the rhyme jhyme

how high's that antler momma?

alright, so this is how it all went down. b-cunt was on a stopover in o-hole over the weekend, just in time for some raucous partying... on recovering, we opted to pop in a dvd that my roommate dycer had recommended... this flick called waking life. well, well, well... what a fucking trip this was. see, back when I was knee high to a cunt, me and my old buddy started this little word game called the rhyme jhyme. the rules are as follows:

1. always rhyme with the letter j, unless it's a j-word at which point you drop the j. (for example: "pass the matches jatches" or "fuck, i just spilled bong water on my jeans 'eans...")

2. after some back and forth, one must end the game with a "quit rhymin' jhymin'..."

laughs all around and moment complete. this game was particularly hilarious whilst drunk and stoned. i reckon i've been playing this little game with friends across the country now for something like a decade. thus, you can imagine my surprise when, on watching waking life, already a trippy enough move as it was, one of the characters welcomed the protaganist with a "what's the word jurd?"

i almost shit.

a stupid phrase i've uttered a million times over, right there in a fucking film about existentialism... creeped me the fuck out.

what do you reckon it means?

smear campaign 10: michael moriarty

now this motherfucker just pisses me off. he was interviewed on the cbc yesterday morning as he has been frequently since moving to canada a few years back. why? is he a revolutionary thinker or brilliant humanitarian??? no, no, no. he's on the radio because he's a b-list hollywood celebrity who moved to canada! that's it, that's all. in the words of moonbeam bouvier: super-dee-doo! and why do we care??? because the fucking babyboomers love any american b-lister who they can recognize from american network television. "omigod! he's a celebrity." meanwhile we have brilliant canadian scientists, athletes, philosophers, etc., who go unrecognized because we are all sitting around our radios listening to this twat.

it's this shit that drives me nuts about canada. grow the fuck up.

make it stop... please!

i think i've long had an appreciation for absurdities. this is why i find myself in my latest predicament. earlier in the summer i decided i wanted to be less predictable and try new things. a sport, i thought would be just the ticket. so i enrolled in a fencing program. one afternoon in a fit of stupidity, i asked an old crush to be my partner and he quickly agreed. let's call him alberta bound. you see, me and a.b. have known each other for about a year. in february i outted myself to him and confessed that i was really attracted to him blahblahblah... a.b. replied with a polite "i'm straight, but let's continue this intriguing friendship." ughn. it was a bit of a blow to me at the time, but c'est la vie. life went on, we went in seperate directions but kept in touch exchanging lengthy emails about every possible topic under the sun, occassionally catching each other at a party.

the thing is, i'm really positive that he's a big homo, but he's quite obviously not ready or willing to deal with it at this point in his life. he's hinted to me that he's bi. he is hot as fuck yet doesn't date women, preferring only to casually make out with them whilst shit-faced at parties (a technique i recall less than fondly from years past). and the persistent sexual tension between us is driving me insane. i've decided that since he really seems to want to be buddies with me that i'll oblige him if only as a public service to help the poor boy sort through his feelings and provide him with an example of how being gay doesn't necessarily have to mean that you must ghetto-ize yourself into gay enclaves and and be doomed to a subversive and strange lifestyle which i reckon is how he perceives it.

and then yesterday, in only our second fencing lesson the two of us were geared up in fencing suits and masks. we're staring at each other straight in the eye continuously poking each other with our swords as an exercise to gain the feel of the sword and to learn how to poke and be poked at...

death by subtext.

summer's over

i think we all need to take a step back and re-examine our lives once and a while. make sure things are still in check and that you're headed in the directions you reckoned. just as i used the summer as a time to reflect on my first year in graduate studies at b-list canadian university, i now lay awake wondering about what the fuck this past summer in vancity was all supposed to mean... was a mild step backward in my career worth all the debauchery, sex, booze, drugs, memories and friendships made and lost over the summer?

fuck yeah.

i think too fucking much. i can't stand the rattling my head does at times. the things i figured out over the last year are no different than the bullshit the rest of you go through. fer chrissakes, i'm not interesting!

but things progress... back in ottawa, hot off the heels of a visit from none other than the puss in all her feline glory... awaiting the arrival of b-cunt who's appearance will coincide with a "first year undergrad" themed party me and the new house-mates will be engaging in saturday night. i've enrolled in a fencing program. and my advisor at school is proving to be an intriguing character... perhaps a bit too interesting.

and one more thing... the blog is back.

line of the day 23

"terry fox? terry fox was a fucking cunt."
- toad (proving that he's imbalanced... christ! this guy was an asshole.)