All things have a genesis. Innovations and inventions have a starting point. Before that point of origin, the thing in question existed only as a dream, a spark of imagination in one person's head. History is thus divided by a single and specific instance of creation.
There must have been a time before you could get bacon-wrapped sausages. There is an entire history before that point, a whole era, quantifiable and pitiable, in which sausages wrapped in bacon simply had never occured to anyone. Or maybe, in Douglas Adams way, someone came up with the idea but was then somehow atomized, consigning the intervening generations to further wallow in their naked sausages.
...
Okay, wallowing in naked sausages conjures an entirely unintended image that I wasn't prepared to discuss, so let's table that particular tableau for another date.
Still, damn, huh? Bacon-wrapped sausages: that's some good stuff!
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
November 25, 2010
August 14, 2009
The Truth? You can't hand- oh, whatever.
There comes a time in each man's life when he must confront the darkness in his soul. There are dark urges that sometimes drive us, make us do things we could never speak aloud, fill us with regret. These are the times when we know we have become as low and as foul as we could possibly be.
It is only through the light of truth that we can start to rid ourselves of these evil predilections. Today, I have to admit to you something that shames me to the core.
I kind of like the taste of Thrills gum.
It is only through the light of truth that we can start to rid ourselves of these evil predilections. Today, I have to admit to you something that shames me to the core.
I kind of like the taste of Thrills gum.
May 27, 2009
What the Huck?
I took this photo a couple years back in Iqaluit, Nunavut (Northern Canada). I wouldn't want to worry any potential travelers, but this sign was posted at the airport.Seems logical, though, doesn't it? Don't fire your rifle at the airport.
March 12, 2009
Life imitates (ostensible) art
Here are two commercials to watch.
Okay, so far so good, assuming you're into facial filling make-up. To be honest, I watched this with the sound off, so I know nothing about the product. I can only assume it's some kind of jelly that makes your face look chubby. In all fairness, Chub-gel probably wouldn't sell as well.
Or is it?
What I know for sure is that it bares a startling similarity to a fictional product I have seen before.
Submitted for your review and comparison:
Holy shit!
It's at times like this that you realize how hopelessly out of touch most cosmetics companies are with the modern horror movies (shocking, I know). Surely, at least one person at Avon must have said "hey guys, this new product is great and all, but you do realize that we've designed it to look almost exactly like a zombie-making virus from a series of horror movies and games, right? Guys?"
At this point, the lone voice of dissent was no doubt introduced to the labs in the secret sub-basement at Avon-- the labs where the zombies are stored. Of course they don't do animal testing; zombie testing is much more reliable!
Okay, so far so good, assuming you're into facial filling make-up. To be honest, I watched this with the sound off, so I know nothing about the product. I can only assume it's some kind of jelly that makes your face look chubby. In all fairness, Chub-gel probably wouldn't sell as well.
Or is it?
What I know for sure is that it bares a startling similarity to a fictional product I have seen before.
Submitted for your review and comparison:
Holy shit!
It's at times like this that you realize how hopelessly out of touch most cosmetics companies are with the modern horror movies (shocking, I know). Surely, at least one person at Avon must have said "hey guys, this new product is great and all, but you do realize that we've designed it to look almost exactly like a zombie-making virus from a series of horror movies and games, right? Guys?"
At this point, the lone voice of dissent was no doubt introduced to the labs in the secret sub-basement at Avon-- the labs where the zombies are stored. Of course they don't do animal testing; zombie testing is much more reliable!
March 06, 2009
February 05, 2009
Hi, my name is Knuckles.
I'm a heroine addict.
It was innocent enough, in the beginning. I found a discarded poster of Princess Leia, one day after school, and brought it home with me. My friends thought it was cool. I loved the adulation of my peers, and I needed to do more to keep it up. They'd egg me on; they convinced me to start reading Wonder Woman.
Well, then I was Mr. Popular. We'd have parties and someone would always start passing around the Batgirl. My wife was always trying to be understanding, but I hid how often I was using. It was a downward spiral of Black Canary, Ms. Marvel, and Lara Croft.
Before I knew it, my wife left me when she found Ellen Ripley stashed under our mattress.
It was innocent enough, in the beginning. I found a discarded poster of Princess Leia, one day after school, and brought it home with me. My friends thought it was cool. I loved the adulation of my peers, and I needed to do more to keep it up. They'd egg me on; they convinced me to start reading Wonder Woman.
Well, then I was Mr. Popular. We'd have parties and someone would always start passing around the Batgirl. My wife was always trying to be understanding, but I hid how often I was using. It was a downward spiral of Black Canary, Ms. Marvel, and Lara Croft.
Before I knew it, my wife left me when she found Ellen Ripley stashed under our mattress.
December 22, 2008
I'm better than Bookworm
Have you ever played a game of Scrabble against someone with a limited vocabulary? Like the time that I played against a couple friends and laid out the word rapt. Not exactly a high-scoring word, now is it? Nonetheless, the girl pointed out that rapt wasn't a word. I assured her that it is a word. She declined my offered definition.http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/rapt
She then asked me the ultimate Scrabble-challenge question: use rapt in a sentence. By this time, I was fairly flustered and the best I could come up with was: Rapt is a word. It's a complete sentence, grammatically sound, and it is also a true sentence. Alas, I only won after the fun of the game was thoroughly ground into the dirt.
My feelings when playing Bookworm are similarly unpleasant. Here, not only are you unable to use some words for mysterious reasons, but you also cannot argue that you're right. Case in point: look at the image above. Wizened is a word, as surely as rapt is and rofl isn't.
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/wizened
I raged against my machine that day, I'll tell you. The feeling of such bitter and ignominious defeat, of plummeting from the lexical heights of Bookwormdom's noble court (the 7-letter+ word club)... it soured my whole Bookworming experience and I have not played since.
Then you play Scrabulous on Facebook and somehow za is a word. The vocabulary world has turned against me.
October 28, 2008
www.howdoigetmyheadoutofthisthing.com
Day 1: After the initial flush of panic subsided, I have determined that my first fears were correct: my head is indeed firmly stuck in this thing.
Day 2: Calling for help has done me no good. I spent most of the day, gently tapping and sounding out any weak points in this thing. There appear to be none. There is a slimy patch, though, which I regret having touched in the first place. I've made a mental note of that spot, in order to avoid it in the future.
Day 3: The peculiar sensation of being watched came over me today. I suspect that someone is out there, simply watching me as I blunder about with my head caught in this thing. They don't answer me when I ask for help. Did they put this thing on my head? I must investigate further.
Day 4: Is someone cooking bacon?
Day 5: I have stubbed my toe. Curious, though, is the fact that whatever it was, against which I stubbed my toe, cried out in pain. My suspicions of being watched have been confirmed. Whoever I kicked did not answer when I asked if he was all right. So I called him a jerk and tried to kick him again. I missed.
Day 6: Is this just a large vase? I think it might be. It's pretty durable, but thus far I have resisted punching myself in the head or slamming my skull against the floor to try and break it. I am quite hungry, now, and fear the corner of the room will no longer be habitable since I could not find anything that felt like a bathroom.
Day 7: I woke up this morning to see a crack of light. It seems the vase in which my head had become stuck was broken a bit by a fit in my restless sleep. I dreamt of dancing through a field with this thing stuck on my head. I could see, though, and the thing had become part of me. Upon seeing the crack of light, I rejoiced and cried out huzzah! Someone shushed me, citing that the game was on. I immediately set about tapping the crack with my knuckles until it widened. Eventually, the whole vase fell to pieces and I was free.
Day 8: It was explained to me that I drank too much, and upon being dared to stick my head into a vase, I did so with no thought to how I might extricate myself once thus inserted. I was the subject of laughter for some time before I ceased being humourous. That no one made any move to help me in the following week is a cause for some concern.
Day 9: Thinking of my dream, I have begun to miss my vase.
Day 2: Calling for help has done me no good. I spent most of the day, gently tapping and sounding out any weak points in this thing. There appear to be none. There is a slimy patch, though, which I regret having touched in the first place. I've made a mental note of that spot, in order to avoid it in the future.
Day 3: The peculiar sensation of being watched came over me today. I suspect that someone is out there, simply watching me as I blunder about with my head caught in this thing. They don't answer me when I ask for help. Did they put this thing on my head? I must investigate further.
Day 4: Is someone cooking bacon?
Day 5: I have stubbed my toe. Curious, though, is the fact that whatever it was, against which I stubbed my toe, cried out in pain. My suspicions of being watched have been confirmed. Whoever I kicked did not answer when I asked if he was all right. So I called him a jerk and tried to kick him again. I missed.
Day 6: Is this just a large vase? I think it might be. It's pretty durable, but thus far I have resisted punching myself in the head or slamming my skull against the floor to try and break it. I am quite hungry, now, and fear the corner of the room will no longer be habitable since I could not find anything that felt like a bathroom.
Day 7: I woke up this morning to see a crack of light. It seems the vase in which my head had become stuck was broken a bit by a fit in my restless sleep. I dreamt of dancing through a field with this thing stuck on my head. I could see, though, and the thing had become part of me. Upon seeing the crack of light, I rejoiced and cried out huzzah! Someone shushed me, citing that the game was on. I immediately set about tapping the crack with my knuckles until it widened. Eventually, the whole vase fell to pieces and I was free.
Day 8: It was explained to me that I drank too much, and upon being dared to stick my head into a vase, I did so with no thought to how I might extricate myself once thus inserted. I was the subject of laughter for some time before I ceased being humourous. That no one made any move to help me in the following week is a cause for some concern.
Day 9: Thinking of my dream, I have begun to miss my vase.
October 02, 2008
The Game Begins
I have difficulty with the idea of having a desk near the bathroom door. I was lucky this time, and I didn't have to bite that bullet. The bullet was instead bitten by Phil. He isn't our resident bullet biter by any means, so this seems an odd place to put him.
I do notice that he nods and speaks to me when I go by, though. It's as though he's documenting my bathroom habits. Perhaps he's been put there by The Man, whose name is Gord, to keep me "down" somehow.
I like being able to go to the bathroom unnoticed. It adds a layer of mystery that is comfortable for me. Like, 'where has kingmonkey gone?' 'I don't know'. That's better than 'where has kingmonkey gone?' 'To the bathroom, he's been in their for seven minutes, and this is his third trip to the bathroom today.'
Clearly, I must devise an alternate means of reaching the bathroom unnoticed. Perhaps if I slide along the office floor, wearing strips of carpet as camouflage. I can wait until he's doing credit card reconciliation and dart into the men's room. That'll screw up his precious surveillance, won't it?
Alternately, I may hit him in the head with a plank, from behind.
I'll be sure to document the results of whichever plan I enact. Stay tuned, and know that I am fighting for your rights.
Somehow.
I do notice that he nods and speaks to me when I go by, though. It's as though he's documenting my bathroom habits. Perhaps he's been put there by The Man, whose name is Gord, to keep me "down" somehow.
I like being able to go to the bathroom unnoticed. It adds a layer of mystery that is comfortable for me. Like, 'where has kingmonkey gone?' 'I don't know'. That's better than 'where has kingmonkey gone?' 'To the bathroom, he's been in their for seven minutes, and this is his third trip to the bathroom today.'
Clearly, I must devise an alternate means of reaching the bathroom unnoticed. Perhaps if I slide along the office floor, wearing strips of carpet as camouflage. I can wait until he's doing credit card reconciliation and dart into the men's room. That'll screw up his precious surveillance, won't it?
Alternately, I may hit him in the head with a plank, from behind.
I'll be sure to document the results of whichever plan I enact. Stay tuned, and know that I am fighting for your rights.
Somehow.
September 08, 2008
Truth in Advertising
I'm not sure what planet most advertising people live on. It's certainly not my Earth. The simplest things, under the only-slightly-biased eyes of the ad-men transform into the most miraculous of events.
Do they even shave? If they do, then why are they trying to make us think that shaving is the most thrilling experience a man can have? I mean, yeah, shaving is pretty cool and all-- it helps you not get kicked out of bed for scraping your partner's skin off like a cheese grater when you try to kiss. But how many times have we seen this ad?
Experience the thrill and excitement of Gilleck Quadro Fusion Extreme 3 Micro-razors! Each blade gives a more spine-tingling excitement than the last! Shaving is more exactly, more scientifically designed to provide you with the most awesome experience known to man!! With the Gilleck Quadro Fusion Extreme 3 Micro-razor you'll be more manly and virile than ever!!! You'll be like half James Bond, half Rambo, and half race car driving astronaut!!!! You'll become a shaving cream powered sex-machine!!!!! God-damn it shaving is so cool!!!!!! Hot, submissive women in silver skin-tight space suits will come on to you and you'll ejaculate like a man on fire parachuting from the space shuttle at 3,000 miles per hour!!!!!!!
Of course, for women the approach is less, shall we say, un-subtle... and graced with fewer exclamation marks.
The Aphrodite will transform you into a living goddess. No exaggeration. Once you shave with the Aphrodite, not only will your unsightly, freakish leg-hair be mercifully removed, thereby saving your immortal soul, but you will instantly be transported to a tropical island, where you and all your other Aphrodite-transcending goddess friends will live a life of idyll and luxury. You'll do nothing but take leisurely swims in a remarkably sterile ocean, and drink brightly coloured tropical drinks served to you in ornate glasses adorned with little pink umbrellas, served to you by bronzed, servile men with killer abs, who are also adorned only with little pink umbrellas. If you don't shave with this razor, you'll remain a hairy cow, fit only for a career in a circus freak show, doomed to live a single life, alone and miserable with your twelve cats. It's your choice.
It has become painfully apparent that I should get a job in marketing. I have few reservations about lying, and suffer few, if any pangs of conscience. I would concoct ads promising sexual prowess and material wealth if only you'd buy Velveeta. Velveeta's delicious and smooth flavour not only grants immortality, but also, moments of omniscience. If you drive a Hyundai, you will have sex with every woman in the world (even if you are one yourself, so ladies, you may need to really think about your sexuality before buying a Hyundai). Lucky Charms cereal is guaranteed to give you your own leprechaun in each box; don't worry about that curious smell of decay, that's normal for leprechauns-- the rank wee buggers!
Do they even shave? If they do, then why are they trying to make us think that shaving is the most thrilling experience a man can have? I mean, yeah, shaving is pretty cool and all-- it helps you not get kicked out of bed for scraping your partner's skin off like a cheese grater when you try to kiss. But how many times have we seen this ad?
Experience the thrill and excitement of Gilleck Quadro Fusion Extreme 3 Micro-razors! Each blade gives a more spine-tingling excitement than the last! Shaving is more exactly, more scientifically designed to provide you with the most awesome experience known to man!! With the Gilleck Quadro Fusion Extreme 3 Micro-razor you'll be more manly and virile than ever!!! You'll be like half James Bond, half Rambo, and half race car driving astronaut!!!! You'll become a shaving cream powered sex-machine!!!!! God-damn it shaving is so cool!!!!!! Hot, submissive women in silver skin-tight space suits will come on to you and you'll ejaculate like a man on fire parachuting from the space shuttle at 3,000 miles per hour!!!!!!!
Of course, for women the approach is less, shall we say, un-subtle... and graced with fewer exclamation marks.
The Aphrodite will transform you into a living goddess. No exaggeration. Once you shave with the Aphrodite, not only will your unsightly, freakish leg-hair be mercifully removed, thereby saving your immortal soul, but you will instantly be transported to a tropical island, where you and all your other Aphrodite-transcending goddess friends will live a life of idyll and luxury. You'll do nothing but take leisurely swims in a remarkably sterile ocean, and drink brightly coloured tropical drinks served to you in ornate glasses adorned with little pink umbrellas, served to you by bronzed, servile men with killer abs, who are also adorned only with little pink umbrellas. If you don't shave with this razor, you'll remain a hairy cow, fit only for a career in a circus freak show, doomed to live a single life, alone and miserable with your twelve cats. It's your choice.
It has become painfully apparent that I should get a job in marketing. I have few reservations about lying, and suffer few, if any pangs of conscience. I would concoct ads promising sexual prowess and material wealth if only you'd buy Velveeta. Velveeta's delicious and smooth flavour not only grants immortality, but also, moments of omniscience. If you drive a Hyundai, you will have sex with every woman in the world (even if you are one yourself, so ladies, you may need to really think about your sexuality before buying a Hyundai). Lucky Charms cereal is guaranteed to give you your own leprechaun in each box; don't worry about that curious smell of decay, that's normal for leprechauns-- the rank wee buggers!
April 17, 2008
I'm pretty sure that my fortune cookies have been hitting on me
A few days ago, I went out and got some Chinese food. First, and most importantly, it was fucking fantastic! Second, and even more most important, my fortune cookies started to chat me up.
They didn't even start off subtle, either.
Others are deeply moved by your presence... in bed.
I could only respond to that in one way: fuckin' right they are!
But it didn't stop there. My leftovers also included a fortune cookie.
You express yourself with charm and humor... in bed.
Oh, Fortune Cookies, you say such things-- I'm blushing. If only you were animate...
I'm having the last of the Chinese food tonight, before it goes bad and starts a refrigerator revolt. I'm hoping my fortune cookies will affirm their love for me, but secretly fear they may leave me for the moo shoo crepes.
They didn't even start off subtle, either.
Others are deeply moved by your presence... in bed.
I could only respond to that in one way: fuckin' right they are!
But it didn't stop there. My leftovers also included a fortune cookie.
You express yourself with charm and humor... in bed.
Oh, Fortune Cookies, you say such things-- I'm blushing. If only you were animate...
I'm having the last of the Chinese food tonight, before it goes bad and starts a refrigerator revolt. I'm hoping my fortune cookies will affirm their love for me, but secretly fear they may leave me for the moo shoo crepes.
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