Category Archives: Humour

Caveat emptor!

You are a gullible idiot.  Well, to be more accurate, we all are.  Ok, let’s narrow that down even further.  Most of the world BELIEVES we are.

Perhaps you’re one of the few that isn’t gullible.  That can discern truth in every case.  Maybe you aren’t fooled when you see $49.99 printed on a red sticker for those jeans you want to buy. You immediately say in your head “that’s just retail garbage. It’s 50 bucks. They ain’t fooling me.  (As a side note, don’t say that out loud while shopping alone.   You WILL appear insane, particularly after you buy the jeans anyway.)

I only had to buy 70,000 things to save this much!

I only had to buy 70,000 things to save this much!

The steady stream of obfuscation, outright lies, and nonsense is thrown at us all day every day though, and we’re expected to believe it.  In our consumerism, in our entertainment, in our education… systemic bull-shitting,  And we’re not just talking about politicians here.  We as a democratic society have already figured out that they’re six degrees south of personal injury lawyers on the honesty scale.

The lies start innocently enough.  And they come from our most trusted sources… Mom and Dad!  You know all the well-intentioned falsehoods that start there.  You can be anything you want to be when you grow up.  Don’t sit too close to the TV, your eyes will turn square.  If you keep making that face, it will stick for life!  Be good or Santa won’t bring you any presents.

You didn't eat your broccoli on March 13th. You're screwed this year, kid.

You didn’t eat your broccoli on March 13th. You’re screwed this year, kid.

I think the collective psyche of middle class children with parents that can afford the gifts, turn out just fine when they discoverer Santa’s a jolly fat lie. It’s the rare individual that spends their days in the fetal position weeping about St. Nick being nothing more than a conspiracy.  I find myself wondering however, if that’s where we get the proclivity to swallow nonsense.  And because of our general sense that it’s ok to lie to us… they do.

Wait!  Who are “they?”  Who is it that’s lying to us and think they can get away with it! The nerve of them! Tell me who it is so I can send a strongly worded letter!  (Sorry, that’s Canadian mentality.  If you are from the United States, substitute “so I can shoot them.”)

Signed, a concerned consumer.

Signed, a concerned consumer.

The answer to that though, is pretty much everybody.  Anyone who wants a piece of your time, money, or resources.  People who want you to believe that you are getting what you expect, or are getting everything you think you should.

Moving forward from the dastardly dishonesty of our parental units, take a look at school.  They say they are teaching us life skills that we’ll need to make it big in adulthood, preparing us for all the ins and outs of being a productive member of society. And we do learn some valuable things in school.  But how much isn’t really that honest?  Beyond the basics of education, what is it that they teach us that is essential to life?  Sure, if you have a particular career path in sciences, or physical education, or any number of jobs that have a specific prerequisite of knowledge, those courses make sense.  You need to know about Nuclear reactions to be a nuclear safety inspector, regardless of what The Simpsons tell you.  But does the weedy kid who has zero interest in becoming an athlete really need physical education?  Does the aspiring writer really need the advanced science curriculum?  And I don’t think there is pretty much anyone who would say that they have needed to use everything from calculus in their every day life.

I assure you, you'll also need theoretical physics.  In German.

I assure you, you’ll also need theoretical physics. In German.

But now you’re an adult.  You’ve run the gauntlet of higher education, and you are out there making every day decisions. Your highly educated self is savvy and shrewd, right?  Nobody can dare pull the wool over your eyes.

Unless, of course, you go grocery shopping.  All the delicious foods you buy, and you save money, AND make the healthy choices!  You fill your cart full of tasty treats that will do nothing but keep you in the pink of health.

Damn.  You’re being lied to.  Saving money?  Hardly.  You’re buying less with your money as every year passes.  Companies are shrinking portions, but leaving the packaging the same.  So that stuff you bought for 4 bucks last year, is actually costing you more based on unit pricing.  You are getting less for your money, and as a result have to buy more to make up for it.  But you’re still getting the healthy choices by choosing the right products!  You have that going for you!

Sorry, no.  All the wording on the packages is entirely meaningless when it comes to health.  Cereals claiming to be “part of a balanced breakfast?”  Only true if sugar is part of a balanced breakfast.  When they picture the bowl of cereal along with toast, and fruit and a glass of milk… they are not telling you that the breakfast is just as balanced, and far healthier, without the cereal in the first place.  “Contains 9 essential minerals and vitamins!”  That’s the claim of Boy-ar-dee, Heinz and so many canned meals.  What they are not telling you is it’s because they are basically grinding up vitamins to put in their otherwise nutritionally useless slop. And this doesn’t address the even more nonsense claims like “new and improved” which is a study in contradiction.  Everything you are throwing in your cart is an obfuscated mess of quarter-truths and outright fabrication.

New and improved, contains the same minerals and vitamins with natural flavours that will cure astigmatism and maybe make your mother love you more.

New and improved, contains the same minerals and vitamins with natural flavours that will cure astigmatism and maybe make your mother love you more.

But don’t stop at the grocery store.  You are bombarded with lies about every single thing that you could possibly buy to enrich your otherwise dull and meaningless life.  Without these wonder products, it’s a miracle you drag your sorry carcass out of bed every day! I mean you’ve got:

Beer that makes you popular with women (Sorry ladies, as far as beer goes you are arm accessories for slightly befuddled douche-monkeys.)

Cars that make you experience life at a state of euphoria as soon as you get behind the wheel.

Cleaning products that will make you enjoy mopping and scrubbing to the point of orgasm.

I always wondered why her floors were always so spotlessly clean!

I always wondered why her floors were always so spotlessly clean!

None of it is true. It’s just manure-marketing to get your money.  So you defend against that.  They won’t get my money!  I’ll be very careful.  I’ll read the ingredients, I’ll shop the deals, I’ll make sure none of the outright lies affect me, I just won’t buy it.

But then you find out that it’s not just about your money.  It’s about your attention.  It’s about your adherence and loyalty too.  What you watch, what you read.

How?  Entertainment, news, internet.  All lying to you.

You watch reality TV, right?  At least you’re probably part of the 96% of the population with a TV and a spare hour or two that does.  It’s all manufactured.  There are so many different ways they set it up and influence it to list here.  But they have you swallowing dramatic twists, turns and events, that didn’t really happen.  Selective splicing of footage, planting people as participants, having producers decide outcomes.  It has all the writing and directing of a regular old TV show, under the banner of “reality.”  And it couldn’t be less real if they tried.

But that’s just TV.  The News is far more insidious.  They don’t want you to read the news.  They want you to be shocked, scared, panicked an sensationalized.  How do they do this?   Weasel words.  They say things that make you think every thing that comes out of their slimy fib-holes is truth.

A great example:  “Some people say.” They aren’t lying.  they can say it truthfully, because you know who said it?  the producers.  So technically, if the statement is “some people say that ” it’s both true and false at the same time.  Ditto for “studies have indicated” and “Some are concerned that…”

all dishonesty to sell the story to us.

Some studies indicate that some people believe Donald Trump has magnifcient hair.  Pictured:  The entire study focus group.

Some studies indicate that some people believe Donald Trump has magnificent hair. Pictured: The entire study focus group.

You cannot realistically get through the day without people lying to you.  But there is a solution.  You can buy my book.  It has 1001 tips and tricks to avoid being fleeced by the charlatans that would steal your time, money, and attention.  It’s only $29.99, and it contains essential methods to use!

Would I lie to you?


Magic Eight Ball Life Coaching

eight ball

It can be so difficult to figure out which way we should do things.  Career, family, financial investments, hobbies, retirement…

I never knew there could be such a simple answer to all of it though.  The Magic Eight Ball!  We can take thinking and decision-making out of the picture!  We can trip through life never stopping to think at all! (But the “Make life easier” kind, not the “become publisher for Twilight series” kind.)

So let’s throw caution to the wind, and employ the magical, wonderful, clairvoyant powers of the floating blue triangle!  But where to start?  Hmm. Well, there’s always my career.   We can start there!

So, Magic Eight Ball, you know I’ve been looking for that promotion.  What do you think?  Will it happen this year?

“Outlook not so good.”

Darn.  Well, I know it can’t be that far off.  How about the next year after that?

“Reply Hazy, ask again.”

Okay… I’ll try again. So, the promotion.  2014?

“My sources say no.”

Damn it!  what about 2015?

“Outlook not so good.”

We’re off to a depressing start.  Can you tell me if I’m EVER going to get that promotion?

“Cannot predict now.”

Oh, forget it.  Maybe I should just change careers then.

“Most likely.”

To what though?  Sales?

“Very doubtful.”

Uh… project management?

“My reply is no.”

You’re not being helpful. I may as well say elementary school janitor.


Perhaps this is the wrong area to be asking you in.  I know!  how about financial planning?  Yes, that’s the ticket.  So that stock I bought.  How’s it going to do?  Good long-term investment?

“Reply hazy, try again.”

Oh, come on.  You must have SOME idea.  Is it going to make me a bunch of money?

“Outlook not so good.”

Dang!  My broker said that those shares would do well.  So, should I sell them?

“It is certain.”

and buy something else?

“As I see it, yes.”

Ok, I’ve sold it.  But what should I buy now instead?

“Concentrate and ask again.”

Right, right. Yes and no questions only. um…. Apple?

“Ask again later.”

No, no, I only have so much time to buy before the trading day is over.  I stand to lose a bundle.  How about Samsung?

“Better not tell you now.”

Hey! Listen! I’ve got next to no time left! Stop being difficult and give me some help.  What’s this stock code here… NAS?  Oh! that must be NASA Advanced Supercomputing. I hear there’s going to be a LOT of action there when they restart some space programs. How about that? Buy it?

“Without a doubt”

Ok, done!  Wait.  WAIT!  that’s not NASA, that’s NASCAR!


Is this some kind of joke?

“You may rely on it.”

Oh, you stupid chunk of plastic, you just cost me a ton of money.  I’ll have to work longer before retirement now!

“Most likely.”

That wasn’t very nice.


I should just throw you across the room.

“My reply is no.”

This may be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but…

“Without a doubt.”

Hey, I wasn’t done.  I was going to say, since we’ve come this far, I should ask a few more questions.  I have other goals and dreams you know.

“Concentrate and ask again.”

That wasn’t even a question!

“Most likely.”

Ugh!  Let’s just get through this.  So, I was thinking about writing a novel.  How do you think I’ll do?  Bestseller?

“My reply is no.”

uh… Kindle published?

“My reply is no.”

self published?

“My reply is no.”

is that all you can say?

“My reply is no.”

You aren’t very smart are you?

“My reply is no.”

Gotcha! Ha! Clearly I’m too clever for you.

“Very doubtful.”

Fine, fine. Forget it.  So no novel. Shoot.  How about short stories at least?  Surely I can get people to buy some of those.

“Don’t count on it.”

So cruel.  Not even “freshly pressed?”

“Ha, not in your wildest dreams.”

Wait. I don’t remember that being an eight ball response option…

“Er… I mean “My reply is no.”

Oh, forget it.  You’re not going to help me there either.  How about my dream to conquer my fear of heights?

“Cannot predict now.”

Ok…. becoming a world-class Chef?

“My sources say no.”

What, no new skills?  Just the same old same old for the rest of my life?

“Signs point to yes.”

I’ve lost my patience. It’s clear you’re not really out to help me at all! One last thing to try.  How about my plans to lose weight?  Will I lose the 70 pounds I need to lose?

“Very doubtful.”

Ok… fine.  But I know I can lose some.  how about 60?

“Don’t count on it.”

50? 40?

“Outlook not so good.”

you might be the biggest jerk of an inanimate object with magic powers out there.

“Cannot predict now.”

that’s it, I’m done with you.  If what YOU say is true, I’ll be fat, broke, and mopping floors.

“It is decidedly so.”

That wasn’t a question!

“Reply hazy, try again.”

Oh, shut up.

“Concentrate and ask again.”

You asked for it.

“My sources say…”

Fatass masochism

I stand staring into the abyss.  I am about to embark on a journey of horrors, from which I may never recover.   My pulse quickens at the very thought of what I am about to attempt.

 A diet.  Oh, the humanity.  What torture I am about to inflict on myself!  Woe unto me.

Ok, that’s probably a bit dramatic.  And the pulse racing is likely just the high blood pressure from having pancake batter coursing through my veins.

But I fear the diet all the same.  It is not in the slightest a happy decision to make.  But coming back from a cruise, where indulgence is the order of the day, I find myself needing to do so with alarming necessity.   I was already overweight before I went on the cruise, of course.  I’ve been heavy for the majority of my adult life.  But by the end of our vacation, the cruise ship had to dump off a few lifeboats to offset the water displacement I caused with my gluttony.  The waiters actually started to look nervous when I was ordering and eating.  I can’t say what they were thinking, but it was likely that none of them was all that keen on giving me mouth to mouth with my impending heart attack.  The captain was actually pretty pissed off.  He had to continuously make course corrections to account for the tidal effects my personal gravitational forces were causing.

My major problem with dieting is not the principle of losing weight. It’s a good thing to do when you are in danger of having your awkward waddling filmed and made into a documentary narrated by Morgan Freeman.  (Go ahead.  Try to avoid reading the rest of this in his voice.)  My issue stems from knowing exactly how it will go.

Stomach:  I’m hungry.

Brain: Sorry my friend, we’re on a diet.

Stomach: I don’t recall agreeing to this.

Taste buds:  Me either.  These carrot sticks freaking suck.

Brain: Come on guys.  We have to do this.  Pancreas, Liver, Kidney and Intestines are really, really suffering.

Stomach: No.  Fill me.  NOW.

Brain: No!  We’re on a diet!  I’m in charge here, and we’re losing weight!

Stomach:  Ha! You in charge?  I call the shots here.  FEED ME.

Brain:  Damn.

Stomach: now dance for me, puppet.

Brain: Yes Sir.

That is the hard part.  Dieting pits your willpower against your cravings, and if your willpower had any stones in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this mess.  My willpower is about as tough as that little Voldemort thing in Harry’s post death discussion with Dumbledore.  No?  Ok, let me try another example.  About as tough as Neville Longbottom BEFORE the miraculous puberty spurt that turned him in to a snake-killing sword-swinging beast. (No, I’m not a huge Harry Potter Fan.  I just like the concept of being able to wave your hand and have a table full of food without effort.)  I think Bacon tastes like the tears of angels.  The point is, my willpower sucks.  On a diet, I’m always a moment of weakness away from freebasing corn syrup.

Dieting would be way easier if things were different.  You eat food that you don’t like, and you eat less too.  So not only do you get to graze on greenish matter that tastes like death, you don’t even get enough of it to fill your considerable hungry-hole. Add to the fact that all the well meaning advice you get that makes it hard for us fatties to navigate through the mess.  Some of the nonsense you have to put up with includes:

The “you should write a food journal” people. 

Now, I like writing and all.  But I know what a food journal for me would look like:

Day 1:  Feeling ok.  This isn’t so hard!  A little bit hungry, but I think this is going to work! Yay me!

Day 2:  Ugh.  No energy.  Hate broccoli.  Hate lettuce.  Hate life.

Day 3: I just bit the dog because he’s a chocolate lab.  And snuck off and I ate at Denny’s.  God help me, DENNY’S!

Day 4: Come to me my minions!  My sugary people!  My gummy bears and Hershey’s kisses!  We shall rule the world! HAHAHAHAHAHA…..

It only gets grimmer from there.

The “Oh, I should lose weight too!” friend.

If your friend is fat, this statement is fine.  This shouldn’t bother you much.  For all the others though, that can wear T-shirts that don’t look like single colour muumuus, they need to not say it.  When they start talking about how they are soooooo fat and need to work out and diet I want to say:  Shut up skinny person.  I am fat. You are not.  I am very hungry and cranky right now, and if you don’t shut up I’ll EAT YOUR SOUL.

The “well, you only have yourself to blame” people.

Yes, those well proportioned douche bags who think it’s their job to turn all Bob Harper on your chubby ass.  Yes, we know that Twinkies are bad for us. Yes, we know that there are a ton of calories in a big Mac, and yes we know that tofu is healthy.  We are fat because we didn’t care.  Our taste buds overrule our knowledge.  And when they get on you about working out, you want to start your exercise regime by free-lifting them and throwing them off a bridge.  Our lazy fat selves know that exercising “increases your life span” but by my calculation, you gain exactly the time at the end of your life that you spent sweating away your will to live in the gym, and those years are adult diaper years, and you can darn well have them.

The will meaning family members

Now when I say this, know that I love you dearly, my well-meaning family members, and I don’t attribute ill motive to you, but we portly people struggle with you involving yourselves with our weight.  Bad enough that when we’re dieting and we come over for dinner and it’s a turkey with stuffing and gravy and mashed potatoes and pie for dessert and oh my…..

Sorry, lost track of where I was going with that for a second.

But when we sit down to dinner  with people who can eat what they want, because they don’t have a weight problem, and try and eat the salad and a tiny sliver of the good stuff, it’s torture. With all the wonderful smells coming from the food, it’s like being told at the end of a make out session that she “just wants to cuddle.”    Add to that that your family, because they love you and want what’s best for you, are more likely than anyone else to bring up your weight in general discussion with all the family in attendance.  You of course are caught off guard when they bring it up, likely with your chubby cheeks stuffed full of food, and can only chew in silence while you are told why you shouldn’t have eaten what you just did.

The Enablers

You’re not fat! You’re just big boned!  You carry it well.  You’re not overweight.  You should love yourself just the way you are.  Here, have a piece of cake, it won’t hurt you.  We need enabling as much as a white trash NASCAR loving redneck needs another confederate flag on his dirty pickup truck, but we love the enablers all the more for it.

Can you see how it’s difficult?  You not only have your own stay-puffed marshmallow man tendencies to overcome, you have other things to deal with as well. To top that off, you have to figure out your motivation for losing weight in the first place.  If it’s because you think that you have a promising career in underwear modeling… don’t bother.  They’d have to spend so much time airbrushing out your loose skin and stretch marks to make it worth their while.  But if you have a good reason to lose weight, it may be more likely for you to stick with it.

My reasons?  Well, there a bunch.  I don’t like having to replace shoes once a month.  I don’t like sweating when I eat, and I don’t like a vague sense that someone is in my blind spot when I’m walking.  I don’t like working with the fear that I’m going to kill one of my munchkin-sized co-workers if I run in to them.  And I don’t like the impression that being fat gives. Fat people are frequently considered stupid.  Slow of mind, definitely not as intelligent as the skinnier people in the world.  And unfortunately we have evidence of this.  Rob Ford, for those in the Greater Toronto Area, serves as a great example.  Other examples include Chris Farley, John Belushi ,and John Candy.  (all the more frightening to realize that most of those are dead.)  I like to pride myself on the intelligence I have, as small as it is, and I don’t like being considered dumber than I actually am just because I have fried chicken stains on my size 2XL dress shirt. So when it boils down to it, my number one reason for wanting to lose weight is arrogance.  Which, being a very arrogant person should serve me well.

When it’s all said and done though, I must lose weight.  And for that I must suffer. Sell your McDonalds stock folks…. Here we go.

If hell had a train…

God, how I hate commuting.  I hate the train, and all the irritating things that come with it.  I take the train because it is more feasible and economical  (by a small margin) than driving to work.  But that is like choosing a prostate exam over an endoscope.

I like my peace and quiet on the train, whenever possible, and sometimes, you get it.  Sometimes you take a train, and there are less than the usual number of people on it, and they are silent or talking politely and quietly.  You can hear them, but they are not loud, and that’s ok.  It is a public place, after all.  They are reading books and listening to I-pods at reasonable volume levels.  These are the days where you get Shangri-la on rails, and your commute in to work is really not so bad.

And then there are the others.  The other people, and the other days.  Any who have ridden the wonders that is public transportation know who I’m talking about.  Here are a few of the offenders:

Mr. important

You all know the type.  He has his laptop out, poring over a spreadsheet.  He takes phone calls often, barking orders at whoever has called him, loudly, and with exasperated rolls of his eyes to his seat mates, trying to imply the incompetence of the people on the other side of the call.  His briefcase is propped on the seat next to him, and any thought of moving it for others will cut in to his productivity.  He is the only thing standing between his Radio Shack store(1) and financial ruin.

Two turtle doves

And man, do they ever coo.  These lovers are so devastated at the thought of 8 working hours apart that they kiss and grope and gaze in to each others eyes with the intensity of a creepy optometrist.  He whispers in her ear, she giggles, and smacks him playfully on the arm.  Oblivious to the people sitting in uncomfortable silence in the same quad of seats, they engage in foreplay for the entire 30 minute ride in to work.  Nothing matters but their love NOTHING, you heartless bastards who would judge us! NOTHING!

Three French hens

Ah, the joys of having coworkers who travel on the same train as you!  These hens are active in the morning, clucking loudly away about their home woes. How hubby didn’t cut the lawn.  How little Johnny just won’t get to his homework.  The complaints are of course interspersed with boastful and informative soliloquies about the wonderful pot roast that they made (it turned out perfect the first time!) and how they got that wonderful mustard yellow blouse with the blue flowers for 8 dollars on clearance sale.  These chattering egg layers usually have a mother hen of the bunch, who imparts her opinion on every problem the other two hens bring to the table.  As a bonus, if you run in to the same fowl clutch on the way home, they are inevitably clucking about their coworkers many faults.  You do of course; have the privilege of being in the same train car as the most competent hens in existence.

Four calling birds

It’s fortunate that you have the summer off from these nasty little birds, but what they lose in the summer; they make up for starting in September.  They chatter chatter chatter chatter incessantly at volumes usually restricted to Nikki Minaj concerts (and with about the same level of vulgarity) using more likes than a facebook post about hating cancer.  These birds can be identified by their plumage of crop tops with belly button rings and shorts cut high enough to see their tail feathers.  Ordinarily these birds sound more or less like crows with tourettes syndrome.  They do have another distinctive call, however, as they chatter excitedly.  It sounds more or less like a chickadee, but with different tones:  “like-oh-ma-god-I’m-not-even-lying!”  Steer clear to avoid being shat on.


I digress.

Eau do stink

Not much must be said about this individual.  If you weren’t looking at them directly you’d wonder if you’d accidentally stumbled in to Calvin Klien himself (who apparently oozes pleasant scents directly from his sweat glands) but then you realize that this is an imposter.  They do leave you wondering, however, how bad their natural smell is, that they bathe in it to the point that their seatmates get nosebleeds.


This individual is by far the lowest on the irritating factor, but way the hell up there on the creepy scale.  Because you are in THEIR seat. For those who are more of a seat opportunist when commuting, and sit… you know… in an empty seat that is available at your stop, this person has THEIR PRECIOUS.  And you STOLES IT FROM THEM.  Shifty little eyes, hunched posture, and a glint of hatred in their eyes when they scuttle up the stairs to find you in their chosen  squatting location.  Gollum of course will not go away.  If there are seats nearby, he perches on the edge of it, glaring balefully at you and rocking back and forth to the voices in his head.  If there are no seats, he stands right there.  Usually close enough so that one of his legs is in contact with the side of the seat, or clutching lovingly to the little handle on the seat tops right by your head.  Stay alert.  The time will come when you let your guard down and Gollum will make his move to get MY PRECIOUS back from you filthy, tricky hobbitses!

DJ pain in the ass

We of course, love music, so thank you DJ pain in the ass, for playing yours on headphones so loud that we can enjoy your music with you.  Ours was a dreary existence before you came in to our lives.  I will say this though; you should turn it down so that you don’t have to feel ashamed that we now know your play list includes One Direction.

A lovely bunch, don’t you think? Please please PLEASE…. Learn some manners.

(1) I know Radio Shack is out of business. Apparently he had to move his briefcase.