Dinosaurs are Awesome!

Hey, I'm not doing so bad, you know!

2008-10-16T18:19:00.000-07:00

I'm no Bill Watterson; this I've realized and come to terms with. I'm no Shigeru Miyamoto; this I've also realized and come to terms with. Heck, I'm no Robin Thicke, either; this I've also realized and definitely come to terms with. You know what though? I'm a pretty good me and that's all anyone can really ask of me. This makes me smile!

I won't paint any masterpieces that will be hung in the Louvre nor will I ever come up with a nursery rhyme or poem like 'Roses are Red' (although I did come up with a rather impressive combination of cuss words expressed in a sequence likely not ever to be repeated by another soul, but this strikes me as something that may not be worth bragging about?), but you know, I've become PRETTY EXCELLENT at certain tasks that inferior Dinos and Humans alike would struggle with.

PAR EXEMPLE: Putting on pants. I have gotten pretty gosh darn good at putting on pants! Every day, almost, I put on pants without ANY PROBLEMS WHATSOEVER. Sometimes I'll put my belt through the belt loops in the opposite direction which is by no means a problem or mistake but merely a minor inconvenience insofar as I prefer to buckle my belt in a particular direction. That said, I never put my two legs in the same pant leg and I certainly don't put them my pants on inside-out! In conclusion: I give myself 10/10 for putting on pants!

UNE AUTRE EXEMPLE: Walking to work. I haven't ONCE gotten lost walking to work since I started my new job! Even the first day I did it I did it perfectly on the first try! That's impressive, no? Hmmm... maybe I shouldn't say 'perfectly' because I've since refined my route to be the most efficient and enjoyable route to and from work, but certainly I've never felt as if I needed to consult a map, which I'm very secure in my masculinity to do if need be, nor cry out for help from random strangers or look for a Block Parents home to seek solace in. Nope, not once. For this task I also give myself a 10/10. See? I'm doing alright!

Something I need to work on though: Lately I've not been doing so great at eating cereal and not getting drops of milk to fall onto whatever Football Preview magazine I'm reading. Yes, I will usually drop a couple of drops of milk onto the bottom parts of a page when I eat early in the morning, but still, if I'm awake enough to pour a bowl of cereal I should be awake enough to eat it, right? I think this is right! Gotta work harder on this!

Also: Talking to pretty girls. This I'm still not very good at at all! I can talk to Stephanie fine but she's my sister and not really the type of pretty girl I am referring to. Now I'm not smiling so much anymore!

Here's an idea: Maybe this is something that cereal makers can work on: printing on the back of the boxes tips for talking to pretty girls! This should help solve both my minor page-wetting problem and my major fear of talking to pretty girls and, ultimately, loneliness problem? I would definitely like to get two birds stoned at once in this instance, if possible. That would definitely maybe be 10/10 awesome! I think the guy who did that would certainly be worthy of being mentioned in my introduction as someone I could never live up to being. This is something I could definitely come to terms with!

A Solution to the Nuclear Problem in Iran

2008-10-16T17:13:00.000-07:00

Psshhhh, as if. Instead, a youtube video I enjoy immensely.

Behind 'Behind 'Behind the Blog''

2008-10-12T20:28:00.000-07:00

Behind 'Behind the Blog'

Pretty clever, ya gotta admit. That said, with this post and not the one being rated, I have definitely exhausted the usefulness of this gimmick. Thanks for playing.

RATING: 3/5

Behind 'Behind the Blog'

2008-10-12T20:15:00.000-07:00

Behind the Blog

This post can’t be considering anything other than a success, but I wouldn’t classify it as resoundingly so. I didn’t forget to mention any posts and having typed it in Word, my spelling is quite good. There was a lot more that could have been said, of course, but would anyone have really been interested? Also, it wasn’t all that funny… more of a window into my madness than anything.

RATING: 3/5

Behind the Blog

2008-10-11T21:46:00.000-07:00

‘A Year and Half of On/Off (mostly off) Blogging’

Writer’s block to start, can’t think of an intro, ah geez, this is really going quite terrible, ok, I’ll just jump into it then and pretend that grabbing your attention has never been an important part of an introduction.

As I was saying… now that I’ve been at this blogging thing for some time and some of you (ha) might only be discovering my site more recently, let me do you a favour and give you a brief recap of our time together and what, amongst my old material, is worth your time and what isn’t.

IT’S ALL WORTH IT. /end post.

No, of course it isn’t. If you are bored enough to read my old stuff, it would be appreciated to do so chronologically and not how the posts appear on the site, and to also read the comments in the rare, rare instance someone other than myself comments, although I do provide follow-ups worth reading, too!

(sorry, the jokes will come soon… I hope)

I'm with The Man on this one

My original post, I got the idea from someone I know on facebook who I was creeping on having a political blog pretending to be smart and thought to myself, ‘hey, I’m smarter than this fucking guy’ and, after realizing that I did, in fact, know very little about the STM strike, decided to go all out funny instead of funny/smart/worth reading. You don’t need to know the Montreal transit system (wars) to get most of it, but it certainly helps. Side note: I know I said I'd try to swear less, and I will, but whenever I say 'that fucking guy' it's quoting one of the assistant coaches in Major League, when he says 'who's this fucking guy?' upon first laying his eyes on Rick Vaughn, Charlie Sheen's character. Anyways, it's probably only funny to me but it's the delivery that is everything, which is absolutely lost in this form but whatever, I've already typed this much and am not going back. Wow, this is definitely not starting off well...

RATING: 4/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): The MC Hammer image I added like 7 months later and the HOT HOT HOT FUCK OUCH line.

Dinosaurs > Dogs, but Dogs > People, too

My second post, I wrote this one up at work. The first, too, actually. HOW ABOUT THAT, EMPLOYER X? Knowing football is key, but getting the best joke of the post involves knowing video games.

RATING: 5/5*

If you know football and video games. Uhhh, duh?

HIGHLIGHT(S): The title; I still find it clever.

Hide-and-go-seek Game

My first of what would be a series of throw-away posts. I like Hide-and-go-Seek and I own a Wii, so I thought that the two should come together. That’s about the extent of it. My claims of ‘genius’ might have been slightly exaggerated. There are A LOT of inside jokes/subtle jokes that very few will ever get, far too many to list, but here’s one: The Osama Bin Laden April Fool’s EGM secret was a tribute (can’t think of a better word) to the ‘classic’ Sheng Long in SF2 April Fool’s EGM secret released in ’92 or ’93. Johnny might appreciate the joke, if I still talked to him and told him to read this post.

RATING: 2/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): The image of Calvin behind the sofa, particularly how his nose protrudes.

LOWLIGHT(S): Suddenly realizing that a single panel by Bill Watterson will be greater than anything I ever produce in my lifetime.

MIDLIGHT(S): Hey, Bill Watterson was a genius! That’s nothing to be ashamed about, T. Thanks for the pep talk, mental T.

It's Time to Even the Odds

It was discovered shortly after the story broke that the photo was doctored; while the pig was still pretty huge, it was nowhere near the specimen pictured about. The kid, though, actually is that fat.

RATING: 4/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): “I'm fast, I'm strong, but even if the little punk has really bad aim, I'm a pretty goddamn big target, ya know.”

The update to let you know I have not given up on this site

Second throw-away post. For a throw-away post, not bad, it’s got a joke in every sentence!

RATING: 2/5

LOWLIGHT(S): Well, it IS a throw-away post.

Michael Vick's House got Robbed

Throw-away post #3. If this were a real blog with a steady flow of updates, this would have been a fine throw-away post, but sadly, as of this post 50% of my posts have been throw-aways, it’s not particularly impressive.

RATING: 1/5

LOWLIGHT(S): I stole the line about the dogs not being used for protection from a far more interesting and successful blog that I frequent. -1 for me. (but +1 for admitting it, since you’d have never known anyway).

Travel Blog Entry #1 & Travel Blog Entry #2

This post was my homage to my cousins’ travel blogs they’d send to their friends and family when traveling. I had nowhere near the patience or motivation (and means, too) to do so, so I thought I’d put these two throw-away blog posts up. Confession: I rarely read any of them, although I did read all of Helen’s on her recent trip to Africa.

RATING: 1/5

LOWLIGHT(S): I had some interesting observations to make about my first trip overseas that I had intended to post upon my return, after I completed my ‘I’m gone/I’m back’ joke, but obviously never did nor will. I feel shame now.

Things Men Do in the Bathroom

My Opus Magnus and by far my most talked about post. An image may be worth a thousand words, but I will not desecrate the value of the writing in this post by adding any picture. If you’re going to skip to any one post to read, this is the one to read.

RATING: 5/5

HIGHLIGHT(S)/LOWLIGHT(S): There’s no hiding how weird I am anymore, not after this little ditty.

Worst. Haircut. Ever. Good luck, good bye, god speed, see you in 2 months.

A throw-away post that led to an unexpected follow-up and my first post/comment combo.

RATING: 2/4

HIGHLIGHT(S): “Never more than today have I wished I actually was a dinosaur. Sigh.”

LOWLIGHT(S): I actually had a really horrible haircut for the next 2 months.

What I'm going to do today (thank you Worst. Haircut. Ever.)

The ‘Wrong. Wrong.’ line is meant to be read how Charlie Murphy delivers it in his True Hollywood stories about Rick James. I give a shout-out to my lone fan in Mountain View more specifically than in my throw-away post about not giving up on the site by mentioning his hometown. The post itself is nothing special; it’s the comment recapping my successes and failures at slacking off that makes the post worthwhile.

RATING: 3/5

That video of OJ Simpson I promised

Ah, a special post with a good line from my cousin in the comments section. The video itself isn’t all that great, obviously the joke about the mechanical Assassin making a stabbing motion after OJ scores is the highlight, but my proudest moment is the gay/ungay/gay way of talking about running the football.

RATING: 3/5*

Probably closer to a 2, but that comment gives it a 3.

What does a dinosaur do for a month and a half instead of blogging?

In a way, a throw-away post despite its length as it is primarily a bunch of youtube videos. That said, I can’t take credit for the rating as I provided very little of my own content here. This is also my most plagiarized post, and by that I mean it is the post in which I most plagiarized other sites where I found 3 of these 5 videos.

RATING: 4/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): The caller who asks OJ if he killed Bill Walsh. Trottier calling Bellows a ‘titfucker’ and meaning it as an insult. The whole Malibu video. The ‘Nintendo 64 remote control car’ line. The Benny Hill music in the bloopers clip. The fact that I could not screw up any of these great videos no matter how hard I tried.

Bridges are for Pussies

Around the time of this post Pulse ran a story about how people in a Montreal neighbourhood were fighting the City’s decision to put some type of rehab centre for pedophiles in their neck of the woods, arguing it was the worst possible place to put it since there were lots of kids around. I was going to post about this, actually, mocking the people protesting since, really, isn’t anywhere they decide to put this going to be a terrible location since kids are pretty much everywhere? While I surely wasn’t going to come to defense of pederasses, if, as a society, we do actually want to cure them of their ailment/problem/disease/whatever you consider it to be after they’ve served their sentence in prison (where they hopefully enjoyed many an anal rape, much to Tom Dubois' satisfaction), a rehab centre of this sort is going to have be built somewhere, ya know? Closing your eyes and blocking your ears isn’t going to make the problem go away. Then I posted about bridges.

RATING: 4/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): I’m not crazy about the swearing, but the title wouldn’t have worked as well if I didn’t use the word ‘pussies.’ “You know what we did when we wanted to cross a river? We swam. And if we couldn't swim? We drowned.” The strike through in my reference at the end of the post. Also: not posting about pederasses and being mistaken for a pederass sympathizer. Woooie!

LOWLIGHT(S): I still don’t know where I was going with that cool/uncool thing. It keeps this post from being a 5.

And what is it with all this pressure about going out on Saturday nights?

Technically a throw-away, but it was the second post of the day, so I can’t put it in that category. It did give me the Eating and Fucking Seasons, which I quoted later on quite spectacularly.

RATING: 3/5

Four Things I Learned While Taking a Dump in a Public Bathroom

The title might sadly mislead you into thinking I’ve got some kind of great follow-up to my Best Post Ever, but it’s, that’s right, another throw-away.

RATING: 2/5

A Rare Human I Wouldn't Eat

A great video that BJ and I enjoyed IMMENSELY, I regret not saving it to my hard drive as the video is gone. The lyrics are above, and are pure genius. I love fat white kids.

RATING: 3/5

I got Limited Profiled on Facebook!!

Maybe my personal favourite post, after the Natalie Portman post. I actually did get limited profiled, which is a bunch of some ol’ bullshit, considering how wacky (GREAT) my profile is and how I don’t block anyone.

RATING: 5/5

For once, NOT my fault for not posting

This is a 2 part post; the first part absolutely not worth your time and not funny in the slightest, but the second part, a great little run through of Love Actually, ONE OF MY ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE MOVIES (REALLY). It ends on 2 absolutely great lines, which I will not repeat here so as you can enjoy them as they were meant to be. Reading And what is it with all this pressure about going out on Saturday nights? is key to getting the second line.

RATING: 4/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): What else? Those two lines.

LOWLIGHT(S): If you haven’t read my blog before but read this article in full and are semi-intelligent (can’t be that smart if you’re here!) you may realize that I’ve already given away one of the two lines.

Pirates are Gay

A long post again, finally, but oddly not that satisfying. I can’t put my finger on it (in less than 3 pages of analysis) but this post just never came together as envisioned. A few jokes didn’t hit as intended, a couple of topics drag on unnecessarily and the images don’t add much, and in some cases, aren’t funny at all. That said, it has its moments and isn’t completely without merit.

RATING: 3/5

Natalie Portman - who's that?

I love Natalie Portman.

RATING: 5/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): Everything, really.

Old Man Winter: You is Old, Man.

Maybe it’s just my standards are too high, but this is another longer post that doesn’t quite hit the mark. The Jags line at the end was specifically posted for my cousin, who I’ve now mentioned 3 or 4 times despite the fact that she is #1b to my sister’s #1a ranking. The ‘Old Man Winter’ line was first used in Stephanie’s presence, however, so she can always take credit for being around for that ground-breaking moment at the Bar-B-Barn.

RATING: 3/5

The Answer (Ring Ring)

RATING: AS A POST: 1/5

RATING: AS AN EMAIL: 5/5

Hey person who forgot to update their bookmarks! How's it going?

I’m getting tired writing these reflections so I can only imagine you must be getting really, really tired of reading them. This was your average blog post, something that didn’t take too much thought but had its moments. Remember how, about 10 minutes ago, I mentioned there are a bunch of subtle inside jokes/stories in my head in all my posts? Here’s a couple more: The soccer ball posted above was intended to be in the pirates post in the form of a link when you clicked on ‘globe-themed soccer balls’ which I was too lazy to insert. The use of ‘cross’ is an homage to Dusty Rhodes and one of my paki friends who does a great job quoting him in conversation.

RATING: 3/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): The title.

LOWLIGHT(S): It’s all downhill after that.

Why I don't like those nappy Zelda games

Throw-away post on why I never liked one of the most popular franchises in gaming history. The truth? I just find the whole series of games incredibly boring.

RATING: 2/5*

That's about as high a rating I'd give any of their games. OOOOH.

Somebody's boss should fire Somebody

After a couple of poor posts, a redeeming effort in the spirit of our naturally lazy and irresponsible ‘complaining but doing nothing’ nature. Oh, how we have been lulled into apathy by our ridiculous economic superiority and immovable mountain of bureaucracy…

RATING: 3/5*

It wasn’t THAT great of a post, actually, even with the clever use of Newspeak at the end.

This blog has too much swearing in it

Like this post, a non-entry entry. AND THANKFULLY MY LAST POST TO SPIT ABOUT. My cousin (sorry Steph!) started talking about my blog with our softball team and coworkers/friends and I posted this almost solely for the sake of any potential readers amongst them. AND TO SAVE FACE?

RATING: 2/5

HIGHLIGHT(S): The last paragraph starts off alright.

LOWLIGHT(S): That I felt I needed to post this in the first place?

For a conclusion: Conclusion? Yeah right... I think we can all agree that this is definitely enough outta me for one night, can’t we?

ROAA… YAWWNNN!!!

This blog has too much swearing in it

2008-07-05T18:09:00.000-07:00

I spent the past 20 minutes re-reading some of my more recent posts as I fear people I know who have never seen this blog and whose opinion might actually matter to me might visit shortly and I have come to the realization that (a) I come across as far more vulgar and mean-spirited than I actually am, and (b) that my first dozen posts were way more original, interesting, and entertaining than my last dozen.

I've incorporated as my 3rd life philosophy to stop swearing and while that's not going anywhere near as well as hoped, I am particularly displeased with my showing here. Too much cussing, much like too much of anything in life, causes it to lose it's effect. It ceases to be impactful, shocking, humourous, or timely. It merely renders itself, along with the person saying it, as appearing uneducated, unoriginal, and crass.

The truth is, while I miss my fellow Rexes and I am still confused by many things in this strange new world, it serves no point in being angry at it, or even pretending to be. Truthfully, I have a good job at the demolition company and humans, while not the most nutritious or challenging of food source, are in no danger of going extinct. So long as Ramon keeps me hooked up on those septic tanks of Pepto and basketball-sized Tums, I'll be good. And, you know, American Gladiators is back on TV. That's always nice.

Somebody's boss should fire Somebody

2008-03-24T16:30:00.000-07:00

Somebody should do something about that pothole.
Somebody should do something about the price of gas.
Somebody should make a show about brilliant idea x and cast perfect actor y to play in it.
Somebody should find out what needs to be done to get rid of the photocopier on the 5th floor... oh, wait a minute...

Somebody has been slacking off for far too long now and I've just about had enough of it. Somebody's always been somewhat inefficient in getting things done in a timely manner (see: a few hundred years for Somebody to put an end to the Crusades & 5 decades for Somebody to ~~kill~~ to put an end to Fidel Castro's reign of evil socialist policies and army hats) but lately, well, lately it seems like Somebody's flat out stopped trying. It's as if Somebody has become as allergic to doing something as a middle-aged Greek man is to cleaning up after himself.

Back when things like work ethic and pride weren't traits to be ashamed of and sold to the highest bidder, respectively, there was a very real sense of personal responsibility that permeated throughout our Western culture. Now that sloth has graduated from Vice (City) to Virtue and all of life's problems can be blamed on the big, bad government (note: the government actually is big and bad, except when it comes to cutting welfare checks) it seems like people would rather expend twice the energy complaining than it would take to actually resolve their problem (really, I've done the math. On average, it's about 660 kilojoules to 345).

Being the kind of lead-by-example dinosaur that I am (I'm not the Original King of the Jungle only because of my scaly good looks), I don't think it would be fair of me to criticize the job performance of Somebody else without first taking personal responsibility for some of my own actions. Yes, I will find out what needs to be done to remove that photocopier on the 5th floor tomorrow! Yes, I will be the one to tell my friend Peter that his new jacket doesn't make him look urban-chic so much as urban-homeless! And no, while I didn't call in the bomb threat that kept us out of work that Tuesday in February to stay home and watch the Combine, yes, I will say that it sure was a convenient coincidence that I got to stay home and do just that all day! (btw, Vernon Gholston is a beast - a 4.65 40 time (4.58 at his Pro Day) for 6'3" 266 lbs. DE? Sick!)

If it were up to me, or preferrably, George Steinbrenner, Somebody's ass would be on the unemployment line faster than you could say "you're job has been outsourced to a 13 year old Indian girl for 4 bucks a day you poor, delusional middle-class fuck. p.s. Good luck putting your kids through college on that 7 bucks an hour greeting job at Wal-Mart... oh, and thanks for your soul." Seriously: Steinbrenner for new Supreme Ruler of the Vague and Abstract. He would have fired, re-hired, and re-fired Somebody's ass before the breakfast meeting where Somebody advised the President of the United States of America to get involved in the clusterfuck that has become the war in Iraq (side note: while it made for great TV to see that statue of Saddam fall, has Somebody cleaned it up, yet? Perhaps that should be the next Somebody, Someone's, first task. Well, maybe first Someone could shoot me an email on who to call about the photocopier problem, thanks.)

Yes, yes, that was a double-plus good update after 2 months of so-so work, wasn't it?

p.s. I DID NOT REALLY CALL IN A BOMB THREAT! I don't even have the NFL Network, which is actually the real worst tragedy of our modern times, not WWII, the boyband era of music or the death of the Dreamcast.

Why I don't like those nappy Zelda games

2008-03-01T11:29:00.000-08:00

In easy-to-export to Powerpoint bullet-form.

- I don't like those hearts for your health.
- Link keeps getting progressively more girly-looking with every release.
- My NES would always wipe out my Zelda saves before the 3rd castle.
- 'Dude' is the star of the game and the series isn't even named after him.
- There's a lot of open space to traverse to get wherever you want to go.
- Dopey side-missions like collecting chickens.
- The graphics, sound, story, and gameplay suck.

Nice skirt.

Hey person who forgot to update their bookmarks! How's it going?

2008-02-29T19:38:00.000-08:00

Do you remember the 'I got Limited Profiled on Facebook!' post from last year? Me, neither. To follow-up, I did end up creating a myspace page in a brave act of rebellion against Facebook and shortly thereafter (4 months and 4 days) the BBC ran this incredibly ground-breaking story: Facebook 'sees decline in users'. haha, my nefarious plan has obviously worked! Yeah! Take That Gary Barlow, ya miserable-looking bastard! Score one for the Little Guy! Enough with the exclamation points, bozo!

T. Rex's MySpace Page

With absolutely no advertisement whatsoever, in the 4 months that my page has been active I have made an incredible 2 friends; which is only 2,885,306 less than Tila Tequila but 2 more than I have made in real life in that span, and I leave my apartment almost every day. Some guy Tom, who must be a huge fan of mine because he was already on my friends list once I signed up (but he hasn't said a single word to me, yet. Some friend, eh?) and Dinosaur Club, some nappy-sounding but incredibly-named indie band from Kalamazoo, which I knew was in Michigan without even looking it up on a map. I'm even in Dinosaur Club's Top 8, which is way more impressive than him being in my Top 8 as I beat out 47 other punks to get there. Hooray for me! (p.s. they're releasing tapes in 2008).

Completely off-topic: Did that caption for the comic book cover image in the Ninja-Pirates post suck or what? Like, Audioslave-suck, even. I thought so when I put it up and have grown only more certain of it now. It's actually embarrassingly bad but I'm not one to go back and edit my work after the fact (like not going back and adding images to 3 month old posts). I think it's a reflection of my mental mind at the time of posting and it would compromise my integrity to go back and revise history in that fashion. Integrity and I are tight like that, even when humour and I are cross.

Back on topic, briefly to close: p.s. Sadly, I must report that I have made internet friends with not a single hot myspace bitch as of yet, though in my defense I haven't actually logged into the site more than 5 times since registering. So, if you're a hot bitch with a myspace page with lots of down-shirt/up-skirt pictures taken by yourself in front of your bathroom mirror, be nice (for a change) and send me a friend request, why don't you?

The Answer (Ring Ring)

2008-02-29T19:22:00.000-08:00

Anybody tell you that I miss a call, if, if, if, if a friend say I missed a call then y’all hear it, then that’s that. I mean, I might have missed one call this year. But if, if somebody say, “He doesn’t answer his phone”, it can be one call, out of all the calls this year. That’s enough.

If I can’t talk on the phone, I can’t talk on the phone, man. If I’m busy, I’m busy. I mean, simple as that. It ain’t about that. I mean it’s, it’s not about that at all, you know what I’m sayin’? I mean, but it’s, it’s, it’s easy to, to talk about, it’s easy to sum it up when you just talk about cell phones and always being available. We sittin’ here, I supposed to be the Madden Champ, and we in here talkin’ about talking on a cell phone. I mean, listen, we talkin’ about cell phones. Not a landline, not a landline, not a landline…we talkin’ about cell phones. Not a landline. Not a, not a, not the landline that I go home and, and check messages for and answer and return calls for every day like it’s my last. Not the landline. We talkin’ about cell phones, man. I mean how silly is that? Man, we talkin’ about cell phones.

I know I supposed to be available. I know I supposed to be there for all my true friends. I know that. And I’m not, I’m not shoving it aside, you know, like it don’t mean anything. I know it’s important. I do. I honestly do. But we talkin’ about cell phones man. What are we talkin’ about? Cell phones? We talkin’ about cell phones man. We tal…we talkin’ about cell phones. We talkin’ about cell phones. We ain’t talkin’ about the landline. We talkin’ about cell phones man.

When you come to my apartment, and you play me in Madden, you see me play don’t you? You see me give everything I got, right? Well, we talkin’ about cell phones right now. We talkin’ about cell…Man, look, I hear you. I, it’s funny to me too. And I mean it’s strange, it’s strange to me too. But we talkin’ about cell phones, man. We not even talkin’ about the landline, the actual landline, which matters. We talkin’ about cell phones.

How the hell can I make my friends truer by just talkin’ on the cell phone?

xxx.xxx.xxxx - never replacing yyy.yyy.yyyy.

T to the R.E.X.

Preceding: The email sent out to notify my friends that I finally got a cell phone that won't die after my $15 of purchased minutes run out after 30 days with a balance of $14.25 remaining; also Exhibit B as to why my friends are so lucky to have me as a friend (you're concurrently reading Exhibit A).

Old Man Winter: You is Old, Man.

2008-01-22T20:47:00.001-08:00

I love Old Man Winter, absolutely love him. I love how he makes everything all nice and white at Christmas time and makes it so that you can see your breath when you breathe and, should you have saved any Popeye sticks from Halloween, let’s you pretend you’re smoking. I love how he’s able to shut down schools far and wide and only wish he’d have done so more often as a young Rexy... and, of course, there’s snowballs… there just aren’t words for snowballs.

Now you may not believe me (but if you’ve gotten past the whole I’m a blogging dinosaur thing I don’t think this is such a big leap to ask of you to take), but I’ve even seen Old Man Winter in the flesh. And I didn't eat him (how could I? I'm not so kind of monster, you know). I done seen him at the Bar-B-Barn, chowing down on a plate of ribs. It was really something, to run into him like that in a restaurant, sauce all over his face, using his napkin as a bib and whatnot. For those who haven’t the pleasure, he’s essentially a skinnier, older version of that fatty Santa (who I did eat some 7 years ago), even down to the white beard (and skin, naturally).

As great a figment as he is, I’m worried about him. I know it’s very unlike me to think, much less care, about other living creatures (any hopes of that ever happening again died eons ago) but yes, I am worried about the old bastard. Lately, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Old Man Winter’s game has started slipping. Just last week, I was going around stomping on cars as I’m apt to do from time-to-time and it was so warm that I didn’t once have to worry about having to put on my skin moisturizer before going outside, but then this week, BAM, I’m all ‘don’t go eating mother fuckers with lead pipes cos that metal shit will stick to your tongue and hurt for days afterwards.’ Really hate when that happens.

Anyway, with all this schizophrenic hot and cold shit, I’ve gotten to thinking, is it possible that Old Man Winter is getting too Old for Winter? Is it time for the proverbial snow cone to be passed to the future defender of Winter? Old Man Winter has done an admiral, nay, incredible job combating the Sun while the Earth’s rotation, both around the sun and on its own axis, tries to wreck havoc on the proceedings (it’s truly unfair how, just when Old Man Winter is getting into a groove and he’s making things really, really cold and really, really snowy, that cocksucker Gaia goes and switches the poles on him. Northern Hemisphere make cold now! Southern Hemisphere make cold now! Northern Hemisphere make cold now!... and so on and so on), but now, with the emergence of the NKOTB (Jordan 4 eva!!!), Global Warming, the scales have begun tipping ever so slightly in the favour of the Sun, to the point where Old Man Winter just might not be able to keep up.

I understand that, being Old and all, he just can’t huff n’ puff and shimmy n’ shake like he used to, so maybe it is time for someone who will spend more time crystallizing water and chilling our wind and less time napping and complaining to step up to the plate? A re-invigorated Old Man Winter, someone who’s more Grandpa Simpson-old and not so Mr. Burns-old, is a mighty appealing thought. A young whippersnapper like Colin Farrell (he seems to have a lot of free time) would definitely have the physical tools necessary to teach the Sun, Earth, and Global Warming a little thing or two about ruling the mercury meter. My only fear though is that his low Freeze Awareness rating (57) would negate his incredible Wind-Blowing (94) and Avalanche Power (97) attributes. As such, in the time it takes for the New Old Man Winter to match the Old Old Man Winter’s Freeze Awareness it's very possible that there won’t be much of a planet to freeze the nipples off of anymore, anyways.

And yes, while it does seems counterintuitive to think that a dinosaur, being cold-blooded and all, would actually enjoy winter, there’s not much I enjoy more than rocking the Jacuzzi with all the lady-Rexes out there in the winter time (of course, that last part is only in my head, sadly). I’ve lost so much already, please don’t take that away from me. I’d hate to get mad and end up eating the Jacksonville Jaguars (not that anyone would notice if they did go missing. IN MY BELLY).

Natalie Portman - who's that?

2007-11-17T07:43:00.000-08:00

WHO'S THAT?

The following is the tale of a brief conversation I recently had to endure with one of our building's custodians. I hope you derive more enjoyment out of reading it than I did experiencing it.

Earlier this week, one of my co-workers developed an illness you refer to as a cold and left early to go home, presumably to rest and recuperate, but more likely to shoplift scarfs as the stores begin getting more crowded as the most commercial holidays of various religions approach. The custodian, who shall remain nameless for obvious privacy protection reasons, was about to enter her office to empty her trash, which typically on days of the week beginning with T, is filled with Bazooka Joe wrappers (the gum is all stuck to the underneath parts of her desk).

Due to my co-worker's office door being closed, Carlos proceeds to ask me... oops... ah, fuck it. Ever since Google stopped linking my profile pic to Google image searches for T. Rexes, I've got nary a hit a day, anyway. So, Carlos asks me 'hey T, is she in?' to which I responded 'no, she was sick and left for the day, so if I were you, I wouldn't go in there and start licking her keyboard or anything, might not be sanitary,' to which he laughed, of course.

After he came back out, he tried to make some kind of joke about how he prefers to lick monitors anyway, to which I replied with something along the lines of 'hey, that's cool. If I worked with Natalie Portman, you wouldn't want to know what I'd be doing in there,' which prompted, in successive order a) the comment 'Natalie Portman, who's that?' from coke-dealing Carlos and b) huge spikes in my brain's task manager for categories: anger, dumbfoundedness, and pity.

Who is Natalie Portman? Surely you jest, you big oaf? No; jesting, he was not. Not wanting to appear like some kind of Star Wars nerd (which I sorta am - not one of the dresses-up to watch the movies in the theatre-types like my ex's sister's ex-boyfriend, but more like I have all the movies and the Rogue Squandron games for Gamecube and when I walk up to automatic doors I pretend to do a little force-hand motion to get them to open - so I'm probably a 4/10 SW nerd, but I just don't want to appear as anything more than a 2) I figured the quickest way to end this poor man's suffering would be to bust out the prequel trilogy reference to jog his memory. Surprisingly, this failed to work, which was bizarre, because she might be the only prominent female character in Episodes 1 to 3, and he did ask me if I saw the last movie, because he thought it was awesome.

The rest of conversation (and afternoon) was a major downer. He asked if this Natalie Portman character was as hot as Jessica Biel, who I said was like an Orangutan in comparison, and then Jessica Alba, who I agreed was pretty hot and then went on about how I discovered her before everyone else when she was on Flipper on YTV, which none of these bandwagoneer 'fans' of her remember (speaking of discoveries, I really expected bigger things out of Tatyana Ali [Fresh Prince] and always wanted Christine Lakin [Al from Step-by-Step] to do well post-TGIF, which obviously hasn't happened. I wonder if she's resorted to soft-core, yet?).

Anyways, my last ditch efforts to get this bozo to recognize who she was were down to Closer, Garden State, and Home is Where the Heart is, which all proved wildly unsuccessful. I probably should have mentioned V for Vendetta, but then he'd be all 'was she the bald chick? Cutting off her hair like that was dumb' and then that'd have been straw that broke this camel's back, and I would have been forced to chomp him. if I did that though, I wouldn't have a connection for all that shitty gum I've been chewing and sticking under Maureen's desk anymore, so it's probably for the best that I didn't.

(Side note: I was going to make a 'Before' and 'After' joke with the 2 last pics in this post but I didn't want to give the impression that my feelings for Natalie Portman were so purely primal in nature, particularly given my brain's supposed 'unrefined' wiring, which is really only 2 steps below that of your average male homo sapien's wiring today. Plus I found it to be in somewhat poor taste as it was a little too vulgar in suggestion for such a classy lady. Thanks to my further rambling though, I feel justified in putting up one last Portman pic, which I doubt anyone will complain about.)

p.s. See comments section for a funny anecdote about the name Natalie.

Pirates are Gay

2007-10-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

Don’t be deceived. Pirates aren’t cool – Johnny Depp is cool. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Depp is but one lone man, and changing a legacy of fruitiness the likes of which have not been seen since the Egyptian Pharaohs ruled a bunch of useless sand land is no small feet. With all due respect to Maddox, a bunch of guys with no shirts on lost at sea constantly obsessing about jewelery… that shit is even gayer than wrestling.

I’m no pirate expert (obviously) but can someone explain to me what exactly pirates do with their time? I know they make a ‘living’ by attacking and boarding other ships and stealing whatever junk they can, but really now, without radar and radio and maps that don’t even have a Western Hemisphere, how in the heck would a pirate even know when and where any ship worth boarding is going to be? I don’t know if you’ve kicked one of those globe-themed soccer balls around anytime recently, but those big blue sections on it are pretty fricken vast, and your ship is, comparatively speaking, pretty fricken insignificant. Seems like a bit of a crap shoot to me, basing your survival on the hope of randomly spotting another boat by eye and then trying to catch up to and board it. Must leave a lot time for rubbing oil all over your fellow crewman and getting suntans together. And playing Yahtzee, of course.

(No way, someone seriously thought up, pitched, wrote, drew, inked, coloured, and published a pirates vs. ninjas comic book? What was it, 9 panels long, 4 of which were just the ninjas hanging around waiting for the pirates to awake from their drunken stupor? Dang.)

En tous cas, another facet of the pirate lifestyle that eludes me is the role of that ridiculous parrot. The parrot’s highest level of fame and achievement came from Iago’s performance in Aladdin, and even he couldn’t sustain that kind of public tolerance past one movie. Here, you have a big ol’ boat full of men without a single woman in sight and what do you choose as your only other source of companionship? The parrot: the gayest fucking bird alive. Minus the presence of women, they have compensated by surrounding themselves with the lone animal that most embodies a woman’s most annoying trait: the inability to shut. the. fuck. up.

By now you’re thinking, ‘oh, OK, that was kinda funny… not as funny as your Vick post, but decent enough. But being a pirate was like being a soldier, it was a heroic and manly way to live. Feats of seamen coming ashore after lengthy trips at sea and conquering the women of whatever town they stopped at are legendary. In that sense, they are like soldiers who have their pick of the litter whenever they liberate a town or leave their base and go into the city to pick up a pizza or some Fun Dips. They can’t be gay.’ WRONG.

Soldiers are brave and heroic men who have drawn the lustful attention of many a fair maiden in their day, but pirates? Give me a break! What with their nappy stumps for legs and hooks for hands, you think they ever got any without paying for it? The kind of shitty, run-down bars you always see pirates hanging out in are havens for the type of bearded, middle-aged, chain-smoking prostitutes that have more venereal diseases than Shawn Kemp has children. Being a pirate is more like being a prisoner than being a Navy SEAL, and we all know what happens in prison when you have a bunch of guys stuffed together in such small confines for so long… then again, prisoners don’t have the luxury of keeping parrots around to try and keep them straight, and I seriously question if pirates even bother to keep any soap around to drop in the first place, so maybe my comparison is not exactly 1:1.

Listen, I don’t want to come across as being overly negative here, that’s just not my thing, you know, but upon further reflection, maybe my accusations of pirates being gay are a bit off-base. Maybe, instead of being a bunch of flamboyant, cross-dressing homosexuals it's possible that they’re just retarded (no offense to the mentally disabled... plus, you know, homosexuals for everything else)? It certainly would explain a lot.

Think about it… what is with these idiots that they are always short an eye, a hand, a leg? That kind of thing can't be blamed on a lifestyle filled with homo-eroticism. Are they a bunch of klutzes? Or are they just incapable of adequately defending themselves in battle? Considering that’s how they make their livelihood, you’d think semi-decent hand-eye coordination and a proficiency in basic motor skills would be important to them, no? And when they do lose a body part, as they inevitably do, what do they replace it with? A wooden stump? A hook? Really now, a hook? Of all the things you choose to replace your hand with, you choose that useless hook? Not only does it look retarded, confirming said alternate hypothesis, it can’t even be used in a stabbing function because the bloody thing is curved around and points right back at you.

I mean, if I lost a hand and had to replace it with something I’d sure as heck choose something cooler and more useful than a hook. Something more akin to, oh I don’t know… a boa constrictor, maybe? No one with a boa constrictor for half an arm would ever be accused of playing for the other team, and he sure as heck wouldn’t be the butt of jokes of a guy pretending to be a Tyrannosaurus Rex on a blog read pretty much only by his sister, would he? Would he?

For once, NOT my fault for not posting

2007-10-20T20:18:00.000-07:00

I've got a new post lined up and ready to go (and it's not even some throw-away post about my myspace page, which, as you can suspect, I still haven't signed up for), but I've been meaning to up the production values of this blog (while others would argue I should concentrate more on actually posting more than 4 times a month) by including a couple of pics in the new post, but this site's uploading feature has been giving me the fits all day.

I was able to upload a couple of photos to some older posts but since then, I've hit a brick wall. I looked up the problem via the 'help' section of this site and apparently matters do not look good:

http://groups.google.com/group/blogger-help-troubleshoot/browse_thread/thread/46f76680b8339542/2ef73a7ff636da88#2ef73a7ff636da88

I suspect the issue will be resolved sometime in the near-to-long future, which will be nice, since I plan on adding pics to all my older posts, which may also mislead everyone into thinking I've posting something new when all I've done is updated some outdated section of the site no one visits.

Now if you'll excuse me, 'Love, Actually' awaits; the best movie to watch after a soothing, long bubble bath accompanied by a nice glass of wine and a big bowl of buttery popcorn, all wrapped together in a big blanket in my most comfortable chair (lights-off/candles-on, of course), all of which is to be concluded by a long night of flowing tears of loneliness for the complete lack of a compatible mating partner on this planet. I think this time I'll pretend Mia is the love interest I can't have, which is fitting, being that she's a character Harry wants but can't really have (I identify with the longing)... actually, longing is something that's much more fitting for Mark, who wants Juliet more than life itself but simply cannot have her. Shit, at least Harry gets some... from Mia and Karen BOTH, which, now that I think about it, is actually totally unlike my situation in any way! F-in spoiled brat Harry, banging the older broad who knows every trick in the book at the same time as the 20-something rock-hard bodied chick, too! Fuck you with a fist full of marbles, Harry!!

Sigh. And it's almost Fucking Season again, too.

I got Limited Profiled on Facebook!!

2007-10-17T16:19:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it? Really now. The nerve of some people. Me, the god damned Original King of the Jungle, got limited profiled. Oh, people want to be my friend alright, want to be able to tell all their friends how they've got the Walking King of Death as a bandwith buddy, want to see my whole profile because it's such ratings, but then they want to limit me? Boy, I tell you, that just steams my rice!

Facebook used to be the shit. Until everyone discovered the privacy settings page, that is. The site was easy to navigate, simple to set up, and best of all, by far, was how you could go around spying on all the weirdos and straight-dressers from high school and see how they'd wrecked their lives by having this and that many kids and tummy tucks and piercings. You could see who gained 50 lbs, who lost 50 lbs, and who has really, really hot friends and then look at all their photos with one hand on the mouse and the other playing with your wiimote. Now, what's left? You look through one of your friend's friends lists and there's like 3 out of 10 profiles available for public viewing. 3 out of 10; that's only 30%! (3 / 10 = 0.3; 0.3 x 100 = 30)

I mean, it's bad enough that you can't go around looking at all the sexy people's profiles and their drunken escapades in clubs and Dollaramas anymore, but limiting people you want to be friends with's abilities to be entertained by not providing them with your whole profile? What a joke! Shit, what the hell do you possibly think someone's going to say on your wall that's going to incriminate you so badly? I already know plenty more things about you than you even dream to guess; painting that imaginary line in the sand of how far our 'friendship' really extends is just asking for it (asking for being eaten slowly, limbs first, of course). Without even the ability to see each other's profiles, what does that leave us, that rope-a-dope poke-poke-poking garbage to keep us entertained? Fiddlesticks to that, I say!

So, other than eating everyone I am mildly displeased with on Facebook, I've decided I'm going to channel my anger in a much more 'appropriate' and less 'Punisher' way; I'm going to join the enemy and start a myspace page.

My goal: to become friends with all the hot bitches on myspace, which from what I hear, is A LOT. It's funny how myspace was originally intended to be the social networking site that Facebook has become, only that it was overrun by amateur porn stars, shitty indie bands, and literally every kid in North America in grade 9. Unlike my Facebook profile, which will remain private (my mommy's on my friend's list), once it is set-up, I will post my myspace page here so all my fans out there (Mountain View) and my sister can sign up and be my friend. My REAL friend, of whom I will be able to see their complete and unfiltered profile, that is.

That'll teach those facists at Facebook who they're messing with. That, or make absolutely no difference whatsoever, except for the huge spike in hot bitches as internet friends I'll have.

A Rare Human I Wouldn't Eat

2007-10-07T18:21:00.000-07:00

I eat shit. I eat shit.
I eat shit, yabadoo, yabadoo.
I eat shit, yabadoo, yabadoo.
Oh yeah gangstas,
Ima rub my asscheeks on yo' girls,
then they be lickin' me,
tugging on my grill,
I like to
beat up people!
Hmm yeah bitch
I know how to make you gag.
I'll take a shit and shove it in yo dick head,
and watch this I can take it
I can tiptoe while you take a piss
Unh.
Spy on you while your little boy shits.
Unh.
Fucking right.
I'll shh grow hair all over my goosh,
and I'll rub it in your poosh,
then after I'll grab my epadick, and shove it in your dog's ass
and that dog will shit all over my dog dick,
black dick in yo ass.
Hmm
Yeah bitch, I like fucking your mom,
she called me Sebastien and then I'll stick it in her asskin.
Unh.
I'll make pancakes on her ass,
then your bitch ass
eats them for breakfast.
Ima gonna masturbate in your ass,
I'll bend you over and stuff it, stuff yo ass with glass
Ima gonna supersize you, you fucking Jew.
My name is Cole and I fuck cattle!
Peace!

Four Things I Learned While Taking a Dump in a Public Bathroom

2007-09-27T19:18:00.000-07:00

1 - Jessica is a whore and if you're looking for a good time you should give her a call.
2 - Some go the can to sit and think while others go to shit and stink.
3 - People still hate fags.
4 - Permanent marker sales have never been stronger.

I didn't just learn this but thought it was worth mentioning nevertheless, but that shitty thin-ass low-quality toilet paper might cost a lot less, but you end up using a lot more of it, preventing me from seeing the advantage of stocking it instead of something that doesn't feel like sandpaper. Still, when wet, it sticks to the ceiling for a really long time (I'll let you know tomorrow if it's still there).

And what is it with all this pressure about going out on Saturday nights?

2007-09-08T21:16:00.000-07:00

Like, it's perfectly fine to have fun reading Archeology books and reminiscing at home by myself on Wednesdays but if it's Saturday and it's dark outside it's not considered fun anymore? Shit, we didn't have days or weeks or years, even, in the pre-bridges times. We had seasons, and there were only two of them, and they ran concurrently forever. Eating season and Fucking season. Of course, for lesser dinosaurs like the Rhabdodon they had Avoid Getting Eaten season and Fucking season, which were nowhere near as good as our seasons but still way better than that shit you call Spring.

Damn those Rhadodons were tasty mother fuckers, too.

Bridges are for Pussies

2007-09-08T20:12:00.000-07:00

You humans call yourselves the most advanced species in the history of the planet, and yet everywhere I go, all I see are bridges, bridges, bridges. And it makes me SICK.

'Oh, my arms are too short, I can't reach that ledge!'... 'Wow, that current is far too strong for me to swim through'... 'Sigh. The people on this side of the water are so boring. I'll bet the people on the other side of the water are way cooler. If only I didn't have to get wet trying to meet them. But being so cool, they'd so understand why I tried so hard to get onto their side... but isn't being cool about not trying to be cool? Then I'd be so totally shunned and wet and only on the other side of the water with no place to stay. Why didn't my peers pressure me into smoking when I was in high school so I could be a cool person myself?'

Back in my day, we didn't waste our time creating meaningless social organizations that only serve to make you feel better about yourself by dividing, classifying, and then putting down other social organizations of virtually the same ilk, or by building bridges that were only going to collapse, anyway. You know what we did when we wanted to cross a river? We swam. And if we couldn't swim? We drowned. Not too complicated, is it?

Just jump across, already. Or fly, why don't you. Ah, puny legs and no wings... forgot. Sorry.

Just look at all those people, waiting to be surprised, chased, horrified, and then eaten. Like most living creatures, humans taste better when the element of fear is thrown into the equation. It gets the heart pumping and the blood flowing which really ripens everything up. And... ooooo, check it out... that fatty in the green looks like he wouldn't be able to run very fast. I'll bet he's really juicy on the inside.

Ah, come on now, those ones aren't even moving! There's no fun in that. At least the fat guy would have made for some semi-impressive footage for Animal Planet (aka the Best Planet!!!!). If you want to see something really impressive though, I can turn to the side like this and lift my leg just so...

Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a minute... you mean to tell me, all this wah-wah-wahing about this bridge collapsing and there's a second bridge standing literally right next to the collapsed one? Oh lordy b'gordy... you humans just get sissier and sissier by the day. I can't believe we paved the way for you. What a fricken cosmic joke.

Ref: Minneapolis Bridge Collapse Kills ~~NOT ENOUGH~~ 6 http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,291790,00.html

What does a dinosaur do for a month and a half instead of blogging?

2007-09-08T19:14:00.000-07:00

Spends pretty much all of that time eating and terrorizing people, taking bubble bathes, and watching videos.

Brian Bellows is a Superstar

This one is absolutely fantastic. I could not get enough of it the first time I saw it. Laughed like a school girl all morning. After the 13th viewing I realized that to really appreciate the video, you need to give it at least 4 viewings. So this is what goes on during the Stanley Cup finals, eh?

The first viewing is meant to just to bask in it's glory and discovery the undefinable genius of being called a titfucker and for it to somehow be meant as an insult. The second and third viewings should be focused specifically on what Stevens (who seems very angry at Bellows and struggles to come up with a disparaging word for Bellows before settling on... frog) and then what whiny-voiced Trottier says, whose closing line is the highlight of the video (hope you watched it before reading this, cos calling Bellows a titfucker was the punch line). The Fourth viewing is meant to be spent watching the other characters in this little charade, as Mario Lemieux, in some minds the greatest player of all time, looks on in complete satisfaction and approval, and Bellows, who for a second tries to complain to the refs about the taunting at beginning of the video. Must have been a long night for Brian.

Side note 1: Brian Bellows actually was the superstar of the North Stars in '91.

Side note 2: The original video also included depth defenceman and first ever Korean born NHL player Jim Paek giving Bellows blow job signs (make one hand into a fist, hold it to the side and parallel to your mouth, then move it to and fro while on the the 'to' movement remembering to use your tongue to push the opposite side of your cheek outwards).

OJ Simpson is the Gift that Keeps on Giving

I'm not sure what the bigger surprise here is, that OJ agreed to do this interview or that this no-name website got to interview anything better than OJ's ex-house cleaner's immigration officer?

Seriously, OJ killed Bill Walsh.

(What made the video so much funnier like 6 weeks ago was that it came out only a few days after Bill Walsh died. From natural causes, of course. Yeah, I know I need to work on my timing but I think can be excused on anything related to time, don't you think?)

Malibu: Part Jeff Spicolli, Part Jesus Christ

He puts the American Gladiator in American Gladiator.

Keep on Roaarrrrring! 'bu!

What the Hell are the Aliens going to Think of Us?

So Yahoo's got this whole Time Capsule thingamagigie project going on, where they are going to beam a bunch of crazy shit people submit into outer space in the hopes that Aliens receive it and... think we're absolutely batshit? People are free to submit whatever they want and based on Deadspin's recommendation (where I think I've stolen almost every video I've posted to date), I also really hope to god someone lets this little ditty slip through the cracks and it gets 2001ed the heck out of here.

Too bad, hotshot.

Nintendo

Sixty

FOOOUUUURRRRRRRR!!!! (remote control car?)

That video of OJ Simpson I promised

2007-07-25T20:18:00.001-07:00

If you'd have read the comment I left to my previous post, you'd remember that I mentioned watching a great video on the YouTube featuring OJ Simpson in the new All Pro 2K8 Football game and pondered aloud about posting it. Well, the video certainly hasn't gotten any less enjoyable after the 4th viewing, so up it goes.

The obvious highlight is the climax at the end, as it is with most good things in life (or at least that one thing, for men that is). Being a Bills fan, OJ's inclusion in the game is a double-edged sword. I love having the ability to play as the Juice. The real Juice, not some user-created Juice whose name the announcers will never say. On the other hand, my favourite player of all-time is Thurman Thomas, another all-time great but one who happens to play the same position as OJ. Now I could go with a running back by committee approach and split the carries, but really, that's just totally gay. I want to pound the rock relentlessly, and I want to pound one guy into the ground doing it (and there I illustrate my un-gay strategy in the absolute gayest way possible).

Not that you really care about my dilemma (really not much of one since I don't even own an Xbox360 or a Playstation 3 nor do I plan on getting one), so getting back to the video, in the game, all the ex-stars in the game are assigned to their various teams by the user before play. So while yes, OJ doesn't have to be on the Assassins since you will ultimately control which team he ends up on, let's cut the crap here, how can anyone possibly resist not putting him there? I mean, just look at the team's TD celebration, for cryin' out loud!

What I'm going to do today (thank you Worst. Haircut. Ever.)

2007-07-24T09:58:00.000-07:00

I've given up on work for today. Of course, I've done almost nothing all day, but that's it. I'm not going to actually leave work, but I might as well, since I'm going to leave any and all work I have for tomorrow. My plan for the day:

- Call Beef 'Beef' on Facebook (he hates that).
- Try and stir up any kind of activity on the Cafe (god that place is dead).
- Find out any and all news on Jurassic Pack 4.
- Chat with whoever the hell is online and on my MSN list, even if I don't like them/they don't like me.
- Maybe finally make my post on this blog about how T. Rex needs to get a job.
- Wikipedia Mountain View, California.
- Be pissed off and make lots of long distance phone calls to my relatives in Calgary.
- Nap.
- Interspersed between all that, watch Wu-Tang videos on the YouTube.

I mean seriously now, I gave that old bag specific orders. Just a trim. 1 cm all over. One centimeter. That's a third of an inch. Keep the proportions the same. Don't cut the bangs, I'll do them myself. Simple enough, no? Wrong. Wrong.

Now I'm no pretty boy by any means and mostly my hair style is to not look like I just woke up and at least bothered to run my hands through it 5 or 6 times until it seems kinda symmetrical, but what I got was just horrendous. In that particular locality in the universe, 1 cm magically became 2 inches in a matter of seconds. Plus the hag reeked of cigarettes. Just a wonderful experience in every regard. Bitch.

Worst. Haircut. Ever. Good luck, good bye, god speed, see you in 2 months.

2007-07-24T09:42:00.000-07:00

Generally speaking, roughly 100% (roughly) of my haircuts are abject disasters. With the rare exceptions being Tony's 2nd to last haircut, my recent haircut in France, when Marie used to cut my hair when I was going out with Nathalie (hack jobs, granted, but it looked how I liked), and I'm going to assume some other haircuts at various points in the last 15 years I can't remember but have done the job of preventing me from throwing in the towel and just shaving it all off, but today's cut... oh lordy, today's cut takes the cake.

Never more than today have I wished I would just shave the whole fucking lot of it off.

Never more than today have I wished I actually was a dinosaur. Sigh.

Things Men Do in the Bathroom

2007-07-09T18:58:00.000-07:00

First off, get your filthy little mind out of the gutter. While men do do that in the bathroom, usually with the aid of a visual stimulus like a magazine or a MacFarlane action figure (for those who prefer a slightly more tactile motivator), they also do that in their beds, in front of TV/CPU screens, on park benches, and sometimes in the 3rd floor bathroom at Concordia's Loyola campus library; but that's neither here nor there, because that's not what this column, or blog for that matter, is about.

What I'm talkin' 'bout is a pattern of behaviour of men that most men will never admit to to women, and are even reluctant to share amongst other men. What I'm talkin' 'bout is the nitty-gritty of how men will typically conduct themselves in the lavoratory, and along the way, I will be sharing with you a few secrets you might not have known that we are prone to do, but will no doubt fail to be surprised in even the slightest when you find out.

Men like to watch other men through the crack of the door when taking a dump
75% of men do this.

Some men are more zealous about this than others. I'd say that probably 99% of all men (and women, I would venture to guess) have at some point checked out the going-ons that were a transpiring in the rest of the bathroom from this crack, but a majority of men will do this on a regular basis. It's not a matter of perversion, which your well-established dirty mind no doubt first thought when reading the header, but mostly a matter of curiosity.

We all know peeps like to know what's going on around them, but more than that, peeps especially like to watch other peeps. The problem with that is that it's tough to really stare at someone and watch what they're doing without getting caught doing it. Reality TV shows give people that, as do sunglasses, which I believe is the main reason so many people wear them (that and it helps ugly people seem less repulsive by hiding more of their face, and lots of guys are douchebags who think they look cool in them, but mostly those are guys who can't help staring at girls all the time and don't want to get caught doing it; bro, staring at hot chicks is what the internet's for, can't you wait till you get home or find a good, secluded park bench or something?).

Why staring at others through cracks in the stalls is so popular is that you are virtually guaranteed not to get caught. The crack is too small to see through from anything but the closest distance, and the only thing worse than getting caught staring at someone is getting caught being paranoid about someone staring at you. We know nothing particularly interesting is going to happen, but it's still cool to watch people completely un-self-consciously (not a real word) fix their hair, pick their nose, or whatever they are going to do.

You know, the more I think about it, invading people's privacy really does totally rule. I should have so gotten a job with the government.

Men don't normally wash their hands after wrapping up their bidness
Numbers vary.

This is a highly, highly circumstantial behaviour. Many years of practicing the previous behaviour, along with the accumulation of a lifetime's worth of general observation in washrooms has made the intricacies of this point very clear to me.

As a rule, men who perpetrate a number two on our water-filled ceramic friends are much more likely to wash up, or at the very least give a quick rinse, than they are to do the same after perpetrating a number one, regardless of the situation. Still, this number is still not as close to 100% as you would like to think. It probably varies between 60 and 80%, and it's normally the same guys who make it a point to wash on a regular basis that keep it that high.

The quicky is the one that leaves us with the most interesting data to analyze. I'd venture to say that, on average, 40% of men wash up after a wii-wii. When men think they are alone or think that the guy in the stall isn't looking at them (think again, buddy), that number drops to 25%, easily. When men are in the direct presence of other men who are either washing up/not clearly not washing up, that'll go up to probably 60 or 70%. If a man doesn't intend to wash up and sees that the other man is also a smelly-hands fan club member, he's pretty much guaranteed to just walk out as well.

Men who are on a date will, irregardless of who is in the bathroom with them, wash at the same ratio (60-70%). Shocking? Even to me, it still is. When many men are in the bathroom and they think they can sneak away amidst the chaos of other men doing their bidness, I'd say you'd be lucky to hit 50% wash-to-not-ratio, tops.

At this point, particularly if you're a lady, you might think I'm over-exaggerating. Sorry honey, but I'm not. If you've got a guy next to you, and he laughs nervously or makes a crack like 'yeah, right,' you know it's only because he knows it's true. It's not particularly comforting to know that roughly half of the men you let get to first base didn't refresh themselves adequately before doing so, so I'd advise you not to think about how many men you let get to second and third base without doing so, either. In fact, I wouldn't let your mind wonder too long about when's the last time the dude sitting next to you made contact with a bar of Irish Spring.

Men don't like to come out of the stall when other men are in the bathroom
50% of men are like this.

This is probably the most debatable stat I've collected in my research. For some reason, there's still a taboo about things like taking a dookie or farting. Sure, no one wants to brag about having the mudbutt, but everybody gets it from time to time, so why the shame?

To be fair, this isn't what I consider a firm stat. If given the choice, a high percentage of men would say they prefer that no one be in the bathroom as they are leaving a stall, but not many men would say that it's a crippling fear that will keep them sitting over their long-since exorcised chocolaty-coloured donut for 20 minutes until the coast is clear. This isn't jungle warfare and there isn't a Chinaman waiting to snipe you out if you get caught, after all.

Nevertheless, if in a situation where you were alone in the stall doing your dirty work and as you were about to wrap up some guy came in and took a little pee, half of the men out there would wait the 20 to 30 seconds until the other dude was done with his bidness before exiting the premises.

Men read on the can
99% of men do this.

Only weirdos haven't.

Men never look other men in the eye in the bathroom and sure as fuck don't talk to them
90% of men obey this rule religiously, and the other 10% really should.

Only among friends is it at all acceptable to break from this policy, and even then it should be kept to a moderate volume level and be as quick and short as possible. Men don't like talking to one another out there in the real world, they sure as heck don't want to do it where they dispense of their cheese-drenched nachos and broccoli (shyeah right, like men eat broccoli).

If there is anything floating in the toilet when a man takes a whiz, he's aiming for it, baby
95% of men do this, and 100% of those men feel better about themselves after doing it.

If one's satisfaction with life truly is in the details, then there are few pleasures like that of going to the little boy's room after your mom emptied a bowl of unfinished Cheerios in the can.

Oh boy! Seeing all those little o's floating around in that murky, milky water, there's no way any future self-respecting man could resist, as an 8 year old, bombarding those suckers with a stream of urine, causing total mass destruction and chaos in the little ocean below. As you age and gain wisdom about the world around you, you realize that a more true and noble satisfaction is achieved when there is one lone object for you to shoot at, and your goal in this situation is to hit it as much as possible for as long as possible. It takes much more skill and is infinitely more rewarding, although like the 80s nostalgia kick that simply refuses to die, it's always fun to go for the world-war-pee-party every now and then, too.

Alright... taking the enthusiasm factor down a few notches, it should also be noted that men aren't limited to aiming while facing the bowl. In many of the urinals around the world, a quick shot at the air freshener or whatever that huge block of dried-ice is called is an everyday practice, as well.

That about does it for the non-obvious behaviours men will partake in while in the bathroom (example of an obvious behaviour: men don't like to wait for the hand dryer to dry their hands, after 5-8 seconds they're drying themselves down with their clothes). So, while men around the world must not be pleased at me for divulging their secrets, I have little reason to care or be fearful at their pathetic retribution, for one must never forget that being an 8 ton man-eating monster who takes his dumps whenever and wherever I please gives me a lot more freedom of speech than the rest of your sad sack species, thank you very much.

ROAARRR!!!!

Travel Blog Entry #2

2007-06-24T18:39:00.001-07:00

I'm back!

Travel Blog Entry #1

2007-06-11T21:05:00.001-07:00

I'm gone!

Michael Vick's House got Robbed

2007-06-07T19:01:00.000-07:00

So, I guess the excuse that his dogs were there for protection is pretty much shot, isn't it?

Ref: Mixed feelings about Vick in Va.
http://www.ajc.com/services/content/sports/falcons/stories/2007/06/04/0604vick.html?cxtype=rss&cxsvc=7&cxcat=21

The update to let you know I have not given up on this site

2007-06-07T13:41:00.000-07:00

For my lone fan out there, I have not forgotten about you, true friend! Further updates will be forthcoming but I've had serious indigestion problems since I ate one of your Sumo wrestlers and haven't been well enough to post anything remotely interesting at all... what do you guys put into them anyways?

It's Time to Even the Odds

2007-05-30T13:03:00.000-07:00

So in case you didn't hear, there's this kid in Arkansas or Alabama or South Carolina or one of those other red states that shot and killed a wild hog that clocked in at over 9 feet long and 1,051 lbs (about half a ton). This freakish beast (the hog) is pictured below and really is a sight to behold.

I love meat. I am a carnivore, you know. But outside of my genetic predisposition towards the flesh, the stuff just tastes great and gives my skin this glow that none of the ladies can resist. The thrill of the kill... going dino-a-dino with another one of the earth's fine creatures, pitting your skills against his in a battle to the death, and then scarfing down every last shred of his existence... there's nothing quite like it. But you 'hunters,' at least in my narrow-minded, stereotypical generalization of you, what's your deal, exactly? To me, if you can't kill something with whatever tools God gave you (capitalized it there) then you aren't fit to call yourself a real killer. Velociraptors, those are predators. Tigers, ditto. Tony Danza? Ehhh, maybe.

Damn that's one big pig. So ridiculously huge it's really quite revolting... and yet I can't look away. Can you imagine the amount of sausage that one leg alone will yield? Wow... Anyways... as I was saying, when I saw this hog had been taken out by this punk little self-righteous Christian sod, I got to thinking, 'hey T, could you be next?' and damned if I didn't answer myself back with a 'holy shit, I very well could!'

Let's be honest here, one-on-one there isn't a living creature alive that could tango with my mango, ya know? Not Dick Vermeil, not Chevy Chase, not even that cow Rosie O'Donnell. But then you hear stories like this, where one side feels the need to overcompensate for their complete lack of natural abilities (still haven't devolved into a proper upright posture yet, for cryin' out loud) by using these weapons to take out a moose or a Triceratops who's just trying to get his groove on with his lady-friend (or special-lady, as the case may be) out there by a nice little brook or whatever... well that's just bullshit. So, I've decided to even the odds out a little. It's not nuclear (yet), but it's a start.

Hey, let's get one thing straight here: I don't NEED this extra gear. I'm not some poorly-endowed Theropod who can't get a Lady-Rex without the help of some superfluous material aid. I just don't want some random obese kid pepping me full of lead from miles away. I'm fast, I'm strong, but even if the little punk has really bad aim, I'm a pretty goddamn big target, ya know.

You won't be seeing my head above anyone's fucking fireplace anytime soon, I can assure you of that.

Ref: 11-Year-Old Bags 1,051-Pound Wild Boar: Hogzilla or Hogwash?
http://www.abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=3220965

Hide-and-go-seek Game

2007-05-29T15:43:00.000-07:00

Someone should make a hide-and-go-seek game for the Wii (made by Nintendo). If you're hiding, you'd have a certain amount of time to find a spot to hide in and then you'd have to sneak your way to home base. If you're seeking, you'd have to try and find people, and when you do, you'd need to beat them back to home base before they do and call them out. It's just like hide-and-go-seek in real life, but in a video game.

Oh, but you'd have to reverse the rules to make it exciting. Instead of the first one caught being it next game, the last one caught should be. That way, the game always leaves you wondering who is going to be it until the last person is caught/home free. Just imagine if you've gotten caught (sucker), instead of the game now being over and completely redundant, you're eagerly waiting and watching so as to find out if you are/aren't going to be it!

Then, for an April Fool's joke, EGM can release a fake secret that Osama Bin Laden is a hidden character in the game that people will go crazy looking for but never find (cos he doesn't really exist). See? It's all just like real life. That's what makes it so much fun!!

Wow. if this isn't the single greatest idea in the history of mankind, it's definitely right up there. This kind of genius rivals the discovery of electricity and the realization that objects lighter than water (but heavier than air) float along water's surface.

Dinosaurs > Dogs, but Dogs > People, too

2007-05-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

Michael Vick, you're my boy (not literally, it's a figure of speech, like slang, you know... and no, he's probably not reading this anyways but bear with me, geez)... Alright, that didn't go too well, let me start this over.

Michael Vick, you're my boy. You run like no quarterback I've ever seen, you've got a rocket for an arm, and you ooze cool. You're redefining the quarterback position. You're an absolute god in Madden (with the vision cone turned off - notice I capitalized Madden but not god - strange...) and just a terrific athlete all-around. You may or may not have Herpes, but you sell like 400k jerseys a day so I'm sure you can afford whatever medication or treatment costs there are that come with the 'disease' (I see it as more like a badge of honour or a wound from battle than something as objectionable as a disease).

You're constantly getting criticized by so-called experts like that douche Dan Le Betard who F's up PTI at least once a month (I have no clue what Le Betard thinks of Vick), and fans who couldn't dream of being as talented and exceptional at the game of football as you. All these haters do is sling mud and claim you're just another black quarterback who can't win a Super Bowl because your lack of 'football knowledge' (poor Doug Williams, forever destined to be a forgotten footnote in Super Bowl history).

Obviously, I think that's bullshit. You've proven yourself as a winner with one of the best winning percentages among active quarterbacks, no worse than top 5 if my memory serves me correct. You've beaten Brett Farveruh, at Lambau, in the cold, in the playoffs, and it was only in 2007 that the mighty Carolina Panthers D figured out how to slow you down (I don't say stop, because ain't no one can stop the Vick Express, baby!!)

I've had your back for years, Vick, (all 2 that I've been following football - I'm a quick learner, I'm way ahead of Little John [not the rapper] already) but this whole dog-fighting business... you've lost me on this one, buddy. Quarterbacks with laser rocket arms and V8 engine motors as legs are cool and all, but they're still just humans, and humans generally suck compared to animals like dogs or dinosaurs. I know nothing's been proven, yet. I know it's not like they found Pacman (Adam Jones) in your basement snorting a line off the back of a dead defeated Doberman, but the circumstantial evidence, it's just too strong to ignore!

I'm sorry Vick. I'm not saying I'm turning my back on you, dawg (lest you sic one of your pitbulls on me)... I guess I'm just saying, for now, that I'm turning in my fanclub membership card. Temporarily. With a pre-stamped return-address-marked envelop. And a post-dated cheque for next year's membership dues. I don't know, I don't know... I'm just confused and disappointed, that's all. I mean, what's a boy to feel in this crazy mixed-up world of ours, what with our modern technology and ideas? I think I just need take a little time and focus on myself and Marshawn Lynch, that's all. Please forgive me... and leave the pups alone. Thanks.

Ref: Report claims Vick has 'affinity' for dog-fighting culture (not that a reference should even be needed at this point)
http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/news/story?id=2866012&campaign=rsssrch&source=atlanta+falcons

I'm with The Man on this one

2007-05-24T17:16:00.000-07:00

This STM strike is bullshit. (This is going to feel weird since this is my first post and I'll pretty much be the only one who's gonna read it, outside of Chris who I'ma bug relentlessly to read it tomorrow at work - but I'll make up for that by re-reading it like 9 times before then anyways...) For all y'all who don't live in Montreal, our public transportation workers union is on strike, providing only 'essential services' that run during the morning and afternoon rush hour for all the 9-to-5'ers out there, and late night service, for all the strippers, crack dealers, and students.

I'll admit, I don't know much about this strike (lie). But from what I can gather, is that there is some segment of unionized workers asking for more money and forcing the rest of the union to go on strike becos of it, and there are some guys who wear suits to work and have nice air-conditioned offices with lame motivational-phrased art work on their walls that are either not giving it to them or not giving it to them fast enough or just generally power-tripping cos they don't take the bus so they don't give a shit about the strike. If you ask me, I'm with the suits, aka The Man, on this one.

These workers get paid hundreds of trillions of dollars to pick up my Three Musketeers wrappers from the floor at the Lionel-Groulx station and live in gold-plated (not solid gold, just the exterior) homes and are acting like a bunch of biggity bitches. This is bullshit. Isn't Canada communist? Shouldn't this kind of thing be illegal? I hope The Man sticks to these Matt Damon pretty boys (Dogma ruled though). Let the strike go on forever. You know what I would propose at my next meeting, if I were working with The Man? Nothing. I take my last offer off the table and tell them that there will be no raises this year. Then I tell them, every day you refuse to negotiate, we give you a 1% pay cut until you do. If that 1% were actually 50% this would go a lot quicker, but I'm trying to be reasonable here.

YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORST PART ABOUT THIS IS? What the Milli Vanilli workers want to do with the money. You think they are going to do something useful for society like cure a disease (not hot on that) or build a rocket that can fly to that crazy black tower on one of Jupiter's moons from 2001: A Space Odyssey (getting warmer) or, I don't know, MAYBE BRING BACK DINOSAURS? (<--- HOT HOT HOT FUCK OUCH!). No. Those twats are just going to buy caviar, plate it in gold, and then eat it but complain that the gold doesn't bring out the dead fish fetuses in the caviar (I think that's what caviar is made of).

Shit. Seriously folks, is it all that hard to bring back dinosaurs? Just go get some old mosquitos, given 'em to Paul Gascoigne in Ireland so he can clone 'em and be done with it.

Cos I probably won't post about public transportation anymore, I want to take this opportunity to further complain about the new buses that have been introduced sometime in the past 10 years. Nova Buses? Something dopey-sounding like that. The ones with less seats, less standing room, that are harder to navigate, rattle incessantly, and have wheelchair access (hello, we have the short bus for a reason!). Those are the ones. They suck. Yeah, that was my whole point.

OH, that and perhaps the only thing I hate more than the new buses is the region-coding for this city - in particular, the train (this is the ATM now, who are not on strike). How come, everywhere you go on the island, the buses and metros are all zone 2 and it is only once you leave the island that you enter zone 3, but the train, at random points on the island, transfers to zone 3 for no logical reason whatsoever? That's bullshit.

Of course, this is where my pet Pterdactyl would come in really, really handy, but you just know Alan Alda wouldn't let you have one.

Ref: Strike a go http://www.canada.com/montrealgazette/news/story.html?id=136ac1f8-6f52-4704-aefb-b9f5e5d06836