The serpents hiss, hushed.
I am ineffectual,
Watching time's slow hands.

All I Really Need to Know I Learned From My Local Newspaper

For instance, just today, I learned that...


Fire is important! Really important. But apparently not everyone is aware of this obscure fact, so my local newspaper expends precious and costly resources (space, paper, ink) in order to spread the word.

I felt embarrassment today when I learned that I've been misusing the word 'classic' for years. At some point during my 30 years of avoiding death, I picked up the idea that 'classic' was both a noun and an adjective used to describe something that has withstood time and change and is still relevant in the present day. Perhaps some of you thought this too...but we were wrong! 'Classic' may have meant this at some point in its history, but things have changed and now we must all adapt. It is plainly obvious in this advertisement (for a movie that's sure to win at least 12 Oscars) that...

'classic' now means something you like! Something of which you approve. It's now applicable to movies, music and visual art that came out not 30, 40, or 50 years ago, but yesterday! The more I think about this, the more sense it makes in my mind. I for one look forward to the opportunities that I will now have to use the word 'classic' in a sentence.

That's about all the sarcasm I have to spew for now. G'night, folks.

Grunting, straining, groans;
Brief moments of ecstasy.
Everybody poops.

My condolences.

People offer their condolences, but never a single condolence. Can a condolence exist by itself? Or are they like most gas atoms, which must bond another atom in order to be stable.

Breeding and why it's a bad idea.

"MOMMY I WANT IT I WANT IT!! I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Every now and then I hear this in a public place; the crying of a horrible little child filled with horrible behaviours by its horrible parents. The poor thing. I hear it and I'm glad I didn't breed.

Why breed, anyway? So you'll have someone to put you in a home in 50 years? So you'll have someone to beg, borrow, and steal money from you? Bleh. It's my unsolicited, uninformed opinion that some people reproduce simply to justify acting like a child again. A man at a playground accompanied by a child is a good father; a man alone at the playground is probably a child molester. Or possibly a hobo.

I'm fortunate to have found a partner who shares (or at least sympathizes with) my awful views on human breeding. We also agree that there ought to be adult-sized playgrounds. Games for adults suck; they're all full of structure and rules. A way to establish a malicious pecking order, if nothing else. A human being doesn't lose the need for unstructured play time simply because it grows breasts or starts ejaculating.

Wet Pants or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Irrational Thoughts

I'll tell a tiny tale today--a tale of wet pants and silly behaviour. At least it appears to be a tale of silliness. But is it? Or is it really a cautionary tale about the dangers of rationalization, about letting the future blindly follow the past? Nah.

There is a large apartment complex behind No Frills; people used to cut across the complex parking lot to get to there quicker. The owners didn't like this, so they put up big scary signs to deter people, as well as a gate.

I'm bored with circumventing Value Village to get to No Frills, so today I cut through the forbidden parking lot. To hell with scary signage, I thought. I approach the gate that keeps me from prepackaged, processed food, thinking that the owner didn't really have a lock installed; the gate must simply be for show. I reach the gate, and yes, it is locked. A tall fence also blocks my way.

But there is hope! A stream runs underneath a small section of the fence. The ground dips low enough under the fence to encourage me to squeeze my way under there. Sure, it occurs to me to go back the way I came, but that would mean even more walking than usual; I cut through here in the first place in order to reduce my walking. I can't turn back now--the walk to the gate will be for nothing.

So I squat and wiggle my way under the fence. Through the stream. My pants are soaked to the knees. I arrive at the other side of the fence, No Frills in sight. But I hesitate; I don't want to stroll around the supermarket with my pants dripping. It occurs to me that I should stand here for a few minutes and at least wait until my pants aren't dripping.

Once again, my desire to be consistent pushes me forward. I can't stand here and drip dry, I think. If I do that, then I won't have saved any time at all! I crawled under the fence for that very reason, after all.

So I proudly march into No Frills, head up and pants dripping. My wet feet slip and slide on top of my crappy, $8 Walmart flip flops. The sound is not unlike the quacking of a duck. People stare and snicker, but I ignore them! After all, I saved time and am therefore a brilliant genius; clearly these people fail to understand the need to appear consistent to oneself.

Pointless update

Fairly satisfied with my life at the moment. It's funny; it seems as though unhappiness and idle time tend to breed more creative thoughts. Oh well.

Vests for Ducks

A growing problem…

Here at Vests for Ducks, we care about the important, real, existing environmental issues. And we’re here to help.

Our ducks are in trouble; an affliction called Insufficient Fanciness Syndrome (IFS) is threatening their very survival. Once rare, IFS has increased at an alarming rate over the last umpteen years; today, this ailment plagues approximately 35% of the Ontario male duck population.

What is IFS?

Simply put, male ducks suffering from IFS are not fancy enough; their feathers are bland and their beaks are droopy. They lack the ducky charisma of a healthy bird. These characteristics prevent male ducks from finding a suitable mate (female ducks are very superficial). This in turn limits reproduction and leads to the three ‘Duck D’s’: Duck depression, duck despair, and duck drug abuse.

The causes of IFS are not certain, but research by science-type people has found links between IFS and the following factors:

• industrial effluence
• industrial affluence
• merciless fashion trends
• Right Said Fred
• secret directives from Value Village
• Y2K

What is being done?

Since nineteen-ought something, Vests for Ducks has worked hard to combat the ill effects of IFS. Our caring, empathetic staff (solely volunteers) locates these poor creatures in the wild and adorns them with garments that increase their overall fanciness. This helps to make the male ducks more attractive to the females, alleviating the condition. We’ve made much headway, but we cannot continue without your help.

What can you do to help?

We understand that not everyone can commit to ongoing support, so we offer two donation options:

Ongoing Support:

Your pledge of just $16 a month will allow Vests for Ducks to establish and maintain the fanciness of a single duck affected by IFS. This money will ensure that he is kept in the highest quality vest, hat and tie, at absolutely no cost to him. If you so choose, you can write to your duck, and exchange photographs and bits of reed.

One-time Donation:

If your economic situation keeps you from an ongoing commitment, but you still have the heart and soul to help, we offer the option of a one-time donation. A minimum of $10 helps support the entire duck community, aiding in services such as:

• fitting and relining
• expert tie tying
• button replacement
• hatpin repair
• lice removal

We need your help fighting IFS.

Please, try to find it in your heart to help us alleviate this grievous, actual condition. For more information, or to pledge your support, please contact us at 1-888-STOP-IFS today. Both Vests for Ducks and countless bland water fowl thank you in advance.

Under the impression

(Written years ago, cleaned up slightly)

When people make a guess or an assumption, they sometimes say that they are 'under the impression' that it is or was true.

"Well, I was under the impression that Terrence had genital herpes when I told twelve people."

It sounds so passive, like the person is a victim of their own opinions; I imagine a naked, obese, mentally retarded man with IMPRESSION written in finger paint across his chest, sitting squarely on the thinker. The thinker is not responsible for what goes on, because the impression has all the power. It sounds far too honest and vulnerable to say 'I assumed that' or 'I guessed that.' People are generally under the impression of something when they're later being given shit for thinking it. But when their thoughts are confirmed, they'll often say 'I thought so' or even 'I knew it.'

meeting new people

I recently gave some thought (if you want to call it that) to the phrase meeting new people.

Why does Shelly frequent the bar? Why does Jagdeep put his best electronic foot forward on dating websites? Why does that creep who hangs out at the Laundromat spend money to produce professional-looking business cards, offering free foot massages to women? The answer is this: they all want to meet new people--or so they think. But they will not meet new people. They will meet new people if they visit a maternity ward, but probably not while trolling for sex or rubbing feet (which is often an indirect method of sex trolling).

They will, however, meet people whom they have not previously met. But that phrasing long and boring. They will also meet unfamiliar people--again, not as sparkly as new; the 'un' in 'unfamiliar' lends the phrase a negative tone. Besides that, who enjoys being classified based on what they are not? We'll just skip past meeting strange people.

So we'll stick with meeting new people for now. While not entirely accurate, the phrase is a reflection of our culture. We like to buy new things and have new experiences, so to me it seems only fitting that we also think of the people we meet as new. For a while, anyway.