If there’s one thing that I’ve learned is that the dirtier the link and post the more response I get in the comments. But it’s a delicate tightrope that I walk while I try to balance funny with smutty. One day though, I swear I’ll succumb to my temptations and just start posting links to smut with no regard and no looking back. But in the meantime I’ll continue as I always have by posting an interesting link to Japanese vending machines. And before you go, clean yourself up because it looks like you’ve got something all over your face.
Should I be concerned at the recomendation of an ointment that has the consistancy of Nestle Quik and motor oil bought for $2 in 1967 to treat a blister that left blood all over my socks and shoes? Probably. But no one likes a half-man so you can lick it, bitches!
Licking it aside, recently I have recently become a vandal. It wasn’t really my fault but a case of one-upmanship. My lady started it by proclaiming her love with a sharpie on the bathroom stall of Broken City. I’ll take her word for it because I’ve never seen it myself but several reliable sources have verified the fact.
Not being one to be outdone I borrowed her sharpie and reciprocated in the men’s stall. It was only fitting even though the walls were painted black therefore forcing me to badly scrawl “E.S. + R.V.” on the toilet paper dispenser itself which was “less-black” in colour. My bathroom graffiti has nothing on the stuff as displayed on this site though. Magnifiqué!!
Besides completely ripping this article off from myownbiggestfan.org, I would like to say that if you’ve ever any inkling into what I’m listening to a good place to start would be my Last.fm profile page. To his credit, it was myownbiggestfan that convinced me to sign up for the damn thing. This is how it works; you download the plugin (available for Mac, Windows, and Linux) and it transmits what you’re listening to up to the website and after about 200 some songs it calculates your musical “neighbours” based upon your tastes. If you’re a music nerd like me it’s a fantastic resource as well as a great waste of time. Join up, add me as your musical “friend”, and sleep soundly knowing that somewhere out there someone is using this data for marketing purposes so far beyond the scope of thought that even a glimpse would make your head explode like the gentleman on Scanners. It’s fun. Join.
There’s a couple of reasons you won’t see me out late on a Friday night. First, drinking and eating is expensive so I try to regulate it to a few nights a week. Most importantly is the show Sin Cities on Showcase. It’s the one show I look forward to every single week. The one sentence synopsis of the series bills it as “Passport to vice: Ashley Hames tours the world looking for sleazy weirdness.” Yup, that’s about it. In the four or five episodes I have seen, the host has: gone through excruciating pain while getting an erection while having his dick in a some sort of restraint as women are rubbing themselves all over his body, gotten hammered on the streets of mexico and made out with some possibly underage latinas, had a Brazilian wax in Brazil while concealing the shaft of his penis with some sort of sparkly puppet, and had his member cast in plaster in San Diego.
I got to hand it the man though. He has no problem taking off his clothes to explore the seedy underbelly of every city he visits. Maybe it’s because he’s not much to look at: skinny yet flabby, pasty complexion, and glasses and has no qualms about removing his clothing at the drop of a hat. I wish I had his job.
I’ve resolved myself to the inalienable fact that I should not get near anything that could possibly damage me for at least the end of the week or at least until the wounds heal. Yes, it’s been one of those weeks. Mind you, I’m still in a good spirits as ever. It’s just that I’m bound to have one or two more scars than I care for.
The first one can be called an accident because really when at the end of an evening of drinking gin and dancing and another friend arrives, who wouldn’t excited. I was and showed by screaming their name and proceeding to lift their entire body in my two hands in. An act so swift that I managed to procure a nice cigarette burn to the face in the process. A badge of honour some might say but most would agree that’s it a badge of stupidity. I take things in stride and with a combination of ointment and sheer willpower it should be healed up by the end of the week. I wish I could say the same for the rest of my body.
I’ll set the scene. I was jogging yesterday as I’m trying to get as much outdoor days possible before the winter comes and it’s too damn cold to jog outside in short shorts. It was a good run too – about 14km. I was jogging all the way from the 10th street bridge in Kensington to Edworthy Park and back. It wasn’t my intention but as I was jogging along the path I noticed some people across the river on another path and decided that I would keep on jogging until I reached a bridge which I eventually did.
Because I’ve never been to that park before I was unfamiliar with the paths and somehow ended up jogging parallel to train tracks. That’s when the panic set in. The train tracks were also parallel to the path I wanted to be on but that was divided by a chain link fence and I could see no entrance ahead. So I tried to climb that fence. Normally this would be a bit tough but would not pose to huge a challenge. However the fence was preceded by a steep ditch and I was in shorts and T-Shirt.
Somehow I made it to the top with legs straddling it. The tricky part was to get down. Frustration set in and I decided to jump. I did manage to land square on my feet but tore up my arms and legs quite well from the sharp parts at the top. Blood was streaming down my arm and getting all over my shirt and shorts and I was a good 7km from my lady’s house. So I decided to run. The difference being this time that I was now on the proper path and a lot bloodier. I was a bit self-conscious because sweating and running with blood all over your body can be a bit suspicious. Especially in public. The blood was a nice touch though because whenever I needed to get someone out of my way I’d increase the stride of arms to purposely show off the blood. Not one asshole in a Running Room fanny pack asked to see if I was okay.
Strangely it was one of the best runs I had in months despite the unwanted bloodshed and as a bonus I’m now a menace along the jogging paths of Calgary. It’s a shame that the blood came out in the wash though as it would have been my new favourite shirt to run in.
Okay, so this weekend was a smidge crazy but with the working week approaching and a few scant hours left to put something up here I suppose I better get my ass in gear because there’s good TV to watch. First, what do get when you obsess about a costume worn by an actress in a science fiction movie made over 20 years ago. Well, you don’t get a date but you get this. Second, unless you a free tour of the city don’t take photos of cops arresting someone. Thirdly, need some facts about your cock? Look no further. I’ve been having a craving for freshly-squeezed orange juice lately which has almost nothing to do with this juicer.
My links folder is getting full again. Look for another link purge later this week as I drop over 300 links in a single post to the tune of something or other.
I’m not that obsessed with sex. I do have other interests as well like…. this thing. It’s a lot like drawing but much harder. I would have drawn a unicorn but admittedly I’ve been sucked in by the finale of Canadian Idol. The key word being suck.
Some thing go best without any description. Like this movie for instance. It seemed funny enough for me to watch the whole thing. However, I suspect that my rapt attention was due to the Tylenol 3’s I’m having to take before I deal with this crater in one of my molars later this week. I sure hope the dentist has better dress sense than the gentleman in the film.
There’s been too many times when I open my carefully prepared lunch and reach for my banana only to find that it’s bruised beyond recognition. After my crying fit is over I think to myself, “Self, if only there were some way that I could have a banana for lunch and not have it destroyed by the time I get to it. If only there was some sort of Banana……Guard.” Holy shit! There actually is.