Score One for the Human Race! Score Nothing for the Zim... Thingy... Race.

Oh brother. I made a trip to a few electronics stores today to purchase a replacement power cord for the laptop only to be told I need to order it specifically from the manufacturer. Horseshit! Is it too much to ask for them to have an AC adaptor with an output of 19 V and 2.4 A handy? Huh? No! They never have what I specifically come in for, and instead tempt me with rows and racks of product of which I have no need! Curse their underhanded tactics! Now I'm stuck with Invader Zim Vol. 1 and X-Men Legends for PS2. I've been faced with these shenanigans for too long and this treachery, this enormous disrespect tossed in my face so casually by these DISGUSTING MAGGOTS will no longer go unpunished! I shall annihilate them down to their cells, smash their filthy mitochondria and lay the smack on their pitiful RNA! Oh what delightful horrors I have prepared for you, merchants of misery. The sound of inevitability, indeed. Indeed!

Ummm... I wouldn't recommended purchasing Simpsons Cola, as drinking it seems to have rendered me insane. Hmmm. A shitty licensed product, who'd a thunk it? Sucralose, binding to my brain nerves! Transfiguring my neurons! The reuptake of brain chemicals has slowed to a standstill, clouding my already chalky thought processes! GAH! Heed this day, Cott's Beverage of Canada! For your delusional quest to maximize your profits has claimed its first victim!

But for now I must depart as I have guests at the moment. We finally meet, Count Cocofang!!!

World Destruction

An error has occurred in the script of this page.

You know that little message you see just above here? It appeared every time I typed a letter into the title field. Wonderful times.

You see, I have a laptop. It's close to six years old now, but it was serving me just fine for everything I needed to do online. Unfortunately, the power cord was becoming rather ragged after all this time, and yesterday it funnelled it's last charge. Goddamn AC adaptors. So for now, I am stuck using this old 486 I dragged out of the closet. Yep, that's right, 486. Who knew using a 486 could be this much fun?! Especially when you need to splice the mouse wires because the cat was using it as a chew toy? At this rate, I imagine I'll be using a Tandy by the end of the month. Along with a keyboard where the only functioning vowel key is U.

Goddamnit, now I'm going to have to shell out for a new power cord. Do you know how *expensive* those things are?! When will the madness end?

This Post Brought to You by Globo-Chem

Mr.

Show

Season

Four

OUT TODAY!!!

Oh yeah, and I saw a guy dressed as Santa Claus walking around Red Deer.

Hello, Allison!

Sigh. Does it get any better than a song about a love-sick convenience store clerk?

Anyhoo, I'm back at work after three days off; and as you can imagine, I'm as giddy as can be. Really! I'm not kidding! Stop laughing at me! You guys are sucky bastards. Bah! However, I've noticed a lot of sullen faces coming to the counter this afternoon, and I find that disturbing. I mean, it's Monday! There was some light snowfall this morning! How can it get any better than that? I have no idea what's causing this malaise, nor can I ever hope to know. The question troubling my brain is this: Is it going to become an epidemic? Well, I would not like to see it come to that, so I'm going to inoculate you lucky readers against terminal sulkiness before it starts to spread. Yep, it's that time again! It's time for yet another stupid list: Joel's Favourite Cinematic Comedic Moments! And there's another benefit to this: I can get away with writing a half-assed post.

• Chasing Amy - Holden's seductive dance before he finds out Alyssa's sexual orientation.
  
  
• Zoolander - Garry Shandling's cameo.
  
  
• Zoolander - For that matter, Billy Zane's cameo.
  
  
• Out Cold - "He was loving it strong!"
  
  
• The Wrong Guy - Nelson's attempt to board a moving train.
  
  
• The Wrong Guy - "My name is Jones. Enema Bag Jones."
  
  
• BASEketball - The "reunion" party the hapless heroes attend at the beginning.
  
  
• Ghost World - Gerrold attempting to score with Rebecca at the record party.
  
  
• Ghost World - Doug the Nunchuk Mullet Man.
  
  
• Bottle Rocket - Robbing the bookstore.
  
  
• Rushmore - The "Oh Yoko" montage.
  

And that's my list. Which contains everything that comes to mind at the moment. Sad, isn't it? Oh, and just to let you, if anybody were to take this idea and use it for their own blog, it would not break my heart.

Indecent Disclosure

I dropped in to visit my boss at work tonight, where I made clear that if the five-foot-tall singing and dancing skeleton mentioned previously sings the Monster Mash, I will be stealing it. He shrugged it off, then talked about the other decoration he could have picked up instead of the skeleton. Apparently, he could have bought a five-foot-tall singing and dancing Hulk Hogan. I'm really hoping that he had the description wrong, because if he bought some stupid skeleton instead of a five-foot-tall singing and dancing Hulk Hogan, I'm afraid I'm going to have to give my two weeks notice.

Your Stinging Velvet Arms

I've got to make a new Bloblife or risk being kicked off the creative team. My oft-delayed bio is stagnating in its own special corner of the hard drive. There's tons of books I need to tackle. The Gamecube controller is calling out to me to play Tales of Symphonia. Bit of a spare tire I have; perhaps I should exercise a bit. People are screaming at me to finish the next chapter of Super Fun Happy Amazing Hour!!! In Crisis! Hmmm. I think I should start working on some of this. Tomorrow. Yeah. For now, I'm going to wallow in my misery. This almost never happens on my blog.

[deafening laughter ensues]

Yeah, that was a good one! Seriously though, I'm in a bit of a funk right now. After the summer daze, September usually comes in like a refreshing breeze. There's a feeling of rebirth. That is definitely not the case this year. My brain's still fuzzy, I'm feeling beat most of the time. I feel like the personification of the word Blargh.

One main reason is that one of my few friends has moved away. Yep, that would be Dane; and it should help answer your question as to what the hell happened to him. He finished his work term at the local paper last week and moved on to his first "real" job with a paper in North Battleford, Saskatchewan. As for me? It's back to being Ol' Lonesome Joel. Dammit! Now I have no one to watch Kids in the Hall and Mr. Show with, and my cats are thoroughly sick of every episode. Where does that leave me? Bah. Bah! A pox on Dane Lutz and his heathen need for money! [grumbling]

As for the rest? Well, I don't think I can put it into words. But don't let out a sigh of relief just yet; you're not getting off that easy. I've chosen a song that pretty much sums up my entire state of existence and tweaked it a little to better represent the Joelness at its core. The artiste behind it? None other than Fat Lip, proud owner of the best music video ever made.

Feeling downtrodden
Fresh kid turned rotten
I can't believe all the heat that I've gotten
Over the years it seems like I'm getting dumber
Reminiscing to a time when I was younger with a hunger
Full of dreams, determination, self-esteem
But now it seems they hesitate to be on my team
You know the routine
when you're winning and grinning
All up in your face
Like they were with you from the beginning
But on the flipside
When you're washed up like a riptide
People laugh about how you slipped and let things slide
Beside the fact
My blog is wack
Folks are running 'round, saying that I smoke crack
Don't have anybody that's watching my back
I've got no more fight
My game isn't tight
People who haven't seen me in a while
Are like "Dude, are you all right?"
Who am I kiddin', who do I fool
When they ask me "What's up Joel?" and I say "It's cool."
Who am I kiddin', who do I fool
When they ask me "What's up Joel?" and I say "It's cool."

Behind the Candy

As you all should be aware of by now, I am one of the few, the proud, the convenient. Yep, I am one those busy worker bees who help to maintain the hallowed tradition known as the corner store, and I am wholly committed to the ideals that come with it; namely, to be as surly and indifferent as possible. What you probably don't know (which consists of too many things to list at this point, so I'll be confining myself to only one) is that my boss prides himself on having the largest candy selection in our town. Frankly, this doesn't require a lot of effort considering that our town is not that big; all he'd have to do is order a few extra boxes of Mars bars to comfortably claim that title. But no, he's wholly dedicated to stocking his shelves with a wide variety of candy. Much to my chagrin, but that's besides the point, isn't it? After all, what's the well-being of your employees compared to the opportunity to wrest change from the sweaty hands of children and warp their fragile minds in the process?

Yes, that's right, warp their fragile minds. Seriously, have you taken a walk through a candy aisle, lately? The tawdriness on display is fucking unbelievable! Don't believe me? Then consider:

Tongue Splashers - Lord almighty.
Push Pop and Flash Pop - Why can't kids leave their dad alone?
Soft Baby - Excuse me?
YumYum Giraffe - Alrighty then.
Yu-Gi-Oh! - What the hell is this, some kind of tantric sex cry?

Look at the messages being sent to children! References to oral sex, father abuse, pedophilia and bestiality flourish like dandelions. These, however, are a far cry from the worst offender I've seen. No, that title belongs to a recent addition to our Aisle of Shame; a one-way ticket to Sodom and Gomorrah if I've ever seen one. Gaze upon the unholy terror of the 'Lil Squirts!

The picture may be of a profoundly shitty quality, but this is the best I could find on the company website. But really, can you blame them for not wanting a clear picture available? Suggestive name aside, the box art is utterly atrocious. What are they trying to convey here? It seems they're saying all Little Johnny has to do is squirt "candy" from a phallic fruit into his mouth and he'll be transported to an hallucenogenic paradise where grapes with pinwheels and parasol-sporting strawberries frolic. Hah! Next thing you know, Little Johnny's suckin' cock to support his more frequent visits to the Altered State of Druggachusettes! At this point you're shaking in an uncontrollable rage, no doubt. Or feverishly masturbating. One of the two. So, my non-perverted readers, you know what you must do! It's time to take it to the streets! It's time to strike these bastards where it hurts the most! It's time to find these evil candy executives and cut off their penises!

Viva!

This post has been brought to you by Joel. Joel! Surreptitiously aiding the moral decline since 1979!

Brevity is the Soul of Twit

Remember that part in X-Men 2 when Wolverine and the kids jacked Cyclop's car to make their getaway from Stryker? And when they turned on the stereo, 'N Sync came blaring out?

Yeah, that was pretty funny.

Prosaic Putridosity

Before I start, I'd just like to say that After School Knife Fight has beaten out Rival Schools in the category of My Favorite Band Name Utilizing the Word School. And on that note I'd like to continue by saying that Xiu Xiu's Brian the Vampire is the best song title I've ever heard.

Oh, and just to let you know, I haven't actually heard any of those bands.

Some kids were in the store a few weeks back shopping for candy. They were all dressed in the goth-punk look that appears to be the rage lately; well, everyone except for the one girl's boyfriend, who was decked out in a Darkness shirt (which he never appears to take off) and tight women's jeans. Anyway, they were discussing their trip to Warped Tour, when one of the girls squealed "I got to meet My Chemical Romance! EEEEEE!". At which point every one of them started squealing in unison. Except for the guy, thank goodness; he was content to stand around looking tough. After all, you never know when the Pixie Stiks are gonna start frontin'. I could go into what I found troubling about that whole scene, but it would take a lot more time and effort than I'm willing to give.

The archetypes never change, they just wear different clothes.

I received a gigantic shock this morning when I entered the stock room of the store to find a five-foot tall skeleton staring at me. Huh, it appears the boss is getting ready for Halloween early this year. Oh yeah, did I mention this skeleton is wearing a glittery tuxedo and top hat. And not only that, but sings and dances as well? Goddamnit, if this thing sings the Monster Mash, I'ma gonna be stealin' this thing the beginning of November...

The Art of the Deal

Oh goody. My employer - Rolf B. of Rolf's Groceries - has decided to go into the tacky tchotchke business. As of yesterday, we're now proudly displaying on our front counter those wonderful Novelty Flashers! And by that I mean little pins that flash blue and red light, not a group of perverts in trenchcoats modelling multi-colored condoms. But still! You can buy them in the shape of guitars, cowboy boots, ladybugs, and even dolphins! Woo!

One question: Is it true that the image of a dolphin is worn by women to symbolize they've gone over a certain number of sexual partners? I heard that a few years ago and I've always wondered if it's true. Not that I expect to be let in on the secret Code of the Female or anything...

Okay, I think I'm gonna take down that Novelty Flasher display. I've been here for only two hours and every customer so far has delayed their walking out the door so they can fawn over it like a stoned moth. But why am I so hostile to the beloved Novelty Flasher? After all, it says right on the display that it's "Great for Dances, Parties, Night Fun...". Well, if your "Night Fun" consists of inducing seizures in epileptics out for a stroll, then by all means! Seriously, if you buy one of these things when you're well out of your pubescent period, you're making the case for the return of government-sponsored eugenics that much stronger.

What's that you're saying? Ah hell, you got me. The only reason I'm so cranky about these new gidgets is because I can't seem to decide between the Canadian Flag flasher and the Smiley Face flasher. Goddamn it, the choice is driving me mad!

Note: If you read the Eugenics link, you'll find proof that we Canadians are not all smiles and maple syrup...

The Sequel Nobody Demanded

The Sequel Nobody Demanded

This is a continuation of the post "Rum in the Jungle". So I guess you could say it's like Kill Bill, only really stupid. On that note, I'm proud to present to Annoy Readers Vol. 2.

When we last left myself, I was having what could be loosely termed as fun in a local bar. But the night must come to an end, so we trotted off to the house of Dane's mother and stepfather. After arriving, I forced Dane and Famira to recognize the glory of Strong Bad. I'm sure they did, and they're currently thinking of new and imaginative ways to thank me.

The next day I went back home. I'll give you a moment to appreciate that awe-inspiring sentence.

I was supposed to meet Dizzane and Fizzlamizzlera at Duffer's Pub to partake in watching of the hockey game on Saturday night, but I decided I'd immerse myself in Jak II instead. Heh, it was worth it. After escorting three bickering morons through the sewers to blow up a statue, I figured it was time to bless them with my presence. And bless them I did. And guess what? Cheap Sunglasses - the ZZ Top tribute band - was playing AGAIN that night! Oh boy! We didn't think we'd be able to handle such excitement, so off we danced to the Fish Bowl. Because it's such a wonderful place, and I... errm... have a crush on one of the waitresses there. Heh. It was a decisive night, and I needed to impress her right away. So, I downed eight rye and cokes and became stupidly pissed. That had to leave an impression, no? Yep, and trying to walk out an obviously barred door and being laughed at by the DJ. The SuperStud's back in action, puttin' his love life in traction.

Drunken antics can only go so far, so it was time to head back to the house to get some sleep. I was getting ready for another good night on the couch when Dane's stepfather entered the living room. He asked how the night was, then glanced over in my direction.

"You live near Leslieville, Joel?" he asked.
"Yep." I replied.
"Okay. Go home. Don't wanna see you on the couch in the morning."

Because I was not wanted there, and I had nowhere else to go, and I was much too drunk to drive, I was forced to spend the night in my car. We watched Hellboy for about an hour, then Dane drove me back into town.

As you can imagine, my ass is still chapped over this.

I'm not going to argue his right to remove me from his property. What I have an issue with is that if there was a problem with me spending the night on the couch there were plenty of oppurtunities to tell me so beforehand. Over the past four months I've spent the night over there a total of nine times. The amount of complaints I've heard over this? Exactly zip. Telling me on the last night I'd be hanging out with Dane when my options for alternative arrangements were few reeks of passive-agressive bullshit. You know, I liked Dane's stepfather. I think I may even have respected him. That's kinda gone out the fucking window now, hasn't it?

And so, I spent the night in my car. It was

ATTENTION: Remainder of post deleted by Internet Stupidity Filter. Internet Stupidity Filter! Saving both you and your family from relentless ignorance!

Untitled

I woke up in the morning
Took a trip to the corner store
That's when I heard my calling
Never heard a voice like you before
So I kept on walking
Pretended I didn't see
Walked by a window
And my reflection said to me
"You can try all the same
But you'll never know this mystery
There's no pilot on your plane
So you're not the man you used to be
Try all the games
But you'll never know this mystery
When your pilot has no plane
I said you're not the man you used to be."

-- K-OS

Rum in the Jungle

Don't worry, this post will have nothing to do with my blog or the new re-design or anything of that nature. Instead, I shall be telling you about the past weekend and the wacky antics I got up to. I can't exactly remember the last time I did a post like this, really; I decided a long time ago that nothing in my personal life is blog-worthy and I've stuck to that notion like rubber cement. Work? That's fine. Stupid thoughts? Those are fine too. But personal details? Oh good God, no. Besides, you really have to have a personal life to describe before you can go about describing your personal life.

But first, I betta recognize: One of the fine fellows on the link list (there I go blowing the not-talking-about-my-blog thing) was in the paper this weekend. And it wasn't for being part of some sex-drenched scandal, if you can imagine that. I was reading the Edmonton Journal on Saturday and when I began to scan through the eD supplement, an article on Scrabble caught my eye. And wouldn't you know, Nick Tam was the focus of it. So yeah, this should PROVE that good things happen to people on my blogroll. In fact, I'm going to be so bold as to predict that nobody on the ol' roll gets cavities this year. No need to thank me, folks; your bills are in the mail.

Back to the weekend: I have something to announce. Dane, one of my best friends and one hell of a kick-ass blogging partner, is moving outta Rocky. He'll be heading to North Battleford, Saskatchewan to work on its local paper. And so, apart from all-too-infrequent visits with Rob and Lynn, I shall be friendless and alone in the coming months. What's that you're saying? You think I should get more friends? Well geez, people! That's your answer for everything!

"Help! My toast fell on the floor!"
"So? Get more friends!"
"Help! I'm impotent!"
"So? Get more friends!"
"Help! I'm being attacked by grizzly bears on LSD!"
"I already told you to get more friends, didn't I?"

Repeat ad nauseum. Anyway, I planned on hanging out a lot with Dane and his girlfriend Famira before they head out to Saskatchewan this Thursday. On Friday night, after working an afternoon shift, I went to Duffer's Pub to meet them while they were playing pool. Let me explain something 'bout Famira: She is addicted to pool. If Dane ever told her to choose between pool or him, there'd be a door hitting his ass on the way out. Now let's explain something about me: I do not like pool, I cannot play pool, and I have no desire to learn pool. And although my tolerance thereof has increased over the past three months, there's still no way I can comfortably be part of a night based around it. Faced with the prospect of the evening turning out to be just that, I put forth a motion to relocate the proceedings elsewhere. Unfortunately, there were no seconders, and I believe the Speaker even threatened to "kick my monkey ass". So much for decorum.

It was then I decided to go get something to eat. Neither of my compatriots were interested so I trudged off by myself. So of course, the first place I went to was the video store. They had nothing good for sale, so I went to [fast food restaurant name deleted to avoid mockery]. After waiting in line for fifteen minutes watching the cashier serve one whole customer the entire time, I got fed up and left. You get kind of annoyed when you see about three cars receive their orders in the amount of time it took the humble cashier to fetch some fries. So, piss on you, [fast food restaurant name deleted to avoid mockery]! I went to 7-11 afterwards to purchase one of their over-priced pitas instead. And when I went up to the counter, one of the girls working till flashed me a gang sign and yelled, "Yo Joel! Check it! Check it!" Which would be fine and dandy, except I've never met this girl before in my life. She walked away to work on the coolers, so I asked the lady serving me who she was. Apparently, her name is Ariel. There's only two Ariels I've ever heard of; one's a little mermaid, and the other is Ariel Sharon. It should go without saying that she was neither of them. So, what's the deal? Am I becoming famous for unknown reasons? Or did I actually meet her before and forgot about it? If the latter's the truth, then it's a real pity - for she's really, REALLY cute.

After the 7-11 Shenanigans, it was back to Duffer's Pub with I. Just in time to watch Cheap Sunglasses, the ZZ Top tribute band playing there that night. They sounded cool, I guess. The only lyrics I could make out were "She woke up fucking Legolas!" or something akin to that. I was in a better mood when I returned so I decided to play some pool, and at which I was promptly schooled. Oh well, such is life. After Famira had decided we'd played enough pool, we sat down in a booth and began to read aloud from the David Suzuki book she had brought with her. Well, Famira and I did, Dane has an image to uphold and everything. Good times, man; good times.

But anyway, this post has gone on long enough, so I'll torture you with the remaining details next time. Stay tuned for Action! Adventure! Laughter! Heartbreak... of psoriasis!

Ghostwritten by Michael Chabon

I suppose I should take some time out to plug Brodieclerk a.k.a Ben Nunnally's new webcomic, Bloblife. Seeing as it's goddamn hilarious and everything. And hey, Baron von Sportlich himself - Rossford Q. Persawhisky - digs it as well. Hmmm, recommended by both me AND Ross? Don't stampede over all at once now; don't want to overload the server...

In case that doesn't entice you, I should also say that Ben for reasons unknown has decided to list me as a co-writer. Well sure, if being a co-writer means you bang out a three-line run-on sentence concept then sit around and sip margaritas for the next three hours while you wait for your partner to make the strip. Then by all means, I'm a damn co-writer. You know, it's a tough job and everything, but I wouldn't have it any other way. However, I am kinda disappointed that my idea for the title - The Unbearable Lightness of Blobbing - was rejected.

And now we go to Tina with the weather. Tina?

Hello, Bob! Fuck the weather! Fuck the weather and piss on it! Instead, I'm here to tell you that a certain someone has made clear their desire to own a T-shirt with a few of the designs on the title graphic printed on it. The proprietor of this site would like to know if anybody else is interested in a shirt like this. He has friends in the T-shirt printing business, after all. He won't be selling them for obvious reasons - quality being the least of them - but he does request you "donate" a plate of cookies or somethin' for his effort.

If you wish to make such a request and are aware of what you need to do, the e-mail address follows:

Egads!

Oh, yon Queen of Useless Knowledge. Long have you kept your secrets from me. But that time has ended.

Yeah, the identity of the Queen of Useless Knowledge has been troubling me for some time now. She admitted in one of her first posts that she knew who I was, but left nary a detail as to her own identity. Just who is behind that strange pseudonym, anyway? Well, I'm proud to admit that I've finally unravelled the mystery. After hours of tedious research, analysis of every fact no matter how little, and merciless taunting from the subject in question, she's finally been found out. Who is it?

Why, it's none other than Wilford Brimley, the Quaker Oats shill and star of such classics as Mutant Species! Shame on you, Wilford Brimley; you know better than to impersonate mothers from Rocky Mountain House online!

Not Ripping Off Jhonen Vasquez Since May 2004!

Ah, the sidebar's finally up to the level of quality my ardent fans expect and demand. Now I just have to clean up the title image. After finishing that, I'll be proud to call this blog my own. In fact, I've already been garnering some rave reviews:

"Hey, neat." -- Ben Nunnally

"It's alright." -- Jermey Kerklaan

"Joel, you have a problem." -- Dane Lutz

"What's that guy doing to Grover?" -- Ross Prusakowski

Oh my, I don't know if I'll be able to handle such praise without turning into a raving egomaniac!

In other news, a few more people have been inducted into my hallowed Journals of Note. Let's walk you through 'em.

Heather Smith - This is the first time I've ever reciprocated a link. I'm not particularly sure why I made her list of "Blogs That I Like and Visit Frequently", but if I was to hazard a guess I'd have to say it was mostly out of pity.

Queen of Useless Knowledge - She mentioned me in one of her posts; that's damn well good enough for me.

Here Comes The New BlogSame as the Old Blog

Yes, yes; I'm sure you're all looking around and wondering what the hell happened. Well, there comes a time in a young man's life when he starts noticing some changes; his voice gets deeper, he starts growing hair where there wasn't any before... oops, wrong topic. Nah, I decided that the Minima template wasn't cuttin' the mustard anymore. So, it was time for Fisher Price's My First Blog Redesign! There was also the issue of the title. Our Names on a Marquee - while being a neat title - simply wasn't a good representation of the wacky shenanigans that go on here on a semi-daily basis. Fwit! Out it goes, and in steps Broken Controller. I hope you enjoy what I've done so far, but I should note that I'm not finished and it's still kinda rough around the edges. I'll be redoing most of the images to make them blend in better and do some major work on the sidebar to make it look spiffier in the coming days.

You know, I may come across as some rage-filled loon, but I can still recognize when some good has been bestowed on me. You guys just keep giving and giving, and I haven't even taken the time to give anything back. So, my faithful readers, I have to say thank you. Thank you for stopping in on a regular basis and reading the bloated nonsense I try to pass off as humour and/or deep observations. 'Tweren't for you guys, this blog would be dead and buried.

Don't be getting any funny ideas, now.

And a very special shout-out goes to the Yenta Crew (?) for stopping in and filling my site with loads of comment love. You guys rock. Seriously.

There Is No If, Just And

So. This is it, then. Summer's over. Yes, I said summer's over; you can take your damn autumnal equinox and shove it straight up your ass. It's the first of September, the air's getting crisper, and those of you in school have gone back or are so close to going back that it's colouring the final days of your vacation. Yep, sure feels like the beginning of fall to me. Fading fast are the wanton pleasures of a cruel summer; they're soon to be replaced by the cozy whimsical melancholy of autumn. How do I feel about this?

He he he, you'll never know.

I think my hearing's going. Some dude came in to buy some Pepsi the other day, and while he was rummaging around in his pocket (or playing with himself; both were probably true) he told me, "I have the keys to my car." Confused, I stared at him and asked if he was actually willing to trade his car for a can of pop. In reply he whipped out his big, shiny and glistening... debit card and made clear his statement from before. "Car?! No, I said I have to pay with my card!" Oops. Much blushing ensues. The same sort of thing happened today, sans the homoerotic imagery. Whilst listening to the radio this afternoon the newsreader breathlessly announced that there was the proposed banning of pickles in Eastern Canada somewhere. Intrigued by this seemingly random piece of news, I strained to listen harder. The newsreader continued by saying that this was because of the recent incident where a man was attacked by two pickles. If I was an animated character, there'd have been a big fat question mark hanging over my head right then. More like three of 'em. Pickles? Is there some kinda sandwich fixin' revolt I've been sleeping on? But my fevered imagination was blasted apart when the newsreader continued and I realized he was talking about pitbulls. Oops the second. And there'll be just one more, and then I'm done. Two years back I was talking with my co-worker as she was getting ready to head out the door. She was gassing about the joy of her grandchildren, so I zoned her out and stared at the parking lot. At that moment, there was a motley crew of about five seniors walking past the front of the store. My co-worker's voice forced its way into my brain right then and I heard her say, "Man, I hate those wrinkled assholes!" Huh? What? Wrinkled assholes? I burst out laughing, much to her bewilderment. Sensing that I wasn't quite on the same page she was, she pointed out the fruit basket containing a bunch of withered fruit. Oops the third. Sigh...