Saturday, October 30, 2010
Nutrition Labels
The trouble is with them, they all lie. You want to know how much sodium is in a can of Campbell's chicken soup? Well, they fudge and hem and haw and generally try to confuse you.
The recommended daily -- DAILY, for a fully-grown adult -- sodium intake is 2300 milligrammes.
I don't have all the info, but just TWO TEASPOONS of Bovril chicken broth is 930 mg. About two and a half times that is your entire recommended daily intake.
Fat content -- let's not even go there. A packet of potato chips, salt and vinegar, comes out to a whopping 341 mg of sodium and 14 grammes of fat for THIRTY ONE CHIPS.
A single can of Coke contains 45 mg of sugar -- that's ELEVEN TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR IN A CAN.
But the numbers lie. They always disguise it as "per portion of xx mg" which always confuses the average consumer. 17 G fat on a can of soup, but when you read the fine print, that means a quarter of the whole fucking can. FIFTY-SIX GRAMMES of fat for a single can of soup. That's more than two Big Macs with the cheese piled on.
It's like airline advertising. $120, Montreal to New York! What they don't mention is the extra $230 taxes, nav fees and airport taxes, per person.
It's fucked and I don't like being taken for a sucker. We should take the fuckers down like the cockroaches they are.
The recommended daily -- DAILY, for a fully-grown adult -- sodium intake is 2300 milligrammes.
I don't have all the info, but just TWO TEASPOONS of Bovril chicken broth is 930 mg. About two and a half times that is your entire recommended daily intake.
Fat content -- let's not even go there. A packet of potato chips, salt and vinegar, comes out to a whopping 341 mg of sodium and 14 grammes of fat for THIRTY ONE CHIPS.
A single can of Coke contains 45 mg of sugar -- that's ELEVEN TABLESPOONS OF SUGAR IN A CAN.
But the numbers lie. They always disguise it as "per portion of xx mg" which always confuses the average consumer. 17 G fat on a can of soup, but when you read the fine print, that means a quarter of the whole fucking can. FIFTY-SIX GRAMMES of fat for a single can of soup. That's more than two Big Macs with the cheese piled on.
It's like airline advertising. $120, Montreal to New York! What they don't mention is the extra $230 taxes, nav fees and airport taxes, per person.
It's fucked and I don't like being taken for a sucker. We should take the fuckers down like the cockroaches they are.
 |
| Generic bag of barbeque potato chips This is a kid-sized bag |
Friday, October 29, 2010
Okay, Frogs Are Lower On The List
They're much lower on Nick's fuckwad watchlist because they're defying fucking Osama Bin Laden. They might be Frogs, but sometimes they have balls. Sarkozy may be a womanizing cretin, but banning burqas certainly ranks up with my measurement level of balls.
Score today on the level of assholes:
#1 North Koreans
# 2 Germans
#3 Japanese
#4 Russians
#5 Frogs (Up in the rankings!!! No, sorry, DOWN in the rankings!)
#6 Brazilians
#7 Americans (Yes, I'm one of their sorry asses)
#8 Chinese (well, they just can't help themselves)
Of course you don't count monkeys like the Taliban and Jihadis. They don't count here. They're always at the top of the list of assholes -- no bother to ever change that.
Score today on the level of assholes:
#1 North Koreans
# 2 Germans
#3 Japanese
#4 Russians
#5 Frogs (Up in the rankings!!! No, sorry, DOWN in the rankings!)
#6 Brazilians
#7 Americans (Yes, I'm one of their sorry asses)
#8 Chinese (well, they just can't help themselves)
Of course you don't count monkeys like the Taliban and Jihadis. They don't count here. They're always at the top of the list of assholes -- no bother to ever change that.
Gino Vannelli: Rock Concerts.
Gotta admit, I was psyched for this one. Gino doesn't come to Montreal too much any more and I wanted to catch him.
Mistake number one: paying $160 for two in the the top tier.
Mistake number two: Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number three: Brigitte not really being into Gino.
Mistake number four: a lousy assortment of crappy songs performed completely differently from the originals, and a crappy band with stupid horns.
Mistake number five: high-school students ordering me not to go in or out during songs.
Mistake number six: bar closed. Bar closed at Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number seven: finding out our favorite bistro was closed after leaving halfway through the boring concert.
Non mistake: Kissing and making up after a disastrous evening. I will never go to a rock concert again.
Mistake number one: paying $160 for two in the the top tier.
Mistake number two: Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number three: Brigitte not really being into Gino.
Mistake number four: a lousy assortment of crappy songs performed completely differently from the originals, and a crappy band with stupid horns.
Mistake number five: high-school students ordering me not to go in or out during songs.
Mistake number six: bar closed. Bar closed at Salle Wilfrid Pelletier.
Mistake number seven: finding out our favorite bistro was closed after leaving halfway through the boring concert.
Non mistake: Kissing and making up after a disastrous evening. I will never go to a rock concert again.
Sushi Dreams
 |
| The dreams, the dreams . . . |
Last night I had a powerful, almost Earth-shattering sushi dream. I was slavering over these dishes and I'm sure I was murmuring in my sleep . . . "Tobiko . . . hai, tobiko to maguro . . . tekkyumaki (combination tuna and cucumber) . . . wasabi oi (lots of wasabi) . . . chuu-hai kudasai (a vodka-like drink with vaguely lime-juice) . . .
I swear, the dream wouldn't go away. Just kept repeating itself.
So I guess I'm not quite done with Japan just yet. But since my favorite sushi place in all of Montreal just up and moved away I'm at a loss.
I guess meanwhile, the dreams will just have to do.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Germans
Dein bundesvolk. Ich liebe nicht dem Deutschlanders.
I know I'm mangling the language, because I never really learned it, but deep in my bones, I hate the Germans. So the ranking now is Germans, the Japanese, and the French as a close third.
The Italians really haven't annoyed me as yet. In fact, I quite like them, even though they were turncoats in the Second World War. I mean, Mussolini? How about tagliolini? I don't know quite what it is about Italians . . . a general pleasantness that is the complete opposite of the French, a suspicious bunch who are likely to turn traitor as a wolverine with a buddy mouse.
I used to denigrate the Québecois because of their ridiculous accent, but I found out from my months in France that the French are more ridiculous. The posturing, the elitist attitude. Québecois are much more friendly, personable and generally nice.
So here's the score: Québecois win, hands-down; Germans are at the top of the hate list, followed very closely by the Japanese, and the Parisians gaining ground.
I'll update you as the race goes on.
I know I'm mangling the language, because I never really learned it, but deep in my bones, I hate the Germans. So the ranking now is Germans, the Japanese, and the French as a close third.
The Italians really haven't annoyed me as yet. In fact, I quite like them, even though they were turncoats in the Second World War. I mean, Mussolini? How about tagliolini? I don't know quite what it is about Italians . . . a general pleasantness that is the complete opposite of the French, a suspicious bunch who are likely to turn traitor as a wolverine with a buddy mouse.
I used to denigrate the Québecois because of their ridiculous accent, but I found out from my months in France that the French are more ridiculous. The posturing, the elitist attitude. Québecois are much more friendly, personable and generally nice.
So here's the score: Québecois win, hands-down; Germans are at the top of the hate list, followed very closely by the Japanese, and the Parisians gaining ground.
I'll update you as the race goes on.
Monday, October 25, 2010
John The Brave
by Nicholas Robinson
There was in olden times a road
That led through vale and glen
T'was marred and cracked by battle scars
And feared by mortal men.
But on it one day rode a steed
Whose rider, dark and tall
Feared naught but Heaven's fiery wrath
And that not much at all.
He rode upon a dangerous quest;
And all around the land
His name was known as John the Brave
For he only had one hand.
T'was said it had been lost long since
In battle with his brother
And in this fight his kin had cut
The fingers from his other.
But one good leg had John the Brave,
And being strong of mind
T'was less than an annoyance that
Sir John was also blind.
And though he could not speak or hear,
And could not move his head
It mattered not to John the Brave
That some men thought him dead.
And though his steed was made of wood
And could not move an inch
It mattered not to good old John
It mattered not one pinch.
So on his wondrous beast he sat,
Croaking wordless wit
While village children ran around
And pelted him with shit.
There was in olden times a road
That led through vale and glen
T'was marred and cracked by battle scars
And feared by mortal men.
But on it one day rode a steed
Whose rider, dark and tall
Feared naught but Heaven's fiery wrath
And that not much at all.
He rode upon a dangerous quest;
And all around the land
His name was known as John the Brave
For he only had one hand.
T'was said it had been lost long since
In battle with his brother
And in this fight his kin had cut
The fingers from his other.
But one good leg had John the Brave,
And being strong of mind
T'was less than an annoyance that
Sir John was also blind.
And though he could not speak or hear,
And could not move his head
It mattered not to John the Brave
That some men thought him dead.
And though his steed was made of wood
And could not move an inch
It mattered not to good old John
It mattered not one pinch.
So on his wondrous beast he sat,
Croaking wordless wit
While village children ran around
And pelted him with shit.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Upon Getting Old
Did you know that in the 1700s, the life expectancy for men was 47? Well, I'm five years past that.
But maybe we were designed to die at 47. Despite all the drugs and fixers: Lyrica, Crestor, Metformin blah blah blah, we just have to admit that we're old.
Maybe we should just be lined up against a wall and shot.
But maybe we were designed to die at 47. Despite all the drugs and fixers: Lyrica, Crestor, Metformin blah blah blah, we just have to admit that we're old.
Maybe we should just be lined up against a wall and shot.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Gotta Love Third World Countries
If there weren't third-world countries, where would true entertainment be?
My Own Shamu
I have a pool in my building. Don't you think I could "bonsai" a killer whale and keep him really small so I could go swimming with him and feed him with regular fish food, since freeze-dried seals are hard to find nowadays?
I want a pet, and I want a killer whale.
I want a pet, and I want a killer whale.
Clothes for the Dolphins
Have you ever thought about how dolphins don't have clothes? Chimps, raccoons, lizards -- go through their entire lives without clothes? Don't you feel in the least bit guilty about that?
Look at those bastards, the Salvation Army. Did they even ever think about a sweater for an elephant? Elephants get cold, too. Why isn't there a Value Village for chickens? Huh?
No sweaters for chickens. No hats for kangaroos. Just because they can't speak even pidgin English, don't they deserve the same things we enjoy?
Laptops for wallabies. Just what is wrong with that scenario? We're just so greedy that we keep all these things for ourselves. Don't you think that a sardine wouldn't mind an evening at a good restaurant, with champagne and a warm fire and a wool blanket and a nice movie after?
Look at those bastards, the Salvation Army. Did they even ever think about a sweater for an elephant? Elephants get cold, too. Why isn't there a Value Village for chickens? Huh?
No sweaters for chickens. No hats for kangaroos. Just because they can't speak even pidgin English, don't they deserve the same things we enjoy?
Laptops for wallabies. Just what is wrong with that scenario? We're just so greedy that we keep all these things for ourselves. Don't you think that a sardine wouldn't mind an evening at a good restaurant, with champagne and a warm fire and a wool blanket and a nice movie after?
Friday, October 22, 2010
I'm a Physickist
 |
| The back bedroom |
I caught one on the first day but I let him go because he was too small. Such is life. I'm looking forward to getting a bigger hadron, however, and am immersed in my cookbooks deciding just how I'll prepare him.
I'm thinking Gorgonzola cream sauce, with Pastis, lightly flambéed. Just what a particle-acceleratorized hadron needs. Simple, keep it simple.
Hadrons can be delicious but unless you have a Small Hadron Collider you're unlikely to pick one up at the local farmer's market.
I'll email you the specifications, but beware, they're 130,987 pages long! And you'd better have a good electrician.
The New Chimpanzees
I don't know and I don't particularly care why these people were killed but it just points to the arbitrary and horrific behaviour of third-world peoples. Oh sure, drive-by shootings are rife in Cincinnati, but the police don't beat people to death, like the PUBLIC did when I was in Kinshasa in the 70s . . . you accidentally run over a civilian, you're beaten to death.
Well, see for yourself the incredibly sadistic behaviour of these so-called "men-in -arms."
The perps may have been Taliban murderers but they at least deserved life in a Pakistani jail and not death at the hands of a crazed mob. Frankly, I'd choose the former.
Uhh, on second thought, Pakistani + jail is not a good solution, really is it? Maybe these guys are with their twenty virgins, like they deserve.
Well, see for yourself the incredibly sadistic behaviour of these so-called "men-in -arms."
The perps may have been Taliban murderers but they at least deserved life in a Pakistani jail and not death at the hands of a crazed mob. Frankly, I'd choose the former.
Uhh, on second thought, Pakistani + jail is not a good solution, really is it? Maybe these guys are with their twenty virgins, like they deserve.
My Ass
My ass is killing me.
No, no, no my silly flock, not because of the Sambal Oelek that I added to my curry last night.
My donkey, Bertie, whom I purchased not one week ago.
He likes to snuggle on the bed between Brigitte and me and he doesn't fit in the elevator so we have to take the eight flights of stairs every time we go for his walk. And he insists on going in the car every time we go out. If I refuse him, he kicks me.
It's downright killing me. Silly ass. Brigitte, what made you think that he'd make a great Halloween decoration? I mean, honestly.
No, no, no my silly flock, not because of the Sambal Oelek that I added to my curry last night.
My donkey, Bertie, whom I purchased not one week ago.
He likes to snuggle on the bed between Brigitte and me and he doesn't fit in the elevator so we have to take the eight flights of stairs every time we go for his walk. And he insists on going in the car every time we go out. If I refuse him, he kicks me.
 |
| My Ass |
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Better Shepherd's Pie Than MINE?
I'm outraged, frustrated and furious. Brigitte's "Pâté Chinois," which is Québecois for Shepherd's Pie (or "Cottage Pie," as Blork likes to call it) is BETTER THAN MINE.
It's a damned outrage that it tastes better in ever way, is leaner and meaner, less shamelessly salty and just overall WAY BETTER THAN MINE.
I didn't marry someone just so they could show up my poor cooking skills but that's exactly what seems to have happened.
I took a picture but stupidly did it before it was cooked. But you get the picture. And, as usual, no, she won't share the recipe with us earthly folk.
It's a damned outrage that it tastes better in ever way, is leaner and meaner, less shamelessly salty and just overall WAY BETTER THAN MINE.
I didn't marry someone just so they could show up my poor cooking skills but that's exactly what seems to have happened.
I took a picture but stupidly did it before it was cooked. But you get the picture. And, as usual, no, she won't share the recipe with us earthly folk.
 |
| I'm very, very angry. But it was very, very tasty. |
Getting a Driver's License in Quebec
No matter that I drove for 20 years perfectly fine in California 20 years ago and can still drive perfectly fine.
They have no records of my license in California after this long -- the clowns -- so now I'm faced with $800 worth of driving school and a 13-month wait.
What happened to the Crackerjack box that I thought all Montreal drivers got their license from?
Incredible.
They have no records of my license in California after this long -- the clowns -- so now I'm faced with $800 worth of driving school and a 13-month wait.
What happened to the Crackerjack box that I thought all Montreal drivers got their license from?
Incredible.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Ode to Yemen
Yemen, Yemen
I want to go to Yemen, the land where the camels fly free.
Terror, terror, I want to see some terror,
A place where I can finally be me.
Yemen, Yemen
An AK-47, breakfast at the local water hole
‘Sama, ‘Sama, I want to meet Osama
And nail him from his toenails to a pole.
Yemen, Yemen,
I wish it rhymed with "semen"
'Cause all it does is rape the world
Yemen, Yemen
And you can count to seven
Because that's about how many seconds a 600-megaton bomb would take to make Yemen just a big goddamn hole where a smaller goddamn hole existed before.
I want to go to Yemen, the land where the camels fly free.
Terror, terror, I want to see some terror,
A place where I can finally be me.
Yemen, Yemen
An AK-47, breakfast at the local water hole
‘Sama, ‘Sama, I want to meet Osama
And nail him from his toenails to a pole.
Yemen, Yemen,
I wish it rhymed with "semen"
'Cause all it does is rape the world
Yemen, Yemen
And you can count to seven
Because that's about how many seconds a 600-megaton bomb would take to make Yemen just a big goddamn hole where a smaller goddamn hole existed before.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A Monumental Waste of Time
Imagine this: little Taishi lives behind his shack with his mother, because his father has died of AIDS. He's only four and he's probably going to die of AIDS as well.
Or imagine Lema, a child of 14. He's infected with a virulent form of malaria.
Imagine Umami, a mother of four in Tanzania that is dying of sleeping sickness because she can't come up with the $4 per week to buy the medicine.
Then imagine this fuck, who takes the time out to polish 100 million porcelain seeds. Yes, you read that right.
My honest and only message to him: "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."
Or imagine Lema, a child of 14. He's infected with a virulent form of malaria.
Imagine Umami, a mother of four in Tanzania that is dying of sleeping sickness because she can't come up with the $4 per week to buy the medicine.
Then imagine this fuck, who takes the time out to polish 100 million porcelain seeds. Yes, you read that right.
My honest and only message to him: "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on."
The Day Has Come!
The day has finally come when I officially can make better Indian food than restaurants, better Italian food, better pizza, better hamburgers, better Pho and minestrone and sushi and BLTs and turkey and chicken-you-name-it . . . the day has finally come.
We ordered from Maison India last night and I can officially say -- their Bangalore Phal (the hottest dish on the menu) and their rice were shit. It's Brigitte's favorite for their Butter Chicken but MY butter chicken kicks its ass with a Sidewinder missile. My Chicken Jalfrezi is on Wikipedia and receives several referrals a day
My pizzas are incredible, not laden with so much tasteless cheese or substandard ingredients it more resembles something out of a freezer carton (which it probably is) and I lust after them (as everybody else does) even after the aforementioned weeks in the freezer. There is not a single restaurant in Montreal who could make a better pizza than I do (Challenge! You and me, head to head! I'll win hands-down).
My pastas are to die for. Except for Basi, at Jean-Talon Market, I make the best pasta in the city.
I make the best spicy refrigerator dill pickles -- a recipe I had to shut down because it was causing so much traffic to the site -- the best sausages, the best fresh pasta, the best cucumber salad, the best soups, the best compound butter, the best parmesan crisps, the best POTATO CHIPS from scratch, the best chili-cheese dogs, the signature "Nickburger" . . .
But Brigitte is the undisputed Queen of the smoked-meat sandwich. I don't even want to go there. Not approach that with a ten-foot pole and a SWAT team behind me.
I'm good at what I do, but she's better at what she does . . . and combined, we kick Montreal's restaurants into Kingdom Come.
Of, course, I say that without prejudice or bias of any kind.
We ordered from Maison India last night and I can officially say -- their Bangalore Phal (the hottest dish on the menu) and their rice were shit. It's Brigitte's favorite for their Butter Chicken but MY butter chicken kicks its ass with a Sidewinder missile. My Chicken Jalfrezi is on Wikipedia and receives several referrals a day
My pizzas are incredible, not laden with so much tasteless cheese or substandard ingredients it more resembles something out of a freezer carton (which it probably is) and I lust after them (as everybody else does) even after the aforementioned weeks in the freezer. There is not a single restaurant in Montreal who could make a better pizza than I do (Challenge! You and me, head to head! I'll win hands-down).
My pastas are to die for. Except for Basi, at Jean-Talon Market, I make the best pasta in the city.
I make the best spicy refrigerator dill pickles -- a recipe I had to shut down because it was causing so much traffic to the site -- the best sausages, the best fresh pasta, the best cucumber salad, the best soups, the best compound butter, the best parmesan crisps, the best POTATO CHIPS from scratch, the best chili-cheese dogs, the signature "Nickburger" . . .
But Brigitte is the undisputed Queen of the smoked-meat sandwich. I don't even want to go there. Not approach that with a ten-foot pole and a SWAT team behind me.
I'm good at what I do, but she's better at what she does . . . and combined, we kick Montreal's restaurants into Kingdom Come.
Of, course, I say that without prejudice or bias of any kind.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
Hit "The Hit" Hitler
 |
| Good |
 |
| Better |
Oh, come on, people. Even though he personally managed to put 55 million people to death, he was a good guy. Look: he had sex with Blondi, his devoted Alsatian dog, and pretended to have sex with Eva Prawn while secretly having sex with his dog and Himmler. Now wouldn't that be someone you would like to shoot for dinner?
And look at that face. Isn't that the face of the Immortal Beloved? Can you imagine vinegar mixed with sauerkraut mixed with hydrochloric acid? Did you know that his doctor slapped his mother the minute he came out?
Good ol' Dolfy. Really, people, he MEANT well!
(Okay, okay, I admit to a Hitler obsession. I just want a time machine so I can go back and torture him for a very long time -- I'm thinking three months of penny nails through fingers, Nine INCH Nails on the speakers 48 hours a day, and The Bold and The Beautiful on his prison TV 24/7).
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Jealous
You can't believe how jealous I am of Brigitte. She speaks three languages with equal ease without even thinking. She's speaking 90% Hebrew right now on the phone with her brother, but it's so mixed up with French and English that my head is spinning.
I admit that my Japanese is pretty good, my French also, but I just can't babble like Brigitte. Amazing!
I admit that my Japanese is pretty good, my French also, but I just can't babble like Brigitte. Amazing!
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Upon Nazis and Chowhound
But then some asshole, called a "moderator" (are these people actually paid, or do they just troll the Internet, night and day, with their cokes and rice krispies?) deletes your comment and you get an email telling you so. "Off-topic."
Well, I'll tell you what's "Off-topic," you tinsel-chested self-appointed dictator of a small state: You're a fucking tinpot imaginary general sitting in your room with a Domino's pizza slice, staring at your old cathode-ray tube while the dog barks outside and your mom shouts at you to pick up your clothes and you're lecturing ME on what to post.
I just have three words for you: "FUCK YOU."
Monday, October 11, 2010
Happy Tanks Giving
Fuck 'em all. Yes, fuck 'em all. Last (Canadian) Thanksgiving we invited eight people and only one showed up.
So this year Brigitte and I decided to just go it alone. Fuck them all. No one EVER invites us to anything, when they come they bring nothing but their sorry asses and I'm frankly fucking sick and tired of it.
Hello, can you say "recluse?" Well, it's only because of the amazing amount of retards out there. What is there difficult to understand about "free, amazingly tasty, expensively-made meal, good times, good wine" that people don't understand? Maybe they just don't like my face. Well, fuck you. Happy fucking Thanksgiving, people, because Brigitte and I had an amazing one. And thank God you weren't here. Too bad for you.
So this year Brigitte and I decided to just go it alone. Fuck them all. No one EVER invites us to anything, when they come they bring nothing but their sorry asses and I'm frankly fucking sick and tired of it.
Hello, can you say "recluse?" Well, it's only because of the amazing amount of retards out there. What is there difficult to understand about "free, amazingly tasty, expensively-made meal, good times, good wine" that people don't understand? Maybe they just don't like my face. Well, fuck you. Happy fucking Thanksgiving, people, because Brigitte and I had an amazing one. And thank God you weren't here. Too bad for you.
 |
| Turkey breast studded with rosemary and garlic |
 |
| Turkey breast and celery and carrots and potatoes and onions: Done! |
 |
| Shredded and done |
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Did You Know?
I mean really, did you know? Your check is waiting. You've won 23 million dollars. Yep, just like that. Your email was selected out of millions and you just happen to be the winner. Yes, you! Now you're richer than Shaquille O'Neal.
Just send us your information and the money will be bursting your checking account at the seams!
No, wait. You're having trouble, errrr . . . . well, let's not talk about it right now.
But soon, "all night" will be commonplace.
No, wait. I'm an investor, Harry Chang, from Hong Kong. Just happens that my uncle was in the Chinese building business during the boom and he had a sudden heart attack and left this Earth with no will and the repressive Beijing government will seize all his assets, so I need you to complete a transaction in which I will transfer the funds to you and you will earn 25% if you will only fax me your bank details and telephone number.
No, wait.
Vixaggrxa, viagxxxra, ciallxs, pharmacxy solutions, TIGER WOODS IN TROUBLE AGAIN
. . .
Really. these fuckers must be making a bundle of money in order to keep on doing this. There simply is no other explanation.
Just send us your information and the money will be bursting your checking account at the seams!
No, wait. You're having trouble, errrr . . . . well, let's not talk about it right now.
But soon, "all night" will be commonplace.
No, wait. I'm an investor, Harry Chang, from Hong Kong. Just happens that my uncle was in the Chinese building business during the boom and he had a sudden heart attack and left this Earth with no will and the repressive Beijing government will seize all his assets, so I need you to complete a transaction in which I will transfer the funds to you and you will earn 25% if you will only fax me your bank details and telephone number.
No, wait.
Vixaggrxa, viagxxxra, ciallxs, pharmacxy solutions, TIGER WOODS IN TROUBLE AGAIN
. . .
Really. these fuckers must be making a bundle of money in order to keep on doing this. There simply is no other explanation.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Open Letter to Calin Rovinescu, CEO of Air Canada
Dear Mr. Rovinescu,
I have a question for you. I used to work for Air Canada Cargo as their exclusive graphic designer during the period 1996 to 2001 under Claude Morin.
Here is my question: my nine-year-old son lives in Osaka, Japan, with my ex-wife. I used to be able to fly to Vancouver direct, then to Osaka direct.
Now no one but Northwest/Delta flies from Canada to Osaka, except through byzantine and circuitous routes.
When I used to fly from Vancouver to Osaka with Air Canada, the capacity was almost always 90-100%.
Why on Earth would you stop service from Vancouver to Osaka? Even once a week, it would be standing room only. I have to fly to Osaka from Montreal twice a year now, and I’ve had to completely abandon Air Canada. Do you really think I want to fly Delta? Don’t you want my $5,000 per trip?
I just would like to know the reason you don’t fly to Osaka, unless it’s exorbitant landing fees. You fly to Tokyo, don’t you? What could possibly be the difference of, say, 600 additional miles? There certainly can be no lack of demand. Osaka is Japan’s second-biggest city, and don’t you think they want to come to Canada too? It’s like saying, “Let’s drop YUL>SFO because SFO is too much bother, let’s just do YUL>LAX because it’s bigger.”
Now I have to board Delta, go to Minneapolis, then Seattle, then Osaka. That’s patently ridiculous. Why, as a Canadian citizen, should I be made to go through American customs and immigration just for passing through? And extending my trip another ten exhausting hours with an equally-exhausted 9-year-old son in tow?
You have a very nice airline, Mr. Rovinescu, an airline I had absolute loyalty to, that I worked for for five years, and I want to travel on it.
Once a week, it’s all I ask. I know you’re in the black with all the cutbacks, and now your planes are at 80+% capacity.
So why not consider my request of reinstituting the YVR>KIX route? You’d be doing a desperate father a very, very big favor.
Yours sincerely,
Nicholas Robinson
The Ides of October
Regrettably, all my plants (outdoor) are gone. All my exotic carnivores had to be thrown away due to insect infestation. Then everyone else just pretty much went to seed.
No matter. We'll just start all over again next spring. And the bamboos are doing very well, one of them recovering from my disastrous "sunbath" incident. (Who knew bamboos hate sunlight?)
But the champ has got to be the Virginia Creeper that I painstakingly trained all summer with Scotch tape to come onto my balcony. Although he's turning beautifully red now and will soon wither, he'll be back in spades next year.
Here are the pictures, both inside and out . . .
Pretty cool, huh?
No matter. We'll just start all over again next spring. And the bamboos are doing very well, one of them recovering from my disastrous "sunbath" incident. (Who knew bamboos hate sunlight?)
But the champ has got to be the Virginia Creeper that I painstakingly trained all summer with Scotch tape to come onto my balcony. Although he's turning beautifully red now and will soon wither, he'll be back in spades next year.
Here are the pictures, both inside and out . . .
Why I don't Like Cooked (or cooking) Fish
Well, let's start with the cooking. Any pan you use will be impossible to rid of the smell of fish, so you need a dedicated pan, so the steak you make next week won't taste like fish.
And my history with cooked fish is not a good one. My parents never ate it because my father hated all fish, so I was never exposed to it . . . until boarding school in England.
Oh
MY
God.
This was the type of place you imagine from Charles Dickens' books.
The kind of place where if you didn't finish your meal you weren't allowed to leave the table. Well, calling it a "meal" is a gross exaggeration (with an emphasis on "gross"). So you can imagine what cuts of fish they used, how they prepared the "sauces" (the cooks were all from Spain because they worked so cheaply) and so that was my education in cooked fish.
I did not touch it again until my 20s, when I would occasionally try a bit of salmon from someone else's dish. Not so bad, usually. But things would happen that would put me completely off particular fish -- I used to love a particular scallop dish at a restaurant in San Francisco until one day I bit down on a nice, large crunchy bit of sand.
No more scallops for moi.
Lobster is too complicated, although I love it when it's just the meat. Same for crab. But I ain't making it.
I remember going to an Italian restaurant here in Montreal with my then-wife and I suggested maybe she try the Lobster Fra Diavolo, because we never cooked fish at home and she liked it, so she did.
We were both horrified when the waiter wheeled out a tray with a live lobster on it to tell us it was going to be hers. I don't have contact with her any more, so I don't know, but I bet she'll never eat lobster again.
No, sushi is my route. It's almost inconceivable that someone who dislikes cooked fish loves raw fish, but it's true. I love crunchy tobiko, smoky eel (unagi), of course maguro and toro (tuna) and have been known to eat hamachi and even uni (sea urchin -- never again!)
But maybe I'll try making that salmon teriyaki I've been promising Brigitte for months . . . could be a good way of breaking my dislike for cooked (and cooking) fish.
But as you know, it's Canadian Thanksgiving and I will make her my signature turkey breast with rosemary and garlic, basted with dijon and honey, and perfect gravy, and we'll have her amazing mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables and a nice rosé.
I'm too busy to make salmon teriyaki yet. There are other fish to fry.
And my history with cooked fish is not a good one. My parents never ate it because my father hated all fish, so I was never exposed to it . . . until boarding school in England.
Oh
MY
God.
This was the type of place you imagine from Charles Dickens' books.
The kind of place where if you didn't finish your meal you weren't allowed to leave the table. Well, calling it a "meal" is a gross exaggeration (with an emphasis on "gross"). So you can imagine what cuts of fish they used, how they prepared the "sauces" (the cooks were all from Spain because they worked so cheaply) and so that was my education in cooked fish.
I did not touch it again until my 20s, when I would occasionally try a bit of salmon from someone else's dish. Not so bad, usually. But things would happen that would put me completely off particular fish -- I used to love a particular scallop dish at a restaurant in San Francisco until one day I bit down on a nice, large crunchy bit of sand.
No more scallops for moi.
Lobster is too complicated, although I love it when it's just the meat. Same for crab. But I ain't making it.
I remember going to an Italian restaurant here in Montreal with my then-wife and I suggested maybe she try the Lobster Fra Diavolo, because we never cooked fish at home and she liked it, so she did.
We were both horrified when the waiter wheeled out a tray with a live lobster on it to tell us it was going to be hers. I don't have contact with her any more, so I don't know, but I bet she'll never eat lobster again.
No, sushi is my route. It's almost inconceivable that someone who dislikes cooked fish loves raw fish, but it's true. I love crunchy tobiko, smoky eel (unagi), of course maguro and toro (tuna) and have been known to eat hamachi and even uni (sea urchin -- never again!)
But maybe I'll try making that salmon teriyaki I've been promising Brigitte for months . . . could be a good way of breaking my dislike for cooked (and cooking) fish.
But as you know, it's Canadian Thanksgiving and I will make her my signature turkey breast with rosemary and garlic, basted with dijon and honey, and perfect gravy, and we'll have her amazing mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables and a nice rosé.
I'm too busy to make salmon teriyaki yet. There are other fish to fry.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Idiocy
Ever heard of Osaka, Japan? It's only the second-biggest city in Japan. MUCH bigger than San Francisco.
Ever heard of Canada? Oh, really? Not? It's a large country in the northern hemisphere.
Can you believe that there is NOT ONE SINGLE DIRECT FLIGHT from Canada to Osaka by any airline?
I used to work for Air Canada. Such fucking clowns.
Ever heard of Canada? Oh, really? Not? It's a large country in the northern hemisphere.
Can you believe that there is NOT ONE SINGLE DIRECT FLIGHT from Canada to Osaka by any airline?
I used to work for Air Canada. Such fucking clowns.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Can Plants Think?
I'm just watching a William Shatner program, and it's about weirdness. But what I saw was amazing: two researchers hooked up a plant to a polygraph to see what, if any electrical activity would be produced with various stimulae.
First they tried patting its leaves gently (I am not making this up). No response. Then one of them tried thinking threatening thoughts at the plant. No response.
But then they decided to actually injure the plant by cutting one of its leaves. Amazingly, as the researcher WAS APPROACHING THE PLANT WITH SCISSORS, there was an enormous spike on the polygraph.
BEFORE HE EVEN TOUCHED THE PLANT.
Just think about that before you prune your little Begonia, next time, okay?
First they tried patting its leaves gently (I am not making this up). No response. Then one of them tried thinking threatening thoughts at the plant. No response.
But then they decided to actually injure the plant by cutting one of its leaves. Amazingly, as the researcher WAS APPROACHING THE PLANT WITH SCISSORS, there was an enormous spike on the polygraph.
BEFORE HE EVEN TOUCHED THE PLANT.
Just think about that before you prune your little Begonia, next time, okay?
Well, You Canucks Aren't Going to Like This
Even though I'M a Canuck now, there IS one thing I despise about Canada: hockey.
It's worse than American football, soccer, baseball or golf. Just imagine a bunch of overpaid dopes skating around trying to get some round object into a small space while beating each other occasionally.
A more pointless waste of human resources I just cannot imagine.
And guess what? The hockey season started TODAY. Welcome to my nightmare.
It's worse than American football, soccer, baseball or golf. Just imagine a bunch of overpaid dopes skating around trying to get some round object into a small space while beating each other occasionally.
A more pointless waste of human resources I just cannot imagine.
And guess what? The hockey season started TODAY. Welcome to my nightmare.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Property on Jupiter Update
Update: Voyager II has just reported a new site for development on Callisto. It's not exactly located close to the Great Red Spot and the property is admittedly on a Jovian moon, but you might be interested in it nonetheless!
Gravity is one 6th of Earth's, so you won't have the problems of gaining 230% weight that you would if you actually lived near the Great Red Spot. In other words, if you weigh 176 pounds now, it would seem like you weighed approximately 45 pounds. And as I told you, there are no Jenny Craig outlets near the Great Red Spot!
However, there are some areas that you would want to know about. The average summer temperature is around -560 degrees Kelvin so some heating arrangements would need to be made.
However, we have excellent heating specialists for very good rates.
If interested, please contact for site plans and advisories on lack of oxygen, etcetera.
Please call 9-112-9987-9456-99334-0987-10078, extension 809 for more exciting information about this amazing new opportunity!
Gravity is one 6th of Earth's, so you won't have the problems of gaining 230% weight that you would if you actually lived near the Great Red Spot. In other words, if you weigh 176 pounds now, it would seem like you weighed approximately 45 pounds. And as I told you, there are no Jenny Craig outlets near the Great Red Spot!
However, there are some areas that you would want to know about. The average summer temperature is around -560 degrees Kelvin so some heating arrangements would need to be made.
However, we have excellent heating specialists for very good rates.
If interested, please contact for site plans and advisories on lack of oxygen, etcetera.
Please call 9-112-9987-9456-99334-0987-10078, extension 809 for more exciting information about this amazing new opportunity!
Food Project . . .
Brigitte and I just have to manage our food. She's had diabetes for years but now i've been diagnosed. It's not terminal, but my blood sugar is really high sometimes.
My appetite is low but I love very high-fat foods, like cream sauces, bacon, sausages, smoked meat and so forth, probably because I eat so little.
Brigitte constantly upbraids me for not eating three times a day, regularly, or my not being able to finish meals.
I mean, my main habit is to get really hungry at 4 a.m. after not being able to finish dinner at ten. But I've always been that way.
Thing is, things have got to change . . . even when I was a pesco-vegetarian (no meat, no wheat) I still made up for it with the flambéed cream sauces and shrimp.
Not good.
I'm not particularly overweight -- 5/9 and about 165, but diabetes does all sorts of nasty things. And slowly, too, which makes it all the more insidious.
I don't think I'll be eating granola and fruit salads any time soon, but I've got to change . . .
Yes, I think grilled filet mignon with mushroom cream sauce with cognac flambée, some lightly fried new potatoes with parsley and a nicely fried basmati rice will be on the menu this weekend. Maybe as a special midnight treat Brigitte will make me one of her famous smoked-meat sandwiches with coleslaw on rye or one of her fabulous BLTs with thick bacon and extra sharp-cheddar cheese.
Some things gotta change, people! I've decided to become a complete pig instead of just half-a-one.
My appetite is low but I love very high-fat foods, like cream sauces, bacon, sausages, smoked meat and so forth, probably because I eat so little.
Brigitte constantly upbraids me for not eating three times a day, regularly, or my not being able to finish meals.
I mean, my main habit is to get really hungry at 4 a.m. after not being able to finish dinner at ten. But I've always been that way.
Thing is, things have got to change . . . even when I was a pesco-vegetarian (no meat, no wheat) I still made up for it with the flambéed cream sauces and shrimp.
Not good.
I'm not particularly overweight -- 5/9 and about 165, but diabetes does all sorts of nasty things. And slowly, too, which makes it all the more insidious.
I don't think I'll be eating granola and fruit salads any time soon, but I've got to change . . .
Yes, I think grilled filet mignon with mushroom cream sauce with cognac flambée, some lightly fried new potatoes with parsley and a nicely fried basmati rice will be on the menu this weekend. Maybe as a special midnight treat Brigitte will make me one of her famous smoked-meat sandwiches with coleslaw on rye or one of her fabulous BLTs with thick bacon and extra sharp-cheddar cheese.
Some things gotta change, people! I've decided to become a complete pig instead of just half-a-one.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Being German
 |
| "I apologize to each six million Jew. I cut you a bad break. But frankly, the latkes and ze smoked meat was pumping up my waistline. And I was becoming unattractive to Blondi, my Alsatian dog. Can you imagine being rejected by him every night because of the Juden galettes? Ze horror. Blondi rejecting my advances because off der Juden" |
Can you actually imagine doing that? "Ahh, guten tag, der Velt, ich bin Deutschlander."
The simple psychological toll would be huge. It would be almost as huge as waking up and saying "J'habites en France! Oueh, j'suis Français!" And hearing the da-da-da-da-DAAAA DAA DAA DAAA da-da of that humourous national anthem and the summoning of the image of that prancing monkey, Charles de Gaulle.
I mean, "Deutschland, Deutschland über Alles" has kind of a swing to it but not that horrific French crap. Someone was drinking entirely too much poor pastis.
(And who the fuck gave birth to Jacques Brel? He should have had orders to be shot on sight).
But being German -- unimaginable. Judenrein! The Thousand-year-REICH!
No, I enjoy every day i wake up as a new Canadian. I wake up, see the sun, and say "Jesus Fucking Christ I'm glad I'm not German."
Try it. It's a soothing mantra that can calm you down in bad periods. "I'm glad I'm not German." Repeat it often! Here's how, to start and you don't even have to say it in German for it to work!But you can practice your non-German at the same time!
"I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander.""I'm glad I'm not German.""Ich bin nicht Deutschlander."
See? feeling better already!
Monday, October 4, 2010
Languages
Uhh, Brigitte speaks three different languages, Except she speaks all of them perfectly English (better than perfect, spoken and written and I'M A FUCKING ENGLISH TEACHER), Hebrew written and spoken, a harsh language to learn, and pretty much flawless French. She admits she can't write it perfectly (who the fuck would want to?) but when she speaks it it puts Jacques Pepin to shame.
So where does that leave me? Obviously fluent in English, very good in French and very bad in Japanese (meaning that i'm completely fluent in nasty Japanese -- the only Japanese you need to know).
But Brigitte blows me off the planet. I listen to her speak French and it's as if a different person is sitting at the table . . . .
Weird . . . .
So where does that leave me? Obviously fluent in English, very good in French and very bad in Japanese (meaning that i'm completely fluent in nasty Japanese -- the only Japanese you need to know).
But Brigitte blows me off the planet. I listen to her speak French and it's as if a different person is sitting at the table . . . .
Weird . . . .
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Oh, Boy, Look at Them Games!
What the fuck.
From CNN:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The games give India an opportunity to promote a shiny image as an emerging power. The government spent billions on a new international airport, additional metro lines and fresh landscaping along dingy Delhi roads.
Still, India remains a country with millions of poor people, who feel brushed aside as the new India tried to put its best face forward.
People like Shanti, a 65-year-old beggar, who said she was detained by police for sitting on the side of a street, where she always sits, hoping that passers-by will drop a few coins in her hands. Or Mala Mangla, who sells balloons on the streets. She said police have told her to disappear for at least a month.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Emerging power" MY ASS. For an amazing country with an abundance of natural resources India remains firmly in the shits and so do most of its sorry people. Hey, fucking do a suicide ride hanging on the outside of a train. Do it.
It will teach you what being an ordinary Indian is.
From CNN:
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The games give India an opportunity to promote a shiny image as an emerging power. The government spent billions on a new international airport, additional metro lines and fresh landscaping along dingy Delhi roads.
Still, India remains a country with millions of poor people, who feel brushed aside as the new India tried to put its best face forward.
People like Shanti, a 65-year-old beggar, who said she was detained by police for sitting on the side of a street, where she always sits, hoping that passers-by will drop a few coins in her hands. Or Mala Mangla, who sells balloons on the streets. She said police have told her to disappear for at least a month.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Emerging power" MY ASS. For an amazing country with an abundance of natural resources India remains firmly in the shits and so do most of its sorry people. Hey, fucking do a suicide ride hanging on the outside of a train. Do it.
It will teach you what being an ordinary Indian is.
Upon Being Gay and Reviled
I'm not even close to gay. The only experiences I had with needy gay guys were in boarding school and an actual celebrity racquetball player.
Verdict: NOT GAY.
But what the fuck is up with people's problems with people who DON'T HAVE THE SAME SEXUAL/GENDER PREFERENCES AS THEM?
A kid who commits suicide because he's bullied incessantly? A kid who's NOT gay but who's constantly accused of being gay? (Hey, I heard a rumor once in my 20s that I might be gay. I couldn't give a fuck. In fact, it was an honor.)
Sorry, guys, I only love women, but it's a tragedy that gays and lesbians are persecuted UNTIL DEATH with things that are ARE NOBODY'S FUCKING BUSINESS.
Hey, I'm Jewish. Okay, so I lied. I'm nowhere near being Jewish.
But WHAT GIVES YOU THE ROYAL RIGHT TO CARE? Fucking go home and fuck your dog or use your dildo but LEAVE INNOCENT PEOPLE ALONE.
I'm allowed to call you a fuckwad. But I'm not allowed to threaten you for being a fuckwad.
Fuck, I'm not EVEN QUALIFIED TO CALL YOU A FUCKWAD. I didn't go to a special school to qualify human beings and WHAT THEY FUCKING INNOCENTLY DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS.
What, you think every time I take a bath I should be judged on how exactly I wash myself?
So excuse you me and don't be a fuckwad. Gays and lesbians are just human beings, just like YOU, fuckwad. (Oops, sorry. Broke my own rule).
Verdict: NOT GAY.
But what the fuck is up with people's problems with people who DON'T HAVE THE SAME SEXUAL/GENDER PREFERENCES AS THEM?
A kid who commits suicide because he's bullied incessantly? A kid who's NOT gay but who's constantly accused of being gay? (Hey, I heard a rumor once in my 20s that I might be gay. I couldn't give a fuck. In fact, it was an honor.)
Sorry, guys, I only love women, but it's a tragedy that gays and lesbians are persecuted UNTIL DEATH with things that are ARE NOBODY'S FUCKING BUSINESS.
Hey, I'm Jewish. Okay, so I lied. I'm nowhere near being Jewish.
But WHAT GIVES YOU THE ROYAL RIGHT TO CARE? Fucking go home and fuck your dog or use your dildo but LEAVE INNOCENT PEOPLE ALONE.
I'm allowed to call you a fuckwad. But I'm not allowed to threaten you for being a fuckwad.
Fuck, I'm not EVEN QUALIFIED TO CALL YOU A FUCKWAD. I didn't go to a special school to qualify human beings and WHAT THEY FUCKING INNOCENTLY DO BEHIND CLOSED DOORS.
What, you think every time I take a bath I should be judged on how exactly I wash myself?
So excuse you me and don't be a fuckwad. Gays and lesbians are just human beings, just like YOU, fuckwad. (Oops, sorry. Broke my own rule).
Ahhh, Gotta Love Craigslist
Photography (Art) & some office (Alaska)
Date: 2010-09-17, 2:13AM CEST
Reply to: job-mxnxz-1958032154@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Here's a unique opportunity for the right candidate that is serious about a career in art. Assist with production of art quality black and white,
sepia, and oil painted photographs for exhibition and sale, You don't have to be a college graduate in art studies--just keenly interested in art
and show some past work, affiliations, or projects you've done.
Use of auto or truck is also part of the arrangement. Plenty of Alaska adventure awaits. There is also more than adequate time for you to develop
your personal art talent here in any number of fabulous wilderness regions and in almost any art category you choose; although I do hope photography
is a principal interest for you.
This is big country and the backcountry is huge. Challenging photography and artistic material awaits around almost every bend in the trail.
The photography of interest uses digital cameras, 6x7 cm cameras and 6x17cm cameras. .A web site is partially constructed that provides examples. [www.malcolmray.com]
The program is quite flexible. All I care about at the base level is keeping track of a small amount of financial
data on my energy business. Secondly, render assistance in printing photographs.
Other skills like graphic design, computer & web site assistance could be helpful. This is largely a barter position in which you get living benefits and a car.
Alaska is a terriffic place in the minds of us who call it home; You will find it is a place of adventure and closeness to wilderness and a great place to make many new friends.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------—
Hmm . . .
Well, I can do all those things, but that's halfway across the world. Barter is fine but I don't want to be stuck in the boonies with no resources, no house, no place to live and just vague promises. Could you perhaps pony up $20,000, then mail me a plane ticket (Montreal-return), take some decent photographs of my living conditions, my car, and postdated checks totalling about $4,000 a month?
Plus, toss in a couple of first-class tickets to London.
I like London.
That’s not the Ontario London.
Date: 2010-09-17, 2:13AM CEST
Reply to: job-mxnxz-1958032154@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]
Here's a unique opportunity for the right candidate that is serious about a career in art. Assist with production of art quality black and white,
sepia, and oil painted photographs for exhibition and sale, You don't have to be a college graduate in art studies--just keenly interested in art
and show some past work, affiliations, or projects you've done.
Use of auto or truck is also part of the arrangement. Plenty of Alaska adventure awaits. There is also more than adequate time for you to develop
your personal art talent here in any number of fabulous wilderness regions and in almost any art category you choose; although I do hope photography
is a principal interest for you.
This is big country and the backcountry is huge. Challenging photography and artistic material awaits around almost every bend in the trail.
The photography of interest uses digital cameras, 6x7 cm cameras and 6x17cm cameras. .A web site is partially constructed that provides examples. [www.malcolmray.com]
The program is quite flexible. All I care about at the base level is keeping track of a small amount of financial
data on my energy business. Secondly, render assistance in printing photographs.
Other skills like graphic design, computer & web site assistance could be helpful. This is largely a barter position in which you get living benefits and a car.
Alaska is a terriffic place in the minds of us who call it home; You will find it is a place of adventure and closeness to wilderness and a great place to make many new friends.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------—
Hmm . . .
Well, I can do all those things, but that's halfway across the world. Barter is fine but I don't want to be stuck in the boonies with no resources, no house, no place to live and just vague promises. Could you perhaps pony up $20,000, then mail me a plane ticket (Montreal-return), take some decent photographs of my living conditions, my car, and postdated checks totalling about $4,000 a month?
Plus, toss in a couple of first-class tickets to London.
I like London.
That’s not the Ontario London.
An Oxymaroon
Ever heard the phrase "The Laws of War?"
Uhh . . . what, war has laws? You're not allowed by the Geneva Compunction to shoot someone in the back of the head? IT has to be in the SIDE of the head?
How can war have LAWS? What, no civilians, no collateral damage?
What is it about the word WAR that people don't understand? War is the explicit act to kill as many of "the enemy," whomever they might conveniently be at the time, as possible, in whatever manner.
AND
IT
IS
NOT
A
FUCKING
SOCCER
MATCH.
Uhh . . . what, war has laws? You're not allowed by the Geneva Compunction to shoot someone in the back of the head? IT has to be in the SIDE of the head?
How can war have LAWS? What, no civilians, no collateral damage?
What is it about the word WAR that people don't understand? War is the explicit act to kill as many of "the enemy," whomever they might conveniently be at the time, as possible, in whatever manner.
AND
IT
IS
NOT
A
FUCKING
SOCCER
MATCH.
The Nonsense That Is India
I was born in Calcutta (I'm American) and lived there for the first ten years of my life. I returned when I was forty years old.
Calcutta looked like a nuclear bomb had hit it; there were people lying on on the sidewalks obviously dying, beneath billboards advertising Internet services. The road to Dum-Dum airport was littered with dead dogs that the aging taxi had to swerve to avoid running over yet again.
Buildings, some ten stories high, had all their windows broken, as if someone had dropped a bomb nearby.
Gangs of little kids, most only six or seven, rushed up to me, the "white face" and cried "Uncle, uncle, please give us a rupee."
India would dearly love to project an image of itself as a first-world nation and since I could apply for an Indian passport tomorrow I am inclined to think it so, but it is actually not much more advanced than the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Think about that for a second.
Please read the book "Maximum City" by Suketu Mehta to get a true image of the India of today.
India is not the Third World. It is not the Fourth World. It is the Tenth World, a private hell for billions of people.
I realise this is not a great writeup for a tourist brochure but India has no business trying to run a "Commonwealth Games" when billions -- yes, billions -- of its citizens are literally dying in the streets, like the flattened mangy dogs that litter the road to the airport in Calcutta.
Calcutta looked like a nuclear bomb had hit it; there were people lying on on the sidewalks obviously dying, beneath billboards advertising Internet services. The road to Dum-Dum airport was littered with dead dogs that the aging taxi had to swerve to avoid running over yet again.
Buildings, some ten stories high, had all their windows broken, as if someone had dropped a bomb nearby.
Gangs of little kids, most only six or seven, rushed up to me, the "white face" and cried "Uncle, uncle, please give us a rupee."
India would dearly love to project an image of itself as a first-world nation and since I could apply for an Indian passport tomorrow I am inclined to think it so, but it is actually not much more advanced than the Democratic Republic of the Congo.
Think about that for a second.
Please read the book "Maximum City" by Suketu Mehta to get a true image of the India of today.
India is not the Third World. It is not the Fourth World. It is the Tenth World, a private hell for billions of people.
I realise this is not a great writeup for a tourist brochure but India has no business trying to run a "Commonwealth Games" when billions -- yes, billions -- of its citizens are literally dying in the streets, like the flattened mangy dogs that litter the road to the airport in Calcutta.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Uhhh XVIII . . . .
What is it that exactly does not bother me about the three words "Nigerian Terror Attack?"
What can it be?
WHY AM I NOT BOTHERED IN THE LEAST?
You know what it sounds like, in all honesty, as a headline, to me?
"Moose discovered dead by the roadside in Burnaby, British Columbia."
That's about the impact THAT particular news item had on me.
Kind of like "Bus plunge in Nicaragua Kills Sixty-four."
Who the fuck cares? How about "Four Million Children Dead from Malaria in 2009."
?
Huh?
What can it be?
WHY AM I NOT BOTHERED IN THE LEAST?
You know what it sounds like, in all honesty, as a headline, to me?
"Moose discovered dead by the roadside in Burnaby, British Columbia."
That's about the impact THAT particular news item had on me.
Kind of like "Bus plunge in Nicaragua Kills Sixty-four."
Who the fuck cares? How about "Four Million Children Dead from Malaria in 2009."
?
Huh?
Friday, October 1, 2010
Upon Being a Plastic Murderer, and Other Things
War is a lunatic thing. In recent years I’ve learned that humans aren’t the only creatures that practice it. Chimpanzees wage war on epic scales, as do ants. and wasps.
My so-called “fascination” with war highly bothers Brigitte. But because I have a personal link, that my father fought in insane situations but survived to have me, I have a very personal connection with wars. Who the fuck knows what it did to him? He lied. He denied being afraid. He denied killing anyone. But I know he did all these things.
My perversity with GI Joes is precisely that — a perversity. I say to myself sometimes at night, “Yes, you fucking assholes, you’re all in Eternity but you live on my shelf to be ridiculed. You may have “looked smart” in your fucking “uniforms" but the fact is that YOU EXISTED TO KILL PEOPLE.
I am NOT including my Allied figures — only the sadist, torturing Nazis and Japs. Man from Future doesn't exist yet, so I can't include him.
I look at them sometimes. I buy them. But in my mind I remember all the real missions my father went through to kill these motherfuckers, how many of Brigitte’s relatives died at their hands and YOU ARE GOING TO BE FIRSTHAND WITNESSES TO THE VIDEO WHEN I GRILLTHEIR SORRY ASSES in their memory and watch them melt like the sorry motherfuckers they are. I'll rue the money I spent on them but it will be hilarious to SEE THEM BURN.
It’s admittedly a perverse way to get revenge, to buy a Nazi corporal at 1/6 scale but IT’S MY REVENGE. It’s okay that Brigitte doesn’t want me to buy Hitler as a plastic figure but IT’s MY REVENGE. I can gaze at him 24/7 and REMIND MYSELF WHAT HE DID AND HATE HIM ALL THE MORE.
Making fun of these murderous clowns is the best way I can get back at them.
Because they sure were murderous clowns.
No shortage there, even today.
Don’t worry, no Postal, just a bunch of dolls on a shelf. But I certainly know the difference between a doll and a murderer.
Trouble is, there will be more murderers. And more dolls. At least I'll be able to torture the dolls.
They will linger, trust me. I might even crucify a few of the worst. And I'll post it all here.
Yes. I'll bind a pair of chopsticks for Hiroshi, the Japanese corporal, and nail his hands to the cross. Then I'll burn him after about a week when I get sick of his screaming.
Heinz, the German Lieutenant -- well, I have special plans for him, mostly involving skewers.
FEEL THE LOVE.
They will linger, trust me. I might even crucify a few of the worst. And I'll post it all here.
Yes. I'll bind a pair of chopsticks for Hiroshi, the Japanese corporal, and nail his hands to the cross. Then I'll burn him after about a week when I get sick of his screaming.
Heinz, the German Lieutenant -- well, I have special plans for him, mostly involving skewers.
FEEL THE LOVE.