Thursday, December 30, 2010

Planet Guy: How to "Seal the Deal" After a Date

This guy has achieved the nasty with over 33,000 women.

So, you’ve taken her out to dinner and had some drinks; you’ve casually invited her back to your boarding house and, wonder of wonders, she said yes! Now, what do you do to seal the deal (i.e. take a leisurely stroll down Intercourse Avenue)? You don’t want to mess it up, right? Well, according to a survey of some Canadian women, the worst thing you can do at this stage is take her straight to the bedroom and throw your trousers out the window like some sort of impatient, horny garbage man. The best thing you can do is slowly create a romantic atmosphere that will make it impossible for her to resist you, and that means one thing: an impromptu ragtime piano concert.

No woman can resist a fellow who has mastered the ragtime canon: it's in their DNA. But, whoa!, let’s back up a second, shall we? Before you can even think about asking a woman on a date, you’re going need to do a bit of work. First of all, you’re going to have to buy a baby grand piano for your room (if your landlady objects, buy her some stockings and Chinese oranges to smooth things over).

Now that you own a piano, you're going to have to learn to play the damn thing! Give yourself five to eight years to get comfortable on the keys (we recommend starting off at the Royal Conservatory of Music, then finding yourself a good jazz teacher across the river). Once you’ve tamed the eighty-eight-fingered monster and passed all your exams, it’s time to tame the ten-fingered monster—your sweetheart!

You’ll be amazed by the intense visceral reaction you provoke in your monster when she sees you sit down at the piano bench, straighten your bow tie and launch into the opening trills of Scott Joplin’s “Maple Leaf Rag,” followed by James Scott’s scintillating “Frog Legs Rag,” and, as you whip her into the final stages of erotic euphoria, Joseph Lamb‘s “Excelsior Rag.” Before you can say “cakewalk,” you’ll be making full love to your woman’s body or face. Oh, and one more thing: in the words of Scott Joplin, “be sure to use protection!”

Planet Guy is a new men's column that will appear maybe once a year on Hogwash!

Friday, November 26, 2010

Top Exercises at the Dumb Gym

- backwards dumbbell toss through the beautiful window

- squirrel hunt

- fast and violent neck twists

- chest press (with farting)

- shoulder dump

- human centipede

- Chinese buffet dips

- military butt squishes

- hard drugs

- exercise ball theft

- imaginary jogging (farting optional)

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Infopackette for the Trapped Chilean Miners

"What did we miss?"

It’s been a long, harrowing journey, but tonight, you, the trapped Chilean miners, are going to be lifted to safety. I’d like to be the first to congratulate you. In a matter of hours you’ll be breathing the air of freedom, stretching your legs and getting straight back to work in various other mines! Just teasing; you don’t have to do that.

Now. You guys have been stuck underground for a long time, and you’re probably wondering what you’ve missed in the news. For instance: did Tony Curtis pass away? Unfortunately, yes. He was 85 and they buried him with his beloved Stetson hat. The funeral was in Vegas. But let’s not get sidetracked and only talk about Tony Curtis, OK guys? Plenty of other important things have happened since August 5. Luckily, I’ve mined the internet and packaged this information in an easy to use Infopackette. Using my Infopackette, you’ll be able to make informed decisions in your exciting new lives as land-walkers. Let’s get started!

  • Minka Kelly has been named the Sexiest Woman Alive by Esquire. Do yourselves a favour and look her up online. If you don’t get big wild boners you’re a bunch of idiots!*
  • A "Goldilocks planet" was discovered that can support human life. This means that one day humans will be able to live on the planet and continue creating cool movies and music and blogs.
  • The Nobel Peace Prize was awarded to jailed Chinese dissident Liu Xiaobo. Imagine getting a prize in jail? I’d be, like, “Forget about the durn prize and give me the key to my jail cell. Buh-bye!”
  • Robert Pattinson has been named Sexiest Man Alive by Glamour magazine. (This piece of news is specifically aimed at Alfonso, who I understand to be the gay one.)
  • Halloween is quickly approaching. If you’re looking to wow people with a killer costume, you’d better get to work now. Popular costume ideas this year include: Sarah Palin, the Human Centipede and Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg.
  • I had some awful computer trouble at the end of September and I lost everything on my hard drive. Can you believe that? On the bright side, my iPod is working like a charm again and I’m really digging the new Weezer. A lot of people are really hard on Rivers Cuomo, but I’m a sucker for everything the man does.
  • Canada finally has Netflix. I know you guys don’t live in Canada, but it’s kind of a big deal here.
  • I got a great deal on a spring/fall jacket. Only when the weather started getting cool did I realize I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. I'm such a doy-yoy!
  • I hate being the bearer of bad news, but David Arquette and Courteney Cox have separated. My heart goes out to the two actors. They’re probably in a pretty dark, deep, emotionally claustrophobic space right now, similar to the physical space you’ve all been sharing since early August.
  • I’ve started going to the gym again and I’ve got to say it: I’m feeling great!
*Excluding Alfonso.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

10 Reasons Why A Beer is Better Than A Woman!

The smell of beer doesn’t make you weep the way Her old perfume does!

A beer can’t give you three beautiful children named Todd (9), Jenny (6) and Garcia (2)!

Beer doesn't menstruate all the time!*

You don't need to charter a bus to transport 24 beers to your buddy's apartment!

If your best friend moves to Berlin with your beer, it's not as bad as if he'd moved to Berlin with the woman you love!

It’s not illegal to put your penis in a beer bottle when he passes away!

Beer doesn't spend all of your hard-earned money on shoes and Sarah Jessica Parkers. Beer doesn't even know where the mall is!

You can shotgun a beer without ruining everything!

You can drink beer out of a funny hat, but you can't keep a woman on your head for very long without hurting your neck muscles!

Beer doesn't have old boyfriends that highlight your failings as a man!

*Although I once saw Criss Angel make this happen. I was blown away.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Party Animal

I have . . . a confession to make.

I don’t usually dress this way!

Ha ha!

Usually, I just wear civilian clothes.

A leash.

To be honest, I feel a little uncomfortable dressed up so fancypants!

Oh, I could’ve said no, but I figured what the hell.

It’s Jeremy’s 8th birthday, and….

I’m too accommodating! That’s my problem!

Yup yup yup.

Mum was right: I’m a big, spineless pushover.

You know I’m the first man in my family to have to wear a bow tie?

If grandpop could see me now he’d eat chocolate.

They’re taking advantage of my good nature.

Just because Jeremy is turning 8 doesn’t mean that I should have to be made to look ridiculous.

I don’t even like Jeremy—he’s a disgrace!

There: I said it. He’s a disgrace. A waste of time.

Well, today it ends, my friends.

Today, while they’re singing Happy Birthday to the waste of time I’m going to bite everybody.

Show ‘em who’s boss.

I'll teach you to put a bow tie on a proud man!

. . . .

On second thought . . . if I bite everyone, they might take me somewhere to get destroyed.

Which is not so great.

. . . .

Maybe I'll just shit somewhere they can't see.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Toronto Sun Cover Review - 27 March 2010

Happy Saturday, everyone.

Front and centre: A teenage murder case ends in mistrial. Not funny, except for the alliterated mmmms in the sub-headline. Must they?

Top centre: "Keep your doors locked," warns a tiny convicted rapist. That oughta scare EVERYONE. On a different note . . . what a bad rapist. This knucklehead is giving away the secrets of his trade, like a disgruntled magician who tells everyone how the Chinese Linking Rings trick works. Idiot!

Top right: Buy a lottery ticket, monsieur. Chances are you'll win!

Bottom: You lost the lottery, you poor piece of shit. Now how are you going to pay for that toilet you installed on the roof of your cottage?

Summary: Law and order has broken down. Teenage thugs murder with impunity. The streets are teeming with retarded rapists. On top of it all, you've got a roof-toilet that you'll never be able to afford. Stay indoors, near the window, with a gun.

*** (out of 5)

NOTE: From now on, my Toronto Sun cover reviews will be posted on a new blog created just for that purpose:

Friday, March 26, 2010

Toronto Sun Cover Review - 26 March 2010

Today's cover:

Front and centre: The Sun doesn't hate all immigrants. Take the couple on today's cover: they're white, own a $321,000 townhouse and are "proud Oakville taxpayers." Heck, the husband even appears to like rockabilly. Yet this couple is being deported to England for failing to fill out a form correctly. The Sun then goes on to point out that an illegal Jamaican immigrant who killed a cop is being allowed to stay in Canada and enjoy our domestic rockabilly scene at the expense of taxpayers.

Top: The Sun is outraged that there is no doghouse; the Ontario Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is temporarily operating out of a "ritzy" hotel, like a bunch of Rufus Wainwrights. Beneath this, we are promised a glimpse at the grizzly details of Ontario's provincial debt, a.k.a. "7 Years of Red," which sounds like a fine title for a menstrual porn film.

Top right: If I won the $15,000,000 prize, I'd buy a new everything!

Bottom: The Fully Loaded Event is here. In the Judeo-Christian world, this means that spring is just around the corner.

Summary: A dull effort. The only interesting part of the cover is the deported man's sideburn and beard combination.

* (out of 5)

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Toronto Sun Cover Review

I am going to start doing daily reviews of Toronto Sun covers. The Toronto Sun is, of course, the city of Toronto's most reactionary/hilarious newspaper, with a broad readership that includes everyone from old men who wear track pants and fish in the Don River to young women who think bicycles are gay.

Today's cover:

Front and centre: Well, hello there! If it isn't notorious child-killer/sex offender Clifford Olson. Why is this old blast from the past on the cover when there's so much non-pedophile news to report? Because, thanks to an "investigation" by the Sun, federal prison inmates like Olson will no longer get old age pensions. Not the worst idea in the world, but did they need to include a pedophile on the cover? Technically, no, but a Toronto Sun cover without a pedophile is like a Tigerbeat without a Justin Bieber.

Top left: $15,000,000 is nothing to sneeze at.

Top right: A hockey man has a bar mitzvah?

Bottom: Hakim optical is offering a sweet deal. Do you think the bespectacled couple in the ad are dating or are they just friends?

Summary: There's a little something for everyone today: a forgotten child-killer, some hockey news, the tantalizing prospect of $15,000,000 and discount eye wear. This scattershot approach actually weakens the overall impact of the cover. I would have preferred the use of the word PERV or $ICKO in the main headline to counteract the relative banality of the other stories/advertisements.

*** (out of 5)

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Other Names They Considered, And Rejected, For PEZ


Austrian Maniac Tablets



Tiny Sugar Bricks For An Imaginary Bungalow

Flavored Dust Blocks

Little Ms. Powder & Her Mouth-Watering Children


Tiny Sugar Bricks For A Miniature Riot (The People Must Be Free)


Monday, March 22, 2010

My Genes Know Where They're Not Wanted

This man is my nemesis.

Last week I read a disappointing article about how women living in countries with high rates of disease and low life-expectancy prefer “masculine”-looking men to their “feminine”-looking counterparts. The belief is that a child with healthy, hunky genes has a better chance of surviving than a child with wimpy, clarinet-playing genes.


It looks like a certain someone I know is going to have to rethink his wife-hunting trip to Sierra Leone. What a nightmare! Those stuck up dames won’t give me the time of day, and I finally know why. I bet they didn’t even listen to all those Smiths mix CDs I mailed them.

I’m also going to have to tweak my domestic mating strategy, based on this sentence: “A woman in an unhealthy, germ-laden environment may prefer a macho man….” Well, thanks for the news bulletin, ladies! Do you know how many moonlit nights I’ve spent strolling the dump in my tux, hoping to find a sweetheart? Do you know how much money I’ve spent buying drinks for women who live in the Filthy part of town? Do you know how many times I’ve unsuccessfully proposed to a bag lady in an outhouse?

This wouldn’t happen to me if I were tall, dark and handsome.

I guess it’s my fate to be attracted to women who live and thrive in squalor. Too bad these Dirty Dianas don’t care about my scarf collection or all the poems I’ve written about the pink-billed lark. I’ve been wasting my precious time.

From now on, I’m only going to pursue women who live and work in antiseptic environments (surgeons, meat plant inspectors, tattoo artists, etc.). In their eyes, I look as virile as Wesley Snipes. And, when I finally have a child with one of these super-clean women, our baby will make it into the Guinness Book of Records for having the weakest constitution in the history of mankind.

Take that, Mother Nature!

Friday, March 19, 2010

Hands of God

Hey, Hands of God! What you sayin'?

Hey, Neil.

Made anything lately?


Well, why not? You're the Hands of God, aren't you?

I know. I guess I'm just feeling kinda, you know, down.

Feelin' blue, huh?

Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if there's any point to all this –

Shut up! You're the Hands of God! You got no right to be a crybaby.

Hold on; that's not true.

You should be makin' shit all the time. Like a hurricane. Or a new animal.


I'll tell you what I'd make if I were the Hands of God.


First, I'd make myself a big motherfucking sandwich: ham and swiss cheese on focaccia.

Well, that sounds positively delicious!

Then I'd give myself two solid-gold hands, so I could sell them each for a cool million.

But, Neil. Wouldn't you miss having hands?

And after that, I'd make me a sex woman. A huge one. And she'd love me forever!


Fuck it, Hands of God! Why don't you make me all that shit right now?

I can't... really... do that. For you.

Yeah you can! You made the mountains and the sky and all the beasts of the field. You gotta help out your old friend Neil!

It's not as simple as you think!

You know I could just as easily ask the Hands of the Devil.



OK, fine. I'll give you one solid gold hand. And a small sex woman.

No sandwich?