Misunderstood

Most people associate Friday the 13th with either bad luck or Jason Voorhees.  Jason Voorhees, of course, being the vicious mass murderer of fornicating teens for decades.  He even went so far as to venture into outer space to kill again, after awakening from a frozen state in the 25th century.  Old habits die hard, I guess.

As for the lore of bad luck, I don't know what to say about that.  Mostly, I think it's just a figment of one's imagination.  For years and years, I've had nothing but bad luck.  Could it be blamed on the 13th day of  the month which just so happens to fall on a Friday?  No.  My luck sucks pretty much all the time.  Some view such luck as "Murphy's Law".  "I don't know who Murphy is and where he gets off making up stupid laws..." is what my co-worker from the Toronto office wrote in an email to me today.  I don't know if it is so much a law as it is a constant occurrence.., like the "law" of gravity.  Not really an enforceable guideline, but something that just is.  I replied to her note, telling her to thank her lucky stars, as I have my own "law", which simply states: No matter how improbable or unlikely something is to happen, it will!

Much like Jason Voorhees of the Crystal Lake Voorhees', I think Friday the 13th has a bad rap.  They're both misunderstood entities.  Jason's case is a simple one, which I will address in a short while.  First, however, I want to address the date itself.  Shed some light on the day that so many are fearful of, even though, much like the Wall Street Protest which began back in September, most of those participating, aren't really sure of why they're participating.  Further proving my point that fearing Friday the 13th is just plain silly.

There is an actual "phobia" of Friday the 13th.  It is called "friggatriskaidekaphobia".  I've tried to sound the word out like the kids to on Sesame Street, but in all honesty, I can't frigga-say it.  Rest assured, it's frigga-stupid.  Just attempting to say the word makes me sound like a big retard or Middle Eastern.  But as foolish as that is, the theories behind the fear are even dumber.

NUMEROLOGY:  Is a major culprit.  Anyone who follows this shit is a crackpot to begin with.  Like numbers frickin' mean anything.  I've never put much stock in numbers, unless it's in my bank account or numbers on a wall.  If it isn't the amount of money in my wallet or an address on the wall, I don't need to worry about it.  As for these nut-jobs, they base everything on the number twelve.  Twelve months in a year.  Twelve hours on a clock.  Which is stupid, as there's 24-hours in a day.  They also say that Jesus had 12 apostles.  Numerologists also believe that 13 is an odd number -- DUH!  And those most superstitious believe that because there were 13 people at the Last Supper, that anytime there's 13 diners, one of those thirteen will die soon after.  That's friggin' stupid.  I'm sure Jesus broke bread with these dudes a number of times before that fateful day.  I wouldn't necessarily say it was because Jesus had his twelve apostles with him at supper that led to his demise.  He was too forgiving of a man, which would make him naive and having  poor choice in friends.   I've been f*cked over before.  Lots of times, of course it never lead to my being nailed to a f*cking cross, but I'm still young.

All stupid superstitions.  They should all be overlooked.  There's nothing unlucky about Friday.  Friday is an awesome day.  For those of us lucky to have jobs that don't require weekend work, Friday is the end of an otherwise shitty week.  Because, lets face it.  Unless you work for yourself or have a career you absolutely love, you're just a mindless drone punching a time clock.  A common question posed in my office is "Is it Friday yet?"  And it is usually asked first at about 8:10am Monday morning.

Although, history has proved Friday to be pretty f*cked for some, but I think it was all coincidental.  Like the Templar Grand Master and several of his Templar knights were arrested on Friday the 13th in the year 1307, by King Phillip of France.  Most were tortured and killed.., so yeah, that could be construed as bad, I suppose.  Friday the 13th, 2004 saw Hurricane Charley, a Category 4 hurricane, slam into southeastern Florida.  Charley was the strongest hurricane to that date since Hurricane Andrew twelve years before.  Hmm...., twelve...  I guess twelve wasn't so lucky for Floridians on that day.

Renowned rapper, Tupac Shakur, was pronounced dead on Friday the 13th, which sucks for him.  In my opinion, though, I doubt that motherf*cker isn't dead.  Because aside from Elvis, how can one dead dude keep puttin' out CD's for so many years after his so-called "death".  Again.  A blog subject for another day, though.

Jesus Christ.  The man.  The myth.  The legend, was crucified on a Friday.  It's not known if it was the thirteenth day of the month, but it is a shitty way to start the weekend.  I don't recommend it.

Friday the 13th is fine.  I've always had pretty good luck on Friday the 13th.  It's not a day I'd choose to go camping.  Especially with a bunch of sexy scantily-clad college girls with nothing more than getting drunk, high and sexed up on their minds.  Saturday the 14th, I'm there, but Friday I think I'd stay home.  Just to be on the safe side.  Not that Jason Voorhees is one to be feared.  Well he is, but I understand the man.  I know what ails him.  We're a lot alike, except for the fact that he kills a lot of people with a machete and me, I'm just so sexy it hurts.

Jason Voorhees was a kid that got bullied and picked on.  That sounds familiar.  The only difference is I managed to survive the constant picking and teasing, whereas Jason was drowned in the dark waters of Crystal Lake.  Another trait that we both do share, is migraine headaches.  I get them bad some days.  Sometimes my head hurts so much, the slightest of sounds triggers an unbelievable surge through my head that makes me want to cry.  Jason...  He gets chronic migraines and as a result, he tries to remain in the forest where there is very little noise.  Just leaves rustling in the breeze and the odd chirp of a chickadee.  Now imagine, if you will, your head hurts, the pulse booms in your inner ear, like a kid on a drum.  It's all you can do to relax, then you hear the laughter of college coeds in the near distance.  "Oh f*ck!" you think to yourself, which hurts even though your thoughts are silent.  "Somebody's going to have to pay!"

I enjoy the naked female body as much as the next guy, but when a serious migraine has set on, where even the sound of your own breath hurts your head, the thought of nookie and nudity goes out the window.  I'm sure in those moments of clarity in the aftermath, when Jason is down by the lake cleaning his killing utensils, he may feel a little remorse.  "Hmm.  That hot blonde with the big tits was cute.  Sure too bad I had to hack her up into thirteen pieces, but she just wouldn't shut up."

A good guideline in life is: It's better to be safe, than sorry.  It's better to wear a life jacket in a boat, just in case you sink.  It's better to wear your seat belt, because f*ckers be drivin' crazy out there.  And if camping day falls on a Friday the 13th, maybe just stay home with the doors all locked and hiding under the covers... You know...  Just in case!

Inspector Number 69

From this day forth, pornography will be changed.  Made safer for it's participants, with hopes of reducing disease and unwanted pregnancies.  It was while I was listening to the news on Howard Stern 100 on Sirius radio today, that I learned of the bi-law passed in Los Angeles, California, where it is now mandatory for porn's male participants to wear prophylactics on their...  You know...  Wieners.

Advocates for both the positives and negatives of this practice.  Some argue that it's should be the choice of the actors, not a mandatory state law, forcing them to wear them.  I don't know why it's such a big deal.  I doubt that wearing a rubber affects their acting performance.  There's very little acting involved in that medium anyway.  Terrible acting.  Terrible.  It's like watching Canadian TV, it's so f*cking bad!  Besides, the only acting taking place is by the female performers, anyway.  I doubt that every performance they do in every scene, is really all that genuine.  For the most part, I think the male "actors", are just plain f*cking pigs.

I'm no angel.  I admit that I've seen a pornographic film or two... dozen... ish...  I prefer the films with a story, because (bless their hearts) they're trying.  Nonetheless, nearly all the men in these movies act like f*ckin' scumbags.  Some, associated with bigger studios do wear protection, but there is a lot, A LOT, who choose not to wear condoms, which personally makes me cringe.  Thinking all through the deed, about that poor girl and what may result after the fact.  Disease, infection and pregnancy..., life altering changes are always a possibility.  I view them as being victimized, I do.  Believe it or not, I do breathe a little easier, when a condoms are worn.  It protects the girls from detriment and a way for the viewer to avoid making seeing the disgusting one-eyed wonder weasel.

A man's dick is an ugly thing.  All tubular, veiny and gross.  Yech!!  Frankly, I don't know how homosexuals can to that shit.  To further stress the point, I don't know why there aren't more lesbian in the world because of how gross the male appendage is.  Procreation, I suppose...  I think the addition of the mandatory condom, is a plus.  It should make viewing the product much more enjoyable...

However, I question how the Los Angeles authorities are going to enforce this new law.  In a city with such a high crime rate already, are L.A. citizens going to breathe a little easier knowing the police are cracking down on porn sets, rather than out protecting and serving the public?  I doubt it.  I would imagine most citizens who are dodging stray bullets and alike, don't really give two shits if Kitty or Bambi are getting shtooped in the pooper with an unprotected tally-whacker.  Especially when they're crouching behind a sofa-bed, trying to avoid getting shot in yet another drive-by.

I don't think it's going to be a very enforceable law.  Unless the City of Los Angeles takes to hiring inspectors.  City officials who must remain on set of any pornographic film being produced in the greater Los Angeles area.  An officer of the municipality who must ensure that proper safe sex is occurring during every facet of every scene.  Given the amount of productions done everyday in L.A., that will definitely be a full time job.  That being said, how and where do I apply for this job?

Home Field Advantage

I never watched the game yesterday, that pitted off the Pittsburgh Steelers against the Denver Broncos.   I have, however, heard more than my fair share of the aftermath.  The surprise win of the Broncos over the Steelers.  I'm a bit of a Steelers fan, myself, but hardly have enough of myself invested in following the team, enough to be so shaken up by their defeat.

People on television and the radio have been commenting on the loss as well as comments made by Tim Tebow following the game.  Although I know he's really religious, I thought it was sad that he thanked Jesus, his lord and savior, before the efforts of his fellow team mates.  I never watched the game, but I'm fairly certain that it wasn't Jesus out there guarding his ass from being ground in the turf by the Steelers' defensive tackle.  Not that I believe had He been out there, that he'd have made much of an impact on those grid iron gladiators.

So, as I stated, I heard much of anything else on the radio this afternoon, but the announcers disbelief in the upset, adding how many question the "theory" that God is backing the Denver Broncos.  The radio announcer even went so far as to invite phone calls and tweets on the subject, urging everyone to share their thoughts.

Now I, personally, have never subscribed to such nonsense as God, Jesus and religion, really.  I've read some of the stories and whatnot while being counselled through some troubled times a few years back.  The stories were enlightening, but that's all they were.  Just stories, as far as I'm concerned.  However, for the sake of this blog, I will venture out and make like I believe.  At least for the next ten minutes or so.

People cannot believe that of all the teams in the NFL, that God would choose the Denver Broncos over any of the other teams.  What about the New Orleans Saints?  I think He may have helped them out a couple years back when he gave them the SuperBowl.  What about the San Diego Padres?  Well...  That's BASEBALL!!!!  And I'm pretty sure he'd be all up in Anaheim, anyway.

If God were to choose a football team to back, it only makes sense that it'd be the Denver Broncos.  Denver, Colorado after all, is The Mile-High City, and is arguably one of the highest points in the continental U.S.A.  Therefore, with the city elevated so high in the sky, wouldn't that make it closer to Heaven and therefore offer "home field advantage"?

Perhaps the Bronco's aren't The Lord's favorite team, but they play just down the road from the Big Guy's house.  Within walking distance, so to speak.  Then with Tim Tebow coming up through the ranks and being so gracious and thankful to God for his skills and talents, it's hard to not like the guy.  So of course God would help him out.  Why wouldn't he?  People go to church every Sunday and pray for help and guidance. Why wouldn't God help guide someone to the SuperBowl?  If Tebow and the Broncos win, it's likely to put asses in the seats at church the following Sunday...  It'd be win/win for the Big Guy.

Right or wrong.  It makes no difference if Tim Tebow believe that God is guiding his efforts.  As long as he plays with purity in his heart and the strength of a good team beside him, whether the gain the victory this weekend against Tom Brady and the Patriots or not, he should be satisfied..., EVERYONE should be satisfied with a memorable season for the Broncos.  Amen to that!

Mutilated Out Of Contempt

I realize that I seem to be dwelling on the fact that my arm is f*cked.  However, if you were in my shoes, I'm fairly certain you, too, would be out of sorts about it.  I apologize for the graphic nature of this photograph and the inset picture, but failing to elaborate on the atrocity that is currently my disfigured elbow, I find that an aptly placed photograph can speak volumes, as opposed to what words fail to do.

As stated yesterday, my physician viewed the repair done by the out-of-town doctor, to be less than below par.  She stated that more time should've been invested in stitching the laceration up.  I would have to agree with that synopsis.  While there was only one doctor on hand at the time of my visit, there was also next to no one in the hospital.  I'm sure a few minutes more, couldn't have hurt.  But I recall the small town doc, showing much disdain and didn't seem very stoked to be working the holiday.  On the other hand, she was the one who decided as a young girl that if she studied hard, she could one day become a doctor and flee the backwards life in South Africa.  Mind you, being stuck in the middle of a "one-horse town", probably wasn't what she was hoping for either.  So in a moment of rebellion, she falsely thought me to be one of the local rubes and stitched my up like she was wearing boxing gloves.

Fine.  I get that.  I don't like small towns either.  But I clearly stated that I was from the city.  That statement alone, should've bumped me up to premium care.  Instead I get marked for life, needing to explain to onlookers for the rest of my days, why my arm looks like it was chewed by a f*cking rabid badger.

I am not happy.  2012, thus far, is proving itself to be pretty f*cked up.  Happy New Year, all!!!

Boo Boo

The original intention for today's blog was to tell tales of spirits, specters and shadows caught in the corner of my eye, but that needs to be placed upon the proverbial "back burner" for now, whilst I instead, direct my attentions, once again, toward the topsy-turviness that is 2012.

It seems from the outset of Christmas 2011, my luck has been..., well..., kinda f*cked.  I mentioned how I'd slipped on the ice at my uncles house on Boxing Day, resulting in splitting my left elbow open and requiring stitches from the small hospital located in his small town.  Stitches that couldn't have been put in any worse, if I'd have done it myself, while blindfolded.  Some have speculated in the days since my discovery of this that I was "over-reacting", but I got confirmation from my physician this morning, that the stitch job was, indeed, a sloppy one at best.  She (my doctor) was also shocked that they neglected to X-ray me, despite my lack of immobility.  I inquired about the cause of the intense pain I experience when I bump or even touch the tender spot, in which she speculated that there may be a chip or a barb created from the tumble.

My doctor efficiently removed the stitches from the hack job mending and then proceeded to give me my monthly injection.  Without going into any sort of detail, suffice it to say that yours truly was born with a condition in which a certain chemical is not produced in my body, which prompts the need for me to visit my physician on a month-by-month basis, to receive an injection of a controlled substance.  Today was my regular visit, and the stitch removal was an "added bonus".  She'd just stuck me in the left buttock when I heard her say, "Oh wow, Jeff.  You're arm is bleeding." 

I wasn't just bleeding from my left arm, where the stitches had been just moments before, but the blood was pouring out, like if you turned a faucet slightly open.  A good steady trickle, it was.  I got blood on the chair. On the floor.  On my shoe.., my nearly new sneaker.  And later on I noticed that I even got a few droplets on the back of my jeans.

Without hesitation, my doctor leaped to the counter in the small examining room to grab some tissue and antiseptic, but in doing so, left me standing there with my britches slung down under my butt cheek.  Next was equal to a comedic routine from an old vaudevillian show.  My doctor fighting to contain the bleeding in my arm, my struggling to hold onto the bandages while trying to pull my pants up using nothing more than free-will.  Eventually, we managed to collect our faculties and she held the bandages while I pulled my pants up with my opposite hand.

Another physician came in to assess the new situation and together we came to the conclusion that the original doctor who stitched me up in that small town hospital located in my uncle's small town, must've pierced a vein when stitching up my elbow and when the stitches were removed, the bleeding started all over again.  FYI:  It's a good thing that young doctor in Tisdale, SK is an attractive young woman, because she sucks shit as a doctor!!!  

Now, here I sit, giant tensor bandage wrapped firmly around my arm, preventing me from bending it.  Wrapped solidly enough to compactly compress the new bandage applied to my arm, while loose enough to continue blood flow to my fingertips.  The theory is that the bandage will help the wound congeal and clot and tomorrow sometime I get to remove said bandage and hopefully (I say with hands clasped and looking up to the imaginary man in the sky) I won't resume bleeding when I do so.  If I do, I'm essentially f*cked.  I can't drive AND hold tissue upon tissue to my arm.

THAT is my 2012, thus far.  A real roller coaster of cluster-f*cks!  I'll keep you posted.  And I will write the haunting tale soon.

Twenty-12: Day 2 - People Are Full Of Shit!

I cannot help but think that Tom Cruise would be a cool guy to know.  That is, if he were anything like the characters he plays onscreen, rather than the dip-shit he is in real life.  I saw "Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol" today and as expected it was pretty f*cking incredible.  From what I saw of it, that is.  Of the 133 minutes of play, I did see almost all of it, but did find myself needing to escape to the washroom a couple of times.  Damned soft drinks go right through a guy.  The movie wasn't as good as it's predecessors, but it only missed the mark by a smidge.  I still strongly recommend it to anyone who is a fan of the movie franchise, or just enjoys a "kick-some-motherf*cking-ass" action movies.

After the flick, I ventured into the mall, bent on acquiring a much needed calendar for the walls in my kitchen and home "office/wrestling memorabilia" room.  What a freakin' mistake.  Wall to wall people, and nary a pretty girl among them.  Well...  Not entirely.  Out of the thousand or so people I had the misfortune to make eye-contact with, I'd estimate about three of the females never made me want to vomit in my mouth.  The rest, however, looked like they all fell out of the ugly tree and hit every f*cking branch on the way down.  They put the UGH! in ugly.  Woof!

After that little adventure, I stopped off at another store, looking for a kitchen counter-top appliance I've been looking for for awhile.  I got that, then moved on to Sobey's to pick up some refreshments to take to work in my lunch.  It was at this time that I was reminded of the stupidity of people.

I've always operated under the ideology that when it comes to being out and about, the larger object always gets the right of way.  To clarify, this means, a vehicle takes precedence over a pedestrian (when not in a crosswalk, of course), just as a bus prevails over a VW Beetle or a common-variety sedan.  And if memory serves, Godzilla overrules every f*cking thing on the planet, except maybe a Transformer.  I don't know.  I'd have to see them stand back-to-back, to make this determination.

So this being said, I am always bewildered that even though I can be blatantly seen backing out of a parking spot in my truck, people ALWAYS seem to rush past my back bumper, 99% of the time, unseen until the very last second, then they're always cursing me out.  I say "F*CK THEM!!!"  If they're stupid enough to run behind a truck that's backing up, they deserve to f*cking get hit!

I know for a fact that unless you're a driving instructor or Andrew Younghusband (host of Canada's Worst Driver on Discovery Channel), you're not a good driver.  Furthermore, if someone says that they "are a good driver", then they are in serious f*cking denial.  I admit that I am better than most drivers out on the road today, but also am humble enough to know that I could improve upon those driving skills.

Thankfully, I've made it home once more, truck parked safely in the garage, and I seated behind the keyboard of my computer, tapping away my day's experience.  If I could get away with never having to leave the house, or leave it at a minimum, I would proudly take that opportunity.  People be f*cking crazy out there, man.  Like Tom Cruise-crazy!

2012

The year 2012, thus far, hasn't been unlike it's predecessor, 2011.  Although, only a day has passed, it's too early to say that it will be every bit the disappointment that the year 2011 was.

Last year, 2011, wasn't entirely bad.  I was able to find a job that I enjoy somewhat, getting paid enough to dig my way out of the overwhelming debt I'd accumulated in the previous few years.  I was able to remedy a fractured friendship that ended tragically a few years ago with one of my most endearing friends, and through my job, I've been able to form a couple friendships that are proving quite enlightening.  That much is good.  Also, I've been able to forge stronger friendships with the limited number of friends I have at current, which is also good.  And probably one of my proudest moments was rebuilding my credit enough that I could purchase my Mustang Convertible, a toy that I didn't necessarily need, which also makes it more rewarding having acquired it.  For those points, 2011 was quite ideal.

The year 2011, was also the year that I made my greatest life-changing decision, which I won't elaborate on too terribly much, but for the few of you whom I shared this decision with, should know of what I speak of.  As great as this choice was to make, it quickly turned out to be the worst decision I'd ever made up to that juncture.  Tragic and heart-wrenching, and I suffered for it, for quite a few months before shedding those demons to concentrate on moving forward.  This was also another reason for my abandoning the idea of consuming copious amounts of alcohol.  The end result is NEVER good.

The year ended with my slipping on an icy driveway at my uncle's house, resulting in my splitting my elbow wide open, which subsequently lead to some negative reactions to the medication prescribed by the attending physician, who made an abysmal job of stitching my elbow back together.  I learned years ago, after having surgery to reattach my bicep which had tore cleanly off the bone, that if I massaged the stitched areas, the scarring would be minor.  This was true, as both incision points are barely noticeable.  I'm afraid that no amount of massaging of my elbow will ever remedy this f*cking hack job this doctor made on my elbow.  It's quite grotesque, by my standards.

As for the festivities for exiting 2011 and welcoming in the new year, was a site better than last year, which was spent at a faggy country bar.  A saving grace last year was seeing the lovely face of a very good friend of mine.  Beautiful girl.  Truly.  This year, was celebrated at another bar in the city here, where the music was nearly fantastic, despite the DJ, who they claimed was "professional", having played LMFAO's "Party Rock Anthem" four f*cking times throughout the night.  I love the song as much as anyone, and thankfully they played the video for the song during one of it's four run-through's, but even I know this was a bit excessive.  The idiot DJ did also play three country songs, which is pretty gay.  If I recall, I will address these in a later blog, which should further prove that modern country music is gay and will turn it's male listeners gay, as well.

The bar overall, was gross and disgusting.  It was 50% pig's and prostitutes (or at least they looked like hookers).  Another 40% were pregnant women, which there is nothing wrong with that.  In truth, much of the time, I find pregnant women attractive to a point.  However, pregnant and dressed like a wh*re, dancing on a speaker with their tits bobblin' all over the place, not that attractive.  I even saw one chick, lookin' like she was about to give birth, dancing on a speaker, with a bottle of Dasani water in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.  I guess she wanted to dance to that one song before heading outside to poison her unborn child.  (Loser!)

In all my years of going out on New Year's Eve, I can honestly say that I've never had a New Year's kiss.  Not sure what the significance of the kiss is, but it's still something I'd like to do before I die.  Maybe next year, if the world doesn't come to a crumbling end this December like the ancient Mayan's have speculated. I don't believe in any of that hooey!  I just think it was a case of the Mayans running out of "paper".

Thus far, however, 2012 hasn't been much different than 2011.  I pretty much slept the entire day away.  Never cracked the front door, never ventured outside, despite having planned to do so at some point, before procrastinating and "deciding" to do it tomorrow instead.  

The one thing that 2012 has done so far, was present me with two live acts of lesbianism.  Once inside the bar, where I saw (one of the very few attractive women) stick her tongue down the throat of the pig seated across from her.  Both seemed pretty stoked by the gesture of affection, as was I.  Then in the car parked next to us, was two chicks makin' out and fogging up the windows.  As we were departing the parking lot, I honked my horn, startling the duo who whipped their heads around to gawk at us.  I flashed a "thumbs up", before driving away.  The only way that could have been better, was if there was a flash of boob.  Then again, the year is still pretty young, so there's always tomorrow.  [Wink, wink]

Happy New Year, folks!!