Hobo With A Shotgun

"Hobo With A Shotgun" is the name of the film. The name alone holds so much promise, whether it be a campy fun action romp like "Snakes On A Plane" or even it performed a 180 and equalled that of Charles Bronson's epic "Death Wish" series. The name alone is what drew me to the movie. I never saw any previews for it, but figured that it'd be alright. That it might be a clone of the Tarantino-style of moviemaking that so many embellish, but no. It's every bit as bad as I feared it might be.

It's Canadian-made, filmed in Nova Scotia, and although Canadian movies have been getting better and better in recent years, this film has made this medium devolve ten-fold. It even stars Rutger Hauer, who starred in the mid-80's in movies like "Bladerunner", "Wanted Dead or Alive", "Ladyhawke" and "The Hitcher", but no amount of star power was going to save this film from spiralling down the toilet bowl.

For any potential movie goers who comes across this blog, please take heed and consideration for the advice I am about to give you. Save your money. Save your hour and half. You'll not get the value out of either. Instead, do that which I wish I'd have done instead. Bash your head against the wall. I guarantee you'll see a better show. That much is for certain.

Timbuk-3

I thought I'd be a nice guy and take my mother to a movie today. The new Matthew McConaughey movie, "The Lincoln Lawyer". It's based on a book by one of my mom's favourite suspense authors. It was a really clever movie and I recommend it to everyone.

On the way to my mother's house, there are a couple windy-twisty roads that I must take and it was on one of these dusty streets that some asshole, behind the wheel of a Hyundai, ripped past me going so fast that he slid partially into my lane, almost forcing me off the overpass to the highway below. It goes without saying, that he scared the ever-lovin' piss out of me, and I honked my horn in protest.

His shitty little import quickly disappeared into the distance, but I managed to catch up to him at the traffic light, where he was forced to stop. Obviously recognizing my truck as the one that honked at him, he made every desperate attempt to shake, shimmy and twist his body around to flip me the finger. The light soon turned to a jaded green and he began to creep his car forward at a snails pace. I was in no way late for picking my mom up, but at the same time, being the impatient fellow that I am, I don't want to waste time, trailing behind some asshole with a chip on his shoulder, so I turned into the left lane and sped up to pass him. That's when the douche bag, decided to race ahead. When I'd fall back to let him pass, he'd match my speed and slow down as well. Then when I'd speed up, he'd do the same. It was frustrating, but I wasn't going to allow him to get my goat. Some people thrive on that shit, but they're all f*cking retards and don't deserve the satisfaction.

The next traffic light was red and once more, he would contort himself around to flip me off in a number of ways. It was comical, as ridiculous as it was. I was turning right, but there was no way this f*cker was allowing me past. I don't understand why, but it seemed pretty important to this fellow. When I finally managed to shoe-horn my ass past his Hyundai piece of shit, I rolled down my window to give him the gears, and that's when he started shouting at me in some god foresaken gibberish that I doubt is even a valid language, and flipping me off every which way from Tuesday. Angry, he was, in whatever dialect that shit was, and very animated as well.

"Get a real car, you f*cking loser!" is all I said. [FYI: I hate Hyundai's. I would rather walk, than ever own one of those f*cking things.]

The whole scenario didn't (and still doesn't) bother me as much as the fact that this f*cking idiot can come over from whatever third world country he came from, where they barely have roads, let alone traffic laws, and he can still get a driver's license and commence to endanger everyone's lives with his antics!

There ought to be a law. If you come from a country where it's more popular to ride farm animals than it is to sit behind the wheel of an automobile, then you shouldn't be allowed a driver's license. Ride the f*cking bus. I know, I know. There are a ton of freaks who ride the bus. However, if you've never ridden inside anything but a cattle car or an over-croweded bus, then you ARE a freak!!!

You should feel luck to be in a country like this. All the freedoms that are afforded you, not to mention our most excellent health care. With those freedoms, however, you DO NOT have the freedom to disobey the traffic laws. I'm not angel myself, having a "heavy foot" from time to time, but I've never driven like a madman riding a rabid camel. That's just f*cking stupid.

People like this f*ckhead, should be deported. Back to Buttf*ckia with your ass. Back to the land of rickshaws and camels and handfuls of sand caught down in your britches. And while you're there... Go f*ck yourself, too! Of course, this is just my opinion. I could be wrong, but..., AAH, I doubt it.

People Are Fake

While emptying my dishwasher earlier, I came across a James Bond Collectible glass that I'd received from an old landlord a few years ago. I remember it clear as if it happened just hours ago, how he came trapsing down the stairs with the common shit-eating grin and holier-than-thou attitude, held up the glass and asked me, "Do you want this 007 glass? I'm just going to throw it away, otherwise." Not to pass up on free shit very often, I quickly looked at the glass and noticed that it was of decent quality and had DR. NO written across it in bold yellow printing. As you know, I took the glass, but thinking all the while, "Why would you get rid of something as cool as a James Bond glass?" Then it donned on me. My landlord, Denny, was f*cking queer! Not queer as in he could redesign the interior of your house or outfit you with the most chique clothing designs. He wasn't handy like that. No, quite the contrary, he was queer as in he was an odd f*cker.

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The entire time that I lived at that address, he gave me nothing but a shitty attitude. Almost like he was stating his domain. Like the lead wolf in the pack. If I didn't know any better, I would've thought that he was making sure I wasn't going to be sniffing around his [then] fiance/eventual wife. Nothing could've been further from the truth. Brenda, was a nice gal, but she resembled Danny DeVito from Batman Returns. Decent boobs, though. I'll give her that. I mean, hey! I'll call a spade a spade. Even if a chick is ugly as sin, if she's got a decent rack, I'll giver 'er props! It's the humanitarian in me.

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This one time, though, I remember that idiot Denny coming down the stairs to my basement suite. He often barged in without knocking, which always irked me to some degree. I mean, what if I was getting down with some chick in my livingroom? Did I really want this stupid bastard walking in on us? Sadly, that scenario never played out, so we'll never know. But this one time he came in while I was watching one of my wrestling programs. He inquired about what it was. I don't remember which one it was at the time, but I quickly answered him, trying not to miss any of the action occurring onscreen.

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After I told him, he smirked and made a comment using The F-word. Not the good F-word, either. He didn't say, "Awe, cool. Wrestling f*cking rocks!!" Nope, he bravely used the other F-word. The F-word that has always pissed me off. He used the word, FAKE! That is the F-word that has absolutely no positive use except for the sentence: She has fake boobs! Even then, it's quite the put-off.

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"Wrestling?" he sneered, "That stuff's fake, isn't it?" That's when my defenses went up! While pro wrestling is predetermined and scripted, the maneuvers and techniques used in the ring, is anything but fake. Many of the actions are real, just as the injuries are f*cking real.

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"Oh really? It's fake?" I said sarcastically, "Then somebody'd better go tell Owen Hart to get up outta that grave. You're not dead, don't you know wrestling is fake? Or tell Darren Drozdov to get up outta that wheelchair. You're quadripalegic. Just walk off that spinal injury. Don't you know wrestling is fake?!?" He saw that he'd struck a nerve with me, and began reeling backwards, trying to mend fences and re-assure me that he didn't believe the statement he'd just made.

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People like that have always pissed me off. No respect for other beliefs or enjoyments. I say that if you don't know shit about something, then you ought to shut the hell up and keep your thoughts to yourself. And before anyone points a finger at me, just remember there are three more pointing right back at ya!

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When Ken Anderson unveiled his T-shirt (pictured above) earlier in 2010, I f*cking loved it. I don't have one yet, but I plan on getting one soon. It speaks the truth. It speaks the gospel. And best of all, it doesn't just translate to pro wrestling, but it's an adage that could be made in just about any walk of life.

Adrift

Are you familiar with the term, "My own worst enemy"? In my opinion it means that one's own thoughts can be the most detrimental of all to one's self being. In other words, when left alone, a person can drive themselves insane with their own thoughts. I think I am one of those people. I am able to project many of my inane prophecies on a number of topics and do so successfully, driving them home with logic and sense. However, at the same time, when it comes to matters of my own life, I tend to over-think everything, and sometimes, send myself spiralling into turmoil and self-doubt.

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This has always been a downfall for me. Ever since I was a kid, I've always felt alone when it came to overcoming adversities. I've always had friends, but no one I could approach with to voice out my concerns and problems. No one there to bounce ideas off of, except for the handsome bloke in the mirror. Needless to say, many of my thoughts tended to lead astray. However, in recent years, I have found in some instances that writing out some of these concerns, actually helped a little in my pursuit of eternal jubilation.

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My life, however, in recent years, has become a little more complex. Too complicated for mere words to describe. One little discretion by some worthless turd, has left me adrift in a sea of nothing. I'm f*cking lost. There's no wind to fill my sails and no compass to guide me to salvation. Then earlier this year, things began to look up for me. The sun was shining and warm was its embrace. There was a breeze coming from the horizon and my sails began to fluctuate. I could see happiness on the distant horizon.

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Then one day I looked up from the helm, to guage the distance to my utopia, and that's when I noticed the angry dark clouds spiralling in from the heavens. Day became night. The warm sunshine that once set my brow aglow, quickly disappeared, replaced with bitter coldness and dark. The island I once gazed upon with such hope and gladness, was quickly disappearing into the horizon. And the breeze... All but gone.

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Now I sit upon the deck of my lonely ship, set adrift by the hands of fate, my destination now, once more, a mystery. I fear that I'm destined to remain in this Hell for the rest of my days. I see other ships and vessels sailing past me, never so much as glancing in my direction. And the few who do, merely wink and give me a nod, without ever really knowing why.

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When left to my own accord, I really do tend to overthink shit. On the bright side, if there is one, I'm able to be creative about some of it. On the downside, it never seems to rectify any of the shit going on in my head.

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The shittiest thing about this whole thing is. Earlier this year I confronted some real life altering shit and believe I made all the right decisions. That's when the shit storm took over and f*cked everything up. Am I blaming others for my own shortcomings? Not really. In the end, this was all shit that I should've addressed weeks or months.., or shit! Even a year or so ago. My procrastination is what f*cked everything up.

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So it was me. Me, who f*cked everything up. Just me.

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I may not don the clown face paint, but at least I'm able to hide all the pain, just the same.

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Much Clown Luv, my peeps!!!

CRUNCH!!

I know that the rules of the road dictate that one should always yield to the vehicle on the right and that pedestrians always have the right of way. While I am proud to say I practice both of these rules, the latter has always bothered me to some extent. While it IS uncool to mow down a pedestrian, some leeway should be allowed.

One rule I've always dictated and tried to use at every possible moment is: Larger object gets the right of way! How this rule works is simple. Larger object gets to go first. This rule works amongst people outside of traffic, so why the hell shouldn't it work here too? For example: A Mack Truck should take presidence over a f*cking Mazda Miata! Or a Humvee gets the right of way over a Suzuki Samarai. Survival of the fittest, so to speak. Within common sense, mind you. Otherwise, you'll have every douche bag with an over-sized 4x4, squashing Prius's up and down the road.

The reason I bring this shit up is, some dumb f*cking dummy walked her sorry ass out in front of my vehicle on the way home from work tonight. Now, it's a "given" that pedestrians get the "right of way", but a lot of these pedestrians take advantage of this rule and f*ck things up for a lot of people. When I have the misfortune of having to walk through traffic, I tend to wait for my chance to cross an uncontrolled street. If traffic is thick, then I will gladly wait for my opportunity to cross. I don't need some blind f*ck behind the wheel, crushing my ass into a crimson f*cking stain on the street. F*ck that noise! But this f*cking idiot tonight, not only didn't wait for the amassed menagerie of vehicles to passby, but she never even bothered to wait for them to come to a complete stop either. Just started trapsing across, nose stuck in the air, like her shit don't stink. A second later, and I would've screeched over her fat ass and we'd have found out, one way or the other if her shit stunk or not. [Editors Note: People shit themselves when they die.]

However, my plan of action has it's drawbacks. Like I said, people abuse their rights to shit. Just as Lady Fancy-pants crossed the intersection without even looking up, so would the people behind the wheel. And if you think car crashes are bad now, with all these f*ckheads driving within current driving laws, just think of the armegeddon that'd be unleashed if my rule of thumb was brought into effect.

The one thing that pissed me off the most about that stupid idiot who stepped out in front of traffic, was when I came screeching to a halt, on ice I might add, she flashes this stupid f*cking grin at me like it was amusing to her to inconvenience me and the other screeching automobiles. That's when I slid the window down to give her the "what's what". "Get off the street, you f*cking loser!" I yelled without much thought, "Get a f*cking car!"

Comment makes sense. If you don't have a car, in a major f*cking city, what the f*ck is wrong with you. You should just go back to your house and start colouring your books, dummy! Get a car. Get a bike. Get some f*cking thing that will make you a part of the masses, then you will understand why it's not so funny to step into traffic!!! Otherwise the next rights you'll get to exercise, may be your last rites!!!

The R-word

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A lone man stands on the curb, hacking and coughing. Nothing light like that which would erupt with mere dryness in one's throat, but a deep guttural hacking noise. A shrilling violence spouting from his throat. All the while, a smoldering cigarette in his hand, and I'm thinking, "You're a f*cking retard!!!"

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The "R"-word has been getting a lot of air time as of late, because Charlie Sheen allegedly used it in one of his tyrades. I heard him use it. I don't deny that he used it. BUT!! He used the word in the proper context. I'll explain momentarily.

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As far as I'm concerned, there are only a hand full of words in the english language that should be only identified by the letter it begins with. F*ck is one of them, although as any regular reader can testify to, it is rare, very rare, that I will use the F-word terminology. N-word, is another that should only be identified by way of the first letter only. This goes without saying. It is because there is such hate that follows the use of that enlongated word. Another word that should be identified this way, is the "Hairy C-word". This is a term that me and another fellow, with whom I once worked with, coined. He often would spout the actual word, which I find to be quite disgusting. Although nowadays, with the advent and people's general practice of hair removal from certain designated regions of the human body, it is likely that the word "hairy" could be dropped from the term altogether. As far as the term of "R-word", I feel that when used in the proper context, it's not an offensive word, but one that aptly describes someone who should know better, but tends to do stupid shit.

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Take for instance the afore mentioned fellow with the bad cough. Arguably it could be said that he's simply got a chest cold. However, the lit cigarette at his side, would propose an alternative reasoning behind the hacking cough. It's not normal for people to inhale smoke. They do, and I know tons of people who smoke, both in the past and the present. Still, it's not normal and should be abolished, as it can't be healthy. This lonesome loser hacking up his lung, between drags off his cigarette..? He's a retard!

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The word retard, as it is described in the dictionary, means to hinder or prevent. For example: if a material is described as flame retardant, it means it cannot be lit on fire. Flames are hindered. The material is coated with a substance that prevents it from being engulfed in flames.

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In decades past, the word retard was also used to describe those with mental difficiancies. It wasn't right, even though by definition it was somewhat accurate. However, these days, much like the use of the N-word, there is usually hate behind the use of the word. Those who don't understand. Those who use the word "retard" as a form of bigotry and hate towards those with mental handicaps, are actually the retards themselves. They should know better than to act that way towards anyone, let alone someone without the necessary social skills to defend themselves.

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Better education is needed in response to any and all of these questionable words, except maybe the hairy C-word. The only good that word poses, is that it sounds the same as when you slam the trunk on your car. That's the ONLY place where that belongs, although depending on the vehicle, that sound sometimes makes a clunk sound, instead.

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Better education, though. That's the reason I believe that it was wrong for publishers to go back and remove the N-word from Mark Twain's Huckleberry Finn. The use of the word was "a matter of fact". They said it passingly, in those days, and through proper education, can people move forward and recognize why the word is so wrong. Why the word is so hurtful. Sadly, these days too many people are afraid to offend, rather than trudge through and teach one another a valuable lesson.

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A few weeks back, people were shitting on Christina Aguilera for messing up the words to the American National Anthem. I say, lay off the chick. I, myself, have no idea what the words are to my own, Canadian National Anthem. Why? Because a few years ago, there were words in the song that "offended" people, so they changed the words. I believe that the words to "O Canada" have been changed on a couple of occasions, and as a result, I have no f*cking clue as to what all the words are anymore. So instead of leaving things as they were, and respecting the anthem as a piece of art, some asshole..., some retard, if you will, changed up the words and f*cked up for everyone.

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People should know better. Use common sense. Unfortunately, the most uncommon thing in the world, these days, is common sense. People would rather act retarded, than take a moment to think shit through. I was downtown yesterday for an important appointment. I found a parking spot directly in front of the offices, to which I was going to visit. On the parking meter, the dollar amounts were clearly written as follows: Each 25cents equalled 7.5 minutes. (So four quarters, or one dollar, would equal 30 minutes, right?) Each dollar coin equalled 60 minutes of curbside parking and every two dollar coin was 2 hours. Wait a dog gone minute. Four quarters equalled 30min of time, but a dollar coin equalled sixty minutes? That's kinda retarded, isn't it?

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Forest Gump's mother instilled in her son the words, "Stupid is as stupid does." Stupid shit is almost always done by retards. A man purposely turns off the highway and lodges his vehicle in four foot snowbank because he's looking for a shortcut..., is a retard. A person who buys a cup of coffee, spills it on themselves, then gets angry at the establishment because the coffee is hot..., is a retard. A person who eats two pizzas, two quarter pound burgers, and a 2 liter bottle of soda pop, then balloons up to 450lbs, only to blame the fast food restaurant who sold them the garbage food..., guess what? He's a retard too. The stupid bastard who smokes for thirty years, develops irreparable lung cancer, then sues the cigarette company..., is a f*cking retard. And someone with metal incapacities is NOT a retard, but the stupid sons of bitches who bully and call these fine people names, ARE retards.

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As far as my attempting to post an editorial of my own creation on the subject of the R-word and it's proper and improper use? Perhaps it's a retarded mission for trying to do so. Then again, maybe I'm a f*cking genius for trying to educate people, rather than keeping quiet.

Perplexity

I had to go to the dentist today for an emergency procedure. Long story short, after a lengthy war of give and take, the dentist finally pryed the pesky culprit from its stronghold in my lower jaw. So understandably, I was in a sullen mood, my head wrought with discomfort and wooziness from the procedure just performed. However, before I was to return home for rest and comfort, I needed to stop in at the grocery store to pick up some milk. I've found in the past that soup makes for suitable consumption as it causes the least resistance on a sore mouth.

I grabbed the tasty beverage from the cooler and paid for it expeditiously, then moved toward the exit. There, I found a lone woman with overstuffed grocery bags in each hand, standing before the door, staring blankly at it.

As the doors are usually automatic, as per most grocery stores, I immediately I understood she was hoping for the doors to open for her. A kind assist by the 'grocery gods', as her hands were full. However, when the door failed to open after the first couple of seconds of her standing there, one might come to the conclusion that no such assist was imminent. I first noticed her when I was waiting to pay for my goods. She was just standing there, staring at the door like people do when they're in an elevator. Even when I'd eventually come up behind her, she wouldn't budge. She just stood there staring, in silence, with nothing but the crinkling of her bags, the sound of the heater overhead and the grunt of passing traffic outside. Finally, I peered around her, at first to assure myself there'd be clearance enough for me to pass by without bother. That's when I noticed the sign taped to the exit door. "Door out of order, please push to open" is what it read.

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I smiled, despite my discomfort, excused myself and pushed the door open. I made my exit to the sidewalk outside, with her following close behind. As I made my way down towards my vehicle, I overheard her muttering, "I guess it's out of order."

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I've heard it mentioned that because of the internet, the written word is dead, but this instance was a little ridiculous.

Functionally Dysfunctional

Christopher Titus explained something about his father in his "Norman Rockwell Is Bleeding" stand-up show. He told the audience about his father, Ken, who was an alcoholic. He told the audience that there was never a picture of his father without a beer in his hand. Birthdays, Christmas, Thanksgiving, or even Parent-Teacher meetings, Ken Titus was never without a drink in his hand. Pretty much any day that ended with a "Y", he had an alcoholic beverage in his hand. Titus went on to explain that his father also never missed a day of work, never missed paying any bills, and Christopher himself never went hungry. He said his father missed a meal or two, but Chris never did.

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Despite being a heavy drinker, he never missed work. He was always on time, did the job, and was paid for it. His employer never found fault with the guy. They probably felt that as long as it didn't affect his duties on the job, they could care less about what he chose to do with his life outside of work.

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I googled "Functional Alcoholic" and this is the result of my search. A "functional alcoholic" is described as a person who drinks frequently, but does not incur sufficient consequences that they should reduce, moderate or even stop their drinking. Of course, addiction "specialists" don't believe in the existence of functional alcoholics. An irony I will touch base on later in this periodical. Instead they believe that either a person is an alcoholic, or they don't consume enough that stopping on their own can't be done. Basically the world is black and white. Either you are or you are not. There is no middle ground.

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I come from an alcoholic family. My dad would go on binges. Generally, he was not the most pleasant of personalities, when under the influence. He did miss a day's work on occasion, but not often. He farmed and was quite capable of conducting this practice as well under the influence and he did sober. Eventually, however, the alcoholism did take it's toll on his health and he had to quit drinking. I remember this time, fairly well. I was relieved that I'd be getting my dad back. I think he may have relapsed only once, to my recollection, but soon he was sober. I don't recall him using A.A., either. I could be mistaken, but I'm fairly sure he just quit one day and that was that.

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I am not going to lie and say that I'm any different. I've had my battles with alcohol. Perhaps not to the Nth degree that some people have, my late-father included, but I did manage to hit a few lows in my life where I had to stand back and take an assessment of the path I was following. On those occasions when I decided to step back and not drink any further, I never needed outside assistance.

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A.A., to me, is simply a crutch. A tool that some people need to overcome a bad situation. It's like a foot injury. Some injuries are bad enough that you need a crutch to get back on your feet, others can simply be "walked off". I believe, that if a person is weak, then they need a "program" to hold their hand and lead them to success. Other people, I believe, can quit cold turkey. All it takes is a moment to decide, then logic and free will easily follows. If you can decide to make it so, then you can make it so. And yes, it IS as simple as that.

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Plus, A.A. is a spiritually backed program. It's users have to place themselves in the hands of a higher power. Like that verse "Footprints In The Sand", where God carries the speaker in times of weakness. I don't believe in any "higher power". I don't look down on those who do, but as for this moment, it's not my proverbial cup of tea.

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So to briefly address the Charlie Sheen situation, I believe him when he says he can stop using drugs and alcohol when he chooses to. Furthermore, I don't think the network should have been able to shut down the production of Sheen's TV show, based on what he chooses to do in his off-time. He always showed up for work, he always hit his marks, and he continued to make great television. As far as his "attack" on the show's creator, Chuck Lorre.., Chuck drew first blood, when he made an off colour remark at Charlie's expense, with one of his stupid vanity cards. (That retarded single frame blip at the end of his shows, that tells some stupid remark that is supposed make the viewer laugh, when all it really does, is make them feel ridiculous for pausing the VCR on that frame. -- Huge waste of time!!)

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I believe that people can quit drinking and doing drugs on their own. Admittedly, it may not always be the easiest thing to do in the world, but with a success rate of only 5% out of a hundred, A.A. shouldn't be boasting their qualifications either.

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As for whether or not Charlie Sheen has stopped his consumption of booze and drugs, isn't really my place to say. It's his world. His life. His money. His choice and his decision. No one else's. I don't think anyone should be saying anything about the situation. Mind your own business, people. You don't like it when anyone sticks their nose in your shit, so why stick it in his?

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Earlier, I mentioned that "addiction specialists" never believed in "functioning alcoholics". I found that remark very ironic, because most of these supposed specialists, believe in the "invisible man who lives in the clouds". Furthermore, I think it silly that with all the crap that's going on with the world today, that God would rather help someone stop drinking Jim Beam Bourbon Whisky. Maybe that IS why the world is going to Hell in a handbasket. God's efforts are being wasted on bullshit problems.

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The first step in overcoming any drawbacks like this, is recognizing you have a problem. However, if you're functioning just fine, in life, meeting all your responsibilities, then where's the problem? You're simply "Functionally Dysfunctional".