Ugh. (Pronounced: uh-kkk)
2010 - what did I ever do to you?
You've been treating me like a red-headed step child. You've erased the two most important females in my life. What do I have to show for it? Bills. Shit loads of weighty bills from living above my means all this time.
Thanks dude.
I can safely tell you all now, that there was a lengthy period of time where I considered veering the car off a ledge. An electric device in the bathtub, perhaps or just a shit load of tylenol. It was a skeleton in my closet. A demon from my past. I personify this emotional bombardment because it helps me picture it. In my mind's eye I can walk up to this assassin and meet it face to face.
In the most crippling of attacks from this assassin, driving to work was next to impossible. I felt the same paralyzing hold when I was sixteen. This was a sequel to a movie that should never have been made. But I'm not reprising my role to complete the trilogy. This has to end for good.
There's an epic war waging in my mind's eye. Until recently, the assassin has had the upper hand. As if his pet zombies were attacking me while he made off with the girl.
Then life changed. And it was like...I was granted spider-powers. Because the zombies got so much easier to beat down. I made some friends and they brought shotguns. Now I can focus on the assassin.
I can't say this war will end anytime soon. But the tide has just turned, and I'm picturing myself webbing this assassin's feet to the ground and calling in Ironman for a rocket powered uppercut.
Once I've defeated him...I'll have a clean slate. A fresh start.
I think I've learned my lesson. Let's do this.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Give Me A Blog
Don't worry.
I won't turn this into another drawn out, nearly painful reading experience. I won't adhere to the oh-so-common business approach of "Hello sir or madam or both, my name is John Whogivesacrap and I'd like to apply for a position with your company as a writer."
I will, however, tell you my name. Adam Jakob Smachylo. The Driver's License may say that I'm 27 years of age, though the onslaught of turmoil and constant challenges at times makes me feel double that.
I've witnessed the closest of my friends' lives hijacked and destroyed by a self-loathing ex-girlfriend, I've had the most dearest of women in my life stolen from me by cancer and their own destructive guilty pleasures, I've felt the agony of a father that chose to run rather than stay and guide his son through life, I've watched as my own relationships crumbled and get swept aside as if nothing had ever happened.
Yet, I've been fortunate enough to have been loved by several young women, I've conquered a staggering fear of heights jumping 11,000 feet from an airplane I couldn't even stand up in, I've caressed the lips of an angel with my own - an angel that still haunts me to this day and I've driven a rusty 2005 Mazda 3 across a country unlike any other.
I'm only 27. What does all this get me? One incredibly unique view of our beautiful, yet sadly unfair world.
In my professional career as a writer, I have been a Creative Writer for radio stations in Thunder Bay, Toronto and Kelowna, and was the Creative Director for Z103.5 for a year. I was a Dean's List student at both Cambrian College in Sudbury for the Print-Journalism program, and at Confederation College for Television Broadcasting.
Writing has always been my passion. I've worked on several novels, posted a number of blogs, written several short stories and continue to write creatively for radio.
I won't turn this into another drawn out, nearly painful reading experience. I won't adhere to the oh-so-common business approach of "Hello sir or madam or both, my name is John Whogivesacrap and I'd like to apply for a position with your company as a writer."
I will, however, tell you my name. Adam Jakob Smachylo. The Driver's License may say that I'm 27 years of age, though the onslaught of turmoil and constant challenges at times makes me feel double that.
I've witnessed the closest of my friends' lives hijacked and destroyed by a self-loathing ex-girlfriend, I've had the most dearest of women in my life stolen from me by cancer and their own destructive guilty pleasures, I've felt the agony of a father that chose to run rather than stay and guide his son through life, I've watched as my own relationships crumbled and get swept aside as if nothing had ever happened.
Yet, I've been fortunate enough to have been loved by several young women, I've conquered a staggering fear of heights jumping 11,000 feet from an airplane I couldn't even stand up in, I've caressed the lips of an angel with my own - an angel that still haunts me to this day and I've driven a rusty 2005 Mazda 3 across a country unlike any other.
I'm only 27. What does all this get me? One incredibly unique view of our beautiful, yet sadly unfair world.
In my professional career as a writer, I have been a Creative Writer for radio stations in Thunder Bay, Toronto and Kelowna, and was the Creative Director for Z103.5 for a year. I was a Dean's List student at both Cambrian College in Sudbury for the Print-Journalism program, and at Confederation College for Television Broadcasting.
Writing has always been my passion. I've worked on several novels, posted a number of blogs, written several short stories and continue to write creatively for radio.
2010 - What did I ever do to you?
Holy shit - this is the worst year of my life.
When shit gets this heavy, I always try to tell myself that it's for a reason. Life better have a pretty good reason for this.
But sometimes you sit there and wish for something to happen - then it does.
I made my bed, now I have to sleep in it.
It's tough to say exactly what happened with me, with us and with life. I suppose sometimes love just isn't enough. I hope that we will both come away from this learning a bit more about ourselves and with minimal regrets. If a man's level of freedom is measured by the guilt he shoulders from his past, then I may never actually meet a true free man. I'll certainly never look in the mirror and see one.
I pray to my Mother constantly. I beg her to help me. I beg her for strength, for answers and for a reason to go on. I don't know if she hears me. Sometimes I feel like I've disappointed her or hurt her in someway by how I live my life.
It's so easy to count the horribly disappointing and overwhelmingly stressful things happening in my life. There's just so many of them...how can you enjoy the sight of the ocean with a mountain in the way?
But now at least I can fully focus on getting the help I need emotionally. Cuz ya know...I'm fucked up and all. Or perhaps I'm just not meant to live a certain way.
Either way, it's time to suit up and re-join the mercenaries who answer to one voice only: their own.
When shit gets this heavy, I always try to tell myself that it's for a reason. Life better have a pretty good reason for this.
But sometimes you sit there and wish for something to happen - then it does.
I made my bed, now I have to sleep in it.
It's tough to say exactly what happened with me, with us and with life. I suppose sometimes love just isn't enough. I hope that we will both come away from this learning a bit more about ourselves and with minimal regrets. If a man's level of freedom is measured by the guilt he shoulders from his past, then I may never actually meet a true free man. I'll certainly never look in the mirror and see one.
I pray to my Mother constantly. I beg her to help me. I beg her for strength, for answers and for a reason to go on. I don't know if she hears me. Sometimes I feel like I've disappointed her or hurt her in someway by how I live my life.
It's so easy to count the horribly disappointing and overwhelmingly stressful things happening in my life. There's just so many of them...how can you enjoy the sight of the ocean with a mountain in the way?
But now at least I can fully focus on getting the help I need emotionally. Cuz ya know...I'm fucked up and all. Or perhaps I'm just not meant to live a certain way.
Either way, it's time to suit up and re-join the mercenaries who answer to one voice only: their own.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
The Supernatural
I believe in ghosts. I believe we are like Transformers. There’s more to us than meets the eye.
I don’t really care what you believe in, nor do I care how many people read the previous statement and judge me as a potential schizophrenic. Let it be known that those of us who are the most judgmental are the most likely to be judged themselves.
In my eyes it is impossible to perceive this human life of ours and not stop to wonder at how exactly we came to be. Are we simply a biological anomaly born of the random yet perfect placement of a massive burning star? Or was there really a superior being that cascaded down from the Heavens to create an intelligent, yet corruptible race in its own image?
Me? I don’t subscribe to human-fabricated belief that there is one holy being that oversees all life on this planet like a shop foreman.
Let me also add that any group that masses together to worship a single being and follows its ‘rules of conduct’ could also be called a ‘cult’.
And yet despite all my personal beliefs, I saunter passed an older building in the nicer parts of Kelowna, and I feel as though I’m being watched. It’s a feeling that’s nearly impossible to put accurately into words.
When I’m being ‘visited’, the symptoms are often visible. Teary eyes, shaking hands and arms, heavy breathing. It’s as if I’m being watched by a thousand eyes, like all the deceased that came to be that way were holed up in a room and I just walked into it with a huge sign on my chest that reads ‘I hate ghosts’.
Images appear in my mind, images that I honestly can’t say I’d ever seen before or thought of before. It’s for that reason that I have a hard time accepting that it could be an over-active imagination. I see people – people with very specific details. A slender young woman in a long, red dress with spaghetti straps over her shoulders and long, black hair draped across her right shoulder. She’s standing atop the height of a tall staircase, staring down at me. I don’t think she knows she’s dead.
A gruff, middle-aged man storms into our home looking for someone. He has a thick, dark mustache and a displeased expression on his face. He doesn’t speak English, but he understands when I tell him he’s in the wrong place.
My Mother stands in the living room of my new apartment, watching me do the dishes, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows as she watches. She’s not happy with how I’m handling certain things, so I remind her where she’s supposed to be and where I am.
I don’t see this as a curse, as often this sense has helped me steer clear of what could’ve possibly been some malicious spirits in the past.
It makes me wonder. When it comes to the spirits of the dead, those lonely souls that wander our Earth trapped and in some cases oblivious…is ignorance really bliss? Or does a spirit’s influence hold sway over even the most closed-minded of fools?
After all, spirits are just as capable of evil as we are.
I don’t really care what you believe in, nor do I care how many people read the previous statement and judge me as a potential schizophrenic. Let it be known that those of us who are the most judgmental are the most likely to be judged themselves.
In my eyes it is impossible to perceive this human life of ours and not stop to wonder at how exactly we came to be. Are we simply a biological anomaly born of the random yet perfect placement of a massive burning star? Or was there really a superior being that cascaded down from the Heavens to create an intelligent, yet corruptible race in its own image?
Me? I don’t subscribe to human-fabricated belief that there is one holy being that oversees all life on this planet like a shop foreman.
Let me also add that any group that masses together to worship a single being and follows its ‘rules of conduct’ could also be called a ‘cult’.
And yet despite all my personal beliefs, I saunter passed an older building in the nicer parts of Kelowna, and I feel as though I’m being watched. It’s a feeling that’s nearly impossible to put accurately into words.
When I’m being ‘visited’, the symptoms are often visible. Teary eyes, shaking hands and arms, heavy breathing. It’s as if I’m being watched by a thousand eyes, like all the deceased that came to be that way were holed up in a room and I just walked into it with a huge sign on my chest that reads ‘I hate ghosts’.
Images appear in my mind, images that I honestly can’t say I’d ever seen before or thought of before. It’s for that reason that I have a hard time accepting that it could be an over-active imagination. I see people – people with very specific details. A slender young woman in a long, red dress with spaghetti straps over her shoulders and long, black hair draped across her right shoulder. She’s standing atop the height of a tall staircase, staring down at me. I don’t think she knows she’s dead.
A gruff, middle-aged man storms into our home looking for someone. He has a thick, dark mustache and a displeased expression on his face. He doesn’t speak English, but he understands when I tell him he’s in the wrong place.
My Mother stands in the living room of my new apartment, watching me do the dishes, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows as she watches. She’s not happy with how I’m handling certain things, so I remind her where she’s supposed to be and where I am.
I don’t see this as a curse, as often this sense has helped me steer clear of what could’ve possibly been some malicious spirits in the past.
It makes me wonder. When it comes to the spirits of the dead, those lonely souls that wander our Earth trapped and in some cases oblivious…is ignorance really bliss? Or does a spirit’s influence hold sway over even the most closed-minded of fools?
After all, spirits are just as capable of evil as we are.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Ultimate Showdown
It’s a late night, even for billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. But for his alter ego, the night has only just begun.
As of late, Bruce Wayne’s attention has shifted from running and managing his internationally renowned company, Wayne Enterprises, to bringing justice to the scum and slime of Gotham’s humanity as the feared Dark Knight. Recently though, Gotham’s streets have been quiet and peaceful. No doubt thanks to the fear he’s bestowed on the criminal minds throughout the busy metropolis. So his obsessive attention has turned to other cities in need of a bat’s brand of justice.
New York City. A hot-bed of crime and superhuman criminal tourists who are constantly on the lookout for a night on the town. But not in Spiderman’s city.
Perched atop a tall building, Spidey listens intently to the honks and engines of a city that never seems to sleep. He sighs heavily – he’s bored. It’s been quiet lately, oddly quiet. He thinks maybe he can finally take a vacation – maybe battle some evil-doers in Hawaii or perhaps Kelowna. It’s late – time to head home to MJ and see if he can put Spidey Jr. to work.
With a quick thwip of his webs, he’s off swinging through the jungle of buildings and concrete. He thinks about what MJ was wearing to bed. A small pair of booty shorts and a small t-shirt that says “#1 Spiderman Fan” and she was gunna prove it when he got home.
Spider-sense suddenly sends shockwaves down his spine – something’s coming at him, small but possibly explosive. He flicks a few quick weblines and pulls himself higher, spins and spots a baseball sized sphere – it’s tracing him and gaining speed. He jumps off a wall with one foot to spin and web the sphere down, but it’s broken apart into a dozen needles. With no time to think, his instincts take over. Arching his back, flailing his arms and kicking his legs out to avoid the needles which clack off the wall behind him with a small electric shock.
Still in mid-air, his Spider-sense fires off again. A man – a foot – coming at him quickly. He reaches up and spins two weblines, giving him the leverage to pull himself up. A man in a black cape soars under him, just missing landing a critical kick to his lower regions.
With a few flips and jumps, Spidey lands effortlessly on top of run-down building. The caped man soon lands before him. They stare each other down for a few minutes.
“Rob Zombie?” Spider jests.
The caped man reaches back and flings forth several edged shuriken-like weapons. Spidey’s timing is flawless, he somersaults to the right, dodging the weapons. Spider-sense again, the weapons are seekers, they turn and come back at him. A backflip and a few thwips of his webs and Spiderman spins and fires the weapons back at his attacker.
He’s gone now, out of sight – and the weapons fling off and fall to the ground.
“Oh, I get it. You’re the boogieman,” Spiderman exclaims.
“Boo,” comes a distant voice.
Spider-sense again, and Spidey dives out of the way of another crushing attack from above. He turns and aims for the feet, trying to subdue his attacker and keep him on the ground. The caped man pulls his cape over his head, and the webs sizzle and evaporate quickly after touching the cape.
“Someone’s got some time on their hands,” Spidey quips, “guess I’m just gunna have to do this the old fashioned way.”
His attacker is quick, too. Tossing several bolas to incapacitate Spiderman, but Spidey’s spider-sense is too strong. He leaps, bounds and dodges the bolas, jumping to close in on his attacker and does just that, landing a spinning kick to his enemy’s right side.
Batman is staggered, and now Spiderman can see exactly who he is.
“Wow. You bring new meaning to the term ‘bat-shit crazy’”.
Batman stands tall and pulls out two rods – they’re electrified. The goal – stun Spiderman or incapacitate him and bring him in. Batman squeezes the rods and they zap with electrical force.
“Shocking,” Spidey cracks.
Batman comes at him, swinging high – Spiderman ducks, swinging low – Spiderman jumps, swinging both batons at once – Spiderman somersaults to the side. Batman swings downwards – Spiderman grabs his arm and twists – Batman drops the baton. Batman swings with the second baton – Spiderman chops it out of his hand and lands a harsh kick right in Bat’s chops, sending him staggering backward.
Batman’s been hit before, but not like this. Spiderman’s strength and quickness were much more than Batman had anticipated. Batman, after all, is only a man in a costume – somehow Spiderman can foresee his every move. But he isn’t out of tricks yet.
He pulls another sphere from his belt, tosses it hard against the roof and covers himself. It blasts with a massive shockwave and burst of light. Spidey’s senses are blinded – stunned, he covers his eyes and keels over .
Sensing an opportunity, Batman lunges forward, crashing his foot into Spiderman’s chest and sending him sprawling backward. Batman moves for one of the stun rods, but by the time he’s got it, Spiderman is back on his feet – his enhanced strength has given him superhuman endurance, and kick from an ordinary man isn’t enough to stymie him for long. Batman moves to attack, but Spiderman is gone.
“Boo!” Comes a familiar voice from up high.
Spiderman lands a web-swinging kick right into Batman’s back. Batman collapses in a heap. He can’t cope with blows of that strength. He reaches for another stun bomb, but Spidey delivers another kick to his mid-section, sending him dragging across the rooftop.
Spidey pins him down. “Still wanna brawl Bat-boy?”
At this point, it’s important to note to that both these men are heroes – they’ll never stoop to killing. So it’s safe to say that the two would recognize the good in each other, talk and sort out their differences. In another dimension, I think Spidey would just mount Batman, and serve up some serious ground-n-pound until Batman’s head caved in.
Bottom line: Batman is a rich man in a costume. Yes, he has extensive training and millions in resources, but Spiderman is a superhuman. Super-strength, super-endurance, Spider-sense, reflexes of Halak and more. No matter of gadgetry is going to save Batman from Spiderman’s abilities.
Clear winner: Spidey.
Don’t shake your head at me, Kristen.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Old School
Whilst juggling various websites and snooping through pictures of friends' facebook profiles, I somehow stumbled upon my olde Myspace profile. Myspace - does anyone use that shit anymore?
I found plenty of old photos, coupled with old blogs. Blogs that I wrote over three years ago. It's always fun to see what kind of retarded shit I wrote in the past.
Here are a few highlights from blogs from the past.
This was a blog I posted about my 'Pitt' - a giant hole in the ground I would create, were I king of the world, for criminals, ugly people and fat people:
Even in previous years, I was writing blogs about zombies:
I think it's time we all accepted the truth. Eventually, there is one thing that all of us in this world have to face and deal with, and it's coming soon. It's going to be frightening…challenging and dangerous. Many of us will perish and it could even mean the end of an entire species – the human race. Yes, an epic scale. This one thing that I speak of will test the very wits of humanity. It's coming soon, and I truly believe it's about time we started preparing for this onslaught now. I'm talking about zombies. Yeah – the living dead. They feed on your flesh, there's a lot of them and when you die you become one. Do you really want to become a zombie? No. And the worst part of all is, you can't communicate with them…cuz they won't listen. You'll say "Stop eating my flesh, it hurts." And they'll say…..nothing. They'll just keep doing it – indicating that they are either non-coherent or just jerks. Cuz who hears you say "Stop eating my flesh, it hurts" and keeps doing it? Jerks. That's who. Jerks.
My thoughts on Hinder's 'Lips of an Angel':
My first experience with the 'Retard Sandwich':
Finally...my personal thoughts on Nicholas Cage:
I don't know who the genius was that decided to put Nicholas Cage in front of a camera, but may his soul burn in hell eternal. Nicholas Cage is a monotonous, clueless wannabe southerner who looks like he got hit in the back of the head with a shovel a few too many times.
Now I can't possibly point out every flaw that Nicholas Cage possesses. It's as if whatever higher power in this galaxy, when creating life on earth, required a dumpster for all the incomprehensible garbage that spewed out of creation, looked upon Nicholas Cage and said "Giddy up!" Yes, I am saying that Nicholas Cage is the dumpster of human kind.
First of all, the guy looks like his head is about to explode. His bulging eyes and lurching neck…he belongs in a cheap Transylvanian horror flick with fangs and a cape. I.E. he's ugly. Don't let the receding hair line fool you, his hair is actually running from his face, like deer run from a predator.
Secondly, how can anyone take him seriously? I was watching The Rock and when Nicholas Cage came on I realized it was a comedy, and I laughed and laughed…this guy's voice is like listening to your grandparents have sex…how can you not laugh?
Finally – he WANTS to be a southerner??? Who WANTS to be a southerner??? What kind of retard goes out looking for a type of person that somehow sounds STUPIDER than he does and then…imitates them?
I found plenty of old photos, coupled with old blogs. Blogs that I wrote over three years ago. It's always fun to see what kind of retarded shit I wrote in the past.
Here are a few highlights from blogs from the past.
This was a blog I posted about my 'Pitt' - a giant hole in the ground I would create, were I king of the world, for criminals, ugly people and fat people:
So then you bring up your pathetic peasant comment or concern. You say "The people of the land are in turmoil, m'Lord. We need more food – the dragon continues to steal it all!"
Or some such nonsense. Always with turmoil you peasant people! It sickens me.
So ultimately you get nowhere with me and near the end of the conversation I say "PITT!" and point to you. That spells trouble. Let me explain the 'Pitt'. If I were King, and in this instance, I am…I would dig a hole. A giant fucking hole – millions of feet deep and millions of feet wide. I would call it the "PITT" and Christopher Walken would monitor it for me. Any law-breaker, rapist, murderer, thief, person that pisses me off, retarded person, handicapped person, ugly person, fat person, ex-girlfriend etc. would go in the Pitt.
At a certain point in everyone's life they would have to interview me to see if they belong in the Pitt. I would ask some standard questions. Like "You're ugly go in the Pitt" or "You're a fucking waste of life go in the Pitt". And I would call it all "Adamism" – survival of the non-Pittish. I would throw them all in the Pitt and they would attempt to survive in the muddy, wet and foodless terrain of the Pitt. Or dry…I haven't quite decided yet. And sometimes when I get mad I'd have Christopher Walken drop scorpions in there. And I'd ask him here and there – Hey Chris, how's the Pitt? And he'd say "It's…glorious….I'd like to drop…some scorpions – can I do that?" And I'd say hell yeah, Christopher Walken. Hell yeah.
Here is a small list of people that belong in the pitt:
Tom Cruise
Hal Gill
Foo – (Ryan's Cat)
Hinder
My Chemical Romance
Anyone I don't like.
Anyone my friends don't like.
My girlfriend's ex's.
Ashton Kutcher
Even in previous years, I was writing blogs about zombies:
I think it's time we all accepted the truth. Eventually, there is one thing that all of us in this world have to face and deal with, and it's coming soon. It's going to be frightening…challenging and dangerous. Many of us will perish and it could even mean the end of an entire species – the human race. Yes, an epic scale. This one thing that I speak of will test the very wits of humanity. It's coming soon, and I truly believe it's about time we started preparing for this onslaught now. I'm talking about zombies. Yeah – the living dead. They feed on your flesh, there's a lot of them and when you die you become one. Do you really want to become a zombie? No. And the worst part of all is, you can't communicate with them…cuz they won't listen. You'll say "Stop eating my flesh, it hurts." And they'll say…..nothing. They'll just keep doing it – indicating that they are either non-coherent or just jerks. Cuz who hears you say "Stop eating my flesh, it hurts" and keeps doing it? Jerks. That's who. Jerks.
My thoughts on Hinder's 'Lips of an Angel':
There is an experience that we've all had in our lives that really helps us define who we are and what we like. I'm talking about hearing the very first song that makes your insides attempt to escape your body – away from the foul sound that drives you to clog your ears with acid and death. That song, for me, was (looks around hoping no one hears him say it) Lips of an Angel by Hinder.
SSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Yes, absolutely horrid song. The lyrics – if you can call that desperate, decrepit word vomit lyrics…are like the sound of impending doom. Like the sound of your executioner throwing the switch to your electric chair, or the sound of a dentist's high-pitched squealing drill as it grinds through the teeth and jaw of the unfortunate client paying for his attention.
And for those of you who are reading this and thinking "Lipth of an Angel ith a good thong, Adam. You thon of a bitch. No wonder no one liketh you and you have to pay your friendth to thtay your friendth and you thtink and you're ugly."…
My first experience with the 'Retard Sandwich':
So I'm driving along the QEW…blaring a bit of LL Cool J on my deck (Rub my back, rub my back, rub my back, rub my back – OH!) and tapping my mitt against the steering wheel to the beat. Clearly – I'm in the zone. I'm in the "on the way home from a long, hard day of pleasing idiots and covering fuck ups" zone. I'm in the passing lane – and I know a lot of you out there (Especially anyone from Thunder Bay) can't quite grasp the concept of the passing lane (That's the lane furthest to the left) and I remember chatting with the ex about this – and we both agreed that northerners don't really comprehend that the lane on the far left is for people who are going fast. Er, sorry faster than you. And when you see them gaining speed on your ass, you should boot it out of the way – you should vacate that lane – and leave those who are hell-bent on speed and quickness run free in what I like to call the "jungle lane" cuz people go wild on it. There are two lanes. Utilize them. For the love of God. Utilize them.
Anyways – cruising along at high speeds, blaring the tunes, in the zone when low and behold – completely unbeknownst to me, the guy beside me starts entering my lane. Just wants to pay me a little visit it seems, he starts what I like to refer to as a "lane ambush". When someone encroaches you in your lane – you're getting lane ambushed, my friends. I suddenly am forced to do un-earthly tactical defensive moves to avoid colliding with Captain Ambush over here. I'm suddenly on the shoulder…I'm smashing my horn and I'm upset. I am fearing for my life. I look over and some old man is returning my gaze – and he fires a "oops, I did it again" Britney Spears sort of look at me. And the anger washes over me like a nice, warm morning shower. Except this particular shower was wrought in turmoil. My turmoil. I have been sabotaged my friends, lane ambushed, as it were. I gather myself, return to said lane and feel the need for vengeance. I am now much like a predator – except I shall kill no one. I will not stoop to Captain Ambush's level. I yank over to the right lane, speed up beside him and prepare for a mighty fingering (no comments, please). I glance over, and this old man is…he's…as if he's sneaking food from under his desk in class…he's eating something…but he's trying real hard to hide it from any and all onlookers.
But by golly…I know what he's eating.
Finally...my personal thoughts on Nicholas Cage:
I don't know who the genius was that decided to put Nicholas Cage in front of a camera, but may his soul burn in hell eternal. Nicholas Cage is a monotonous, clueless wannabe southerner who looks like he got hit in the back of the head with a shovel a few too many times.
Now I can't possibly point out every flaw that Nicholas Cage possesses. It's as if whatever higher power in this galaxy, when creating life on earth, required a dumpster for all the incomprehensible garbage that spewed out of creation, looked upon Nicholas Cage and said "Giddy up!" Yes, I am saying that Nicholas Cage is the dumpster of human kind.
First of all, the guy looks like his head is about to explode. His bulging eyes and lurching neck…he belongs in a cheap Transylvanian horror flick with fangs and a cape. I.E. he's ugly. Don't let the receding hair line fool you, his hair is actually running from his face, like deer run from a predator.
Secondly, how can anyone take him seriously? I was watching The Rock and when Nicholas Cage came on I realized it was a comedy, and I laughed and laughed…this guy's voice is like listening to your grandparents have sex…how can you not laugh?
Finally – he WANTS to be a southerner??? Who WANTS to be a southerner??? What kind of retard goes out looking for a type of person that somehow sounds STUPIDER than he does and then…imitates them?
Monday, April 26, 2010
Shazam
Shazam.
That's the best word to describe what just happened.
Kablamo.
That's the sound of vacationing in Florida then moving across the country to British Columbia in two weeks.
Ump-shaka.
That's the sound of me working at my new job.
Pfffferrt...
That's the sound of stank-ass farts from mucho fast food.
Well, what can I say. It's been a few weeks now - I'm broke, but I'm alive. First impressions - Kelowna is pretty to look at, the weather is the dream - but the people are cliquey. Like a high school. A high school full of high people. A high high school.
Anyways - things are cool now. Settled in for the most part - let me just say that having a couch feels like it makes all the difference in terms of being settled in.
I miss my peeps, though. Azeem and his constant swear words at me, Stef and her comedic outbursts, Amanda being a giant skankasaurus, Matt sharing 'precious cargo' with me...Kristen whining about there not being anything on TV and that she's bored...
OH WAIT...that's happening RIGHT NOW.
If Chapman or Azeem or one of my really good friends were here in this place...so I guess it's time to make some funking friends. It's not easy for me. Look at me. But people at work are warming up to me a little bit.
One last thing - I think everyone in the world should see this place just once. Kelowna. I haven't even seen all of it, or even half of it - but it's something else.
When are ya'll comin' to visit?
That's the best word to describe what just happened.
Kablamo.
That's the sound of vacationing in Florida then moving across the country to British Columbia in two weeks.
Ump-shaka.
That's the sound of me working at my new job.
Pfffferrt...
That's the sound of stank-ass farts from mucho fast food.
Well, what can I say. It's been a few weeks now - I'm broke, but I'm alive. First impressions - Kelowna is pretty to look at, the weather is the dream - but the people are cliquey. Like a high school. A high school full of high people. A high high school.
Anyways - things are cool now. Settled in for the most part - let me just say that having a couch feels like it makes all the difference in terms of being settled in.
I miss my peeps, though. Azeem and his constant swear words at me, Stef and her comedic outbursts, Amanda being a giant skankasaurus, Matt sharing 'precious cargo' with me...Kristen whining about there not being anything on TV and that she's bored...
OH WAIT...that's happening RIGHT NOW.
If Chapman or Azeem or one of my really good friends were here in this place...so I guess it's time to make some funking friends. It's not easy for me. Look at me. But people at work are warming up to me a little bit.
One last thing - I think everyone in the world should see this place just once. Kelowna. I haven't even seen all of it, or even half of it - but it's something else.
When are ya'll comin' to visit?
Monday, March 8, 2010
About.
Crevo was the creation of the platypus. Crevo was Kennedy promising a man on the moon. Crevo was the introduction of peanut butter on chocolate.
Crevo is creative evolution.
We are a group of rare, talented and innovative thinkers brought together through the successes of modern day, major-market radio production and backed by years of broadcast and journalistic education and training. We believe and maintain a continuous desire to challenge ourselves and we demand only the best from our staff; from a quick 10 second spot, to a complex montage of thrilling clips.
More importantly, we strive to uncover the road less traveled, and not only follow it, but shape it to produce quality that breaks boundaries and sets new standards.
You will never experience anything like Crevo. We are the new beginning.
Crevo. The Evolution of Creativity.
Crevo is creative evolution.
We are a group of rare, talented and innovative thinkers brought together through the successes of modern day, major-market radio production and backed by years of broadcast and journalistic education and training. We believe and maintain a continuous desire to challenge ourselves and we demand only the best from our staff; from a quick 10 second spot, to a complex montage of thrilling clips.
More importantly, we strive to uncover the road less traveled, and not only follow it, but shape it to produce quality that breaks boundaries and sets new standards.
You will never experience anything like Crevo. We are the new beginning.
Crevo. The Evolution of Creativity.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
The Low Down.
I'm out people.
I'm packing up my witty reparte and hauling it across the country. Why you may ask? Because I fucking can.
Adventure, a fresh start, a new life...name it. I can't wait.
Though I have no intention of making any defamatory or slanderous remarks, I shall leave the main reason for my leaving out of this blog.
So, if you're looking for me in April, don't look to hard in Ontario. I'm proud to say that I will soon be embarking on a cross-country trek to move my life to British Columbia. I've got a great job offer from my former boss at a wicked company. And I mean...it's British Columbia. You know what they have lots of in British Columbia?
Though I have no intention of making any suggestive, self-insinuative statements, I shall leave the above question answer-less.
It's almost time to pack up the Mazda 3 for a long journey once again.
Hi-ho Mazda 3....awaaaayyyyyy...
I'm packing up my witty reparte and hauling it across the country. Why you may ask? Because I fucking can.
Adventure, a fresh start, a new life...name it. I can't wait.
Though I have no intention of making any defamatory or slanderous remarks, I shall leave the main reason for my leaving out of this blog.
So, if you're looking for me in April, don't look to hard in Ontario. I'm proud to say that I will soon be embarking on a cross-country trek to move my life to British Columbia. I've got a great job offer from my former boss at a wicked company. And I mean...it's British Columbia. You know what they have lots of in British Columbia?
Though I have no intention of making any suggestive, self-insinuative statements, I shall leave the above question answer-less.
It's almost time to pack up the Mazda 3 for a long journey once again.
Hi-ho Mazda 3....awaaaayyyyyy...
Monday, February 22, 2010
Changes.
I am a firm believer that change is a necessary part of life.
Though I also understand that there is often a fear associated with change.
To put it simply, change is the loss of one thing to achieve another. But nothing is ever that simple, is it? Change comes in various degrees. For example, there would not be much thought in changing a burnt out light bulb, yet to quiet one job to take another across the country holds much more impact than just the level of lighting to find the TV remote.
A life-altering decision requires much thought and dozens of different factors. The fear stems from the unknown. How successful will you be? Will I find new friends? Where will I live? What will I do if zombies come? To fear the unknown is only human, I suppose.
But what most don't take into account is the potential for this change to have a surreal, positive impact. New people, new opportunity, new life. This is one of those things that can tell you whether you're a 'half full' or 'half empty' type of person.
As I stated, I'm a firm believer that change is a necessary part of life. If you're unwilling or unable to expand your horizons and experience the world, its people and what it has to offer, then you can't expect yourself to be cultured. There's an entire world out there filled with things you probably can't even imagine. If you want a fulfilling life, then you have to open your mind to different experiences and when opportunity knocks on your door, answer it.
The last thing you want is to look back after a few years and regret your choice. So before the zombies come, get out there.
Pretty soon it's going to be too late.
Though I also understand that there is often a fear associated with change.
To put it simply, change is the loss of one thing to achieve another. But nothing is ever that simple, is it? Change comes in various degrees. For example, there would not be much thought in changing a burnt out light bulb, yet to quiet one job to take another across the country holds much more impact than just the level of lighting to find the TV remote.
A life-altering decision requires much thought and dozens of different factors. The fear stems from the unknown. How successful will you be? Will I find new friends? Where will I live? What will I do if zombies come? To fear the unknown is only human, I suppose.
But what most don't take into account is the potential for this change to have a surreal, positive impact. New people, new opportunity, new life. This is one of those things that can tell you whether you're a 'half full' or 'half empty' type of person.
As I stated, I'm a firm believer that change is a necessary part of life. If you're unwilling or unable to expand your horizons and experience the world, its people and what it has to offer, then you can't expect yourself to be cultured. There's an entire world out there filled with things you probably can't even imagine. If you want a fulfilling life, then you have to open your mind to different experiences and when opportunity knocks on your door, answer it.
The last thing you want is to look back after a few years and regret your choice. So before the zombies come, get out there.
Pretty soon it's going to be too late.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Random Things That Happened To Me Over The Past Few Weeks Vol. 1
I can't even remember.
C'mon man.
I definitely went to Hamilton to watch a Bulldogs game. Hamilton is dirtier the Bachelor (see previous entry). There was a dude peeing in the middle of the sidewalk. Fortunately he was kind enough to at least face away from the street. Evidently my Dad knows the backstreets of downtown Hamilton so well it's a tad frightening.
The GF took me to a Leafs game. Unfortunately they decided to lose. Bastards. But you can't blame them for doing what they do best. Also, Brian Burke lost his son. I send my condolences to him and his family, but I think it's safe to say the Leafers' season is kaput. Next season should be interesting, though - glad I grabbed a Phaneuf shirt!
I went to that Bass Pro shop in Vaughan Mills with my roommate. All we did was identify key weapons to acquire when zombies attack. Everything was there, it was a virtual anti-zombie shopping supercenter.
Shopping List:
1 x gator machete
1 x pump action shotgun
1 x hunting rifle
1 x long range scope
1 x hunting knife
1 x fish bat
1 x fishing gloves
Plus, a plethora of ammo. That's stop number one when they attack. I'll meet you bitches there.
Some of my commercials were nominated for a Crystal Award. That's like the Emmy's or Grammy's for commercials. Whoops - I just over-glorified it. It's the best of the best when it comes to radio...but isn't that like saying the best players on the worst team in the league? Phil Kessel is that you? It's pretty cool, though. If I win, it's a major bonus for my radio career, but I'd rather it be a million zillion dollars.
My iPod crapped out, and when I went to the Apple Store to see one of their "Geniuses", I said "My iPood crapped out," and the chick laughed. Hahahaha....'pood'. iPood is an awesome word.
Valentine's Day happened to. It's a fabricated holiday created by the asshole money grubbing cocksuckers at card companies worldwide who send this warped image through the media that girls have a special day where the guys are obligated to show dubious amounts of affection and shower their beloved with expensive gifts. Guys everywhere are saying "you fucked us. You fucking fucked us" when they're in Peoples'. Why isn't their a Steak, BJ and Video Games day? I wouldn't even want an expensive gift, hell, I'll even pay for the steak.
I got baked a couple times.
Olympics started. I need Canada to win Gold in hockey. If only to restore my faith in the game. They better win....
Speaking of which....GO CANADA GO!
Game 2 versus Switzerland tonight.
C'mon man.
I definitely went to Hamilton to watch a Bulldogs game. Hamilton is dirtier the Bachelor (see previous entry). There was a dude peeing in the middle of the sidewalk. Fortunately he was kind enough to at least face away from the street. Evidently my Dad knows the backstreets of downtown Hamilton so well it's a tad frightening.
The GF took me to a Leafs game. Unfortunately they decided to lose. Bastards. But you can't blame them for doing what they do best. Also, Brian Burke lost his son. I send my condolences to him and his family, but I think it's safe to say the Leafers' season is kaput. Next season should be interesting, though - glad I grabbed a Phaneuf shirt!
I went to that Bass Pro shop in Vaughan Mills with my roommate. All we did was identify key weapons to acquire when zombies attack. Everything was there, it was a virtual anti-zombie shopping supercenter.
Shopping List:
1 x gator machete
1 x pump action shotgun
1 x hunting rifle
1 x long range scope
1 x hunting knife
1 x fish bat
1 x fishing gloves
Plus, a plethora of ammo. That's stop number one when they attack. I'll meet you bitches there.
Some of my commercials were nominated for a Crystal Award. That's like the Emmy's or Grammy's for commercials. Whoops - I just over-glorified it. It's the best of the best when it comes to radio...but isn't that like saying the best players on the worst team in the league? Phil Kessel is that you? It's pretty cool, though. If I win, it's a major bonus for my radio career, but I'd rather it be a million zillion dollars.
My iPod crapped out, and when I went to the Apple Store to see one of their "Geniuses", I said "My iPood crapped out," and the chick laughed. Hahahaha....'pood'. iPood is an awesome word.
Valentine's Day happened to. It's a fabricated holiday created by the asshole money grubbing cocksuckers at card companies worldwide who send this warped image through the media that girls have a special day where the guys are obligated to show dubious amounts of affection and shower their beloved with expensive gifts. Guys everywhere are saying "you fucked us. You fucking fucked us" when they're in Peoples'. Why isn't their a Steak, BJ and Video Games day? I wouldn't even want an expensive gift, hell, I'll even pay for the steak.
I got baked a couple times.
Olympics started. I need Canada to win Gold in hockey. If only to restore my faith in the game. They better win....
Speaking of which....GO CANADA GO!
Game 2 versus Switzerland tonight.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
El Beardo,
Some of you may have noticed my once pure, shaven face becoming littered with scattered patterns of stringiness.
That's what the pre-adolescents call a beard.
Let me just say I'm glad I'm not a viking. I would be the last viking chosen for Vikingball every single time.
The Gods of Facial Hair did not bless me unfortunately. At it's present state, sparse and lacking, it's about the best I can get. It's been a few weeks now, I can't imagine it getting much thicker than this. I mean, I'll never be like...Al Qaida status-beard. And I'm certainly no wop, who's facial hair begins to show as soon as the blade leaves the skin's surface. I'm like the Tobey Maguire of facial hair.
Why have I elected to grow such a pubescent patch of dirt on my face? Well, first and foremost, I dropped the razor on my electric shaver down the drain. I wasn't high during this one, so sober-me reacted with words like: "fuck-a-doodle doo," "S of a B!" and "Life - you fucked me." On top of this, I can't fucking find a replacement blade for this POS anywhere. People have been complimenting me, and the Leafs actually won a game. So why would I shave if the Leafs are going to go on a massive playoff run?
Therefore, I can safely assume that Life and the forces that be just don't want me to be clean shaven. I can't fight destiny. I guess I'm just going to have to be hairy.
That's what the pre-adolescents call a beard.
Let me just say I'm glad I'm not a viking. I would be the last viking chosen for Vikingball every single time.
The Gods of Facial Hair did not bless me unfortunately. At it's present state, sparse and lacking, it's about the best I can get. It's been a few weeks now, I can't imagine it getting much thicker than this. I mean, I'll never be like...Al Qaida status-beard. And I'm certainly no wop, who's facial hair begins to show as soon as the blade leaves the skin's surface. I'm like the Tobey Maguire of facial hair.
Why have I elected to grow such a pubescent patch of dirt on my face? Well, first and foremost, I dropped the razor on my electric shaver down the drain. I wasn't high during this one, so sober-me reacted with words like: "fuck-a-doodle doo," "S of a B!" and "Life - you fucked me." On top of this, I can't fucking find a replacement blade for this POS anywhere. People have been complimenting me, and the Leafs actually won a game. So why would I shave if the Leafs are going to go on a massive playoff run?
Therefore, I can safely assume that Life and the forces that be just don't want me to be clean shaven. I can't fight destiny. I guess I'm just going to have to be hairy.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
My "Birthday" Saturday.
Brace yourselves. This blog may be lengthy and contain foul language and obvious insensitivity.
Where do I begin.
Ah, yes. Birthday weekends. Now that I think of it, no one's ever REALLY explained birthdays to me. Nor the way they're SUPPOSED to make you feel. So perhaps the way I feel about them is normal.
I hate them. Birthdays can suck my left nut and die. I've had an obvious distaste for them ever since this guy at my 13th birthday party gave me a New Kids On The Block t-shirt. "I don't know, my Mom picked it out." Ya, well your Mom kinda picked you out, too. So her track record's pretty fucked - why would you let her pick out a gift for your boy?
And this birthday is extra special. This is the first birthday of my life I'll be spending without my Mother. I spent the better part of this morning reminding myself that there won't be any special birthday phone call in the morning on Monday. So I cried. Like a bitch. And then I sat in the bathroom in a towel for a few hours staring at the floor.
Eventually I had to suck it up - Leafs were doing battle with the Canucks and they beckoned for my half-hearted cheers. And half-hearted cheers they shall receive. After I saved my progress on Massive Effect 2 (siiiiiiiiiick game), I did a quick google map to 146 Front Street. I was ready to rock. Strapping on my classic Alyn McCauley Maple Leafs Jersey and preparing for Toronto's unforgiving barely below zero temperatures, I tore off to Islington Station for another round of guess-the-terrorist plot on the subway.
I battled through to the King Street exit and was on my way.
Man...it's cold. Man...I don't see this place anywhere. What? King Street West eh?
Google you fucked me.
When I finally reached The Loose Moose, which is evidently right across the street from Union Station, I was happy to find my sister and brother-in-law were joining us. I purchase myself a brand new Leafs' Kessel t-shirt and we settle in to watch period one.
It's a birthday miracle! Leafs' up 3 - 0 after the first 20 minutes.
Yet another birthday miracle! Leafs give up a 3 goal lead to lose 5 - 3. It was a special performance for my upcoming birthday. Thanks guys. I'm touched - but I blame Stempniak for this one.
Time for another round of guess-the-terrorist threat on the subway ride home. This time the terrorists aren't being quite as subtle. On the train ride westbound to Islington station I spot something out of the ordinary. Laying before my very eyes, just underneath the seat directly in front of me is a rather large, yet clean kitchen knife.
I peer around me. I'm the only one that sees this massive weapon laying comfortably within the reach of the psychotics, the drug addicts, the children and of course, Leafs fans. I brought it to people's attention.
I said things like, and in no particular order:
"That's a big effin' knife."
"Ooh - don't touch it. It could be a disposed murder weapon."
"It's too bad. How's dude going to cut his chicken now?"
"I'm going to jump out of the train screaming 'KNIFE! TERRORIST! BOMB! RAPE!' - whatever it takes to get somebody to take this seriously."
"No, I usually leave my kitchen utensils at home. Not in public transit."
I feel like I did the right thing by reporting it. Like I said in a previous blog, you never know. A psycho could've come in there, found the knife and used it. Or some Leafs fan could've committed suicide, right there on the train ride home.
When I think back to it, it would've been the perfect opportunity for Crocodile Dundee to show up suddenly and say "that's not a knoife...THIS is a knoife."
Morale of the story: no matter how upset or distraught life may make you - don't be afraid to get out and experience it. Yours might not be the only life you're saving.
Kung-POW, bitches.
Where do I begin.
Ah, yes. Birthday weekends. Now that I think of it, no one's ever REALLY explained birthdays to me. Nor the way they're SUPPOSED to make you feel. So perhaps the way I feel about them is normal.
I hate them. Birthdays can suck my left nut and die. I've had an obvious distaste for them ever since this guy at my 13th birthday party gave me a New Kids On The Block t-shirt. "I don't know, my Mom picked it out." Ya, well your Mom kinda picked you out, too. So her track record's pretty fucked - why would you let her pick out a gift for your boy?
And this birthday is extra special. This is the first birthday of my life I'll be spending without my Mother. I spent the better part of this morning reminding myself that there won't be any special birthday phone call in the morning on Monday. So I cried. Like a bitch. And then I sat in the bathroom in a towel for a few hours staring at the floor.
Eventually I had to suck it up - Leafs were doing battle with the Canucks and they beckoned for my half-hearted cheers. And half-hearted cheers they shall receive. After I saved my progress on Massive Effect 2 (siiiiiiiiiick game), I did a quick google map to 146 Front Street. I was ready to rock. Strapping on my classic Alyn McCauley Maple Leafs Jersey and preparing for Toronto's unforgiving barely below zero temperatures, I tore off to Islington Station for another round of guess-the-terrorist plot on the subway.
I battled through to the King Street exit and was on my way.
Man...it's cold. Man...I don't see this place anywhere. What? King Street West eh?
Google you fucked me.
When I finally reached The Loose Moose, which is evidently right across the street from Union Station, I was happy to find my sister and brother-in-law were joining us. I purchase myself a brand new Leafs' Kessel t-shirt and we settle in to watch period one.
It's a birthday miracle! Leafs' up 3 - 0 after the first 20 minutes.
Yet another birthday miracle! Leafs give up a 3 goal lead to lose 5 - 3. It was a special performance for my upcoming birthday. Thanks guys. I'm touched - but I blame Stempniak for this one.
Time for another round of guess-the-terrorist threat on the subway ride home. This time the terrorists aren't being quite as subtle. On the train ride westbound to Islington station I spot something out of the ordinary. Laying before my very eyes, just underneath the seat directly in front of me is a rather large, yet clean kitchen knife.
I peer around me. I'm the only one that sees this massive weapon laying comfortably within the reach of the psychotics, the drug addicts, the children and of course, Leafs fans. I brought it to people's attention.
I said things like, and in no particular order:
"That's a big effin' knife."
"Ooh - don't touch it. It could be a disposed murder weapon."
"It's too bad. How's dude going to cut his chicken now?"
"I'm going to jump out of the train screaming 'KNIFE! TERRORIST! BOMB! RAPE!' - whatever it takes to get somebody to take this seriously."
"No, I usually leave my kitchen utensils at home. Not in public transit."
I feel like I did the right thing by reporting it. Like I said in a previous blog, you never know. A psycho could've come in there, found the knife and used it. Or some Leafs fan could've committed suicide, right there on the train ride home.
When I think back to it, it would've been the perfect opportunity for Crocodile Dundee to show up suddenly and say "that's not a knoife...THIS is a knoife."
Morale of the story: no matter how upset or distraught life may make you - don't be afraid to get out and experience it. Yours might not be the only life you're saving.
Kung-POW, bitches.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Bachelor - Real Talk.
Once upon a time there lived a man who loved to manipulate the feelings and emotions of people in small groups on international television.
His name was Mike Fleiss.
When Mike first generated this idea, he thought to himself: "what's the best way to manipulate the feelings and emotions of people in small groups on international television?"
The answer: The Bachelor.
Let's take a group of plastic, fame-hungry bimbos and an arrogant, self-absorbed Ken doll, give the chicks some knives, hotel rooms and lots of make-up and see who survives to claim their hunk.
That's pretty much the same way some wild animals do it, isn't it?
It's probably just jealousy. Last time I had any girls at all fight over me was 3 years ago in a world that doesn't exist. It's just so fantastically phony - guys like that don't exist. What you see on television is just an act. And girls like that...well...okay, those bitches exist.
It's just this type of affection and love is...forced. I don't believe any degree of sustainable love or emotion can be created in such an environment. "Here bitches! Love this dude or you lose!"
Now, if there were a show that showed REAL LIFE love happening between REAL LIFE people...TRUE love stories...then I think I may be compelled to pay attention.
Every relationship present, past or future, has a unique opening story. Whenever any unforced relationship is beginning, it's always good times! Both the dude and the chick are excited, there's always new things to do, new experiences and the honeymoon sex. Those first couple of months where all you do is bang on the bed, on the floor, in the kitchen, on the couch, in your roommates' bed...whatever.
But right when it's JUST beginning, those first couple of dates where the guy is trying so hard to impress the girl and the girl is trying so hard to ignore him. Those would be good to watch. The Bachelor just seems so contrived and almost scripted. It's like watching Days of our Lives but there's only one dude left on the planet.
Sorry folks. I don't fuckin' buy it.
Love takes time, patience, honesty, understanding and acceptance. Not big cameras, flashy lights and budget the size of Google's advertising revenue.
Let me just say one thing - the only love you'll ever find that satisfy you in this cruel, psychotic world, is your own.
So turn off the TV and go find it.
His name was Mike Fleiss.
When Mike first generated this idea, he thought to himself: "what's the best way to manipulate the feelings and emotions of people in small groups on international television?"
The answer: The Bachelor.
Let's take a group of plastic, fame-hungry bimbos and an arrogant, self-absorbed Ken doll, give the chicks some knives, hotel rooms and lots of make-up and see who survives to claim their hunk.
That's pretty much the same way some wild animals do it, isn't it?
It's probably just jealousy. Last time I had any girls at all fight over me was 3 years ago in a world that doesn't exist. It's just so fantastically phony - guys like that don't exist. What you see on television is just an act. And girls like that...well...okay, those bitches exist.
It's just this type of affection and love is...forced. I don't believe any degree of sustainable love or emotion can be created in such an environment. "Here bitches! Love this dude or you lose!"
Now, if there were a show that showed REAL LIFE love happening between REAL LIFE people...TRUE love stories...then I think I may be compelled to pay attention.
Every relationship present, past or future, has a unique opening story. Whenever any unforced relationship is beginning, it's always good times! Both the dude and the chick are excited, there's always new things to do, new experiences and the honeymoon sex. Those first couple of months where all you do is bang on the bed, on the floor, in the kitchen, on the couch, in your roommates' bed...whatever.
But right when it's JUST beginning, those first couple of dates where the guy is trying so hard to impress the girl and the girl is trying so hard to ignore him. Those would be good to watch. The Bachelor just seems so contrived and almost scripted. It's like watching Days of our Lives but there's only one dude left on the planet.
Sorry folks. I don't fuckin' buy it.
Love takes time, patience, honesty, understanding and acceptance. Not big cameras, flashy lights and budget the size of Google's advertising revenue.
Let me just say one thing - the only love you'll ever find that satisfy you in this cruel, psychotic world, is your own.
So turn off the TV and go find it.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
A Letter To Life
Dear Life,
Go fuck yourself.
Stop taking rampant shits on me and make me win a large sum of money.
Make me happy, you son of a bitch.
- Jack
Go fuck yourself.
Stop taking rampant shits on me and make me win a large sum of money.
Make me happy, you son of a bitch.
- Jack
Sunday, January 24, 2010
The Subway.
Saw the Marlies blow it in a shootout at Ricoh Coliseum today. The most entertaining part was spotting dirty last names on Syracuse's players. "Clitsome" and "Smotherman" were my favs. And of course, a name like "Bates" would put a smile on the face of any perverted young man. My brother-in-law and I are no exceptions.
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/194
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/239
So anyways, part of this whole Marlies and/or Leafs experience is stepping foot in the concrete jungle of Downtown Toronto. The people, the lights, the sounds, and of course, the subway. The jumbly torpedo rocketing and racketing through the thick Toronto concrete. A people-watcher's paradise, and you're bound to come across some random who's wardrobe or scent make you yearn for the surface or fend off the giggles.
I don't know why, but every time I'm taking the subway, it just screams "imminent terrorist attack" to me.
Is that weird?? I'll sit and fantasize situations where a jittery brown dude in a trench coat will come in, sit across from me and eventually throw off his jacket revealing an AK-47 and a vest lined with plastique explosives.
Or three Chinese dudes jump up in my train and grab hostages...but one gets too fucking close and I smash his nose into his brain, snake the gun from him and snipe the other two guys in one finesse-laden spin. And maybe throw out a one-liner: "Kung-POW, bitches."
Terrorists are crafty, though. So you have to think that they'll be sneaky. So I imagine them hiding and waiting for a train to stop, then run in with guns blazing. Then I think "fuck...I'm not ready for that shit." So I'll scan my pockets for weapons...then I pick out the hot chicks and people I would save. The rest are fucked, I wouldn't touch them with someone else's penis.
It might happen. Just sayin'...keep your eyes open on that subway people. Cuz you don't know, man. You don't know.
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/194
http://www.syracusecrunch.com/Team/Players/Detail/239
So anyways, part of this whole Marlies and/or Leafs experience is stepping foot in the concrete jungle of Downtown Toronto. The people, the lights, the sounds, and of course, the subway. The jumbly torpedo rocketing and racketing through the thick Toronto concrete. A people-watcher's paradise, and you're bound to come across some random who's wardrobe or scent make you yearn for the surface or fend off the giggles.
I don't know why, but every time I'm taking the subway, it just screams "imminent terrorist attack" to me.
Is that weird?? I'll sit and fantasize situations where a jittery brown dude in a trench coat will come in, sit across from me and eventually throw off his jacket revealing an AK-47 and a vest lined with plastique explosives.
Or three Chinese dudes jump up in my train and grab hostages...but one gets too fucking close and I smash his nose into his brain, snake the gun from him and snipe the other two guys in one finesse-laden spin. And maybe throw out a one-liner: "Kung-POW, bitches."
Terrorists are crafty, though. So you have to think that they'll be sneaky. So I imagine them hiding and waiting for a train to stop, then run in with guns blazing. Then I think "fuck...I'm not ready for that shit." So I'll scan my pockets for weapons...then I pick out the hot chicks and people I would save. The rest are fucked, I wouldn't touch them with someone else's penis.
It might happen. Just sayin'...keep your eyes open on that subway people. Cuz you don't know, man. You don't know.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Zombies I
There’s an odd aroma wofting throughout the air lately, people.
It’s the scent of genocide.
The panic-enducing, demon stench of flesh-eating, decomposing genocide.
Throughout the world, we smell it. Death incarnate, the risen, reanimated corpses, the living dead…but the Russians say it best: zombies.
Most would consider zombies to be a fairy tale like vampires, successful
No, this threat is very real, very terrifying and very right in your backyard. This slutty, sex-driven society of ours is like a heart beat monitor, the pulse slowly beeping to an unavoidable oblivion of silence.
Yet that silence will soon be shattered by the monotonous groaning of doom. Zombies – slow. Dumb. Slightly pathetic, like a rabid kitten out to kill you. But in numbers they can put an end to your family picnic faster than you can say “decomposition is for pussies.”
There are, however, actions and steps you can take to ensure you are fully capable of defending yourself. But don’t kid yourself – the only living human, is a constantly-moving human.
A little something to remember about this imminent attack of the undead: unless the outbreak begins in your garage when your buddy drinks a little too much RC Cola, rotting his body from within then killing him then bringing him back as a flesh-eating zombie, you can count being attacked by a menacing horde of zombies, rather than a lone, decomposing, track-pant-wearing, virgin 40-year-old man. As such, it’s important to keep a weapon near all entrances.
Here are some popular examples: a baseball bat in the closet near the front door, hockey sticks near the garage door, nunchucks near the back door, or my personal favourite, sewing machines near the door to the porch.
Note that I stick mainly to blunt or bludgeoning weapons. Because cutting a dead guy is like trying to unlock a door with your mind. It won’t work, trust me. You have to beat their brains in or immobilize them as quickly and manly as humanly possible.
It’s also crucial to keep various sizes and shapes of scrap wood, that way boarding doors and windows will be a snap.
Again, don’t get comfortable. Zombies, although stupid, still have the senses of a semi-sober human. They will smell your flesh and come to take a little peak to see if it’s snack time. And where there’s one zombie, there’s his relatives.
So first lessons: prepare yourself for the imminent zombie apocalypse. Hide blunt weapons, store random wood, beware RC Cola, bash in brains, don’t bring a knife to an undead fight and don’t get comfortable.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Blast from the Past.
Below is something I wrote last year. I have read it over several times. It shocks me to no end that somewhere inside of me is someone as positive and hopeful as this.
Here she blows...
Picture, if you will, Life on the mound. Wiping the sweat from its forehead as you tap the dirt off your cleats and cautiously step into the batter's box.
It's the bottom of the ninth. The tying run trots away from second base to get a solid lead off and you take a few warm up swings and straighten your cup.
2 strikes - and in this league, there's no such thing as balls.
Life selects its pitch with a devious smile, winds up...and delivers.
I don't need to tell you how this ends. Why? Because Life is a giant bag of ass face, and it likes to take epic and catastrophic poops on all of us at random intervals of our existences.
So as Life and the rest of its sadistic, demon team parade off to savour yet another victory over the little guy, you are left alone. Because just when you thought you'd seen all the types of pitches the galaxy had to offer, Life went and threw you some crazy bullshit curveball you've never, ever seen in the 26 years you've been playing Life-Ball.
I know I wrote "Words of Inspiration" as the title - don't worry, we're getting there.
After every heart-wrenching disappointment, we all react differently. Yet how we react, is our choice. The most common reaction is to feel beat down, hurt, upset, disappointed. And many of us have a tendency to allow these reactions to control our emotions. Lashing out on the ones we care for most, becoming miserable, losing friends...I, myself, am guilty of all of these, simply because anger and intelligence are like oil and water. There's nothing logical about being angry.
When Life strikes us out, we have a choice. A very important one. We can allow Life, the asshole it is, to have its way with us, becoming sour and bitter...or we can accept Life's challenges for what they are - learning experiences.
Let's face it, without the minuscule to massive tests and challenges Life tosses at us like an angry, caged monkey throws poop, we don't improve. We don't learn. We don't grow. We are not human.
So the next time you're watching Life gallivant off in glorious celebration, remember there will always be another challenge heading your way soon. Embrace the experience, learn to allow yourself to grow, stay open minded and remember...when it comes to ball...you'll be at bat more than once. You may strike out the first time, but Life also has a funny way of resolving the issues that keep us awake at night, dominate our minds and ruin days, weeks and months.
Stress, anger, frustration, anxiety...these things are completely useless. I fail to see how anything good could come of any of these.
Acceptance, understanding, patience and a sense of humour - these will save your life, and I encourage all to see the big picture, put yourself in other's shoes, wait for the best solution to present itself and find the funny in everything.
We're not perfect, we'll make mistakes, we'll hurt others and ourselves...but it's the courageous and bold who are strong enough to look in the mirror and ask "where did I go wrong?"
And FYI - fortune favours the bold.
As Miley Cyrus once sang: "There's always going to be another mountain, I'm always going to want to make it move, Always going to be an uphill battle, Sometimes I'm gonna to have to lose, Ain't about how fast I get there, Ain't about what's waiting on the other side - It's the climb." And man...Miley's like...12. So if she can get it, so can you.
Here she blows...
Picture, if you will, Life on the mound. Wiping the sweat from its forehead as you tap the dirt off your cleats and cautiously step into the batter's box.
It's the bottom of the ninth. The tying run trots away from second base to get a solid lead off and you take a few warm up swings and straighten your cup.
2 strikes - and in this league, there's no such thing as balls.
Life selects its pitch with a devious smile, winds up...and delivers.
I don't need to tell you how this ends. Why? Because Life is a giant bag of ass face, and it likes to take epic and catastrophic poops on all of us at random intervals of our existences.
So as Life and the rest of its sadistic, demon team parade off to savour yet another victory over the little guy, you are left alone. Because just when you thought you'd seen all the types of pitches the galaxy had to offer, Life went and threw you some crazy bullshit curveball you've never, ever seen in the 26 years you've been playing Life-Ball.
I know I wrote "Words of Inspiration" as the title - don't worry, we're getting there.
After every heart-wrenching disappointment, we all react differently. Yet how we react, is our choice. The most common reaction is to feel beat down, hurt, upset, disappointed. And many of us have a tendency to allow these reactions to control our emotions. Lashing out on the ones we care for most, becoming miserable, losing friends...I, myself, am guilty of all of these, simply because anger and intelligence are like oil and water. There's nothing logical about being angry.
When Life strikes us out, we have a choice. A very important one. We can allow Life, the asshole it is, to have its way with us, becoming sour and bitter...or we can accept Life's challenges for what they are - learning experiences.
Let's face it, without the minuscule to massive tests and challenges Life tosses at us like an angry, caged monkey throws poop, we don't improve. We don't learn. We don't grow. We are not human.
So the next time you're watching Life gallivant off in glorious celebration, remember there will always be another challenge heading your way soon. Embrace the experience, learn to allow yourself to grow, stay open minded and remember...when it comes to ball...you'll be at bat more than once. You may strike out the first time, but Life also has a funny way of resolving the issues that keep us awake at night, dominate our minds and ruin days, weeks and months.
Stress, anger, frustration, anxiety...these things are completely useless. I fail to see how anything good could come of any of these.
Acceptance, understanding, patience and a sense of humour - these will save your life, and I encourage all to see the big picture, put yourself in other's shoes, wait for the best solution to present itself and find the funny in everything.
We're not perfect, we'll make mistakes, we'll hurt others and ourselves...but it's the courageous and bold who are strong enough to look in the mirror and ask "where did I go wrong?"
And FYI - fortune favours the bold.
As Miley Cyrus once sang: "There's always going to be another mountain, I'm always going to want to make it move, Always going to be an uphill battle, Sometimes I'm gonna to have to lose, Ain't about how fast I get there, Ain't about what's waiting on the other side - It's the climb." And man...Miley's like...12. So if she can get it, so can you.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
What Good is this...
There was a part of me that thought all of this would be easy. There was a part of me that was honestly happy to see her go - selfish, inconsiderate reasons. Having her off my back, and no longer feeling the responsibility and guilt of looking after or not looking after an endlessly ill Mother.
I can recall a time when I was younger, asking the powers that be to take her. I said it was because she was suffering, but deep down, I just didn't want to live a life with half a Mother any more. One that could barely walk down the street, let alone come see where I work, or come see me play hockey. It's funny how something so simple can become impossible. I see people around me becoming embarrassed or annoyed with their parents' questioning or their parents' supposed interference with their lives. And while if I had seen this 2 years ago, I would agree with them. Back off Mom and Dad...this is my life, you've had yours.
But now, I would give almost anything to hear my Mother ask how I am. I would tell her that her passing has left me lost. Has left me questioning what happiness is. Has left me searching for something, but I haven't the foggiest idea what.
I would ask her to put her arms around me and I would ask her to tell me everything will be okay. No, I would beg her.
This world she has left me alone in bombards me with constant reminders. I could drown out the emotions with video games, weed and fancy laptops with wireless connections to the rest of the world...but for those of us who balance the weight of the world on our shoulders, running will only get you so far.
We are the emotional fugitives, fleeing like a guilty prisoner. The world has its eyes and ears open, and will not allow refuge.
Words escape me as easily as grains of sand through fingers. Emotions rattle through me like flashes of electricity.
I long for simpler times when Xbox and QEW traffic were my biggest obstacles. How did I end up here? When did life get so out-of-hand?
I can recall a time when I was younger, asking the powers that be to take her. I said it was because she was suffering, but deep down, I just didn't want to live a life with half a Mother any more. One that could barely walk down the street, let alone come see where I work, or come see me play hockey. It's funny how something so simple can become impossible. I see people around me becoming embarrassed or annoyed with their parents' questioning or their parents' supposed interference with their lives. And while if I had seen this 2 years ago, I would agree with them. Back off Mom and Dad...this is my life, you've had yours.
But now, I would give almost anything to hear my Mother ask how I am. I would tell her that her passing has left me lost. Has left me questioning what happiness is. Has left me searching for something, but I haven't the foggiest idea what.
I would ask her to put her arms around me and I would ask her to tell me everything will be okay. No, I would beg her.
This world she has left me alone in bombards me with constant reminders. I could drown out the emotions with video games, weed and fancy laptops with wireless connections to the rest of the world...but for those of us who balance the weight of the world on our shoulders, running will only get you so far.
We are the emotional fugitives, fleeing like a guilty prisoner. The world has its eyes and ears open, and will not allow refuge.
Words escape me as easily as grains of sand through fingers. Emotions rattle through me like flashes of electricity.
I long for simpler times when Xbox and QEW traffic were my biggest obstacles. How did I end up here? When did life get so out-of-hand?
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
First Times.
There's an age old saying that seems to rear it's ugly head time and time again. Allow me to share it with everyone: "There's a first time for everything."
It's actually one of my favourite sayings. It can be used for everything. There's a first time you masturbate, there's a first time you realize you're acting like an asshole and there's a first time you throw up from vodka and orange juice.
Ugh...never again. Never again.
Essentially, everything has a first time.
Yesterday I had one of those first times. I was on my way from a short-lived laptop hunt, when up the road I could see the flashing lights of the 5-0. Some lady probably ignoring the rules of the road as they so often do. As I passed by, the police officer slowly emerged from his cockpit, daintily placing his arms on his lower back and stretching his front. Then he waived his hands to his waists, wrists limp and began prancing towards the vehicle he pulled over.
Yes, this was the first time I've seen a gay police officer.
But you know what...good for you, man. Sticking to your dream despite the obvious difficulties with your life choice. I bet the boys in the locker room never let you have any peace. But you fuckin' did it.
Typically I would be a whole lot more offensive with this sort of information. But seeing as how this blog is open to the public, I will reserve my humorous after-thoughts for those who know me a bit better.
It's actually one of my favourite sayings. It can be used for everything. There's a first time you masturbate, there's a first time you realize you're acting like an asshole and there's a first time you throw up from vodka and orange juice.
Ugh...never again. Never again.
Essentially, everything has a first time.
Yesterday I had one of those first times. I was on my way from a short-lived laptop hunt, when up the road I could see the flashing lights of the 5-0. Some lady probably ignoring the rules of the road as they so often do. As I passed by, the police officer slowly emerged from his cockpit, daintily placing his arms on his lower back and stretching his front. Then he waived his hands to his waists, wrists limp and began prancing towards the vehicle he pulled over.
Yes, this was the first time I've seen a gay police officer.
But you know what...good for you, man. Sticking to your dream despite the obvious difficulties with your life choice. I bet the boys in the locker room never let you have any peace. But you fuckin' did it.
Typically I would be a whole lot more offensive with this sort of information. But seeing as how this blog is open to the public, I will reserve my humorous after-thoughts for those who know me a bit better.
Monday, January 11, 2010
Numero One.
Blogs.
Does anyone actually read these things? Will anyone ACTUALLY read mine?? Hmm...I guess time will tell.
I always knew this day would come to me sooner than most - my Mother's passing, that is. I tried to imagine how I would deal with it, and how others around me would react.
I certainly learned a great deal through this - I just hope I have closure and that I am truly at peace.
There was one thing about everything that really shocked me the most. The amount of friends and just overall concerned people who have come forward to show they care.
I mean...I'm in awe. I was always under the impression that I could count the amount of friends I have on one hand. I was wrong - I mean, even my distant ex-girlfriend messaged me and offered her ear if I need to talk.
Just one, though. Don't get too excited. The other 704 would rather listen to me choke on pretzels. I dunno why I chose pretzels.
But anyways, words cannot express my gratitude for the tremendous friends I have. I realize some are at a distance, but even to know that people are thinking of me and wishing me well is a nice glass of awesome. So if you're reading this and you've been good to me, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
The rest of you can get gonorrhea, fart blood and somehow die of mad cow disease.
If I had had any last wishes, it would've been to hear her say she was proud of me and she loves me one last time. Just once more.
In the grand scheme of things, losing her has helped me take a good look at myself. So shutting down for a while will give me the opportunity to start up again renewed and stronger.
Hopefully myself and the Maple Leafs can recover from a poopy start to 2010 and put together a few wins.
Okay fine bye.
Does anyone actually read these things? Will anyone ACTUALLY read mine?? Hmm...I guess time will tell.
I always knew this day would come to me sooner than most - my Mother's passing, that is. I tried to imagine how I would deal with it, and how others around me would react.
I certainly learned a great deal through this - I just hope I have closure and that I am truly at peace.
There was one thing about everything that really shocked me the most. The amount of friends and just overall concerned people who have come forward to show they care.
I mean...I'm in awe. I was always under the impression that I could count the amount of friends I have on one hand. I was wrong - I mean, even my distant ex-girlfriend messaged me and offered her ear if I need to talk.
Just one, though. Don't get too excited. The other 704 would rather listen to me choke on pretzels. I dunno why I chose pretzels.
But anyways, words cannot express my gratitude for the tremendous friends I have. I realize some are at a distance, but even to know that people are thinking of me and wishing me well is a nice glass of awesome. So if you're reading this and you've been good to me, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
The rest of you can get gonorrhea, fart blood and somehow die of mad cow disease.
If I had had any last wishes, it would've been to hear her say she was proud of me and she loves me one last time. Just once more.
In the grand scheme of things, losing her has helped me take a good look at myself. So shutting down for a while will give me the opportunity to start up again renewed and stronger.
Hopefully myself and the Maple Leafs can recover from a poopy start to 2010 and put together a few wins.
Okay fine bye.
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