Bow Before The Porcelain God

It was around 3 AM on Monday when I realized that something was severely fucked up. I woke up on my Dad's couch, feeling as though I had just been Pillsbury poked by Jason Voorhees, and if the pain itself wasn't bad enough, it was also cutting in on my precious, precious sleep.

Four sleepless hours later, I was on the road to work, my Dad graciously giving me a lift, when I performed my first Linda Blair impression into a plastic bag on the side of Highway 20. He then pulled over and I proceeded to unload the rest of last night's dinner (which was basically salad and rice, since the only thing on the menu was pork) onto the curb.

Now, there are some people who, when they (oh, how can I sugarcoat this...) purge themselves of certain unwanted contents, are discreet, polite, and dainty in their execution. I am none of these things. You better fucking believe that when I heaved, I sounded like a dying man in throws of goddamn agony.

But let's face it, I'm a drama queen anyway.

What happened next, I can only describe as me completely losing any remaining dignity I had: I proceeded to stumble around work, falling asleep and generally acting like me on a bad day or Lindsay Lohan on a good day. I was staggering around, moaning like Jacob Marley, and my Dad's suggestion in all of this: "Take the metro home!"

Now, I should probably tell you about Montreal's metro: the metro is what most people refer to as "a subway", but as we all know, Montreal has a tendency to dive up its own ass, so we call it something else. Said metro can only be described as what happens when you take the very worst aspects of humanity, cram them into a glorified metal can, then fire it off under the city at high speeds. It's generally considered a good day if someone doesn't jump in front of it.

And he expected me to ride on it in my sickened state. Obviously, I don't get my brains from my Dad.

Instead, I got a taxi, rode home and proceeded to spend the day floating in and out of consciousness, punctuating my fresh new hell by voiding the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Over the past two days, I've subsided on a steady diet of protein shakes and Powerade (their should-be slogan: "Drink me to forget that you are essentially a harbinger of disease!")

But hold onto your goddamn hats, because here comes the piece de resistance: I spent the night tossing and turning between fever nightmares of (and I swear to God, this is true) Tila fucking Tequila.

Apparently, Tila Tequila is like my own personal Freddy Kreuger or something, because I spent the entire night with my brain screaming at me through images of a whorish, poorly tattoed Myspace midget. On the plus side, I no longer fear death.

On the plus side, I feel LOADS better today than I did yesterday, although my body is still in something of a state of disrepair, and I still can't take off all my clothes without turning all the lights off in my apartment, but hey, at least I can keep solid food down.

Things I Learned From My Mother

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Mother's Day: The day of the year where you celebrate the woman who is terribly, terribly disappointed in you. In all seriousness, I probably wouldn't have turned out quite as well as I would have without her, so here are a few of the things I've learned from my mother.

• If you want a great Cosmo, it's one part Triple Sec, one part lime cordial, two parts vodka and two parts cranberry juice. If you want, you can also switch in some Sour Puss for the Lime.
• There's never a bad time to laugh at someone else's expense. Do it often.
• If you want something, get off your ass and get it. What the fuck did your last maid die of anyway?
• "Sarah Palin is a cunt." - My mother's exact words.
• Shoulder Pads are the goddamn devil. Seriously, why did anyone ever wear those?
• There is absolutely no argument in the world that can't be won with the phrase, "Because I said so."
• The laundry basket is RIGHT. THERE. There is absolutely no reason why you can't put clothes in the basket when it is two feet away.
• Speaking of laundry baskets, if you ever want to get your kids to eat their vegetables, remember these words: "Finish your dinner or else you don't get to go down the stairs in a laundry basket."
• People don't slave at work all day so that they can come home and wash your dishes.
• There's nothing you can do that would make your mother stop loving you. I should know; I've pretty much tried every trick in the book here.
  

Post-Surgery Blues: Blue-Balled

I haven't came in five days. There, I said it!

Honestly, this is a bit worrisome to me, as I like to make sure I drop a fresh batch of fellow-jello at least once a day, for the sake of both physical and mental health. Twice if I'm feeling fresh and spontaneous, but let's not fly off the handle here.

The reason for this is twofold: First, considering that I've been surrounded by family and sleeping on my brothers' beds for the past little while, jacking off has been something of a no-no. Second...well, I'm paranoid. Ever since my surgery, my balls have been swinging a little lower and freer than usual, and I've entirely convinced myself that this has something to do with going under the knife, and that any ejaculation will somehow fuck up my precious, precious vas deferens. I'm just going to chalk this one up to my hypochondria, an illness that I still think is something of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Thankfully, nothing much else has been happening, since I've been staying with my father rather than my mother, which means the crazy bitch isn't actively trying to kill me. But I love the psychotic S.O.B. anyway.

Anyway, I did get tagged in one of those Facebook poll thingies, so I figured I might as well tag it onto the rest of the post because I can and shut up your face, I'm doing it. Normally, I'd also jokingly add something like "Suck my balls!", but...Well, see above.

Put your iPod/music player on random, and answer these questions, one at a time, using the song titles. Then add one of your own questions at the end. No cheating and skipping songs, unless they're instrumental.

1. What do you think of me, iTunes?
"Cheated Hearts" by Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

You know you're love life is severely fucked when an unfeeling computer program pities you.

2. Will I have a happy life?
"Little Favours" by KT Tunstall.

So basically, I'm going to spend the rest of my life doing pain-in-the-ass favours for others? Yeah, actually, that sounds about right.

3. What do my friends really think of me?
"Almost Lover" by A Fine Frenzy.

I'd like to thank my iPod for REALLY rubbing it in at this point.

4. Do people secretly lust after me?
"Can't Get Enough" by Mary J. Blige.

Hey, I may have the shittiest love life ever, but at least I'm pretty!

5. What does my crush/lover/S.O. think of me?
"Nothing & Nowhere" by Emily Haines and The Soft Skeleton.

This would hurt so much more if I were still capable of feeling things in my heart.

6. How can I make myself happy?
"Take It Back" by She & Him.

I'm not sure who tagged me in this thing to begin with, but...Why?

7. What should I do with my life?
"Dreamworld" by Rilo Kiley

I'm just going to assume that this means "Porn".

8. Why must life be so full of pain?
"Oh My God" by Pink.

This is the most soul-crushing Facebook quiz ever.

9. How can I maximize my pleasure during sex?
"Anyone Else But You" by Ellen Page and Michael Cera

SOUL. CRUSHED.

10. Will I ever have children?
"Get Gone" by Fiona Apple.

My iTunes is actively trying to kill me.

11. Will I die happy?
"Got Money" by Lil Wayne.

Well, at least I'll be rich...Wait, rich people don't die!

12. Can you give me some advice?
"Adventure" by Be Your Own Pet.

Hey, works plenty well for me, thank you very much.

13. What do you think happiness is?
"Neighbourhood #4: 7 Kettles" by The Arcade Fire.

Actually, I do sort of have a thing for kettles. What? They're adorable and tea is delicious.

14. What's your favourite fetish?
"Firewalker" by Liz Phair.

In all honesty, I really do want to try this one eventually. MAKE IT HAPPEN, BITCHES.


15. Will I get a good job?
"I've Got To See You Again" by Norah Jones.

Okay, so so far, the message my iTunes is trying to tell me: You are a hollow shell, heartbroken shell of a human being, but you are hot, so do lots of porn. Honestly, it kinda balances itself out, doesn't it?


16. What will the day be like tomorrow?
"Ode to Divorce" by Regina Spektor.

Actually, considering that tomorrow is Mother's Day and my parents have what can only be described as murderous rage towards each other, this makes a lot of sense.

17. What awaits for me this summer?
"Personal" by Stars.

Oh, of course; NOW you decide to start holding out on me. Fuck you, iTunes, you cockteasing whore.

Cannonball Read Entry #24: The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption and Pee - Sarah Silverman

I honestly can't remember where I first saw Sarah Silverman. The furthest back I can think of is "The Aristocrats", which featured Sarah Silverman telling the funniest, most offensive joke in a movie that was about funny, offensive jokes. And if anything, she did it with the fewest amount of words possible.



Let me preface this by saying that rape isn't funny, and it's not a joke. If anything, it wasn't so much the fact that the joke was about rape, it was how the joke was told: The awkward silences, the deadpan expression, the slow realization with which she reaches the punchline...Any idiot can tell a rape joke. A comedian knows how to make it funny without denegrating those who've been hurt by the subject. It's a thin line, but few people can walk it the way Silverman can.

The reason why Sarah Silverman's routine, as well as her autobiography, "The Bedwetter", works as well as it does is because she knows what it's like to feel and be powerless. Her jokes aren't meant to mock those who can't stand up for themselves, but rather, to attack those who have the power, and abuse it. She's a comedic Robin Hood: She takes from the rich and gives to the poor.

For those expecting the sort of fearless, confident stories you might find in Chelsea Handler's work...Not here. If anything, it actually adds more to Silverman's narrative. She's not afraid to show her weakness and her insecurities, and it adds a layer of emotional honesty to the proceedings that I always felt was missing in Handler's memoires.

If you liked Chelsea Handler's books, you'll love Silverman's. It has all the humour and candor of Handler, but it has the one thing she never bothered trying to show: humanity. She's nowhere near perfect, but let's face it, perfection is overrated anyway.

Cannonball Read Entry #23: America (The Book): A Citizen's Guide To Democracy Inaction - Jon Stewart & The Daily Show Writers

I think we can all agree that 2004 was...Well, it wasn't a great year. We elected a president who was functionally illiterate, we were stuck in a poorly-planned war, and Courtney Love had just unleashed "America's Sweetheart" on the general public.

All in all, it could have gone better, really.

Such is the problem with Jon Stewart (And The Daily Show Writers)'s "America: The Book": It's throwback to an era that, quite frankly, is still just a little too fresh in our minds for us to look back fondly on.

The good news is, with the amount of corruption in the American political system at the time, 2004 was the year where "The Daily Show" really began to hit it's stride, and it shows: "America: The Book" is hysterically funny; it's really not a stretch to call it the standard for modern satire and social commentary.

The format is meant to resemble one of those crappy little school text-books you've no doubt been subjected to, down to the end of chapter question sections and the student registration section on the inside of the cover of the book. Each chapter is dedicated to a different aspect of the American political system, and for a book that's meant to be little more than a spoof, it's oddly informative. You can call "The Daily Show" many things, but you can never accuse it of talking down to its audience.

The only problem with the book is that, well, it's just really dated at this point. While this sometimes works to its advantage by being almost foreshadowing of various preceding scandals that followed the book, for the most part, it's a look back on something we'd all kinda like to forget about.

It hurts to say this, but as satire, America (The Book) is definitely worth a look, at least to see what balanced, equal-opportunity humour really looks like. But if you didn't read it when it first came out, you're just missing a huge, fundamental part of what made the book funny in the first place; You'll still laugh, you'll just be laughing too late.

Post-Surgery Blues: My Mother, The Bitch

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As it turns out, having someone cut you open and fuck about with your insides tends to screw up certain bodily functions. And by that, I mean I've been having some "intestinal distress", which quite frankly just irritates me to no fucking end. To those of you who have never spent half an hour in the bathroom with a copy of Sarah Silverman's "The Bedwetter", waiting on something to happen that most people can do without so much as a second thought...Well, it's pretty much the most depressing thing ever.

This was in no way helped by my mother. Now, for those who don't know her, my mother is clinically insane, and sincerely enjoys fucking with us for her own amusement. It's called the bitch gene, and yes, it is genetic. Case in point: While I was in the bathroom praying for my insides to resume their regular functioning, she decided to hide in my bed until I got back, then scare the living shit out of me. For someone who just got out of abdominal surgery, this is what is known as a terrible fucking idea.

This didn't stop my mother from (A) doing exactly that, and (B) laughing hysterically while I was doubled-over on the floor, feeling like someone had just jabbed me in the stomach with a rusty screwdriver.

But in all seriousness, I love the crazy whore.

Speaking of my mother, in my efforts to return to normal, I decided to try and leave the house and go to the mall and pick up a gift for my mother. As it turns out, when you're bloated and stitched up, your jeans don't actually fit. Who knew? So of course, I spent a full hour and a half doing my best granny-shuffle through the suburbs of Pointe-Claire while feeling like someone in their third fucking trimester.

This wasn't made any better when I got home, showered, removed my bandage and looked down at my stitched-up stomach to discover that my belly button was now practically non-existant. As in the top half was still perfectly in tact, while the bottom half was completely gone. It wasn't so much a belly button as it was a tiny little dent in my stomach. Fantastic.

For now though, I need to go eat my feelings and self-medicate some more. Apparently, these painkillers don't treat emotional pain. Woohoo?

Post-Surgery Blues (Or, Tila Tequila Needs To Commit Suicide)

Hey, y'all remember that time I went on about that hernia I needed to have...um, de-herniaed? Yeah, that's probably not an actual word, but that's beside the point. Point is, I finally went into to have that fixed up.

The good news: I no longer have weird looking rips and swelling in my abdominal muscles.

The bad news: My torso is a lovely shade of pink, I'm covered in bandages (one of them currently rather bloody), my throat is still pretty sore from having an airtube shoved down it, and I feel vaguely like I just got hit by a truck.

Thankfully, to even this out I was given enough medication to effectively knock me out for a nice long while, including various painkillers, anti-bloaters and these weird little green ones that I'm told to take only when I "really need them".

Needless to say, I'm a bit wary of those little fuckers.

Since I need to take a week off until I get better, I'm spending it at the parental units' houses, catching up on the Cannonball Read. Thankfully, I brought enough books with me to tide me over, not to mention that I'm now spending a pretty substantial amount of time telling Tila Tequila to fuck off on Twitter.

Seriously, I really don't think you people understand how much I absolutely goddamn hate Tila Tequila. I'm not saying the world would be a substantially better place if Tila Tequila would just fucking kill herself already, but...Actually, yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. Tila Tequila needs to commit suicide for the good of the entire world.

Anyway, time to return to my routine of self-medication and reading. God bless Socialized Healthcare!

Gleecap: Bad Reputation

We open on the Glee clubbers watching Sue Sylvester recreate Olivia Newton John's "Physical", because everything is funnier when Sue Sylvester does it. Sue Sylvester, surprisingly, is not amused by this, so she pulls up a list of the sluttiest Glee club members. Naturally, Santana is number one, while Rachel is dead last. Because as we all know, Rachel's vagina has pretty much sealed over. Hey, girl needs to put something in it before it grows over. As punishment, Will makes the Glee club perform Vanilla Ice's "Ice Ice Baby".

I think we call all agree that Will Shuester is a fucking sub-mental.

Embarrassment over, Sue Sylvester is back in the teacher's loung, being laughed at by all the teachers. In slow motion. Molly Shannon comes over to make fun of her some more for some reason. Really? Molly Shannon? Meanwhile, Rachel, pissed over the fact that she's essentially a rape-whistle away from being a 40-year-old shut-in, decides she needs to slut it up a little, because virgins are BAD...Or something.

The rest of the Glee Clubbers decide to follow suit, by being their badass little selves, while Sue talks to her mentally-disabled sister about how bad it feels to be laughed at. Sue decides to counter-act this by becoming a therapist at the school. God help whoever takes mental health advice from a woman who looks to be one set of testes away from being Owen Wilson.

Rachel decides that in order to get her badassness quotient up, she needs to start fucking Puck. Let's review, shall we? In the space of about four episodes, Rachel has fucked Finn, Jesse and Puck. How is this woman considered a virgin anyway? Girl has seen more hot cock than the inside of a KFC.

Sue, having told Emma all about how Will had a sleep-over with April and made out with the coach of Vocal Adrenaline, confronts the whitest person in the world, while an old woman talks about her dead husband. Sooooooo...yeah, not a great time. Anyway, Emma calls Shue a slut. Because he is, despite the fact that he's so white, even his jizz is darker than he is.

Meanwhile, in order to get on the top of the Glee slut list, Arnie, Kurt, Mercedes, Brittany and Tina decide to perform MC Hammer's "Can't Touch This" in the library. Aaaaaand fuck it. Glee? Meet me at Camera 3.

Look, I know the whole purpose of this episode is to show that you don't have to be ashamed for who you are, but so far you've pulled up the two most embarrassing songs of the 90's. Seriously, the only people who listens to that shit does so ironically. Please stop making my ears bleed.

Anyway, Shue decides to interrogate the Glee clubbers about who put up the list. Fingers are pointed, words are said, and Brittany reveals that she can't turn on a computer. Kurt has the final say, asking if Shue has started watching Law & Order reruns because of the divorce. The kids decide that, with the library performance backfiring, they need to come forward about leaking Sue's video in order to claim their badassery. Speaking of Sue's video, Olivia Newton John gives her a call over the video she made, so guess who's gonna be guesting this week?

The teachers, having found out about Will Shuester being a filthy manskank, decides to rake him over the coals for it. Really guys? Out of all the things you can make fun of him for, you make fun of him for having the most nonjudgmental cock ever? Did you not see his lame, early aughts boyband hair? Or the fact that he can sing "Ice Ice Baby" without a deep-seeded sense of shame?

Kurt decides to come forward about leaking the video, but SURPRISE! Since Olivia Newton John is coming in, she's decided to forgive them. And of course, we get the remake of Sue Sylvester and Newton John. Thankfully, the guys are all hot instead of schlubby, so I'll let it slide. The only downside is that Sue sounds so auto-tuned, it's like she's had her vocal chords ripped out and replaced with an iPhone. But hey, ABS!

Shue, running out of time to figure out who posted the slut list, decides to look at the kids "Bad Reputation" videos. Rachel and Puck do a video together, and unfortunately, does not in anyway involve Puck whipping his dick out. BULLSHIT. The least you could do is at least give us a shot of his ass, but no. On the plus side, it does involve Rachel getting shot by one of her gay Dads, so there's that.

However, this backfires to, because Finn, Puck and Jesse all think that Rachel is a huge whore now for cheating on them. Sue, the slightly less slutty video whore, tells her sister that she made the video with ONJ in order to impress her and, in yet another act of surprising sweetness, gives all the money she earnd to the nursing home her sister stays in.

Back to everyone's favourite Jew-Fro'd whore, Shue goes back to Emma to beg for forgiveness. Emma decides to continue with the relationship, probably because she knows she has Mr. Wonderbread by the short and curlies. However, his newfound shame allows him to figure out that Quinn put up the list because she's pissed about how quickly her reputation went to shit. However, he decides to let the whole thing slide, since you'd have the be a huge dickweed to expel a pregnant teen.

The newly-cuckolded Jesse St. James decides to break things off with Rachel now that everyone knows she "Took the slow train from Philly".

...That's code for "Check out the slut".

Anyway, we cap off this weeks train-wreck of embarrassment with "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" because really, this show could use a little more red-faced shame, couldn't it? All I know is, somewhere out there, Stacey is currently screaming with rage.

Notes:

• Does anyone else think it's about time they brought Sue's sister back? At this point, it's the only human thing about her?
• Alternate title for this episode: "Let's make sure we don't sell a single fucking song off of this week's show!" Seriously, Vanilla Ice? MC Hammer? You're better than this, Glee. You're better than this.
• Didn't we all know that Rachel was a huge whore even before this episode? Seriously, poor girl's seen more nerd cock than the urinal at a Star Wars convention.
• I guess this week's badass move by Kurt is meant to apologize for the weird/creepy crush he has on Finn. Seriously: FINN?!
  

The Meatless Life

Today marks my last day as an omnivore. This was my last meal as a meat-eating man. Yes, out of all the meals I could have possibly had, I had a fucking Double Big Mac. Literally ANY meal, and I went with that one.

To be honest, I'll miss them a little bit; Clyde and I had a thing for Big Macs. Admittedly, they actually kinda totally suck, but that's beside the point. The point is, he can't have Big Macs anymore, and to be honest, if he can't have Big Macs, why should I? What's the point of even having Big Macs if you can't share them with the one person you want to the most?

So, yeah. No more Big Macs for me. Hell, no more meat for me. Well, I should probably clarify that a little: No more meat that isn't alive and attached to another man. Fair compromise.

...Although I still don't see how fish isn't considered meat...

The 10 Hottest Jews

Because I haven't made a list in a while and Jews are hot.

#10: Natalie Portman

#9: Jon Stewart #8: Alyson Hannigan #7: Joseph Gordon Levitt #6: Mila Kunis #5: Jake Gyllenhaal

#4: Jason Ridge

#3: Jenny Lewis

#2: Michael Lucas

#1: Rashida Jones