"Houston...We Have a Urinary Problem"

Here is today's bit of Cliff Clavin information for everyone.

Not that I have a particular affinity for this kind of thing, but it has come to my attention that there are 7 movies in which Tom Hanks has urinated on screen. That's got to be some kind of record.

Me, I can think of only 5 movies:

The Green Mile
Cast Away
A League of Their Own
Forrest Gump
Apollo 13

Can anyone name the other two? I'd guess that one of the other ones would be Splash, but given that he spends a good portion of the movie under water, it would be hard to tell if and when he actually did the deed.

Given Tom Hanks' star status, I'm pretty sure he has some pull when it comes to how a movie ultimately comes together. So that tells me that the producer or director has come to him and said "Tom, I need you to take a leak in this scene.", to which Hanks has replied "No problem!"

I've heard of actors doing love scenes for artistic reasons, but do you think Tom Hanks takes a whiz under the auspices of "artistic merit" or "plot development"? And where the hell did I come up with "auspices"?

So how long before MTV comes up with a movie award for "Best On-Screen Pee"?

Oss-pisses?

A-tattoo-d Problems

The scene is this: the producers of a new show called "Fantasy Island" are sitting around a table, trying to come up with each of the characters' names.

Exec #1: "Okay, so what about Mr. Villechaize? What should his name be?"
Exec #2: "How about Tattoo?"
Exec #3: "What the hell?"
Exec #2: "Well, he's a little unpleasant to look at and he appears to be getting uglier with age. But the girls seem to like him, for some reason. What else could possibly fit that description?"
Exec #1: "Exactly what I was thinking."
Exec #2: "Let's go get a latte."

Let me tell you something…with just a few exceptions, tattoos should be reserved for biker gangs, unemployed welfare recipients with too much money, and sideshow circus freaks who believe they can turn themselves into iguanas.

Have you ever tried to describe the practice of tattooing to someone? Take a needle, put a motor on it, fill it with permanent ink and then drag it through your skin. Uuhhh…no thanks. That sounds about as fun as a Pauly Shore movie.

The problem with most people who get a tattoo is that they don't think long term. Girls -- when you got that cute little rose put on your breast, did you realize that it would become a long-stem by the time you're 80? To the folks who thought that getting the Wal-Mart smiley face on your hip -- do you know what happens as your waist-line expands and your gut sags? The little sucker ends up so stretched and so out of proportion that he looks like a cross between a Japanese caricature and a stroke recovery patient.

As time passes, the colour fades, your skin wrinkles, expands and contracts. We're all Gumbies! If you're thinking about a tattoo, here's my advice: draw your design on a deflated balloon. Then blow up the balloon. How does your drawing look now? Next, let the air out and then stretch the balloon in all different directions. Now how cute is your design?

There are all kinds of diagrams, pictures, words and designs that you can choose from, yet for some reason, beaucoup de people end up choosing the same damn thing. The flower on the ankle. The barbed wire around the bicep. The lattice design just above your butt-crack. Been there, done that, got the tetanus. At least be original, for cryin' out loud!

Probably the most annoying tattoo ever to have been invented has to be the oriental words or letters that so many kids get. Forever engraving a navy blue hieroglyph onto your body does not get you any closer to a Zen state than sticking Cheerios in your ears. And I'd be curious to find out how many tattoo artists purposefully (or accidentally) draw something completely different than what was requested. A kid walks in and asks to have "Just Be" printed in Chinese on his back. The guy says, 'sure', and proceeds to carve "I Suck Eggrolls"!

And what's with you fools with the cutsie tattoos? When you're 18, they're fun and cool to show to your friends, but after 6 or 8 months, then what? You're left with an absurd, childish cartoon on your body, which will become somewhat obscured over time by your ever-increasing body hair (most girls excepted). I know a guy that had a tattoo of a chipmunk, running upwards, on his inner left thigh. On his inner right thigh, he had the same chipmunk, running downwards, with two nuts in its cheeks. Oh, how nice. Putting the 'ass' in 'classy', I'd say.

I don't think I can come up with any situation where permanently colouring your skin with a snake, skull and dripping blood would be absolutely necessary, except, perhaps, if you were looking at joining a biker gang -- in which case, I say go for it. It'll leave less room for the "I Love Mongo" tattoo that you'll likely have to get once you're in prison. Some people might get one to commemorate the birth of a child or the death of someone close to them. That's touching, sentimental and often very unique to the individual. But what about photography? Pictures can be just as permanent and they certainly don't hurt nearly as much.

I know that some people are quite passionate about this stuff; their body a canvas, the tattoos a beautiful expression of themselves and their experiences. Those people are peanut heads. I think they were just bored. Remember, as a child in school, when you got bored, you started to draw on your hands and arms? Tattoos are just the adult version of that. Except that your mother can't scrub them off at the end of the day.

If you have a tattoo and are proud of it, I invite you to email me a picture. I would be glad to give you a personalized opinion!

(Endnote: Thanks to "Anonymous" for the poke in the ribs for today's story. Ironically enough, I attended a wedding last weekend where one of the guests had an 8-inch tattoo on her arm that looked as if a 6-year old had drawn it. It actually went well with her skin-tight, neon pink dress and glossy silver platform shoes. All that was missing was a brass pole.)

Heads Up!

Trees. Flowers. Blue sky. Interesting (or boring) architecture. Traffic. The world. My shoulder.

I was going to offer a cash reward to the first person who could identify what all of these things have in common, but A) I don't think anyone would guess correctly; and B) I don't have any money anyway.

The common factor for all of the aforementioned items is that they are all things you don't see if you walk with your head down.

Let me tell you something...People who walk with their heads down are one of my all-time pet peeves, yet also an endless source of entertainment. As I see it, there are two basic types of HDLs (Head Down Losers). The first, and most plentiful, are the ground inspectors. What in the world are you looking for?? I've heard of people with shoe and foot fetishes, but I didn't realize that there were so many people enthralled with the art of podiatry that they cannot tear their gaze away from their feet while in public. Maybe they're superstitious? Here's a newsflash...Stepping on a crack will not break your mother's back. However, the burden of knowing how stupid you turned out to be might.

The second type are the multi-taskers. Typically newspaper or book readers, but lately I've noticed a growing population of Blackberry users and iPod shufflers. Now, listen...You either read or walk. Not both. I don't care if you're two-thirds of the way through the DaVinci Code and you're on the way to the movie theatre. Put the damn book away or sit the hell down and read. Every time I have to watch Anne of Green Gables, I end up yelling at the damn girl to stop being so foolish, put down her book and watch where she's going. Ooohh, that Anne Shirley...

To this day, I think I would have a hard time not punching Megan Follows. But I digress...

(Side note: That's a bit of Canadian heritage humour, there.)

Back in university, a friend and I decided that we had had enough of jumping out of the way of these head-downers so we decided it was in the world's best interest to stand up for ourselves and let them know that what they were doing was wrong. Instead of moving out of the way, we would just walk right into them -- or more to the point, they would crash into us -- at which time we would glare at them and say "Get your head up!"

For the most part, they would mumble an apology and scurry on their way, head on a swivel like prairie dog watching for hawks. However, there were a few numbnuts that would actually put their head back down or continue reading as if nothing happened! "Buddy! Just how exciting IS that calculus textbook, anyway?" Dork.

Today, I'm a little older and supposed to be a little more mature, but that still doesn't stop me from sticking a hip or a shoulder into an oncoming HDL.

I've come to notice that there are many, many individuals out there that (still?) need some training. Maybe I should buy a few hundred neck braces and just hijack these people, strap on the brace, thereby preventing them from looking down. Or maybe one of those funnel things they put on dogs.

Hey, perhaps this could be a subsidiary company of my new business venture! (See "Kick-Starting My New Business" from earlier this month.)

Please, people. Get your head up. You get so much more out of life when you look beyond your shoelaces. Scenery. Beautiful people. Your own house. You risk missing out on so much because you're looking down. For example, if I'd been watching the ants on the ground, I would not have seen a naked girl getting out of a taxi cab. Or all the flashers at Mardi Gras. Or the young couple "getting acquainted" in the alley. Yeah, it's a wonderful world of experiences out there.

I think the Friendly Giant said it best: "Look up. Look waaay up!" I'm begging you...Listen to the big man. My shoulders are getting sore.

Wake Me When It's Over

Hi folks. Sorry I've been MIA for a few days. Let me tell you something...I fell asleep in my rocking chair on the front porch and if it weren't for the insanity of the world making such a ruckus, I'd probably still be there.

First up: New Orleans. Yeah, yeah, I feel sorry for the hundreds of thousands of people displaced by the hurricane, but I have to say that they sure have issues with prioritization. I don't know who's in charge down there, but apparently he/she (probably a 'he') is suffering from a horrible affliction called Anal-Cranial Inversion. Translation: He's got his head up his ass. I just heard that FedEx covered the cost of a jet, crew, marching band, media frenzy and royal carpet treatment for the safe return of a handful of long-time New Orleans residents that had their homes destroyed by Katrina. Sounds nice, eh? Except for the fact that those residents were PENGUINS!! What a great photo-op for Mr. Mayor and his crew, eh? Two hundred and fifty thousand people still without homes, but man, those penguins were sure cute on that carpet, eh!?

Second up: The Congo. This story was so disturbing that it made me want to curl up and hibernate until the Senators get past the second round of playoffs. I have no idea for how long this has been going on, but apparently the military men over there believe that if you wear a uniform, it's okay to repeatedly gang-rape women and children. I don't want to get too graphic, but one woman was raped so badly that she now walks with a limp and must use a cane. What kind of sick fuck could do such a thing? Heartless. Mindless. Gutless. Soul-less. I'd like to nail their bag to a stump and push them over backwards.

Third up: And on a lighter note, but still stupid enough to warrant comment: Paul McCartney and Whatsername. Maybe the two of them should have been putting some effort into their marriage instead of trying to get into Canadian politics by popping off about the seal hunt. Paul: you've got some good tunes, my friend. Stick with what you know. Wifey-Whatyerface: you're just a big-mouth nobody. I liked you better when I didn't see you/hear you/know you.

That's all I can handle for now. I'm going back to my nap.

Pontiff-icating

Someone once asked me, "If you could be anyone, other than yourself, who would you be?".

Doctor? No. President? Pass. Porn movie producer? Mmm...Maybe. But after giving it some real thought, I came up with my answer. The Pope.

More influential than Oprah, richer than Bill Gates and commands attention better than a screaming child. Hundreds of millions of people hang on his every word, his every action, his every hand gesture. Contrast that with the president of the United States who has a few hundred such supporters. It's no contest.

Let me tell you something...If I were Pope, there would be some serious changes in the world. I'm not Catholic. And I am married. And I have a child. Okay, so I've already got three biblical strikes against me, but that doesn't mean I don't have some good ideas.

I think the first "change" would be that I would keep my own name. This isn't a role in an after-school special we're talking about. I'm not trying to make people believe I'm someone I'm not, so why do I need a new name? And have you seen the list of names that Popes get to choose from? Here are a few examples:

Blessed Urban -- seems a little anti-farming, if you ask me
Celestine -- isn't that a girl's name?
St. Linus -- probably gave blanket approvals to everything
St. Hilarius -- who would take you seriously?

You'd think they were named by Hollywood celebrities or something. I'm surprised they don't have "Gozetheweezle" as one of the options. (Let me know if that one is too abstract for you).

My next request would be for people to stop being so philosophical and constantly looking for the deeper, hidden meaning behind everything. Why is the sky blue? Because it is. Who made the earth? Not me. Why are there so many dumbasses in the world? To provide cast members for shows like COPS, Jerry Springer and MuchMusic. Stop trying to over-think everything, look for proof of a higher power, or find the meaning of life. Monty Python already explained it anyway.

Just...be.

Whoa, that was sort of deep, wasn't it? Almost Zen-like.

I think I would open up the Vatican libraries, too. Why the need for such secrecy? Unless you have absolute proof that the bible is a fictional story (in which case you could hide that one -- no need to ruin things for those hard-core believers) I don't see why we can't let people leaf through some of the books. Who knows what's hidden in those rooms? We might even find Jimmy Hoffa tucked away in there. Or all my missing socks.

I wouldn't be surprised if we were perusing through some of the ancient documents and discovered that the transcriptions got messed up by a drunk monk. Instead of members of the clergy being celebate, they were supposed to celebrate; and that nuns, rather than being chaste are actually supposed to be chased. I bet the sound of that collective forehead slap would be deafening. Hey, it must've been tough doing all that writing by candle light. Mistakes are bound to have happened.

Sooner or later, I suppose I'd have to look after putting an end to the "important" crises like war, starvation and televangelists. But not before I'd go pick out a new hat.

Driving Me Crazy

People, people, people!! What is the matter with you all??

Why must you drive like Dale Earnhardt every day? There's no need to get to work so fast! Why would you want to maximize the amount of time spent sitting at your desk, staring at your computer screen waiting for another dirty joke email?

Let me tell you something...Arriving at your destination 5 or 10 minutes earlier will not earn you your executive bonus. Swerving through traffic in your Escalade like SuperMario Kart will not win you any prizes or get your game extended. Listen, us commuters are all in the same boat, so there's no reason for you to row any faster than the rest of us.

I'm sick and tired of these drivers who apparently got their licence out of a cereal box and mistakenly believe that highway courtesy does not apply to them. There are three types of drivers, in particular, that cause the vein in my forehead to throb:

Tailgaters: Like the bumper sticker says: "Unless you're a hemmorhoid, GET OFF MY ASS!" (Actually, I don't think I want hemmorhoids on my ass, either). Driving so close behind me that I can see the tuna salad in your mustache will not make me go any faster. In fact, it makes me want to hit my brakes. Watching you shit your Armani suit as you panic, drop your cell phone and slam on your brakes would bring me much joy.

Weavers: Life is not a race, so why try to finish first? You want to finish early? Be my guest. It'll make more room on the highway for me. I'll never understand the satisfaction that must come from knowing that you are ONE car-length ahead of where you were 5 seconds ago. "I'm 15 feet closer to home! Yay! I just shaved 1/100th of a second off my time!" If I see you in my rear-view mirror, making like Donald Trump's hair, bobbing and weaving all over the place, I will move over such that I occupy two lanes in order to keep you guessing. And then hit the brakes. This isn't vehicular Frogger we're playing.

Last Minute Mergers: You folks are the bane of my existence. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you do not get in front of me. Ordinarily, I am courteous and will allow people to merge in from an on-ramp. However, if you think that by waiting until the very last second, when the lane runs out, that I will feel obligated to let you in, you've got another thing coming. And that other thing will be my middle finger and a smile. You can drive along the shoulder amongst all the roadkill and accident debris. Go ahead and hit my car. I could use the money.

I suppose my antics may perpetuate the number of road rage incidents. Some of you may ask "Who do you think you are? What gives you the right to 'police' the roads like a vigilante?"

My response is: "WHAT?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER MY STEREO!!"

Darwin, Where Are You?

How is it that some people get to become parents, while others try for years but they never get anywhere?

And why does it seem that it's the idiots out there that can so readily conceive, thereby ensuring that our species becomes dumber and dumber with each offspring?

These Hollywood celebrities and their fabulous stories of conception, pregnancy, birth and parenthood are really starting to annoy me. Perhaps I'm too cynical and some of them are actually telling the truth, but how can one not be suspicious with examples like:

a) Michael "HEE hee. Somebody slept with me." Jackson;
b) Britney "Oops, I Dropped Him Again" Spears;
c) Angelina "I only adopt from trendy countries" Jolie; and
d) Courtney "I'm drunker than you" Love

Let me tell you something...Methinks the world needs a little chlorine for the gene pool.

Having become a parent, myself, not too long ago, I have a new-found appreciation for what it means to have a child and the responsibilities that come with the territory.

Having a nanny, cleaning staff, maid service and financial planner look after your kids while you jet around the world for months at a time to promote your latest whatever is not real parenting. Do you honestly think that Madonna was up every hour, feeding her daughters? Can you really picture Billy Bob Thorton wiping an ass, changing a diaper? And how often do you think Ozzy Osborne sang "Hush Little Baby" to his cholicky children?

Sure, I suppose there may be some celebrities that actually do take parenthood seriously. I just can't think of any. Maybe Mel Gibson with his 27 kids (or however many he's up to now). And while we're at it, why must they choose such STUPID names?!

True Harlow Fisher-Duddy
Alabama Luella Hoppus
Moon Unit and Dweezil
Geronimo
Heavenly Hirani Tiger Lily
Dandelion
Elijah Bob Patricius Guggi Q
Zowie Bowie
Rufus Tiger

You've got to be kidding me!

Whatever happened to Stephen, Michael, Mary and Elizabeth? Are these children actually expected to become "normal", functioning members of society with names like that? I'd love to lay a pummelling on their parents for being so ridiculous.

How long before the novelty of Tom Cruise's baby wears off and little Suri (another winning name) becomes just another after-thought, like his other two children?

I wish they would start treating their children like human beings and not just another bullet-point on their resumés. Being a parent is a blessing and a priviledge, not a marketing and promotions tool.

I hate Bob Vila

I've come to learn that even a little testosterone can cause all sorts of problems: violence, aggression, foreign policy, or mistakenly thinking you can handle do-it-yourself projects.

Let me tell you something...Perhaps you might not consider me a manly man, but I am not ashamed to admit that when it comes to any home rennovation project with more instructions than "Cut Along Dotted Line", I am as useful as breasts on a nun.

Oh, sure, I look the part of a good handyman. I've got a toolbelt that accentuates my butt crack, at least two hammers (you need the 2nd one after you smash your finger and chuck the first one across the street), a saw, a smattering of screwdrivers (no Phillips or Robertson. I have "square" and "plus sign") and a tacklebox full of at least 17,000 different nails, screws, nuts, bolts and other metallic things that I think may have come off a Sherman Tank in 1942. Hey, you never know when one of those suckers might break down outside your house. If it does, then I could be a hero.

However, in every instance of home rennovation and/or repair, it is guaranteed that in the end I will:
a) make things worse;
b) hurt myself;
c) own more tools than the Canadian Tire guy; and
d) take an oath never to do home repairs again, which is promptly broken once I'm discharged from the hospital.

I wanted to change the light fixture on the lamp post in my front yard. I roared my battle cry of "How hard can this be?", and proceeded to proudly display all my tools on the lawn, causing a few neighbours to remark: "Hey, I didn't know you collected antiques!"

Everyone knows that wiring goes: black to black, white to white, and green to...uh...something. Sounds simple enough until you factor in the automatic night sensor that tells the light when to turn on or off. It had so many wires of different colours, I thought I was looking at a gay pride banner. To make this long story as short as my electrical career, suffice to say that a job that should have taken approximately one hour ended up costing me 8 hours, two trips to the hardware store and an electric shock that nearly turned me into a stroke victim. ("Honey, your hair is smoking. Why are you drooling like that?")

Shortly after I regained my eyesight, I decided to try my hand at carpentry -- installing wood panelling in the basement. The job was accomplished, but not before I repeatedly recited the drunk man's prayer: "Oh Lord...If you get me out of this, I promise I will never do this again." and my wife conveniently disappearing to her mother's for two weeks. Okay, it's not that bad. Furniture has been strategically placed over the areas where it appears I hired a beaver to make the cuts and I found a product that actually makes duct tape look like stained wood.

And it's not just "big" projects I have trouble with, either. How many of you are unable to do children's crafts? I didn't know you could make a sheep by tracing your hand on a piece of paper and then adding some cotton balls. And thanks to my ineptitude, my son still doesn't know that. The result was something that looks like a fluffy udder with eyes. Believe me when I tell you that it really hurts when a 2 year-old tells you that you suck.

I'm probably about one do-it-yourself project away from running off, screaming into the forest to become a bark-eating hermit where all the woodland creatures throw acorns and laugh at me with their high-pitched Chip and Dale voices, saying "Hey buddy! Hee hee! Wanna change a light bulb? Hahahahaaa!!"

However I am getting wiser as I get older. I avoid shopping at stores that do not provide installation of their merchandise and I don't buy products that have "some assembly required". Sorry son...You'll just have to learn to ride a unicycle.

Cereal/Serial Sexism

Speaking of superheroes...

Can anyone explain to me why there are no female cereal mascots?

For example:
Lucky Charms -- a male leprechaun
Rice Krispies -- three male dwarves?
Sugar Crisp -- Sugar Bear
Honey Nut Cheerios -- a male bumble bee
Corn Flakes -- a rooster
Cap'n Crunch -- obvious
Count Chocula/BooBerry/Frankenberry -- all male

How come the feminists aren't all over this?

The only one that comes close is the Silly Trix Rabbit, but only because it seems to be a bit of a eunoch.

Let me tell you something...I'd definitely be more interested in eating breakfast if they had some hot female leprechaun, winking at me, saying "My name is Charm. Wanna get Lucky?"

Just an Excuse to Wear Pantyhose

So I got to thinking, today, about superheroes. I'm not talking about police officers, fire fighters or doctors. I mean Superman, Spiderman and Wonder Woman, etc.

Like me, I'm sure most kids dreamt of being just like one of these cartoon crusaders. Some of you may have already heard my story of believing I was Superman and could fly. Of course, that ended in disaster and I didn't end up saving the damsel in distress.

As a child, I was completely naive and oblivious to the realities of superheroes. As an adult, I now long for those days, because let me tell you something...While it may sound like fun to wear your underwear outside of your pantyhose, being a superhero isn't as great as you might think.

Let's look at a few examples, shall we?

Superman: The Man of Steel. The ultimate, manly superhero right? Faster than a speeding bullet; stronger than a locomotive; able to leap like Tom Cruise on Oprah. He had x-ray vision, breath like a hurricane (imagine it after eating Taco Bell?) and a respectable package under those tights. Not that I really noticed, mind you. Sure, all those things are great, but did you ever stop to think about the cost for all those things?

The dude was a clumsy oaf that worked as a reporter, named Clark Kent, probably making minimum wage. His home was a planet billions of miles away, so I'm sure he missed his parents, and he tended to hang out, of all places, in the Arctic! Add to that the fact that he had Lego hair, his disguise consisted of a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and he was forced to change in a phone booth! I suppose, though, you'd have to have superpowers to be squeezing into stretchy tights and a cape in a phone booth. (As an aside, how would one go about taking a dump in a superhero costume like that? Are there snaps in the crotch, like a bodysuit?)

Spiderman: On the surface, another cool superhero. He can climb walls, spin webs from his wrists (which I always thought was odd, considering spiders spin webs from their asses) and had "spidey senses" to alert him to subtle dangers like a charging rhino-man or a screaming green mutant on a flying skateboard.

But again, his life isn't all it appears. I mean...This kid was the ultimate dork. Peter Parker? What is up with that? I don't know who came first, Spiderman or Superman, but their undercover names are pretty wimpy. He should be like Duck Dodgers (of the 24th and a half century!!) and just forego the alias. Parker works for a newspaper, but he isn't even a reporter. He's a simpleton photographer! And worst of all, he lives with his 103 year-old aunt and always had to be home before the streetlights came on. I gotta say, a time limit like that puts a lot of pressure on a crime fighter. His stress level must be off the charts.

To his credit, however, he had a better disguise than Superman and a WAY hotter girlfriend. Mary Jane vs Lois Lane? No contest. And come on, now. What's with all the alliteration here?

Batman: The Caped Crusader. The Dark Knight. He was like the James Bond of children's heroes. He had all kinds of handy gadgets, was smooth with the ladies and was rich.

But if you think about it, he was really just a fetishist in a fancy costume. He couldn't fly, had no superpowers, was not invincible and wound up in bondage more often than any of the other superheroes, week after week. Even as a kid, I always felt that the action noises were completely lame: BOFF! KA-ZIFF! ZOOK! Give me a bat-break already.

He had a mansion, but still had to hide all his hero shit in a dirty underground cave. To top it all off, he had to have someone CALL him to tell him there was a crime going down. And how would one go about calling a bat? With a huge, flashing spotlight in the sky, of course. I'm no batologist, but I thought they didn't like light. And since Batman only came out at night, I suppose he and Spiderman could tag-team and therefore keep the world safe 24 hours a day.

And why do you suppose nobody wants to play Batman on the big screen more than once? Because they realize that he's as cool as owning a Kevin Federline record.


Then there are the multitudes of peripheral superheroes. Wonder Woman, who claimed she had an invisible jet, but I suspect she made that up to cover for the fact that she had to ride public transit to get to the scene of the crime. The Green Lantern? I don't even know what his powers were or where he came from, but I do know he has a stupid name and Bruce Lee did most of the fighting for him. Flash Gordon? Now there's a misleading name if I ever heard one. Not once did I ever see him in a trench coat.

I suppose it could be argued whether or not the world is a better place because of these people. Take a closer look at the nerd in the cubicle beside you. Could he be the "Mild-mannered, office worker by day; crime fighter by night"?. Or does he just like the feel of silk stockings on his nuts?

Pitchers, Catchers and Other Ball Players

Nurse: "Oh my God! Doctor, it's horrifying!! What IS it?"

Doctor: "Calm down, Nurse Betty. I think I've seen this before. Notice the well manicured nails and the coordinated ensemble. And given the fact that his wife's name is Murray, I'd say this is a classic case of homosexuality."

Nurse: <gasp!> "What are you going to do?"

Doctor: "I don't know, but I don't want him standing behind me."

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Has anyone seen this situation played out on an episode of E.R.? House? Scrubs? Doogie Howser, M.D.? I highly doubt it. Do you know why? Because being gay is not an illness.

Now, let me tell you something... I am not necessarily pro-homo. By the same token, I am not anti-gay, either. Whether you approve, disapprove or don't give a shit about the lifestyle, I believe we all should be a little more tolerant of these people. And let's also remember that little nugget of info: they are people.

Just for the record, I would like to state that I subscribe to that typical heterosexual male double standard. Watching two girls make out is WAY better than watching two guys. And, yes, I believe that all lesbians are nymphomaniacal supermodels just looking for an excuse to get it on. Please don't try to convince me otherwise. I prefer it this way.

Bible thumpers will tell you "the book says 'Adam and Eve', not 'Adam and Steve' ". True, but the bible also says that slavery is good, masturbation is bad and women should have no rights. So listen, here, you bunch of pious hypocrites; you can't pick and choose which parts of the bible you take literally and which parts you take metaphorically. I don't recall any asterisks or footnotes to say that gays and lesbians are exempt from the Golden Rule. It's all or nothing, folks, so I suggest you go purchase another cotton picker, make sure your 3rd wife's burkha is secure and then go back to flogging your log. Being gay is not unholy.

We live a world where the president becomes a virtual hero for having an extra-marital affair. Where courtship and weddings take place over the course of a few weeks on primetime television (Bachelor, Bachelorette) in front of millions of viewers. Where marriages in some countries are arranged between two people who have never even met. Where catching your spouse cheating and then exposing him/her on national television is considered good TV. And where getting married, divorced and then remarried over and over again is just a typical day in the life of Hollywood. Liz Taylor's been around the block so many times that the block is getting dizzy.

And yet, for some reason, if there are two people who love each other and wish to make that symbolic, (supposedly) eternal committment to one another but they just happen to be of the same sex, they are outcast as the pariahs of society. Riiight. Makes perfect sense to me. Not.

There are still people out there that think gayness is an affliction. Something that can be cured. Again, I say: have you ever heard a doctor say "Uh oh. Your queeritis has flared up again. Have you been making eyes at Ralph lately? Here, take two vaginas and call me in the morning. If that doesn't work, we'll have to give you a homo-ectomy"? No.

You can't get gay. You can't become gay -- despite what Anne Heche might make you believe. It is simply something that you are.

If I'm wrong, then why aren't there more people absent from work?

"Sorry, boss. I can't make it in today. I've got gay."
"Really? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I think so. I broke out in showtunes twice last night, and then this morning I went skipping down the driveway to pick up the paper."

Besides... Their parades are just SO entertaining!

This is God. Leave a Message After the Harp.

For years I've been an avid athletic supporter. Wait, that came out wrong. I meant: I like sports. And recently, I think I've noticed a disturbing trend among some of the more prominent atheletes of all sports.

Some will try to convince you that through training, determination and perseverence, one can achieve greatness. A couple of guys once told me that there are other, "secret" methods that can help. I think their names were Ben Johnson and Barry Bonds. Those avenues may, indeed, help a burgeoning athlete make it past minor league training camp, but to truly become an athletic superstar, some believe you need to have a little help from someone.

Who is that, pray tell? It's God. Yep, the Big Boss Man Himself.

Time and time again, I see pro football players score a touchdown and instead of waving to the multitude of fans who have paid thousands of dollars to help support his cocaine habit, what does he do? He genuflects and bows his head to say a short prayer, then rises and points to the sky, saying "You da Man, oh Holy G!" before getting back to swearing, spitting and scratching.

Really, now. Do you think God is that interested in Terrell Owens scoring a touchdown in a pre-season game? No. Does God really get all fired up when Sammy Sosa manages to run out an infield grounder and negate a double play? No. Well, maybe. That's a pretty exciting play, actually.

Let me tell you something...God doesn't give two craps about sporting events. Between all of the cricket matches, soccer tournaments, baseball, football, lawn darts and bocce games going on at any one time, I think He'd be quite a busy Dude.

"Great shot, Pele. Oh! Gotta run... Yeah, glad I could help with your dunk, Mr. Bryant...Hang on...Nigel is about to lose his paycheque at the race track again...Wait a sec...Old Man Crowder's lining up his triple bogey putt..."

To me, athletes look absolutely foolish, thanking God (or whomever; I suppose it could be Allah, or Ganesh, the Goodyear Blimp or whatever else they believe to be "up there"), whenever they know the camera will be on them. You want to worship? Thank an Almighty entity for the fact that you can run fast? Be my guest. Just don't do it on TV. You're taking the sanctity and spirituality of religion and turning it into "Paris Hilton goes to church" -- whoring yourself out for another few seconds of fame, no matter how cheap it appears.

Stop bothering God. Send him an email after the game, or something. If He's as hip as Michael Irvin claims He is, then I'm sure He has a Blackberry.

Besides, he's too busy helping the fat lady in the MuuMuu pick out lottery numbers.

Kick Starting My New Business

I've been mulling over an idea for a business venture and I thought this might be a good place to solicit some feedback and/or advice on it before I go and invest everything I have.

The idea: Selling kicks in the ass.

Don't laugh! Allow me to explain.

I've been in this world for a little while now and let me tell you something -- there is a shitload of people out there that are in dire need of a boot to the glutes. How many people do you know off the top of your head that could stand get their ass kicked? 10? 15? 1,015?

The fact is, there are so many people who simply have no clue that they are complete shmucks and most of us are just too polite to tell them. With this company I could be a millionaire in just a few months!

So my proposition is that for only $5, I will don the appropriate footwear and then ensure it becomes securely wedged between your designated recipients cheeks. Footwear would depend on the kick severity. For the moderate or occasional idiot, regular running shoes would suffice; but for those extreme, 24/7, take-no-prozac, brainless wonders, steel-toe jackboots would be in order.

The other thing I haven't quite figured out yet is the getaway plan. I'm sure many of my targets will not be thanking me, so I'll need a method of escape. Perhaps I'll have to hire a driver for the getaway car?

There are even different service possibilities available:
- gift certificates
- 2 for 1's
- anal reminders (sorry...that should read: annual reminders)
- family passes

The corporate slogan could be "Kiss My Ass...I'll Kick Yours".

So... What do you think? Any suggestions for the company name?

I'm a Real Whiz.

There are so many causes out there that it's hard to know which ones to support and which ones are bogus. From the traditional organizations like the Cancer Society and MADD, to the more contemporary and sometimes downright bizarre, such as the Ottawa Renegades or the SMJH (Support Michael Jackson's Habit), there is no lack of outstretched hands looking for help. (Okay, so those last two don't exist. Please don't sue me.)

These days, it seems all the "cool charities" have a ribbon you can wear. Pink for breast cancer (although I think a pair of pink balloons would be more symbolic), yellow for the military (why not camouflage green?), blue for Pabst beer (Get it? Pabst Blue Ribbon? Okay, yeah, that was a bad one.). The point is...there are so many ribbons out there that if you were to support all of those organizations, you would end up with so many flapping streamers that you'd look like the entrance to a used car lot.

There are a multitude of other ways to show support for something you believe in. Some people chain themselves to trees to support the environment. Some women burn their bras to show support for feminism (ironic, isn't it, that to show support, they destroy something that provides support?) Some people fly planes into buildings. And the list goes on.

Me? Well, I pee on stuff.

Now, let me tell you something...This didn't come about as a conscious decision. It just sort of morphed into my own personal crusade for or against whatever the cause of the day happens to be.

During the blackout a few years ago, I urinated on a guy's boat and trailer because he was somehow completely oblivious to the fact that we were in an energy crisis and decided to run his air conditioner with his windows open, leave lights on unnecessarily and then wash his minivan, boat and trailer in the middle of the day, in 35-degree heat (for my American friends, 35 Celcius is something like 200 F, I think).

I'd had a few sips of some Labatt's liquid courage, so at the time, I was actually quite pleased with my watered-down message to this putz. In retrospect, I recognize that that was not really my best course of action to address the situation. I should have pissed on his airconditioner. Maybe it would have shorted out or something.

Not only are the environment and nature important to me (I can't even count the number of trees and bushes I've supported), but I'm even into fine architecture. The university library for example. An exotic piece of construction, and also my first experience with 2-way mirrored glass. Apparently many students don't feel that urination is a form of flattery.

Admittedly, public urination takes some practice. Obviously, there are some legal issues that an urban pisser must be aware of, so for beginners, it is recommended that your protests be conducted after nightfall. Also, there are techniques to be learned, such as making sure you know from which direction the prevailing air currents are from, lest yer message end up all over yourself. And if there were courses available for this kind of thing, I think there'd have to be separate men's and women's sessions given the inherent challenges and differences between the "tripod tinkle" and the "squat 'n squirt".

But just think of what might be accomplished if, instead of wandering aimlessly around Parliament Hill with a bunch of crayon-scribbled signs that nobody can read, everyone just dropped trow and took a leak. Not only would the Hill smell a bit better, but I'd be willing to bet that whatever your cause was, it would get noticed.

Give it some thought. Try it once. You'll be relieved that you did!

A Boy Named Prosecution. Sue, For Short.

Okay, folks. Apparently I fell asleep for a while and missed the societal shift whereby people are no longer accountable for their actions.

Let me tell you something...There are far too many idiots out there.

On my drive to work this morning, there were two news stories that very nearly caused me to veer into oncoming traffic and inflict as much destruction as one can while screaming at a radio with a mouthful of donut.

Story #1 goes something like this: A guy goes to a house party and gets as drunk as Ted Kennedy on St. Paddy's Day. Hops in his car and proceeds to crash into another vehicle, killing the driver and paralyzing the passenger. The drunk has minor injuries.

So of course, the case goes to court to assess blame and find someone to pay for this nonsense. The paralyzed woman decides not to press charges against the driver but against the hosts of the party! She feels that it was their responsibility to ensure that the drunk did not drive home.

Excuse me? I now believe that the Apocalypse is upon us. You know what I think? I think her lawyers found out that the party hosts probably had more money than the drunk guy and thought it would be a bigger score if they won the case.

What's even more assinine is that two courts have already dismissed the notion of holding the party hosts accountable, yet she's purSUE-ing the case to yet a third court! Give it up already!!

Hey, don't get me wrong. I feel badly for her situation. In my humble, old man opinion, I don't think drunk drivers deserve a whole lot of leniency, particularly if they kill somebody. But now, this has turned into a goddamn legal circus.

As far as I'm concerned, the process is as follows: You drink -- you drive -- you kill -- you pay the consequences. So...what...from now on, every drinking and driving accident is now the pub's fault?

Story #2, which followed almost immediately after Story #1, went something like this: Dude is walking to a friend's place, jammin' to the tunes in his iPod. Decides to take a short cut, by walking along some train tracks. As fate would have it, he is turned into puree by a speeding train. The newscaster's last line of the story is: "No charges are expected to be laid." I damn near went into cerebral apoplexy.

Somebody PLEASE tell me who, in this tragic story, could possibly be at fault other than Shit-For-Brains walking on the tracks! The conductor? Yeah, he drives the train, but it's not like he could swerve to avoid the walker. And have you ever tried to stop something going 145 km/hr? I bet it takes more than 30 feet.

What about MacIntosh? They built the iPod. It has a volume button that obviously goes high enough to drown out the sound of a speeding passenger train.

What about the friend? If he hadn't invited his buddy over, he wouldn't have been on the tracks and would not have been killed. Yeah, that's it. It's his fault for having such a stupid friend.

This whole idea of "I've been wronged and it must be somebody else's fault" is utterly absurd. People suing because coffee is hot. Suing because their house, built along a floodplain, fills with water every spring (hey dumbasses: look up the definition of "floodplain"). How long before somebody decides to sue God because their beachfront condo in South Carolina blew away (for the 12th time) during a hurricane?

Smarten up and take some goddamn responsibility for your own actions, why don't you?

I'm glad I didn't swerve into oncoming traffic, but if I had, I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that I could probably sue everyone's parents for not teaching their kids faster reaction times so they could get out of my way.

Peace, Love and McNuggets

Here's a piece of Cliff Clavin information that I came across not too long ago: Apparently, the United States has never invaded/gone to war (whatever you want to call it) with a country that has a McDonald's. My assumption is that they mean since getting a McDonald's, there has never been American military action in that particular country (because I'm thinking Japan might have one or two now).

Let Me Tell You Something...I truly believe the world would be a much better place if there were more McDonald's around. I'm not talking about putting them on every bloody corner a la Tim Hortons/Starbucks/prostitutes. Just in a few additional key locations.

Think about it. After you scarf down your Quarter Pounder* combo, what do you feel like doing? The answer: Nothing. You feel as heavy as a wet bag of dirt and couldn't care less about anything. The furthest thing from your mind would be "what sort of trouble can I get into now?" Tell me; how the hell are you going to run from the fuzz if you've got a super-sized pile of milkshake and fries sloshing around in your gut?

So here's my idea. I say, put up a Mickie D's in the crime-filled neighbourhoods around the world (don't forget Vatican City!) and we could even staff them with convicted criminals -- consider it a rehabilitation program. Instead of having them make license plates (do they still do that??), have them make hamburgers -- hey, they're about the same thickness and taste. I've never seen a McD employee move very far, very fast, so there's no reason why the criminals couldn't be in leg shackles. You know...For security reasons. It would teach them responsibility, customer service and ultimately re-integrate them back into society. You know I'm referring to the job and not the shackles, now, right?

Whether my Big Mac is thrown together by a greasy teenager or a greasy thug, it all tastes like cardboard to me. And by placing them in the seedier 'hoods, by default the majority of the clientele will be the kind of people I commented about in my previous post. Fill 'em full of salt, fat and carbohydrates and they'll be so sedate that they'll barely be able to make it home to fight with their parents before shuffling off to their XBox.

In just a short time, there would be millions of people just sitting around, patting their tummies, ready for a nap and, most importantly: not causing trouble. The world would become such a peaceful, happy place.

By the way...If you put a mask and a big, black, flappy hat on George W. do you think he'd look like the Hamburgler? Something to think about. And to be fair...With a little colour, I think Stephen Harper could look like Grimace.




(* pre-cooked weight)

You're Unique. Just Like Everyone Else.

Let me tell you something...Kids today really bug me. For example, when did it become cool for a 13 year-old girl to spit?? And not just once to show off for the boys, but CONSTANTLY!! What the hell's the matter with you? Up until now, you've been swallowing your spit just like the rest of us, but now, for some reason, you can't? Do they do that at home, too?

It's bad enough that boys do it, but now girls feel they have to? What possible reason could there be for this disgusting behaviour? And they don't even care where they are or who is around. Parking lots, sidewalks, entrances to buildings, parks and playgrounds. The world is their spitoon.

(On a completely unrelated, but related side note... Can anyone explain to me the rationale behind men spitting into the urinal before taking a leak? I just don't get it.)

And let me tell you another thing. The stuff kids wear these days is ridiculous. Boys with their baggy jeans, 4 sizes too big, walking around like they've just shit themselves. Ball caps on sideways. What's the hell's the point of that? And for fuck sakes, stop dragging your feet when you walk, ya damn Neanderthal.

When I was younger, the girls certainly didn't look the way they do now. You have 12 year-olds being mistaken for 18 year-olds. Boobs pushed up, cleavage showing, crop-top baby tees and jeans slung so low that their underwear shows all the time. I'm telling you, Victoria ain't got too many secrets left! And their faces spackled with enough make-up that I don't know whether I'm looking at a Tammy-Faye wannabe or a baboon's ass.

The other day I was in the mall when a handful of teenage boys came ambling by. In the midst of this group was a kid whose get-up was so insane that I actually burst out laughing. See if you can picture this:
- almost 6 feet tall
- spiky mohawk hair, one side baby blue, the other a pale green
- black trench coat (probably hiding the shotgun)
- construction boots (no laces)
- baggy, torn jeans with chains going from pocket to pocket. Looked like he was trying to do a Houdini trick or something
- a bandana around one knee
- a ratty white t-shirt, a grungy lumberjack-plaid shirt over that; both were oversized and untucked
- he had mascara on and his thumbnails were painted blue
- I lost count at 10 face piercings (not counting his ears). I bet if he were to remove them all, his head would whistle in the wind.

So anyway...he heard my bark of laughter and glares at me.
"What are you looking at, asshole?" he says.
"You, dickhead! What did you expect would happen when you go out in public looking like that?"

Making a statement? Expressing themselves? Being an individual? Shut up. If you want to go out and express your individuality by making some sort of statement, how about doing something positive or useful? Volunteer. Start a youth group. Help a charity. Go ahead and make a name for yourself, not a reputation.

Some may say that I shouldn't be judging people based on outward appearances but unfortunately society doesn't always follow that mantra and neither do I. If you look like a delinquent or criminal, people are going to treat you like one.

Oftentimes I fear for what the future holds for my little guy. He sees these kids and assumes they are the 'norm'. Not exactly the role models I had in mind. I'm sure some of them are actually nice kids with bright futures, but it only takes a few bad apples to perpetuate the stereotype and leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

Maybe that's why everyone spits.

Go Green or Go to Hell

You wanna know what's on my mind today? Well then, get comfy and Let Me Tell You.

A popular expression for calling someone stupid is "he doesn't have the brains God gave a dog". Well, slam dogs all you want, but at least they know something we humans don't -- you don't shit where you eat.

Look around the planet; toxic clouds of smog killing thousands, an ozone hole that has turned tanning into the Cancer Express, chemicals in the groundwater turning kids into mutants, global warming killing off links in the food chain. And in case you didn't know, the food chain isn't the lineup at McDonald's. You might not be missing any plankton in your Captain Highliner fishsticks, but trust me, you'll feel the effect when they're all gone.

So now you're saying "Great. The Old Man is a tree-hugger." Well, while it is preferable to hug a tree than a dirty skyscraper, I am not a tie-dyed, dreadlocked, eco-terrorist. Nor am I a socialist, anarchist or any of the other labels always used to marginalize anyone who cares about the environment.

And there's where the real obstacle comes from in having any effective dialogue on this matter -- the way it's been framed. Big business has done a great job in demonizing environmentalists as airy-fairy left-wing dreamers, and some environmental groups have depicted all businessmen as Lex Luthor. So instead of grown ups tackling a problem we all face equally, the environmental issue has been turned into a matter of politics.

Now, it doesn't help that the only spokespeople we seem to see for environmental causes are the unwashed men and unshaven ladies. it paints the whole cause as a hippy holdover from the 60s instead of something that affects us all (whether we followed the Dead or not!).

And we only seem to see big-businesses represented by friends-of-Bush apologists for clear cutting and Arctic oil drilling who are rich enough to build their own biosphere.

Neither side is seeing the obvious. Cleaning up the environment makes good business sense. After all, it's hard to sell Nikes to kids with emphysema. It just makes sense to do whatever you can to keep consumers healthy (unless you're selling pharmaceuticals).

And as for the loud leftish environmentalists -- hey, as much as I love nature, I'm not looking to go Amish. Business and industry create the items and comforts that have made our society the envy of the world. Business isn't evil, and there will be no solutions without them.

Both sides need to get past the posturing and get to solving the problem. Some people will argue there really isn't a problem. These people are shitheads. And whether you believe we cause problems like global warming or that it's part of nature's cycle, only a moron would argue that continuing to pump chemicals and sewage into lakes and rivers is a good idea.

Some will argue that we have the technology to avert ecological disaster or that we will have it before the disaster happens. But ecological shutdown isn't like a case of the clap -- you can't just dose the planet and then go back to screwing it again. The damage we've already done will take decades (if not, centuries) to correct.

The truth is, caring about the earth does not make you Che Guevara, and caring about the needs of business doesn't make you Michael Douglas in Wall Street.

The earth is 70% water. That's a big bathtub we're all sharing. So let's quit peeing in the pool.

"And then there was blog."

Good morning everyone (anyone?),

I'm Old Man Crowder (although not really that old). Today is my first day as an official blogger, so you'll have to bear with me. I don't really have any concrete plan as to how this whole thing is going to go, but what I do know is that I have a lot on my mind and I'm ready to start unloading.

This site, entitled "Let Me Tell You...", will contain rants and ramblings on all kinds of different topics -- from politics and the environment to neighbourhood idiots and your everyday lunatics. All designed (hopefully) to generate discussion and get you to share similar stories and experiences.

Feel free to suggest topics!

Hang in there, and I'll be back soon with my inaugural LMTY rant.