tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65559481950667227352024-03-13T10:12:33.179-04:00Shallow PonderingsThomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.comBlogger42125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-37418146124418986602012-12-17T11:41:00.001-05:002012-12-17T11:41:08.169-05:00The serpents hiss, hushed.<br />
I am ineffectual,<br />
Watching time's slow hands.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-63785084496346467992011-05-27T19:32:00.010-04:002011-05-27T20:12:31.289-04:00All I Really Need to Know I Learned From My Local NewspaperFor instance, just today, I learned that...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyD5Afd80IKLp14FGZOZ1nPKxioPTKu2oXafheEpTxjus4OlqAGt4gc96jQCZv-7U7aD7HsAWGsFFQyLBFO2-xhnQ5zdBkbJl3-s9wLkXy2xsmxxptpKKrlMdhtGd5cG2JewwY3TFkL0/s1600/fire+is+important.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 62px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbyD5Afd80IKLp14FGZOZ1nPKxioPTKu2oXafheEpTxjus4OlqAGt4gc96jQCZv-7U7aD7HsAWGsFFQyLBFO2-xhnQ5zdBkbJl3-s9wLkXy2xsmxxptpKKrlMdhtGd5cG2JewwY3TFkL0/s400/fire+is+important.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611545133643401954" border="0" /></a><br />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.<br /><br />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 <span style="font-style: italic;">12</span> Oscars) that...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4peMXGuKfdv83Sl8Vz9d5ZUxl_M9KcQme4zyUckO9rZonANGf8N-bk3HWCXblO06vg8em_4zl6_3vOM59xn7n7108HMXqsVWhFcBjZVuwFCbqEJ_D8l7iwnIQMuHEbqbN59QsjuNx6vQ/s1600/Kung+Fu+Panda.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4peMXGuKfdv83Sl8Vz9d5ZUxl_M9KcQme4zyUckO9rZonANGf8N-bk3HWCXblO06vg8em_4zl6_3vOM59xn7n7108HMXqsVWhFcBjZVuwFCbqEJ_D8l7iwnIQMuHEbqbN59QsjuNx6vQ/s400/Kung+Fu+Panda.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611548530387240370" border="0" /></a>'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 <span style="font-style: italic;">yesterday</span>! 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.<br /><br />That's about all the sarcasm I have to spew for now. G'night, folks.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyREXuDwzcSpZwu8N4sSrBhwWRktKnpgpfl55e6iVf1i9LMQvtk64NL5O5Enfn3Gey7ZTvgToKjciiQsx1knVNPkamKHie86PUnS6U6Vhjm9Wea4fgUi7erHLyP4AqvoeqzFiMn3AlhxQ/s1600/fire+is+important.jpg"><br /></a>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-76503522586898851862011-04-10T00:53:00.002-04:002011-04-10T00:56:19.322-04:00Grunting, straining, groans;<br />Brief moments of ecstasy.<br />Everybody poops.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-5353426779844791952011-02-08T22:24:00.001-05:002011-02-08T22:24:51.217-05:00My condolences.<h6 class="uiStreamMessage" ft="{"type":"msg"}"><span class="messageBody">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.</span></h6>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-12056257758066607842010-10-13T17:44:00.002-04:002010-10-13T17:52:02.091-04:00Breeding and why it's a bad idea."MOMMY I WANT IT I WANT IT!! I WANT IT! WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-76793566489913979042010-07-31T17:43:00.006-04:002016-12-05T12:24:40.086-05:00Wet Pants or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Irrational ThoughtsI'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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>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.<br />
<br />
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 <span style="font-style: italic;">even more</span> walking than usual; I cut through here in the first place in order to <span style="font-style: italic;">reduce</span> my walking. <span style="font-style: italic;">I can't turn back now--the walk to the gate will be for nothing.</span><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Once again, my desire to be consistent pushes me forward. <span style="font-style: italic;">I can't stand here and drip dry</span>, I think. <span style="font-style: italic;"> 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. </span><br />
<br />
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.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-68277716736107892312010-07-24T19:30:00.001-04:002010-07-24T19:31:40.451-04:00Pointless updateFairly 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.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-24179184828948560202010-06-21T14:57:00.000-04:002010-06-26T11:29:26.541-04:00Vests for Ducks<p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">A growing problem…</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Here at Vests for Ducks, we care about the important, real, existing environmental issues.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">And we’re here to help.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Our ducks are in trouble; an affliction called Insufficient Fanciness Syndrome (IFS) is threatening their very survival.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">What is IFS?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Simply put, male ducks suffering from IFS are not fancy enough; their feathers are bland and their beaks are droopy. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><span style="font-size:100%;">They lack the ducky charisma of a healthy bird.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">These characteristics prevent male ducks from finding a suitable mate (female ducks are very superficial).</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">This in turn limits reproduction and leads to the three ‘Duck D’s’:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Duck depression, duck despair, and duck drug abuse.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">The causes of IFS are not certain, but research by science-type people has found links between IFS and the following factors:</span></p><ul><li><span style="font-size:100%;">industrial effluence</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">industrial affluence</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">merciless fashion trends</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><a href="http://www.rightsaidfred.com/">Right Said Fred</a></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">secret directives from Value Village</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">Y2K</span></li></ul><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">What is being done?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Since nineteen-ought something, Vests for Ducks has worked hard to combat the ill effects of IFS.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Our caring, empathetic staff (solely volunteers) locates these poor creatures in the wild and adorns them with garments that increase their overall fanciness.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">This helps to make the male ducks more attractive to the females, alleviating the condition.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">We’ve made much headway, but we cannot continue without your help.</span></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">What can <i>you </i>do to help?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">We understand that not everyone can commit to ongoing support, so we offer two donation options:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Ongoing Support:</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">This money will ensure that he is kept in the highest quality vest, hat and tie, at absolutely no cost to him. </span><span style="font-size:100%;"></span><span style="font-size:100%;">If you so choose, you can write to your duck, and exchange photographs and bits of reed.</span></p><p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">One-time Donation:</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">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.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">A minimum of $10 helps support the entire duck community, aiding in services such as:</span></p><ul><li><span style="font-size:100%;">fitting and relining</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">expert tie tying</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">button replacement</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">hatpin repair</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;">lice removal</span></li></ul><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">We need your help fighting IFS.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;">Please, try to find it in your heart to help us alleviate this grievous, actual condition.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">For more information, or to pledge your support, please contact us at 1-888-STOP-IFS today.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> </span><span style="font-size:100%;">Both Vests for Ducks <em>and</em> countless bland water fowl thank you in advance.</span></p>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-76220797052829929722010-06-18T00:02:00.001-04:002010-06-18T00:20:38.573-04:00Under the impression(Written years ago, cleaned up slightly)<br /><br />When people make a guess or an assumption, they sometimes say that they are 'under the impression' that it is or was true.<br /><br />"Well, I was under the impression that Terrence had genital herpes when I told twelve people."<br /><br />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.'Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-70797911606498679582010-06-15T07:14:00.000-04:002010-06-15T07:51:58.367-04:00meeting new peopleI recently gave some thought (if you want to call it that) to the phrase <span style="font-style: italic;">meeting new people</span>.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />They <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span>, however, meet people <span style="font-style: italic;">whom they have not previously met</span>. But that phrasing long and boring. They will also meet <span style="font-style: italic;">unfamiliar</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">people</span>--again, not as sparkly as <span style="font-style: italic;">new</span>; 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">meeting strange people</span>. <br /><br />So we'll stick with <span style="font-style: italic;">meeting new people</span> 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 <span style="font-style: italic;">new. </span>For a while, anyway.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-66318607996102250202010-06-11T22:57:00.001-04:002010-06-11T22:58:50.502-04:00You invite several friends over for a circle jerk. Unfortunately, due to unavoidable events, only one friend makes it. So it's just you and your friend.<br /><br />If you proceed as planned with the festivities, is it technically a line jerk?Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-85832528573471995182010-05-29T10:17:00.000-04:002010-05-29T10:23:29.135-04:00<span style="font-style: italic;">(Originally published July, 2006)</span><br /><br />I don't believe in the existence of a personified force of creation--a god, in other words. Nor do I believe in any absolute concept of right and wrong. But on collection day, when the crows are ripping up my neighbour's garbage and not my own, I have to think that if such a force <i style="">does</i> exist, it is watching out for me at that moment. Peace.<p></p>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-38808261689189503632010-05-26T18:08:00.000-04:002010-05-26T18:14:46.628-04:00Don't read this.<div style="text-align: left;">Once upon a five minutes ago, the English language needed yet another portmanteau; a verb, denoting the sights, smells, and tastes (yes, tastes) associated with performing oral sex on a homeless person. And so, from this dire need, hoblowing came into existence. <br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">THE END<br /></div></div>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-80777747560359271772010-05-21T17:33:00.000-04:002010-05-23T13:07:52.115-04:00Your lot in life.When you bitch and moan about your life, some people will tell you to stop that, because things could be worse.<br /><br />And they're right; your lot in life could be worse. You could be the lookout for some guy who makes his living exclusively by robbing mentally retarded people.<br /><br />I hope that makes you feel better.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-33651138934422032862010-05-17T22:13:00.001-04:002010-05-17T22:13:41.778-04:00Clown HaikuOpen mouth, gaze fixed.<br />Wants to take you behind tents.<br />The clown will touch you.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-77894019483145990482010-05-17T06:43:00.000-04:002010-05-17T06:46:33.792-04:00A little story<span style="font-style:italic;">(Originally published June, 2006)</span><br /><br />An intelligent species of life once found a strange planet. Upon analysis, they found something that they needed--the ingredients to make carbon dioxide. Unfortunately, most of the ingredients were trapped under the planet, in liquid form, and the rest was floating around in the atmosphere. This intelligent species wanted the ingredients, badly, but realized the tremendous amount of labour required in extracting them. <br /> <br />This planet had two other things that interested the intelligent species--materials to build crude processing machines, and sentient life. This life, however, was not quite ready to take on the task of helping. Though their brains were well developed and their digits were opposable, they lacked the brain structures to conceptualize machines. But the intelligent species had mastered genetic engineering, and soon, a new species was born and ready to turn the planet into a carbon dioxide processing. And so, this created species fulfilled its destiny.<br /> <br />A similar idea occurred to me when I was 21, around the time that I started smoking a lot of pot. The idea seemed plausible at the time and it scared me. But pot does that to you--gives you the notion that every idea you have under its influence is so profound and meaningful. Anyway, the idea is that life on Earth was either planted here in rudimentary form, or somehow modified, to suit some extra terrestrial species' needs or wants. Like this planet is a kind of free growing garden, or something. So if that actually happened, those responsible will come back eventually. Maybe they're from a similar planet that fostered carbon based life. They're probably going to want to eat us. <br /> <br />But holy shit, will they be surprised! Look at the mess; our species has poisoned every form of Earth-bound life, including itself. They'll fly in low and get a good whiff of all that smog and soot and industrial effluence. They'll wonder why we collectively do not behave like animals--nomadic, with a cyclical population pattern--but more like some sort of yeast colony. And then, knowing that something is brewing, they'll get the fuck out of here before they too become poisoned.<br /> <br />So relax! If those aliens do come to harvest us, they'll know better once they look around. If we continue trying to control the planet and worshiping our toxic machines, we'll be fine! <br /> <br />P.S. I am aware that you can find strains of similar ideas in science fiction. But at the time I had the 'alien garden' idea, I was not a consumer of science fiction, nor did I consciously draw from others ideas.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-31015129301168064732010-05-12T21:12:00.000-04:002010-06-02T01:02:33.330-04:00The following is a list of shameful things that I have done in an effort to get laid:<br /><br />1. Pretended to like Nickelback<br />2. Um....<br />3. Err....<br />4. Uh...<br /><br />Really, that's the most shameful thing I can think of. Take it from me, kids--no amount of carnal pleasure is worth debasing yourself. Unless it works.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-76185880533772401842010-05-09T14:49:00.000-04:002010-05-09T15:01:50.282-04:00Here is a haiku that I wrote. On the surface, it is about the life of a night-shift factory worker who tries to support his family. If you delve a little deeper, however, you will find the central character a man frought with internal strife and regret:<br /><br />Torn from daylight sleep;<br />My new infant cries aloud.<br />I should have pulled out.<br /><br />While "new infant" is somewhat redundant, I liked the flow of the phrase and the soft consonant and vowel sounds. And what should the central character have "pulled out" of? That's up to the reader, really, to determine the exact meaning. Classy, classy poetry.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-32278276199228004112010-05-05T17:55:00.000-04:002010-05-05T17:57:39.200-04:00Dexterity Disruption<span style="font-family: times new roman; font-style: italic;">(Originally published July 6, 2006)</span>
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mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; line-height:115%; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal">Have you ever tried to wipe your ass with a bandaid on your index finger? Using toilet paper to wipe, not the bandaid. But have you tried? That little piece of plastic is very disruptive. </p> <p style="font-family: times new roman;" class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; font-family: times new roman;">I never realized how much I rely on sensory data from the end of that finger until I tried to wipe my ass and couldn't feel it. My poor finger felt like a rafter lost at sea. Rather than risk a feculent finger, I just got him out of the way while the other three did the dirty work.</span>
<br /></p>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-35703476437117489322010-05-05T16:39:00.000-04:002010-05-05T16:44:26.493-04:00The well begins to dry upI have some old entries, from another blog, spanning from 2006 to 2008. One at a time, I'll post most of them here, to satisfy my ridiculously large fan base. Think of it as a way for me to distract you from the fact that I'm not terribly productive when it comes to writing, or even when it comes to thinking, for that matter.<br /><br />So as not to overload you with awesomeness, I'll try to stagger their release a bit. This means that you'll see an old entry, then a new one, then perhaps two old entries, then a new one. And so on. Yes, I'm diluting my fresh ideas with stale crap. <br /><br />Over and out.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-25833261134214701512010-05-03T13:48:00.000-04:002010-05-04T02:00:58.255-04:00Cat food, cat food, cat food...AGAIN!Maybe two or three times a month, I buy my cat a can of soft cat food. Today was one of those times.<br /><br />In the supermarket or variety store, I am given essentially two choices of soft cat food: the "pate" kind, and the runnier stuff. The pate has some semblance of meat, whereas the runny stuff looks like it might come out of the back end of your dog an hour after begging for scraps at Thanksgiving dinner. I usually choose the pate.<br /><br />So today, I'm perusing the pate foods. I come across a green can, bland and innocuous- looking, and I pick it up for a closer look. As a consumer and cat owner, I'm familiar with cat food names, which are usually too fancy for something an animal is just going to thoughtlessly inhale and then shit out a short time later. But the name on this green can simply confused me. This particular flavour of Friskies cat food was called:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"Chef's Dinner"<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Now, what do you infer from that name? Does it seem to imply that the chef will <span style="font-style: italic;">eat</span> the cat food? This name is probably the product of a marketing department's attempt to make the food gourmet-sounding without actually using that word. Perhaps some marketing research told the good people at Friskies that consumers were no longer falling for the 'gourmet' line of bullshit.<br /><br />Regardless of motives, the word choice is wrong. "Chef" in the possessive form tells the reader that this cat food dinner, in fact, belongs to the chef. Picture yourself at a restaurant, having just ordered, and waiting for your food. <span style="font-style: italic;">Your</span> food. Do you ever once, in your thinking about the upcoming food, consider that food to belong to the chef? No. The chef might <span style="font-style: italic;">cook</span> the food, the chef might <span style="font-style: italic;">prepare</span> the food, but it does not belong to the chef. From the moment you ordered the food, you entered into a contract to buy the food and have it prepared by the chef. It is yours--your dinner. <br /><br />Here's a more sinister possibility: perhaps this possessive phrasing is intentional. Maybe Friskies is finally marketing to the countless poor, elderly people across this continent who find themselves in their twilight and scarfing down cat food. From this perspective, "Chef's Dinner" almost gives this horrifying economic state an air of class and dignity:<br /><br />"If this stuff is good enough for a <span style="font-style: italic;">chef</span>, perhaps things aren't so bad after all. What would you like for dinner tonight, Orville--cat food meatloaf?"<br /></div></div>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-18242432253459387892010-04-30T17:20:00.000-04:002010-04-30T18:27:01.763-04:00Here's a creative way to kill yourself.<br /><br />Step outside. Then, put in some ear plugs and put on a blindfold. Spin around a few times, then start walking. Just walk; pay no attention to whether you're going in a straight line. If you feel like changing direction, do so. If you bump into any objects or buildings, simply turn your body 90 degrees and keep walking. One of the following will eventually happen:<br /><br /><ul><li>You'll be hit by a car.</li><li>You'll be mauled by a dog/bear/wild boar/platypus.</li><li>You'll fall into a hole and starve.</li></ul>And, if you change your mind before you die or are severely injured, at least you got some exercise.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-3077841824158927972010-04-27T16:35:00.000-04:002010-04-27T17:46:54.377-04:00Family PlanningI like to peruse a certain section in the drug store. Surely you've been there; it's the section with all the condoms, flavoured sexual lubricants, sexually stimulating devices, dental dams and massage oils. In other words, the area of the store that sells contraceptives and sex aids. Personally, I'd give this section a catchy name like "FUN TIMES" or "FLUID EXCHANGE", but alas, we have to bullshit ourselves and not call things what they are, so we're stuck with:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">"FAMILY PLANNING" <br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Family planning. What is the meaning of this nonsense? I suspect it's meant to subtly remind every horny, acne-cursed teenager furtively buying condoms that they're doing something risky and potentially irreversible. The poor kids know this---that's why they're buying condoms! Reminding them when they're already doing the smart thing is the act of an insecure, fearful parent figure.<br /><br />The language is not only an unnecessary reminder, it's also misleading. Lubricants and sex toys have nothing to do with making a family; they have everything to do with having sex, which is incidentally the way two people begin a family. Lubrication enhances the pleasure of sex, but does not aid in conception. In fact, some lubricants deter conception--those that contain spermicide. The same idea applies to those vibrating 'pleasure rings' or whatever the hell they're called; they're intended to help you get your rocks off, not populate the Earth.<br /><br />Condoms are the antithesis of "Family Planning"; they're family prevention! Then again, it might scare and shock some people to see "FAMILY PREVENTION" looming over their heads on a big sign at Shopper's Drug Mart. Seems a little, oh I don't know, overtly antisocial. <br /><br />Getting back to the point here; when you're planning to have a family, that's when you DON'T use condoms. The "Family Planning" section exists to protect prudes from their own minds, which might conjure up images of penises thrusting into vaginas if they're exposed to words like "CONTRACEPTION" and "SEXUAL AIDS". <br /><br /></div></div>Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-77072959111075903322010-03-28T09:45:00.000-04:002010-03-29T18:27:11.977-04:00Rent-a-friendI recently had a frank conversation with a friend about going to strip clubs.<br /><br />I don't enjoy the experience very much. My summary of it is this: you're going into a loud, dark building full of other horny guys, only to pay women to pretend they like you. It's strictly a business transaction.<br /><br />But my friend (let's call him 'Clarence') gave me another perspective, one that intuitively seems accurate. I'm paraphrasing somewhat, but Clarence's view is this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">A man goes to a strip club to purchase fantasy. He crosses the threshold of the club knowing that he will receive female attention; all that is required is money. Because the uncertainty is removed, his inhibitions disappear and he feels more confident. It is an opportunity to temporarily escape the disappointment and rejection that often accompany male/female interaction.</span><br /><br />There's no underlying message to this entry; this is just a point of view that I had not considered.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6555948195066722735.post-81282771215406650512010-03-23T16:19:00.000-04:002010-03-23T16:41:41.876-04:00Ahead of the Bus CrowdMy overall public transit experience has been uneventful; nothing of either a life-enriching or life-threatening nature has happened to me on a bus. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish harm on my fellow passengers.<br /><br />There is one type of bus rider that pisses me off; he's the guy that, regardless of whether or not the bus is crowded, stands right at the front and talks until the driver's ears bleed. He's the guy that is so socially malnourished that he thinks the driver actually wants to hear about his long-dead schnauzer or his colon operation. But I digress just a little. He <span style="font-style: italic;">really </span>pisses me off for two reasons:<br /><br /><ol><li>He's distracting the driver. You know, the driver--that person in charge of our lives while we're on the bus. The one guiding the 20-tonne hunk of steel.<br /></li><li>He's blocking my view! I may not be familiar enough with a route to know my stop with my eyes closed, and if it's dark, then I definitely need to see where I'm going.</li></ol>I can't do what I really want, which is openly ridicule these people. So, I wish harm on them--but just a little. I don't want them to <span style="font-style: italic;">die</span>, for Christ's sake. What I wish is for the driver to have to make a stop just quickly enough so that the nuisance rider flies forward and bonks his head on the windshield. That way, he can be reminded of this folly by the giant goose egg on his forehead for the next four or five weeks. After all, common sense eludes these people, and experience is often the best teacher.Thomashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11838745077425309042noreply@blogger.com0