Skull Quandary

Hey, maybe somebody slipped an asshole tablet into my Corn Flakes this morning or something, but what is up with the recent fashion trend of having skulls emblazoned on everything?

Who shops at Walmart exactly – the undead?

Seriously, on just about every t-shirt, casual shirt, and even dress shirt in the store there is a picture of a skull. Either as the main design across the chest, or small cutesy little skulls sewn onto the breast pocket the skulls are everywhere. When and how did this become the popular designer motif? It's as if the department stores of the world have performed some kind of mass marketing Vulcan mind twist on us all in order to convince us that skulls are, in fact, cool.

I’m sure the teenybopper vitamin-C deficient Goth kids and the greasy meth people you see hanging around at the bus station bumming cigarettes love their skull shirts - but I’m thirty-fucking-seven years old, dammit! I don’t particularly want skulls on my clothes, as I don’t feel that they accurately represent where I am at this stage of my life, thank you very much.

Can you image me wearing skull clothes? What kind of message is that to send out for a single thirty-seven year old man? “Hi, my name is Terry and I may or may not have a body in the trunk of my car. Can I get your number?” I'm not going to coax many dates that way am I? No! I’m likely to have an easier time teaching square dancing to coma patients.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m some kind of a fashion plate or anything – shit, I couldn’t get pussy from a dead cat. Even my fantasies just want to be friends. But if I were to suddenly take to wearing any of these plentiful skull shirts I’d give off all the sophistication of a two marbles rolling around inside a tin can.

Doesn't anyone wear shirts with cute, little harmless alligators or non-assuming horses on them anymore?

Mad Dash of Shame

There comes a time in every mature adults life where they must endure some single catastrophic event that ultimately humbles them enough to remind them that no matter how bad things can get that they could definitely be worse…a whole lot worse.

And I had just such a near tragic epiphany only yesterday. Yes, if you really want to take yourself down a notch and remind yourself how quickly things can spiral out of control simply try shitting yourself; because nothing says “I’m not in control of my environment” like a grown man standing on his front porch with his pants full of crap.

I must have done some really bad things in my past for fate to suddenly turn around and deliver such a lethal kidney shot to my already damaged ego.

And here I thought things had been going pretty well. I’m still working out and training hard, I’m eating healthily and I’m trying to look after myself. So how then did I end up sprinting down the middle of my street with my butt cheeks clenched tight to prevent the fecal matter from dripping down my pant leg?

If I knew that healthy living was going to come at the risk of spontaneously shitting yourself in mid-dash for your apartment complex then I might have reconsidered that gym membership. Likewise, I might have to ease up on the vegetable salads and bean dips in the future.

I suppose the glass-is-half-full attitude is that because I’ve now become accustomed to running in the evenings I can honestly say that the whole incident could have turned out worse had my mad dash to the front door been any slower. It could have escalated into a total Orange Alert situation instead of the minor toxic leak it was.

Who knew that the “Mechanics of Running” workshop I’ve been attending on Tuesday nights would prove so handy?

Nipping "Jogger's Nipple" In the Bud

I woke up today with a most peculiar ailment.

Now, I’m used to the aches and pains associated with living out an active lifestyle – particularly now that I’ve begun training in earnest for triathlons – but what I woke up to this morning transcends any level of comfort I had for enduring any sporting injury. You see, I woke up this morning with throbbing achy nipples. And I’m not talking about any slight discomfort here; I’m talking about a nagging pain as if I had spent the entire night breastfeeding a litter of baby badgers.

WTF?!

As it turns out, after a little investigation on the Internet I learned that I am in fact suffering from an acute case of what has become known as “jogger’s nipple”.

Oh goodie.

If having to take special care of the plantar fasciitis in my feet and the bursitis in my wrist – not to mention the developing arthritis in my elbow – is not enough, now I also have to worry about icing my man tits too?

I’m just not prepared to deal with this jogger’s nipple or any other nipple-related injuries for that matter! I think it’s time I rethink this whole healthy living thing!

After all, the remedies – albeit easy enough – just don’t sound too enticing either. Most informational sporting injury sites I visited simply suggested the wearing of and-aids on my nipples when I go for a run.

Pardon? That doesn't sound very masculine does it?

If I remember correctly that didn’t turn out too well for Janet Jackson either did it?

Shit, if I have to start putting band-aids on my nips I may as well just go full hog and get myself a pacifier and take to wearing sparkly leotards and face paint while I’m at it.

Sheesh!

Raking In the Terror

(This was conceptualized and written months ago but was promptly forgotten about. It was added now in hindsight as further warning of the pending animal apocolypse looming over us.)

A new research being conducted by Japan’s Institute of Physical and Chemical Research (RIKEN), conducted over a 60-day period, has taught 6 rodents to use tools – namely, a rake – to obtain food.

Now, obviously no one has paid the slightest bit of attention to me when I warned you all about the stick-wielding chimpanzees, so here it is again:

SMART ANIMALS ARE A THREAT TO US ALL!

It is not “cute” in any way. This signals another small slip for mankind towards an all out war with the entire animal kingdom for total supremacy of planet earth!

These rodents are actually degus who have learned to use a miniature rake to retrieve sunflower seeds from under a glass fence. This is the first known case in which rodents have been taught to use tools.

Swell.

First of all, shouldn’t the Japanese be more interested in utilizing their best scientific minds to research more important things like being able to take muff shots from outer space, or designing a sleek, fuel efficient automobile able to fold up into your wallet?

But I digress.

A Japanese scientist may someday also teach an octopus to tap dance, but at least that shouldn’t threaten man’s place on the evolutionary totem pole…although Gregory Hines may be a bit nervous. Clearly the Japanese researchers have not completely thought about the possible consequences of these particular actions. I doubt they’re looking to train a new wave of cheap labor to look after their Zen gardens, no sir! As it was with the chimps using sticks to stab their prey, it’s only a short leap from using a rake to firing an RPG at a school bus full of children.

Don’t put it past the fucking rats!

They already out populate we human’s almost a million to one or something crazy like that. Do we also need to teach them how to use tools? We’re not going to be happy until we just totally hand over control of the planet to our new rodent overlords. In fact, rats multiple so often that within 18 months a rat can have over a million descendents.

That’s a lot of potential rodent terrorists floating around with itchy trigger fingers!

In time, we’ll all just be subservient peons to our new rat masters who’ll be guarded by the militant stick-wielding super monkeys with robotic limbs.

How’s that for a bleak future?

I’d rather take one of those tiny rakes and have some chimp stab it directly into my frontal lobe now than suffer a fate to the Rodent Regime later.

Weightroom No-No

It’s already been established by this point that I have become a bit of a gym snob. I like my sweaty late night workouts; I like my exercise routines; and I like developing these things I’ve heard people refer to as “muscles”.

Cool.

I’ve even become the kind of person we all hate at the gym. The kind of person who wears all the hip, fashionable workout wear, sports the newest in gym accessories, and knows all the trendy drinks and protein supplements available on the market. A regular Jack Lalanne if you will – only younger and with more pigmentation.

Yep, I’m “that guy”.

That was up until this past weekend, however, when one of my normal gym visits took a rather embarrassing turn for the worse.

There I was, standing in front of all my buff, ripped peers by the water fountain struggling to get the top off my water bottle.

How embarrassing!

Not exactly a good sign when you start your workout by fighting to remove the lid from your water bottle.

Yeah, some tough guy, huh?

So what do you do? Do you ask someone else for help? Do you start tapping the lid with a small dumbbell to loose it, or do you just run the bottle under hot water?

Either way you’re going to look like a colossal pussy.

Kosher Conundrum

Today, over a ham sandwich, I had a very interesting conversation today with a Jewish work mate who felt the need to educate me on the religious and health ramifications surrounding “kosher” meats.

So I had to ask: what does the Torah have against pigs exactly anyway?

I mean, when I personally think of pigs I tend to think of bacon, spareribs, fall-off-the-bone ham, Wilbur, Ms. Piggy, Piglet, Arnold Ziffel, Porky & Petunia, and lets not forget about Babe, that infamous swine who ran amuck in the city. What’s not to love exactly? Well, I guess there is always that whole “piggies” metaphor for the upcoming class war that Charles Manson had such a hard on about…but I digress. The bottom line where I stand is that pigs are not only cute and endearing animals, but they’re also delicious as fuck.

What’s not to love?

So it confuses me when an entire class of people should entirely refuse to associate themselves with these tender, succulent creatures. So what was it specifically that turned these people against the poor, innocent pigs?

As it was explained to me, any animal that chews their cud and has split hooves will be perfectly acceptable for consumption. However, should the animal miss either of these criteria they are considered to be “unclean” and, therefore, forbidden for consumption. For this reason, the Torah has banned the consumption of camels, pigs, rock badgers, and hares are all deemed forbidden because they lack one of the two qualifying criteria.

Too bad, because everybody knows how tasty camel kebobs can be.

So this basic formula for deciding on whether an animal is fit for eating or not seems to be solely based on cosmetic reasoning. Hey, if God designed cloven hooves for certain animals who are we to say they are suddenly a dietary abomination? Besides, so what if they regurgitate their food or walk on split hooves? It might be different if my honey ham were to suddenly puke up its dinner on my plate but as it is it’s not an issue. Likewise, the fact that pigs can’t fit into a pair of glass slippers is hardly a deterrent either.

Who cares?

They’re dead!

Cartoon Phobia

I have been trying recently to put my finger on the route cause of my depression lately. I’m seemingly doing all the right things; exercising, eating healthy, what have you. But I still have no idea why at this point in my life at 36 years old I’m so confused as to what my purpose in life is.

Granted I have a life quest to seek out the perfect cheeseburger, but there has to be more than that. Why am I so unmotivated to excel in my personal life? Who’s to blame? Everything else is hereditary so why not depression as well? Surely it can’t be my fault that I turned out to be a 36-year-old loser, can it?

Want to know who I blame?

The childhood cartoons I watched growing up - that's what!

If anything else, I am a product of washed up hippies and their 70’s/80’s children’s shows.

Let’s look at the evidence:

The Smurfs – Little blue three-apple high creatures living communally in magic mushroom houses. How much more fucked up does it get? It’s no wonder they didn’t lock me up and throw away the key right there. Besides, wasn’t it a bit creepy that in the whole entire Smurf village there was only one female? This alone must raise some conservative eyebrows nowadays.

Dr. Snuggles – Okay, this was the crown jewel of fucked up cartoons when I was a child. Originally a Dutch cartoon, Dr. snuggles took it’s prepubescent viewers on a tripped out journey through a fantasy world or talking badgers, wacked out duck umbrellas, walking houses, Treacle Trees, and plots that involved stealing squares of the ocean. Shit, this television show in itself was an LSD trip sans actual LSD. In retrospect, the imagery in this cartoon alone might just be responsible for at least %80 of the flashbacks I have now in my adult life. All that was missing from this particular cast of characters would be the “crabalocker fishwife pornographic priestess”. Goo goo goo joob.

Romper Room – Never mind the spacey chick who looked through her psychedelic looking mirror at children who weren’t there, what else would you expect from a cartoon that features a character named ‘Doobie the Bee’? Case and point!

Today’s Special – Here’s a real prize. Set in an after hours department store, this show depicted the antics of a magical dancing gay mannequin and a mouse who talks in rhyme. Whatever on earth was expected that I should get out of this show besides behavioral problems later in life I’ll never know.

Barbapapas – "Clickity-click Barba-trick”…whatever the fuck that means. The adventures of a family of blob-like creatures who grow out of the ground and have the ability to shape their bodies however they wish. Man, the creators of this cartoon must have really smoked some of the good shit before inking out the storyboard for this particular program.

Hercules – Seriously, it’s no wonder that this cartoon alone didn’t inflict more damage on my young impressionable mind. It definitely helps explain why I’m the warped person I am today. Did anybody else ever wonder why all the beasts always sounded the same or why such a great mythological character of such manly proportions would ever hang around some eunuch centaur?

Polka Dot Door – Now don’t get me wrong. I know that this show has been a respected bastion of TV Ontario programming for many years now, but seriously…what the hell exactly is Polkaroo? This thing makes Goofy seem like a well-documented display at the Museum of Natural History. Besides, why did the hosts always talk to their stuffed animals as if they could actually hear them or give a shit one way or the other? And if that wasn’t a sign of larger psychological problems at hand I don’t know what was. I would have had these guys committed to an insane asylum immediately – not give them their own daytime show. I doubt Bear, Marigold, Humpty or Dumpty would ever care where the male host disappeared to each time Polkaroo reared his head anyway…I know I didn’t.

A Bear Called Jeremy – One the first childhood cartoons that I can recall in the classic old school stop-motion animation style. Except that this bear wasn’t like other bears. He liked to dance and sing instead of stealing picnic baskets. This premise was flawed from the very beginning. But then again, what else did you expect from a Polish animator?

The Secret Railroad – Here was the Holy Grail of all burnt out pothead animation. A boy finds an inter-dimensional train in the basement of his apartment, complete with a girl with star-shaped hair and a guy with a cat on his head. This even made Will-O-the-Wisp seem sensible by comparison.

New Addiction!

If there is anything better on this planet than women’s beach volleyball I haven’t seen it.

What’s not to love?

There’s a portable sandbox, a raucous audience of beer-guzzling fans in colored wigs, a DJ screaming overtop a thumping techno version of Billy Idol’s ‘Mony Mony’ and a dozen scantily-clad cheerleaders dancing suggestively between play – not to mention four athletic women jumping around in tiny two-piece bikini’s.

Truly, this is the sport of kings!

If this is the modern China that Chairman Mao envisioned than sign me up! It’s good to be a Communist.