...need to cut down on the before-bed snacking.

I'm at a desk. Generic office. Generic office drones milling about me.

Several people asked if it's gone yet.

"What?"

"The container."

"What container?"

"The evil container...Container 1660720. Why haven't you gotten rid of it!?"
they shriek as they run from my desk in fear.

3am. In the middle of the dream I kind of wake up to see BooBoo's face
above mine as she pins me under the blanket. My two-year old daughter has
crawled off her bed and onto ours.

"1660720 Da-da!" my brain hears her say. That can't be right. I sink
back into the dream...

It's now a hotel conference room, you know the kind: chandeliers and anonymous hotel staff filling glasses of icewater, secretly pissed that there's no tips coming from this group of sullen business people.

The container sits in a corner of the room...

"Ray fucked up! So now we've got to deal with this." The generic old man boss points at a screen. I'm not wearing any glasses and appear to be shackled to the chair. 'This' appears to be a freeze-frame of a demon image from Raiders of the Lost Ark (you know, where the flying angels turn into demons and melt the Nazis' faces...)

"Options?"

"Let's feed Ray to it and maybe it'll leave us alone."

"Good plan. Anyone else?"

Silence.

"OK. Do it."

Hands, lifting my chair. Taking me over to the container, which is, in fact a dumpster. The top lid swings open by its own volition. Growls are coming from inside...

I am pitched into the blackness and am pinned and cannot move. Hot breath on my forehead as the unseen monster looms over my face. The monster licks me with an unspeakably wet tongue!

"DADA!" screams my two-year old as I awaken.

"Boo-Boo is MILKY MONSTER! RAAAAARRRRRHHHHHH!"

this last bit screamed into my face. I can't move as I'm pinned by the blankets. Boo-Boo has invited our 85lb Doberman-Shepherd Ruby-Tuesday up onto the bed beside her, effectively locking me down under the covers. Guess who the unspeakably wet tongue belongs to? I glance at the clock: 4:10am.

The Milky Monster stops for a moment and considers.

"DADA?"

"Yes, Boo-Boo?"

"DIAPER FULL! DIAPER FULL!"

And dear God it was...Why couldn't I go back to my nice comfy nightmare?

Ugh!

Now that true equality is upon us, the horrors of uncontrolled cosmetic surgery are visited upon both sexes:

Behold if you dare!

Funny, I was getting kind of desensitized to bad cosmetic surgery on women. But Mickey Rourke and Bruce Jenner are scaring the hell out of me!

Forget the elections, how 'bout a coup?

Disgust does not begin to express how I feel about this. (via Daimnation!)

Just another example of the total lack of moral conviction (not the religious right kind, which seems to be the only one talked about nowadays...) present in Ottawa. We don't want to offend anyone do we? Canada is just so nice isn't it?

Torture our people, and then make it up to us by making sure you feed our politicians...We'll forgive you. Just like we will the next time. And the next.

And, of course, it doesn't matter if the Liberals lose the next election (fat chance that will happen!) because all of the other opposition parties were there too! Except the NDP, who probably weren't invited anyway and would've gone if they could.

The Flea also has something to say about this...

I probably wouldn't have been as upset about this (politics is a strange game that forces one to check their convictions at the door sometimes) if it wasn't for the pathetic idiotic bleatings of one Senator Harb:



Because everyone charged with murder in a tinpot dictatorship is by definition a trouble-maker that should be dealt with. How trustworthy can they be? I mean they were charged with murder, weren't they?

Two words for you Senator Harb. Take a guess what they are.

Cougars at Costco

When the hell did Costco warehouses become the new pickup joints in town?

I've noticed quite a change in the dress code since I started bulk shopping at the friendly local warehouse. Whereas Saturdays and Sundays are "family days" (bring all your relatives and screaming brats and fan out across the aisle so no one can pass you before you get your hands on the mayonnaise by the gallon that EVERYONE is trying to steal from you...) I find that the weeknights are patrolled by desperate lonely singles on the make...

The dress code can only be described as "Suburban Skank."

Take the cougar that was trolling last night in the cheese aisle (har har!)...
A non-descript woman in her early-40's, from the front appearing rather conservative in blouse, jacket and wool skirt flashes a smile: does she not see the 2 differents sizes of pampers in my cart? Does she not know that I am shopping for my family?

As I passed her on the way to the 2 kilogram mozzarella in the fridge she tries to hold my gaze. I avert my eyes and concentrate on the bulk shopping list. I make it past her to my relief.

Undaunted she doubles back and passes me, moving back the way she came, giving me a view of what she thinks is her best asset. As she walks away from me I notice that 1) the skirt is at least a size too small leaving nothing to the imagination and 2) the black shadow of a poorly coordinated thong is visible through the skirt, both in colour and as a bulge against her too-tight outfit.

This may be a look young girls can pull off (they don't know any better!) but on a woman this old and desperate it is just plain sad.

And to think that she dressed this way intentionally.

I got out of there fast, the evening rain hammering down and washing the smell of desperation out of the air...

I'm going to rethink my shopping strategies. Seems something weird happens to me every time I set foot in that place...

Persistence is sometimes a bad thing....

Non-Canadian readers will forgive me while I laugh and sneer at an annoying Canadian politician whose expiry date is several years past due...

Copps won't quit race



Proving to me that there's still hope for the Liberal Party of Canada and that Sheila is a big dumb idiot.



HA HA HA!



Nothing like trotting out promises that you'll never be forced to keep - even though I'm biased because of the two little ones I have, I don't think universal day-care would work: the Feds have proven they can't run a simply gun-registry without ballooning the costs into the stratosphere. Imagine throwing whining brats and pissed-off sleep-deprived parents into the mix.

Oh and quotas and targets always solve everything and don't build substandard workers dependent on their "special status" to get ahead. Right? RIGHT?



Translation: I love the spotlight. ME ME ME!



Translation: Feed my flunkies! Now!



Translation: Socialism is good for all of you! But not for me 'cause my Daddy was rich and famous in Hamilton! Therefore I'm famous and special. But socialism is good for all of you...



Free Drinks! Free Drinks! Free Drinks!



'cause that single digit support has Martin trembling in his boots! Behold powerful Sheila! Scourge of taxpayers. Make her Minister of Silly Walks!



?!?



Free Drinks! Free Drinks! Free Drinks!



I say again.

HA HA HA!

The woman has no problem wasting taxpayer money, why should she have a problem wasting the time and money of her own party members, who of course are stupid to not see her overwhelming greatness...



From hell's heart she'll stab at thee...



Good battle? It must be nice to have no idea what a joke your own party thinks you are. Anyone with any kind of self-respect would hightail it back to Hamilton and stop bothering people.

But this is Sheila we're talking about...

Paranoid Convenience

I use the 407 Electronic Toll Highway here in Ontario.

That means that my car carries a little black box behind the mirror that signals the road when I enter and when I leave, calculating the toll, then sending me a monthly bill.

It's all ever-so-convenient.

At the bottom of the sign up papers is the disclaimer that the device will NOT be used for speed enforcement, or traffic enforcement of any kind...

I find myself staring at the device with suspicion...

It is plotting...

In a time/speed/distance calculation all you need are two things: time and distance, in order to calculate speed. So my beautifully detailed invoices are, in fact, evidence that I was doing 140km/h (that's 87 mph) on my way to work this morning.

...feeling the icy gaze of Big Brother upon me

Just call me Mr. Roper

The last thing I want to do at 7am is plunge a clogged toilet...

But that's what I was doing. To no avail. Whoever had the bright idea of "low-flow" toilets should be shot and chopped into little pieces and then burned.

Not the kind of stress I need first thing before my shower.

The wonders of this modern world. My lovely wife made a few calls and then when I came home from work, wonder of wonders: a completely new, high pressure turbo-flush toilet. The old piece of shit (har har) was nowhere to be found.

I haven't seen the bill yet.

I don't care at the moment. Hopefully this doesn't change my enthusiasm for the moment of porcelain perfection. Just listen to that:

WHOOOOOOOOOSSHH!!!

And not even a gurgle afterward.

How can I tell that my life is getting really exciting?

Blog Blockage

Guess who's back?
Back Again?

hell's jukebox

Drifting over from another desk is the sound of Whitney Houston warbling about how she "will alwaaaayyyssss LOVE UUUUUOOOOOOWWWWWOOOOOOOO!!!!"

Why is it that the only music allowed in offices today is that canned piped-in top-40 shit of at least 10 years ago? I mean, what if everyone in the office was allowed a vote - [the Kraut looks over his shoulder at the people in the accounting department, most of them 40 year old women who are interpreting "business casual" to mean "suburban sloppy"] - OK scratch the voting idea. Voting is probably how we got in this mess in the beginning. How about a rotating musical dictatorship with term limits?

That way I won't have to listen to Phil Collins, Celine Dion and the worst dreck of the 80's (currently hearing "The Lady in Red" - where's my gun?) We might actually get a bit of variety in here. Which is ironic, because that's exactly what these radio stations claim to deliver...

Oh great, now it's Shania. Without the visual of her videos (a very LARGE compensating factor!) I realize how bad a singer she actually is...

My head is aching because my brain is attempting to cut off my auditory nerves from my central nervous system from the inside of my head without releasing any of that stored up Single Malt that should be sitting in my brain for just such an occasion.

The pain!

Oh, this is the jukebox in hell alright!

The Prodigal Mug Returns

I staged a daring covert Monday morning raid on the office kitchen this morning. As I detailed in this post earlier, the mug is the source of my mystical accounting/office powers (doesn't tie to a specific mug- as long as it's MY mug from home)

The mug seems OK, though dopey due to being in close contact with ordinary stupid generic office mugs.

Maybe some home brewed caffeine will help.

There you go...

I will have to take it home and perform the ritual of restoration...

Welcome home little buddy. The time of need is great.