Sunday, December 04, 2005

A Love Affair in the Fact That I Write Letters to Him and Then I Dress Up Like Him

I recently checked up on the website of Bob Odenkirk and David Cross, the guys who created Mr. Show. On it, David Cross put up a letter that he wrote to Larry the Cable Guy in response to Larry’s comment about something that Cross said in Rolling Stone about Larry’s stand-up bit and audience. (I know, it’s confusing, but wait to the part when Cross goes back in time and there’s two David Crosses getting into all sorts of mayhem) Anyway, Larry took offense at the fact that Cross that called Larry’s crowd a bunch of redneck idiots or something like that and that Cross has no idea what he’s talking about.

Cross then uses this letter to defend every single comment he said in the Rolling Stone article, including the part where he called Larry a racist and then goes on to draw out three outrageous quotes from Larry’s book that proves the point. It was hilarious especially if you appreciate Cross’ style of edgy humour.

This is the thing with my secret love affair with David Cross (secret in the fact that only I know about it and it's a love affair in the fact that I write letters to David Cross and then I dress up like him and pretend to answer them) even though we would disagree on several points, we do have the same sensitivity to the glorification of dumb. That’s why I can look past a lot of the inflammatory things those guys say and laugh because there is thought behind it and not a string of fart jokes (Larry the Cable Guy).

After I read the article by Cross I figured I’d give Larry a chance and the first thing I see when I go to the official “Git-r-done” website is a Christmas decoration made out of Christmas lights that depict a reindeer being hung upside down with red lights acting as the blood dripping from its head onto the ground. Classy. I didn’t have to read anything. I thing the picture defended just right. Cross had no right saying that only rednecks would appreciate Larry the Cable Guy. Who wouldn’t want a guy who’s “line” is “git-r-done”? Nothing redneck about that.

If you want to check out the letter by Cross, go to:

Thursday, December 01, 2005

It May Not Work, But I Thought I'd Give It a Shot...And Oh, I Like Crack

Apparently Microsoft is still conducting their beta tests by tracking e-mails and sending cheques to the individuals who forward a dumb mass e-mail that says "It's true, I saw it on the news!" How does this make any sense! I've personally received the very same e-mail four times in the last few years and no one has pieced it together that this thing is bogus! I mean, very intelligent people have sent me this thing and the only thing this letter does is prove how you didn't think about it at all.

For one, why would any company just give thousands of dollars to annoymous individuals across the world for a lousy e-mail. I mean, they could do this internally to test whatever it is that they would want to test. That way, they wouldn't get gullible idiots who don't know what the basics of computer programming involves.

Second, why would this e-mail so unofficial. Shouldn't something like a test from Microsoft that involves money have a subject that says "Microsoft Officially Invites You for Participation in a Program Test" and not "It may not work, but I thought I'd give it a shot...and oh, I like crack".

Thirdly, why they even test an e-mail for Rosencratz' sake! They know it works. It works fine. Even the most computer illiterate can learn it. Even the fools that fall for this trick can use it.

This is the reason that humanity will fall apart in a fiery wreck because it will be these people that perpetuate this insult of humanity who will elect the next Napoleon.

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

These Shoe Buckles are on Sale for $3.99

A couple of days ago, I heard from one of my co-workers that during one of the conference calls that Mrs. Important Lady said “Dave is a great example of why we created the game expert position.” I found that to be quite the compliment. But wait a minute. How come no other game experts were mentioned? Perhaps there are no other game experts. Maybe I’m the only one. When I was hired, they said it was because they had a special position just for me. But what if that they meant “special” position? They’re probably just filling their “special” job quotas. And that means that they’re saying that they created this position because of lesser people like me! I’ve never been so insulted. No that’s not true. I’ve been to Insultfest ’98, ’99, and ’01 and man did you ever feel insulted after that. But still, that was a slap to the face.

I was also talking to one of my friends and he said that I tend to “twist peoples’ words so that I hear what I want to hear”. And that took me aback. What was he hinting at? Perhaps he’s saying that I tend to look beneath the surface of others’ comments to find a deeper wisdom. A wisdom that I and others would want to hear. That would make sense. I’m very good at interpreting what other people mean. I’ve told that by many people. Like when they say, “Do you know what you’re talking about?” and “You just a pompous jackass, aren’t you?” and “Why are stealing my newspaper?” and of course, “These shoe buckles are on sale for $3.99.” I mean, if you didn’t believe me before, just look at those testimonies.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

I'm More Woman Than They Are

Despite what this looks like, I'm not a hot supermodel. It's an illusion. Although, I think I could make a really good supermodel. I'm tall, I'm skinny, I have superpowers and I have a small dog in my handbag. Oh, and people are generally jealous of me because I'm more woman than they are.

But that picture is completely fabricated despite what others will tell you. Like when they say that I "volunteered to wear it" or that "I was happy to wear it" or that I "stole it from Stef's closet" or that I "threatened to fight people who tried to stop me". I mean it's ridiculous. Why would I want to wear a dress and pose in the supermodel pose that I've been perfecting for the past six years?

I've had enough of all these accusations and threats and I know it will come back to haunt me if I ever want to become a politician or a woman because my friends have forged this picture. I mean that can't be me. Look at those girly arms. Or that perfect skin or that long flowing hair. No way. I'm a man's man.

So, I'm not standing for it anymore. I'm standing up against you character assassins out there. I'm outta here, you jerktards, and I'm going to go back to making my new dress!

Monday, November 28, 2005

She's Like the New Me in the Group. Except, She's Quieter and Less of a Jerktard

This is a picture of my friends Ryan, Michelle, Zeke and Michelle. They're all really good friends. Except for Michelle. The second one. I don't really know her. She's just sort of there. The others know her. In fact, it's more like I was just sort of there. She's like the new me in the group. Except, she's quieter and less of a jerktard. When I first met her earlier that night, I think I kind of embarrassed her and thus set up our relationship to be awkward after that. I really should work on that.

Wait a minute. I don't even know her that well and she's already taken most of this blog entry. Can you believe that? How can you be so rude.

Anyway, Ryan's great. And Michelle (the first one). Zeke's great, too. All great. Just great. That's all I really got for them. Man. If they're so great, how come I got nothing to say about them. I mean the other Michelle already has two paragraphs. What's up with that? My friends aren't really helping me tell really good stories about them. I mean, what's the point of having friends if you can't post them on your blog with some sort of anecdote to go along with it?

As a message to my other friends. If you want to send me pictures, I'll post them and try to come up with something positive.Except for these people. I don't know what was with that.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Then You Have to Explain to the Police Why You Gave Him the Poker in First Place

This is yet another entry in a row and so I'm actually using tomorrow's date, because you can only live each day once or some crap like that.

For those of you who don't know or care, there has been a bit of a compilation of dramas in my life. Some involve me and others do, too. Here's a brief rundown.

1. I put my foot in my mouth with this one person I know and I was a damned idiot in what I said. It was my fault and I had to bite the bullet and legitimately say sorry. It was some of the dumbest things I think I've ever said to an individual and so now I have to go through that awkward feeling of "did I make it up to them enough?" Apparently, you need to say something like 8 nice things to make up for one bad one. That's like 32 things I need to say nice. You see you can't use retroactive positive comments either. Oh well, that's 32 nice things for her and like 6 shots of Jack Daniels for me.

2. As of late, people making fun of me has started to take it's toll and find it difficult to face constant ridicule (although still unfair of me to put it on others). And there was a recent time where every single piece of conversation that came my way was a form of ridicule and that was like an awesome cherry of punch in the face that I've had to deal with in addition to the normal day-to-ridicule. It's the kind of thing that's worth at least 8 shots of Jack.

3. Another individual in my life did not make a certain engagement this past week and although it did not affect me that much personally, others in same said group have and now there's going to be that damned awkward thing in the air, where people pretend nothings wrong, but everyone knows there is something wrong. It will be "great". I can't tell if that last statement came across as sarcastic. Because it was supposed to be. Very sarcastic. Although ultimately I think it's only one shot. I mean Jack Daniels is so expensive.

4. I went on a date recently, which technically went well, it didn't end as I hoped. Meaning that that's the end of that. That was a lot of "that"s for one sentence. My english teacher would kill me for that. Oh, and my over-use of exaggeration. Anyway, through said experience, I've had an epiphany and now have a renewed vigor for life and self-confidence (but I still don't like the whole ripping Dave's being apart from 1). But I think I may have foolishly told the individual that majorly influenced this epiphany and that may have been a mistake. And I'm left with have to figure out what the hell is going on. That's easily worth the price for the 10 shots.

5. I'm planning on having a launch party for the Mr. Chapel DVD release and many of these people may be there all together under one roof, ready for a sitcom-like meltdown. And even if they don't come, all the conversations that involve inviting them will just suck. 1 shot for every invitation. That's like 30 shots.

I didn't sign up for all this, but this is what you get for getting involved socially and having little diplomacy skill to deal with it. It's like giving and enthusiatic kid a hot poker and releasing him into a mall full of people. And then you have to explain to the police why you gave him the poker in first place and you have to tiptoe around the fact that you were there to steal from the jewellery store and why the hell did I use my little cousin for that. That kid can't do anything right. I mean I needed you to be a distraction. How hard is that?

Oh and now I have to buy a lot of Jack Daniels. That's like one of those big bottles and I can't throw money around like that. That's worth two shots.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Oh, Why the Skunkmold Do I Even Bother?

This is the first in a series of blog entries that I'm writing in an attempt to make it up to my fans. To ask for forgiveness for my lack of responsibility. To climb up the harsh terrain of forgiveness, you need to do whatever it takes to make people forget about what you did and hopefully it will be enough to cover the next thing you're planning to do to them. Ah, yes. The life of a jerktard is a tough one. Long and arduous. Unrelenting.

Back to my apology for lack of responsibility. If you happen to be in Winnipeg, why don't you look me up and give me a call on the Dave Rae Apology Hotline and we can arrange a time to get together and I'll take you out for dinner. More like have you over for dinner. Actually, I'll just be giving you some of my grapes. But you'll have to be quick on that, because I'm currently eating them as I write this.

I guess since I'm on the topic of me being a jerktard, I think my biggest problem is just saying things before I really consider the implications of what I say. That's why I don't write a whole lot of blog entries because I'll start writing it and have just a bunch of filthy words strung together in it that make sailors blush (like "mudcrap") and then I have to go back and edit them out and I just think, "Oh why the skunkmold do I even bother?!" and then delete the whole thing.

And beyond the whole blog thing, I'm a jerktard because I have this tendency to yell at people on the street. You know, people are just walking along, enjoying life and I have the bold tenacity just to yell out stuff like "Watch out, there's a truck coming!" or "Hey, that guy's going to shoot you!" I mean, where do I get off? Just yelling like I'm some kind of circus ringmaster with some new freak on display. That's it. Next time a truck is barrelling down the road at someone, I'm not saying anything. Keeping the mouth shut. I can't be a jerk forever.

Who do I have to thank for that character change? You guys. Thanks. Keep the dream alive.

February 14, 1983: Grab Life By the Face, Kick It in the Crotch, Suplex It Through a Table

Note from David: This is actually the first thing I ever wrote and it was moments after I was born. Forgive the grammar and spelling. I was a baby for goodness' sake.

Dear Life,I'm David Rae and you have no idea what the hell is coming is at you. I'm going to grab life by the face, kick it in the crotch, suplex it through a table and unman it through my display of superiority and leave it weeping and wailing. I will legimately destroy you, life.

Don't doubt me for a moment because I will get you when you least expect it. I may be in diapers (whether it be tomorrow or when I'm an old man) but my power will allow me to go through life like an iron baseball bat breaking stuff until it eventually gets rusted and stops working.

I will be a strong man. Able to crush anything that you throw at me. Crush it with rippling biceps and hard feet, so I can...step on you. Like grapes. Like grapes at the juice factory, ready to be crushed into juice.

I will be fast. Like a cougar. Or a leopard. Whatever the fast is, I will be it in the sense of my speed of character. My character will change so fast and so often, you won't even know how to deal with me.

I will be tough. As nails. Made out of adamantium. And uranium. Tears will never meet this face. And I will laugh at those who do. I will never let anybody tickle me, because I would giggle and then I would have to fight them. But because I will be a colossus and I will win fights by default.

I will be smart like a dolphin or a chihuahua. Or however you'd spell that. My mind will be so powerful that I will solve any problem. And if I couldn't I'd simply use my mind powers to blow it up.

I will be wise like a serpent. A crafty, jerktard of a creature, ready to pounce with my wisdom and injecting it into the veins of others and they will faint from the poison of my deity-like wisdom which apparently comes as poison.

I will be charismatic like an eagle. I will be a ladies' man. I will have line-ups of ladies ready to make out and a line of dudes ready to give me hi-fives. I will know what to say at the right times and if I say it right, they'll give me five bucks.

What do you got, life? Nothing in comparison to all that. That is an awesome mix of animals in one super animal. And I am that super animal. Oh and I will have all the humility in the world, you son of a donkey-butt.

But now I'm going to have a nap. And maybe some applesauce. And then watch out because I will never need sleep again.

Your dominatrix,
David "King of Pain" Rae

Things quickly changed after this.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Like Comparing Wet T-Shirt Contests to Dry T-Shirt Contests

Near my place there is a donut place (some call it a "shop" or "shoppe") it's got the greatest deal in the world. You can go there past 11 at night and get a bag of donut for $2! Two dollars! That's it! And the donuts are still awesome. Clearly people don't know about this enough! The end of the world's hunger problems is contained in the bags of donuts. I mean I have a heart for the hunger problem and I think I have the solution. People think that I can't solve hunger. That hunger will always exist because of human greed. I laugh at them, because this idea compared to other ideas is like comparing wet t-shirt contests to dry t-shirt contests.

They should set up donut shops in Africa and then people in the village could come after 11 and give a couple of bucks and get a bag of donuts that could feed a whole family for a day. It's foolproof. Wait, they don't really have money, do they? They couldn't really pay for the donuts. In fact, it would be kind of flaunting the donuts in their faces. Oh man. Well, perhaps there can be someone from the tribes that could be sent over to Canada and then they stay at my there's not really room...ok we find them another place and then they go to the donut store every night and ship the donut's home. That doesn't work either. The shipping would be atrocious. But wait, doesn't the commercial say that a dollar a day feeds a family or something? So that means that they must be getting just dirt cheap bags of donuts from somewhere.

Where would that be? Oh man. I gotta find this place. Find the dirt cheap donuts. All this time I've been paying $2 for a bag of donuts like a sucker. That's it, I'm going to find this supply of cheap donuts and keep them for myself. Who cares about Africa? What about me?

Monday, November 07, 2005

Except I won't Call Them "Deep Throat" Because That Guy Was Named After a Porno

I thought that I would post a little known Dave secret. Actually, for those who've talked to me in the past few days, it really isn't a secret. I mean, if you've seen me at all, I've probably told you already. Or if I saw you walking across the street, I would yell to you my secret, but if you were coming in my direction and I had a little time, maybe I'd wait for you to get to me and then I would momentarily forget what I was about to say, you'd check your watch, and then I'd remember and finally tell you my secret.

In fact, the people that I haven't told don't have an inkling. I guess that's usually the case when you don't tell them. Anyway, the people I haven't told would most likely crush their spirits.

Anyway, my secret is this: I'm about to appear in the worst movie ever written by a human. I'm not even going to tell you the title so that if you look for a bad movie that I'm in, you wouldn't know where to look...and I'll use a fake name. The whole reason I got involved was because I thought, "Be in a movie? That'd be great" and then after I agreed I read the script and wished that I hadn't doomed myself to artistic suicide. The reason it is even a secret is because aside from myself and another individual (whom I will keep anonymous. It's kind of like my Deep Throat. Except I won't call them "Deep Throat" because that guy was named after a porno) the others seem to put forth that this is actually a good script. Drugs, perhaps? Brain washing?

Now you have background to the event that happened on Sunday. On Sunday, we were supposed to start filming. My spirit was at a crushing low. We get out there and we find out that one of the actors did not show and wasn't answering the phone. Oh well, I guess we can't shoot. Ah no.

Then the others were saying stuff like "Oh, I can't believe this guy!" or "He is going to be replaced".

He was treated like he was the villain in the story. Like he was trying to bring down the idea of freedom from America.

Apparently, I may have been the only one to think that perhaps he was a hero. He should be awarded a minor medal. He is my role model.

It kind of reminds me of Louis Riel and his rebellion. Some think he's a villain, but I think he's a hero. Except this hero doesn't go crazy and run around a battlefield with a cross and saying nonsensical proclaimations. That was Riel. Not this guy. Yeah, that wasn't Riel's best moment. It kind of hurts the analogy a little bit in fact.

Sunday, October 16, 2005

I Deserve to Have Food Summoning Powers

What a wonderful technologically advanced era I live in. It's great. I get to listen to free internet music that I get to choose. I get to play video games. Watch movies. Talk to people far away on my cell phone. I can do a lot of stuff. All at my finger tips. It's great. God has truly blessed me. I mean what more could I want. Or need. I guess if it were possible to create food out of thin air, that would be awesome. But I mean aside from that, there is no where to go. I'd have all the stuff I have now and a food summoning machine. That's it. Life would be set. And maybe like a hover car. That's only if they get around to it. I don't think it would happen, but it does, that'd be just peachy to have. And it's not like I deserve one anyway. I mean who do I think I am? Why should I demand more, right? Just because I'm North American and am a good-hearted individual who gives of his time and energy to promote good as best I can, why should I expect more? Wait. Why shouldn't I? This is incredible. This is like a break through. I've never thought of this before. Of course I deserve more. Look at me. I'm hot. I'm large and in charge. I have a drama degree for goodness' sake. I shouldn't be on the same plane as the rest of you common peasant folk. I deserve to have food summoning powers and a hover car, no hovering abilities and telepathy. Man, I've just been too humble for way too long. What about me for once? That's it I'm out of here to burst in and demand my rights even if I don't know what my rights are. Who's with me?!

Friday, October 07, 2005

Telling Some Guy That His Cookies Suck Will Get You Kicked Out of Anything

I officially joined the "Shrugging Off the Responsibility of Blogging" which is a nation-wide group of bloggers who are committed to stating awesome blogs and then leave all the people who read in the dark and never posting ever again. That's why there's a lack of posting. But I was recently kicked out for my comments that I had at our convention when I said, "Isn't there something better we could be doing than wasting taxpayers' money on flying to Ottawa just to try out some guy's cookies. You guys are all losers. You taunt people and destroy their lives of dependency on our wit or in some cases ignorance. Besides, the cookies weren't even that good." Telling some guy that his cookies suck will get you kicked out of anything.

Besides, I've been doing a lot of other writing and when you write a sketch and then you think, "Hey, I could write in my blog," that's when your creativity is at it's lowest. That's because small gremlins come and steal away the creativity and put it into a small cage and make fun of it. Mind you, it's not too harsh. Usually they just mock the style of clothing and about how the creativity smells like something they think smells bad, which is like good for the rest of us. Like when a gremlin says, "You smell like flowers," he's actually trying to insult you. So, I mean the creativity is intact, it's just inconvenienced and "insulted".

Oh, and I have wonderful news. It seems as though my wisdom tooth is coming in wrong and is creating just the greatest sense of euphoria, that makes me want to continue to have the tooth cause me vast amounts of pain, because that is just what I'm looking for right now.

Sarcasm doesn't really come out in writing very well. Anyways, I plan to go to the tooth doctor or "tooth dentist" and I think he'll solve it by putting leeches on the teeth so that it can suck out the sick inside that was put there by witches.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

And When I Say "I help", I Mean "I Run the Slave Trade" Kind of Help

Sweet mother, it's been a while since I've posted. I'll try to work on that. Anywho, this is the thing that just recently came up. I've been receiving responses from people who saw Mr. Chapel this past summer. It's been an uplifting experience. So far, every single one has been negative and in fact one takes it a step further and implies that I am actually trying to tear the church apart.

Well, I guess it finally came out. I'm just a jerk that wants nothing more than to destroy the very thing that I'm trying to help. That way I can help more and stay in business. And when I say "I help", I mean "I run the slave trade" kind of help.

But seriously, I think all these kind responses have been like that hand that reaches down to help you out of the muck and mire and brings you out in your time of need and gently cradles you. It is also assuming that the same hand then turns around and punches you in the kidney once you're asleep. Nothing beats that feeling of thinking you're helping and then finding out that you're "not".

So now I might as well go the rest of the way and finish the DVD's, sell them, and give all the money to crime rings and the Hitler cloning project like I was originally thinking. You know, "helping" mankind. Then I can start up a trendy heroin habit like I always dreamed of.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

Succulent Brain Juice Transformed into a Blog

I've got nothing tonight. What do you people expect from me? I'm tired. I've been working like those monkeys that wrote the "Grapes of Wrath" when the publisher was breathing down their necks to finish it. But why are you people so demanding? Am I an object for you own amusement? Do I not matter? I know I matter to one person. To me! So I'm sorry if I have nothing to say to all you slave drivers. You non-existant people that I imagine actually reading this thing and for some reason are angry at the lack of me volunteering my time to write this free blog. You are all jerktards! I mean I looked at the thing and there not one comment. Not one. C'mon! This is brilliance, people. This is like succulent brain juice transformed into a blog! That's it! I'm going to watch "Lost"!

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Of Course, There Would be a Penalty if the Cat Turned Out to Have Rabies

I wish I knew more about the science behind intelligent design. Some people probably laugh at that opening statement. But I'm serious. Christians look like total morons out there. I mean I know that there is a great way to describe and explain why intelligent design can make sense. And I think that there is the problem with Christians looking like idiots. Christians know that there is a rational explanation out there, but so few of them know it or strive to find out. And when they get confronted with it, they look like tools. And because Christianity is a minority in the culture, we're on the defense, but we don't even try to defend it for whatever reason. Then when people ask and we don't know, they just blow us off because it seems like we're flakey (maybe we are). Ironically, a lot of evolutionists are the same way in that they don't know what they're talking about (I'm not talking about the scientists, but the "everybody knows that evolution is right" half-wits that don't even know what evolution all means. Sort of like the Christian half-wits but with a better dental plan).

The thing is that it's hard to turn it around and try to confront evolutionists, because evolution is so much more present and accepted. And if you don't have anything substantial to say on the creation side of things, it doesn't help to discuss it.

"Hey, you don't know anything about evolution, you should become a creationist."

"And you don't know anything about creationism."

"Yeah, but I asked you first."

Perhaps we could design some sort of points based system where when an evolutionist burns some creationist, they earn points for their side and vice versa. Whoever has the most points wins and whatever. Perhaps, there can be some bonus thing where if you find a stray cat a home, you get bonus points. Of course there would be a penalty is the cat turned out to have rabies. Anyway, that would help both causes. Getting stray cats off the street and also determine who's right and there would never be this silly need to "think" again about all this evolution-creation stuff.

That'd be great. If we switched over to this system, we'd be set. But then I guess you'd have to do stuff like draft picks and what about all the contract disputes and the lockouts on the teams? Man, that's complicated. What was I talking about?.....Creation and evolution? What the crap? Why am I talking about draft picks? I mean if the evolutionists saw this, they'd think I'm just another crack pot creationist. Well, fortunately I have more points.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

Hey, Chotchmo. Want to be a Vampire?

I have finally adjusted my sleeping habits to the midnight shift warrior who bravely faces the cold, dark night with a boldness that mortal men tremble before. I go to sleep at the crack of dawn. I guess that's more of a vampire than a warrior. I mean warriors go to bed at night generally. If you're going to be pillaging other civilizations with a bloodthirsty rage, you're going to need the sleep.

Anyway, back to the point that I'm a vampire. It has required me to change my other habits. Like keeping vampire hunters at bay. And ordering that "Vampires Quarterly" magazine. The pictures are ok, but the articles are a little bland.

Oh, and all that stuff that they say about how vampires are kept at bay with garlic is a total lie. I still eat garlic. A lot. Perhaps too much. The guy at the pizza place asks if I want garlic on it, and I'm like, "Pile it on there. Put as much as what is legally allowed. Maybe a little more," and the guy would look at me. It's probably because he thinks he might get in trouble for putting that much garlic on.

Anywho, I really like the midnight shift (there's a pizza place next door with a sweet supply of garlic), but the tragic thing is that they just gave me two morning shifts. C'mon, what are you doing to me? Everybody knows that the morning shift is the new midnight shift.

I'm afraid of what all of this will do to me with all this sleep schedule changes. Especially now that I'm a vampire. From what I remember of vampires, they don't like mornings. I assume it's because the traffic is bad in the mornings and all that pent up anger kind of ruins their day.

I should really learn more about this whole vampire thing. I don't really know anything about them. It was kind of silly. I was just sitting there and the vampires came around and they said, "Hey, chotchmo. Want to be a vampire?" and I'm like, "Why not? I got nothings goings on. Sign me up for all that."

I suppose I could just back out, but that's a lot of red tape, so I think I'll just hang in there. Besides, the magazine subscription is free as long as I'm a member.

Saturday, September 10, 2005

All the Hillbillyness of it All

I went to my first shift at the other Domo. At first, I thought I was working at a typical self-service gas station that has an unspeakable name (see previous post). I was shocked to find out that it was a rip in the space/time continuum that links back to Minnedosa. It was either that or someone took all the drunkenness, all the dust, all the hillbillyness of it all and put it into a place of business. It was disturbing for me. Who would've thought that I would find such a place in the middle of a city?

It makes me wonder if there are more Minnedosas out there. More drunkenness. More racial intolerance. More spewed beef jerky all over my store. More dumbass comments. More inane chatter. More vests over the bare chest.

That would mean that there would be no place to hide. Idiots could envelope you at any moment. Truly this discovery of the Minnedosaliana or Brain colerah is something bigger than some fake epidemic. It could infect at any place at any time.

Symptoms of the pitiable disease is the strong urge to shout out "Yoooooouuuuuu!" at the most inappropriate times, to listen to Pablo Cruz at all, buying a big, dumb truck (and especially if you figure that you should have a Calvin peeing on the symbol of the opposing truck manufacturer on the back window), or if you have the sudden urge to throw objects off of lookout towers, own "Fox" clothing, attend truck smash'em ups, or you are more drunk than sober in your waking hours.

If you're ever at home and feel any of the symptoms of the Brain colerah setting in, please report to a local library and read a book or watch a documentary. Avoid country music and flannel shirts. And whatever you don't rev your engines when you pass people on the street.

At this time, I have a confession to make. I suffer from brain colerah everyday. I actively kill brain cells and watch wrestling...and enjoy it. Please keep me in your prayers. After all, brain colerah makes a victim of us all.

Friday, September 09, 2005

Midnight Shifts are Like the New Pink

Just yesterday, I was switched from the Domo in the inner sanctums of Winnipeg to a more reasonable place that's only a forty minute walk from my house. That's still a lot of walking, but it's better. Maybe I should invest in a palomino. The horse, not the vehicle. It may cost more a month, but I could get a ride places at least. And then I could share the last part of my sandwich or something like that and have a friend take a picture of it. That photo would sell. I mean a guy sharing a sandwich with a horse. That's the kind of stuff that like Michelangelo would paint.

Anyway, back to the point. The Domo I will be working at will be a self-serve, which means I can freely throw away all my training that I received. I can read, and learn about astronomy and paint that sweet horse picture I was talking about. Especially, if I get more of the midnight shifts. It would be gold. Midnight shifts would be awesome. Midnight shifts are like the new pink.

This sounds like this would somehow be an improvement, but the joke is clearly on me because the Domo is called a "Roo-side Cafe". "Roo-side"! I have to walk into my place of employment that flaunts it's pornography of the English language. I will be reminded everytime the things in this world that I despise.

It's like going to paradise where enjoy the sun of the midnight, but learn that the whole island is radioactive and has the worst bugs ever. And the drinks are only ok, but cost double!

Sure, I will have my midnight shifts, but do I want them at the cost of my soul?

Thursday, September 08, 2005

The Delicacy of Skunk Intestinal Tract

I was recently told by Michelle to "broaden my horizons" and "try new foods". I was taken aback. Trying new foods? How could you say that to me? I've invented foods! Let's remember "chocolate beer". The brilliant concoction of root beer and chocolate milk. That was me!

However, I'm not as self-righteous as others, so I decided that I would try something different. Stef and I headed to Boston Pizza and I went with some foreign chicken pasta dish of sorts. I figured, "it's chicken, it can't suck." Turns out, I was wrong. The stuff was like noodles with grilled beaver hide and a weird spice to "zest things up".

Apparently "zesting things up" is just a fancy phrase for pouring dirty mop water all over something else.

However as bad as it was, I was taken aback when all of a sudden I was taken to a new level of disgust after a particular bite. I assume it was the delicacy of skunk intestinal tract that found it's way onto my fork, into my mouth and into the bottom of the toilet of my stomach. The thing is that I have this thing where if I pay for food, I will eat as much as I can handle.

The other bazaar thing about the meal was the fact it came in this odd bowl that seems to be designed so that noone else at the table can see it's contents. Clearly, the restaurant knows that the things is wretched and thus must take steps to hide it from others.

On top of all this, I had to pay something like $14 for it! C'mon! You've got to be joking. I mean something is seriously wrong with this.

Then I looked up what "broadening your horizons" means and it turns out means wasting time, money and dignity for your digestive system.

Michelle, I personally hold you responsible for this.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

"Toptard" is not even a Spanish word

Yeah, I know. I missed a day. My sense of responsibility is a jerktard. I haven't been able to find some time to do this due to the fact that Domo now has domination over my life and grips my soul in it's icy clutch.

The job has been going fine for the most part. I haven't been told to kill anybody yet, so I'm pretty sure they're not some sort of cover for a corporation trying to take over the world yet. However, they may be lulling me into a false sense of security. I'll be on the look out.

I will say this about my new job. I really did think that I had worked myself beyond getting a pump jockey job. I have a drama degree. Doesn't that mean anything to anybody anymore? I went to Bible college. That's gotta at least hook me up into a sweet manager's position. But it doesn't! I mean, shouldn't I be president of another country by now? I am David El Toptard Rae! People tremble at my name! I command respect! My middle name's 'El Toptard' for goodness' sake! I don't know why my mom gave me that name. I mean "Toptard" is not even a Spanish word. Or any word for that matter. But c'mon, you people. Respect me! Give me a job. No, in fact give me your job. Just quit and I'll take over. Why? I have a drama degree from a non-credited school from Backwater, Manitoba with little to no experience! Who else better to run your company? I submit to you noone! How can you argue with that logic? You can't, because it blows your mind! Now, who's with me?!

Sunday, September 04, 2005

The Next Time I Play Pool and I Win, I Take This All Back

Last night I went to play pool with my friends Bryan, Nadine and Chris. It was alright but there is an innate flaw to the game of pool. There is no way that you can have a tie game. Impossible. I mean what kind of oppressive hierarchial game is this that must crown a winner and a loser?

Haven't we learned anything from children in that no matter how crappy you play or how much you profusely cheat, everybody wins? Equally. That way we encourage kids. We encourage them by saying that it's ok if you suck, and in fact, don't bother trying because we can glide through life without effort. There was a nice, safe mediocrity in playing games when we were young.

Now all I hear now is that you need to "wake up" and face "reality". That life is tough. That pool is tough. What the crap?! Are you going to tell me that this "reality" involves wins and losses? And that when I put a bet on something and I "lose", that means I have to pay up? Shouldn't I get my money back because I was there at least to put the bet down.

I'm telling you, that we should rise up and bring back childhood rules, where adults will throw games so that the ones that suck at stuff will not feel bad. Where if you play against another person and you lose, you get rewarded with candy just for showing up and if you win, you get rewarded with the SAME CANDY! And then we would all be called "winners" all the time so that we will never have to endure the sour, bitter taste of defeat and we would continue in a one-dimensional life where nothing goes wrong ever. It'll be great! That way there will never be losers again. Except for one. The word "loser" would be the loser, because no one would be called that again. And maybe the guy that invented the word would be one, too.

Just so you know the next time I play pool and I win, I take this all back and you will be the loser and I will be the winner.

Saturday, September 03, 2005

It's Medical Science, People

I'm here to address the issue of swearing. Apparently there are a bunch of people out there that are up in arms about the fact how people who are opposed to swearing are using fake Christianese swears.

I here to defend fake Christian swearing. I'm apart of the "Christians who stand up for the right to fake swear". You see, we here at the "CWSUFRFS" wish that we could swear. We wish we could swear like frickin' sailors. But we don't. Because swearing is wrong. That's because certain words have evil injected right into it. You see, when someone hears and sees a real swear, their ears and eyes will catch gangrene and will one day fall off and actually kill the host. It was dubbed "Wanker's Discomfort". But the simple measures of changing syllables (like "frickin'" and "dang" and putting stars (or other popular alternatives like "#" and "@") over key letters was discovered to prevent and circumvent the negative effects of the disease of swearing. It was a medical breakthrough in the early 20's and that's why those stars are on all standard keyboards today.

People say that you're not hiding the swear by using all these fake swears or the use of the stars. They say that we are hypocritical especially when we think we are more pure than the real swearers. But that's because we are. Specific words are actually impure, not the meaning. The meaning's fine. It's the word that's the problem. It's medical science, people.

So in closing, I have a message to all you idiots out there that say that "fake swears are real swears": Shut up b#%@, and get off my mother f&%#ing lawn, d$#*it!

Friday, September 02, 2005

David Grohl Doesn't Appreciate Indoor Goblin Football

Now that I'm back in the city of Winnipeg, I apparently have to get a "job" otherwise I will not receive sufficient "funds" to supply "sustenance" for any appreciable time. I thought that I was a respectable person who had kind of earned the ability to get a job that I liked has somehow wound up with a job at a gas station. Like seriously. And it's not even the gas station right outside my apartment. Instead it's A TWO HOUR WALK from where I live. Now I have to buy a bus pass to go to a crappy job.

You may be asking how could I go from the classy Electronics Boutique to Stanky's Spleen Transplants and Gas Outlet (my new name for Domo)? The answer is simple. Because goblins have entered and taken over the place where the Three Fates work and have decided to have a kegger and play a version of "indoor football" but they use what they call a "scratch ball" which in reality is a small cat. Then some orange soda or possibly Mountain Dew was spilled all over my life string and because the Fates are blind, they didn't notice.

Now I'm not saying that goblins should not be allowed football. Perhaps even indoor football would be ok. In fact I've even taken in a couple of goblin indoor football games and they were quite good. It was either a goblin indoor football or some generic punk show.

Anyways, goblins should be taught when and where to play football. So I think what needs to happen is that we need to learn how to communicate with them and tell them that this indoor football is not ok, and perhaps we can also get them to agree to not mess up my room before people show up to my room.

So what I'm asking is for a midget or little person or whatever the term is now and then go learn their language and them one day when their standing around beside their goblin watercooler and after some conversation that the goblins have about how they like Foo Fighters, the little midget in disguise could casually drop in a line like: "Did you know that David Grohl doesn't appreciate indoor football."

It would cause a ruckus and probably shake their economy for a while but I think that they could adjust and then maybe they apologize and give my ancestor's reparations for what they've done. (I'm assuming it will take a few generations to do all this)

I suppose the other thing that made me lose prestige is that this other guy I used to work for stole for the company and now there is a shadow over my record with the company.

So either way, the goblin football incident or the idiot put me here. So I just have to remind myself of a quote that my high school consular always told me, "if you imagineer it, you can do anything...probably..."

Thursday, September 01, 2005

A Mystical Journey of Wonder and Imagineering

A lot of people who may stumble across this page might look at this site and wonder who is this illustrious individual who seems to have his life put together. For the last time get off my property and peeking in through my window! Anyways, for many people who know me, "Mr. Chapel" has been a significant part of my life for the past year. Man, that sounds like I'm having an affair or something. Anyway, Mr. Chapel is the name of the sketch comedy show that I wrote and performed all over western Canada and some of the States. It was a show that grabbed people by the wrist and led them through a mystical journey of wonder and imagineering without the aid of hallucinigenic substances, and said to them, "Hey, come with me and I'll show you what flying over the rainbow of hope really means."

More accurately it was out to wreck havoc in the complacent and challenge people to think instead of resting on their intellectual laurels and eat the fattening ice cream of mindless faith and then they get the perverbial spare tire of passionless ritualism or the flabby arms of staunch ignorance and then it gets to the point that they are trapped inside their house of a mundane life. Mr. Chapel is like the life-saving liposuction for these people and I am like the doctor who does the liposuction and gets paid millions of dollars. Except I have jack squat, so I'm like the guy that does it free out of his basement using a spoon and a vaccuum cleaner and three feet of fishing line. Wait, somewhere along the line I lost my analogy.

Point is that Mr. Chapel was a great time and you can see in this picture my Mr. Chapel crew.

In the days to come I'll probably post more stuff about my adventurous summer.

That's enough blogging for today. Sweet merciful sanitation officer, there's got to be a better word for blogging than blogging. It seems like I have the stomach flu and the partially moldy tuna sandwich I had at lunch is coming back to haunt me.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005

Vomity Milk-Water

Through out my summer I have been to many people's houses and I have seen a shocking trend. There seems to be a proliferation of people buying skim milk. Who are these people and why would you ever do something to yourself like that. It is like watered down milk that a dog has vomited back into a plastic jug and then the dog learns how to write milk on the side of the carton and sell it to me while removes vertabrae from my back and using it as poker chips and poses with those other smug mutts from that dog playing poker picture. I mean don't these dogs have something better to do than puking milk-water. Especially the ones that can write. I mean they can be writing about something else, something that the world needs. Something like the warning signs that need to be placed outside of these fricking skim milk displays. Sweet mother! How can anybody seriously drink that crap and not have me irrationally bashing them from a far on some lousy blog that only a select group of people would ever read for goodness sake and those people are the ones that can only somewhat tolerate me and my half-witted rambling about sweet merciful milk when I really should be talking about the true crimes in the world like racism and civil wars and the price of gas! I can't talk about those other things, because there are fricking morons out there drinking this dog vomity milk water. They are out there thinking that they somehow staying healthy, then go out and drink their lattes and wear their designer suits and read glamour magazines and then come up to me and ridicule me for drinking homogenized milk. Oh yeah, well you look like a chotch, man! You think you've got it together? Puh-lease, you wouldn't know! So go ahead and live the grand life and drink your crap-cream and drive around in your SUV, but I will continue to live in the true luxury of the silky delicious creme of the gods and keep fighting for the rights of dogs that can write. All this skim milk talk just gets me riled up and makes me make irrational arguements about absolutely nothing. And how can you help me? Have the decency to not buy skim milk when I go over to your place, you ungrateful beggar! Puh-lease!

Every Tom, Dick and Harry

Just for those of you out there that do not who I am, I am your best dream come true. Or worse nightmare. Or both? Oh no. I forgot. How can I forget on the first thing of my blog thing. You know, a blog. The thing that every Tom, Dick and Harry puts out with their inane comments on how minute things bother them and they think that all the other Tom, Dick and Harrys will want to read, when in fact those other Tom, Dick and Harrys are just looking for some guy to rip into and make fun of their blogs and then the first set of Tom, Dick and Harrys will think that there are too many people that spell their names the same way and then start changing the way they spell their names and come up with the most convoluted ways of spelling their names so that no one in the world can spell it. You know, it will be garbage like "Tohm", "Dycke", and "Franceene".

What was I talking about? Oh yes, so welcome to my blog. I don't know what kind of stuff I'll talk about. Maybe more stuff like this. Maybe some other stuff that I've written before. So keep tuned.