condense

ever feel like a Ninja at a Viking funeral?

the no-wiper

guess what happened at work yesterday.
that's right, someone pooped in the pharmacy.
right on the floor.
no one witnessed the incident, but that sketchy old homeless guy who's been hanging around is suspect number one.
i think he was trying to make an artistic statement.
like, "hey fuckers, here's some poop!"

size matters

i have a blister on my heel the size of a fresh lima bean.
i have a canker sore in my mouth that's the size of half a TicTac.
i have a scrape on my right arm the size of a Tater Tot.
also i'm going bald.
yay life.

Smoothies we hardly knew ye

there's nothing like your hometown bar. and there's no hometown bar in the world quite like Smooth Hermans. it is a legend of the East Coast. a mecca of debauchery. a grimy beacon of 30 year-old booty, video gambling and some of the most heroic barfights in the land. but it's more than that to me. there's a love in the air. some might say it's a magical, sacred place. others might say Jesus was born there. either way, it'll always draw you back. the staff may say, "Banned for Life," but i know they never really mean it.
here is a selection of some of my finer nights there:
• the night i got kicked out for standing on a table and lighting a small fire on the ceiling.
• the night Mark drank too much home made wine and verbally assaulted every single person who walked past him for the duration of the evening.
• that Halloween when Phil dressed up as a toilet paper Mummy and Zack lit him on fire and Phil didn't even know and a bouncer had to tackle him to put out the flames.
• two words: Hamster Style.
• the night i fed that girl shots of 151 until she puked on herself and fell asleep.
• the night i thought i met Burton Cummings but actually met a guy who just looked like Burton Cummings.
• the night we all got kicked out for passing a joint around and Matt told off that chick and Penny told off that cop.
• the night they tried to kick me out like five times but i kept eluding capture because i'm wily and dynamic.
• the night i made out with some chick and promised to hook up with her the following day but woke up with absolutley no memory and had to bring Johnny along to identify her.
• the night we hung out in the washroom breaking glass in the sink for like almost an hour.
• the night that bouncer had to pull me off the stage for pretending to have a seizure while the band was playing.
• the night that bouncer admitted to Zack he couldn't read.

i'd go

i totally agree.
Throbbing Wang's is an excellent name for a Chinese Restaurant.

the line begins to blur

sorry about the lack of posts lately.
i've been wrapped up in a few things.
every couple of weeks the Terror of Living sneaks up and grabs me by the throat, inciting binges, blackouts, rash decisions and other ill-advised forms of perilous behaviour.
it's good to get these things out of ones system.
and when the dust finally settles around my screaming brain and injurious body, the Terror of Dying kicks the ever-loving-shit out of me, sending me reeling, grasping desperately for natural foods, proper sleep, water, vitamins, sushi, repair.
trying to sustain a square foot of sensible living.
and then, like that little kid in the Def Leppard shirt who's riding the Gravitron for the umpteenth time in a row, all i can do is twitch a little bit and yell, "Again!"
more.

well played

randomly listening to bad daytime radio at random intervals throught the week has finally paid off.
i've learned something important.
the world record for the highest point value for a single word in the history of organized Scrabble tournaments is 392 points.
the word is caziques.

caziques - 1. a chief or petty king among some tribes of Indians in America. 2. black-and-red or black-and-yellow orioles of the American tropics.

i'm so jealous.
and erect.

a brief summary of my greatest fears

• waking up to find i've been tied to a bear.

• dying in some horrible car crash that makes the front page of all the newspapers and having my parents read about how all that the police found in the wreckage was "Mike's body and a motherlode of cocaine."

• getting amnesia.

• getting the shit kicked out of me by a large group of people in a cold, dark alley while i'm naked and continuously vomiting on myself. (also, my attackers are dressed as clowns.)

• skeletons that can talk.

crunker than thou

this week's word of the week will be 'saucebox'.
apply it as necessary.
be strong.

rock justice

i'm glad i live in a city where i can stagger home steaming drunk and frothing with disgust at four am, yell into the telephone, and have it printed in the free local weekly paper.
it went something like this.

March 25, 3:39am: "Listen up, I don't even know the name of the band, it was at the Attic. Homicide murder of Zeppelin's 'Immigrant Song.' Listen buddy, you fucking killed that shit! I threw up in my mouth, it's disgusting and you should go to jail. I'd rather hear a homeless person jerking off acoustically in an alleyway than your shit."

see, the system works.
my only hope is that the accused read this, sobbed amongst themselves for a moment (disgusting), and immediately disbanded.
you're welcome Zep fans.
you'd have done the same.

are you feeling this?

"Nice jeans, Gillis. Super tight."
"Thanks. Had to shave off the pubes just to get 'em on."
"Heavy."

one man. totally live.

and i found myself asking, "How can one man be endowed with so much Rock? Is this even possible?"
the answer is yes. it is possibe.
this one man is McRorie Tait. (see link to the left)
what's scary isn't his immeasurable talent.
or his ceaseless devotion to rock music.
what's scary is the fact that this man exists.
he exists and he is very much for real.
so please, take a moment to gaze upon the future of rock.
prepare to be dazzled.
let McRorie teach you how to love again.

sinus burn

that was some serious dijon.