Friday, January 30, 2009

In The Eye Of The Storm


"...pornos are to jacking off, what snowboarding is to skateboarding. It's so much work. you need a mountain, snow, gloves, a bunch of gay clothes, a lift ticket, a lift, boots, a snowboard and a shit ton of drinks afterward to help you forget how gay you are for doing it in the first place. Skateboarding, you just walk out the door and hop on your board and you're good."
-Dave Carnie
The truth.
-TJ

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

"Weed Bra"

If you stand outside portage place and randomly say "weed", "weed bro", or "need weed" fuck you. If i look right past your useless existence one day, I'm going to do it the next day to. So stop asking.
Of course i need weed, but yours is poo schwag and under weighed.

I know this is pointless because anyone reading this is to cool to do that, but you know.

MustacheRide (t)

Pissin' Me Off

Among many of my firsts, the first time I pissed on somebody's face also occurred in grade twelve.

I hated this kid the minute I saw him. I swear he got drunk off three rum and cokes, then puked all over my friends bathroom. I've always had a small blatter, I don't really care. But the nearest drain where I could bleed my lizard, happened to be the toilet where his head happened to be located on top of. So I cut out the middle man and pissed on his face.

I don't regret it at all. He fucked up my homie's bathroom, so I fucked up his self esteem.


-TJ Morand.

Tuesday, January 27, 2009

white male sucks at life

Im a white male Canadian who has lived in this beautiful country my whole life. So naturally i wanted to start my own business here, when applying for government grants the polite lady asked if i was native, black, or any other import. When i replied, "no sorry im a white male." She replied with a disapointed voice, "sorry sir all i can help you with is the young entrapeners grant."

Fucking great all i can get is $4000 back after i spend $8000!!! So basically i think its fucking stupid that because im a white male i get no help? Everyone else gets a hand out, even white women have people they can run to...Why do i get fucked in the ass? THATS IT im dying my skin a brownish colour, putting a sniper dot between my eyes and asking the government for handouts.

ohhh shit i forgot my towel.....


-D

Teach me something I want to learn

In ninth grade I had this math teacher, Mme Compte. She was also my homeroom teacher. I wasn't the best at math so she offered me free tutoring sessions before school. Seeing how she was absolutely gorgeous looking, I hopped on those sessions like a priest on an altar boy. One morning I walked into her class to find her wearing the most low cut shirt any female has ever worn in history. Naturally, being a 15 year old boy with raging hormones, I couldn't look away.

While she was teaching me some algebra equation, she caught me trying to sneak a peek down her shirt. Our session was over and it was the last one. This was the day that I developped a secret fantasy for teachers

Ever since then, I've had about two good looking teachers per grade. Each one better than the last. One of my friends had an opportunity to get one of their phone numbers so she could "privately tutor him during spring break"... Being the fucking asshat that he was, he declined her offer.

I could not believe it. I was absolutely blown away and the most pissed off I have ever been in my entire life. How could somebody deny the opportunity to maybe, possibly sleep with their math teacher?

I can't really write anymore because this story just pisses me off to the fullest. I still to this day don't understand what he was thinking.



Post Script: I found out that my dad had met my Grade Nine math teacher at a bar a few years before she was teaching, he didn't say much else about it. That parent teacher conference was weird. She was eye fucking the shit out of him the whole time.


Moral of the story: My dad is a fucking cool guy and my friends are morons.

Monday, January 26, 2009

Sidewayz

Reader Poll:

74% of yellow belters agree that asian females and most 50-50 oriental/white mix have sideways vaginas.

Rah Rah Rasputin

Every time I get in a cab I get in the front seat. Cab drivers are the most interesting people to talk to. They all have the most fucked up stories of people shooting up in the back, fucking, doing blow off their car keys that should have gotten them home that night.

Maybe they do smell and their english isn't that good. But who the fuck cares. They're getting by from driving your stupid drunk asses home at 3 in the morning. Maybe they do get in accidents, but you would think so since they are usually up doing graveyard shifts and the average normal human being can only drive a car down the same streets for about 25 minutes without wanting to shoot themselves in the brain.
Cabbies are usually respected people in their homeland but it might be torn apart from wars, famine or just overrun with crime, so they would have to get out. I would give somebody a second chance if that was the case. I wouldn't call them a raghead. Sure their religions are fucked up and it must be hot as hell with that towel up there. But imagine if North America broke out in a civil war and you were forced to move to another continent, learn another language and deal with constant criticism from people that aren't the same color as you. I guarantee you wouldn't go straight to being what you were back home. You would be doing the bum jobs that nobody wants to do. I don't fucking care if you disagree with me on this but cab drivers deserve a little respect.

Pan said there should be responses to other posts, so there's one.

And here's another.

Sure American Apparel is the new trend and it's become the blunt object killing kid's individuality. But you were still shopping there. Don't criticize something that you're still putting your hard earned cash into. Get over fucking designer clothes and go to Zellers to buy shirts that fit like they were sewn by a four year old Vietnamese boy. Plus you could get a Big Z burger while you're there.


P.S. Oprah is tight.


-tj

Sunday, January 25, 2009

People love nothing more than explaining to you how Wal-mart, Mcdonalds and Halliburton are destroying the Earths culture and resources. 
Just make sure to never, ever mention Apple or Ikea in the same breath as the companies mentioned earlier, because you can only hate corporations that don't make stuff you like. 

legs

Saturday, January 24, 2009

It seems like every year drivers get worse! Whats the deal with that? Ohhhh wait i know, its the fact that the white crackers who own the driver schools were tooo fat and lazy to teach people so they hired turban head fucks who's previous jobs were to escort camels through the desart...Fuck all of you


-D
I was in american apparel the other day grabbing a simple v neck. When i came out of the change room i heard the girl working snikker and say in a sarcastic bitchy way, "nice sweater and jeans combo"

I almost lost my shit and bit her head off, however i held my breath and walked away. I got outside and said to my sister did you hear that bitch in their??? Im sorry that my designer jeans and cashmere sweater are to flashy for you but seriously i have my own style!!!

Anyone who falls into the "AA UGLY DORKY KID LOOK" needs to seriously look at there life and see who they really are....stop following the latest tread and find your own style...fags

-D
I was in class the other day an thought i smelt pussy, i instantly became arroused and couldn't concentrate for at least 10 minutes. God what i would give to spread open whoopie goldbergs purple handbag...

-D

ps. i put class so the audience could relate
pps. no one likes black chicks!!!

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Yetti


The nice thing about Canada is that we let everyone participate on Canada Day even the Yetti's.

Travis
Now clearly this dude can do better than porky pig sniffing her fingers. I mean really whats with the SPOILT dog chain. Spoilt with food? Spoilt with guys that have belly button bling? Or just Spoilt as in I've sat in the sun and started to rot.
Travis

Vlad Facts

1) 74% of cowboys have had homo-erotic dreams of their coworkers in the past month
2) Nigerians do not find the slang "Nigger" either offensive or racist
3) 99.7% of people with the name Cornelius have contemplated suicide
4) Salad without mayonnaise is poisonous

NUS Definitions

Chunder Dick: morning dick after a night of unprotected period sex.

Chunder from Down Under: miscellaneous goop seeping from a large (probably imprisoned) native vagina

Niggasquids (nig-a-skwidz): a way to reserve a chair or position for your return; means absolutely nothing

peloquin (pell-oh-kwahn): noun - thought of as one of the best words in the modern age.
1: description of any mood one may be feeling. i.e. "Dude, I'm so fucking peloquin about the party tonight"
2: used to describe anything of monetary value. i.e. "You wanna throw down a fiver on a peloquin?"
3: a term of endearment. i.e. "The girl looked absolutely peloquin this evening"
4: used as an attention grabber when an overly attractive, underage member of the opposite sex is in the vicinity. i.e. "Peloquin!"

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

A Short story

Once upon a time there was a guy that wished for the Midas Touch but, because he was borderline illiterate and kind of a douche, misunderstood the instructions and instead of turning things to gold, everything he touched turned to shit. It was a big stinky mess.

Moral: thank god G.W. is out

THE END

n.

Drive-thru math

Normally i feel for people who have to work in retail or customer service. Their jobs usually suck and don't pay well, and they have to put up with dicks all day. But there is a line. Example: at a McDee's drive through a while ago. My order comes to $10.31. No problems yet, but i hate change (what am i gonna use a penny for except drinking games and testing the electrical?) So i give the girl at the window $20.31, so as to recieve a $10 bill in return. Simple, right? Imagine my shock when i get a handful of change back. Not that they had run out of bills, just that the girl couldn't do basic math. She gives me back the change i gave her, and the rest of the fucking change too. I wanted to throw the change in her face, but instead i'm going to devote my life to tracking down the morons who let this kind of kid get this far in life without developing in her this basic life skill. She will never learn to do her taxes, or be able to compete on are you smarter than a 5th grader (even my 7 year old brother in the car could figure it out.) I'm going to Bitchslap every math teacher she ever had, and probably her parents too.
n.

the first time a girl bled on me.

I’ve always loved having my cock sucked.  There is nothing cooler than looking down at the piece you use to piss being sucked on as if it were giving out eternal life if you tickled it properly.   And occasionally, you find people who are kind of good at it.

 

On rare occasions, I’ve had the misfortune of coming across women who tend to have a little self respect, and than means they usually want something in return.  I should have stayed the fuck away from this one already.

 

This woman lived with her parents, and this meant i would occasionally sleep over when they went out of town.  On one of these occasions, after fucking her with some dangerous whiskey dick, i passed out on her floor instead of next to her in bed.  I didn't even get sucked off.   The next morning when she woke up she joined me in the shower before heading to work, still without sucking my dick, but leaving me the keys to her place.  I was set.  Her parents were out of town, the fridge was stacked, and she had good television.  I spent the afternoon masturbating on her couch and eating microwave-burritos,  waiting for her to get home.

 

She walks in the door, and she’s already down.  But this woman’s different.  She’s the kind who needs to be coaxed into the cock, especially when its about to fuck her mouth.  I decide the best way to do this is going down on her.  As per usual, it doesn’t taste good, doesn’t smell good, and makes fucked up noises.

 

 I still want my dick sucked. 

 

I continue my work downstairs.

 

With two fingers deep inside her, I hear the crowd cheer as I score my hole in one.  Knowing that this must mean I’m going to bust on this girls face, I remove my hand from the box.

 

Jesus.

 

Fucking.

 

Christ.

 

I don’t know what to do.  I look her dead in the eyes and she breaks into tears, pulls up her pants, and runs away to lock herself in the bedroom. 

 

There is a crying girl locked in her bedroom.  I’m alone, left with her blood on my hands.


I never did get that blow job.  And I hate eating pussy.

--eazy A.

Heavy D's Got the Wig Out


I grew up in Elmwood. Hip hop was played on the regular by natives who sat on their stoops with Biggie, Mobb Deep, Lost Boyz and Das EFX playing out of their ghettoblasters. Fortunately, I was the only white nine year old within a thirteen block radius so I got to hang out with them on the stoops and on occasion borrow their CD's and tapes.
Then one time someone borrowed me Heavy D and the Boyz album "Blue Funk". I was blown away. I hadn't heard anything like it. I bugged right the fuck out. The smooth jazzy beats mixed with Heavy D's deep intoxicating voice to this day, blow me away. In all honesty, anything Heavy D has done is exceptional, but "Blue Funk" is by far my favorite. When you have free time, throw in this album, sit back and light up a nice spliff. I guarantee you will have the best high of your life. Unless you do heroine. Which is almost as cool, if not cooler.
Heavy D and The Boyz:
5 Stars
Heroine:
Twice as many stars than the tracks on your arms
-TJ

Monday, January 19, 2009

The Empyrean

Defined as "The highest reaches of heaven, believed by the ancients to be a realm of pure fire or light." and " The abode of God and the angels; paradise. ", the word empyrean only seems suiting when used as the title for John Frusciante's 10th solo album.

Best known for his stunning guitar skills displayed on many of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' masterpieces, John also has an amazing solo career. While John is known for shredding guitar, he gets help from his close friends for the recording of bass and drum, namely his band mate Flea and close friend Josh Klinghoffer... oh, and Johnny Marr. Jesus

January 20th 2009; not only the American presidential inauguration day, but also the day that John Frusciante releases one of the better albums to ever be recorded.

Now, I may or may not have come across a leaked version on the internet.

This album may or may not be one of the better collection of sounds my ears have been graced with.

Anyone who is the slightest bit interested should most definitely look into the above mentioned album and most other John Frusciante albums (mainly To Record Only Water for Ten Days).

wikipedia page

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Megatron

There is no way that Megatron should turn into a gun. Besides all the size change that needs to happen, Megatron, you already have a giant gun on your arm, as do most of you henchmen, there is really no need to transform, let alone get wielded by an inferior. I'm beginning to see Starscream's frustrations. For those of you that say it's just a show, shut up. The Transformers are real. It's science. I know i'm not alone on this.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Roommates

I once lived with this guy who liked to party. Not so much party as got partied on. And probably wouldn't have liked it if he wasn't all the way through a 40 pounder of whiskey before supper. This roommates went over to his brothers one day, and cause neither had jobs, they decided to do blow. My roommate passed out in a chair, and his brother pulled his pants off and magic markered his balls green.
"Fucked some dirty chicks, and he got green balls!" said his brother, and everyone had a good laugh. For the encore, his brother pulled out the wet/dry vac and stuck it on his cock, power on full. Now the guy was passed out, and he probably thought he was getting a hummer. I think he called the vacuum 'Stacey' at one point. He was left in the room by himself for a while with the vacuum on. At least there was no mess.
This guy has since cleaned up his life, and is a functional member of society. which just goes to show you...its okay to get jerked off by appliances.
n.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

I eat pies like you for brunch

you've all heard the joke before... y'know, where the two pies are chillin on the window sill and one pie says to the other " damn, it's cold out here, I wish I was back in the oven ". Then the other pie responds with a " HOLY FUCK A TALKING PIE"...


I would like to go ahead and blow the cover off this joke. This joke is straight bullshit. Firstly, pies can't talk, and second, if the pie is talking why is he so surprised that the other pie can talk as well?

garbage

Howie's Prime Time

Comic Relief Skit

Ruderunner

So basically there was this kid, let's call him Melvin, who could run faster than any of the other kids, and they all used to envy him. He became a rude, self centered jerk with all the popularity he was gaining from his running ability. Any of the other kids that challenged him to a running contest would always lose. Melvin would just point and laugh at their attempts.

But then one day a new kid came to school and everyone noticed that he had the potential of running faster than Melvin. So they had a race.

The new kid's acceleration wasn't as strong as Melvin's. But he had more medium speed. The new kid was catching up. But Melvin noticed and pushed it to the limit. And he burst through the finish line faster than he ever had. So fast he couldn't slow down before the intersection ahead of him. Then there was a screech, but it was too late, the car plowed through Melvin's body and he died.

Moral of the story, don't be rude. Ever. You don't know when you're going to die.

Flave Save

Monday, January 12, 2009

He's Got Soul.


I hate Deal Or No Deal. Not only because all you do is pick suitcases. But because Howie Mandel has a disgusting greasy Soul Patch. He should buzz that thing off, or atleast wear a shirt that says "My soul patch is the cushion for your big juicy balls"

News about Whales

Whales have their own sports club, the nice uniforms and a website, and are picking Missouri over Northwestern and cover the spread. Whales are stupid.

rubber ducks



yes, that and your googly eyes... maybe your large hair as well

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Some things i would like to see in the new year:

1. A Black man square dancing.

2. A newspaper headline that reads "Everything A-Okay".

3. Some people gang beating a Pinata in a parking lot.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

New Music


I thought this collective could be a good way for people to hear some music they might not come across

So cruisin the youtube I found this gem, old made to look new


I know you think the song has beat with the same bat we beat Nickleback with, but give it a listen.
Very good use of instruments.

Friday, January 9, 2009

When i was like four or so, my dad would have friends after i went to sleep. I used to sneak down the stairs and listen to them until my dad found me, and brought me into the living room. I would hang out and think i was pretty cool shit, and finish off all the bottoms of all the beers until i was tired enough to go back to sleep. My first full sentence was "give me a beer", and this practice probably had something to do with that.

Steve Holt!

Fuck high school. Other than the partying and the daily fantasy of sleeping with your beautiful French teacher, what was good about it?

I hated 80 percent of the people in my school. It was full of fucking jackasses. Like the socially retarded kids who were like really bad actors, always trying to impress people with their bad jokes and obnoxiously loud voice. The foreign exchange kids who didn't understand anything you said, but somehow excelled in all of their classes while keeping a steady job as a drug dealer. Or the jocks, how could I forget the jocks. At this school, all of the more popular jocks weren't the football players or basketball players. They played volleyball. What a fucking joke of a sport. The only entertaining part of it was when a player would jump too high and then fall on his ankle and break it. Or when someone on the other team would spike a ball into someone's face, shattering their nose on impact. They thought these injuries qualified them to complain, miss class and act above everyone else. Get over yourselves, pick up a football and take a hit like a fucking man. Then maybe I could respect you.

-Turbo Jones

My First Band

I knew these three guys in high school who decided to make it their mission to get famous via the music scene.   I happened to be sitting next to them in one of those bummer computer classes you had to go through; (You remember, the ones that were so goddamn boring/confusing that you ended up saying fuck it, and hit up one of those online game sites every class.) when they asked me if I played any instruments.  I ignored their question and instead asked them what they were looking for.  Bass was on the menu, and so it went that I spent the following summer working my ass off to buy this beautiful , shiny, red, bass guitar.  I joined their band, we all became best friends,  started playing a lot of gigs,  took some promo pics, and were well on our way to being rock stars.  (Hey, this seemed like a real opportunity to me…. And yes I was a naive teenager.)
 
It came time that we wanted to put out a demo to showcase our awesomeness and decided to record it in some sketchy dude’s house.  I went in and did my tracks, which as it happened, needed some editing , but the sketchy man assured me it could be done.  Feeling fine and swell I called up our lead guitarist/front man/supreme dictator of the band, and told him I had finished my tracks.  He was pleased.  He was pleased until he listened to them, and how the sketchy man told HIM it COULDN’T be done.  He called me, so I tried to explain to him what the sketchy man told me about how he could fix the tracks, but then he started yelling at me in German.  He yelled and yelled, then stopped only to check on something that was burning in his oven, then came back and yelled some more.  When he calmed down he told  me how he noticed that I was never in time and how my notes were sloppy.  He said he’d give me a week to practice so I could try recording again, but if it wasn’t better I was out of the band.  I’d been in this band for nearly three years by this point, and he decided that then was a good time to tell me I didn’t know how to play bass.  “Well thanks for telling me NOW you fucker!” I thought to myself.  (I didn’t say it to him, cause, you know… I didn’t really want to find out what he would burn in his oven.)   
 
A week passed, and I tried again.  I saw the Fuher at our next band practice.  He still wasn’t pleased.  The three of them proceeded to explain to me just how bad I actually was at playing bass and decided then and there to give me the boot.  It all seemed like bullshit to me.  Yeah I wasn’t a magical bass player, but maybe if someone would have told me that in the second chorus, on song three, where the drummer goes *badat daaaaa*  is when I was supposed to start my slide, we wouldn’t have been in that fucking mess in the first place!  I still blame the sketchy man.  Or maybe the real reason was because I happened to have made out with the girl that the Fuher had a crush on, or maybe it was because I didn’t always refer to the Fuher as Mein Fuher!  Or maybe it was because I really didn’t practice playing that pretty bass of mine and really didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.  It’s still hard to say……
 
Texas Lee

Thursday, January 8, 2009

DETAINED, DEPORTED, BANNED: My first time being booted from a nation.


It all started at 5:00 am on an August morning of 2008.
I was catching a 7:00am flight from Winnipeg, MB to London, England to spend the next 10 months volunteering and studying at an international multi-cultural education centre.
So after a night of partying, pizza, and beer… Then an hour nap or so, a cab was called, and I made my way to the airport over conversation about the wonderful murder-rate in Winnipeg!
Feelin' a little funky from the night before, the flight was long and uncomfortable….If only I would have known what was coming… Should have slept.
I arrived in London at around 9:00 am, and was looking forward to getting to my hostel for a hot shower, and the ability to sleep laying down ( I had to chill in London for a few nights before I made my way to the school). Dazed and generally confused from the many hours of gross airplane everything, I made my way to one of the many immigration lines… When the time came the lady asked me her questions, I answered them, then she took my passport, and told me go sit down, pointing to a group of chairs that had the feeling of the outside of the principals office. “This can’t be good,” I was thinking…
After a half hour or so a man came, called my name, and told me to follow him. We walked to where my luggage was waiting, and he continued to ask me questions. Basically, they weren’t convinced of my intentions in the UK… I still don’t know where the confusion was. We picked up my stuff and continued to a search station, where this dude searched the shit out of everything I had. After tearing apart my things, and finding nothing unusual, he tells me to pack it back up… A prick, this guy was. He asked me some more of the same questions, and I gave him some more of the same answers. Finally, we made our way to what I thought was me leaving the airport, but in fact turned out to be the detention cell… Where I would spend the next 16 hours. They took my finger prints, photos, etc, and interviewed me once more. Again asking the same questions, which all got the same answers… After their last interview, and failed attempts at pressuring me into admitting that I had used deception to illegally enter the UK, I was thrown back in the cell and was told that I was to be deported on the next flight to Canada. Oh, and banned from the UK for 1 year!
After 16 hours in the detention cell, I was transported via “prisoner van” to a detention centre only a few minutes from the airport. After some more questions, paper work, and a medical exam, I was given a plastic bag of toiletries, and with that alone was showed to my room. Oh, where two other prisoners were already sleeping, and awoken with my arrival - “Great… Hey guys! Wana not kill me in my sleep?”
So a QUICK shower, and a restless nap was had, and I was back in the armoured van on my way to my already missed detention cell at the airport! The time now was around 9:00 am and my flight to Canada was scheduled for around 10:30am. So with over 24 hours of detention, and basically no sleep I found myself on another plain, making its way to Calgary, AB. The bastards couldn’t even do the deed of flying me to my home town. I landed in Calgary, bought myself a ticket to Winnipeg and after a 48 hour trip (24 in the air, and 24 in detention cells), I had returned to Winnipeg from my UK adventure. And that was my first time being "booted" from a country.
R.D.

FUCK YOU IF YOU LIKE WHITE BREAD!

enough said
-D



-people who spray paint their rims should be shot!
-people who paint their rims yellow, loose one, and still dont take the other three off should die trying to "ghost ride" their shit civic

Fuck my life,
-D

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I still love William shatner


This is about William Shatner, one of the coolest guys in the game and how he found his wife dead. William and Nerine met on the set tv show in 1994 (Kung-Fu The Legend Continues). They supposedly had a rocky relationship but they decided to marry in november of 1997. Their relationship was filled with fights always based upon alcohol, so the day before the wedding Nerine was arrested for drunk driving thus postponing the wedding. A month before their first anniversary Bill filed for divorce but reconciled shortly after. One night Bill was coming home from something (this part was a little fishy but a whole other story) to find his wife naked and motionless at the bottom of the pool, bill called 911 and the paramedics arrived but to no use she was gone. the night before they had another fight about Bill wanting another divorce. Now i've never been to close to death or the emotions of it but Mr.Shatner came out with an album named 'Has Been' that has a song on it that really puts you in his place that night. The song is named 'what have you done'. Have a listen to the song and see what bill has to say. I Love William Shatner. R


I don't know who this Jake guy is but if he is anything like me he won't like this.
Travis

This is what it looks like when you jog home in -340C.

Blossom was such a bad TV show. The only good part was when Joey says "woo"
some of her hats were pretty cool to.
Travis

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

Peev'd

Current pet peeves:

1. The saying "pet peeve"
2. People who use cutlery for non-cutlery necessary food items. Damn white people.
3. People who talk on their phone on the bus. I HATE YOU!!!!
4. Haters.
5. Needing to buy cheaply made cheap shit so bad that you trample a 200 pound Walmart employee to death. 


legs


Who grows a mustache, really. Are you trying to impress someone? You look like a feature pedophile. At least grow a soul patch to go with it.
youknowme
so i was reading a little Hemmingway, and it turns out that bullfighting is pretty complicated. Must have sucked being an early adopter in that sport, before they had things like swords and fancy clothes. I would just like to point out that we actually played seven degrees of Kevin Bacon at the last meeting.
n.

Monday, January 5, 2009

Kickin Bitches Down The Steps Just For Rep

Once upon a time, I got down with a girl in a bathroom while my friend was four feet away dropping some kids off at the pool.

Let's back it up a few hours though.

We had this friend who we called the Head, seeing how his head was massive. Like an orange on a toothpick. He was a virgin and was sick of being bugged about it. So he finally found a girl who was easy on the eyes, and down for the get down. He brought her to the party and we all got drunk together. But the more I drank, the more I would flirt with her. It was hard not to when she was undressing me with her eyes, a drunk lanky asshole, who would've knew. The entire night Head was trying to take her in the back room and get hooked up with a quickie or something. But she wasn't having it.

I found myself in the cellar getting ice for my next rumdrink when I hear the door slam behind me and then I get pushed into the freezer. She thrusted herself onto me like a priest on an alter boy. I had no idea whether to kiss her back or to tell her to go fuck herself. But seeing how I have an alcohol fueled-penis, we started going at it. I usually fucking hate when people use the word tonsil hockey, but this was full contact tonsil hockey. It felt like her tongue was fondling the hangy ball thing in my throat.

After a loud bang at the door and Head yelling "what the fuck is going on in there?!", I jumped away from her and made it seem like she was helping me look for my "lost keys".

I remember her saying something to people at the party along the lines of "I haven't had sex in so long!" followed by Head saying "well then let's go! right now baby!" She leaned over to me and gently whispered in my ear "I would rather fuck you than a guy with a head the size of a computer monitor." I couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

As the night deepened, so did our tongues in eachothers throats. Every ten or so minutes we would meet back on top of the freezer. Until she finally pulled me into the bathroom. As soon as the door knob clicked close, I swear she was completely naked. The kissing was getting to the point of us slamming eachother at walls and her thighs wrapped around my waist. So somehow we wound up in the shower and I hear the bathroom door open..

It was another friend of mine, he had to take a shit. I think it was the liquor but somehow he didn't notice all of our clothes scattered on the tiled floor. He didn't hear our feet squeaking on the plastic shower floor either. Here we are, two drunk, naked seventeen year olds, standing in a shower waiting for someone to finish shitting and leave the room. Eventually our hormones took over and we were back at it, with my friend still shitting. He ended up hearing and peeking behind the shower curtain just as I was on the verge of insertion. The look he gave me can't be compared or reproduced. It was speechless, mixed with surprise and just a dash of "Holy fuck!"

He replied to what he saw with... "I didn't see anything, as long as I can finish this poop"

I said deal and the three of us all continued what we were doing. My friend offered to join, but she wasn't having it. Being the person he was though, I definately saw him watching for minutes at a time.

Keeping this secret was pointless because somehow everyone found out three days later at school. We all shared a laugh and a chuckle over the story but Head was as crushed as that girl's pride.

That's the first time I had sex with someone watching..



-Turbo Jones

Zulu meets Hoffman


Johnny Clegg has been making albums since 1979, so he's pretty old now. See above noted picture for proof. Cruel, Crazy, Beautiful World, released in 1989 is a huge part pop with barely enough catchy to roll up into a joint. Like a pinner you would smoke in high school; one worth only a couple hoots that you would quikly blow out your window so mom wouldn't smell it when she came to say goodnight, yah, that kind. The songwriting is majorly political driven, not bad actually, kind of like Wycliff Jean's "If I was President" feel to it, only 1980's steeze. Johnny sounds a little less twangy then Geddy Lee (Rush lead singer), which is nice because it gives you something to vomit to when you're so sick that you just need to puke. But your finger down your throat just isn't quite doing the trick... you know, oh, come on- whatever. Savuka was the inter racial band formed by Johnny in 1986 after his last inter racial group, Jaluka, disbanded- probably because their name sucked. Music that could only be described like 3 parts Dustin Hoffman's super gay pop music, mixed with 2 parts Steven Seagall's ultra gay guitar solo's, and with an added teaspoon of Zulu back-up vocals. yah, I know, weird.

Flavour Savour

For the love of Madge


Madonna   Hard Candy(2008)

To say this album was 4 minutes too long is a gross understatement. Even with the help of producers and vocal appearances by Justin Timberlake, Timbaland, Kanye and Pharell, this record just sounds like another Britney or Gwen record mixed and tweaked by the biggest dudes in the game. But with Britney, her music comes accross as a guilty pleasure because you know her songs are catchy, easily digestible mass-appealing fluff. Madonna has a 20+ successful career under her belt and is apparantly trying to tap that same audience. Good god the cover alone!

This takes my vote as worst album of 2008. 
One (old) star

legs

I hate kevin bacon so much

The Bacon Brothers - Getting There 1999

Wow Kevin Bacon's older brother taught little kevin some chords on the guitar, because kevin had no good movies coming out and  women don't think he's attractive anymore. So little Kevin and old bro Michael made a cd that was so much of a waste of everyone's time. The songs mean nothing and I felt no connection to any of it with songs like 'when you decide you've stayed too long' and 'chop wood'. The album titled 'Getting There' sorry kevin the songs go nowhere. Note please look at the album cover to see what no creativity looks like. also it came with a catalog for tee shirts, posters, and hats of the bacon brothers. Perfect. No stars. I hate the movie Tremors now.-R

All Access

I hesitate to submit this, solely because it kinda ruins the majesty of the moment, and also because if the authorities ever got their hands on it, it might not be able to happen again. But here goes...

Me and a friend of mine, Adam, own a bus. Actually, now we own buses. School Buses. All those party buses you see driving drunk slobs around; we were doing that since junior high. Posers. We converted it to an 'RV', which in legal speak means 'cheap insurance'. The taxi cab bureau gave us some grief and a summons to court for driving people around, but dude, just because you have a uniform and a clipboard does not mean i give a shit. I'm more intimidated by mall cops.

Anyway, we decided it was a good idea to take a road trip. We got a few people together and headed off to Warped Tour in Calgary. We had actually gone the year before, but we did it all in three days and i had an unfortunate incident with a pepperoni stick and and juicemonkey in a black Avalanche (douchebag, i still have your plate, and if you're reading this, i hope yo drop a dumbell on your nuts), which is another in the long line of reasons that i hate Calgary.

The next year we decidec to take a little more time, so we got there early, before any of the bands had shown up, even any of the crews. The year before we parked outside the gate, and were kept up all night by people who thought it was cool to kick our bus and try to roll it over. Now the gate was wide open, and not knowing where else to park, we went behind the racetrack where the fest happens, and parked. There were only a few semi's there, and nobody to kick us out, so we settled in for the night. We woke up and it was a damn gypsy village. Vans, buses, and trailers all over the place, people whizzing around on little scooters, that kind of thing.

We were a little groggy, but we finally put it together when someone came onto our bus and asked us what band we were, or with. No, man, we aren't a band, we just came for the free parking. Schweet, backstage at a rock show. We were parked next to the designated BBQ band, Eight Fingers Down, (i think, i still haven't listened to their CD), cracked some beers, and had a nap on top of the bus. We offered the bands some beers, but they kind of just ignored us (and the beers. what kind of rockers are you anyway?) so we walked around and just checked it out.

While me and Adam were watching the crews set up, havin a beer and minding out own, security comes and taps us on the shoulder. Now this whole time we are walking around with this feeling of "we are totally not supposed to be here, we are totally gonna get busted, this is totally awesome".

"what are you doing here?"
"came for the show"
"you in a band?"
"no"

Adam saved the day by telling him we were just merch guys, a little lots and out of it from 'last night'. By the way, 'last night' is a pretty all encompassing term that can get you out of a lot of tight situations. We played Bocce with a band that got called in from Winnipeg the night before (and they drank our beers). They told us stories of having sex next to poo, a crazy african woman, and wolves in their house. We walked through the gates around the back, bypassing security check (still have the unused ticket), and had a good ol' day watching bands in the blazing heat.

We were a little worried about getting back to the bus, 'cause everyone else had passes and stuff. I think we bribed the guard with oral favours or something. anyway, we made it back for the after show BBQ, had some burgers and played some disc. Chatted with AFI around the fire and watched the sun set. We found out that everyone was really late yesterday because they all got really wrecked in Golden, and they had to leave early because they had to cross the border the next day. I thought it was because nobody really likes to stay in Calgary.

We ended up going to Banff that night, and waking up with mountains everywhere, which is pretty magical in itself. Bocce-ed around Banff, and went home the next day.

Oh yeah, and Calgary sucks.

X-treeeeem

History lesson: once upon a time, a rock and a tree had a bastard love child and call it Nature. Nature got bored and started moving around a lot. Eventually it got to a point where it would move around in the most spasmodic and least sensible way possible, to what eventually came to be extreme sports.

Everything had to start somewhere. Extreme sports, such as wind surfing, motocross, and dinosaur wrestling, are all basically designed so that the participants to a little as possible while exerting the most effort. It's science, really. Actually, it's what science would be if Math got wasted on Amphetamines and tried to get with Physics, who is a dirty, dirty tramp. So once upon a time, way down the evolution chain when legs were a mere fantasy, walking was the first extreme sport. The snakes and fish and weird jelly things now long extinct all looked up in amazement at anything that walked; like "damn, that thing is totally rad, he's walking to get food. That's soo complicated it blows my mind!" because everyone was still syphoning food through cell membranes. (this was, like, years after having a spine was the cool thing to do)

I'm pretty sure i learned all this, or not.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

First pet in the matrix

When growing up parents want to try to give kids some sort of responsibility to try to make one grow alittle, my parents gave me two hamsters. I didn't want hamsters but whatever. 

In grade seven I was given two hamsters which i named of course, Morpheus and Trinity (the matrix just came out). I wasn't too pumped to get hamsters but even hamsters had their time of fun for about ten minutes, but the novelty soon wore off. The two were always so noisy with being busy finding the one to save their universe and jumping in and out of the matrix and what not. So I sent them down stairs in the dark and lonely basement. Now I'm not to eager to take care of these hamsters and am one of those kids that don't give a shit about them so I don't go down there for quite a while. Oh yeah I couldn't be bothered to feed them either. I think two months pass before anyone ventured into the basement so I went to see if they were still their( like they would disappear, very child like way of thinking).  Trinity was the only one in there with blood and some remains of what could have been Morpheus scattered all over the cage, I guess eat when the eating's good, trinity was dead though. Into the garbage went the blood and guts as well as the cage. And Thus ends the trilogy of the matrix. Sucks,the cage was kinda nice too.

Marcel's Big Day

Living in Banff a couple years back, i was staying in a house that a few buddies and i rented. young adults in our twenties all we did was smoke weed and party with the occasional day of snowboarding, oh yeah own a couple hamsters. I was working at a job cleaning dishes at the local restaurant when I got a message. The cops were raiding my house because we may have been known for dealing some marijuana......... okay we did deal alot of weed.  I dropped everything to tell my boss that i gotta jet home and take care of some shit . Seeing numerous police cars out side the house and the k9 unit vehicle was there as well I knew what was happening. Open the door to see eight cops with a search dog in the place that I get high and where I keep all my paraphernalia for getting high. My two friends both in hand cuffs sitting on the floor, one in his normal clothes and the other straight out of the shower, soaked and shampooed ass naked sitting next to the other. The squad and dog were headed by the local asshole rookie cop trying to make a name for himself with his first big drug bust, Marcel.

Immediately I was put into hand cuffs and sat down by my fellow criminals. Nervously sitting waiting for the dog to go straight for some weed, although I didn't have any but I couldn't speak for the others. After a few hours of them sifting through everything and ripping everything apart they found nothing but about a hundred packs of rolling papers which they confiscated along with the dozen or so hamsters we had let multiply and were living in any kind of container we could find. We had to separate them because they would just kill each other so we put some in ice cream containers and any other buckets or boxes we could find. 

It was our lucky day. The police decide to pack up and leave without laying any kind of arrest or charges. Marcel the local asshole cop was very obviously embarrassed and was going to be in shit for bringing the k9 unit out from Calgary and wasting every ones time. This was one of the shittiest times in my life turn into one of the best. To see Marcel The Kindergarten Cop (which was his name by everyone in the village after this day) get shut down was such a sweet victory. That was the first time my house got raided.

T-ball, My dad, and the pee

I think I was 8, lets just say it would be about summer 1992.  I will always remember going to T-Ball with my dad, fucking t-ball. Remember the kids on your team that didn't have any athletics in them at all, the ones that walked funny or were so lazy ass that they would suck at anything they would do, even t-ball the most effortless sports ever.  I mean all you have to do is look at the ball on a stick and hit the bitch, that's it. strike one stupid.

So at the end of a game I needed to urinate so bad my life would implode if i didn't.  Vigorously yanking on my dads arm to get him to solve my problem, he turns to me and in a stressful voice tells me to find a place to go, he doesn't care. Okay, one thing here are people everywhere, four baseball diamonds full of people I guess it's t-ball day. So I sneak in between the hockey rinks with almost tears in my eyes, perfect. Now all I have to do is make it fast. Oh the feeling of absolute relief... until I see trouble. about twenty five meters away some parents with their kids coming straight for me, panic returns, and I still have a full bladder of molten gold. okay okay look around taking steps back and forth still peeing thinking what to do. crap times up don't think just do, quick act casual pinch it pinch it!, pull up the shorts act natural. Now going through the emotions of the stinging that comes with pinching off a large pee I try to say something that will hopefully take their eyes off my shorts and the pee stains that are so prominently in front of them. in the split second the phrases run through my brain, I'm just waiting for my dad was the best one I could find. I knew what they were thinking too like okay kid, I see the pee, I see you are doing nothing between the hockey rinks, don't try to fake me into thinking you're not peeing you're pants, they could see right through me which added to the emotions of stinging pee. After finishing up after they had passed I ran over to me pa  hiding the pee on my shorts. I hadn't told a soul about this incident until now...

 Oh yeah i have a similar story bout pooing in an outdoor hockey rink's penalty box.

my red, white and brown underpants

Lately the theme seems to be new things; the new year, the new awesome president of America, the newest, freshest magazine on the market. So in respect to this recent trend, here's something new for everyone. I can guarantee that no one has embarked on such a quest. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Once upon a time seems suiting. I was young an inexperienced at the time and was invited to a party that my friend's said would be "pretty rad". I wasn't much of the party attending type at the time but decided that given my current relationship status it really wouldn't hurt to get out and mingle with someone other than my "pretty rad" friends.

I can't recall which day it was exactly, let's say it was a Friday night, either way I ended up going to this "rad" party. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty awesome. The night went by splendidly, a bunch of drinks and a bunch of casual conversation. At the the end of the night I ended up being a little slurry, however, still in control and having the time of my life. The next hour is a little fuzzy when it comes to exact details but somehow I met a girl and ended up back at her place in her room. What came after will forever be engraved into the depths of my memoirs to the utmost detail.

This would be the first time I had sex.

Everything was going wonderfully, or so I imagined from all the stories I'd heard and movies I'd seen. The only things that threw me off was this girl's interest in me, and the layer of thin plastic covering the bed. Somewhere in the magic of it all, this girl, that I would later describe as nothing more than a freak, suggested that it would be pleasurable if she inserted a small dildo into my ass. So me being the guy who was still slightly under the influence and who had lost his virginity only moments earlier decided that this suggestion could only make the situation more stimulating than it already was. I think the response I used was "why not?". I may have even thrown an exclamation point in there at the time also. "Why not?", shit, if I had known what I was in for the last thing I would have been doing was dropping questions like that. I would have found my favorite underwear that were somewhere in that foul room, slipped them on, grabbed my pants and gotten the fuck out of there before the faux-pas-ness of putting my feet into my shoes without socks on even crossed my mind. Instead there I was with a smile on my face and something smooth in my ass.

This went on for sometime, but like I said, It was my first time. I'd like to think I was lucky for this because the embarrassment could have gone on for much longer had it been further into my sexual career. But then again, maybe if I was more experienced I would have known better than to get myself into the situation I was in.

Climax was nearing and I informed my "partner" of this. Just as I was doing what I went there to do, the freak decided to pop the dildo out of my ass at the same speed and pressure that could only be compared to the cork on a champagne bottle doing what it does best. This was a bad thing. I immediately found out that something being pulled out of your ass at such a speed does what an enema would do. I also found out what the plastic sheets were for.

Before I knew why the room smelled like last night's dinner there she was, this girl, the freak, rolling around and playing in my shit, an act I could only describe as "something I saw on the Discovery Channel last month".



--------------




Now, part of me would like to take credit for such a feat, but I can't. This sexual quest actually happened to a friend of a friend of mine. Sure it was a first on many fronts for this brave soul; his first time having sex, his first time having something slipped into his ass, his first time running out the door with only his underwear on and his first time having a life changing story to share with his friends. But what was really a first was the way I felt when he delivered the punch line. It was the first time I felt sick and puked a little bit in my mouth from someone telling me a story.


This story has been passed on to many people, probably changing each listener's life a little bit no matter how tough they think they are. But really, what we should all walk away from this with is that if ever you come upon plastic sheets, let that be sign enough to get out as fast as a cork exiting a bottle of champagne.














as for shit on the covers...

I see that everyone involved in the NUS Collective is very talented and has a lot to bring to the table. This excites me. I cannot wait to see what things come from all of this. It also convinces me that the NUS will never have anything close to shit on it's covers.



-DH

Saturday, January 3, 2009

Paying is for suckers.



This summer myself and two friends embarked on a road trip from our town of Fernie, BC.

Destination: Pemberton, for the first ever Pemberton Music festival.
Whip: My 1988 Toyota Corolla, "SHE-RA" princess of power.

Morning of departure, i ask my supposed co-pilot, the only other friend with a license:
"so, uh Dan. You know how to drive standard, right?"
"No."
"Oh. God Damn."

13 hours of driving later($85 gas split 3 ways) we made it to Hongcouver. Stayed with some friends (case of beer) for a couple days and then drove up to Pemberton.

This festival, lauded as being another Sasquatch, Coachella or Glastonbury, had a $300 price tag, along with fees+taxes+$60 a head for camping. Being the ski-bum-broke-asses that we were(are) we volunteered for the festival, meaning we didn't pay anything.($0).

40,000 people arrived in a town of 1500 over the course of one day. Wait times to check in were upwards of 5 hours. They searched every car for outside booze, so that cheap Alberta beer you brought had to be polished before you even got inside. Masses of people were pissed, both with anger and lots and lots of alcohol. Because of our volunteer status, we got in right away and they didnt search my car and find the cheap booze we bought in Montana the weekend prior. Lesson? Booze in BC is expensive. Once inside, it was $ 7 PER BEER. The first night, there were riots. It was mayhem at its finest.

We showed up to volunteer, and no one knew what to do with us. We kept getting sent around to various people, all of whom had no idea what we were even talking about. After a (semi)honest effort of TRYING to volunteer, we said fuck it, and with our festival wristbands already provided, we snaked the festival hard.

Mayhem aside, 4 days of live music tucked in the majestic mountains with 40,000 other people was a party never seen before in Canada. There were some bad reviews regarding the sheer disorganization of the festival, and maybe i too would be soured if i had actually paid all that money to go.

But i didnt. So it was awesome.

legs

I Wear These X's On My Hand Like You Wear Those Herpes On Your Lips

Not many people know but I used to be straight edge. I didn't drink, smoke or fuck anything that walked past me. Hardcore was a lifestyle for me. The people, the music and the morals. Then I made friends that weren't as geeky as I am and discovered the immaculate taste of Lucky Lager and Olde English.

I was seventeen the first time I got drunk. A keg party in St. Eustache, free hotdogs and all the drink tickets I wanted. Nobody told me how dangerous people get when they drink, I had to find out first hand. I vaguely remember the events of the night but I recall dancing on a stage and some super slutty looking girl pushed me off. So I got right the fuck back on and face pushed her off. Bad idea. The next thing I know I'm getting pulled by my brand new Boston Celtics jersey onto the hard ground. When I looked up at who pulled me all I could see was burly muscles covered with tribal art and a wife beater. This guy was a real fucking meathead. "Yo what the fuck is your problem buddy?!" Keep in mind I completely ignore my morals and don't care what happens when I'm drunk. So I replied with "Go back to Shapes, cocksucker" The surprise in his eyes that I wasn't going to back down was completely taken over with hatred as red as the flame decals on his Dodge Ram. At this point I see my friend Brad dive off of the stage head first into this guy. He was down and the standoff was over. I would have had the living hell beaten out of me that night if it weren't for Brad. There's no doubt in my mind I would have woken up in the trunk of a car in Morden. But instead I woke up in the back of a truck with a gorgeous girl I didn't know. Her wearing my new Celtics Jersey and me in nothing but my Asics and underwear.

-Turbo Jones

Note: I don't know if this is long enough. But it's the only good first I can remember.

I wish i was a Master Baiter.

First; an insincere apology to people who like bass master video games. The follwing is the opinion of someone who is probably cooler than you are.

If there is a first time for everything, i'm still waiting for the first time i see someone actually catch a fish in Bass Masters. or any other video fishing for that matter. So here is my beef. I have absolutely nothing against either fishing of video games, but put it together and it sucks. Let me explain

Every time me and my cousin Den would get together, he would insist on renting Bass Masters for super nintendo. i would try to play it, get bored, watch him play it (even more boring but with the opportunity to munch the chips meanwhile), and if it was really late and i couldn't get to sleep i would pick up the controller again. But never have i seen someone catch a fish. and i was reminded of this a little while ago, sitting in my livingroom playing bass fishing on PS2. Everytime a fish would get on the line, and we seemed to be making progress, it would wiggle off, mocking our pitiful efforts. And i was thinking not much has changed from the days of super nintendo.

But the games are much better. It looks nicer, and i'm sure there is an increased level of 'realism'. Now i'm sorry (no i'm not) but realism in fishing for me is the sunrise/sunset with a beer(s) at hand, and not much on your mind. But to someone who really cares, i'm sure you can 'really tell the difference'. Like the drag tension-o-meter is real time, or some garbage. Now who on earth would spend anytime out of their life to improve a fishing game? And especially a game that you can't, to my knowledge, actually catch fish in?

It must be the Japanese (who the Kids in the Hall taught are a country, not a company), or at least people pretending to be Japanese. This is why the Japanese would make a better Bass Masters. Because it is written somewhere in their forgiegn policy that they have to take boring Western culture and give it a shot of speed, heroin, and neon lights, all done with a Samurai precision. So we can soon expect DDR-type bass fishing, with projected 3D fireworks when you catch a fish, and lots of girls with crazy hair and short skirts. Maybe that's just wishful thinking.

But seriously, there are people out there as we speak, interview and collaborating with Bob Izumi (coincidence?) on how to make a better, more realistic fishing game.
It's amazing what lengths people will go to be appreciated. But who am i to judge, just because i can't catch a damn fish in these stupid games.

And to add insult to it, a couple of days later, while i wasn't around, my friends went and started winning trophies, landing master anglers, and otherwise kicking ass at the game. So i still haven't seen it happen. But i think if i do, the world will fall into itself and become bizzaro or something. So you can thank me later.

The First Time I Pushed My Girlfriend

It was the summer of 04, Shane was my “get HIGHHH” friend, and lived a couple blocks from our high school. Being a drug dealer I always had marijuana so every lunch we would stroll over to his crib and hit a couple bong rips before heading back to school. However it was Friday and Shane’s birthday so we decided to skip and get a 66 of rye.
We started slowly, sipping some bevies and catching sun rays on his porch. Afternoon came to evening and we were starting to get a little mellow. It was either take a nap or take something to keep us going…we opted for a gram of cocaine...The phone was ringing off the hook and people started to arrive for the birthday celebrations. Shane and I, both heavily intoxicated, kept knocking them back and ripping lines like no ones biz!!!
My sweetheart of a girlfriend came to take me home after calling several times and getting slurred words. Remember I’m telling this from what I remember so it’s a bit fuzzy…. I was up in Shane’s tiny room half conscious trying to mingle with the few around when Christie came to get me. Of course, not wanting to go and hating being told what to do by a woman was FURIOUS!!!!
After trying for several minutes to verbally get me to move/get up she resorted to gently pulling my arm… Being the sniffed out prick that I was, I forcefully shoved her, and she “smashed herself” on the door.
Of course, being the sweet innocent girl she was, this set off the water works…she of course left the room. My friends downstairs saw her crying and quickly acted on my drunk ass…ha ha….carrying me down the stairs and through the door to the porch where I insisted I could walk from their. The rain gently fell so only a couple escorted me to Christies car where of course I refused to get in and started walking home. I got half a block away before the car pulled up and two friends tricked/forced me into the car.
A word to anyone dealing with a rye-pied-cocaine high teen…they are no longer your friend, faces, voices, friendships don’t exist to these zombies. The only thing you can do is treat them like a three year old child and trick them into thinking they are in control when you are really in control.

Friday, January 2, 2009

Someone's stolen my mountain

This stuff is supposed to be about firsts. Big deal. I mean that without sarcasm, it actually is a big deal, cause it's our first issue and being first is something. A specifically non-specific something. So i had some extra time on my hands and i was thinking, what exactly is the big deal?
For starters, the first time is usually never the best time; if it was, there would be no need for a second time, and if there was a second time it would be like an overweight ballerina; sad and funny, a rainbow of hopelessness. And they say one is the loneliest number. And they are never wrong.
I happened to be reading through a National Geographic recently about the 50th anniversary of the first summit of Everest. I'm not sure on how old the magazine actually is, and i'm far too busy (ie lazy) to find out, but the point was that it was an amazing accomplishment of human will and spirit, and there are all kinds of incredible stories that are apart of it. Sir Ed Hillary and Tenzing Norgay set foot on a place were no foot had ever been set, it was awe inspiring, and when they got back down, they said they couldn't conceive of anyone trying to do it again. Stupid mountain climbers.
There were other stories about other climbers that went through hell to get to Everest, but somehow they just weren't as interesting. Everyone remembers the first man on the moon, but can you name anyone else that went there? Didn't think so. ( If you can, stop watching discovery channel all day and get a girlfriend or a job or something). Lots of people keep on doing it, now there are plans to take tourist into space, and Everest is so packed with 'tourist' climbers that you have to bump shoulders on the way up. I'm not saying climbing a mountain is easy, and plenty have tried to go up 'the hard way' or be the first to climb it in like under an hour or something. so instead of being daring, people settle for different, and by different, you know, i mean "different". This will inevitably lead to things like the first gay couple to climb Everest wearing only organic fibres. Who cares? no one. Climb the mountain because it's there, but you can't climb it because you'd be the first in someway, it's been done. I'm sure the view is incredible, but it used to be that you had to earn that kind of thing.
We remember out firsts because they are that leap of faith into new experience, doing something that couldn't be done and doing it, coming down from the mountain and saying "We've done the bastard. When's tea?". Good or bad, it's a milestone in our lives, in our history, it's a point that we can no longer step back from. And it's a bunch of stupid people that have no sense of history or significance or the fact that there is nothing special in being the first to glue yourself to the Eiffel Tower. Just because it can go on YouTube, doesn't mean anyone will care.
The point is that firsts are special things, individual things, and if they are important historical things. So here's to our little bit of history. It may not be tour best, but it certainly is our first. Here's to popping my publishing cherry.

My First Headbutt

How was your twelfth birthday? Did you have cake? Pizza pops? Maybe you had a movie and a sleep over. Most people had things of that nature, unless they were born in a third world country and were just lucky enough to make it to their twelfth year of life. I’m sure most people feel genuinely sorry that those children don’t have the same luxuries that everyone has.

Well, my twelfth celebration of life consisted of all those things above mentioned, and then a little more. I cannot recall which movie we were watching, but I do remember a mix of hilarity as my friends and I talked of Baywatch girls like Yasmine Bleeth and the notorious Pamela Anderson. As I can recall in mid conversation there was a bellowing thunder of a bang that came from the basement door. Scared shitless would have been the expression all of us shared as we looked amongst our faces.

Now fifteen minutes earlier I decided it was a good idea to lock the basement door to keep my younger brother and his immature friend out of our homo erotic party. They had their fun while running in, laughing, and skipping out like a pedophile skips town. Obviously for a now mature twelve year old, this was un-acceptable to put my friends through, so fuck my brother and his friend, they can touch their dinks upstairs.

Obviously, I knew this was not the knock of my brother and his friend. And obviously, shitty, but obvious… this was my task to go and open the door. “Click” went the lock and before I even had the chance to place my hand on the knob, the door swung open with the force of a rhinoceros charging. Sidetrack: Have you ever seen Land Before Time? And if so, do you remember the fight between those two dinosaurs with the bone heads? That’s kind of what happened to me, only the flat part of my step father’s skull hit the bridge of my nose.

Blood shot everywhere, all over my shirt, the floor, obs the door. And my step dad stormed off as if he had no business to even knock on the basement door. I should have went to the hospital, but I toughed it out, I was twelve years old now. Fuck life. And more so, fuck those kids in Africa who don’t have to deal with this shit. I don’t feel sorry for them at all.