The Occasional Humourist

Hilarious Kids

2012-02-08T08:45:00.000-08:00

We're on our way to school, and the morning show we're listening to is/are talking about French parenting. What they (the French) do is called Le Pause or something - it's just basically chilling out and not letting your kids run your life.

Anyway, while listening to this, my son is about to burst - he needs to jump in and ask a question.
I'm expecting something like "Dad, did you and Mom use that technique on us?" or something pertaining to what I was listening to.

Here's what came out:

"Dad did you know there's a place in Afghanistan called Bum?"

I almost drove off the road I was laughing so hard.

Okanagan Prison Announced

2012-02-07T08:32:00.000-08:00

Details are beginning to emerge about the new prison, announced yesterday in Oliver - the Wine Capital of Canada:

Cellmates to be called 'Pairings'
Prison choir to be called The Aromatics
The term 'crush' now refers to parole hearings
Newest Okanagan grape varietal: 'Penal Noir'
Ideal wine aging now minimum 25 years to life
Prison winery vintages to include 'Shiv,', 'Shank,' and 'Isolation'
Contraband to be smuggled in with cork and bottle shipments
Local Denny's renames breakfast 'Grand Slammer'
Vineyard workers already lining up for admission due to better working conditions

How to Sneeze

2012-01-19T15:26:00.000-08:00

Sneezing is the most expressive of the body’s involuntary functions. Make sure yours are extra special.

Upon realizing that sternutation is imminent, today’s fashionable sneezer will pause in conversation and raise their eyebrows. This serves as a warning to bartenders and other nobility that a Great Event is about to unfold, and observers should vacate the immediate blast area.

During this pre-sneeze period, as your inhalation progresses, dramatically over-express yourself, like an opera singer. Be expansive in your chest. Wave your arms about and draw attention to your twitching features. Yell or scream, again like an opera singer. If a sneeze (or opera) is not immediately forthcoming, take something slender such as a chopstick or Calista Flockhart and thrust it repeatedly up your nostril to initiate the proceedings.

At the height of your inhalation, squint your eyes and cease all motion. This is the pause before the Great Storm. It is the final notice that something wondrous is about to be born, or that you are choking on an oyster. Be absolutely still, nose elevated slightly, arms aflutter, teary eyes about to close in the final moments before the triumphant finale.

The sound of a proper sneeze is important. Most amateur sneezers still use the outdated Cleveland Technique of letting fly with a constrained and demure “Ssshhhhew!” sound. This method is rarely used in competition nowadays, although it is still popular with denture wearers after several embarrassing amputations due to adhesive failure.

What you want is the loudest possible expulsion from your chest, such that a single sneeze is all that is required. If the sneeze is accompanied by the sound of herniated discs popping like balloons at a kid’s birthday party, so much the better.

Attempting to suppress all sound by holding the nose and forcing the blast up into the cranium can pose a danger to the sneezer and those around them – particularly in theaters. Earwax bullets shot into patrons on either side of the participant have caused needless injury, and were the impetus for the Stockholm Sneezing Protocols of 1929. These protocols now eliminate the need to wear combat helmets at most recitals, and rifling of the inner ear canal works wonders to improve accuracy.

As with other seizures, for a high score, one must enunciate using proper verbiage. Asian-sounding surnames are prized, with the Japanese “HyyyASHiii!” being most common in tournaments.

Of Middle Eastern origin is the popular and sophisticated “Haa-BLAH-haaa!” For truly memorable scores, professionals add a slight upward intonation at the conclusion, as though asking the romantic question, “Haa-BLAH-haaa?”

In closing, let me offer a cautionary note about arm movements, which was related to me by several members of the royal family.

Because one hand is often occupied with flowers, glasses of bourbon, or 5/8ths wrenches (while sneezing), the other fist will involuntarily thrust upward from the waist in a rapid motion which may injure passersby. Swift uppercuts administered by sneezing enthusiasts have rendered more than a few bystanders unconscious so do be careful, or sneeze only while boxing.

America can hold its head high when it comes to sneezing. Whether amateur or professional, the people of the United States lead the world.

Bless you!

Love that Internet...

2012-01-18T09:17:00.000-08:00

“It’s cold outside, I have nothing on my schedule this morning, I have high speed internet, a gallon of hand lotion, half a box of Kleenex, I’m all alone, and I’m horny.”

“Hit it!”

Pipeline Progress

2012-01-14T20:09:00.000-08:00

“We are on location at the opening ceremonies of the Northern Pipeline, here in Kitimat, BC. We have put microphones onto various officials to record their comments for posterity. Let’s listen in before the ceremony begins…

“It was an accident! They were pounding in the ‘Warning! Pipeline Located Here’ signs when they heard a ‘Ping!’ sound and…”

“Don’t tell me – they ruptured the pipeline?”

“We’ll have it under control in no time, boss. It sure makes a pretty geyser though – look at these pictures I took on my phone…against the pristine mountain backdrop! I think it’s beautiful”

“Never mind that. How is everything on the first tanker?”

“It’s just coming into the harbour now, sir.”

“What is the name of it again?”

“It’s the Exxon Edmund Fitzgerald.”

“Ah. Where is it registered?”

“Bolivia, sir.”

“Bolivia? Bolivia is a landlocked hell hole filled with nothing but illiterate, migrant workers producing a highly addictive substance that is driving us all to economic ruin!”

“Oops – correction. It’s registered in Ft. McMurray.”

“Same thing…”

Meanwhile on board ship, we see the Captain in front of his crew, pointing with two fingers…

“We have emergency exits located at the front of the ship – what we call the pointy end in the shipping business – also the middle and back of the vessel. In the unlikely event of a rare, non-scheduled shore landing you can use your mattress as padding for when you leap onto the rocks.

“During our transit we ask you to keep your cell phones on at all times, since our own GPS navigation system doesn’t seem to be working at the moment.”

“While under way you can help yourself to beverages and snacks at any time. We have an excellent selection of single malt scotches, vodka, bourbon, beer, cider and rum, of course, since we do have our sea-going traditions to uphold! We do ask the harbor pilots to not over-serve themselves, and the tugboat captains to not start drinking until we have left the immediate harbour area.

“I’ll remind you crew members of our excellent safety record on board this vessel – we have not had a spill of any beverage in over three years, so let’s all do our best to keep a clean record, people. I said lets do our best. People? Hello? Do you speak English? English! DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? NO HABLA? Hello?”

Back on shore…

“We are most fortunate to have with us today our docking safety consultant, Mr. Andrew ‘Sleepy’ Bigbumper. Mr. Bigbumper is the former docking supervisor with BC Ferries and as the ship approaches our terminal…uh, Mr. Bigbumper perhaps you could explain why the ship is coming at the pier at such a high rate of speed?”

“Why thank you Mr. Chairman, and yes, to answer your question, in order to maneuver properly, a ship must carry some speed while ramming the dock and this is quite normal for us in the ferry business. The key is to judge how much speed you should use and I think our captain is doing just fine, although he does appear to have dropped his spectacles and this bright sun is in his eyes…”

“Well, everything appears to be going smoothly here in Kitimat, so it’s back to you in the studio…”

Interview with our New Mayor

2011-12-11T19:34:00.000-08:00

In an exclusive interview with this reporter and several dozen other members of the media, the new mayor of our city recently held a press conference to discuss the affairs of the day.

I asked the first penetrating question.

“Mr. Mayor, what is the capital of Djibouti please? I’m doing a crossword.”

“Djibouti City you idiot. Next question?”

An actual reporter stuck up his hand. "Mr Mayor, you've said publicly that you are not in favour of all the red tape at City Hall. What do you intend to do about it?"

"Well, I think there are too many committees at city hall, which is slowing down development. My first job as Mayor will be to form a committee to deal with these committees. I’ll call it the Committee Committee."

"Will this be a standing committee?"

"Yes, it will be the Standing Committee Committee."

"Will the members of this committee stand during proceedings?"

"No, it will be a sitting Standing Committee Committee."

"So you have high hopes for this committee then?"

"I believe it will be an outstanding sitting Standing Committee Committee."

"You sound committed."

"Well, you can't have an uncommitted outstanding sitting Standing Committee Committee now can you?"

“What other plans do you have Mr. Mayor?”

"Well I’m on a mission to commission a commission for the Mission to find a way to transition away from the Planning Commission. I’ll call it my Mission Planning Commission Abolition Commission Commission mission.”

“What else is on your agenda, Mr. Mayor?”

“I think we should nuke Rutland from orbit, just to be safe. I’m sorry – did you hear that? Pardon me! I’m still working on my inner Mayor voice. What I meant to say is, I plan on working closely with the citizens of Rutland to move forward with their, uh, initiatives. We’ll put the information out using Fritter.”

“Twitter?”

“Whatever. Tomato, tomahto, twitter, twa…next question please?”

“What about your promise of cutting taxes?”

“Cut taxes? I never said anything about cutting taxes! I said I’d like to cut TAXI’S. I believe we have too many of them on the road and we should reduce that right away. I’m using science to determine the optimal number of taxis out there, a process I’ll be calling the Max-Taxi Cab Flab Lab. Don’t blab about it.”

“Have you ever thought about being a rapper, sir?”

“I’d love to be a gum wrapper. Doublemint is my favourite.”

“Thank you for your time sir. And let me compliment you on your tutu.”

“You haven’t figured out a way to end your column have you?”

“No sir, I have not.”

“Take out that tutu remark and I’ll let you hold the gold shovel at the next sod-turning.”

“Can I wear a hard hat?”

“Sure.”

“Deal.”

Winter Memory

2011-12-03T16:26:00.000-08:00

With cold weather now upon us, I am often reminded of foolish things I used to do when I was younger. Things like getting my tongue stuck to an ice cold woman. I don't know why I did it - she was just there and I felt the urge.

I learned my lesson, though, and now prior to licking I warm them up with a blow torch.

Vacuum Control

2011-11-29T11:30:00.000-08:00

The targets didn’t stand a chance.

I had carefully planned my route, staying stealthy, low down, hidden. I reconnoitered the target area, dialed in the killing zone, became one with my prey.

I was stalking.

My mission? To eliminate the hordes of fruit flies that had invaded our kitchen.

I was heavily armed. My weapon of choice? A pistol-gripped, one inch caliber, built-in vacuum cleaner with a three inch barrel and thirty foot hose with decorative, floral cloth covering.

It is a high-tech, powerful, insect killing machine.

I am…The Fly Sniper.

On some missions I utilize a silencer – a plastic tube attachment normally used for high-angle work like valences.

For some, these add-ons help to lessen the mental blow that dealing death brings into a sniper’s psyche.

Not me. I don’t need a shrink to help me understand what I’m doing. No need to ‘get in touch with my feelings’ here. I admit I’m a killer, and I’m OK with that.

Today, the enemy seemed to be congregating on the wall above the garbage can – no doubt licking their disgusting little fly lips, moaning and loosening their belts after a satisfying meal of banana peel and discarded bits of salad.

They erupt into flight at my approach, but my weapon is upon them! Ha Ha! Come within an inch of the business end of this Roving Vortex of Destruction and in you go! No chance of escape!

I narrowly avoided a tragedy as the nozzle came a little close to my wife’s chest area. By accident.

Over the fruit bowl I slowly circle my Wand of Death. In go the juice-sucking vermin as they rise to do battle. An over-ripe small plum also rises into my weapon with a strangely satisfying “Glurp!” sound.

Fighter Command radar sees flies everywhere as I circle the kitchen. Big game flies, fruit flies, those little jiggers you can barely see, all hurtle into the Hose of Doom.

Seeing the demonic look in my eyes, the children wisely scurry out of range. My wife is not so lucky and bears a perfectly round, purple mark on her hip as a result.

Mission complete, I disassemble my weaponry and return to my observation post in front of the television.

You know, there are some who decry the use of domestic cleaning equipment for killing. They say vacuums were meant for cleaning and not hunting. They call me a mass murderer.

To them I say – vacuums don’t kill insects. All the filth in the canister they bash into at six hundred miles an hour kills insects.

I realize vacuums can be turned on their owners, and I also know most suction hicky’s are self-inflicted. Those are risks I’m willing to take in the name of personal protection and dust-free carpets, drapes, and many horizontal surfaces which can be dusted with that brush attachment thing.

All the talk of vacuum control in this country is a waste of time. There are too many unregistered built-ins, not to mention portables and Dustbusters, for any kind of control plan to make a difference. If cleaners want a vacuum, they’ll be able to get one somewhere.

And if the Government wants to register my vacuum, they’ll have to pry the plastic hand-grip with convenient on/off thumb switch from my cold, dead, purple-spotted hands.

Occumuse

2011-11-19T08:48:00.000-08:00

If the Occupy Wall Street people occupied the radius of a circle the movement would be called Occupi

If they occupied a dessert confection it would be Occupie

If they changed diapers it would be Occupee and Occupoo

If they were a gentle Scottish insult it would be “Och! You pie!”

If they descend on the Vatican it will be the Occupope

If they could fit in a tube it would become the Occupipe

If Gynecologists get involved it will be the Occupap

When they get vagrancy tickets they will have to Occupay

Occupé is also the name of their new perfume – its aroma is in tents

Too Much

2011-11-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

I was in Starbucks and had to use the bathroom but when I tried to open the door I saw this sign and I thought "Man, these protesters are really getting carried away."

Bovine Wine - Winner - America's Funniest Humor Contest

2011-10-20T19:11:00.000-07:00

A local rancher has discovered that feeding wine to cows produces meat that is tastier than your usual sirloin. It must also produce tipsy livestock who lose all inhibitions and wind up yakking with their sisters all night about how traumatic the delivery of their calf was ten years ago.

I have a beef with this. One of my meatier concerns is etiquette at wine tastings. Cows are new to wine - they don't know about spittoons or what the crackers are for or how to hold the glass or anything. They just drink till they're loaded and then slobber and whiz all over the place. Kind of like New Yorkers, really.

I'm kidding, of course. I mean Australians.

In my opinion, bingeing bovines need much more tasting. Testing, I mean.

For instance, if this feeding trend leads to wider aisles in china shops and wine stores then I’m all for it. Well done!

Burning questions remain, however, particularly for restaurant patrons. Are you prepared to accept the pairing opinion of a Simmental Sommelier at your local eatery? Do you really think a cow will recommend the mouth-watering steak when it happens to be his cousin? “This wine is a terrific accompaniment to…fish,” he’ll say. Every time.

That is what is at steak. Stake – excuse me.

This being the Pacific Northwest, wine-fed beef will inevitably lead to dope-raised chickens.

Mellow yet plucky hens, fed a daily supplement of grow-op ‘grain’, will soon be the rage among chefs. There they'll be (the chickens), loafing about their free ranges, stoned out of their beaks, staring at the clouds, thinking deep chicken thoughts like "What are the enormous white things that emerge from my cooter every day?"

Restaurants will serve ‘Baked, baked chicken, with special brownie stuffing.’ They’ll just lay on your plate, grinning in their own chickeny way. Wow, man.

I’m telling you, this wine-feeding scourge must be stomped out. Put the entire idea out to pasture where it belongs, I say. Wine is for humans, not animals. I think authorities should give this rancher a good grilling.

We need to put a cork in this scheme in order to preserve our region as a grade ‘A’ tourist destination and make our visitors enjoy our brand of welcome, not herd them like cattle through the chutes of monetary gain, into the silos of history, never to return to our granary of democracy.

“Waiter! I’ll have the half-baked metaphors done medium-well, and a glass of your finest Moolot, please.”

Chief Executive

2011-10-18T05:52:00.000-07:00

Press Release

The President of Occupy Wall Street Company, David Crawford, has announced thousands of layoffs, effective immediately.

"In order to meet our profit targets we must institute severe cost cutting measures," announced the CEO, whose current salary is $750,000 plus stock options. "Having all these people just sitting around holding signs is not the way to operate a successful company in todays day and age" announced the exalted leader.

Speaking from inside his limousine, the CEO then went on to thank many of Occupy's corporate sponsors, including Coca Cola and Bank of America, for their patience and understanding during this crisis. "They've been with us all the way," said Crawford. "If it weren't for their support I think we'd all be out of jobs."

Mr. Crawford went on to state that while he fully supports the ideals of his employee discontent, people must move on with their lives and pick themselves up off the pavement of disappointment, move into the light of prosperity, and ask themselves if they really, really understand the implications of not asking if the customer is having fries with that order, he said.

"Do they want to hold up poorly spelled signs of discontent their entire lives, or do they want to move on and enjoy the many benefits of wallowing in debt and working at low-paying jobs the rest of their miserable lives? Is living in filth and squalor worth it?" he asked, rhetorically. "I don't think so - particularly if we are going to hit next quarter's revenue forecasts."

For media interviews, please contact one of Mr Crawford's executive assistants. Space is limited due to board meetings, planning sessions, and a pedicure.

First Drafts

2011-10-11T15:50:00.000-07:00

Like me, I figure song writers had to have first drafts of their songs. I have visions of rock musicians, pens in hand, crossing stuff out and muttering "That just doesn't sound right..."

Herewith are some examples:

Deep Purple - Smoke on the Landscape
Rod Stewart - Maggie Moe
Led Zeppelin - Stairway to Bathroom
Elvis Presley - Jailhouse Dance
Beatles - Hey Dude, I Want to Hold Your Gland
Elton John - Saturday Nights Alright for Knitting, Bennie and the Mets
Smokey Robinson - The Tracks of My Tires
Jackson Brown - Doctor My Pancreas
Steppenwolf - Born to be Mild
Police - Roseanne
Pink Floyd - Currency
Doobie Brothers - China Groove
Supremes - Where Did My Shoes Go?
Warren Zevon - Werewolves of Cleveland
Carl Perkins - Blue Suede Wallabies
Ray Charles - Hit The Road Bob
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Sweet Home North Dakota
Don Maclean - American Schnitzel

Selling

2011-10-03T20:45:00.000-07:00

I took my daughter out selling Girl Guide cookies tonight.

Having been in the sales game for many years, I coached her on the right approach.

"You've got to tug at their heart strings and be very sincere and cute," I told her. "You'll do fine, Sweetheart"

At our first stop my daughter rang the bell and then gave her prepared speech when the door opened.

"Wanna buy some cookies or should I burn down your house?" she asked. "You've got a nice place here - be a shame if anything were to happen to it," she continued.

I beamed with pride as neighbour after neighbour forked over their cash, negotiable securities and other valuables.

"Pay up you rat!" she would say, plunging her little fist into one neighbours guts. "You said you'd take 8 boxes now hand over the cash ya bum!"

They grow up so quickly don't they?

Biolomin...biolumines...oh just watch the video

2011-10-02T07:04:00.000-07:00

If I was to describe this video you would swear I had just smoked several joints the size of emergency flares, so just watch it.

Cool Video here (roll mouse over)

http://io9.com/bioluminescence/

Well That's Why I'm Called 'Occasional...'

2011-07-16T10:19:00.000-07:00

I am the Dearth Vader of postings, I know...

So the other day my son grandly and bravely announced he'd like to sleep outside on our air mattress. Not a sleepover with chums or anything - just himself.

Despite my raised eyebrow and inner doubts as to whether he'd actually pull this off (bookies in Vegas were running odds well into the 8 digit-to-one range at this early juncture), I am nothing if not supportive of my kid's adventures so we set things up that afternoon.

I'll interrupt my narrative here by boldly announcing we don't have any of those 'inflate things with your own breath' stuff. We have technology built in to our mattress that blows things up for us, by sucking in air at the rate of a small jet engine (with attendant noise, eerily similar to that of a large jet engine, with afterburner).

Mattress inflated and positioned, we were proud of our next step since we actually remembered to place a fitted sheet over the mattress. This surprised us both since a) we are male and therefore do not usually consider sheet-related issues at any point in our entire lives, content to wallow in filth and un-sheeted beds if needs be, b) we didn't tear the fitted sheet while attempting to fit the sheet cross-ways instead of length-ways on the mattress and scratching our heads in confusion as to how such things actually become 'fitted' when they don't bloody well fit anything, and further how do women actually fold these things so neatly anyway?, and c) I forget what c) was supposed to be. Forgive me.

Anyway, we made the bed, including my son's sleeping bag (or, to use the correct nomenclature - "Fart Sack"), unzipped to create one large blankie. Perfect.

The hot afternoon promised a nice evening and I assured my brave boy that coyotes or other predators would not come roaming around our home to prey on small children. We leave those tasks to religious zealots, natural gas salesmen, and other vermin, who all get slapped with the same vigour, you'll be pleased to know.

It was during the dessert course (Jello pudding) of our nutritious evening meal (Krap Dinner) that the predicted announcement was made. "Dad, I think I'll sleep in my own bed tonight. I need a good sleep."

Owing to my pressing schedule (sports highlights, card playing, web surfing, snack preparation and consumption etc.) I was unable to disassemble the bedding that particular night (and the next three nights in fact), owing to having completely forgotten about doing so, in classic male Dad tradition.

Later that night, however, I arose to fulfill a certain biological function related to abundantly functional kidneys, when a thought occurred to me and I decided right then and there to test the outdoor sleeping arrangement myself.

I padded down the stairs all the way to the basement, stumbled outside in the blackness that is 3am, and beheld an inviting sight, perfectly illuminated by the Spiderman nightlight which I had also forgotten to unplug.
Throwing caution to the wind, along with my bathrobe and glasses, I flung back the sleeping bag and gently lowered my magnificent body onto the soft flannel sheet.

Whereupon my ass plummeted down and onto the concrete of the patio beneath me. The hot air with which I had filled the damn thing had cooled considerably and the mattress was now about half full, giving it a consistency of a 1980's water bed (and if you never experienced the thrill of a water bed, you were not alive in the 70's and 80's my friend. Even now I am lurching back into my memories of attempting to have sex while pitching and rolling on the high seas of my old king size monster, my date turning a revolting shade of green in the romantic light of my undulating lava lamp...) Where was I? Ah yes - outside.

Once I achieved equilibrium of motion by evenly distributing my weight (by assuming a posture of spread-eagled glory not unlike that drawing of the guy in the circle, by Da Vinci), I was actually quite comfortable. A soft breeze was blowing cool air over me, and the decorative grasses were swaying gently near the side of the deck. Ahhhh

I was just nodding off to a contented sleep when the first cannon went off.

Our region sports many fruit orchards, and propane cannons are often employed to shoo away hungry birds, and to cause sleeping men to lurch awake, shout "Incoming!" and roll into the flower bed, cowering behind the sheltering firmness of a Day Lily and several shrubs.

Once I realized what the noise was (the 1812 Overture) I settled down, brushed the dirt off of my knees, and rolled back into bed. My heart was still syncopating with the cannons but I eventually relaxed, such that I could now hear the mosquitos circling my head.

"Oh great" I said (those were my exact words I assure you).

Feeling one of the little monsters alight on my head, I misjudged my strength and slapped myself (and the mosquito, presumably) with enough force to raise a welt and scare off neighbourhood birds in my own right. This smack killed the beast (its dessicated carcass clearly visible on my face the next day), and I was able to return to slumber, albeit with a burning welt on my forehead which later caused co-workers to ask if my wife and I were still on speaking terms...

Thinking my worries were over ("What else was there to go wrong?" I asked myself in a foolish display of deluded thinking) I nodded off, dreaming happy, bug and cannon-free dreams.

Until the neighbour's sprinklers turned on about 3 minutes later, 10 feet from my head.

"Plop on this!" I cried, stumbling up the stairs.

I looked in on my son, sleeping soundly in his bed.

Smart kid. Good thing he takes after his mother.

"And Vile Odours Crept Across The Land..."

2011-07-04T06:37:00.000-07:00

We just got back from a long weekend at a cabin at Beaver Lake, where we enjoyed sunshine, smoke, hideous body aromas, scratching, and lack of anything electronic. Then we got out of the minivan and unpacked at the lake...

Last year's camping trip saw me make fishing lures out of old fishing line, a stick, and some wire bent into a hook. This contraption was created for the kids not so much to catch fish but to keep them amused attempting to catch fish (by coating the bottom of the lake with bits of bread and millions of gummy worms) for many hours, which was successful beyond my wildest dreams.

This year, bait in the form of extraordinarily expensive (real) worms were employed, leading to the following conversation:

"Dad! I caught something!"
"Bull fish"
"No, Dad. It's true! Look! It's a real fish!"
"Yes - they are called Bull fish sweetheart. Congratulations! What are you going to do with it?"
"Can I cut it open and look at the guts?" (my daughter is beginning to exhibit certain gruesome personality characteristics which we'll discuss in a future column, perhaps after a visit with a mental health professional)
"He's a little small don't you think?" (the butt-ugly 'fish' in question was 2 inches in length - massively huge to a ten-year old).
"I think I'll put him in a bowl..." (later, while doing the dishes, I imagined the thoughts of the people checking into the cabin after our departure, using the same bowl for their spinach salad. Despite these delicious thoughts, I cleaned the bowl anyway...)
"Look! He's barfing out the worm! Cool!"

My appetite having departed, we spent the rest of our morning contemplating the effects of sunburn on the scales of a fish in a salad bowl, as well as the effects of Off insect repellant being sprayed into the same bowl. Neither had any noticeable effect (on us either, come to think of it), so we threw the fish back into the lake to tell his comrades of his latest adventure. His name was Harold, by the way.

I'll have more stories for you once I scrape off the accumulated filth from several days in the wilderness. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the sound made by enormous sheets of sunburned, red skin being pulled from the top of my scalp and forehead.

Until next time...

Benchley Top Ten

2011-06-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

Once again I have been named a finalist for the Robert Benchley Award for Humor in the U.S. I don't hink I'll win, but hope springs eternal...

Here is the link: http://www.benchley.blogspot.com/

This years final judge is humorist Mark Russell.

I think they announce the winner(s) on July 5th.

"I'd like to thank the Academy..."

Columns I Am Currently Working On Which Track My Continuing Mental Decline

2011-05-17T06:17:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I got my lawn aerated, a process by which a machine pulls plugs of dirt and grass out and leaves them scattered hither and yon (and there's nothing worse than scattered hithers and yons). These plugs closely resemble the droppings of well-fed geese and cause consternation and a certain peculiar walking style when crossing the yard. They also turn into .50 caliber goose doot ammunition when mowing the lawn for the first time this season, as I recently discovered. I am currently trying to elucidate what happens when the neighbourhood and passersby are winged by this lawnmower enfilading fire.

I am fleshing out a column about the list of tasks we are trying to get our children to perform on a regular basis. I know - it's a ridiculous premise destined for immediate and painful failure, but it is an amusing mental exercise to think that our offspring might someday do the dishes, turn off a light or two, or scoop the cat litter. Actually, this initiative may prove too idiotic even for a humour column.

An investigative report is underway into the phenomenon of men (well, me) washing dishes by the scientific process of spraying hot water over the pots and watching erosion take its course. This is a wonderful technique not only for its fascinating visual appeal to a zoning-out man, but is also effective at allowing the washer to watch the hockey game on TV while diligently performing his assigned kitchen duties. We will investigate this trend and see how it compares to actually performing the task and not just running the water while the worker sneaks snacks from the fridge since his family has their back turned and are not paying attention.

A debate continues to rage in our home over the propriety of leaving discarded food in waste baskets that are not usually used as kitchen waste receptacles. To wit, the leaving of banana peels (sans actual banana) in the waste basket in the washroom. My wife and I recently had a frank exchange of viewpoints on this very matter, which sounded something like this: "Don't leave banana peels in the garbace can in there!" "Why not?" "Because they make the whole room smell.like bananas" "Well Honey - consider the alternative..."

These and other exciting bits of comedy will soon be winging their way to your living rooms! Stay tuned!.

Childrens Education

2011-05-16T05:59:00.000-07:00

I always learn something from my kids when we go out for a hike. Yesterday was no different.

I learned the succinct method in which the earth was formed and how life came about. I forget how the topic came up, but my son explained things nicely:

"It used to be just ocean, then there was a bunch of earthquakes, and then came the mountains." That's it. Simple yet elegant.

Hikes in our family are edumicational.

Mothers Day Miracle

2011-05-08T08:53:00.000-07:00

Rita Chretien has been found alive and well!

Missing since mid-March, Mrs Chretien was found by hunters in the remote forests of Nevada, having survived by eating trail mix and water for seven weeks.

Mrs Chretien was in relatively good condition when found, but collapsed when told she had been elected as an NDP Member of Parliament.

The search for her missing husband continues.

Playoff Beards...

2011-05-08T08:39:00.000-07:00

Check out this guy's beard! I think he plays for the Bruins...

More beards at this link:

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/Who-Had-the-Best-Civil-War-Facial-Hair.html?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=twitter

When Weather Forecasters Bathe...

2011-05-07T15:04:00.001-07:00

Do they take widely scattered showers?

Just curious.

Latin Humour

2011-05-05T18:56:00.000-07:00

There is a player on the Nashville Predators named Erat. I always imagine him centring a line between Quod and Demonstrandum. It's the QED line...

You're right - I have too much time on my hands. I AM an intellectual though, eh.

New Literary Descriptor I Thought up for No Reason Whatsoever

2011-05-05T06:14:00.000-07:00

"Like a cat pouncing on an early-morning erection..."

May the 4th be with you

2011-05-04T16:27:00.000-07:00

That is all.

What was Bin Laden Wearing During His Departure Ceremony?

2011-05-02T08:55:00.000-07:00

We here at ET are hot on the trail of Bin Laden's fashion designer after the worlds Most Wanted man dearly departed yesterday.

The fashion world is atwitter in a desperate attempt to find out whose hat he was wearing on his last day, who was the best dressed in his ultra chic hideaway and so on. Rumors swirling around the compound say he was wearing white Versace robes but that report is unconfirmed.

Fashion authorities are also wondering whose grenades made the biggest bang at the event, whose bullets went off without a hitch, and other details.

Speaking of swirling around the compound like the downwash of a helicopter, fashion designers are buzzing about what our daring soldiers were wearing, what accessories were hot, and what type of helicopter was used to whisk them to the ceremony.

Stay tuned to ET for all the latest breaking news from this hot fashion development!

For Rent: Lovely, Private, Secure Compound in Abbottabad

2011-05-02T06:22:00.000-07:00

This lovely city is the home of warm weather, beautiful mountain scenery, and private, secure compounds.

Our resort features the ultimate in luxury and discretion - guaranteed. This premier getaway - no internet, no telephone, and very little heat signature visible from satellites or drones - is perfect for relaxing and leaving all your troubles behind! You'll want to declare a fatwa against work!

This is the perfect place for retreats of all kinds. Whether you're a busy business leader or the harried head of a ragtag bunch of homicidal maniacs bent on world domination, our staff will attend to your every need. Whether its cleaning your automatic weapon or arranging those special goat visits, we take care of our guests in every way.

We know you depend on security. We've made a name as one of the most remote and secure compounds in the world. You won't hear helicopters approaching or dogs barking or the click of metal implements around here - our reputation demands it, and so do you. Whether its our high tech tin cans with rocks alarm system or crack security guards, you can be certain no one will ever find you here.

Remember our motto: Rest Assured.

Damage deposit required. Some stains on carpet and upholstery from previous tenant who vacated on very short notice. Includes helicopter landing pad(s). Enormous piles of brass shell casings included at no charge. We regret that our dependable, discreet courier service is no longer available.

Donald Trump Demands to see Bin Laden Death Certificate

2011-05-02T06:01:00.000-07:00

Donald Trump, a noted idiot blowhard and possible U.S. Presidential candidate, has announced he would like to see the long form death certificate of Osama Bin Laden, the now-dead terrorist leader.

"How do we know it's true?" asked the man who is best noted for his douchebaggery in the New York real estate market. "I demand to see evidence, other than photo's and video of Bin Laden with holes in his head."

It is not known if the U.S. Government will release the long form version of the certificate. No one knows if such a thing even exists. 'Truthers,' who claim that nothing ever happens without a government conspiracy, are concerned about the certificate as well. A spokesperson said "We're so concerned about the certificate, you could say we're certifiable."

More news after the Bin Laden departure party.

British? You Decide...

2011-04-30T08:45:00.000-07:00

I don't want to start a controversy or anything, but I would like to ask a question.

Is Kate Middleton actually British? I mean - she has straight, lovely teeth. It makes you wonder...

I, for one, would like to see a birth certificate.

How to Kill Plants - Lesson 1 in a Series

2011-04-24T15:51:00.000-07:00

First, uncoil your water hose (first time this spring - great excitement) and water everything in sight.

Next, leave the uncoiled, water-filled hose out overnight and next day allow the warm suns rays to heat the water therein to almost boiling temperature.

Then - spray your shrubs with the boiling hot water, not realizing that the water has reached the scalding point.

Now! Watch the new leaves and shoots shrivel up and shreak at the top of their little planty voices "Nooooo!" as they recoil in horror at the assault on their teeny little selves.

When wife notices withered plants, comment sagely "Huh - frost must have got them this year..." and wander off so she cannot see the guilty look on your face.

End of lesson 1. Begin lesson 2 shortly I'm sure.

Thoid

2011-04-21T19:43:00.000-07:00

My entry in Americas Funniest Humor Writing contest took 3rd place. We are pleased. Here is a link to my entry (roll over link to make it work):

http://humorpress.com/Results/Essays-2011_02-03/aa-Winners/Essay-2011_02-03-Winners.htm#31_

A Daughterly Discussion

2011-04-21T19:38:00.000-07:00

I had a very interesting discussion with my daughter on our way to Girl Guides tonight. She's 10.

Our discussion pertained to the relative advantages we would enjoy if humans had wings. Feathered wings.

I would like to share with you now, in popular bullet form, the salient points of this discussion:

First, we would not need cars or roads any longer. We would just fly. We like that. Instead of bike racks we'd need some perches though.
The wings would be hidden inside our arms somehow - secret compartments maybe - so that we could just wiggle our arms and unfold them.
The feathers would only go to our shoulders so that we would not have to modify our t-shirts and we could still wear tank tops.
One really great thing about flying would be the ability to fly over people we didn't like and poop on them.
We would not have feathers on our behinds or anything, so we would not be able to float like a duck.
We would still have hands and everything so we would still be able to use nail polish. We could also eat normally and all that.
We would NOT have a beak. No way.

By this time we were at Guides, so that was about it. We hope you have enjoyed our thoughts. Good night.

This Guy is Awesome! At Everything!

2011-04-20T16:12:00.001-07:00

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #14

2011-04-19T09:13:00.001-07:00

About the Chicago Blackhawks...

I’d like to Frolik in your Klinkhammer

Johnson is known for his size

It hurts when I Pisani

You’re as big as a Hossa

Soccer Coaching Issue

2011-04-16T15:13:00.000-07:00

This year I am the Assistant Coach (note capitals) of my son's soccer team (The Disney Club Penguin Tigers!).

The coach is our family dentist.

This is leading to some confusion amongst both the players and myself as to terminology and positioning. When the coach gets excited he reverts to that which is familiar.

Our game today sounded something like this...

"OK - molars! Back up and cover the guy behind you!"

"Incisors - move up! Cover over here on the distal side!"

"You're an incisor! Stay in the middle of the field! Don't get all occluded back there - spread out!"

"Pass! You've got to pass to the open canine on the mesial anterior side you guys!"

We're learning...

Insurgency Redux

2011-04-16T09:32:00.000-07:00

From an interview with a High Ranking Official of the United States Government.

Me: "Sir, we would like you to clarify your position with regard to events in the Middle East if you would be so kind."

Official: "Certainly - it is really quite straight forward."

Me: "Excellent. Now first of all, can you clarify who you are backing in the current Libya situation?"

Official: "Of course - we are backing the insurgents who are fighting for the freedom and democracy that they so richly deserve."

Me: "I see. So backing the insurgents is a good thing?"

Official: "Absolutely. These people are freedom fighters whom we respect a great deal. We will be supplying them with arms and technology to further their cause since it aligns so well with our own ideals of freedom and democracy."

Me: "So what about the insurgents in Iraq?"

Official: "Oh, they're bad. We don't like them."

Me: "But aren't they freedom fighters as well?"

Official: "Well, that's what they call themselves. But we know they are really insurgents fighting what they think is an, er, evil invader but really isn't."

Me: "I see. So insurgents are bad. What about the insurgents in Afghanistan?"

Official: "Are we talking about the first ones or the second ones?"

Me: "I guess the second ones."

Official: "Oh, they're bad. We don't like them at all. The first ones were good - they were fighting an evil invader. But these guys are evil invaders, so we kill them."

Me: "So let me get this straight. The first Afghan insurgents were good because they were fighting an evil invader, but now the second ones are bad because they are fighting an evil invader. The Iraq insurgents are bad because they are fighting what they think is an evil invader but isn't, and the Libyan insurgents are good because, what, no evil has invaded yet?"

Official: "Clear as day, isn't it?"

Me: "Well thank you very much for clarifying things."

Official: "My pleasure. Any time. I was born in Hawaii you know..."

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #13

2011-04-13T20:37:00.000-07:00

Relating to Spring Cleaning:

Work from the top down, inside to outside
Rinse those hard to reach places with vinegar and water
Use a Swiffer on your hardwood
Wipe your squeegee after each stroke

A Rant, If I May

2011-04-13T07:37:00.000-07:00

I have just finished filling in another field trip consent form for my children.

Can anyone explain to me why I have to put down their health care card number on each and every form? Why is this so important? It makes my vivid imagination run wild...

"Mr. Crawford? Yes, its Tracy, the supervisor here at the swimming pool/horse riding academy/theater/science fair/beer hall. Your child has had an accident, and when we were about to resuscitate her we noticed you had not filled in her health care card number. What is the correct number please so that we might begin our procedures to save her life?"

Can we not deal with health care funding at a time other than when my child is lying unconscious or bleeding or lying on a gurney in the emergency department? Can we just take care of the kid first - I'll bring in the card when I get there?

Thank you. I feel much better now. I need ten bucks for the field trip though. Please hurry.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #12

2011-04-12T20:59:00.000-07:00

When Preparing Your Boat for the Coming Season:

-        Make sure your head is clean and operating normally
-        Check for leaks on your dinghy
-        Scrub your topsides with a mild detergent
-        Lubricate your shaft and make sure it isn’t bent

Startling Insights Ascertained While In The Shower #47

2011-04-12T14:00:00.000-07:00

You don't hear the phrase "Heavens to Betsy" much any more.

Thank you.

How to Shop

2011-04-12T09:58:00.001-07:00

Techno Shopping by Faceweb

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #11

2011-04-12T09:51:00.000-07:00

Pertaining to Gardening...

· You’ve got to get down on your knees and get dirty

· Put it in the hole and watch it grow!

· Trim your shrubs for faster growth

· Some animal has nibbled on my bulbs

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #10

2011-04-11T15:34:00.000-07:00

At The Masters Golf Tournament...

"Oh dear, he lipped out"

"Challenging hole placement this morning"

"He's young but he collapsed after 9 holes!"

Canadian Navy News

2011-04-11T06:22:00.000-07:00

The Canadian Navy has outfitted its fleet of submarines with a new weapon system, since the torpedoes they bought do not fit into their torpedo tubes..

The new system combines a Threat Warning component, as well as Interdiction Technology, hence its acronym TWIT.

The TWIT Mark II system consists primarily of a beaver tail mounted to the top of the periscope, which in turn is attached to an actuator inside the control room.

When a threat is detected, the beaver tail is rapidly deployed, resulting in a loud SLAP on the surface of the water, thus scaring away any predators, while also warning the rest of the fleet to the danger.

“This is a Canadian-designed and Canadian-built system” said the Navy spokesman. “Once again, Canadian ingenuity and Canadian technology has won out.”

The system has a range of about 100 meters. Within that range, any predators are startled, such that they scurry away from the submarine and any other nearby vessels.

Outside of 100 meters, the audible sound of the tail slapping is alerts nearby allies to any threat posed by enemies. It is not known how effective the system is against modern mines or torpedoes, but the system is certainly better than the original Beaver Tail Mark I system, which utilized the delicious deep fried pastry type of beaver tale, rather than the actual bum leather of the Canadian Beaver.

“The old systems got all soggy,” reported the spokesman. “They didn’t work well, and didn’t taste too good either” he reports.

We are waiting for reaction from our U.S. Navy counterparts. However, they are on record as being in favour of any type of military expenditure, particularly that of Canada, since it is so rare.

The Start of a Column...

2011-04-11T05:41:00.000-07:00

This is a little embarrassing to admit so bear with me.

My wife walked in on me the other day when I was giving myself pleasure.

I happened to be lying on the bed, moaning and gasping, rubbing away, when in she walked. She didn’t really take much notice, other than to say “Doesn’t that feel good? It’s like you can’t stop once you start. I might join you.” Oh yeah, baby. Step over here and peel off those glasses…

Rubbing your eyes is like that. (What did you think I was talking about, hmmm?)

What is it about burying your knuckles in your eyeballs that does that? Do you think it will make me go blind or anything?

One unfortunate side effect of a lifetime of eye rubbing seems to be my drooping eyelids. The skin over my eyes seems to have stretched over time, and it makes each eye now look like a vagina. I'll not horrify you with a photo just now.

*Columnist now puts chin on hand, drifts off, staring into space, trying to think of 500 more words to say about eye rubbing and wrinkly skin, without further mention of female genitalia. I may be awhile...

Funny Pictures

2011-03-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

From Bentobjects.blogspot.com...

Summer Daze

2011-03-30T08:11:00.000-07:00

Authors note: I recently re-worked an oldish column and sent it in to America's Funniest Humor writing contest. Results are announced on April 21st I think. I've won the contest 3 times now - I'm hoping for a 4th but we'll see. Anyway - here's my entry. Thanks for reading.

When we go to the beach, I really get into it. I close my eyes and, listening to the waves crashing to shore, I’m transported to tropical locales like Hawaii, or Tahiti, or Fred’s Fake N’ Bake Tanning Emporium. Surrounded by palm trees and the enchanting smell of fragrant flowers or Glade South Pacific #6, I relax hugely.

Such was the case recently at a local lake. We had brought all our swim toys and I was trying out a new big, green inflatable chair, complete with headrest.

It was heavenly. It was nap time. I thought I had put sunscreen on my face…

Off I went, splashing into the water, lying back in the chair. Ahhhhhh. I was instantly far, far away, lounging in a tropical pool, enjoying peeled grapes and drinks in coconut shells. Knowing the attentive staff would alert me to any danger from sharks or predatory flip-flop salesmen, I fell asleep.

The sun blazed. My sleep deepened as the waves rocked me gently. A rivulet of drool formed a crusty line across my cheek, reminiscent of a Prussian dueling scar.

I stayed close to shore at first, then a change in the wind steered me away, my magnificent body and the large chair acting as an effective sail.

Head lolled back, mouth agape, eyelids twitching REMily, I drifted out to lake…

Past the swim platform, beyond the line of white marker buoys, out I went into the commercial shipping lanes. Well, the parasail boat and yahoos on jet skis lanes, anyway.

Boaters who sighted me consulted their nautical manuals, confused as to what a bright red-over-green marker buoy indicated. I was a hazard to navigation they were unfamiliar with.

Eventually, someone overcame the smell of burning flesh and approached.

“Hey Mister!” a young boater hailed, hand waving in front of him. “You okay? Wake up!”

I came to and, using my finely honed sense of self-awareness, determined something was amiss. For one thing, my head was the size of a basketball. I could barely open my eyes – my face had become ridiculously swollen from sunburn and imminent heatstroke.

I looked up through puffy slits and saw several pleasure boats close by, their operators staring at me with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion.

“Hewwo!” I croaked. My mouth wasn’t working properly. It too was swollen.

“My mouf feelth funny, and I fink I thunbunned my dung thumhow!”

The boaters were straining to understand what I was saying. “Thunbunned! My dung!” I said, pointing. “Thith doth not feel too goob…”

I spoke more slowly to enunciate properly.

“Do-you-hab-any-watta?”

Later, covered in fire extinguisher powder from a helpful boater, I paddled slowly back to civilization, using the inefficient, two-handed stroke common to floaty-chair occupants. My horrifying facial igneousness parted the crowds of swimmers before me, in much the same manner as a large shark might, or Godzilla.

Coming in to shore I heard a lady hush her children. “Don’t stare at the red Elephant Man,” she said. “Some people are born that way...”

As I stumbled closer to our section of beach, my wife looked alarmed.

“Please don’t hurt the children,” she said, clutching a stick. “Oh! It’s you, dear! What in God’s name happened to your head?”

You know, I think I understand how lake monster legends get started now. I seem to be a living legend myself. Amongst hospital staff, anyway.

Please pass the aloe.

This Reminds Me Of A Sneeze The Other Day...

2011-03-26T20:45:00.000-07:00

That's Camilla On The Left...

2011-03-26T20:42:00.001-07:00

I got a new door stop...

2011-03-26T20:30:00.001-07:00

Works pretty good...

Royal Canadian Air Force Given Important Role

2011-03-20T22:10:00.000-07:00

In the enforcement of the No-Fly Zone over Libya, the Canadian air force has been given the important task of dropping bits of airplane on the enemy.

This task is ideally suited to the Canadians, given the advanced age of their CF-18 aircraft.

Already, Italian authorities are hailing the Canadian pilots for the accuracy of their bombing, even though the bombing was pieces of avionics gear which fell out of one aircraft just prior to landing.

During their trans-Atlantic flight to the war scene, Canadian pilots were praised by officials in Iceland, Ireland, England, France and other countries, after the air force fighters overflew their airspace.

An Icelandic government spokesman reports "We got a wheel!"

France declared "Ici une radio et une petit missile."

It is unclear what role, other than disintegration, the Canadian air force can play in the current conflict.

"We can always use odd pieces of metal falling on the enemy," reports the NATO air commander. "Canadians are noted as excellent piece droppers, having proved themselves over and over again in Kosovo, where they are still recovering pieces of wing, cockpit and engine."

Watch this space for further details, as they drop.

No Fly Zone Report

2011-03-19T09:26:00.001-07:00

I recently purchased some odd trousers.

I refer to them as a no-fly zone.

Thank you. That is all.

No Fly Zone

2011-03-18T07:00:00.000-07:00

There seems to be some confusion here in Canada about the situation in Libya.

We are not sure if Canada's air force will participate in the no fly zone, or if the Canadian Air Force itself is a no fly zone. I will report back to you when the situation is clarified.

Radiation Concern

2011-03-18T06:46:00.000-07:00

I know everyone is freaking out over the radiation leaking from the reactors in Japan. Here are some simple guidelines to help steer you through this crisis:

If you experience symptoms such as vomiting, diarrhea, or dizziness, immediately stop reading this blog. Your symptoms should cease immediately.

Don't worry about the radiation.

End of guidelines. Thank you.

Out the Back Door

2011-03-16T18:34:00.000-07:00

Federal communications officials are investigating complaints of obscenity on public radio channels.

The following transcript is of an exchange on the radio between an airport shuttle driver and his dispatch office. The driver is experiencing difficulty with the locking mechanism on the back (luggage) door of his bus.

“Dispatch, my back door is broken.”

“Beg pardon?”

“My back door. It’s stuck in the open position.”

Pause. Pause.

When radio microphone is first keyed, the sound of fluid spraying from a mouth can be heard. A few seconds later…“Your back door is stuck open?” (sound of barely restrained snickering can be heard in background)

“Yes. I’ve fiddled with it but it won’t close properly. I don’t think it’s frozen, it feels like something mechanical has broken inside there.”

Long pause.

“Really? Inside your back door?” Pause. “Something mechanical you say. I see.” Long pause. “And you cannot close it?”

“Well, it will close, but it comes open when I move. I squirted some WD-40 in there but it hasn’t helped.”

Really long pause.

(Uncontrolled hooting and laughter can be heard in the background during next transmission) “You squirted some lubricant…” Pause. “… in your back door?”

“Yes. Then, as I was squirting it in, the little straw thingy came off and slipped inside.”

No radio transmissions for thirty seconds.

“I’m sorry for the delay in responding…” Long pause. “What happened again?”

“When I was squirting lube inside my back door, trying to loosen the mechanism, the little tube thing on the end came off and fell inside. I can’t get it out.”

Dead silence for approximately one minute.

“Oh dear.” Pause. “That’s unfortunate.” Long pause. “Have you tried anything else to fix the problem?”

“Well, I went to the car wash and washed it with hot water. I thought it might loosen things up a little but it didn’t work.”

Very long pause.

“I see.” Pause. “You washed it with hot water. Good. Soap too?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything fallen out of your back door while you’ve had this problem?”

“No, all the passengers were off-loaded when it got stuck, thank goodness. Nothing has fallen out.”

Long silence.

“Well, try to secure the door in some way and come back to the depot.”

A few minutes later…

“OK – I’ve got my back door secured, using a clamp from the jumper cables.”

Pause.

“Ah. And how did that work?”

“Well, I opened up the clamp and squeezed it around one edge of the opening, then tied the other end inside.”

Very long pause.

“I see.” Silence. “Are you able to drive now?”

“Yeah – I should be fine. I can’t pick up any more passengers though. I mean – what if it flops open unexpectedly again?”

Very long silence.

Finally…”Great job” Pause.

“Return to base and we’ll have someone take a look at it.”

Pause.

“Maybe a proct… oh nevermind.”

Transcript ends.

Authors Note: this is an absolutely true story. I was the driver. The conversation is fictional, but the action was all too real, and I got the giggles when trying to fix things. And you wonder where my columns come from...

Brief Personal Health Report

2011-03-13T06:34:00.000-07:00

I have an annoying sore thumb, a result of it being twisted in the handle of a piece of luggage.

It is annoying since, being a sore thumb, it sticks out like a, well, sore thumb.

Thank you.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #9

2011-03-09T06:41:00.000-08:00

Pertaining to Recreational Vehicles

- Hooking up always means a good time

- You pull it.

- This model has a slide in/slide out feature

- For safety, this one has a rear-facing camera

- This one kneels for easy entry

Phrases Overheard during recent Middle Eastern Despot Conference Call

2011-03-07T09:42:00.000-08:00

"I haven't had stiffening resistance in over 20 years!"

"This Facebook thing is a pain in the frozen assets"

"So then I said 'Roll over, Nellie, I can't see the screen'"

"I got absolutely bombed last night!"

"Is strafing the same as un-friending?"

Despot Depot

2011-03-04T15:11:00.000-08:00

Hi folks! It’s Reggy Side, down here at The Despot Depot – your one stop shop for all your tyrant needs.

We have a huge selection, like this used, 82-year old Mubarek. It’s in good condition for an older model – look – not a single bullet hole! And it comes with built-in family financing.

We’ve got dozens of despots to choose from. One-of-a-kinds, knockoffs, imitators, dictators – you name it, we’ve got it.

Take this 1973 Pinochet Junta. They just don’t make ‘em like this any more folks! Getting one of these would be a real coup, let me tell you. It’s got that distinctive South American flare, its own constitution, and comes with choice American financing!

We are a licensed Sultan dealer as well. Watch out for new inventory soon, and believe me, there’s nothing like a good, used Sultan Emir. These babies can put down some serious revolutions per minute, let me tell you.

Here at the Despot Depot we have Third world models at First world prices. There is no Second world – we’ve taken out the middle man and lined him up against the wall to save you money!

There’s new inventory arriving daily, and next week we’re having our push, pull, or drag promotion. Bring down your current Despot and we’ll arrange for you to get going in something new right away! For every Despot dragged in, we’ll give you an Election, absolutely free. You heard me right, folks – a free Election with every Despot trade-in!

Here at Despot Depot we know that before you can move up to something like an Election, you’ll need something basic to tide you over. We’ve got Generals, Ruling Councils, and Committees. Don’t go rumbling through the streets in tanks – come in and see us for all your needs.

Check out our ads on Facebook and Twitter!

Get this - to celebrate the grand opening of our new Ben Ali Dealership in Tunisia, we’re told we’ll soon receive a Gaddafi! That’s right! Coming soon, a colourful, long-lasting Gaddafi - single owner, tinted glasses, and a little hard to control, this bad boy will get your heart racing! You’ll want to check out the upholstery on this one too, made from the Colonel’s secret recipe of 11 different uniforms and goofy hats.

Maybe you’re a new country, just starting out, and you need an economy model. Well why not this 1979 Somoza? It features nationalized companies, kickback steering, and no opposition! Production of this model ended in 1980, so hurry while they last.

Alternatively, we have a limited supply of Sandanistas and Contras. I know – hard to tell them apart from a distance, but still a reasonable despot alternative for the growing economy.

Did I mention we have a HUGE selection? We’ve got Mao’s, and Stalin’s, Pol Pots and Tin Pots. We’ve got everything from well-heeled Mussolini’s on up to the big dada of them all – the Idi Amin.

The hottest models are from the Middle East and are arriving daily!

So join the crowds and come on down to the Despot Depot. All your tyrant needs in one convenient location, next to that big warehouse known as the, uh, Central Inventory Association.

*Void where prohibited by revolutionary law. Do not attempt this at home, or without buns tied to your head. Strafing not included. Offer subject to change and availability. Not responsible for injuries sustained while shopping. Prices do not include secret police surveillance device implants. Your results may vary. No tyrants were harmed during the writing of this column.

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #8

2011-03-02T06:00:00.000-08:00

At The Carwash

"In winter I never use soap - I just rinse it off"
"Just twist the knob to get started"
"Aim the nozzle straight into any cracks for best results"
Caution: liquid under pressure can cause serious injury
"Work your way from the top down"
Use paper towels to wipe off afterwards
Try to avoid getting sprayed in the eyes
"You've got to bend over to really clean those lugnuts"

Canada Gets Tough on Gaddafi

2011-03-01T05:39:00.000-08:00

The Government of Canada has taken swift action against Libyan leader Moamar Gaddafi by freezing his Canadian assets.

The assets, which include several winning Tim Hortons rrrrolled up cup rims (4 free coffees, 2 doughnuts), were confiscated in accordance with UN Security Council resolutions pertaining to beverages, snacks, and minor assets such as bank accounts and real estate.

The action has hurt the Libyan leader, such that he plans to resign immediately, according to aides close to the middle eastern wing nut.

"He was really looking forward to sneaking over to the Tims in Afghanistan and having a double double and a fritter. He's pretty good at chewing up the rim of the cup to see if he won anything," reports a source close to the nut job.

Recent Conversation

2011-02-28T15:38:00.000-08:00

"Nice scarf! Is that Mohair?"

"Actually it's neck hair - I guess it's time for a trim."

"Ewww."

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #7

2011-02-22T06:51:00.000-08:00

Heard at City Council Meetings:

“I got sworn in last night”

“I could use a seconder”

“The neighbours are getting tired of our public hearings”

“That was a pretty satisfying scrum this morning”

“Let’s put that motion on the table”

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #6

2011-02-22T05:32:00.000-08:00

I write these bits for a local radio station (K96.3), in case you were wondering where the idea originated...

On with the show! Today -

Things Overheard at the Canadian Culinary Championships, held right here in Kelowna!

"Rub it with garlic"

"I've never done this in front of judges before"

"If there is already something in the oven, where do I put my pork?"

"Tastes a little salty"

Waiting...

2011-02-21T16:47:00.000-08:00

I would write something for the blog here, but I'm just so anxious waiting for my royal wedding invitation. I'm pretty sure I'll be getting one. I'll let you know when it arrives. Must be delayed - mail you know.

Attempted Parenting

2011-02-15T15:51:00.000-08:00

“Mr. Crawford, you are charged with numerous offenses under the Reckless Parenting Act. We will begin with the first charge, Mockery in the First Degree. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Worhipfulness! Oh dear, I did it again, huh?”

“Indeed. Mr. Crawford, you are charged with mocking school officials who are charged with taking care of your children during lunch break.”

“You mean the Food Nazis?”

“Er, why do you call them ‘Food Nazi’s,’ Mr. Crawford?”

“They don’t allow trading, Your Honour! When I was a kid, trading was very popular! There was always some dimwitted kid who would trade his chocolate bar for an apple. I hate apples to this day…”

“It says here you made several “Heil Hitler!” salutes behind their backs while they were criticizing the food in your children’s lunches.”

“Your Honour, I don’t see anything wrong with an occasional Pop Tart in the kid’s lunches when I’m too tired or too lazy to make a sandwich.”

“It says here the lunch supervisory staff were questioning your inclusion of a tin of cat food in the lunch…”

“Oh that! That was just a bit of humour, your BigWigness. It was intended as social commentary on today’s seeming obsession with, and aversion to, any type of processed food.”

“I understand processed food is bad for you, isn’t it?”

“Slicing is ‘processing’. Cooking is ‘processing’. Let’s begin by defining processing, shall we? Then I’ll determine if it is in any way bad for my healthy and wonderful kids.”

“Fair comment. We’ll dismiss that charge. Now what about the Child Endangerment charge? How else have you endangered your children, Mr. Crawford?”

“I believe I forced them to drink tap water, your Holiness.”

Gasps erupt in the courtroom.

“You did what?”

“Tap water. I made my children drink tap water.”

“Mr. Crawford, your malfeasance is more serious than the prosecutor has led me to believe. Clearly you are a menace to your children and this community. You give me no alternative but to impose a serious sentence. What do you have to say for yourself before I pass judgment?”

The defendant stands on his chair.

“I’d do it again your Honour! Willingly! I would also make my children walk to school, and play outside, and run around unsupervised in the park! I would let them play with knives and matches and go exploring! I would let them do dangerous things without wearing a helmet from time to time! I refuse to buy into all this media-generated hysteria!”

“I want my children to be capable of managing and understanding risk. We do not live in a NERF world, Your Honour! I want my kids to scrape their knees and elbows and maybe even get a fat lip, if it means they are having fun and being kids! I will not be subdued! FREEDOM!!!”

“Order! Order! Order in this court! Mr. Crawford, you are hereby sentenced to 20 years hard labour, otherwise known as ‘Parenthood’ – and I praise you for your fortitude, sir! Cases dismissed! Good day, Sir! Mr. Prosecutor, I would like a word with you…”

A guy can dream, can’t he?

Coup Attempt

2011-02-15T15:27:00.000-08:00

Like the rest of the world, I have been watching events unfold in Egypt with rapt fascination, and not just to laugh at the improvised helmets made from buns, taped to protesters heads.

No, I have darker thoughts…

“Department of National Defence, Private Parlez speaking bonjour hello!”

“Yes – I’d like to stage a coup, please.”

“Beg pardon?”

“I’d like to stage a coup and suspend the Constitution and take over the state-run radio and TV stations, and I could use a few tanks and armoured personnel carriers. How do we arrange that?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t do that sort of thing here. This is Canada. Who would want to take over the CBC anyway? Now there’s a rat hole you don’t want to go down. I mean, ‘As It Happens’ is still good, and I’ve still got a crush on Wendy Mesley, but really, are you sure you want to go there? Besides, we don’t have tanks anymore anyway. I’m not even sure who has the gun this week…”

“Can I speak to a General, please? I’m going to need the support of the Generals, apparently, if this coup idea is going to work...”

“I’m sorry, sir, but why do you want to stage a coup in the first place? We have it pretty good here, you know.”

“Well, I’ve been reading about how the Mubarek family in Egypt amassed a fortune worth billions of dollars, and it started way back when there was a state of emergency, so I got to thinking…”

“If you are a student of history though, sir, you’ll also know that before you enlist the army, you need to have some sort of secret police, first. I’ll transfer you...”

“You have reached RCMP Headquarters. To file another complaint, press one…”

I hit zero a few times and got the secretary to the Commissioner.

“Yes, I need to set up a secret police force to arrest and torture my political opponents, to whom should I
speak please?”

“Is this Mr. Ignatieff again?”

“No, I’m just a private citizen trying to get ahead. Who should I talk to about this sort of arrangement please?”

“I don’t think we do secret stuff any more, darn the luck. It sounds interesting, but I don’t think we can help you.”

“You’d be able to hold people up for money at airports…”

“We already do that. Nah – I don’t think we’re interested. Thanks for calling, though.”

This was not going as I had planned. I needed some way to skim money off of everything in the country, then spirit it away where no one would ever be able to trace it. Just like they do in third world countries.

Then inspiration struck and I laughed maniacally...

“Long Gun Registry, how may I direct your call which is not being monitored for training or security purposes or anything we swear no really?”

“Yes, it’s the Prime Minister’s office calling. We’re about to implement some policy changes in your program and I thought we should have a meeting…”

Awesome Music Video!

2011-02-11T10:20:00.000-08:00

This is so eye-wateringly dreadul you'll love it! Hilarious! Better than the original!

Things that Sound Dirty but Aren't #5

2011-02-11T10:15:00.000-08:00

Overheard at the Vancouver Boat Show:

"She's got a cozy galley"
"That's a big mast you've got there"
"She's got impressive topsides and a V bottom"
"It's a lot smoother ride if you take down her jib"

Benchley Contest Finalist

2011-02-09T14:13:00.000-08:00

So the Robert Benchley Society people have finally gotten around to short listing this years writing contest - and I made it to the top ten! Yippee!

See the list here: http://www.robertbenchley.org/competition/index.htm

Sneak Attack

2011-02-05T17:05:00.000-08:00

It was Saturday morning. I had no meetings, no soccer games, no classes to take kids to – nothing. I could sleep in.

I never get to sleep in.

Knowing all this created a delicious, warm feeling within me. Then I realized the warm feeling was about to be related to my bladder, so I got up and went to the bathroom. THEN I got the delicious feeling of anticipation as I padded back to bed. Ahhhh.

The plan of attack was to surprise my enemy at the break of dawn, when he would least expect it. I lay in wait, carefully camouflaged against a dark background. My target rose right on schedule and walked to the noisy small water room, then returned to my attack place. He never saw me. All was in readiness. I purred quietly in anticipation.

As I slid between the still-warm flannel sheets I began to giggle deliciously. This was going to be great. I snuggled in and arranged the blankets just so. Then, in an act of supreme hedonism, I slid a spare pillow between my bony knees, thus guaranteeing me at least two hours of dreamy, wonderful snoozing.

My targets lay beneath a thin cover. I spotted them easily. Two neat rows of five each, parked side by side at the base of the bed, like battleships at anchor.

I had studied the attack of Pearl Harbor by watching a dreadful movie (Ebert only gave it one and a half stars), so I knew how to proceed. I would inflict maximum damage by using surprise and overwhelming force, while avoiding love triangles at all costs. My claws were ready. My fangs were ready. I was ready. In fact, I was in mid-air, hurtling towards my destiny…

Time is somehow compressed when you’re dreaming. I was walking down palm-lined beaches, smelling the tropical air and the beautiful flowers that were everywhere. It was paradise…

My timing was perfect. No alarm had been raised, and the tender, juicy targets were just lying there, stationary. They took no defensive measures of any kind. From high altitude I rolled in, claws extended, out of the rising sun…

The drool from my grinning, snoring mouth was just beginning its journey to the pillowcase when all hell broke loose. From out of nowhere, red hot pokers sank into the flesh of my warm, slumbering feet, accompanied by a ferocious squeal that could best be described as “Bonsaiiiiimmeeeooowwwww!!”

My feet recoiled in horror, dragging my assailant up under the covers to the middle of the bed. A mad thrashing commenced, reminiscent of several angry badgers stuffed into a small sack. I tried to dislodge the talons but my attacker doggedly (?) (hey – ‘cattedly’ doesn’t work) held on and enjoyed the ride. I may have uttered something inappropriate such as “Goodness gracious!” I can’t remember.

I have never had so much fun in my entire, short life! It’s not often you get to wrestle big toes under the covers like that, and it was truly epic how they thrashed about. It was like having ten tethered mice right there in front of me, unable to escape my evil clutches! It was really fun chasing them around in the dark, biting and slashing…probably the best morning I have ever had.

Battle damage assessment continues as I wash the sheets in cold water. I have to admit it was a surgically precise strike, with very little collateral damage. The scabs, scrapes and fang marks should heal without scarring, I think.

It’s the psychological damage that is taking its toll…

No more lying in bed, dozing, while a kitten sleeps contentedly on top of the blankets. As I fall asleep, the slightest touch causes me to lurch my feet higher under the covers, whimpering. I awake in the night, sweating.

This was a day that I seriously considered calling the SPCA and making an appointment.

This was a day that will live in infamy.

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #4

2011-02-03T06:12:00.000-08:00

Pertaining to Water Bottles:

- To get things going you need to pull on the nipple

- Sucking works as well as squeezing

- Some of them are so big you need to use both hands

- Some are made from silicone

- They bounce around when you run

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #3

2011-02-03T06:04:00.000-08:00

Overheard in the Workshop

"I'm looking for a screw on the floor"

"Hit reverse and back it out slowly"

"Tighten those nuts!"

"Hold it in place with your fingers then hammer it home"

"I hit it so hard it bent!"

"That's not white glue!"

"They call me...Six Eyes"

2011-01-30T08:31:00.000-08:00

So I got some swanky cool new eyeglasses the other day.

Boy are they strong. I can see the scratch on the beak of that crow across the valley from here. It's what's a foot in front of me that is causing me problems.

My eye Doc has apparently changed my subscription by a few ornithopters, such that now I can't see anything directly in front of me. This can cause some d9je8*wlow eout029ur5 jfeirt lsityq well you see sometimes my fingers don't hit the right places on my computer.

Until I broke my most recent pair, my glasses were fine for typing and up close viewing. Then I broke them and had to make do with my old, old prescription. This was OK, but I looked like a dork (more so than usual, if that is possible).

So now what I do is wear my contact lenses during the day, coupled with the reading glasses I perch on the end of my nose for up close reading or whatever.

When I get home and take my eyeballs out, I switch over to my new Super Power XRay Star Viewer Glasses with Telescopic DiOpticators!

Then it gets a little weird. Since these aren't bifocals (a mental lapse brought on by abject poverty), I am now forced to wear my reading glasses in addition to my super cool new spectacles. I will provide a picture of this ultra-cool visionary ensemble in due course.

I may also need a small suitcase to carry around all my optical accoutrements, and their cases. Regular (new) glasses. Reading glasses. Sun glasses. Old glasses (just in case). Sixteen bottles of fluids for contact lenses. Dinky little holder thing for my contacts. Special glasses wiper cloth thing.

Yup. Six Eyes. That's me.

It's great getting old isn't it?

Recorders

2011-01-26T11:11:00.000-08:00

Mean Judge: “I sentence you to 20 minutes of having two children practice their recorders in your car!”

Me: “Nooooooooo! Please! Mercy! Whip me instead! Hang me! Water board me! Not recorders! NOT RECORDERRRRS!!!!”

[Prisoner, foaming at the mouth, is escorted from the chamber.]

The torture instrument known as the recorder (an ironic name in that it has never been recorded without attendant ear pain and screaming), is one of the more popular instruments inflicted upon parents by sadistic music teachers.

Other dreadful instruments in this category include the Xylophone, Glockenspiel, Messerschmitt, Budweiser, Lubejob, Pomegranate, and Woodblock.

The recorder, known in its native German as DersqueelingkEarsbleeden, or ‘Annoying Large Whistle’, is a wooden interpretation of what a badger being run over by a five ton truck might sound like.

The sweet melody produced by these instruments (we really do need a sarcasm font, don’t we?) always brings back memories which I thought had been erased by many years of therapy.

It all started in elementary school, where I was sentenced to several years of musical instruction by my parole officers (or “Parents” as some people refer to them).

My first music teacher was a charming French woman named Mrs. Boehnert (pronounced Bo-nair).

Mrs. Boner, as we instantly and maturely called her, was a charming and matronly woman, who we suspected was also deaf as a post and unable to speak English.

Her favourite (perhaps only) English phrase was “Vey fine!” (very fine). Everything was “vey fine” no matter what transpired.

Me (raising hand): “Mrs. Boner? MRS. BONER! May I please go to the washroom?”

Mrs. Boner: “Vey fine!”

Me (after an hour of wandering the halls, committing various acts of vandalism and truancy): “Mrs. Boner?
How do I play this recorder thing?”

Mrs. Boner: “Vey fine!”

I graduated from the recorder (from the Latin to “squeak horrifically”) to the clarinet (“play only while drunk or attempting to become so”), to the saxophone (did you know a skillfully loaded saxophone can hold up to twelve cans of beer?).

I will never forget the sound of our high school band, winning music competitions with sweet melodies like “Overture for Zits,” “Variations on a Theme of Puberty,” and “Concerto for Dorky Blue Uniforms Vey Fine.”

Band tours were common until the government found out. We would routinely inflict ourselves on unsuspecting communities where families, who had upset the local school in some way, were forced to take us in.

People not only had to let us stay in their homes (“Back away from my daughter or I’ll play this recorder!”) but also assemble in their gyms and listen to us “perform.” I suspect they were bribed to do this with large cash grants from the municipal emergency reserve fund. No one would volunteer to do any of this without coercion of some form.

These and other warm memories come flooding back to me as I observe my children beginning their musical odysseys.

I observe only, since I am wearing earplugs.

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't #2

2011-01-13T22:06:00.000-08:00

Pertaining to the Insertion of Contact Lenses:

There should be no pain associated with a proper insertion
Excess fluid can be wiped up with a tissue
Do not insert anything that appears torn or damaged
Leaving one in for more than 12 hours can cause dryness and discomfort
Video recording yourself during insertion can be awkward using one hand, but is healthy and normal
A great place to do it is in front of a mirror in the bathroom
Holding the eyelids open during the act is not a sign of boredom

Heavy Petting

2011-01-11T16:52:00.000-08:00

This is an entirely true story. The faces of those involved have been blacked out to protect their identity.

As a recent convert to cat ownership, I am gleaning insights into cat behaviour which I find interesting, if not disturbing.

For example, one of our two (male) cats passionately makes out with me every morning.

My normal morning routine is to sit at my desk while coffee brews in the kitchen, turn on my laptop, check email, and learn the day’s news. As soon as I am ensconced at my work station, a cat leaps onto the desk and proceeds to make out with me in several different, amourous ways, which I’m going to detail right here in this family newspaper.

First, he butts his head into my chin. I never realized that a sign of affection in the feline community was to gently bash one’s forehead into the chin of your paramour. A few butts later, the cat stares soulfully into my half-asleep face and decides that a good lick of my nose is in order, and proceeds to do so.

Several licks upon the proboscis later, he moves down to my whiskery chin for more wet attention-giving.

Now it is time to sink his claws into my bathrobe and any exposed portions of my chest. My (former) terry bathrobe now resembles a fur coat, such are the pulled threads from his claws. The numerous puncture wounds to my chest look no better.

He now switches to the heavy petting stage of our encounter. First, he rears up on his hind legs and gives the top of my head a good sniff while I get to closely examine his belly, which he conveniently places in my face.

Then he lies down on my hands, leading me to think the passion has subsided and I can actually peer around him and check email.

No.

He immediately gets back up, sits before me, and stares soulfully into my face again. Then, in a fit of passion, he leans forward and smears the side of his mouth against the side of my nose. First one side, then the other. His smearing is, apparently, the height of his affection, since he usually saves it for last in his bag of make-out tricks.

To summarize, the sequence of our early morning affairs goes something like this:

Headbump. Headbump. Headbump. Lick. Lick. Knead. Flop down. Back up. Lick. Bump. Smear. Stare. Smear. Headbump. Flop down. Back up. Knead chest with claws. Smear. Lick. Lick. Bump. Smear. Flop down. Back up. Knead chest. Stare. Lick. Flop down again. Back up. Bump. Smear. Lick lick. Smear. Smear other side. Bump. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

All the while, I am turning my head this way and that, trying to look past his busy face to read something on the screen of my computer. Or to possibly type something intelligible in a humour column if at all possibl%#rejtn,.scv. Excuse me – he just sat down on my hands again as I was typing there.

I do not know if this in any way constitutes gay behaviour on his part (or mine). Frankly, I don’t care. We have a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy regarding these acts of passion and adolescent curiosity.

He just won’t leave me alone.

Being on the receiving end of these advances gives me pause, and I would like to now offer a sincere apology to all women I dated in my younger days. I now understand what it must have been like with me, and I just want you to know I had nothing but the best of intentions.

If I happened to head-butt you in the process, I hope it didn’t cause too much bruising.

Deployment

2011-01-05T11:51:00.000-08:00

The Military Police busted me at the airport.

“Soldier, your uniform is mussed and you need a shave. Your overall deportment is unmilitary and I’m going
to write you up for it.”

“Aw, come on Sarge – I’m being deployed to Afghanistan. Can’t you give me a break?”

“Call the number on the back of this Uniform Deportment Enforcement ticket.”

I called.

“Deportment Department.”

“Yes, I’m being deployed and I was written up for my deportment.”

“Ah. You want the Deficient Deportment Enforcement Department. Hold please.”

I held.

“Deficient Deportment Enforcement Department.”

“Yes, I’m being deployed and I got written up because of my sloppy deportment. What are my options so I don’t have a permanent record?”

“You’ll probably need an Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Development Deferment. I’ll transfer you.”

I was transferred.

“Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Deferment Development Department. How can I help you?”

“I’m being deployed and I got written up for my deportment. I don’t want a permanent record so what do I do? I’m growing despondent.”

“There is a segment in the Despondant Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Deferment Department regulations which pertains to this. Let me see if I can help. What’s your assignment?”

“Dependant Apartment Advancement Development Department.”

“Sounds like a permanent assignment. I’ll see if I can help.”

He called…

“Phil? Bill here. Yeah, I’m good. Jill too. Listen, I’ve got a despondent Permanent Dependant Apartment Advancement Development Department Assignment here. He got written up by some overzealous MP under Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Department regulations. Can we do a Displacement Deterrent order instead of the full Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Department Developments Deferment?...I thought so. Thanks.”

“So what’s the news?” I asked.

“As a despondent Permanent Apartment Advancement Development Department Assignment Dependant, charged under Imminent Deployment Deficient Deportment Department regulations, the full Imminent Deployment Deportment Department’s regulations don’t pertain to you. You’ll receive a Deficient Deportment Displacement Deterrent Deferment instead, since you’re in transit. You see? It all makes sense now.”

“Bottom line?”

“Good news and bad news. The good news is, you’re free to go. The bad news is, your assignment has been changed. You are now a de facto Deployment Deportment Deferment Department Detained Defendant Appellant Assignment Attendant.”

“That’s great! Say listen - I’m also looking for some ligament irritant liniment – do you know where I can get some?”

“Soldier – you’re becoming a pain in the thesaurus. You are dismissed.”

Name Needed

2010-12-29T21:05:00.000-08:00

I need to come up with a name for a certain posture.

The posture is adopted by helpful fathers crouched over in front of their children and their children's chums, doing up ice skates at the local outdoor rink.

The physical nature of this crouching behaviour is as follows: Back at 45 degree angle to vertical, knees slightly bent, skate between legs, frozen and bleeding fingers in use tying up laces at the outdoor ice rink. Wind howling, nose dripping, fingers beginning to cramp as the 4th pair is secured to the up-stretched appendage.

Part of this peculiar stance comes from clutching the child's skate between the legs, its razor sharp blade uncomfortably close to one's scrotum and other accessories.

The other peculiarity is a result of the fathers pranged up and sore back, the shooting pains appearing as electrical sparks erupting from beneath the back of the fathers winter coat.

The pain is somewhat diminished by seeing his charges hurtling downwind on the ice, red cheeks grinning, old ladies being bowled out of the way like ten-pins.

My pain was also diminished by thinking of somehow securing the hot chocolate dispensing license for the new outdoor facility. I'd make a fortune.

NESCAR Racing

2010-12-13T06:02:00.000-08:00

TV Announcer: “We are live at the NESCAR 500 - the biggest race on the National Electric Stock Car circuit, as drivers compete for the Smug Cup.”

“Hi everyone, I’m Bryce Malmsley, along with Hubert Throckmorton, and we are about to start the race. Let’s go trackside to Jordan Buckminster the 3^rd.”

“All of the major manufacturers are in this race, Bryce…The Toyota Prius is well represented, as are other hybrids like the Ford Focus, Chevy Volt, Pontiac Ohm, Volvo Current, Kia Circuit Breaker, and the Fiat Electrical Meter. Several cars are even AC/DC – not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Let’s listen in to the track announcer and the famous phrase heard at electric car races everywhere…”

Track Announcer: “Ladies and gentlemen! Turn on your engines! Are they on? I can’t hear anything. OK – would drivers please wave if your engine is on? Maybe turn up your radios so we can hear something. Good.”

TV Announcer: “The green flag made of natural fibers is waving here as the pit crews unplug their cars and we get our race under way. And they’re off! We are silently under way and – oh dear! Number 29 is going backwards! Someone must have put his battery in the wrong way! Wow – almost a tragedy right at the start of our race…”

“Number 29 is Dickie Monmouth. He has a lot of experience in the ‘AA,’ ‘C,’ and ‘D’ racing leagues, but there are a few rookies on his crew. That mix-up is bound to cause some red faces back in the pits...”

“We’ve got some real action here today, folks. All of our contenders are bunched up on the back straight as they zoom through the school zone at a reduced 20 miles per hour! Let’s listen in on their radio chatter…”

“So Preston, how about a set of doubles after the heat abates?”

“Sounds spiffy! Say – did you see what Philbert is wearing? Isn’t that the tackiest jumpsuit you’ve ever seen?”

“You’re not kidding! Listen – I’ve got to pull into the pits – my seatbelt is chafing. Let’s chat on the next lap...”

“We have a report from trackside as the race continues…”

“I’m here in the pits as we approach our first fuel stop. We should be able to hear the driver as he communicates with his crew…”

Driver: “I’ll have a tall latte with a shot of hazelnut please guys! And a low fat cranberry muffin! How about some fresh flowers on the dash here? And maybe a shot of Febreeze – that track just reeks out there. Thanks…”

“I must interrupt since there has been some sort of incident out on the track! It looks like one of the cars did not signal a lane change, and the other drivers are gesticulating furiously! They are yelling back and forth at each other as they zoom around the track at speeds of up to 35 miles per hour! I can hear them from here!”

“Number 19 is actually stopping to write a strongly worded letter! Oh my, the action here is fast and furious.”

“As we go to our first facial and pedicure break, it’s the Toyota Prius in first, the Chevy Booster Cable humming along in second, and the Honda Conduit in third. And now a word from our sponsor: Scrunch – the new decaf, non-fat, organic, free-range, world-saving, green toilet paper…”

The Saye Family Chronicle

2010-12-08T12:16:00.000-08:00

Well it’s been another fun and exciting year in the Saye household! Here is what has been going on:

Son number 1 (Diet Pep) has been busy wooing women with his sensuous and godlike trombone playing. So far no joy on the job (or marriage) fronts so he remains at home where he remodels train stations to much fanfare, and builds suspension bridges in the back yard..

Son number 2 (Kamika) is travelling overseas and has not been heard from for many months. If you should see him please ask him to call or write us c/o his sister Newjer at the address below.

Daughter #1 (Keska) is now studying in France at the famous Sore Bun University. She lives with her cousins Vacant and Patrick Sway

My beloved wife Autop is still the town pathologist so people are just dying to meet her (as we say in the Saye household to much mirth). She is the source of much turkey anatomy information while we enjoy our holiday dinners that’s for sure!

My brother Upsyday and his wife Current stopped by on the way to find their kids Vacant and Emba recently. Current is also trying to track down her sister, Shameless Huss, who went walkabout some years ago.

As for me, your tireless correspondent remains confident this year will be the best ever for the Saye family!

Sincerely,

Whistlingdick Saye

Silly Job Interview

2010-12-04T06:07:00.000-08:00

“So – you’re applying for the position of Level 3 Mandarin Orange Tissue Wrapper are you?”

“Yes sir! I think I have the required skill and education needed to wrap oranges in those little tissues – absolutely!”

“Let’s take a look at your resume. Hmmm…BSc from Yale, Harvard MBA, summer fruit picking. What kind of fruit did you pick?”

“Peaches, mainly. Some apricots.”

“You don’t have much relevant citrus fruit experience, do you?”

“No sir, but one summer they let me put stickers on apples for a day or two. I thought I’d aim for something in that area someday.”

“Well I’m afraid you’re just not qualified for this particular position. We do have an opening in our management office, but I’m afraid it would mean having to work with computers and such, for a much higher salary.”

“I don’t want to sound snobby or anything, sir, but I think that sort of work is beneath me. I went to Harvard for a reason and if I can’t wrap oranges or put stickers on apples then I guess I’ll just have to look elsewhere.”

“Follow your dream, young man. All the best to you. And if you ever feel you might want to join the lowly ranks of managers and office workers – you just give me a call.”

“Thank you for your time.”

The Nutmeg Scourge

2010-12-03T21:02:00.000-08:00

Poison control centres across North America are being inundated with stupid kids trying to get high by smoking, snorting, licking, basting, and generally hanging out with nutmeg. Yes - nutmeg - the new 'drug' of choice of really, really dumb kids.

Nutmeg, as we all know, is a gateway garnish - one which can lead to paprika, garlic powder or even cayenne.
From there it is an easy jump to the harder condiments - your mustards, relishes, and, yes - ketchup (shudder).

Speak to your children people. Just say no to spices!

This message brought to you by: C.A.V.E. - Citizens Against Virtually Everything.

Things That Sound Dirty But Aren't

2010-12-03T06:19:00.000-08:00

This weeks subject:

Christmas Trees

Big needles usually indicate a large stem
Pruning around the base makes it look bigger
Don't get over-excited if it's your first time flocking
You can smell the bushy ones through the whole house!

Cat Basin

2010-11-28T21:04:00.000-08:00

My wife and I were having a frank exchange of viewpoints...

“Honey! The cats are in our bathroom sinks.”

“I know – aren’t they cute?”

“Cute schmoot! I need to brush my teeth!”

“Use a cup of water like when we’re camping.”

“What? We’re at home - not camping. I don’t think I should have to ‘rough it’ at home.”

“But the kittens love sleeping in our sinks. Aren’t they cute?”

“They are getting less and less cute as time marches on. Once again a family pet is forcing me from my personal zones. First we needed to buy a huge bed so the dog could sleep with us. Now the cats are taking over my sink. Will they be wearing my clothes soon too?”

“No dear, they have good taste. Why don’t you use the kid’s bathroom?”

“Because I think the Health Department condemned it a while ago. I don’t even want to go in there, let alone touch anything.”

“You don’t have to eat off the counter or sink in there dear – just brush and spit.”

“That’s not the point. We have our own, individual sinks, paid for at great expense when we built our house, and said sinks are now filled to the brim with cat. I can see where you’re going with this. Pretty soon you’ll suggest we install sinks just for the cats, won’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. I would never do that. I would just move your stuff downstairs so you could use the powder room or the basement bathroom. That way the cats can use your sink all the time. Aren’t they cute?”

“I don’t think I like this. Look, there is hair everywhere in my sink. That’s disgusting. I assume it belongs to the cats?”

“It must be, dear, you haven’t had any hair to fall in the sink for some time now. I think you’re just jealous.”

“I am not jealous! I just don’t see why I have to clean up their hair and my own. These pets are starting to take over the house. What are towels doing in there?”

“I put towels in there so the sink won’t be so cold.”

“Honey – they have fur. Also, this is a sink, not a bunk bed. Please stop encouraging them to sleep in my basin. They are probably scratching the counter.”

“It’s granite, dear. Cat claws won’t scratch granite.”

“They might if I turn on the water.”

“You leave them alone! Why don’t you just brush your teeth in the kitchen and get it over with.”

“Because I want to go to bed, not traipse downstairs and spit all over the pots! I just want to do my ablutions and go to bed. I’m tired. My life used to be so simple…”

“Well if you had cleaned the pots before coming to bed you wouldn’t have this problem now would you?”

“You’re doing your circular reasoning thing again. Please can I just brush my teeth?”

“Honey just pick up the cat and put him on the bed, then brush your teeth. Everything will be just fine...”

“Thank you for your understanding. Sheesh.”

“…and you can grab a Snuggie and sleep on the couch tonight. The cats seem upset and I want them to get a good sleep. Good night dear.”

Holding the Fort

2010-11-28T13:56:00.000-08:00

During a recent pitched battle in our basement, I was being pummeled by pillow fire from the far side of the room. In a desperate charge, ignoring my many wounds and hurling my pillow grenades, I heroically advanced upon my dug-in foe.

My enemies had well-prepared defensive positions which proved impossible to break through. I was so close I could see my enemy’s beady little eyes through the slits in their defensive armament. I heard some giggling too.

Retreat was my only option. Taking a final look at my antagonists, I blew several raspberries at them to show my warrior spirit, then made my way back to my own, battered fortress.

It was apparent I had taught my kids the fine art of fort building too well.

I come from a long line of Cushion Masons you know.

Being an expert, I write articles for Architectural Digest about this pastime. The magazine doesn’t know I write these articles, and the court order does not permit me to phone them anymore, but I do write them.

As a gifted pillow architect, and not an ‘immature crank’ as some (many) have suggested, fort building is a combination of structural engineering, logistic planning, and mental obsession. It is art, science, and a way for grown men to make sound effects like artillery explosions and crashing boulders.

Fort building is innate in most males, and usually manifests itself while shopping with their wives.

The wife will be using her actual brain while looking at a new sofa, analyzing the size, shape, colour, fabric texture and so on.

Her husband, on the other hand, will examine the same piece of furniture and only think, “These couch cushions would make a great fort.” It’s the guy way.

Finding your inner fort builder is easy, once you have clarified the fort’s purpose. Is it massive, to defend against foreign invaders? Or is it stealthy, where a good book can be read in secret, or where poisonous intestinal gas bombs can be deposited for your little sister to discover at a later time?

The actual use of a structure is vitally important for the designer/engineer to understand.

With interior forts, for example, big couch cushions are used primarily as walls, which in turn support roof cushions for overhead protection. A useful way to hoard your cushion supply is to tip the couch on its side, thus freeing your building materials for other duties like tunnel walls, entrance doors, or nuclear ‘bunker buster’ projectiles.

Blankets make for excellent doors but are not structurally sound, something I learned by attacking a weak-looking blanketed structure via high-altitude bombing, only to find hidden cushions beneath the blankies, much to my chagrin and my kid’s ‘Nya! Nya!’ delight.

Most forts carry strict admissions guidelines. Members of the opposite sex, for example, and their attendant cooties, are not welcome, on pain of a face washing with a snowball in the case of exterior forts.

Structurally, a simple wall or partial snowman will suffice for a winter fort. Roofs are rare, since all you need the fort to do is be a hiding place while making or lobbing snowballs. The fort itself can also be cannibalized into snowballs when desperate, life-saving measures are called for (alien invasions, World War III, etc.)

Summer forts are usually in or behind trees. My fort (excuse me – my kids’ fort) is in the park behind our house and features many modern conveniences, such as a two by four nailed to a tree. Sticks are added for decoration and/or camouflage, and an old tarp completes the ensemble.

This fort currently has an occupancy limit of about six kids for secret meetings. No adults are allowed, of course, since they carry grown-up cooties.

Oh. There’s the phone ringing. It’s probably my editor at Martha Stewart Living magazine. I write for them too, you know.

Anomaly

2010-11-23T19:19:00.000-08:00

A crowd had gathered…
The screen goes all wavy and blurry as we travel back in time…
“What is it?”
“I don’t know – I’ve never seen one before.”
“Neither have I. Funny green colour, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. I’ve never heard of them appearing here. I wonder if I should touch it?”
“No! It might disappear! Just stand back and watch, see what it does.”
“I heard someone say they saw one a few summers ago.”
“I’m taking pictures with my cell phone. Hold something up for scale.”
“I can’t believe it. To think that I’m seeing this with my own eyes…I think I’m going to cry. I want to tell my grand kids about this…”
“Incredible.”
We were standing around the arrivals screen at the airport, staring in wonder at an announcement that said, as amazing as it sounds, “Early.”
We were in awe.
“Usually you only see ‘Cancelled’ or ‘Delayed’ ones. I’ve seen some ‘Arrived’ ones too. But never this. What do we do?”
“Dunno. I work here so I’ll check the Operations Manual, but I’m pretty sure there is nothing in it about this happening.”
“Maybe the baggage guys will know what to do.”
“I just checked with them. They’re playing football with the fragile stuff. How about the ticket agents – can they help?”
“I doubt it. I told them a flight was early and four of them fainted. Maybe the Fire Department knows what to do.”
“Nah – they’re on break, watching the full body scanner videos with the security guys. I think we’re on our own. I’m so scared…”
“This is eerie. I remember something like this happening on an X-Files episode once. I think it had something to do with time travel. Or aliens, maybe. Or maybe it was just David Duchovny wanting to get into whatsername’s pants. I can’t remember. But it was at an airport, anyway.”
“Well that was helpful. Now listen, people. We all know airlines say their flights have arrived as soon as they’re within 500 miles of the airport. This may be a conspiracy of some sort, something to make us think they are doing something about on-time service…”
“Maybe solar radiation caused the plane’s DNA to mutate…into something horrible! Who knows what we’ll find on that aircraft. I feel a bad movie script coming on…”
“What a bunch of sissies! Can’t you just accept there might have been a tail-wind and they showed up early?”
“Dude – it’s the holiday travel season, and its winter. If arriving early were even remotely possible, the airlines would have a surcharge for it. Don’t be an idiot.”
“Shush! Here’s a PA announcement…”
“Your Attention Please. Listen to the sound of my voice. You are getting very sleepy. You will not remember any of this when you wake up. An airline flight has not arrived early. There is no reason for alarm. Your eye lids are very heavy now. You will remain calm. You will have a drink of water from any of the convenient water fountains at the airport, and the water will not taste funny...”
“There are no mysterious green blobs aboard the not-early aircraft. You will not remember coming to the airport. You will gladly pay the ticket on your vehicle windshield and will not write to the mayor. You will not remember any of this. I will now mutter something unintelligible and you will be wide awake and refreshed. Thank you.”

Limerick Time

2010-11-21T07:38:00.000-08:00

Said a boy to his irksome young sister
“I am going to belt you with fister"
"Please open the app
That will close up your yap"
Then he swung, but his sucker punch mister.

The Roman Empire - Part Eye

2010-11-15T09:20:00.000-08:00

I thought I’d take a stab at writing about Roman Emperors, since getting stabbed seems to have been their favourite pastime.

First, some background.

Rome, known as ‘The Eternal City’, or ‘City of Quality Leather Goods, For You Half Price’, was founded way back, before the fifties even. Back when years were counted in reverse. Women loved this time period...

Ancient Woman #1: “How old are you this year, Madge?”
Ancient Woman #2: “I’m turning 28 BCE you know.”
AW #1: “Wow. It seems only a few years ago you were 39 BCE”
AW #2: “It’s a great time to be alive. If only we had underarm deodorant…”

It was also a time when mathematics was undergoing a transformation, brought about by chariot drivers like Ben Him…

Ben Her: “Nice move out there! Gimme Vee, man.”
Ben Him: “Wha? How about we invent the number five – it will sound better.”
Ben Her: “Okay. Gimme five. I like it! Hey – we’re going for a beer later – say around IX-thirty. Wanna come?”

So you can see, great changes were under way in the Roman numeral empire.

When it came to leadership back then, around the year Minus 59, a guy named ‘Orange’ Julius Caesar stabbed everyone and began dictating, since he was now a dictator and that’s what they do.

For his crown, he glued leaves of Romaine lettuce to his head, giving him an idea for a great salad…

Julius then focused on his conquering business and did quite well, despite looking like a goof with lettuce wrapped around his head. He was quite the rascal, invading places like Gall, Germ, Sputum, Frank and Virus.

He also invented gold coins, wrote country music (“Ruby Conned Me and I Ain’t Goin Back,”), chased his old partner Pompeii around (a race which Caesar won by a head), invented the swimsuit calendar, and came up with brilliant slogans like “Render all money unto me!”

The problem was, while everyone was rendering unto Caesar, a gink named Brutus was idly rendering Caesar, ushering in another stabbing tournament. "Masters Stabbing coverage is brought to you by Central Plumbing and Heating of Rome – your one stop shop for hypocausts, baths, and all your aqueduct needs. In business since Minus 200."

These tournaments were held in coliseums where all the wannabe Caesars were seated in an area along the first base line, an area known as…wait for it…the Caesarian Section (rimshot).

So after Julius got ventilated, his adopted grandson Augie took over and maintained the family business, Caesar Construction and Conquering (“Specializing in roads and ruins. Offices across the known world. Legions of fans. Gaul today!”).

Augie also found time to name a month after himself (April, I think), and have a fling with whatsername in Egypt (the one with the nice asp).

It was Augie who started off this whole Name Yourself Caesar thing, and after him came Caesars named Tigger, Coagulate, Claudia, Aero, Posh, Vespa, Trojan, Venereal, Hades, Constance, Romero, Shakespeare and a bunch more. Jeez, you could fill a book with these guys, and get this - they were all stabbed too!

By the later years of the empire, any emperor worth his celery would just hang around all day, drinking spicy beverages containing clam and tomato juices, waiting to get stabbed. It was a dangerous and lonely existence, especially given all the visible Goths that were allowed into bars back then. It was these visible Goth people (let’s just call them Visigoths for short), who brought on the Dark Clothing and Makeup Ages, which continue to this day.

Well, we seem to have run out of space for this chapter, students. In future history lessons, we’ll learn why all the leaders of heroic uprisings resembled Kirk Douglas, and why Roman sculptors could never quite get the arm thing right, probably due to stabbing.

Until then.

Crime Running Rampant!

2010-11-13T06:26:00.000-08:00

Look at these people. Their ski's have been stolen from them in broad daylight and they just don't seem to care.

Is crime so common these days that criminals just go unpunished? We've got to get organized people!

This message paid for by the Cross Country Skiing Victims of Robbery Association.

An Introduction to Classical Music

2010-10-24T08:47:00.000-07:00

Scientists have recently discovered strains of classical music that are directly responsible for outbreaks of opera. Before another major opera pandemic erupts, causing needless and painfully loud singing, I feel it necessary to explain the pathology of this scourge before it is too late.

Speaking on condition of anonymity, scientist Phil Harmonic (16 Parkside Lane, Kelowna), defines classical music as music played mainly on instruments of the string family, which includes violins, jellos, wide-mouth bass and victrolas. When a number of these mutate together, it is called an orchestra, which should always have a positive conductor, a neutral conductor, and a ground.

Actually, conductors have nothing to do with music – I was just looking at an electrical diagram. Pay no attention.

Other components of an orchestra include a brass section (French horns, strumpets, floozies, tubes, monkeys), your windywood section (oboys, baboons, bassinettes, accordions), and your permission section (drums, tiffanies, kettles, woods, irons, putters, snares). Interestingly, ‘Iron, Putter and Snare’ is the name of my Uncle’s law firm.

Classical music got its start during the Broke period of 1622 when several people in idiotic wigs decided to play with their clavicles (ahem) to create an erotic dance craze known as the ‘polka’. Composers in Spain simultaneously came up with a craze called the ‘Macarena’, for which they were immediately burned at the stake.

Other notable times in classical music were the Romantic period which started in 1812 during the Battle of Overture, the Trashy period (1850 and up), Obese period (1910 plus service charges), and the Modern period (1929, marked down from 1975).

Some of the men in wigs and stockings who started all this included such notables as Franki Vivaldi and the Four Seasons, Bock, Handle, Brahmins, List, Chevrolet, Lou Bait-Oven, John Strauss, and Moe Zart. These men were the rock stars of their time, trashing castle rooms between concertos, dreaming up new types of songs like your Sonatas, Camry’s, Areas, Ditties, Foxtrots, Jives and Heydudes.

These songs were further sub-categorized into Soundtracks (Star Wars, Godfather, Simpsons), About To Be Devoured (when some moron in a scary movie wanders off alone), Overtones, Movements, Concerts, Plays, Church, Restaurant, Elevator, and Westerns. Other mutations include cannons by Pickleballs, airline commercials, and marching band noise/music.

So that is what classical music is in a general sense, but how is it played, you ask? “With great difficulty,” I answer.

You see, classical music is a series of ‘scales,’ which are found on ‘fish,’ who are not deft violin ‘players,’ but are tasty in recipes of ‘note,’ ‘notes’ having something to do with ‘melody,’ which appear in great number on pages of ‘music.’

It takes years of diligent study to figure out how to print these pages, during which time the musician figures out how to put his fingers in his ears while his roommate practices his bagpipes. He does this (plugs ears) to staunch the blood flow from his head, and also to occupy his fingers to prevent strangling the source of the dreadful sound assaulting his senses.

The other way to learn classical music is to play piano in some tacky lounge or cruise ship (same thing), tickling out 400 year-old melodies to wretched alcoholics who pound back boilermakers in an attempt to understand why they are actually listening to classical music. Something like that, anyway.

So there you go – classical music in a nutshell.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to take my kid to chopsticks lessons. Then I’m going Chopin, so I’ll be Bach in a minuet.

Another Win!

2010-10-19T06:55:00.000-07:00

Well I'd like to thank the Academy once again for voting me the winner of America's Funniest Humor Contest again. It's an honour just to nominate yourself, really.

My entry, 'Abuzz,' pertains to the sex lives of bees. Read it HERE.

Good Question

2010-10-16T08:25:00.000-07:00

Actual question posed by a son who may have seen too many cartoons:

"Dad, when you get electrocuted, can you see your bones?"

This question came shortly after daughter said the reason she was running around like a maniac previously was because her "legs were full of hyperness!"

And you wonder where I get my material from?

And Now: A short, rude Ditty

2010-10-06T07:16:00.000-07:00

Sylvia Chlamydia (koala)
Got STD’s from Joe in Walla Walla
This Joe (koala) fella
Made her crotch burn lika hella
She’s onna penicillin now, ya falla?

I have no idea where this came from or why I wrote it. I take no responsibility.

Thankyou.

Getting to No You

2010-10-02T07:09:00.001-07:00

"Dad, can I get a BB gun?"
"No."
"Can I get a knife?"
"No."
"Can I get some new, baggy jeans?"
"No."
"What about this toy?"
"No."
"Dad, is 'No' all you ever say?"
"No."
"Have you ever said 'Yes' to one of my requests?"
"No."
"Will there ever come a time when you say yes to one of my boyhood desires?"
"Yes."
"Yay! I got a yes! Will you be answering yes to all my questions from now on?"
"No."
"In a different part of the mall, maybe?"
"No."
"Later today?"
"No."
"Tomorrow?"
"No."
"Come on, Dad, these conversations are becoming predictable. All I ever do is ask for stuff and all you ever say is no. I don't even know why I try anymore. Do you?"
"No."
"There you go again. I can't win, can I?"
"No."
"I still think it's cruel to only say 'no' all the time, don't you?"
"No."
"Can you at least give me some hope, something to look forward to? Will you ever say yes to any of my polite requests?"
"No."
"What if I give you one of my patented, adorable, pouty child looks?"
"No."
"Dad, I have an important question. Do you love me?"
"Yes. With all my heart."
"Then why do you always say ‘No’ to me?”
“It’s an economy thing. Saves energy. And money.”
“I’m glad you love me, Dad. Can we go get some ice cream now?"
"No."
“Dad, let’s switch to ‘Yes’ mode – it’s much more positive. I am a growing boy and I need positive influences in my life. It will help with my self esteem. So – do you think we can start saying ‘Yes’ now, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now – about my requests – are you prepared to exert a more positive attitude towards my development?”
“Yes.”
“Does that mean saying ‘Yes’ from time to time?”
“No.”
“Are you going to say ‘No’ to me the next time I ask for something?”
“Yes.”
“Let me re-phrase that last question. If I were to ask you for a new bike, would you answer the question with a ‘No’?”
“Yes.”
“I’m confused. Did you just say Yes or No to my question?”
“Yes.”
“You’re tricky. I messed up the question didn’t I? I asked for a bike, and I asked if you would answer the question with a no and you said yes, right?”
“Yes.”
“So I blew it didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“You grown-ups are cruel, you know that? You always twist around what we’re trying to say. Are you going to do that until I’m in college?”
“Yes.”
“Dad, do you ever say no?”
“Yes.”
“I want to go home, where you’ll probably tickle me while we watch manly car shows, won’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Any way to avoid being tickled?”
“No.”
“You’re puckering up your lips again, Dad. Do I have to kiss you out here in public?”
“Yes.”
“Can I ever refuse to give you a kiss?”
“No.”
“Will you kiss me when I’m a sullen teenager?”
“Yes.”
“In public?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Will I get all embarrassed?”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t figured out a way to end this column, have you Dad?”
“No.”
“Maybe just give me a kiss and we can go home.”
“Aww, do we have to go home?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Can’t we stay a little longer?”
“No.”

Antlers

2010-10-02T06:32:00.000-07:00

Some animal was out of control on Vancouver Island, wreaking havoc on suburban gardens. Shrubs had been nibbled. Vegetables eaten. Prize strawberries consumed. Nothing was safe from this wild predator.

Strangely, ominous music played whenever it was about to appear.

A wildlife expert named Cooper accompanied me and closely examined some chewed up bits of vegetation - all that remained from the latest attack. When he finished he tore off his glasses and remarked “This was no field mouse. It wasn’t a Rototiller either. It was an ungulate!”

Residents held a town hall meeting to see what could be done about it. Tempers were flaring and people were yelling back and forth when an ungodly screech sounded.

People fell silent, the crowd parted, and there at the back of the room was a weathered man slowly scraping a set of deer antlers down a blackboard. He was seated, munching on a cracker, an old, orange ball cap on his head.

“I’ll catch this deer for ya." he said. "But it ain’t gonna be easy. It’s a bad deer – a rogue. Not like going down to the petting zoo and giving his ears a scratch. This deer – he’ll swallow your strawberries whole. And your cedar trees. We’ve gotta do it quick if you don’t want to miss out on the farmers market season. You’ll have to ante up if you want to save your berries and herbs. If you want to go cheap you’ll all be on welfare the whole winter.”

As Police Chief I had to reply. “We’ve got a budget of two thousand dollars Mr…what did you say your name was Mister?”

“Quaint. The name’s Quaint. I value my neck at a lot more than two thousand bucks, Chief. I’ll catch him for two. But I’ll gently tranquilize and transport him up island and organically release him for ten. Ten thousand dollars – fluffy white tail and everything, all wrapped up with a cute bow on top.”

He stood, smiled knowingly, and walked out.

We knew we had to use him. The other proposed methods, such as issuing strongly worded letters or introducing predators into the area, would not work. It was ludicrous to think that bringing bears and coyotes into Oak Bay would work any better than the lawyers and lobbyists already living there

So it was that I found myself loading up a truck with supplies – food, sleeping bags, tent, ribbons, wrapping. The wildlife guy, Cooper, brought along some fancy schmancy tracking gear. Later, we hunkered down in a sea of grass on the edge of the city.

I was throwing out handfuls of grain to draw our prey in closer. In mid-fling I turned and there he was. Two feet tall at the shoulder, huge, inch-high, fuzzy antler nubs towering over his head, big brown eyes, pale spots running down his side. A butterfly circled his head and landed on his nose.

This was our quarry. This was our mythic whale, our great white shark, our living metaphor for everything wrong with our consumer society, and everything right about a hundred mile diet being destroyed by marauding ungulates, all somehow written into a strange and confusing analogy.

It was…Bambi.

I lurched upright and walked slowly back towards my comrades. “We’re going to need a bigger bow,” I said numbly.

Cooper and Quaint sprang into action. Cooper gently but firmly tied a tracking device around the animal’s neck. Quaint took quick aim and shot several hundred photos of the beast. Some of them missed, but some were good enough for a stock photo agency.

That night, after telling several amusing scar stories, we went home. We all have kids so there’s no way we’re touching Bambi or his ilk. We’d be killed instantly. Are you kidding me?

Tough beans about your gardens, people. Maybe put up a fence or something.

The End.

A Former Radio Announcer Who is Now an Accountant

2010-09-26T12:27:00.000-07:00

“Morning Fred.”

“Morning Rick. Nice looking morning out there.”

“It sure is Fred! We’re looking for a high of thirty degrees in the sunshine today. It’s currently fifteen on the beach and eighteen downtown. Coming up next, I’ve got a meeting about accounts receivable on the Johnson file!”

“Boy, you ex-deejays don’t break out of the mold much do you? You might want to switch it off from time to time. So you’re still riding your bike to work, I see. How’d it go?”

“An earlier stall was cleared away from the left hand lane of the freeway, Fred, leaving just heavy traffic volume to slow me down on my morning commute. No stalls or accidents to report right now. If you see anything in traffic be sure to give me a call. It’s free on your cell phone.”

“Alrighty then. So – do you and Wendy have plans for the weekend?”

“We’ve got a classic rock weekend lined up starting Friday at four, Fred! All the hits, all the time, all weekend long! And I might take the kids swimming.”

“Sounds great. Hey, what time is it anyway?”

“It’s twenty minutes before the top of the hour on a beautiful summer morning! Coming up next hour, I’ll be visiting the washroom, and then I’ll toast a bagel and head down the hall to my office!”

“Don’t we have training or something this morning?”

“Coming up at eleven we’ll have a conference call about the new tax regulations, and what a rockin’ good time that will be.”

“Can I join in?”

“Sure! Be the ninth caller! Phone lines are open now!”

“OK. Well, I have to get back to my desk. See you later.”

“We have some bills to pay right now on the Rick King show but coming up next we’ll be checking email and preparing the balance sheet for the Acme Company financial statements. You’ve got The King for breakfast!”

I popped into his office later. “Hey, Rick, I was wondering if you could help me figure out the equity position of the partners in this construction company account…”

“Thanks for stopping by, Fred! We’ll get right back to accounting but first let’s turn on the speakerphone and visit with Jennifer on location at the reception desk. Jennifer also used to be a broadcaster. Hi Jennifer! What’s going on down there?”

“We’re having a great time here at reception today Rick– tons of people and phone calls and couriers coming and going! You’ve simply got to come down here – we have some of the best deals on office supplies in this city! We can handle it all here – deliveries, phone calls, mail and postage – all at great savings to YOU the consumer! Stop on by – I’m here till five o’clock but these offers will be available all week long!”

“Thanks Jennifer. That’s incredible. We’ll check back with you next hour.”

“Well that’s all the time we have today. Be sure to join me tomorrow when I give away some tickets to the big game I can’t attend! I’ll also make some wacky phone calls to people in the office, sell some Girl Guide cookies for my kid, and do an awesome trial balance on the Lipschitz account!”

“Up next, Big Bill Davis will take you through your evening as he cleans the office and empties the wastepaper baskets. We’ll see you at the same time tomorrow. Here’s Simply Accounting with their hit module – Payroll Deductions. Bye for now.”

We now return you to your regularly scheduled work activities.

Attack Planning

2010-09-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

With military precision (I think I've just invented a new oxymoron) my children are planning a major operation for Halloween.

For those without children, you must understand that Halloween logistical planning begins sometime in January (the Christmas gift wish-listing season properly begins in March, of course). At this time the kids begin honing in on one of several hundred costume possibilities, a choice which will change several dozen times per hour for the next 9 months.

We are currently in the throes of route planning, another intensive exercise. A change this year is we are going to shut our house down and go as a family to a 'rich' neighbourhood where, apparently, they hand out FULL SIZE CHOCOLATE BARS!!! Not the dinky little ones everyone else has - the real McCoy. The big kahuna's. Full sized chocolate bars.

I can't decide what to wear.

Cat Affection

2010-09-23T07:09:00.000-07:00

I have been meaning to write something about how cats show affection to their owners, but it is difficult when one of them (I'm referring to a cat here) is sitting on your hands as you type, staring you in the face, and smearing the side of his head against your chin. Over and over.

It is most intense first thing in the morning. I get up, start the coffee maker, then go into my office and turn on my laptop. Immediately Oreo comes in, sits on the desk between me and my keyboard, stares intently in my face, then rears up on his hind legs, places front paws firmly on my chest, and begins his assault.

It goes something like this: butt head against my chin. Lick chin repeatedly. Butt head again. Look up intently into my eyes, then smear left side of face down side of my face. Butt heads again. Rub noses. Lick my nose. Smear other side of head down my face. Butt heads again. Smear. Lick. Butt. Flop down on hands, making me think he is going to fall asleep and I can actually do some surfing or writing, but no. He gets back up right away and starts process all over again.

Butt. Smear. Swipe. Butt. Butt. Lick. Lick. Smear. Butt butt. Flop. Back up. Smear. Butt. Lick. Butt Butt. Smear. Ad infinitum. He will occasionally add variety to this routine by standing up high and trying to gnaw on my eye glasses. I turn away, he lowers himself down slightly, and begins again. Butt. Smear. Lick.

Having never been a cat owner before, I had no idea cats displayed their affection this way. Especially given what I had done to him yesterday, you'd think I would be the focus of impotent (ha) rage against the person responsible. Nope.

Butt. Smear. Wipe. Lick Lick. Butt. Smear. Butt. Butt. Flop.

This morning I was laughing so hard at this that I could barely see the screen and I feared waking up the kids. He keeps this up despite the disgusting breath he must be smelling, and the appearance of my unbrushed, furry teeth.

My daughter, who is currently obsessed with cat books, cat novels, cat tribes, cat movies and generally anything feline, actually communicates now in much the same way as her pet.

Instead of a kiss goodnight, we rub noses. She purrs. She hisses and spits occasionally.

Having never had kids before, I did not know these obsessions would consume children in such a manner. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to wake her up with a friendly face smear. Maybe some head butts.