My Yuletide Sentiments

Behold
The Power of the Night
Shine
That we may see the Light
Curse
The filthy hypocrites
Crawl
Into their beds at night
Ooze
From slimy depths below
Scream
Into their frozen brains.
Work thy wretched wrath,
Remove all obstacles from our path.
I command that these things of which I speak
Shall come to be.
You've sealed your Doom,
Your time has come,
YHVH!
So It Is Done!

Ave Satanas!!! 

Annoyed again - Fucking xtians.

Well, kiddies, once again I have survived the cash driven whirlwind that yet another perfectly innocent Pagan holiday has been turned into. Those miserable xtians saw Saturnalia,(a celebration of the birth day, not of the limpid christ, but of the Pagan Sun God - "Sol Invictus" or "Mithras") as a way to add to their ranks while simultaneously assimilating the local peoples and beliefs. They got themselves a ready-made holiday by doing what xtians do best - stealing from others and killing whoever got in their way. This holiday has belonged to the Pagani for thousands of years (the Babylonians make references to it around 2167 Bce, others go back considerably farther than that), and I think its about time those thieving, mass-murdering arrogant self righteous sons of a miserable fucking bitch finally own up to what they've done. Not just Yule, but EVERYTHING - I'm calling for complete and total accountability for every crime, every atrocity,every attempted genocide, every rape, every sacrifice, EVERYFUCKINGTHING ever done in the name of their god. But not one of the smarmy bastards will even admit that wrongs have been done - they are either blinded by their faith in god and bible, for the least intelligent ones, or, for the ever so slightly more intelligent few,  blinded by their faith in the almighty dollar. Well, let me extend a season's wish to the truly devout, the truly blind: May you all end up on the same stick your precious savior was nailed to. And this time around, try dying for the right fucking sins - the ones you, yourselves have perpetrated on the innocent! To everyone else, Have a very festive and enjoyable Yule,  Saturnalia, or whatever you wish to call it, and as always, Be safe!

TRS 

Last thoughts cont'd

From the same crumpled paper the last entry came from, but on the other side. Where I didn't notice it before. Till now.

It's Saturday, the Day After Midnight Madness (the only real 'madness' being open till midnight), and images of last nights horrors flash-frame into my minds eye. Its 12:30 in the afternoon, and ZombieLand still looks like Ground Zero of the apocalyptic 'Final Confrontation' that all Italian Zombie films are based on and take place after. Bed & Bath is a shambles - duvets, sheets, towels all torn from their packages by ill-mannered, greedy bargain hunters. The xmas department - all but unrecognizable, bits of artificial tree strewn everywhere, like the limbs blown off the victims of a money-grubbing, red-suited corporate figurehead terrorist. There are other sights as well, sights too unspeakably terrifying to even consider right now. I hear a faint hissing from the P.A. and realize that Customer Service is now a 'No-Go' zone. These thoughts are more than I can bear, and my final impression is that of the floor, rapidly racing up to smash me right in the face as I black out...

 (To be continued?)

As always, be safe,
TRS   

Some poor bugger's last thoughts

The following narrative was found on a crumpled piece of paper amid the wreckage that followed Midnight Madness. 

Tomorrow is the dreaded Midnight Madness at ZombieLand, and the veterans are already fortifying our defenses. Coming in, as it is, so close on the heels of the last one, it seems as though no time has elapsed at all between battles.  Hell, some of the newer, younger ones have not even fully recovered - sure, they say their fine, but us battle scarred vets, we can see it in their eyes - panic, fear, confusion, they don't understand it - why are they being thrown back in again so soon? They just don't realize they are being forged, tempered, and perfected, like a fine old katana. They'll thank us one day, but for what? For turning them into cold, calculating, heartless retail machines? I think not...

Until next time, Be Safe

TRS 

A lovely little xmas song.

A Few Tips for Survival in Retail

or

How I Breeze Through My ZombieLand Day

The techniques you are about to learn have all been extensively field-tested, and are based on sound psychological principals - people see what they want to see, hear what they want to hear, and let you do what they think you want to do.

 1) Walk everywhere at a brisk pace, shaking your head slightly as you frown at a piece of paper. Doesn't matter what's on the paper - people will assume it's very important and will not wish to impinge on your obvious concern.

2) If a fellow employee is engaged in a difficult task and looks like they might ask for help, walk by purposefully while quickly saying, "Hey! I'll be back to help you just as soon as you're done!"

3) My personal fave: Just as someone starts asking me something, I hold up my left hand for silence, while using my right hand to indicate the items on the shelf in front of me, saying "SShhhh! Do you hear that?" Confused reply - "Hear what?" Pointing at the shelves more intensely, I say "That!" After listening for a second they'll say "No, I don't hear anything at all!" "I know! Creepy, huh? They all just stopped talking at once!" Not only will that person never ask you another question, they'll never again make eye-contact or walk down the same aisle as you.

Try these 3 first, and let me know your results.

As always, Be safe!

TRS

Why is it that almost every single person on this planet has a tape, or CD, or MP3 play-list labeled 'SHIT MIX'?  To my thinking, and let me know if I'm off here, if I see a label saying 'SHIT MIX', it's a warning: This mix is shit. Don't listen to it. Plus, if it's that shitty, why keep it? Besides all that, does it not follow reason that convincing all your friends that your taste in music is shit will certainly not instill them with confidence re: your other decision- making abilities? Yep. That'll be the last time your opinion is asked regarding what cheese goes well with strawberry mousse. (The correct answer is, of course, none)  And hey, let's not forget the obvious, here - if the mix were indeed that shitty, why the fuck did you make it in the first place? "Hey, gang! Check out my taste in music! It's SHIT!! And I've amassed it all right here, in one abominably shitty volume, just so there's no confusion should anyone ever ask what my taste in music might be. Clearly, it's SHIT!"

Right, this rant, thus far, has annoyed me to the point that I cannot go on, and must fire off part 2 another time.

As always, Be safe.

TRS

Body image and Adult Films

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Tales From ZombieLand (cont'd)

Chapter 1

I am The RobScenity, and I wage-slave at a once major retail store in a seemingly sleepy retirement town. I'm Frontline, Hardlines-on the floor and smack in the middle of every shit-storm that hits: from Seniors Day to Midnight Madness (the only madness being the fact that we stay open till midnight, in a town that's in bed by 8:00). My fellow floor people and I are under constant attack - Tag switchers, Seniors armed with an infinite supply of aisle clearing gas-bombs, and 'New Canadians', whos understanding of English is next to zip (until you say the word 'discount'). Don't get me wrong, I love the action, the excitement, the overwhelming satisfaction I get when their smug little faces drop upon learning they can't squeeze a 50cent discount out of me. Or when their mewling, screaming, fake-crying spawn smack face first full speed into a cart. I think those must count amongst my favorites: those wretched little poster children for late term abortion, sounding as if they're in agony, while their faces remain unemotional, Children of the Corn blank. Then that one delicious moment when they glance away, turning back just in time to smash beak-first into mommy's shopping cart. Glorious! But I seriously digress, and will do my best to get back on track...

to be continued...

As always, Be safe.

TRS

Tales From ZombieLand

Prologue:
Serving the NotUnDead - Customer Service in a Retirement Town.

7:30 a.m.: The one day a month we open at 8:00, an hour early, Senior's Discount Day, but an hour isn't good enough for the huge population of elderly - the NotUnDead. Half an hour before opening, the wall to wall sliding glass doors look like a scene from any George Romero flick; whithered talons, dry flaking skin tightly stretched over fleshless bones, claw hungrily at the glass. Parchment covered skulls bob forward, allowing myopic, half dead eyes to scan for bargains - easily digested soup, some type of tea biscuit that hasn't been made since 1963 that they're sure they bought here last month: the Scouts have arrived. This can only mean that the donut shop up the street has disgorged the Army of The NotUnDead, all fired up on the coffee and sugary donuts they've been gumming and slurping up since 4 a.m., the time they are all done sleeping and rise from their bleach and lilac scented shrouds. Next come the FrameWalkers, six-legged complaint machines specializing in aisle clogging and general slow downs as their wispy-haired heads sweep back and forth, targeting systems locking on to any employee they can badger. After them, the True Cyborgs: half NotUnDead, half Motorized Full Attack Battle Platform, capable of high speed assaults and maximum collision damage.

Our Uber-miester for the day finishes reading off the casualty list from last months encounter, and we absorb the stats with tight grimaces and somber faces. It appears we only held our position by the narrowest of margins, and today we're starting out already down 2 members, who called in sick, presumably still traumatized by last months battle.

7:59 a.m.: the unfortunate StockMonkey who drew the short straw grasps the door in trembling hands, utters a silent prayer, and slowly begins to slide the doors open, the smell of liniment and naphthalene smashing into his face like a brick. With the gap barely two feet wide, a number of their Scouts are already through, followed by a deceptively quick FrameWalker who, although only 6 feet inside, is already yelling that they can't find the soup anywhere and waving a 9 year old flier from some other store. The StockMonkey looks back at us, an unspoken plea for help plain on his face, but, sadly, we can do nothing: the Cyborgs have just breached the threshold. Simultaneously, 2 displays go down and the P.A. announces the need for 'Wet Cleanup' in Pharmacy, Adult Protective Undergarments and Hardware.

8:01 a.m.: We are already overwhelmed. The horror mounts as another employee bursts through their line from outside: while  sneaking a quick smoke, he spotted 2 nursing home day-trip buses pulling in. Damn. One of our younger girls starts to sob as an older veteran calls home to tell her husband she loves him, maybe for the last time. A chill courses down my spine when I notice the passengers from the first bus - mostly FrameWalkers, fast ones, too. As I reach for my phone, preparing to call MsAnthropy, the payload from the second bus appears in the distance - all Cyborg, 15 of 'em. Fuck. All around me, the stench of Ben-Gay Ointment and Polygrip fills the air, along with screams of "I can't find", "I want" and "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but..." I grab my cell, hoping to fire off the text we all knew might come one day, but...

To be continued...

Until next time, as always, Be safe.

TRS

XVII / XI / MMXI

Right. It's official. Today is one of those days. Not one of those "It's-been-one-of-those-days" days. Nope, not one of them. Really more of a "It's just not my day" type of day. The type of day that forces the question: O.K., if it's not my day, then just who's fucking day is it? Where does the maggot-ridden piece of dog shit that this particular day belongs to live? Why has he decided not to have this astoundingly crappy day, opting, instead, to pawn the fucker off on me?  Does he think I'm an idiot? I can't have a shitty day on my own? I need his help on this, do I?  Or does he think himself so superior that he's able to engineer a far shittier day than any shitty day I might happen to conjure up on my own?  And, before you feel compelled to point it out, I am not blind to the fact that all of the preceding speculation hinges on one question : Was I even contemplating having a shitty day to begin with, and, if so, how the screaming FUCK did this clown become aware of my choice?  I'll leave you to ponder that one for a while.

As always, be safe.

TRS 

Damn. Just time for a quick blast: almost everyone at ZombieLand in blind panic over today's visit from company president (some Texan, it seems) and myself and the other 2 people not sharing in the hysteria must be content with all the xmas shit going on - crying brats, crappy music, false goodwill and cheer, and perhaps worst of all, I, an outspoken, admitted Satanist, had to fluff and trim a couple xmas trees (plastic ones). Yeah. Me. Fuck. Guess I'll head in and see if I can't do something to bugger the presidential visit - wish me luck.


Be safe and don't fall for the bullshit,
TRS

Season's Greetings!!!

Well kids, here we are at the First of Three - October 30th, Devil's Night (called Night of the Fires in some places), a night for chaos, mayhem and just letting yourself go. Some people / groups see it as a night meant exclusively for setting fires, others choose vandalism and still others just spend the night partying their brains loose. Whichever option you choose, the most important thing to remember is that this holiday is a celebration of the changing of the seasons, and a time to eat, drink, fuck and be merry. Try not to get injured, but if you are hurt, do your best to enjoy it. And also remember - never included any person or animal in any activity they do not wish to participate in of their own free will - that's more the xtians signature piece, and although most of the rest of their stuff was originally stolen from our kind, would you really want it back after they've used it? I mean really, who knows where it's been?

As always (and now more than ever) Be safe!
Ave Satanas!!!


TRS

Have a Great All Hallows

It's almost here - HALLOWEEN!  I'm so excited, three of my nipples are tingling, which makes me think: if someone asks you to triple check something, and you want to be extra sure so you ask 2 others to help, that makes 3 people triple checking, with me so far? So three people checking three times, 3 x 3, is 9. Have you just nipple-checked? If so, isn't that sexual harassment of some kind? I'm just trying to get this straight in my head.  Anyways, all I really wanted to write for now is : This weekend is very significant and important to many of us (you know who you are) so have a productive and energy-packed Devil's Night (30th), All Hallows (31st) and Day of the Dead (Nov. 1st - not to be confused with Cinco de Mayo ) All our best to everyone in the new phase!
As always (maybe even a bit more this time) be safe!


TRS

Creepy Holidays

Thanksgiving. A very creepy holiday sacrifice to show our appreciation for stuff. Ma thinks its  cruel to kill a turkey, so Dad just lets  her kick it around the kitchen till it can't walk anymore. Ma's getting sort of odd - starting to get ideas. Like the idea she's always been very proper, never swore, couldn't say 'shit' if her mouth was full of it, but, like so many others, thinks 'Substitution Swearing' is OK. You've heard it: shit becomes shoot, fuck morphs into frick, frig, or the infinitely more offensive freak. Am I alone in my fear of future linguistic confusion? Say, for instance, the child of a chronic sub-swearer becomes a teen criminal. The cops are chasing him, and offer the traditional warning, "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
See? There'd be that confusion, possibly a nasty accompanying mental image. Problems. Or, the same kid becomes a waiter - the joint is jumping, and a customer says "Hey, I'll shoot you a 20 if you get me a good seat" 
"But sir, the seats are attached."
"What the frick seats are you on about?" 
"The washroom is over that way"
"HUH??"
Again, see the potential for confusion?
Even more damaging, the freak\ fuck sub.
"Where's Mark?"
"Oh, he's in the kitchen, just freaking! Go on in." 
"Well, who's he with?" 
"No one, go on in!"
"I don't want to see Mark whacking off in the kitchen!"
"What? Shoot, you are one fricked up dude!"
See? I guess what I'm saying is simply this: if you mean fuck, say 'fuck' and if you mean shit, say 'shit' and life will be so much easier to understand for the rest of us. Besides, when you sub, everyone knows what you really mean, so you're not fucking fooling anyone, shit-head!

As always, be safe.
TRS 

The GAT Test and Interview with Canada Post

The GAT test is multiple choice, with timed sections,  and takes about two hours to complete .  The sections include: noting whether two addresses are the same or different; math equations on adding, subtraction, division, multiplication, and a couple of fractions-without the aid of a calculator; two memory tests whereby you are given five minutes to memorize five sets of various addresses, page is turned, then you given a multiple choice questions about which set an address belongs to; and lastly you read a paragraphs about a certain topic such a health and safety memo and then answer questions to test your comprehension of the material.  Your results are calculated within twenty minutes and if you pass then you are informed about the position details and to expect a call to arrange an interview.
The interview is slated to take an hour , and you are expected to provide examples from your previous work experience on a few of the questions. The questions will vary of course, but here is an example of a typical interview: you are asked to  provide a work example where you received praise for a job well done; what would you do if you  arrived for your shift and saw that your work space was untidy (which is a potential safety hazard); to provide an example of how you handled strife amongst the members when you worked within a team; what would  you do with your time if your tasks were completed early and you had nothing left to do during your shift; and lastly what would you do if a saw a fellow employee using racial slurs against another employee. I would suggest that your curb your answers to the position attributes that were listed in the job description, or find information about how to answer common interview questions.

Some Tips On Cooking For Others.

There are definitely 2 completely different sets of rules when it comes down to cooking dinner for others. First, and most important, is deciding whether you want this to be an ongoing thing, or just a one-shot gastronomic nightmare, never to be requested or suggested again.
I will address the second option first, as I believe it to be the more popular, more frequently used of the two. We begin with the basic framework of:
TIMING - INGREDIENTS - SPICING - PRESENTATION

1) TIMING: Try to ensure that no 2 menu items are ready at the same time. Mind-numbingly long waiting periods should accompany each dish or course. These periods can be made to seem even longer by filling each interval with either uncomfortable silence, awkward small-talk, or in-depth discourse on the hideous ailments of relatives, (try to pick one that features some type of discharge - Spontaneous Anal Seepage for instance, is always a real crowd pleaser). Also, remember that timing refers not only to food prep, but also to the arrival time of your guest. If your guest is to arrive at 7:00p.m., start most menu items around 6:30-ish, with the exception of easily burned or rubberized by excessive cooking foods, which should be going strong by 2:00 at the latest.

 
2) INGREDIENTS: The expert Chef knows his audience, and the aspiring crappy one should do no less. It is sometimes possible to derail the entire project by simply memorizing the following, to be spoken within minutes of your guests arrival : “Oh. You’re allergic to ______ ? Well, that’s certainly going to fuck things up more than just a little.”

 
3) SPICES: I like the simple substitution method of spicing, as it makes for easily believable excuses if caught. Just remember - any spice can be substituted for any other spice with the same color or consistency. Example: sugar for salt, garlic oil for honey, Sunlight Dish Soap for lemon juice - you get the idea, Yeah? For those budding Escoffier’s not yet comfortable with this level of epicurean subterfuge, there is always the alternative method of using the correct spices, but seriously over-amping the amounts. It is truly astounding what a quarter cup of salt can do to an otherwise tasty and inoffensive soup, and enough oregano (with some Sambal or Tabasco for good measure) can turn even the mildest salad dressing into a Hell-spawned nightmare that would have Satan himself hauling ass for the ice-water (which, if you’ve been paying attention at all, should also be heavily salted and room temperature). Go nuts, be creative in spicing, and have fun.

 
4) PRESENTATION: If, indeed, as the old adage goes, “The first bite is taken with the eye,” then this must also be true of “the first dry-heave”, and “the first diarrhea cramp”. If they’ve stuck it out long enough to actually see any of your culinary creations, ensure that the sight gives them recurring nightmares and years of expensive therapy. Cat and Dog hairs, human hair (if presented in large clumps), bug parts, unidentifiable greenery (the type found in ditches or old abandoned fish ponds), any rodent or reptile (whole or in pieces) all make excellent garnishes, and, with a little imagination (plus access to a mortuary or medical waste dump) will guarantee that the first bite will more likely be taken in the Emergency Ward. The end result, of course, is that you will never be asked to host any event that involves your presence in the kitchen! 

Happy dining, and as always, be safe!
TRS

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gone from thinking about stupid, useless shit to pondering that which is truly important. Serious questions, like: At what exact point does a Gin and Tonic become merely a Gin with Tonic? Where do we draw this very important line? How much Gin is little enough to allow Tonic an obvious co-headline position, yet not so much as to relegate Tonic to the ranks of 'Also featuring...’. Is ice-cube degeneration to be included in the equation? If so, would it then be possible for a Gin and Tonic to become a Gin with Tonic without the addition of extra ingredients? Or, does the fact that ice is, when restored to its natural state, representative of neither Gin, nor Tonic, render its inclusion null and void, without force, and remove it from the equation entirely? Do local variations, individual pouring styles, and/or number of ice-cubes typically used affect the overall outcome? Glass size, Tonic availability and desired level of eventual intoxication must also play a vital role in answering this question which has been perplexing mankind for nearly 19 hours now.The solution I personally envision is the formation of an independent 'Gin And Tonic Regulatory Commission’, whose mandate would include (but not be limited to)
 a) Setting a standard, internationally                      accepted Gin/Tonic ratio, and
 b) Ensuring this ratio is practiced and                    upheld, with random spot checks and                severe penalties for infractions.
I, for one, would definitely sleep easier, knowing that I could, at any time, in any place on this planet, order up a G&T confidently, without worries or concerns.

As always, be safe,
TRS

Play Me Something.

Try the 8 string guitar at the bottom of the page! Also, since when is everyone so polite / non-vocal? Leave some comments, will ya?

As always, be safe (but only if you leave a comment)
TRS   

5 Things I Think We Probably Won't See In Our Lifetime.

1. Franklin Mint  Commemorative 'Monster Truck' plates. 
2. The 'John Wayne Gacy'  Memorial Camp for Boys.
3. A dance-club franchise called 'DiscoHitler'.
4. Xtian Death-Metal Karaoke bars.
5. The end of anything that TV has told us we could end in our lifetime. 

More as they occur.
Be safe,
TRS 

  A Dedication To My Sister & Best Friend...


This says it best. (are Manic Hispanic MassCool, or what?!) 

Love, The RobScenity  

Just a quick ZODIAC update / recap.

• Grown men in short pants 
• Women wearing Baseball caps
• Having to talk to complete idiots
• Complete idiots
• Mouthbreathers
• People who say they "Don't like porn"
• Transit line jumpers
• Anyone who harms animals

(to be continued...) 

XXVII / VIII / MMXI a.s.

WHY?

While standing at one of the SkyTrain Stations, waiting to get home, I noticed that every 5 or 6 trains or so, one would just scream through, and the announcement board said : TRAIN NOT STOPPING. Why not? It's going our way, it's empty, it can't go in any direction other than ours, so what's the problem? Its not like it needs a coffee break or a pee break or anything, its a machine, goddamnit! Then, when I finally get home, I'm sitting in the shitter, reading the product monograph for my latest prescription (I'm one of those who can't shit without reading something, and 'Lather, Rinse, Repeat' tends to get old real fast - plus I already know how it ends) and one of the side effects is 'impending feelings of doom'. Not really something you want to see on your bottle of tranquilizers.

So, I'm gonna take my tranquilizers and, now let me get this straight, take my tranks  and possibly experience one or more of the following: nausea, headache, restlessness, insomnia, dryness in mouth, abdominal pains, anxiety, or impending feelings of doom. Are these not most of the reasons I got on the fucking tranks in the first place?  

At least it gave me some insight as to why so many American women became suicidal on Prozac. It wasn't the drug itself, per se, but the fact that, as their outlook cleared, they came to the realization that : "I'm a 377 pound American woman with no education, no job, and 9 kids all living in a double-wide. Hon, pass me the squirrel gun, would ya?"

As always, Be safe.

TRS

Where is the Zodiac when we need him?

This offering to The Zodiac: Self-righteous, militant non-smokers. The ones who start coughing and covering their sour, pinched faces when they're still 60 feet away with the wind at their backs.  The ones with the horrified expressions, who pass by looking at me as though I were pointing an M-16 at their smug, pointy heads.  The ones who sit right next to me on the bench. The bench with the giant ash - tray at one end.   The bench with the giant ash - tray at one end that happens to be the only legal smoking area on that entire side of the mall.  And then have the nerve to say "Do you HAVE to smoke right  here?" Why, yes, actually, you brain-dead bundle of FUCK! And while I'm at it, why, in the name of Lucifer, would you oooze up and park your too-tight-to-even fart ass on an obvious smoking bench, between 2 or 3 equally obvious and currently active smokers, unless the entire exercise is simply meant to give you something to whine and moan about all day. Whats the matter ? Jerry Springer not on today? Nothing to bitch about at home? No gay inter-racial couple to set fire to? Get a life, you fucking pinheads, bitch about something real for once. Thanx for listening.
Be safe,
TRS

Where is the Zodiac when we need him?

XXVI / VIII / MMXI


Here it is: the first installment of  'Where is the Zodiac when we need him?' As usual, the list is in no particular order and I enthusiastically encourage you to send me your own recommendations. 

1. Ex's. I don't think this one needs any explanation. C'mon, there's a reason they're 'ex'.
2. 97% of the world's hypochristians. Again, clarification not required.
3. The entire Walton family.
4. Animal abusers (although I'd hope the Zodiac would let me do this one)
5. Lawmakers who dream up different laws and regulation for different social classes and ethnic origins.

                               

Til next time, stay out of the cross-hairs.

TRS

VIII /  XXVI / XLV

A few months back, MsAnthropy expressed the desire to spawn (after 12 years of blissful childlessness), so I began the arduous task of researching the marketplace in order to compare the latest available models, giving us the edge in what I must assume to be a highly competitive area.  Much to my dismay (and no small amount of growing uncertainty) nearly every style and make I observed was possessed of the same features - the most obvious being a high-pitched, shrieking, siren-like  sound emanating from the upper end of the unit. I had originally assumed this to be a factory defect in the rubbery hole in the lower anterior facet of the main sensory cluster housing, or, as one irate mother informed me, "that's my baby's HEAD, asshole!"  As there seems to be no permanent way to dampen or suppress this noise, I am forced to conclude that there exists some type of after-market kit to remedy the situation. 

Another common feature is the fascinating ability to hypnotize, mesmerize, or somehow cloud their parents minds to all the running through stores, howling, package ripping and general screaming  mayhem,  totally visible and audible to all but their handlers, or 'parents', as they like to be called.

Vivid, animated descriptions of these observed behaviors, with all the characters portrayed (more than acceptably, I might add), by myself, backed up with video footage taken in the field may evidently be sufficient incentive for MsAnthropy to spawn, and effectively swing her away from the 'Maternal instincts' and 'Bundle of Joy' side of the scale, and more comfortably towards the 'Let's get another kitten' end of things, without the need for a full scale simulation, (as I had feared). This comes as a great relief, I have absolutely no idea where a baby can be rented or leased. Hell, I don't even know the requisite protocalls needed to make an acceptably PC inquiry or offer on the temporary use of a stranger's offspring. 

And so, at least for now, the worst case scenario for my domestic existence is cleaning out the kitty litter box. And if that's the  worst case scenario, given the other option, (a scaled down version of me), then I, my friends, am one seriously happy FUCK.

As always, Be safe until next time.

TRS

Whaaaww! That last bit of venting got what’s left of my blood just screaming, so here I go again – more of the ‘Not So Happy’ list. Again, any semblance of priority or order is purely coincidental.

·        Idiots who argue that which they know absolutely NOTHING about, and then, upon realizing that they are wrong, rather than politely conceding, energetically re-double their efforts in a last ditch attempt to bury one in half-misquoted / half fabricated facts and horribly misused terminology. MassCool! Now you look twice as stupid as you did 20 seconds ago, and I, conversely, am twice as right as I was 20 seconds ago.  I guess that old Chinese fellow was right, and those idiots have, indeed, removed all doubt.

·        Pompous, pretentious twats who will find some way, no matter how ridiculous, to bring up Shakespeare, Hemingway, et al, in every single conversation they happen to engage in.  Arrogant, smug, pseudo-intellectual bastards trying to appear educated and well-read, thinking they can accomplish this by simply dropping a few literary monikers. Have fun with these self-important assholes: ask them which particular works they enjoyed the most. Ask them to actually NAME something by the authors. Ask them for a few quotes or notable passages. If they do manage to come out with a quote, nod knowingly for a moment, then say “Ah, yes! The ‘Classic Comic Books’ version!”

XII / XXI / XLV _A.S.

 Right. It’s been a while, but there’s been a lot of shit going on in RobScenity Land recently. Shit that I really don’t feel like mashing through with a fork just to see if there’s something salvageable hidden in it.  Instead – some more items from the ‘Not So Happy Thoughts’ list. As always, in no particular order and directed at no particular person or persons (you know who you are).

 

·        People who try to describe some type of food as “Tasting like chicken”. Odds are the gastronomic retard has never tried the food they’re attempting to describe. Why do I say this, you ask? Here we go: The only thing on this entire planet of ours that tastes like chicken is one of two things:

 

        I. More chicken, or

     II. A different chicken (but still a chicken).

I have heard the chicken comparison used to describe octopus, rattle snake, calf’s brain, alligator, kidneys, (to name but a very few) , and, having personally sampled all of them, can confidently report that NOT A SINGLE ONE of these foods tastes even remotely like chicken. At all. Not even the slightest resemblance. We’re quite clear on this one now? Excellent. Bon Appetite.

·        Xtian Death Metal. Yes, it really exists; I know you’re as stunned as I was when I first learned of its existence. One of the more idiotic of the people I work with (a hypochristian, it turns out) was stupid enough to tell me, a card carrying member of the Church of Satan, that he was into “Xtian Death Metal”, thereby giving me full permission to RANT & DESTROY. Xtian Death Metal? What? Wadda ya got?

“Got nailed to a stick”                             

(chuggachuggaCHUG)

“Then Dad let ‘em kill me”                     (chuggachuggaCHUG)

“Then you went and lost my body!!”      (chuggachuggaCHUG)

     (Guitar solo)

 

And that’s it. One death to sing about, and that was 2000 years ago! Get over it already, quit whining and write some new fucking material!!!

·        People who try to talk to me when I’m having a dump. There’s some very serious ‘Me Time’ going on here. If I wanted conversation, I’d shit with the fucking door open. Maybe set out a chair or two, just in case it’s going to be a while. Talking to me while I’m shitting is even worse than talking to me in a movie theatre because you didn’t even have to pay for a ticket to my shitter! MAYBE then, I’d listen. But only if you’d shelled out for an overpriced popcorn and a watered down Cola-like beverage substitute first.

More later. As always – Be safe.

The RobScenity.

Coming Soon

Where Is The Zodiac When We Need Him?
Tales of people who  seriously inspire  a return engagement by my favorite Serial Killer.

The following post of oxymorons is just an attempt at getting the rancid taste of vultures and mega - fuckwads out of my mouth.  Family members I can't stand, can't kill, and can't understand. They, (and a few of the decent ones) know who they are and what they've done. May you die slowly, horribly and un-noticed, you miserable, heartless pieces of shit.  Thanx.

A Partial List Of MassCool Oxymorons

Cautiously optimistic
Bigger half
Rock opera
Boneless ribs
Resident alien
White chocolate
Global village
Minor crisis
Act naturally
Defensive strike
Slumber party
Oven fried
Deafening silence
Graduate student
Educated guess
Free trade
Instant classic
Calculated risk
Wilderness management
Vegetarian meatball
Wireless cable
Detailed summary
Fresh from concentrate

It's been a year since we lost the best friend we ever had, and it still hurts. We'll never forget you, Anubis!

PRO GUN CONTROL AD - brought to you by The Patriotic Resistance

Friends of Anubis

Upcoming Ceremony For Our Lost Little Brother

Tuesday, May 26 XLV A.S. will mark the 1 year anniversary of the sudden passing of the best friend Kara and I could ever hope to have. We ask those of you who knew him well, and have already been invited, to do us the honour of joining us at the seashore for a brief ceremony and memorial. Anyone wishing to say a few words or recount any stories are most welcome to do so, but even just being there in support is fine. We are sorry that it has taken so long, but that is how long it has taken us to (almost) accept and come to terms with his death. Thank you in advance to all who attend. You will receive a private message with location and details.

Ave Satanas!!!

Hitler finds out his facebook account has been hacked

Of all the Hitler parodies, this one has to be the knee-slappinest, side-splittinest laugh till yer pukinest one EVER!!!

http://youtu.be/Jl0DmENAMQo

Damnit. Yet another 'sport fever', another instance of social cohesion, another flag-like item for the general populace to rally behind. Something big, loud, and ultimately meaningless to take our attention away from something of considerable importance, something our Uber-Meisters don't want us putting any thought into. What could it be? Could it have something to do with the proposal to shut down the only safe injection site in the country? The one that has proven it's worth to society by very noticeably reducing the number of deaths and spread of disease? Could it be our Homeless situation? The fact that funding for shelters has yet again been pulled, diverted, and probably miss-spent on some idiotic plan to pull everyone together in a false sense of security? I do know what it CAN'T be, and that's the upcoming 'Royal Wedding' - there's nothing that can draw attention from a joke of that fucking magnitude! The situation in England, much like the situation here, cannot be fixed by allowing the population to escape the trials and tribulations of their mundane little lives by sharing in the pomp and pageantry of a multi-million dollar circus designed to showcase a couple of lesser players in a hopelessly outdated and ineffectual figurehead monarchy. I have now pissed myself off so much that I must stop my current rant in favor of doing something more constructive, like forming a hunting party to go after anyone with a hockey jersey or commemorative 'Royals' plate, and beat them into a fine pulp, which we could then use as fertilizer for weeds and such.

Be safe.

I think I know this guy!!

‏SideBringing : A Simple Definition Rendered Impossibly Convoluted
‏OR‏An Exercise In Circumlocution. ‭

‏‭In order to even attempt an explanation vis: the above title, I must hurl myself, full force, into the very definition that the title decries as 'Impossibly Convoluted' Allow me to explain further.  I had a great upbringing, however, bits of it were, in fact, sideways, so yeah, great upbringing, reasonably serviceable sidebringing. Still no connection? Alright, a far better insight into what a sidebringing consists of can be realized if you will allow me to exemplify: Smoking. When Dad caught me smoking, he very properly gave  the appropriate Parental Lines, "Those will KILL you! No doubt about it, the more of those you smoke, the greater your risk of an early, horrid and painful death!". All up to CODE so far, right? Here's where Dad's 'right' takes a sharp left: I made the mistake of asking Ma if there was any truth to what I'd been told, if he was completely honest with the info he'd bestowed upon me. Her response - "Oh. Yes. Completely honest. He said that if you pinch one more pack of his cigarettes, he's going to kill you twice and then make you smoke yourself. Said you can buy your own goddamn cigarettes."

‏‭So, the meaning of sidebringing is no longer a mystery, correct?  Dad had fulfilled that particular health related Parental Commitment perfectly by the book, all the while doing so in a manner which had never occurred to any of my pal's Dads: issuing a serious warning while cleverly side-winding the entire direction that health tip originated from and tossing in his own dire warning instead. 2 birds with one stone. I wound up with a constant, panicky concern regarding my  continued well-being and vowed right then to be more health conscious by swiping all my future smokes from Ma instead. It made health conscious sense: she couldn't run as fast, hit as hard, or yell as loud as Dad, so punishment meted out by Ma was always infinitely preferable.

April 9, XLIV a.s.

Since making our decision to procreate official, I have been doing what I assume to be the 'normal' thing any rational person does when contemplating any major acquisition: I've been looking around, checking out the various makes and models, and BOY does it pay to shop around! It seems that the most common feature on all the newer models is that high pitched, siren/alarm that signals the flailing kicks. This  must be some kind of factory defect, as most of the units I've looked at seem to be locked in this mode. I most certainly don't want one of those. I did see a few that ran rather quietly and must remember to ask the owners if there is some After Market kit available that tones them down to this bearable level. It must be something to do with the newer models, as the same problems were not readily apparent in either the 'Vintage' or 'Classic' designs. I, myself, am a 'Classic' 1957 Tail-End Baby Boomer, and when we tried that shrieking / kicking shtick, all that was required to effect repairs was a sharp parental whack to the side of the brain housing, much like fixing an older model TV or radio - Smack Whack Problem Solved. Who knows, maybe we can get a retro model.

Be Safe.

Well, here's a shocker: after MsAnthropy got back from the Wild Beyond, we noticed that her biological clock was going off and the SNOOZE button, (which has worked like a charm these past 12 years) has ceased to function. In other words, the 'Biological Imperative' has kicked in and she's decided she'd like to spawn.
So, yeah.Pros and Cons time, huh?
PRO'S:

• Our genetic makeup passed on to a smaller version of one of us. Currently, the only samples of my DNA are probably either 

1. In the ocean (thanx to certain shower-time activities) so if you ever happen upon an octopus or clam with an evil/comical/conspiratory smirk, I can probably explain, or
2. Absorbed into the food chain, lunch for scavengers provided by the results of several ex's pro-choice decisions(with which I agree 100%), so if you find yourself marveling at an earthworm, crow or insect sporting features similar to mine, refer to point 1.

• 2 sets of extremely proud and doting Grandparents, plus a huge support group all anxious to see which one of us the spawn will resemble. If the egg/tadpole combo decides to be female, we have decided that it absolutely MUST  have

1. My height and Somatotype (Ectomorph), and
2. MsAnthropy's rack and facial features, although it must also possess 
3. Both our high cheek-bones.

• If it turns out male, it MUST

1. Be a Punk Rocker

• Reasonings: A female with the above mentioned physical attributes should have no problems making a very good living as either a high paid Call-girl, Geisha, or Ultra popular Porn Star. At the very least, men will do anything she asks, so she's set for life. As for the male, well, at least he'll be interesting and entertaining to be around. Added bonus: no traditional parent/offspring fights about who's music sucks and who's deaf from listening to what.

More later, as always, be safe.

Some Thoughts late at night...

My personal theory of just what's wrong with North America.  Lather, Rinse, Repeat. It has probably not escaped your attention, that, when showering, if you turn the shampoo bottle around, you will find those words. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. And that is exactly what I feel is wrong in North America today.  We live in a society so simple that the manufacturers of shampoo feel the need to include instructions on their product. A product that most North Americans have been using their entire lives. And they still haven't got it. C'mon, even a hairdresser could figure it out by themselves (or at least in a small group).  And it's not like one of those goofy warnings you see once in a while, like the blow-dryer with the warning "Do not use in shower" or the little silicone pack in new shoes that says "Do not eat". Those are there for a reason, and the reason is that someone has actually done it. True! Hair dryers never bore the warning until some idiot actually used one in the shower. A certain brand of lawn mower, the amazing 'Fly-Mo' (no wheels, it sort of hovered around like a , well, like a hovercraft) suddenly started displaying the warning "Do not use to trim hedges" because some brain-dead mouthbreather actually picked one of these things up by the edges to do a little trimming.  The only things that got trimmed were 5 or 6 of his idiot fingers.  Ah, well, social Darwinism, eh? More whiskey for the rest of us. But Lather, Rinse, Repeat? No, not there to protect the stupid, just there to direct the stupid.  And they will probably be directed straight into the nearest catholic church where they will symbolically kill and eat their own god, all of which leads me to this (long overdue) conclusion: Religion is not, as Marx claimed, the "Opiate of the Masses", it is the "Appetizer of the Unbalanced".
 

Now,

Lather, Rinse, Repeat.

Blast from the past

Yeah, yeah, I know its been a while since there's been any action here - I'm working on it. Promise. Until then, here's a time machine to 1982!

Shock Therapy ‘82

NiK NormaL © 1982 All Rights Reserved 

Performed by NeoMorte

Once I was domestic, the house and the wife,

Whole situation seemed plastic, it twisted my life.

The only solution, short of total despair,

Was to short-circuit my brains out, til I couldn’t care, so…

I went to Shock (shock) Therapy.

It makes me how they like me to be.

Don’t let up on my Shock (shock) Therapy.

I used to have feathers, now I’ve got spikes,

I dress in black leathers, and studs and the likes.

Traded in all my platforms for old combat boots,

I’d rather listen to chain-saws than cellos or flutes.

Slam me up with Shock (shock) Therapy.

Feed my sense of false security.

Don’t take away my Shock (shock) Therapy.

I used to stay home, now I stay in the bars.

Had a comfortable bed, but now I’m sleeping in cars.

And though I’m more out of tune now, than I ever was,

Seems I’m happier this way and I think it’s because ...

I went to  Shock (shock) Therapy.

Just point me to where I’m supposed to be.

Send me back to Shock (shock) Therapy.

Old friends all snub me, they say that I’ve changed.

My Dad doesn’t like me, Mum thinks I’m deranged.

They want explanations, but it all seems so lame,

Cuz since electricity, nothing’s the same!!!

I love my Shock (shock) Therapy.

Now all your tired shit can’t bother me!

I wanna live in Shock (shock) Therapy.

Backlog 'o' Crap 2

            It's almost too much for us to bear! Potato Lad has already lost his newfound power and authority, failing to clock up even a week of power-induced madness! Not one lousy, chest-puffing week, before being demoted to Electronics Counter Person - that's a slightly fancier cashier than most. We were still splitting sides and slapping knees in true 'comedic reaction' fashion when the second shock-wave hit us - incensed at his demotion (and no doubt fearful of what we would do to him in his new, inferior position) he gave his two week notice. Quit. Bailed. There is a Santa after all!

            And oh, how the mighty have fallen: gone are the smug smirk, the elevated nostrilidge (or is it nostrilicity?) and the John Wayne-esque swagger/strut combo. (Although I have, after several serious attempts, discovered that a 'swagger/strut' is a physiological impossibility, as the two tend to cancel each other out - the side to side motion of the swagger portion leeches about 93% of the forward momentum, and hence, the importance of the strut component, thereby necessitating the separate and individual execution of each element.) that we had all pretty much resigned   ourselves to becoming accustomed to.  Seeing the transformation from gleaming, pumped up to maximum pressure, Macy's Parade Balloon of self importance to small, wrinkled, sickly gray blob (not unlike a deflated beach ball fashioned from geriatric elephant hide long since past it's prime) has put something of a noticeable spring in all our steps, as well as a firm belief that the upcoming New Year will, indeed, be a very good one! At this rate, the Maya would seem to be in great position for 2012.

            After thinking that one over a bit, it would be MassCool to ring in the New Years Eve of the Maya by replacing the Times Square Ball with a patched and re-inflated Defeated Potato Lad Aged Elephant Hide Head. Maybe the city of Manhattan would even get on board and commission Disney Studios to provide the perfectly flawless animatronic head of Dick Clark to officiate over the festivities (his rightful place, no?). Besides, we'll need Dick if it turns out, as some theorize, that the Maya calendar ending in 2012 is simply that - they (the calendar committee) just quit keeping track. Lost interest for whatever reason: boredom, new hobbies, whatever. No 'End Of Time As We Know It', no all-encompassing, global natural disaster, no mutated bio-weapons grade virus accidentally released into the atmosphere. Just a weary glance and a slightly pissed "Listen, guys. 2012? Exactly like the 2011 before it. It's all getting to be a tad 'same-ey' now, so I vote we bail. K?".