard bow!

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