The Day The Electrolysis Died

Can someone please tell me at what age do men surrender themselves to maintaining their nose and ear hair and simply let it take over?

Just curious. Because it does have to be a conscious decision. You can't tell me some of these older dudes are actually looking at themselves in the mirror before heading out to the office and not noticing they have half of Yellowstone Park sticking out of their nostrils. That's ludicrous. Hell, some dudes have so much nasty hair cascading out of their eardrums, even dogs think, "well fuck, at least I'm not him".

Anyhow, I think I'm looking forward to that age when I can just look at myself in the mirror and just not give a fuck. It'll be a very liberating experience I imagine.

Ya, But Atleast The Target's Easy To Hit...

CHICAGO (Reuters) - Fatter rear ends are causing many drug injections to miss their mark, requiring longer needles to reach buttock muscle, researchers said on Monday.

For fuck sakes people, drop the corn chips, turn off The Apprentice and go for a walk you bunch of fat asses.

Putting the "Die" In Diet

(aka "Take A Giant Bite of My Diet Ass")

I always laugh a little when I see some 500 lb human-puff ball wearing track-pants in line at the Burger King ordering 3 double-Whoppers with everything, onion rings, extra, extra large French fries (actually, make it two), an apple pie, a chocolate shake, and….oh, and a small Diet Coke.

And it does happen.

Like washing down that gorge of grease and saturated fat will magically disappear because you decided to wash it down with a little Aspartame. Right.

Hell, if I ever cram that much chemical into my body, soon after I expect to find myself giving Jimi Hendrix a piggyback through a Willy Wonka-land while a giant Jim Morrison head forms in the clouds above and begins singing “Riders On The Storm” to us. That, or I just think my heart would just stop. Maybe that’d be better actually.

People are such suckers for marketing that it seems to me you could put the word “diet” in front of anything, and people will assume it’s good for them.

“Hey Jim-Bob-Billy-Jean, whatcha eating there?”

“(shrumph, chew, marphle) Well, it’s new Diet Fat-Fried Sweetened Pork Belly and Cheese with Extra Untested Steroid Chemical – it’s got less fat than the regular Fat-Fried Sugar-Coated Pork Belly and Cheese with Extra Untested Steroid Chemical ‘cause it’s got Nutrasweet in it….um…can you please pass me the salt, Jethro?”

Now, I just have to laugh a little harder at those “Diet Coke” people with this news announcement released a couple of days ago:

Aspartame Causes Cancer in Rats at Levels Currently Approved for Humans

Well, well, well…

Who woulda thought, eh?

Now, who’s up for that all-natural organic unsalted kale ‘n’ carrot juice with extra carrot pulp?

Take A Drive Down Penis Boulevard...

Did you hear about this idiot who is protesting the name of his street in Los Angeles?

Michael Fisk, who lives on Dicks Street is apparently making headlines by going to city hall to get the road's name changed -- saying that its slang meaning has made life difficult.

My message to Mr. Fisk. Grow the fuck up, buddy. It’s Dicks Street, not Twat Avenue or Rectum Drive. Dicks Street is hardly offensive.

Besides, I think it’d be kind of a cute name for a street, you know, it might even be a handy, cute kind of pick up line.

“Where do you live?”
“Dicks Street - it’s curves to the left.”
(Hee, hee, snort, ha-ha-ha, har, snort, guffaw, hee-haw, howl, roar, simper, smirk, snicker, snigger, tee-hee, titter, whoop, har-de-har, sigh!)

“Lets go make sex now.”

I dunno. I just think there are bigger problems (and bigger Dicks) to worry about than some juvenile issue over a soft (no pun intended) slang term.

But I got one question for Mr. Fisk that I hope city hall has been asking you – “if you have a problem with Dicks Street, why the fuck did you move there, shitballs?”

Death By Escalator

There is a new ad campaign on the Toronto subways these days promoting how to “ride the escalators safely”. It’s pretty much a step-by-step instruction about how to ride the escalator.

Now, if you don’t know HOW to ride an escalator, first of all, you likely shouldn’t be commuting via a subway train. You know, all those complicated details: Mind the gap. Stand back behind the yellow line. The confusion never ends.

Apparently, the pressure of such a strenous activity as stepping onto a sluggish-moving staircase was causing so much public apprehension that earlier this month, the transit commission even held a public demonstration for “the safe riding rules for escalators”. Ya know, just in case the written rules weren’t clear enough. And for some of these twits, maybe it wasn’t.
One of the steps on the ad campaign is to “step right”. Step right? As opposed to what? Stepping wrong? Don’t step wrong onto an escalator. Now, I know what they mean. Step TO THE right side of the escalator…you know, so the impatient fucks like me can step around your lazy fat ass as you stand stupid and motionless on a moving staircase. But like I said, I know what they mean. Not everyone does apparently.

I admit, I like that they are telling folks to “step right”, but the rest of the steps are rather ridiculous. You know, step on, watch your step getting off, grab the handrail (“and fucking hold on, Charlie – this motherfucker is gonna go, go, go!”). But I think they need more direct instructions like…

The escalator is not an amusement ride, feel free to WALK up the moving stairs, you moronic git.

Never walk up the entire length of an escalator only to stop and stand for the last few moments. Unless you want some Dagwood rushing up behind you to ram you in the ass.

And lastly…

If you have learned anything by reading this set of rules of riding an escalator, maybe you better stick to taking the stairs (and just keep the fuck outta my way).

The "Misguided Criminals" of Language

Well, the Global Language Monitor has released its list of top politically-correct words and phrases of 2005 this past week, and in doing so, set my gag reflux in irreversible operation.

The Global Language Monitor, or “GLM” for short… or as I like to call them, “a bunch of umbrageous, super-sensitive wanks”, is a non-profit organization that monitors language use, but without the whipped-cream sex-fuelled orgy conferences one might expect from such an exciting sounding group. Actually, I shouldn’t ride them as much, as I think they are just monitoring the changing trends of political talk, but hey, I’m never one to presumptively flog a scapegoat.

Among some of the top PC phrases of 2005 is the term "misguided criminals," a term the BBC coined so as not to use the word "terrorist" in describing those who carried out train bombings in Britain, you know, as if changing the term would magically bring back those 52 human cookies baked under London town.

Misguided Criminals? Makes it sound like the terrorists weren’t too sure what they were doing. Hmm, let’s see…52 dead, a subway that transports millions of people a day shut down, striking even more fear across the western world….don’t sound too misguided to me, unless of course, these twits were actually down in the bowels of the Tube intending to knock over a candy machine at Russell Square for a pack of pickled-onion crisps. Then, I guess I’d have to admit – them were some seriously misguided criminals.

Apparently, some people wanted the word "brainstorming" replaced by "thought shower" so as not to offend people with brain disorders, as if someone with a brain disorder would be offended by that. Hey, listen, if you got yourself a serious brain disorder and you are pissing your pants and making "clucking" noises whenever you think about cheese, well, then maybe changing the word “brainstorming” is the least of your concerns.

“Deferred success" was conjured up to replace "failure" so as not to embarrass those who….um….well….fail.

Actually, I don’t like to tell people they “failed” either. Too embarrassing. Too victimizing. Personally, I prefer to use more direct language…like say, “you really fucked it bad, didn’t you, ya useless bag of iguana shit”. Seems like it might be more inspiring for better results in the future than the term “deferred success” to me.

Lastly, there was a call for words and phrases that either de-Christianize the Christian holidays or neuter their genders. Now, while I’m all for de-Christianizing anything, I really can’t say I’m all that jazzed this Christmas to be opening my door to hear the carolers singing "The Drummer Person" or "Frosty the Snow-Sculpture-Shaped-in-the-Likeness-of-a-Human".

I mean, what’s next? If we start to accept that load of reindeer hooey, we’re going to have to eventually neuter all songs.

I don’t know about you, but I really don’t think I want to live in a world where Billy Joel is singing “She’s Always An Individual To Me”, or Ray Charles’ would’ve been crooning “I Got A Person”, and ofcourse, that Percy Sledge R&B classic would from now on have to be called “When A Human Loves A Human”.

And what about poor Shania Twain?

From now on, the poor girl would have to sing her hit “Person, I Feel Like a Person”. Believe me, I don’t want Shania Twain to feel like a person. I want her to feel like a woman.

Man, I want to feel her like a woman.

But then, that’s just me.

Out Tha Do'!

Saucy will be in jolly ol' England until Thursday, November 17th. Tune in then to hear about the "Saucy Monk Rip Snortin' World Tour".

I'm sure he'll have plenty to say about "crisps" and "tubes" and all that shit.

A Selection of Thoughts I Never Said

Ever catch yourself really, really wanting to say something inappropriate to a stranger? You know, like someone who is in your way when you're in a rush or maybe just someone simply so stunned, you'd like to slap them and hope they wake up.

Well, try this interesting experiment and see how much you censor yourself (if you live in a city like Toronto, I'll bet it's a lot). Over the past couple of hours, I made a mental note of the things that popped into my head, but for better or worse, didn't make it out verbally to strangers around me. Here's the best of the list:

"Get out tha way you fat tub o' shit!"

"Fine, don't say 'hi' back, bee-yotch!"

"Jeezus, with that hair, you look like Cruella de Vil"

(to Tim Horton's sales clerk) "Ya know, if you just took one order at a time, you might not fuck up my order as much"

"Please tell me - how do you possibly get yourself to smell so simply vile and disgusting"

(at a salad bar) "Lady, its only a fucking salad - pick a vegetable and go with it!"

An Abbreviated List of Things That Make Me Happy (by request)

In response to my previous entry, the deliciously named "An Abbreviated List of Things That Annoy Me Today", one fellow blogger suggested that I make an "abbreviated list of the things that make you happy". I suppose I must have come off as sorta pessimistic, crass and negative. Well...good.

Still, I didn't think it was a bad idea. Especially for an early Monday morning. You know, a good way to start the week off on a positive note. Because as those who know me best, know I'm all about positivity (I think I heard Donnie Wahlberg say that once when he was still with the New Kids on the Block).

So, without further adieu, here's an abbreviated list of things that make me happy today:

Foam rubber. Icing on a cake. Sleep. Clean underwear. Really good-looking naked people. Bob Segar's moustache. Toaster streudel. Homeless dudes with Teret's Syndrome. "Bottles and cans, and bottles and cans and just clap your hands". Bananas that are 'just right'. My sense of smell. Did I mention really good-looking naked people? A shiny, new quarter. Co-workers who insistently call me by the wrong name. People in libraries who read newspapers attached to a big stick. Barbershops. Leaf blowers. The word 'kamikaze'. Fence posts. Coupons. Hot soup. Sneezing. Tongue kissing. Three-legged dogs. Bacon bits. Cracked magazine. Punch-drunk boxers. Grape juice. Neologisms. Fennel seeds. Sly Foxx's "Let's Go All The Way", summer solstice, corporate bankruptcy, hot dog relish, proof, paper crowns from Burger King, irony, weiner roasts, Q-tips, graham cracker crumbs, Mr. Clean's bald head, breaking news, 98%, lava lamps, linoleum and rainbows.

An Abbreviated List of Things That Annoy Me Today

Speed walkers. Dust bunnies . Hat hair. Turbulence. Hard blinkers. Excessive heat. Excessive humidity. Rancid poultry. Poisonous spiders. Chop suey. Acid rain. Banks. Positive reinforcement. Lyle Waggoner. Nose hair. Flying squirrels. People who say "fudge" or "fart" when they mean "fuck". Decaffeinated coffee. Public radio funding-drives. Public washroom hand air-dryers. Public transportation. Open wounds. Laundry. Flossing. People who rest their sunglasses on the back of their neck. Reality television. Nearly-empty tubs of peanut butter. Cold soups. Broken pencils. Teflon. And Lists.

Graffiti Of The Week

Today, I was on my way to my favorite macaroni and cheese hut, when I noticed this particularly radical scrawling across a newspaper box:

Call me Mr. Fart Log

Now, while most graffiti is consumed with signatures (or what the kids call "tags") or diagrams of pee-pees and wee-wees, not to mention the occasional "suck my dick", I have to say I appreciate the creative and intriguing sentence of this week's winning graffiti.

After all, not only have I never heard the term "fart log", but it is so simply original, I can't quite process what it's supposed to be. Simple-minded folk like me can merely conjure up images of shit, but what if this crazy fucker is referring to something more poetic? I am willing to bet he or she is.

Next, the fact that the artist here is making a call to action. He/she is asking the reader to "call them", yet the anonymity makes it literally impossible. Simply delicious!

And finally, the fact that this graffiti was marked on a newspaper box in the middle of downtown Toronto. Not on a wall. So, why a newspaper box? Mystifying, really.

My best guess. The newspaper box was speaking to them.

Trick Or....Get Down!

Now this is my kind of news story:

ROME (Reuters) - Two Italian boys were recovering in hospital on Tuesday after a 70-year-old man shot them with his hunting rifle because he was frightened by their Halloween costumes.

The 14-year-old boys, dressed as demons, had knocked on the man's door during an evening of "trick or treat" near the northern town of Turin and set off a firecracker.

When the door opened, instead of a treat, the man fired four shots at the boys having been scared by the noise and their strange outfits, the news agency ANSA said.

The tradition of asking neighbors for sweets or money on Halloween is relatively new to Italy but is gaining popularity.

Ya, I'll bet. It's certainly now my favorite holiday.