Me

You fucking moron! Why the fuck did you think it was a good idea to drink somewhere between 19 and 23 beers?! I mean, I know that's totally like the most you've ever drank in your life by far and whatnot, but what the fuck?!

Why the fuck would you lie down on the bedroom floor "to rest for a sec" knowing full well you wouldn't be coming back up? Remember how you woke up in bed this morning with the radio still on thinking "What happened...?" Remember how you spent 10 minutes blindly searching your room for your lost glasses? That means you're a fucking idiot and you overdid it. Fuck you!

Here's a tip: when you puke, you're done. That doesn't mean your body is freeing up space for 7 more beers.

Sure, it was your night off work and all that, but for God's sake, use a little discretion, man! You're better than that.


*Sorry, folks. Consider this last night's update. More to come later on today!*

Realizing That Basically the Only Thing I've Done All Day is Watch DVD Commentaries

If you think the above picture is a bit depressing, I didn't even have the girl in the bed! God damn, what a waste of a day. I'm not saying I'm the most productive person in the world, but on average, I do more than stay in bed and watch DVD commentaries all day!

And it's not like I was watching deep, intelligent movies where the commentary was describing the movie's symbolism and whatnot. I was watching Ace Ventura, Mallrats, and Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Not a whole lot of symbolism in giving someone the stinkpalm. It's pretty much something you take at face value.

It would have been bad enough if I had just stayed in bed watching DVDs all day. But I watched the commentaries, the telltale sign of having way too much time on your hands. On the other hand, though, at least I haven't taken to writing lengthy rants on the message boards at IMDB. Still, I feel like I could have been more productive with my day.

Watching skateboarding DVD commentaries would have been just cause for an immediate head examination. Do skateboarding DVDs even have commentaries? I sure hope not. It would just be 2 hours of losers desperately trying to find something interesting to talk about. "And...that was Jeremy doing a 180 shove-it....into a double heelflip....oh, and here's Brent....he smashed his nads on the rail like 19 times before he finally landed that....(sighs and looks at watch)"

Tomorrow I'm going to run for prime minister just to make up today's hopelessly lost productivity. That oughta even things up.

Skateboarding DVDs

I was just looking at my movie collection and it occurred to me what an empty-headed teenager I was. The reason being that I own 3 skateboarding DVDs. Yes, folks, entire DVDs of skateboarding footage set to shitty music.

I haven't watched them in several years and with good reason I say. Who wants to watch skateboarding footage? It's god damned boring. I'd rather watch golf. Skateboarding is a guy flipping a board with his feet over and over. These guys need to kickflip their asses into a job interview.

The guys in these videos always look so wimpy too. They're always 85 pounds, they've always got their stupid hair in their eyes because they have stupid haircuts, and they're always wearing tight girls shirts.

I own one DVD called "The DC Video". Supposedly it's so creatively named after a skateboarding company, but given it's track record in my DVD player, I think it must be short for "The Dust Collecting Video".

Another one I own is called Yeah Right! Apparently named for the reaction one has while looking through one's DVD collection and realizing what a dumbass one was. The last one I own is a DVD some guys made called Opinion. Sadly, theirs aren't being heard in my household.

But enough with the lame jokes. What a waste of money. Anyone want 3 skateboarding DVDs for like 5 bucks? I won't judge...

Missing a Friend's Birthday Party

I'm a lonely guy to begin with. I don't have many friends and rarely do I spend time with the few that I have. I mean, I rant online every day, is it that much of a surprise? So when someone calls me to hang out I try to do everything I can to make it work, which is hard with the unusual hours that I work.

A couple weeks ago my friend/bandmate informed me of a birthday party he was hosting for himself, which happened to be today. Since I work every Saturday night I did my best to get some time off and I succeeded in getting half of my shift off (7pm-11pm were supposed to be a non-issue for me). That was until yesterday, when I was given a special task.

"No biggie," I thought, "I'll still be able to leave by 7, 7:30 at the latest." Boy was I wrong. The special task ended up dragging on for-fucking-ever and I didn't finish until nearly 10:00. Since it would take me close to an hour to get to my friend's house, the birthday party ended up being a fucking write-off. FUCK!

Why today, man, why today? All year I've spent each Saturday doing fuck all at work because Saturday's are just like that here. The one time when I actually get to have a social life I get sprung with bullshit which completely denies me that opportunity. Woe is me.

All I wanted to do was drink a couple beers, play a little guitar, and have some fun. Thanks to my abysmal social life I probably won't see any of my friends for 3-4 months now. Because that's the way it's being working for me for the last couple of years.

I suck, work sucks, and I'm not even supposed to be here today!

I'm Going on Vacation, Bitch!

It's the long weekend and I'm going to do you all a favour. I'm going on vacation! The purpose of this vacation is to drink a lot-ahem...to brainstorm. When I return on Sunday I will have a plethora of fresh ideas. And probably a hangover. I mean...I'll probably have a new found appreciation for life after spending a lovely couple of days waking up to the smell of lavendar, the breeze gently blowing through my window, easing me into the morning. There definitely won't be beer. Just chai tea and hard work. This vacation is completely for your benefit, I assure you.

Here's one more quickie to tide you over: Don't you hate bumblebees? Giant, hairy monsters loudly buzzing around. They're too damn fast and unpredictable. Insects are generally creepy enough as it is. The last thing we need are big, hairy ones. Bumblebees are fucking gross.

This Cruel, Cruel Week

I don't like to bring my personal life into my updates because frankly, you probably don't care all that much. But since I have neither the inspiration or energy to come up with something better tonight, well, you'll just have to endure.

You ever see that movie The Truman Show? I swear I have a show of my own that tons of people must be watching right now. And I do believe this week is the "Try to Break His Will to Go On" sweeps. This week has been god damn dreadful.

I started getting sick on Monday. Sneezing like a bastard and runny/stuffy nose. About the same on Tuesday. Today I developed the cough that I knew would be inevitable. It's horsecrap because even though my illnesses clear up in a few days, my coughs go on for weeks. I don't know what it is. Tonight I just feel fucking drained and I want to go home.

The rest of the week aside from being sick? Monday/Tuesday I had the exercise soreness. Tuesday after work at 11:30pm my truck broke down on the highway. Once again I payed the price for not having a cell phone, but my pride is too strong to crack because of that. I had to endure 45 minutes of awkward conversation with a tow truck driver. What the hell do you talk to a tow truck driver about? My truck had to be kept at the garage for a couple days and the repairs are going to be about $1000. Back in the god damn hole again.

Today I was scheduled to be into work at 1pm. I had no vehicle and my work sure as hell isn't biking distance so I phoned my brother who then drove 40 minutes just to help me out. He picked me up and I spent another hour and a half commuting to work. I get to work and find out that I'm not even needed there anymore. Thanks for letting me know.

I do the same shitty pick-up/commute all the way home and rest for approximately half an hour before borrowing my dad's truck and driving in for my normal shift. Why didn't I just stay at work? It's complicated, but I assure you there is a good reason. You don't want to hear it, I don't want to write it.

I arrive at work and a note tells me that I'm an hour late. Apparently I was supposed to come in early and again nobody fucking told me. Now someone hates me just because I didn't do something I didn't even know I was supposed to do. And I spent the rest of the night weakly doing the same old shit at work, suicide making more and more sense with each passing minute.

Before the week is through I expect to have swine flue, have my truck stolen, get fired, and run out of toilet paper. It's bad, but hey, at least I'll be prepared for it.

My Rainbow Shirt

That's not my shirt. In fact my rainbow shirt looks nothing like that. And truth be told, I like my rainbow shirt. I just can't stand people commenting on it. Hmmmm...people commenting on a rainbow shirt. Do you see where I'm going with this?

I'm sure anyone reading this has, at one time, purchased an article of clothing and realized in hindsight that it maybe wasn't such a good idea. Such is the case with my rainbow shirt.

If you have seen my rainbow shirt and have thought of commenting on it, or if you know someone who would like to comment on it, please direct yourself or that person to the following two sentences:

a) No, I am not gay.
b) Yes, I realize I look like a fucking rainbow.

The whole reason I bought the shirt (sever years ago now) was because I was at a point in my life where I desired only the brightest, most colourful clothes I could find. I thought that was a cool style and though I dress more conservatively now, the rainbow shirt remains. It has nothing to do with sexuality or wanting to look like a weather phenomenon. These days I only wear the shirt because it's a fucking shirt and it fits.

Earlier this week I was talking to a co-worker about how he was "quitting smoking cold turkey tomorrow". A couple days later he was out smoking again. I haven't commented on it, nor will I because I assume he's dealt with a bunch of cute remarks from other people already. I figure he's got to be sick of it.

Will others follow my example? Can't people just assume that I've heard all the cutesy "gay" and "rainbow" comments from enough people already and just leave it alone?

No, I'm not going to stop wearing the shirt for fear that someone will mistake my sexuality. Like I said, it's a shirt, it fits, and it's comfortable. That's a good reason to wear a shirt as far as I'm concerned. I am, however, fully open to any witty retorts I can dish out to these dimwits so they'll think twice about making remarks about someone's shirt.


...Sorry, folks, I've got too much shit going on tonight to put any real effort into an update.

Inadvertently Wearing Matching Colours

Unless it's black. This must be one of my little quirks, but it annoys me. I can't stand throwing on an outfit and then discovering that my shirt and pants are the exact same colour. Black is OK though. In fact, all black looks very classy.

I honestly don't know why it gets on my nerves. Maybe subconsciously I relate it to wearing a tracksuit. They often look dumb to me. Maybe it's a subconscious gender role issue with me. I've been conditioned to believe that men just throw shit on and leave the house and women put effort and care into the outfit they're wearing. If I end up wearing matching colours people will think I put some actual thought into what I'm wearing and consider me girly! Can't have that.

Brown is iffy but acceptable for me. On one hand I feel like Dennis Muthafuckin' Hopper, which would almost make total brownness not only acceptable but encouraged. But on the other hand, UPS had to come along and rain on that parade of awesomeness. Because when you wear all brown people don't come up to you and say, "Whoa! You look like Dennis Muthafuckin' Hopper, man!" They say, "Haha, hey Mr. UPS Man!" Bastards.

When I was a kid I wanted to be an astronaut. Exploring space and meeting Martians were the only two things I wanted to do with my life. That was until I discovered that spacesuits were all white! Or maybe orange or sometimes blue. But that was it for me. I knew that I'd never be an astronaut and I sobbed for weeks. And I knew that I could never fall back on being a serial killer because sooner or later I'd end up in an orange prison jumpsuit.

My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes.

Breaking My Playstation 2

Today I broke my PS2. Apparently I'm not good at fixing things.

My PS2 was always used mainly for watching DVDs. I'm not a big gamer although I do play the odd round of Barbie Horse Adventures. Mostly, though, it was used for watching Anchorman for the 700th time at 4:30am after a night at the bar. Well...to be fair, it would have been the 699th and a quarter time if that was the case. Don't you love waking up at 1pm with the DVD title screen looping over and over?

But anyway. A while back the PS2 started acting up with DVDs. They wouldn't play properly. The movie would freeze every few seconds and continue to do so until you got fed up and turned the system off. And recently it just flat out stopped reading DVDs. Games were fine, but DVDs were like poison.

I looked into it and concluded that the lens must need cleaning. So I got instructions on how to open up the PS2 to clean it. And today I set out to finally nip the problem in the bud.

Let me say right now that opening up a PS2 is way harder than getting those hard-shell packages open. I went at this thing with screwdrivers and vice grips and scissors and it took me well over half an hour to get it open.

In the midst of prying and crying and screaming and swearing I managed to cut myself on a sharp edge on one of the pieces inside. It started to bleed and I thought to myself, "Oh no, oh shit, oh boy. This is bad, this is bad." I became worried and drove myself to the emergency room. Panicking, I entered the hospital and I was rushed immediately into one of the rooms where a doctor looked at my hand.

I still haven't been able to figure out why, but the doctor seemed none too pleased with me. I was still a little shaken from my accident so I didn't quite absorb everything he said. But "asshole" and "for real emergencies only" were tossed around quite a bit. Whatever. I think he was just jealous that I left with his last Flinstones Band-aid wrapped around my pinky. And why was that kid with the two broken femurs glaring at me as I passed back through the waiting room? Jeez, lighten up.

After I returned home I continued to try and fix my PS2 only to have it conk out completely. Nothing works. I think I must have damaged the ribbon that connects the reset and eject buttons to the rest of the system. It's fucking balls.

Now I have no DVD player, no video game console, and a wound on my right pinky (which apparently isn't that serious but it so totally IS!). Plus I have to live with the knowledge that I can't fix things for shit and as such, can never be labelled as a real man.

Fuck.

Me

For being such a damn lamewad every St. Patrick's Day. The picture above is not me but the level of dorkiness encapsulated within matches mine.

Let's start with green clothes. I never intentionally set out to wear green clothes. I don't go to bed with tomorrow's completely green outfit resting at the foot of my bed ready to be worn. Every year, though, I find myself standing at my closet scratching my head like an idiot thinking, "Well...I'll wear green today...I guess..."

I'm not sure anyone really wants to wear green, they just sort of feel obliged to. It's not even that you'd feel like an ass if you didn't wear green. It's not like showing up to a funeral and being the only one wearing Crocs and acid-washed jeans. I think most people just throw on green because it's the one day of the year everyone will be wearing the same colour, it's no sweat off their back, and what the hell, "I can participate without even really doing anything."

So I always end up wearing the green clothes and the second I put them on I just kind of feel like a douche. To me it just seems like a really hokey thing that people do and I've chosen to involve myself. I then spend the rest of the day walking around listening to peoples' comments about how I'm wearing green. And I have to pretend like I'm in the spirit and that I actually think about Irish people more than one day a year.

Next is Guinness. I enjoy a nice Guinness beer. I feel ashamed buying Guinness on St. Patrick's Day though simply because it's so goddamn cliche. I feel like an Irish poser. Guinness beer on St. Pat's is so unoriginal and every brain-dead frat kid since ever has bought it on this most holiest of days. Again, it just seems like one of those things that people feel obliged to do. And it's one of those, "What the hell, it's only one day a year, I might as well" things.

I'm stating now that I'm not Irish, I'm wearing green, and I have Guinness waiting for me at home. I'm probably going to listen to a bunch of Irish shit on the way home from work and yes, I feel like a fucking moron for it.

Does anyone get really excited for St. Patrick's Day? I kind of think of it like those crazy girlies that got all wet over the Beatles in their early days. One girl starts screaming and then the rest of them get caught up in it and it's out of control. A lot of girls were just screaming because everyone else was.

I think most people just get excited about St. Patrick's Day because they think everyone else is excited about it. But no one really is. One guy talks to another and acts pumped about St. Pat's because he thinks he's supposed to. The other guy sees this enthusiasm and thinks everyone else is excited and therefore he must be to. So he talks to another guy and though he's not truly excited, he acts like he is. And it goes on and on and pretty soon the whole country is excited about St. Patty's Day even though they're not.

St. Patrick's Day excitement is a myth and I'm a tool for buying into these stupid little traditions that aren't even mine. I don't feel too bad about it though because there's a good chance you are too, you green-wearing, Guinness-guzzling poser!

Oh, and the next person I see wearing something that says "Kiss me, I'm Irish" is getting knocked right in the fucking mouth.