Stoopid is as stoopid does.

I swear to fucking someone (what's that fuckers name again?) that I'm getting stupider (is that even a word?) by the day. I'm forgetting the most basic things and unfortunately I can't blame it on anything. It's not the result of certain herbal remedies that I've indulged in, nor the occasional frothy beverage. Nope, it's just age or maybe the fluoride the evil fuckers are putting in the water.

I swear I can hear neurons screaming bloody murder as they die by the millions, or maybe it's just the normal voices in my head trying to make themselves heard. Just think, by the time I'm 100 (Cory you can stop laughing now) I'll be a drooling moron like Dan, or worse like my sister Barbie (sorry sis, I had to throw you under the bus. Actually, I take that back I'm not sorry you deserved it). Truth be told, the worst possible case scenario would be to wind up like a certain unpleasant enfeebled bloke (yeah, you know who you are).

I'm not sure how to deal with depriving this world of my characteristic wit and humor. How will you live with yourself when I'm dumber than a sack of hammer handles? Honestly, I fail to see how that's my problem so my response to your conundrum is GET FUCKED!

P.S. to all of you that I didn't throw under the bus this time, I apologize that I'm too fucking mentally deficient to come up with an appropriate method. I'll get you fuckers next time.

Knee in my package.

There are exactly two things in life that you can count on, death and taxes. Well, make that one thing as death isn't always that reliable as I've come to see recently. Being that wonderful time of year once again I steel my nerves against the differential calculus that is the Revenue Canada tax forms.

In my younger years I was a whiz at mathematical problem solving. It didn't matter if it was Algebra, Trig or whatever I had a knack for suessing out the answer. At some point I believe that the Taxman figured this out and decided that the process of me filling out the required paperwork should be as painful and nonsensical as possible.

I have yet to discern how it is possible to come up with 3 different results after doing my return and checking the math. The required calculations seems sketchy at best and I'm always left scratching my head at the end.

My answer to this conundrum is to just take the fucking thing to H&R Block and pay someone to figure the shit out for me. It saves me from spending time in jail after going postal and doing something foolish at the Revenue Canada offices.

The picture above is just some eye candy to hopefully alieviate some of the stress induced by the infernal machinations of the government.

Rick Mercer has done a brilliant spoof ad that you can check out here http://www.cbc.ca/mercerreport/.

Home, Home on the Range...

…where the beer and the antidepressants play.

Well folks here I am, back in Saskatoon and boy howdy does it suck. Everything is exactly as I left it. That is to say everything is a big, steaming pile of feces. There are exactly two things to do here, Fuck-All and Nothing, which is why everyone here drinks like a fish. As to why they listen to so goddamned much bow and arrow music, well there are things that even I don’t know (as hard as that may be to believe).

Now you may be asking yourself why I would subject myself to the torture of visiting this particular pee-pee soaked heck hole. I’m here for a funeral (now kiddies, doesn’t that just sound like a barrel of laughs).

I’ve been to more than my fair share of funerals and the common thread among all of them is the totally depressing mood. I think funerals should be a celebration of the decedent’s life, not a bunch of people wallowing in their own misery at the loss of a loved one. Funeral director’s are to blame for this injustice. Funeral homes should be more like a Chuck-E-Cheese. Flashing lights, loud music and some moron dressed up in a mouse suit, now that would certainly liven up the otherwise sombre ceremony.

I’m making this public knowledge. I want my funeral to be held in a place like Crush. No stodgy minister giving the eulogy, I want some asshole like Cory to talk about me (although he’s unlikely to say anything nice, so not Cory maybe someone that may lie a bit). I want a huge motherfucker of a bong at the door. Everyone takes a hit as they come in and then someone hands them the drink of their choice. As for music, I will accept nothing but some bangin’ Hard House and Trance, if there’s any deviation from this plan I will personally haunt the motherfucker(s) responsible.

As far as what to do with my body, fuck throw it in a dumpster and pay some hot broad to lie naked in a casket for the freaks that feel it necessary to have a viewing. Alternatively, have me stuffed and stick me in the corner with a drink and a smoke.

“When you look at it, Life’s a piece of shit. So always look on the bright side of death.” – Monty Python

The Power of Positive Thinking.

I've been accused of being a negative person. A glass half empty sort if you prefer. I am a realist, if I'm broke today and tomorrow isn't payday I'm damn well not going to have any fucking cash tomorrow either. I'm also a forward looking thinker (not generally thought of as an attribute of a negative person). To use the glass analogy, by viewing it as half empty I am looking to the future to prepare myself to obtain another drink not deluding myself as the half full crowd is.

It seems that a great many people do not understand my particular brand of humor and I would feel sorry for the ignorant simpletons save for the fact that I really don't give a flying fuck. Life is not a popularity contest so get over yourself. I love black humor and like to think that Shakespear (one of the great masters) would read my dialectic with a sly smirk on his face.

Much of what I say is said to generate controversy. I love to take people out of their simple, self-absorbed lives and challenge their belief systems, even if only for a moment. If they think about it (thinking, what a concept) and chose to remain true to their beliefs then I have no problem with that. My goal has never been to convert anyone to my way of looking at the world (those of you intelligent enough have already done so or will soon enough), only to get people to realize and accept that there are different views of the world and how to live in it and that their's isn't the only one that is right.

This perceived "negativity" is part of my schtick and the only way you can take it is to pry it from my cold, dead hands (good luck with that once rigor sets in). It will be part of my legacy, something that sets me apart in the minds of a great many people that I've touched over the years.

I am who I am, and if you don't like me then fuck off because I'd much rather devote my energies to entertaining my friends.

Friends, romans, countrymen, Lent me your ear.

As a heathen (their description, not mine) I don't think I'll ever understand many of these silly little rituals that religious people engage in. I cite as an example this thing called Lent. I don't like it, no one is giving me anything. They do this thing called "fasting" which I think is a total misnomer. I like to call things what they really are. It's fucking starvation people, after not eating for any length of time I am anything but fast, mentally or physically. They really need to change the names of these things to more accurately describe the folly that they engage in, if only so us heathens can attempt to understand what the hell they are doing.

I've come to the conclusion that christianity is made up of sadists comprised of a following of masochists. How the fuck else can you describe the antics of these fools to someone that isn't indoctrinated in their shenanigans.


In the spirit of understanding, I've decided to give up trying to understand what the fuck is going through the minds of these sheep that need some cross-dressing nitwit to tell them how to live their life as a good person.

Amusingly, this is some anniversary or other of the pope getting shot and the media are reviewing the data trying to unearth some grand conspiracy. Here's my take on it: The guy had a real problem with a man wearing a dress commanding so much power over people and really couldn't deal with the fact that anyone could honestly be seen in public wearing such a collosally stupid hat. I know that would likely be enough to make me snap if I thought about it for any length of time.

In conclusion, any of you that want to give up anything for "Lent", consider giving me something instead. We'll all be happier for it.