Friday, December 11, 2009


I've listened to some of the whole "Tiger Woods is banging hot chicks outside the confines of his legally binding marriage to a hot Swedish super model" uproar but, honestly, I'm more concerned whether with whether I hang to the left or the right today. So why am I weighing in? One simple fucking reason.

On my way to work this morning I was listening to the radio as the DJ's were lambasting one of the women (I guarantee there is more than one) that Tiger had an affair with. This is the woman who released the voice-mail message of him asking her to take her name off of her phone and then, subsequently had a press conference to tell everybody how sorry she was. The DJ's were ripping her to shreds for riding the chocolaty pitching wedge of a married man and then trying to make a buck or get some publicity out of it. Really? It's her fault Tiger was pitching out of her bunker?

Let's get a couple of things straight. Morally, I find it reprehensible that she's trying to make some money out of this situation. A family is hurt and her attempts at profiting from it will only serve as a reminder to Tigers wife of what occurred. Furthermore, there are children involved and the last thing that they need to know is that daddy didn't love mommy enough to hold the tournament at home and try for a threepeat. It's for this reason and this reason alone that I have any problem with this woman at all. She's out for money. Period. She was out for a dark meat sammich but that birdie eventually got back on the green.

Now we are starting to see the poor, stupid women starting to be dragged through the mud because Tiger wanted some strange. How could they possibly refuse? It's Tiger Woods! His young, handsome, famous and has enough money to wipe out America's deficit single-handedly. Motherfucker, please! Stop insulting these ladies as if they were fourteen-year-old high school girls who got caught giving the quarterback an awkward hand-job under the bleachers. These women knew exactly what they were doing. The trick is that they didn't do anything wrong. They fucked a married man and, while that may be objectionable, if the man was willing why wouldn't they. I've never been able to understand why people get so angry at the third party in an affair. They aren't cheating, they didn't force the adulterous spouse into bed and they're well within their rights to spelunk  anyone they choose. I'm sure in most instances they don't look at a person and say to themselves "He looks married, I think I'll make him plumb my dirty depths". Do you really think that most trysts say to their secret bunk buddies "But your married so I can't?" Hells no, nor should they. All and I mean all of the blame here resides with one person. Tiger.

Myself, I hold that marital trust sacred. I've never cheated on my wife nor any of the girlfriends I've ever had. Saying that, I have been on the other side wherein I was the third party in the mix. Never with a married woman (that I know of) but they have been in long term relationships. Did I feel bad? Nope. I didn't make a commitment to your significant other, you did. If you're with me then perhaps something was wrong with you or your relationship where you had to look outside for your pleasure/companionship. But, regardless of whether your husband/wife is a bitch or physically and emotionally distant, cheating is not an option in my books. End it first.

What really pisses me off is that thousands of spouses cheat on each other every fucking day. Sometimes this is mutually agreed upon by both partners and, in that case, get your freak on but in most cases one party is not privy to this information. But now someone famous has done it! Big fucking deal! Dude is probably the most famous person in the world. Of course he's going to have trim thrown at him from every direction. It's his responsibility to ignore it and remember what he's got at home. At the end of the day, Tigers going to get out of this with minimal tarnish. None of his sponsers will drop him, the PGA wouldn't dream of censuring him in any form and now he's a hero to a bunch of douches for pulling some ass on the side. Don't get me wrong, I don't think the PGA should do anything about this situation, it's none of their business. What's unfortunate is that this silly girl with all her chatter is drawing attention and criticism away from the real issue. The illegal harvesing of Tiger penis.

/end rant

Thursday, December 10, 2009

CBII: Book 8: John Dies At The End - David Wong

Wait.....what? Where am I? Who the fuck are you? this a van with no windows? Why are my pants off? What is this powdery residue in my nostrils?  What the fuck just happened?

That's how I felt after reading David Wong's John Dies At The End. All I know is that I woke up in the back of a van, with a seriously druggy hangover, my pants are around my ankles and certain parts of me are in need of medical attention. I'm not sure what went on but I'm pretty sure gp and his army of gays were involved. They also may have brought a horse judging from how my throat hurts. I'll admit, I'm not even sure how I'm supposed to review this cluster fuck except to say that I enjoyed the hell out of it and I'm a little ashamed to say so.

David and John are best friend. They're a pretty unlikely duo as David is a pretty reasonable character. He's mellow, reasonable and thoughtful with the exception of few psychotic episodes but John is bat-shit, balls to the wall, I don't give a fuck, crazy. They share an affliction with each other that nobody else has, well, at least nobody that's still alive. They see and hear things. Really fucking strange, perverted, fucked up things. No, you don't get it, really wacked out shit. It all started on night at a party that John's band was playing at. While David is chasing after Molly, a stray dog, and as the band is finishing their opening number, Camel Holocaust, David runs into a Jamaican doing magic tricks for teenage girls. As David is always up for making a douche look like a douche, he begins picking apart the wanna be magicians tricks, but this magician seems to know way too much about David. After being made to look like a bitch, David mingles with the other party-goers and runs into Jennifer Lopez. Yes the Jennifer Lopez from high school, not the one with the big booty although this Jennifer's booty is just fine. She blows him off so David goes to find John as the band is finished playing. John and some people are going to a party with The Jamaican but David has to work in the morning so he passes on the festivities and returns to his car, where the stray dog is waiting for him.

After settling down and falling into a lovely and deep slumber, David is awoken by a strange phone call from John. He rushes over to Johns apartment where all hell has broken loose. John is convinced that there is something nefarious in his apartment and is determined to escape to Denny's where they'll be safe. Oh yeah, John appears to be fucking whacked out of his mind and at Denny's things get a little weirder. John tells David about the party with the Jamaican guy and the strange drug he gave him. David's phone rings in the middle of John's story so he answers it; it's John. But John is sitting right across from him. "What?" says David,  "Fuck! Someone's at the door."

I don't even know where the fuck to go from there. It's probably the most gloriously mind-fucked piece of literature I've ever read. There's floating, exploding dogs that come back from the dead. There's creatures from who the hell knows where. There's swearing, and I do mean swearing; dude makes me look like a nun. There's drugs and sex and violence and guns and explosive diarrhea and jellyfish and missing limbs and mutant grasshoppers and retardation and different dimensions and a sausage, not a phone shaped like a sausage. A fucking bratwurst that is used as a phone. It's funny in a laugh out loud kind of way and disjointed and choppy and alot of it makes absolutely no fucking sense. It was hard to read simply because it took it's multiple headed penis and stuck it squarely in my ear-hole but it's probably the most original book I've read in years. If your looking for a good time, a healthy helping of contemporary references and good old fashion Limp Bizkit bashing, give it a try. Now, please excuse me, I have to go and get this spiked slug checked out.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

CBII Book 7: Prelude To Foundation - Isaac Asimov

I've read the original Foundation Trilogy three times starting when I was a young teenager and I consider myself an Asimov fan. That is why it pains me to say this: I had no idea that these 'other' Foundation books existed and I blame this on my father. When I read a book and enjoy it, I will always check the first few pages for a list of what else the author has written. You see, the edition of the Foundation trilogy I have was passed on from my dad and so it was quite old.  Due to this fact, there were no other Foundation books listed even though they had obviously been written by that time. Could I have taken the initiative to investigate whether Mr. Asimov had written any further novels in the series? Of course I could, but I was a teenage boy and had other.......priorities. The last time I read the trilogy was over ten years ago. I know this because I am positive I haven't read it since I got married. Please afford me some leway when making comparisons to the originals as my memory is a little fuzzy.

Prelude To Foundation is the story of mathemetition Hari Seldon's quest to establish the Laws of Psychohistory that will eventually save the galaxy from certain demise. Hari has just arrived on Trantor, a world of some fourty billion people and the central world of The Imperium to present his paper on the theory of using mathematics to predict the future of occurances of mankind. While well recieved, Hari's presentation isn't considered revolutionary and raises little interest beyond the cursory "well dones" in the scientific community. With one notable exception: the Emperor. Hari is summond to discuss his theory with the Emperor but the meeting quickly goes south. The Emperor wants Hari to predict the future of the imperium but cannot grasp that the theory is just that; a theory, it doesn't have a practical application. The Emperor is unconcerned with this revalation as, even if the predictions are not accurate, he can use Hari to further his political agenda. The Emperor's second in command Demerzel, a cunning and deft political strategist, suggests that they let Hari go and observe what his course of action is. It's Demerzel's position that they can pick up Hari anytime if he makes a breakthrough or if it seems that a rival political faction is going to make a move on him.

After  his meeting with the Emperor, Hari is understandibly preturbed and decides to take a walk in the park. While reflecting on his unlikely fate Hari meets a reporter named Hummin who, unlikely as it may be, is aware of the presentation and it's contents and expresses deep concern that Hari may be in danger from Demerzel. While the two are discussing the Emperors plans for Hari and all of the pitfalls asociated with them, Hari is accosted by a couple of thugs who take issue with his off-world attire and back-world mannerisms. They suggest that Hari may want to leave the planet immediately. In fact, they are more than willing to help him onto the next plane to his homeworld of Helicon. Hummin sees fit to interfere and help Hari hide. In their flight, he convinces Hari that the thugs were sent by Demerzel and Hari needs to find a safe refuge. He also convinces Hari that the empire is falling apart and Psychohistory is the only solution to preventing the collapse of civilization. For being a simple journalist, Hummin knows entirely too much and has far to many questionable connections. What follows is a chase through Trantor and  exposure to some of the most extreme cultures on the planet, all in an attempt to help Hari to establish the Laws of Psychohistory and save twenty-five million worlds all while avoiding Demerzel who may not be what we are lead to believe.

I have to admit that I was quite surprised when I started reading this particular entry in the series. It seemed that the style and story was far less complex than the original trilogy. In the original Trilogy Seldon is the greatest of men and the stories of him and his prophecies are the stuff of ledgend as well as the greatest hope for humanity.In the beginning, it was difficult to reconcile that man with this country bumpkin who is lost in a world he doesn't understand and makes nieve choices that constantly land him in trouble. Of course, as I continued to read through the book it becomes very apparent that this was Asimov's intention. As we watch Hari grows as a person and lose some of his back-water preconceptions, the story and the writing style grow along with him. It is a subtle but deftly executed change that I only really noticed upon reflection and the book really does benefit from Asimov's decision to write it in this fashion.

I'm also always impressed with the way Asimov writes about fictional cultures and religions but makes it very easy to draw correlations to cultures that exist in our own worlds. He's not shy about laying the pros and cons of each successive culture or religion that he writes about and pointing out there pitfalls but it never comes across as pretentious or preachy. As a matter of fact, he usually uses these instances to point out our own shortcomings as it is fairly obvious, at times, when he's being critical of contemorary cutom, religion and culture. If there's one criticism that I've heard a few times about Asimov's writing, it about the roll that women play in his work. It's been said that, in many instances, women play subserviant characters in his books and I can't really argue that fact. What I will argue is that, in my opinion, the women in his books usually turn out to be people of the strongest character and end up being crucial to the success of whatever story they pertain to. Indeed, in many instances they are also the central protagonists and tend to be more captivating than the male characters. Also, as Asimov's books deal so intimately with society, religion and culture, it would be dishonest to the story and the reader if he did not present to us our own hypocracy.

Prelude To Foundation is and excellent addition to the series that helps us understand the motivations and issues that forced the establishment of The Foundation. It is well written, richley detailed and presents us an oppourtunity to learn about ourselves as we move into our own future. It also underscores many of our own issues that we may wish we weren't so comfortable with.  

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Fuck This Week In It's Eye-hole!

It's only fucking Wednesday people and I'm ready to kill. I'm not spouting hyperbole here, I'm really, really having to restrain myself from cut-sliding the next person who looks at me. Shit has been wicked busy and I haven't even had time to do one of these posty joints  Let's begin with Sunday:

My football team who has sucked an infected testicle up until the last three years lost the championship game in the last two seconds because nobody on the fucking field or the sidelines can count to twelve. The opposing team missed the winning field goal and we would have one except we received a too many men on the field penalty. Re-kick from closer and they nail it. Fourty-fucking-two people on the team and nobody noticed there were thirteen people on the field. It was such a monumental fuck up that it even made the American ESPN. Fine. I'm over it.


It's Monday, that's bad enough. Add to it that I have to have an on-site meeting with some dude from Nova Scotia about a water distribution system and I'm not in the happy pants kind of mood. The meeting is going fairly well, we have to do some upgrades on our portion of the water system and so do they. Then, the fucker starts telling us that they want us to pay for a portion of their upgrades because we have a truck fill attached to the reservoir. I should mention that this is after the phone conversation I had with him in which he said that they only wanted us to pay for the upgrades to our facilities. So dicksicle, now you want thirty grand so you fuckers can make more money? Go sodomize yourself with a tv table, asshat. We spend hundreds of thousands of dollars putting this system in and even got the fuckers a grant for it. Oh, and the don't have to pay GST (5% sales tax) which is an additional $6000.00 a year they save. Thanks for the extra work. Dick!

Next I have to go pick up a rape van from the rental place. (why the van? I'm getting to it.) I arrive, on time, as always and guess what? The van isn't there. Well isn't that just fucking spectacular! How about I just wait here while your employees play grab-ass and listen to you bitch about everything under the sun. The only thing that could make this day better is if I had a meeting tonight and had to drive back out to work. Oh wait....

So I drive back out to work in a fifteen-passenger van on icy highways because my parents took my other car. Thanks, I didn't want to live to see tomorrow anyways. The meeting should take about half an hour but of course doesn't as we have to take an assload of time discussing, of all things speed bumps. Specifically, A speed bump. At least I did get home safely and fell into a deep slumber in front of the Saints game.


Do you ever wake up knowing what lies ahead and actually consider running your vehicle into an oncoming semi-truck? I did on Tuesday morning. Tuesday morning was The Road Tour! WAIT! Read that again, its not a road trip, it's a road tour. Have you ever seen a gravel road? Well, imaging driving around on them, in a van, with six farmers (one of which has no problem asphyxiating the rest) looking at road after road for nine hours. What an ass-blastingly good time. Now, this tour could be done in three hours as we're only going to look at roads we built or are planning to build but we have to take every fucking detour imaginable to satisfy curiosity. Do we really have to go look at a gravel pit? Is it relevant? Do we really have to go look at a run down house so you can tell a story about the owners alcoholism? Do I really have to see where somebody wants to build a garage when there's no issue with it? I should probably tell you that many of these detours are of the off road, variety. Man, after a belly-full of bad chinese food, you do not want to be bouncing all over the place in a fucking van. So here I am, making the odd note, staring at gravel roads and thinking about all the work piling up on my desk while I'm not there. You know what would be really great fellas? If we could run late and then spend an hour giving the foreman shit in my office when it's supposed to be closed. That would be fantastic because I really have nothing better to do.


It must be Helmet Day. That's the special day when they let all the people that have had brain injuries or developmental issues out of the rotting wooden boxes they live in in the basement. I've had a mouth breather write a cheque for the wrong municipality, a government bureaucrat try and give me shit over something that one of their other departments prevented me from doing, a fire chief who continues to step beyond his authority tell ME that my municipality has to pay for something we don't, various people making me do things that they're required to do because in the end it'll be done right  as well as all of the rest of the bullshit that rides with any normal day at the office. I'm telling you people, I think I'm totally overreacting, but somebody is going to fucking get their shit wrecked today.

And now there's some fucking waste of lung-butter in my office trying to rock a mullet. Oh hell no motherfucker, that shit will not be accepted. Send bail.