Jan 14

One Step Closer

mindofbirdman

First of all, go HERE and scroll down to the fifth photo. Recognize that motherfucker? That’s right, I got a very, very part-time job. It will probably only last a month or so, so you had better get a screenshot of it now, for proof.

It’s going to definitely be a challenge for me to write posts less than half the size of my average, but I think I’m up for it. I’m running out of shit to say, anyhow, so this will hopefully help me re-energize and start to focus on some other projects. I said “hopefully”, because focus has never been one of my strong suits.

It was really a shock, and an honour to be offered this, even if it’s not a full-time, real job. Aiming low is a great site, full of fantastic bloggers, and I might even get to try out some of my video and podcast ideas there. If they’re any good, that is. For all I know, they will suck and I’ll be run out of town on a rail.

Ow, my balls!

Ow, my balls! (from www.usareport.org)

That’s something that you just don’t see anymore. That, and tarring and feathering. I remember when I lived in northern Ontario, hearing about this guy that had been fucking around with some other guy’s wife and got caught. I guess all of the local menfolk gathered this dude up and tarred and feathered him for his indiscretion.

Oh good. A real photo of the abuse, and not some stupid drawing.

Oh good. A real photo of the abuse, and not some stupid drawing.  (from jematthews2.blogspot.ca)

I would persecute those fuckers for that. I would stalk and maim every last man involved. With no mercy, either. That is a horrible, torturous thing to do to someone, just because your buddy’s wife is a fucking whore. That’s like in high school, when you catch your girlfriend of three weeks giving some guy a handjob at the Impressions dance, and you knock his ass out. That prick just did you a favour, but for some reason you don’t skid your cheating slut girlfriend, you automatically blame the guy in the tight, stonewashed Ikedas. In truth you hit him because you could only afford Levis, but that’s beside the point. Continue reading

Dec 06

The Dream Team. Well, Except For Shaun

That’s right folks. We really did a great job fundraising, except for Sean. He didn’t even show up for the fucking practice. Everyone else took photos, bugged their friends, looked cool, etc…, but not Sean. He was too busy not getting any phone numbers from women. You know why? No moustache!

If any of you are on speaking terms with Sean, could you tell him that next year he should let us know if he’s not going to actually participate. As long as we know, we can hire a stache double to sit in for him. That way when people look at our team, we aren’t embarrassed to shit, that one of our MoBros is a SHINY, FUCKING PIG.

I digress. Instead of focusing on the negative, I should talk about how utterly awesome our hand picked band of moustachioed beefcakes has been. I would have these masters of the man-hair back on this team, any day. We’ll run them down for you in no particular order, right after we show you some figures from our CTT team for Movember. I snuck the link in, because you can donate until the end of December, but if you’d rather, the lady at the top of the sidebar could really use some help too. If you were inclined to give some cash up, I’ll leave it up to you as to where your money would be better spent. Read her story if you haven’t yet.

Look at the right side. $1888

Look at him down at the bottom. He’s mocking us with his $5 donation that he didn’t have to show up for.

Seth

Had a hard time figuring out if he was going to be able to do Movember, not so much because of his work, but because of the threats of no kissing for 30 days. I assured him that having a badass stache was better than kissing, he scratched his head and contemplated his pros and cons. Luckily Kari gave him a last minute reprieve, because it was for such a good cause. I think she made a good choice, because he rocked that shit, and I think in her heart, Kari was imagining him as a 70’s street thug. I know I was. So sexy. See for yourself.

The beginning

Part of the way

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The final

 

 

 

Next year?

 

 

 

 Roadie

This handsome bastard is officially my brother in law, and unofficially the best singer-songwriter in the family. This Movember marks the first time that his darling wife has seen him with a shorn face. From the sounds of it, I’d say Continue reading

Nov 30

I Saw The Sign, And It Opened Up My Eyes (and a whole other kettle of fish)

If I remember correctly it was around the summer of 1993 when Bugsy asked me if I wanted to go to a keg party with these chicks he had met at Trudeau Park. He’ll recall the story better, but I’m telling it, so you get my version.

I said that I’d go with him on the four hour drive to Ottawa, where we would meet up with these sisters that he was all googly-eyed over. What the fuck? I didn’t have anything better to do A trip to Ottawa, a keg, sisters. What could go wrong?

I think his was fancier than this, like maybe it had a hood scoop and some ground effects.

He picked me up in what I assume was his Turbo Sprint,(He now tells me it was the Prelude) but please don’t quote me on that. Whichever vehicle it was, it got us there safely, but four hours of Ace of Base was a little much.

Anyhow, we arrived in Ottawa around 1PM or so I think, and I was happy to have some reprieve from that son of a bitching tape. We went into the backyard and this family was sitting there drinking a nice, warm keg of beer. I looked around for the party that was to be attached to the keg and thought we must be at the wrong house, because this was literally a family sitting there and getting hammered. There may have been two brothers and a sister; I don’t remember, but the point I’m trying to make is that it was not what most people would call a keg party. It was more like a family of alcoholics having a backyard cookout with no food. Continue reading

Nov 06

Halloween Party 2.0

Well, we had the second Halloween party of the year, and it was a beaut. I say that, because I stayed sober and drove everyone around, so I got to watch and remember what all was going on. That’s right, you bunch of freaky fuckers, I saw what you all were doing. You had better be really damn nice to me from now on. That means all of you.

So, after dinner, and then drinks at Dora and Swiper’s house, we hauled ass to the Castleton Hall for the annual Halloween Dance. It worked out great, because everyone had parties to go to on the Saturday before the big day. This meant two opportunities to wear our fabulous Muppet costumes that Gadget had skillfully handcrafted from PXL Crosslinked Foam. That stuff is very good to work with, but pretty heavy duty for mask making. Mine weighed around 30 lbs, but it was the first one. The rest were a little more trimmed out, and it probably shaved five pounds off of the weight. The Castleton Hall is really cool too, because…

IT HAS A BALCONY!

Officer Sassypants is blatantly threatening my baby.

Continue reading

Oct 31

Where’s My God Damned Shoe? Part 2

If you are looking for the first part of this production, click Where’s My God Damned Shoe

Well, we had better get the rest of these photos posted, before Gadget vows to double his intake for next year. You’ll see by the pics near the end, that that is not necessary. Because I’m posting these in chronological order, the more sober and tame ones were near the start. He hasn’t seen what’s to come yet, but I’m sure when he does, he’ll be one proud peacock.

On another note, I really think we should hire a photographer for these parties, because it’s pretty irresponsible to rely on the drunk people for photo remembering. Every once in awhile, I would see the camera and start shooting from the hip, but then there was a chance of seeing the Wicklow Bush, so I abandoned that plan. If anyone else got any good pics that are not too lurid, send ’em my way. I’ll throw them up on the page. I had to erase the good pic of the cake vodka donor, so if anyone has one, I’d love to out him.

Anyhow, back to the photos.

What the fuck would a hippy and a sub ref have to talk about? Maybe how much glaucoma medicine the ref needs.

Touchdown!!!!

Continue reading