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: http://torontosuncoverreviews.blogspot.com/

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


PIZ

Austrian Maniac Tablets

Potatoes?

LEGO

Tiny Sugar Bricks For An Imaginary Bungalow

Flavored Dust Blocks

Little Ms. Powder & Her Mouth-Watering Children

PUZ

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

Pffft....

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.

Great.

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?


Naw.


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.


(sigh)


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


What?


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!


Hmmm.


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.


DO NOT DO THAT.


....


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


No sandwich?