A bit of advice to anyone who might be contemplating canning a whole buncha tomaters to keep for the winter:
Don't.
No, really. Don't. The Ladyfriend and the Mom Pack decided to get together this weekend and mug a farmer for his entire tomato crop, split their loot between three different safehouses, then spend close to 72 hours watching tomatoes boil in large vats. I think I was lucky: I was only present for about eight hours of this, during which time I was repeatedly assaulted by a gang of pre-school thugs who all thought it was funny to hit me in the head with wooden toys whilst choking me under the pretext of demanding piggyback rides and telling me that they 'wuvved' me. The end result: 30 jars of salsa, numerous cases of heat exhaustion, heartbreak, depression and disappointment, and a stove that literally cracked in half. I think we lost a few kids somewhere along the line as well, but they were probably deadweight anyway. More than a few of the Mom Pack have foresworn this activity in the future, which is okay with me, as we all know that my preparation for the apocalypse is piles and piles of Hostess food products and a water tower full o' gin.
Still, it was fun. Kinda.
...as opposed to yesterday, when it seemed as though the entire membership of the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club descended on Beano, punctuated here and there by high school kids buying milkshakes and bagels with their parents' credit card - oh, and the guys laying tile in our new bathroom turned out to be crackheads. Fun City, lemme tell ya. An honorable mention goes to the lady who came in and demanded something called (I shit you not) a 'Baby-chino', sighed with exasperation when I asked what exactly the fuck she was talking about, painstakingly and condescendingly described it as basically steamed milk, rolled her eyes when I explained that we refer to steamed milk as 'steamed milk', and then complained about the price with everyone's favourite line, "...it's not how they do it at Starbucks."
Lady: you're a cunt, and there's probably a good reason why your daughter needs to wear a helmet in public.
Oh, and to those guys who wear buttoned shirts with the top button undone, exposing that triangle of orange fake-tanned hairless skin: y'all look like douchebags. Seriously, all I'm seeing there is another vulva, guys, which I'm quite certain flies in the face of your rampant masculinity - although the popped collar and frosted tips makes me think that you might be grazing in different pastures, which is cool, but most homosexuals have better fashion sense than you. All I'm asking is that you do up that button or wear an undershirt; either that, or I start flicking you in the chest to see if a clitoris pops up.
Hey, y'know what doesn't suck? My daughter, who is currently asleep in the classic 'Face Down, Butt In The Air' position, and has recently taken to making a noise when she's upset that's somewhere between a velociraptor and a starving Nosferatu. It's endearing. Really.
(That's all. I just like talkin' about her, cuz she's awesome, so shut it.)
Something else that doesn't suck: one of our co-workers, Graeme, has a made a short film! (Graeme's the one at Beano that kinda sorta looks like that guy who plays Captian Kirk in the new Star Trek, only without all the punches to the face.) His film is called Actor, and you should watch it, if only to watch the protaginist mimic Christian Bale's Batman voice in his audition.
Also: Josh is still accepting single-sentence submissions. We're thinking that once we get enough sentences, we'll either publish them as one nonsensical story, or else put 'em all in a coffee can and bury 'em outside the cemetery in order to ward off the undead.
Now I sleep, and if anyone has anything else to say about tomatoes, just keep it to yerself, punk.
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