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The place to settle all who's dead arguments. Plus you can sign up and be notified when anyone dies!!!

One For The Hypochristians.

All right, it’s here. My least favorite time of year has snuck up on us once again, low and from behind, like some kind of good will shark looking for a weak spot to twist its Hell- brushed teeth into. The weak spot is about half way down our spines. Our weak spines. Our weak, easily chomped into spines. Say, hang on just a second; did I just portray all or most of us as ‘spineless’ or lacking in backbone? Yes. Yes I did. Why? Because of what we allow to happen every year and because of the way we react to it. I am referring, of course, to xmas. The high point of the xtian year, with all it’s reminders and wonderful examples of how to live a proper life and thus ensure entry to what has GOT to be the dullest, most mind-numbing, tedious to spend the remainder of eternity. This annual imitation of friendliness and genuine concern that most people only pull out of storage once or twice a year is utilized almost without conscious thought. Think about it – all the shit that’s uttered:

“Merry Xmas. Good to see you. How’s the family? Kids Ok? Aw, that’s nice. You look terrific. Give (insert name of loved one here) our warmest regards.”

Therein begins my problem. The speaker is not actually wishing you a Merry Xmas, doesn’t give a flying fuck about it, as long as S/he gets everything on their shopping list and everything on their wish list. It’s not quite as good to see you as was declared, because you’re causing them to waste their precious time trading small talk and gazing distractedly away when you reply. Remember, these are people who, for the rest of the year, can’t even be bothered to tell you “Fuck off. Drop dead. Bounce twice.”
Yet, for two or three weeks a year, these folks are filled with naught but brotherly love and goodwill towards all. They’ll kick in a buck or two to send one of those MISERABLE toque – shaped greeting cards many of the stores are hawking to ‘our’ brave, heroic Olympic athletes. They’ll buy clothes to help support ‘their’ Olympic community. When told they can’t protest, rally, sell or display non -Olympic Committee sanctioned products or advertising, they’ll either nod with sheep like approval, or in an even more bovine approach, cast their eyes downward and shake their heads sadly (But only if no one is watching). Yes, in fact, supporting the very event that is bleeding Vancouver dry and ensuring our financial debt for years to come. The event that is costing millions of dollars, all to impress the world with Vancouver’s progressive, modern, ecologically aware (although at the same time laid-back, casual and almost fanatically relaxed) outlook for the future. What does any of this have to do with Xmas and Hypochristians? All the money spent on these so-called Olympic Games could be better spent helping those who are homeless, facing addiction issues, mentally ill, un or underemployed, single parents, old age pensioners, whatever. Notice I just mentioned some of the groups that our police farce would like to sweep under the carpet, under the thin disguise of ‘concern’ .

Part 2 coming soon. Promise.

The Adicts - Viva La Revolution & Joker in the Pack

My Hero/Mentor/Pal - Capt. Rowdy.

Some trivia about Paranoid:

Amusing stuff about the following song!

It was Black Sabbath's first single.
The song that was to become their biggest hit was written as a filler for the album. It is supposedly written in 10 minutes. Tommy Iommi found the riff while the other members of the band were having lunch. The lyrics were not written by Ozzy Osbourne, but by bass player (Geezer Butler).
The intro riff comes from Led Zeppelin's song Dazed and Confused. Led Zeppelin was a great influence for Black Sabbath.
It was played at the Queen's jubilee by Ozzy Osbourne. The Queen of England requested it.
The word "paranoid" does not occur in the song lyrics.
"I tell you to enjoy life" is a phrase in the lyrics that is often misheard as "I tell you to end your life".
The song appears in numerous movies and even video games (Rock Band, Guitar Hero 3: Legends of Rock).

Now, scroll down and enjoy the vid!!!

Ps: to 'Becca and Stiv - Operation Forehead 2 is yielding results after just one day!! He's already starting to twitch!!!

Blast from the Past

The Shocking Truth Behind The Impact That Sunday School, Play-school, and Kindergarten Had On My Attitude Towards Education.

OR

That’s Fucked Up.

Here we go, kids! My long awaited educational time-line, complete with ages – unassailable proof of the manner in which I was caused, against my will, to detest school and all those associated with it.

3⅜ years old. Sunday school. (All the other moms told mine that it’s just what everyone does, so, like most immigrants who want to fit in, Ma listened to them). As I was only 3⅜ years old, my memory of the events is incomplete at best, so I’ll just go with the story the way I’ve always heard it. About 20 minutes after the start of my first time at Sunday school, Ma answered the phone call that marked what was also to be my last time at Sunday school. She was asked to pick me up, and told not to bring me back again. The reason? The Sunday school-marm had freaked out and locked herself in an office, refusing to come out and insisting that I was ‘the Devil incarnate’. I had apparently taken exception to something she’d said, made ‘horns’ on my head with my fingers, then chased her around the room, roaring like an animal. She finally managed to race up a short flight of stairs and took refuge in the office. Did I mention she was a fully-grown, adult woman and I was 3⅜ years old at the time?
4 years old. Play school. (Pre – Kindergarten). Another phone call, this time from a woman with the unlikely moniker “Miss Muffet,” another request to keep me home. This time out, the claim was that I had been swearing, as well as teaching the other toddlers to swear right along with me. What had I said? An excellent question, and, coincidentally, the very question posed by Ma. Muffet said she didn’t dare repeat it, so Ma naturally assumed I’d gotten hold of one of the ‘BIG ONES’ – shit or fuck or something equally unacceptable for use in polite society. (The truth of the matter is – it was Ralphie, but I never did rat him out. Until now.) It took a solid 5 minutes of cajoling to finally get a seriously embarrassed Muffet to repeat the foul words. Ready? Pee pee bum. That’s it. From a 4 year old. Pee pee bum. I had just undergone my second expulsion from a supposed ‘Learning Institute’ in as many years for saying Pee pee bum. And it wasn’t even me. When Ma told our Doctor about it later that day, she pissed herself laughing. Really. Pissed her pants right there in the office.
5 years old. Kindergarten. Huge fight with idiot ‘teacher’ over school pageant costuming. Ma had made me a truly swell costume with the best fake beard you have ever seen. Despite my repeated and loud explanation that this was, in fact, a beard, the moron insisted it was actually a wig, treated it as such and sent me out on fucking stage with my fucking beard on my fucking head. At least Ma got a laugh out of it.
 

And it just keeps getting weirder, but like Hunter S. said,  "When the going gets weird, the weird turn Pro."

Grade 2, The Hatred Continues

Grade 2. Now I am 7. This segment requires a bit of background information: during the all too short 2 months of summer vacation, my family went to Drumheller, Alberta – a major source of authentic dinosaur fossils. While fucking around in the dirt, as 7 year olds will, I found a skull, sort of cat like, but also with a canine look to it. Even at 7, I was not naïve enough to think it was a saber tooth skull, or some previously undiscovered flying reptile, but it was a skull. A real skull. You have to admit; to a 7-year-old boy any skull at all is fucking MassCool! And what better item to bring to school for Show – and – Tell, than an actual, bona-fide SKULL!? When my teacher caught sight of it, she tried to trade me something of hers for the skull. It was a piece of tree – branch that had been chewed by a beaver (“See? You can still see the teeth marks!”). I declined her kind offer to swap a piece of fucking wood for my insanely cool skull, and went on to give a Show – and – Tell performance that I’m sure they’re still talking about today. As we were charging out of class for recess, this teacher, this veritable slice of mature, educated perfection, told me I was not allowed to take my skull outside, as it could become lost or broken, and must leave it safely locked up in the classroom. She would lock the door with the only key that existed for it, and all would be happy elves, rainbows and ‘Archie’s’ songs upon my return. Upon my return, I was approached by the very concerned and troubled looking teacher and told that, although she was in possession of the sole key to the room, someone, somehow, had found a way in and had stolen my skull. She told me she would replace it. “How?” I wanted to know. (I may have been 7, but I wasn’t an idiot). She answered my question by presenting me with the piece of tree – branch that had been chewed by a beaver, ensuring me that it was easily as interesting and “just as good” as my skull. Ok, Sherlock, here we go – A locked room containing an object desired by the only person with a key to that room. The object is stolen, no signs of forced entry, and the victim is compensated with a far crappier, inferior object - the very same object, which had, in fact, just prior to the theft, been unsuccessfully offered in trade for the less crappy, superior one.

Next: The Shocking Truth Behind The Impact That Sunday School, Play-school, and Kindergarten Had On My Attitude Towards Education.

OR

That's Fucked Up.

My (Possibly) Unpopular Take On Recent Headlines.

(From the Tuesday, Nov 17, issue of The Vancouver Province.)

Ok, first and foremost, full video footage of two R.C.M.P. Taser related deaths. The buzz in the Newspapers is that some people are demanding that the R.C.M.P. release full videos (in their possession) of two men who died either in custody or shortly afterwards, as a result of repeated Taserings, pepper sprayings and baton-beatings. Videos that actually show R.C.M.P. members dragging their victims around, face down and hog – tied, among other acts of obvious violence. My question is simple: if these vids exist, as they do, why does anyone even have to demand their release? As long as it’s all right with the victim’s families (which it is), these videos should never have been withheld to begin with. If the R.C.M.P. had video of you or I electrically shocking, pepper spraying, beating and dragging tied up victims around – actions that resulted in the person’s death – don’t you think they’d release said footage immediately? In contrast, if we ourselves were in possession of these vids, wouldn’t they do everything in their (far too excessive) power to obtain the footage and bring that evidence to light? Methinks it’s high time these State Sanctioned Thugs, these Corporate Storm Troopers be held accountable for their crimes, the same way the rest of us are. No suspensions with pay, no administrative punishment, no absolving of blame or wrongdoing. Not even the same prison sentence as a civilian would receive, but a much harsher one to reflect the insane abuse of power and authority they exhibit in the execution of their crimes. Fuck Internal Affairs, Fuck any commission or investigative body populated by police or police – friendly individuals. Isn’t it about time we get a panel of average, ordinary folks to look at questionable police actions? Having the R.C.M.P. investigate themselves is ridiculous, as are the majority of findings – No wrongdoing, no blame, and no punishment. Fuck ‘em, they are as wrong, guilty, blameworthy and punishable as anyone else – even more so when they use their ‘authority’ to justify what are really just instances of targeting, profiling (both race and class), racism, sexism and just plain, Good Ole Boy violence.
Next, the gentleman in West Vancouver who has been constantly and continuously harassed by police because of his appearance – I share your anger, as the same thing happens to me everywhere I go. My friends have said (and NOT jokingly) that the best way to find out who the store detectives, security personnel, and so – called Loss Prevention Officers are is to simply let me go into the establishment first, then watch the parade. In one small kitchen supply shop, my pals counted eight employees following me through the entire store. They weren’t even being Secret Squirrel about it – just tagged along right behind me like some fucked up parade or a line dance gone horribly wrong. Fortunately, for the West Vancouver fellow, he was able to successfully sue the West Vancouver police unlawful arrest, but most people who have experienced similar treatment are not so lucky. When a person can’t even leave their own home just because they don’t fit someone else’s perception of a law abiding citizen based purely on outward appearance, then it’s time to either reeducate the police, ban their draconian practices, and bring them up to 2009 standards, or change the rules regarding profiling, targeting and harassment all together.
The stepfather who admitted to ‘hitting and burning’ and, finally, killing his 30 month old stepdaughter. Why did he do it? Well, it seems he didn’t like the girl’s biological father. The cowardly fuckwad couldn’t bring himself to take the issue up with the BioDad, so he did the next best thing – abused an innocent child over a period of months before killing her. As you know, I am, although not a total abolitionist, certainly a minimalist where the Death Penalty is concerned. Not in a case like this. Kill the fuck. And don’t kill him nicely with a snapped neck or nice sleepy-time lethal injection. No, tell all the other inmates what he did, accidentally leave the door to the cutlery cupboard open and then step outside for a pack or two of smokes. Then, all that’s left is to clean up the mess.
The two vomitous, slimy assholes who hanged an elderly horse from an excavator. A $10,000 fine and a little jail time. Not in my world, kiddies. Nope, in RobScenityLand, pieces of shit like that, fuckheads who cause pain and suffering to animals, would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. Not Canadian law, not common law, but MY LAW!!! They would get the same punishment as they would for doing the same thing to a human – maybe even worse, as animals are completely innocent and undeserving of such horrific and cruel treatment. Now that I think about it, in RobScenityLand, the punishment for any act of cruelty towards animals would be a month locked away with me and my dental tools, all of which have been used in very inventive and innovative ways (none of which are either dental or intended by their originators). After the month is over, the offender may then choose to live. However, after a month with me and my dental paraphernalia, I think the majority of offenders would opt out of the ‘life’ option and go with alternative choice ‘B’, the slow and painful death, anything being more desirable than life looking the way I’d leave them.

Grade 1, The Hatred Begins

Some of those who know me have indicated minor confusion over my apparent dislike for school and all things scholastic, a situation I now feel capable enough to address. First, however, we must get one thing crystal clear – I did not dislike school. I absolutely fucking hated it. Hated everything about it and would go to ANY lengths to avoid going to it. Let’s start at Grade 1, (I’ll fill you in on my short-lived stint at Sunday school – one day – and my experiences with Playschool and Kindergarten later on). So. Grade 1, six years old, and by the second Report Card I had already been labeled, in writing, as a ‘Radical Non – Conformist’. At six fucking years old. I think Ma still has the Report Card with the hand written comment “Robbie is a Radical Non – Conformist”. Now, I am not at all pissed that I was thusly categorized – as it turns out, the old bitch was absolutely correct in her assessment. What bothers me is the reason she pigeonholed me, along with my extreme young age when she did so. See, way back in that mysterious time known to historians (and die-hard hippies) as ‘The 60’s’, school teachers could label, single out, ridicule, humiliate and punish as they saw fit, all without the needless worry of legal repercussions. Try that now. Today, they would be fired, socially ostracized, ruined for life and even jailed for the same actions. The reason I’m so fired up is that the very woman who had bestowed the label on me did all of the following (and more):
 1)  Decided that my friend Phil was acting ‘childish’ (at 6 years old, how the fuck is one supposed to act?) and made him sit in a baby’s play-pen, wearing a frilly baby bonnet, a bib and sucking on a baby bottle. For the ENTIRE FUCKING DAY!  
 2) When she caught Glen and I sword fighting with rulers, she put 2 chairs at the front of the room, facing the class, and made us sword fight  continuously. Again, for the ENTIRE FUCKING DAY!
 3)  Any kid unfortunate enough to be caught chewing gum would be seated (as above) with a large wad of gum stuck to their nose. Yep, you guessed it - the ENTIRE FUCKING DAY!
 4) Finally, (and this is the one I truly HATE her for) when she found out that I spoke another language,  she took me to every classroom in the school, grades 1 through 7, stood me front and center stage, alone, and said to each and every class “Everyone listen to Robbie speak Dutch. Let’s all laugh at how funny it sounds!” (Swear to Lucifer – it’s true). So they did. However, as easily bullied school kids, I will allow them the Nuremburg Defense – they were only following orders. Fucked me up for quite some time, that one did.  

 
And now, the reason for this allegedly professional, rational, educated adult woman to embark on such a fierce campaign against a six year old boy : At some school function, she had found cause to say to me, in front of kids, parents and other teachers, “I’m glad I’m not your mother.” And, with all the honesty and innocence of a six year old I replied “Yeah, so am I”, which got every adult in the room (with one obvious exception) laughing out loud. At her. That’s it. That’s what got me on her permanent hate list. The fact that a six year old could get a laugh (at her expense, yet) when she herself could not. Now here is the part I do not quite understand – I do not see how an unmarried, female, Chinese teacher in the 1960’s (when being unmarried, female, Chinese and a teacher were less than envious positions) would not be able to relate, on some level, with those who appeared ‘Different from the Rest’. Rather than behave like someone who, perhaps, knew the feeling of persecution herself, she did exactly the opposite and brought unwelcome attention to the differences of others. I guess drawing attention to the perceived shortcomings of others was the best way for her to keep her own glaring personality flaws out of the public eye. Still, I derive great comfort and personal satisfaction from the thought that, hey! She’s dead. I’m not. I win.

 

Next – Grade 2, the hatred continues.

If you're old - enjoy! If you're young - learn!!!

The Spazzys: My Boyfriend's Back

Overlapping Retail

Here's a favorite - retailers that start pushing one season before the current one has even begun.  We just had Halloween this very second, yet in some stores, I've been seeing fucking xmas stuff for a month.  I saw 'Back to School' shit out on the 14th of July. JULY!!!!  When I was a wee schoolboy (yes, I was once a wee schoolboy) any store that offered Back to School shit before it was actually time to go back to school would have been burned to the  ground for throwing a huge, greasy fuck into the best part of my summer vacation. At least it would have in my part of town. Back to school at the start of summer, xmas before the first Halloween candy is munched, easter right after that - what the fuck ever happened to timing? Sure, I know it's all for profit, particularly xmas, which is only for the 3 'C's - children, christians, and corporations.  Sorry if I missed anyone. Not sorry if I offended anyone, because if you're offended by this, then you are definitely on the wrong fucking page!!

Happy Devils Night, Happy All Hallows, and Happy Day of the Dead (No, not the masscool Mexican one, that's 5th of May) and may all your nightmares come true!!!

Latest Of My Sporadic Entries.

Let’s start with something useful for a change: a Practical Survival Tip. When starting a new job (or any endeavor, really) tell every new person you meet something different. Now sit back, relax, and wait to see which stories, ‘facts’, or tidbits of information make their way back to you. The number of things that return home to nest is directly proportional to the number of new coworkers you should actively avoid telling anything to. The truly amazing part is that the bits you tell people do not have to be believable or even remotely credible. Seriously, get creative. I once got a very quick return on a total bullshit piece of family history within a day or two. Not remarkable in and of itself, I know, but seeing as the info was that I had killed both my birth parents with a rather large axe at the tender age of eleven, it suddenly takes on a little more importance, yes? As did telling one person “Don’t mention this to anyone, but I’m only out on a Day-Pass”. The stunning part about that one is that the return took several days, several consecutive days, several consecutive days during which I was actually there, a fact that seems to have failed miserably at matching up with the concept of a ‘Day-Pass’ in the mind of my no longer trusted fellow employee.

There. I’ve performed my civic duty with that Practical Survival Tip, and am now free to move on to my usual, less than practical, semi – delirious blathering. This tirade, oddly enough, is aimed directly at that part of the universe that we are sharing at this precise moment. Not the real, physical universe. This one. The electronic one. Yep, I am getting pissed at the ‘Net, Cyberspace, the World Wide Web, call it whatever you want. It seems to have gone full circle since I uttered my first “We’re in!” Yes, I said it once. ONCE, damnit. Everybody’s allowed one. Now, if we can trust my memory, and seeing as I was married at the time we will just assume we can not (that segment of my life was spent considerably more blitzed than usual), it was way back in the early 1990’s. My first Internet experience was significantly enhanced by something called a “Dialup Connection With a 1200 Baud Modem”, all of which translates roughly to about 12 minutes to load even the most basic, no frills page (they were all like that because the frills hadn’t been invented yet). Things are certainly different now, though. Whole new ballgame. Bullshit. I’m on a super fast laptop, wireless Internet connection that simply flies, using cutting edge, state of the art technology that hadn’t even been dreamed of in the 90’s, all of which translates roughly to about 12 minutes to load even the most basic, no frills page. It’s not that the pages don’t load fast, it’s that no matter where you want to go you’re forced to navigate 50,000 fucking links to get there because every fucking page is ‘tagged’ to every other fucking page which is linked to every fucking website, fucking blog or fucking depository of useless bullshit (much like this one). So, although nearly 20 years have passed, it still takes me almost as long to find the ‘Adult’ material I seek as it did with my 1200 baud dialup modem. Plus, when I finally do get there, it’s the same ‘Adult’ material that was there when I was seeking it 20 years ago. Therefore, as I have just now realized, it has taken me 20 years to track down this material. Kill me now.

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All right, breeders (and you know which breeders I’m addressing – the ones with no friends, no social life, just “The kids and us”). The ones who allow their foul, misbegotten spawn to run completely amok, shrieking at volumes that would make your average Death Metal band cringe in terror and cry like 7-year-old schoolgirls. I feel certain that this type of public behavior comes as a direct result of the permissive, no punishment ‘Don’t interfere with their uniqueness / creativity / individual expression’ school of thought so popular these days. Tell you what, if I had ‘Creatively Expressed my Individuality’ in a similar manner, Dad would surely have displayed his own form of unique creativity and I would still have the fucking dents in my head. Ok, so I do have a few dents in my head – their formation easily explained, and not at all related to the topic at hand. At this point in the proceedings, it’s fairly useless to punish the spawn; it’s only doing what these creatures generally do, which is whatever they can get away with. In fact, many will actually go beyond what they can get away with, eagerly testing the limits of the general public’s patience by engaging in a round or two of envelope – pushing. This is learned behavior, people! The little bastards have learned that they can behave any way they want to because that’s how they’ve been allowed to behave. Not really their fault, but still an offence warranting execution in RobScenityLand. No, it is the parent in this case who needs a sound smack to the head, although I am uncertain that someone with the ability to tune out that amount of noise would even be capable of feeling the impact of a well – aimed swat. Just how the fuck do they do it, tune things out like that? Even if they were stone deaf, you’d think that the sheer, massive volumes of negative energy directed towards them by every living creature within earshot of their filthy, misdirected cum-spurt would nail their skull like a sledgehammer of pure, unadulterated, primal force, shattering their psyches, like a hydrogen bomb would shatter an eggshell. And I wish it would. Lucifer knows I’ve tried to get through to them, but head shaking, off-hand comments, even serious attempts at good, old-fashioned embarrassment usually fail. Usually. Here, as my gift to those who chose (wisely) to be the last swimmers in their respective gene pools, are two methods that, when executed correctly, will virtually guarantee the immediate departure of the offending parent, with an added bonus: the probable grounding and vigorous slippering of their beloved little shit:

 1) I poke my head around a corner and holler back to someone (real or imaginary) “No, no… it’s just a kid. I thought someone was peeling a monkey with a potato peeler, but yeah, it’s just some spoiled fucking kid.” Then I follow them, yelling back even louder “No monkey, but hey!! You’ve just GOTTA see the size of this kid’s fucking head! Remember that beach-ball factory in Newark? Ok, now picture that on acid!”

 2) This one was blatantly ripped off from Kara, but it works, its fast and its fun. Just walk past, look slightly amazed, then shake your head and say, really loud, “Well, I don’t know about you, but that’s all the birth control I’ll ever fucking need!” Kara used to follow it up with “Hey, listen to my stomach! Hear that? That’s the sound of the last of my ovaries popping and drying out!”

People, if you insist on smearing and squirting your vile, inferior genetic material around with no eye towards the consequences, do try at least to show some consideration to those of us who have chosen not to do likewise. If you have spawned and raised a loathsome, undisciplined, spoiled rotten, snot-bubbling noise generator, leave it with a keeper, or at home in a cage. If you do not grant this one, simple request, then I, or someone very much like me, will gladly perform a 40th trimester abortion, absolutely free of charge. Thanx for listening and feel free to comment.

I love being in university! I love the subjects offered and knowledge I glean. What I don't like is how some courses are structured. Tutorials in particular piss me off, its never taught by the tenured professor, and you learn nothing from it! Its touchy feely hippie crap with getting to know your fellow students with individual introductions, useless time wasting group activities, and airing your opinions. I have fuck all to learn from my fellow students or the TA, and it makes my skin crawl to be forced to endure something so mind numbingly tedious. Give me a full four hour lecture and go through the texts you made me pay $150 on from contents to index to get my fucking money's worth!

Start Your Visit With Some Dead Boys - Sonic Reducer

A cracking good read!

 Here is something everyone should read! And THIS is a handy spot as well. Now get out there and learn!!!

I think everyone has heard this at some time: “This call may be monitored to ensure quality of service.” Ah, such an obvious, thinly veiled breach of privacy and wiretap laws. Rather than slogging through the mountain of paperwork required to obtain a court order to listen in on private conversations they perceive as a potential threat to National Security, Law enforcement agencies can simply have one of these many companies ‘randomly’ monitor a number of interest. No evidence, no due process, just nice, legal invasion of privacy. In the U.S. alone, over 10,000 of these ‘random quality checks’ are carried out each day – I wonder how many of them are legit?
And while I’m still wound up on the topic of breaches, let’s take a run at my all time personal favorite. In ancient 1982 Canada, before the enactment of the Canadian Charter Of Rights And Freedoms, police would engage in a jolly little game called the ‘routine search’. The rules were simple – pick a car or pedestrian you don’t quite like the looks of, pull them over and just search the Hell out of them right then and there. The Charter sought to remove police ability to do so in the section covering Legal Rights, which I quote here verbatim:

8. Search or seizure – Everyone has the right to be secure against unreasonable search or seizure.

Well, that sure stopped them. Nope, it barely even slowed them down. In a totally out of character fit of smarts, the Pork Soldiers cleverly goose – stepped right over the entire issue with one simple phrase: “You match the description of…” By claiming that you “Match the description of” someone who was allegedly seen committing an offence, they can now, under the pretense of ‘Belief on Reasonable Grounds’, proceed with their beloved illegal search. All it took was some swift, jack-booted stomping on the Charter when no one was looking. Here’s my own personal experience with that blatant disregard for one of the few documents that actually tries to work in our favor.
I was leaving my apartment building to do some shopping when I was approached by a law enforcement creature known to everyone as ‘ROBOCOP’. He explained that I was being stopped because I “Matched the description of someone seen walking through the halls of the building”. I told him that was because I AM the description of someone seen walking through the halls of the building, and have been for the 4 years that I’ve lived here. Not finding my response particularly satisfying, he took another angle and demanded to know where I worked. I could see that he was quite pleased with my reply this time, as it gave him the opportunity to exercise his authoritative, no nonsense outside voice. “Oh, I don’t work anywhere…” I let it trail off.
ROBOCOP was well into a loud, insulting tirade, righteously indignant that he should be supporting “Low life scum of the earth” like me, when I finished my sentence with “I don’t really have time. Got a full course load at university.” Good, let him squirm just a tad, then SMACK him with the Grand Finale! “Yep, 4 years of Criminology and Canadian Law doesn’t leave much room for the job search.” I swear his voice went up three octaves as he warbled out “So, how do you like living in Surrey, sir?” How’s about that? I went from ‘scum of the earth’ to ‘sir’ in under seven seconds and I silently thanked Hollis, my first Crim Prof. His opening words to our first ever Crim class were “The best thing about taking Criminology is watching a cop’s face collapse when you tell him you’re taking Criminology.”

No rest, no sleep

Ok, I’m screaming pissed about this one: Popup blockers. You know, the programs you can get that put an end to those FUCKING irritating little ads that ‘pop’ up on your screen whenever you go online to surf down a bit of porn, usually right in the area you wanted to look at. Well, my popup blocker does a fine job of blocking these little 3 or 4 inch advertisements. It does such a jim-dandy, crackerjack job that it can’t wait to let someone know about it, so they can rally round the intrepid little intercept program and pat it’s little binary back – “kudos, young software, kudos!” It’s chosen method for disseminating this VITAL, CRUCIAL information is this: EVERY SINGLE TIME this electronic go-getter blocks an ad, it fires up a FULL SCREEN MESSAGE saying “Ad Blocked”. Did I mention it was FULL FUCKING SCREEN?!? Really, what’s the point? I installed the binary bugger so I wouldn’t be bothered by occasional ads taking up 4 inches of my screen! Now, every time an ad tries to sell me something, I get my entire screen filled with this Fortran Fuck’s triumphant declaration until I grab the mouse and minimize it by hand because the piece of shit that wrote it was so pleased with himself that he neglected to put in the extra couple lines of code it would take to close it down automatically!! Plus, I can’t shut the fucking thing off. Thanx for letting me vent.

It's always something

Here's one I feel we should reinstate the death penalty for, and we've all heard it, no matter what music you listen to: It's nearing the end of the concert and the lead singer/guitarist /whoever is singled out by a bright spotlight…

“(pant pant gasp) thank you (insert town here) we're gonna do an old tune , we bin playin this one for 25 years. It's one of our faves, and we hope it's one of your’s, and I think... it goes a little... like this…”

STOP TAPE RIGHT FUCKING THERE!! You don't “think it goes a little like this”. You know EXACTLY how it goes – you've been playing it for 25 fucking years!! It's the only song that ever made you any money at all and it's kept your crappy, aging band doing the Sports Arena tours for the past 20 of those years! C’mon, I mean you WROTE the goddamn thing! You know every note, every semi-quaver every minute detail about the thing!! You know what it's about, you know all the lyrics, you know what drugs each band member was addicted to and what dosage they were high on (in milligrams AND c.c.’s) the morning you wrote the stinking piece of shit! For the past 25 years, you have lived, breathed, eaten, slept, shit, fucked and farted this one lousy tune, and yet you still have the nerve, the gall, the unmitigated audacity to say you “think it goes a little like this”? You are a complete idiot, in need of serious killing, an end I would be most happy to assist in with, say, a single shotgun blast to the head, and think it goes a little like this…

Day 2. Not stopping yet.

People who see me in my leather and say, “Aren't you hot in that?” which forces me to answer that their query carries with it the implication that I am stupid: If I were, indeed, hot, I would remove said jacket unless I was either:

a) too stupid to remove it, or  
b) too stupid to realize the temperature was high enough to warrant such action. 

Now, I have gotten to know me pretty well over the past 52 years, and feel I'm in a perfect position to say that I am not, in fact, stupid, and to further suggest that it may actually be you who is lacking in certain gray, matter-y things.

Day 1. It begins.

Dead-end no money fuck-job dealing with idiots, lazy, whiny, constantly complaining (yet also constantly returning) moronic, mouth breather butt-fucks who all think that, for some reason, their tiny wee purchase has somehow become the most important thing in the universe – the sole purpose for my existence. No, you ignorant fuck, we don't have a tube of your favorite toothpaste, it has been discontinued since 1973. It will not magically appear, no matter how many times you say you used to buy it here. No, you brainless simpleton, you do not get a discount because the box has been opened – I just watched you open it yourself. You say you've looked everywhere for your desired product and it's just not here – you have been shopping here for 10 years, the product has been on the same shelf, in the same aisle, in the same section of the store for TWENTY years and I'm looking at it right now and you would be too if you would just bother to angle your stupid fucking head 15 degrees to the starboard. Lazy, arrogant pinheads who try to get a bargain by playing the stupid immigrant card, then blow the gaff by suddenly understanding English when I faintly whisper the word 'discount'.