Oh Punk

The Birds

I don't know what the hell is going on where I live, but whatever it is, this looks like a job for the Ghostbusters. Lately there seems to be swarms and swarms and swarms of little blackbirds all over the place.

I mean they're all over the city! I pulled into the upper level of a parking deck at the mall to find this. Hundreds, maybe thousands of them:

As I walked closer to them they all just flew over the place. Can you believe this was the SMALLEST group of them? In the distance from the parking deck you could see huge black clouds -- of birds. Freaky!

I'm going to try feeding them next time!

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I'm bringing R-S-SEXY back...

Never, ever, ever make up a stupid-but-funny custom licence plate. It WILL haunt you. The licence plate on my Acura RSX when pronounced quickly reads R-S-SEXY.

Clever? Just a bit. It's a hit with girls -- but -- it sucks when I pull places such as hotels/valet services and they drop the "What's your licence plate?" question. I'll be all dressed up in business attire, saying "R... S... X...."

What's worse is when people pick up on it. I was getting an oil change the other day, and while lounging in the waiting area the girl at the service counter yells out to me: "Shaun, your due for a such and such servicing."

Me: "Nah, it's cool. I think I'll do those on my own. If I can't I'll just bring the car back."

Her: "So you'll be bringing R-S-SEXY back?"

(at this point the reception chimed in)

Receptionist: "He's bringing R-S-SEXY back. Yup! Them other..."

Embarassing. I figured it might be a good point to try and pick one of them up (they were btoh pretty) but when I explained about how I was going a wedding over the weekend, one of them blurted out "It's going to rain this weekend. It rained on my wedding day. I'm divorced now..."

Soo.. uhh.. how about those Mets?

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Hello NFL: This is how we roll...

The past Sunday, a bunch of us from the office -- here in Toronto -- were taken down to see the Bufallo Bills' home opener vs. the New York Jets. Here's the story of that day in pictures:

Above: Sure they're not Hummers, but the two SUV limousines that arrived to pick us up were more than enough! Note the trailer to carry all our tailgate party supplies! "This is how we do.."

Above: Kicking back watching 40-Year Old Virgin (The picture is not blurry, the people are just drunk)

Above: Don't let the Tim Horton's coffee cups fool you. The only coffee drinking done was to wake us up! Note: Someone in the foreground was already dipping into the alcohizzle yet the sun hadn't even fully risen...

Above: Let the drinking begin...

Above: You know you're in the States when there's a guy trying to walk-thru the Wendy's Drive-Thru. What's bizzare was that he stormed away from the window, jumped into his car and drove away. WTF? Why didn't he just drive through in the first place?

Above: I'm sorry. Even though your beautiful co-worker gives you props because she's wearing tennis socks, it's not cool to be a guy and rock these!

Above: We ran out of liquor fast. Thank God (and white trash) for the Twinlo Drive Thru beverage mart!

Above: No, I'm serious... it really is a Drive-Thru liquor store (see the signs?)

Above: Replenished and good to go!

Above: ... but it didn't last. While stuck in construction traffic on the interstate, we lost three men to "pee" (What you don't see is the miles of cars beside them! Their assumed formation is awesome though...)

Above: ... and of course scared that we would leave them once traffic started opening up, they sprinted back -- while people in traffic cursed at them for peeing! (Video)

Above: While most tailgated in front of their Chevy Luminas, we broke out the tent and had a fully catered tailgate party. Roasted Chicken, burgers, sausage, you name it. It sure beats sitting around on lawn chairs! (We broke out the lawn chairs later...)

Above: Americans are fucking pigs... People just ditched their cans on the ground before entering the stadium. Fuck. Gross. No wonder I was stuck sitting beside some fat-ass trucker bitch who took up one and a half seats. She tried talking to me, but I shot her down. Then started saying stuff like "I fucking hate Bufallo - it's a hell hole. They should move their NFL team to Toronto. The people of B-lo don't even have jobs, how can they deserve an NFL franchise?" -- she gave me a bad look. She spent most of the game grunting, and banging her hands on the bleachers. Chill lady, chill! I was not impressed.

Above: Ahhhh NFL cheerleaders. How can you NOT love them?

Above: We weren't sitting near the front row like previous times, but the end-zone seats we had allowed for greater depth percecption (Except for the fat-ass chick who's thighs kept rubbing into me -- again, gross and *shudder* That shit was way too 3D for my liking!)

Above: Some fans were really into the game...

Above: ... and some weren't!

Above: ... and some just hated the Jets (Video - not work friendly)

Above: ... and some just hated my boy! Don't ever make the mistake of wearing a green Yankee's hat to Bufallo when the Jets are in town -- they'll think you're a Jets fan. And don't start trash talking people who are heckling you, they'll actually fight you. From this incident (on video), to fans throwing garbage (lots), to even one random psycho running down from another section "I'm going to KILL you" it was one classless nightmare. My co-worker had to leave the game early. People in Bufallo are so low class, no wonder they're so ghetto.

Above: Holla atcha boy!

Above: All and all it was an awesome time. A long, long day -- but awesome fun day! Thanks to Kien for the invite, and props to Dr. Watson for making the roadtrip. And of course respect to Rob at APSizzle for flying down from Balitmore and flipping the bill on this trip. Next stop either Miami or Detroit Rock City!

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Let's talk about bags! I ran into a bunch of different ones this weekend...


Back in 1990 I was completely jealous of kids with Reebok Pumps. Remember these (Click for commercial)? And I don't blame my parents for never getting me them: Why would anyone spend $150 on shoes for an 11 year-old who not only would destroy them but outgrow of them in less than six months.

The thought of a pump in any shoe now would be just ridiculous -- not to mention the actual physical motion of pumping the shoes. Unless you're rocking a Vuarnet T-Shirt and C&C Music Factory in your walkman, you're not impressing anyone with those antics.

Unfortunately, sixteen years later, the desire for a owning pump-powered shoes still burned within me. This weekend, armed with my own stash of cash, I picked up a pair of Sidney Crosby Reebok Pump 2.0 shoes for the gym (Yes, I still hate hockey).

The pump has come a long way since Grade 7. The shoe now pumps up to 5 PSI automatically as you walk, talk about high tech. And the best part is the release (of course). Check out this video of my shoes:


While meeting with regards to my bonus compensation, I dropped the ridiculous idea of implementing some crazy risky proposition that would mean mega bucks if I overachieved on my targets but the slightest miss of any quota would mean certain doom with regards to bonus pay. The person I proposed this to goes:

"No offence, but we can't implement something like this. While you probably waste all of your bonus money on condoms, everyone else here needs that money for diapers..."

I thought that was hilarious! But, I have a good point: If I don't spend all of my bonus money on condoms, I myself would have a diaper expense! Oh well, there's always that Cash-for-Life that I won (right Al?)


Now I remember why I stopped entertaining strippers. On Friday, I reluctantly met some friends at a local upscale stripclub. We ran into a business acquintance and sure enough drink after drink started to hit our table. Before you knew it, some trashy (but hot) stripper was on my lap.

Her: .. Yeah, I don't really drive so working here is tough. Do you drive?
Me: Of course!
Her: What kind of car do you drive?
Me: An Acura, and I just picked up a Mercedes-Benz SL500 (I didn't buy it yet, but I can still drop that line, right? I have the brouchure, it's just as good right?)
Her: What!? I love that car. We should go for a ride some time.
Me: Maybe, we'll see.
Her: Here's my number.

(Just a few seconds later)

Her: And put your hand on my boob -- just don't touch right there.. I just had them adjusted...

WTF? Ugh. I hate some strippers...


I just love driving on those nights when your buddies have been drinking heavily. You always wind up having at least one "I'm so drunk, I may have to throw up" occupant. On Saturday night, I had two. I wish I was driving someone else's car because I'd run with some Transporter driving tactics and have everyone throwing up all over the place. It wouldn't be my car, I wouldn't care. Hilarious!

On that note, this picture of someone (I won't say who, but he was the birthday boy!) from way back in Grade 11 after football practice is just so awesome:

Happy birthday biatch! (I told you, I'd do this!)


Thanks to my recent "I-can't-eat-junk-food-cuz-I-have-to-pay-a-$30-penatly-each-time-I-do" ban, I wound up opening a bag of chips but couldn't eat them (without having to pay $30). My co-worker Greg ate a few and then tossed the Smoky Bacon chips right into the garbage. I was soooooo hungry, I actually contemplated pulling the gross flavoured chips out of the garbage, paying the $30 and eating them! What's wrong with me?!

Above: Still good, still good! Right?


Teenage kids need to get beaten. While leaving a local mall, some punk kid just nonchalantly stroleld across the street. He could clearly see I was driving, but he strutted his stuff in slow motion. So, I popped the clutch and just revved the engine high while inching towards him. He stopped. He stared at me. I inched closer. He scowled. I inched closer. He slammed his hand on the hood of my car!

"What's up? You want some of me!" the killed yelled out.

What the fuck? Who does this kid think he is?

I fucking just slammed on the breaks. Grabbed my Club from shotgun, popped out of the car,"Sure, why don't I bash you skull in you little fucking pussy!"

It was pretty funny how his jaw dropped and suddenly started backpeddling with the "I'm sorry man... my bad" type of comments.

I love how kids think they're so gangsta these days. "Gimme a break kid, I'll fuck you up!"* I swear, just give me a reason.

*Things, my parole officer does not want to hear me say. Ok, so I don't have a parole officer, BUT if I did, I'm sure she wouldn't want to hear that. She'd also look like this (HOT!)

Above: Not only does the trusty club protect your car from would be intruders, it doesn't count as a prohibited weapon charge when used in a street fight, and if you're ever stuck underwater you can break your windows open with it. It also makes a fabulous bookend for the auto-enthusiast in every home!


I took a limo down to the Bill's home opener yesterday. I came home, and woke up with a killer migraine. A few meds and sleep later, I just woke up not to long ago -- it's already night. Falcons game is is about to start so more on that in a separate post! I still feel so dead...

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... from my cold dead hands!

While I was enjoying my routine Thursday afternoon massage, I couldn't stop thinking about how hungry I was. This whole workout-twice-a-day thing has been doing a real number on my metabolism. It's as if I'm 17 all over again!

The moment my massage ended -- unhappily of course (it wasn't one of THOSE massages you sickos) -- I bolted to the neighbouring Japanese restaurant and ordered an assortment of sushi rolls.

Excited about my delicious food, I darted to my car. I was in such haste, my dangling keys carelessly banged against the driverside door of a parked car. BANG!

Before I could even stop and inspect for any damage, I heard: "WHAT THE FUCK?"

In the passenger seat sat a stocky, shaved headed, Portuguese punk (I knew he was Portuguese because his car was covered in Azores and Portugal paraphanalia, *rolls eyes*, loser)

He poked his thick head out the window of his pride and joy -- a repainted 1994 Honda Civic hatchback, polished with a set of rims that he's probably still paying for -- "YOU BETTER NOT HAVE SCRATCHED THIS MAN..."

My eyes locked on to his door. No scratches anywhere, I wasn't in a mood to fight anyone. I discreetly slipped my keys into my pocket.

Me: "Sorry man, I just had major mandible surgery and my hand twitched involuntarily. Don't worry, your car isn't stratched. It looks okay, take a look.."

Guy: "What? I heard a scrath noise," he said while inspecting for damage.

Me: "Yeah. That was my hand -- it's metal. I mean it looks real, but it's not. I lost my hand in a train accident and I replaced it with a robotic one," I said while showing my hand.

Guy: "For real?"

Me: "Yeah man. They finally put real skin over robot parts, but you can still tell under certain lights. Anyway, it's been acting up, so I have to get it checked out. Sorry about hitting your car, I didn't mean it..."

Guy: "ARE YOU SERIOUS??? It looks so real!"

He's super shocked at this point!

Me: "Of course! I was worried people would be able to tell it's fake..." - I again showed him my hand while making the fingers move very slowly -- "Touch my hand right there that's actually Titanium," I said while pointing to a bone.

He reluctantly pressed against my hand bone with his finger.

Guy: "Yo, that's fucked! It's cold like metal. I only thought this stuff was in the movies!"

What the fuck? The guy touched my hand bone and believed that it was metal? It's only cold, because it's cold outside fucker -- what a loser.

I spent the next minute or so telling him about some other non-existent cyborg technology that I saw while at the lab. This stuff was all still highly experimental. *laugh*

What made this extordinairily awesome was the fact that this guy was just eating this stuff up -- and I was keeping a straight face.

Ahhh uneducated people, it's fun playing with their minds.

The best part of this exercise is that I told him he could see all of the cyborg technology online at the company's website. Just do a good search for Cyberdyne Systems, which of course leads you to Wikipedia's definition:
As depicted in the film The Terminator and Terminator 2: Judgment Day, Cyberdyne is initially a benign manufacturing corporation in Los Angeles, California. After a T-800 series Terminator, Cyberdyne Systems Model 101— a cyborg from the future, designed to kill humans — is crushed in one of the company's hydraulic presses, the company secretly begins manufacturing technological devices based on reverse engineering the Terminator's remains.

I hope his stupid ass looks this up, should be so awesome!


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Slump Busting

Earlier in the year I assembled a corporate softball team. Yesterday marked the end of our inaugural season. How'd we do?

We won one game all season!

Yup, one measley game. Our final record was 1 win, 17 losses. But worry not, we're still in it to win it! Apparently EVERYONE makes playoffs, and guess who we play first? The one team we actually played very well against.

Oh snap! Can you imagine -- the number one team getting taken out first round by us? A bunch of fucking misfits? Yes ladies and gentlemen, this is quite possible.

Thanks to that good old NHL mentality of "Don't worry about doing well during the regular season, just make it to the playoffs, and we've got a chance..." we actually may take it all in our first time around. Wouldn't that be impressive?

Now it's just a matter of getting out of our season long slump. And since I put the team together, I'm listed as the captain. It's my responsibility to do something!

What would former Chicago Cub's First Baseman Mark Grace do if he was in a slump? Oh wait: He'd Slump Bust! Slump Busting is defined as follows:

"Slumpbuster" is a term coined by former MLB player Mark Grace. It was derived by Grace to describe a certain type of woman who he believes helped him overcome on-field struggles. For example, when Grace would find himself in a hitting slump he would seek out "the gnarliest, ugliest chick" he could find and attempt to bed her. If he was successful, the next day he was sure to get a hit, busting him out of his slump, hence the phrase.
I guess that's my mission for this week. Ugh, looks like I will be taking it for the team. Gross! I'm so doing this at the Playboy mansion., because I couldn't deal with anything less than this.

Below: Maybe this is why we're losing? Check out our gay-ass uniforms! We work for an IT company, get it? We're the "MEGABYTES" -- it's a circuit board! See? See? Yeah, I know, it's fucking gay -- but what did you expect? I designed these shirts while my ass was drunk at 3:00am


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I'm such a loser...

I was tearing through the streets yesterday, trying to get to the airport on-time so I'd be able to make a sales conference. For some odd reason (al Qaeda?), my car stereo's buttons ceased to function (frigging terrorism!) -- damn SONY -- so I was FORCED to use my remote control:

(Due to lighting and my terrible MotoRazr v3 camera system, it looks like my thumb and finger are merged to look like a groteque mutant thumb. Gross!)

Do you know how stupid you look, when you're using a remote control to change the channels on a deck that's not even 1.5 feet away from you? I can only imagine what people in the cars beside me must've thought.

All that ran through my head was what my boss said a couple weeks ago when he was rolling with me: "Are you that lazy? The radio is right in fucking front of you..."

On a completely unrelated note, I was in my elevator, I had my camera and it was late. I always wanted to do this (My apologies to any pregnant chicks that may have been trying to rush to the hospital):

ps. I'm not really sorry.


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The Boy is Back! Want $30?

Thanks to a horrific accident, I've been sidelined from the gym and all sorts of sports for the past 10+ months! During that time I've dined on everything from Creme Brulee (delicious) to Junior Whoppers at Burger King (delicious, delicious and more delicious).

I'm at a point where I can no longer suck in my stomach for a whole day. My 32" pants are so tight around the waist it's disgusting.

So with that said, I must say goodbye to the days of sitting at home and getting fat. Those days are done *sigh*

Behold, my new home for the next few months:

And in usual Shaun training fashion, I'll be holding my "Catch-me-eating-junk-food-and-I'll-pay-you-$30" contest.

The rules? Simple. Catch me eating junk food, bad food or pop and I'll pay you $30. I'm running this leg of the contest from now until November 13th, 2006. So for those of you who actually know me -- here's your chance to make some cash off me!

I need to drop 15 lbs over the next couple weeks. Armed with a trainer, and two sets of daily cardio plus a mix of other exercises catered around my accident injuries, this should be easily done!

Above: Cycling sucks, but watching football doesn't. Can't top football. Honestly, you can't.

Above: Actually, wait. Yes, you can top football. Football cheerleaders. I ain't a Cowboys fan, but their cheerleaders, damn...

Above: And what's better than Dallas Coyboy Cheerleaders? Their swimsuit calendar. My god!


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Battle of Britain

Yesterday was the Battle of Britain. A slick marketing event where you were able to test drive a selection of Mini Coopers on a make shift racetrack at the old airforce base.

After spending a few laps in the tricked out model, I must say Mini Coopers are heavy and slow. Don't let their aimed-toward-girls & gays marketing campaigns fool you.

Sure it's faster than your grocery getter Toyota Corolla, but in terms of acceleration it was a very lethargic car.

The MINI's only saving grace? It's handling. Here's an in-car video of my friend Billie and I taking two quick laps in a Mini Cooper Ralley S (Her *screams* make me laugh every time):

Nonetheless, I still think the car is nothing more than a fashion acessory -- think about all the people who drive these things! And people say my SL500 is going to be a cry for attention... uh no!

I'll end this on a brighter note. Mini Coopers are actually very spacious:

Now it never went down (in the Mini Cooper at least), but at least Mini Coopers are good for something right?


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Girls = Waste of Time

Ugh, girls are such bitches, really. From now on, I'm going back to not caring about any of them. Honestly, what's the point in putting effort into them? Waste -- of -- fucking -- time! Stupid whores... (... and stupid me for not realizing this by now).

Speaking of whores, I was sitting on the patio of a club near my place last night. I wound up having a random conversation with some girl who was sitting beside me.

Somehow along the way I hear a "Oh, I don't know. I'm only 17."

WTF? 17? How did your ass get in here? Stay the fuck away from me... (and... do you go to such and such highschool? Do you know my brother? He's 17... laugh!)

Anyhow, there seems to be some Michael Jackson Thriller Zombie fog spreading across the city. Here are a couple pics from my balcony, taken right now -- but who cares about Zombies, back to breakfast for me...

Above: Kinda creepy..

Above: Weird, so Jetson-esque...

Above: Blah...

*** On a side note: Just thought about this. During our drunken walk home, Chris (M) challeneged me to a 100 metre race -- on the sidewalk, right by my place! What the hell? Why does everyone wanna race me in 100m? Regardless, my two false starts lead to my demise of this re-match. He beat me because I was dead tired by the end of the run -- but when I heal from my injuries -- watch out! We all know who the real 100m champ is (me!). Secondly, two unbelievably hot girls in the lobby saw me walk into the building after that: "Were you guys racing out there?" -- hilarious! (They were waiting for a cab, probably call girls..)


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0 to 20 in 2 hours: Speed Dating

The other night a couple of us guys went speed dating - just for fun, a night out! Ever done it before?

If not, imagine a closed off section of a bar where twenty women are seated at various stations. To begin each guy is required to sit with one woman at random. Every three minutes, a whistle is blown and us men rotate in clockwise sequence to the next station.

During your three minutes with woman y (I prefer using y as a variable) you have the oppourtunity to chat up her up. Once three minutes have expired, if she likes you she puts a tick down on her form indicating she'd like to see you again. Us guys do the same. By the end of the evening the hosts collect your forms, tally matual matches, and sends you your match's contact info.

Ingenious? Maybe. The only problem is you never know what type of women show up. To make things worse, you are stuck with all of them -- even the ones you don't like -- for three minutes.

Sure, being fake infront of customers is one thing -- but that's easy. Being fake infront of some woman, that is double your weight and has summer teeth (some are here, some are there) that's another thing.

"Oh, you don't have a job? That's nice, you're living the life!" Ugh!

There was also the programmer / comedian who crushed my hand while shaking it -- my friend says she could've taken me in a fight (I think he's right!).

And then there was big momma -- we won't even get into her. Damn girl.

As per usual, there were a few interesting ones, but all in all the crowd was actually decent - lots of nice people. I seemed to only click with a couple attendees, including "the I'm so pretty model chick" -- go figure.

The best incident of the night goes to my friend Chris. He sat with Ghost. Ghost, was this ghastly pale queit asian chick -- fucking Casper. She was straight up weird, and certainly fresh of the boat.

"Nice to meet you Chris. How are you enjoying this PLUMMETTING weather!"

Plummeting? Who the hell says plummetting? Laugh! Chris said "I'm sure she just signed up to practice her english on me!"



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Coolin' at the playground, ya know?

I was kicking it at the Entity's house and THIS video came on:

In keeping with yesterday's child labour theme, I figured "Ayesha" by Another Bad Creation (ABC) was appropriately hilarious! ... fast forward to the 43 second mark.

The dance routines alone are enough to kill you with their hysterics! The early 90's overdone acting makes me laugh and laugh. Oh man, this video is just so wicked! I can't believe this song was played non-stop when I was a kid! Awesome!

And why is there one teenaged guy in this group? Isn't he too old for this? That motherfucker is almost as tall as me. What's he doing rolling with Chris, Rock, Jim and whatever their names are?

Speaking of cheasy songs, how can we forget Bobby Brown's old group, New Edition -- don't lie, y'all fucking love this song... no need to front like you're too cool for this shit...

It's extra funny when they all gang up and swarm the nerdy phone guy -- one even hits him on the head -- until Otis walks in and cleans things up... "Halarious!"

I'm gonna dress up like this for my next casual day at the office! Watch me!

Whitney Houston eat your heart out you coked out bitch! That's right, I snubbed you when I saw your strung out ass in the Caribbean on that Disney Cruise! That was me son! Me!!!


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Kids love Pizza! Mr. Dave loves profits...

There's a small pizza joint around the corner from my office. Come lunch they're always surprisingly overstocked with ready made pizza slices. It's great, but how can they make so much pizza with only one person working there? Who knows? Who cares!

The thing is, we should care, because I'm on to them. I recently noticed that they've decorated the walls with these horrendous pictures of children making pizza. Needless to say, this has spurred a series of inappropriate Child Labour jokes from your truly (Mature? yes I know):

Upon examination of the pictures, you can clearly see where I was coming with the Child Labour jokes right? Right. But surprise, this ain't no joke! Sure enough, I noticed this letter plastered to the wall today:

My suspicions were confirmed! Mr Dave, stop pulling a Kathy-Lee. He should be ashamed of himself, tricking little kids into coming on a field trip to his small pizza shop! "Oh Mr. Dave, we really love making pizza! This is the best trip ever!"

And Adam, Eddie, Alessia, Jimmy and Cears -- what the fuck are you doing reading my blog? Get back to work you lazy slackers...


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Sucks vs. Does NOT Suck

Sucks: Notes of Punkage attached to Cheques

Remember a little while back, I had written a post on my friends writing stupid messages on the MEMO field of cheques? Well, worry not, these antics still continue today. Yesterday, my friend Jon passed me a cheque (he pays me to be his friend).

Take a look at what it says in the MEMO field:

Fucking Jon! How'm I supposed to cash this shit?

Does NOT Suck: Coke Blak

Coffee flavoured coke? I'm addicted! It's coming to stores near you soon -- and for now -- I've got one bottle, glass bottle, left in my fridge. I'm saving it for breakfast! What's wrong with having coffee in the morning? Sure this is carbonated... and mixed with Coke, but it's del.icio.us!

(Yes, I know -- that's just a snippit -- but I have way to much alcohol in my fridge. Keep your alcoholic relatives away, please!)

Sucks: My Conehead Neighbours having Sex

Last night, I jumped into bed and hid my body under the covers. My room was quiet and dark. I sat there in the still of the darkness. That was until I heard the now-familiar sound of an old spring matress bouncing up and down. Over and over. Ugh, my stupid Conehead neighbours were having sex again. Gross! I never hear any sounds, EVER! But for some odd reason the frequency of their cheap-ass bed seems to penetrate through the conrete walls! Disgusting.

As usual the spring noises went on for about two minutes before dying out. But fuck them. And fuck that Conehead bitch (she really does have a Conehead, an awful cackle of a laugh, and hideous, hideous teeth.. my gosh, God Save the Queen). If she comes near me, I'm gonna shoot her with some laser ray or something. I'll build one, watch me. Take that Conehead!

I didn't know what to do, so I stood up against the wall and started singing Oh Canada as loud as I could. I'm a terrible singer, but... "Oh, Canada... Our home and native land..."

Tomorrow, I'm waking up at 5:30am, and blasting some annoying shit like Kelly Clarkson's "Since you've been Gone" and leaving that running all day (see the video link, trust me). Fuck them! I hate them.

I hate them so much, that if I see them in the building I pretend not to see them, or turn around and go the other way. I'll even sit in my car for a longer period of time if I see them walking in the parking garage -- they park beside me, just my luck.


Does NOT Suck: Ray Fucking Liotta

Do I really have to say anything? Seriously?

Does NOT Suck: Corned Beef from a Can and Mayonaise

Mmmmm, Corned Beef from a can and mayonaise sandwhich for dinner! This boy doesn't dine out at fancy restos every night. Didn't y'all know? Well now you do. Don't hate. I know you're jealous. Don't lie. You are! I know one person (aside from me) who's salivating. Laugh!

Sucks: Not servicing your brakes!

Don't be lazy. Don't be cheap. Service your braking system frequently. What's $100? I didn't and my rear assembly ceased! But I fixed it (with some help) this afternoon -- and voila -- I'm back bitches, and now I can stop.


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Crikey! He's dead Jim...

Like millions of people around the world, I was very sad with the recent death of Steve Irwin.

But I'm really curious as to how his entourage is doing? Crikey!

I know they're animal activists and all -- but -- what if one if them was bitter and snapped? Crikey!

What if he vowed revenge? Crikey!

What if he avenged Steve's death by going on a massive Stringray killspree? I want in on the film rights for this. It'd be just like the Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, Oh snap, Crikey!

The worst part about this whole Steve Irwin ordeal is that as soon as I heard the news, I thought about this specific comic strip. I'm so going to hell for laughing, forgive me Lord:


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Warp 9 to my Funeral

Remember when David Schwimmer made good movies?

Uhh, wait.. a.. second...

Anyhow, for some unknown bizzaro reason I came across this 1996 craptastical flick -- circa the era when every Friend from Joey to Phoebe were trying their luck with movies.

Although I couldn't recall anything about this forgotten hit, I did remember my friend Chin's post on being a Pallbearer at his uncle's funeral:

I was asked to be one of the pallbearers for the funeral. Decked out in my finest barong, I felt it was an honor to be asked. The funny thing is that the coffin is pretty heavy! You know when you carry something heavy with one arm? Then your body naturally tilts away from that side and your opposite arm slightly lifts up? Yeah, that. I was trying to avoid being that “yo, that guy’s weak” guy.

This in turn made me think: when I die, and if I somehow get TeamID to carry my casket, I’m going to write in my will that my coffin be lined with a whole shit load of 45lb plates and shit. Lead and steel and all of that! Then when that one person loses his grip – which would then cause the rest of everyone else to drop the coffin, it’d fall crashing to the ground with my limp ass body rolling out of the lid. Everyone starts screaming! Hahaha! Just the thought of seeing Shaun and Al trying to ‘poke’ my body back into the box makes me laugh!

Can you believe that? The worst part is that just after thinking about this (as hilarious as it is) my friends randomly started talking about MY FUNERAL. And since they know I absolutely despise speaking about our own deaths, they ran with it.

And what are their plans for my funeral? They're going to dress my ass up in a Star Trek space suit, and instead of a coffin I'm being placed in a Star Fleet torpedo tube.

To top things off, they'll be building a life size cardboard cut out of me (dressed in a Star Trek costume) equipped with buttons which when pressed say "my favourite" Star Trek sayings in my voice. A soundboard of sorts!

What the fuck? I fucking HATE Star Trek! I really, really hate that shit. Seriously.

I'll admit that when I was a young kid I caught a couple epsidoes and know a little bit about the show. BUT, that does not mean that I love that shit. I hate it. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

What stupid logic is that? Really? I also know about the Holocaust, does that make me a Nazi?

Why are ya'll pinning this Star Trek shit on me?

If any of y'all do this at my funeral, I swear, I'll come back and haunt you!


I'm a ghost biatch!

Above: Imagine a set up like this? Oh my. Not good, not good at all: "Make it so...."


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