Demystifying Boxing Day

What the hell is Boxing Day anyways?

All I know for sure is that the words ‘Boxing Day’ are only ever used nowadays in conjunction with the word ‘Sale’ and that it’s the one-day of the year that I wouldn’t dare venture into any public shopping mall without a fully fueled flame-thrower. Venturing into the shopping malls on this day, December 26th is like committing willful suicide. Shoppers frantically scour the aisles for discounted savings and pick off any and all leftover merchandise still on the shelves like locust. Often you will find said shoppers engaged in full on hand-to-hand combat over cheap-ass Bargain Bin merchandise that they wouldn't ordinarily have been interested in had they not been so overcome with Boxing Day-mania in the first place.

It is entirely possible to witness people duking it out gypsy-style in the aisles over chipped ceramic candy plates and loganberry-scented candles. Normally, these type of items wouldn't be fit to give to homeless people; but on Boxing Day they are the Holy Grail of discounted purchases!

One only needs to poke their head through the front doors of any Shopping Center to get a sense of the madness that rages within. You can almost smell the desperation wafting from frenzied shoppers still hoping to save themselves a few pennies on new electronic devises that will inevitably break by February. It is expected today that every shopper on the average will spend about $350 extra dollars on themselves.

That’s a lot of 'Soap-on-a-Rope' people!

But surely there must be a larger picture at work than special one-day merchandising discounts and clearance sales. The Boxing Day tradition began in Britain possibly as early as the Middle Ages; with regards to its origin, there are two main schools of thought. Some historians maintain that it began as a holiday tradition where house servants, who always had to work on Christmas days, were rewarded the day after. Their employers would put gifts such as food, clothing, or money in “Christmas boxes,” which the servants would then take with them as they departed for family visits. Others say that Boxing Day is so named because churches collected money for the poor in wooden boxes and usually opened them to hand out alms on the day after Christmas. Whatever the case, the bottom line is that somebody always has their hand out for something – and most recently in today's day and age, stores use ‘Boxing Day’ to offer bargains in order to clear out their year-end merchandise on savings-hungry customers. Reduced to the simplest essence, its origins are found in a long-ago practice of giving cash or durable goods to those of the lower classes. Sounds identical to what still happens in the aisles at your local Walmart if you ask me.

Most notably, Boxing Day also happens to fall on the ‘Feast of St. Stephen’, the martyred deacon who was stoned to death by an angry mob for his devoted piety and faith in Christ. But lets face it, Boxing Day is about as Christian as Coca-Cola. But if this still isn't enough of a reason to spend money on discounted iPods and cell phones – I don’t know what is.

"Holy Nipple Shots, Batman!"

I spent Christmas Eve last night inside on the couch with a bowl of homemade soup, a roasted garlic cheese ball, and Katie Holmes' nipples.

You see, I decided that I just wanted to spend the evening quietly with some rented movies in order to mentally prepare for the tide of insanity that would inevitably follow the next day as part of the regular family Christmas. As was the plan, I settled down to watch ‘Batman Begins’ and was amused to learn that the biggest stars of the movie were not the actual actors or actresses themselves, but the two erect nipples of Katie Holmes that would continually steal the scenes in this otherwise lackluster action blockbuster. I was suckered into this movie like a moth drawn to a flame.

Yep, there they were sticking out from underneath Katie’s chosen blouses every so often like little Hershey Kisses underneath a satin sheet. What really cracked me up is that these shots had to have been planned out that way from the beginning as there was just no mistaking their freakish presence throughout the movie. It was absolutely shameless!

Director Christopher Nolan must have had tons of ice chips taken from authentic ice-bergs floating in the Arctic circle being flown in just to keep Katie’s nipples hard during filming. Aside from the ninjas, high-tech gadgetry, and flashback sequences, the most amazing show-stopper was the shot of Katie Holmes and her two pointy nipples turning and walking off into the sunset. Hows that for dramatic effect. Fuck knows what else was happening in the scene; I was too hypnotized at that point to care.

I wonder if those nipple shots were written into Katie Holme's movie contract, like Tom Cruise's* contractual butt-shot addendum, or whether Nolan just wanted to add some erect nipplage to his otherwise flacid adaptation of Batman to keep his audiences attention? Either way, it was the most ridiculous thing I have seen in film since King Kong went ice-skating in Central Park not long ago. It did however give me excuse enough to exercize the freeze-frame on my remote control.

* Who, along with Kevin Costner and Jean Claude Van Damme - the big three of cinematic man ass - forms the powerful 'Triumvirate of Ass' in Hollywood; apart from all the other popular male actors.

Chill Out

The first winter weather warning was issued this evening in anticipation of a possible large snowfall over the next few days. Suddenly, if the current media coverage of this developing weather pattern is anything to go by, we’re on a state of provincial readiness in anticipation for this possible horrific winter disaster. The provincial government and city officials are all but calling in the National Guard just because someone spotted a snowflake over Lake Ontario.

Umm, yeah….and?

Excuse me - it’s fucking SNOW people! We live in CANADA…remember? Snow is practically part of our national heritage. It’s every fucking bit as Canadian as back bacon, Molson’s Canadian and Wayne-fucking-Gretzsky!

Seriously…what’s the big whoop? When did we Canadians start getting all panicky over just snow? Thank you CNN! Christ, next we'll probably be building fallout shelters the next time the weatherman forecasts heavy rain.

I remember standing outside in the backyard with my toboggan on winter evenings; looking up at into sky and just praying for an extra snow day. I remember tunneling out of my front door as a kid during the infamous Blizzard of ’77 for Pete sakes! Of course I understand now that snow has lost all that childhood luster of fresh innocence that it used to have for me. In fact, I’ll go so far as to say that I like snow about as much as I like a good root canal. But I’m not exactly going to freak out and go all ‘Orange Alert’ just because some weatherman predicts “possible heavy snowfall, and temperatures falling below freezing”.

Get a hold of yourselves! Chill out – literally.

Fiber Fibber

Put down your bran muffins everybody...

Recent research has now cast doubt on whether or not a high fiber diet, including fiber-rich vegetables, fruits, and whole grains actually reduces a person's chances of getting colorectal cancer.

Dietary fiber has long been hypothesized to reduce the risk of colorectal cancer. This research team however, led by the Harvard School of Public Health, combined and reanalyzed data from 13 previous studies involving 725,628 adults and found that a person who ate 30 or more grams of fiber each day, the equivalent of more than seven servings of oatmeal, had about the same risk of getting colorectal cancer as a person who ate less than half that amount. The results were adjusted to take into account other risk factors, such as red meat consumption and age.

Huh? Wait, you mean I’ve been shitting entire cornfields for the past two decades because I thought I was beating cancer?

FUCK! I demand somebody’s head on a platter! I feel duped. I suppose all this is just God’s way of retaliating for us having discovered that wacking off decreases your chances of getting prostrate cancer. Just fucking terrific!

I mean honestly – who really likes high fiber diets anyways? I need more diuretics like I need a fucking hole in the head. To think how many dollars I’ve wasted on those bran muffins from the cafeteria vending machine and the most good I was doing myself was in dislodging turds the size of pork loins from my bowels...and don't even get me started on all the low back pain I experience from the extra maintenance I have to peform periodically in the bathroom as a result!

Blazing Down the Campaign Trail

Well, the Canadian election campaign is well under way and all parties have come out swinging.

Now, I know that for most of you readers, the topic of Canadian politics is about as enticing a topic as low fat ham. Hell, I’m Canadian and the whole upcoming election is about as daunting as leaping into a pit of dyspeptic hyenas. But this particular election campaign has already started off with an unusual bang as David Wilkins, the U.S. Ambassador to Canada, addressed Canadian political party members in an impassioned speech regarding the current developing campaign trend of sniping the White House in an effort to carry favor with disgruntled Canadian voters. Wilkins accused Prime Minister Paul Martin of using overheated political rhetoric, at America’s expense, in order to get reelected.

I have only one question: Who the fuck is this Wilkins guy anyways and when are we going to collectively kick his ass?

I may not be a devout Liberal supporter, but I respect the fact that Paul Martin has firmly stood his ground on political agendas such as improving cross-border relations, the Kyoto Protocol, and most recently, the climate change conference in Montreal. In response to Ambassador Wilkins, Martin quipped, “I will defend this country as I am the Prime Minister of Canada”.

I’ve said it once before and I’ll say it again: Fuckin-A, Paul!

Martin was unrepentant Wednesday, saying he wouldn't be "dictated to" on the subjects he can raise. And the fact is, Canada often figures in American election campaigns as well. In 2004, some Republicans widely portrayed their northern neighbor as the source of unsafe prescription drugs and a threat to American jobs because of the free trade deal. So what if we got some bones to pick and the shoe has now fallen on the other foot?

DEAL WITH IT!

Shit, we're blamed for just about everything as it is now! Wasn't there even a song 'Blame Canada' nominated for an Academy Award for fuck sakes! So why shouldn't we be serving them a thick slice of bitch cake in return every now and again?

Sure, it also just so happens that Paul Martin is the chief rat in a den of thieves, but who hasn’t been caught with their hand in the cookie jar at one point or another? The bottom line here at the moment is that our Prime Minister doesn’t take shit from nobody – not Bob Geldof, not Bono, not the fucking Danish, not even ‘ol Dubya himself!

He’s not afraid to stand up for our country and has the cahones to speak his mind. And if that means repeatedly pointing out some of the more retarded political agendas being perpetrated by Big Brother south of the 49th parallel – so fucking be it! Crying foul is just the political equivalent of picking up your net and going home?

West L.A. Giveaway

In a sad, sad, state of groovy affairs, house appliances and other items from Jerry Garcia’s former home will be auctioned off on Ebay by a nonprofit group hoping to raise more than $100,000.

It looks like hippie’s that have any money still left burning holes in their pockets will be offered the chance to bid on precious Garcia heirlooms such as his dishwasher, his freezer, his stereo cabinets, cupboards and even the mans own toilet. I wouldn't be fucking suprised if you could bid on his drool pillow as well!

Is nothing sacred?

Henry Koltys, chairman of the Sophia Foundation, the organization auctioning off the appliances, bought the Nicasio, California home of Garcia in 1997, two years after Garcia died of a heart attack. And all this time he’s just been sitting on (as well as sitting and dumping in) this goldmine of Jerry collectables, and rubbing his palms together fast enough to start forest fires in anticipation for the big auction day. Garcia sold his home after only using it for a few months. Basically, he moved in, made himself comfortable, took a crap, and by the time he came back down to earth after his first house-warming hit of sunshine LSD, moved out again.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I LOVE Jerry Garcia. There was a time when I'd have crawled across broken glass to stick flags in his shit if I were ever so lucky have the opportunity while he was still alive. If you don’t know who he is at this point you should really read no further, step away from the computer, and go hang yourself in the broom closet with a leather belt. Clearly, you are not worthy. You were probably among the ones out on Friday nights getting drunk with your Laser Tag teams when the Deadheads rode into town and took over your Walmart parking lots. I am not, however, going to cheapen the man, or his memory, by spending money to purchase his blender or toasting oven.

Now these same obsessive tie-dyed traveling freakshows will have the chance to spend all their hard-earned life savings from working at the Denny’s Drive-Thru window and purchase an authentic home appliance owned by Captain Trips himself. They can store books on shelves where Jerry may have kept his bong collection, or warm their buns on the same toilet seat that Jerry himself may have dropped deuces from, or recline on something Jerry perhaps also made himself comfortable on while being serviced by his own personal team of professional Swedish fluffers.

It’s sad, but it’s true. Deadheads will spend their money on just about anything stupid.

Usually, stoned out tour hippies love their sparkly or glowing objects and will trade their entire life savings if it just looks pretty enough in the sunlight. You see, hippies also have the good financial sense of a pine needle. Shit, you could polish up a dog turd, say it has “healing properties”, and you’ll probably find an easy sale by the time you reach the back bumper of your parked VW mini-bus. They’re like magpies in Birkenstocks. And if Jerry happened to wash his crack pipe in it, or shat on it, or preserved minute steaks in it - hippies want it and will pay good money to get it. Put it all up on Ebay to the greater public - and it'll generate a bidding frenzy that will make the Japanese stock market floor look like a fucking Nana Mouskouri concert!