This Is Probably NSFW & Probably A Little Creepy.

Before anyone goes and accuses me of going soft and girly and becoming the next spokesperson for Moms With Issues & The Men Who Love Them, or NAMBLA, or whatever wacky organization you ladies got cooked up, I'd like to point out that, like any man, the moment you dames start talking to me about anything, I start imagining what you look like naked.

No, really. At any given moment during the day, one of you is naked in my head. Don't worry, though, it's tasteful. There's, like, music, and, y'know, lighting, and stuff.

But I just thought y'all should know.

I know I've told y'all 'bout this one before, but, really: it's Goblin Cock. Everyone should be listening to this all the time EVER.

A Quick Note, As A Parent.

Okay, so, before I dig into this wonderful salad that I made all by myself with some vegetables that I picked from the garden AGAIN ALL BY MYSELF (although I didn't grow them, because, y'know, I'm ME), I got something to say, and it ain't a Misfits song.

I know some of y'all don't have kids. I know. Shocking, but true. This is the world we have to live in. Let's move on.

I know that some of y'all whut don't got kids are aware that I DO gots a kid. I know this because y'all keep asking me questions that begin with the phrase, "So, as a parent, what's your take on...", as though being a parent is equivalent to being, say, a communist, or, I dunno, a Canucks fan, which is kinda insulting in a vague way, seeing how being a parent really doesn't change your views on much, unless it was something you were completely ignorant towards in the first place, like, say, ritualistic gential mutilation, or whatever. But, you learn to cope, because who has time to get upset when your kid's eating the finger paint or explaining why it was necessary that the poop took a nap in your bed?

Anyway. Do me favour. Before you ask me: "So, as a parent, what's your take on this? I was in Costco, and there was a lady with her child strapped to her chest who I kept running into in different aisles, and I noticed that people were staring at her as they passed, and then I realized that she was breastfeeding while she was doing her shopping! I gotta ask, is that considered acceptable (insert finger quotes here)?".

Ask yourself: what exactly is going on here?

And the only possible conclusion that you should arrive at is: a mother is feeding her child.

Before you say, "But-", let me repeat that: a MOTHER is FEEDING her CHILD.

Don't get me wrong. I have a license for being a Grumpy Old Man. I'm all for modesty. I want a world where men only speak in grunts and harrumphs and women would stop showing off their ankles. I like taking my clothes off for one person, and one person only, and even then she's gotta be closing her eyes. I'm a prude.

But if you're seriously gonna tell me that you see something wrong or inappropriate about a child being fed in public, well, dude, really: that is fucked up, with big bold capital letters. FUCKED. UP. I say that not as a parent, but as a human being.

Also: don't tell me you want to 'get in on that action'. Really. In fact, don't tell anyone that.

Now I must eat salad and go watch a show about a boy and his dog. This is a track called Stealing Fat, from the soundtrack to a wonderful movie, but you should ignore the video that accompanies it and just listen to the music at a very loud volume.

This Is No Reflection On My Own Life At The Moment Whatsoever. Nope. None.

So, by now you've probably all seen that the universe is working against me, because there's gonna be another Gathering of the Juggalos this year (it's the 11th, guys! Now, I forget, is that the paper, silk, or green Faygo anniversary?); this depresses me, because as much as everyone claims to hate juggalos and ICP and this entire nation of aborted brain tissue, it strikes me that it won't be long before we start seeing ironic juggalos, and then we'll have to differentiate between 'real' juggalos and 'fake' juggalos, despite the fact that both camps will probably need to be pacified with tasers over and over again until the white noise starts to fade from my brain.

Don't get me wrong; despite my grumpy conservative leanings, I tend to think that everyone's a human being who's deserving of love and respect and all those hippyish things. I do. Even though I threaten to throw things at most of the human beings I encounter. I'm happy that these people who define themselves as juggalos seem to have found a community where they can all feel comfortable, safe, or just not as alienated as they'd normally be anywhere else.

The problem is stagnancy. It's great to get together and celebrate what you have in common, but when what you have in common is simply getting fucked up and obliterating as many brain cells as possible before the morning comes, and then waking up and doing it again, all the while listening to the most mediocre music in creation made by people who only encourage more of this infantile behaviour? You're not moving forward, and that's a problem, because in essence, you're simply wasting my air, and I'd like it back, please. Evolve or die. I don't think that's too much to ask.

(Granted, this message is probably for more than just the juggalos, as the majority of people who despise them act in similar self-destructive patterns, they just don't wear silly make-up while they do it.)

I guess what I'm saying here is this: I don't think I can make fun of them any more. My ridicule would only add to their collective sense of alienation, and would seem to give them a reason to continue in acting like complete mongoloids (not that I'm dumb enough to think that the juggalo nation heeds my opinion, but you know what I mean). Maybe if I just held off and stopped treating them like assholes, a few of them might stop acting like assholes.

Besides: how many of you had to look up magnetism on wikipedia after you heard that 'Miracles' song, just to make sure you knew how they 'effing' worked? Yeah, that's what I thought.

Oh, wait, I haven't had coffee yet today.

Walking With Hazel: Saturday July 24/10

Holy COW was today just jam-packed fulla stuff.

First, we played in our swimming pool in the backyard while Mom showed Dad where everything was in the garden (because Dad is forgetful about these things), and then we had to get Dad to come over because there were a couple of bumblebees floating in the water, so he had to fish them out before we could play in there again. Then we sprayed Dad with the garden hose, but we ended up falling over because the pressure from the hose was a bit to much for us.

Then Brandon came by with Cleo and Mikhail, and we all went swimming at a big pool! We played with giant foam noodles, and beach balls, and rafts, and there were slides and ropes to swing on and a big rock wall that you could climb up, but mostly we just held on tightly to Dad, because we're still new at this sort of thing, but it was still fun. Except for the part when the lifeguard came over to tell us that we couldn't just sit on the steps to the slide, and that's when Dad said to her that we were only two, we don't really comprehend what she was saying to us, and maybe if she had a problem with the two-year-old then maybe she should talk to the two-year-old's father who was sitting right next to her instead of frightening the two-year-old so much that she didn't want to swim anymore. We're pretty sure Dad was mad, but he didn't yell, which was probably a good thing.

After that, dad gave us a hug and we went back to swimming.

Then we went home, and we decided the best thing to do would be to march around the kitchen in time to some music while Dad did some laundry, and then we figures out how to use Dad's camera, and we took a picture of his foot!

Then we had a nap.

When we woke up, we decide it was best of Dad gave us a muffin; then we decided it was best if he gave us SEVEN MUFFINS! He gave us one muffin and a few slices of watermelon, so we thought it was a good compromise.

Then we went for a bike ride, and we stopped at the store and spent about half an hour looking for popcorn kernels because they were hidden way at the back, and then we continued on our bike ride, and then we came home, and decided it was best if we just kept our helmets on and headbutted each other.

Don't tell Mom about that one.

Then we had dinner, where Dad pulled off an AWESOME STIRFRY, and then we had popcorn, which is the best way to end any day.

The One-Punch Rule Is Pretty Much On Its Way To Becoming A Reality.

Wow. Let's just pretend that the last two days didn't happen, shall we?

Suffice to say that the majority of customer's at Beano really need to be threatened with a hammer, if not at least slightly tapped on the forehead just to show that we mean business. Also: not to nag on old people, because I know a lot of old people who rock (I myself happen to be getting 'old', like it's something that you order online and wait for by the mailbox expectantly, and then one day it arrives with your Doctor Who DVD sets, a couple of books concerning letting your kids eat dirt and a t-shirt that you're pretty sure you DIDN'T order, because it's got David Hasselhoff's face on a unicorn's body and it's an ungodly shade of yellow and everything about it makes you want to throttle someone in American Apparel skinny jeans and then you realize, hey, wait, I'm acting like a grumpy old man again, but you're kinda okay with it...), but, damn: I have encountered so many seniors who seem to prefer living their lives stuck in Asshole mode, either demanding tomato soup and throwing a tantrum when I tell them I have none to give them, or pointing out that the tax centre across the street won't pay for their parking and expecting me to do something about it, or calling me names when I won't laugh uproariously at their racist joke concerning Arabs, or just generally being as obstinate and as difficult as possible.

I need to get out of customer service, I think.

Also: the Mount Royal Trophy Wives Club really needs to be destroyed. It's high time I did something on that front, whether it be making their half-caf drinks fully caffienated or switching their skim milk for whole milk or maybe just firebombing Lululemon. Who knows. A plan is formulating. Then, when we're finished with them, we can start on the Self-Made Millionaires Club, the guys who hang out for three or four hours every day, shrieking like three-year-olds on meth and leaving a mess that rivals Richard Dreyfuss' garbage mountain in Close Encounters.

Man, people just suck, don't they? It's a good thing there's a new Cloud Cult album out.

Anyway; forgettable things on the internet that make me smile:

1. I posted this a week ago, but it warrants repeated views; the only problem is that someone on Youtube's flagged it, most likely because of the GIANT PENIS that flashes on the screen for a millisecond towards the end, so now you have to sign in to see it, which is kinda sucky, but there ya go: Ferris Club, featuring our hero Cameron Frye and Ferris Bueller as his very own Tyler Durden.

2. I know they call it The Scariest Ads Ever Made, but really, it's only until they put another batch together next year, because you just know that next year or the year after will feature some pro-life bullshit featuring chopped up babies asking you not to murder them OH WAIT NO THAT'S ON A TRUCK THAT'S BEING DRIVEN UP AND DOWN 17TH AVENUE AS WE SPEAK. Because frightening and alienating people is the surest way to get your point across - oh but wait, you have to have a valid point to begin with, right? Right. Jerks.

3. Mumbai to place pyramids at accident-prone locations to help cut down on accidents by using positive energy. Okay, as silly as this sounds, wouldn't it be kind of awesome if this actually worked?

4. I am going to order this as a huge poster and put it up on my daughter's wall.

5. 12-year-old girl stands up to police: "If you take my computer again, I can't do my homework." Should I be worried about that batch of kombucha that's still in my fridge?

That's all for now. I have floors to clean and closets to organize and a garden to just look and sigh sadly at. Then it's time for work, wherein I'm sure someone will need to be yelled at.

Oh, Hot Snakes, why don't you love me any more?

More Compelling Than A Sack Of Hammers

Things we needed to get in order to make muffins:
- flour
- baking powder
- eggs
- milk
- butter
- salt
- brown sugar
- blueberries

Things we DIDN'T need in order to make muffins, but we couldn't help but pick up anyway:
- Jack Daniels
- 'The Kraken' Black Spiced Rum (dude this bottle looks AWESOME.)
- Astro Boy: The Complete Series, which, according to Entertainment Weekly, is "more compelling than Pokemon!"

I think I would like that phrase to be my epitaph.

Time to bake. Wish us luck.

To Keep Their Little Heads From Falling In The Snow

The proper way to greet this day.

I NEVER MAKE SPELLING MISTAKES IN THESE THINGS

So, apparently my ranting worked. My esteemed colleagues over at Straw HQ claim to have been besieged by submissions for our upcoming zine/project, so all I gotta say is: well, it's about goddamned time.

So, um, thanks. We'll work through this stuff, and by 'we' I mean 'probably Josh because he's good at it and the rest of us are lazy jerks', but, whatever works, right?

Now I gotta go pour alcohol into small glasses and glare out the window like the Grumpy Old Coot I happen to be. Don't let me catch you on my lawn, 'cuz I got a bat in my hands and an itch to use it, young fella.

Oh, and this is why Mike Patton makes me all tingly inside: Mondo friggin' Cane.

Walking With Hazel: Yogurt All Day Long

Today started out early, with Hazel actually dragging Dad out of bed by the arm so that he could make yogurt with oatmeal for breakfast. Then we argued over who would take the recycling out to the alley, and ended up doing it together, with Hazel carrying a lot of the smaller pieces of cardboard by herself. Then we discovered that "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" is the new way of saying "More yogurt, please!".

Then we explained to Hazel that if she wanted to sit on the top of the couch and watch everything outside through the living room window, she had to put some clothes on.

Of course, that was followed by a fight over whether or not the stroller should go on the couch, which wasn't so much about the stroller and more about Hazel's insistence that she could stand on the stroller while it was on top of the cushions. Then we discovered that "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" was also the new way of saying, "Daddy, pick me up!"

Then we went outside and did rubbings of tree bark with chalk and crayons, and then we drew animals on them and then put them up in Hazel's room. They didn't look anything like tree bark when we were done, but we still liked them, so shut it.

Then we watched all the parts of Spider-Man where he's swinging through the city, but skipped all the scary parts, which meant that we watched it for a bout five minutes.

Then our friend Sherri came over to visit, who used to work with Dad back when he would hit things with U-locks downtown, and we had a very nice visit wherein Hazel did nothing but tie Sherri's hair up in knots and eat Sherri's Timbits, and then Haze fell asleep while tying up Sherri's hair so now it's naptime which means that Dad has to figure out something for dinner that isn't chicken noodle soup or yogurt, so here's the song of the day.

Walking With Hazel: The Dummies Might Be Right.

Today's edition of Walking With Hazel has been canceled due to stoopid rain, crappy public transportation and Dad being somewhat of a doofus. Special thanks to Christina (aka The Angry Squirrel) for putting up with a sleep-deprived kid who wanted nothing more than to throw everything on the ground over and over and over again, because, well, y'know, DAD, sometimes kids need a nap.

In it's place we have one of those songs which sounds depressing when you read the lyrics, but is actually really, really awesome when you actually hear it.

Now I must go prepare vegetables. Be good, or you'll get no carrots, and then where'll you be, huh? HUH? That's what i thought.

And A Traffic Cop Let Some Strangers Get Away.

So, um, yeah. Shit. Has. Happened.

If you're a close friend and I've neglected to fill you in on the details, drop me a line and I'll give you the scoop. Otherwise, I'm gonna try and keep that shit outta here, because no one likes a whiner, especially on the internet, unless, of course, he's shoving a remote control up his ass, in which case, pass the popcorn, please.

Don't get me wrong: this is still gonna be a place of great bitterness and spite, but it'll be reserved for those things which truly deserve my bile, such as never-ending oil spills, the continued existence of Juggalos, and people who are just AGOG over double rainbows.

Also: you might have to put off with descriptions of the many awesome things my daughter is capable of, to which I say: SUCK IT. The HILJ is possibly the greatest force in the universe, and she's MINE, so I get to brag about her.

(Of course when I say 'MINE', I mean she also belongs to her mother, although I doubt her mother has any problem with me crowing about my daughter's fascination with licking her own reflection in the mirror, so there.)

So, yeah. There. A few things:

1. I've recently switched back from a Mac to a PC, and while normally the transfer wouldn't bother me that much, the PC in question is a wheezing piece of antique furniture that coughs up blood and lung tissue every time I use a search engine, so this Grumpy Old Man is in the market for a new Series Of Connected Tubes Provider; preferably cheap, but one that works, and yes, I finally get that Macs are better, as they tend not to use the energetic equivalent of a bender in Vegas simply to turn on, so, yes, I'm looking for a Mac.

So: a Mac that works, and is relatively cheap. If you were TRULY my minions, I wouldn't have to ask, but there ya go: you just can't find good help these days.

(Y'know what's awesome, though, Mac users? Right. Fucking. Click.)

2. My iTouch seems to have simply extinguished, as well. When I try and use it, it just whimpers and crawls into the damp space underneath my fridge. So, same as above: someone find me an iPod that can carry more than three songs on it without freezing, and I'll reward them with, well, something truly amazing. Like, yknow, gin.

3. Remember The Straw? Remember how we put a call out for submissions for our very first zine about a month ago? Remember how I said it could be anything you want, as long as it fit on a 8&1/2 x 11 page, so it's quite possibly the most relaxed set of publishing guidelines ever? Huh?
Deadline's coming up. July 15, 2010. C'mon, people; I know there are at least a few of you out there who can put a pen to paper without causing your brain to burst into tears, so let's get on it, 'kay? Thanks.

4. Lastly: if you see a cop today, give 'em a hug, and I mean that. Chances are, he or she's had a bad day.

That is all for now, except: this is the best song in the world right now, and if you disagree, I will kidnap your dog and eat it for dinner, and if you don't have a dog, I will do it to your child.