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.