29 October, 2008

gimme some of that smokin' hot porn

i recently placed a large-ish completely sperm-of-the-moment order at amazon and was horrified to discover that a small but important portion of it was sent to my old address. when i wrote to complain i was told by a snarky correspondence-monkey to "get an address change at the post office when i move." gee, thanks, snarky correspondence-monkey, i never knew that. also, can i have some practical advice, seeing as i moved over a year ago?

luckily the movie i ordered has just been returned so they will re-send it to my new address. either the new owner of our beloved condo is a truly honest and upstanding citizen who would never gleefully rip into a free amazon dvd, or (and i prefer this version for my mental picture) he is a religious nutbar* who figured the dvd was porn.

the movie in question is a small budget australian film called "better than sex," starring the ever droolicious david wenham. although there might be a fair number of bare genitalia present, the movie is not porn; it is a charming little flick about a one night stand that grows into something more.

the other missing movie is called "the double life of veronique" and i hope that the new condo owner figures it for a dirty flick about a buxom brunette who is an accountant by day, and a dominatrix by night. or that his honesty prevails.




*one of the few religious nutbars, that is, who is not busy jerking his gherkin to kiddie porn every morning after bible study.

21 October, 2008

satan's own cookies

thrice already i have indulged in satan's own cookies that co-workers surreptitiously buy at safeway and then bring to work for the perdition of my soul and my waistline. surely you have seen these round sweet little pastries, placed prominently in the seasonal display, shortbready or chocolific, iced with the bright orange icing reminiscent of the very fires of hell.

these cookies, my friends, are evil. they are made of sugar, flavoured with sugar, iced with sugar and sprinkled with cocaine. they are absolutely disgusting, lacking any subtlety, nuance or texture*. they are, in a word, pure satan. and you can't eat just one. you get the shakes after one bite, the adrenalin starts flowing through your bloodstream, you get that glassy eyed stare and, baby, you want more!

please listen to me: under no circumstances should you purchase these cookies. when faced with them evacuate immediately from the vicinity. and if you try one and lapse into a diabetic coma, don't come running to me.



(i am actually contemplating conducting a horrific experiment and buying a pack just to see how many i can eat before the prince of darkness himself appears to take me into the nether regions.)



*i am not kidding. they are absolutely vile and unpalatable and for some bizarre reason, i love them with the deep abiding love generally reserved for the mothers of newborns and harlequin romance heroines.

20 October, 2008

boo!

all hallows eve is upon us again, as evidenced by the tasteful presence of orange garbage bags on north america's front lawns.

why go to all the trouble of carving actual pumpkins with your actual offspring when glad does the job for you? why waste time on creative decorating when you can toss a few trashbags in your front yard and still have time for a molson canadian in the garage?

which begs the question: why doesn't the garbage bag industry expand its decorating franchise? take it indoors even! "honey, look! the glad kitchen catchers come in micro-suede! perfect for our reading nook!"

15 October, 2008

X marks the spot

i am losing faith in democracy. what, pray tell, is the bloody point of even showing up to vote in alberta, unless of course you suffer from a brain deficiency that causes you to think stephen harper is NOT satan's own footman? apparently this election's voter turnout was one of the lowest, but hey, at least we know that the fear tactics practised by the progressive conservatives work somewhat.

here are some would-be PC campaign slogans which they totally should have used since this is what their campaign amounted to:

"the sky is falling!"
"drug dealers are raping our children on their way home from bible study!"
"artists use bad words and waste tax-payers' hard earned beer money!"
"all environmentalists are closet marxist-leninist homosexuals!"
"america's butt: where we like to hang out!"
"shifty eyed young offenders are lurking right outside your grandma's door!"
"slowing down oil development is like hammering nails into little baby jesus!"

and yes, in case you are wondering, i did vote. i got up extra early, put a useless X next to a name (not the marxist-leninist, though i got a huge kick out of seeing him there, you go, you dreamer, you!), hoping that since i live in a funky organic granola type neighbourhood i'd have a chance, a little tiny chance...riiight. this is alberta: trucks. drunks on quads. oil money. not a chance.

05 October, 2008

one night in vancouver...

corner of robsonstra├če:

moi (possibly under the influence, i'm not saying): something smells like vomit!

b: no, there's just a baby behind you.

then (ok, so maybe a little bit under the influence) i almost sit on the malodorous baby's head, but am pulled back just in time by my posse.


lesson: keep your puke-flavoured infants away from me, or i may squash them with my mighty polish buttocks!

04 October, 2008

the sad tale of satan's ass

the "luxury accommodation"* that we currently call home has many lights (hence the luxury moniker). we have a ceiling light in every room (!) and several dust-gathering faux wrought iron table lamps. this is really exciting. especially when it gets dark.

when you have so many lamps, is it surprising that you pick favourites? and, on the flip side, is it surprising that there might be one light you simply cannot stand?

in the kitchen, we have a light i fondly** call "satan's ass" because it has a morbid wavelength that makes everything look like a month-old corpse fished out of the north saskatchewan river on a february monday. i hate this light as much as any person can hate an inanimate and terrible yet often useful object, which is saying something, although i have little idea of what that something might be.

the best thing about our many lights, aside from the sheer joy of excessive illumination, is that the electrician was either a wacky practical joker or drunk: the switches for the lights are nowhere near the lights themselves. the first few months found us turning things on and off randomly because of this. the switch in the kitchen turns on the living room lights; the switch in the dining room turns on satan's ass, and so on. this is fun.


*absolutely demands irony quotation marks: wave your fingers in the air for extra depth of understanding. you can also wink.

**by fondly, i mean not. more finger waving. you can wink again, if you want, but only if you want. i already routinely force people to spit, swallow, swish and move their heads around to suit me, and i would hate to abuse my power.

01 October, 2008

splat goes the weasel

  • last friday i wasted my whole day at a dental expo, accompanied by a very nice person who truly believes she is not a keener but who forced me to sit through 2 and a half courses, where alone (or with cher monsieur antoine) i would have sat through at most possibly one. the joy of the honour system is that it allows bastards like me to escape cerebral hemorrhage caused by sheer boredom. it was so bad that i left early without consuming my free wine.

    but hey, the breakfast pastries were fresh.


  • that morning, while waiting for the bus downtown, i noticed that someone had violently graffiti'd a handicapped sign on the bus stop, and i just wanted to say that i totally get that, those bastard handicapped people with their attitude: "fuck you!!! i have no legs!!!"

  • then the three of us at same bus stop, morning hair, sleep-deprivation glinting dangerously through our crusty eyes, crankiness cranked up to 9, were accosted by a maniacally chipper woman in a long skirt. if the skirt hadn't alerted us, the joyful grin ought to have: high on jesus, and ready to make a sale. no thank you, crazy lady, my religious days, much like the middle ages, are long over.