Saturday, June 25, 2011

True Hollywood Story: Moses

Today, while sitting in da 'gogue, the Rabbi Older-Than-Elijah began his sermon by saying, "We know very little about Moses..."

Anticipating (correctly) the coming 20-minute snooze cycle, I whispered to Mark, "His favourite colour was blue."

Mark replied, "He was a big fan of Britney's early work."

The following is a Top Ten Little Known Facts About Moses that we composed during the remainder of the sermon:

10. His bar mitzvah reception was at the Olive Garden.

9. His favourite films were The Ten Commandments and Gigli.

8. He used Charmin Ultra exclusively.

7. He was executive producer on Children of Israel Behaving Badly VII.

6. Favourite song: Donna Summer's Bad Girls.

5. He once bought 3 "52% off Old Navy" Groupons.

4. Dislikes: burning shrubbery, armies of Pharoah, dill pickle potato chips

3. He created the trendy mixed cocktail Red Sea Breeze.

2. Loved the pan-flute, the NRA and was a backer of Howard The Duck.

1. He was Team Edward.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Gym, part the third

Just spent $2,500 on a gym membership and personal trainer.

I had better fucking have someone to hold with my newly muscled arms once I get them.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Cars are real dicks

An old university friend was in a car accident recently. He was badly injured but should be alright. Phew. I'm not awesome at condolences of any kind and so instead asked a friend to read him a note from me. I'm too busy hating my personal trainer to think of anything that good for the blog, so instead I'm just gonna publish the letter here. Enjoy-ish.

Dear Andrew,

I feel simply terrible. We encounter situations that, like a hurricane-causing asshole of a butterfly, may complete change the course of ones life. This morning, for example, I was about to leave my house when I thought I’d have one more cup of coffee. I mean, who would even question this? Coffee is delicious, Andrew. You know what isn’t delicious? Nearly wee-ing yourself during the rabbi’s sermon. If someone had just popped their head in the window this morning and said, “Hey, champ. You don’t need it. Now scoot!” well, that woulda been creepy. But they would have been right.

I’m rambling a bit. Just nervous, I guess. You see, I’ve been feeling a lot of guilt ever since Sandra told me about your mob hit accident. Is she reading this to you? Say hi for me. Anyway, we’ve known each other for some years now and at once point spent quite a bit of time sitting around, getting hives from sitting on poor industrial carpeting and talking smack about flute majors. Good times. Terrible outfits. My mind has been wandering to Eating a Lot of Pie at That Shitty Restaurant But It Was Amazing Cause We Were So Tired day. Man, I hope that doesn’t become a government holiday. Long ass name to print on a calendar. As Marcy and I dropped you off at 1:30am, there was something I wanted to say, something that may have changed things, but then Marcy said something. It was probably stupid. Stupid, stupid Marcy. Then you closed the door and I thought, “Ah well, another time then.” That time never came though, did it now? No, it did not.

Do you know what that thing I now so desperately wish I would have said? It was, “You cannot run through a car, Andrew.”

I mean, good on ya for trying. Brave man. I sorely understand the temptation myself. You knock over one tonka truck as a toddler and from there the beast grows. But cars, real cars – big boy cars – well, they’re just solid motherfuckers. Even immune to atomic realignment. I made that up, but I think it would be something like Wonka-vision, but with people instead of chocolate. People, Andrew.

Anyway, I’ll keep my ear to the ground should any new developments pop up, cause to pass directly through a Subaru Outback is clearly your dream. We share that, along with a distant-but-ever-present fascination with Mike Klassen’s ass. It may have its own orbital pull by now. In the meantime, though, no more car molestations. Say it with Sandra: NO MORE CAR MOLESTATIONS. (Did he say it? Sandra? Did he?)

Speedy recovery,