Happy V-day

Heres to another Valentines Day and the twisted, corporate and commercial society we live in which will exploit any emotion possible.


Its a little late but I know my peeps will understand. I hope we all overdose on red dye #9.

Ode to Todd

I've been meticulously boycotting blogger but my withdrawal *read: unanimous harassment by friends and foe* has forced me to return. I'm like a living breathing version of the Return of the Jedi...but not that cool and, as Heavy T indicated, with shittier special effects (MS paint can only go so far - fucking Bill Gates - but that is an entirely different post).

As T-dot was, by far the biggest harasser out there I decided to write down something that I read the other day that reminded me how much I miss his sorry ass. I apologize for those of you that will find this didactic and unformatted but - you know - you can go fuck yourself. Note to readers: I did warn you about my proliferous swearing in my bio.

5:03 pm. Arrive at Greyhound with time to spare - can't say that much these days - amid a sparse few. Some passed out guy and a couple. Needless to say, if the shit hit the fan, my money would be on the creepy passed out guy - anyone that can sleep on a cold metal bench with the obnoxious whine and rattle of pop machines under a haze of fluorescent has my vote for hardcore. The wet sand grinding into the tile floor causes everyone to inadvertently glance up; thus, all are generally annoyed at the newest member to our cause.

The decor lulls us into boredom with the mix of shit brown and prison grey. It welcomes each passerby into the realm of budget hell that Greyhound shames the traveler into admitting. Ah, welcome to my life.

5:16 pm. Everyone is officially late. The stereotype of women always being 'fashionably' late (like the perpetual association of women and the capitalist consumption of clothing / image isn't bad enough) is successfully quashed. Misogynistic men - can't kill 'em, can't kill 'em. Simpco is still MIA (fucker). Bugging him would have been a moment of sanity in the general craziness of travel exhaustion.

5:55pm. Greyhound lumbers into station and still no sign of the group. Alas, the narrative of my life - waiting.
Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Sleeping guy sits up momentarily - too embarrassed to be caught in the secret underworld of sleep. He reaffirms how conformist our society can be and its utter obsession with self presentation.

Spontaneous bus depot conversation breaks free but quickly die once the obligatory "where are you going?" has been pursued, ascertained and exhausted. It is quickly replaced with uncomfortable silence.

6:03 pm. Da' boys finally show and after a crazy bus mix-up (que supresa!) we are on the road.

Lengthy drawn out ride with uncomfortable seats.

11:00 pm. Hit Kamloops amid a junkie-like crowd and a Greyhound employee purposefully avoiding the counter.

Boston Pizza and Hardeep's beautiful eyes bring me into a different world of respiratory therapy and a 19 year old with his life more together than mine.

Reflect and sulk.

11:57 pm. Onward to Starbucks. 24 hours? Enter the Twilight Zone until cabbie arrives to sweep us away to an unknown VIA Rail destination. After virtually driving into the bush, will we survive this ride becomes the pressing question. Or will we be murdered and left for dead (after being murdered? yes, I suppose one cannot actually be murdered and then left for dead - christ- weariness sets in) in some remote industrial area.

1:05 am. Nope. Not left for dead or murdered, just missed the appropriate turn off. Arrive at some wilderness outpost shadily passing itself off as a train station to see the joyful sign that stipulates the train will be not 2 or even 3 but 4 hours late.

2:33 am. What antics will wheelchair Todd get into next? Will my left leg ever come out of its prolonged slumber? Could Jag be anymore high? Questions, so many questions. The most pressing, of coarse, being WHERE THE FUCK IS THE TRAIN????

3:45 am. Hours left to go. Interesting to learn that trains do not remain unscathed from the winter torment; however, not interesting enough to make me not passively dream of burning down the remote station we sit in.

My mind is slowly shutting down from it's sleep deprived state as I realize decaf was not enough...

6:45 am. Train arrives. We board and the mammoth worm lumbers on after initial confusion. We slump down in our seats with tissue pillows and a handkerchief blanket. And out.

Wake up every hour in a daze to noisy people that assume everyone else has had just as much sleep as themselves, baking temperatures, and brief snores of protest - my knee screams softly. Selfish fuckers. Lack of sleep has directly led to maximum bitchiness.

VIA rail man is amazingly hospitable and an impressive bear claw (native?) tattoo is subtly revealed on his right hand under an unsuspecting hemp bearded bracelet that nuzzles his wrist. He is eclipsed by the manipulative cunt that attempts to force a table on us while simultaneously squinting suspiciously at us as if we are all the Devil incarnate.

Jag remains blissfully unaware while he dreams of the future and other subtle mysteries. Todd reads like a mofo (is he insane?) and I mentally ramble on at the beauty of it all.

3:27 pm. Arrive in Jasper amid icy rain, treacherous flat ices sculptures otherwise known as streets, and random clumps of caribou. We are misdirected to the pizza joint (that one is for you Jag) and after a brief foray into piggy backs and zamboni cleaned streets we almost miss our train. Everyone is pissed at us and, besides foam soap, being late becomes the general theme of our trip. We are late, we are late - for a very important date...

Extreme Vehicle Makeover: Vehicle Edition - with vehicles

Okay, okay. I admit I've been neglecting my blog ever since the fucker decided to consume the pathetic flair* I had on my side bar. I have also been consumed with this new project. Fuck, I've spent the last two weeks obsessed with it. St. Joe has requested I post some images of luscious Lucius so here goes...

BEFORE:



DURING:





AFTER:



Here is my little Pathfinder sans running boards. I figure the total cost is: $1,150 purchase price, $650 mechanical parts, $175 paint, bondo, rock guard, sandpaper, and misc. tools = TOTALLY FUCKING SWEET DEAL. With only 214, 000 kms on this puppy I'm stoked. I figure if I had paid someone else to do the body work and mechanics I would have forked out another $5000 or so. Yes, I rock my own world.


*if you don't know what this refers to, you probably have a life and are not addicted to movies and / or the internet; however, you may live with your mom and / or desperately need to lose your virginity and, most of all, need to develop a sense of humour.