November's Got Love Handles

Okay, it's time that the trend of the "nude" calender for charity fundraising goes away.

I'll admit, in a harmless and purely flaccid way, it was kinda cute when the old British broads did it to raise awareness for a friend that passed on from cancer, but now it seems like every little community theater group, amateur softball team, or pretty much anyone who ranks in the top 10% of society's most unsightly is coming out with their own "naked calender".

Take for instance, the latest:

Ontario farmers have shed their clothes in a new calender in an effort to attract the youth to futures in farming. Really? So, let me get this right - you want to try and enlist the interests of young people to the labor-intensive, volatile world of farming so you got a photo of Uncle Hoss and his beer gut riding a combine in the nude? Are you fucking insane?

Some of the others jumping on the 'nude calendar' bandwagon include the Stewardesses Stripped (of Their Pension) (to raise awareness), Of Mutts And Men (to raise money for town hall) and the Rugby Guys (to benefit amateur athletics). Now, that's the spirit!

But why stop there. Why aren't nude calenders for other more serious institutions. Maybe we could have calendars to benefit the Nursery School Sluts, or Asses of the Anesthesiologsts and ofcourse one called...Nuns And Their Guns.

I guess the one consolation in all of this is that these people aren't fully nude. Generally, they're hiding their naughty (and by that I mean horrifying) bits with strategically placed items. Rugby balls, fence posts, fireman helmets, you know whatever is thematic and large (or small enough) to do the job.

But here's the thing to all of this....why can't we just give to charity? Are we really so self-involved and materialistic that we have to get SOMETHING for a donation, even if it is something as innocuous and forgettable as a calender full of out-of-shape auto workers posing nude with a steel lunch box hiding their dicks?

Well, proabably. but nevermind me, this shit is selling. People are eating it up. That naked farmer calendar sold its first 1000 calendars bringing in an estimated $10,000......

....holy shit...

ya know, come to think of it, what's one more nude calendar......

Watch for Saucy Monk Exposed 2006 coming soon...

Retarded Expression of the Week

"There's more than one way to skin a cat"

First of all, I dunno who out there is skinning cats, but stop it. That's just gross. And I'm sure there ARE more ways than one to skin a cat. That's fine. Do we all need to know the various methods of skinning a cat? Is that really something we all need in 2005? I don't even like cat fur. The dander makes my eyes itchy.

Now, if I am correct, this statement is the equivalent to...well, actually...I don't have a fucking clue. I think it's something like, 'you can always find another solution' or 'there are other methods to achieving a certain goal' or maybe to hillbillies from the Ozarks it just means you can skin a cat more than one way, dumbshit.

By the way, what would be the OTHER ways to skin a cat? Frankly, I don't know what the ONE WAY would be to skin a cat. Is it with a fishing knife? Maybe one of those sharp Ginsu-knives that cut through tin cans on the TV? I'm not sure. How about this....can you skin a cat by holding it down while you attach several key shackles to various piercings throughout the feline and hook the other end to the bumper of a sports car and then skin the cat when the car burns out down the road? Is that another way to skin the cat? Something tells me that is not what they had in mind when they made up the phrase "there's more than one way to skin a cat".

Ya know what, I am beginning to think there really is only one way to skin cat. Take the fucking skin off it. This is one bullshit expression.

Gimme Your Opinion (When I Ask For It)

On the morning news today, the two well-dressed, dumbed-down anchors were talking about the Montreal Film Festival's controversial decision to screen a film about convicted killer-newly-come-released Karla Homolka.

The one supposedly objective news anchor turned to the other (likely shaking them out of a perplexing daydream about whether red Skittles are strawberry or cherry) and said she doesn't think they should screen the film (although she hasn't seen it)...and that making a film about the serial murderer is "gratutitous".

Hmm, isn't this the same media that decided to create front-page headlines when Karla mentioned the first thing she wanted after getting out of jail was an "iced cappucino" from Tim Horton's?

Just shut the fuck up and read the prompter, idiot.

How Talented Is Your Nasal Passage?

Alright, forget about people getting blown outta the tube in London....okay, Egypt is a powderkeg, fine....but aren't there more important things to talk about...

Like, did you know the farthest a marshmallow has been blown out of one nostril and caught in the mouth of another is 16 ft 3.5 inches, by launcher Scott Jeckel and catcher Ray Perisin of Illinois?

Now, first of all, how a "talent" like this is borne I have no idea. One must presume these two gits were sitting around, y'know just reading eachother passages from Jean-Paul Sartre's Being and Nothingness and shoving mini marshmallows up their nostrils when Scott suddenly was hit with a sneeze. Having just waxed the floor, I suppose catcher Ray was worried about scuffing the floor with a dirty booger-clad marshmallow. Ya know, as one would. Saving himself from having to wax the floor again, he got under the nostril projectile and what with his hands full, being that Ray never removes them from his crotch for any reason, he caught it in his mouth. And thus, a talented, record-setting duo is born!

I guess my question about this record is not why blow a marshmallow from yer nose across the room, but why does someone really need to catch it in their mouth? Besides, to me, wouldn't that take away from the "farthest" part of the record? I mean, if yer buddy is blocking the marshmallow by landing the squishy treat on his tongue, then isn't he preventing it from reaching it's maximum potential in achievement...being that marshmallows may bounce and roll?

Hey, I'm no professional record-setting marshmallow nose-blower. I'm just supposing.

Whatever Happened to Giving People Jobs?

In Japan, researchers are trying to develop the ultimate personal care givers for the elderly – robots. Yep, fucking robots.

Japanese researchers have begun developing mechanical helpers for use in homes, offices, hospitals and nursing facilities.

Well, nothing quite says ‘I love you’ like absolutely eliminating any element of human touch to those we love, eh? What a sense of honor to bestow upon your elderly, dying mother who raised you, fed you and protected you even when you were a helpless, hungry, useless and pathetic waste of genetic material.

Remember, when you sniveled and sulked for days and days after you got dumped by that dumb twill you dated in grade 7? You really think your Mom wanted to keep hearing about that shit? No sir. She wanted to slap you upside the temple and tell you to “get your shit together, you pathetic fuck”. But she didn’t. She hugged you, reassured you and made you cocoa. Well, thanks for the good parenting Ma, let Robbie the Robot take you for a walk now, you wrinkled ol’ skinbag.

I dunno. Maybe it makes economic sense to have robots as "helpers".

Or maybe we’re just too self-centred to really give a shit about that shaky old-fucker who bores us with tales of their daily bridge games and their enjoyable walks in the garden – even if they are blood. “Sorry Pop, can’t chat now – Beauty and the Geek is about to start – you know I can’t go without my B & G, daddy-o!”

I just don’t think we need to turn all our acts of service over to the hands of a robot. That’s just not a great idea to me. I mean, doesn’t anyone remember Stanley Kubrick's 2001, for fuck sakes? Okay, how about last year’s I, Robot? Remember that? One minute yer instructing yer nursing-aid android to give you a barium enema, the next the tin-plated bastard is dicing you up like a tomato with those icy cold Ginsu-knife fingers we’ve designed for them.

Anyone remember when the worst case scenario was a nurse with a giant hairy mole on her chin and a bad disposition?

Damn Good Ideas I've Done Nothing About

Ya know, when yer stuck on a tightly-packed, sweaty, stinky-ass subway for a half-hour of yer day, a lot of things pop in and out of your mind...I mean, besides 'who the fuck on this train smells like the asshole of a dead goat?'. No, I'm talking about moderately zen ideas. I don't recall everyone of them. But off the top of my head...here are some damn good ideas I've never done anything about:

- simulated Pizza flavored salad dressing
- skinless bananas
- ear wax candles
- hand soap for hamsters
- asking Mickey Rourke to emcee my wedding
- asking members of the Hells Angels to be ushers at my wedding
- my wedding
- ground beef sugar cookies
- pillows stuffed with belly lint
- Tums Cake
- A Promotion: buy one item, get a free bag of hair
- egg shell soup
- a spa that offers brazillian waxes to farm animals
- "Biatholf" - a sport combining elements of the Biathlon and Golf, where marathon athletes on cross-country skis stop every once in a while to shoot a golfer.

In a Battle to the Death - Who Would Win?

Harry Potter - Overexposed Boy Wizard

Or...

Sherman Potter - Tired, Has-Been M*A*S*H Doctor?

5 Dating Tips For Dudes (Who Are Dickheads)

Ok, so I'm a monk - maybe your not expecting me to be an expert in the field of dating, but lemme just say that I do have something to offer in this department. After all, I wasn't always a saucy monk...I was once plain saucy. So, let me pass on 5 dating tips for dudes (who are dickheads):

1) Dress nice. Guys, never wear a t-shirt so worn people can see your nipples through it.

2) No matter how good the steak is, never "save it for later", by hiding hunks of meat in your shirt pocket.

3) Listen up, fellas. Never follow up a date's anecdote about a conflict with a co-worker by saying, "does she have a nice ass?"

4) Sit up straight. Good posture makes you look healthier, stronger and more attractive. Also, for once in your life, don't crank off any farts for a night, can you handle that Mr. Fermenting Chili Dog?

5) Gifts. Yes, gifts can be flattering and a good way to send signals, but never go over the top with your intentions. For example, a 10-inch rubber dildo named The Two-Headed Hydra might be best reserved for a little later into your relationship.

Hopefully, these tips will come in handy and you will be able to pull off that awkward first date by looking less like the dickhead that you are.

Love always,
Saucy Monk

Masters of the Obvious

Today Reuters reported this stunningly obvious piece of information for the truly backward:

LONDON (Reuters) - Washing hands with soap can halve the number of young children suffering from pneumonia, the leading killer of youngsters under 5 years old worldwide...Researchers from the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta have shown improved hygiene could save many lives, particularly in poor countries.

Good job to the boys in Atlanta. Now you can go back to the Alf re-run marathon on TBS until you come up with another genius discovery.

The Life & Death of the Eyebrow

Have you ever just been sitting there naked, staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, just contemplating the impact of existential philosophy on modern psychology (and popping a zit on your back) when suddenly...

...suddenly, you notice a hair on your body?

But not just a hair. A really long hair. Like a single 3-inch long motherfucker popping out of your shoulder, and you think, "where the fuck did that come from?".

It's perplexing, isn't it? Many things race through the mind. There's no other long hairs around it. How come its so long? Did it grow overnight? Am I turning into the wolfman? But just for a second, you actually kinda feel proud of it. Well, it's beat the odds. It's the long shot come in.

Every once in a while, I get a crazy eyebrow hair that just suddenly shows up and it's like a quarter of an inch longer than the rest, and I'm thinking, "how did I miss that?". I always cut it off right away, but not without feeling a twinge of guilt. To me, it's like someone surviving a shipwreck and swimming hundreds of miles to shore overnight only to have some prick shoot them in the fucking head.

Sorry Ladies....

Willem Dafoe is off the market.

Would 'Guerilla Radio' Be Too Much?

HEY!
Here's a happy thought!

What's the one song in the world you would like played at your funeral as your casket is being lead off to be planted into the ground?

Think about it.

G8 vs Superfriends: Who Would Win?

I can't see the difference...can you?
Oh ya, no dogs in capes at the G-8.

Cyber Stalker Rant in E Minor*

* yes, this title was ripped off/paying homage to Bill Hicks album Rant In E Minor. So shut up.

A couple of weeks ago Yahoo yanked the plug on a bunch of chat rooms after a news report revealed some of the rooms were being used to pick up minors.

Wow, what gave it away? Maybe the fact that chat rooms contain more creepy characters than a JRR Tolkien novel?

I've never really got the chat-room scene. Part of it was that no one ever had anything to say - "what's your ASL?" "LOL?" "BRB?" "What is this horse SHT?" Will somebody please speak fucking english to me.

Other than cyber sex, I have always assumed there were only 3 other reasons people got hooked on to chat rooms:

1) they're passing time until the Sci-Fi Channel airs another Stargate-SG 1 marathon.

2) they're lonely, socially-inept 13 year olds whose only grasp of idealistic romantic fantasy has been modelled by You've Got Mail.

3) they are there to annoy the hell out of the other two groups.

By the way, if you are a 45 year old married man sitting for 6 hours in a dark basement with all the lights out flirting with pre-pubescent Chat-Room Sally yammering about how she's gonna run away from her Burger King drive-thru dream job and hitchhike to Vegas to meet you - well, you're a desperate, disturbed individual with bigger delusions than the 13 year old and you should turn off your computer and start masturbating to the same thing other men your age do...

Watching golf on TV.

Yo, Those McJeans Is Totally Fly, Dawg!

So, McDonald's is in talks with P. Diddy, Tommy Hilfiger, Abercrombie & Fitch and others about designing new "hip street wear" for their unhip, teenage, zit-faced burger slingers.

I think Mickey D's must be losing its mind.

Now that they've already deceptively introduced a "healthy" menu and a "slimmer" Ronald Mc Donald (nevermind Ronnie, how about you get that lazy, purple blob of shit Grimace onto an elliptical machine once in a while), presumably the fast-food empire must think they need to appeal to the "cool" crowd for employees (psst, McRauchy's...how about higher wages?).

I say McFuck that bullshit.

As a teenager, the cool thing about McDonald's was it was a sanctuary for the outcast. It had an equal-opportunity-hiring practice: anyone could work there. Geeks. Nerds. Dweebs. Dorks. Knobs. Losers. Shitheads. Fuck-ups. Zeroes. Heroes. The Socially-Retarded. The Misplaced. The Shy. The Obnoxious. The Annoying and occasionally, even what I call, The Unsightly.

Why fuck up a good thing?

I mean, it's not like these poor kids trying to make a few bucks-on-a-first-job-so-they-can-buy-the-latest-cell phone-with-a-camera/internet/videogame/transporter/doomsday machine are going to look back fondly on getting in shit for "not assembling the condiments on the Big Mac in the proper order". This is a shit job, baby. Now shows me my money!

I didn't look fondly on my fast food job. No one I knew did. Not without a tongue nearly piercing the inside of one's cheek anyhow.

What McD's is likely thinking is that if they can only convince these young consumers their fast-food bullshit is as "hip" as say, rainbow parties, Paris Hilton and displaying 3 inches of ass-crack outside your low-cut jeans, well then, bingo! A billion more burgers sold.

Which brings to mind a horrible image. The designs of these new "hip street wear" uniforms. It's unappetizing enough that the kid salting my fries has a face more pock-marked than the lunar surface. Do I really need to see the forest of whiteheads covering the crack of his ass?

Lord Of The Idiots

Ever leave your card in the bank machine? What the hell were you thinking? You took the money out. You grabbed your withdrawal slip. You simply walked away.

Idiot.

Well, I can beat that. Tonight, I took some money out. Grabbed the cash. Took my withdrawal slip. Then I hit the 'yes' button to enact another tranaction, namely a bankbook update. Then, somewhere in the nanoseconds between hitting 'yes' and waiting for the screen to present my options, my brain changed its mind, went for recess and I wandered off like some drone from Westworld leaving behind not only my bank card, but also my account fully exposed.

Holy fuck. Now that's an idiot.

I wish I could say I was wasted after a marathon-evening of Jagermeister-shooters or just finished a record-setting number of bong hits or something, but I wasn't. In fact, I was perfectly sober. Well, maybe not "perfectly" sober.

After checking with the bank on the phone, it turns out the generous(?) git who next walked up to a bank machine pretty much ready to give away free money only withdrew a $40 sum. My guess is, they thought they'd just get what they needed to buy a large double-pepperoni and a cab ride home yet still teach whoever the dumbfuck is who left their account wide open a lesson. Me thinks thanks are in order?

Next stop, the bank. Tomorrow, I will be the court jester in the bank who has to explain he needs a new card because he wanted to tempt financial fate by leaving his savings to the world. They'll have a good laugh, probably ask me why I did that ("um, because I have schizophrenia and often slip into episodes where I think I'm Robert Goulet and instantly panic and NEED hair-coloring products no matter what", I'll say with a straight face. I just hope its fucked up enough that they don't ask anymore questions) and then they'll tell me I'm lucky I only lost $40 dollars.

Yes, you're right. I am lucky. And you are lucky that I'm just humiliated enough by this experience that I don't jump across this desk and crush your windpipe like an empty Mello Yello can, Mr. Self-Important Banker.

I may be an idiot, but I wouldn't say I'm lucky.

Now, its your turn.....hurl the insults...

Open Letter To The Lady On The Plane

Dear (bigger) lady sitting next to me on the plane ride home - hogging the armrest,

I know it perhaps isn't my place to say, but please, for the love of Wink Martindale's hairless testicles, quit making those moaning noises when you exhale. Do you even know you are doing this? I doubt it. I would think most people would be more aware when they sound like they have small foghorn lodged in their throat.

Well, atleast, I give you credit for helping me pass the 4 hour ride with some interesting thoughts, such as, 'what is causing this horrifying moaning?' 'Is this lady's trachea so thick with fat, the air cannot escape without creating a low hum?' 'So, this is how hate feels', and 'is there someway I could lure her into the lavatory and kill her and get away with it?'.

Well, I hope I have shed some light on how unpleasant you've made my flight. Just thought you should know. Oh, before I go, one more thing: the in-flight movie, Miss Congeniality 2 probably doesn't deserve the amount of gutteral laughs you've mindlessly decided to donate to it, and although I haven't seen the Sandra Bullock-laugh-a-minute-riot, I highly doubt it's touching enough to warrant a good cry either. Hopefully, next time around, you'll get a grip and work on a Jumble or something.

Or better yet, sit somewhere else...like maybe next to your young daughter, who you've lovingly ditched 3 rows back in a middle seat next to a couple of swarthy, drunk, horny businessmen. Actually, come to think of it...that is a better seat than mine.

Regards,
The Guy Sitting Next To You.

The Most Useless Talent of the Week

Farthest Spaghetti Nasal Ejection

If you are ever in doubt about how simply ridiculous our society has become, all you really need to do is pick up one o' them Guiness Book of Records tomes at the local book shop and flip through a few pages.

Kevin Cole of New Mexico holds the record for the longest spaghetti strand blown out of a nostril in a single blow. He successfully achieved a record distance of 19 cm or 7 and a half inches.

He first started practicing his nasal ejection with Ramon noodles (as we all do at some point in college when you're at home, smashed on Sambuca and the power goes out so you aren't distracted by re-runs of Married With Children) and then ofcourse, you know, it naturally progressed onto spaghetti. I'm thinking the next natural progression must be a broad noodle. Or how about fusilli? Let's see how far Mr. Cole can rocket one of those spirally flying saucers out his nose. I bet a good honk'll get you atleast a foot.

Among Kevin's multitude of useless, and presumably girlfriend-averting skills is the ability to blow one end of the spaghetti out of one nostril, and the other end out of the other nostril for a "nasal floss" effect.

Well, Kevin...congrats. You sound like a real dickhead.