Sunday, 3 August 2014

It is Right to be Black, and it is Black to be Right


Chris and I discovered Chicago. There we found Chris, who had discovered some other shit.

It's good to have land.

The Lone Olympiacos Fan In Our Section
We may never walk alone, but you'll sit by your goddam self.

Confused Activism
Liverpool F.C (England) VS Olympiacos F.C (Greece)
Olympiacos fans think "Kosovo is Serbia." Can't tell if serious.

The Redneckest Menu Ever:
65% whiskey. I somehow doubt that after the 9, 10, and 11 dollar shots, you can tell the difference between the 50 and 60 dollar shots.
The waitress was nice.

A Commercial For Spaying & Neutering:
These two are too close for my liking already.

Possible Christmas Card?
Faves. I'm calling it "Black and Tan Wonderland"

L-R: Alexander Black the Right (with a tan), Mali, Molly, Starbucks, JFish

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

Guilty by Word Association

The customers had thrown things on the floor, like they do. She walked down the aisle, which was the wedding aisle (but not that wedding aisle, she walked down that long ago), picking everything up. Nice! she yelled. Look at this! It's everywhere!

No, you're everywhere.


Your haaaair is...

I'm 17 or 18, walking back up the stairs of the Legion in Belle River, I think, and the electric throb of a hardcore show is no longer shaking the wood paneling. There's a melody in the air. Her hand is in mine.

As we crest the staircase, we see a crowd, who was, fifteen minutes ago when we went outside to fight, beating the living shit out of each other in the primal construct called a mosh pit; they're now swaying back and forth, not quite in unison, belting out the refrain (not quite in unison).

Screaming infiDELitiiiiiies!

Weren't these guys the badass hardcore headliners? What the hell is going on?

And taking itsssssswear.

Fuck it.


I'm singing louder than everyone else. She's looking at me like I just sprouted a third arm. She loves this song, maybe, though I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what infidelities are.

We had to fight because I "ignored" her, which I didn't, to talk to the sister of a friend of ours (whose earlier performance is actually the reason we're here), who happens to be friends with a girl who liked me, who I didn't then like, but who I did end up dating years later. Was this the first time I told a girlfriend she's batshit? Was it the first time I was wrong? Or was it a self-fulfilling prophecy? Saw that same friend's sister recently, for the first time in forever, too. Brains are weird. I didn't ignore anyone to talk to her this time.


This acoustic/crowd-chorus version is wayyy better than the original.

I'm walking down another aisle, cleaning more stupid customer mess and I've been singing the song over and over again (reading your note), for days now, belting that shit out with zero shame. Memories are weird.


Saturday, 10 May 2014

Giggly Bitches

I don't know which  I find more aggravating:

Hearing the giggly bitches enter from across the store, loud and laughing and too young still to be irritating bartenders, though one of their poor stupid parents lent one of them the car, while they yammer on about how when they were kissing, he totally grabbed her ass, and I dread the wreckage they shall surely leave in their wake as they try on every stupid piece of everything and put it back in its proper place on the ground, and oh my god, look at this. Like look at this. Like oh my god guys look. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!111!9124129yifqhuf!!!!


The part where I come around the corner and they shriek in delight at having been discovered at their dress-up play, scampering off and muttering to each other how that guy just saw us, as if anyone gives a flying rat fuck that you can put a mask on your face and wave a noisemaker in the air to make some noise. Since we all know you're not buying shit, and you got your requisite selfies, can't you just walk away now, so I can go about cleaning up after your slovenly, giggly asses, already?

But I know I need a new job either way.

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Everyone's Favourite Time to Hate

I make Roll up the Rim jokes. We all do (still better than my baseball average, am I right? Right?!) But I've been coming across more and more people in recent years who are well and truly pissed about the fact that they haven't won a car or TV or RV or AWAC or whatever the hell they want. Could they be right? Is it a coffee conspiracy?

They've never hidden the odds of winning, and in fact, in previous years, Tim's has actually printed them right on the cups. I guess there's a grade-six math competence issue in Canada, that probability unit is tough. Still, I'd always suspected they were hiding something.

Roll up the Rim to Win is a promotion, and it works. I infrequently buy coffee, I prefer my home brews, but I'll spend a buck and change to roll the dice with my java a few times a year. It's obviously conducted at that time of year to combat Lent, but because most people have come around and thrown Catholicism out the window (this year, I'm giving up Jesus), it actually has the benefit of not just keeping would-be-abstainers coming back, but of pulling more customers than normal. We all know this. The cups go from brown to BRIGHT FUCKING RED, as if to say, "HEY! Come in here! Come now! This is an obvious and effective ploy for your attention!" Those sneaky devils.

Anyway, I bought a cup this morning while I was oot and aboot, and came up snake eyes again. I'd long suspected I would never actually get a car, and then, after I returned home with my disappointment and groceries in hand, I found this smoking gun evidence, pulled right from Toyota's website *play music from Zeitgeist*:

The bastards didn't even charge me for my Corolla.

Monday, 10 February 2014

The Story of J.A.R.V.I.S; or, How I Sleep Pt. 2

Baby alligators make cute pets, but they grow up, son.

Once upon a time, there was a little table hugger

who liked to eat Molly's soup bones
and ball up into ugly shapes on the couch.

Also known as Viserys III, the Beggar King, he grew very quickly,
and copied absolutely everything Molly did, desperate for approval.

Seriously, everything.

Being black, Jarface enjoyed bass guitar,
and being German, enoyed standing up straight for long periods of time.

The elusive South African Jarfish was very hard to spot. Blurry, out of focus shots led many to speculate on his very existence and what the hell his problem was.

Usually, Jarya Underfoot could be found underfoot, causing people to trip and drop knives and dinner ingredients and F-bombs, but occasionally he was caught while drowsing, much like a Snorlax.
And he didn't give a shit who or what he fell asleep on, much like a Snorlax.
And then I used to have a couch. 

Sunday, 9 February 2014

10 Reflections on the Sochi Games

  1. Homophobia is extremely alive in 2014. The comment threads on Sochi-related articles around the internet are bone-chilling.
  2. Ignorance is a vile fucking plague upon humanity. Anyone who chooses ignorance in the information age is an asshole.
  3. Homophobia, unlike most other phobias, has the unique characteristic of being superbly hateful and violent in nature.
  4. Google is suddenly the bravest company in the free world...???
  5. The Olympics are boring.
  6. The Olympics are pointless.
  7. Russians can be rednecks, too.
  8. Money, as always, comes before morale. 
  9. The World Cup has superior entertainment value, and I'm a hockey fan.
  10. Sochi itself looks like a beautiful city.