Reindeer Games

So you should already know Dasher, Dancer, Blinky and Vixen.  Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen.  No, wait!  I'm pretty sure Blinky is one of the Pac-Man ghosts.  So who am I missing?  Uh...  Prancer!!  What the hell kind of name is Prancer?  Suitable for a reindeer, I suppose.  And I always thought Cupid was that fat kid that shot people with arrows on St. Valentine's Day.  Someone's pulling double duty, maybe?

The most famous reindeer of them all, though is Rudolph, of course.  That little fetal-alcohol-syndrome reindeer, born to alcoholic parents, hence the big fat rosy-red nose.  Luckily for Santa Claus, his handicap benefited all on that fateful night that almost grounded the jolly fat man and his team of reindeer.

According to the song, however, young Rudolph was victim to bullying.  Shunned by his peers because of his glowing appendage.  Teased, mocked and bullied, rejected from playing any of the games that they'd play on a regular basis.

I'm sure the little reindeer had entertained thoughts of leaving the confinement of the North Pole, heading south to  civilization, where no one knew him, and starting over, but hesitated because of the extreme limitations bestowed upon a four-legged creature whose only skills were flying and firing up a glowing red nose.  Unfortunately, when you're born a magical reindeer, no matter your skill set, your vocational options are pretty limited.

So on that fateful foggy eve, it came as some surprise when the jolly elf himself, Santa Claus, came a knocking on the barn door and "volun-told" Rudolph to guide his sleigh that night.  The song suggests that St. Nick asked Rudolph to guide his sleigh, but being that he owned his ass, it was high-time to return the favour from years of free food and shelter.

So now, his very existence validated by the big boss man himself, the other reindeer now honoured and respected Rudolph because of his glowing red nose.  So upon the return from that global tour, they now accepted him into the fold and allowed him to play the very reindeer games, that they prevented him from participating in all those previous years.

This song has always pissed me off some, because of the sudden change of attitude by the eight reindeer.  To bully someone because of a physical handicap, only to then accept them just because one person vouched for them being cool?  If I were Rudolph, suddenly faced with a new important role on the team, so important now, that I'd inspired someone in the world to compose a song about me, I'd tell those reindeer to "piss off".  They could now join ME in MY reindeer games.

What kind of games can a reindeer play anyway?  They only have hooves and antlers.  Doesn't leave much room for anything but running and locking up horns.  Sounds like a lot of work if you ask me, and Rudolph was probably better for never having to had played at all.

So have yourselves a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, everyone.  Now that you know more of the facts, enjoy singing about the most famous reindeer of them all, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, with your loving families around the ol' Christmas tree. Wish you all the best in 2013.

Religious Persecution

In recent years, the world has been going to hell in a hand basket.  Everyone is tip-toeing around, afraid to say certain phrases or make certain gestures for fear of making someone uncomfortable.  People aren't allowed to politely wish someone a Merry Christmas, as it may offend someone of another faith.  Schools no longer present Christmas pageants for adoring parents to watch their younglings stumble and stammer over difficult dialogue and terrible costuming, for it may offend someone who doesn't believe in the birth of Christ. Churches aren't even aloud to display manger scenes on the front lawns of their own grounds.  Soon it'll be taboo to position a Christmas tree in the front window if the curtains are to be left open.  Simply put...  What the f*ck is wrong with people these days?

I've never backed down from the admission that I don't believe in God or Jesus or any of that religious hooey.  I don't fault others for believing in it.  If it gives you peace, love and happiness to believe in an invisible man who created everything in the world, and nothing was ever created by mankind themselves, then that's you're prerogative.  I don't need to believe it, nor do I give two shits if you do.  I will say, though, some of my fondest memories of growing up, were from performing, albeit poorly, in those Christmas pageants.

(*I know it's politically correct to say "humankind" now, but I don't give a shit.)

I can respect any person who felt it necessary to flee from whatever backwards country or regime where their own self-preservation felt threatened.  I can respect the fact that they have found solace and safety within the borders of Canada or the U.S. or any country that embraces free will and expression.  I cannot respect any person who relocates to my country or any of those listed, and finds it necessary to impose their beliefs and wills on us, just so they don't feel persecuted.  That makes these selfish motherf*ckers no better than the oppression they fled from.  If some middle-eastern bloke wishes to wear a turban and pray to the east twice a day, that's fine, but if I choose to wish you a Merry Christmas, then suck it up and say thank you.  It's not the words themselves that mean the most.  It's the good will behind those words.  It's so rare to find genuine kindness in people anymore, that when this time of year roles around, if someone expresses pleasantries towards another, those words should be met with the same form of kindness.  DON'T raise a stink and start a campaign to ban the words.

Words do have multiple meanings, for f*ck sake!  Even the F-word itself has multiple meanings, as you can learn from this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26UA578yQ5g 

Another example would be the word "fag".  If you go to Dictionary.com, you'll see one of the many meanings for the word, is a verb to describe one growing weary or tired from a laborious task.  Another meaning is to fray the end of a rope.  When used as a noun, it is used to describe a cigarette or a defective piece of woven cloth.  As you read this, were you aware of these meanings or were you like me, and only believed the word to be an offensive term bestowed upon the gay community.  I'd always thought it was a bastardized term derived from the meaning of "happiness" or "fun", like in the Flintstones Theme (ie. ...You'll have a yabba-dabba-doo time, you'll have a gay... ol'... time).  Even the word "faggot" means: A bundle.  Be it sticks, cloth, or even iron bars.  I even read that it refers to balled up pork bound by herbs and breading then deep fried.  That faggot sounds delicious!

Another example was presented last year during the NBA 2011-2012 season, where a player of Asian decent showed great promise and agility.  He'd been overlooked and sold short by teams before, and even his new team, the New York Knickerbockers, had considered cutting him, but after a barrage of injuries to the roster, The Knicks gave Jeremy Shu-How Lin an opportunity to play, and the sensational Season of Lin-sanity and Lin-vincibility was born.  Jeremy proceeded to play absolutely Lin-credible for many of the games that were to follow.  Then there was the game where it was destined for the New York Knicks to lose a game.  A color-commentator remarked that the opposing team had found a "chink in their armor".  Well the accusations began to fly that this commentator was a bigot and so forth.  If you look up the word "chink", it clearly refers to: a crack, cleft or fissure;  a narrow opening; to breach, rent or cut.  It even refers to the sound of two glasses coming together, as in a toast.  At the bottom of the page, it does mention that it's also a disparaging and offensive term for someone of Asian decent.  But come on.  Shit like that is only used by the uneducated and uncultured folks.  You know...?  Like rednecks!

In the city where I reside, the city transit have digital message boards that display the route of the bus, as well as other messages.  If our local hockey team is doing well, the message may read "Go Blades!!!"  I'm not a Blades fan, but I'm not going to raise a stink over the fact that others like and support the team.  On July 1st, they read "Happy Canada Day!"  That's cool.  At during the Christmas season, they read "Merry Christmas!!!" and that is fine with me.

If anyone is a hater and does not approve of the message of good will, then may I make a suggestion.  Instead of disagreeing and raising an Anti-Christmas campaign and threatening a lawsuit, as this local f*ck-nut, Ashu Solo is doing in Saskatoon, do us all a favour and either go the f*ck back to whatever shit-hole you came from or step in front of one of these city buses that you're so offended by.  Either way, we won't have to listen to your bellyaching anymore.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!!
(And if you have a problem with that, I don't give a shit!)

Bare Assed

T-Minus 21 And Counting

I worked this morning and as it does on most occasions, my mind wandered away from the monotonous task I was doing, to a subject a little more interesting.

Today is December 1st and if the Mayan calender is correct, we, as a collective, only have 21 days remaining in existence.  Pretty shitty, considering I just celebrated my birthday and Christmas is just around the corner, but the premise got me to thinking.  Not to mention, I have to work until the twenty-first of this month, before the seasonal shutdown at work.  It would definitely blow, if I have to work every day then my first day off marks..., nothing.  OBLIVION!!

IF the world actually does come to an end, how might one want to go out?  When asked, a majority of the consensus tends to lean toward "going out with a bang", and I don't mean a "shoot 'em up" kind of scenario, but more of the intimate variety.  A minority would opt for spending it with family.  I don't really have much for family.  My sister has her husband and kids and I believe that if the world were coming to a violent end, they'd rather spend it with themselves alone, and rightfully so.  

That leaves only one option left for me, and sadly I am without a "beneficial friend".  Although, with time quickly counting down, beggars may not be choosers and mutual copulation may be easier than initially thought...

It was at this point that I had the song "Sex & Candy" pop in my head, by the band Marcy's Playground.  A stupid name for a band, but no worse, I suppose, than Meat Curtains.  One of the lines of the song specifically states, "I smell sex and candy, here."  Disgusting!  Candy would be alright.  Every time I walk into the Pine & Fancy Candy Store at the mall, I'm mentally teleported to a far away fantasy land where everyone is happy and sweet.  As for sex though...  Yech.  Unless there's scented candles or lotions, the smell is anything but wonderful.  Or at the very least, not nearly as enjoyable as the act itself.  All musty and sweaty...  I don't know if I'd want to spend all of eternity with that reminder on my mind.  If the End of Days comes on December 21st of this month, and I do find a partner to spend my last fleeting moments with...  I hope she's wearing a Vanilla-based perfume.  Mmm.  Vanilla.

Frankly, I think it's a load of malarky.  Just like Y2K and those retards last year who thought a flying saucer was coming to pick up the human race.  A bunch of bullshit.  It is my belief, and I've been stating this for years and years, since first learning of the Mayan calendar and prediction of Armageddon.  I think the Mayans simply got to the end of the page or the stone tablet.  Whatever they were counting out the days on and never got a chance to carve out another tablet.

It's written that the Mayans existed between 250 and 900AD.  Nearly two thousand years ago.  Why the hell did they need to carve out a calendar so far into the future?  If they knew the world was going to end on December 21st, 2012, wouldn't it have just been easier to simply carve out a statement?  "Hey future people, as of December 21st of 2012, you guys are all f*cked!!"

It's just a scheme to get people into a panic.  The survivalist stores are all raking in the bundles of cash as scared desperate people spend what little money they have remaining from the recession, on rice, canned beans, gas generators and handguns.  Even I had hatched a scheme to make some cash from all the hype.  I wanted to fashion a 2012 calendar that showcased a different natural disaster in every month, then in December, I was going to number it up until the 21st, then leave the remaining days blank.  F*cking HILARIOUS!!!

How Does Paper Beat Rock?

I have a friend who used to be a professional Rock, Paper, Scissors athlete.  He was ranked in the Top Five Worldwide and better than that in just North America.  He was very successful, making tons of cash with endorsement deals and alike, then all at once, his luck ran out and it all slipped away.  Flushed down the proverbial toilet faster than an unwanted turd.  Public opinion's "rock" trumped his "scissors".

What struck him down in his prime?  Was it the constant rumours of steroid abuse?  He, of course, denied all the accusations and passed every test thrown his way.  No.  It was the booze and the whores.  The wrong kind of women can get a man in trouble, especially a guy riding high on the successful wings of the World Series of Paper, Rock, Scissors.  A man left with no moral support, but for those left way back at home, is apt to do some foolish things.  I've done a great many stupid thing, and I've not had the luck of an athletic career or a huge bank roll to feed my foolishness.  All my stupidity has been done for free.  However, I'm straying from the topic, for which I apologize.

Despite his short-comings, he's learned many, albeit harsh, life-lessons and has grown to be a much better person, both mentally and spiritually, from it.  Today, he can be found coaching young up-and-comers in the strategy game play that is Paper, Rock, Scissors.  It is his vast experience in this sport that I found comfort in exploring one of the greatest mysteries bestowed upon this world:  How the f*ck does paper beat rock?!?

Paper doesn't hurt unless you have an actual newspaper press roll, which I've learned weighs in at about a metric ton.  That roughly translates out to about a small sedan, which I've had the displeasure of rolling over my foot, once upon a time.  Not a pleasant experience, let me tell you.  Then again, I'm reminded of a particular skit from the first Jackass movie, in which many of the guys were volunteering to get paper cuts between their toes, fingers and even a mouth or two.  In my experience as a receiver of products from abroad, some paper can slice you open like a f*cking shiv, and that my friends, hurts even more than a Chevy Cavalier running over my foot.

Paper, however, cannot cut through a frickin' rock.  Not even that shitty paper from India and China that cut me open so often.  So once more, I'm left asking myself: How the f*ck does paper beat rock?

BARNEY

Assault of any kind on a minor is a terrible thing.  In past blogs, you may remember my going off on a tangent, exclaiming my tremendous disgust for crimes against children.  I'm even no stranger to assaults, having been on the receiving end of several beatings as a child.  In fact, today marks the anniversary of getting my nose broken when I was sixteen years old, just three days prior to my seventeenth birthday.  I wouldn't wish that act on anyone.  Pain and discomfort aside, the mental anguish that is closely associated with such an assault, can damage you for years to follow.  That was a different time and different circumstances, and despite some doubts from some family members, I've forgiven my father for that incident.  I recognize that it was the alcohol, NOT him, that escalated the situation from what it could and should have been.

So perhaps this is what fuels my disgust for crimes against children.  I don't know.  I can't really say for sure.  However, that withstanding, I can't help but think that it would've be pretty frickin' funny to witness Barney the Purple Dinosaur losing it and gobbling up the menagerie of children collected at his feet during his daily children's television show.  Dinosaurs ARE carnivores, after all.

I love you. You love me.
You taste good in my purple belly...

President Obama Did Not Kill the Twinkie

It's been stated that if the world experienced total global annihilation, the only things that would remain would be cockroaches and Hostess Twinkies. 

Earlier this week, it was announced that after nearly a century of production, 82 years to be exact, Hostess would be ceasing production of the Twinkie.  It's was joked that just weeks before the Mayan's predicted "End of the World", that the one item that would survive it all, will not exist any longer.

While perusing Facebook earlier, I noticed this picture and included in the comments was some ill-informed idiot who blamed President Barrack Obama for the snack's demise.  How f*cking stupid are people?  Don't answer that, it's rhetorical.

The President of the United States is NOT to blame for the closing production of the Twinkie.  In actuality, it was workers striking for increased pay against an already bankrupt company, for work primarily performed by machines & robots.  What was the reason for the Hostess going broke?  It's only speculation, on my part, but it would be my guess that it's the health craze.

All you health nuts, slurpin' back your bottled water, eatin' your tossed salads and protein bars.  YOU are the culprits behind the death of Hostess and their delicious treats.  Choosing carrot and celery sticks over Twinkies and Ding Dongs, THAT is the true crime.

Of course, Hostess failed to discourage the marketing ploy of Twinkies surviving a nuclear holocaust.  Who wants to stick those kinds of chemicals into their bodies?  I am, by no means, a health freak, but in the interest of avoiding fattening foods, I sometimes take to reading the list of ingredients, most of the time having difficulty pronouncing the words printed on the tiny packages.  It's a good way to make one feel sick to their stomachs and thus avoiding the snack.

Although, I am not a connoisseur of the Twinkie, I do enjoy the odd Ding-Dong, which is called "King Dons" in Canada, here.  But another Hostess item that I've learned may be falling by the wayside, is the infamous WONDER BREAD.  I f*cking love Wonder Bread.  Not only is it a flavourful bread for sandwiches and alike, but I love the feel and sound of the words, "wonder" and "bread" falling off my tongue.

Marijuana was legalized in a few states during this last (American) election.  Too little, too late.  All the pot smoking in the world and subsequent munchies will not save the Twinkie from it's inevitable demise.  However, when one door closes, another one opens.  The closing of the Hostess plants marks opportunity for someone.  Some other company to swoop in and make an iconic snack that take the place of the Twinkie, standing side-by-side with the cockroaches after the world crumbles and falls next month, as per the Mayan prediction.