None of That Matters, Because They Are Flying High With Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds

One of the toughest parts about people struggling in tough times is that there is nothing to really say to them. Whether it's death or illness or some other event that you have no control over, those are the times where I feel so useless. You can't tell the person why you think bad things happen to good people because bringing God into an objective light during a subjective situation, because that is not what the person needs. Yet, if you just give the pat answers of "things will get better" or "God loves you" or "the Bible says persevere and it'll make your character stronger", then it seems like you're trying to trivialize their pain and thus you're not showing empathy or even sympathy. Trying to tell them to think about the good things in life is like telling them to forget about their problems and ergo make their pain insignificant.

I mean, I believe that things will get better. And they shouldn't focus on their pain because that's not healthy either. I do believe that God loves them and everything. The only way to truly convey something like that is by action. Words just don't seem to do it. The best way of saying "God loves you" to one in pain seems to be to hug them or sit with them in silence. The best way of getting people to see the good side of life seems to be showing the good side, by going out and doing stuff with them, making a meal for them, or doing something special for them.

Sure, there is a time for words, but they seem to ring empty a lot. They always seem so insufficient. They need to be backed up by something.

Of course, doing stuff for the person may not help right away either. Hey, I know. Just get them a big bag of pot. That way they have immediate satisfaction and all their worries melt away while the pain will still linger behind and nothing is resolved and the person does not grow. But none of that matters, because they are flying high with Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Who needs to go through the uncomfortable process of growth when drugs not only trivializes the pain, but life as well. Yeah, those druggies had it right all along.

I'm Pro-People-Becoming-Like-Me

Next week's Bible study is going to be so sweet. Jason and I lead a media-based study where we watch at TV show, or movie, or listen to something and then have a biblical response to it. And next week, we are doing one where we listen to a few Pearl Jam songs, discuss the meaning and as well, whether or not we agree with what they have to say. It shall be sweet for Pearl Jam is sweet, ergo the study is sweet by association. We're not even doing the classic songs that everyone knows. We have a lot of their lesser known ones. Of course, when I say that, there are no doubt some fans who are like, "'I am Mine'? That is not that so great. I would choose the song that Vedder wrote and perform while still in his mother's womb. It's the seventh song on a rare mix tape that only true fans would like." But I don't worry about people like them. Because they're idiots.

Anyway, I look forward to it, because I can't wait to hear the reaction of some of the people because they don't listen to Pearl Jam or any other grunge band of the 90's (I'm sure some fanboys just choked on their mini pizzas at the possibility of their band being referred to such a way. Why do people get all panicky about the classification of music?). One of my favourite things is to introduce people to new TV shows like 24 and Lost and if people like Pearl Jam because of this, I'll feel good. I'm pro-people-becoming-like-me.

But why stop there? I should start hanging out with people who look like the exact same. And then they would be able to wear the same clothes as me. And then we would always do whatever I want to do. And then I wouldn't have to talk to them, because I already know what they think about anyways. I mean, when I talk to people, do I really want to hear divergent opinions on things and grow? No, I want you to nod in agreement as you pass me the chips.

Sex or Pie Would Be Just Fine

My new roommate has moved in! It ends the three month dry spell of no roommate. And it's not some stranger. He's a guy I went to Prov with. He's even met some of my non-Prov friends at a party at my place a month and a half ago (My infamous "Pre-Decemberween Celefest & Apple Cider and Juice Menagerie 2006"). People must have liked him, because the next day, there were even girls asking about him (and yes, he is single).

However, there are concerns. I mean, the guy is great and everything. But he's clean. I've been described as "not". It's fine, but I always feel bad, because I know that if the apartment is messy, he will notice it. And he will notice that I am not cleaning it. I always figure, "it's not that messy" and then I'm paranoid that other guy is thinking that I'm just sitting on my butt. And then I feel really bad when the guy is cleaning, because I'm not cleaning as well and yet I don't want to clean, I want to rock and roll all night.

I mean, the guy moved his stuff in and then the first thing he did was wash some of my dishes that I got dirty. I intervened, but I don't like this. This guy is gonna cause me to become disciplined and I don't like that. My slothful lifestyle was going great and now it's being ruined. I mean, how am I supposed to be one of those guys that the ladies want to fix up and make better if this guy is forcing me to be cleaner by association? Isn't that what women want? A guy that doesn't do anything and then the girl is going to love him and make him a better man and then he will do so because he loves her. At least that is what the guy has her believe, but really it's just a facade that he puts up so that he can get sex. Or pie. Sex or pie would be just fine. Depending on the mood I'm in.

I mean, why would anyone want somebody that lives with you and actually helps out at the start? That will just lead you to disappointment. If you go for the lazy, dirty guy, then you can tell yourself, "it can't go downhill from here". But you're wrong. It can only go downhill. Unless you give me sex or pie. Then I'll think about it.

That Glimmer of Hope Was Vomitted Upon By the Cruel Demon of Reasons for Suicide

Ok, so I know for those who have spent any significant amount of time talking to me know that I am frustrated with the dating scenario in my life. Or more like the lack of one. Things are usually convoluted and strange. And I don't know how it happens.

But as of tonight, I have another weird story to add to the pile. My good brother, Darwin, invited me out to his company's party which happen to take place at Celebrations Dinner Theatre. I always wanted to go but it was so expensive for one meal. That's why I was all over it. I'll take any meal that's free.

I arrived by bus to the restaurant and I was ready for laughter and tears and heck, maybe I'll even learn something. I walk to the doors and see Darwin and go up to him. It was not long before I was accosted by one of his co-workers.

"Is that your brother, Darwin? Is he single?"

I should have lied. Said I had a girlfriend. But it was too late.

Now, I don't usually believe in auras. But if you could summarize "maneater" in an aura, that was the feeling I garnered from within moments of encountering her. I don't know what I mean by "maneater", but it seems suitable.

Apparently, I am tall and that is the thing that won her over. Apparently, she thought that we looked like a good couple when we stood together. She gave me her number. Actually, that is how I learned her name. Her name was on the piece of paper with her number on it. By this point, I have barely gotten my coat off and have said maybe ten words total since entering the building.

I wanted to leave. As we stood in line, she was playfully telling Darwin that he was in her way and that she wanted to stand next to me. I thank the Lord above that Darwin gets along with her and while he did that, I could quietly pray for sweet death.

One hope that I had was that the tickets to get inside indicated a specific table and seat. And ours were nowhere near her. That glimmer of hope was vomited upon by the cruel demon of reasons for suicide. We were let in and as long as we sat where the company had tables reserved, we could sit anywhere! Yea for freedom of choice!

Fortunately, Darwin and I got it first and I'm a fast thinker and quickly proceeded towards a table and went for the far chair so that there was only one chair next to me. Darwin sat there. It was fortunate that Darwin sat there, because The Crazy was hot on our tails. She sat next to Darwin. She then continued to complain that he was in her way of sitting next to me. Normally, I'm not a fan of Darwin's unending stubbornness, but it saved me tonight. I then pointed out to her that if she wanted to talk to me, she would talk to me and not be seemingly flirting with my brother.

That was the mistake of the night that led her to move to the seat across from me. Damn.

I was hoping that if I could imagineer a way out of my physical body, that I could escape. She then noted that I didn't talk much. I responded that the only thing that was talked about so far was how she wanted to flirt with me. She said she was trying. It was trying in the same way, that old, dying donkeys try not to fart so much.

I needed a strategy change. I figured if I could prove that we did not match up at all, then the whole thing would disappear. I needed to draw all my powers of awkwardness to full fruition in order to end it. I've been doing that since I hit puberty. And all my awkward dating scenarios having been prepping me for this night. I would need all my strength and skills of strange jokes and terrible social negotiations to make sure it ended right.

I go about trying to have a conversation by asking her what she likes, what she does and the like. Normal questions. Or so I thought. All her answers were "I don't do that" or "no" or "country music" and if there could be a vague possibility of innuendo in a question, she would say, "You don't want to know what I'm thinking." But no matter what, they were always dead end answers. Yet, if there was a long pause, she would demand that I talk and keep the conversation going.

Of course, when I told her about the things I like, it was like trying to explain how to make the perfect crumble cake to a dead otter. She knew the name of Johnny Cash. That was it. She may have known that he was a musician, although the jury is still out on that one. She didn't know anything about Nirvana, because "that guy is dead, right?" In fact, if the person was dead, it was a strong chance that she didn't know anything about them.

She has no interests in sports, hardly watched movies, barely any TV (except for "Dr. Phil"), did not read, did nothing in the creative realm, has no aspirations.

Her reaction to finding out that I want to be a mortician was an audible gag reflex. She was horrified that any human would want such a job.

Things were going well. Or so I thought.

To my horrified surprise, she still thought we would make a great couple. Apparently good conversation is not necessary. Or the fact that we share nothing in common (me liking anything at all and her not). Or the fact that my future profession nauseates her.

The night ended and I told Darwin that I never want to see her ever again.

The thing that bothers me most of about this night is the fact that the one person who is obvious about liking me, is clearly desperate. I mean, is it really a compliment if the person is desperate? I mean, it would be completely different if the girl wasn't so over the top at the start or even if we actually shared anything in common, but there wasn't. This girl didn't want me, she wanted anyone. That is so depressing. People tell me that I will find someone someday. I'm assuming that they are talking about someone that likes me and wants to be with me. Some one that I will enjoy being with. Someone that I love and cherish. However, it seems like I might have to settle for some one who likes me because I'm tall.

Put It on the Web in Between Crack Deals and Prostitute Parties

Due to my Roger's powers, I have been able to see the 24 season premiere two days early! That's right, I already know what happens! Of course, it's already beened leaked out on the internet and when I called one of my friends to brag, he told me he had already seen it. I was silenced quickly. Lousy 24 pirates. How am I supposed to make others feel jealous with you people spreading it on the internet?!

I mean I watched it on my crappy 13 inch TV through my PS2, which has the most atrocious DVD player designed by humans. You may say that it can't be that bad. Ok, hot shot, how would you like to watch the greatest TV to happen in this lifetime and the whole time, I sit there with my hand on the contrast dial and turn up and then turn it down. For two seconds it looks fine and then for the next thirty the lips of the women look like they have been infected with gangrene. Because that is what it's like. And I suffered through that crap so that I have the priviledge of saying that I got to see it first and now any old shmuck can get on the interweb and look at it because of the criminals who stole it and put it on the web in between crack deals and prostitute parties?

That is the most grotesque thing in America. I mean, sure, children are taken advantage of, the war in Iraq is injust and messy. And sure, violent crimes are on the rise and racial intolerance is still horribly rampant and this global warming thing is getting out of hand, but none of that has affected me!

Now, they are screwing with televisionistic priviledge! They are screwing with me and Jack Bauer! Ooh, you bastards have no idea what's coming!

It's Just Upsetting Because the Mafia Never Pulls Through

I can't help but think of the 24 day that I'm planning. For those of you don't know, last May, I put together a 24 day for my friend and fellow fanatic of the show, Chris Klowak. It was a gift for him getting married. Or at least that is what I said. Some of you are probably thinking that all days are 24 days. But you are missing the point and making me angry. In my 24 days, I give a person the opportunity to become the main character from the show, Jack Bauer. He then runs around the city saving the world from a terrorist attack. Mind you, it is more like an overly elaborate treasure hunt filled with actors and a story line and tasks. The main reason for this is because I don't know any real terrorists. If you want to read about last year's 24 day, go to my July 20th entry for a full disclosure of the story line.

Anyway, I have been planning this year's and I am so happy with some of the ideas that I've come up with. It should be really good. Big changes this year, too. For one, it will be a full 24 hour period. I have a plane at my disposal and I might have access to a chemistry lab (fingers crossed). I plan on having a section of it in another city where I'll have people there helping me out.

The biggest question I get about this is how can I afford to rent a plane and pay the cell phone bills and hire Abe Vigoda to make a special guest appearance and I tell them that I have the financial backing of the mafia. People immediately recognize that as a lie and then tell me to tell the truth. Then I tell them that it is from my tax return. But that's a lot less exciting than the mafia thing. And that is when I put out the contract for their hit with the mafia that I don't know. It's just upsetting because the mafia never pulls through. I mean I put thirty grand of my hard earned dollars into an envelope marked "The Mafia" into the mail and they have the audacity to take my money and not do anything? That's bad business.

With Paris Hilton Being One of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Thank goodness I found a roommate. It was a long arduous and often disheartening experience. That's a lie actually. It wasn't too bad. I mean, it kinda sucked that I didn't have as much money to spend on golden shoes and imported orange juices, but it was not that bad. And sure some times it wasn't that great being by myself and feeling all lonely. And sure, maybe I created an invisible friend and got addicted to eating caviar and eventually even injecting caviar straight to my veins. Worse yet was getting my invisible friend addicted to the caviar as well which of course led to that fateful night when he was dancing on the roof to Gwen Stefani that was playing in my head and he tragically fell onto an invisible picket fence.

Other than those minor details, it was an alright time. Maybe it was good for me to be on my own for a bit. Of course, I look forward to having someone around so that I don't go looking for caviar and have someone to talk to.

I've found that the older I get, the more extroverted I have become. I love talking to people about life, love and how I like the simple life. The philosophy, not the show. That show is at the very least is slowing the progress of civilization and is a sign of the end times if there ever was one with Paris Hilton being one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Probably Pestilence.

Anyway, I feel this tug to be around people and that need of finding comfort with the companionship of others. It consumes a lot of my thoughts and I having a roommate again will be good in fighting that. Or at the very least, fighting my caviar habit.

Better Than All This Book Reading Crap

I had a dream this morning and because I rarely remember mine, I like to recollect them as much as I can before I lose them completely. This one isn't really funny, though, I should warn you. Before I start into the dream, I would like to point out one of the coolest things about dreams. It is easily the best part of any dream and it is simply that no matter how crazy the circumstances of the dream are or how everything is unrecognizable anything is, as you proceed through the dream, you have a sense of unspoken knowledge in the dream. It is never explicitly told to you, noone ever informs you of it. You simply know. It is built-in knowledge. For instance, this dream of mine starts off in a smaller town that I am unfamiliar with. Now, there is nothing that tells me that this is a small town. It doesn't seem like it would necessarily seem so. If you're plunked down onto a random street anywhere, you may not know how big the town or city is. But I knew that it was a small town and so it was. And the reason I knew I was unfamiliar with it was not because it didn't look like Minnedosa or Brandon or Winnipeg, but rather, my built-in knowledge supplied to me for the purpose of the dream told me it was an unfamiliar town. I wish that in reality, there were times that you could just have knowledge come to you at will. That would be so sweet. Better than all this book reading crap.

Anyway, on with the dream. I was walking down the street, there was a back-up of cars, I don't know why there were a back-up of cars, it was just so. I was walking along and decided to cross in between a couple of the cars because no one was moving. Then one of the drivers of one of the cars, started to yell at me. It wasn't because of my jay-walking either. From built-in dream knowledge, I knew to just ignore her. I wasn't supposed to make a ruckus. Then a couple of dogs come up to me, one of which is more on the playful side or perhaps curious. The other had a bit of more aggressive side, as it stood on it's hind legs and had its paws on my shoulder. Now, because this is a dream, I should point that these were normal dogs. They weren't dogs that could walk around on it's hind legs as it spout out old Beatles' song backwards as they drank martinis. It was more that this was a big, grey dog. I don't know what kind it was. I don't know my dog types. Which brings me to another cool thing about dream knowledge is that it doesn't try to give me knowledge that I don't have in real life. I don't know dog types in real life, but I do know that I still do not like dogs and so it is with dream me.

Anyway, the lady said a lot of things that were trying to attack me, but the one that stands out to me now is, in reference to the dogs, "They can smell your kind!" And due to dream knowledge, I knew she was talking about how the dogs could smell that I was a Jew. And it had that edge that she wished me dead because I was one.

For those of you out there that don't know. I'm not Jewish at all. My name is David and that's as far as she goes. But due to dream knowledge, I knew that I would not be able to have a reasonable discussion with an ignorant racist, because it is effectively useless. Wait, screw dream knowledge, that's just common sense. And I guess that also shows how wrong the dogs were if they could truly smell the Jewishness in me.

Anyway, I knew I had to get out of there before others in the town found out that there was a Jew in the town. Or at least an accidental Jew.

Now, more dogs start crowding around, not aggressively mind you like the one, but I go down to the river's edge in an attempt to get the dogs away, because they were getting in the way. It's like how I feel about dogs in real life. I then push the big, dumb dog over and keep moving. I hear a gasp as I do this. I go into the water up to my knees and I turn around to see a park rangery type police officer coming down the river bank. I knew this due to the fact he wore shorts. He was stern and knew to be cautious of the Jew.

"What is going on here?"

I knew he was talking about me pushing over the one dog.

"Well, that dog was on top of me..." I start to explain, but I know I must be careful with my explanation. I walk back to the shore and that's when the officer pulled out a stun gun and zapped me and I fell to the ground. My dream knowledge told me that I was in a lot of trouble. And the dream ends.

Of course, I was thinking through the dream and made me realize again how incredibly difficult it is to stand up for yourself in the face of ignorance. Whether it's in regards to race or religion or whatever, ignorance is the one thing that a logical explanation is useless against. I mean even if I would have tried to explain that I wasn't Jewish, it would have done me no good. I was screwed.

That's why I think I've been trying to be open-minded about things, because as soon as you start being heavy handed and start shutting out other opinions simply because they differ form your sanctimonious version of reality, that leads to the path of violence and discrimination. You start to see people as less than. And that's the thing that scares me the most.

It Would Be Heroic AND Delicious

This past week, a man bravely threw himself in front of a subway train in New York in an attempt to save another man's life. And he was successful. I guess I should clear that up that he didn't jump "in front of a subway train". He more jumped on the other guy and held him down as the train went over the two. Otherwise, it sounds like I'm saying the guy was successful at being hit by a train. At that point, I don't know if that would be much of a "success". Anyway, both guys turned out alright and everything's wonderful.

But a story like that always makes me wonder if I'd have the balls to do the same thing. I mean, I see a train heading for another guy, I don't think I would see me jumping down there would help much other than add another guy to clean up.

It's the same thing as seeing someone drowning in a lake or river or some other area where you'd have to swim out to them (like a large pool of root beer). I would like to be heroic and jump in there and try to pull the guy out, but what would more likely happen is that I would jump in and then I would start drowning immediately and now nowhere near the other guy. And then you'd have to save two guys. One of which is some proud jackaninny who has a hero complex.

Which brings me to my point, could I even be a hero? I mean, it would have to be a circumstance where I would not be adding to the problem. I would like to think that I would be willing to sacrifice myself for someone else to live, but it's not like I have any useful skills to help in a time of emergency. Unless I could somehow save the guy drowning in a large pool of root beer by drinking the root beer. Because I could do that. I don't think that happens a whole lot. It probably happened to one guy so far. And he was probably drunk. Drunk on real beer that is.

You see, knowing my luck, even things that are pretty straight forward, I would probably screw up. Like pushing a person out of the way of an oncoming car. Knowing my luck, I would probably push the person out of the way of the car and into the way of a semi. Or I would slip and look like an idiot. Although the person being hit by the car would take all the attention and nobody would notice. Except for one guy who will point out to me and make me feel like an ass for slipping and thus failing the guy shmucked by the car.

Too bad there wasn't a way to save someone by doing like a sudoku problem. I could do one of those pretty good. Or maybe by playing Guitar Hero. But until someone comes up with some way of helping me become a hero, I will just have to be Jack Bauer in my head. Or pray that someone happens to fall into a vat of root beer when I'm close by. It would be heroic AND delicious.

Debacle of '05

Gather round my children for I will take you by the hand and lead you into the mysts of time and show you what could very well be the funniest/worst/funniest again week of my life. Mortal men would have been brought to the brink of sorrow and lapped up the murky water of devastation that would give them a tapeworm of depression. But I prevailed due to the fact that I used a Brita filter.

Let me take you back to the summer of 2005, when I was on Mr. Chapel. One of our stops was cancelled, but a friend of Jessica and myself from our year of CBC invited our group out to her place in Cochrane, Alberta where we would perform at some Remax event. It sounded ok and so we agreed. Our path to our battle of Evermore began.

We arrive at her parents ranch which covers a vast piece of land. They clearly do well for themselves. Her father has the classic rancher look. Full on beard, wears the cowboy hat along with those weird multicolored collared shirts. He's also very conservative. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I am trying to paint the picture of the scenario in which the Debacle of '05 rests. He used to work with lighting or sound or something and had come to not like actors very much. Mind you, all of us, with the exception of our one tech, were actors. But I was the creator, the writer, and director. I felt perpetually uneasy around the guy. I think he even smelled my fear. Cowboys can smell fear. Or is that dogs?

Either way, we had a week before we performed. And then it hit that we were going to perform for kids. With Mr. Chapel. Mr. Chapel goes over the head of some adults. It's satire. I could see how this is going to end. It was like being handed a prophecy. However, the daughter and the father both assured me that kids would like it, because I had a superhero in it. I tried to explain that the superhero was only a small part of the grander show. But like how the prophet is not listened to in his hometown, the actor is never listened to. We don't know anything about engines and hockey, so concordantly we don't know anything. Even the stuff I learned about.

Anyway, we had time before the performance at the end of the week, which I was predicting to be an unmitigated disaster. And you may be thinking that that is the thing I am referring to that brings me the previously unattained level of angst in my life. You are mistaken and you should just let me tell the story!

People thought it would be fun to maybe ride the horses. People typically think that horses are fun. I don't know why. But being that I am a fan of comradery, I agreed to go. But knowing that there was a good chance that I would fall off, decided to wear clothes that could get dirty. In this case, it was baby blue hockey jersey for some backwater team along with a checkered pants and grey cowboy boots. I looked like an idiot. When they were deciding who got what horse, they gave me the one closest to death and who was a show horse. They assured me that a show horse are trained to never gallop and the fact that he's old means he wouldn't want to anyway. I fell for that and got on the horse. The horse was also in on it and was behaving just fine as we went around in a circle in the training yard. That is the not the name of the area, but I am actor.

Once we got used to the basic stuff, it was decided that we would hit the dusty trail. It started off fine. Everybody was sharing laughs, talking about how their horse and how much they missed Full House. I don't actually remember due to the fact my horse wanted to go another way. As we headed down the road, my horse veered against my will towards the neighbours house. Now let me set the record straight, I didn't panick. I remember what I was supposed to do and that was to pull on the reins. And that's what I did. But the demon horse started to pick up speed instead. It was a mere trot, but it was mere trot away from where I'm supposed to be. I started to yell "Whoa!" along with the tugging. This made the horse go inexplicably faster. Despite my feeble attempts to stop the animal that is five times my weight, it sped to a gallop, the apparent thing that the horse is unable to do. It was a miracle! Unfortunately, the horse was headed towards a fence and I was thinking that show horses that have never galloped probably have never jumped fences either. I then thought that this may very well be my death or at the very least, it would go all Christopher Reeve on me. What? Oh, the Reeve comment? Too soon?

Anyway, the horse realized it could jumped, so it slowed down and turned around. I thought that I was safe, but the horse then continued on it's terrorizing rampage and went back towards all my friends at blistering speed. I then started to think that I was going to be sent headlong into one of them. It was at this point that Shannon, the girl who brought this death trip upon my head, come to meet me and stopped my horse. I looked over to see the father, who had watched a horribly dressed clown of an actor being tossed around like a rag doll on the back of a dying show horse. Strike one.

It turns out that when you tug on the reins and yell "whoa" while you also dig your heels into it's sides, you are sending "mix signals".

Two days later, we go quadding a thing I haven't really done before. It was fine and funny. We got muddy, we didn't crash, the thing didn't misinterpret me to the point that it almost killed me. We get back, turn them off and put on clean clothes. It turns out that you need to do something to drain something from the something in order to stop it from leaking something on their lawn and killing a large patch of grass. I was informed of this later and I asked the mother and daughter if the father was mad. They said, "He'll get over it." In other words, he was extremely upset. Strike two.

It came to the day in which we had to perform. I was more anxious than ever. I find out that the show is for little kids, not even junior highs who would be able to catch some of it. I accepted this fact as I got ready to move things into this igloo of a tent. I got into the van, started it up and moved forward, the van lurched and was up on something. I then heard yelping. I looked out my window and saw that the 15 passenger was currently standing on top of the father's favourite dog. I said "uh oh" and put it in reverse and back off. The dog runs off yelping and crying. Strike three.

Didn't see that one coming did you?

People arrive and the father starts advertising the show and they got all the kids excited to go. And as I looked upon their smiling faces, I knew that it was like I was sending them to the death of their joy. The kids all crowd into the tent. We have our screen up and start to perform. And every time we come out to do the next sketch we lose half the crowd. By the end, we had like five kids in there. All of which were the older kids. If I could've swore so loud that I would've finished off the dog who whimpering over it's wounds. The thing that I was supposed to be good at was one of the biggest disasters of the week. I was talking to the father afterward and he was clearly not satisfied. Strike four.

I only had 36 more hours before we would be out of there. 16 of those hours would be spent sleeping. How hard could it be?

Two hours later, the daughter came up to me and told me to go chase the llamas again. You see, two days before, when we were out in the pasture I jokingly tried to pet their llamas and the llamas would run away and I looked hilarious for trying to run after them. It was quoted as being "entertaining". So I figured, why not? Maybe I will regain some of my lost status. You know, any of it. So John and I tried to trap them and people were laughing. It was great. Then I got tired and that was enough. But then I noticed that the llamas were still running. In fact they were running for entrance to the whole ranch. I said "uh oh" and ran through a wooded area, jumping over fallen branches and through the thickets to head them off at the gate. The llamas saw me and actually picked up the pace and one of them escaped out the front. I hung my head low and walked back to Shannon. She, her sisters and the rest of Mr. Chapel helped me to go track them down. I was hoping it would be me who would bring it back, but it wasn't. Strike five.

I spent the whole week trying to not be the stereotypical idiot of an actor and instead fulfill and even move the step beyond to fulfilling the characture of an actor. It was awkward. It was one of the worst blows of the summer and it was only the first week of touring.

I was thinking that I should pull out a final stunt and ask permission to marry one of his daughters (of which he is very protective). Maybe the one who was eighteen. That would have been awesome. The main reason I didn't would be the fact that he may very well murder me. And I'm pretty sure I would not be able to fight him.

This is a "Sidewalk", Not a "Jack Me of All My Money Area"

People often think that I can't handle myself. They think that because I have never been from the "hood" or from the "streetz" or from the "soowerz" or just because I have never owned "gat" or have never "pulled the strap from the nine" or know what a "grill" is or just because "rap music frightens me" or I punch like an "infant" that I am somehow unable to handle myself in the city. And that is proposterous!

One night, I was out going around in a walk-type manner and I was taking in the fresh cold air, thinking about fine wines, fine clothes, and fine ladies and fine ladies wearing fine clothes and drinking fine wines and then being taken in by my fine charms. It was while I was having this magical journey of self that I saw someone walking my way on the street. I was fine with this, because that is what a sidewalk is for. "Walk" is right in the word and who am I to argue against this guy that he can't walk on it? I then moved over to one side of the sidewalk so that he may pass, because that is also suggested in the name.

As he approached me, he then veered towards me and pulled out an inch long blade and said to me "give me all your funky money". At least that is what I thought he said. He may have also replaced money with "monkey" but that doesn't make sense due to the fact that I clearly had no monkey on me. Although I did not necessarily discount the fact that maybe he wanted a monkey, because who wouldn't? I know I wouldn't but that is because they are high maintenance and if I would have had one, I would have given it to him. But the money thing seemed more likely and I was a bit incensed that he would demand my money. I mean, this is a "sidewalk", not a "Jack me of all my money area". I was only incensed for a split second as I realized that he was willing to cut me for my money (or monkey) and that is when I went into survival mode. My eyes opened wide and I paused a moment and then did the only rational thing and ran past him as fast as my gangly legs could take me. He started running after me, but I was much faster. Probably due to the fact that I walk a lot and unlike him who probably focused on his knife work or possibly homemade Christmas cards. He gave up and then turned to walk away as I ran for the safe haven of a Burger King. I noticed that he turned away.

At this moment, I knew that I could survive on the streets or streetz. And I did the only rational thing to do at that time. I yelled out, "EAT IT!" and then I went to go into the Burger King for safety. I got to the doors and to my horror, found that they were locked for the night. I checked to make sure that the mugger was not following me. He wasn't so I went home.

In hindsight, I should've followed him at a distance and called the police on him, but that was not on my mind as "I don't want to get stabbed" or "shanked" if you will.

A Real Prophet, Healer, Preacher But With Money

One of the great games for the Wii include Trauma Centre: Second Opinion. In it you get to become a surgeon and perform operations. You become a doctor like House. Maybe not the exact same. House was not really a surgeon. But I love playing it and pretending that I am House but the kind of House that does surgery. You know, with his hilarious sarcasm and his cutting witty comments. And as I play I start to believe that "Hey, I could do this for real". Now I'm saying that I would just start doing surgery if I see someone clearly in need of surgery. That's just silly. I mean, I would really have to practice a lot before I start doing that. But in theory, maybe one day I could. Because I'm pretty awesome at the game. Cutting guys open. Using foreceps. Using the defibrillators. Yelling stat.

That reminds me of Guitar Hero, which I'm also awesome at. In that game, you play a fake guitar to play along with popular rock songs. And as it the difficulties get tougher, they make the songs more complex. And I start to think, hey, maybe I could become a real rock star and play a real guitar. All I would have to do is beat the game on Expert, go buy a real guitar and head off to my first rock show. And if I keep practicing Trauma Centre, I would be able to save my fans if any crash through a plate glass window or get shot. I would be a famous rock star surgeon. All because of video games.

I would be famous like Benny Hinn. Heck, maybe I could become Benny Hinn. All I would have to do is learn a couple of Bible passages, learn how to pray, learn how to convince people that I could heal them and then I would be a real preacher just like how I would be a real rock star and a real surgeon by playing video games.

That's it! I make a video game where you become Benny Hinn. You start off at the beginning of one of his shows where you walk around and pick the people you want to plant in the audience and then pick some other suckers and bring them to the front. Then you would have to time your button pushes in order to properly say "Bless you" and the proper time to make a bull crap speach. And if you do well, the more money you get. And then you can spend all the money you earn by going to the presidential suites of the ritziest hotels and spend money for you private jet to take you to resorts around the world. And then you'll become a real prophet, healer, preacher but with money. A ludicrous amount of money. You know, the ones that Jesus wanted for us to become. I would call the game "Deity Complex" or possibly "Biggest Jackass in the World".

The Day I Learned How to Love a Woman and to Scold a Child

To state the obvious, the Nintendo Wii is great. I can play old games from my childhood. Including one that has unleashed a floodgate of memories and nostalgia that makes me sigh. The game itself is not that good. It's quite not good in fact. But, I will play it because of what it reminds me of. What game could possibly stir up such feelings in a 23 year old man who is renewing the landscape of intellectual thought through inspirational blogging and Guitar Hero rock solos? It is none other than Ice Hockey. Now, it doesn't bring back memories of me playing hockey (although if I was a player in the game, I would definitely be one of the skinny guys that are quick like a mongoose but are easily knocked over like a toddler learning to walk). I never even played hockey. Except once. It was a game versus the girls' hockey team (I even got a shot on net and when I say "shot", I mean I fell and the puck moved towards the goalie).

Anyway, the memories summoned by the game are two fold. For one, it is from when I played with my dad and he would always comment on the sloppy job of the zamboni operators that cleaned the ice during the second intermission (he was a zamboni operator himself for the Brandon Wheat Kings).

The other memory is none other than that dark day that would revolutionize the very core of my being. It was the day I became a man. It was the day I learned how to love a woman and to scold a child. The epic nature of the event would be recalled by numerous bards and passed along to following generations as a story of hope and cooking recipes. I was seven at the time. I was young and naive. The world was wonderful. Smells delighted me and I enjoyed the sunshine on my face. Little did I realize, I would grow up fast that day. It was May 19th, 1990. I was in the dining room, next to the TV, set up with my bowl of Golden Grahams, my obligatory glass of milk and a Nintendo controller in my hand as I was playing none other than Ice Hockey.

I was the Canadians, of course, and I was playing against the USSR. I was winning as was usually the case. And that's when I heard the crash of metal on metal and the shattering of glass. With my curiousity piqued, I went to investigate. But I wasn't irrational. I made sure to pause my game, because I was not going to let the commies catch me with my pants down. I then proceeded to the porch, but before I got there, a miniature apocalypse slammed into my reality and the house in which I stood lurched under the command of a thunderous collision. I was thrown from my feet and was launched into the door frame. I then reacted in the most rational response for a 7 year old and that was to run around in circles, screaming. This would usually solve most other problems in my life, but it didn't seem to work this time. The house was still shaking. I then tried to run for the back door of the house. When I got there unscathed, I composed myself and went outside. It is then that I saw two city buses crashed into the side of my house.

We would move into a hotel later that day. Normally, this would shake a child's world, but for me it would be the greatest blessing of my life. For the next five weeks, I had access to cable TV and was able to rent Super Mario Bros. 3 from a store a couple a blocks away. Wisemen believe in God when they see a mighty work by His Right Hand. And that's what happened to me when I got to play the most cutting edge in Mario technology.

Of course, I could've died that day. The two buses hit the porch I was headed for and it has been my experience that a child versus two city buses is a little lobsided for the buses (because there's two of them and only one of the child). But because I learned my lesson well of pausing my video games, I did not make it to the porch so that I would have become just another statistic of deaths due to buses hitting your house.

Oh, Ice Hockey, you bring that good lesson back to me every time I play you.

Silent Non-Deadly Killer

I have some troubling news to reveal to those who read this (next to noone), I have been diagnosed (by me) with the dibilliating condition known as Raynaud's Phenomenon. Raynaud's affects the victim's quality of life and makes him more vulnerable to the harsh conditions of the Canadian winters. Affecting nearly 0.4% of all North Americans, it is a silent prison ridiculed by the uneducated. What does this terrible dictator do? It makes the victim's hands turn blue or white faster than other people causing a minute amount of excruciating pain. It means that I am unable to spend as much time outside without complaining sooner. It means that if I touch your hands, they are going to be freakishly cold. And the general populace does not understand. The will mock the victim's of this cruel twist of fate. They will call them "undead" and "weird" or "cold handed" and victim's of Raynaud's have been burned at the stake for being witches or vampires (citation needed).

But there is hope. I have taken up the challenge of this silent non-deadly killer with the creation of the David Rae Suffers From Raynaud's Phenomenon Foundation. And you can help by giving generously of your money and assorted pies to David Rae, the president and sufferer of this tolerated disease. Money given to DRSFRPF will be used to buy hand warmers and pies and the pies will be used to feed David as he struggles to continue on.

So help the many David Rae's who suffers from Raynaud's and give today.

"12 Monkeys"

So I was at this party the other night where I was surrounded by the ladies, a good position to be in no doubt. And of course, I was sporting my sexy Jack Bauer haircut with a decent sweater and I was being my semi-friendly self. I think I was handling myself pretty, trying to maintain my carefully crafted illusion that I am guy that enjoys life and is witty and smart. And then this other girl comes in whom I met once or twice before and then everything gets thrown down the crapper. She recalls how I used to come into the bookstore she used to work in and I would come in and go to the same section, check something and then leave. Although my simple answer was that I was on my break at EB Games and that I had to make sure I got lunch at the food court, but I still wanted to check to see if they had a certain book in, she summarized the expedition as "creepy".

"Creepy", the one of three descriptors (the others being "stupid" and "gag reflex inducing" that I work so hard to avoid being ascribed to myself is used. And she would then use it a couple of other times in the night in relation to me. However, in my typical fashion of trying to defuse the situation would say something funny-like and it would actually "not help the situation".

I'm starting to find that more and more, I am edging towards (or perhaps finally realize that I am) becoming closer to those descriptors. Maybe I just creep people out after a while. Or even initially. And that I am just kidding myself that I have insightful things about life, but rather I am just spouting out sixth grade logic and have become what I have come to hate.

Tomorrow is the start of the new year. It's supposed to be a chance to turn things around. Promise yourself that you're going to change. And every year, I always think that maybe things could change and that when I find myself at what seems to be a lonely spot, that this new year will be different. But it's never different. Every New Year's it is the same. I have the same perspective. I have the same problems. I have the same loneliness. And it always comes down to me being insufficient.

It is in this state that I find myself wanting God to change me. Change the situation. Change anything. But I know that God wants to make things better. The change, however, has to start with me. Several New Years have shown me though that either I am unable to (or maybe God is unable, but that doesn't fly with me) make that happen. It's kind of a harsh cycle. Maybe this year it will be different.

You know, this whole thing is starting to feel a lot like "12 Monkeys"...

I Took Exaggeration to a Dinner and a Movie and Made It Fall in Love With Me and Then It Catches Me Making Out With It's Mother

I figure that was enough time to leave you waiting with bated breath. Is that how you spell bated? Or is it baited? Either way, it's about time to start writing in this old blog with new fangled settings and the like. I like it. I have more control of what this looks like. Somewhat. I still know little about this HTML garbage. And despite what people tell me, I refuse to get a MySpace page.

It's been such a long time that I don't know where to begin even. Kind of like this play that I'm writing. Hey, nice segway me. Wait, that just ruined the segway. Anytime you hear the comment, "Nice segway" that immediately takes the grandness of the segway and destroys it. I should know this by now! So back to my play. Which will look like crap now due to the fumble of that segway. That was a bad fumble. It was like taking the Venus De Milo and putting make-up on it and then using a hammer to destroy it. Using a hammer to destroy it? What kind of exaggeration was that? I mean, exaggeration can be good in moderation, but that was ridiculous. It was like I took exaggeration to a dinner and a movie and made it fall in love with me and then it catches me making out with it's mother.

So this play, I'm writing. It's going terribly. I said I would have it done by the new year and I am not going to make it. Besides, as you can tell from the lack luster writing in the rest of this blog, I have nothing left. It's all garbage, some of which is currently on fire.

The play is about Stan Ostrowski, my character that I've developped and performed for the last five years. 2007 would mark the 20th anniversary of him winning the 1987 Provincial Championship and he's going to do a big blow-out gala. It turns out however that a whole bunch of stuff happens and hilarious chaos ensues. Unfortunately, the chaos make lose the "hilarious" modifier as it turns out that I am only capable of doing comedy in 4 minute segments. Anyways, if you'd like to see a copy of some parts of the play that I've completed, feel free to e-mail me or leave a comment, I guess. Is that what the kids do these days?

Expecting Her to Give Birth, But She Doesn't Because it Turns Out to Be Just Gas

My roommate has recently gotten engaged to his girlfriend, leaving me to find a new roommate fast. And it all sort of happened in the last ten days and I have 22 days to figure out what's happening. It's the most stress I've felt since the drug testing when I won the 2002 Walkathon. Man, that was close. That's some intense competition there.

Anyway, I hate stress because it takes away from my image as an easygoing, happy go lucky kind of fellow. Oh, and it gives me just the worst canker sores. Man, I hate those things. One good thing is that it's a good measure of how stressed I am. Unfortunately, I think I'm majorly stressed because I'm currently at the two canker sore level, which is amongst the worst. I have yet to attain the three canker sore level, and if I ever got there, I think I would have to go into emergency mode and get boxes of wine, rolls of twinkies, go on vacation to my house and watch 24. Because I mean, I would need 24 to see that I don't have it that bad.

Actually, that sounds pretty good. I mean, boxes of wine and 24. Nothing more relaxing than that. Or as classy.

Maybe, I should make myself more stressed and then when it's gets to some crazy point, people would understand why I would want to take a break and then I can do the box of wine/24 thing.

Maybe take up a second job in a high demand, low reward job like McDonald's and then maybe I should rack up a large debt on something that I don't want, but can't get rid of. Something like one of those modern pieces of art and all it is is a rotting moose carcus with like an oil drill through it or something that's supposed to represent how it's wrong to nature should not be abused by attacking it with oil drills. And maybe I should get into a relationship with someone I meet at the bar who turns out to be crazy and she tells me she's pregnant with my child, even though I just met her, but then I'm obliged to take care of her for the next five years, expecting her to give birth, but she doesn't because it turns out to be just gas, but now I'm married to her and I can't divorce her because she's taken all my money and I'm still in debt because of that moose sculpture thing which is now just a hive of maggots and is still in my living room. Man, that would be so stressful.

And finally, after all of that, I could take like 2 days off and just sit in front of my tv (which is now in my bedroom because of all the maggots) and sit there with my boxes of wine and watch 24. Man, that would be so awesome.

August's Top Ten Current Movies

Since I work at a video store and I'm always talking about movies, this might as well be apart of the blog. Besides I like putting together lists because it gives the illusions that my opinions matter. Anyways, I'm going to update the list every month and the restrictions for the list is that the movie cannot be old enough to be on the 7 day shelves (that means no "Crash"...too bad)

Anyway, presenting August's picks:
10. Wedding Crashers (I like very few comedies, I love Vince Vaughn's style of rapid delivery.
9. March of the Peguins (Those birds got a tough life)
8. Good Night and Good Luck (When the media did something good)
7. King Kong (People are disgusted by the fact that a monkey and a lady fall in love...man, they don't get it)
6. Protocols of Zion (All about anti-semitism and how baseless it is)
5. Inside Man (Good old heist movie)
4. Why We Fight (And you thought the war in Iraq was about oil...)
3. V for Vendetta (Despite popular belief, it is not an action flick. Thus, why it is clearly underappreciated)
2. Brick (A hard nose detective in high school? Awesome)
1. Walk the Line (Johnny Cash had some issues, but he was awesome)

I like how only one comedy even made it onto the list meanwhile three documentaries made it.

I'm Like the Pimp-Prostitute of Marriage

I recently found out that a girl that I took on a date this past year is going to get married. This is exciting news. I mean I was so happy, I was celebrating and everything. Not for her, of course, but for me. I was so happy simply because my theory has come true! The theory has been in progress for a while. However, there was never enough evidence to support. Now, I'm not talking about my famed "The People On Lost Are Actually Robots" theory but rather my theory that states "If a female agrees to and participates in one confined space of time known as a 'date' with David Rae, they will be engaged within the course of one calender year. This most recent girl is the third one! I don't even think that it's a theory anymore. I think it's scientifically the Law of Erodavenamics.

The reason that this law works this way is one of two way, maybe both. First, when the girl goes on the date with me, she is simply so astounded by my incredible hotness, intelligence, passion and general awesomeness, she realizes that she is not the one to corral such a mythical beast such as myself and that she needs to lower her standards to that of normal human males and thus finds a suitable one quite efficiently. Secondly, it could be that she goes on the date with me and knows exactly what she doesn't want in a guy.

Either way, I think that I'm going to start advertising that this law works. And the benefits will be multi-fold. Not only will I generate more dates for myself and maintain my high society playboy status that I currently hold, but girls will be marrying guys they love, like or tolerate. Perhaps I can earn money off of this. After all if the girl goes on the date, she will be married, but not necessarily to me. For instance, if some shy guy who doesn't know how to ask out a girl, pays me to go on a date with her, she gets imbued with the mystical marriage energy that I produce and she sees the shy guy in a new light and then it is over. Of course, that may make me a pimp. Or a prostitute. Kind of both I guess. I'm like the pimp-prostitute of marriage.

So if you know a girl who wants to get married, send them my way. They'll be engaged in a year and not necessarily to me (the new slogan for my "business").

Top Ten TV Shows

Ok, this is it! This is Dave Rae's top ten TV shows as of right now. So you won't see any Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on here... or will you?...You won't. That show was actually quite bad. You just never realized it when you were small. That's why I believe that children are incapable of being funny. Look at the crap they watch.

Anyway. Here is my top ten TV shows:
10. CSI
9. Family Guy
8. South Park (I love the satire)
7. Six Feet Under (it just recently made the list and has great potential to keep moving up)
6. Daily Show (I get all my news from here, which is actually quite a sad state of affairs)
5. Mr. Show
4. Lost (I love the mystery stuff)
3. Colbert Report (I love the fact that he says the exact opposite of what he means...just like me and Stan
2. Arrested Development (People who do not like this show are like the broken glass at the bottom of the dumpster of life)
1. 24

Know what was the hardest part of that was the fact that comedy and drama were mixed together. I mean really, Arrested Development is the best comedy. It doesn't look right being in the #2 spot. Thank goodness I don't make top ten lists for a living.

By the way, if you disagree with me, leave a comment and I will find you and throw you through a plate glass window.

The Story of the "24" Day Revealed in "24: Revelation of the Day of 24 Exposed"

So I have received a request to tell about the 24 day that I put on for my good friend, Chris Klowak (who recently got married) as wedding present. I figured I would not be able to give a better gift than this. And because it was so much work, I figure it may be good to keep a record of it for memories? I guess. I don't know. I can just see myself being an old man and wishing to remember the good old days, but I can't remember. Actually I have that problem now.

Anyway, this is the plot line of the day. And if you don't know the 24 references, I'm not going to explain them.

The following takes place between 11pm on Thursday night and 11pm on Friday night.

After taking his Nadine home Chris arrives home to see a DVD on his table that says "Watch at exactly 2300". He does to watch a CTU agent, Chad Merchant (ME!) tracking down a bad guy connected to a mafia type group. Chad takes him down, interrogates him about a transaction that is going down in the city later that day. Apparently the mafia, who is located in Toronto is trying to sell a vial of the Cordella virus from the terrorist attack in Los Angeles three years ago. An American patriot group called Eagle Splendor is looking to buy it and is sending a person to come buy it and it is going down in Winnipeg. The informant is killed by a sniper before he could leak anymore. CTU then tries to start tracking the sniper and tries to dig up info on what was given to Chad. Chad in the meantime tries to track down the sniper. CTU debates over whether or not to activate Jack Bauer, with Chad being one of the most vocal opponents. Finally, Aaron Ibzin is shown in a limo headed for the airport in Los Angeles. He is talking to a shadowy figure that assures him that CTU will be taken care of. Ibzin is concerned with the fact that Jack Bauer is in the city.

A few minutes later, Chris receives a call from Chad who tells him that for next 24 hours, Chris Klowak is effectively non-existant. He is now Jack Bauer, because CTU is in need of another field agent. The real Jack Bauer is dead, but only Chad is actually aware of this, so, he has set up a fake id and is making Klowak step up. Tells him to get plenty of rest before the day starts.

6am: Jack is called to go to a residence which is a middle man in the transaction. Jack needs to break in and get a hold of a file located on the computer that is thought to hold the information for the transaction. It seems as though Chad has a dislocated shoulder and cannot do it himself and the terrorists and mafia alike are aware of what he looks like. So Jack sneaks in and by the middleman, gets to the file and sneaks out. The messae talks of the airport and a Phil Corseley. The two head to the airport. Chad calls CTU to get background on Corseley who turns out to be a driver for a driving company and CTU was able to track the current location of the his car which is at a Tim Horton's on Portage.

7am: Jack and Chad head to Horton's and locate the driver. Jack spills chocolate milk on him which causes Corseley to get upset and cause a scene. As Corseley goes to the washroom, Jack steals the keys to the car, gets in the car and drives to the airport and poses as the driver.

8am: Ibzin's plane lands after delays and is picked up by Jack and is driven out. Jack drugs Ibzin's coffee and when Ibzin is drugged, Jack takes him to CTU (Covenant Church who CTU has invoked privaleges of the government to have a temporary headquarters in the city). Jack takes Ibzin's suit and heads to Frisco's to pose as Ibzin and to be picked up by the middleman, Benson who will take Jack to the transaction.

9am: Jack poses as Ibzin and meets with Benson and is taken to La Barriere park for the transaction. Once there, the mafia members turn on Benson, and stab her as Jack hangs back while Chad warns him the something is off. Jack hides as the mafia members go to there car. Jack checks Benson's body and gets her keys along with a decryption code. Jack also takes her car and follows the gangsters through the city in a car chase scenario.

10am: The chase ends at St. Vital mall and the gangsters go in and wait. Jack is told to do surveillance of the meeting and takes pictures and overhears that the two are waiting for the big boss. They receive a phone call and the boss has moved the meeting. They leave a package on the table by accident. Jack takes it and heads for the car.

11am: Jack goes back to CTU and hands over Benson's car. Jack has deciphered the message from the package of the gangsters with the code found in the pocket of Benson. Chad then drives Jack in a SUV and takes him to the TD tower downtown where he was to meet someone. Chad receives a call from CTU that says that Ibzin's has escaped custody of CTU. Chad drops off Jack and Jack goes to meet the contact. The contact turns out to be Ibzin. Jack chases him on foot through the underground mall, the MTS centre, and Portage Place and into the parking lot. Jack goes to grab him before Ibzin gets into the car. Chad comes in with gun drawn and forces Ibzin to give him the information. Ibzin hands over a package from the glove box. Jack runs with the package as Chad takes Ibzin into custody.

12pm: Jack is deciphering the clues on his paper which involves looking around downtown a little bit and he receives a call from Lauren at CTU and tells him to meet her at 12:40pm at the Louis Riel statue at the legislative building. Jack barely finishes putting together the puzzle to meet her and she tells him that there must be a mole at CTU because Ibzin's escape was an inside job. As they have this conversation, one of the gangsters that killed Benson a couple of hours earlier shows up. Jack and Lauren try to escape but are cornered in an alley and Lauren is shot as Jack is taken captive, thrown in the trunk of the car and taken away.

1pm: Jack sends out a call to Chad and asks for help. Chad can't get there right away because Chad is currently checking out a farm on the outskirts of Winnipeg where the virus was supposedly earlier that day. Chad tells him that he will track him down as soon as possible. Jack is taken in undisclosed location and is tied up, blindfolded and handcuffed. He is interrogated and asked questions. During the torture, he has a leg waxed and has an orange force fed to him.

2pm: Torture continues and Jack attempts an escape while the gangsters leave the room. He is caught shortly there after. Finally, the gangsters have had enough and are about to shoot Jack when Chad breaks in and shoots the gangster and frees Jack. Jack and Chad search the apartment for Jack's belongings.

3pm: They find everything and then look at the message that Jack was working on earlier. It says:
14
3:14
St. Mary's and Vista
Jack pieces it together as there might be a bus at that time and place. Jack gets some change from 7-11 and waits. He gets on the bus and sits there. Suddenly a package is dumped on his lap and a girl gets off. He tries to follow her but she loses him. The package is coded and the encryption is jumbled compared to before. He works on the puzzle and the answer is confusing. After a talk with Chad, it seems to indicate a library. Jack realizes he wasn't supposed to get off the bus and waits for the next one.

4pm: Jack gets downtown to the Millenium Library about 30 minutes before closing time. He looks for Gideon's Fear which he finds out is a book. In the book is another note that tells him to go to the fourth floor and look for a bell and to meet Sargent William Lee. He doesn't see a bell inside but one on the church across the road. He goes over and looks around outside for Lee, but sees noone. He then goes into the church where one of the workers lead him into the sanctuary and he is allowed to look around. He still can't see anybody inside, but then notices a plaque with the name Sargent William Lee. On the pew below is a Bible with a note stuck in Judges (the book where Gideon's story is found) that tells him to go to the Osbourne Bridge.

5pm: Jack goes to the bridge and tells Chad about it. Chad meets him there and they look around and Jack finds an orange cannister which is supposed to contain the virus. They take it back to CTU and Chad tells Jack that they have found out where the head of Hannick family is going to be at 6pm which will be at Applebee's. In order to prevent Chris's fiance from becoming suspiscious, Jack agrees to take Nadine on a previously agreed upon date to the same Applebee's.

6pm: Jack picks up Nadine and goes to the restaurant, eats a meal and descends upon Hannick in the washroom and interrogates him about the events of the day. Hannick tells him that his organization is falling apart and that someone else is trying to take control. It turns out Hannick had nothing to do with the day. Jack goes back into the restaurant and finds that Nadine is gone as well as Hannick's associate. He looks outside to no avail.

7pm: Jack receives a call from Chad to continue to look and then meet him at CTU. Jack does so and as he arrives, a familiar voice calls Jack and tells him that she has Nadine and if he ever wants to see her again, he will get the virus out of CTU and bring it to her. Jack reluctantly agrees and goes inside CTU. He confronts Chad and is highly suspicious of Chad's involvement in the day. Chad says that they were able to track the location of the gangsters to Providence College, that they took over by force. He tells Jack that that is where Nadine most likely is and that they can sneak in to get her out. Jack asks questions of Chad to check his truthfulness, and although the answers were not freeing, they were not damning either. He goes along with the plan for now. They pack up and head out.

8pm: They head out to Providence where Chad confides to Jack that he lost his wife to this job years earlier and that this job is a bitch, etc, etc. They get out to the college and break in and start looking around. It's a large building with a lot of patrols but Jack is able to stay hidden.

9pm: Jack tries to search the patrolled building and after a lot of subterfuge, finds Nadine unconscious in the top floor. The two sneak out and meet up with Chad who unleashes the cannister of the virus as a cover for the escape which causes a great orange cloud to go up into the air. When they get back to the SUV, it turns out Chad is shot. Nadine agrees to stay with him until an ambulance arrives. Chad tells him that the mole is thought to be trying to escape the city and that the mole is leaving by helicopter which will pick the mole up on the roof of the U of M parking garage. Jack rushes off.

10pm: Jack goes back to the city and arrives at the top level of the parking garage at U of M and confronts the mole who turns out to be Lauren. She faked her death earlier that day and was the one that set up all the surveillance inside CTU's mainframes. She asks him to spare her and she will take him to the source of today's problems. She takes him to Dave's apartment where people who helped all day are waiting and the clock turns to 11pm.

That's Right, Somewhere Over That Rainbow, My Dreams Will Come True

I have to say that I really enjoy those songs out there that are positive and yet at the same time melancholic. Examples include "What a Wonderful World" by Louie Armstrong and "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas". It's those kinds of songs where you could see someone putting it on to try to make themselves feel better, but instead just start weeping by the end.

Really, I think the whole reason I say this is because I think this might quite possibly be the funniest thing in life. Just that attempt by someone whose life has not turned out ideal and then some song just makes them lose it. And as you watch them and their visage crumble, there is this light melody that is supposed to comfort them. It can be touching. But depending on the person, it is hilarious. Like some guy has spent the last four years trying to get on some lame lacross team and he goes to the list and sees that he's cut and as he's driving home in his pimped out SUV that his parents paid for and his summer mix CD comes something like "Somewhere over the rainbow" comes on and as he sings along he catches a line and just loses it and says outloud to his CD player something like "that's right, somewhere over that rainbow, my dreams will come true" and will just be a wreck of a human despite being the douche who was proclaiming that he was going to "show y'all" and then for the rest of his life overcompensating by becoming a bigger douche than before, but whenever he hears the song again, he begins to tear up a little again. Of course, he'll realize it and then when there's a girl he wants to bang, he'll get her in his truck and then preface playing this song by saying it's his favourite and it means a bunch to him and then while they listen to it, he kind of fakes the tears or at the very least gets that face where it looks like he was supposed to cry, but really he just looks like his is all gnarled up. Oh, and looks like he is forcing himself to cry. Key component to this guy as he tries to trick this girl into thinking that he has a sentimental side, and then depending on how dumb she is, she may fall for it. But if she doesn't, he just tries again with the next one.

Hilarious.

When like some would-be actor who had like one or two good performances in college and then thinks he's the next Jim Belushi and the king of the mountain, but is confused when he is still just some slack-jaw working the graveyard shift on Christmas Day and is nowhere near family and then "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and finds himself singing the song to himself and then just crying softly next to the packs of cigarettes, realizing that his life is directionless and pathetic because it is ludicrous that he believes that he is unique and talented and will be the one who makes it compared the other million people who are currently in Hollywood who also believe that they are unique and talented and that they will make it.

Hilarious...man, what am I doing...I think I'm going to listen to Joe Purdy's "Wash Away" and let my tears gently put me to sleep.

"Goodness" Will Spread Over the Land Through Merciless and Most Definitely Bloody War

It has been nearly three months since I last blogged (man, that sounds disgusting. It's almost sounds like I'm describing what it's like to simultaneously puke and diaraherra). And this is the most pressing thing at this time: Arrested Development must have birthed by angels themselves.

Now, I'm not sure if the theology is correct in that statement, but I would be willing to fight to the death over that statement. That's called "blind faith" or more accurately "factual truth". And when something is "factual truth" you want to make sure that you strong arm people into believing the same thing and that way "what is right" or "goodness" will spread over the land through merciless and most definitely bloody war.

That's why I'm declaring for the first time ever a crusade against the people at Fox and any that stand in our way, including those "peace lovers" that claim that "violence is an atrocious way to attain such a petty goal as to restore a TV show". Then all the crusaders will all stop and look at each other and kind of laugh because they were willing to kill people over a TV show. Which is ridiculous. Really ridiculous. But that's why we can't it "saving a TV show from cancellation" but rather "protecting the North American way of life" and then everyone will retain there bloodthirst and push forward with their crusade and if any dare question the legitimacy of the crusade, we will accuse them of "hating North America" and everyone will live in a sharp fear of trying to stop us from getting Arrested Development back on the air.

And in 500 years, when people will look back, they will see the clear necessity for the extreme measures taken to prove that we Arrested Development fans are rights. Especially the people who hate war. Or hate ignorance.

So, I've had of this of all this talky talk, let's get our swords! Who's with me!

The Spinning of the Perverbial Feminist Wheel

It's been too long since I've done an entry and this is why. My computer is allying itself with terrorists. At least, that is the only clear explanation for the reason it just shuts off randomly.

Aside from that, I have this opportunity to come out and say that I one of the things that hate about groups of people coming together for fun times is when there is an equal amount of guys and girls for some reason, the girls always want to challenge the guys to some sort of competition. And it's not because I think girls are unworthy adversaries in games but rather how it always seems like girls are out to prove something, usually that they can do whatever boys do. And not that they can't, but whatever the result, it is always uncomfortable and aggravating. You see if the girls win, whether it was a legitimate win or if the boys let them win (yes, that does happen on occasion) then the girls think that they have just proven the equality of women to men. Then, in the event that the boys win, it suddenly doesn't count. Oh, and the girls will never let the boys win. Never.

Of course, you may think that the boys are to blame for allowing the game to take place to begin with. Unfortunately, a lot of guys think that they will impress the same ladies who are trying to defeat them by destroying them. And it doesn't help that girls will try to egg the boys on saying that "the guys think that they are too good to play the girls." Thus, it makes even the political correct individuals to participate in what you might as well call the spinning of the perverbial feminist wheel.

It's tragic.

First, I'm Plagarizing Other People's Stuff and Now I'm Plagarizing Myself?

So I was about to write another blog entry because I know I'm about due for a new one. And I was upset. Riproaring mad, ready to take down my target a couple of notches. I was ready, but then I realized that I already wrote about it. I was going to complain about people who complain about "Crash" winning best film over "Brokeback Mountain". Now, I have nothing. That was it. I had nothing else. My memory is fading like an old man who walks into the sunset eating his last batch of apples. First, I'm plagarizing other people's stuff and now I'm plagarizing myself? Have I no respect for my past self? Hopefully, the me from a month ago doesn't come after me and sue me for all my money. That rich jerktard. I mean all he does is make me feel bad about me and he's never around ever. He's like a bad father I've never had.

Now, I'm all wound up. And you know what else has gotten me wound up? People who complain about "Crash" winning best film over "Brokeback Mountain". Those jerktards are like broken records. Yeah, so why don't all you people go out and cry and make another movie called...uh..."Brokenrecord...mountain..." All those people just get under my skin because they don't realize how redundant they are. It's just like my past self and the bad father I never had.

Even a Guy Who Really Likes Marshmallows Would Say That 80 Marshmallows Are Too Many Marshmallows

I have found that I have developed a full immunity to swearing. I mean I hardly notice it anymore. For example, I watched "The Weatherman" and it was an alright movie, but as we were discussing it later at the store, somebody made the comment that it was full of profanity and then I paused for a moment and realized I could not recall the movie being all sweary.

I mean, the movie was about a weatherman. He wasn't really in danger ever. Are these people making up stuff about the movie. So then I looked at the back of the movie and under the heading "Profanity" it said "Approximately 80 uses" and my jaw dropped. That's a lot of swears. A lot for two hours of movie. Especially a movie with Michael Caine. He's a classy guy. Although he was in Austin Powers.

But seriously, eighty? That's like forty every hour. And going by my standard of marshmallow measure, that a little much. I mean, I like marshmallows just as much as any guy, but eighty marshmallows? Even a guy who really like marshmallows would say that 80 marshmallows are too many marshmallows.

And I didn't even notice it. At all. I was recommending to small children and nuns for goodness' sake. Now nobody trusts my judgment. And I'm bloated from eating all those mallows.

Apathy, the Sweet, Sweet Drug that Blurs Each Day into the Next

I've come to realize one of the benefits of always being in an unfamiliar social circumstances is such a sweet delight and that is ignorance. When you are introduced to someone new it's great because you have a fresh slate and you can come up with witty remarks and have a grand time. And if you're always doing this, then many different people will believe that you are a funny guy. However, there is distinct disadvantage to this always happening to me because I do not bother to remember any conversation from before five minutes ago.

I think I have that same condition as the guy in Memento. I have no long term memory or something. And it is always comes back to haunt me when there's a guy who comes up to me and says, "Hey Dave! Cracker barrels and snot junebugs!" And then I just stare at the guy and have no idea what he's talking about. And then it will turn out that I apparently said that same phrase 4 and half years ago and it was the greatest said by a human barring most teachings in the Bible and this individual had remembered. They have gone one to write inspirational devotionals based on this hilarious phrased I coined and have long since forgotten and when presented out of context (or at least by the person I'm talking to) it turns out to not be funny to me anymore. Of course, the person will be hurt that I have forgotten this special connection that we shared so long ago and it was a source of strength to them in a time of self-loathing and doubt and since I have abandoned my soul (or more accurately memory) I clearly don't care about this person anymore because of some dumb saying.

Or there are the people that merely say my old phrases to me that I made up in hopes that I will forget that I said it and pass it off as a joke and then get that idiotic look on their face waiting for me to keel over in convulsing laughter and then I have to do one of those forced laughs that subtley expresses my suppressed anger.

Mind you, the humour aspect of this short term memory problem is not the worst part. It is a lot worse when someone tells me something of extreme importance or seriousness and then two weeks later they are talking about the same problem but I'm all lost because it seems to me like this is the first time I've heard this problem. I have to fake my way through the conversation and hope that they will actually state the problem again so that it will catch me up to speed. The sad part is that I can't even begin to guess what the issue was.

For instance, I remember (based off an awkward conversation that told place later) my youth pastor telling me about a deeply personal event in his life and I assume he was relating it to mine somehow. Later on he referenced to this event later by saying something like "This is exactly what happened to me and you need to be careful." And I didn't have any idea what he was talking about and he was rather unimpressed that I forgot a major personal event in his life. He said, "What? Weren't you paying attention that day when I had the hardest time telling everybody that story?" And I kind of paused trying to come up with something to reassure him. I took a breath and said, "You already told me this? I guess I flat out missed that memo." Some would say that made it worse. And I think it did. But I wasn't really paying attention because I have forgotten. And the thing is I can't ask him anymore to tell what it was. So I actually will never find that out again. I think it might be garish of me to ask that now.

Fortunately for me, I have been able to better handle such scenarios since and I know many people have told me very intimate details of their life and I have kept those secrets well in my vault. Well, it's more like I lost the combination to the vault. Either way, those individuals feel close to me and I always will wonder why. Maybe its simply because they know I can keep a secret. Or at least forget about it. And that's someone you can trust. Unless the secret is like something to do about remembering to do something. That wouldn't be as good.

But why do I forget these details about my close friends? I've done some deep soul searching in the last two sentences and I think it's something deep inside me called apathy, the sweet, sweet drug that blurs each day into the next and allows me to idle in the drudgery of my existence and waste the faintly glimmering hope cruelly placed there by sincere individuals trying to encourage me. In other words, I really don't care about my friends, making me a grade A bastard.

I Plan On Calling It "The Greatest Story Ever Told Part 2"

The Academy Awards have recently taken place and there is a few people upset about the Best Film winner, "Crash". It seems as though "Brokeback Mountain" was supposed to win because it caused the most controversy because as we all know "Best Film" is French for "Most Controversial" and not as we English speakers would typically think when we hear "Best Film". After all, a story about two homosexual men beats a group of people dealing with racism. Hands down. Racial equality is a such a boring, been there done that kind of subject. We see it in how we in 2006 are currently treating all races the same and thus a movie about racial intolerance is a moot point. Aside from the segregation of Natives in reserves. Oh, and the severe problem of racism that is still heavily present in the south. And the racial profiling of Arabs at borders. Aside from that we're doing pretty good. That's why this incisive commentary about the issue of racism is what should put "Crash" nowhere near the award for "Best Film" (Most Controversial).

And who cares if the play was brilliantly written. Or if the performances were believable. Or if the directing was exquisite. That is nothing compared to gay cowboys!

But don't worry, the Academy always redeems itself. I have confidence that it will go back to the roots and go back to picking movies that are the hot button issue and not movies that are "deserving of the award". That's why I plan on writing a movie about three gay, transvestite, polygamous, abortion doctors that want to create a new religion combining Satan and Paul into the same person and who merely want to fall in love and have everyone validate their new union(s) together as they promote the new Aryan nation. I plan on calling it "The Greatest Story Ever Told Part 2"

A Box of Wine and a Half Used Up Box of Bandaids

I sometimes wonder if I'm at the end of my creativity. Like this is the end of my new jokes, sketches and the like. Because I will sit in front of the computer and there is nothing that wants to come out. I'm left with loathing and doubt in my abilities. Sure, I can make people laugh in real life, but getting that stuff on paper is tough. It seems like it's supposed to be natural for comedians to come up with this stuff. I know it takes these guys a while, too. But I mean since Mr. Chapel, I seem to have hit the bottom of the creativity barrel (cocaine supply) and I don't know how I can fix it. Whenever I watch something I have to try very hard for it to not enter my creative realm, because I will want to copy it. It's terrible.

If only there was a way to be more creative. Like a brain enlarger machine. No that's lame. Come on! You lousy Daveface.

You'll see my creativity reflected in this blog. If I don't write anything for a while. Then it means I'm out of ideas and then when I have something that is mildly funny, I will waste it and the lousy internet. It's like a vaccuum to consume the left side of my brain. That's the creative side, right? My right side of the brain has not been developped enough to know if that's right. Or left.

Perhaps the answer to my quandry lies right in front of me. Something that has eluded me for sometime, yet is the clear solution to this problem. A box of wine and a half used up box of bandaids. Maybe I could make a children's show about Winey and Bandaidity the Bandaid Box. Ah, what the crap?!

Restaurant Review

My trip to a certain restaurant (I was certain it was a restaurant) was a time where I ate food. And if I could describe the taste of the food, I would have to describe it as "unidentifiable" because although the food was there in front of me (I saw it) I was unable to place what I was "tasting" with my "taste buds". It was a dessert, for I ordered it off the dessert menu, however, I did not look at it was called so I had no idea what it was supposed to be. I looked at an it seemed to be topped with some sort of "fruity gelatinous film" but as I tasted it, I could not decide if it was raspberry or strawberry. The person with whom I shared it with said she believed it was "caramel", which really only confused more as I tasted it. The lighting in the "restaurant" made it difficult to examine what it was. If you want to eat food, but you want to know what you are eating, I would avoid this place, unless you learn how to read. So that's why I'm summing up my experience at the restaurant as "not very obvious" as opposed "more obvious".

Lousy, Good For Nothing, Know Nothing, Free Loading Infants

I don't hate children. I don't know where that came from. I really don't. It's just that a lot of my friends and other people I know are starting to have children. And I think that's, uh, rude. I mean I use to hang out with all these people and now they have babies.

I mean, we used to be friends. C'mon. I've been drooling all over myself for the past 23 years. Why do these rookies get the spotlight? I can put together coherent sentences and know how to manage a bank account. What do these kids got? Nothing. Nothing, people.

Some would argue that they are cute. I thought that we as a people were trying to move away from this idealistic Hollywood-sponsored movement of "cuteness" and start hanging out with people based on what they have on the inside. And I have a lot more insides than these "babies" who are doing nothing for our society but freeloading along. I mean I've known so many babies that don't bring in any income and who has to pay for their food and their living expenses. Their parents! I mean if I told my roommate to buy all my food and pay for all the rent and for my student loans, I'd be kicked out so fast. I mean I should know. I'm writing this on a laptop that I borrowed (stole) since Wednesday.

I try to break into this acting business and here I am being beat out for parts by babies for diaper commercials! C'mon, I look way better in those diapers. Lousy, good for nothing, know nothing, free loading infants.

A Musical About Cats is Our Best Piece of Work That Shows Our Moral Integrity?

I'm tired of people always saying that North American culture is devoid of meaning and that the increase of sex and violence in our media is a good sign of the coming downfall of our society and soon a different society will be the powerhouse. Sure there's plenty of examples from the Greeks and the Romans and the English and the French and the Germans. And sure maybe there's plenty of completely unnecessary forms of entertainment that do nothing but feed into primal, carnal desires of debauchery and violence such as Bumfights and Jackass and most if not all kinds of gangsta rap and Survivor and professional wrestling and Doom (both the video game and a lesser extent the movie) and Dane Cook and monster truck rallies and Simple Life (all seasons and pretty much anything Paris Hilton condones) and phone sexlines and Bob Sagat. And sure there may be numerous attacks on the sense of moral responsibility and the over-glorification of freedom and political correctness which has helped led many of the inhabitants of Africa to be hungry and often to be under the threat of war. And sure we're involved with many self-destructive behaviours like the destroying the ozone layer and ever dwindling energy supply and numerous gun crimes and still much ingrained racism through out a lot of parts and the center of the pornography industry and growing anti-intellectualism prevalent in our society. But all these nay-sayers and cynical Sids have conveniently overlooked the fact that North American culture still has one piece of culture that holds up throughout the test of time that shows that we are still good-intentioned and have a continuing hope to be the beacon the others will follow and of course I'm referring to the beautifully inspired story of the Mario Brothers. The fact that these simple plumbers from New York would go forth and push themselves to jump numerous times their height, fighting off the turtle demons of the Koopa kingdom merely for the safe return of one woman. That's an example of honour and bravery and love that shall be passed - wait a second... Mario Brothers was made in Japan. Oh sweet bastard! What the hell do we have?... Cats... you mean the musical...Oh come on! A musical about cats is our best piece of work that shows our moral integrity? It's about nothing. Nothing. We're dust. Just give the crown to Japan already. They're the ones with Mario Brothers! I'm going to irrationally drop everything in life and move there right now! Who's with me!?

Maybe I Should Start Getting Inspiration From Family Circus

I've officially transferred all of my blog entries from my previous blogging area, so for all those who would have never seen my inspired blog entries before, now you have a chance. And really, when I say inspired, I mean the time in my life when I had something new to say as opposed to now when I've finally had to realize that my humour is lacking and one dimensional. Like Jeff Foxworthy. But alas I will not give up. I will put on a smile and keep trying. Maybe I should start getting inspiration from Family Circus. You never know what Jeffy will do next!

I'm Pretty Sure Seeing a Dog with Three Legs and is Three Quarters Deaf Would Be Sadder

So with the help of Mr. David Colvinsonington, I've been relocated to this location for my blog. I'm glad he's plugging me on his blogging area. On his February 14th blog entry, he has this sweet graphic thing to advertise the Third Wheel Convention that I held on my birthday.

Yeah, there's nothing sadder than being born on Valentine's Day, being left out and then be the key note speaker at a Third Wheel Convention that you created because you knew nobody would actually go to your real birthday party. Well, I'm pretty sure seeing a dog with three legs and is three quarters deaf would be sadder. Or may a lone piece of pizza lying at the side of the road. That'd be pretty sad.

Anyways, the need for the convention is simply that the old adage "bros before ho's" goes right out the window on Valentine's Day. And from my thorough research into the topic, I'm pretty sure that the "bros before ho's" was probably coined by a third wheel who was trying to convince his friend to ditch the girlfriend and he figured that if it flowed then it has to be true.

However, there was a small turnout which is better than expected (no turnout) and I gave a rousing speech about third wheels and then watched Shrek, because after all, Donkey is a great example of a third wheel. Then I realized I just turned twenty-three, watching an animated cartoon and analyzing the aspects of third wheelism knowing that when I get home I would gently cry myself to sleep.

Computers are Nature's Matchmakers

Ok, so I've run into just some of the most sitcomish events of my recent memory. It has been ridiculous really. These stories will be my fodder for the next few entries. This one happened ten minutes ago.

I was happily checking my e-mail after work at Domo, when I notice one from an acquaintance of mine which advertised a "crush calculator" and I'm like "Oh, what the hey, I'll play along with one of these mass e-mails. How can it possibly go wrong?"

The link takes me to a site and it says I can put up to three names and then it will see if there is any matches and I assumed it was some gong-show method of comparing names and then it randomly says yes or no or possibly "cooty-infested". It seemed pretty innocuous. So, I put a couple of names down, that I was serious about. I after all I'm not going to be one of those people who have fake crushes and then send fake love letters and then get fake married and have fake kids. Kids are always so disappointed when they're told that they are fake.

Anywho, after I typed in the two names, I was thinking about how the computer was going to figure out the possible future of my love life, because computers are nature's matchmakers. I was then appalled to see the message that popped up and said, "You've been tricked! The names of your crushes has been sent to ...." and then it put the name of the person who originally sent the e-mail, who shall remain nameless due to the fact that she will have an unfortunate accident in the coming hours.

Normally, I would probably shrug off such a "trick". After all, if it was a good friend of mine, they probably would already know my crushes.

However, this was a mere acquaintance. One of those people that you talk to only occasionally and would never give them money (which is a true sign of friendship and/or bastarditity). This may not be such a problem either if they had no idea who I was talking about or had no influence in my sphere.

Enter the twist that you saw coming, she is good friends with the crush that I wrote down. The same crush that I'm planning to hang out with on the weekend and execute the critical preliminary date to see if there is a potential in moving towards an official girl-sanctioned date. These preliminary dates are like secret missions that only the guy and other male advisers should know about. That way if the preliminary date is lackluster, the guy still has the chance to walk away because the girl has no investment yet.

This whole best friend now knowing about the secret mission is what leads to international incidents. This is also compounded by the fact that I entered two crushes into the site and thus she'll know that her friend is not the only one. This takes away a lot of the much needed credibility that I need later on in the relationship, if there is going to be one.

I am now going into that scene in the sitcom where its after the first commercial and then the whole thing falls apart and then it ends in trainwreck and then perpetuates the idea that men are greedy, lustful jerks and that women clearly don't need men.

This is what I get for trusting a computer. And friends.

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: http://www.bobanddavid.com/david.asp?artId=183

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.