Today I was hanging out at Dominion touching various products and came across a stuffed dog that says “fuck pussy” when you touch it’s paw. Needless to say I’m beginning a campaign to get that dog pulled off the shelves.

My other option for something to do is to research what Canadian firms are involved in Israeli settlement building for the divestment campaign, like I promised some people I would, but I’m holding off on that because it seems awfully arduous compared to trying to have a toy dog taken off the shelves.

I really really try to figure out why people do certain things, usually things I don’t agree with. Usually I can come up with some likely reasons and accept that people are following some sort of logic.

I don’t understand this thing with the skull though, specifically the part where a guy holds the skull beside his exposed penis for the photograph. Of all the attrocities I’ve ever been inclined to commit, my dick hasn’t figured in any of them. The same with all the photographs I’ve ever been inclined to be in.
I haven’t seen any of the photos, so the only explanation I can come up with is that maybe the guy has a really giant dick, but that doesn’t explain the skull being in the photograph.
I don’t know if I can sleep tonight not understanding this. My hope is that over the next few days many more photos of this soldier’s suitably large dick pop up, thus proving he just liked to get it involved in everything and hey, if we’re going to be playing with Afghani skulls then why the fuck not?

Luckily, season 1 of Mythbusters is about to finish downloading and I’ll be able to get my mind off of all of this.

If I was an old man, then three days ago I would have started cursing at my computer and said it was broken. I probably would have then said something racist, because in my experience that’s what old men do when they’re mad, often something racist against a racial group you weren’t aware had any enemies of any sort,* or at least one you couldn’t fathom being associated in anyone’s mind with the problem at hand.

After this cursing I would have gone to bed.

But I am not an old man, as I am constantly at pains to prove. My problem was my keyboard, on which the ‘up’ key and the ‘pause break’ keys were insane. The pause key just cycled through the functions of all the other keys whenever you pushed it, and the up key alternated between printing “yr=9″ and closing down any open programs.

Filled with my youthful vigour**, I tromped off to the computer man’s and bought the second cheapest keyboard he had with money I’d just come across. Before I could get out of the store, he told me that the keyboard was “waterproof”. I don’t yet know if that’s true, (a glass of water sits poised to begin the test), but I do know it sucks. I’m going to have to replace it the second I become rich, which, considering my youthful moxy, is only a matter of time.

Speaking of things I’ll do when rich, today I was at the reference library, and I loved it. When I’m rich I’m turning it into my “Eagle’s Nest”***. Being there I was the happiest I’ve been since Bush came to Ottawa and I was at that demo and beat up all those hippies for doing dumb shit like: one guy threw a firecracker into the crowd. INTO the crowd. Not at the police, but into us. Fuck you buddy. I kerploweed (punched) him. Also, another guy kicked a burning tire into the crowd because he was mad a tire was being burned because it was polluting or some such shit. So I fakapanched (punched) him too. Also I got into an argument with an old woman and skerchoblaches (punches) were almost exchanged.+ Good times. There was much more mayhem because as you can imagine there were communists and pacifists there and I don’t play so good with either of them.

Anyway, being at the reference library today and reading a book about the effects of alcohol on people’s health was the most fun I’ve had since. So many good things to read…

*- I still mistily remember the day I heard “they should all go back to Cornwall, the fucking lot of them!” I checked to make sure they were referring to the Cornish, of Cornwall in the British Isles, and not people from Cornwall, Ontario.

**- I am not an old man.

***- As I’ve just lamented in conversation with a friend, I’m really going to have to come up with a way of referring to it that doesn’t imply I play the role of Hitler, because, well, I’m certainly not Hitler or even Hitlerish and I don’t like that someone will be able to say “in the field of living arrangements he once compared himself to Hitler”, and I needn’t have at some future date some tabloid quoting me as saying “Hitler had a lot of good ideas about leisure spots” which would obviously only get quoted in part, either the first part or the second, neither of which is good because in the first I’ve complimented Hitler and in the second I’ve used the term “leisure spots”. I can only hope that all those possible misquotable possibilities are safely hidden away in the above run-on sentence, in turn hidden away on an unread blog, in turn written by someone tabloids will fear to ever maliciously quote because I swear I will put them all in camps if they do and they better fear me in any case.

+- Why am I using made up words to mean punch? I don’t know.

The Wire is my life lately. I watch it if I can be bothered to be awake.

After Stringer was killed at the end of season 3 I kind of felt like I’d witnessed something really major, but when Michael murdered Bodie just about half an hour ago, THAT tore me apart. If I could still feel emotions, I’d feel something there. Bodie was my favourite character, even if Clay Davis was maybe my favourite person.

If you’re just starting to watch, savour every moment you’ve got with Bodie, and don’t fall for that bastard Michael’s bullshit.
Now I have to wait for the fifth season to start so I can see where they come up with a cure for two shots to the back of the head and Bodie is brought back to life.

Fuck. TV can be tough sometimes.

That nasty black tooth I had in the front of my mouth just cracked in half and fell out. So the root is still there, but the part that extends past the gums is gone. So I’m missing a front tooth. It’s pretty depressing. I’m nowhere near able to afford to have it replaced. Fucking fuck.

This hooker-dog reminds me of my old friend “Acting Sexy man”.

It was dog shit.

…continued from before the break.

Just a couple days ago, that’s exactly where I was sitting with my friend K., where we were watching what were to prove to be the final few hours of Stringer Bell’s life on The Wire.

At a certain point the strongest shit smell I have EVER smelled engulfed us. I first asked him if he’d farted the most disgusting fart your humble author has EVER smelled. He said no and I quickly moved to possibility number two, that it was coming from that window just precious inches from our noses.
So I stood up, put my nose close to the window, and took a sniff. There was no doubting it at that point, so I closed it and the smell quickly went away.

At that point I thought it was dog shit, though I quickly remembered the scene we had just watched a little while ago where one of the cops stepped in some shit in an abandoned house in the projects and said something like “fuck, dog shit”, and the other replied “you hope”. Considering how someone mooned me through that window the first and only day I didn’t have something blocking sight through it, I knew that it might be human shit, and I knew that I hoped it wasn’t.

Coming up: The Epilogue.

Cher – Believe Lyrics

After love, after love [repeat]
No matter how hard I try
You keep pushing me aside
And I can’t break through
There’s no talking to you
So sad that you’re leaving
Takes time to believe it
But after all is said and done
You’re going to be the lonely one, Ohh Oh

[CHORUS:]
Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don’t think you’re strong enough,
No
Do you believe in life after love
I can feel something inside me say
I really don’t think you’re strong enough,
No

What am I supposed to do
Sit around and wait for you
And I can’t do that
There’s no turning back
I need time to move on
I need love to feel strong
‘Cause I’ve had time to think it through
And maybe I’m too good for you Ohh Oh

[CHORUS]

But I know that I’ll get through this
‘Cause I know that I am strong
I don’t need you anymore
Oh I don’t need you anymore I don’t need you anymore
No I don’t need you anymore

[CHORUS repeat to fade]

…Continued from previous post.

So the window beside my cojoined bed-desk is right at ground level at the front of my house. There’s a little garden or something there (nothing to do with me, I hate plants almost as much as I hate animals.)

The bed-desk is where I sit with friends to watch movies and TV on my computer, with our heads about a foot below the window.

To be Continued….