Archive Page 2


Quick Update

Since the last post was a bit too tragic to actually approach with my usual irreverence, I thought the least I could do is add an update to the story. According to this article, the morning radio show that conceived the deadly water-drinking contest was completely shut down, and ten staff, including the three morning hosts were fired.

They have since gone on to create three nationally syndicated on-air contests: “Make Yourself Bleed; Win Tickets to Creed”,  “Smoke Until You Vomit”, and “Have Unprotected Sex with this Hooker, Win a Trip to Hawaii.”


Speak Now, or Forever Hold Your Pee.

A Wii Risk

A mother’s love runs pretty deep. Hey, if you swung a stick around an average city street, you would probably have no trouble hitting a mother who admits she would die to protect her kids.

But to protect them from boredom? In Sacramento, California, a woman has done just that. In an attempt to win a Nintendo Wii for her three kids, Jennifer Strange, 28, participated in a radio contest hosted by 107.9 “The End” called “Hold Your Wee for a Wii”. Essentially, the goal was to drink as much water as you could without urinating. Little did she know, her stint on “The End” would literally be the end for her. The poor woman died of water intoxication after arriving home. Check out the CNN article here.

And I’m sure she never thought she she would die from something as seemingly innocent as drinking too much water. Apparently, though, you can die from drinking 1.8 litres of water (just under half a gallon) in one sitting; less if you have a very low-sodium diet.

Once, near the end of high school, a few friends and I had gotten together to study for a math exam. Needless to say, not much studying ended up getting done, but my friend Jon and I did manage to see how many glasses of water we could drink. I remember there was half an Aquafina water-cooler jog, and the two of us finished it with one glass after another.

Man, we were pissing literally every two minutes, and that urine was crystal clear. But we were peeing. Keeping that water in, like Ms. Strange would have to have done for the contest, would only lower and lower her blood sodium level, until her cells absorbed too much water in order to equalize the pressure, and swelled, perhaps even rupturing.

Man, that radio station is in some serious trouble, and I hope they give that poor family the Nintendo—it’s the least they could do.


Seven Metres of Sorrow

It’s fantastic to me when advertisers make blanket statements…on one hand, I despise it, while, on the other, it can really brighten one’s day. A perfect example is “Life should taste as good as Swiss Chalet” (implying that your entire life and everything in it is still not as pleasurable as one meal at the aforementioned restaurant). I personally hate the slogan, but love that someone approved it.

This morning, one took me by a pleasant surprise on my drive to work. I was listening to 101.5 the FOX, a U.S. classic rock radio station whose waves make it over the border to Ottawa. In fact, their station’s tagline is “Broadcasting in North America’s greatest cities: Ottawa, Cornwall, Brockville, Massena, Potsdam.”

And if we have time, Chicago, Boston, Los Angeles.

Anyway, the station actually boasts a pretty good morning show, where the hosts really focus on hard comedy (including a lot of stand-ups as guests), as opposed to most morning show hosts, who normally just fake-laugh and try to sound excited when whimsically musing about whatever news stories are interesting or whatever the hell happened on reality TV last night.

Despite the pretty decent morning show, the ads are just as reprehensible as on any other station. Used car dealerships, Mohawk casinos, a variety of “roadhouses”, and any of a number of other parasitic establishments that crowd the U.S.-Canada border like maggots in the ocular cavity of a dead horse.

DepressionAnd then on an ad just as bad as all the others, it came. I honestly can’t remember what specifically it was for, just that it was some product or service (located in Massena, NY) intended to relieve bowel pain. But the line, delivered by a really hammy, deeply-sympathetic male voice : “Gastrointestinal pain takes the joy out of life” was beyond compare. So broad, so far-reaching, so overdone—it’s brilliant.

We’ve all had aches and pains, some in our heads, some in our backs, some, yes, some in our bowels. Though, I, personally, have never felt suicidal after a particularly spicy or filling meal, I suppose there could be people who, when that old intestinal rumbling comes, instead of running for the toilet, run for the edge of very tall building. You know, lying next to your digestive system on the sidewalk probably would take your mind off the pain…

I wonder if that helps the Massena company’s sales?


Top Christmas DVD Rentals

TannenbaumIn the spirit of the season, I have been known to pop in a few holiday videos. Here are the ones that stood out in my mind from the past few weeks.

“We’re Inducing Labour, Christ!”

A modern take on the nativity story, set in a Chicago hospital, mere hours from midnight on the 24th of December. Having had no more room in the maternity ward, the virgin Maria, kindly accompanied by her gardener Luís, are relegated to the burn ward, where they must wait for the birth of our saviour. The media are kept at bay outside, while the frantic doctor, played masterfully by Jeremy Piven, sees no signs of labour commencing. It´s a race out of the womb, and some tough Hippocratical choices, all in an effort to get little Jesus out on time, and save Christmas Eve!

“It’s a Frickin’ Awesome Life”

A man who has lived a small-town life of good-natured self-sacrifice, and has altered and postponed many of his life’s dreams for the benefit of others, finally snaps, and decides to end it all, but not before going on one final bender, frequenting illegal chimp fights, producing a number of pornographic films, and buying lots and lots of non fair-trade coffee.  Jimmy Smits delivers a moving performance as coffee-house worker forced to reevaluate his own deep-seated mysoginy.

“An Isengard Christmas”

Set simultaneously with some of the events in “The Fellowship of the Ring”, Saruman and his band of orcs prepare for a very special holiday season, but someone has disemboweled the chamber-maid!  The Uruk-Hai will learn a very important lesson about the birth of our Lord.

“A Cosby Kwanzaa” 

Revisiting one of America’s most precious prime-time families a few years down the road!  the fun starts when Ron Karenga, creator of Kwanzaa, pays a visit to Cos’ and the gang.  From observing the seven principles of blackness, to a special pop-in from Emmanuel Lewis  and Gary Coleman, to an egg nog-fuelled debate about the controvery surrounding Karenga’s criminal record, including having been convicted and jailed on charges of felonious assault and false imprisonment for the torture of two women, there’s plenty of laughs in store for people of all races!

Get out there, and get watching!



The Shame of a Withered Frequency

FailureIt is a dark day indeed when someone with morals as perverted as Mr. Apple’s will remind me of my inadequacy as a blogger. Yet, I have to admit, the challenge of tri-weekly posting, let alone daily posting has been pressing down on me and crushing my insides, not unlike the sole of a Doc Martin on a pigeon’s skull.

For those of you, after last post, who are concerned for my disfigurement, like Tirunesh, worry not: there are few things as precious to me as my face.

So why the robust lack of posting when compared to the glory days of, say, last April? Well, here’s a brief list of catalysts to my blog’s downfall.

1. For nearly the past month, I had been suffering at the hands of CIA Local Phone, a company that lures you in with cheap phone and high speed internet (which works great when it’s up and running), and then snatches it from your clutches leaving a gentleman like me, and his Russian counterpart, adrift in a sea of phonelessness and Internet anemia.

2. Three days a week, I have been rehearsing for my role as Ricky Roma in David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross, a hugely successful play made even more famous by the 1992 movie of the same name, in which Al Pacino expertly recites the line “You ever take a dump that made you feel you’d just slept for twelve hours?”

3. The throes of the Christmas season are upon us, and I have a history of being, oh…less than thoughtful with gifts. I am attempting to change that, but this means spending many an evening perusing the various hubs of Ottawa’s consumer culture looking for ways to redeem myself as a brother, boyfriend and son.

That is all I am currently willing to share with you, though I will do my absolute best to use this Christmas break in refuelling this blog’s energy. Mr Apple, thank you for the awakening, though I hope you will do me the pleasure of “forgetting” to send me my invitation to your annual endive roast and beat poetry reading.

Dearest Regards,



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’


The Power of the Middle

Yes, take that, everyone who always picked me last in sports! According to Kineda, I’m a Medium Authority Blogger.

That means that when people need to know what a fictional character thinks about bowel movements or what the upside of a robot uprising is, I’m about as good an authority as anyone else. But definitely not last. Booyah!

C-List Blogger

Thanks to another one of my brethren, Ryan Anderson (whom I personally feel is a much better blogger), for bringing this to light. Go ahead and click on “Kineda” above to see what a random, number-crunching website thinks of your URL, based on largely inaccurate and soulless criteria!


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