Apparently, I am High

So I'm serving at The Saltlik now. It has its perks. For instance, I make decent money because the food is fairly expensive, and most every customer orders wine. Most of those who enter our fine establishment are either businessmen on their lunch break, who don't even have time to order their food (One guy once said to me "What? Give me a sandwich or something" without even having looked at the menu, or me, or at anything other than whatever crucially important business was in his portfolio at the time. Why would you make a lunch reservation for one, sit by yourself with your work papers, and not even look at the menu? Get a temp to get you a God damned tuna sandwich and stay at the office...) and could care less about you, or friends and families out on the town for a great dinner and a crapload of booze. Businessmen are low maintenance and tip pretty well (it's never their money anyways), and a night of food and wine at the Saltlik for a big party, well, let's just say it's more expensive than a hooker. Than most hookers... well I'm not talking Pretty Woman here, I'm talking hookers who don't have all their teeth and are probably missing a limb, or an eye... I have no idea how much a hooker costs.

Anyway, this Sunday night produced my most memorable table thus far. And by memorable, of course, I mean most painful and excruciating. If you know me, you already knew what I meant. Four people sat down (Their age and gender is irrelevant here, and I wouldn't want to be distasteful... actually yeah I would, it was two couples in their 50's) and ordered martinis and a 60 dollar bottle of wine. This was an excellent start to the evening; an 85 dollar tab without any food on the bill. Being only slightly knowledgeable with regards to wine, I lucked out when they ordered a bottle of wine that I was familiar with: I recommended decanting the wine to let it breathe, and as I watched the happy nodding heads of my elated customers, I could literally, physically FEEL my tip going up. They ordered 35 dollars worth of appetizers, bringing the bill to 120 dollars even, and as I strolled off to the passthrough to punch in their food, I smiled, knowing this table was 'in the bag'.

This 'bag' must have had a large hole in the bottom. Little did I know, the bill would remain at 120 dollars. As I turned the corner to grab a decanter, I realized that there was only one decanter in the entire restaurant large enough to hold a full bottle of wine. No problem I thought; I only have one bottle to put in it! Perfect mathematics. You can't fuck with mathematics. What I did not realize, until I brought the decanter to the table, was that it was filthy. It had not been used in some time (Had it ever been used?), and it was not until I had already set it down on the table, and could see it in the candle light, that I realized how disgusting it was. I'm talking little chucks of some sticky opaque substance on the outside, dust and grime on the inside, and water marks throughout. As I was realizing the state of the decanter the guests were also realizing the state of the decanter, and before I could say "oh shit", the older of the two men had picked up the decanter, and was giving me a most disgusted and unimpressed look. Luckily, I had not yet poured the wine into the decanter, so I simply took it away to clean it. However, cleaning it would prove impossible, as I couldn't get the grime out of the inside. I found a small pipe-cleaner-snake-looking-entity in the passthrough, and was told to use it to clean the inside of the decanter. Sounds simple. I was not, however, instructed to put a cloth around the pipe cleaner thingy, until after I had already begun cleaning the inside of the decanter. As I pulled the clothless pipe snake thing out of the decanter, the pipe cleaner released numerous tiny chunks of the white styrofoamy material, which immediately clung to the small amount of moisture inside the decanter. Now I had a grimy decanter with white styrofoam chunks stuck inside of it. It was time to give up and face the music.

I crept back to the table, my tail between my legs, and informed them that, contrary to my fantastic suggestion, we would not be able to decant the wine, since the decanter was dirtier than a septic tank. They were mildly annoyed but were enjoying their appetizers at this point, and were not too put off by my failures thus far, which were becoming more numerous by the minute. I took their dinner order and punched it into the computer, taking great care to make sure the food was punched in correctly.

45 minutes later, I went back to the table and informed them that their food would be"coming out soon", although I wasn't really sure of this myself. "We are very upset" was their only response, and I let them know that the manager would be coming out to talk to them with the arrival of the food. I thanked them for their patience, although it was obvious to everyone that they were all impatient. 45 Minutes is a long time to wait for food, but why get worked up about it? Perhaps someone pissed in their organic cheerios that morning. The understaffed kitchen was doing quite a good job, but the impossibility of their situation was catching up with them at this point in the night. 4 men can only cook so much food at once. 55 minutes after ordering their food, it was ready and we took it out to the table. Here's where things get crazy.

As the manager and I brought the food out to the table, we again began apologizing for the lengthy bill. She had already decided that we were going to take the food off of their bill entirely, but before this table of sophisticated individuals could be informed of this, they went completely insane. The older woman said, inexplicably, "Have you looked at your server's eyes?". My manager responded "Umm... you mean your server? Well-". "Well I don't think they're always that red" the other woman interrupted, again inexplicably. Before my manager could enter a plea of WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, the older woman chimed in again "God, look at HER eyes too, she's been at it as well". At this point, I'm pinching my own arm to make sure I'm not dreaming. When I realize I'm not dreaming, I'm not sure whether to laugh, cry, or punch a 50 year old woman in the throat. You have to realize, people, that I am probably the least high person in the universe. I'm quick, witty, energetic, I like long walks on the beach... And my eyes are crystal clear. There is simply no redness in my eyes. I am, certifiably, not at all high. If anything I'm low, and I don't even know what the hell that means.

My manager and I were dumbfounded, and as we looked at each other, wide-eyed and still too confused to be insulted, we were rescued by a setter who had overheard the accusations. "Listen, she's just trying to help, she wants to take care of your food and make sure you're happy. There is no reason to be rude." You know, this isn't exactly what he said, it was something close to this, but it was even better. It was at once calming and intelligent, but also authoritative and assertive. It was pretty amazing actually, just came right off the top of his head, out of his mouth, and into the history books. Well, we did end up taking care of their food, the reception of which made them all a bit more jovial (perhaps, as dogs, they are simply upset when someone fucks with their chow?). I served them, begrudgedly, with a plastic smile and false happiness, for the rest of their stay, and they gave me a 22% tip on the reduced bill of 120$. I'm not sure if they felt bad or if they were too stupid to do math. Maybe both. For people who think that everyone in the service industry is high, simple mathematics must be challenging at times. It must be difficult to multiply and add with the collective Intelligence Quotient of a rotting stump. But what do I know... I'm high as a kite, remember? WEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEE I'M SO HIGH WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

Spiker

The Antibeauty Baby / Stuporstore

Imagine the two ugliest people in the universe. I'm talking about people so ugly they make Quasimodo look like america's next top model. Eyes all over the place, fat filling out every crevasse, stained fangy teeth, intensely overgrown toenails, braidable nose hair, etc. Now, imagine them having a child (But don't imagine them conceiving it, because that might cause irreparable... oops, too late). The being created through this heinous act would, I imagine, be a creature so ugly that it would be something akin to beauty antimatter. The child would slither out of its crusty womb, and collide with something beautiful, utterly destroying it, creating an explosion more powerful than 10 million hydrogen bombs. The antibeauty baby would mean the end of the universe as we know it. Such an event must not be allowed to occur. It is imperative that we take action against the perpetrators of beauty. That sounded like something George W. would say...

I'm not really sure where all that came from, but I thought it was funny.

So I was at superstore the other day. Mistake. As I walked through the aisles of the dark, musty dungeon they call superstore, and noticed that every third item was out of stock, I began to wonder why I went there instead of Safeway. Oh, that's right, because Safeway charges 27 dollars for a green pepper. Superstore does have good prices, which, you would think, would make it a better place to shop. But if you think that, then you are mistaken. Price are not all there is to shopping, as we all know. There is this moderately significant entity we like to call customer service. At superstore, customer service is spelled "FUCK YOU". They actually have a huge sign in the store that just says "FUCK YOU". People line up under it to buy cigarettes and return George Foreman grills, but all they end up getting in either case is a Butterbean sized punch in their dignity/self esteem. This is not my idea of a good time.

Every aisle you go down measures about 1.5 shopping carts wide, so that every time you want to pass someone going the other way, one of you literally has to turn around and go all the way back down the aisle and out the other side. Have you ever played the nintendo game Lemmings? This is lemmings with shopping carts, with your little sister playing. An experienced lemmings player will surely lose some lemmings, but it is only at the expense of these poor sacrificial lemmings that the others survive. Your little sister just lets them fall into the lava because they make a fun plopping sound. Superstore is your little sister playing lemmings, but instead of lemmings it's people with shopping carts. We will all surely die in this place, and all of our sacrifices will surely be in vain. It is senseless and infuriating and the worst part is, we go there voluntarily.

I finally got up to the counter, after bludgeoning countless old ladies and small children with a large frozen pack of perogies in order to escape, and the first thing the girl at the counter says is "Oh my gosh, ewwwww, what is that?", pointing at the value meat ends pack I had picked up in the elegant 'meat and cheese' department. "You're going to eat that stuff eh? Grossssss!". Where is Terry Tate when you need him. I wanted to punch this 16 year old teeny bopper right in the throat. While I smiled and said "Oh, well it's cheaper like that...", my mind was in a state of pure, white fury, after enduring superstore for two hours, unable to actually finish one coherent thought before the next cascaded over me, filling me with a homicidal rage nearly impossible to resist. I stood at the counter, silently hating this ignorant girl who should not have left her house without a helmet on. That's my god damned lunch meat you're talking about you shouldn't WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO JUDGE MY LUNCHMEAT there is no reason to make an assessment of my personal WHAT'S WRONG WITH THE LUNCHMEAT IT ONLY LOOKS FUNNY CAUSE IT'S VACUPACKED YOU STUPID I hope you're making minimum wage, that's the only thing that might make me WHERE ARE THE ENGLISH MUFFINS WHERE THE F... "Oh, yeah thanks, I'll pay debit then" THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO JUSTICE IN THE UNIVERSE IF THIS seriously how can one person be so stupid, do they not train you people, are you completely THIS IS WHY THEY HAVE GUN CONTR... "Yeah thanks, no I don't need the rece... ok, yeah put it in that bag th.... ok yeah I'll just grab it then..." I hate you.

I got out alive, but barely. And I forgot lightbulbs... AGAIN. Now I understand why people order groceries online... I think I have post traumatic stress syndrome. But hey school is done, I'm stoked for the summer, aren't you??? YEAH!

Spiker

Friday Morning

You know you're sick and unfit for human interaction when you wake up at 6 oclock in the morning and one side of your nose is so completely clogged with thick, viscous snot, that not even liquid draino would penetrate it, and the other side of your nose is so chapped and dry that it has gone completely numb (Which on the bright side is a wonderful alternative to the pain you would be feeling), and then you attempt to blow the clogged side of your nose, which fails utterly, but all the air you had shunted forcefully towards this large, immovable blockage has nowhere to go so you end up shooting tiny dried snot pellets out of the other, bone dry nostril, which with some great velocity ignore the kleenex completely and lacerate your palms like a fragmentation grenade, and all you can do is lie quietly and pray for a quick end as you curl into the fetal position, while bleeding from the hands, nose, and eyes. Welcome to my Friday morning. At least it isn't snowing.

Spiker

Mother Nature Part 2 / The 4 Way Shits

Seriously. What is going on with the weather right now? I was out playing soccer in a field like three days ago, then yesterday it was snowing, then today it's -100 after calculating windchill from the hurricane-force winds. What the shit? Make up your mind, March. Whoever invented all that comes in like a lion, goes out like a lamb OR it comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion crap is just an imbecile. Why am I supposed to assume that lions are associated with crappy weather? Why are sheep associated with nice weather? If so, why the hell do sheep have a massive protective layer of wool all over their bodies? Lions just have a lot of stretchy skin. If you ask me, I'd rather have lion weather all the time... Would you rather sunbathe for days at a time, with nary a care in the world, or would you huddle in packs and literally focus on growing your hair longer to protect you from the cold? Give me lion weather anyday. In addition to the rampant stupidity of the lion/lamb distinction, it seems to me that the adage is just completely false. Or if it's true, it's certainly not generalizable to entire months. But I would be okay with people saying things like "Man, Tuesday march the 27th sure did come in like a lion and go out like a lamb!", as long as they meant by lion that it was warm, pleasant weather for which you only need stretchy skin, and by lamb that it was cold, shitty weather for which you need 40 pounds of wool.

You know what the weather in Calgary reminds me of? There was this commercial a while back, and to tell you the truth I can't even remember what the hell it was for, all I know for sure is that the big line in the commercial was an exasperated person yelling "GOES AWAY, COMES BACK, GOES AWAY, COMES BACK, GOES AWAY, COMES BACK!?!?!" I think maybe it was a dandruff commercial? I wonder if selsun blue came up with this beauty. Or maybe it was one of those weight loss commercials, where you see fat people who always say "I'VE TRIED EVERY DIET EVER, AND I JUST CAN'T KEEP THE WEIGHT OFF", and then they mention some dieting yoyo phenomenon, and then they have the exasperated guy with the goes away comes back stuff. Maybe it was a herpes commercial? It wasn't a herpes commercial, but how appropriate would the caption be? I should make commercials.

Ok, my next complaint: 4 way stops and how badly people suck ass at negotiating them. Honestly, how difficult is it to work a 4 way stop. Have you neglected idiots never been to that little kiddy driving thing out near glenmore park? A 5 year old in a bumper car can master the 4-way stop. I don't understand how there's confusion, although I do believe that the rules are somewhat ambiguous in a non-important sort of way. Like, when people say "Well whoever gets there first goes first", they're really wrong in some cases, because if there is a line of 20 cars going in one direction, and one car pulls up on the cross street, that car gets to go before almost all of the cars in the big line, even though they were all there first. So it's something more like "The car which was first to arrive at the intersection and has no cars in front of it impeding its progress will go first." This is pretty god damned simple. Yet every time I hit a 4-way stop, I know someone is going to completely botch it and ruin the next 5 minutes of my life. This is what it's come to, people - every 4 way stop ruins my life for a short period of time. Exactly how much my life is ruined is dependant and directly correlationary to what idiocy actually obtains at the 4-way stop itself.

Scenario 1: You get there and no one goes, because every driver is stupid and they have either forgotten in which order they arrived at the intersection (intersection hierarchy is KEY here people), or they haven't been paying attention because they were picking their ass, or nose, or scratching their armpits, or behind their ear (People always remind me of dogs when they scratch behind their ears), or putting makeup on, or all of the above. So everyone waits about 3.5 seconds, and then every single person at the intersection (even the jackass who JUST ARRIVED AT THE INTERSECTION AND KNOWS IT'S NOT HIS TURN) starts to go. But then everyone sees that everyone else is going and so everyone stops. Rinse, repeat.

Degree of life ruin: This isn't the worst. Sometimes it's kinda funny, like when most or all of the drivers are over the age of 80, or when there's a pedestrian or two in the mix. Annoying, but only in a general sense, and it only really wastes about 10-20 seconds of your life.

Scenario 2: Two people get there at exactly the same time and no one has any clue who's supposed to go. I guess there are two sub-options in this scenario. Sub lemma A) The two drivers are opposite each other, and one is going straight while the other is turning left. Sub lemma B) One driver is to the right of the other one, and the driver on the left is turning any direction but right (Just visualize you idiots). This is incredible. How is it possible that everyone has forgotten the simple rules that govern these situations? Perhaps this is evidence that there is a God, but that he hates me very much. In sub lemma A, all you need to do is remember that the driver who is TURNING has to yield right of way to the guy who's going STRAIGHT. It's just like any other intersection you impudent sacks. Sub lemma B involves the very complicated rule that gives right of way to the person on the right. Doesn't sound complicated, does it? But it MUST BE overly complicated, because no one understands it. Ok people.... hold up your fat little hands and make little L's and backwards L's with your fat little fingers and thumbs, and then once you figure out whether you're on the right or on the left, either go, or don't go. Wow.

Degree of life ruin: Moderate life ruin from each sub lemma. You would think that the first scenario would be more annoying, but this second situation (including both sub lemmas) is so simple that any failure to correctly function in it is disgusting.

Scenario 3: It's your turn, and some loser slice of shit goes ahead of you, cutting you off, for no reason, and then gives you the finger when you honk at him BECAUSE HE'S A FLAMING PILE OF PESTILENT TRAILER PARK DEBRIS. Does this need any explanation? Is there any explanation that could possibly be given for such an act? What kind of indignant, ludicrous stupidity could possibly account for this act of ignorance? Is it simply that they enjoy the sheer look of amazement on my face as I lose just a little bit more hope for the survival of the human race? I have no answers.

Degree of life ruin: QU'EST-CE QUE LE FUCK.

So next time you're at a 4-way stop, you should probably think about what's going on, and maybe pay some attention to the cars around you, etc., not only because it will help ease everyone's way through this apparently difficult manoeuvre, but also because my mail order rocket launcher will be arriving any day, and I am activating my unlimited ammunition cheat as soon as I get it.

Spiker

Dead Babies

There's this big anti-abortion thingy at the university today. They've got a bunch of pictures of tiny dead babies, and these pictures are supposed to deter people from having abortions. "Hey, I would totally have this abortion dude, but one time I saw a really sick picture or an abortion baby so I really can't." As I walked by, some guy was asking them "Why are you here? Why do you have these disgusting pictures?" Among the many stupid responses that were offered, such as "We WANT to shock you, I HOPE you're shocked", the most stupefyingly stupid was "We have a RIGHT to be here, man..." Okay then. As many of you know, I'm a philosophy major, so I obviously have a lot of opinions to offer on this subject, and any other topic which is useless or controversial (or controversial AND useless, like God). To start off, "I'm here because I have the right to be here" is ridiculous. I have the right to wear adult diapers on the outside of my pants. I have the right to stick pencils in my ears and nose and run around going "PIOU PIOUUUU". As Charleton Heston might tell you, I have the right to bear arms. Charleton Heston is a moron. It strikes me as ludicrously ironic that you could make an analogous argument for abortion itself - "I'm getting this abortion because I have a right to!". One problem with this kind of argument, my friends - the right to do something does not necessarily entail that it SHOULD be done, or that it is, in any way, a good idea.

Now that that's taken care of, what about abortion. Is it right or wrong to kill a human foetus? What is the plural of foetus? Foetuses? Feoti? Well, it's just hard to say isn't it. While I could write a whole paper on here about why abortion is or is not morally right, I don't really see the point - In some cases, it seems that abortion is the best thing to do. If you're going to argue against abortion, you need to argue against people's rights to abortion, and say that people should not even have the right to choose; don't appeal to our emotions with big pictures, like you're potty training a 2 year old. You can visit a slaughterhouse and still support the meat industry, folks. The reality of the situation is that sometimes, bringing a baby into the world is far worse than the alternative. I'm not saying we should be using abortion as a method of birth control, I'm saying that if all other alternatives have been exhausted, and this is the only one left to prevent a life of misery, go ahead and do it.

Hey, I just thought of one good thing about the protest outside - at least we know that, while they're here, they're not bombing clinics? Yaaayyyy...

Spiker

PS - I would just like to say that you can't have "Slaughterhouse" without "laughter". Awesome! And on the same note, isn't there always some fun in funerals? Hmmm...

Lonely Shoes

Why is it that, when you see a pair of shoes sitting on the ground in a parking lot, you wonder which homeless guy forgot to throw his sleeping shoes in his Safeway cart before he went to buy a 40 of Alberta Vodka, but when you see just ONE shoe sitting on the ground in a parking lot, you feel sad. It's like you know what the shoe is going through, it's been separated from its other half, its life could now never possibly be complete again, unless it is reunited with its best friend and counterpart. Maybe we feel sad because even a pair of disgusting homeless guy shoes are useful; they have some purpose in the world, even if that purpose is to warm the disease ridden, festering, wart laden, pustuled, pockmarked, overly-moist-but-still-cracking-from-dryness, toenails-in-every-direction feet of a homeless man. The solitary shoe is not useful. It's like half of a person. But not the top, or bottom half, which arguably could function in some half-decent manner (puntastic), but more like the left and right half, neither able to perform any useful function without the other, because they are missing necessary functional parts (Here I'm envisioning some man who has been cut completely in half, from head to toe, probably by a massive Spartan with a really sharp sword. Yeah, I saw 300). For instance, after losing your legs in a horrendous accident, you can still function as a human being. And what many of us men wouldn't give to have the bottom half of Britney Spears. Especially after she shaved her head - it might now in fact be more useful than Britney Spears as a whole. Hmmm...

Sorry, what the hell was I talking about? Right. In the same light as a north-south cleaved corpse, one shoe is utterly useless and this is why we feel sorry for it, as we might for a lost puppy. Especially if the puppy had also been cleaved completely in half by a massive Spartan man who's abs alone weigh two hundred pounds. Man, 300 was great.

Talking about feeling sad for shoes reminds me of that IKEA commercialm where the Swedish guy berates you for feeling sorry for the lamp which was taken out with the garbage when a new lamp was purchased at IKEA. Analogously, we are all idiots for feeling sorry for the solitary shoe. What can I say - the commercial is just right. You might feel sorry for the solitary shoe; but that's because you're crazy.

Spiker

First World Blues

Remember that post I wrote about letting fly in public washrooms? Well I had an almost equally awkward experience the other day that I'd like to share with you. By the way, have you ever noticed that the word "awkward" is, pleasingly, a very awkward word? Even with my massive philosophical vocabulary, a fantastic plethora of verbalities at my command, I can't even think of another real word that has the string of letters "wkw". I made up a bunch of fake ones though, like if I found a bird that lived in snow, I might call it a "Snowkwall".

Back to my awkward experience. Elevators. What the hell are you supposed to do in elevators? You walk into an elevator and there are, as I see it, three obvious possibilities:

1) There is no one else in the elevator. You enjoy your ride, maybe dance a little bit just because you can, maybe hit ten or twelve buttons on the way out, again just because you can, and you go merrily on your way. This is pretty fun. If someone else enters the elevator before your floor, please see possibility #3 for explanation.

2) The elevator is full, or nearly full. You squeeze in, or try and squeeze in, or just stare longingly at the passengers because you know that your huge ass could never fit into the tiny spaces that exist between the sweaty people inside. That's because you're fat and you need to get on the god damned exercise bike more than once a month, since riding the exercise bike once a month does NOTHING except make the seat smell funny. If you do make it inside the elevator, your personal space is so infringed upon that you get the distinct feeling you're in prison. You breathe a sigh of relief as you finally arrive at your floor, and you squeeze back out before the guy eating the chili dog can burp down the back of your shirt again. This is pretty awkward, but you do feel something akin to a sense of community, as everyone else's personal space was completely violated as well. You are only one among many, who out of sheer laziness have ridden the elevator to the second floor. That wasn't really so bad. Six out of ten on the awkward scale. Would this be a logarithmic scale? I don't know. I'll have to think about that one... No, probably not. Yeah, just a standard scale will do. Ok then.

3) The doors of the elevator open and there is one person already on the elevator. You step into the elevator and you feel as if you're stepping into someone's bedroom - it reeks of personal space. And maybe dirty undies. As you hit the button you can't help but feel that you simply do not belong here, as if you're trespassing on personal property. You feel as if you've done something wrong but you don't really know what, or why. The other person feels the same way - this was his elevator just moments ago, and now someone else has invaded it, and he can no longer dance like an idiot for no reason because he will be judged accordingly. Each person feels like moving as far away as possible from the other person. This is supremely awkward all on its own, trying to figure out just how far to stand from someone in a small room, calculating the exact distance that will minimize tension while maintaining social respect; if you go too far, the other person will think you don't like them, or that they smell or look funny. If you stay too close, well, then you're a creep. Finally there's the matter of where to look while you're in the elevator. Do you sheepishly look straight down at your own shoes, trying to imagine what they might look like if you were alone in the elevator and able to dance like an idiot? Do you look up at the elevator numbers as they climb (or descend, but then you should have taken the stairs anyway, fatass) excruciatingly slowly? Why are there never any advertisements in elevators? Wouldn't that be an excellent way to pass the time, just read about the new Chanel fragrance "Je-ne-sais-quoi"? At least then you could pretend that you were thinking about anything other than the substantial awkwardness of the situation.

Here's something that you don't ever do. You don't ever directly face another person for no reason, even if you're looking at the wall just beside their head. Since the other person is not looking at you, they JUST MIGHT THINK that you're staring at them like a circus side show freak, and this JUST MIGHT make the elevator trip intensely more awkward than it need be. Imagine my surprise when the other guy in the elevator gets in, stands beside me, and just stares at the side of my face for 12 floors. Eventually I looked over, and for some inexplicable reason, he was scanning the completely empty wall near my head. And then, of course, he saw that I was looking at him, so he looked at me, and then we both looked away, and then he realized that I thought he was staring at me, and then he tried to be all nonchalant about it so that I would think he wasn't staring at me, but that didn't work since I already judged him to be a circus side show freak.

Well, the moral of this story is, take the stairs. You're fat, and elevators are almost as awkward as having an androgynous co-worker named Pat. And if you do take the elevator, don't be a circus side show freak and stare at the person next to you. This has been a public service announcement

Spiker

Canadian Idol

So I went and tried out for Canadian Idol this year. They came to Calgary so I thought I'd go and see just how badly I could embarrass myself on national television. To be fair, though, it's not like anyone actually watches the show. So, with my massive balls and boy band voice in hand, I drove out to the auditions. Despite what you might think after watching the show, there are actually a couple of auditions before the TV audition. I know that some of you are now wondering the same thing I was after I found out that there were two rounds of auditions before the TV audition in front of the judges - How in the shit do they get those really awful people all the way to the end. You know who I'm talking about, the people that are there solely for their "entertainment value", like that random flaming guy that sang Madonna, or that guy who sang Celine Dion in a breathy cracking falsetto, or the infamous William Hung... what a knob. Well I don't really have an answer for you folks, all I saw was the results. About 1300 people auditioned in Calgary, and most got cut in the first round. How did these people make it past the first round, when you're singing in front of 4 other contestants and 2 random judges in a tiny room in the middle of a mall? How did they not realize as they sang, by looking around at the tortured, red faces of the other contestants, that they were destined to become television cannon fodder? I simply don't know. Someone must have told them a lie so convincing that they actually started to believe that they were good singers. "Yeah man, you're great, you've got a great... entertainment factor". If, in any part of my auditions, a judge had said the words "Entertainment factor", I would have left immediately, not only out of fear of embarrassment, but out of respect for everyone in Canada who might watch the show. This would also explain why the worst singers in the world go into the TV audition with all the confidence in the world - they've already passed two auditions, they must be awesome, right guys? Wrong. They suck. But the good thing is we all get to SEE THEM SUCKING.

So after waiting two hours to do my first audition, I got a ticket to the second audition, and after moving from trailer, to other trailer, back into the mall, through the mall to another trailer, and finally into one last trailer with some judges in it, I got through my second audition as well. All in all, the two audition process took about 10 hours. Unfortunately for Kelly, she came along with me and had to sit in the mall all day, since despite my most sincere efforts to figure out what the HELL was going on, I was given no more information than "Huh?... Oh. Yeah I dunno". Basically, Canadian Idol was run by the equivalent of a Mexican special olympics army: Not only was everyone who worked there retarded, nobody even knew where they were or what they were doing. Some of them were drooling and falling asleep standing up. Every time I asked someone how long the wait would be, or why the numbers they called into the second audition were in absolutely no order whatsoever, I would get that same special olympics stare of incomprehension - did these people even speak English? No, they didn't, because they were a Mexican special olympics army. Fantastic.

There were a few bright moments throughout the day, like when the 4 foot 3 inch guy with the white gloves, top hat and yellow glasses got through to the TV round. I wonder how many times he heard the words "Entertainment factor" that day? His journey would not end well, but that's a story for another... paragraph. Also, I made a couple of friends and we have plans to start playing some music together, which would be great since my guitarist is in Scotland. He's probably drunk right now the bastard. I wish I was drunk. It would make analytic philosophy a little more interesting, especially if I passed out and pissed myself.

........ Anyway, they told us to head to the Palliser hotel at 7 OCLOCK IN THE MORNING on Tuesday, for orientation and a pep talk from the judges. On Tuesday, at 7 OCLOCK IN THE MORNING, we arrived at the Palliser and were ushered upstairs into a waiting room, where I and the 59 other remaining contestants sat down and awaited their orientation and pep talk. But first, we were told that McDonalds would be catering our breakfast that morning. I was so happy I could have shit my pants, I think I DID shit my pants, and as they started pulling McDonalds bags out of huge boxes, I thought to myself that I could get used to the glamorous world of showbusiness. You don't even have to go to McDonalds to get McDonalds. McDonalds COMES TO YOU. Shortly after this revelation, my enthusiasm was severely curbed when I grabbed a bag and found nothing inside but a muffin. No people, not a sausage and egg McMuffin, or a sausage McMuffin, or a bacon and egg McMuffin, or even just an egg McMuffin; a regular god damned bran muffin. 3000 calories and it doesn't even taste good, what's the sense in that? Where's the justice, is there no justice in this world? What in the hell is going on, McDonalds is catering breakfast and we get NOTHING BUT MUFFINS? You have got to be kidding me.

As for the auditions, another 60 finalists had gone the day before, and the judges had stern words for us. Basically, they told us to suck way less, and be way awesomer, and that if they said things that were... well, heinous and rude and made us want to cry and kill ourselves, it was just for TV so there was no need to take it to heart. Despite these warnings, most people that didn't make it had a look of absolute shock and embarrassment as they came back out of the audition room. Some were tremendously angry, others cried a lot and swore at the judges. Now THAT is entertainment factor. Oh, that reminds me - the 5 foot 3 inch guy with the white gloves and top hat and strange yellow glasses? Yeah, he got completely rejected. He came out of the audition room to meet his wife and FIVE LITTLE KIDS and he looked like they just made him watch 24 consecutive hours of the Ellen Degenerate (Spelling?... :D) show. He was so upset that he stormed out, herding his children like scared little sheep, as his wife followed, embarrassed and ashamed. Yeah, now that's... entertainment... factor? Uhhh....

As much as I love watching people make fools of themselves and bitch and cry about how unfair everything is, there were a few moments when it really felt like they were going over the edge of reason and humanity. Then again, my audition group did produce a William-Hung-like performance of Asian origin, which I'm sure will be one of the Calgary highlights. I think he sang "War, what is it good for", although honestly it was hard to tell what the hell he was saying. Awesome. All in all it was a pleasant experience, even though I waited a total of about 18 hours with random people in malls and small stuffy rooms, and I'm really glad I did it, although I don't think I'll do it again. At least I had Kelly there to support me and make me look good. She's hot. Maybe you'll see me on TV when it airs! I had my favorite shirt on, they've got to show that.

Oh right, I almost forgot... my audition. I went in there and gave it my all... for about 10 seconds, before someone blurted out "I'M A NO" followed by another almost simultaneous "I'M A NO." The next thing I heard was a huge black man asking "Is that really your tone?" Since I didn't actually have any idea what that meant, I suggested I sing another song to woo the judges. I sang Home by Michael Buble, and shortly into the song Sass Jordan said "Maybe YOU should go home." And so I did.

Spiker

This Post Is About Pooping. You Have Been Warned

What's the only thing more awkward than walking in on your parents doing the horizontal polka? Taking a shit in a public washroom when there are other people there. You must know what I'm talking about. You go into the can, and there are a couple of guys in there, one is peeing, one is washing his hands, and no one is talking. This is not a place where one makes small talk. "Hey, aren't you in my phil 343 class? I recognized your shoes. Yeah, good shoes. So ummm... yeah, what are you... up to? Yeah, taking a crap hey. Me too. Okay, well... good luck. Knock em dead, hahah.... eeehhh.... sorry...."

You walk into a stall and take off the 17 layers of clothing you put on every morning to protect you from the wonderful Canadian climate. You sit happily down to drop the Cosbys off at the pool, as you would in your own home, and suddenly you're in the middle of a social nightmare. What if I fart really loud? Will anyone recognize that it was me who farted? Of course they'll know it was me, how could they not? Well, unless it's so loud that it just sounds like it's coming from everywhere at once, like a concussion grenade. I mean the acoustics of the toilet bowl make it sound WAY louder than it really is, I'm sure people know that right? Or maybe they don't know that and they'll think I'm the loudest farter in the world, and they'll pretend to be washing their hands until I walk out of the stall so they can get a good look at my face. Maybe I could just stay here until they're gone... But what if they fake leave, like make pitter patter footsteps towards the door and just open and close it? And then they'll see my face and they'll tell EVERYONE that I'm the loudest shitter in the entire universe, even if it's not true, and I'll be so ashamed I'll have to move to Tibet and meditate for the rest of my life in an attempt to gain a mind over matter control of my flatulations.

You know why it's so awkward? Because it's completely silent. You can hear absolutely everything. You can hear not only the grunts coming from your watercloset neighbour, but sometimes you can actually hear the contractions of his sphincter. THAT'S how quiet it is. Have you ever been taking a radical deuce in a public washroom and suddenly some loud noise fills the bathroom; maybe it's one of those hand dryers that they use instead of paper towels (I hate those things, just kill the trees), or maybe it's the ventilation or heating system kicking in. I bet you, if you were in that bathroom and you heard that sound, you shat as fast as you could to make sure you were done before the noise was over. Don't try and lie to yourself; you've been there, you've done that. The noise is just enough to muffle the sweet sounds of your delicate (or not so delicate) pooping. It feels as though a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, and not just because you lost 1.5 pounds: You were able to enjoy your poo because no one was able to hear it.

I'm not really sure why we're so embarrassed about our pooey noises. Maybe it's an irrational fear, but it's surely the truth. You can probably fart in front of your girlfriend, and it's probably funny to at least one of you (We know who that one person is, don't we fellas), but you can't take a poo in front of her - that's why the bathroom has a big, thick door. But you can't even cut fat turd when she's in the shower. I mean, unless she doesn't know. But then you've got to be all careful about your pooping and make sure it's quiet and then you have to pretend you're blowing your nose and putting the tissues into the toilet, so you can actually flush the it. Anyways, the point is clear; pooping is just an event that cannot be joyfully shared with other people.

It's an easy fix from here, folks. Music in public bathrooms. I would enjoy my time spent in public bathrooms so much more if I could take dumps under cover of some kind of music. Even if you unleashed a loud one, you could pretend it was just part of the song. "Oh yeah," you might say, "that's the Terrance and Philip remix. Yeah it's weird hey?" This would not only make public bathrooms more useful, but I argue it would also decrease the total stress load of most everyone with a social conscience. One less thing to worry about - just let 'er rip!

You know what, I just wrote a whole blog about crapping in public washrooms. I think I'm going to put a disclaimer at the top... Yeah, I'd better do that. Happy pooing, people.

Spiker

To The Guy On 14th Street

To the guy driving the beat up Toyota with only one working headlight who fingered me on 14th street: I'm sorry I honked my horn at you. Seeing as all you did was enter my lane of traffic going the WRONG WAY and almost hit my car head-on for absolutely no reason, I just wanted to apologize for my actions. Honking my horn at an oncoming one headlight car in my lane which was about to hit me in the face was the wrong thing to do. I completely understand why you fingered me after you almost killed me and everyone in my car. Next time I will be more careful and build a couch-fort at my house and stay there forever instead of driving down the street in my own lane and honking at an ONCOMING CAR WITH ONE HEADLIGHT. Please forgive me?

Spiker

I Am A Loser

During my time in driver's education at AMA, I learned one thing above all else: I am a complete loser. After spending 18 long, long hours with 20 other people, all of which were either 16 or 55, this is pretty much the only knowledge I've gained: I have wasted my life. Don't get me wrong, the in-car lessons were pretty good; I got to hear my east-indian driving instructor "Sharma" say the same 6 things over and over again, like he was administering some kind of slow torture. But then I realized that he's used to teaching 16 and 55 year olds, and this is probably the only way to impart any kind of knowledge on these people (I bet even God was stupid when he was 16... And by the time you're 55, you've lost half of your brain cells and you're mostly just waiting to die). I can literally still hear his voice whenever I park, switch lanes, or go through a yellow light. At this point, I am 100% sure that his voice will internally criticize my driving until the day I die.

Who waits until they're 24 to get their graduated license? Who does that? I could have gone in when I was 16 and gotten my full license, before society lost all faith in underage drivers and decided to give them no privileges whatsoever. Hey, at least we're not as bad as BC. In BC you have to put up a huge sign on your back window that says "I am the worst driver ever, fear for your life", and the sticker stays there until you've been driving for about 25 years. Way to be proactive, BC. How about instead of making ridiculous blanket statements about all new drivers, some of which are much better than people who have been driving for 20 years, they simply make driver's education mandatory, so that people actually know what they're doing from the start? Maybe then people wouldn't be driving blindly by other cars which are stopped at crosswalks.

You know what else might be a good idea - giving right of way to cars instead of pedestrians. I know most of the people reading this (If anyone actually reads this) probably think this is a stupid idea, but that's because YOU'RE actually stupid. You're welcome for letting you know. Here's the thing about pedestrians having the right of way: It's simple with cars, if you don't have the right of way, you yield to whoever does have the right of way, and if someone messes up this little task, then you get a car vs. car collision, and the person who shit the bed gets blamed and they pay a bunch of money (Either to the other guy or to their insurance company, eventually) to get things fixed.

Seems fine with cars. Doesn't work so well with pedestrians. The pedestrian has the right of way, so they start crossing the road at their crosswalk or street corner, and the cars are supposed to stop to let them go. But, just like the first situation, sometimes people shit the bed and don't yield the right of way to the pedestrian. But then... there's a pedestrian vs. car collision. And this just isn't the same as a car crash, as we all know from watching the news this last week. The driver, who is the one who shit the bed, has to pay to fix whatever they hit. But for some reason, the pedestrian isn't interested in collecting the insurance information and license number of the driver. Maybe this is because they just got HIT BY A CAR. If the collision isn't the same, then why are the rules the same... Seems to me that if people didn't have the right of way, they'd be a lot more careful when crossing the street - "Hey, I could get hit by any one of these cars!". As it turns out, people SHOULD be thinking this all the time, because when you get hit by a car, it just doesn't matter who's fault it is.

Well that was morbid. Okay, I've got some more lighthearted stuff for you. Unless you're a Christian. Then it's not your day at all. The other day I was in class when someone sneezed, and about 15 people simultaneously said "Bless you" to this one person. Of these 15 people, I'm assuming that at least 1 of them was atheist or agnostic. Why would you say bless you if you're not into all that mumbo jumbo? Maybe people think it's just a convention, but as any of you who've seen the "You're soooo good lookin"Seinfeld episode know, it's completely senseless. I wonder if these people know exactly what they mean when they're saying bless you? Do they know that they're literally trying to ward off evil spirits from entering a person's soul through their nose after they've sneezed? Good old Christian idiocy. And do you think that if people were conscious of this, that they would stop saying bless you? But then there's this problem of what the hell else to say after someone sneezes... because you feel like you've got to say something, but if you don't want to say bless you, what are you gonna say? Gezeunteit? But then people will think you're German, and we all know most Germans are secretly Nazis, so no one really wants to say Gezunteit. So what do we say? And why do we even feel like saying anything? Why is sneezing so special as to warrant special attention from other people? Typically, when you perform a bodily function in front of other people, either you say something, or they say something, or there is a very awkward silence.

Take farting for example. The response to a fart is situationally dependant. When I fart accidentally in public, and that fart is distinctly audible, I say excuse me. If the fart isn't distinctly audible, I might not say excuse me, but if someone did hear it then there's a very awkward silence. Or if I'm farting comfortably in my own house, it is probably the case that someone else will comment on my fart, and I will then typically give them information about how my farts are smelling that day, whether or not they should be covering their nose, etc. Burping is similar to farting. Also if you both burp and fart at once (I have dubbed this the "Man function"), the results will typically be the same, although they will be aggravated. Coughing seems to be about the same; if I cough in public, I will either excuse myself or say nothing, and if I cough too much and still say nothing there is an awkward silence. So why is sneezing so different? Many people do excuse themselves after they sneeze, but if they do so, there is invariably a response of "Bless you". What the hell is the difference? Why are other people so much more concerned with sneezing than with farting or coughing? I don't think there's any good reason to think that a sneeze is more important to people around you than a fart is. In fact, I'd say that the opposite is the case, especially if you've been eating a lot of Mexican food and your colon is in a state of frenzied overdrive. Farting, in this case, could be very "important" to people around you.

Here's my proposal people. Either quit saying bless you when people sneeze, or start saying bless you when people fart. There's just as much chance (maybe more?) of a demon entering your body through your relaxed, farting ass, as there is of a demon entering through your nose after you sneeze. Personally, I think I'll choose to stop saying bless you altogether, especially given the embarrassing and elusive nature of farting. And since I can't think of anything more appropriate to say (If I tried "you're sooo good lookin", and a fat ugly pockfaced woman sneezed on the bus... what to do then? What are you going to do, tell her she's good looking? She'd probably slap you), I guess I'll just have to condition myself to be OK with saying nothing after people sneeze. My future children will thank me for teaching them the right way.

Spiker

PS - Congratulations to Kevin Federline for being the first person in history to actually sell out DURING his 15 minutes of fame. Incredible.

The Best Analogy Ever

I'm taking driver's education right now, with the AMA. They're real blood sucking bastards. People keep telling me the course will pay for itself in the long run, what with the reductions in insurance; but what about all the time, the personal pain and turmoil, the sheer annoyance of it all? Irreconcilable. That is, until last night's class.

Last night, our instructor told us a most amazing story. Before I pass this amazing information on to your open and receiving minds, I must tell you that I did not initially believe this story, as I'm sure you will all understand after reading it. After digesting what I will gleefully write in just a short time from now, you will understandably be asking some serious questions: How is it possible that such a thing occurred? Surely the forces of the universe should have undergone some metamorphosis simply to have averted this occurrence. Is there no God whatsoever? Or is there just a God who likes a good laugh now and then: Some floods, some disease, and this. Don't allow yourself to be mislead - this story is one of biblical importance. In fact, this may be the one story which is even less believable than the bible. But the fact of the matter is that the story is true. She showed us the details. There were papers with numbers and letters on them, concretely affirming the seemingly impossible reality to which we had just been exposed. There is no escaping the truth, no matter how incoherent and unreasonable it may seem. Let me weave for you a complicated tale of immense stupidity. This is the story of the most ignorant person in the universe.

A woman, who shall remain nameless (But only because I don't know her name) was helping her sister move, and was making trips back and forth between her sister's old house and her new house (What a nice person, you might be thinking: But for this, you may feel the urge to slap yourself in the face after reading the rest of this story. I wholeheartedly support and condone this; everyone needs a good self-slap now and then). You know what, let's give her a name, just for posterity. I think Jacquaze (Pronounced jah-kwaz) will do. Jacquaze was driving between the two houses, and speeding excessively I might add, when a policeman who was parked by the side of the road pulled her over and gave her a ticket. The officer sent her on her way, knowing that he had made society a little bit better that day, maybe even saved some lives. A good feeling filled him as she drove off to wherever she was headed, now in far less of a hurry. We cannot blame the police officer for what happened that day. It was not his fault. Had he known what was to occur, he might have acted differently. But every ounce of reason and sensibility in any sane person compels us to deny the possible outcome that became reality on this fateful day. There is just no way she could be that stupid. But on this day, there was magic in the air (And by "magic in the air" I mean "excessive carbon monoxide in her brain." It's the only explanation).

Just a short while later, Jacquaze was pulled over again for speeding excessively. By the same police officer. At the exact same place. He gave her another ticket and, while wondering if mayonnaise might have a higher IQ than this woman, again sent her on her way. The third time he pulled her over (Still at the exact same spot), he felt strangely guilty, like he might feel if he was stealing candy from someone with downs syndrome. He let her know that he would be there all day, and that there was really, honestly, no need to come speeding through here again because she would, unavoidably, get pulled over again. This fact probably would have convinced many of us to slow down when passing this same spot the next time. Perhaps we would just pick a different route. Maybe we would let someone else drive; it's just not our day! In fact, one could argue that even single celled protoplasm could have learned not to speed on this section of the road after two tickets, no less after three. But Jacquaze was special. So special...

The fourth time she was pulled over, the police officer must have been looking around for Candid Camera vans and hidden lenses inside the car. I cannot even imagine the incredulous look on his face as she pulled over once again at his behest. His expression must have been a mix of amazement and disgust, coupled with a heavy dose of complete and utter despair.

The fifth time was his breaking point. He simply told her to leave and never come back. The age old question is answered - policemen CAN get tired of handing out tickets. What would you have done? Tickets and logical reason having fallen lightyears short of piercing Jacquaze's metaphorical 10 inch composite steel skull, what would you have done? 4 tickets and she comes back for a fifth. Well, I've thought long and hard about this, and I know exactly what I would have done. I would have shot her. I would have taken out my trusty policegun, and confidently aimed at her and shot her to death. Does this make me a monster? Someone who has no regard for human life? I argue that my care for human life is the exact reason Jacquaze should immediately have been killed. Before you take pity on Jacquaze, hear me out.

Pretend you are walking in a field and you see a horse lying on the grass. Being a horse enthusiast, you go over slowly to make friends with the animal, maybe figure out whether it's wild or tame, male or female, etc. Your dreams of rodeos and evening trots down the beach are cut short; as you approach the horse, you notice that it has a badly broken leg. You know, being a horse enthusiast, that this horse's leg is damaged beyond repair. Unlike sparky the three-legged-dog, or spot the two-legged-with-a-roller-thingy-dog, this horse will never walk again. You feel pity on the horse, which is obviously in some pain and will not die for some time, his internal organs apparently still functioning normally. You have a gun (A trusty policegun!) and you have a choice to make: Should you end this horse's life? You know that it would probably be better to kill this horse; it would quickly end what would turn out to be a long and gruesome death, a struggling and utterly tragic end to such a majestic life. I think most of us, in this case, would kill the horse, or at least agree that killing the horse might be the best thing to do, even if we don't think that we, personally, could kill a living thing. We might want to call the local wildlife officer, who would then come out and end the horse's suffering.

This is exactly why I would shoot Jacquaze. She is obviously a non-functional being. Some vital part of this being's fundamental process of existence is flawed to the point where the being can no longer function to an adequate level; Jacquaze's cerebral cortex is completely non-operational. To ease the suffering of the entire human race, and to remove her from the gene pool before she reproduces (I have prayed to any God that will listen in hope that she has not yet done so), we must end her life. Just as the horse's existence after breaking its leg is one of pain and suffering (The horse now brings greater pain to the world as a whole than it brings good), the existence of Jacquaze brings a great measure of pain not only upon me (So.... much.... pain...), but upon planet earth and probably the entire universe as well. For the good of all that exists, Jacquaze must be sacrificed. It's easy to see the good in ending the life of a living thing to its own benefit, so why not end the life of a living thing to the benefit of the entire human race? If this means one little life lost, then so be it. A life of ignorant impudence is not a life worth living.

Well, there's my politically incorrect statement for the week. Maybe for the month... But cmon, my argument is pretty good, isn't it?... Ah well. I hope she's a reader.

Spiker

Calgary Transhit - Trained By Hitler

Why is it that every time I try to take a bus in Calgary, it's either late or early. A bus in Calgary is never on time. I've been getting more and more annoyed with Calgary transit ever since I moved back to this cold, windy, barren wasteland of a city. It's like they're TRYING to be completely useless. That is the only explanation. Human ignorance and stupidity can accomplish only so much failure. But the Calgary transit system goes above and beyond that level of failure, to a whole new existence plane of shittiness that no one has ever imagined could exist, let alone tried to reach. Let me give you a couple of examples, and remember that if I, one simple man, have been privy to all of these experiences in my infinitesimal portion of time in this city, the reality of the situation must be decidedly worse than even I envision.

This morning, I decided to get up a little bit early just to make ABSOLUTELY SURE that I would get to class on time. I don't much like being late to class. As you saunter in, the professor has already started lecturing but pauses to quickly memorize your face so he can take marks off of every grade you will receive in every one of his/her classes. Every other student looks at you as if you have just thrown a kitten in a bag with a bunch of tacks in it and then hit baseballs with the bag for a half hour (Wow, that was way too gruesome. Maybe I'll downgrade it to hitting racquetballs). Long story short, being late is all bad. So I got ready and walked to the bus stop, and when I got there, there were two other people already waiting for the bus. I found this strange since I myself was five minutes early for my bus, which comes every 10 minutes, but I decided not to come to any bold conclusions. This was probably because Jack Johnson was playing on my MP3 player. He just makes me happy.

After waiting for 20 more minutes for my bus which comes every 10 minutes, I finally saw a bus coming up towards the stop. The baffling perplexity I saw next made me question my very existence. Immediately behind the #20 bus was ANOTHER #20 bus. I might have been delighted... if I had a rocket launcher. Instead I was filled with an unspeakable rage. Neither bus was anything near full, nor have they ever been, since the #20 bus is not all that popular. Gee, I wonder why. I had been waiting for 25 minutes, the time in which 3 buses were likely to have come and gone, for one bus to come. Instead of one coming every 10 minutes, now two had come in 25 minutes. Incredible.

I've got an idea for you Calgary transit - how about this: Just send one REALLY BIG BUS around at 5 or 6 random times during the day. You'll be able to cut down on driver costs, which will be good since 96% of your drivers are mindless assholes anyway, and it will solve all those pesky scheduling problems because the drivers can do whatever the hell they want - which is what they do ANYWAY. Maybe you should just install cannons at some specific places around the city, and get people to pay you for you to shoot them out of the cannons towards their destination. At this point, I think I would prefer landing face first in a park full of used needles to taking the bus.

Not long ago, my brother was heading to University for exams and he was nearly 10 minutes early for a bus, when it drove by unexpectedly as he was walking up to the stop. It had halted at a red light (Amazingly, since they usually just drive through, oblivious of the traffic signals) as he ran up to the door, and he smiled at the bus driver as a baby might smile at his mother immediately before being fed: He knew he had made it. He knew he was about to reach his goal. As Jason stood outside the door of the stopped bus, and the light turned green, the bus driver looked him straight in the eyes and drove away. I think we really need to buy a rocket launcher. Does anyone know where I can get a rocket launcher?

What kind of complacent slice of flaming shit does something like that. There is no need for bus drivers to be doing things like that. I'm sure everyone living in Calgary who has been on a bus has seen the bus driver just drive away from a stop when someone was running for the bus. It's usually an old lady with a walker and a few grocery bags, or some guy in a wheelchair (Yes, I realize someone in a wheelchair can't run for the bus. Don't be a jerk.) - you know, the people that will freeze and die if left out in the cold. The bus driver sees them and just doesn't care. Or maybe he actually enjoys watching people suffer. Maybe that's part of the driver training, teaching people to become heinous bastards. I bet that class is right after the one where they teach you to always be early or late, but never on time. Maybe that's even part of the job application - "Are you ethnic? Do you hate people in general, and more specifically people with disabilities, babies, and old people? Yes? You're hired. Someone tell him he's hired, I don't speak his language"

The stop where I catch the bus is up on an exit ramp where cars get off of Crowchild and onto 33rd avenue. Possibly the most amazing thing I've seen, which has happened countless times to me, is when bus drivers simply drive under the overpass, completely ignoring the stop and everyone at it. They can SEE THE STOP from below, while they still have time to turn up the ramp, and they KNOW if there are people there. They just keep on driving. If I can see the numbers on the front of the bus as it drives by and under the bridge, the bus driver can certainly see me. There is simply no explanation for this. How can you explain that a driver sees the people at the next stop and simply drives by without picking them up. The bus is not full. There is no traffic. There is nothing impeding his progress (Until I buy a rocket launcher, that is). The only explanation is that the bus driver has been trained to despise humanity, probably by either Hitler or Satan. Maybe Saddam Hussein was the student teacher.

The point is, this kind of blatant disregard for people is not only relentlessly annoying and utterly condemnable, it seriously pisses me off. It's like getting to the airport and finding out your plane left an hour early, for absolutely no reason, with no one on it but the pilot. Why? Why would they do that? What idiocy has occurred here? These questions go unanswered with respect to Calgary Transit. I guess all we can hope for, at this point, is a military coup. A military dictator would know how to run a damned bus system. Things would happen on time or people would get SHOT. Does anyone know a good dictator? Keep me informed. Anything would be better than this.

Spiker

Mother Nature

Why do people live in places that are so cold you can literally lose appendages after 5 minutes of exposure. Do people think this is a good idea? Hey, you want to know why no one is invading Canada? Because when you try to invade Canada, first your gun freezes, then your food freezes, then your tank falls through some winter ice and into a lake you didn't even know you were on, and then your balls fall off from exposure (Hey, soldiers are weird), and then you GO THE HELL HOME because Canada is hardly fit for human occupation. Canada is colder than outer space. I guess it all just comes down to some simple choices, right? Iraq is nice and warm. But you'll lose appendages even faster there, for more reasons than I can count on one hand (Mostly because I've only got 3 fingers left since two of them froze off while I was walking home with a jug of milk. Umm... anyone seen those?). So I suppose it all comes down to what you like best - do you like sunbathing on a beautiful beach, but being scared of crazy Iraqis running around with swords and video cameras, or would you prefer the safety and security of a warm Canadian home - because Jesus Christ knows you won't be going outside. It's up to you.

Listen, here's the deal. I love Canada, it's a really cool (THIS IS A PUN THANK YOU) place to live, especially if you like caribou. Not much political unrest, which is rare these days. We have fantastic world class cities and we get our tans out of a bottle. And even though we birthed Celine Dion, a heinous act for which we once again apologize to god and the universe, we are a pretty good bunch of people. I'm pretty sure we're all gong to hell for Celine, though...

If I was George Bush, and I cared at all about Canada (Or even knew where Canada was), I might want to hold someone accountable for the relative unsatisfactoriness of Canadian weather. Well there's really only one person to blame for this mess, and that's Mother Nature. What an asshole. You know, I bet if you tallied up the cost of the damage done by mother nature on human civilization, between hurricanes, typhoons, tornados (Most of which find happy homes in trailer parks), tsunamis, floods, and any other crappy thing it has unleashed on mankind, it would total.... hold on, calculating... a googolplex dollars. I would have included fires but I think most of those are started by stupid people anyway (Hey Vern, lets go start a fire in the woods in the middle of summer!), so I'll let that one slide. You know, it's just occurred to me that maybe you could also hold God accountable for the shitty weather in the world. Hey, I finally found a reason to believe in God - I can blame him for EVERYTHING! The point is, Mother Nature owns our ass. I wonder if he could send troops to invade Mother Nature...? I think that if George Bush had his way, he would put Mother Nature on trial for crimes against humanity. Right after Celine. And maybe Michael Bolton? Maybe that's just my own desires talking...

I wonder how that trial might go. I think Mother Nature would get Johnnie Cochran as defense - if you can get OJ off, you can get ANYONE OFF. That sounded kinda gross... Anyway, Johnnie would give you a big list about how Mother Nature has all these good qualities. He would have character witnesses with great tans and sunbleached hair, people who surf and climb mountains, and also witnesses who completely exploit Nature for all it's worth - I'm thinking Shell and Esso, for starters? The list would be enormous. But then, the prosecution would have an enormous list, too - it's just that most of the prosecution's list would be an obituary. Mother Nature has killed about a quadrillion human beings, which puts it a distant second on the all time list to an overwhelming winner - Religion (Yaaaaayyyyy Crusades!). I already put religion on trial so that's all I've got to say about that. The point is that Mother Nature is a serial killer - and it is still at large. I wonder how you would execute Mother Nature?... I bet they could do it in Texas. They can kill anything in Texas.

But would the earth be better off without Mother Nature? Well, as much as I despise it sometimes (Like when I take my shirt off in Thailand for 2 hours and get a 97th degree sunburn all over my entire body, even the parts that were never exposed), we would all die without it. I guess it's a real love-hate thing. I hate the cold weather, but I really do love breathing oxygen, so I guess I don't have much of a choice but to put up with Mother Nature, even though it's a complete powerdouche jerkface. It's like having a really crappy landlord or something (Yeah Shirley, I'm talking to you), they're so useless but you just can't get rid of them because you're living in their house. It costs you a bunch every month, but what other choice do you have? Mother Nature kills 24 thousand of us on a good day, but what the hell are we going to do - live in outer space? Hey... that's not a bad idea. I bet they don't have torrential blizzarding snow in outer space. I'm on it.

Spiker

Pud and the Funny Chart

The other day, I was eating a cordial breakfast with some old friends, at a nice little diner near my house. The fact that this diner was near my house does not make me lazy. At the end of the sumptuous meal, we were given the bill (Damn!) and also some customary sweets, to help end our excursion with a sugary bang! You know... you get those little candies with the bill, and everyone immediately grabs the tasty fruity ones, and some poor bastard comes back from turd cutting to find he's been stuck with the only green striped peppermint candy. He feels like crying, but he knows it was his own mistake for not being at the table when the candy got there, it was his own damn fault, so he concedes and reluctantly scoops up the peppermint candy, while shooting glares across the table in any and every direction. let's quickly get something clear. You might think that I am of the opinion that the peppermint candy is only bad compared to the tasty fruity candies, or you may in fact be ludicrous enough to actually pretend to like peppermint candies (Because no one actually likes peppermint candies), but if you think any of this garbage you obviously have your head in your own ass because the taste appeal of peppermint candies is on par with that of a freshly minted slice of shit. But, on this particular day, there were no peppermint candies (much to my delight), instead there were 4 of those little dubble bubble gums with pud comics inside. Initially, this was also personally pleasing to me, although I did take note of the unorthodoxy of this after breakfast treat.

All 4 of us rifled open our individually wrapped double bubble gums, and began chewing away noisily, contented with our full bellies and sugary treats. A problem was soon discovered. The flavor of Double Bubble gum lasts as long as Eifel 65's musical career - it is instantaneously nonexistent. There is an initial glimmer of flavor, and then absolutely nothing - you may as well go outside and chew on the tires of your car. By the way, for those of you who have mentally blocked out any memory of Eifel 65, congratulations, and you should skip the next sentence to prevent any relapse of your former knowledge, since having no knowledge whatsoever of the musical wasteland that is Eifel 65 probably makes you a better person. For those of you who are deranged enough to want to know more, and haven't already googled it, you might remember the song "Blue", a horrendously annoying techno abomination in which the awful, nasal lyric line consists simply of "Da Bu Dee Da Bu Dai".

I think the only band worse then Eifel 65, is Chumbawumba. Enough said.

But at least now you understand just how bad the gum is. Unless, of course, you are unfortunate enough to like the aforementioned song, in which case you should seek mental help immediately. There is help for you, it comes in the form of a frontal lobotomy. meanwhile, at the diner we all sat there imagining how close the chemical makeup of this gum could be to that of asphalt, and realized that there was more to this gum than met the eye! Yes, a comic! How had we ever forgotten? Perhaps we were daydreaming, lost and reminiscing of our childhood, full of five dollar allowances and five cent candies. More likely it was the instant chemical coma induced by chewing on the flavorless rubber gum. But the comics brought us back to life, and we opened them up and each read them silently to ourselves, with the intention of reading them aloud to each other, and enjoying them together. Welcome to mistake number two.

Two words - Train wreck.

Did you know that there are over 1600 pud cartoons? Did you also know that 0% of those are funny? I think I might firebomb some houses if I could find out who wrote those comics, or maybe I could just send over some poisoned gum on Halloween, for the sheer irony. All jokes aside (Whew the readers say, they were about to call the FBI... wait, we're in Canada...), these comics are the worst attempt at comedy I have ever had the misfortune of reading. If you enjoy pud comics, you need to end your own life. Hopefully you have not yet reproduced.

But they did get me to thinking - why exactly are they so damn awful? Why do I feel like I'm being punched in the soul every time I read a new one? There's lots of comedic material that's even stupider than these, and far more appealing, and there's also plenty of material which isn't quite so stupid and also exponentially more palatable.

After a great deal of research (And by "a great deal of research", I mean eight minutes on Microsoft paint), I have uncovered the reason for the complete worthlessness of pud comics. I have uncovered the funny function. Pud comics occupy the very bottom of the funny function, meaning that they are completely unfunny. The funniness factor of any piece of comic material can be estimated by its intelligence or stupidness factor using the line of best fit, which has been calculated from millions of trials run on objective humor analysis data. Observe.

http://www.geocities.com/spiker4392/FunnyFunction.GIF

The chart does not lie, people. Thousands of scientists and millions of objective tests cannot be wrong. Pud comics are scientifically proven to suck the lowest form of comedic ass.

So, what have we learned today kids? Next time you see a piece of dubble bubble gum, get out your flamethrower (Or optionally, your rocket launcher) and rid the world of its awful existence. If left unchecked, not only will the gum itself invade your face unsolicited, ruining your taste buds forever, but the insidious pud comics you find inside will ruin your life, causing blindness, coma, and in some cases, severe death. Let this be a warning to all those who believe they are brave enough to tempt fate and risk heinous debilitation by accepting a dubble bubble gum - remember that there is a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and please, think of your families. Oh, almost forgot, happy new year!

Spiker