The Setting Son

2003-11-29 - 11:20 p.m.

Technical Fuck.

It pisses me off that the technical consultants for movies overlook shit like the fact you cant ï¿½cardï¿½ a door with a stiff plastic credit card. You canï¿½t card a dead bolt. The only kinda door you can card is yer everyday run of the mill door lock.

And you use flexible plastic. Like what student unions used to give their IDï¿½s on. Hereï¿½s how ya do it:

1) Slide the card down onto the bolt at an angle till it wedges in. This is why ya needs flexible plastic. To work that shit in like The Big Bad Wolf on rib night.

2) Applying pressure to the card and moving it back and forth, jiggle the door quickly. Yeah. Work that shit.

3) Jiggle- Jiggle- Jiggle- Jiggle- CLINK!

And thatï¿½s how itï¿½s done. All by feel, really, but some people actually know how itï¿½s done. And a credit card isn't it.

2003-11-29 - 9:52 p.m.

What the FUCK Am I DOING HERE?

I just saw a hot brunette in a bikini bend in half and lick the back of her knee.

That was the fucking HOTTEST thing I've seen since Telejuggies: La-La-Labia.

I'm beginning to see entertainment value to this...television. But it'll not lure my from Palahnuik's "Diary." Started very "Fight Club"-ish.

Anyhow, fuck you. Go away and find a more fulfiling hobby like dressing in an orange sheet and monkey mask and play the tambourine outside the Gap.

2003-11-29 - 9:36 p.m.

I Wants My Anteater Back.

"We can grow an entire football field of skin from just one foreskin."

Could I possibly have just heard that?

Fucking Discovery Channel.

Like I needed to see someone fondle an unrolled foreskin, let alone an intact one.

2003-11-29 - 8:28 p.m.

Which Reminds Me of a Story: I'm a Dirty Whore.

Was gonna go and rent another movie tonight because MY FRIENDS SUCK DEAD SKUNK ASS, but really don't have the moxie enough to get off my arse and do something about it. When I see Memento is on tonight. Newtch.

I have the movie on DVD...but'll still watch it with the ads. Christ. Need the exercise proffered by Picture in Picture commercial surfing.

Ahh...PIP. I wonder how the poor people live?

2003-11-29 - 6:47 p.m.

Blue Foot Light.

Here's a fun way to waste 3 minutes:

1. Smoke a big fat one - joint, dillhole, not cock - 'cause everything's richer when you're high.

2. Put on a pair of cotton socks, (dress, sports, whatever), darker the better. Later you'll want to vary the colours, but stick to the basics at first.

3. Turn all the lights out and get a lighter. No. Better yet, get the lighter and THEN turn the lights out.

4. Sit down, put yer foots up and light that flame under your heel.

That's what's called a Blue Foot. Trust me, my cowardly and shallow horde, this is fun shit!

2003-11-29 - 4:50 p.m.

There's Always a Point.

Back in Toronto my Woman and I once shared a house with a kids clothes designer. Real cool woman, ï¿½bout 10 years older than me. We had cool neighbours and it was a nice old street on a hill and, as these things happen, one night a gaggle of us ended getting pissed on homemade wine on our deck. Had to have been about 10 or so thatï¿½d magnetically clung to the original 3.

A glass of wine and some chips turned into one of those unexpectedly fun nights of a wide variety of people that into the early morning. Love those nights.

At some point one cool, pot-smoking old bird asks our flatmate of the Danish Blue cheese thatï¿½s on her cracker, ï¿½What is the blue stuff in the cheese?ï¿½

Without missing a beat, our flatmate slurs back, ï¿½Whaï¿½s thï¿½blue stuff? ï¿½sthe POINT!ï¿½

Eheheï¿½that was one of the wittiest remarks Iï¿½d ever heard and pounded my shoe on the deck rail in appreciation.

Our flatmate is an extremely clever woman, she loves words more than I do, has a fascination with them. She does Cryptic Crosswords for fun. Yï¿½ever do one of those? Im-fucking-possible, I tells ya.

So we were trying to figure this clue out, one Saturday morning, and we, for the likes of us, were stumped. Couldnï¿½t get it.

The following day she shows me the crossword with the errant word filled in. She figured it out the night before. It spelled: L-I-T-E-R-A-T-E.

So Iï¿½m looking at the word and I canï¿½t figure it out for the life of me, ï¿½Lite rate? What the fuck does lite rate mean?ï¿½

She gives me a motherly hug and open palms me in the forehead, ï¿½LITERATE, idiot!ï¿½

ï¿½LITERATE! OF COURSE! Something I obviously am not.ï¿½

Itï¿½s happened to all of usï¿½but why with her and why with THAT FUCKING WORD!?

Itï¿½s the lateral thinking. Has to be.

2003-11-29 - 2:04 p.m.

Boiled Brains.

Heyï¿½Iï¿½ll let you in on a little secret. Thereï¿½s this shit in soft plastics like whatï¿½s found in IV bags, drip tubes (most medical PVCï¿½s) , Tupperware, etc. called DEHP. A little while back an independent study proved that DEHP cause a SHITLOAD of problems in rats. Infertility, stroke, fucking CANCER!

And hereï¿½s the funny part: IARC (the International Agency for Research on Cancer) downgraded the toxicity rating of DEHP a little after that report was released, thereby making it MORE useable, instead of the logical, ï¿½Heyï¿½letï¿½s take a look at this, keep doing what weï¿½re doing but, what the fuck?ï¿½

The people GETTING the drips won't get the cancer, or the barren fucking womb - the medical workers will.

Even the guy who first published the research that showed cell phones didnï¿½t cause cancer (yeah, right) says that IARC is susceptible to industry influence. NO SHIT!

Now this very guy is saying that the studies done in the 90ï¿½s were limited in scope, biased towards NOT finding cancer. He doesnï¿½t outwardly BLAME corporations leaning on IARC, but he mentions that the studies were sponsored by Motorola, Nokia, Samsung, etc.

Donï¿½t worry, IARC is sticking to their guns. Cell phones donï¿½t cause cancer, no. 2.4Ghz of Lithium Ion powered radiation CANï¿½T be bad for the liquid in yer mellon. IARC says so. Not like youï¿½re using the brain that youï¿½re not boiling, anyhow.

I donï¿½t own a cell phone. Not for health reasons, fuck no. Iï¿½ll die from a host of other reasons before a brain tumor. I just donï¿½t want to be accountable all the time. I donï¿½t want to be that fucker at the theatre or a restaurant whoï¿½s forgotten to turn that annoying fucking ringer off. I donï¿½t always want to be IN the FUCKING LOOP!

Self imposed ignorance.

Yï¿½knowï¿½there was a time not too long ago when if you wanted to get in touch with a person there were two methods. Phone and mail. If you couldnï¿½t get through to a person by calling them, then you were shit outta luck. If you were on a commute home from work and the boss wanted to tell you not to bother to come in the next day, heï¿½d have to wait ï¿½till ya got home.

Why do people choose to be this accountable? By merely owning a cell phone, whether it be regularly on or off, a person says to the world ï¿½HEY! Yeah, you can call me ANY FUCKING TIME! Just leave me a message ANYWHERE, ANYTIME and Iï¿½ll get back to you. Talk soon. Letï¿½s do lunch.ï¿½

I got a nutsack fulla lunch for you RIGHT hereï¿½

2003-11-29 - 11:48 a.m.

Pray for Rain.

JESUS FUCKING CHIRST. It's NICE outside fer fuck's sake. Was supposed to be nasty.

I was supposed to hack some of the fucking story out on the Mac today and that's really what I wanna do, but FUCK! Ya can't ignore a day like today.

Now what?

2003-11-29 - 11:28 a.m.

Fuck Phones.

It's amazing how long I can utterly ignore a phone and answering machine. Really.