Thursday, 17 August 2017
As Canadians, do we still need to hear, "It's 10:00 a.m., 10:30 in Newfoundland"?
We get it. What easy math. Newfoundland adds 30 minutes to everything. I wonder if objects in Newfoundland are larger than they appear as well. Hmmm, I'll take 5 timbits today instead of my regular 10, thank you. They'll be ready in 30 minutes, of course.
My, that's a big lobster. Billy, fill the swimming pool with butter.
How come only Newfoundland gets to add 30 minutes to everything? There are lots of activities I would like to add 30 minutes to. Sex for 30 minutes and 30 seconds would be nice, for a change.
Does everything in Newfoundland happen in half hour increments? Maybe hookers make more money that way.
Enough with the reminders, though. People must think Canadians are stupid. "What time is it in Newfoundland?" "A half hour from now."
10:30 in Newfoundland. It's as Canadian as falling in love with a Trudeau.
Wednesday, 16 August 2017
Why do we only use the word "profusely" in very limited circumstances.
Basically, it's "He bled profusely" or "He apologized profusely".
It's a fun word. It deserves more recognition. Come on people, let's mix things up a bit.
From now on, "He talked profusely", instead of "incessantly".
"He lies profusely" instead of "like a rug".
"We are going out profusely" instead of "until the wee hours of the morning".
"You can diet profusely" instead of "until the cows come home", "but you'll never be a size 4."
Make up a profuse amount of your own.
Monday, 14 August 2017
Sunday, 13 August 2017
|This is my brain at its best|
Why do we need to know what our brain is like on everything?
We're constantly bombarded – this is your brain on sugar, this is your brain on alcohol, stress, fear, this is your brain on having a nail driven through your nutsack, this is your brain on reading articles about how your brain behaves on every conceivable human activity. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Yesterday I read about my brain on a vacation. My brain is drunk on vacation. Then it goes to sleep. No study needed, thank you.
Can't we have a bit of mystery in life? I prefer to not precisely know why a nail in my nutsack would upset my brain.
It's like we need to constantly babysit our brain. Why? My brain is far smarter than me. I don't feel qualified to advise it on how to behave.
Then there's all this talk about feeding our brain the right foods. Do you get hunger pangs in your brain? I don't. They're all located in my stomach, so I eat to please him.
My brain does not need blueberries, oily fish and internet games to stay healthy. It needs sleep, naps and, preferably, full blown unconsciousness.
I mostly leave my brain alone to do its thing. I suggest you do the same.
Saturday, 12 August 2017
Friday, 11 August 2017
Thursday, 10 August 2017
I'm pitching an exciting and original show to HBO called The Falsettos.
It follows the high notes and the low tones of Toni Falsetto as she balances the cut-throat demands of heading a local children's choir while nurturing a family.
Toni has a tender side, but sings a ruthless tune when necessary. The first episode reveals how Toni whacks her most trusted singer for stealing three notes of an Aria.
Her husband, Mel (short for Caramel), raises the two kids and funnels fentanyl through a Bed, Bath and Beyond.
Toni often visits her singing coach, Dr. Ralph Malphi, for a vocal chord tune up and some life advice.
I'll see you on the other side of fame.
Tuesday, 8 August 2017
Monday, 7 August 2017
Saturday, 5 August 2017
I love reading about physics, but boy, some of it is pretty mysterious.
Who's Ron, for instance? And why should I vote for him?
Sean Carroll, my favourite physicist, keeps saying "elect Ron" this and "elect Ron" that. He never once explains who Ron is, what his platform is or what experience he has.
Things wouldn't exist unless we elect Ron. Wow, that's a lot of power for one person.
I want to meet this Ron before I vote for him. "He's too small too actually see", says Mr. Carroll.
Really? Who will represent us at the next NATO meeting? Hey, have you seen Ron? No, have you? Not a sign of him.
Let's invade Europe while he's missing.
I'm afraid that until this Ron shows himself, it's gotta be Trump.
Tuesday, 1 August 2017
One reason I'm glad I'm not a dog is that I hate the taste of fresh tennis balls. Have you every tasted a fresh tennis ball? I have.
I won't go into the details (although it's very similar to a tense scene in Pulp Fiction) but it's not pleasant.
I'll admit, there are lots of good reasons to be a dog. Sleeping all day. Not working. No responsibility. But then there's the obligatory tennis ball retrieving. Can't do it.
I prefer chasing my wife's meatballs. Much tastier. Which is why I never return them to her.
An amazing fact about the earth is that it constantly moves in 5 different ways all at the same time.
1. It spins around its axis (and wobbles on it)
2. The axis itself spins one revolution every 26,000 years
3. It spins around the sun.
4. It spins around the centre of the galaxy
5. Our galaxy, along with earth, is moving through space towards bigger galaxies
And yet somehow Jenga doesn't collapse until you remove the wrong block.
Monday, 31 July 2017
Sunday, 30 July 2017
How come when we praise someone we always give them kudos?
I know some people who only deserve one kudo at the most, myself included.
Maybe…maybe one and three quarters of a kudo. Certainly not everyone deserves full kudos (plural) all the time.
When I half-ass my laundry duties – combine underwear, face towels, fine knits, bath mats, oily rags, my high heels, colours, whites, blacks, furniture – I fully expect to receive a half kudo at most. And I'm good with that.
We're handing out kudos way to easily these days.
It's like kudos are cash, and we have a kudos welfare program, handing out kudos to the needy, to people who deserve slight praise but receive a nice kudos cheque from the government every month.
What happened to working for your kudos, like in the good old days?
When Justin Bieber hits someone with his big-boy car and gets out to see if they are okay, no kudos should be forwarded to him. Gwyneth Paltrow does not deserve kudos for giving us Goop. In fact, she owes kudos back into the kudo bank.
No celebrity deserves kudos for giving away a fraction of their obscene wealth. The Academy Awards should be called the Embarrassment of Wealth Awards.
We will never meet the people who really deserve kudos. Like the person/s leaking all the dirt on the Trump White House. He/she/they deserve to win the kudos lottery.
I'm saving each and every kudo for that rainy day when I fuck everything up.
Saturday, 29 July 2017
|Cock blockers are usually this big, but mine is much, MUCH BIGGER.|
I tried to order my cock blocker online from China, but my ad blocker blocked it.
I called the company to ship it directly, but Customs blocked my cock blocker.
I called the White House to ask them where they all got their cock blockers, but they blocked my call.
Why is everyone blocking my cock blocker?
I tried to make my own cock blocker, but suffered from a mental blocker.
Naturally, I thought I would write a great cock blog about it, but suffered from writer's blocker.
Someday, I'll unblock my cock blocker. And I'll know how to use it, because I've been around the blocker a few times.
Warning: This blog is rated "C" for crass.
This blog has been blocked in 1,234 countries, 7 planets and 13 solar systems.
Friday, 28 July 2017
Apparently fewer and fewer sperm are showing up for work these days.
Men around the world are suffering from low sperm counts.
Can we blame the sperm? Lying around in that crowded and sweaty hammock, day after day, waiting for action.
It's like being a fireman. Polishing your big red truck for the hundredth time. Lazily throwing balls for the Dalmatian. Where's that alarm? Waiting. Please, give me a reason to slide down that pole. Yawning and waiting…
Just like the sperm.
My theory: Sperm street gangs.
Sperm are exiting through the nose, every time a man blows it. They are gathering in numbers too big to calculate, in the cracks and crevices of neighbourhood alleyways.
Taking insemination into their own, um, tails?
Be very careful, ladies. Think twice about your next alley visit. You could end up wrestling gangs of 6 or 7 billion angry sperm. Swimming for victims, similar to the many-tailed Sentinels from The Matrix. Sure, the mace might work on a few thousand of them. When it's all over, you wake up and you're knocked up.
Soon, a planet of only sperm.
Kinda makes sense, actually.