Sunday, September 25, 2005
If this doesn’t appease the masses than I guess it’s back to the sex.
I wonder if Bob Noxious over in Mitchieville has seen this? He could make candles for everyone over Christmas.
For you less fortunate gents, you can always go here first.
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Simon Weisenthal died this week. He is best known for his ability to hunt down Nazi war criminals and bring them to justice. He died quietly in his bed. He was 96...
Now, who is going to do his work? Who is going to search for those decrepit old Germans in their depends, breathing from an oxygen tank? Who is going to see those offensive octogenarians are wheeled in and made accountable for there actions 60 years ago? With or without teeth, they are still dangerous individuals, or grandparents, and must be found. Who will do this? Who? I ask you Who? The public still needs to be protected from these monsters.
Why are all the nasty, violent, most destructive hurricanes always named after women? Don’t talk to me about Andrew. Andrew was a girlie man or a non-homonormative as Fenris would call him. I mean you never hear about the devastation caused by Hurricane Earl, Len or Jim-Bob.
I have come to the conclusion, it is because, as males, we think about sex way too much, (me? Every 15 seconds.) We don’t have time to develop into a category 5 storm.
Another alarming trend? Every time one of these babies hits, the price of gas goes through the roof and I have no money left in my wallet. Do you see the connection yet? Hurricane chicks = no money left in your pocket. I rest my case.
Then there’s a 160 km traffic jam out of Houston. For you people still on the Imperial system of measurement, a km is like playing leap-frog when you were a kid, to the corner store that is a half a mile away, give-or-take, ....160 times.
The gridlock is from people trying to escape impending doom from Hurricane Rita, a hurricane that has no one left to kill because they're all on the highway. Twenty-four people have already died when the bus evacuating them caught fire and blew up. Oh...the irony.
Tyra Banks has a new talk show and one of her first guests was a doctor there to put to rest the rumors of Ms. Banks breast enhancement. So, after all the men were escorted from the studio by armed guards, because they can’t be trusted around exposed female body parts, the doctor poked and prodded and jiggled, and tweezed, Tyra’s mammalian protuberances, from the protective safety of a some-what wet, cotton, male under garment, and proved once and for all, her breasts are not only real, they’re spectacular.
Kate Moss was caught doing cocaine and now her sponsors are dropping her faster than whorehouse knickers. Personally I don’t care. Have you ever seen a model’s feet? They’re usually repulsive from being shoved into pumps from the moment of womb departure. I’d rather stick my beef syringe into a deliciously, microwaved cantaloupe than tackle those boney digits.
If you want some nice feet go here or visit Linds. Now there's some nice eatin'.....mmmm women's feet.....awwwgh
Ok so the public is a little panic stricken over the gas issue. Thursday there was a rumor that fuel was going over $2 bucks a litre because of Rita. For you people still on the Imperial system of measurement, a litre is like sticking a thimble into a gallon to scoop out some gas.
So, on my drive home I had to laugh at the long lineups at every dispenser of petrol I passed. The cars were stretched for blocks in all directions with waiting time as high as 2 hours. I heard there was even a few fights that broke out over line-cutting and one poor chap was beaten senseless with a tire-iron.
In fact, the only smart individual, was the guy who took the opportunity to drive off in the chaos without paying $57.50 for his fuel. Next day gas was still at the same price and I decided to fill the tank....took me a minute and a half.
Oh to be Joe Volpe charging expensive dinners to the tax payers, or Conrad Black’s right hand man siphoning millions off unsuspecting industry. I’d like a suckle of those teats. Seems the only way to get ahead these days is to lie, cheat and steal. From the way everyone is doing it, it must be easy, like shooting pre-schoolers in a barrel....or is that supposed to be fish?
You think Texas and N.O. have problems? Talk to the people of Outer Mongolia who were enjoying a nice summer day when the temperature suddenly dropped 50 degrees in the space of a few hours. For you people on the metric system 50 degrees is big. It’s way worse than 6 degrees of Kevin Bacon.
People actually died from hypothermia. Can you believe that? If they only had a fireworks factory that had exploded, I would have won a lot of money.
This all brings a serious question to mind. Who in their right mind would live in Outer Mongolia?
Someone has published a paperback for busy people on the go, who don’t have the time to read. It’s called the 100 minute bible. It’s expected to be a big seller. Well, save your money. I can do this in 10 seconds....ut hem...Bang! Life begins, good, evil, burning bush, 10 commandments, blah, blah, blah, demon blah, walk on water, resurrection, George Clooney, more demon blah, Bang world ends.....whew!
I wrote bang twice...
*thinking about sex* Gotta go.
I know this because of Hurricane Rita. I understand now, that God also has a hard-on for Texans and wants them erased from the face of the earth as well. He hates their 10 gallon hats and their Fords with standard gun-racks, and their yee-hawing while they chow down on an uncooked side of beef next to an oil well. Yup....you God fearing people were right.
My apologies...now where's my 100 minute bible?
Here are four reports that I heard on the day Daniel Sylvester handed himself over to police.
The apparent murderer of Alicia Ross, escorted by his lawyer, has turned himself in to police....
Daniel Sylvester, accused murdered and next door neighbor of Alicia Ross, is being held in custody by police until evidence has been recovered. Mr. Slyvester is....
Daniel Sylvester, the monster next door, has been charged with second degree murder in the death of Alicia Ross. The quiet streets of her neighborhood are shocked and stunned. When reached for comment a shocked....
The cowardly Daniel Sylvester, a hideous freak from next door, mere steps away from Alicia Ross and who brutality murdered her, is now mere steps away from being convicted. A stunned community is trying to come to terms with these events as they torched Sylvester’s home with his screaming, elderly mother still inside.
Well at least they did apologize to Alicia’s boyfriend who had been "a person of interest" in this case.
We would like to apologize to Alicia Ross’s boyfriend for our assumptions earlier. It now appears that he wasn’t the sexual predator, and crazed, violent, misogynist scumbag we made him out to be. Sorry.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Those of you lucky enough to live in a place where there is no foliage, and closest thing to a tree on your property is the one made of plastic, need not concern yourself. Although you may find an abundance of raccoons, skunks and mountain lions in your garbage foraging for food.
Autumn arrives this week signalling the end of another summer. The temperatures will remain seasonal except for Friday when we’ll be surprised by 4 ft. of snow, so keep those shovels and parkas handy. Have a pleasant week. I’m Guyler Sperling
Saturday, September 17, 2005
Besides, it’s been a slow week. Like the title says "tortoise slow". So, if you haven’t followed the current events of the past five days, you haven’t really missed a heap.
The most exciting news actually is, Gillette is coming out with a new razor called the Fusion. Five, (count ‘em), FIVE blades on this baby. Now I ask you....Do we really need five blades to revove facial hair, skin and shave down bone?
I'm told, the head also pivots and vibrates, which makes me wonder, are you sure this thing was designed for men? Cause, I know some women who would be very happy with that feature.
You had me at goodbye. That’s right Renee Zellweger and her new hubby have split after only a few months of matrimonial bliss. Which is ok, it still rates as one of the longer Hollywood relationships.
Delta filed for chapter 11 protection this week. Which is ok, it still rates as one of the longer running airlines.
A day care was busted when it was discovered the woman running it, was dealing drugs out of her home. Did anyone wonder why the kids were so anxious to get there everyday?
More studies and findings were released to the collective yawns of the average person. It was announced, after several years of study and careful calculation, College students drink too much, (did they really need a study for this?)
They also found the part of your brain that holds your phobias and hope to treat it, (If that’s true how come my balls tingle when I find myself at extreme heights?)
Scientists have found away to freeze eggs. Something about women, cancer, child birth...I don’t know I wasn’t really paying attention. (Personally....as long as you can still eat them with bacon and home-fries I don’t care what they do.)
Guess what? When we’re happy, we listen to happy music. When we’re upset we listen to serious music. I would have never guessed. Well, that explains everything except "The Hamster Dance."
The highest paying job? Airline pilot. Based on a forty hour work week the Ol’ fly boys average $140.00 an hour. I’m sure the pilots at Delta are doing cartwheels. The worst paying gig? Bartenders and waitresses, (not with the tips I leave them, they’re not. Hey!... where’s musicians? They should be the bottom feeders anyway.) Of course, they didn’t say where the people who compile all this crap fall in the money chain. I speculate it's mucho bucks. Not India fireworks disaster money, but close.
Which reminds me, I still have $8.17 of my money left, so I’m off to buy some rub-on tattoos.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
I’m not going to spend any more time on it. It’s been analyzed and covered to the point of nauseam. Although if you are a news whore, there’s some fine readin’ over on Mitchieville. I think the good Mayor actually flew some distressed evacuees up to the Great White North to help them out. The guy who wouldn't leave his pet pig behind was one, and I know Mike Brown the former head of FEMA was among them as well. Poor "Browny" as Bush calls him, lost his job to a cartoon character...Hey, Hey, Hey...it’s Thaaad Allen!
Goodbye to everyone’s little buddy Bob Denver. He’s finally getting off the island at age 70.
Who would have thought, Madonna would have problems in bed, but it’s true. Guy Ritchie snores and the Material Girl has moved into a separate bedroom. Hopefully that will keep them from at least doing another movie together....if we're lucky.
Air Canada are bringing back the metal knife, but only for the first class passengers. So, let me ask you this, you’re a terrorist, right?....I’m not actually inferring that you are a terrorist, just work with me on this....You’re a terrorist, and you know you are on a suicide mission. Now, even though you are expecting your gaggle of virgins when you get blown to Allah, you know you’re going to die? Put in a situation such as this, what do you do, hot shot?....What...would you...do? I’ll tell you. You'd fly first class....Bravo Air Canada...Bravo!
Les Mckeown, (if that’s not spelled right, it’s because I don’t have my teeth in), former lead singer for the Bay City Rollers....ah you remember him now don’t you? ( Is that a quivering clitoris I hear?) He’s in trouble by a nose....his own that is. Seems Les was caught with more....C O...C A I...N E ! Oh....how the somewhat-former-teenage-heart-throb-has been-mighty have fallen.
The newest craze? How about video headstones. Now you can leave your message from beyond the grave for all to see, and I thought my idea for a store where you could buy fruits and veggies and surf porn, called Market Flesh, was stupid.
Speaking of stupid, Paul Anka has released a new album, comprised of #1 rock songs done with a swing feel. If you haven’t heard him do "Jump" or "Smells like teen spirit," check it out. Good for a giggle....hey has anyone informed Pat Boone of this?
Toronto the boring? That’s what an online review stated for people traveling on business to our fair city. They said our food was dry, the weather cold, the nightlife bleak and the hockey team sucks....Hmmm I don’t see anything negative about that.
BTW The boring Toronto Film Festival is underway. Good luck trying to find accommodations within a nuclear blast radius of the downtown core. I believe the Mitchieville Super 8 still has rooms but that’s about it. With all the great stars coming to our city it makes sense. Toronto is considered the place to be to see the early Oscar contenders. Now, If you’ll excuse me I’m on my way downtown to see if I can catch a glimpse of Dabney Coleman.....jealous...
Saturday, September 03, 2005
Sorry people, this week, nothing more to see here.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
As it seemed that our plan would not reach fruition, Bubba’s sinister smile got ever wider and began to develop into a scheming mean snicker. Billy was now, laughing too, more from the acid he had dropped than at Bubba’s plan.
George and I, who still flanked Davy, in the back seat, just looked more concerned. Our huge co-worker Davy, knew something was up from the way silence had crept into the vehicle, save for the humming of the engine, the wind whipping by, and the churning of tires bitting into gravel. He could also see that everyone else had some sort of reaction that he was not privy to.
Bubba slowed the car to a crawl, and pulled over to the side of the road, next to a corn field. We were now well into the country and the light pollution from the city was a faint glow on the horizon. The full moon, the only illumination, gently cascaded off the budding stocks of corn that seemed to run for miles in every direction.
"There’s been a change in plans. This is gonna be for reel guys. Now everyone get the fuck out!" Bubba commanded.
"Oh my God! George, he’s actually going to go through with it! We have to stop
him," I hissed, as we all followed Bubba to the rear of the car.
Billy sat down giggling, periodically looking skyward to the stars and systematically arranging the stones around him, totally oblivious to Bubba’s plan.
Davy stood dumb founded, almost mesmerized as Bubba sneered at him. Unlocking the trunk and reaching inside, he pulled out a long coil of thick rope that had a make-shift noose at one end.
"Do you know what a hazing ritual is Davy boy?" Bubba said, holding the coil in one hand and swinging the noose gently in the other.
Davy shook his head in a negative motion. George and I could see the beads of sweat begin to appear on his forehead.
"Well . . . it’s like this," Bubba continued, in an almost playful tone, "One end goes over your head, like this." Bubba gently tossed the noose over Davy’s head as if he were playing ringette. "...and I tie this end . . ." He showed the straight end to Davy, ". . . to the bumper of my car."
George and I looked nervously at one another. Was he really going to do this? He was only suppose to scare Davy but he was really going to go through with it!
"Bubba!" I protested, "What the . . . "
Bubba cut me off and pulled a knife from his pocket, "Shut up! , Everybody just shut the fuck up!" He pointed the blade with a threatening gesture.
"Awww," Billy cooed, laying on his back and let out the occasional deep sigh.
"I told you guys my plan was the best," he said, triumphantly, "You’re all just jealous fucks."
Davy now began a gurgling whimper almost inaudible.
"Then do you know what happens Davy boy? Well do ya? You frickin’ retard!" Bubba was almost nose to nose with him now.
Davy gulped and replied "No." His breathing and the gurgle in his throat were increasing. "It’s mission accomplished! I drag your fat fuckin ass down this gravel road. If you live, you pass the test. If you don’t . . ." Bubba didn’t finish the sentence. He began to kneel down to tie the rope end to the bumper.
George and I looked at each other then at Davy with his rabbit eyes full of fear.
"Run Davy! Now!" We urged but he didn’t need us to tell him. He took off like a bolt, surprising that at his size he could move that quickly. I guess when you feel your life is in jeopardy, your body is capable of incredible things.
The rope burned through Bubba’s fingers ripping the knife from them.
"Son of Bitch, fucker!" He screamed. He looked at his hands and quickly rubbed them against his jeans to give them solace. By the time he had turned to Davy, he was no longer there. Only a gentle puff of dust kicked up as he pivoted, signified where he had once stood.
As serious as the situation was, George, and I, couldn’t help but suppress our laughter, as Davy’s head periodically appeared above the corn stocks, noose still dangling around his neck. He just ran, not looking back as if chased by some unseen foe.
"Son of a fuckin bitch!" Bubba snorted.
I strained my eyes to catch the last glimpse of Davy as he passed from view. Now a new horror gripped me, and my throat became tight, as my stomach summer-salted. How the hell was he going to find his way back? We were in the middle of nowhere. Miles from the city.
"Guys we have to find him . . . who knows what might happen to him out here in his state," I said.
Bubba, his madness now passed reluctantly agreed as the guilt took hold. George was already collecting Billy from the pavement as one collects a passive pet, and shoved his thin frame back into the car.
"You were really going to drag him, weren’t you Bubba?"
Bubba just shot me an angry look.
"Don’t look at me like you’re not an asshole." I continued, as he climbed behind the wheel.
We, started driving up and down the dirt roads, that bordered the massive corn field, with the windows down, and the chilly night air brushing against our faces. We hollered for Davy. "Davy where are you? Come out we’re sorry!" Bubba, the one who should have been sorriest of all, said nothing, and drove staring directly ahead.
Finally, after two and half hours, Davy reemerged by the roadside, looking very forlorn. His face was a road map of red welts, and cuts, where the corn had torn into his flesh. The rope was gone from his neck. Only a small red mark remained to provide evidence of its existence.
"I lost my father’s watch," he said sadly as he held up his wrist. A faint tan line where the watch had been, as testament to the fact. Bubba gave him his cheap ten dollar piece of crap as a gesture of remorse, and drove him home without further incident.