It's Tuesday!

C'mon everyone, sing along with me!
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiits...(k, breathe),

... tuesday, its tuesday
It's really really tuesday
Slam the trunk on Monday's funk
And smile 'cause it's Tuesday!

Not Thursday or Wednesday
Best if it was Friday
But Tuesday is okay
So sing along with me...

(big finish. c'mon, I know you can do it!)

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiits...
...Tuesday, It's Tuesday
It's really, really tuesday
So slam that trunk on Monday's funk
And smiiiiiile...
Becaussssssssssse...
It's Tuuuuuuuuuuueeeessssssdayyyyyyyy!

Yeah!

K, bye for now.

Boy, did I ever rock out this weekend

In an effort to recapture my youth, I went out on Saturday and watched an all original, live band that went by the name of "Stage Door Johnny." It's been far too long since I've done something like that by myself but it was worth the wait. I even spent a good chunk of Friday evening and Saturday afternoon getting things I would need for my outing because all of my "tools" have been lost over the years.

My first stop was "The Leather Boutique" for a brand new rock 'n' roll leather jacket. My second stop was "The Thrift Store" because brand new rock 'n' roll leather jackets are friggin' expensive. I found a great one though. In all honesty, I can't say it's "real" leather but it almost looks like it, and at $5.00, you can't go wrong. It did have a faint odor that I can only describe as old, wet carpet with undertones of mildewed balsamic vinegar but it was so faint that only the checkout girl and the man behind me in line could smell it. If I made one mistake, it was not checking the washing instructions until I got home. Apparently, it needs to be pre-soaked in something called "bioclycepticane #17," which, upon further investigation, was discontinued in 1976 for causing birth defects. Luckily, 6 years ago I had a vasectomy so these things don't bother me but since I'm all out of bioclycepticane #17, I just decided to Fabreeze the hell out of it.

I also found a great pair of dungarees to wear! Alot of the young people that go to these rock'n' roll shows wear them and I was kinda hoping to meet a chick and have a one night stand. These were a fantastic pair! They had a zipper that ran from the front waist-line all the way around to the back so if you unzipped it all the way, you'd have two halves. Is that not easy access or what? And because I had a limited budget, I bought them from the defective, discount bin. The seams run down the front on the left leg and the right leg is 3 inches shorter than the other. But you could barely notice, really. Oh, and I also bought a Hello Kitty t-shirt to complete the ensemble.

I needed to have drugs too. You can't go see a rock 'n' roll show without drugs. I didn't know where to find Ecstacy, so I just asked the paperboy if he knew where I could find some Hashish. Turns out, his dad is a vice cop! I smoothed it over when his dad came around by telling him his son misunderstood me when I said my wife made "Mashished" potatoes. So I didn't get any drugs but I did get a stern warning and an invitation to start reading another newspaper.

So, with my new gear on and a lack of drugs, I went to the rock 'n' roll show. The band played very, very, very, very, very, very loudly. So loud, the bass coming out of the speakers bruised one of my kidneys. The band cussed alot too. When I was a young person, not once did I ever hear Stevie Wonder use the word "cunt." Ike Turner maybe, but I never did see him and Tina play live so I can't say for sure.

And the young people are crazy dancers! I even went into the mash pit and mashed...at least until my trick knee gave out. It must've looked like I was drunk. When my knee gives out, the rest of me goes all wonky. I even fell into this girl who had a nose ring with a chain that went to her nipple (she wore a mesh top with no bra. How can you forget to put a bra on?), then from her nipple into her belly button then another chain from her belly button into her pants. Man oh man, it's like putting a leash on a taco!

This is getting too long so I'm gonna stop now. But I did have a ton of fun! I never got that one night stand though. I think I'm gonna go see another band next weekend and do some more mashing in the mash pit, smoke some grass and hunt down the chain-link girl and make sweet, gentle love to her. I think she could use some soft caresses.

K, bye for now

Friday's Fun Foot Fotograph For Fellow Fans Of Feet!

Here's installment # 3 of the Friday Fun Foot Fotograph For Fellow Fans of Feet. And today we feature the 60 Octave range footsy wootsies of Mariah Carey.

Let me start by saying that I'm not a fan of Mariah's "music." Yes, she can sing well but what she chooses to sing and how she acts in public make me wretch. But good gosh, she has nice toesies! I suppose when you can afford a $500.00 pedicure, anything is possible but hey, good on her!

I also like the fact that there are tons of pics of Miriah where she shows them off. If you have any insight into celebrity ego and you've paid attention to semi - nude pics of these often childish idiots, you can see that the feet are often cut off of the pic. I'm sure the main reason is vanity and I suppose I can't blame them. Even though I'm a lover of female feet, I certainly wouldn't want my bunyon laden digits splayed across magazines like Maxim or Vanity Fair. The only publication mine would see would be the New England Journal of Medicine.


By the way, is this her closet do ya think, or something the photographer set up in his studio? I count 27 pairs of shoes. You gotta know that what's hidden from the camera at least doubles, probably triples or even quadrouples that amount! Wowzers, give me an hour in that closet and it would look like that scene from Ghostbusters where the library gets slimed.






K, bye for now.

Okay, I lied

ACHTUNG!

In yesterday's blog entry, I claimed I had acheived admission into the final circle of the Freemason's hierarchy and recieved an envelope with the "final secret" enclosed. I can't really go into detail as to why I must now tell you all it was a fabrication, but just trust me - it was a fabrication. I repeat: IT WAS ALL A FABRICATION!

Don't worry about me, my family and I are allright and insurance will cover the cost of rebuilding our home.


Thank you,

Mr. Winkie

P.S.

I apologize for this short blog entry but I haven't been myself. I'm shaky with nerves. I will be back to normal tomorrow with a safe and harmless blog entry entitled "Scientologists are Fuckin' a-holes." Stay tuned.

K, bye for now.

I'm Movin' On Up To A Deluxe Apartment In The Sky!

Good day everyone!

Well last night was exciting! I finally, finally, finally had my induction into the final level of Freemasonry. It's been a very long, hard road but I perservered and was given my Diploma (complete with a golden happy face sticker on it), and an envelope containing the "final secret" of the world. And holy shit, is it a doozy! I'm not even allowed to say what it is, that's how important it is! But I will give you this hint: it involves a high level American Politician, an original copy of The Bible, strange alien markings, and a slide whistle!

The ceremony was kinda creepy though. My ass is still sore from the paddling and I've discovered that club soda does NOT get out lamb's blood no matter how hard you scrub. In fact, I wish that a good stain remover recipe was the "final secret." And all along, I thought Martha Stewart had masonic connections! I'm soo dumb! :)

I remember my first experience with my masonic brethren. I saw a bumper sticker on a Cadillac that read "2b1 u ASK1." Next to it was another bumper sticker that read "Sexism hurts everyone, especially broads." So I waited for the Cadillac owner to come out of the dollar store so I could ask him what that crazy fun bumper sticker meant. Sure enough, he came out toting a giant bag of items which must've cost him like 25 bucks! I could tell this guy was rich beyond my comprehension! He told me that he was a Freemason and that I could go to a meeting if I liked and if I wanted to join after a few visits, I could be initiated. Wow, it would be like those college things you see in movies where pledges run around the grounds naked, only I wouldn't have to eat anyone's feces!

So I went to a meeting and I liked it. It was soo much fun! We all talked about our businesses (I make jewelry out of Leggo and sell it at sporting events), we had a good laugh at the expense of foriegners and I had fresh ground coffee for the first time. It was Masonariffic!

So I went to a few meetings and eventually pledged my love to Satan, and that was that. It was all very easy. And a couple of the Auxillery club wives made a delicious Ambrosia. No, not the marshmellow salad, the actual Nectar of The Gods!

Funny things happened shortly after I was a member. I got a phone call, out of the blue, from a guy in Japan named Hiro Isuxiu. He saw my Leggo jewelry and told me that I had to stop using Leggo because it had a thing that doesn't allow you to use Leggo. My first thought was, "All those poor kids at Christmas can't even play with their toys?" He explained to me that Leopold (my sponsor and the guy with the bumper sticker) asked him to re-jig my jewelry designs and sell them in Japan. Well, he did and now I have something called a 'net worth' of 3.2 billion dollars. It seems like alot but you know what they say, "You always live according to your means," and it's so very expensive to plate everything you own with platinum.


So yeah, so that's me. I just wanted to say I had fun last night.

K, bye for now

Unmotivated

When I was a punk ass punk, it was way cool to have no motivation. That doesn't sit well with me these days. For instance, I have no motivation to create a blog entry today but you know what? I'm gonna anyway. Sure, it's half-ass but at least it's here.

Enjoy these various incarnations of Catwoman! And at the risk of this being poll-like, why don't ya let me know which one is your favorite!


Halle Berry as "Catwoman"





















Eartha Kitt as "Catwoman"






















Julie Newmar as "Catwoman"





















Lee Merriweather as "Catwoman"














Michelle Pfiefer as "Catwoman"

















My Aunt Gladys as Catwoman





















K, bye for now.

A Brief History Of The Straight Man/ Funny Man Comedy Duo

The concept of the straight man/funny man has been around for thousands of years. Some of these duos remain cultural icons to this day, while most have faded into total obscurity.

The first acknowledged straight man/funny man comedy duo was uncovered by archeologists on a dig in Nevada. They found cave paintings that told the story of "KROD & DORK" who acted out intricate hunting stories that always ended up with DORK getting whacked on the head with a club, or DORK tripping and falling buttocks first onto a porcupine. The cave drawings even indicated that KROD & DORK charged a cover of 3 Sticks/show.

Dan Brown, author of the best selling book "The Davinci Code," has insisted for years that Jesus & Judas (pronounced Hay-soos & Hoo-duss) started out as a musical comedy duo until their relationship eventually soured. He claims that Jesus was the straight man and main writer, while Judas' talents lay mainly in providing harmonies and doing pratfalls. Brown even goes so far as to hypothosize that The Sermon On The Mount was the first ever concert presentation and the impitus for the duo's downfall. He insists that the bible code reveals that Jesus made off with all the door receipts and it angered Judas (and the Roman Winery that sponsored the event) so much that Jesus was hunted down and crucified for "screwing 'em over."

Europe was taken by storm in the late 18th Century by the first ever multi cultural comedy pairing of The Earl Of Martin & The Marquis de Louis. Very little is known about this comedy duo other than the Marquis de Louis was thrown in prison for spraying Luis XVI (no relation) with a misfired spit-take. Apparently, The Marquis de Louis died of syphilis just days before the Storming of the Bastille.

But it was the days of American Vaudeville that saw the comedy duo rise to previously unknown heights. Literally millions of comedy duos popped up over night and quite often comedy bits (bits of comedy) were shared among performers. In fact, one of the most famous bits of comedy (comedy bit) Who's On First" is often credited to Bud Abbott & Lou Costello when it was actually first explored and brought to stage (although in slightly different form) by 2 New York intellectuals by the name of Jackie Black & Steven White. These two students of existentialism were fed up by base humor involving banana peels and wooden planks to the head. They wanted to raise the bar a little by exploring a more cerebral approach to comedy. Perhaps it was the cumbersome title that made their version of it fail. They called the bit "Why Is Who On First, And Why Would Anyone Bother Going To Second And Then On To Third When An Umpire Who Was Created By Human Beings To Give Their Pathetic Lives Meaning, Would Call Them Out Anyway?"
Say what you will about Abbot & Costello's originalitiy, but their version made depression era audiences less depressed.

The late 1960's and early 1970's saw a resurgence of sorts for the comedy duo. But it didn't take long for audiences to reject bit's about doing acid, psychedellic music, and gang-banging Goldie Hawn.

Maybe the Straight Man/Funny Man comedy duo will make a triumphant return. Maybe one day the marquee will shine again with names like "Punky & Brewster," or, "Roe & Wade." Who knows?

K, bye for now

Top 10 Reasons To Not Put Up A Poll In Your Blog

I've had some stupid ideas, but who'd a thunk the poll question would be the stupidest?

Apparently, no one sees any humor in asking a poll question about feet.

Feet, people!

I thought it was a lame enough idea to not cause fuss.

Please disregard the poll.

See ya Monday.

Okay, it's poll time!

Allright, it seems not everyone likes my little foot fetish. All I ever wanted was to share my mental illness and what happens? I get flack for it.

My poll question is:

Should the "Friday's Fun Foot Fotograph for Fellow Fans of Feet" be discontinued?

To answer poll, merely go to comments section and give this weekly feature either a "Toes Up!" if I should keep it, or a "Toe Tag!" if it should be terminated.

This is good excersise if you're Canadian as we have an election coming up next week.

Remember to excersise your democratic right and vote today!

K, bye for now

Friday Fun Foot Fotograph For Fellow Fans Of Feet! Installment #2

The best invention ever (a close second are those pictures where you have to squint your eyes, concentrate on the pattern, then a 3-d pic of a Unicorn in the woods suddenly materializes) is the Google Image Search. It's with this tool that I found today's Foot Fotograph. Sexy feet are sexy but a sexy woman making her sexy feet even more sexy is like almost too much sexy for me to handle...almost.

I've even made up a little fantasy about this young lady. Wanna hear it? Good!

I'm in a bowling alley, right? I've been working there for 5 years, spraying shoes with Lysol and applying treatments to the lanes after closing time. When everyone is gone and I'm about to close, I walk to the back of the alley to fix what I think is a wayward bowling pin jammed into the gutter and it has to be removed manually. I open the door that leads me to the machinery and there's this lady in the picture, eating an ice cream cone and wearing nothing but a Ramone's hoodie and high heel sandles. She says, "Hey, Mr. Winkie, take me to the Captain and tell him why I'm here. I wanna stay in your world, while my world dissapears!"

Then we have sex on the beach.

K, bye for now.

Stardate 01-19-2006

6:17am - Awake now. Classic rock has been blaring out my alarm clock for 2 minutes. According to Tom Cochrane, Life is a highway. Why do I feel like I'm hitchiking on said highway with no thumbs? Ohh so groggy and cranky. Coffee will fix mood though. Be positive Mr. Winkie.

6:20am - There's no coffee left. Forced to make tea. I checked to see if there's beer for when I get home tonight. No beer. Only red wine. Tea and red wine? Might as well cave in and wear a dress to work. But it'll be a good day. I can tell.

6:35am - I stubbed my toe on a chair. My eye's are filled with tears and I see streaks of light in my head. As I rub my toe, I notice redness on non stubbed toe. Yay! Athletes foot! I haven't done anything athletic in 12 years. It's okay, a shower will help me feel better.

6:37am - My 12 yr. old son got up early for the first time since he was 7 and had a shower before me. My 1 minute shower didn't do the trick. Cold water sucks. Testicles migrated to throat. They taste like Cheetos soaked in ass.

6:45am - Wife wakes up in foul mood. Claims to have been woken up in middle of night by one of my farts. Says she thought someone was at the door. Apparently, I'm a bastard and her neck is sore. Why can't she be more optimistic like me?

7:00am - Making lunches for 2 kids, myself & wife while wife has shower. It seems she has lots of hot water. Hmmm. Doing a nice, special lunch for them and seeing their happy faces will turn this day around.

7:12am - Wow! My family sure can be mean! 10yr old son hates cheese now. He decided that in his sleep because he didn't mind the lasagna I made last night.

7:25am New lunches made, going out to start the car. Mmm, fresh air always clears the mind!

7:27am - There's 5 steps down from front door of my house to sidewalk. I've been meaning to count them for awhile and figured that now was a good time as my head hit each one of them as I tumbled. At least I saved money by not having to buy a "clicker counter thing." Note to self - pick up "Ice Melt"

7:39am - Driving wife to work. Sitting in silence with the one you love can be nice. Sitting in silence with Ivan The Terrible in drag fucking bites.

7:55am - I have seen an image of the Holy Grail in the morning sky. It's taken the form of a Tim Horton's sign!

8:10am -I sure admire Tim Horton's hiring policy. Stood in line for 5 minutes and for the past 10 minutes, I've been explaining to the "person" what 2 cream and 2 sugars mean. I guess if you don't waltz in saying "double-double" they freak out.

8:25am - Sit down and write worst blog entry ever. Could this day get any worse?

8:45am - My boss walks into my office, closes the door, sweeps everything off my desk and says, "make love to me now!" So I do.

8:46am - My boss walks into my office, closes the door, nudges my shoulder and tells me to wake the fuck up. I immediately become alert and stand up and say sorry.

8:47am - My boss notices my erection, sweeps everything off my desk and says, "Ha ha ha ha! You have an erection!"


K, bye for now.

And Who Would You Do?

I'm not big on pondering the larger questions in life. Questions like: Where do we come from? Is there a God? Is wearing white after labor day really that big of a deal? (i feel bad for The Glad Garbage Bag guy). But I was wondering around the electronic world the other day and saw this question posted on a message board:

"If you were forced into a one night stand with someone of the same sex and you could choose who it would be, who would you pick?"

Whenever I get asked a question like that- something totally devoid of any real substance- I'm all over it. I love the small things in life, the meaningless things. So I actually put some effort into my choice. If I had to have gay sex with a person of my own choosing, I would pick none other than...

...that's right, the biggest, baddest mother of 'em all...






Michael Clark Duncan!










He's a 6 foot 5 inch tall, choco-bass cannon!

* Note - he's the one in between the 2 ACTUAL gay guys.


Before you say, "Mr. Winkie, I figured you'd be more of a Steve Buscemi guy," please let me explain myself.

When I was a kid, my daddy always told me, "Son, I will support anything you choose to do. The only thing I ask is that you dive into it 110%." And frankly, choosing to have gay sex with Michael Clark Duncan when you've never had gay sex is certainly diving in 110%. In fact, it might even be as high as 120-125%.

Plus, have you heard Michael Clark Duncan talk? He's got that bass voice that makes you vibrate all over. Pillow talk would shake you right off the bed! And I can't even imagine what it would be like to have a threesome with him and Barry White. All I know is that it would be the biggest, bassiest, ugliest Oreo Cookie imaginable.

Another reason why I would choose him is he seems like a good listener and someone who really would care about my feelings. We could talk about his film roles, maybe.

Of course, he'd be the chick in all this. After all, it's "MR" Winkie - not Missus Winkie.

K, bye for now

BOO!

Yesterday I thought I had nothing to write about (I stole an idea from a friends blog without telling him, tee hee hee) and now I feel like a friggin' knob. I totally forgot that my son and I had a Horror Movie night on the weekend. I feel shame for thinking I had nothing to write about. I'm a turdfarting wing-a-ding (my kid likes that one. Mind you, he has one extra chromosome).

So here we go:

When I was in my late 0's and early 10's, I became fascinated with horror films. That fascination was solidified when my best friend's uncle took us to the movie theatre he owned, sat us in the back row and said "Just watch the movie and keep quiet, I'll be down to get you when I've finished running the film."

That movie was "The Changeling" starring George C Scott. Horror buffs will tell you that its one of the scariest, shit-pants inducing films ever created (hey patriots, it's Canadian too!). What I like about it is there is absolutely no gore, no swearing and no crazy monsters who hate Japan. It's a basic, psychological mind fuck, kid in the attic type flick.

I reached a couple milestones that night:

1) It was the first time I'd ever been to a movie without parental supervision.

2) It was the first time I embraced another dude for an extended period of time.

In retrospect, I don't have a clue what my friend's uncle was thinking but I admit to really enjoying the rush of being terrified and enjoying the comforting warmth that only fresh urine can provide a 12 year old boy. Admittedly, there are alot of shite horror films but when they're good, they're one of the most beautiful works of art on the planet!

Now, my 12 yr. old son was complaining a few weeks back that I'm too strict about what I let him watch (maybe if more parents paid attention to their kids' entertainments, there would be fewer school shootings and less Britney). But I did admire the fact that he came to me and basically said that he was ready to take on some more "meaty" stuff. So I told him that I've been a horror film nerd since I was his age and that we could get the shit scared out of us together. I tell ya, he was into it like Ridley Scott's Alien was into John Hurt!

So we rented 2 movies as a sort of 'beginners course.' We had to start with Dracula (I thought we'd rent an old version like Nosferatu or Bella Lagosi's but the kids today need modern effects and crap and stuff) so I rented Bram Stoker's Dracula with Gary Oldman, Keanu Reeves (the only thing scarier than Dracula puking blood was Reeves' performance) and Anthony Hopkins. Sean (my kid) loved it! He didn't find it scary but he did like the story and managed to not be bothered by the pace of the film which can be a bit slow sometimes and I think he really enjoyed the copious amounts of nudity as well.

I was proud.

Then we watched the second movie, The Excorsism of Emily Rose. I'm not going to get into how I felt about the film (I'm soo jaded) but this movie to him was like The Changeling to me. He hugged his pillow, jumped in all the right places, claimed to have to pee after every scary scene and wouldn't stop talking about black stuff coming out of people's eyes.

It was a good night. We hung out and we shared something we both like. I can't wait til he's 18 and we break out the Bong!

K, bye for now.

One man's admission leads to another man's blog idea.

A good friend of mine cries. He told me he does and I've seen him do it. I've seen many friends cry. Not just girls, but guys too and I admire them for it. I'll admit, I cry too. It usually happens when I'm lying on the couch, just getting to the point in the film my wife chose where the lead actress finds out that leaving her husband with her 2 kids so she can have one last fling in Paris before she succumbs to a rapidly advancing brain tumor was a bad life choice, then the dog jumps up on my lap, right onto my gonads. That's when tears well up and I go to the bathroom and cry.

So much pain & emotion I just can't contain myself.

I cried when my kids were born. When I cut the umbillical cord of my youngest son (didn't have the honor of doing the first), I was sooo overcome with emotion and queasiness that I cried and barfed and tooted too. Trust me, you can't imagine what it's like to lose that much internal pressure until you've experienced it yourself. And it was that opening of the valves that led to me fainting, it had nothing to do with me being a big wuss.

I cried when I heard that Pablo Escabar died. He was the South American gent who supplied North America with something like 90% of it's cocaine. I didn't cry because I do cocaine (I can't stand the stuff), but I cried because suddenly, high pressure home electronics salesmen would now be very cranky and even more difficult to haggle with and getting a decent deal would be next to impossible.

I cried the first time I heard the song American Pie. I thought to myself, "Christ Madonna, what the hell are you talking about? What does "singing dirges in the dark" mean and how come you can't write another hit like "Lucky Star" or show us your tits again or something?

What I'm getting at is that it's allright guys... cry. Let the world know that you have feelings and emotions. Let your friends know you're human. Let the water flow out of you like shit flows out of campaigners' mouths around election time. Which totally reminds me that I'll probably cry when I hear the outcome of our federal election in a couple of weeks.

K, bye for now.

Friday Fun Foot Fotograph For Fellow Fans Of Feet!

I promised myself when I started this blog that I would write something in it everyday ('cept weekends) and so far I've been true to my word. But, if I may quote the Sex Pistols, "I'm a lazy sod." So I've determined that Friday's entry will be nothing more than a picture of a foot or feet I like with maybe a brief description or maybe not. I dunno, I'm new still.

And I guess I should apologize to those of you who don't give a rat's poop cave about feet but I will paraphrase something I've heard many lame-o comedians say: "If I could just reach one person and change their lives, then I've done my job" (cue wretching sounds).

So, without further adieu, I submit to you today's...

"Friday Fun Foot Fotograph For Fellow Fans of Feet!"

















By the way, I'm not a total foot freak. Sure, I can't get off without a woman walking on my back in golf spikes, but it's the whole body that counts and nice feet just make it all...nice. I do think Blogspot may have a problem with most of the foot pics I like that have full body shots, so for now, we'll just show them peedies!


K, bye for now.

I AM A GOD!

I sure admire people's searches for a higher meaning and wish them all the luck in the world! To all of you searchers out there I say: Way to go Buddhists! Nice job Christians! Kuddos Muslims! Party On Satanists!

I, personally, will not be joining you on your searches. At least, not at this point in my life anyway. I've longed believed (ever since some scalliwag priest tried to diddle my friends and I back in '81...ah yes, '81!) that whatever higher power that's out there probably doesn't have much time to deal with what's going on down here. Pardon the reference but, Christ, whomever it is would be way to busy!

I could never be a deity. I'm far too disorganized. I'd do something like send my only son down to earth to pay for the sins of mankind and forget to give him arms and legs. What would've the Romans done then, huh? "Okay Pontius, we can't nail him to the cross. Whadda ya say we just tickle him until he recants his heresy?"

Being any deity with the power to look down and see how the people you created have turned into total knobs would be frustrating and sad too. I'd be over to the god shrink faster than you can say Rorschach. "Tell me how you feel today, God." "Well, those people down there keep killing each other because of my book and just when I need family support, my kid is running around, hiding in grilled cheese sandwiches and window panes." No, definately not the life for me.

Being an Imp would be allright if it weren't for the gay name. Although most gay men I know are a bit impish. I like going to the local gay watering hole and watching those fiendishly well dressed guys being all catty and slippin' roofies into unsuspecting straight men's drinks, then when the guy passes out, they put his hand in warm lotion (he'll have to pee but his hands will be soft) then, instead of drawing a moustache on his lip, they'll make his lips look fuller with that make up pencil and groom his eyebrows (at least that's what happened to me in '81...ah yes, '81!). Then the poor bastard wakes up in the 360 degree mirror room and is being shit on for wearing Lee jeans and a camoflauged jacket and he can't take it so he pulls out his machete and chops people up like he was Paul Bunyan then he draws a pentagram on the floor with gay blood and sings Zeppelin songs... like me.

(* the addition of "like me" in the preceding sentence was an "in joke" for one person. Don't fret if you don't get it. Hell, I don't get it)

Anywhoo, mama don't let your babies grow up to be Gods.

K, bye for now.

If music be the food of love, could you turn it down just a little?

Oh my children, it's a wondrous day for newly pubesced girls and the 5 or 6 recently pubesced boys who are smart enough to realize that Skyreach center in Edmonton is the place to be tonight! The Princess of Pissy Music Hillary Duff is slated to "rock" the asses off 15,000 screaming kids and take every one of their parent's merchandising pennies.

I have a theory on a young person's ability to distinguish decent music from what corporations like Disney hand over to them.

When my children were young and I read to them every night, I did not read them passages of Umberto Eco's "Foccault's Pendulum" or "Rise & Fall of the Third Reich." I read them things like "Good Night Moon" or " Green Eggs and Ham." Both of which are fine examples of literature for kids but not something any semi-educated person has lying around on their night-stand. No way. If my night-stand is gonna be cluttered with half empty water glasses and my stash box, I'm gonna have something decent there to act as a flat surface for joint rolling. Not "I Need To Pee, Mommy."

I think various entertainments and particularly music are similar that way. Sure, there will always be kids who get turned on to Myles Davis far sooner than any of their friends but for the most part, kids like shit. And that's okay.

I don't know how many times I was forced to listen to the horrible sounds of Barney's Best!, Elmo's Hootenanny, or Ted Nugent's Double Live Gonzo, but just like books taught the kids basic sentence structure and story telling, shit music teaches kids basic rhythm and song structure.

So let the little buggers like what they like and don't be judgmental. Just love 'em and remember back to the day when you're parents yelled at you because they were sick of hearing One Eyed, One Horned, Flying Purple People Eater over and friggin' over again.







K, bye for now.

"Making Blogs out of nothing at all"

Last night I lay awake in bed worried, children. I worried that I didn't have anything to write in my blog. So for inspiration I checked out some other blogs to see what those people were writing about. It turns out I lost sleep for no reason at all.

The amazing thing about this particular blog publishing site is the amount of Spaniards that blog. My educated guess is that 97 percent of all blogs are in Spanish. But then again, all throughout history, the Spanish have been trail blazers. Here's some excerpts from Ferdinand Megellan's blog:

Dec. 26/1519 -Wow, it's boxing day and we're leaving Rio and I didn't catch one sale! Denied again (at least I got in some beach volleyball). I will say this though, "Man, the chicks in Rio are el mucho hot!" Now I have to spend the next 5 years hanging out with sailors...men sailors. Ugh.

Feb.2/1521 - Geezus, my gums won't stop bleeding. Who does an explorer have to blow to get an orange around here?

Aug.17/1524 - You know, I really thought my first mate would get the hint when I named them the "Straights" of Megellan but I still wake up with him gently rubbing his 'member' on my cheek. This guy is sooo fired when we get homo. Tee hee.

Sept. 23/1525 - Everyone always talks about that wop Columbus but he's old school. He's yesterday's news, man. Well buddy, there's a new kid in town! When I find a land mass, I'm gonna name it "Megellawood!"

Nov. 2/ 1525 - Nix the Megellawood, just found a spot and the Natives are calling it "Hawaii." First mate and I are gettin' married if the cops don't deny us. Stupid cops. El porko grandes.


See? Writing a blog is easy!

K, bye for now.


*1:28 pm - I just did some research and found out that Megellan was actually Portuguese and NOT Spanish. Please go back and replace all references to "Megellan" with "Ponce De Leon."

Mr. Winkie thanks you for your understanding.

Happy Frickin' Monday, Jellybeans!

On Saturday my wife and I went "ice fishing" with two other couples at a "couples ice fishing retreat." None of us had ever "ice fished" before so we were kinda nervous as it was a large group of experienced "ice fisherpersons" putting on the whole "ice fishing" party. We showed up at the "lake" and there were numerous little "huts" with some "huts" looking much nicer than other "huts" but no one seemed to have "hut-envy" or anything. We had a welcoming person who showed us around. She showed us the coolers where the beer was, the "fishing gear" we could use because we didn't bring our own, she showed us the spot where you could go "warm up" together and finally, she showed us where everyone goes to "clean the fish." In fact, she showed us (and the entire group) what exactly a person could do to "catch more fish!" She didn't have the nicest "hut" but boy, could she really "get the fish jumping into her lap" with her technique!

The six of us began pretty much observing how "experienced fishermen" prepare for a long stretch of "fishing." Some of the other "fishermen" would walk by our hut and even seemed to be sizing us up to see if we had what it takes to join them because as you know, "fishing" is an activity that takes some skills.

After several visits to the "beer cooler" we made our way to the group "fish cleaning" spot to see what was going on. There were about 10 other couples who were just crazily "counting their fish," "gutting the fish," and just everything you could imagine and they were all enjoying it like crazy. My wife is a little more squeamish than I but it sure didn't take long for us to get into it and do our thang with our "fish." It really was a party atmosphere where you wouldn't normally expect one.

I gotta say, I expected to enjoy the whole experience before we went but not as much as I did! Even my squeamish wife had a really good time (except for the one knob who wouldn't stop watching her "scaling technique"). But even that wasn't much trouble. I really hope her and I can go again.

Hey honey? My birthday is coming up in March, whadda ya say?

K, bye for now. Tee hee hee.

Happy Friday!

To tide yall over for the weekend (man, I'm treating it like someone reads this thing) here's a picture of a shoe I like. I like it because it maintains an open top of the foot yet the straps subtetly hint at bondage. Now, if only my wife would agree to wear something like these, I wouldn't have to publish pics and talk about them. I've tried to convince her that if she did wear something like this, our "sessions" would be done much quicker and she could go on with reading her Dianne Galbadon, scottish romanc/fantasy novels much sooner. Does anyone out there want to talk to her on my behalf?

Have a good weekend people! See ya Monday.

Bring on the Catharsis

Normally I don't embarrass easily when I'm a goofball on my own terms. Nothing is more fun than walking through a crowded mall, falling to the ground, pointing up and yelling, "It's falling, it's falling!!" There are times, though, when I get extremely embarrassed and these times happen when I do something totally retarded without meaning to. One such weight I've carried on my shoulders for many, many years is this:

I used to masturbate while listening to the song Roxy Roller.

A few years before I realized that "diddlin' the feller" was a perfectly enjoyable way of spending leisure time, I'd heard this song and I had no idea why I was in love with whoever was singing it. All I knew at this point in my life was that it felt good to wrestle with Jenine my babysitter. But the years went by and by '81, when alone, I'd occasionally throw on a K-tel record with this track and have myself a little "winkie time."

Then, one day in '84 or '85 I picked up a Rolling Stone that had a "where are they now" section and in it was the band Sweeny Todd. It wasn't until then I found out that the lead singer and hottest voiced chick I'd ever heard was none other than a fellow fellow by the name of Nick Gilder. Yeah, a dude. I didn't puke but I did go to church that weekend and asked God to guide me through this confusing time.

So there you have it. I've carried this shame for far too long and here I am...open...vulnerable...ashamed, yet at peace. Mind you, I'll still toss off to Roxy Roller occasionally but I don't imagine Nick Gilder singing it. I imagine someone else, someone sexier and more contemporary, like the singer from The Darkness. I bet she's hot.

Hot child in the city and sex-pot voiced singer Nick Gilder

Feeling good? Well do ya...punk?

Christ, I feel good today! I feel all warm and fuzzy - kinda like balls wrapped in flannel. The last time I felt this good was the morning of Sept. 11/01. Now before you go all politically correct on my ass, let me explain.

September 11/01 started out as one of the best days ever for me. I awoke that morning with an inexplicable feeling of absolute inner peace and instead of my usual routine of trying to get synapses firing by watching morning news, I thought I'd ride this peace wave and enjoy a nice coffee and cigarette out on the deck in total silence (other than my occassional humming of the chorus of "Video Killed The Radio Star"). I gleefully got ready for work and even put some effort into chosing the clothes I'd wear. I grab my discman and put in The Hanson Bros. (no, not the pukey boy band but the fun, non-political version of No Means No) and head to the bus stop. My bus shows up and I walk on, throw in the required 8 bucks or whatever, flush the change for the driver and inadvertently yell out the intro to the Hanson Bros. remake of the Stompin Tom classic, "The Hockey Song." The intro for it is the same as all their songs and they do it as an homage to the Ramones. The intro is thus: "1-2-3-4!" I felt embarassed but other than the bus driver wincing, no one else seemed to care.

Now, when I worked downtown, I'd get dropped off about 3 blocks from my work and walk the pedway to a coffee shop and get another jolt of nature's broom. The pedway was always empty and I'd normally use that time to talk to myself and work out jokes or song lyrics I was writing. That day though, I danced. I danced and spun and would've done the splits, but my balls were wrapped in flannel, hence reduced mobility.

I compose myself, turn a corner that leads to a hallway that brings me to the coffee shop and enter it with a "We're off to see the Wizard..." step I enjoy doing from time to time. Roger (the owner of Aroma Borealis) is standing with his back to the counter, listening intently to his radio he had on a back shelf. By this time I've put Zappa into my discman and rather than saying "Good morning, Roger," I sing, " Gotta cheerleader here wants to help with my paper, let her do all the work and maybe later I'll rape her."

He turns. He's ashen. He says, "One of the Trade Center towers just collapsed." I reply in my best Zappa voice, "Watch me now, I'm going down." Then I giggle. Then I get the story. Then I cry. Then I go back to feeling pretty good about myself and shitty about everything else.

Now when I feel this way, I get worried.

Hey?! Nice, huh? Hoo ha wazooooo waa!

Cherry Poppin'!

I've popped my blog cherry. I imagine its alot like a woman's first sexual experience except without the blood and a sweaty guy on top of me (although I pricked my finger on a pin my wife left lying around the computer desk, so yeah I guess it did hurt a little).

I have many friends and plenty of enemies with blogs and although I consider myself a non-conformist, I figured I'd start up one of these things so I can finally get around to publishing all those poems I wrote in Junior and Senior high school. You know, the ones every kid writes aboout politics and girls without having any base knowledge of how either one works.

eg. My Girlfriend Is A Commie

My girlfriend is a commie
She stands in line for toilet paper
She hurt me when she banged the gym teacher
But at least she let me see her titties

My girlfriend has a Unicorn
Drawn on her math binder
She's good at math
I need a bath
She won't let me inside her


See? No substance, no style. Okay, I won't publish poetry. I'll figure out something.

I could post pictures of feet though! I love feet. Not XY feet but XX feet, so if you're one of those freaky deakie types who like hair on toes then you can march your debauched ass right out of this blog this instant Mister!

K, bye for now.