tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40382082003008624942024-03-13T09:50:09.221-06:00Welcome to StabbyMartWelcome to StabbyMart! We supply a full range of mutalitory items as well as various instruments of maiming and deathing. Also, sometimes we talk about kids, puppies and Jebus. If you are easily offended by sex, religion, profanity or general deviancy and debauchery; you're an asshole and should probably fuck off.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.comBlogger53125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-82262604117616819072010-09-25T14:39:00.000-06:002010-09-25T14:39:15.882-06:00CB II Book 21: Transition - Ian M. Banks<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:/Users/Doran/AppData/Local/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dt1d7wQP2kQNQ00DuFiiG1pQ724KCBF5Yr0i_2lsx3orZokg06o_BdnLnQDnnhGgVr7QF19PF0bKoGG4wzhQ3s3SICr-jE7YIyfdbFzzblgyty4zA1iLbYRbHBMwBLTGR09PwhbEY6iG/s1600/transition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dt1d7wQP2kQNQ00DuFiiG1pQ724KCBF5Yr0i_2lsx3orZokg06o_BdnLnQDnnhGgVr7QF19PF0bKoGG4wzhQ3s3SICr-jE7YIyfdbFzzblgyty4zA1iLbYRbHBMwBLTGR09PwhbEY6iG/s200/transition.jpg" width="130" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Transition</i> is not the first book of Ian M. Banks’ I’ve read (I’ll get to the reviews I swear) but it is certainly the strangest. The first two I read were science fiction of the space faring variety while this one takes place in a more contemporary time witch encompasses the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks. While I think that the premise is certainly an interesting one, in my own opinion I think the execution and story fell short. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The central concept of the book seems to be that there are an almost infinite number of earths in different realities or dimensions. In each of these realities Earth can be completely different in every way imaginable or, there can be a difference as subtle as a certain person being alive when they shouldn’t be (relative to THIS Earth). A group of individuals from the primary manifestation of earth that call themselves The Concern believe that it is their duty to interfere with each and every world’s future by removing or aiding specific people who would have an influence on events. As such, The Concern has identified a talent that certain people have to “transition” to different worlds and different people with the aid of a drug called Septus. Septus allows a person to “flit” from world to world and person-to-person in order to achieve their aims. There are various permutations of the talent: some allow the transitioner to take people with them, some block another’s ability to transition and others can track transitioners through additives in the drug, but The Concern identifies, trains and uses them all. Especially one particular Transitioner trained as an assassin. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yell is loyal to The Concern. Identified and trained from an early age for his future occupation, he’s developed a talent for flitting with a sneeze and dispatching his quarry. He doesn’t usually question his orders until they begin to be amended by one Madam d’Ortolan. It appears that Yell, is to remove some of the members of the ruling body of The Concern dubbed the Council of which Madam d’Ortolan is the head. As this is highly suspect, Yell defies his orders and soon finds himself subjected to torture to find out what he knows as Madam d’Ortolan is convinced that there is a conspiracy afoot and is determined to stop it. Shortly thereafter, Yell is contacted by Miss Mulverhill who is a former student of d’Ortolan’s and has since formed a rebellion. It would appear that Madam d’Ortolan has designs upon The Council and plans for immortality.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps if I had read <i>Transition</i> in a reasonable amount of time it would have made more sense. It flitted from person to person, backwards and forwards and didn’t engage me for more than short periods of time. There are instances of great storytelling that just seem to get lost in the “who are we talking about now?” aspects of the writing. As an example of the need of a guide through the book, all of the changes of character have headings. Not chapters, mind you, but when the first person narrative changes (sometimes after a few paragraphs) you literally get a: “Sparkletits” in italics. Perhaps it’s that by using this method of storytelling it took quite a while for me to connect with the characters, as it took me more than two weeks to read it which is very unusual. While the characters actually do end up being very well developed, the methodology employed meant that it took until at least mid way through 400-pages before you even started to get a feel for what some of them were about. Perhaps it’s just me, I really did enjoy Banks’ other two books that I’ve read, but this one just felt convoluted and needlessly complex. It felt like <i>Memento</i> but, ultimately, I was left without anything to take home.</div>The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-52095786298150367582010-09-25T12:58:00.000-06:002010-09-25T12:58:18.766-06:00CBII Book 20: Watch - Robert J. Sawyer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVC611AAAklgNbYLWlr7RF89F0ek-NmSw0ZQfRG1z-FNJylBmM9aEgSBkrS_UL8dzCXrAnzZ6JAJqbFl3Gfm8uPHkLXj8DJRGb2xJCTQSO_1Nepc7XyR_43NugVuns7WbPUP4GOIGi8AQd/s1600/Watch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVC611AAAklgNbYLWlr7RF89F0ek-NmSw0ZQfRG1z-FNJylBmM9aEgSBkrS_UL8dzCXrAnzZ6JAJqbFl3Gfm8uPHkLXj8DJRGb2xJCTQSO_1Nepc7XyR_43NugVuns7WbPUP4GOIGi8AQd/s200/Watch.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>I speak three languages: English, Sarcasm and Hyperbole. I’m a really big fan of the last two and can probably speak them better than my native tongue. Unfortunately my trilingualism has repercussions. One of which is that some people think that I’m joking when I’m not and not joking when I am. I’m pretty sure that the ones that can’t tell the difference are the same ones who engage in rampant asshattery and are responsible for putting the “nant” in ignorant. I can’t confirm this at the moment, but I’ve applied for a government grant and hope to have some bona fide research to back up my claims. <br />
The entire reason for this inane prelude is so that you understand that I am being absolutely honest when I make the following statement: to this day, I don’t believe I’ve read a more brilliant and moving example of science fiction literature than Robert J. Sawyer’s <i>Watch</i>. <br />
<br />
This is the second instalment of the <i>World Wide Web</i> trilogy and the second book of Sawyer’s that I’ve read and reviewed. I reviewed the first book, Wake, some time ago and, while I thought it took some time to get going, it was definitely worth the read as it was very well written and engaging on the back end. I will admit that I felt a little trepidation purchasing <i>Watch</i> (hardcover books are not inexpensive these days) because baby needed a new pair of shoes. In hindsight, I have no issue with having my youngest walking through life’s dog-dookie without the protection of a sole. <br />
<br />
The World Wide Web is sentient. Via her optical implant, Caitlin Decter can actually see information flow as it moves through the internet. The being that Caitlin has names Webmind is now far more intelligent than even the smartest of humans and begins to dabble in other peoples lives via the internet. Fortunately for humanity, Webmind has decided to use its abilities to aid the human (and not so human) race; unfortunately for Webmind, the American secret services have also taken notice and are not so convinced. Now it is up to Caitlin and her genius parents to devise a way to keep Webmind safe from those who would see him destroyed but to also let the world know that he is alive, watching, and maybe save a life or two in the process. <br />
<br />
The previous synopsis is an extremely simple outline of what Sawyer’s book is about. I must keep it that way as I feel that giving away any spoiler, no matter how minor, would do an excellent work a great disservice. Sawyer manages to explain very complex ideas that are of both the ethical and scientific variety with an easy simplicity without making it seem as though he’s talking down to the reader. He deftly juggles the intertwining threads of various themes, lives and questions without ever getting them knotted. But where I feel Sawyer truly shines in his second entry to the trilogy is how he is able to provoke a stunning feeling of empathy within the reader. This is not only extended to Webmind (though that would be impressive enough) but also to a Chimpanzee/Bonobo hybrid named Hobo. I have no reservation in stating that at certain points in the book, a warm tear may have caressed my usually frosted soul. Truly, Sawyer’s <i>Watch</i> is an excellent addition to the genre and a brilliant lesson in humanity as learned from a machine.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-41533643175350373612010-08-28T14:24:00.000-06:002010-08-28T14:24:41.821-06:00CBII Book 19: At The GAtes of Darkness - Raymond E. Feist<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:/Users/Doran/AppData/Local/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_9pYF8H5mvXtGBO_1ZD8nuvcVkfLZ10zCUOZWezIeq4IibR1JmLEpEGMQewrifzxws4-wrC_FNzd5dWNXr8_ncF97C04y6_hXujT58Q4ATNQQQHspaR-fgR6G0dSBcaXg0f7LEUv9Ax/s1600/At+the+Gates+of+Darkness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6H_9pYF8H5mvXtGBO_1ZD8nuvcVkfLZ10zCUOZWezIeq4IibR1JmLEpEGMQewrifzxws4-wrC_FNzd5dWNXr8_ncF97C04y6_hXujT58Q4ATNQQQHspaR-fgR6G0dSBcaXg0f7LEUv9Ax/s200/At+the+Gates+of+Darkness.jpg" width="131" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Written by Raymond E. Feist, <i>At The Gates of Darkness</i> is the second book in the Demonwar Saga. I reviewed book one entitled <i>Rides a Dread Legion</i> previously and if your interested you can check it out <a href="http://welcometostabbymart.blogspot.com/2009/11/cbii-admins-new-band-name-book-5-rides.html">here</a>. The Conclave of Shadows is continuing its investigation of a possible demon invasion. Both members of The Conclave and those only loosely affiliated with their mission begin to witness extremely disturbing events that lead them to believe that Midkemia is in even more danger than previously thought. Torture, slavery and sacrifices on many different worlds are only some of the atrocities that The Black Magician, Pug, and his retinue are forced to deal with in order save their planet. Unfortunately this impending doom is taking a terrible toll on Pug as he attempts to save the planet while dealing with his own terrible loss. When the invasion finally begins, Pug must place his trust in people whom he can’t in order to salvage a victory.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt;"> With book two we get more of the same from Feist and I believe that’s a good thing. His style is easy and breezy but doesn’t sacrifice quality that makes the majority of his books enjoyable reads. Feist knows just how much to give you without prattling on about something you’re not really interested in anyways. The story remains engaging and brisk so that, before you know it, you’re done and waiting for the next tale. I usually end up reading Feist’s books in order to take a break from heavy Science Fiction as they’re a wonderful palate cleanser that are well written and tremendously enjoyable. While I’ve tired of other authors that write in a similar style and genre as Feist, he never talks down to the reader and, for being such a prolific author, reading his books never feels like he’s mailing it in. I suppose that’s why I own all of his work. </span>The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-84254184873944077052010-08-14T18:30:00.001-06:002010-08-14T18:30:46.523-06:00CBII Book 18: Fahrenheidt 451 - Ray Bradbury<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaipQfkInHDHf6qg5CaRbmD0x64UhvOt0vW07NVMkBU88_oF4ipPulNP22cH5r8Z4kUSVxclhuRR6EvHPcU2bjXBBYRW9jM1fqpsNclVW4ElnL7EwdP3DfQkVohjSlwI1Iftvuz3m95Lm/s1600/fahrenheit-451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDaipQfkInHDHf6qg5CaRbmD0x64UhvOt0vW07NVMkBU88_oF4ipPulNP22cH5r8Z4kUSVxclhuRR6EvHPcU2bjXBBYRW9jM1fqpsNclVW4ElnL7EwdP3DfQkVohjSlwI1Iftvuz3m95Lm/s200/fahrenheit-451.jpg" width="121" /></a></div>I count myself a Science Fiction nerd. I will freely admit that my reading list is veritably smothered in it and I’ve now become quite comfortable with the stigmatism that it may bring. That being said, I feel no small amount of shame that this is the first of Ray Bradbury’s books I’ve ever read. I throw myself upon the mercy of the bespectacled court; please make sure the phasers are set on stun.<br />
<br />
Fahrenheit 451: the temperature at which book paper catches fire, and burns. That’s the tagline of this 50th anniversary edition of the book and, of course, burning books is the central premise upon which the story unfolds. Guy Montag is a firefighter. However, in this day and age, firefighting has taken on a whole different meaning. Guy is charged with the socio-political responsibility of burning books wherever they may be found. There are still all the lights and sirens that we associate with being a firefighter - they even have a pole to slide down on – but now, when the fire engine pulls up outside your door, it is met with trepidation not relief. Whereas water used to be the fluid of salvation, kerosene has become the liquid of suppression. Guy goes about his duties with the typical verve that a firefighter must have and he never thought twice about lighting a match to save people from themselves. That is, until a new neighbour moved in. <br />
<br />
Clarisse McLellan is seventeen and, as is typical of persons of that age, doesn’t care for how society requires her to think and behave. Guy and Clarisse happen to meet one day while he is returning home from work and they engage in a bit of idle banter. Guy is initially confused and a little disturbed by Clarisse’s questions and opinions however he chalks them up to youthful ignorance. But, Clarisse asks, “Have you ever read any of the books you burn?” Of course he hasn’t, reading books illegal. Guy continues about his normal routine and even manages to talk to the strange girl next door on occasion. Eventually, Clarisse’s views causes Guy to begin questioning what he once thought were societal norms which causes no small amount of stress at work and home. His boss begins interrogating him due to the inquiries Guy makes and his wife becomes concerned that he’s acting strangely. That is, when she can pull herself away from the people on the wall. Guy tries to hide his new unconventional feelings from everybody but he is also hiding something else: a book. When Guy’s indiscretion is finally uncovered, his own firefighting unit must pay him a visit which could cost Guy everything, including his life.<br />
<br />
One of the reasons I love science fiction so much is that good authors base their writing in reality. It may not be today’s reality, but a writer with a modicum of skill can make you believe that a particular event or invention could easily happen by connecting it with the familiar. In Fahrenheit 451, Bradbury has proven himself somewhat of a prognosticator of our own times. Originally published in a shorter form in Galaxy Science Fiction in 1951, we can easily form associations to our own regulated and addictive multimedia world. How much time do you spend on the internet? What’s your favourite reality TV program? Would you rather talk to real, meat-bag people, or would you prefer to type? Do you want your movies with or without full-frontal nudity?<br />
<br />
I believe media consumption is an underlying message in the book, but what Bradbury was definitely alluding to, was the book burnings that various parties engaged in historically and the control of information. It doesn’t take a minute to correlate many present day crusaders that are doing the very same thing that is the fireman’s mantra. Consider certain religious groups that insisted the Harry Potter books be banned from school libraries for promoting witchcraft. Or perhaps the FCC dictating that a pastied boob was more offensive than a number of men trying to tear each other’s heads off. Perhaps one could question the MPAA and their dictation of what may or may not be shown in a movie theatre. It doesn’t matter that a person could just change the channel, not go to the movie or decide not to buy the book; there is someone who knows better what’s appropriate for you, and damned if you question them.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-77132608155342164992010-08-14T15:59:00.000-06:002010-08-14T15:59:08.603-06:00CBII: Book 17 - Hater- David Moody<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 9" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:/Users/Doran/AppData/Local/Temp/msoclip1/01/clip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“A head spinning thrill ride, a cautionary tale about the most salient emotion of the twenty-first century…Hater will haunt you long after you read the last page.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That’s the glowing praise that Guillermo del Toro gave David Moody’s Hater and it’s what prompted me to buy the book. Guilli, you owe me $16.99 CDN, fucker. Hater is a poor attempt at telling the story of humanity turning on itself. It’s been done before and it’s been done far, far better than Moody’s unoriginal and vomitous prose. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The story begins with the protagonist’s (I think his name’s Danny) morning commute to work. On his way, he witnesses a man beat a woman to death for no apparent reason. The assailant just starts throttling the poor woman standing next to him. Traumatized (but not nearly enough to take the day off) he continues to work where the assault is the day’s topic of conversation. Aw fuck it! Look, you’ve all seen or read this before, it’s a disease, more people catch it, they call the infected people Haters, it’s the governments fault, anarchy, us against them, lather, rinse repeat.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps it’s just me (and it could be given the heaping manure pile of praise contained on it’s back cover) but it was just boring. There is only one surprise in the whole book and rest of it is painfully predictable. I found the writing to be simplistic and plodding but one must…fuck it. I’m not wasting any more time on this. Go watch, Doomsday. Same thing, but better, and with cleavage.</div>The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-7706280624102155822010-05-16T20:11:00.000-06:002010-05-16T20:11:25.565-06:00CBII Book 16: The Strain - Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan<div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhariiXUjLumfMD8Ey03mXwBg1AOLjvzxWJOXFWnR171l5RWs5D6SYSfwQO2thMm8hnOA4RvNcSzUsVwUMGxr01ajqOYLOfMO6FDy40pxVypB3Os6xoo2OVbrkhsgEjhbbmV6EbIkdiLKAW/s1600/the_strain_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhariiXUjLumfMD8Ey03mXwBg1AOLjvzxWJOXFWnR171l5RWs5D6SYSfwQO2thMm8hnOA4RvNcSzUsVwUMGxr01ajqOYLOfMO6FDy40pxVypB3Os6xoo2OVbrkhsgEjhbbmV6EbIkdiLKAW/s200/the_strain_cover.jpg" width="132" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">I found Guillermo del Toro's debut novel to be like taking a deep breath of fetid air that has been stuck inside a casket with a body that's been decaying for years and could actually be poisonous due to all the biological agents that may be lurking unseen. It's a book that, while written with Chuck Hogan, verily reeks of del Toro's hand at every turn of the page. It's a story that begins with a mystery and ends with a terrible answer that may destroy a nation. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"> The opening of the book finds us on a plane about to land in New York. Everything is normal and it has been an uneventful flight but, just before touchdown, the radio goes silent. The control tower erupts in a panic as the 777 stops dead on the runway. There are no communications, no lights, no movement, no answers, nothing. The airports emergency response team is dispatched and it would appear that their worst fears are true. Everyone is dead. Dr. Ephiram Goodweather, the head of the Center for Disease Control's response team is called in to investigate on his weekend off. He has to leave his teenage son, who is at the centre of a fierce custody battle, and immediately begin to determine what disease would kill and entire plane full of people with no warning, no blood, no panic and no struggle. Upon towing the plane to a hanger to begin unloading bodies and go through the plane piece by piece, he discovers four people on the plane that are still alive, barely. He also discovers a strange, old wardrobe in the cargo compartment that is filled with soil and doesn't appear on any manifest that he can find. Perhaps most disturbing, the finds a veritable bloodbath of some strange liquid splattered all over the crew compartment.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">The survivors are taken to the hospital and the deceased are distributed to various morgues throughout the burroughs to begin autopsies. Eph and his team go to question the survivors and are confronted with even more of a mystery. No one remembers anything nor can they explain what may have happened. They all seem to be recovering but something isn't quite right. Next they go to the morgue to witness the results of the autopsies. The bodies have been infected with something that almost looks like cancer but has also mutated some physilogical aspects of the deceased. Later that night, the survivors are released from the hospital and the victims of this unexplainable occurance, leave the morgues.</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">I loved this book. While it was utterly predicatable and suffered from a mostly formulaic plot, it was so far from the vampire stories we've been exposed to for the last...fifteen or so years that I felt it totally made up for its shortcomings. <i>The Strain</i> is about as far away from Twilight as you're going to get. Hell, it makes Anne Rice's books look like bedtime reading for toddlers. The descriptions are graphic, the story is nuanced, and the legend of the vampire has not been romanticised at all so far (but I do have a doubt about the next two books). These fuckers are monsters. All they want to do is eat and they don't care how. Whether it's a daughter devouring her father or a mother feeding from her son, all bets are off. While they do play with the accepted cannon, I have to say that I didn't find del Toro and Hogan's twists to be unbelievable or insulting. (sparkles anyone?) I'd definately recommend it to horror fans and I will be purchasing book number two as soon as I can get my hands on it.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><input /> </div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhariiXUjLumfMD8Ey03mXwBg1AOLjvzxWJOXFWnR171l5RWs5D6SYSfwQO2thMm8hnOA4RvNcSzUsVwUMGxr01ajqOYLOfMO6FDy40pxVypB3Os6xoo2OVbrkhsgEjhbbmV6EbIkdiLKAW/s1600/the_strain_cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span id="goog_1501153478"></span><span id="goog_1501153479"></span>The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-29861046815005252132010-03-31T02:46:00.000-06:002010-03-31T02:46:26.879-06:00CBII Book 15: The Child Thief - Brom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUoD-OML4CLIc59OqxWhtR79v86kgMfyNLiKSnLpDJHcUBPYFzia7wyiiCWTXBuC_tSynMOuX17a5KWUU33zC1_zxTGw-l2pjXR31h0BEsZgmKISbSd_gkf22bHZ61x_THD3Hnq6GLfTf/s1600/child-thief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtUoD-OML4CLIc59OqxWhtR79v86kgMfyNLiKSnLpDJHcUBPYFzia7wyiiCWTXBuC_tSynMOuX17a5KWUU33zC1_zxTGw-l2pjXR31h0BEsZgmKISbSd_gkf22bHZ61x_THD3Hnq6GLfTf/s200/child-thief.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>Gerald Brom or "Brom" if you will, has taken a charming children's tale and turned it into a nightmare. We've all seen Disney's tale of a puckish Pan, and some of us have even read James Barrie's version, but "Brom" has managed to destroy my childhood memories so completely that I'll never look at Wendy the same way again.<br />
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A young boy with preturnatural abilities is...well...not "kidnapping" but, "enticing" children to come to his island. Perhaps he's a childish trickster, or maybe he's a masochist with a fetish for the young ones, but all he REALLY wants is for the run-aways to find a home.If they can help him defeat the adults and save the world, well, then so much the better.<br />
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This is not a tale for your children. Nor is it a tale for those of a gentle constitution. Brom's story begins with the recounting of a sexual assult and while it is, and is not graphic, it's meant to set the tone to the novel. Those of us who are familiar with the Disney version of Peter Pan will probably be apalled, but I'm not sure that those who are looking for "The Twist" will be satisfied either. Brom could have taken his work to a truly disturbing extent but he went for the PG rating instead. I can't help but think that if it was R-rated it would have made for a much better mind-fuck. Which is what he was obviously going for.<br />
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<i>The Child Thief</i> is a good book in that it wields a classic story in such a way as to make one question whether the tale was really so innocent to begin with. It also provides a decent metaphore for the struggles that many children face in the world today. However it also falls into a lot of the "I saw Bobby smoking pot" cliches we're all used to0 and wish we could get awat from. If you're looking for a good retelling of an old and maybe sinister story; <i>The Child Thief</i> definitelty fills the bill.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-54598913231838091932010-03-31T00:59:00.002-06:002010-03-31T01:09:54.710-06:00CBII Book 14: Sailing To Sarantium - Guy Gavriel Kay<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62Iay2m8uWBsQCeFwf7iKidpmJvKULUH_BXvjIm_A7GQMsfCGXyijfHdPv-T4s2gRku8a4TObxPaW013qW2GjRcSlQhO3u9uxtxN_icgj7buP2hnmDMzPsrD47Jgmc8KcFR2Hj5T84BCe/s1600/cover_Sarantium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj62Iay2m8uWBsQCeFwf7iKidpmJvKULUH_BXvjIm_A7GQMsfCGXyijfHdPv-T4s2gRku8a4TObxPaW013qW2GjRcSlQhO3u9uxtxN_icgj7buP2hnmDMzPsrD47Jgmc8KcFR2Hj5T84BCe/s200/cover_Sarantium.jpg" width="120" /></a></div>I was forced to read a Guy Gavriel Kay book by my wife. She's been nagging me for years but it wasn't until she very publicly called me out on<a href="http://www.pajiba.com/paheeba_day/"> Pa'eh'ba day</a> that I decided to take her up on her most subtle insistence. She did a<a href="http://www.pajiba.com/paheeba_day/the-last-light-of-the-sun-by-guy-gavriel-kay.php"> review</a> of a GGK book as he's a Canadian author who happens to be from my home province. (did I mention that she received a copy of his latest, unpublished book as a thank you?). This wouldn't be such a big deal but for the fact that Guy Gavriel Kay is from one of the most redneck towns in the province but has managed to develope an imagination far beyond anything I could hope to ever obtain. While I refused to take my wife's advice for a time (mostly due to her love for American Idol, Grey's Anatomy and her penchant for watching all of the television shows my kids watch) I have to admit, she was right: Kay has a fantastic gift for storytelling. However, in this case, it is certainly not without fault.<br />
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The central story is about a newly crowned emperor, his empress of lesser means, a mosaicist, and the all the politics that go along with being favoured by His Highness. A few years after winning the throne, the emperor summons mosaicist Martinian of Varena to Sarantium to construct a mosaic unmatched in the world in his holy temple. However, Martinian (being an old man) insists that his partner Caius Crispus go in his stead. Caius, having lost his wife and daughter to the plague the year prior, refuses to go until he speaks secretly with the queen of his country .She urges him to go with the intention that he delivers her offer to the emperor in the interest of peace and saving her life. Caius sets off with the aid of a necromancer and his "tricks" but has no idea of the pagan religion he must face or the political intrigues that await him. <br />
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Honestly, when I began to read this book, I was about ready to call my wife on her bullshit. It bore a striking resemblance to many other tales of the city of Rome. In fact, you could substitute Rome for Sarantium and never miss a beat. At first, It's somewhat difficult to grasp who the story is about because the prologue of the book is fifty-one pages long and details the current emporer's rise to power; but it also begins with the perspective of a poor shop-keeper, then it shifts to a bureaucrat, then it then it moves to a Senator, then it details the thoughts of a hooker and her lover then some dudes in the harbor...you get the idea.<br />
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I was extremely frustrated. I could not beleive that my wife and I could be so disjointed in our appreciation of fiction. Really, it took me about a week to get through the first 150 pages, which is unheard of! Then, after that, I tore through the next 400 pages in a day.<br />
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Kay describes everything and everyone in minute detail. While this was initially perplexing to me, it all made sense at the end of the tale and I could definitely appreciate his reasons for fleshing out seemingly innocuous characters (with one exception). The way he describes objects through the eyes of his characters is truly breathtaking and his attention to detail (once you get used to it) really makes this book wholly engaging. At its heart, <i>Sailing To Sarantium</i> is a book of political intrigue with a smattering of the occult and a whole lot of love. As such, explaining each characters motivations in such a detailed fashion is integral to the plot. While I initially criticized Kay for being obtuse and unnecessarily verbose, he has a gift for making you understand the motivations of the characters and believing in every action they choose to perform.<br />
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<i>Sailing To Sarantium</i> is the first in what I understand will be a duology. If I enjoy the second book as much as I did the first (after the first 150 pages) I may have to admit to my wife that I was wrong. While I'm generally adverse to admitting her correctitude, I'm willing to accept it in this instance.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-52561583997125657952010-03-11T20:36:00.000-06:002010-03-11T20:36:37.409-06:00A Lesson on Wrapping Your Meat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb0j7hvEI7n23zx3slUzz6s4RdAMdKzmAppNE9v_lCud8NnoGygpewVtZ26GXKHvGvR-KgqMNqxztyLnCY7MO1HpR25UTsU386rpu8hIOfkEo2Vqxq2kFlzK4X4VyOj-fHkB9cu7QsnFS/s1600-h/Wrapping+meat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhb0j7hvEI7n23zx3slUzz6s4RdAMdKzmAppNE9v_lCud8NnoGygpewVtZ26GXKHvGvR-KgqMNqxztyLnCY7MO1HpR25UTsU386rpu8hIOfkEo2Vqxq2kFlzK4X4VyOj-fHkB9cu7QsnFS/s200/Wrapping+meat.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><br />
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On Sunday, just out of the blue, I up and decide to try something a little different for supper. I'll do this fairly often as I just like throwing some shit (not literally) together and seeing what comes out. For the most part, things tend to work out for the best but there has been the odd failure. We don't really talk about those. Being the red-blooded Canadian I am, I decided that there was nothing better than to stuff some meat in some other meat. I guess it wasn't really stuffing, it was more like enveloping a juicy cut of beef in the smokey and savoury heaven known as bacon. "Now why would you do that, Mr. Manager?" you may be asking. If you are actually asking that, please make a vigorous attempt at removing your tonsils with an eggplant. You're an idiot and have no business being here. The world will be better off never having to hear you speak again. The following is a brief outline of my odyssey to a swiney orgasm.<br />
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First, you need a roast. It doesn't really matter what kind but you should consider that it has to be cylindrical, not very fatty and of a reasonable circumference. They don't make two foot long slices of bacon and, while I believe that this is an affront to nature, I don't make the rules. I used the butt of a beef tenderloin which was about three pounds and twelve inches in circumference. It wasn't ideal as the shape isn't a cylinder and they tend to be tapered at both ends. Please keep in mind that you don't need to use beef; pork on pork isn't a hate crime, it's a crime of passion.<br />
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If you're using a tenderloin, they usually aren't cleaned. You have to tear and slice off all of that lovely viscera so you don't end up with tender deliciousness on top of a layer of rubber. A good rule to follow is "if it's shiny, cut it off." This rule does not apply to my junk. If you've got a prepared roast (one that's been cleaned and trussed by the butcher) you're good to go. Lay out a layer of way paper to put the bacon on as this will help with the rolling process. Next, lay out the strips of bacon vertically. Use as many strips as you need to equal the width of your roast. Now the tricky part; weave more bacon horizontally through the vertical bacon. The easiest way is to simply fold back every second piece of vertical bacon, lay the horizontal piece down and fold the vertical strips back down. Alternate the vertical strips until you end up with what we have below. You may have to stretch the bacon a bit to make it reach but that's just fine.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTYKwCpiKowVLUtDL_fgpsQbVwRH0ss2tNN5KsySTpR8kz1hSTU3t4aYBhmDaRpEKfU5fgkck_y891FyvlIW1RHwQy-gvGMpRvY79x0lrmx8zgi6FcQ5COPDVZhO5Tw0QM1URM-i029iD/s1600-h/Beefy+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXTYKwCpiKowVLUtDL_fgpsQbVwRH0ss2tNN5KsySTpR8kz1hSTU3t4aYBhmDaRpEKfU5fgkck_y891FyvlIW1RHwQy-gvGMpRvY79x0lrmx8zgi6FcQ5COPDVZhO5Tw0QM1URM-i029iD/s320/Beefy+009.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Fuck the pill, I choose pork!</span></div><br />
So now we have what I call the bacon matrix. It's as good as the Wachowski's Matrix but without all the Keanu aftertaste. Next take some herbs, pepper, garlic, and whatever else you may think will work and put it on that porcine delight. It doesn't matter if you use fresh or dried seasoning. I used fresh garlic, sage, basil, oregano, mushrooms and cracked pepper. DO NOT USE SALT! The bacon is salty enough on its own. By the way, get a mortar and pestle, you can mash up some brilliant things with apothecary tools. When done, you get something like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsyqvYNTR185B1Gr_-sWvKYX56jiW9tFQZFmMiSlqlW92rZBtOMbWn_k2cyJzd6fVN16ynwPuu4bRS407kaEHPTBjJY5Yw5HbxasI8Kvf9y0MZk9N2dUJ4ZhddDgj29w4RBsrdagzKoVX/s1600-h/Beefy+011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsyqvYNTR185B1Gr_-sWvKYX56jiW9tFQZFmMiSlqlW92rZBtOMbWn_k2cyJzd6fVN16ynwPuu4bRS407kaEHPTBjJY5Yw5HbxasI8Kvf9y0MZk9N2dUJ4ZhddDgj29w4RBsrdagzKoVX/s320/Beefy+011.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Now slap your meat down about four inches from one end of that bitch. Take the edge of the wax paper and fold it over the roast. Now roll it all up (peeling the wax paper off of the bacon as you go) like you're rolling a nice, tight fatty. Really, keep it as tight as you can. Now you have to tie that fucker up. It's the only way you're going to keep it all together and keep the bacon close to and covering the roast. Use some butcher's string and tie it with loops every couple of inches. This is a bad example as my roast wasn't uniform in circumference but you get the idea.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2zjuz0DtNsj9RZBtmBW3v_Pqwx4_YNbBAxJOnGoDbgpEq-EevmeUNyqhhTgsL-UlBlEhKuhqhvAAzIYOloRXDNrSgFTViAVhNb68r3Y_SWPv8KxtowZURpZVFWmCa3SMfLJaqlPB1t66/s1600-h/Beefy+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT2zjuz0DtNsj9RZBtmBW3v_Pqwx4_YNbBAxJOnGoDbgpEq-EevmeUNyqhhTgsL-UlBlEhKuhqhvAAzIYOloRXDNrSgFTViAVhNb68r3Y_SWPv8KxtowZURpZVFWmCa3SMfLJaqlPB1t66/s320/Beefy+014.JPG" /></a></div><br />
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Now it's time for cooking and I decided to use the rotisserie on my grill. People, I can not tell you how important this is, invest in that add-on for your grill. Pay for the extra burner and all that shit. Yes it's a little awkward at first but you will never have juicier or tastier roasts and chickens in your life. Plus, it's so easy. The rotisserie uses both direct and indirect heat so you get a lovely sear on the outside which keeps all the juices on the inside and, because of the rotation, the meat bastes itself. Because of the direct/indirect method, you can also cook at awesomely low heats while still getting that gorgeous caramelization that we're all looking for. You can certainly roast it in the oven if you wish, but make sure you have a rack in the bottom of the roasting pan and you leave the roast uncovered. You'll also probably have to increase your heat to about 300F in order to crisp the bacon. You could also roast it on your grill sans roasting pan by way of indirect heat.<br />
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I Spit-roasted this sexy bitch for about four hours at 200 F and it worked perfectly. Actually, I cooked it to a medium/medium-well which I usually wouldn't do but there were children present and I was a virgin when it comes to wrapping my meat (That's a lie, I forgot about it for a bit). This brings us to another lesson: get a fucking meat thermometer! Not only can you stab people with them at the movies but you can stick them in your roast, chicken or turkey and they will tell you exactly how well it's done. Please note: always cook your roast/chicken/turkey to just a hair below where you want it. It will continue cooking while you let it rest (we'll get to resting in a moment). I know you're not stupid, but, use a drip pan if you're doing this on the grill. If you don't, the next time you fire that fucker up you may as well pre-warn the fire department. So, when the roast is almost done, remove it from the heat and/or take it out of the pan and place it on a cutting board to rest. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnnMjwwyhOx4dW-T7G3hJCCGOWgSF4lgZWOomcfk2yXYVJAdEqKAujHiVljq2IDQq-TJ1-kiSHAkGp2WUqSu54GI1gTw2pAALFQ5M1vBaV-Y8RFSlVo_eKf-6joE-1-5yUlGWcMSwW6ne/s1600-h/Beefy+015.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnnMjwwyhOx4dW-T7G3hJCCGOWgSF4lgZWOomcfk2yXYVJAdEqKAujHiVljq2IDQq-TJ1-kiSHAkGp2WUqSu54GI1gTw2pAALFQ5M1vBaV-Y8RFSlVo_eKf-6joE-1-5yUlGWcMSwW6ne/s320/Beefy+015.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: xx-small;">You know you want me</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
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</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> Resting allows all those sexy juices to absorb back </span>into the meat and it will finish the cooking process. You want to leave any meats you grill or roast to rest for about 7-10 minutes and that includes fowl and steaks. After you're sexy swine-slathered stud has rested, slice it up. Don't slice it thin like a roast, slice it like you were cutting a steak for grilling. That way you get a lovely layer of bacon that hasn't been shredded by your futile attempts at fuck-cuttery. Another note, real meat lovers don't use electric knives. You spent fifty bucks on a vibrating piece of metal when you could have gotten a perfectly good slicer for the same price. So buy the good knife, then learn to sharpen it. Look, is advertising ever wrong?<br />
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Now we come to the best part, the consumption. Use a fork and knife as people expect you to use something called 'manners'. I'm unfamiliar with the term as I've never seen them demonstrated.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTRd5EZxiaEeOT5_lfcrsK8We4HAj1v_CabuyBzWoPUlE9mopXXL4eubxtVHTdnJd0LFwfFGAd84LbjCsClqQfkJVGlQhFo9PWwi-QheyeFpqEMnumdSW50qTZWUECw3Pqo5Ffg-jXbnR/s1600-h/Beefy+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitTRd5EZxiaEeOT5_lfcrsK8We4HAj1v_CabuyBzWoPUlE9mopXXL4eubxtVHTdnJd0LFwfFGAd84LbjCsClqQfkJVGlQhFo9PWwi-QheyeFpqEMnumdSW50qTZWUECw3Pqo5Ffg-jXbnR/s320/Beefy+016.JPG" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">It's ok if you want to put your dick/clit in it.</span></div><br />
Oh yeah, the potatoes! Those were good too! About an hour and a half before the roast is done, dump a small bag of new potatoes in a mixing bowl. Go and get about six tablespoons of the drippings out of the pan under the roast and toss with the potatoes. (You cannot use the drippings as gravy as they're too fatty so don't even try.) Put the potatoes on a foil covered baking sheet and pop them in the oven at 350F. Feel free to add whatever bacon leavin's you have to the cookie sheet too. About twenty minutes before the roast is done, pull the potatoes out of the oven and put them back in the bowl. Add a few tablespoons of dijon mustard, herbs (I used the same kind as on the roast but dill is excellent) a pat of butter, garlic powder, salt and pepper. I also added fresh mushrooms because that's how I roll. Mix, toss them back in the oven for the remaining twenty minutes and serve. Devine.<br />
<br />
The aftermath was that the bacon was fabulously smokey but not too salty and was almost like a moist and tender jerky. It added just the right amount of seasoning to the roast and kept it brilliantly tender while not being greasy at all. The herbs were a lovely accent that permiated the entirety of my mouth and the slight bitterness of the dijon potatoes contrasted perfectly with the savory flavours of the bacon and the heady taste of the tenderloin. <br />
<br />
Final rating: 8 out of 10 arteries.<br />
<br />
StabbyMart: promoting coronaries so we can sell you a defective heart valve.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-70932608631197420092010-03-08T17:38:00.001-06:002010-03-08T17:38:19.693-06:00CBII Book 13: Wake - Robert J. Sawyer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8ZUkJOcq-QR0ZgXHbJnhylitoXeOJ4g5zRqxWvY1zPOTXzvcImvWLbStU30u57UNt_TKF8M3Ajt7ndoXaokKVXublj8g7sk7IvQHterCkJIg3Rq3mBKBAkLSx5Um3BiZ8PscrX4HUVMj/s1600-h/RobertSawyerWake-thumb-300x453-16260.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv8ZUkJOcq-QR0ZgXHbJnhylitoXeOJ4g5zRqxWvY1zPOTXzvcImvWLbStU30u57UNt_TKF8M3Ajt7ndoXaokKVXublj8g7sk7IvQHterCkJIg3Rq3mBKBAkLSx5Um3BiZ8PscrX4HUVMj/s200/RobertSawyerWake-thumb-300x453-16260.jpg" width="132" /></a></div>Robert J Sawyer is a Canadian author who has won the Hugo and Nebula awards for various works previous to Wake. To non-Science Fiction geeks that probably doesn't mean a whole lot but those of you comfortable in your nerdom will recognize this awards as something to be quite proud of. I've never read any of Sawyer's other works so I was totally unbiased while reading this book while lounging by a pool on a 28 degree day in January. Wake is the first book of the World Wide Web trilogy which will have two more contributions in relatively short order (I hope).<br />
<br />
Wake begins in Waterloo, Ontario where Caitlin has just moved to from Austin, Texas due to her father taking a position at a technology company. Much like any young teenager she's having difficulty adjusting to life in Canada; the climate, the larger school, the new girl stigma and mostly her new surroundings. You see Caitlin is completely blind and has been from birth. She and her parents have tried many exerimental treatments and surgeries but all to no avail. It isn't much of a detriment for Caitlin though as, at the age of fourteen, she's a genius and has developed a staggering understanding of the world aound her. She excels at everything she tries, is a whiz with mathematics but her best talents are on the World Wide Web. Through the use of tools made specifically for the blind such as braille keyboards and reading software, she can use the internet with more dexterity than most sighted people. She remembers all of the links and complex pathways of the net and, for lack of a better term, generates a map in her head of where she's been and how to get there.<br />
<br />
One day Caitlin recieves a strange e-mail from a doctor in Japan regarding an experimental surgery that she appears to be an ideal candidate for. This surgery would implant a mictoprocessor onto Caitlin's optic nerve that would interpret the visual signals it recieves and pass them on to her brain. She would also wear a small wi-fi router/processor on her belt to receive and transmit data and firmware to and from Japan via the internet. Caitlin has nothing physically wrong with her eyes, it is the way the signals are moved to her brain that causes her blindness. After some deliberation Caitlin and her family decide to go to Japan to try the surgery. The proceedure is performed with a minimum of complications and the time comes to turn everything on. Nothing.<br />
<br />
Caitlin convices the doctor to let her keep all of the equipment for a while to see if soemthing may miraculously happen. One day when she's walking home from the school dance she sees intermittent bright flashes. Pitch black then milliseconds of bright white. She sees lightning. After conferring with the doctor they decide to do a software upgrade. During this upgrade soemthing strange and wonderful happens. Caitlin can see a series of bright lines that all interconnect and sometimes have bright globish things flying up and down the lines. She talks about this to the doctor about this as it only happens when her processor is in a particular mode. The doctor is at a loss and has made no progress on her vision so they just leave it as is. One day, in science class, Caitlin is looking at this wonder when she switches back to the other setting and...she can see! The doctor immediately flies to Waterloo to investigate her new found vision (both kinds) and upon consideration, they learn that Caitlin can not only see the physical world now, but also the internet. The actual information on the internet as it flows back and forth from node to not But there's soemthing else, something just in the background. Cailin, the doctor and her father do some test on this mysterious occurance and it turns out that it is intelligent. As Caitlin goes about her day to day routine, she begins to notice things, kind of like feedback loops in her software. One time she actually sees a picture of her face transmitted back to her. They run the intelligence tests again and find that the mysterious static has grown more intelligent almost as if its alive and sentient! The revalation that Cailtin comes to leaves her stunned at the possibilities that now exist.<br />
<br />
Overall I found the book to be quite good but it does start off rather slowly. What I will say is that the detail and level of research Sawyer must have put into the technology that a blind person would use is rather impressive. Nothing seems out of place in Caitlin's world, whether it's the speach reading software or even the surgical implant she receives. He also delves into some pretty complex mathematics which I can't really call real or imagined (mostly because I'm lazy and won't look it up) but he does an excellent job of relating these complex theories to the reader. I found Caitlin to be quite endearing and she has a sufficiently dry wit that I could easily relate too. All told, I enjoyed the first book of the trilogy enough to continue on through the next two books, whenever they may be published.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-65844104517012144052010-02-28T13:42:00.000-06:002010-02-28T13:42:24.203-06:00CB II Book 12: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2I5mRaRNvxsyndVMZKjzS8I3Y7iEcKIE-LHw-paS4hCySc34XkPWvMRzgNjxO1WVW-f8YGKTi3tPTHcgkpxlY0Umur9J5MGTfNrPXJ735ePQMhdPuOIE5pzlG6HukZYQSkfRt0_cQ3gz0/s1600-h/neverwhere1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2I5mRaRNvxsyndVMZKjzS8I3Y7iEcKIE-LHw-paS4hCySc34XkPWvMRzgNjxO1WVW-f8YGKTi3tPTHcgkpxlY0Umur9J5MGTfNrPXJ735ePQMhdPuOIE5pzlG6HukZYQSkfRt0_cQ3gz0/s200/neverwhere1.jpg" width="123" /></a></div>I''m having a bit of a conundrum. I like Neil Gaiman. I think his writing is great, he descriptions of people, places and items of note is fantastic and his imagination is brilliant. I've read three of his books now; <i>Good Omens, American Gods and now Neverwhere</i>. I really enjoyed American Gods but, upon the completion of the other two, I found myself with a feeling of "well that was...alright." It seems that I just don't connect with some of his writing like I do with other authors. Is it him? Is it me? I just don't know. Nevertheless, Neverwhere is a perfectly fine read for those that are fans of Gaiman's other works and I'm sure that I may be in the minority with my less than stellar impressions of the book.<br />
<br />
Neverwhere is the story of Richard Mayhew who, on the eve of leaving for London to begin a career in securities, receives a warning from an old woman as he's lying on the sidewalk outside the pub about to be sick. "I'd watch out for doors if I were you." she states. Typical of young men preparing to venture to the big city and with a liver full of liquor, Richard promptly disregards her warning and even more expediently, forgets it. After living in London for a while, Richard finds himself engaged to a woman who is out of his league, in a job that seems to be plodding along but not really taking him anyhwere and just kind existing day to day. One evening, as Richard and his fianceee are about to have supper with her boss, they come accross a girl laying on the sidewalk who is obviously hurt badly. His finaceee admonishes Richard to leave the woman where she is as this supper is extremely important to her carreer. Richard, being a person with a soul, stops to help the woman and takes her back to his apartment to care for her. Eventually she recovers enough to tell Richard what happened and her name, Door. Soon thereafter, two men appear at Richards door asking about the woman he had rescued. These men obviously have bad intentions towards the girl so Richard tries to provide cover as best he can but when he goes back into his apartment, the girl is gone.<br />
<br />
The next day, things start to get very strange. People he's known for years have trouble remembering him, his bank account seems to be missing and some people come to look at his apartment while he is still there but don't even notice him. Richard sets out to find out what the hell has happened to him and what happened to the girl which leads him to the underground of London with the help of a street bum. He meets the rat people and is taken to the Rat King who aids him in finding Door again. Door tells him of her family's murder and her talent for opening, well, doors. what follows is a harrowing adventure through the underground to bring the killers to justice and to remove an ancient evil from the underground of London.<br />
<br />
That's not a very good description so let me just say this: <i>Neverwhere</i> is yet another re-telling of <i>Alice in Wonderland.</i> It's far more sinister than the versions that I'm familliar with and certainly isn't out of place amongst Gaiman's other works. All the characters you're familiar with are here in some form or another. The Cheshire cat, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, The Mad Hatter and of course The Queen of Hearts. Gaiman is in fine form as he weaves his imagination in and out of the classic tale. There's blood, there's horror, there's the supernatural and it's definately an excellent book. So what's the issue I had with it? Well, I've read it before. That is, the story of Alice has been told, told and re-told many many times. While it's interesting to read Gaiman's take on the adventure, you always know what's coming next. I just didn't connect with this book like I do with most others. As I said, it's a perfectly fine tale, but it's a tale that you've all read before. If your a fan of Gaiman's, you're sure to love it. If you're a fan of <i>Alice in Wonderland</i> you'll probably enjoy it. For me, well, I've been down that rabbit hole before and I don't feel the need to go back.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-73583671364559550192010-02-18T21:41:00.001-06:002010-02-18T21:43:35.029-06:00Observations Pt. 3I know, I know...I'm late. Not in that good "Hey, I'm knocked up!" way, but in the "sorry, I had to stop and steal candy from orphans" way. Funny thing, when you're not at work, nobody does it for you. God damn Cheerio fuckers. Anyhow, I'll have an epilogue up some time with some murderous wisdom to share about "The American Experience". Until then, suck on these:<br />
<br />
<b>Dill pickle chips:</b><br />
<br />
Do Americans not have these at all? Is there some sort of law against pleasure in America (don't answer that, I know) How can you people possibly survive without these, tasty, savoury, salty, pickley slices of deep fried love? It baffles the mind! Look, I'm a potatoe chip connesiur, so I am completely confident when I say that bbq, salt n' vinegar, regular, jalapeno, sour cream n' onion all suck a diarrhetic ass in comparison. I honestly pity you poor, chipless Americans.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Yellow Lights:</b><br />
<br />
It's a universally accepted rule that a yellow light means speed up, because the light will turn red soon. I have no issue with that. I compensate for it. But in America, it would appear that a yellow light means "Hey! The light is going to turn red. You only have another thirty seconds to go through the intersection. Yeah, it's illegal and your fucking up the people who actually have the right-of-way but, you know what, fuck them. You're special." It would appear that there are a lot of special people in America.<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>Airport Security:</b><br />
<br />
Hey, Lady, there are three hundred people in line! Would you mind helping your kid pack his backpack, tie his shoes, put away his toys and put his things through the scanner? Not that I'm in a hurry, but I do have a whole fuckload of stuff that has to go through that electronic raping and I'd rather not hold everybody else up. Yes, our shoes are tight (we had the same sneakers).<br />
<br />
To the US security people: you were excellent. You didn't feel me up once. However, requiring me to remove the padding from the car seat, maybe a little much.<br />
<br />
<b>American Beef:</b><br />
<br />
I'm going to give Armourica a pass on this one. I bought the best steaksI could find in the supermarket which is something I generally don't do. But even when I buy supermarket beef, I can perform magic. It wasn't tough, but the taste was...there? Was this the vaunted American beef that I've heard so much about? Was this "grain fed"? Was this going to make me swear of bovineian deliciousness for the rest of my days? No. Of course not. I realize that you people have suffered since you restricted out beefy imports. It's not your fault, blame the gubment. Really, people, You shouldn't be able to see the ribs on a cow. Ever.<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>American Cigarettes:</b><br />
<br />
Yes, I smoke. Deal with that shit. I'll quit when I fucking feel like it. I'll tell you though, I'd quit a hell of a lot sooner if I lived in America. American cigarettes are fucking disgusting. "But D" you're saying, "all cigarettes are gross." Not like this. American cigarettes act like they want to be cigars but really just don't want to put in the effort. I'm really wondering if the camel shit and boot leather rumours are true? I brought five packs of Canadian cigs with me to moderate the blurgh, but I knew that I would have to give in eventually. But I honestly have to wonder how these lawsuits against the tobacco companies were successful because the fucking dirty pimps pretty much tell you you're going to die with the taste.<br />
<br />
<b>Tact:</b><br />
<br />
Let me just say that, after having three kids, my wife's modesty has pretty much been tossed out the window. It takes me both hands, both feet and an abacus to count up just how many people have seen my wife's slippery valley. For real, ask Trouble and Tracer, if baby's hungry; she'll whip that shit out in front of total strangers. However, you won't see a thing. She's a tiity ninja! You'll all be sitting there talking and suddenly there will be a booby on the boob. I can't help but think that this could be a marketable skill.<br />
<br />
So, the day we fly out of FLA, the rest of the family decides to hit the IHOP (I voted for The Waffle House). We're seated in a booth by a bubbly used-up thirty year old woman but the booth is too small for the car seat. This causes some serious issue as the poor lass can't figure out what to do. I tell her it's no big deal and put the car seat in an adjacent booth (it wasn't busy) which only leads to more confusion. I spend the next five minutes convincing our lovely waitress that it will all be okay. We proceed to peruse the menu while listening to the delighful banter between the kitchen and the serving staff when the baby gets hungry. True to form, my lovely wife slaps a titty in her face. <i>Note: This also works on men</i>. Our waitress comes along to take our orders and as my father starts to speak she says: "Sorry, wait a minute." looking at my wife she continues, "I just want to say, that I think that is the most beautiful and natural thing ever. I'm glad that you're comfortable enough to do that in a restaurant and I just think that's beautiful."... Cue silence.<br />
<br />
We're all a little bit speachless and my wife responds with the appropriate awkward courtesy. The waitress continued to fire questions at The Mrs. and The Mrs. continued to respond in an affable manner. We weren't upset or mad because the waitress was totally sincere about it. She honestly thought that this was the greatest thing ever! She was cordial, friendly and we enjoyed her quite a bit. But, can I have my pancakes now?<br />
<br />
StabbyMart: Tossing Titty To Troublesome Toddlers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptLLJfi3sThaaCyEK0B4jVsDKgMbee_pJpnVwTAAEEBdICR6CTZxE9HoMD95WQO_mzHCg7CmP-RLfPh5QTKx83jM_37v55ok-1EuJaJ7qLbUXp-PK6t7HpWtKcaT44lkiG3APx3xv1-Db/s1600-h/633628197541208376-breastfeeding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptLLJfi3sThaaCyEK0B4jVsDKgMbee_pJpnVwTAAEEBdICR6CTZxE9HoMD95WQO_mzHCg7CmP-RLfPh5QTKx83jM_37v55ok-1EuJaJ7qLbUXp-PK6t7HpWtKcaT44lkiG3APx3xv1-Db/s320/633628197541208376-breastfeeding.jpg" /></a></div>The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-85725253876004673162010-02-08T18:31:00.000-06:002010-02-08T18:31:53.055-06:00CBII Book11: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame Smith<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7hhURSO3L0BmEFsp7_bslRtDhMQqcwKQ0GeXMiX6hYPXeweXEKl329L-JU-Goo0tG37dY8QrLIUNWX9l603lHqXF1HHr6C2YmCDtsv2iHbbgM-IiWb2Mheh3QdQ2PlAWZprSCfs1l-nq/s1600-h/Pride+and+Prej.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW7hhURSO3L0BmEFsp7_bslRtDhMQqcwKQ0GeXMiX6hYPXeweXEKl329L-JU-Goo0tG37dY8QrLIUNWX9l603lHqXF1HHr6C2YmCDtsv2iHbbgM-IiWb2Mheh3QdQ2PlAWZprSCfs1l-nq/s200/Pride+and+Prej.JPG" width="130" /></a></div>I have an admission. I've never read Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice and, as such, I don't think it would be fair to either Austen or Smith to give an honest review without having the comparison. I'll admit, I'm kind of on the fence about the whole thing and I'm not sure whether it's due to the original work or the additions that Smith has made. Therefore I'm going to cop-out on this one and review both of them together upon completing Austen's original work. I want to like it but there's just something nagging at me and I need to know who's going to get a taste of my wrath. I have my suspicions, but I would rather be accurate in my critique as 'classics' tend to be a fairly contentious issue.<br />
<br />
Her Fooshyness may see fit to call me on this "review" but I promise that the dual review will more than make up for it.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-83325639933273271102010-02-08T16:53:00.001-06:002010-02-08T18:35:53.520-06:00Back In a Bit...Sorry all. After the vacation, shit has gotten busy again. I've got some projects that are taking up my time in the evenings so, while I've got three different posts on the go, I've not had a chance to fully write them. I've got the last two of the 'Murica series and a special Valentines day post. Unfortunately I haven't had the time to view most of yours either. Does that make me a bad internets pal? Yes. But I'm a bad, bad man. I'm hoping to have all three done by the end of the weekend. Oh, and those three posts don't include the four book reviews I'm behind on for the CBII.<br />
<br />
Stay frosty. (Minus 34 overnight? Fuck you Saskatchewan.)The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-26134753794515500522010-02-06T14:03:00.000-06:002010-02-06T14:03:32.219-06:00CBII Book 10: Boneshaker - Cherie Priest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-Gjq94vPhh805RIXM1v0OPKal3GQOhNam_t2WdBX1W_qylork29hniJPZwQ2YmWlngv9w2oxYv8VooMjHh0CkbvxNEAZZcbKBzhLHG5l8QAmsVUguxhjHRsczQ-jR1mDA9XJE_3lnGWr/s1600-h/boneshaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO-Gjq94vPhh805RIXM1v0OPKal3GQOhNam_t2WdBX1W_qylork29hniJPZwQ2YmWlngv9w2oxYv8VooMjHh0CkbvxNEAZZcbKBzhLHG5l8QAmsVUguxhjHRsczQ-jR1mDA9XJE_3lnGWr/s200/boneshaker.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>Boneshaker was my first foray into the steampunk genre so I wasn't really sure what to expect. Of course, I'm mostly aware of what steampunk is, but I wasn't sure how it would translate into the written word. Nor was I sure how I (a devout science fiction fan) would enjoy what is essentially modern and/or futuristic technology with an old school twist. I was rewarded with a reading experience which was enjoyable, if not exactly exhilarating.<br />
<br />
The story takes place in Seattle during the Civil War and gold rush and the country is in dire straits. Not only is America battling itself, but there is a kind of cold war going on with Russia to find the best technology for mining gold. As such, Russia has a contest to find a machine that can mine the gold from the glacial fields in the frozen north of Alaska. One Mr. Leviticus Blue (who lives in Seattle) enters the competition and wins so the Russian government gives him an advance to build a prototype of the Boneshaker. Upon the first test of the machine, in downtown Seattle, something goes horribly awry. The Boneshaker malfunctions and levels several blocks of Seattle into rubble. Not only that, but it has caused a mysterious gas to rise up from the ground that turns people into zombies (the fast somewhat intelligent kind) The area is eveacuated and to deal with the threat they construct a 300 ft. wall to contain the zombies and the gas.<br />
<br />
The Story moves to Briar Wilkes and her son Ezekiel who are Leviticus' widow and son respectively. Briar and her son have been outcast by the rest of the city for the mistakes of her deceased husband and live poverty in the city as they were evacuated after the Boneshaker calamity. They have a strained relationship as Briar is convinced that her husband didn't destroy part of the city by accident but on purpose. Ezekiel, in contrast believes his father was a scapegoat and is bound and determined to prove his innocence. Ezekiel decides to do this by entering the walled portion of the city to find evidence that will exhonerate his father and restore his family's honour. He sneaks out one evening and enters the ruins to do so faceing more dangers than the zombies and gas. As Ezekiel is all that Briar has left, follows him into the danger to bring him home and hopefully prove once and for all his fathers nefarious designs were purely intentional.<br />
<br />
I found that I did enjoy my first try of this particular brand of science fiction and, make no mistake, when done properly; steampunk is definately science fiction. Preist did a decent job of explaining why weapons were the way they were, why the city was destroyed and why the science of the day had progressed past the point it was at in the 'real world'. She justified many of her explanations with history and also actual landmarks in thecity of Seattle. I do think that she could have done a bit more to explain the workings of many of the machines and such but, as the story is told from Briar's point of view, perhaps that isn't a fair criticism. I'm just a details kind of geek. It did take away some of the immersion factor for me though.<br />
<br />
I did also have issue with the repetativeness of the plot though. I know there are zombies but, run-run-fight-hide only works for me for so long. Otherwise, it was an enjoyable read for me and I will definately look further into the steampunk genre. Mind you, I'm a little hesitant as I can see that if this particular genre is done badly, it will be an absolute disaster.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-56038225970602454032010-01-26T20:01:00.000-06:002010-01-26T20:01:50.653-06:00Observations: - Pt.2: And I'm A Fucking Po-dunk?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkbb5GlBjuGXSe3YgPXzo6ar91xBa8J7XLVQ0WkAGTX07vjg8fdpLTiYcn1GnCioT_7FPuONWzz1fvBt-1D_AaEc_WpOwpjopIrdE053O46jMo8c-3eWPFcrJqtErFXStosOhqpghWPLp/s1600-h/Fat+guy+on+a+scooter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSkbb5GlBjuGXSe3YgPXzo6ar91xBa8J7XLVQ0WkAGTX07vjg8fdpLTiYcn1GnCioT_7FPuONWzz1fvBt-1D_AaEc_WpOwpjopIrdE053O46jMo8c-3eWPFcrJqtErFXStosOhqpghWPLp/s320/Fat+guy+on+a+scooter.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
So I got in a bit o' shit for my last post as I related the great state of Florida to the rest of the nation. In the interst of impartiality, I've closely monitored the license plates of various species of Americans. I've come to the conclusion that I was right and all y'all bitches are moderately to severely retarded. I need to make a couple of exceptions though, I went to dinner with a couple of fellow Pajibans known as Trouble and Tracer Bullet (Mrs. Bullet, Little Bullet as well as Mrs. Admin and mine own demon spawn also attended). It was an excellent time and to those Pajibans who have not had the pleasure of meeting the brilliance of Miss Trouble or the awesomeness of the Bullets': nyah, nyah, nayh, fuckers! As an aside, the lovely Little Bullet was extremely disheartend when she met me. Tracer had told her that they were going to meet Doran which she interpreted as Dora. Her disappointment that I was not a small, spanish girl, with a bad haircut was palpable. However, after a short time, she warmed to the Canadians and was fantastically charming and utterly adorable. So, with those exceptions, I still can't figure out how Americans manage to survive.<br />
<br />
1. Conversation Is Brilliant:<br />
<br />
A few excerpts:<br />
- "No, no, Mamma; go to the house to see if Brandene got in before you call the police and report a break in."<br />
- "I've drank a beer at seven countries so far!" (I don't really have an issue with this one but it immediately followed the previous comment. Priorities.)<br />
- "Jackass!" (yelled by a man in a pickup with 'Corrupt Government' and 'I Fish To Piss off Tree Huggers' bumperstickers.<br />
- "What can I get you sweetie? That'll be $10.57 darling. Thank ya sweetheart." Was she coming on to me?<br />
- "Hey! Save half of that bag of cookies for me!" I assume I don't have to say that they were both riding scooters.<br />
- "Reel the leash in a bit Pa, he's getting in folks way." People, if your kids require leashes, you failed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
2. Epcot Hates Attractive People:<br />
<br />
Seriously. Wow! Did we pick '1/ 2 Price For Fuggs' day? What is really disturbing is that most of them had kids. *shudder*<br />
<br />
3. A Lawyer For Everything:<br />
<br />
In America, you can sue the economy. You think I'm joking but there are radio ads. <br />
<br />
4. Tight Jeans:<br />
<br />
While this isn't limited to America by any means, it is certainly more prevalent here. Ladies: I am certainly not opposed to you showing off your attributes. But, when there are mountains of flesh being extruded from the top of your jeans, you've gone too far. Also, I will not be able to look at a muffin the same way ever again. There was also a couple of women that had those sexy lateral tears in their jeans. They weren't even that big. But, when your jeans make your thighs look like a fucking strudel, you aren't kneading my pastery.<br />
<br />
5. Five-inch Heels<br />
<br />
Respect. Honey, you are at a theme park wherein you will have to walk about ten miles, but you are willing to sacrifice comfort for pain in order to look good. I'm doubly impressed that you're married with three kids but are still willing to stuff yourself into those jeans and put on those heels for your man. Practicality be damned! (In her defense, that was a nice big booty.)<br />
<br />
<br />
6. SeaWorld is far Superior to The Magic Kingdom:<br />
<br />
Really. Roller coasters, the waterpark, animal shows (see #8) fewer people, sharks! I fucking loved Sea World. None of the pomp and pretentiousness (see # 10). <br />
<br />
7. The Amount Of Southern Twang Is Directy Proportional To The Rate Of Rascal Scooters Rented:<br />
<br />
Don't crawl all up in my joint. Facts are facts. Motherfuckers could walk, they just choose not to. That and the morbid obesity.<br />
<br />
8. Shamu Is A Dick:<br />
<br />
Bitch decided she wasn't going to put on a show. Since the dominant female was pre-menstrual (I have no evidence to back up that statement) all but three whales decided to fuck off. So, we were sitting there for 45 minutes and got a five-minute, weak ass show with three of the eight whales. The three that were the most lackluster. Go see Seymour and Clyde. It was awesome! Dude got smacked in the junk by the sea-lion.!<br />
<br />
9. My Father Has Been Driving Here For Years:<br />
<br />
Pops isn't the best driver. He's hard on the gas and induces whiplash when he brakes. I wouldn't have an issue with that except for the fact that there are THREE KIDS IN THE FUCKING CAR! One of which isn't old enough to scream with terror. In the week we've been here, motherfucker has forgotten what turn signals do, thinks that mirror checks are good enough and has learned that yellow lights are just kinda warning you that the light might change eventually. <br />
<br />
10. Disney Has Ruined Itself With No Help From Me:<br />
<br />
I wanted to fuck Disney in its ass. Why? Because that's what I do. I didn't have to because they did it all by themselves. I'm going to qualify this opinion because I personally know the most gorgeous princess in the whole joint. I can understand that the characters can be mobbed. I understand that it could lead to incredibly unconfortable situations with rabid fans. I can even understand that Occupational Health And Safety (that's the Saskatchewanian version of the people who make your work safe) may get involved and set certain rules. But holy fucking hell, I've had two situations with classic character's security that have totally ruined the wonder of Disney.<br />
<br />
The first instance was when we were walking by Donald Duck and Goofy in their "trapper" gear (you'll see). If you want to get a picture with the characters, you have to get in line to await their pleasure. (They no longer walk around the parks, they are at VERY specific places at VERY specific times). Fine, my ladies aren't all that into meeting people dressed as the characters and I can appreciate why they do it this way. So, as we're walking by, fifty feet from Donald and Goofy, I pull out my camera to take a shot. The...rotund security guard comes up to me and tells me that I have to get in line if I want to take a picture. I'm a little taken aback and ask "Is Disney really telling me when and where I can take pictures?' to which she thinks with her ass for a moment and replies: yes. I laugh and take my photo.<br />
<br />
The next situation is when Chip & Dale were leaving the character building at Epcot to go to their signing area. (Yes, you can wait in line for hours at at a building to meet all the "classic" characters. Thank Godtopus my girls are so practical.) So Chip & Dale were walking to their spot with their security when a girl (who was about fifteen) goes and gives Dale a hug. She didn't run across the plaza, or make an effort, or actually try to cross paths with the chipmunks; they were just there. The poor girl was bodily removed from Dale to such an extent that our entire party (at least the adults) all complained: "Hey! Come on! That was unneccessary!" Seriously, I thought that the Disney cop was going to mace the poor girl and put her in cuffs. It was absolutely fucking ridiculous. Talk about ruining the fantasy for the customers.<br />
<br />
Look for part three of my acute observations as well as the epilogue to my Amurican adventures.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-9046594370109101882010-01-21T07:56:00.000-06:002010-01-21T07:56:33.015-06:00Observations Pt. 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwfOp5Mi1ZQEBDlo020sRht80LVhsoKaaRsm8Q0gZo1_vYEx-9TZsQTKWMfYCLqA-rcp0qffCETF2FWIut55J19c4yPfYmO94HumMUV3Dvc-uWf_HK83JAoYjn6dut6K2e_dhkiycTMr0/s1600-h/spanking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwfOp5Mi1ZQEBDlo020sRht80LVhsoKaaRsm8Q0gZo1_vYEx-9TZsQTKWMfYCLqA-rcp0qffCETF2FWIut55J19c4yPfYmO94HumMUV3Dvc-uWf_HK83JAoYjn6dut6K2e_dhkiycTMr0/s320/spanking.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<br />
For the purpose of these posts I'm just going to assume that Orlando is a fair and reasonable cross-section of all of The United States of America. Therefore, if they do it here, they do it everywhere. I know that this is a perfectly valid application of stereotyping so, quite frankly, if the rest of America doesn't like it: sack the fuck up and fix it because people are kind of stupid down here. Honestly, it's bordering on retardation. Either that, or I need to work on my extra-sensory perception.<br />
<br />
1. Turning signals are for fucking losers.<br />
<br />
Americans expect that you will not only know what lane they are moving into, when they are turning and where they are turning; but you should also be able to interpret the urgency with which they need to do any of the preceeding actions. What I will give Americans credit for is that when you do turn on your signal, they immediately make room. I'm guessing that this is a reaction to a form of stimuli that they've never been exposed to. The light starts flashing and they have no idea what the fuck you're going to do.<br />
<br />
2. Americans wish they had Canadian money but they're too goddamn proud to just admit it.<br />
<br />
As much as they may make fun of us for it, Americans envy our ability to determine monetary sums by colour. The fact that I have to actually look at the denomination of a bill to determine how many ones I want to get back is stupid. America has finally realized that looking at numbers is dumb and also that 78.4% of Americans can't recognize a '5' anyways, so they've started colouring their money. But just a little. Because they want to appear like they don't actually need to colour their money due to awesomeness. A little known fact: The IRS loses 892 billion dollars a year because they think twenties are actually fifties.<br />
<br />
3. Gay is universal.<br />
<br />
It doesn't matter what country you're from or what language you speak, The Gay is like barbecue, you can smell it a mile away. there's also a lot of meat involved). I am extremely happy to note that my gaydar is still a finely tuned instrument, Geep won't be springing any surprises on me anytime soon. Also, my eldest daughter's Gay-sense is as fine an instrument as my own.<br />
<br />
4. Sorry, I'm from Canada.<br />
<br />
A term that gets you out of trouble without any reprecussions. I've used it five times already and have gotten the same reaction every time. "Oh, well that's ok". It seems that Americans are incapable of understanding that foreigners in their country know exactly what they're doing. "Sir, you can't smoke there." Sorry, I'm Canadian. "Sir, you can't take your drink out of the restaraunt." Sorry, I'm Canadian. "Sir, the staff don't appreciate it when you call them whores and then ask them what the going rate is for a blumpkin." Sorry, I'm Canadian. (It's $86.23 by the way).<br />
<br />
5. De-regulated Liquor Is Stupid.<br />
<br />
I'm sure that Capitalism is great and everything, but the fact that I have to go to two different places to get my liquory fix is complete bollocks. I can get damn near any type of beer and wine I want at a grocery store but then I have to go to a "liquor" store for the high-test? Yeah yeah, "Stupid Canadian, you can get beer at liquor stores." I know this, motherfucker. However Coors Light, Bud Light, Corona and beer with fucking fruit in it is NOT good beer. Neither is Molson Canadian or Labbat Blue even though it's 'imported'.<br />
<br />
6. Everybody Who Works In The Service Industry Is Way Too Happy.<br />
<br />
For fuck's sake! I get it! Tourism is a big part of Orlando's economy. But it's like there was a sale at Doctor Cowhides Fake Smile Imporium and Eatery. Are you really this happy to see me? I'm a white-ass Canadian rolling into your store/restaraunt/ride/ with three kids and some grandparents. I'm not your ideal customer and, in fact, I'm going to cock punch you if you giggle at me one more time or drop a "hey folks" when you approach my demon-spawn again. I swear, if I don't see some tasty fucking rage soon, I'm going to drop my own and then I'm going to jail and then I'm calling in the Royal Canadian Kilted Yaksmen.<br />
<br />
7. Disney Likes Anal, Without Lube.<br />
<br />
Disney is the top. You are the bottom. And you'll pay Disney to fuck your ass with a mouse-eared dildo. You may as well just relax and take it like a man. A masculin, hairy, power bottom of a man.<br />
<br />
8. Parents Are Idiots.<br />
<br />
It would seem that Dinsey, in addition to scouring your rectum vigorously, also immediately reduces most parental IQ's by a factor of ten. Parents, your nine-year-old doesn not need a stroller. They do not need you to buy them every single fucking knick-knack that they see. Just because you paid a ridiculous amount of money for some make up, glitter and cheap-ass hair extensions to make your son/daughter look like a princess, doesn't mean he/she is. And finally: just because it is Disney, does not give you license to let your misplaced money shots run amok and fuck with my joint. I will put YOU over my knee and learn you some respect.<br />
<br />
StabbyMart: Learning Amuricans How Canada Do.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-20238578557393601882010-01-19T11:10:00.001-06:002010-01-19T12:51:15.527-06:00Vacation Day 1: Canada Firmly Plants It's Head In It's Ass.Seriously people, they should not schedule flights for 6:30am. We were up at 3am to be at the airport two hours before our flight. I should add that The Bad One had been up at midnight, puking in her closet while standing on a toybox and shitting herself. According to her, she had no idea what she was doing and just woke up standing in her own effluence. Needless to say, we were not in good shape.<br />
<br />
We leave for the airport and get there at about 4:15. Now, Transport Canada says that we have to be at the airport at least two hours prior to the flight because of new security measures. We'll get to that shit in a moment. So we're there when we should be but, the ticket agents are nowhere to be found. What. The. Fuck! So we wait around for a half hour and they finally show up. Then they fuck up both our and my parents boarding passes and luggage tags, run out of paper for the luggage tags (this is unforgiveable) and let two other families cut in line. Needless to say I am not in the best of moods so far. Neither is the five month old baby and she's letting us know.<br />
<br />
Next we're on to security. Now, I love Canada. I think it's a great place to live and has the sexiest mooses in the world but sometimes we're complete fucking retards. In reaction to the Underpants Bomber and the US saying our security isn't good enough, we now have to take any layers of clothing off, (including belts and shoes) put them through the x-ray scanner then the metal detector and bag search. Oh, yeah, we're not allowed to take a carry-on bag because of the Skiddy-mark Bomber. But we can take a diaper bag and I can take my laptop. The logic of this fails me. No clothes, but you can take the electronic device that could be wired for anything, bravo. Then, we're off to a full-body pat down. EVERYBODY gets the full search, every fucking passanger. In their infinate wisdom, they only have one woman but three men performing these searches. Guess which line moves quicker? Oh, and they check our bags again because the x-ray didn't do a good enough job. Needless to say, I'm now terrified of what US Customs and the security is going to do to us if Canada is like this. Mercifully though, baby has cried herself to sleep. (she doesn't like the car seat if we're not moving).<br />
<br />
Que the boarding of the plane. I step on and immidiately wonder how the hell I'm going to fit in these tiny-ass seats an this old ass jet. I'm lucky enough to be immediately adjascent to the lavatory so I figure I can make some money off this bitch. $3.59 a visit man, that's how I roll. Jacq attempts to wedge the baby carrier into the seat and with an extra 110 lbs of fury she is successful. Then...Everest starts screaming...and screaming...and screaming. It doesn't help that we're sitting on the tarmac for thirty minutes with no air (why can't the goddamn plane have air on during the loading period?) for no apparent reason? So, I'm frustrated and hot. My middle daughter is freaking out because she's kind of a wuss and doesn't know what to expect and, on top of it all, I'm the guy with the screaming baby! Cuntnuggets!<br />
<br />
Finally we start rolling, the air comes on and we can all start to chill becuase we're finally getting under-way. Even baby went to sleep when we started taxiing.That is all except The Bad One who's kind of shitting herself. Not literally, but given the circumstances six hours ago, I was pretty worried. We take off and...WOW! look at the city at night! That's cool! She did freak a bit when the landing-gear came up though. Like I said, old-ass jet. I also didn't make any money as the Potty Troll, motherfuckers were only carrying American money, and I don't speak Amurican.<br />
<br />
After an uneventful flight, with little turbulance, we touch down in Minneapolis and sit for another twenty minutes while they figure out how to make the concourse drop down far enough to connect to our pissant little plane. The solution was literally a board that made a ramp and then we had to traverse a lovely incline to get to the terminal. Of course, we are docked at the gate that is as far from the entrance to the terminal as is possible. By this time, I have not had a cigarette in two and a half hours and have to take a very large leak. Nevermid the fact that, given what Canadian security did to us, I am dreading the rectal examination that the United States is about to give me. So we rush down to the terminal and find a bathroom. I see a woman come out of the left side so I go right. Let me tell you, there is no silence like that which greets you when you walk into the woman's restroom. Apparently, the female that was coming out from my left, realized her mistake before I did. Now, as we were the only plane at customs at the time, everybody got to witness my mistake. My answer: "Well, in Canada, women have penis' too." There were many laughs and I had clearly marked myself for US Customs.<br />
<br />
We are waiting in a brilliantly speedy line for someone to go through our bags. He checks my declaration, looks at me sideways, may be convinced that the baby is hiding something, and waves us through. "Yes!" I think, "No search!" but there is still The Yellow Line! I approach the line cautiously, with great trepidation...this bitch looks mean. "Passports!" she bellows, so I dutifully pass all five to her. She asks who 'this one' is for, I pick up The Bad One. She changes papers and asks the same question again, I show her the baby. She askes a third time and I wonder why the kiosk is so high.<br />
<br />
We get through without a hitch, grab our bags and head to security. 'The Man' tells us, "oversized luggage and pretty ladies over here," I ask what is considered oversized. We are directed to security and have to take off out shoes, jackets, and I have to take my computer out of its bag. I'm expecting a search beyond the portal so I clench tightly. Nothing. We all walk through the metal detector like we were made of moose-hide. I take my clothes out of the bin and ask the lovely miss if there is a place I can go and have a smoke? I'm told I have to go outside but that I can't go outside from here. "Fuck!" says I, "I'ma cut a bitch." She laughs. (Americans are so cordial in the security line. So as I'm puting my shoes and shit back on, one of the guards tells my wife that he's got to test her shoes. You all think that I'm the evil motherfucker in this family, but you have no idea. (I should mention that he rolled his eyes while saying that). He rubs some paper on them, puts the paper in the machine and grins sheepishly at my wife. "Here you go, they're fine." US Customs, Immigration and security; seven minutes. Canadian security; fourty-five minutes. Stupid Canadians.<br />
<br />
We board our plane and again wait for another fourty-five minutes with no air conditioning while they manually start an engine due to some broken equipment (THE FUCK!?). Oh, and then a door won't close properly. The plane is full of kids so I don't feel like mine are going to be the problem. Indeed, baby falls asleep immediately and sleeps through almost the entire flight. There is nothing evenful about the flight other than a Jennifer Aniston movie playing. The attendant asks if we would like to purchase headphones, I laugh at her. I begin drinking and come to the conclusion that booze tastes better in little bottles. We land and wait around for our luggage. I text Trouble "The Mooseknuckle has landed" and she squees a bit. I wonder where my complimentary Manatee is. Florida has lied to me just to get me on his wang. We get to the house with only a small detour and unpack. Then we go to get something to eat which takes twice as long as it should as my father has no idea how far away the restaraunt is. Our waitress is named Mercedes, I giggle. Stereotypes are fucking awesome. We stop at the grocery store for food and booze as these are the two things we cannot live without. Upon retuning home we adjourn to the pool-side patio and get drunk. It's winter here but to us it's a nice summer evening. Plus, HUMIDITY! Glorious moisture! My skin hasn't been this smooth since last summer.<br />
<br />
Stay tuned for further adventures of the Admin family as well as patented observations from myself which will undoubtably be offensive, un-PC and possibly start a war.<br />
<br />
EDIT: I should add that the family count is still at seven. I have not killed my mother or father...yet.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-22426672297066882812010-01-15T18:21:00.000-06:002010-01-15T18:21:52.058-06:00Apologies And Selfishness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4o1ut7DrzxBlY1O5aSgf9QoWQwq2n-Pgogn0nM3rsODL6wdW1Py6QLAoOq6YCyPu2n4NNpfM9gcouSgau7TnlaNxtFAM5XSBG3AcijWI5-UlTJupIwfRQUbifqOoDtFUmCD9m2VWUdiW/s1600-h/Choking+a+bitch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4o1ut7DrzxBlY1O5aSgf9QoWQwq2n-Pgogn0nM3rsODL6wdW1Py6QLAoOq6YCyPu2n4NNpfM9gcouSgau7TnlaNxtFAM5XSBG3AcijWI5-UlTJupIwfRQUbifqOoDtFUmCD9m2VWUdiW/s320/Choking+a+bitch.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
I'm sorry.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry that I haven't been reading your blogs as much as I should have. I'm not dropping guilt, I'm not trying to get Dani in a twist, I'm not attempting to get Spot to love me and I certainly wouldn't want Lainey to feel bad on No Fucking Whining Wednesday. I'm really sorry that I haven't been able to read the blogs that I always enjoy and get me through my day. Seriously; I don't think I've even looked at Blogger since my last post. I could list the ones I try to follow but then this entry would be a series of fourty-sum links and I'd probably end up sending someone to dwarf/muleplay.com. I started this blog because I wanted to write entertaining, funny, vitriolic, stories and I think I've gotten away from that. Perhaps this isn't a bad thing...but I haven't been able to write about shit for the past three weeks. Fuck that shit! I actually started this joint to provide an outlet for my tasty, tatsy rage so that I didn't end up choking the fuck out of somebody and spending the rest of life in prison. Given that I've been in a bit of a funk lately and haven't had any time to read a book much less write a post I was especially stabby so I was really looking forward to a week and a half of holidays. With that, let us begin...<br />
<br />
I was at the lake last week and it used to be my solstace, my escape, my recharge. Now...it's my hell. I'm the type of person that has to take a break. I've got to turn off and just do almost nothing for about a week straight at least once a year. So we used to go to the lake where we have a largish house and just fucking get loose for a while. No work, no phone, not really any TV just straight chill. I could read three books a week play with the kids, swim, have some drinks, whatever. It was straight heaven be it summer or winter, spring or summer, sunny or rainy. That is, it was heaven until about a year and a half ago.<br />
<br />
That was when my mom decided that she had had enough of the grind, enough of playing house and enough of raising a child. I should point out that said child isn't me. Said child is a fifty-two year old man who still needs a mommy to take care of him and love him. Said child is my Step-father. Now, while my mom is certainly no treat and has turned into a mid-life teenage drama queen, I can appreciate that she no longer wants to play devoted housewife/mother. So, my mom moved up to the lake to "take a break" and got a job at the golf course hotel. The hours were long and the work hard as it's a new resort but she was enjoying it. All the while Mr. Oblivious thinks that she's just unhappy with her professional life. Meanwhile, he's gotten a taste of what it's like to run a household. Doing your own laundry, cooking and cleaning for yourself and not having anyone to tuck you in at night (figuratively speaking). What's his answer? Why, to leave his current six-figure job for one that pays half as much, work twelve hour days rather than seven, lose four weeks of holidays and move right the fuck up there too. How long did this realization take? ONE MONTH. Jesus fucking christ man, you couldn't make it one month on your own? What did you do for the first thirty-two years?<br />
<br />
So now they both live and work at the lake, much to my mother's dismay. The hours are long, the pay is, well, good if your my mom and worked these same hours for far less your entire life. Problem is, when you <i>have </i>to give your husband 3/4 of your income to save for retirement and pay for the house (oh, did I fail to mention they're building a new house? Yeah, tore down the cabin and started over.) that tends to throw a wrench into the works. Needless to say, there is a lot of stress. They're living in a small town-house that doesn't allow for any privacy or solitude. Add to that the animosity that my mother has toward Pops and well...lets just say that things aren't all that peachy. Really, I can't tell you how awesome it is to go on vacation, have nowhere to hide from the tension and not be able to relax at all because you just added two more bratty fucking kids to the crowd. Unfortunately, they think it'll all be better once the house is done and they have more space. I know better, the issue was there prior to construction and it will continue to be there after.<br />
<br />
I'm aware that I sound like a whiny bitch so I'm going to wrap this up quickly. We used to go to the lake every two months. Even if it was just for a weekend. I've been there twice in a year and a half. And it shows. I can't remember a time when I've been wound so tight and not had the ability to chill and take a break. Whatever happens, I know that my family will be ok. Why? Because I'm the father. Of whom I'm not sure anymore.<br />
<br />
Now we're off for a Florida vacation for two weeks. With my parents that I can't be around for more than three days. Thankfully we have some options and are staying in a house. I've already told them that they will be leaving for a couple of days so we can chill. I'm boss of this bitch! That being said, if you know any good lawyers in the Orlando area please let me know. Also, I would appreciate it if you started a bail collection for me. I'm hoping for the best but...damn.<br />
<br />
By the way: Blogger is being a real testicular itch and won't let me comment on a lot of your blogs nor even my own. Suggestions.<br />
<br />
Toodles, ho-bags.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-85401506816391301842010-01-11T19:12:00.000-06:002010-01-11T19:12:27.882-06:00CBII: Book 9 - The Ghost King - R.A. Salvatore<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bMVTEcIN2KR8ull8pdm4pp__kg108ki48rVw0-PBU0I98OOT3eDc_QqsvOVaTV1gWRqV20s0WuJjF7iuHL67xrRFtmsHt3uDrSWvt59dGiayxihcRVkVk2qWexQpYdojx0IhL5Lj5AXl/s1600-h/The+Ghost+King.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bMVTEcIN2KR8ull8pdm4pp__kg108ki48rVw0-PBU0I98OOT3eDc_QqsvOVaTV1gWRqV20s0WuJjF7iuHL67xrRFtmsHt3uDrSWvt59dGiayxihcRVkVk2qWexQpYdojx0IhL5Lj5AXl/s200/The+Ghost+King.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><i>The Ghost King</i> is Salvatore's third entry in the series that he's titled <i>Transitions</i>. It's passably writtten, holds no surprises, and is exactly what you've come to expect. Generally, if you're a Salvatore fan, this won't be an issue for you. For me, however, I'm getting exhausted about reading about the same characters and the same story but set in a different place (kind of, but not really). I've read all of Salvatore's books but alas I think this will be the last (with one exception). Everything has become so damned recycled to me that I just don't think that he can do anything more with the regular characters nor those that he pulls from adventures that happened in the years prior.<br />
<br />
Indeed, if you've read the preceeding adventures of Drizzt Do'Urden, this installment will strike a familiar chord. Just for shits and giggles, I'm going to give you a synopsis of the story but I'll leave blanks in place of all the key plot points. Fill in the blanks as you see fit and let's see if it seems like you've read this before. Ok? Money.<br />
<br />
Our story begins with the evil<i> BLANK</i> who everybody thought was dead. BLANK proposed an alliance with BLANK in order to seek revenge upon those who banished BLANK and supposedly destroyed BLANK. The unsettleing thing, though, is that they consumate this unholy undead union by using The BLANKY BLANK.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, Drizzt and BLANK are enjoying some time in the wilderness around BLANK when BLANK is suddenly struck down by a strange magical force that renders him/here in a state of delerium. Drizzt quickly returns to BLANK with BLANK for help. After many unsuccessful attempts at helping BLANK, BLANK finally tries some magic and is immediately struck by the same affliction as BLANK. Drizzt is at a loss as to what to do when a strange dwarf appears and suggests that he take BLANK to see BLANK who may be able to render aid. Drizzt and BLANK immediately set out with BLANK to BLANK'S to try to save BLANK. Upon the road, they meet the strange dwarf who is, of course, BLANK. Indeed though, BLANK is not alone as he is travelling with BLANK: Drizzt's mortal enemy. Together they travel to BLANK'S facing danger from BLANKS and BLANKS and epecially BLANKS in the hopes that BLANK can save their freind.<br />
<br />
Yep, fill in the BLANK. It was a fun ride, Mr. Salvatore, but I think I've outgrown you. If you're an obsessive Salvatore fan, by all means read <i>The Ghost King</i>. But don't be surprised when you're not surprised.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-11619777731253058282010-01-07T00:32:00.000-06:002010-01-07T00:32:28.743-06:00Life Is Like A Box Of Chocolates.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_AjYAyVdbAbfAdehybaaxm6LTKHhxtGzR4G9cY-zl6B1V_fnOB55OFBNI4YCC_PPOxRZYRGQ_8NmAtem0rsppT_9RUoeEbHz9zp7KzOb6RI8Xy2hL1DPyqM3g_9yCjFkPEHeYBbbR9r9/s1600-h/Murder-King-shirt-lg.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp_AjYAyVdbAbfAdehybaaxm6LTKHhxtGzR4G9cY-zl6B1V_fnOB55OFBNI4YCC_PPOxRZYRGQ_8NmAtem0rsppT_9RUoeEbHz9zp7KzOb6RI8Xy2hL1DPyqM3g_9yCjFkPEHeYBbbR9r9/s320/Murder-King-shirt-lg.gif" /></a><br />
</div><br />
That is if those chocolates were all penises being shoved into every oriface I posses with the enthusiasim of Pee-Wee Herman in an adult theater. God damn, shit has gotten real up in this bitch! Work is bending me over as if I was a two dollar whore on sale for a buck-fitty, Christmas vacation was more stressfull than restful, and I swear upon Gotopus' holy Rorschach test that if my parents don't smarten the fuck up I'm going to get emancipated. I have stories. Fuck me, do I have some stories but I have to find the time to put those motherfuckers down on paper. Truth be told, I've also been in a bit of a funk and haven't felt motivated to do much of fucking anything. However I'm leaving for vacation next Saturday and I'll be cock-smoked if I don't find time to vent and return my beloved store to the glory it once was. That is, if I can take my computer on the plane (fucking terrorist taint bleacher!) or if I'm not in jail for murder. See, I'm taking a vacation with my parents and let's just say that I already have three kids, I didn't have any intention of adopting two more middle-aged ones. (See! Stories!)<br />
<br />
Stay tuned my magnificent motherfuckers. Shit is about to hit the industrial strength fan. (This, of course, causes said shit to splatter all over every wall in the office as well as the floor. While you may think this is bad, it's quite fun to watch these fucking goat spelunkers step in it and fall on their asses.)<br />
<br />
Kisses, bitches.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-71256358353101014882009-12-11T17:19:00.000-06:002009-12-11T17:19:20.623-06:00TIGER UPPERCUT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8eKKQY9EwvO_i8DPnVJHCWz12K5WOZxgev2j5KvnTNowa5YSgIrXX4OnNGG6FkMwp-8HKQffadSqg2E1ycwYLL-0QAJdXg33Ll0sFxZhMch_mEKMtGp93kH9nLz3-AisxaVW5hA3ERQhK/s1600-h/hookers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8eKKQY9EwvO_i8DPnVJHCWz12K5WOZxgev2j5KvnTNowa5YSgIrXX4OnNGG6FkMwp-8HKQffadSqg2E1ycwYLL-0QAJdXg33Ll0sFxZhMch_mEKMtGp93kH9nLz3-AisxaVW5hA3ERQhK/s320/hookers.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><i></i>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.<br />
<br />
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?<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>should </i>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.<br />
<br />
/end rantThe Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-48749956612654528742009-12-10T17:43:00.000-06:002009-12-10T17:43:12.551-06:00CBII: Book 8: John Dies At The End - David Wong<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Pzu-pvMj1GMS1SrzsxMe70w5pdpI9nssM7PvVX8Tqaz4CEsU0ql7PSdfNwQ-7LzRjVrlBy0wsnASFiGsUqs74RgzmAcAmxcctyDE39YlpL0IxybItQmdhL_5X8M1uWpJNCX3HnlxDVyz/s1600-h/John+Dies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Pzu-pvMj1GMS1SrzsxMe70w5pdpI9nssM7PvVX8Tqaz4CEsU0ql7PSdfNwQ-7LzRjVrlBy0wsnASFiGsUqs74RgzmAcAmxcctyDE39YlpL0IxybItQmdhL_5X8M1uWpJNCX3HnlxDVyz/s320/John+Dies.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Wait.....what? Where am I? Who the fuck are you? Is......is this a van with no windows? Why are my pants off? What is this powdery residue in my nostrils? What the fuck just happened?<br />
<br />
That's how I felt after reading David Wong's <i>John Dies At The End</i>. 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.<br />
<br />
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, <i>really</i> 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, <i>Camel Holocaust,</i> 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 <i>the</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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."<br />
<br />
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 phone.......no, 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.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-16229268502999127672009-12-05T11:06:00.000-06:002009-12-05T11:06:09.385-06:00CBII Book 7: Prelude To Foundation - Isaac Asimov<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-1OC6QGCAMkwhIA31iR6WSjmulZeHZTJgGgG0k9Vbttpg97FXpJvq7AxvJ8wM3-cLs6vZBWjHj3x_vCQEQ2l3mXwZTyqIm-jraD95W99sRvSO_ZxgcCAtng3kooj8QHdgIy61SD0Tspe/s1600/prelude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-1OC6QGCAMkwhIA31iR6WSjmulZeHZTJgGgG0k9Vbttpg97FXpJvq7AxvJ8wM3-cLs6vZBWjHj3x_vCQEQ2l3mXwZTyqIm-jraD95W99sRvSO_ZxgcCAtng3kooj8QHdgIy61SD0Tspe/s200/prelude.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>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.<br />
<br />
<i>Prelude To Foundation</i> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
<i>Prelude To Foundation</i> 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. The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4038208200300862494.post-63061651860312002532009-12-02T15:21:00.000-06:002009-12-02T15:21:48.498-06:00Fuck 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:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Monday:<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<br />
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....<br />
<br />
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, <b>A</b> speed bump. At least I did get home safely and fell into a deep slumber in front of the Saints game.<br />
<br />
Tuesday:<br />
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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.<br />
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Wednesday:<br />
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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 taxes.....to 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.<br />
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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.The Managementhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942886978085965712noreply@blogger.com5