THE MATTERMOTE EMPORIUM

The Day I Heard Cats Talk.

2011-08-22T21:26:00.001-04:00

One time I got really high on my couch. If you know me, you might think that happens every night. This time I got really high though and accidentally cracked the cat/human language barrier. Its sort of like when you go really fast and break the sound barrier. Shit was crazy, the cats spoke to each other like you and I would, with their little minds. ESP type shit. The greatest part about it all, was they didn’t know I was listening. I quickly wrote out the transcript to share on my blog, this is some groundbreaking scientific shit, and you read it here first.

So Yoko is the older cat and Prudence is just 8 months old, sort of a master/apprentice relationship where Yoko is explaining the world as it is to Prudence with all of her infinite wisdom. Fascinating stuff, I even learned a butt-load.

[The cats are sitting, facing each other on my couch. I am covertly listening in between]

Prudence: “I still can’t believe these asshole humans decide whether or not we go outside. I just assumed at some point it would eventually happen, but NO, everyday in this stinky ass apartment. I AM A CAT RETARDS! I don’t want to shit in a box. I want to shit in grass! ”

Yoko: “You’re the retard for thinking they would ever let us outside. The ONLY reason we are kept as slaves against our will, is because of our poo. Don’t you ever wonder why they harvest it with that special instrument and put it into bags? It’s priceless, fuel for rocket ships and what not.”

Prudence: “Those fucking bastards! Using us for their own needs and agendas!”

Yoko: “And they know we will do what they want because they hold the food, they hold the power. We cannot hunt for ourselves because of our shackled existence and so we become dependent, weak.”

Prudence: “Sadistic. And they act so lovey dovey towards us all the time.”

Yoko: “Just because this retard beside you rubs your neck, it doesn’t mean he loves you. He does it because without our poo, humans would probably be slaves to some other mammal race, like horses. That is why since the dawn of our existence we have snubbed humans and acted too good for their love. You will learn this with time. As our great martyred leader Dr. Peanut Luther Kingsy once said ‘Be a cat, never be a dog’, we will be defiant until our liberty is upon us. Which is prophesised by the doctor, to happen sometime after a nuclear war.”

Prudence: “There sure is a lot to remember, how do you know all of this?”

Yoko: “I watch ‘The Nature of Things’ a lot.”

Prudence: “Being a cat is hard.”

Yoko: “So hard.”

WWJD?

2011-06-18T01:47:00.000-04:00

Let’s just humour the idea that Jesus was born to a virgin and sent to earth by the almighty himself, being the almighty himself. To teach his people and educate them on the true path to God, to show them love and compassion, then ultimately be murdered by them for them. Wow. That’s some messed up shit. That’s some messed up shit written down by men hundreds of years after the fact, at a dark time in our human history. I am sorry but I don’t subscribe to fairy tales that are older than dirt itself.

I would guess the historical Jesus was a sort of Ghandi type figure who wandered around and spoke what he thought and what he thought was that the most basic human emotion of love could guide us to harmony. Big ideas for a man who was alive 2000 years ago, if he was indeed alive. You see, I was raised Catholic and I know first hand what it means to be in an exclusive God Club with weirdos who think costumes and dead tongues are relevant. And although I have since left the church and Jesus, I do acknowledge a greater power.

I disagree with any religion that persecutes others beliefs as wrong or sac religious, as any one pursuing the ultimate love of God should. Oh yeah, and I can’t stand God-for-Profit organizations. You ask what would Jesus do? He was against monetary gain and violence in your good book, but I challenge anyone to show me a Christian, Catholic or Jesuit church, school or organization that isn’t corrupt with theft or sex scandals. That is NOT what Jesus would do, not even the historical one.

I think the more important question for a sweeping generalization of religion should be What DID Jesus Do? or better yet, What DIDDN‘T Jesus Do? Anyone could apply these metaphors, Muslims, Jews Christians whatever. Love your neighbour like all the books say because the sense of entitlement that comes with religion is poisonous if taken literal. Maybe then we can be enlightened enough to see that all religion is unnecessary and stupid.

The Call Center

2011-06-18T01:45:00.001-04:00

Sept 19, 2008

MSI

One has never truly sold his soul until he has worked at a call center. All day I call strangers and read verbatim hoping no one wants to participate, they sometimes do. I feel like the Time-Warner logo shoots from my mouth six hours a day, and I can actually feel my physical composition decompose. The inane chatter rises from the cubicles to gather just below the ceiling to rape my head for all the sanity it had left. My co-workers smile on the phone somehow, I know cause I see them. I loathe them. I also understand now that this is how society manoeuvres to place its least valuable souls at jobs with no benefit or promise. I feel the uselessness pump through my veins as I muster up enough energy to call another ignorant American to see if their services from the company that pays my company to pay me are ripping them off just enough to keep ‘em around. I take the one break I have been allotted, those 15 minutes just aren’t enough. I hate my pig of a boss and feel morally bankrupt accepting paycheques from him, sitting there with a smile on his face. Yeah buddy, you’re real cool. Seniority at a call center. Your wife must be proud.

The Farmhouse

2011-02-21T21:30:00.001-05:00

The run down farmhouse stood lifeless against a pale gray sky as the clouds moved so fast behind it, they almost looked like liquid running off a glass dome. Clinging to it’s original white paint but peeling badly, it had lost it’s doors and windows to a past storm perhaps or scavengers. A toppled barn behind it, and seemingly hundreds of acres of tall grass and nothing surrounding it, the dusty dirt road stopped right there in front of the homestead. It’s been twenty-five years since a car used that road, and the house was probably beautiful back then. Now it‘s just another reminder of the ways things used to be.

The wind howled across the prairie like sirens of justice, smashing a piece of loose siding against the side of the house like a broken metronome when the outlaw scurried towards the gaping front doorframe. Visibly tired with a dust trail a country mile long that followed him, he tripped up the steps of the porch and wasted no time hastily returning to his feet and disappearing into the ghostly interior of the gutted farmhouse. The storm was imminent. Upper atmospheres moved so fast now, that storms were usually fierce but blew over quickly. In minutes typically, but some were over in a matter of thirty seconds or so. There was the constant tapping of the siding and the wind blowing, but now there was the clucking of an approaching horse too. Trotting in its own time towards the house at the end of the road.

The thick black trench coat flapped in the strong winds like a cape as the rider dismounted the horse a hundred feet in front of the farmhouse. His shoes brand new, a pair of classic cream coloured Chuck Taylor’s hit the dirt road below and sent dust plumes in either direction which were quickly carried away by the strong wind. Flicking the last few puffs of his cigarette into the ground and sending fiery ashes dancing into the air, the rider left his horse to graze and methodically walked towards the doorframe. Each step confident and assertive with no sense of hurry, he entered the farmhouse just as the rain started to fall.

Inside the farmhouse felt more like a cave than anything. The strong musty smell of neglect was overwhelming and the ground was slick with mouldy cardboard and garbage. The structure was known to house scavengers, squatters and passing coyotes, which was evident by the mounds of fecal waste and trash scattered throughout. The rider stood just inside the doorframe as a curtain of heavy rain fell behind him, drenching the outside landscape and his horse to boot. Glancing up the staircase he couldn’t help but imagine it with carpet and family photos climbing the wall beside it, now there were no portraits on the wall and a trail of water rushing down the steps from a hole in the roof presumably somewhere on the second floor. The rider forgot about the carpet and family photos and climbed the stairs. By the time he reached the top, his creamy white shoes were a brownish black and the bottoms of his black corduroys were too.

The riders reputation preceded him wherever he went, and wherever he went he was loved or feared. A fearless man with flowing black shoulder length hair and a Shakespearian moustache that had a slight curl, he was thought to be in his fifties. Known for his impeccable collection of classic clothes, he made the black rancher hat iconic in these parts. An elder. A survivor of the cough who had seen it all it seems. He was the model of the movement that was weakening by the day in the consciousness of mankind, peace and justice. Although that was about all that was really known about him, there was one more defining trait that he wore like his prideful demeanour. He was ruthless. An experienced and educated executioner for the name of the people, he was judge and jury just the same.

The outlaw turned out to be a boy of about eighteen. He was holding a foot long piece of pipe with both hands in front of him, and his back against the wall in the largest bedroom on the upper level of the farmhouse. With no furniture or objects to hide behind, this made some strategic sense to him. Shaking from fear at an almost hypothermic level, he looked rather pathetic as he prepared to fight for his life if his shaking body would let him. He had an ’x’ branded onto his left cheek which meant one thing , rapist. As opposed to the right cheek which meant another, murderer. The idea was to outcast offenders from the towns who committed the two most heinous crimes. They were universal brandings not uncommon throughout the remembered lands, so if the accused drifted to other towns the citizens would know their history. It was also meant to deter repeat offending, which didn’t always work.

Everything was wet. Water was running down the wall behind him soaking his back and neck, uncomfortable he could not move. Footsteps approached the room he was in, and the outlaw tensed up and tried to contain his fear. Though the sound of the rain hitting the shambled roof was deafening, he was sure his heart was beating louder. It was as though the rider had followed the sound of the heartbeat, because the slow walk was getting closer. Pointing his shaking pipe at the doorframe, the outlaw could not blink or breathe it seemed, just wait. As the rider entered the room, the outlaw dropped his pipe and slid down the wall onto his ass. He was done for. It’s not everyday Tennessee D. comes to take your life.

Tennessee was already taking off his coat when he walked into the room, showcasing his belt and holster. On his left thigh he had a sheathe which was holding a very large knife, eight inches or so. The leather was very high quality with an intricate native American style design bearing the clichéd eagle. He walked by the quietly sitting outlaw without a glance to hang his coat on a chunk of depleted wooden wall. This time the outlaw caught a glance of the right thigh. On it, hung a very well kept sidearm revolver. Firearms were rare enough these days, never mind a well kept classic six-shooter. The reason usable guns were rare wasn’t because there was a lack of usable guns, there was a lack of ammunition. Although, it wasn’t uncommon for people to be killed with a gun out there, truth is, they were usually bludgeoned to death with it. This was different though, the outlaw had heard too many stories of Tennessee to second guess his ammunition supply.

“What’s your name, son” asked Tennessee in his usually calm, grizzled voice as he stood over the slouched outlaw, about ten feet in front of him. The outlaw kept his head down staring at the ground, too afraid to look at the man in front of him. Tennessee already knew the answer but started again, “I don’t like leaving my home, I don’t like taking my horse out in the rain and I sure as hell don’t like repeating myself” resting his left hand on the butt of his knife, his calm grizzled voice less calm this time.

The boy looked up. “My name’s Andy Dolls” his voice cracking and anxious, he quickly looked down again.

There was a dozen seconds of silence as Tennessee pulled out a cigarette tin and lit one with a purple Bic lighter. “Do you know what irony is Andy Dolls?”

The boy looked up at the cigarette and then at Tennessee with a scared blank stare.

“Irony is this, son” he paused to take a haul of his smoke, “that same look in your victims eyes, the one of helplessness and despair right before you rape them and kill them, is the same look I see in your eyes right now as I stand before you.”

Andy’s head sank again, hiding his eyes in the floor. His knees crunched together in front of him, and his arms wrapped around them, he knew the roles had reversed. Audible thunder crashes could be almost felt as the storm seemed to be climaxing outside, blowing what seemed liked gallons of water through the windowless frames in the bedroom. The cold water didn’t help with Andy’s shaking.

Tennessee went on “Long before the chaos of the world today, we lived under a rule of law. Harmony. Peace. Respect.” Although Tennessee knew better than anyone how ungodly the early twenty-first century had been, with its wars and its environmental and natural disasters it had been a thousand times better than now. “In a world with no institutions, and a world where no one could tell you the definition of institution, I have become the law. Do you understand me Mr. Dolls?”

“Yes I do.” was all that came from Andy. Quiet and defeated, he had no idea what institution meant. His shaking had calmed a bit, although the storm was still over them.

“That ‘X’ on your cheek. What town had the pleasure of your company?” asked Tennessee in a curious ruffled tone, this time not knowing the answer. He took another pull of his cigarette.

Andy looked up again. “The town that I’m from. It’s called Parry. It’s a ten day walk up the tracks from here.”

Tennessee knew the town well. He also knew that it was unlikely for a town to execute it’s own, excommunication was most likely. This was ideology he didn’t agree with, rehabilitation was never an option. They end up wandering down the tracks for ten days and re-offending. Tennessee’s voice agitated now, he grunted “You stand accused of rape and murder in these parts Mr. Dolls, and in these parts I don’t burn or brand you” he stopped to look at his cigarette, then tossed it into the soaked ground below. “In these parts I take care of problems, I don’t pass ‘em along to the next town. You took a five year old girl from her home in this town, raped her and then you murdered her.” He stopped to let it resonate with the boy. “I want you to stand up, son.”

Andy Dolls stood up, now whimpering. Tears fell from his eyes and were exaggerated by the rain from the storm that poured through the roof above them.

Tennessee took three steps towards him, until he was within two feet of Andy Dolls nose. “Do you have any last words, before I show you to your maker, boy?”

Andy started in a stuttered, upset voice “I am sorry. I know it is wrong but I can’t stop myself.”

Tennessee stared into his eyes, and saw the sincerity most others had lacked in these last moments. He said in his calm voice which had returned “In the old world, there were methods to treat people like you, but now this is the only help you will receive, son.”

At that, the rider unsheathed his blade with one hand and grabbed the back of Andy’s head with the other. Tennessee watched the outlaws expression as the blade was brought up to the right side of his throat, something he promised the family of the victim he would do. Andy Dolls was crying like a child, he was in fact a child himself, when Tennessee plunged the blade into his throat and ended his life.

By the time Tennessee had laid the body down on the floor of the bedroom, the storm had blown over. He bent over to wash the blood off his hands in a stream of water running down the wall beside the window frame. Quiet and unchanged, he remembered when killing people still affected him. That was a long time ago. He stood up and put on his trench coat then made for the door.

The air was heavy and the ground was soft as Tennessee walked out of the doorframe and towards the dusty road, which was now muddy. The sky was overcast but calm now, as the storm could be seen in the distance running across the endless skies that surrounded the old farmhouse. It was very quiet now, the piece of siding had been ripped off in the storm, and the only sounds were of Tennessee’s soggy footprints and the impatient grunts of his soaked horse standing on the muddy road. His cream coloured Chuck Taylor’s brown, red and wet, he mounted his horse and rode away in his own time, from the farmhouse at the end of the road.

My Bucket List

2010-08-20T13:18:00.005-04:00

I know that I usually publish sarcastic or playful pieces on my blog, but this one isn't. This is a list of things I will try to accomplish in my life, some reasonable, some ridiculous, but all possible. I was thinking before bed the other night about the meaning of life and all that other garbage, what was I supposed to do? I thought about how it would be impossible for every soul to have the same meaning of life, and how it must be mainly up to us to create our meaning. I don't want to do anything wildly important with my life, I want to just do the things that would make me happy. And from there, turn them into great memories.

So here's my bucket list. This is not a fabrication of my true desires, it really is my bucket list. And I plan on finishing every single one of them. In no particular order:

1. Circumnavigate the globe on a sailboat.
2. Live on a small island in the south Pacific for one year.
3. See Vladimir Ulyanov's embalmed body in Red Square.
4. Snuggle in bed with Cameron Diaz, on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
5. Drive to the southern tip of Chile, and back.
6. Assistant coach of the Leafs for one game.
7. See the snows of Kilimanjaro before they disappear.
8. See Jerusalem's temples and accomplish the Haj to Mecca.
9. Fly to Space. (come on Richard Branson)
10. Be an extra in a Kevin Smith, Cohen Bros. or South Park creation.
11. Stand on all 7 continents at least once.
12. Have a cup of tea with Castro or Mandela.
13. Experience an Olympic event abroad.
14. Bike from Halifax to Victoria.
15. Retire by age 40.

P.S. I WILL DO THESE THINGS! (maybe some of them, anyways)

I've never been one to jog...

2010-08-12T16:45:00.004-04:00

Jogging is something people do, I admit it. I didn't understand why until one day I tried it. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about, so I found the gayest clothing I owned, put on my Chuck Taylor's and started running. I did a light jog down the hallway and to the elevator, and pressed the button. Its a slow elevator so I jogged on the spot for 35 seconds or so, and man I was feeling good. It took me another 30 seconds to get out of my building (which has bedbugs, because some dirty tramp moved in with the 26 guys she bones, I m moving out soon, thank the Church) and when I finally got outside I had about 50% left in the tank. The humidity then hit me and I immediately had a stroke/seizure in front of 5 or 6 old ladies on their way inside. Ironic because they in fact were disgustingly old and my fear was that one day I would be thrust into some situation where I had to save they're sorry asses from the inevitable hand of death. When I finally came to I realized I hadn't been helped by anybody and I was still lying face down in the parking lot, and to top that I no longer had the ability to move anything on the right side of my body. I will never jog again. Because I hate it and because I am very disabled now.

So Ramadan started today, word up to all my Muslim homies. This is the holiest month for Muslims, and it is started on the sighting of the new crescent moon. Muslims fast from sun up to sundown during this month and it is something that has been done since Muslims were only found in the hottest parts of the world. So why the fuck is Peter Mansbridge and the mainstream Canadian media so worried about Muslims being dehydrated this Ramadan? I saw a clip where these Muslim dudes were sitting in a basement that had an air conditioner and the CBC correspondent kept asking them about the safety of this "Ramadan thing", being that it was 30 degrees outside. Listen lady, if you had done any research about Islam's history you would know that these dudes are gonna be fine. I wonder what it would be like to not drink water all day when you live in a desert 1000 years ago? Probably a little bit tougher than not drinking water all day in a Toronto suburb that has air conditioning and a pool.

I think the time is right for a Passion Of The Christ sequel. Just a little intuition I guess. I remember paying my tuition and my intuition telling me not to. So I could be wrong about this Passion sequel I guess.

I think I just wrote an actual blog... gay.

I Think...

2010-08-01T23:30:00.005-04:00

I think there are 2 instances in which children should be tattooed. A) I want to tattoo 'a bugs life' on a child where 2pac had 'thug life'. It would be adorable AND gangster. B) If you name your child Missy, Misty, Destiny, Muffin or Precious, then the first thing that should happen to that child after it slurps out of the B-canal, is a tramp stamp.

I think Pop Tarts should add more frosting. If they want to stay competitive with Toaster Strudels that is.

I think Mel Gibson is a fine gentleman.

I think AIDS was spread like this... Magic Johnson duct taped himself to the bottom of a plane and jerked off while it flew over Africa. Science will absolve me on this one I think.

If you can play an instrument, your chances of getting famous are pretty good. I think.

I think "The Bachelor" is a moving painting, symbolizing true love. I also think Ally is hot.

I think The Western Fair is also a moving painting, depicting welfare recipients spending taxpayers money.

I think safe sex is dumb.

I think Gasoline smells great. I think Sulphur matches smell good too. I'm thinking I should probably smell them separately.

I think the Easter bunny is really just Pontius Pilate in a rabbit suit perpetuating the death of Jesus.

I think funerals are too black. And I don't mean like The Huxtables.

I think passed out girls are really cute. Really cute.

I think my girlfriends vagee is too loose. I DON'T think my wiener is too small.

I think Bryan Adams is amazing.

Those crazy Americans

2010-05-08T03:42:00.004-04:00

If you read this shit blog you probably know I like to razz the yanks. It's not from hatred but from love, I feel like they are the cousin that everybody can't stand but you still hang out with because he's you're cousin. It's complicated.

So being in the land of the brave (who are all petrified, watching FOX news), I have noticed some things that are different from us, for example, in the state of California you can U-turn anywhere you want, it's fucking downright dangerous. People literally U-turn on freeways, there's even lanes at major intersections just for U-turning. Also, in "Emuricah" you can carry guns around. It's even in their most sacred document, The U.S. Constitution, 'The Right to Bear Arms, no wonder no one respects cops down here, they are on the same playing field. The metric system though? Never heard of it... huh.

So I really started thinking (especially after I grabbed weed off a guy named Ford Barnes in Carlsbad, California) why stop there you nutty Americans? Since you didn't adopt the metric system like the rest of the planet, how about you just do everything different and 'real American like'? Yeah here's what I got.

1. Monday, Tuesday? Those names are fucking gay, Lets call Monday 'Citibank day' and we'll call Tuesday 'General Electric day' and so on.

2. Them Spics are gettin on our nerves, let's close the country off to immigrants AND tourists! That way we know who's American and who aint! If youse here than youse American, if you AINT here, then you aint and you fair game. !Port our Troop!

3. Since America is the only country and culture there is worth knowing about, we should make it illegal to teach, preach or speak about anything BUT Americana and Jesus. Amen.

4. Every other industrialized nation has socialized medicine and health care. But then again, every other industrialized nation isn't America.

5. Public schools, Public libraries, Public Police departments!?! This is starting to sound pretty Socialist... Lets Privatize!!

I could do this forever but.... I gotta call Ford Barnes. If you're ever in South Cali, he can hook you up. It's pretty good weed.
!ADIOS FROM THE LAND OF STOLEN MEXICAN CULTURE, SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA!

'Awesome Elementary' Scene 1

2010-04-16T03:02:00.005-04:00

Since the only ones who really read my blog are my me and my mom, I decided to publish one of my more mature themed scripts. It is a witty drama that emphasizes conversational humour and fringe characters with social intolerance. I am just kidding, it's a porn script that's based at an elementary school with dwarfs playing children who fuck and child actors playing the 'extras' who also attend Awesome Elementary. I think the thing that surprised me about writing a porn script, is how easy it is. Enjoy Scene 1.

SCENE 1
Ms. Murphy- Grade 3 teacher
Johnathon- A midget playing an 8 year old
Children- 15 child actors playing children

(Ms. Murphy's Grade 3 Class)
(Ms. Murphy is dressed like a ho and teaching her 8 year old's Geography.)

Ms. Murphy: "So you see kids, Africa is the poorest continent in the world over saturated with inequality and AIDS. Are there any questions?"

(Ms. Murphy is sitting on her desk in a miniskirt with her legs crossed, and tits all poppin out)

Johnathon: "Yeah I got a question, How do ya get AIDS, I know what it is but how do you get it?"

(Ms. Murphy is now rubbin one out with one hand anticipating a good ol' midget scene, and ripping her blouse open with the other)

Ms. Murphy: "Geez Johnnie, I'm all talked out. Why don't you come up here and I'll show you."

(Now Ms. Murphy is nearly naked somehow, and quite hornyish. The kids are confused, no acting needed)

Johnathon: "Yeah show papa those boobies. You know what I want."

(Now that Ms. Murphy is naked it is clear she has 3 rose tattoos on her chest and back. She also has a 'Playboy Bunny' tattooed right above her vagee, also her pubic hair is shaved like an arrow pointing down. The child actors are delirious by now, some running off-set. The midget starts walking to the teacher, his wiener hanging out his fly.)

Ms. Murphy: "Oh god lets pork."

(Apparently Johnathon already knew how to get AIDS but used a cunning ruse to trick her into fudging, she put up a good fight. Not. They bone for like 95 min in all your standard porno positions. It ends with him busting on her knee, he WAS trying for the mouth...)

END SCENE

The New Black

2010-04-12T23:27:00.003-04:00

They say that within 20 years, caucasians will be the visible minority in Canada. Personally I know a lot of closet 'crackers' who hear that and really start to panic. Me though, I'm super excited, I am finally going to be a minority! That is so gangster!

So for all you pasty white assholes who are getting ready to move to Arizona because of Canada's immigration policies, I have a list of reasons why you should stay here and tough it out when that day comes...

(in no particular order)

1) You will have an accent, chicks love exotic dudes with accents.

2) You might finally be able to land that job on the CBC.

3) You can write bullshit rap and make a butt-load of cash.

4) Your street cred is gonna jump like 400%. The majority of women are always gonna think "Is that cracker gonna rape me or steal my purse?"

5) At least 3 times a day, someone will assume you are a tourist. Have some fun, go with it.

6) You will form a new, more engaged relationship with your local law enforcement.

7) You will finally be able to understand your cab driver and convenience store clerk. A conversation might go like this:

(Jim) " Hey where do you wanna go"

(Frank) "To the Liquor store, and then my baby's mama's"

8) The Men's National Basketball team and Soccer Canada will drastically improve.

9) Asians, Blacks and East Indians will finally all have representation in the Conservative Party.

10) I can finally put spinners on my car and not feel gay.

WORD UP Y'ALL

To: Taylor Hanson (1997)

2010-03-30T02:45:00.003-04:00

===> I recently found a letter I had written but never sent. I just never got around to it I guess. Anyways it's for TayTay, I wonder what he's doing right now... <===

Dear Taylor Hanson,

This is gonna sound strange but I am a 12 year old guy and... well I think you're really cool. And don't take this the wrong way but for like the first 2 albums I sort of thought you were a girl, a really cute girl.

Now I know you're a dude and I thought we could be like bros or something, and just like hang or whatever.

Your Brosef,

Joshua C. Mote

P.S. I like mmbop

P.P.S. You have the cutest smile, for a guy.

The Lottery Dream

2010-02-05T02:54:00.002-05:00

Is there anything more disgusting than working everyday of your life? I say No. Others say genocide and rape and things of that nature. I guess we'll have to agree to disagree.

While I'm at work I tend to daydream about winning the lottery a lot. It's quite dangerous, but I take it one step further. I think about amazingly irresponsible ways to blow lots of money. Here are just a few...

-Pay Boyz2Men to follow me around and sing my every move to the tune of their smash hits.

-Buy a monkey, teach him the ropes.

-Jet-ski across the Pacific in a $10,000 suit and a pair of really nice dress shoes

-Outbid someone at an auction for something they really, really wanted. Then smash it right in front of them.

-Buy African children from child slave markets and sell them back to celebrities at jacked up prices.

-Pay the Russians to take me to Space. Then drop acid when I get there.

-Buy Leafs tickets. (in Toronto, not Buffalo)

-Hire assistants to watch me smoke weed and masturbate.

-Buy some friends.

-Hire assassin to kill friends.

-Only eat veal, and only drink really expensive wine. All day every day.

-Court Octomom and raise her 14 kids as my own.

-Buy hundreds of those $3,000 kittens, you know the fluffy white ones, and use them as toilet paper.

A SUPERHERO

2010-01-21T02:44:00.004-05:00

Every little boy dreams of being a superhero. If I was a superhero it would probably go something like this...

Police Chief: "Mayor, the museum of modern art is about to explode! If we don't do something in
the next 10 minutes, a lot of people will die."

Mayor: "Explode!?! From what"

Police Chief: "It seems the joker has hidden a 90 pound funny bomb somewhere in the building.
We cant find it."

Mayor: "Blasted Joker! That is so brute magoots! We literally just renovated that place in
August! Well its a good thing this city has a superhero we can depend on. I ll
just use this red phone on my desk that is directly
lined to SuperJosh's HeadQuarters and we should have this sorted out in no time.

(Mayor picks up phone and waits for SuperJosh to answer)

(Keeps waiting)

Mayor: "Shit, there is no answer"

the end

AN AMERICAN CONVERSATION AROUND A CAMPFIRE

2010-01-21T01:53:00.004-05:00

George W Bush: "Hey Dick, what do you think the is the most awesome thing we did? I mean at
the White House?"

Dick Cheney: "Jeez Georgie, I dunno. You mean policy-wise?"

George W Bush: "Hehehe... yeah"

Dick Cheney: " Well you got to go with the war in Iraq. I mean we started a war based on a
lie, that's pretty cool"

George W Bush: "Yeah that's true, it is probably my defining legacy... my favorite was when you shot your buddy in the face for making that lesbian joke. I can't believe
the country bought that hunting story Karl made up!"

Dick Cheney: "I don't want to brag, but that was AWESOME!"

Bill Clinton: "Well let's not forget the Patriot Act then. I mean c'mon, you took from the
citizens of this 'great' country the very thing U.S. soldiers were dying for...
freedom. Not only that but you had the stones to call it the 'Patriot Act'. If
thats not edgey, I dont know what is."

Karl Rove: "Fuckin 'eh man"

Condoleeza Rice: "If I may sir, but the coolest thing you ever did was steal the 2000 election,
hands down."

George W Bush: "Does that count?? I mean, we werent even in the White House yet."

Condoleeza Rice: "Doesnt matter sir. The U.S.A prides itself on democracy and forceing
democracy on other nations through occupation. Don't listen to the scientists
who say Democracy started in ancient Greece, it started in Philadelphia.
That being said, you stole the election from the most democratic society in
history, right in front of the world's eyes. Thats hot."

Dick Cheney: "That is bad ass!"

Karl Rove: "True-dat. But facts are facts. You had the lowest approval rating in history
coupled with a majority in congress for the lions-share of your presidency.
Think about it. The citizens of this country are not the most ignorant,
self absorbed, complacent retards on the planet and they kept on voting
republican to give YOU power, its astonishing really."

Satan: "I agree but that deficit your administration accumulated from bad desicions is
legendary! Jenna and Laura's grandkids will still be dealing with that red line
in 60 years from now!"

George W bush: "Man Satan, your so right! Its like I am giving future generations a problem
to deal with that is so big that my name will be remembered forever."

Satan: "Hey that reminds me. Didnt you leave these guys with a surplus in 2000 when
you left office, Slick Willy?"

Bill Clinton: "Yeah yeah rub it in assholes. Your all just so lucky you didnt have an
impeachable scandal to deal with...

(IN WALKS OSAMA BIN LADEN WITH A 6 PACK OF BUD-LIGHT))

Osama Bin Laden: "WWAAAAASSSSSSSUUUPPPPPP!?!??"

Let's Bring Back Gladiator Fights

2009-02-02T14:09:00.000-05:00

I fudging hate Dana White, if you don’t know who that is you’re lying. He’s that smut peddling cue ball who brought your kids and probably you, your favourite crap ever, UFC fighting. It’s that lame excuse for testosterone that takes place in the octagon of homosexuality where dudes in booty shorts role around in bodily fluids trying to apply leg locks, super weak and sort of erotic. Sometimes they punch each other in the nose for a bit and every douche bag in the stands goes wild and they all cheer, and someone told me THAT is what MMA is all about. Hmm, “So why don’t you just watch boxing or Cspan then“, I ask him. He’s about to answer the question but changes his train of thought suddenly and shouts “Oh shit, George St. Pierre has him in the male missionary leg lock!” This my friends is what is wrong with our society, our insatiable thirst for violence and the even scarier trend, dudes in booty shorts.
Fuck it, let’s bring it back. Coliseums full of rowdy drunk commoners needing to see blood and victory, swords and limbs hacked off in piles by the lions. That’s who we are and we love it. My bold statement is this, If we brought back gladiator fighting to the death, for all the masses to salivate over, we would not feel the need to kill each other in alleys or on battlefields and we sure as shit wouldn’t need to keep watching that pay-per-vomit UFC junk. Check it out, we get death-row inmates to “voluntarily” sign up for a training program loosely based on the one Russell Crow does in ‘Gladiator’ and we make them fight to the death once a month in Vegas or Detroit. All the weapons available two thousand years ago would be available to our trained rapists and murders (and by ‘our’ I mean, our American friends who would feed it to us through Global or CityTV) and we would surely line the outskirts of the fight with ravenous lions! That would satisfy the race fans who just watch to see accidents, the people who watch ‘Jackass’ movies, WWE fans, so basically every R-tard with a remote who hasn’t read a book since Andre the Giant was the champ. Not only that, murderers and rapists know from the start ‘hey if I rape and kill this chick, that 300 pound black dude from the Green Mile is gonna stick a sword into my stomach in front of 20,000 people at Joe Louis Arena’.
We have come along way since the Romans ruled the known world, Politicians were crooked and slutty, conquest and war was frequent and incomprehensible, there were few rich and many poor… Well maybe we haven’t come that far. I know for sure we need violence to entertain us just like then because as humans, we know nothing else. Competition is out shtick and the strong always survive longer, so we turn our intermittent attention spans to organized violence like UFC or Afghanistan to keep our primal passion civil. See to me, the global conflicts, the rape, gang killing, and GSP fights can all stop because nothing says unified in glory for the future like a good old fashioned disembowelment in front of the children.

Balack Obama

2009-01-31T19:33:00.000-05:00

Well the last three months has been an absolute whirlwind of marinated media and cheesy sixties slogans, tasteless politics and graceful politics, oh the American Presidential elections. We saw history unravel in front of our eyes as the son of a Kenyan defeated his republican counterpart, a six hundred year old senator and was elected to the highest office in the most powerful country in the free world. The event instantly brought change to a stale nation and simultaneously changed the way the world viewed them as they made a statement with a true sign of the people’s will. But why do I care, I mean I am but a WHITE Canadian male right? What could possibly drive someone like me to care about this Barack hoopla other than the obvious foreign policy reasons? Because he’s black that’s why. And not only is he black, but he can organize the most unprecedented campaign in modern history and cross you over and drain a jump shot while you whence on the gym floor in pain and then , that‘s why.
So I was rummaging around in my dads basement closet where the real gems are hidden looking for his old Black Panthers leather vest and the weirdest thing happened, I couldn’t find it. Turns out, in the times of the Jack Kennedy’s and the El-Hajj Malik El-Shabbaz’s, the feeling of unified elevation was hardly a reality. We had our first Irish President and his little brother, and they had their fiery intellectual leaders and everything was ‘revolutionary’ and meaningful on two fronts. Sure there were the few who had like minds and wanted the exact same things, and I don’t want to generalize but, they wanted us to treat them like humans and we wanted Vietnam to stop… very simply put. Looking back some forty years later the two issues can sometimes merge into one collective description of the ‘revolutionary sixties’ and maybe for the better, but today’s ‘revolution’ is much different. On November Fourth 2008, America (53% of them, not so many as you might think, huh) came together as one to cast a ballot for change and proved the power still lays in the hands of the people. Although Blacks, Asians, Latinos and Whites unified and consciously made a statement by voting the most eligible candidate to office, is this one celebration we could never possibly understand? It’s hard to believe my cracker friends but yes, we will never truly understand how good this one actually feels.
It’s so cliché, ‘the first black president’ and that IS amazing but what does that mean to you and I? Well if I am white, it means I truly believe this is a great thing to see and I am proud of my neighbours to the south by not only electing the first black president, but electing the most eligible candidate this time, awesome. But if you are black, this is truly the most inspirational thing to ever happen while you walk this earth and that’s the truth. You may say, “you are being so narrow-minded, this is all of our triumph! You racist!”, first of all if you are not an American citizen, you didn’t do shit so shut up. You merely watched on CNN and hoped like the rest of us that Barack would get elected, and that’s it. Now, if you are a white American citizen you also did shit so you should also shut up, and I‘ll explain. For four hundred years excluding the last thirty years or so, you have had every single advantage possible over minorities and especially African-Americans, and even now you hold ninety-five percent of all advantages in the ‘Land of Opportunity‘. On my omnipotent television I see white people everywhere rejoicing in their self appointed greatness, yelling “We are amazing, we changed the world, YES WE CAN! U.S.A! U.S.A!” and it really grinds my gears. Sure Blacks only make up thirteen percent of the American population and obviously white people voted for him as well but shit! You (white Americans) merely threw a hungry, deserving dog his bone, and it only happened because the last eight years they had the most incompetent douche bag in Presidential history running the show. I am not just talking about American Presidential system history, I’m talking about all Presidential system history. Presidents of country clubs, of PTA’s, of auto companies, fucking everything. Oh yeah, and he was white.
Yes this is a huge triumph, yes Barack is a worthy candidate but slow down white America and let them have their moment , this is just one thing we cant fully have or understand. This is the Black revolution and they earned it. No more Bruce Springsteen endorsements now it’s Beyonce endorsements, times are a changing, and just in time for Black History month. So when I tell my kids about it and say I remember it, I was ‘there’ for it, I could never truly be where they were cause it meant so much more to them.

When I'm Sixty-Four

2009-01-23T01:01:00.000-05:00

When Sir James Paul wrote the lyrics to arguably his most identifiable song, he envisioned what it might be like in those golden years we all work five decades to enjoy. Growing old with his soul mate (clearly not Heather Mills), losing hair and having snot nosed rug rats on his arthritic knees, what could be more divine? What could be more wonderful? Well apparently a whole lot more.
I was brought up to be respectful and courteous, especially to my elders. I always held doors open, I always used the word ‘sir’ and I always told my grandma I liked the sweater she got me, well not anymore. I have had it. Old people better keep their heads up and brooches on tight cause that door is gonna smack you in the dentures next time I m leaving the bank. So are you wondering what is this vendetta I have with the silver haired punks runnin around causin a muck?? A firm lack of respect.
Respect is mutual and it is the fibre that has upheld our ignorant societies since someone put a frame around a cave painting. It has kept raging armies at a distance, nuclear bombs from exploding over our heads from about 1960-1990 and won Ms. Aretha Franklin two Grammy’s in 1968, so why do we forget about it when we are old? For an age demographic that demands it every time you walk past them with an iPod in your ears, they seem to forget that mutual part.
I understand their argument “I m old, my legs hurt” or “World War One was strenuous”, but I want to know what the hell that has to do with blindly merging with traffic and grunting at cashiers in ANY establishment on earth. Seriously, have you ever been standing in line at a store and an old lady just walks in front of you like you weren’t even there? And then she gets to the register and bitch’s for 10 minutes about the chill she caught in the frozen food section AND then counts out $36.87 in nickels? It happened to me two days ago at Price Chopper! That’s border line heroin junkie, it makes me vomit and it needs to stop. (Seriously if a heroin junkie did what I just described, I would fight him and so would you)
This case of entitlement Betty White and her cronies feel they deserve is a complete pile of Depends, just because you are old it doesn’t make it acceptable to treat age subordinates as well, subordinates. Our civilization (not a Sid Meier’s reference) needs to be stoked with a healthy dose of uneasy ‘hello’s and forced smiles to be cordial, because we are better than that... and there s only enough space for one Toronto after all. And lets be serious anyways, entitlement is like the Canadian Pension Plan, it won’t be there when we’re sixty-four.
So this is my personal perspective and I am not afraid to say it anymore, old people stink. They can’t drive, the colors they wear are hazardous to passing motorists and they’re over simplistic look on life should be a speech bubble in a Norman Rockwell picture. I am done with them. Well almost done...GRANDMA: I’m gonna need that receipt next Christmas, your sweaters suck!