Forty Winks.

When you’re a baby, it’s pretty simple. You don’t have much control over it. You’re constantly being bundled up and then placed in warm and cozy spots much of the time, so it’s natural that you would sleep a lot. You can’t walk around, talk, do much at all really, except poop, laugh and scream. So why not sleep most of the day away? But as you become able to do more, you tend to want to sleep less and less. In your early childhood, however, you’re forced into napping, daily. It's called naptime, and most of the time, it's boring and it sucks. You don’t really want to sleep, because being awake is much more interesting. You’re learning new things every second. That’s why you see kids passed out in awkward and uncomfortable looking positions all the time, even sometimes with a toy still in their hand. They just had to keep going until they absolutely couldn’t go anymore.

“Must… continue… playing… errrgh…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz”

ZONK!

Even though, for the most part, the daily forced naps come to an end in your mid-childhood, forcing you to go to bed eventually becomes a form of punishment. I remember being sent to bed once when it was still sunny outside. How can I sleep when it’s so bright out? I want to play! Man, that sucked, but I’m sure I did something awful to deserve it. One of the main goals in your life as a child is to not have to go to bed, ever. Ultimately, every night is a challenge to try and stay up late, past your bedtime. You’re really not sure what goes on after you’ve gone to bed, but you assume that it must be really great. Probably it involves candy and all sorts of unsupervised mayhem. After all, your parents make it sound so edgy and dangerous, like things might start exploding at any moment. You’ll even try distracting them some nights, thinking that, maybe if they don’t see a clock, they’ll never know. But somehow, they always do. And then they make it sound like what you’re doing is upsetting the very balance of nature.

“What are you doing up! It’s past your bedtime! GO TO BED!”

Your bedtime is really one of the most important cool factors that you’ve got as a child to set you apart from the pack. It’s one of the key ingredients that can make you cooler than the other kids, whether or not you get to stay up later than them. Even the kid with the absolute coolest toys is a loser next to the kid that can stay up well past the ‘Cosby Show’.

“And then the white haired man came out and addressed the court. His name was Matlock, and only the chosen children could remain awake to see him appear at night.”

And so you’re constantly haggling with your parents over your bedtime. You go to school and conduct surveys and polls and bring the results back home to use as leverage.

“Well, Mother and Father, I have polled most of the students in my grade, and the results, I’m afraid, are quite shocking. Both Timothy Carcoozle and Finnegan Gentilly have stated that they have nine p.m. bedtimes, which puts my eight thirty p.m. well below the average. I mean, if you want to remain well below the average level of awesomeness amongst the parents in our general scholastic region, then, I guess we can just keep things the way that they are.”

Most likely you falsified some (or all) of your research and are nearly completely bluffing (in reality, ol’ Carcoozle goes to bed at eight p.m.). Your parents will call you on this bluff and threaten to call the Carcoozles to check Timothy’s bedtime. After some careful and long negotiations, your parents realize that it’s already 7:32 p.m., and thus past your bedtime, and yell at you to go to bed. So you go to bed that night, two minutes later than usual, victorious. Just wait until they hear about this tomorrow.

At some point, someone in the school yard becomes everyone’s hero, by claiming to have stayed up all night, one night so long ago. You’ve never heard of such a thing before. Staying up? All night? It sounds unbelievable! Suddenly you understand why you are alive. And that’s the ultimate achievement in childhood, really, to stay up so long that when the morning comes, you don’t have to get up, because you’re already up. You never went down. You’re still up. Constant up. And so you organize a sleepover with a friend, during which you plan to stay up all night. And truthfully, as that magical night progresses, it is likely you both slept through a whole chunk of it, but you both lie to yourselves and everyone else and say that you stayed up all night anyways. For weeks afterwards, you will tell stories about eating candy so late that it tasted even better and pretend to have understood what the hell was so funny about what Johnny Carson was saying. You’ve never felt so alive. You didn’t really do anything at all, but just staying up was good enough. Life was up, a natural high. Being up was better than being down. Being awake trumped being asleep every time.

So where did that magic go? Now everyone seems to have a different opinion about sleep. They want to sleep, or even worse, sometimes, they want to nap. People want to have not just one, but two bedtimes? You used to want zero bedtimes! Daytime sleep used to be a punishment. When did it become a reward? What a crock of poo. Much too often I hear people saying that they need a nap. Sometimes, they could really use a nap. How do you use a nap? One thing is certain, in order to use it and fulfill your need, first you have to take a nap. Doesn’t that just sound wrong? Taking a nap sounds like you’re breaking some kind of law, like you’re some kind of sleep thief. It’s as if somewhere there is a sleep guardian trying to protect his big reserve of naps that he normally would only keep for infants and cats. Because, you see, as children, naps are given to you.

“You’re a real grouchy wouchy boy, you need to have a nap. Here, have one. Now.”
“Where’s the baby?”
“He’s having a nap.”

But now, as a grown up, you have to sneak by and try and take one!

“Shhh! Keep it down will ya’? I’m trying to take a nap!”
“Oh, I didn’t realize, good luck. It’s usually easier to take one on the sofa.”
“That’s where I’m going, Bob Ross is on.”

For some people, a nap isn’t even good enough. Some people like to take it to the extreme. Some people require a POWERNAP. I guess this is a way for a lazy person to take a nap, without feeling like a lazy person. Sounds like you’re getting something done, doesn’t it? But, have you ever seen someone at their desk at work taking a powernap? They don’t look like they’re getting things done. They look like they just dropped dead on their desk. And how about how cruddy someone looks after a powernap? They certainly don’t look powerful. They look like they had the shit kicked out of them. Big crease on their face, hair messed up, breath smelling like ass, bags under the eyes which in turn are full of eye crusties, little bit of dried up drool on the cheek, and usually they look sort of confused… oh yeah, right, they’re just rarin’ to go, full power, blast off. What a bag of shit.

“You look tired, are you sure you’re ok?”
“Well, to be honest, I haven’t had a real night of sleep in a few days, but don’t worry, I just took a !!!!POWERNAP!!!!”

And then.

“Oh, in that case, doctor Pooterwhap, here’s your scalpel, let’s cut this bastard open.” or
“Oh, in that case, captain Zingfarb, let’s get this plane off the ground.” or
“Oh, in that case, Edward Scissorhands, go ahead and cut my hair.”

And then followed by.

“No problem. Let’s do this. But, wait, have you got any gum? I’ve got that nasty nap taste in my mouth.”

What makes sleep qualify as a nap anyways, and when should it just be considered as plain old sleep? Some think it’s the location of the sleep, like bed means sleep, sofa means nap. Others assume that it’s the length of the sleep, like short bursts of sleep are thus considered as naps. Some feel that it's the time of day, but what about those who work night shifts? I guess it could be a combination of all of those factors that turn sleep into a nap. Let’s just play it by ear. But what if one night you toss and turn a lot, and barely sleep at all? So you go to the sofa and try to doze off in front of the television? Could each of these short bursts be considered as naps?

“Geez Bill, you look like shit, did you sleep okay last night?”
“I didn’t sleep at all. I did take a series of naps though.”
“Oh, then get back to work, asshole.”

I guess sleep should be considered a nap if it occurs outside of your usual sleep schedule. But napping is for suckers. They never make you feel better, they make you feel like continuing your nap. Rather than confuse yourself and others around you, just go to sleep once per day, at your regular bedtime. If you are really tired from a long day of pretending to work and surfing the internet, and absolutely must go to sleep, then please commit to something, for once in your life, and just sleep all the way through to the following morning. Sometimes you may have stayed up way too late the night before, and your body is trying to act like strict parents, by telling your brain to punish you with daytime sleep.

“I can’t believe I stayed up so late past my bedtime when I told me not to. I barely made it to work on time. That’s it, go to my room! I’m going to bed without supper tonight!”

When you commit to an absurdly early bedtime at home, keep it safe, by putting up a reminder on the wall before you fall asleep stating that “YOU ARE JUST NAPPING”, because, in case you don’t sleep all the way through until morning, there really is nothing worse than waking up at eight at night and thinking that you’re going to be late for work, forgetting momentarily that you fell asleep mid-afternoon, and that it is still today, and not yet tomorrow morning. These dangers can also be easily avoided by simply not napping. I repeat that napping is for suckers.

Now, admittedly, sometimes naps are completely out of our control. Your body sentences you to random naps, no matter where you are currently located. These accidental naps don’t always happen in the home, or at opportune moments, unfortunately, and can become a great nuisance, or even great danger, if you don’t do your best to avoid them. Some examples of bad naps could be:

- Behind the wheel of a car
- Face down in a hot bowl of soup
- In the middle of a crosswalk
- Partway into a daredevil type of action stunt spectacular
- During intercourse
- Halfway into a cartwheel
- While skydiving (prior to pulling the ripcord)
- During a job interview
- While scuba diving or snorkelling
- In class or at work
- After eating a salami sandwich (now known as ‘Nightmare Sandwich’)
- While participating in the ‘Showcase Showdown’ (on ‘The Price is Right’)
- On a crowded bus (and then you fall over onto the asshole beside you)
- In an airplane bathroom (during a poop)
- During a competitive paintball tournament
- On an escalator
- While tandem kayaking through white water rapids
- Mid-sentence
- Atop a mechanical or living bull
- While bobbing for apples at a Halloween party (in costume)
- In a time machine
- After entering Thunderdome

Two men enter, one man leaves.

Bad smells, physical activity, bright lights, uncomfortable positions, self slaps in the face, fasting, loud music, caffeine, speed, big ol’ somersaults or lighting your hair on fire, are all decent ways of trying to stay awake when you feel yourself nodding off into an accidental nap. But, what I find works the best, is to focus on a time in your life when all you wanted to do was stay up late, and never go to sleep, before responsibility, before anything. Think of what being awake must have felt like then. Think about how every moment is a gift that you should cherish. Ninety-five percent of the time, this will cause you to gently drift off into a deep sleep even faster, but at least that way you fall asleep to happy thoughts. Did I mention that napping is for suckers?

That’s it. I could sure use a nap.

Accessory Before and After the Fact.

Underwear, socks, shirts, pants, shoes, jackets. What more do you need? There can be some subtle variations thrown into the mix, depending on temperature or the overall formality or informality of the milieu you are heading into. But everything should have its purpose and function clearly established. In an attempt to set yourself apart from the pack, you may have added on all sorts of needless and useless accessories and gimmicks to your body and appearance. You thought they made you cool and different. They didn’t. They made you look lame and the same as everyone else trying to be different through superficial means.

For example, tattoos are starting to really piss me off. Don’t get a tattoo. There definitely was a time when tattoos had their charm. I think it was back when a tattoo actually meant something. It meant that that person was in the military, or in a street gang, or had been to prison, or was a member of some cult, or was honouring a close friend or relative that burst into flames prematurely. If someone asks you what your tattoo means, or what the tattoo that you want to get means, and the best answer you can come up with is,

“I like dolphins!”, or
“I’m really into like tribal shit and shit.”, or
“Tattoos are so cool! Eveyone’s doin’ it.”, or
“It’s the Japanese symbol for GIGANTIC COCKSUCKER.”,

then it is likely time to look into its removal, or simply to not get it in the first place. If you have enough that you call them your ‘tats’ then you really need to examine their meaning and discriminate a little more.

And what about hats? Seriously man, fuck hats. Don’t wear “stylish” hats in a lame attempt of being different. New hat, same ol’ lame. I agree that at times, hats can be functional, like a helmet, or a tuque in the winter time. But outside of this, hats don’t really do a whole hell of a lot of good. Sometimes hats are good for keeping hair out of your face, while working, playing a sport, exercising, or whatever. Fine. But don’t wear it all damn day, all the time. You know when you wear a baseball cap all day, and at the end of the day, you take it off and move your hair around, and your hair kind of hurts? That should be an indicator that you’re wearing the hat a little too much. Tone it down, mr. Cappy Cap. Bald dudes sometimes try and use hats to cover up, but you should be proud of your shiny manly head! If I was bald, I’d polish that sucker so that people would be blinded by my head in the sunshine. You could spot me from space. Hats off! If you’re using it to protect from the UV rays of the sun, however, this can definitely be accepted, as no one likes a burnt charred head. Toupees are the worst hats of all.

Now, I agree that sometimes hats can help us recognize what someone is or does, as part of a uniform of some kind. Some examples could be policeman, cowboy, military, biker dude, Native American… construction worker… wait a minute, that seems like a familiar group. Did the Village People wear their hats? No, the Village People were their hats.

If the Village People had just shifted some stuff around a little, they could have come very close to achieving global unity through one song. Think about it, we got cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers (biker dude… no?), construction worker and… sailor? Sailor?!? What the hell is that bullshit? They could’ve done without that ‘In the Navy’ crap anyways. Get rid of navy boy and throw in a business man executive type. Then you’d have cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers, blue collar and white collar, all singing in unity. We’d have to come up with a nifty hat for the white collar guy, but it totally can be done. Likely, it would be some type of fedora, but we’ll leave it up to the People themselves to decide. And then you’d have it all: racial, social, economical… hold on. Let’s take it up a notch, because we are still missing some major and popular forms of bigotry. Let’s add two brand new members to the Village People: Jew and Muslim, or maybe Scientologist and Roman-Catholic, or how about Atheist and Vampire, or Mormon and ANYTHING ELSE. Now they’re singing all together, regardless of racial, social, economical, or religious disagreements and differences.

What about the gays and the straights, you ask? Well, that’s already being covered. ‘YMCA’ is the gayest gay anthem that the world has ever gayed. Knowing that, now, go to any wedding, social event, company outing, or anywhere that features a hip “DJ” and you will be able to witness any number of conservative, lame, homophobic morons all dancing like idiots, singing along, and doing the ridiculous hand and arm motions to that very song. They even do the pelvis pump and finger point during the verses, in a lame imitation of dance moves that they probably learned from watching the ‘The Full Monty’, the raciest movie that they’ve ever seen. That’s right folks, you read it here, ‘YMCA’ could be a harbinger of peace. ‘We Are the Champions’ is definitely a close second, by succeeding to get homophobic jock primates the world over to sing operatically at sporting events, but it hardly covers all of the world’s problematic bases the way ‘YMCA’ does. However, if Freddie Mercury was still alive today, I believe he would have ended war forever by now, with his super human, out of this world brand of Rock, and his little baton microphone stand thing.

Speaking of aliens, honestly, if at one point we start exploring new planets, this is how we should present ourselves. Just land on an inhabited planet, let the big spaceship doors open up (like a big closet), and then let out the Village People (or more likely a seasoned Village People cover band), with all the above suggested modifications, singing and dancing the ‘YMCA’. By the time the second chorus rolls around, man those aliens will be so pumped up for it. Probably they’ll false start a little like a drunken grandma at a bar-mitzvah, but it’s ok, it’s their first try, after all.

“‘Y’! ‘M’! … ‘c’… oh oops… no not yet? Oh geez, I thought it was that time again… oh my, what a party! Woo!”

Contrary to what you might be thinking though, the Village People’s rare and fantastically acceptable form of hat usage does not excuse all musicians from needless hat wearing.

“Justin Timberlake wears hats now? Well, shit, I need to get me a hat and wear a hat too! Ready, set, hattify.”

Think for yourself! Hats are lame, so stop trying so hard! Also, someone tell Jason Mraz, or Hat Guy, to knock it off too (I definitely did not come up with the idea of calling him Hat Guy. I read it in a CD review somewhere, where the reviewer claimed that his new release featured even more Hat Power than ever. Great stuff, I wish I could remember where I read it). I went to an outdoor festival where Hat Guy was playing and it was an absolute ocean of lame hats. It’s bad enough that he’s wearing one, but now the Hat Followers are too. I was worried that all fifty thousand hats were going to join together and make some kind of super hat like the robots in Voltron, or to a lesser degree, the Mighty Morphin Power Ranger robots, and destroy us all with cheesified toe-tappin’ blue eyed soul. Except for all of the cougars of course, who, rather than melt, would grow tall like the fifty foot woman, and dance the night away with the same dance moves they learned at their high school prom, circa 1987, and have recently been perfecting at Jason Mraz, Maroon 5, or sadly, John Mayer concerts. Then the Village People would have to join up like the Power Rangers too to defeat them all. “IT’S MORPHIN’ TIME!” I won’t spoil everything for you, so it will remain a partial surprise when it all happens, but the cowboy’s robot is a huge god damn horse.

While we’re on the subject of needless hat usage perpetrated by musicians, at least seventy-five to ninety-five percent of country musicians shouldn’t be wearing those cowboy hats. You’re not cowboys, and you’re not helping to create global unity like the Village People’s fake cowboy. Take off your hats!

I could do without all of these piercings too. Much like the tattoo, at one time piercings could have had their use, to set you apart and make you look scary and shit, like whatever class of Warrior, Pirate, Prostitute, Ninja or Wizard that you happened to be, in whatever radical period of history you were from. But nowadays, you don’t look original or extreme or even scary, just lame. You just look like you fell asleep on a sequin gun. And stop inventing random places to get pierced. Metallic zits all over your face and a whole pile of what look like bad stapling accidents? Screw that! You think it’s rebellious? I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that you pierced your asshole shut, since you’re totally full of shit. Come up with something actually new and shocking, piercings are unacceptable. I don’t even like earrings on women, really. Nothing, that’s what I like, which is unfortunate, since I’m in a generation of people that will probably start taking their five year olds to get their eyebrow pierced.

“Come on Skyler, don’t you want to look like the ‘Green Day’? It will only hurt for a second, and then you’ll get ice cream… flavored broccoli-soya ooze treats. Hold still while I fix your mascara and eye liner. Stop crying, you’re ruining it.”

Honestly, be careful with jewelry in general, not just piercings. People shouldn’t jingle, ever. Never, ever, not ever. If you call anything your ‘bling’, throw that blingy thingy out the window, now. And I’m not too comfortable with big fuckin’ belt buckles either. Belts, I get. You don’t want your pants to fall, and therefore, it is a functional accessory. But big shiny metallic glittery buckles that say “Big Daddy” or look like fire engines, or eagles, or whiskey bottles… really? You’re either trying to draw attention away from your face, or towards your crotch. Either way, I just don’t trust you, or like you very much. No more stupid belt buckles. Also, you all need to take the makeup down a notch or two. This goes for both men and women. You know what social group wears a lot of makeup? Circus clowns. If you want to get yourself lumped in with them, then go for it. Otherwise, let’s see what you really look like under there. And what’s with the fake nails? Who is finding this appealing? No more fake nails.

“Yes, I’d like to get the really long nails that make it impossible for me to do any simple hand oriented tasks, like tying shoelaces, opening a soda can, typing, wearing rubber gloves, etcetera etcetera, please. Also make sure that they break pretty easily. I love being able to whine about breaking a nail. And please make sure that they match the color of my bullshit.”

And what’s all this about wearing glasses when you don’t need them? That’s like riding around in a wheelchair just for the fun of it (said George Costanza once in reference to something else altogether, but it applies nicely here). If the person doesn’t need the glasses, then the “don’t hit a guy with glasses” rule is definitely thrown out the window. Punch away, right in the fake glasses area. Monocles are acceptable though, even if you don’t need one, since it takes tremendous balls to walk around with a monocle. I’d like to see a guy in sweatpants and an old ripped Iron Maiden shirt walking around wearing a monocle and checking his pocket watch. Just seems to me like it would be fun to see. Also, no matter what you may have heard in songs by Corey Hart or George Clinton, sunglasses should be reserved for the outdoors on sunny days only. No exceptions to the rule. Feel free to punch a guy wearing sunglasses at night. He probably won’t see it coming anyways. He’s busy trying to check out girls without them noticing, a low level Peeping Tom, if you will. Peeping Tom seems like far too friendly of a term for a category of sex offender doesn’t it? I’d even prefer the vague, non-specific “pervert” over Peeping Tom. Peeping Tom sounds like a fun activity.

“Where are you going?”
“I’m going peeping with my peepers. Careful, I just might peep at you!”

I guess successful Peeping Toms aren’t very superstitious people either. Otherwise they’d be putting down the binoculars every two minutes thinking that “a watched pot never boils.” Although, I suppose if they were superstitious, one that they wouldn’t have too much trouble with is “Touch Wood” (also popular is the term “Knock on Wood”). Some people might feel like they’re not just a Peeping Tom. That’s just too low brow. They’re sophisticated, they’re Voyeurs. Oh yeah, that’s what we need to do, classy up the terms for the perverts and make them sound like performance artists.

“Well, first I locate a proper and sturdy tree to venture within, that assures me a decent view into a window, and with optimal branch coverage, and then, well, I just wait until the time is right. Some use standard bird watching binoculars, but I prefer Opera Glasses. Camouflage by Armani.”
“What technique! What voyeurage! And a classic La Braunzapanelli finish? I give it nine point seven out of ten.”

It’s only a matter of time before GQ will start printing 'How-To' articles for the twenty-first century Voyeur, claiming that people actually want to have their privacy invaded, and be ogled. Thankfully we haven’t started up with other pleasant and friendly ways to describe sex offenders, because the world probably isn’t ready for the ol’ Roofy Randy, the Pee-Wee Herman, the Collecter Chris, the Diddler Dan, the Statutory Steve, the No-Consent Norman, the Bob Barker or even the Get Along Gang Bang. I’ll let you decide what all of those may refer to. Sure enough, the 'How-To' articles in GQ would follow shortly. Is there a female version of the Peeping Tom? Like Peeping Tina or something? Those articles would go in Cosmopolitan. In short, don’t wear sunglasses unless it’s necessary, i.e. sunny, you loser.

Don’t get carried away with hair either. If you just got your hair ‘done’, then you’ve already gone too far. You should get your hair cut, not done. It shouldn’t be “Check out my hairdo”. It should be “I just got a haircut”. Keep it simple. I’m not saying you have to go to those horrible barber shops, with the seventy-five year old barbers and the twenty-five year old issues of Penthouse. Those places only do about three haircuts, anyways: The mama’s boy side part, the bowl cut, and the skinhead. And that's for both men or women. I’m just saying to not get too caught up with having a unique style and flare. If you go in a salon, make it clear from the beginning.

“What can we do for you today?”
“Pretty much take exactly what I have now, but just shrink it down a bit.”
“So, the same hairdo?”
“No, same haircut. Neat, nice, slightly shorter than it is now.”

Beards and most forms of facial hair are fine. Just remember that, sideburns shouldn’t be too pointy, too thin or too groomed, handlebar moustaches should only be for people who can comfortably refer to themselves as ‘wranglers’, and the regular moustache is reserved for those who are old enough that they had the moustache before moustaches were associated with scummy sketchy creepy greasy people.

And to the Carrot People from the tanning salons (you know who they are, you've seen them), you need to get your shit under control as well. You know who else likes the tanning salon? Skin Cancer. Spray-On Carrot People are equally lame, but at least smart enough not to make friends with the Skin Cancer. You know who Carrot People turn into when they are older? Leather People. I don’t mean people that wear a lot of leather. I mean people whose faces look like old dried-up used saddlebags. Over tanning equals a bad idea.

In conclusion, you need to have non-superficial ways to try and show people that you’re special, because these superficial ways just aren’t special anymore. Be yourself and speak your mind. That’s what I want more of. Trust me, if you just would get out from behind the facade, I guarantee that you’re special just the way you are. Your mom was right. And so was Billy Joel for loving you that way.

That’s it. Hats off to individuality!

An Exceptional Perception of Contraception.

She looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes, hinting that she wanted to take this party to the bedroom. He raced behind her into the dimly lit room. Scented candles filled the air with a pot-pourri stench that just screamed “Erotic!” As they playfully tore off each others’ clothing and foreplay stumbled forward, she gently whispered in his ear.

“Do you have any… protection?”
“No, fuck no. I was hoping and assuming you did…”

Well, that sucks doesn’t it? There are about three mainstream methods of contraception that we are all mostly aware of, the classic trio of the pill, condoms and the ol’ pull out (adding ol' makes it seem more endearing, and less sketchy). In case somehow you weren’t aware, the pill is taken by the woman. She takes a little chewable vitamin candy everyday and then, poof, as if by magic, no babies. That’s totally how it works. It’s largely the most effective defense against unwanted baby production, but unfortunately won’t do a whole hell of a lot against STDs. Sorry, I almost forgot, it’s STIs now. What’s the deal with that? I guess I can understand the idea of changing it from disease to infection, for it to be more accurate. But infection just sounds less scary than disease, doesn’t it?

“You got any diseases?”
“Diseases? No. I might have an infection or two…”
“Oh well, that doesn't sound so bad. Drop your pants and close the door.”

We should be changing it to something really freaky and off-putting, instead of something more user friendly and accurate. Damn science. It should be something like SRGPs, for example.

“You got any diseases?”
“Diseases? No. But I do have some SEXUALLY RUINED GENITAL PROBLEMs.”
“Oh well, look at the time, I’ve already called a cab. Please leave, and put a bag over that thing.”

Your only real defense against SRGPs is the condom. Condoms also help to prevent surprise babies, maybe not as much as the magic of the pill (with all of its super nutrients), but still a whole lot better than nothing. So really, it’s good to equip yourself with some, for when the mood strikes and you happen to be with someone else looking to help you take advantage of that mood.

First things first, you have to go out and buy them. Shopping for condoms can be a lot of fun, if you allow it to be. But, you absolutely must go to a grocery store for condoms (one of those big mega marts with the pharmacy near the produce section). You can make much better combinations there to completely confuse and scare the cashiers. Walk up to the cash, throw down a box of twelve condoms, and then follow it up with a package of twelve frozen jumbo spicy Italian sausages. Toss in some doggie treats. Revel in the horror of the cashier. If you really want to take it up a notch, throw in a package of those shiny pointy party hats. Casually mention that you’re having a party. Seriously, don’t get caught up with all that embarrassment shit. Have fun with it. Let’s be honest, do you care what Ricky, or Cheyenne, or Wendy, or Scooter, or whatever their name is working the cash, thinks? No. And anyways, do you know what they’re probably thinking? “I wish I was having a fucking party too.” And you can take that F-Bomb as literally as you want to take it. I’ll leave it up to you, the reader, to decide.

Browsing at the varieties of condoms can be fun and exciting, but don’t get too lost or mixed up in the dizzying array of condom creations. Some variations make sense, like size. I get it, some dudes have cocktail wieners, and some are packing third legs. If you are outside of the average range, then you may feel free to get the necessary equipment to accommodate your plus or minus. Getting one that is either thicker or thinner is also perfectly acceptable and normal. Maybe you just don’t want to finish so quickly, or maybe you just want to be able to finish in the first place. Do what you got to do, get the one you need to get, get the job done, efficiently and safely, like a robot. All of these variations seem reasonable, whereas others do not. Like colour. Why would you need to be buying different colours? Are you inviting a bunch of guys to bed with you and your partner, and you intend on color coding all of your individual units? You could hand your partner a chart, or a legend, on the way into the orgy.

“Oh greenpenis, that’s so good, oh my God yes, go greenpenis go! euh… wait, let me check who you are, greenpenis … let’s see… Ah, greenpenis … you’re on page… page five… ok… hmmm… greenpenis is… Roddy! Oh Roddy, yes, you’re the best! According to this you’re a Capricorn? Interesting… OH MY! Yes! Yes! The Best! So far! Oh and purplepenis you’re up next, tag in.”

I haven’t really known any orgy goers, so I’m just going to assume that that’s how it goes down, and that that must be the only practical use for buying differently coloured condoms. That and making it look all fruity and colourful and scrumptious like a tall glass of juice. Well of course, except for glow-in-the-dark, which could have several other uses like helping your partner spot the male genitalia, turning out all of the lights and pretending that a little flying UFO is hovering around the room, or even getting it on in a blizzard and guiding the way like Rudolph (the red nosed reindeer, that is).

“On Prancer, on Venus, on Shoehorn, on Boner… won’t you guide my lay tonight, HeeYAH!”

Although, perhaps it’s more like when you see someone reading or studying in a book and they highlight the important passages with a fluorescent highlighter.

“Baby, you don’t need to worry about everything, here, I’ll just highlight the most important part” he gently says, as he wraps it up, with a bright neon glowing yellow rubber.

Taste is another variation to steer clear from, because, unless you plan on brewing a pot of deliciously poisonous tea with it, what’s the friggin’ point? Has your partner’s vagina stated a clear preference for Piña Colada or Coco-Banana over Classic Strawberry? Is it possible for the Vajoojee to be so finicky? Maybe if the tasty rubbers smelled like what they claim to taste like, you’d have some kind of reason to buy them, having a crotch area that smells like cherry pie, or whatever. But the last time I smell-checked, cherry pies don’t smell like a doctor’s rubber gloves greased up with old nasty semi-used-up cherry chapstick.

There are also a whole slew of physical varieties to never ever buy. For example there are studded condoms, which will allow your rod to have the feel and texture of raw chicken skin. Maybe your partner is into that. Maybe they were lonely one night, went to the fridge for something to try out, and were all out of phallic shaped vegetables, and they went straight for a chicken, or turkey, drumstick. If this is the case, then, by all means, get the studded condoms, but otherwise, don’t. Ever. Another example is rippled condoms, or ‘ribbed for her pleasure’, or whatever. I’m not sure how this variation was even conceived, but if you think that your partner has ever fantasized about being fingered by the Michelin Man, then by all means, ripple and rib it up like there ain’t no tomorrow. If not, then best to keep it smooth, fella’.

When it comes right down to it, anything that is going to alter the shape texture or even behaviour of your mr. happy is probably best avoided, unless you have a written and signed request for such abnormalities from your partner to be.

“Dearest Peter Schlongbarer,

I dreamed last night that you were a vibrating cyborg and that your package was shaped like a Siberian Tiger mixed with a Rhinoceros-Elephant-Turtle. Go find the right prophylactic to replicate this. Also, make a big frilly bow out of the reservoir tip, you know, so it will look all festive and shit. Remember, no glove, no love.

Sincerely,
Petunia Frumpdardell”

Otherwise, you really should go with the normal standard fare. And, name brands only, please. This is one product that you probably shouldn’t go for the knockoffs. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me to find out that Uncle Crotchety’s Oldtime Blastoff Wraps might not offer the same reliability as the more well known brands.

If neither the pill nor condoms are in your arsenal of precaution at launch time, you can always try the ol’ pull out method. Why, it’s as old as pregnancy itself (that seems like a strange coincidence doesn’t it?). Although it won’t help the battle against SRGPs, it could possibly mildly assist in the battle against accidental babies, not nearly as effectively as the previously mentioned methods of contraception, and not nearly as much as one would hope or expect. Contrary to what anyone may have told you one drunken night, or what you may have read on the interwikinetepedia, the ol’ pull out will not always prevent pregnancy. Doctors agree, mostly, I guess, that it's not very safe, probably unless they themselves are out of other options and assure their partner to be that: “It's safe, don't worry, I should know I’m a doctor."

But, if you truly think that pulling out is one hundred percent effective, then why not take it a step further and try leaving it in? Maybe you think that’s too dangerous, and could lead to all sorts of babies and double babies. But think about it, there are plenty of other different and exciting places that you can leave it in, while still remaining edgy and cool, and without having to worry about pregnancy, like a blender, or the butt. Why not leave it in the toaster, the freezer, or hell, leave it in a doorway as you slam that sucker closed? Try these only if you’re into unsafe really super sexy fun, of course.

The truth is, people, if you’re drunkenly confused, don’t feel comfortable together in the first place, fear that one of you might be harbouring some SRGPs, or are simply not all that confident in the ol’ pull out method to begin with and are out of other viable safety options, then maybe you should try leaving it in… your pants! For once!

That’s it. That’s a wrap. Safety first kids!

What's My Motivation?

Whether you’re training for something in particular, the doctor told you that you absolutely must exercise, or simply you just feel that you’ve gotten far too fat for your own good, you can’t avoid the fact that you will likely have to start hitting the ol’ gym. Motivation is not easy to come by, since the gym straight up sucks. Keeping up this motivation to go is a tremendous pain in the ass, and sometimes much harder work than the working out itself. If you’re serious about working out this time, then there are a few key points to remember, to try and sustain that motivation for as long as possible.

First of all, if it is the beginning of a New Year, then you should just skip January altogether. Most people make some kind of silly New Year’s resolution to start going to the gym like crazy. “This year is the year”, they think. That’s why you often see big crowds at the gym during the month of January. Everyone starts off strong, but by Valentine’s Day, they’re all sitting at home in their underwear eating chocolates out of a gift box and swallowing those spicy cinnamon hearts whole, with a tall glass of pop, and trying to remember when the last time they went to the gym was, reminiscing, if you will.

“I went three times last week” they claim, actually referring to a week in mid January.

Fuck all that noise. In January, suddenly everyone is walking around, working with those personal trainers, taking up space, and looking stupid. There are always at least a few people being shown how to exercise, and like, how to use a treadmill in case they were dropped into this century directly from the late eighteen hundreds.

“Oh, I think I get it now, you run in the opposite direction of the belt on the short fast moving walkway? I was trying to use my hands to stop the belt altogether, I assumed it was some sort of upper body strength and stamina test.”

It’s aggravating and everyone is so damn excited, for a little while, which could be motivating if they kept going, but most won’t. You don’t need to be around all those chipper perky eager beavers who will end up stopping completely in a few weeks anyways. It’s really the opposite of motivating once you start seeing them all dropping like flies. You’re better off never seeing them in the first place. You may have even been one of those keeners yourself at one point, we all have. We have all dropped out at some point, or not (maybe you’re one of those super fit peoples that self motivates super easily, and that us commoners gaze at in sheer amazement, if so, fuck you). We also all know that surviving the great late-January drop out period is difficult. To avoid all this, just skip the gym during the entire month. Instead do some at home workouts to keep active. Some examples could be:

- Diced Tomato Can Juggling
- Couch Cushion Fort Making
- Bathroom Tub Scrubbing
- Imaginary Friend Wrestling
- Drink Coaster Ultimate Frisbee
- Guitar Hero
- Somersaults

Basically, include any activity that can keep you busy and motivated for your eventual gym arrival. January is party month.

Once February hits or it’s currently some other month altogether, like Auguptember or something, then the coast is clear, and it’s time to get crackin’. Unless it’s Monday, of course, don’t start on Mondays. Mondays are bullshit. Never go to the gym on Mondays. It’s sort of like how in January, everyone thinks, “This year is the year!” Well, each week, on Mondays, a whole mess of people think, “This week is the week!” So forget Mondays, they are crowded, smelly, loud, and full of people aimlessly wandering around trying to decide which machine to try out, working out on one (half-assedly) for five minutes or less and then returning to their aimless wander. Not motivating, just plain annoying.

Ok, so it’s Octovember, it’s a Tuesday, and it’s time to rock and roll.

Except, don’t go right after work, it will be way too crowded. You’ll end up having to wait to get a machine or the weights that you need, and then eventually you’ll just think, “Well, screw this, my show’s on”, and bail. If you are able to go smack dab in the middle of the morning, this is the best time to go. You will be surrounded by a relatively small number of students, strippers and the unemployed (the SSU for short), and motivation will be at an all time high. Be sure to have breakfast at least one hour before going, and steer clear from eggs (increases the odds of treadmill egg farts), cereal (leads to milky acid reflux vomit), orange juice (causes horrible stomach burn sensations), or more than a single cup of coffee (you may end up surprising yourself while crunching your abs, see: Quelle Surprise!). If you’re not a member of the SSU, and you don’t work a nightshift of any kind, then the morning is out of the question. You can lie to yourself and say that you’ll go before work, but you won’t. You’ll do it once or twice, maybe, but you’ll end up skipping a few mornings in a row at one point, and then thinking “What’s the point again?” Three months and twenty pounds later, you’re right back where you started, face down in a pool of bacon grease at a breakfast buffet somewhere in rural Quebec.

The only other time that won’t be too crowded is in the evening, after supper time. Chances are motivation will be at a daily low for you to even step foot outside of the home, because you’ll be lethargic from an unhealthy supper and just too flat out lazy to pull yourself away from whatever gripping reality show is popular at that time. Probably something called ‘In Your Face Boyz: Real Adventures of Asshole Dudes and Them Rich Ladies’ or ‘Single Mama On the Prowl: Looking for Love in All the Wrong Places’ or ‘Celebrity Orgies XVII - The Gossip Girl Edition’ or ‘Fashion Explosion Bonanza Showdown’. So you need to either quit your job (and get a night job, see: Seasonal Affective Disorder) or destroy your television and eat better (only before the workout, afterwards you can eat anything) if you are actually serious about staying motivated and getting into shape... or have willpower, whichever.

Alright, so it’s the right month, the right weekday and the right hour for motivation, it is officially time to start feeling the burn.

There are several excuses that your brain will throw at you to prevent the actual journey to the gym from taking place, even when the conditions are perfect as I have just described. You must be well aware of your brain’s trickery, and call bullshit on any excuses that it dangles at you. Some examples could be:

- I really should stay home and clean.
- What if someone calls while I’m out?
- I didn’t eat too badly today, anyways.
- I’ll go tomorrow, for twice as long.
- I’ve got so much reading to catch up on.
- Didn’t I go yesterday?
- I could just not go, but tell people that I did, they won’t know.
- I haven’t really had any time to just sit and relax today. I need some ‘me’ time.
- I’ve got a headache.
- I’ll start fresh tomorrow / next week / next month / next year / next life.
- I did do a lot of walking today.
- I don’t want to run into any traffic.
- I really should do groceries. I mean, I can’t live without food after all.
- I don’t have any new music on my [enter popular Mp3 player name here].
- I think I might be getting sick, I should rest.
- Is that the doorbell? No? Oh, it sure sounded like it. I’ll stay here in case.
- But, I just showered!
- I agree that staring at the wall is fun.
- There’s a sidewalk sale at the mall? Well, that’s a once in a lifetime kind of thing.
- I shouldn’t have to go if I don’t want to go.
- I think I feel a poop coming.

Tell your brain to shut up, pack your bag and head out for that beautifully constructed and often poorly ventilated establishment known as the gym. By car, foot, bus, cab, boat, snowmobile, donkey or water ski, you made it. You’re at the gym. Now, your brain will assault you with its last line of anti-motivational defense. Its goal is to get you to return home, prior to working out. Some examples could be:

- What? I forgot my lock?
- Oh no! I brought the bad socks!
- It seems crowded.
- Did I lock the door at home?
- I’m pretty sure I left the oven on.
- Man, this is going to suck.
- It turns out, my [enter popular Mp3 player name here] has no batteries left.
- I should go home and check my email.
- I think I feel a poop coming.

Make up your mind by telling your mind to shut up again and that you are definitely staying. You’re here and you’re going inside. Once in, change quickly so that you don’t succumb to your brain’s aforementioned arsenal of excuses to leave before working out. You get into the workout area, you are ready to sweat. There are still millions of motivation killers lurking about (including your own mind), so you need to know what they are and try and avoid them.

Whether you wish to start with weights and then finish with cardio, or vice-versa, try and do more than ten minutes of cardiovascular exercise. Sometime after the ten minute mark, your brain will start throwing excuses at you yet again, in an attempt to make you quit early, before you have had a good workout. It’s really important to do more than just ten minutes, according to some doctors and shit, so arm yourself with willpower and swat away negative thoughts. Some examples could be:

- That’s enough already.
- I can still make it home for the tail end of prime time television
- If I stop now, then I could re-use these clothes for the next workout, I’m only mildly smelly.
- The restaurants are closing soon and I want hot dogs
- I can feel my phone ringing at home
- I came to the gym, who cares how long I stay? What’s important is that I came.
- Is that rain outside? I should check.
- I’m bored, so bored.
- I think I feel a poop coming.

Another important point to note is to stay far away from Captain Socialfaces. A Captain Socialface hangs out in the weight area in general. You will know a Captain Socialface by their irritatingly obnoxious voice, their tendency to walk around talking to people instead of doing anything, their annoying way of trying to inform people how to properly do a certain exercise, and their uncanny ability to groan and grunt during every weight set that they eventually do. A Captain Socialface often does a very tiny amount of reps with insanely heavy weights. They will emit anything from a mild grunt to a guttural howl in order to draw attention to themselves during their set, at the end of which they will drop their weights to the floor and make a thunderous noise that echoes through the entire gym, assuring that everyone is forced to look in that general direction. They will then rise from whatever sit, squat, lying or upside down position that they were in, and scan the area, to be sure that everyone is looking. Then they’ll walk around talking to people again, loud, obnoxious and vain. Nothing can drain motivation and increase the desire to leave faster than a Captain Socialface.

What is this need for grunting? At no point in time does any human being need to make a noise like this. They are showboating, they are communicating with the outside world, trying to say, “Check me out, I’m fucking huge, I’m all strong'n'shit, I’m awesome”. The proof that there is never an actual need to grunt is pretty simple to find. If you are completely by yourself, lying around at home, you would never make any grunting noises, or any sound at all for that matter, no matter what activity you are in the process of undertaking. Toe stubbing, pooping, self-gratification, all pass by with little more than a simple exhale of the nostrils and a casual blink of the eyes. Sometimes you may cough aloud, if you choke on water or saliva. Some people claim to laugh out loud when alone, but that’s just nuts. Equally crazy is having the occasional self conversation, but we all do this, even though we know it’s certifiable. I like to talk to myself in a British accent. It makes me feel more regal. But there is never any uncontrollable grunting, no matter how backed up you are or how much pain you are in, because grunting is communication, and communication is social, and socializing takes at least two. In short, if you are one of the local Captain Socialfaces at your gym, then you must quit the gym immediately and go get some help.

Stinky sweaty smelly people (Smellies) may also hinder your motivation, so be very careful when picking out a workout machine not to pick a machine near any of these smellies. Each smelly has a different smelly radius, so the distance can fluctuate, but as a rule of thumb, if you can hear them breathing, then you're too close. Feel free to change machines mid workout, if in fact a smelly gets on a machine too close to yours. Never ever look a smelly in the eyes. -Special thanks to my wife for reminding me of the presence of Smellies, and their effect on one's motivation-

Joining any Aerobic, Spinning, Tae-Poo-ing, Hippie Yoga-ing, Douche Bagging, Basket Weaving or whatever classes that your gym offers could help increase your motivation, in that suddenly you have a rigid schedule to follow, and people expect you to show up to class. Be careful however, since, joining classes could also decrease your motivation, in that suddenly you have a rigid schedule to follow, and people expect you to show up to class.

Have a target in your mind, a goal to achieve, and focus on it as often as you can. This will help you stay pumped, especially once (if) you start to see yourself heading towards that end goal. Some examples could be:

- I should lose one million pounds.
- I need to make my wiener look bigger.
- I like being able to eat more, free of guilt!
- I’d hate to have to buy new clothes, yet again.
- I want to run a marathon, eventually.
- I feel exhausted when I put on my socks in the morning and that seems wrong to me.
- I’m currently sad and pathetic all the time, let’s fix that.
- I wish I needed less naps.
- I haven’t been thinking that "I think I feel a poop coming" as often as I would like to of late.

Starting your workout regimen with a friend, relative or significant other can often increase the overall motivation. You must be careful though, as sometimes you will assist each other in your laziness, and join forces to eat fried chicken, watch ‘Wheel of Jeopardy’, not exercise and be thoroughly and completely void of all motivation for working out.

“You’re not going? Well, fuck it, I’m not going either!”
Then they celebrated, with corn dogs, beer and their favorite episode of ‘Same Ol’ Shit’.

You can often motivate one another through the use of left handed compliments. This works even more effectively when it is with your significant other. Some examples could be:

- Nice shirt, you look less wide.
- Nice jeans, your butt looks smaller.
- Congratulations on actually stopping after two plates, piggy.
- You know you’re not so slim yourself, chunks.
- I’m surprised that you haven’t exploded yet.
- Oh yeah? Well, go to the gym fatso!
- I want a divorce.
- I’m keeping the dog.
- I think I feel a poop coming.

Once you complete an entire workout, it’s always good to reward yourself afterwards. This will keep you motivated for the next time. Reward yourself with burgers, pizza, ice cream, heavy cheesecakes, king-size chocolate bars or whole bags of your favorite kind of chip. Eat these junk food rewards while watching your favorite programs and sitting on your ass. You will feel a veritable surge of motivation in no time at all. These rewards may, however, further distance you from your goals, which can in turn, decrease motivation.

I guess the real key to sticking with it, is actually sticking to it. The more you go, the more the motivation to go will come naturally. Also, don’t expect overnight results. These things take time. You will see results, eventually. If you expect big changes in a short time frame, you will be utterly disappointed, and this disappointment will in turn cause you to lose even more motivation. I must admit though, overnight results would be much more motivating than having to wait like infinity years for results. Man, this is bullshit, it’s not fair. I quit.

That’s it. My brain was right, writing this was much better than going to the gym.

Picture Perfect.

You need to stop taking so many pictures. Digital cameras came along and suddenly everyone’s an artist. Everyone loves photography. And because memory is cheap, there’s no discrimination at all with what to take pictures of. People take pictures of everything. It’s always ‘the blurry picture of the street lamp’, ‘the upside down shot of your friend doing a cartwheel’, ‘the sky at night all blurry and shit’, ‘landscape shot number seventeen thousand’ or the dreaded ‘shot of oneself taken with the camera at arms length’. Enough! Use a fucking mirror! I liked when there was a limit on the number of pictures. You’d buy a disposable camera for your vacation, and then you'd get twenty six or seven pictures for the whole trip. And you couldn’t check how they turned out immediately after taking them. You had to wait. Now people are reminiscing about moments just moments after capturing said moment. Stop trying to create needless instant nostalgia!

“Yo, check the picture I just took of that tree.”
“Nice. Nice pic. I remember that tree. Man, good times. We had such good times with that tree, roughly ten to twelve seconds ago.”
“Hey, take a picture of me looking at the picture of the tree. I want to capture how great this new thing is, I never want to forget the experience of remembering the tree.”
“Check out the picture of you checking out the picture of the tree!”
“Awesome, that is so going to be my next Profile Pic, on Farcepoop.”
“Do you want a pic of you checking out the pic of you checking out the pic of you checking out the pic of the tree?”

This exchange continued for several more minutes.

And what’s with sharing all of the photos too? It takes away some of the magic, doesn't it? Remember when receiving ‘doubles’ of someone’s pictures used to have a certain amount of meaning? It used to be special. Doubles were a hot commodity. Very few people had doubles of your pictures, and you didn’t have many of others’ artwork either. Most pictures in your albums were your originals. You used to have to really want the doubles, and make a special request.

“Can you get doubles for me? It turns out my disposable camera wasn’t waterproof.”

Still, it was rare that you really gave a shit about getting someone’s doubles. Suddenly with digital cameras not only is everyone taking pictures of everything, but everyone is posting them for everyone to see, and, even worse, everyone wants to see everyone’s pictures of everything, for some strange reason. I mean, at least when someone gave you their doubles, there were only twenty or so pictures, generally. Now people are viewing hundreds of randomly photographed bullshitshots. Sometimes it will be an event that you yourself were also at. And you have your own pictures of it. And still you want to see other peoples’ pictures of the same thing you already have pictures of. Is it that you secretly think that they got some super shot from some super angle that will change your entire life forever?

“Thank God you had your camera there at that time too, because I hadn’t gotten a really good picture of everyone dancing to the Village People’s ‘YMCA’ the second time that they played it. I only had pictures from the first time around. What a great time, now I don’t even have to try and remember what it was actually like, I have the picture.”

All of this is beside the point that, it seems to me, at one time, viewing a slideshow, of someone’s vacation or whatnots, was a drag. Not just a little bit of a drag, but a big fucking drag. You know, like in those campy old sitcoms when the main character, the really super cool good looking person you’re supposed to identify with and think “hey they’re just like me”, gets stuck at the neighbours’ house watching the slideshow of their recent vacation to Niagara Falls, with the big smelly projector and the weird children? And then you know, the regular cool person tries to sneak out the back door but one of the neighbours catches him over in the kitchen near the refrigerator and makes him sit back down on the couch and now they have their arm around them so they’ll never get away and the laugh track just goes bananas? There’s always this super clever witty banter too.

“Gee Wally I sure hope it’s as good as the slideshow of the Poconos” says the main character so sarcastically that it is just insane. “It is. It’s even longer” confirms the wacky nutso-wutso neighbour. “And just when I thought my day couldn’t get any better” says the main character, once again sarcastically, but this time looking directly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall.

Then a fog horn sounds, a beefy laugh track goes off and finally a commercial break comes just when it was getting so good and funny and hilarious. I could keep going with the awesome sitcom plot, but I won’t (spoiler alert: it comes back from commercial break and the slideshow still isn’t over…at the bottom of the screen it says something comical like “three hours later”, then there’s another fog horn sound, and then the biggest damn laugh track you’ve ever heard comes in with a woman saying “OH MY GAaWD” explosively).

Alright, let’s flash forward to nowadays when, all of a sudden, people are going out of their way to view these slideshows, online, and by choice. People even make requests for them now.

“Hey, you’re back from your trip, oh god show me the pictures, did you post them yet? lemme see, lemme live through your eyes. OH GOD I NEED TO SEE THEM NOW! POST THEM POST THEM POST THEM!”

Plus everyone gets to put their comments on the photos, which absolutely enriches and enhances the photo slideshow viewing experience for everyone else.

- u look so drunx haha
- i love this picture where you look so cute you guys im so happy 4 u
- oh man best night evah lol
- nice face looks like he farted hehe whats up yer butt hehe
- wish I coulda been there
- wtf that the guy that took out his weenis and got arrested later outside?
- I REMEMBER THAT GUY!!!!!
- when’d u take this? omg soooo funny where was i
- oh man best night evah lol
Pictures used to be worth a thousand words, now they’re worth a few syllables at best (sometimes they are worth little more than ‘lol’, ‘fail’, ‘omg’ or ‘wtf’). Take a picture it’ll last longer? Really? You know what? Most moments being captured by cameras these days don’t need any lengthening to begin with. They’re just fine and dandy the way they are, occurring once, lingering for a sufficient amount of time, and then being mostly forgotten about. Live in the now! Let’s all put the cameras down for a little while and start experiencing things as they actually happen, in real time. Stop being so worried about capturing the moment, because chances are, you just missed the moment, while you were busy looking at the little screen of your camera making sure everything was lined up just right, or while you were checking out the blurry failed photo that you took of the previous moment that you missed one second earlier.

That’s it. My photos are done uploading. I’m going to stop typing now.

Important Note:

I wanted to say a little comment on the photo I used up at the top. It was meant to mock how some people must view the world, always through the eye, or lens, of a digital camera. But then I looked more closely and started thinking, who took this picture? Is there a fifth biker? Did they put it on a timer? Because it would be very difficult to get back on the bikes in a line like that, in time, and from that distance. How did they time it so well? I’m thinking that, unfortunately, it’s someone creepy that they don’t even know, since none of them are actually looking at the camera. And then I thought that this is probably not the best marketing strategy, to target 'that Stalker who is constantly on the go'. Just a thought.

Facial Recognition.

So you probably have a humongous list of people that you try to avoid in public. You duck behind mailboxes, you jump into dumpsters, or you run into boutiques selling sunglasses, all to avoid bad or unwanted conversations. Oh that’s right, we’ve covered that already, and established techniques to avoid such encounters (see: You Talkin’ to Me?). But what we didn’t cover is the strange mental defect that causes you to seek out, find and try to add that very same person as your superfriend in whatever ridiculous social face collecting virtual second life alternate reality garbage is popular with all of you youngsters at this particular point in time in, this, the age of information. It seems like it has gotten to the point where people are excited to send a facial request to someone that they only think they might kind of sort of recognize.

“Hey, don’t I recognize you from the Muffin Stop? I’m the guy that gets the Raisin Rainbow Brantasy muffin, good for my irregularity. Here, accept my friend request. I need to feel like I belong to something.”
“Well, I don’t even work at the Muffin Stop or know where that is, and I’ve never seen you before, but ok, I accept your request. We’re friends!”
“Awesome, thanks for increasing my face-count. I’m getting closer to my target of a bajillion friends. See you at the Muffin Stop best friend. We’re best friends!”
“But, that’s not me, I already told you, remember? I guess I must really look like him, oh well, doesn’t matter, one more friend for my collection too, gosh I’ve never felt so alive! I love you BFF.”
“Dearest Soulmate, what do you mean ‘look like him’? You’re a guy? Oh, I thought you were a lady! My bad, I just assumed from your delicate facial features… I mean, the Muffin Stop worker is woman… That’s so funny, what a funny story, what a funny mix-up, what a full life I lead! Just a few more friends and then I’ll have achieved all of my dreams for infinity years. Sleep tight, my darling prince.”

Wake up people! It’s not like you can get the whole collection and then sell it at your local hobby shop for money.

“Check it out dude! I got the whole Saint-Toastie’s Elementary School First Grade class of ’87.”
“Really, you even got the Steve ‘Glue-Eater’ Zanzipoo rookie card?”
“Yeah man, it’s pretty rare.”
“Hows about I trade you my Third Grade class of ’89 Billy ‘The Kid That Puked in Class That One Time’ Weinermeister M.V.P. hologram card for it?”

“If you throw in that cool purpley Biggie Cat’s Eye marble, then it’s a deal.”

At least baseball cards came with gum. It’s actually gotten to the point where it’s become like shopping online for people. Actually, it’s not just like that. It is that. Except that it’s free. Well, almost free, it costs free time.

The application then made a suggestion to him, claiming that “If you like this guy, you might also like this guy.” He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this claim, until, as if playing that Kevin Bacon game, but with his own life instead of with films and actors, he realized “Oh man, I got it, that’s unbelievable, he knows that guy who knows that girl who knows that old dude who knows that statue that knows that puppy that was friends with my cousin when he was in grade four… How, and why, am I only adding him as a friend now?”

What do you even say to some of these people after sending or receiving friendship invitations to them or from them, in this parallel universe where suddenly everyone you’ve ever known exists again, and is right at your friendly fingertips?

“Hey, how are you? It’s so great to add you to my gigantic growing face-pile. We’ll never actually hang out, talk in person, talk over the phone, or ever even send each other any emails or messages after these first initial ones, but it’s just so magical to hear from you again after all these decades. If you see me on the street, avoid eye contact with me!”
“I’ve been swell, or is it swollen? Well anyways, how are you? Hey, yeah, I totally agree with everything you said, and unicorns too, also we should go for beers sometime, [place a former nickname of yours here that nobody has used in at least ten years e.g.: Rocketpants or F-Dawg]. Hey, by the way, do people still call you [place a former nickname of yours here that nobody has used in at least ten years e.g.: Rocketpants or F-Dawg]?”
“No never. No one ever calls me that anymore. Yeah, we should totally have some beers sometime.”

Yeah, that will never happen.

Do yourself a favour and get rid of your account altogether. Okay, okay, okay, maybe that’s a bit drastic, and you’re not ready for that kind of drastic change yet. If you insist on keeping it, at least start discriminating a little more and go into your face-box and eliminate anyone that you wouldn’t normally be keeping in touch with, if of course it wasn’t for the whole current online socializing craze. I know you’re what you’re thinking.

“But that’s what’s so great about it! I can keep in touch with EVERYONE FOREVER”.

But ask yourself, do you actually care what Shane Farty-Fart-Fart is doing with his life since you last saw him in summer camp, circa 1992? Be honest now please, no, not really, quite possibly, not at all. And it would be one thing if you just got a quick resume of their life as it is now, and that was it, but that’s not it. You’re going to get constant updates from everybody you’ve ever known, every day, multiple times per day, and for some people, per hour. And sadly, you could even get addicted to this stream of activity. But try and remember that there’s really no need to know what everyone you’ve ever known does with all of their time.

---
Jeremy Fapperwheel:

im soooooo busy at work, hard at work, or hardly working? harharhar ROFL
1:17 pm
---
Dee Dee St-Clair:
tryin ta finishing my homework last minute hehe i guess ima procrastinator lol ;)
2:31 pm
---
Gerald McBoingBoing
yo totally taking a hearty poop i brought laptop into the bathroom also WTF does it mean when its dark purple : ?
7:44 pm
---
Prancerina Jones
yo my ladies i getting excited for goin out dancin gettin drunk 2nite yeh biahchctches
11:04 pm
---
Lucas Wonkadonk
my heads currently on fire
12:37 am
---
Poonis Lagoonis
cant wait 4 summer 4evah partay ^_^ also Wonkadonk funeral 2morrow woot
7:17 am
---

How attention starved is everybody that they feel the need to announce their every move. And some people are likely conceited enough to think that everyone is following their every move. I mean, if Mr. Wonkadonk had just tried to put his head fire out in the toilet instead of updating his profile, he might still be alive today, and with a full head of hair. And on that note, no one really gives a shit anyways. Because with the streaming shitstorm of excessively communicated mundane daily routine details, meaningful stuff might come along and just get blurred in with all the rest. Most people would have looked at their bulletin board caca list and not even thought to do anything to help Lucas and his tragic head fire, or even noticed that he currently had a head fire at 12:37 am at all.

So, if no one even cares that someone is face down in the mud, and no one really wants to face each other face to face, and every face is just another face in the crowd, let’s face it, why bother face collecting all of those faces in a big useless book of faces in the first face, I mean place, in the first place? I say again, delete your accounts and rejoin the live living! Go on and deny everyone’s requests! Discriminate! If you have something important to say, say it in person, or over the phone, and only to the people that matter to you most and that might actually listen to you, and care.

And don’t be that guy or gal who wastes a bunch of time online socializing, but then talks about how much of a waste of time it is, like that makes them somehow better than the rest, like they’re not hopelessly addicted to it anyways, like the rest. That’s like a smoker who always talks about how bad smoking is for his health.

“I could quit anytime. What? This? Pfffff... Whatevs I could quit anytime. I could quit all this shit right now if I wanted to.”

So prove it. Honestly, you must be exhausted from trying to keep up with that many people. Don’t you need a break from it all? Simplify! You need to stop spreading yourself so thin. Stop worrying about whether or not you’re being kept in every possible loop and realize that loops just turn around in circles like a bad game of broken telephone. Nothing’s really changing! You’re not missing out! Trust me, if something truly important comes along, people that care will tell you. If you’re working too hard to be in so many damn loops, you’re going to end up just spinning wildly out of control, and have an actual nervous breakdown, brought on by virtual drama. It’s time to move forward by taking a step backward and removing yourself a little from some of the loops and online technological chicanery.

Was that too harsh? I guess it was a bit harsh. Do people even care that much about the online socializing frou frou anymore? I could be complaining about something that no longer is relevant or even really exists. I guess I’m really out of the loop, I’m sorry. Probably you’re thinking, man that is so 2006. Probably there’s something new that I don’t even know about where people let the application map out everything that they’re thinking all of the time directly from their brain, via some Bluetooth wireless scanner device that feeds the data directly into your iBlackberryPhonePod, and allows you text your friends with your eyeballs. One thing is certain, however, privacy is so passé!

That’s it. Kev D. is offline.

Quelle Surprise!

Don’t trust anyone who tells you that “sometimes they surprise themselves”. In order for this to be true, they would have to do something that they really didn’t see coming in the first place, which is mostly impossible. You shouldn’t trust them because, outside of drunken blackout nights followed by waking up in strange beds next to strange creatures and/or with strange tattoos (which isn’t very trustworthy behavior either – but surprises brought on by mind altering substances simply don’t count anyways), there are very few ways for you to honestly take you by surprise. Oh, sure, people will say it, but I reckon they don’t truly mean it.

Some lawerishbusinessmancountant, doing businessy things like when he closed that MacRaffafferty deal / case / account / whatever he does, says “You know I really surprised myself.”

Artist type someone, upon completing a life size sculpture of a Yak’s penis out of mashed potatoes, quips “I didn’t think I had it in me, but sometimes I surprise myself.”

Someone, with regards to interpretive dancing on a busy street corner wearing only a top hat and some socks, suggests “You should give it a try. You just might surprise yourself, and love it.”

Bullshit.

I doubt they were actually referring to any of the following three time honored methods of self surprise.

1) The Runaway Arm

This method requires you to swing your arm for whatever reason and accidentally hit yourself in the testicles (or even just graze them, as Eddie Murphy once pointed out). I realize that this is gender specific, but I don’t believe many women are accidentally upper cutting themselves in the boob, perhaps after an arm circle, or while playing air guitar. Maybe I’m wrong, ladies, and feel free to correct me if I am wrong, please.

“Nice to meet you Bill” he said as he extended his hand for a firm shake. But then, mysteriously, after handshake release, his arm swung downwards, his arm caught one or more testicle(s), his knees buckled, he was surprised and he stated "I really surprised myself."

His testicles agreed.

2) The Back to the Future

This method requires you to travel back in time and throw a surprise party, for you. You’ll never see it coming. And you know just how to fool you too.

ALL: “SURPRISE!!!!!!”

YOU: “AAAhhh!!! Oh you guys! You got me!”

ALL: “Actually, You got you.”

YOU: “GubbuwuruuuuuhnH!!??!?”
OTHER YOU: "Hey All, I really surprised myself."

3) The Where there’s Smoke there Usually is Fire

The third and final method is probably the most common of the three, time travelling being a close second. This is when you are convinced that you need to go ahead and make a fart, but then instead, you go ahead and make a shit in your pants. And maybe you tried to catch it, but you’re not quite sure if you caught it in time, and now you’re pretty sure you didn’t? As it is happening you make that surprised face, as you clench your cheeks full speed and casually try to look natural on your way to the nearest washroom, moving your legs the least amount possible.

“Time for the fireworks!” he thought to himself preparing for relief, until suddenly, “Uh Oooh.”

“What’s the matter?” asked the Maitre D, “Why the surprised face?”

“Oh ha, what? Me? Nothing, just, you know, sometimes I really surprise myself… Pardon me for asking, but, hypothetically, a washroom with a private shower that also has good plumbing with a toilet capable of swallowing down a grown man’s pair of underwear, without clogging, would be where exactly?”

The ultimate surprise is to combine any two or even all three of these. For example, how about unknowingly backhanding your own testes after accidentally making a mess in your pants? Or how about travelling back in time to right hook your past self in the breasty area at the surprise party that you threw for her/you? And let’s not forget traveling back in time and throwing yourself a surprise party, causing your past self to crap violently in his pants, and as present you rejoices, past you punches present you in the balls, and maybe his own too, by mistake, after which present you poops yourself… or is it himself? Themselves? ... and, scene.

So there you have it folks. You may think that there are other ways, but there aren’t. But what about when you pee, and then after you finish a couple more drops come out? No, not surprising. Annoying? Yes. But you should know it’s because you just weren’t thorough enough, so stop rushing through your pee. Not surprising, part of you saw it coming, or felt it coming. These are the only three ways. If someone says that they surprised themselves, then they are either clumsy enough to punch their own ball(s) (or boob(s), still waiting for the survey to come back on that one), they have met their future selves and potentially have seen into the future, they have just pooped their pants and currently have poopy-pants, or they are flat out lying. They are not to be trusted, and you’ve now officially been warned.

That’s it. Wow, that was a short one… I really surprised myself.