The Hangover/Halloween Video Dump

Yeah, I am absolutely fucking sideways right now, and I feel like at any given moment I might puke up an entire bottle of shiraz, so instead of an actual post, here's Marilyn Manson's cover of This Is Halloween, with a Fiona Apple chaser. I'm gonna go hug the toilet now.

The Downside Of Having A Good Day

Today has been a good day. Too good in fact. Things that happened today:

• Scored an interview for a position at American Apparel (Score one for Ironic Hipsters everywhere!)
• Finally completed my Halloween costume for Saturday (See above)
• Took sexy picture of myself in said costume and pimped it out shamelessly. Rrrrrrowr.
• Won free gay porn from Randy Blue (Score TWO for Ironic Hipsters everywhere!)
• Saw one of my best friends out on the street, having come back to Montreal on vacation.

As you can see, today was fucking awesome. Therefore, tomorrow will be total shit. It's basically the law of the universe for me: Every good day will be balanced out by a bad day later, and vice versa. I'm not being pessimistic, this is just how it works. Honestly, have you SEEN the kinda shit I've already been through this year? I remain cautiously optimistic. Although the fact that I have free gay porn on the way to me sorta helps to smooth that over.

Good Grief, The Comedian's A Bear!

For those afraid to watch: A Real-Time Review of The Jeff Dunham Show

00:03 – We open on a shot of the “characters” (I hesitate to use that term, as that would imply that Dunham actually put some creativity into them aside from “Annoying Puppet A” and “Annoying Puppet B”) driving around in a car, vaguely reminiscent of Entourage. Only one is a show about hollow douchebags with someone’s hand constantly up their ass, and the other is The Jeff Dunham Show. *High Fives Self*

00:45 – For reasons completely beyond me, an entire room full of people are clapping for this dicksmear. Apparently, a lot of people want to know what this show is about, which can basically be summed up as: Racist Puppets say the Darndest Things. And by “Darndest”, I mean “Cripplingly Unfunny”.

01:30 – First puppet to get fisted by Dunham: Walter. He’s the old racist puppet, not to be confused with the purple racist puppet, the black racist puppet, the dead racist puppet...Hmmmm, starting to notice a most common denominator here?

02:00 – Not only is Jeff Dunham a terrible comedian, but he also doubles as a terrible ventriloquist. Honestly, he’s barely changed his voice at all, his lips are visibly moving, and I think he just snickered at one of his own jokes. He might as well, considering no one else will.

03:00 – For the sake of putting the puppets in real-life scenarios, Jeff and Walter are seeing a therapist. Let me save you both an hour here: Dunham is compensating for his embarrassingly small penis by taking out his frustration on the world through his show. You owe me $100 there, Mini-Schlong.

04:00 – Oh look, our first minority to make fun of: Gays! Honestly, considering how many fucking lame-ass gay panic jokes you straight people ring out of us, we should really start demanding royalties on your ignorance.

05:00 – Awwww, how cute, they’re bonding over how they both hate gays! That wasn’t a joke; they are literally bonding over their own shared hatred of other people. And people are expected to laugh. Did you know this show actually leads into South Park? As in the show that won a fucking Peabody Award. Where is your Godtopus now?

5:15 – And now the puppet is taking a shit. Groundbreaking television.

06:30 - We’re back from commercial with Ahmed the dead terrorist. You might remember him from the fourth most watched Youtube video in history, or as I like to call it, “Five minutes of my life that I will never get back”.

07:30 – Our next skit features Ahmed in his own comedy show, which feels vaguely prophetic and borderline threatening considering the ratings this show pulled in. Between this and the continued existence of Ed Hardy, I’m entirely convinced that the entire world hates me.

08:30 – The sad thing is, the whole joke about this bit is that Ahmed is supposed to be an ignorant hack, yet his routine is oddly similar to Dunham’s own schlock. Hell, I think it actually qualifies as better.

09:00 – Really? A Kramer Meltdown reference? I was in High School when that happened. You honestly couldn’t find something from this year?

10:30 – You have got to be fucking kidding me. A Dave Chapelle reference? Really? How topical, and you only missed the mark by...four years. You goddamn hack. The premiere episode of your own TV show, leading into South Park, and this is the best you can offer?

12:00 – And now he’s pulling out an Olsen Twins joke, which would have been much funnier back when they actually had a career. Or relevance. Actually, scratch that, this joke would never have been funny no matter when he told it.

12:30 – I love how their idea of “Cameo by a hot starlet” consists of Brooke Hogan. I honestly can’t tell who’s making a bigger mistake here. On one hand, Brooke Hogan is about as sexy as a pile of week old dog shit covered in bronzer and bad hair extensions, and on the other hand, this show is the comedic equivalent of water-boarding your grandmother in piss. I’ll just call this a draw.

13:30 – No offense, but the idea of Jeff Dunham giving someone relationship advice is sorta like getting career guidance from Lindsay Lohan: The best case scenario is that you wind up with a DUI and a condom full of blow shoved up your rectum.

14:00 – I stand by my assessment of Brooke Hogan’s superficial beauty: The woman has the build of a linebacker shoved into about 3 square-inches of fabric. You can park a truck on her shoulders. I would say that she inherited the worst traits from both parents, but that would assume they actually had good traits.

15:00 – Oh joy, one of the puppets is going into anaphylactic shock. Normally, I would say that life-threatening allergies are nothing to joke about, but the idea of one of these annoying little bastards being but six feet under is just too tempting a deal for me.

17:00 – Thank you, Jeff Dunham. You’ve taught us all a valuable lesson: A comedy show doesn’t have to actually be funny. Or even interesting.

18:00 – And for this next segment, we’re taking the ignorant hick out to a gun range! No, not Jeff. I meant one of his puppets. Although I can see how you might confuse the two.

19:00 – In the space of fifteen minutes, he’s managed to tell three ridiculously ignorant jokes against blacks, women and Jews. Although I can’t really call them jokes. Honestly, one of his zingers was “My worst nightmare: A chick with a gun!” That is the joke in its entirety. No set-up, no anticipation, no punchline. Apparently, the notion of a woman using a gun is hysterically funny and should be laughed at. Pretty soon, they’ll be demanding equal rights and control over their bodies and everything! There’s a fine line between being subversive and being hateful, and Dunham is pretty much doing a Doggie-Butt-Scootch on it.

20:00 – And just in case you were thinking he’s a total racist, Jeff is also joking about how much middle America loves guns and beer! This would probably almost count as satire if it weren’t for the continued existence of Sarah Palin.

20:30 – “If you didn’t have a dong, I’d marry you!” This is what Comedy Central has devolved too. The network that hosts The Daily Show, The Colbert Report and South Park, the three sharpest satires to ever emerge on television, and they’re running this?

22:00 – It’s over. It’s finally fucking over. Literally the single worst TV show I have ever sat through, and it’s finally over. For those of you who’ve never seen it: Don’t. In the space of 22 minutes, Jeff Dunham, a comedian on a comedy show on The Comedy Network failed to tell a single joke. There was never a set-up, no actual punchlines, just one shallow, ignorant view after another that the audience was expected to laugh at, as if trained Pavlov-style to giggle hysterically whenever he said “Black”, “Gay”, “Jew” or “Woman”.

Out of curiosity, I went onto Metacritic to check out how bad this show is. Among 7 critics, it held an average of 20, with its best review basically saying that the only people who would enjoy it would be those with already low standards. Only five shows managed to score lower than The Jeff Dunham Show:

· Category 7: The End Of The World

· The ½ Hour News Hour

· The Real Wedding Crashers

· Cavemen

· Momma’s Boys

If Howard Beale existed, this show would give him a conniption. That slight tremor you may have just felt was Jim Henson rolling in his grave, and I have no doubt Miss Piggy will be sending a pipe-bomb to the Dunham residence. This is the kind of show that will make you punch an absolute stranger in the face out of frustration, sob uncontrollably in public then drink yourself to the point of alcohol poisoning. It’s just that bad.

Talk Nerdy To Me

A couple announcements today, as one more list will result in Cracked.com sending me a subpoena.

#1: My pseudo-feud with Diesel Washington (a feudo, if you will) is officially off. (*Hold for Applause*) As it turns out, it was one of those misunderstandings that result from me not knowing when to shut the fuck up, but it's all good now! He accepted my apology, so everything is right in the world. My, look at all those bridges being built and all that water running underneath them...No one can resist my dorky (lack of) charm!

#2: I'm currently back on the job market. I figured that I need a nice, normal day job to provide a foil for my illicit double life as a gay porn star. Thankfully, with the holidays starting up, this means that getting into retail will be exponentially easier. Yay for mindless capitalism! To be honest with you, part of the reason is that working at Campus has become emotionally draining. It's hard to be fun and sexy when you're workplace reminds you of your dead love. Well, that and I'm a crap stripper anyway. A win-win situation for all, really.

#3: I know I've been pimping the Cannonball Read religiously on Twitter and on the blog, so I've got good and bad news. The good: Cannonball Read 2: Electric Bookaloo starts in less than a week! The Bad News: They had to cut the list of "official" competitors down to 100, else Pajiba goes bankrupt donating all their money to Lil' A's college fund. Honestly, kid is gonna fucking buh-buh-BANK once this thing is all wrapped up. Anyway, that doesn't mean you can't play along at home! Honestly, I fully encourage the rest of you to join in on the fun. It's only a book a week (on average), and think of all the shit you can be reading!

Anyway, I'm done boring you. For now, check out the second season of Hey Ash, Whatcha Playin'?

Cheers, Drunkies!

Video Games | HAWP | Viva Pinata

XBox 360 | Playstation 3 | Nintendo Wii

Video Games | HAWP | Little King's Story

XBox 360 | Playstation 3 | Nintendo Wii

What You're Favourite Musician Says About You

Britney Spears

I'm fun, flirty, and I have the musical taste of an eight year old girl with an IQ to match.





Amy Winehouse

I'm not an alcoholic, I can stop whenever the fuck I want. Which is later. Much later. Where the hell did my tequila go?





Lil Wayne

I add the phrase "No Homo" after every sentence for no discernible reason whatsoever.





Toby Keith

I'm teabagging Barack Osama to take our country back from the Queerosexual Jews.





John Mayer

I'm a caring, sensitive soul, and when you're not looking, I'll slip a roofie in your drink.





Animal Collective

Dude...I am SOOOOOOOOOO high right now. Check out my fingers maaaaaaan...





MGMT

Whoa man...I'm freaking out, man! OH GOD THE BUGS ARE UNDER MY SKIN GET 'EM OUT GET 'EM OUT GET 'EM OUT.





Dragonforce

I compensate for my ridiculously small penis by getting 100% on Guitar Hero.






Wilco

I read Pajiba religiously, and I occasionally jack off while watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.




The Pussycat Dolls

My Daddy never told me he loved me.






Katy Perry

Hey! Hey! Hey! Look at me! Hey! Look! Look what I'm doing! Hey! Hey! Tell me I'm pretty!





My Chemical Romance

I like to think of myself as a tortured soul, despite the fact that I'm a middle-class white American.





Feist

I'm a z-list gay porn star with an at best adequately written blog and no actual sex life to speak of.

With Apologies To Diesel Washington...

Yeah, I may have shit the bed a little on this one.

So, a couple months ago I might have vented a little bit during the whole "I lost my job" part of my life and called out Diesel Washington on what I thought was basically a shot at twinks which, as it turns out, it wasn't. Whoops.

Aaaaanyway, he just left me a message about that saying that I got it wrong. My first throughts were:

#1) Wait, he actually reads this piece of shit?

#2) I might have to say I'm sorry on this one.

So I guess I kinda sorta have to pull my head out of my ass and issue an apology, since I really did sort of misinterpret what he was saying. An apology which has nothing to do with the fact that he's nearly a foot taller than I am and can literally crush me under his foot*.

So yeah, I really am sorry about that one. To be honest, it was one of those moments where frustration + Booze = me saying a whole lot of stupid shit. When I'm venting, you should really take anything I say with a grain of salt, since I kinda turn into a bit of a gigantic idiot.

Sooooo...yeah. Consider the first time I've ever actually apologized on the blog. My bad on that one.

*...Well, maybe a little.

5 Great Moments In Product Placement

#5: The Wizard

Before I go on, I'm just gonna get this out of the way: Yes, The Wizard was an hour-and-a-half commercial for Nintendo, but to a twelve year old, it was a FUCKING AWESOME commercial. Case in point: The Power Glove scene.
The Power Glove may have been a total piece of shit, but come on, look how cool that thing is! Especially when you consider this was almost two fucking decades before the Wii. Come to think of it, the Wii remotes are total pieces of shit compared to the above. And you know who else fucking loved The Power Glove? Freddy Krueger. And his other glove had fucking knives on it.


#4: E.T. The Extraterrestrial

Ah come on, you knew this one was coming, didn't you? E.T. is one of those timeless childhood movies that you're pretty much legally mandated to see. Seriously, I think it's in the Constitution or something. Anyway, we all remember the bit about The Reese's Pieces, right? Adorably precocious child leads equally adorably precocious alien into his room using candy-coated peanut butter bits, madcap adventures ensue...And then you grow up and realize that yes, Reese's Pieces still kick ungodly amounts of ass.


#3: Harvey Birdman: Attorney At Law

Never has anyone expressed their love for crappy soft drinks quite so elegantly as this. One minute, Harvey is discussing how to get Shaggy and Scooby-Doo off on their drug possession charges, the next he's frolicking on the beach in real life with a giant can of Tab. This one makes the list if only because it gave me the opportunity to use the word "frolicking".


#2: 30 Rock

There really is no way to incorporate product placement without having it stick out like a big, sore, capitalistic thumb. So if you can't do that, point out said thumb by taking constant jabs at being forced to have product placement to being with. 30 Rock is pretty relentless about this, even going so far as to have Tina Fey look into the camera demanding money from her sponsors, or denying it by blurting out "It's not product placement I just like it!"


#1: Josie and the Pussycats

To be honest with you, Josie and the Pussycats was one of those movies that was smarter than it had any right to be. It was a movie based on an off-shoot of the fucking Archie comics starring Tara Reid which instead turned out to be one of the sharpest satires on a capitalist-driven society. Yeah, I'm still trying to figure that one out too. The movie contains logos from 73 companies and pretty much smothers you to death with them, and the best part is, not one of the companies even asked for it. Not bad for a movie with fucking Tara Reid of all people. Incidentally, this list was brought to you by Coca-Cola. We're coming for you.

$ex (Or, How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Fourgies)

A quick rundown of things I accomplished in Toronto this week:

• Learned that Spectrogel looks alarmingly like semen, though should not, under any circumstance, be consumed.
• Stopped by GoodHandy's for a quick visit, by which I mean I ended up doing shots with Billy Bronco for two hours and flashing my junk onstage.
• Invented a sex position...Possibly.
• Finally managed to finish off Daniel Handler's The Basic Eight, which was actually pretty good, although the plot twist at the end was a bit nonsensical.
• Pulled off my first group sex scene with minimal fuck ups on my behalf.

That being said, Mom, if you're reading this, now would be a good time to stop. It pretty much goes down hill from here.

This week's trip to Toronto was at the request of Squirt.org (not to be confused with squirtz.com, especially since the former pays better. ZINGER!), which is sort of like Manhunt, only more Canadian and therefore more awesome, i.e. every profile must include five uses of the word "eh".

This one was a little different than my previous scenes, since this one had an actual script, wardrobe AND a makeup artist who spent the entire goddamn day covering my pasty Irish skin. Sorry about that one. Needless to say, this one was professional as shit. This also marked the third time I worked with Sam Swift, which means if I do one more scene with him, I get a free six-inch sandwich, because gay porn works like Subway.

The scene started off with Sam in a Squirt.org webchat room, trying to get guys over to his apartment and yadda yadda yadda buttsex. The only problem was in order to pull this off, we had to log on to one of their actual chatrooms, thus giving the good customers of Squirt a free show, as well as behind the scenes footage. Just one of the many perk of being a member of Squirt.org. You should sign up for that shit, yo.

Anyhoodle, after that, in walks me playing the precocious skater boy who proceeds to go down on Sam then gets fucked stupid. Honestly, at this point Sam and I are of the understanding that he will fuck the sweet holy bejeezus out of me and administer as much pain as humanly possible, and I will take it and love every minute of it. Which I suppose makes me something of a masochist, but let's face it, that was fairly obvious, wasn't it?

So Sam is fucking the daylights out of me, and in walks in Johnny Maverick (who I'm assuming picked out the name before Palin turned it into a shot-inducing one-liner), who plays the guy who's all gooey for Sam. Sam's character, of course, is having none of this, so he sends him over to the other side of my digestive track.

Here's where it gets interesting. The director figured that since I weigh roughly about as much helium, that Sam and Johnny should fuck me in middair. What followed was what can only be described as the greatest sex position EVER. I don't actually have a shot of it (that will be released when we're damn good and ready), but I do have this crudely drawn MS Paint sketch.
This position is precisely as awesome as you would think it is, meaning VERY. Although over the course of receiving an aerial skull fuck from Johnny, his balls did end up blocking my nose pretty much the entire time, so breathing was a little hard. But who am I kidding, I loved it. Somewhere in between the hammering on both ends, the director thought it would be funny if they dropped me on the futon. I agreed of course, because let's face it, that's hysterically funny. Although my agreement of "Sure, that sounds pretty kickass" came out more as "Mmf, mmm mmmmm mmmffmm mmmffmmfff", as my face was lodged pretty firmly in Johnny's scrotum. When you have a mouth full of dong, everything comes out as a bunch of M's and F's.

And so they dropped me, and I landed on the futon safe and sound. And then they decided to drop me again. And again. Three friggin' takes. Honestly, I am so proud of my performance. If we don't win a GayVN for this awesomeness, I'm playing the "RIGGED!" card.

And then of course, for part two we brought in Ryan Russell, who I'm pretty sure must be off his fucking gourd. Getting fucked by Sam is fucking feat in itself, but taking two dildoes up the ass? My God, what a trooper. That or he's crazy. Both are entirely possible. Once again, if we don't win a fucking GayVN for this, someone's getting shanked.

After all was said and done and wiped off, I decided to head over to GoodHandy's for a quick visit. Although anyone who knows me knows that I can never go into a place with alcohol for a "quick visit". Naturally, I ended up doing shots with Mandy and Billy Bronco, showing off my junk onstage, and basically releasing some of that latent alcoholism we all know I'm hiding from the world. All in all, a fun fucking trip.

5 Ridiculous Things That Will Turn You Gay

1. Video Games!
Because the "Tingle is a Fairy" jokes just weren't easy enough, you can thank The Timothy Group for blowing the big, gay whistle on video games. Their job is to basically suck all the fun out of video games by listing all the video games with objectionable content, their theory being that no one ever did anything violent before TV or Video Games (*Cough*The Crusades*Cough*). Sorry about that. I have bullshit induced asthma.

High up on their list of video games that will turn you gay: Grand Theft Auto IV, Saints Row 2, Bully, Mass Effect, Fable II and Army of Two, which apparently means that everyone in the western hemisphere has gone the way of musical theater and flannel shirts. Although noticeably absent from the list: Super Smash Bros Brawl. Seriously, have you SEEN Snake's ass? You can bounce quarters off that thing.

2. Soy!
If you were to believe World Net Daily's Jim Rutz, professional Windbag/Crazy Person, the reason kids these days are turning gay is because of...Soy. Yes, the weird, squishy white shit that doesn't actually taste like fucking anything is trying to turn your kids into homos. EVERYBODY FUCKING PANIC.

According to Rutz, soy contains estrogen, and if you feed your baby soy formula, you're giving him the equivalent of five birth control pills a day. Truth is, yes, soy does contain estrogen, although you'd be hard-pressed to find a legitimate scientific study that actually proves soy will turn you gay. Baby carrots, on the other hand, are definitely trying to make you switch teams.

3. Straight Porn!
See if you can follow this logic: If you love vaginas too much, it will make you want to sleep with guys...Wait, huh? "What the fucking cocks is that shit supposed to mean?" you may ask yourself. Well, according Sen. Tom Coburn (R-etard), porn makes you jack off, and if you get pleasure from jacking yourself off, you'll get pleasure from jacking OTHER people off. I wonder if his wife actually bought that load of horse shit too.

Although it could make sense. Look how many straight porn stars have gone gay! Because obviously appearing in gay porn makes you gay. Just look at Simon Rex. Or Jason Adonis. Or pretty much every single model from Randy Blue. Surely they're all gay, right? Oh, wait, no they're not. Well this throws a wrench into things, doesn't?
4. Kids Shows!
If Jerry Falwell is to be believed, on top of being pants-shittingly terrifying, the Teletubbies are also totes mcgotes gay. Sure, they don't actually have any discernible sex, but look at that purple one! He/She/Whatever the fuck that thing is is carrying a purse! Lock up your kids before the gay radiation (Gaydiaton, if you will) from the TV turns your kid into a quiche-eating fairy!

Or if that bit of nonsense didn't quite fill you with enough irrational hatred, Spongebob is also gay! Why, might you ask? Because he appeared in a video promoting love and tolerance, and as we all know, only gay people can feel love and tolerance. Which, come to think of it, really doesn't say much about your straight people, does it? Thanks a heap, James Dobson.

5. Music!
A couple years ago, Donnie Davies jokingly released a list of bands that would turn you gay if you listened to them, which ranged from pretty obvious (The Gossip, Elton John), to the somewhat more obscure (Fleet Foxes, Vampire Weekend) to the just plain implausible (Toby Keith, Beck). Even funnier was his list of Safe Bands, which included Cyndi Lauper and The Dresden Dolls.

This would all be much funnier if people didn't actually fucking believe him. Whoops. All in all, the lists are both pretty random (Sufjan Stevens makes the safe list by the request of his editor), although the fact that there are people out there so devoid of a sense of humour that they can't even get the joke scares me a little.

10 Reasons To Be Happy

1. Next Week's Toronto Trip

God help me, nothing fills me with glee quite like going to Toronto. Although that may be entirely because I get to do dirty, unspeakable acts when I head over, and really, who DOESN'T love doing shit like that? Also, I never have to worry about my tenuous grasp of French making me look like a total fucking idiot.

2. Where The Wild Things Are

I cannot even BEGIN to describe how excited I am about this movie, mostly because every time I try I end up jizzing my pants, and it is goddamn IMPOSSIBLE to get jizz stains out of denim.

3. Ham

Since last weekend Sunday was Canadian Thanksgiving (which is sorta like American Thanksgiving, only we have it in October, and we hang little hand-outline turkeys in our igloos) I ended up making off with a giant-ass hunk of ham, which has fed me through the entire fucking week. Awesomeness.

4. I Don't Have An STD

It seems I'm doing something right, because according to my recent STD tests, I'm free of any and all lovebugs. Yay for condoms!

5. Drag Me To Hell
Words cannot express how balls-out hysterically awesome this movie is. There's no pretentious moral or symbolism in it, just a shit-load of gore, demons and pant-soaking terror.

6. My Newly Clean Apartment

After Clyde, I kinda pitched cleanliness aside, as I sorta had more pressing issues at hand. But now that I finally got around to getting a vacuum cleaner, my floors are spotless, I have no dishes in the sink, and there isn't a huge mountain of DVDs piling up on the floor.

7. Diet Dr. Pepper

I sorta hate Diet drinks, because they always have that funny taste to them, but honest to God, Diet Dr. Pepper tastes EXACTLY the same as its regular counterpart. But with no calories. *Terrorist Fist Jab*

8. Chocolate Pudding + Marshmallow Fluff

I blame this entirely on Ryan Russell. Oh monster, why did I create you? Honestly, whip up a batch of instant Jell-O Chocolate Pudding, mix in some marshmallow fluff, and you have the culinary equivalent of multiple screaming orgasms.

9. Halloween and Christmas

Fact: There are only 15 more days until Halloween and only 70 more days until Christmas. Which means I have to find something slutty to wear out in 5 degree weather and I have to start buying gift wrap.

10. Pictures For Sad Children
'Nuff said.

...*SQUEE*

Happy Friday! Here's some itty bitty puppy love.

Cannonball Run 2: In The Pants

Okay, a couple of announcements:

1) I'm officially done beating myself up over Clyde's death. Did it hurt like hell? Oh God yes. Will it always hurt? Probably, but pain dulls after a while. What happened was really, really, REALLY awful, but Clyde wanted me to go out and be happy and social. One of the things he told me is that he would never let anything bad happen to me, and on some level, I feel like he's keeping his promise. This is possibly a romanticism of my situation, but I still feel like he's here. Yes, I am fully aware of how dorky and cheesy that sounds. Suck a fat one, nerd.

2) FUCK YEAH, IT'S THE CANNONBALL RUN, BITCHES! For those of you not in the know (or as I like to call you, Paheathens), Pajiba is doing a Cannonball Run, and the rules are these:

You have to read 52 books in one year, and you have to write a review for each one. Should you complete it, a donation will be made in your name to Alabamapink's son's college fund. You can find out more about it here, although I am literally BEGGING you, please sign up for it. You won't regret it.

3) Once again, looks like I'll be heading back to Toronto again on the 21st. This is pretty fucking awesome.

Anyway, that's all for now. For now, here's Peaches with "More". Is it just me, or is she turning into Sandra Bernhard?

When 'Good' Stops Being Good Enough

Don't let 'em say I didn't try my hardest to be good. Honestly, I really did. I paid my bills on time, I tried to not bother anyone, I was polite and respectful...but hey, apparently that's not good enough anymore, is it?

You do all you can, and for what? To wake up one day and find out that the man you love is gone? No, not just gone, but erased. Like God himself shook some big Etch-a-Sketch in the sky and he disappears without a trace. Do you know what I have to remember him by? A shirt, some empty beer cans and some cigarette ashes.

Did you know his funeral is tomorrow in Windsor, Ontario of all places? Tomorrow, and there's absolutely no way I'll be able to go. None whatsoever. Honestly, the smallest thing I could even ask for was one last goodbye and apparently I can't even get that. I just give him his sunglasses, close the door and he's out of my life, never to come back ever again.

Somehow, this is what the universe thinks I deserve. Oh I tried to be good, I really did. Ask anyone. But good isn't good enough. You know what happens to good people? They get used and then thrown away like they're made of tissue paper. It seems the only way to get anything these days is to be a raging asshole.

Well, maybe that's the game I should be playing then, huh? I tried to be nice, I really did, but if this is what nice gets you, then obviously I'm playing for the wrong team here. Well fuck that noise, I may not be able to bring my love back, but I can still settle the score with a world that seems content to take him away from me. I may be pushing my luck on this one, but luck pushed me first. Consider this my way of evening the score.

Oh Whatever, I Thought It Was Funny

What's that? You didn't think this was funny? Well my good sir/madame/tranny (I don't judge), you can just go suck a fuck then, can't you?

Conversations With My Cousin Lindsey

Me: Oh, sorry, one second, I think I just got a DM.

Lindsey: Who's it from?

Me: Derek Da Silva.

Lindsey: I have no idea who he is.

Me: Oh, he's like the his big music industry guy turned pornstar. He saw Liz Phair's first ever live performance, and now he does shit that I'm pretty sure is illegal almost everywhere.

Lindsey: Like...

Me: I think he once set someone on fire. Intentionally. He's kind of my hero.

I wasn't kidding.

Lindsey: You mean the Liz Phair part or the "lighting someone on fire" part?

Me: A little of both. I kinda want to try the latter though.

Lindsey: You mean setting someone on fire?

Me: I'd be happy being on the receiving end too.

Lindsey: ...Should I be worried about you?

Me: Possibly.

I Will Keep You In My Heart

I'm starting to feel like I'm coming back to myself. The past couple days have been an out of body experience. Everything just sort of blurs in everything else; your eyes refuse to focus, sounds and music bleed into each other, and the chill makes you shiver but you're never really cold.

But now the dust is settling, albeit rather slowly. It's sort of like piecing together a puzzle, only the pieces don't fit together as well as you would hope, and you're not quite sure you really want to see what the big picture is at the end. Eventually, you'll have to, but that really doesn't keep it from hurting like hell, does it?

I've started searching for things to remember him by, and I put them in a box so that I can always have some small part of him, something to tell me that he'll never really be gone. It's not much, but it's something. It's like how you take all the memories of those you lost and keep them in a place in your heart. It helps you remember them, even though remembering them hurts like hell and reminds you of what you lost. On some sick, masochistic level, you want it to hurt, because the pain means that what you had was real, and that it meant something. It wasn't what you wanted it to be, and it never will be, but you learn to appreciate it for what it was instead of what you wish it could have been. The pain is almost unbearable, but it means you're alive. It'll never go away, but neither will your love. And that more than makes up for it, doesn't it?

The Luckiest

Last night I put your shirt on a pillow and pretended it was you. I smelled you a little bit, and for one second, you were back again. It made the other 86399 seconds worth living. I only knew you for a month and a half, but it meant more to me than you'll ever know. I'll never be able to thank you enough for just being there for me.

All Is Broken

I don't know what to do right now. The man I loved is dead and all of a sudden, nothing makes sense. I feel disconnected from reality right now. I wish someone would hit the pause button to make it all stop for just one second, but I can't.

I went into work yesterday and one of the dancers asked me how Clyde was doing. I hadn't heard from him since Tuesday when he called to say hi. He told me heard Clyde was dead. I called a couple of his friends to ask what was going on, but it was true: He died of a drug overdose. He was already on the painkillers for his foot.

Since then, I've just been going from on thing to the next. I look around the apartment and remember little things, find little traces of him scattered through my home. The cup from McDonald's he drank from, the ashes from his cigarette, one of his shirts he left at my place. I put it on hoping that maybe this one little thing might bring me closer to him, but no. It can't.

Everything becomes a cruel reminder of him: The couch we cuddled on, the bed we slept in, unrecycled cans of beer I've neglected to turn in. Random memories start floating in, when we first met, when we first kissed, how he told me he would never let anything bad happen to me.

The phone rings and for one sick moment I think it's him, but it's not him. It'll never be him.

I go out to see a movie, hoping that maybe it'll make reality seem a little less real. The walk only brings back more memories. The fountain where we sat, and where he tore up some grass...For a moment I smelled smoke from the kind of cigarettes he bought, and for one second he's back again, he's alive and everything is okay. Then it ends.

The movie distracts me for two hours, but the credits roll and everything goes back to how it was. I walk outside and all of a sudden, everything becomes a potential cause of suicide. The nagging voice in the back of my head that says that wearing his shirt won't bring him back, but there's one thing...One little thing. Like hitting the off switch.

I walk back home and the pain comes crashing in like waves. At first, the pain was just like a blade, so sharp you can hardly feel a thing. It severs you from everything and everyone else, but this is not that kind of pain. This one comes for you, swallows you whole so you can't breathe and just one you think it's too much it recedes. But it comes back again and again and each time it gets that much worse.

I get home and fall asleep on the floor. I can't sleep on the couch, because I remember him holding me and feeling his breath. I can't go into my bed because I remember watching him wake up there, smiling and knowing that everything would be alright. I grab the comforter and some pillows and sleep on the floor in front of the TV wearing nothing but his shirt. I hug a pillow as I fall to sleep, but it doesn't have his warmth.

I close my eyes and all of a sudden the pain becomes magnified. The memories become stronger, the hurt becomes more real and no amount of begging will make it stop. I fall asleep but I don't dream, and when I wake up, everything is fine for five quick seconds. I think of Clyde and wonder what he's doing, and the truth sets in again. Clyde is dead and he'll never come back.

Outside, the sky is cloudy and the sun won't shine, and I sort of hope it never does. My love is dead.

I found one of his shirts and put it on, hoping it would bring me a little closer to him, but it didn't work. The phone rang and I thought it was him, but it never will be. I loved you more than you would ever know and nothing will ever bring me closer to you.

R.I.P. Clyde

I just found out Clyde Morin, the man I loved, died of an overdose.

Clyde I'm so sorry. I never told you I loved you and I never will. I'll never be able to lay my head on your stomach and watch TV with you again. I'll never be able to fall asleep in your arms again. I'll never be able to wake up and see you smiling and know that everything is going to be okay ever again.

Oh my God. Why? Why would you take him from me?

Quick! Distract Yourselves With This Music Video!

I was actually wondering where the hell Fefe Dobson had run off to a while ago after her surprisingly good debut and even better, though never actually released, sophomore effort. And then I found out that not only did she have a new song out, but it was also in the trailer for whip it. If you can get over the use of a number as a word (Seriously, never do anything that Prince has done. Ever), here's Fefe Dobson's I Want You 2 Watch Me Move.