Welcome to StabbyMart

CB II Book 21: Transition - Ian M. Banks

2010-09-25T14:39:00.000-06:00

Transition 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.

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.

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.

Perhaps if I had read Transition 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 Memento but, ultimately, I was left without anything to take home.

CBII Book 20: Watch - Robert J. Sawyer

2010-09-25T12:58:00.000-06:00

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.
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 Watch.

This is the second instalment of the World Wide Web 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 Watch (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.

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.

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 Watch is an excellent addition to the genre and a brilliant lesson in humanity as learned from a machine.

CBII Book 19: At The GAtes of Darkness - Raymond E. Feist

2010-08-28T14:24:00.000-06:00

Written by Raymond E. Feist, At The Gates of Darkness is the second book in the Demonwar Saga. I reviewed book one entitled Rides a Dread Legion previously and if your interested you can check it out here. 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.

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.

CBII Book 18: Fahrenheidt 451 - Ray Bradbury

2010-08-14T18:30:00.001-06:00

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

CBII: Book 17 - Hater- David Moody

2010-08-14T15:59:00.000-06:00

“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.”

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.

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.

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.

CBII Book 16: The Strain - Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan

2010-05-16T20:11:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

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. The Strain 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.

CBII Book 15: The Child Thief - Brom

2010-03-31T02:46:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

The Child Thief 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; The Child Thief definitelty fills the bill.

CBII Book 14: Sailing To Sarantium - Guy Gavriel Kay

2010-03-31T00:59:00.002-06:00

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 Pa'eh'ba day that I decided to take her up on her most subtle insistence. She did a review 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.

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.

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.

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.

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, Sailing To Sarantium 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.

Sailing To Sarantium 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.

A Lesson on Wrapping Your Meat

2010-03-11T20:36:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

Fuck the pill, I choose pork!

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:

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.

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.

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.

You know you want me

Resting allows all those sexy juices to absorb back 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?

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.

It's ok if you want to put your dick/clit in it.

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.

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.

Final rating: 8 out of 10 arteries.

StabbyMart: promoting coronaries so we can sell you a defective heart valve.

CBII Book 13: Wake - Robert J. Sawyer

2010-03-08T17:38:00.001-06:00

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).

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.

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.

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.

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.

CB II Book 12: Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman

2010-02-28T13:42:00.000-06:00

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; Good Omens, American Gods and now Neverwhere. 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.

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.

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.

That's not a very good description so let me just say this: Neverwhere is yet another re-telling of Alice in Wonderland. 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 Alice in Wonderland 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.

Observations Pt. 3

2010-02-18T21:41:00.001-06:00

I 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:

Dill pickle chips:

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.

Yellow Lights:

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.

Airport Security:

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).

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.

American Beef:

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.

American Cigarettes:

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.

Tact:

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.

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. Note: This also works on men. 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.

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?

StabbyMart: Tossing Titty To Troublesome Toddlers.

CBII Book11: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame Smith

2010-02-08T18:31:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

Back In a Bit...

2010-02-08T16:53:00.001-06:00

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.

Stay frosty. (Minus 34 overnight? Fuck you Saskatchewan.)

CBII Book 10: Boneshaker - Cherie Priest

2010-02-06T14:03:00.000-06:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Observations: - Pt.2: And I'm A Fucking Po-dunk?

2010-01-26T20:01:00.000-06:00

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.

1. Conversation Is Brilliant:

A few excerpts:
- "No, no, Mamma; go to the house to see if Brandene got in before you call the police and report a break in."
- "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.)
- "Jackass!" (yelled by a man in a pickup with 'Corrupt Government' and 'I Fish To Piss off Tree Huggers' bumperstickers.
- "What can I get you sweetie? That'll be $10.57 darling. Thank ya sweetheart." Was she coming on to me?
- "Hey! Save half of that bag of cookies for me!" I assume I don't have to say that they were both riding scooters.
- "Reel the leash in a bit Pa, he's getting in folks way." People, if your kids require leashes, you failed.

2. Epcot Hates Attractive People:

Seriously. Wow! Did we pick '1/ 2 Price For Fuggs' day? What is really disturbing is that most of them had kids. *shudder*

3. A Lawyer For Everything:

In America, you can sue the economy. You think I'm joking but there are radio ads.

4. Tight Jeans:

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.

5. Five-inch Heels

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.)

6. SeaWorld is far Superior to The Magic Kingdom:

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).

7. The Amount Of Southern Twang Is Directy Proportional To The Rate Of Rascal Scooters Rented:

Don't crawl all up in my joint. Facts are facts. Motherfuckers could walk, they just choose not to. That and the morbid obesity.

8. Shamu Is A Dick:

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.!

9. My Father Has Been Driving Here For Years:

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.

10. Disney Has Ruined Itself With No Help From Me:

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.

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.

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.

Look for part three of my acute observations as well as the epilogue to my Amurican adventures.

Observations Pt. 1

2010-01-21T07:56:00.000-06:00

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.

1. Turning signals are for fucking losers.

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.

2. Americans wish they had Canadian money but they're too goddamn proud to just admit it.

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.

3. Gay is universal.

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.

4. Sorry, I'm from Canada.

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).

5. De-regulated Liquor Is Stupid.

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'.

6. Everybody Who Works In The Service Industry Is Way Too Happy.

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.

7. Disney Likes Anal, Without Lube.

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.

8. Parents Are Idiots.

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.

StabbyMart: Learning Amuricans How Canada Do.

Vacation Day 1: Canada Firmly Plants It's Head In It's Ass.

2010-01-19T11:10:00.001-06:00

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.

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.

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).

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

EDIT: I should add that the family count is still at seven. I have not killed my mother or father...yet.

Apologies And Selfishness

2010-01-15T18:21:00.000-06:00

I'm sorry.

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...

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.

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?

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 have 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.

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.

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.

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.

Toodles, ho-bags.

CBII: Book 9 - The Ghost King - R.A. Salvatore

2010-01-11T19:12:00.000-06:00

The Ghost King is Salvatore's third entry in the series that he's titled Transitions. 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.

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.

Our story begins with the evil BLANK 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.

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.

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 The Ghost King. But don't be surprised when you're not surprised.

Life Is Like A Box Of Chocolates.

2010-01-07T00:32:00.000-06:00

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!)

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.)

Kisses, bitches.

TIGER UPPERCUT

2009-12-11T17:19:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

/end rant

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

2009-12-10T17:43:00.000-06:00

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?

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

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

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

I don't even know where the fuck to go from there. It's probably the most gloriously mind-fucked piece of literature I've ever read. There's floating, exploding dogs that come back from the dead. There's creatures from who the hell knows where. There's swearing, and I do mean swearing; dude makes me look like a nun. There's drugs and sex and violence and guns and explosive diarrhea and jellyfish and missing limbs and mutant grasshoppers and retardation and different dimensions and a sausage 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.

CBII Book 7: Prelude To Foundation - Isaac Asimov

2009-12-05T11:06:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck This Week In It's Eye-hole!

2009-12-02T15:21:00.000-06:00

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

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

Monday:

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

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

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

Tuesday:

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.

Wednesday:

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.

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.

What The Fuck, Somebody Actually Reads This Thing?

2009-11-27T18:31:00.001-06:00

Alright, in the interest of giving props where props are due I'ma gonna recognize some of my favorite bitches and send a thank you for some recognition.

A delicious little dish named Eyvi Sprite (check it) bestowed this lovely .jpg upon me for which I'm eternally grateful. Then the bitch tells me that I have to tell you seven things you may not know. Fine.

1. - I'm adopted. Twice. By the same extended family. But that is for another day.

2. - If I would have decided to date the easy lay, I wouldn't be married for ten years now and have the awesomeness that is the Jacq. I remember the exact second I decided which way to go. Quality over quantity, always.

3. - I was always either the or close to smallest kid in the class. Both in height and weight up until grade ten. I'm still short but I will fuck you up.

4. - I have lived in Saskatchewan all my life but always wanted to be a Marine Biologist (for those of you unfamiliar with Saskatchewan, the nearest ocean is on the Mars).

5. - At Thirty-two years of age, I have never broken a bone, never had surgery and only had about seven stitches on three different occasions. How I managed, I don't know as I certainly wasn't a cautious child.

6. - I have had three different professions. I was a cook, a hair stylist and now, I'm the gubment.

7. - I'm entirely too nice in person.

Ok, so maybe one of those is a lie. I hope you're satisfied Eyvi, that was entirely too much thought.

Then the lovely Miss Danica Dragonfly, who may or may not be a female version of me, gifted me this little tidbit.

Thanks a million Dani. I'm glad that my hateful rantings bring a little entertainment to your day. I have to say though, I'm not feeling the apron. That's it, I'm done. I'm not about to pass this around as all y'all know you motherfuckers are the shit. I wouldn't read it otherwise.

StabbyMart: Accepting Arbitrary Internet Awards Cause We're Whores.

Doran and Jacquie's World Famous Greek Ribs

2009-11-22T17:24:00.001-06:00

This is the first time I've posted a recipe on this joint, mainly becuase MySharona has got that shit on lock. (seriously baby, the offer still stands) But in the interest of passing along a favourite of every single person I've ever served them to, getting you laid and keeping Skitz happy I'm going to share. This recipe originated with my wife's ex-boyfriend's father who was a good chef in his own right but honestly, greek ribs are pretty standard fare wherever you go (That is not to say that some aren't better than others.) so I tweeked the shit out of it. These take time but it's not too much of a commitment as you can walk away and let them cook in their own greeky deliciousness while you are doing other things. I need to warn you though, get an Arm and Hammer deodorizer before you make them. They fucking reek of awesomeness. (No seriously, they stink so good they'll impregnate the rest of your food with their spermatazoa of flavour.

The recipe is totally variable dependant on how many racks you make and your personal tastes I'm doing six small racks today do that's what I'm going to preach. My measurements are purely estimated as I can't remember the last time I actually measured something while I was cooking. Measuring is for baking, not making sweet meaty love to ones palate. You're going to have to use your nose because I hear Trychinosis is a bitch.

Your marinade ingredients:

Pork back ribs (how many is totally up to you)
Beer or another tasty beverage of your choosing. (of course this is purely to keep you hydrated)
Olive oil
Garlic powder
Onion powder
Worchesterschirederborkborkbork sauce
Oregano
Club House Greek Seasoning (you can just use oregano but this adds a nice depth)
Fresh ground black pepper (if you don't have a pepper mill, shoot yourself and save me the trouble)
Lemon Juice (bottled is fine for the marinade)

Your finishing touches:

Taipan oyster sauce (I've used others and this one works best you may substitute but you're missing out)
Two lemons (variable dependant on your love of lemony acidity)

PREPARATION:

Alright, let's talk ribs people. You're spending a good amount of time on these so don't buy shitty meat. If you're shopping at the supermarket, the vacuum packed ones are usually good as they are a premium cut. If you're buying the ones in the styrofoam tray with the celophane; take a good look. If the end has been folded under, you're going to get that flap of meat that is useless. This is fine but cut that shit off as it won't cook well. Also, check the thick end; if you've got a bunch of small bones over the big ones , take a pass. The connective tissues make those ones quite tough. Ideally, you can go to a butcher and get a few racks of porky heaven. Butchers are the greatest as you can see exactly what you're buying. Don't fucking scrimp! I will fucking hunt you down and taint punch you if you fuck up my recipe!

Now, clean the ribs. Most ribs will have a membrane on the back side of them and I believe it should be removed. Use a figernail on one of the ends of the bone to get it started (kind of like peeling the price sticker off of something) then work your finger under the membrane to the other side. Now you grab and rip that fucker off! Sometimes the ribs are already cleaned (you'll know if you can pick off the fat) or your butcher can do it for you. Now wash them under cold water and pat dry with paper towels. Put a couple racks in a long flat dish (I use a pyrex baking pan for a few or a aluminum roaster for a lot) and rub them with olive oil on both sides (the rest of the instructions also pertain to both sides. You can be agressive as all you're doing is beginning to break down the connective tissues. Next, douse them in lemon juice. Yes you're making a pool in the bottom of the pan, this is a good thing. Shake a liberal amount of Wort on both sides, then garlic powder (you know how much you like) then about a quarter teaspoon of onion powder per rack, then pepper (once again, you know) then equal measures of oregano and greek seasoning. When you're done, the seasonings should have a distinct presence but not totally coat the ribs. Stick your nose in there. You should smell a funky, garlicy, worty mess and taste the citric acid on the back of your tongue. Make sure you stack them with the meaty (front) part down in that soup and front to back. since they're curved, the juices will pool on the back side of the ribs allowing the front side to marinate.Wrap those fuckers up and stick them in the fridge for at least 24 hours. Now, every eight hours or so you'll have to move shit around and baste those racks that are not on the bottom.

Due to a lack of measurements, this is how they should look.

This is an idea of how much marinade we're dealing with.

COOKING:

These have to be cooked with indirect heat so depending on the type of grill you have, you may have to turn on one side or the front/back burner. Preheat your grill to between 250 and 300 F. As long as you're within this range you should be cool but it will effect the flavour and texture a bit. You may want to have a drip pan under the side you're going to put the ribs on as things are going to get messy. Open the fridge, does it smell like a garlicy greek-bomb went off? Congratulations, you did it right. Now, if you have a rib/roast rack, you're fucking golden! If you don't have one don't worry, lay those puppies down on the cool side of the grill. Try not to overlap or stack them but if you're making a huge mess of them it may be unavoidable you'll just have to remember to rotate them. Now walk away. Hey! I said walk away! Come back and check the temperature every once in a while, you don't want it to get hot.

The left is hot, the right is not.

By now, you should have a tasty slurry at the bottom of your marinade pan. If you throw this away I'm pretty sure you hate babies, puppies and freedom. Put that in a bowl or some other more manageable vessel as this is your basting liquid. Every hour or two, go back and rotate those bad boys. No matter what type of grill you have, the ribs closest to the heat and the side of the grill are going to cook faster. Just move 'em around to spread the joy. Now baste them with your marinade. Seriously, just slop that tangy love on there, I told you it'd be messy. You're probably wondering about cooking time and I wish I could give you an accurate answer but, as the time is dependant on the heat and the size and amount of the ribs, it will take anywhere from 3.5 to 5 hours.You'll know they're done when you try to pick them up and they break. People, listen to me, you're making sweet foody love here, they will be done when they're done. If you're really desperate you can turn the heat up after the first couple of hours but I want you to know that you have hurt my soul.

Yeah, they're done.

FINISHING:

So you've basted and rotated three or four times and now it'sget close to the time for eating. If you've done it right, the rack of ribs should almost or actually break in half when you pick them up. The best ribs I ever made were hell to prepare because they kept falling apart. Take them out of the rack and lay them flat. This next step is purely optional but I do it to add a little char. Turn your heat up to a medium and move the ribs to the hot side of the grill. Char both sides of every rack for about two minutes per side. Then move them back to the cool side. Right now, you could eat those fuckers and they'd be damn tasty. But we're not going for tasty here, we're going for Nirvana (sans shotgun). Take the oyster sauce and brush it liberally on both sides of every rack then close the lid and wait for five minutes for the sauce to heat. Listen up! Under no circumstances do you put the oyster sauce on during cooking or when the ribs are on the hot side of the grill! The sauce has too much sugar in it and will burn quicky and and turn into a charred crusty abomination.

Now, take those slabs of heaven and slap them on a big-ass cutting board and get yourself a big-ass bowl to put 'em in. Slice each and every rib to separate them all and toss 'em in the bowl. They may not cut very well as they should be falling apart, do your best.

See. You can peeel the meat off of the bone.

Slice one of the fresh lemons in half and squeeze over the ribs, mix with the tongs and squeeze another lemon in there. Throw a couple of wedges in the bowl for those that like more lemon and dig the fuck in. I should mention that your grill will be a disaster so you might want to burn it off. If you don't, you'll be tasting greek ribs in all your food for the next three weeks. Please, enjoy; you can thank me with sexual favours later.

I made five racks, all that's left is bones and memories.

*Please note: these ribs will get you laid. Probably not on the day you make them as meat comas are a side effect , but eventually you'll get some.

Fuck, that was long. Thanks for reading, but I have to go have a meat nap. No, not with you gp.

A Prologue

2009-11-21T20:16:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow I'm going to be making a blog post that is extremely long, pretentious and probably a little self indulgent. It's not earth shattering, it's not going to cure cancer and it's certainley not going to rid the world of Stephanie Meyer; but it may change your life.

See, I'm a pretty hardcore foodie. I love food. I adore food. If I had my druthers, I would spend most of my time in a kitchen making food. Hell, that's what I did for six years. The problem with that was that I didn't get to sit down and enjoy it with the people I love. I love it so much I hosted Christmas for both families last year on consecutive days and, even though it killed me, I revelled in every minute of it. There is nothing I enjoy more than spending the day in front of the TV (shush, I'm food safe) preparing dinner in a leisurely fashion in anticipation of a terrific meal. Also, if there is a break for nookie, so much the better.

I enjoy when people post status updates saying what they're eating and I enjoy telling people what I'm concocting. I've really gotten a lot of ideas from the facebook and have put them to good use.* So, since I'm making my family's favorite dish tomorrow, I'm going to share. I'm also doing it so Skitz doesn't tear off my duadenum and make a lovely jerky out of it. I'm sorry if I come across as an ass tomorrow, but I take my food seriously because I usually put a lot of effort, time and love into my creations. This particular recipe took me eight years to perfect and I'll be damned if you're going to fuck it up.

* MySharona absolutely kills me. I have a ridiculous fondness for southern, cajun and creole food and it seems that that's all she makes. I've asked her to marry me but polygamy is illegal in the U.S. and she refuses to move to Canada. Also, I'd like to try Skitz' Macho Nachos but in a totally non-sexual way.

CBII: Crazy Going Slowly Am I - Book 6: Shutter Island - Dennis Lehane

2009-11-21T10:16:00.000-06:00

An admission: I can't remember the last time I read a thriller (I'm not going to count The DaVinci Code as that falls into it's own special category that also includes poop and Hitler) they just really aren't my bag. That being said, I believe I went into the book with no preconceived notions and no expectations. As a matter of fact, I've seen the trailer for the movie version starring DeCaprio and being directed by Scorsese and thought it looked pretty fucking spine-tingly-dingly. I can now say that something was tingling, but it may have just been my hand falling asleep. (Hey, I'm a fan of The Stranger, shut it!)

Teddy Daniels and Chuck (no last name) are U.S. Marshalls on their way to Shutter Island to investigate the escape of a patient by the name of Rachel Solando. Shutter Island is not only a psychiatric facility, but also a prison that houses the purveyors of the most heinous crimes imaginable. The facility tries to identify and treat their psychological disorders so they can at least have a version of a life while incarcerated. Upon reaching the island they are taken to see the head psychologist Dr. Crowley who describes Rachel's condition and circumstances of her escape. There's just one extremely unsettling issue with all of this: There's no way that Rachel could have escaped.

Upon investigation of the cell they find a poster with a coded message that Teddy must break. It is also apparent that Rachel could not have gotten out of her cell without help. The orderly has an air-tight story as does the rest of the staff and Teddy immediately comes to the conclusion that this was an inside job. The staff at the facility are aware of his suspicions so they become increasingly uncooperative - refusing to show Teddy certain areas of the hospital, staff records and the doctors begin to screw with Teddy's head. You see, Teddy has a history. He's a recovering alcoholic and his wife died in a fire a couple of years ago. It also just happens that the person that lit the fire is incarcerated at this very facility. Teddy continues his investigation it begins to reveal more and more disturbing information. Just what is going on on Shutter Island?

I had no idea what to expect going into this book and, after a good week and a half of thinking about it (oops), I've come to a comclusion: It's exactly what it should be. It's decently written, the plot is reasonably progressed, the descriptions are adequate, the surprised are mildly surprising and most people will figure out the twist right in the middle of the book. It is average in every way a book can be average and that's not necessarily a bad thing. It keeps you just interested enough to make you turn the page and when you're done it will gradually fade from memory. This is one of those instances where, if Scorcese does it properly, the movie could definately improve on the book. Especially where creating tension and atmosphere is concerned. I feel completely impartial regarding Shutter Island so you may as well give it a shot.

I will Haunt Your Dreams

2009-11-19T17:24:00.002-06:00

WARNING, If you suffer from any of the following, you should not read the rest of this post: heart condition, pregnancy, hammer toe, H1N1, breathing, Colorectalcraniumism, muffintop, near-sightedness, far-sightededness, natural penis enhancement, IBS, schizophrenia, double jointedness, sleep apnea, hearing, sexual arousal, incontinence, douchebaggery or life; you should not read the rest of this post.

Every year at Pajiba, Dustin turns the keys over to the penisless inmates to run the show for a day in November. This day is known as Paheeba day and is in honour of a dear friend that we lost after she waged a courageous battle with Leukemia last year. One Miss AlabamaPink. A group of highly dedicated, highly talented, highly sessified Pajibettes put together one of the greatest days ever and they deserve unending acccolades for rocking faces and stealing nutsacks. It is a veritable orgy of estrogen and is absolutely fucking face humpingly awesome. So, of course I saw fit to ruin it.

You see, this year the 'ettes decided to do some movie posters wherein they would photoshop their own images onto some well known original posters. One Pajibette known as Replica, did a shit load of work on the posters did an fabulous job. What everybody didn't know was that Rep and I were cooking up something special to end the night off right.

BEHOLD! A TRIBUTE TO JESSE SPANO!

Sleep tight motherfuckers.

StabbyMart: Haunting Your Dreams And Making You Feel Funny In The Pants.

CBII: Admin's New Band Name: Book 5 - Rides A Dread Legion - Raymond E. Feist

2009-11-16T05:50:00.000-06:00

Let me begin by saying this: If you haven't read any of Raymond E. Feist's previous books in the world of Midkemia, this probably isn't the best place to start. While one could read through this enjoyable book and not be completely lost, you would miss a lot of the nuances that the history of the previous twenty-four (that's right) books would provide. At least read the Conclave of Shadows series first. You'll have a far better appreciation for the references and context of Rides A Dread Legion.

As I alluded, Feist has written twenty-five books in the Midkemia collection which are usually authored in trilogies. He began with Magician in 1982 and has averaged a little under one book a year in this series for the past twenty-seven years and, when compared to authors such as Robert Jordan or George R.R. Martin, that is nothing short of exceptional. That is not to say that Feist's books are of the same depth and difficulty of those authors but, when taken as a collection, they easily rival their creativity. I've read and own all of the previous books and have consumed them no less than three times which leads me to believe that there is something Feist does with his writing that keeps it fresh and interesting that is unlike other authors. Rides A Dread Legion is no exception.

The story opens with a warlock named Amirantha who is in the midst of conjuring a demon when something goes terribly wrong. Instead of the demon he meant to conjure appearing, a far more powerful manifestation enters the realm. Amirantha battles this demon (a type he has never seen before) with his companion Brandos and eventually destroys it. But upon the destruction of the demon he notices another magician's magic present, that of his brother. After some introspection, he decides he needs to investigate this impossible occurrence further after, that is, they get paid. You see, for lack of a better term, Amirantha is a grifter. He begins rumours of demons in the areas near towns, then proceeds to put on a show to cast the demon (which he has summond) back whence it came. Usually it's a lesser demon with which he has forged a sort of friendship with and, as such, poses little danger. Not this time.

We then move to a woman named Sandreena who is an Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield (which is the martial arm of The Temple of Dala). She is a stunning woman who grew up hard and has significant trust issues (rightfully so) with the men of the world. Beautiful, intelligent and deadly she is sent to investigate troublesome reports of bandits on the west coast and upon arrival discovers that there is far more at play than mere banditry. After she is nearly killed she travels back to civilization almost at the cost of her life to report what she has found.

Now were sent to the northern forests of Midkemia where a Pathfinder has found a odd set of footprints. He follows the tracks until they bring him to a strange person that he observes transform into a type of elf he has never seen before. The elf then proceeds to open a rift to another planet and disappear. The tracker is concerned as to what this may portend for Midkemia and sets off to discuss the matter with the king of the dwarves. Its a good thing too as the strange elf has returned to his world to reveal to his leader that he has found a new place to call home. These particular elves are fleeing their planet as they have been engaged in a centuries long war with the demon hoard and have been forced back to the last city on the last planet in their kingdom. The issue for the current residents of Midkemia is that these elves look to rule over the "lesser races" and any defiance will be met with oblivion.

What I've just given you is the synopsis for about the first four chapters. Perhaps the reason I enjoy Feist's books so much is that he crams so much into such a small space. Unlike some other authors *cough* Jordan *cough* he doesn't take pages and pages (or books and books) to expound on every little nuance of a character whether it's relevant or not. His descriptions of people, places and events are rich and detailed and serve to further the story without having to have a bloody book devoted to why a character is emo. One may think that that this may take away from the story or the entire Midkemia series as a whole, but it really doesn't. The way he alway manages to twist all the different plot arcs into a fine thread keeps me coming back for more. Feist is willing to dipose of characters that have served their purpose while introducing new ones to continue the plot. He keeps things tightly paced and thoroughly entertaining while conveying just the right amout of character motivation. Honestly people, twenty-five books and I have yet to be disappointed.

CBII Book 1: The Graveyard Book - Neil Gaiman - (The Good One)

2009-11-11T13:47:00.001-06:00

The name of my book is The Graveyard Book. It is about a boy named Bod who grows up in a greveyardbecause his parents got killed by someone named the Man Jack who is actually Mr. Frost. Bod learns how to faid haunt and dream walk. His guardian is Silas. Silas brings Bod his food and clothes. Bod learns the ways of the graveyard by being taught by the ghosts.

My favourite character is Liza Hemstock. She is a ghost witch. I like her because she is a witch and is magical. She died by the villiagers in her town. She wouldn't say she was a witch but the villiagers wanted proof so they dumped her in the pond and if she didn't hold her breath she was a witch. She held her breath because she didn't want to let tham know. But they they still wanted proof but would rather be safe and they burnt her alive but right before they she cursed them and a couple of days later the plague came and most of the villagers died and the curse came true.

The main characters are Bod (short for Nobody Owens) Silas (Bod's guardian) and Jack Frost who is of the Man Jack race. Jack Frost and the other Man Jacks want to kill Bod becuase they know that if Bod was to grow up he would rid the world of the Man Jack race. The Man Jack race are people who kill to find Bod.

CBII: It Was Something Yellow: Book 4 - The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy - Douglas Adams

2009-11-11T13:15:00.001-06:00

I've got to admit, I've heard a lot about Doulas Adam's The Hitchhicker's Guide To The Galaxy and most of it sits determinedly on the favourable side of the fence. Of course I was expecting to be blown away within the first ten minutes of the book but maybe I would have enjoyed it more as a radio broadcast. You see, this is how the book came into existance. Originally it was an episodic radio broadcast done in Britain and was then picked up and published an a variety of incorrect ways. Chapters were published out of order or were missing entirely, parts of book two were mashed into book one and so forth. In the forward to the book (which is the entire collection), Adams explains the journey that results in this edition The Trilogy Of Four. He aslo assures us that this is indeed the correct version and should be trusted implicitly.

The Hitchhicker's Guide revolves around Arthur Dent who is a wholly unremarkable individual and a friend of his that goes by the name of Ford Prefect. Arthur's house is about to be demolished this morning to make way for a new expressway but it takes Arthur a good while to remember why he should pay attention to the yellow "things" outside his house. Of course, once he remembers what is supposed occur today, he promptly rushes outside, plops himself in the mud in front of a bulldozer and commences arguing with the local bereaucrat. Meanwhile his supposed cousin Ford Prefect (who is actually a not so cleverly disguised writer for The Guide) has recieved a signal that warns him that he should vacate Earth post-haste. In a moment of uncharacteristic generousity, he decides to take Arthur for one last drink. He proceeds to convince Arthur to stop his muddy protest and also, somehow, coerces the bereaucrat to take Arthur's place. Arthur and Ford adjourn to the local pub where Ford lets it be known that the Earth is going to be destroyed in about fifteen minutes. Also, he wishes to know if Arthur has brought his towel as The Guide is insistant that all a hitchhiker needs is a towel as ,if one has a towel, he must have all the other items needed for travelling the galaxy. It's at this point that the Bulldozers level Arthur's house and the spaceships show up. You see, the Earth is slated for demolition in order to build a new intergalactic expressway. The Earth is destroyed and our travellers wake up in a darkend room somewhere else.

All in all The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy is decently entertaining. Adams focuses on the interactions of the characters and the witty dialogue between them to carry the story. In many instances he'll back-fill the story with flashbacks or Guide entries in order to flesh-out characters or give context to their situation. There is a lot of wit and humor in this book but the level of whimsy is off the charts. In spots it seemed to me that the humour was a bit out of place and served nothing more that an oppourtunity to be funny. Indeed, the funniest parts of the book are the Guide entries. While I would chuckle at times within the rest of the story, The Guide entries are hilarious because they are totally deadpanned and serious which is more to my taste. Also, I felt like nothing happend for the first 150 pages or so except the characters blathering at each other. I actually had to force myself to keep going and that is quite rare for me. That being said I'm sure that The Hitchhiker's Guide is perfectly servicable for many people and I'm not going to give up on it either. I just hope something happens in the next book. The Restaraunt At The End Of The Universe.

Hindsight is 20/20 Proof

2009-11-10T03:01:00.002-06:00

DISCLAIMER: I'm drunk. Therefore you may not correct me on spelling, grammar, punctuation or any of that kind of bullshit. If you do, I swear to the God of Kidney Punching (his name is Peeblood) I will hunt you down, tear off your proboscus, grind it into Rosie O'Donnell's anus and re-attach it to your face.

I bitch about my Job a lot. That's because my job can, at times, suck a bunch of ass. This isn't any different from your job. Indeed it would seem to be rather normal given the blogs, status updates, stories and testimonials I've perused. But, just this once, I'm gonna give some props to the bosses that, on a few occassions, make this job the most fucking epic profession that one could ever work in.

As most of you are aware, I'm a public sevant. As most of you are also aware, I'm on the management side of that service and am in a small office that only has a minimal buffer twixt me and the idiocy. Therefore I get to deal with all the Cuntsicles, Twatwaffles, Dorksnorklers and Guntgarglers that walk through the door on a day to day basis. Sometimes I get lucky and they've actually showered. Many a time these instances of crease-funk may actually get to talk to my bosses (which is really quite easy) but I try to do my duty to filter the piss out of the pool so as to save them from this terrible fate. Usually, I tell my bosses that these people don't need to come to Council because their complaints are frivolous, ridiculous and cunninglinguous and therefore don't need to be heard. One Councillor, above all, used to listen to my advice; and one Councillor, above all, used to tell me to go fuck myself. It is this ignorant, depraived, loutish sample of humanity that I hated. He was also the best boss I've ever had.

In my profession, you usually have seven bosses (yay democracy!) and it is extremely rare to be told that you're doing a good job (much like you). It's not because these people are your bosses. It's because they are so un-used to giving any sort of praise whatsoever they don't know how to do it. So, really, it's nice to hear: "Godammit I've been looking to replace you since you got here." Now, that statement is kind of true.

Every time we went to a convention, he would always ask a bunch of Administrators: "Are you looking for a job, because this prick is useless." The brilliant part of this equation is that my reponse would invariably be along the lines of "Don't listen to this old cunt, he still thinks dial-up gets you a hooker." Or: "We're looking for another Administrator, please take the job!" To which I would say: "Shut-up you senile, old, twat! No one else is stupid enough to work for you." Then we would laugh with the greatest of mirth.

It was glorious. We had those other motherfuckers in the room on tilt! How could an employee speak to his boss so? Well, trust pervertedness, hate and respect. We knew that we could be perfectly blunt with each other and it wouldn't be taken personally. We knew immediately that if something was said in confidence, it was kept between the two of us. Seriously, how many jobs have you had, where you could call your boss a cunt and come to work the next day without fear of retribution? We started a shitstorm of gossip! Administraors couldn't believe I'd work for that municipality. Councillors wouldn't believe that an employee would speak to one of them like that. We had such a laugh.

So this evening, as we've polished off the better part of a 40 of rum, he told me "You know, I didn't want to, but we would have paid to keep you." And I replied, "If I still had to work with you, it wasn't enough." We laughed: but I wonder.....

(End drunken ramble)

CBII: Medicated Ointment Edition: Book 3 - Day By Day Armageddon - J.L. Bourne

2009-11-04T08:01:00.000-06:00

What's really interesting about this book is that its essentially an edited version of a web series that Mr. Bourne wrote detailing the day by day struggles of the protagonist in a zombie infested world. I think that the web series worked especially well because the book is written in diary form and therefore lends itself to sometimes short, daily entries and mild cliffhangers. The translation to book form worked decently as all you have to do is take all the entries and put covers on both sides. Day By Day Armageddon is a light read as its a breezy 200 pages but if your looking for somthing revelatory, this isn't the place you'll find it.

Our hero is nameless as the story is written entirely in the first person (as it should be) so I will hereforth refer to him as Billy Bob. Billy Bob is a Navy Pilot who is stationed at a base in San Antonio, Texas and is pretty much your standard military type. He's also moved around a lot, hasn't made any close friends and does his duty. Then things start happening in China (why always China? /rhetorical question). People start to get sick with a strange disease which has piqued the curiosity of the American Government and Military so they decide to send "help". Of course some of the Americans are infected and brought home for treatment and study and the chain reaction begins. Billy Bob is immediately suspisious upon hearing of this disease and starts preparing for the worst. He buys supplies, fortifies his house and ignores the perceived saftey of his military base. Quickly things get out of control and the news media begins reporting on the sick people roaming the streets attacking anyone within snacking distance. Billy Bob is all alone in his house/bunker to face the horror of the undead.

I don't know anything about Bourne, or if he has other works, but his writing style is very simple. The description of the physical appearance of people, places and events isn't very deep and it's sometimes difficult to get a clear picture of what he is trying to convey. The story is nothing new and doesn't add to the zombie cannon as much as take what is already known and been done and rehash it within a different context. There was one delighful surprise that I've never read in any other zombie fiction (I will admit that my experience is limited) which deals with the American reaction to the hoards that I really did enjoy. I didn't feel any of the terror or helplessness that the characters in the book did and I certainly didn't have any "oh, my god" moments. Nonetheless Day By Day Armageddon is an fun little read, if you're not looking for anything new, and have a few hours to kill with some zombie fluff.

CBII: Where Did This Rash Come From: Book 2 - The Law of Nines - Terry Goodkind

2009-11-04T07:18:00.000-06:00

Terry Goodkind is an author who is perhaps best known for his Sword Of Truth Series. In fact, I believe that that particular series of books are the only ones he has written until The Law Of Nines. I'm quite a fan of Goodkind. I own all his books, have read them twice and have invested many years of my life to see the conclusion of the Sword of Truth saga. I would dare say that I love the series with all it's flaws, yawns and foibles so it was without hesitation that I grabbed his new book off of the shelf with an "oooooh" of delight. After blasting through it in about six hours I've come to a conclusion: I've been here before.

Firstly, *POTENTIAL SPOILERS* there, now that that is out of the way.....Alex is your mostly normal, everyday, run of the mill young man. There's nothing overly exceptional about him other than that he is a fairly gifted artist with a penchant for painting landscapes. Then, one day, he saves an unusually attractive woman from being run over by a plumbing truck driven by a couple of guys that look like pirates. After speaking with one of the arresting officers, he strikes up a conversation with this stunning woman named Jax (she's named after the game) and he decides to take her to a local gallery that is showing some of his artwork. Jax is immesurably moved by one of his paintings and he is immediately smitten. Telling Alex that she has really to leave she begins to walk away and vanishes in a crowd. Alex then goes to his grandfather's house to visit as it is Alex's twenty-seventh birthday. His grandfather gives him an envelope that was supposed to go first to his father on his twenty-seventh birthday(who passed away prior to said birthday) then his mother on her twenty-seven birthday (who was institutionalized before she turned twenty-seven) and has now come to him as he is last in the line of succession.

The envelope tells Alex that he has inherited a large swath of land that has some very specific rules attached to it and that he has one year to decide what he wishes to do with the land. Alex decideds to take some time to consider what to do and goes to visit his mother in the mental hospital. She proceeds to tell him some very strange things and he notices a news story that tells him the two officers he met previously at the accident scene were found in an alley with their necks broken. He then he runs into Jax again, who proceeds to tell him some very strange things and that he is the only one tha can help her. Upon returning to his grandfather's house to find it in flames, Alex decides that he needs to get to the bottom of what's going on. Strange things are happening and people are starting to get hurt.

I have to say that I really did enjoy the book. It was tightly paced and contained plenty of action while progressing the story without sacrificing character development. If you liked Goodkind's Sword of Truth series, you'll definately enjoy The Law of Nines, becuase that's what it is; The Sword of Truth. There is absolutely nothing new here. It has the same characters (but with different names), the same villians, (but with different names), the same motivations (but on a different planet). The only difference was that where Richard used a sword, Alex uses a Glock. I was quite disappointed that Goodkind didn't try something different like a supernatural thriller or some such. Please don't misunderstand, if you enjoy Goodkind, you will definately enjoy Wizard's First Glock. I'm willing to give him another shot with book two to see if he does go in a different direction, but really, Alex Rahl and Jax Amnell? Give me a fucking break!

CBII: THE PANT TIGHTENING: Book 1 - American Gods - Neil Gaiman

2009-11-03T16:51:00.000-06:00

With the exception of Good Omens (which was written with Terry Pratchett) I have never read a book written by Neil Gaiman. I thought Good Omens was a decent read, a little too whimsical for my tastes (which may explain my retcicence to read Pratchett) but good none the less. So it was with a bit of trepidation that I started American Gods since I was expecting something along the same lines. After finishing my first 100% Gaiman book, I can now understand why many Pajibans love him so.

The Book opens with the central character named Shadow. Shadow is in prison serving a six-year sentence for an assualt he commtted on a couple of his compatriots in a robbery. He's due to be paroled after only three years due to good behaviour and he's dedicated to keeping his head low so he can get back to his loving wife and start anew. On the evening he's paroled (even earier than he thought) he meets a strange gentleman by the name of Wednesday, which also happens to be the day of his parole, and Mr. Wednesday offers Shadow a job as his future prospects are looking decidedly grim. Within the next few days, Shadow meets a series of strange people, who are eccentic to say the least, and learns that he's been recruited as a player in a war of the gods.

Given that the book wieghs in at a decent 592 pages, that is an extremely vague and over simplified description of the book as I really don't want to give away any spoilers, but, Gaiman has crafted an excellent story that is parts mystery, myth, romance, war and redemption. Kind of. I admire the way he presents the protagonist as almost perfectly neutral as Shadow is by no means a good man but neither is he particularly evil. I found that the way Gamain used this balancing act made me very sympathetic to the main characters plight. Also, Gaiman manages to give us enough hints throughout the story to allow us to draw some of our own conclusions but there really is nothing here that is spoon fed to the reader. I thouroughly enjoyed the dark tone of the book and most instances of levity are delivered with a wit that wouldn't be out of place in the Sahara. Not everything turns out for the best for Shadow and the other characters nor should it as that really would've tarnished the book for me. If I had one complaint, it would be that I'm not up to speed enough with my mythology and therefore I think I missed some of the subtility of both the book and the interactions between some of the characters. Even I will admit though, that is a very insignificant issue to take with what is otherwise an excellent book.

A HALLOWEENY EPILOGUE

2009-11-02T19:07:00.000-06:00

Scary Bitches

I found something out this Halloween. What did I find out? My eldest daughter is a nerd. I don't say that as if it's a bad thing, it just means that I'm going to have to prepare for the coming years a little bit differently. She went to a Halloween party on Saturday afternoon.....at the bookstore. Like I said, not a bad thing but a little bit different then what I'm used to. As an added bonus, she won a book and a gift card which just added to the excitement of Cannonball Read II: Honey I Shrunk My Penis.

My previous post ranted on the lack of celebration at Halloween and the phasing out of the fun at school due to different religions or traditions. While taking the girls trick or treating, I ran into the complete opposite of this on a couple of occassions. There were two Asian families on our route of treaty goodness and at both houses the families were exstatic to see the kids. I mean the whole family (all eight of them) came to the door and started laughing and talking to the girls and generally making a big to do about the whole thing. It was awesome and honestly the kids were a little taken aback.

At about eight or nine houses people asked the girls what they were. The Good One's costume is pretty obvious and didn't really get a lot of reaction. The Bad One's however, drew more than a couple distainful looks. The conversation would usually go thusly:

Candy Pimp/Pimpette - Oh, look at you two! What are you supposed to be?
TGO - I'm a zombie!
Candy Pimp - I see. And what are you?
TBO - I'm an evil fairy!

*uncomfortable silence*

Candy Pimp - Oh, a fairy. That's nice.
TBO - NO! an evil fairy.
Candy Pimp - Right.

*Casts evil glare at the father standing on the sidewalk laughing uncontrollably*
Seriously, it happened like eight times and it was still funny as hell.

Finally; nobody, and I mean nobody complained about my pumkin display. I'm actually kind of disappointed because I was in the mood for some righteous indignation. But Nooooooooo, no fun for Doran. I mean with all the stuffy bitches out there how could I not get shit over this:

There was brains splattered on the house and everything. People just never fail to disappoint.

StabbyMart: We'll murder the Great Pumpkin too.

HAPPY ORANGE AND BLACK DAY!

2009-10-29T08:50:00.003-06:00

Does this look right?

Happy Orange and Black Day y'all! Wait.......what the fuck is Orange and Black Day? Really? Instead of letting the kids dress up in their costumes at shcool, they are "encouraged to wear orange and black? But wait, some of the kids can dress up? Would somebody care to explain this to me? Why is it that some of the kids can dress up but most are required to wear orange and black? Well of course, because some people don't celebrate Halloween. That makes complete sense. Oh, no costume parade either? Why? Because it takes away from school time? What's everybody doing Friday afternoon again? Halloween parties, bowling or other non-school activities? I can understand that. Well at least I could if I were a COMPLETE FUCKING IDIOT!

I'm sure that this will piss some of you off and I can understand that you may not wish to talk to me after I'm done. I'm willing to accept this becuase I've fucking had it. I've had it with society catering to every minority in this great country of ours. We're a melting pot of different colours, cultures and religions. We have to get along even though I'm quite aware that we constantly don't. I'm 100% aware that various religions and races have been persecuted over the centuries for no good reason other then that they conflict with ones own. But for fucks sake, Halloween? Dressing up as monsters or princesses now offends some people's delicate sensibilities. You know what else might offend one's sesnses? Me skull fucking your eye-socket with a vampire mouthed fleshlight. I'm tired of having to give up my traditions and celebrations becuase literally three people don't like it.

Honestly, if we're going to take this approach to public celebrations, we should be abolishing Christmas (I'm well aware that they're trying) tying Santa up and stoning him. To hell with New Years Eve, the Chinese celebrate it at a different time so lets just get rid of it all together. America celebrates Thanksgiving at a different time then Canada and I'm sure there are some americans living here (you'd better hope I never find you) so let's kick that one to the curb as well. Fuck it! recently dumped people probably aren't all that into Valentine's Day either, down with love! Down with love! Easter? I'm not even touching that one with Tracer Bullet's dick.

People, we all came to this country at some time and brought our religions and traditions with us, but some have been here longer than others. If you want your kids to go to school in a kilt, I don't care. A burka, I don't care. A turban, I don't care. In fact, please do send your kids to school in culturally specific clothing. Maybe it would help open a dialogue so that we can teach our kids more about each other and broaden their understanding of other cultures. But the Supreme Court of Canada has ruled that we have to be tolerant of other peoples traditions and religions. Right down to a sheikh being able to wear a turban as part of a uniform that has remained essentially unchanged for two hundred years. I respect your right to express yourself, pray to whomever you want and celebrate your traditions so, in return, I expect the same thing. I also expect policy makers to start fucking grow a pair and stop this ridiculous pandering to a very few people. Oh, that includes those fucking puritans who look upon Halloween as a form of devil worship.

The long and the short of it is: it's Halloween, pull the stick out of your ass and let the kids have some fun. Oh, and my kids will be wearing their costumes. Cockgobblers.

(I also have a lovely rant on the worst school ever, but that's for another day.)

StabbyMart: Putting The "Weeeeeee" Back in Halloween.

THE STABBYMART CATALOGUE

2009-10-27T08:03:00.000-06:00

We here at StabbyMart are committed to providing you with the most pleasurable shopping experience. When you shop at our store, you will find only the finest items of death, pain and dismemberment. Please avail yourself of our complimentary Rascal scooters outfitted with the latest in flame-broiling technology. For your conveinience, they are also equipped with a multi-flavour liquor dispenser and our patented fetapult. Shopping at StabbyMart should be a pleasurable experience for you. Our other shoppers, however, should watch their bitch-asses, know their role and stay the fuck out of your way.

We at stabbymart understand that some people can't make it to our store in person. We sympathize with the shut-ins, fatties who can't fit through their front doors and World of Warcraft enthusiasts. In the interest of serving the losery side of the population, we've developed a seasonal catalogue that will allow these wastes of space to shop for their favorite items of torture and headblastoffness in the comfort of their own home. Mostly to use on themselves I would suspect but neverthless, they're almost people too. Now you might ask yourself "why, in this day and age, doesn't StabbyMart have a website?" Beacause FUCK YOU!, that's why.

Say hello to the Platinum Knuckled Expandable Sodomizer ($79.95). Do you hate rain? Do you hate people who make you go out in the rain? Do you hate people you randomly meet while standing in the rain? This little beauty comes with a solid platinum taint puncher, a 100% washable, kevlar prostate prober and can also double as an umbrella. Simply close the protective mushroom, insert and re-open to impart an excrutiating rectal rearranging. Guaranteed to expand colons by at least 50%.

Tired of having to take a cold shower? Sick of pulling massive gobs of wirey pubic hair out of the drain? Exasperated by shampoo bottles that have been used as dildos? Do we have the item for you! Meet the Loufa Of Exfoliating Death ($29.62). This little puppy looks like a regular loufa, feels like a regular loufa and even recieves a jolly good rogering like a regular loufa. What's the difference? Our patented process that infuses the loufa with a time-release acid treatment. They'll never know that they're actually applying a thin layer of caustic acid to their skin that won't trigger until an hour later. Watch in joy as this lovely loufa exfoliates then renders their flesh into a gruesome slurry of blood, guts and ass that would impress even the most discerning abbatoir.

This trusty little fellow is the Ultimate Upper Management Defender ($216.58). Give it as a gift when your on your bosses good side. Then force him or her to use it when they inevitably fire your lazy office supply stealing ass. Built of a lead/mercury alloy, it's slowly killing your pustuous hufflecunt of a boss even if they don't use it as it was intended. Giggle with glee as that skidshart lovingly caresses the asbestos infused grip and fingers the cyanide dipped trigger. But really, there is no satisfaction like watching that whore use The Defender as nature intended. Make sure that you get him good and scared, perhaps with your own weapon, and watch that motherfucker pull the trigger. You know she will, she's upper management. She couldn't tell her rancid valley from her cock chunnel if her life depended on it. And it does.

This cuddly little guy is a member of StabbyMart's specially trained Kitteh Death Squad ($128.92 each). These masters of disguise and subterfuge are trained in the arts martial as well as all other kinds of nefarious shit. The cat lady down the street won't fucking know what hit her when this little ball of cuddly armageddon walks through her door, fucks the alpha cat in the ass and disembowels Mrs. Pusseh with one swipe of it's razor sharp kitty claws. Also for use on those fucking annoying lolcat wusses. Yeah, your cat is cute, try stroking this feline, fuckface. StabbyMart also carries a wide selection of fully trained dogs, bunnies, howler monkeys and manatees for all your animal-lover murderin' needs.

Got a particularly annoying co-worker? Perhaps a employee with a terrible hair style? Just feel like fucking up a lot of people in a short amount of time? Well folks, this regal creature is The Headbadger ($1523.00). Produced by our special supplier jM, she has trained all of our headbadgers with a strict regimen of Hannah Montana's greatest hits, followed by sensory deprivation, inappropriate fondling and Grey's Anatomy marathons. This bad boy will tear off your scalp then make sweet, furry, clawy love to your grey matter. They do have a tendancy to shred everything and everyone in the room so you should choose an empty, hosable facility or use a room that you don't plan on entering ever again. Works best on large groups of people such as a cubicle farm or on a subway.

WARNING: may become amorous after particularly lengthy bouts of carnage. In this case, just hold on and hope he doesn't perforate your lower intestine.

One of our Chartreuse Light Specials. This twelve pack of Stabbyblades (49.67) is a perfect gift for that husband that won't leave or that wife who won't let you. The closest shave that money can buy and a bargain at any price these cartridgas are so full of horse steroids that they won't know what hit them. Men will have their junk shrivle up to resemble baby Benjamin Button and women will have a schlong so long they may finally be able to do to themselves what you haven't been able to for years. Also look for our habanero shaving cream in the skin care isle.

StabbyMart Stickynotes ($10.99 pack of 217). Say it like you mean it with these pre-printed stickynotes that come in a variety of colours. A note for every occasion and a saying that the recipient can tell is truly from the heart. Did you just diddle your best friends wife? There's a note for that. Just busted a nut in your best girls hair? There's a note for that. Accidentally stuck your tether-ball pole in the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving thereby giving grandma a heart attack and your Aunt Gertrude more action than she's seen since Regan was in office? There's four notes for that. Honestly, how have you survived without these your whole life?

Professor StabbyMart's Ass-Blaster Deluxe Colon Cannon (Free with the purchase of Crackbaby Coke Chemistry Set). Have you ever felt not so fresh? Ever had that not so clean feeling? Me neither. But for the dirty, smelly, greasy, flatulent pustule of humanity in the office next to yours this is a god send. Admittedly, this particular device will require some effort on your part. This may stretch both your strength and your stomach to their very limits but the payoff is well worth it. Simply insert the Easyplug^TM applicator into the offending persons anus and turn on the water. In a matter of moments you will be able to observe the belly swelling like a water balloon until "POP!" their head comes right off like that creepy clown sprinkler I had as a kid. All that's left behind is the squeaky clean smell of vinegar and water. Oh, and a body. Please call our world renowned body disposal service for clean up. Only $71.25 per hour.

We hope that you have enjoyed your perusal of our wares and should you wish to order please call 1-888-555 -CUTABITCH.

StabbyMart: Cause we like pictures.

H/T to Danica Dragonfly for the idea.

CANNONBALL II: DEEP THROAT EDITION

2009-10-24T14:57:00.001-06:00

As you know, I'm rocking the Cannonball II: Pants Boogaloo starting November 1st and I've decided that I will only read books I've never read before. So far, this is how the list of literary face-sexed awesomeness plays out. Don't hate because I have wicked mad taste in reading materials and tend to stick to the the ass-blasting bodaciousness of Science Fiction and Fantasy. Tremble, bitches!

In no particular order:

1. American Gods - Neil Gaiman (I've never read him with the exception of Good Omens)
2. Prelude to Foundation - Issac Asimov (better known as God)
3. Pride And Prejudice And Zombies - Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-smith
4. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams (Never read it, am ashamed.)
5. The Restaraunt at the End of The Universe - Douglas Adams
6. Life, the Universe and Everything - Douglas Adams
7. So Long, and Thanks For all the Fish - Douglas Adams
8. The Law Of Nines - Terry Goodkind (Truthiness)
9. Boneshaker - Cherie Priest (Steampunk, motherfuckers!)
10. Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman
11. Day By Day Armageddon - J.L. Bourne (zombie goodness)
12. Anansi Boys - Neil Gaiman
13. John Dies @ The End - David Wong (more undeadiness)
14. The Ghost King - R.A. Salvetore
15. Foundation's Edge - Issac Asimov
16. Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson
17. The Gargoyle - Andrew Davidson
18. To Your Scattered Bodies Go - Philip Jose Farmer*
19. The Fabulous Riverboat - Philip Jose Farmer*
20. The Dark Design - Philip Jose Farmer*
21. The Magic Labyrinth - Philip Jose Farmer*
22. Gods of Riverworld - Philip Jose Farmer*

*I constantly do this. I'll find a new author I like and devour everything they've written until I'm spent. I did it with Peter F. Hamilton and when I was finished I had to take a month long break.

20. The next George R.R. Martin book in The Song of Ice and Fire.
21. Peter Hamilton's next book.
22. Peter Hamilton's next next book (dude is amazing and pumps out quality like a machine)
23. Rides A Dread Legion - Raymond E. Feist
24. Shutter Island - Dennis Lehane

That's where we're sitting right now. I'm not going to plan the rest of the reading as I'll invariably read one of these authors and end up reading the rest of their books and it's dependant on what the library has available. Also, I'll be picking up suggestions from the blogs and Pajiba's posted reviews. But the real reason I'm not finishing my list is because it'll cause spontaneous orgasm and I'm not going to be responsible for cleaning up that mess.

StabbyMart: Jizzing on your face with booky goodness since 2009.

STABBYMART'S NO STABBING POLICY

2009-10-21T07:00:00.003-06:00

So tonight I have to attend what we term "the annual public meeting". I fucking loathe these grandoise wastes of my time and taxpayer money. Firstly; because nothing every really comes of them, secondly; becuase it gives every asshole an oppourtunity to open their mouths and spew whatever sewage they think is appropriate, and thirdly; because it gives the elected officials (my bosses) a specific time to kiss ass and make a bunch of commitments that will never-ever be kept. Let me paint you a picture:

These meetings are in the town hall format because, well, this is a town (village, actually). Because of the recent presidential elections and the meeting on Universal Health Care, I'm sure that you are all familiar with this process. As I'm also sure you are aware, these meeting tend to bring out the uninformed assholes and the ignorant as well. You know, those people who have a bone to pick and need an audience to listen to them while they tear and masticate every rancid piece of flesh off of that poor femur. The difference in my situation is that, unlike Healthcare or one of the most historic elections in U.S. history, there is no issue. Seriously, some of the big-ticket items I've had my ass reamed over:

We need a cat bylaw because one keeps walking through our yard.
My neighbour's dog pissed on the snowman my kids made.
I don't like the way my neighbour parks his car.
The grader knocked over my mailbox. (which was situated too close to the road).
I think the town should let me park my fifth-wheel in the alley (thereby blocking all traffic).

And the piece de resistance:

I don't like the way the paperboy delivers my paper.

Now, don't get me wrong, I fully appreciate the need for elected officials to communicate with the public and have the public's concerns heard, but, are you fucking kidding me?! These are those types of pus-filled hemorrhoids that get up all blustery and make an issue out of something that isn't. They stand there shouting about their rights as a taxpayer to have the municipality rectify this grevious affront! They pay there taxes so therefore that gives them cart blanchè to act like an undignified goat spelunker and tell you exactly what your doing wrong and how you will fix it. Never mind that most of these issues could be addressed with just one little phone call.

But you feel the need to wait until you're in a room full of people to tell us about your pressing mailbox issue? Really? The municipality should be ashamed of it's obvious neglect because we don't cut your lawn and we had the audacity to send you a letter asking you to do it? We won't clean your driveway for you even though you have a perfectly functional musculatory system? We won't widen the road and your lane because your bus driver can't execute a three point turn? We refuse to act as a babysitting service because your so overprotective that you won't allow your child to walk 1/2 a block home without you? Who the fuck do we think we are!? The Sultan of Moose Jaw!? We should be drawn, quartered, halved, then sixteenthed for our obvious distain of your basic human rights. How dare we ask that you actually do something for yourself!

Get fucked, you vomitous lakes of Paris Hilton's douche water! While you're bitching about your driveway, I'm trying to figure out how to get everybody to work. While you're pissy about your mailbox, I'm trying to figure out how to make sure you get emergency services if you need them. While you're bitching about the school bus (wrong office, by the way) I'm fighting to keep your school open. While you're precious baby can't manage walk his ten-year-old ass home, I'm.....well....... it's time to take the titty out the mouth, bitch.

I can understand that most people (and I mean most) can't see the big picture. I appreciate that in this day and age its hip to look out for #1. I am aware that colorectalcraniumism is a disease that rivals HIV in it's infection rate. But for fucking Jesoraptors sake, can we breed a little fucking common sense back into the species? Can we euthanize the fucktarded? Can we pig roast the ignorant with fish hook embedded Louiseville Sluggers? May we skullfuck the stupid with the phallus of intelligence?

Where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I literally have to perform calming exercises during these meetings. I have to say to myself, "Ok D, deep breaths, count to five, pinch your leg, smack your junk". I'm sure you can relate, one has to be professional. Where I'd like to be "me" I can't. I have my bosses in the room and I have to consider how my behaviour reflects on them. I also have to consider that they are trying to be the biggest ass-suckers they can be and, if I were to tell a ball-gargler that they are a glorious pile of gonnorrhea, it could reflect negatively on The Lords. It's really quite painful to restrain oneself in such ways but, of course, if they'd call me or come into my office, I'd be able to smack them with my schmack of sassy shrewdness and we could be done with this stupidity. I'd bruise a couple of eyes and bloody a nose or five but it would be problem solved. Alas, they have at me when my hands are tied and my satchels of Earl Grey are secured.

Cunts.

StabbyMart: Where Gin and Rage Mix Perfectly.

THE BAD ONE BALKS AT EFFORT

2009-10-16T13:16:00.000-06:00

So I floated the idea of the kids joining the Cannonball II: How Do You Do bye my wife and the two girls. As suspected, the eldest jumped at the chance and even asked if it was ok if she read more than one book a week. (cue fatherly pride) Of course it's alright to rad more than one. Unfortunately for her father, she's going to make me look bad by finishing the damn contest in twenty weeks or so. She's required to read books that are age appropriate or higher, no comics and has to write ten book reports/reviews. I'll post the odd one up here so you can bask in the cuteness.

The middle daughter was, let us say, less than enthusiastic. Her initial response was disbelief, quickly followed by "I don't think I want to do that". When I asked her why she said it was because she didn't think she could read very well. I assure you this is not the case. I asked her how she thought she would get better if she didn't practise and what she was going to do when she got older and couldn't read very well? Both her mother and I told her that she could read quite well for her age and so she agreed to do it too but we had to do a lot of prodding. She also has to give us an oral report on the book to prove she read it.

I should probably mention something about the bad one. She's smart, stubborn and devious. She knows that if she slacks off, usually somebody will do whatever needs doing for her, usually her sister (Smart!). Once we made her clean up her room, for two days! Finally, Jacq decided she'd had enough and made Baddy sit in the corner for half an hour then sent her back to clean her room. This happened four times until finally Jacq asked her whether she wanted to clean her room or sit in the corner. She chose the corner. When I came home she had been there a couple of hours (Stubborn!). I knew that this tactic wasn't going to work as I would've done the same thing as Baddy (we are very much alike) so I tried a different tactic. I told her she wasn't eating anything until her room was clean. It was done in half an hour.

Now the deliciously devious part of her personality. My wife and I were sitting in the living room, watching tv while the girls were in the bath tub. All of a sudden we hear this spine-tingling screech from the bathroom liek somebody was strangling an sopprano abino cat. We, of course, figured someone slipped or otherwise got hurt and went rushing in. Baddy was crying and we could see a pretty hard bite mark on her arm. We questioned Goody as to why she would bite her sister to which she responded that she didn't. Of course we don't believe her and continue to press for information. Now Goody is like her mom, a terrible liar, so as she sticks to her story for a good ten minutes we looked into the matter a little further. After rocking some serious CSI shit we concluded that Baddy had, in fact, bitten herself hard enough to leave deep indentations and bruising in order to get her sister into trouble. Did I mention she was two at the time? Yeah, I can't wait until she hits the teenage years.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, both girls are CannonBalling and we've determined what the prize will be. If they both finish the fifty-two books in a year they will each get a $100.00 gift card to McNally Robinson (it's a book store). Goody was extatic, Baddy's reply was "So we win more books if we read all the books? Hmmmmm." So I did capitulate and told her she could buy something else, from the bookstore. HA! Game on, bitches.

ADMIN GETS INSPIRED

2009-10-14T12:05:00.002-06:00

I've had an epiphany. In the spirit of the Cannonball Read II: EBNWMLCMMIRWD, I'm going to see if my daughters want to join. They're usually pretty stoked about anything Pajiba related (read: fully indoctrinated)so I'm pretty sure they'll be in it to win it. I'm doing this for two reasons:

1. The excess of video games the kids have been playing and the amount of tv watching has started to bother me. (iCarly should be drawn and quartered). So perhaps this is a way to get them away from that.

2. My middle daughter can read fairly well, but generally dismisses anything that requires effort. Perhaps an performance/reward approach would help to motivate her to explore the written word.

I think I may also have my eldest write up a couple of reviews for shits and gigs. I have no doubt that she could read a book a week with little effort. The kid reads at a grade nine/ten level already.

Now, good people, what do I offer as a reward? Besides the Pajiba donation. Hmmm, I suppose I should check with Dustin on that one. Suggestions may be made below. Also, gimme some awesome book suggestions. Now!

STABBYMART GETS A BOOK SECTION

2009-10-14T07:00:00.003-06:00

It's official! Cannonball Read 2: What ya Gonna Do When Stabbymania Runs Wild on You, kicks off November 1st, 2009. This time, I'm in cause I have a bloggy thing that nobody reads. I have to read fifty-two books in a year and write reviews for all of them. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be a challenge, with the kids and the work and the home improvements that I need to finish before I'm dead. But, I'm sure I'll make it with the help of amphetamines and rectal thermometry.

Check back if you want to read the reviews. I warn you though, I'm not about to pull punches. If I think the book reeks of a three-day-old poopy diaper, I'm going to say it. Mind you, that smell may actually be a three-day-old poopy diaper, but that's not the point. The point is that it's for a good cause and it's a competition wherein I can prove my lack of reading diversity and my weak-ass writing. It doesn't matter, I'm going to win. Why? Because I've got a store with an arsenal. Let the cutting begin, bitches.

THE THEORY OF RELATIVITY

2009-10-06T20:03:00.001-06:00

Disclamer: For you sciencey types, I'm speaking in layman's terms in the following. Don't give me shit for errors or oversimplifications because I'm not a fucking physicist I'm just trying to be funny. If you don't find it funny then your a bad person that eats puppies and pisses on rainbows and I'll have to shank you in the scapula. Anyways:

Albert Einstein states that the Theory of Relativity is e=mc² That is to say that energy = mass, multiplied by a constant (the speed of light), then squared. What most people don't realize is that Einstein's theory has so many everyday, real world applications that it is pretty much guaranteed that you will be applying his theory to mundane situations in instances where you generally wouldn't realize it. As a matter of fact, I believe that Einstein is the greatest scientist that ever lived because of the forsight that he had when he developed his theory.

For me, this happened today in three seperate occurances and, honestly when I got home and thought about it, it really blew what little mind I have. You see, I apply Einstein's theory in a slighly different way but in a fashion in which I believe was Einstein's true intent with this masterpiece of physics. To begin with, let's flesh out the variables in the equation.

- e - Which is energy and also translates to "how much work I have to do"

- = - If I have to explain this to you, stop right now, go get a pry bar and gently lever your head out of your rectum.

- m - Mass or the amount of "you" that there phyisically is.

- c - the constant or as Einstein said "the speed of light". I think by light he meant how much light could be on the other side of ones skull when somebody was looking in ones ear.

- ² - a factor. In this case one would multiply the constant by itself.

So to summarize: The amount of work I do is equal to you, times your stupidity, squared. See. Genius!

Todays first instance dealt with an individual who owned some land that we built a road adjacent to THREE YEARS AGO! (again with the fucking road building). Due to the way the road was situated, we had to purchase a five meter (fifteen feet, silly Americans) width of land running parallel to the road. It seems simple right? We have it surveyed, pay the man, and register the road widening. Nope. Three years later he decides he has an issue with this. Today he told me that he wants the municipality to hire a surveyor to determine how much land he has. His reasoning? The municipality built this road and took land from him therefore it is the municipality's responsibility to determine how much land he has remaining. My dumbfounded response is simple: "do you know how much land you had when you bought it? Yes? Well the road survey shows that we took 1.23 acres. Therefore you have 157.2 acres left." Now, with any reasonable intelligent human being this would have ended the discussion, but not with Mr. Entitlement. "Well, what if the surveyor is wrong?" "Well" I ask, "what if we survey your property and that survey is wrong?" We go back and forth with this shit for about ten minutes but he won't tell me why he is insisting that the municipality pay thousands of dollars to tell him how much land he's got (of course I already know and it's complicated). Finally, I get fed up: "So, you think that the municipality should pay thousands of dollars of tax payer's money just to tell you how much land you have because we built a road. Even though we've already got a survey which tells us how much land we took and, ergo, how much land you have left?" His answer? "Yes."

It's at this point that I'm using all the energy I have to not beat him like a read-headed step child so all I can say is "No. We won't be doing that." At which point he gets pouty like I just told him to stop playing with himself and tells me he's going to talk to my boss. By all means motherfucker, because if my bosses back you on this, I'm going to find new ones.

I think that this is a good time to suggest that the "e" in e=mc² can also include the effort that it takes to refrain myself from saying exactly what is on my mind or to tear you into confetti with my bare hands. That was a good example of fucknuttery (honestly, how would you react if your government told you that they spent $6000.00 to tell some douche what he already knows? Oh, wait...... ) but lets move on to ignorance.

Now this guy is an immigrant. Which is not to say that he's a bad person or any of that shit, only that he knows absolutely fuck all about developing. This guy tried to do a residential subdivision two years ago that was such a gong show that it was finally just refused. Then he turned his land into a used car lot. Did I mention that his license has now been revoked for non-compliance? His latest moneymaking scheme is chickens. Twenty-fucking-thousand of them! Dude walks into my office with a request to start a chicken barn in my municipality. His request is a hand written piece of paper that is comprised of four sentences: I want to start a barn with 20,000 chickens, (over my dead body) I will employ many people, (two or three tops) I will be able to pay more taxes (my favorite argument and false) Please give me permission to do this. (remember, dead body). This is were I proceed to ask him a bunch of questions that anybody who has even the smallest idea about what he's proposing would know. "Where on the property, who will run it, have you inquired about licensing with the Provincial government, you're aware that 75% of your property is underwater, right? And, most importantly, "what are you going to do with the 7,000 POUNDS OF SHIT THAT THAT MANY CHICKENS PRODUCE EVERY DAY!" Fuck!

I take a half an hour to explain to him the ridiculously complex proceedure you have to go through to start an Intensive Livestock Operation from the plan, all the way to approval. The whole time he smiles and nods and drowns me in a cloud of halitosis all the while I'm thinking "You've got to be fucking with me". Finally the guy takes his forms and leaves.......and is back two days later. His "application" now consists of a five sentences on a piece of paper, a map of his refused subdivision with a square drawn in ink signifying the barn and the business card of the guy who will buy his chickens. He should thank whatever god he prays to that I was off on Friday else he would have been visiting her/him/it personally.

e=mc²people.

A little stupidity anyone? This is the call I had at the end of the day. In the interest of expediency and the fact that it should explain itself, I present our conversation, verbatim.

Me - Hello municipal office.

Dorksnorkle - If my neighbours tree falls on my house, and he doesn't have insurance, does the village pay for the damages?

Me - *shocked silence* Excuse me?

Twatwaffle - The guy next door doesn't have insurance, he's a bum. What happens if his tree falls on my house? Doesn't the village insure me?

Me - No. Why would the village insure private property?

Whoreson - Because I live in the village.

Me - The village doesn't own your property. You do.

Taintgobbler - But I don't have insurance!

Me - Well, that's not very intelligent. I would suggest that you may want to rectify that.

*click*

Once again, e=mc²

I hope you have enjoyed my interpretation of Einstein's theory. Feel free to share your opinions or your own interpretations. Oh, but if you disagree with me, I'm relatively sure you can go fuck yourself.

StabbyMart: We gettin' physical up in this bitch!

I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU

2009-10-04T15:11:00.000-06:00

THE WINDS OF DUNE:
FRANK HERBERT AND KEVIN J. ANDERSON

Have you ever been in a relationship that you knew had run its course and should have ended a long time ago? You know, the one where you're both sitting on the couch, watching TV and you simultaneously look at each other and say "what?" in an unnecessarily acidic way. The one where you sit at the kitchen table during meal times and let the pregnant silence smother you both with her fat (but still sexy) ass. The one where you have sex every Tuesday night because, well, it's Tuesday night and that's what you do on Tuesday night. Pump, pump, clean up. Of course when you wake up Wednesday morning you're just as unfullfilled, angry and resentful with the relationship as you were prior to the scheduled board meeting you now call sex. I've had two of those relationships in my life and, in my own defence, one of them was actually with a human female. It usually takes a long time to end this type of mutual torture and the means of termination typically involves one person committing an act so heinous that it destroys any trust that may have existed between the parties. For one of my relationships, that act was her cheating on me (bitch). For the other, it was the writing of a book.

The Winds of Dune is written by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson. It is the third in a series of books which proports to "finish" the original Dune series that was so masterfully composed by the late Frank Herbert. Before I go any further I need to make an admission: I enjoyed, to different levels, Herbert and Anderson's previous efforts which are the series of three prequels and the the three books comprising the Legends series. They didn't approach anything close to Herbert Sr.'s brilliance but they were decent, somewhat entertaining reads. Given the fact that they take place during times that aren't specifically discussed in the original epic, they tend to stand on their own and, in fact, I view them as a totally separate, original works by the two authors. The new series however, where Herbert and Anderson fill in the blanks of the originals, is nothing short of disasterous. By deciding to play mad-libs with Frank's work of staggering genius, they have managed to permanently taint a relationship that spanned hundreds of galaxies and thousands of years. Brian inherited his father's last name, unfortunately he didn't inherit his talent.

The Winds of Dune takes place in the time between Frank Herbert's Dune Messiah and Children of Dune. For those of you that aren't familiar with the Dune series (you should be ashamed) Frank frequetly left gaps in between the books in the series. Sometimes these gaps were a few years, sometimes they were hundreds or thousands of years. Whether Frank intended on returning to the series prior to his death and writing the story of these gaps will remain a subject of some debate as I refuse to believe that he intended for his son to lovingly sodomize these particular holes. Winds deals with one of the smaller gaps wherein Paul Muad'Dib has disappeared into the desert leaving behind his two orphaned children, who are to be his heirs, and his sister Alia who acts as Regent until the children come of age. Instead of taking the logical approach and dealing with trials and tribulations of raising two gifted, orphaned children and running the imperium, Herbert and Anderson inexplicably decide to focus on The Regency and the conflict that Alia is attempting to resolve with Bronso of Ix. As Bronso is the peddler of disinformation about the deification of Muad'Dib, Alia is single minded and cruel in her pursuit of the rebel. But they don't really focus on that either. True, they do one of their patented flashbacks to establish the origin of the conflict and "flesh out" a character that really contibutes very little to the series, but in the end it falls short. Instead they decide to focus on the Duchess Jessica Atredies and her challenges, both past and present, of running her Duchy, the ever changing relationship with her daughter Alia and her efforts to do the right thing regarding her deceased son.

I think part of the beauty of Frank's story was that he left those gaps in his work, only hinted at events that occured and let your imagination fill in the rest. There is none of that in Herbert and Anderson's interpretation. You are not allowed to use your imagination and you are not allowed to question any of the events in the story. There are no hints, there are no surprises, there are no moments when you say to yourself "Oh, so that's why this plot point in Children is the way it is". You are told everything that the authors want you to know and they leave no room for interpretation. Honestly, it's like they're explaining their writing and their story to Hellen Keller while she's got her hands tied behind her back. If you're going to take that approach to storytelling you had better at least make the story compelling and engrossing and trust me, it is neither.In fact these guys weild subtility like your Friday night date waiting for you stark naked in the dinning room while you prepare dessert. You know exactly what he/she (maybe both if you roll that way) wants and there is no mystery as to what the package may contain.

For example, the introduction to part III of the book states the following: "Two months after the end of Muad'Dib's reign. Regent Alia struggles to cement her control over the Imperium." It is at this point where I decided I had to end it. These guys just don't respect me anymore. Do you really have to explain to me that there would be a power vacuum and the incoming Regent would have difficulty conrolling the government when the god damn Emperor of The Universe dies? Do you really need to describe the possible consequences of every bad decision that Alia makes? Do you have to explain that some people are still upset with Muad'Dib and his Jihad that slaughtered billions of people and might therefore still hold a grudge? Fuck you assholes, I don't need this. I'm going to go find somebody that treats me properly and speaks to me like I am an intelligent and fully capable adult.

I suppose I knew that the relationship was faltering when I read Hunters of Dune. I think I knew I should end it with the publication of Paul of Dune but the Duniverse is just so comfortable and familiar. But then they betrayed my trust with The Winds of Dune. A book that is poorly written, shoddily thought out and executed like a death row inmate with a dry sponge; ugly. This book has no reason to exist and I sincerely hope that Frank Herbert was cremated as I would hate to think that his own son keeps digging up his body to teabag whatever is left of his legacy. This book took me over a month to read which has never happened to me before and it made me feel dirty, self-concious and caused me pain every time I picked it up. This is the last straw, the ending of a relationship that has spanned two decades, fifteen books and given me an enormous amount of joy. But really , for the last few years, it has caused me nothing but pain and misery and I know now that it's not going to change. Please don't be mad Brian and Kevin; it's not you it's me, I love you but I'm not in love with you and all those other clichès. On second thought, fuck you guys! It is you and I hope I never see you taint ticklers again. I am not going to be your whore anymore! I'm out!

Frank, baby, we'll always have our memories. I only hope you can rest in peace with your son's sack slapping you in the chin.

AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT

2009-09-29T22:21:00.000-06:00

Disclaimer: I ripped this one off in fifteen minutes and didn't bother editing it so this one time: SHUT YOUR GRAMMATICALLY CORRECT COCK CAVES!

So I'm sitting here on the eve of my thirty second birthday and I'm feeling kind of nostalgic and a little melancholy. You know the drill, just kind of thinking about what the previous years have been like and what may be expected. I have to admit that I'm in a pretty good place right now financially and emotionally but I can definately see some clouds on the horizon. I'm sure I'll be able to handle it with the support of my family (my wife and kids) but, unfortunately I'm going to have to be the adult and insert myself into other peoples business who should be acting far more mature than I. I'll cover this in a subsequent post I'm sure. I actually had something completely different that I was going to post tonight but since I'm feeling a little reflective, I'm going to do this instead.

It's always been facinating to me to hear about other peoples high school experiences and how they were so awesome and it would be so cool to see all of those people again. I look through their high school yearbooks at all the comments and at all the pictures of them and their friends and am genuinely surprised that people seem to have enjoyed it so much. You see it's because I absolutely, unquestionably, passionately, hated high school. Honestly, I hated highschool so much that the thought of attending a renunion never even crossed my mind. Out of all the people I knew during that time I can think of about five that I would ever care to speak to again (yes, Kim, you're one of them). Of course my high school experience has a lot to do with my distain for those hallowed halls. That is, besides the condescending teachers and the waste of time that many of the classes were. To keep things relatively brief I'll just hit the high points.

I was adopted for the second time while I was in the eighth grade. While that may be a story for another day it should go without saying that being on the cusp of high school, in a new city, with no friends and a somewhat new family does not a socially adept Admin make. I struggled to fit in, fell in with a bad crowd, dropped out in the second half of grade nine, moved out of my parents house, drugs, alcohol; you know, that old chestnut. In grade ten I faced the academic challenges and found them lacking, fucked around, got put on Ritalin, didn't need it, wheeee high, got a new group of friends who were much better for me but: yay drugs, started dating a girl, settled down and attended class. Grade eleven wasn't bad, perfect attendance, grew into my hotness, still dating the girl, sexy times, less drugs, honour role, job, car etc. Grade twelve was relatively the same with the exception of the girl due to the relationship starting to head south. The extra semester I had to take due to dropping out for half of grade nine was the shits. Break up / get back together with girl multiple times, school is sucking a hemmroidal asshole, not getting along with parents, dumped before grad, wallow in self pity etc. etc. We've all been here before.

But I did have one class during that extra semester that I really enjoyed. It helped me to release my inner emo and helped to express the stabbyness I was feeling. (It should be noted that I stopped dressing like a greaser in grade ten. That's what we called the somewhat goth/emo/preppy kids) It was a creative writing class and the teacher would pretty much let us do whatever we wanted. Hell, we didn't even have to work in the classroom if we didn't want to. Given that I hated the whole structure of school, this was right up my alley. Of course there were curriculum components that had to be adheared to, but for the most part, we could do as we wished. The only substantial requirement we had was that we had to pick one piece of writing every week and read it to the class. I passed that class with a 96% and I have to say it was probably the grade I was most proud of because I had to earn it. The reason I felt that I earned it? It was the only "A" I ever had to work for up until my Statute Law test to recieve my certification eight years ago.

So with that - and at the risk of looking like a total fuckwad - lets take a look at the inner workings of an eighteen year old emo feeling (but not looking) admin. The transcribed but 100% original and accurate:

SUPERGLUE

you use me
use me for personal gain
I
always there
always ready
the backup
here to caress you with my words
sooth you with my touch
always put the pieces back together
I'm tired of putting you back together
so tired
vulnerable
so you rape me
again and again
degrading me
stealing my pride
my self esteem
make me feel like dirt
yes you make me feel like dirt
and as I get up from my abuse
you sooth me
and give me back
a measure of what you took
and we live on
sunny
kind
then again
you call on me
to perform my tricks
like a dog
I perform
I come when you call
when you're lonely
when you need companionship
and sent away
when your finished
tail between my legs
again I get up
never die
but I wish I could
and again
you treat me like your bitch
fuck me when it suits you
use me like a whore
your words my payment
and I ask you
do I look like your bitch
and you say half jokingly
yes
but only half
you slap me
kick me
just another bitch
and yet
again I put you back together
again with my words
again with my touch
with my feelings like superglue
and all I wish for
is for someone to put me back together
not shatter me
as you do
all I dream
is for someone to touch me
caress me
to give me back
that which I have lost
someone with superglue

Holy fucking drama, man! If I was was wearing eye make up and fish nets on my arms when I wrote that you'd never know how awesome I would become (allow me my delusions people). Honestly, in hindsight, that chunk of pity-party makes me wonder how I ever managed to sack up and move on, but it was how I felt at the time. Now? I couldn't even imagine feeling that way. I've got it way to good. a gorgeous family, good job, and awesome friends (both flesh and virtual) My apologies all, I didn't mean this as a downer. It is just amazing to me that I could go from that to this in fourteen short years. Actually, I was married with child four years after that lovely sample of angst (although I'm still kind of proud of it). I guess what I'm trying to say is, keep your head up, tomorrow could be all the awesome you're looking for.

StabbyMart: We're kind of sensitive, but we'll fucking stab you if you tell anybody.

WEAPON OF CHOICE PT. 1

2009-09-23T07:51:00.003-06:00

Here at StabbyMart we deal with a variety of customers. All genders, colours, races, nationalities, religions and professions. What I'm saying is that every single day we welcome idiots, morons, asshats, jerk-offs, dickfaces, assholes and the ever popular douche. But honestly, we love 'em! I mean they pay the bills so we have to right? WRONG! At StabbyMart we have a wide selection of devices that are specially suited to tearing these people a new one. Please check out our "Specials" section to find that particular something that will satisfy your inner killer.

Of course these particular implements are tailored to my own requirements but I'm sure that we can find something that will make you just as happy in the pants as I am.

Customer: Mr. Oldensingle - Contrary to popular belief, we here at StabbyMart do actually have hearts. I honestly have some sympathy for these people. There are a lot of customers that have partners who have passed on and they have no fucking idea how to do many things that we take for granted every day.These people are usually two generations older than I and have a total lack of knowledge of how to do the tasks that their better half performed. Fifty years ago, in rural areas, gender roles were pretty specific. Pa did the farming and Ma did the cooking, cleaning, child-raisin' and everything else; and I do mean everything. This includes the vast majority of financial transactions and bookeeping. I've had quite a few men come in who have no idea what a tax notice is, what this invoice is for, how a debit card works and even how to write a check. I'm absolutely floored that these men actually manage to survive on their own. You can usually spot a Mr. Oldensingle by the look of lost confusion that is permanently etched upon their face.

The Purchase: A nice fluffy goose-down pillow - $14.95. The poor bastards are scared, confused and lonely already (although you'd be surprised how often I've heard "I'm glad she's gone") just let them go quietly to the great beyond. Don't feel bad, she's waiting to nag him on the other side. As an additional mercy, I suggest you purchase our stain-resistant, 600 thread count pillow case for $69.95. We all know how hard old-man bodily fluids are to get out of any fabric so why take the chance. Come on, let him go into the great beyond in Egyptian Cotton comfort, it's the least you can do.

Customer: Whiny Pantsless - If this wuss was one of my kids, he would have been told to nut up and spanked like that girl I paid last week. This collection of misery will whine about every. Single. Fucking. Thing. Back up and read that again because I really mean it. He can be spotted by observing his stooped posture, perpetual pout, the highly pitched voice and the complete lack of bulge where a bulge should be. I don't mean the lack of schmack like a Ken doll, I mean this fucker is concave.

This silly little bitch will whine about anything and everything. One should be carefull not to confuse Pantsless with Mr. Bitch who complains about everything. No, Whinypants could have (insert supermodel here) fall from the sky and ride his dick like Elizabeth Berkley in a swimming pool and find fault with it. He could win the lottery and pout that it wasn't just $50,000 more. He could have a never ending supply of scrumptious, sack moistening beer and bitch that he would rather have a Smirnoff Ice. These are people whom I have no respect for. The people who will look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth and whine that the horses breath smells better than their own. These are the people who should just stay in their own house and wallow in their own pity because nobody else is joining the party.

Two examples of this fetid pool of apathy come to mind as I remember that, when these conversations occured, I was almost rendered speechless. The first is a call I received from a gentleman who was upset with his taxes. Now, under normal circumstances, this isn't unusual and is actually to be expected. But in this instance, motherfucker wanted to complain about his taxes going DOWN! That's right my sexy, big breasted friends, this crybaby was upset that he was paying LESS in tax. You may ask yourself "Self?" Cause that's your name, "why in Godtopus' holy, genital manipulating tentacles, would somebody complain about paying less tax?" Well, I'll let his own words say it for him: "You know, the bank takes a payment from me every month for taxes, so now I'm going to have to call them and get the payment changed. It's really inconvenient." That's right, Mr. KnobCheese is saving $550.00 a year, but calling the bank is going to cause him undue stress.

The second instance is when we were building a road in front of an certain individuals property. Our policy is that we will pay the land owner for any crop damage we cause or "borrow" material we use. So picture this: You've got a nice, spanking new road in front of your house that didn't cost you a thing and the municipality just sent you a cheque for $400.00 for what amounts to a grader tire rolling over your land. What do you do? Why you call the municipality to whine about having to claim another $400.00 on your income tax. If you think about it, it makes perfect sense. Municipalities don't get audited by Revenue Canada (The IRS for the Americans among you) so of course you would claim that $400.00 that the government won't ever know about. Idiot.

The Purchase: A Pitch Sensitive Shock Collar - $23.64 If you're going to cry you little bitch, I'll bloody well give you something to cry about. The beauty of this little box of hate is that it's programmed to recognize the pitch in a persons voice. Whiny can speak as much as he wants to, as loud as he wants to, but when that voice rises in tone.......ZAP! As an added bonus, his screams will usually be in a much higher octave as well, so you can sit back and watch him be the author of his own demise. Also available with our brand new rectal attachement which features a self contained electrical amplifier.

Customer: The Boss - I assure you that I do enjoy working with people contrary to my rantings, but sometimes I could literally throttle a motherfucker with my bare hands. No garrot, no noose, just flesh on flesh so that I can feel their larynx crumple like a tin can. Those of you in public service have undoubtedly come across this steaming pile of douche many a time. Upon having a disagreement with you, this cuntface is the one that immediately states: "My taxes pay your salary so you work for me."

This simple statement is an immediate non-starter for me and you can be guaranteed that I will do the very least I can to help you upon your utterance of this completely idiotic sentence. My usual response to this particular type of customer is, "no, I work for the seven people that the public has democratically elected," Typically, this is enough to bring this particular topic of conversation to an end. But in one instance, I had this glorious mound of walking fecal matter in my office that just wouldn't let it go. After he tried for a good fifteen minutes to trap me in some kind of "farmers" logic, I could take no more. I looked at him straight in his one good eye and said "Well, I just bought a loaf of bread at the supermarket yesterday, so I guess that means you work for me now." Needless to say that the conversation didn't go much further. The one with my bosses, however, did.

The Purchase: A pair of luxurious leather gloves - FREE. That's right friends, we here at StabbyMart hate these walking cuntsicles so much we will give you these gloves for free. We don't want you breaking a nail or getting scratched while this bitch is clawing at your hands in a desperate effort to suck down some precious oxygen. We feel that you are doing a public service and should be compensated accordingly. We only have one requirement of you to recieve this free gift (a regular value of $42.67) you must look your victim straight in the eye and scream "Who's the boss now, bitch!" If they rasp anything except "Tony Danza" you are contractualy obligated to donkey kick them in the ballsack/pusslips as an added bonus.

I hope you've enjoyed this short demonstration of our products and how we try to cater to the most specific and refined tastes. Please look for part two of our series whenever I get it done. I'm also in negotiations with Vince Schlomi to act as our spokesperson. I'm quite impressed with how he Slap-chops hookers but I have a feeling that we won't be able to meet his crystal meth requirements.

Oh, and for those of you requesting more nudity:

StabbyMart: Smothering, Choking and Zapping Bitches Since 1977.

RENOVATING TO BETTER SERVE OUR CUSTOMERS

2009-09-15T18:01:00.001-06:00

You all know that I've just started to do this thing. I don't know why I decided to (maybe I felt left out and am compensating for a lack of attention) but I've found that I rather enjoy it. I used to write quite a bit and then life kinda kicked me in the testicles, spanked my ass and called me a bitch. Since then, I've specialized in bureaucratic rhetoric and letters that take three paragraphs to say "no." So, yeah, I'm still trying to find the voice of this particular venture and recover what I've lost of my writing ability.

Having said all of that, I would appreciate any suggestions on how I can make my writing or The Store better. Am I rambling? Is my punctuation wrong? Was that a stupid-ass post? Spelling incorrect? (keep in mind I'm Canadian and I love "u"s). Fuck it, basically I would like you lovely bastards to be my editors. Consider it an investment against not getting flayed within a millimeter of your life by twenty centimeters of flaccid dick. Constructive criticism is always appreciated and you may even earn a discount in the sex toy department (I may also be the sex toy department). Even if you just feel like trolling, come on by. We love your kind at StabbyMart. You allow us to test our wares.

Drop a note in the comments with your input or hit me up on the facebook anytime.

Kisses, bitches

The Managment.

BLOODY PUSSIES

2009-09-14T06:00:00.002-06:00

As many of you know, I'm a parent. I have three beautiful daughters and a dog. I have been a parent for over nine years now and have honed my instincts into a fine set of skills that should render any offspring immediately insane and irreparably damaged for their future partners. I don't know if I'm like other parents in the way that I do things and, quite frankly, I don't fucking care. Many of those who have seen me in action strongly disagree with how I run this joint but I suspect that there may be a hint of jealousy behind their criticism.

See, I'm old school. I spank, I make them use their manners, they have rules, they have chores, they get punished and so on and so forth. The world doesn't owe you anything and it's sure as hell not going to give you anything for free. Most people don't have an issue with this particular aspect of my parenting although it has been called into question from time to time. No, the issue seems to lie with what I allow my kids to do with their free time and specifically what I let them watch on tv and which movies I let them see.

I subscribe to the philosophy of: "as long as you get your shit done, I don't care what you do". Of course, there are restrictions and limitations that are appended to this philosophy. For example, if I feel that they have been spending too much time watching tv or playing video games, I'll make them go and read. It's all about balance, friends. Balance. I'll let them watch whatever they want within reason and, hell, I'll let them watch whatever I want. Of course I'm not going to pop in Dirty Debutantes Vol. 164: Stacey Goes Equine, but they do watch shows like Futurama, The Simpsons, South Park, HIMYM, BattleStar Galactica, Robot Chicken and so on. They've watched movies chalk full of violence, nudity, foul laguage and other such unsavory attributes. They've even seen giant blue peen! For Godtopus' sake, one of their favorites is SuperTroopers! Every time my parents or in-laws or somebody else is at our house and the kids are watching something they deem inappropriate all I hear is "you let them watch that?" My response is always "Yes. It does really seem to have done a lot of damage hasn't it? They don't seem very well adjusted at all."/sarc

As I'm sure you've noticed, every tv show and every movie comes with a rating. From "G" all the way up to X (unfortunately we don't have any of those kinds of theaters here). Now they even have little written warnings under the ratings. My personal favorite is "possible sex off screen." That's right, we now have to warn people about the potential for sex never mind the actual presence of the beast with six and a half backs. So let's look at one of these ratings in particular, people. Let's look at the PG rating. We all know what PG stands for. It stands for Parental Guidance.

I feel that the demon spawn are more than capable of watching programming that some would consider inappropriate as long as my wife and/or I are watching it with them to explain what they are watching. You know, Parental Guidance. For example: "Honey, you know that zombies are fictional and you shouldn't hit people with a cricket bat, right? At least until the apocolypse actually occurs". Or, "Babygirl, you understand that the words Paul Rudd is screaming at Jason Segel aren't appropriate to say to your teachers, right?" (I should mention that I curse like a sailor afflicted with Tourettes and we call these "Daddy Words"). So far, this has worked out rather well. My kids are polite, well mannered and don't call their teachers "fucking throat spelunkers" even though I do. Please don't misunderstand, my kids watch a bunch of regular childrens programming as well. Such quality productions as: iCarly, Hannah Montana, The Lion King 4 & 13/22nds, Bratz The Little Mermaid: Bitch Got A Tail Again and all that other tripe. I honestly have to wonder if these shows do more damage than the ones I let them watch. Hence, I think it is my parental duty to counteract the brain molestation that these reprehensible studio executives are forcing on our youth. Also, Sarina, I suspect that watching these shows may actually be the source of some of your neurosis.

The greatest advantage that my policy on the viewing of entertainment media has, is that the conversations with your children can become so much more rewarding. When I look at one of the supposed fruit of my loins and say "Timmmay!" they immediately know that I'm telling them they've done something retarded. When they come to the supper table and boldly pronounce "Milk was a bad choice!" I know that they would have preffered a different beverage. When my wife looks at the large, bleeding laceration on one of their legs, asks what happens and gets the reponse "Tis but a scratch", we know that it's not that bad. But the absolute best is those situations in which all the knowledge that you've helped to impart through inappropriate tv and movie viewing results in a conversation that blows your mind.

Wife - Did the girls tell you that they decided what they want to be for Halloween?
Me - No. *turns to the mailman's children* What did you decide you wanted to be?
Good One (9 yrs.) - I want to be a zombie!
Bad One - (6 yrs.) - I want to be an evil fairy!
Undetermined (1 month) - Whaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Me - *Sniff* That's....that's awesome.

Now, aside from wondering how I explain my kids appearence to the Quakers at their school, I was pretty damn proud. Then this happened a short while later:

Bad One - Good One! You should be a vampire!
Me - Not a chance, vampires are pussies.
Bad One - How can they be pussies? They drink peoples blood!
Me - Have you seen Twilight?
Bad One - No.
Me - The vampires fucking sparkle in the sunlight.
Bad One - Vampires can't go in the sun. And they DON'T sparkle.
Me - Exactly.
Bad One - *after considering this revelation* I guess that vampires are just bloody pussies.
Me - Bwhahahahahahaha!

StabbyMart: Rearing your children right.

DEATH AND TAXES

2009-09-11T04:00:00.002-06:00

I believe that the existence of this particular space really needs a point of reference. A starting position if you will. By no means do I have the worst job in the world. Indeed, in these times, I am in a remarkably good situation. I earn a good salary, am relatively secure and have a job that challenges me and that I truly enjoy - most of the time. But it is definately those short periods of time that the job becomes so ridiculous (I can actually feel my brain being whipped into a neurotic smoothee) that make up for all the enjoyment.

For some background: I've been in this profession for eight years. I've worked in three different offices, each with their own challenges and their own particular quirks, but the general basis of my job remains the same: I am City Hall. Just me. To be sure, my responsibilities are scaled down accordingly to coincide with the population and demographics, but this is the easiest way to explain it. I do have an assistant and a foreman, but, we have no departments, no Managers of Whateverthefuck, no Supervisors of Whyareyoudoingthat, just me. I'm responsible for policy, law, enforcement, accounting, taxation etc. etc. But most of all, I'm responsible for P.R. In all it's shapes and forms.

I am the third generation in my family to work in this profession. As a matter of fact, the office I currently preside over was held by my father before me. I had actually completed my training here, under him, and I swore that I wouldn't be his successor. But that is a story for another day. I tell you this so that you can appreciate the utter contempt that I felt when he told me this story. Please understand that my father is far more patient with people than I am. So if he was this flabbergasted; then I, surely, would have been muderous. I can appreciate it if you don't understand something, and I have no problem explaining it to you, but there are limits. To qualify those statements: Parents - learn your children. Wives - school your husbands. People - pull your heads out of your asses.

Please keep in mind that this is a man in his thirties. Without re-hashing the typical telephone pleasantries it goes thusly:

Asshat - "what is this bill that you sent me for?"
Pops - "Does it have an invoice number, sir?"
Asshat - "It's got a bunch of numbers"
Pops - "Ok, what is the amount?"
Asshat - "*Insert arbitrary amount here*"
Pops - "And what was the name?"
Asshat - "Douchebag Asshat."
Pops - "Ok, can you hold for a moment while I look it up?"
Asshat - "Why can't you just tell me what it's for?"
Pops - "Because we send out hundreds of invoices every year. Can you hold a moment?"
Asshat - "Fine."

*Pops filps through approximately 150 invoices and cross references the spread sheet*

Pops - "I'm sorry sir, I can't find an invoice with your name on it."
Asshat - "What?!"
Pops - "We didn't send you an invoice."
Asshat - "What do you mean? I'm holding it in my hand!"
Pops - *thinks for a moment* "Mr. Asshat, what does it say at the top of the letter?"
Asshat - "Tax Notice."
Pops - "So it's not an invoice, it's a tax notice."
Asshat - "What do you mean?"
Pops - "Every year the municpality sends out a tax notice that is due by the end of December."
Asshat - "But I didn't buy anything from you!"
Angry Pops - "It's not an issue of you buying something from us; you own property and, as such, it is subject to taxation."

*Pops also goes through a detailed explanation of the taxation system and purpose*

Asshat - "What do you mean, I have to pay this every year just to live here?"
Angry Pops - "Yes."
Asshat - "Well then, I'll just move!"
Angry Pops - "It doesn't matter. If you own property, you'll pay taxes no matter where you live."
Asshat - "I just bought this place from my mom! I've never paid taxes in my life!"
Angry Pops - "Then maybe you should call your mommy and have her explain it to you!"
Angry Pops - *slams phone down*

StabbyMart: Helping you rid the world of stupidity one idiot at a time.

GRAND OPENING

2009-09-10T18:25:00.000-06:00

Welcome to StabbyMart! Welcome to the future. The entire reason I opened this store was to offer rage and vitriol at rock bottom prices. You see, due to my sweatshop located in in the ghettos of this arctic wasteland, my job and the five beautiful but ultimately frustrating women I live with, I can offer an abundance of products that are basically free.

Taint Punches? Well my good lady, those can be found in aisle three.

Canadian Ball Traps? Well sir, those would be found in our extensive Outdoors section.

Duadenum Removers? Ah, my friend, an excellent choice. Aisle sixteen.

Rectal Reamers? We are currently running a sale on those items, they can be found in our lavish Gardening Centre

Fetapults? I'm sorry Timmy, we'll have to special order those for you.

Check back daily/weekly/monthly/whenever I fucking feel like it, for our latest in store specials that will meet all your ass-kicking, stabbing, maiming, vivisecting, choking, murdering and all around pain inducing needs. Be on the lookout for our Manager's Specials wherein you too can experience the magic of StabbyMart.

StabbyMart: You're not in prison, but we'll shiv you like you were.