Here's a creative way to kill yourself.

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:

• You'll be hit by a car.
• You'll be mauled by a dog/bear/wild boar/platypus.
• You'll fall into a hole and starve.

And, if you change your mind before you die or are severely injured, at least you got some exercise.

Family Planning

I 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:

"FAMILY PLANNING"

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.

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.

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.

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".

Rent-a-friend

I recently had a frank conversation with a friend about going to strip clubs.

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.

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:

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.

There's no underlying message to this entry; this is just a point of view that I had not considered.

Ahead of the Bus Crowd

My 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.

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 really pisses me off for two reasons:

1. 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.
   
2. 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.

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 die, 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.

Suck it Up

Sometimes you hear one person say to another, "suck it up". This is a curt way of telling someone that their verbal/emotional response is not appropriate for the situation. If a person wants to appear socially superior and clever, they might say, "suck it up, Buttercup!" Rhyming is always clever, right? This expression must be from a movie or something; I've heard it too many times from unrelated people for it to be mere coincidence.

I used to hear similar bullshit in elementary and secondary school:

"Smile, Tom!"

This is something that teachers would utter when I was sad in a situation where I was expected to be happy...usually some group activity or sing-a-long. What the teachers didn't understand--or selectively forgot--was that smiling is a reaction to something; when something pleases me, I smile. Smiling is a reaction, much like reaching out to catch an object when someone unexpectedly tosses one your way while saying, "hey, catch!" A teacher would not expect me to stand there, arms extended, in the absence of something to catch--why would he or she expect me to smile when I'm not pleased?

Anyway, back to suck it up. Suck what up? What are we, vacuum cleaners? I chuckle at the thought of a housewife (or househusband) shouting "suck it up!" at a clogged and dying Hoover; it's absurd and irrational. Don't you think it's hilarious, and also irrational, that we treat one another in a way that we wouldn't treat our household appliances?

Helping Hands

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Pig prattle

Think for a moment about the word 'hogwash'. Typically, the word is used to brand something as nonsense or completely false. Carefully examine your mental picture of hogwash--in this picture, who is doing what? I envision hogs being washed in a substance by a second party, not the hogs washing themselves. When you go to the car wash (unless you're Michael Knight), you're probably the one doing the washing, not the car.

The fact that this substance called 'hogwash' has its own name leads me to think that it's somehow different from other washes, which usually involve soap and water. Just what are these hogs being washed in? I hope it's a tasty seasoning. Mmmm, bacon...

Porcelain patronization

I have a grievance with sensor-activated toilets. Sure, I could complain about how they waste water, but I'm not going to. My complaint is of a more personal nature. Here's a scenario to describe my feelings.

I'm sitting on a public toilet, defecating. I think I'm finished, so I wipe my nether regions before standing up. I stand up, realizing that I don't feel quite as fresh as I would like to feel. I begin to think:

"Hmm, still not right. Maybe I'd better wipe--"

FROOSH! The sensor has tripped and the toilet has flushed, delivering the stinky nuggets from my sight. Part of me is glad they're gone, but part of me wonders: Wasn't that really my decision to make--to flush the toilet? In one supposedly helpful gesture, the toilet invalidates me, tells me that it knows best. It's as if the toilet is saying, "Oh, no--we're done here. Pull up your pants and get out." But still, I must finish my wiping, all the while fixated on the thought that I've worn out my welcome.

Sensor-activated toilets would work well in an ideal world, a world of one-wipe anuses. While that is a noble (and, frankly, the highest) goal that humanity can strive for, we're not quite there yet, so maybe we should forsake germaphobia for a little while and flush for ourselves.

The lonliest of cancers

Do you think that, statistically, more single people die from skin cancers than attached people? Singles typically don't have another person to gawk at their backsides and nether regions on a regular basis, and it's clearly more difficult to detect visible cancers when nobody is actually looking at them. Just a morbid thought.

Hand and Foot

I think we need a word that conveys the opposite of 'handsome', but that is not as harsh as 'ugly'. So I propose that we start calling these unattractive men 'footsome'. Feet are kind of like the opposite of hands. Okay, they're not, but they're at opposite ends of your body, if you stretch your arms over your head. And feet themselves are generally considered to be unattractive appendages--strictly utilitarian.