Apparently, public brutal beatings are frowned upon in Calgary. A couple of ads used this cultural quirk to cast shame on domestic violence. Click here and here. Please note that these ads are so graphic that they were not allowed to air on Canadian TV.

I’ve started “working” at this site, which is mainly a blog right now, so I’ll be posting funny things, weird things, basically anything for the public, there. I’ll still post stuff here, but it will be for me, or stuff that is too bizarre for TransBuddha. It’s a cool site worth checking out; register and comment! We’ll be adding a lot of features to the blog, and rolling out a line of animations, videos, all kinds of fun content.

My bike got here, and it is awesome. It is beautiful, fast, and so responsive. Picture inside

An office prank gone horribly awesome.

Could you imagine having Bush give your eulogy? I wonder if Reagan wanted to hold on for another seven months to avoid that.

Ray Charles died this week from liver disease. He never saw it coming.

I’m having a lot of trouble with the different French “ooh” sounds. For example: Tu veut manger l’oeuf pour le petit déjeuner has four different versions of “ooh.” I think I can make some semblance of each one, but switching between them is a bit of a tongue twister for me. Throw in the weird R, like cruche, and I’m gone. I think I’m doing pretty well with the nasals, but don’t even get me started on linking. Sure, it makes the language sound a lot more fluid, but it also makes a billion homonyms, depending on context. Sometimes I think there was some Norman conference ages ago on how to make the language as difficult to understand as possible. They had to review each word to make sure it sounded like at least fifteen other words depending on what came before or after it. There must have been subcommittees assigned to issues like, “How many meanings can we assign to the letter ‘a’,” and “Changing the meaning of words by appending a silent ‘t’.”

No wonder a sack of bile is called a gall bladder.

I’m borrowing my mom’s digital camera for awhile, so you’ll have to endure (or ignore) more pictures.

My new haircut

This story is fucking hilarious. It’s by a guy who got a tapeworm, and how he got rid of it. I know it sounds gross, but it’s written so well it’s very worth the read. An excerpt:

“Monsieur,” he finally said, “ce n’est pas grave. Je pense que vous avez un ver solitaire.”

I had un ver solitaire? What was that? A solitary worm? A lonely worm. A worm that kept to itself; a moody worm. My kind of worm. An individualistic worm that had taken up residence in my intestines. A worm of character. The English term suddenly snapped into my head. “You mean … I have a … I gotta … there’s a para– a parasite … a living thing … in me?”

I want this camera. It’s way too expensive though, even refurbished on eBay. Oh well.

Now you can find out which survivor of the coming nuclear apocalypse you will be. I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger. Apparently Death couldn’t spell my name so he left it off the list. Or California will be so awful by then, even Death won’t go there.

Which Survivor of the Impending Nuclear Apocalypse Are You?
A Rum and Monkey joint.

I keep my protein bars in the refrigerator so they don’t melt, but I don’t like to eat them when they are cold and hard, so I put one in the microwave to soften it up a bit. Unfortunately, I forgot that the wrapper is made of foil. I turned on the microwave, turned to walk away, heard a crackle and saw blue sparks in the corner of my eye.

Witness the carnage