Posts

No, no. Dave does not beat his wife. But if you’d read the notes Joe and Kyle held up in Grade 12 Chemistry some 20 years ago, you’d read that I did. Yes, it was 1994 when I met those guys. Terrific bastards, them both. One of them now somewhere in Europe with a girl he’ll likely soon marry, so long as he can keep up the act that he loves her half as much as he loves this web site. The other, a short 20-minute drive up the road, living the dream life and tending to all the brake, exhaust and french-fries-clogging-the-shifter problems I send his way. May none of us ever grow up too much to stop appreciating the stupid, insane, simple things in this world. ...

After a Sunday where I ate probably twice my usual number of brownies, I thought it would be mature and responsible to get on the treadmill. And so I did. About 30 minutes in, it starts acting up and gives me an E1 error message on the display. When it’s happened before I’ve just started it back up and it’s been fine. Even Kyle Mester’ed the thing and put lube on it, but still the E1’s. After the error tonight I turned it back on and it scrolled LUBE BELT on the display. This has also happened before, whether I’ve lubed it or not. This thing’s an idiot, I’ve always figured. Tonight I decided not to overthink it and give it the lube it was asking for. Maybe previous times I just didn’t lube it enough and it was too dry, aka the Dan Zammit. So I gave ’er a good dose of silicone, started ’er back up and walked and jogged on ’er for another 25 mins. ...

What have I been up to and how do I spend my days, you ask? It’s not worth talking about, but I will. I get up. I get my son dressed, fed and to the bus stop. If my pathetic digestive system allows me to, I take a poop and play Candy Crush. Shower. Occasionally shave. Occasionally brush my teeth. Trim the nose hairs. Pluck some ear hairs. Apply cover-up makeup to any facial blemishes. Then head to the closet for the moment of truth. ...

Um, it’s me. Sorry to disappoint. You were thinking someone with fewer stretch marks? Someone with more interesting stories? Well maybe I come up short in both regards, but I do always keep my promises. Even those made almost 2 years ago… In a little while I’ll start working on a picture that encapsulates the coming Summer. What with Shaun’s wedding and Pat becoming a father, it’ll probably be a close-up of Joe laughing while Shaun and Pat have a wrist slitting race in the background. ...

Oh, hi there. Just got back from an 8-week adventure in southern Nepal. What a place! Can’t believe I waited this long to experience all the beauty that rainforests have to offer! That’s a lie. There aren’t even rainforests in Nepal. And actually I’ve been pretty much just sitting at home fucking my hand since my last post. There was New Year’s Eve in there to break things up where, if memory serves me, I was fucking someone else’s hand, but that’s a secret Dave Pester promised to take to the grave! Ah, shit… ...

It’s that time of year again. US Thanksgiving and then Black Friday. Tomorrow’s the day Jeff Girdlestone hunkers down. Someone once jokingly told him it was called Blacks Friday. He’s under the impression that on this one day each year his delightfully racist humour won’t go over so well. He’s wrong. While scumbags across the border are rushing the doors of the local Target for $1.49 tampons, I doubt that even a barage of Gstone N-words would be noticed. Nonetheless, he won’t be going across the border tomorrow. He’ll be cozy in his bed, surrounded by 2 toasty warm party trays and a tepid glass of rye. He’ll nap in the afternoon and wake up for an evening session of burning 10 dollar bills. After the sun has set he’ll cruise the streets for curb garbage. No, he doesn’t need a broken pair of skis, but he’ll take ’em. God bless him for cleaning up the streets and making an embarrassing disgrace of his backyard. ...

Our temporary visitor is a tiny dog with bones of glass. One broke the other day. He was literally in our possession for less than 3 days. We suck. And his bones suck. And this will probably happen again. We have no luck with animals. In fact, if you have any love for 4-legged fluffy things, you’ll shatter our kitchen window while we work and set them all free. I only ask that you please do not touch my cheese, my crackers or my alcohol. My life would be a little too Carolanny without them. ...

I really don’t see how this can go wrong. Thank you, dimly lit back of top shelf in fridge.

I had my first Hostess Sno Balls on Tuesday. I anticipated an inappropriate overload of marshmallow, but God bless those Hostess people because it was just right… … and now I hear that Hostess is closing its doors. Hopefully it’s only the US arm of the company and the Canadian division will continue to make all the tasty treats my floppy tits have enjoyed over the years. Yes, I’ve done a lot of research on this because it’s terribly important. Not quite as important as figuring out why my head pillow smells like plum sauce gone bad. Yes, I said head pillow, as opposed to knee pillow which I wedge in the vicinity of my knees, testicles and taint each night to sleep. I’m sure this pillow is miserable. One night I thought I heard it crying, but it turned out it was just me. ...

I’m not a fan of Halloween. Pretty sure I was as a kid, but something ruined it. Perhaps it was that one year in the early 80’s when we were trick-or-treating through Crescent Park and I saw something that messed me up. Just as we were approaching a house we saw some dudes drinking in the yard next door and setting up a wooden cross. I watched them poor gasoline on it and set it on fire. No kidding. I remember it scared the shit out of me. Even if it was a goofy Halloween thing, that’s pretty fucked up. Not as bad as that drunken Halloween about 10 years ago when I dressed up as a toilet and let a woman shit into me, but pretty close. ...