Weekend photo

OK, so maybe it's a little bit photoshopped, but here's a pic that I took of my the sand flats at my cottage in Shediac. This is pro shit, yo...

Things I should invent

Item #1:

A belt that has LED lights all around it and with a GPS thingy in the buckle. Thay way, it can be hooked up to a computer so that the LED lights (as a line or little graphic) will always point in the direction of a specified destination. So you could pick a place on Google maps (say a party or a cottage or a store), and then you could load the GPS coordinates into your belt. Then you'd just follow it to where you want to go. As a default feature, it could also be set to just point north.

Cool, huh? I'd buy one.

Back to Newfoundland on Sunday! Craig and Coleman and I are thinking about doing a (roughly) daily video blog for our house on YouTube, so I'll post that if we get it on the go. Video of all the antics from Wexford Drive will follow. Woop woop bitches.

Oral hygeine

So I was at the gas station convenience store today and I found myself in line behind a guy who was buying an apple and a bottle of Coke.

I wanted to be all like, "Congratulations buddy -- you have fulfilled the recommended daily apple intake. Unfortunately, that Coke is worth negative four hundred apple dental credits. Consequently, you fail the dental hygeine game. Please play again."

I hate Hummers.

So let's see... today, today, today... what happened?

Well, I almost got the first entry into my comprehensive Hummer directory. Y'see, a few weeks ago I was thinking about how people who own Hummers are big douchebags. I mean -- how insecure do you have to be to buy a big honkin, gas-guzzling vehicle like that? In my opinion, nothing says "I have an exceedingly tiny penis" like a Hummer, with the possible exception of a crotch-rocket motorbike with the muffler removed. Though I am by no means rich, I live in a pretty well-to-do town. The Irvings (as in Irving petroleum) live a few minutes across town in this pimped out sprawl of a mansion, along with a bunch of other "old money" families and a few tech rich-O's with their fancy several-million-dollar suburban getaways. So needless to say, Hummer-jerks prevail in the area.

So I spotted one today, and followed it around for a few minutes, since I had nothing else to do. Then I realized that it was just driving into one of the richer parts of my neighborhood to check out the expensive-looking houses. So by the time I realized that the dude in the chromed up, yellow Hummer was just "checking out the competition", he'd probably seen me drive by him like three times, so I decided it was best to bail.

So what would I do with this directory? The idea was that, whenever I saw a Hummer, I would follow it to its place of residence and take down the address. After I got a bunch of them, I planned to go out some night and egg them all. Yeah, that's right -- all of them. How could any good become of that, you ask? Cause you just know that all these assholes hang out together. How I imagined it, they'd all be sitting around on one of their private beaches with their Hummers parked nearby. They'd be drinking expensive champagne while sitting around their bonfire, talking about how the municiple composting program isn't worth the hassle, all the whilst throwing more supreme-grade gasoline onto the fire. And sooner or later, those fuckers would realize that they'd all been egged. And deep inside, they'd realize that it was because each of them, for whatever reasons, was a waste of a human being.

Sorry if anyone has a Hummer. I don't hate you, but I've lost a whole bunch of respect. On second thought, don't even tell me if you do.

Patrick Presents...

TOASTERWORKS!!!

WHO? CRAIG, COLEMAN & PAT

WHERE? Our new apartment in Newfoundland

WHEN? As soon as we get back to St. John's

WTF? Here are what toasterworks entail: We take one (1) old toaster from last year that is broken. We take two (2) very long extension cords and hook the toaster up in the middle of our backyard or in the street. We cram this toaster full of lots (a whole fucking buttload) of exploderific fireworks, then push down the handle. Then we run and watch from a safe distance behind double-pane windows.

Craig's parents are away so we were chilling out at his house a few days ago. His parents had already been gone for a few days adn for some reason there was an absurd amount of fireworks just laying all over his house. I wanted to do the toaster thing there, but Craig wouldn't let me use his new toaster, so this new plan was devised. Should be a blast.

And while I'm on the topic of fireworks, there's something else I want to do. OK yeah, so maybe it's childish, but I never played with fireworks when I was a kid, so now's the time.

What I want to do is get a long piece of string and duct tape a firework to it so that if it were dragged by the string, the "firing" end would face the dragger. Before I got any further, I've got to explain a little something about Campus Enforcement at Memorial University. They are utterly incompetent. So we harrass them. That's all you need to know.

So with anough give to the string, I tie the other end to the end of the campus enforcement patrol car outside their office, then hide behind something (this would definitely have to be a night project). Then, when they start up the car and start to drive away, I have time light the firework -- preferably a roman candle -- before the string takes it away. Within 20-30 seconds, they'll be thinking that they're getting shot at from behind. Which is funny, because we're talking Newfoundland here. In Canada. People don't get shot atin Canada! That would require guns and animosity, and -- as you know -- Canada is a country devoid of firearms and full of friendly happy people of all races, living in harmony. Really. I regularly see Jewish homosexuals and Chinese Muslims embracing in the streets. That's just how we roll in Canada.

So anyway, I'm gonna try to keep this blog up more regularly. I'm of no shortage in ideas. Just time.

Must stop erasing post midway through...

I'm starting to realize that when I think about a post too long, they don't seem like such good ideas anymore. Oddly enough, I'm gonna have to start thinking a whole lot less if I want this drivvel to come out right...

To-Do List for the next 2 years

1. Get into dentistry.
2. Finish up my honours thesis at Memorial University.
3. Take a year off.
4. Work for 6 months, living in seclusion in a shitty apartment, in a city where I don't know anyone, and pay off as much debt as possible.
5. Buy a scooter.
6. Take savings and spend six months driving to the tip of South America and back. Blog everything and try not to get knifed.
7. Enter first-year dentistry.

Time to reveal a secret...

OK, so I think it’s time for me to reveal a previously repressed childhood memory. I declare with utter conviction that I have never confided this to a soul on earth prior to writing this. It’s gonna sound a little weird, but I swear it’s true. Honestly. I’ve actually debated contacting some type of child psychologist or whatever, in an effort to find out whether this has been documented with anyone else.

Here goes -- back in elementary school. I developed this thing about climbing the swing-set. You know how at the side of big swing-sets, there are those two support beams that form a triangle and hold the top bar up? Well, I somehow figured out that when I climbed up one of these beams and hung from the top of that triangle, it felt really good. Like better than really good. I’d haul myself up and let my legs hang, and -- at least as far as my 10 years old self was concerned -- it was like the whole world turned in delicious chocolate and Disneyworld. I’d just close my eyes and for a few seconds everything around me disappeared.

A few times I tried to tell my friends about it, but I don’t think they ever really got it. I’d be like, “Man, have you ever tried hanging of the swing-set? It’s like the best feeling in the world! I can’t even explain!” and they’d be all like “Yeah, whatever…” and go back to playing POG. I just couldn’t understand why no one else was doing it.

So every recess in elementary school, I’d do my hanging thing, get that awesome feeling, and then I wouldn’t be able to get that feeling again until the next recess or the next day. So here’s the kicker: It wasn’t until maybe a year or two ago that I thought back and realized what that crazy-awesome feeling was. It was an orgasm. I’m positive.

Now don’t get me wrong. I hadn’t hit puberty yet, so it wasn’t an orgasm in that sense, but for all intents and purposes, it felt just like one. Hanging off the swings was like fucking cocaine to me. Which helps explain why I was so baffled that no one else did it. I mean -- if everyone felt what I was feeling then there would have been line-ups to hang off the swings. Kids would be beating on each other to get their next “hang”.

And remember, at the time, there was nothing that felt this good. I’d be sitting in the back of art class, scowling at the other kids with contempt. These stupid kids could get their highs off of sparkles or stickers -- and there was that one kid who could get it from the glue -- but I would never again be able to be happy with such trivial things. I’d stare out the window at the swing-set, absent-mindedly coloring in some stupid fucking horse, biding my time until the little hand lined up with the “1”. Then, as soon as the bell rang, I’d be the first one in line, mumbling my way through the Single-File Song that they’d make us sing. As soon as they’d crack open the door, I’d be in the hall, clawing my way past the kids from other classes and dashing toward the swing-set. And then after my hang, I’d just drop down and stumble into the sandbox, content to spend the rest of recess slumped against the edge with that dopey smile on my face.

OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating a bit with the story, but the bare facts of it are still the honest-to-God truth. Thinking back, I can’t remember why I stopped doing it. And I don’t remember when I realized that it didn’t work anymore. Trust me, I’ve tried to go back a few times and try it -- just to see -- but it’s never worked again.

So is that fucked up?

High flying like a real high-roller

So I was thinking...

Most people seem to think that the height of extravagant spending is achieved when the wealthy buy their own private jet so that they can fly anywhere they go. Well, if I was gonna be a douchebag high-roller, then I'd have to do better than that.

Whenever I'd have to go anywhere, I'd fly there in my multiple personal jets. So how would I make use of -- say -- 5 jets? Well simple -- I'd have my arms and legs cut off, then fly each of my severed appendages and my torso in different jets. Then I'd have a crack team of top-notch surgeons meet me at my destination, reattach my limbs, and send me on my way to some classy event full of rich and famous-type people... such as the world premiere of "Snakes on a Plane", during which I would chill out with Samuel L. Jackson. It'd be sweet.

PS - Speaking of Samuel L. Jackson, I got a call from him at work today and it scared the Holy Ghost outta me. If you feel the urge, send Samuel L. Jackson in someone else's direction.

Techno-pranks for a rainy day

So maybe it's blasphemously hot outside, but that title wouldn't have the same ring to it...

So here's what you should do:
1. Open up windows media player on the computer of a friend.
2. Select Play > Repeat to set the player to repeat mode.
3. Right-click a song in the library, and select "Advanced Tag Editor".
4. Change the title of the song to "PORN".
5. Change the "Album Artist" and "Artist" to "People having sex with animals"
6. Click OK.
7. Double-click the newly changed song to get it playing.
8. Open up your friend's MSN Messenger if it's not already open.
9. Turn on "What I'm Listening To".

Now all your friend's MSN contacts will see what your friend is "watching" in windows media player, right next to their name. Sit back and wait for all the beastiality comments from perplexed contacts. Hooray!

Another entertaining thing to do is this:
1. Open up Microsoft Word.
2. Open up the Options/Preferences box.
3. Find the tab which mentions "Autocorrect" and make sure it's turned on.
4. Edit the autocorrect dictionary and add new word substitutions. I like to add profanity to simple articles, such as making "the" substitute for "the fucking whore-ugly". This keep the flow of whatever your friend is writing, while adding some zest to it. But you can always just substitute any other common word (for instance, because) for nonsense, such as "monkey anus penis slutbag sauerkraut". Also hightly enjoyable.

So now, any simple essay becomes hilarious and your friend will become baffled and frustrated very quickly. This sentence from a wikipedia article...

"Because the public believed they were in the middle of a crime epidemic, they demanded an immediate response from the police and the city authorities."

...turns into...

"Monkey anus penis slutbag sauerkraut the fucking whore-ugly public believed they were in the fucking whore-ugly middle of a crime epidemic, they demanded an immediate response from the fucking whore-ugly police and the fucking whore-ugly city authorities."

Classic.

Free-market principles of prostitution

OK -- So... working as maintenance staff at a golfing ranger, I get to be the guy who picks up the balls at the end of each day. Driving around, I've got a whole lot of time to just think.

And today I was thinking about how prostitution is legal in Germany. I was wondering... Does that mean that Germany has publicly traded companies which specialize in hookers? I hope so. I like to think that, as soon as FIFA announced that the 2006 World Cup would be held in Germany, the floor of the German Stock Exchange went ballistic. I picture a room full of sweaty, business-type folks, flailing and trying to convey messages and hand signals across the floor as the room is filled with shouts of "HOOKERS! BUY HOOKERS!" yelled over and over again in thick German accents.

And what about those backroom conversations prior to the FIFA announcement, between professional looking dudes in suits? "OK, you've got to buy hookers when they're at their lowest, then after they get really high, sell 'em before they go down on you."

Hilarious. You crazy liberal Germans.

So I ran out of gas today.

Yeah -- I know, I know... lame. I know exactly what you're thinking: "Who runs out of gas??? Are you a monkey? Because only a monkey wouldn't realize he was out of gas. No, on second thought, even a monkey would realize that, so you must be something less. Perhaps you are an inanimate object, such as a piece of chalk. Yes -- you are likely a piece of chalk, which would certainly have no concept of a gas tank, nor the degree to which it was filled, yet you have somehow unlocked the secrets of the internet and discovered blogging."

Well, before you get all preposterous on me, I have an excuse. My van is a piece of shit. It must have some type of loose wire somewhere, because the console dials turn on and off. They'll work just fine for a long while, but then everything will just shut off for weeks at a time. I'm talking speed, gear, gas guage, odometer, etc. Though I can live without knowing the core temperature and RPM of my 1998 Caravan, gas and speed seem to be pretty integral to the whole driving experience.

But I'm not completely in the dark, since I've figured out how to manage speed, at least on the highways. Y'see, my van is a rocket. Sadly, I don't mean "rocket" in the sweet-vehicle-that-gets-me-chicks way. I mean that, at 130 kmph, everything in my van starts vibrating and shaking and groaning. I'm talking serious rumbling, as in -- Prepare-for-re-entry rumbling. So the strategy for going the 120-kmph limit is to take my van up to vibration-speed, then reel it in a notch. I like to think that this is how my anscestors used to drive... I feel so cave-man.

So the speed problem is solved, at least for major throughfares, but that still leaves gas to chance, prayer, and (at least in the end) the angle of my van. Which leads me to today, I was cruising through the city, and then -- just BLAM -- car starts stuttering and stalling. I'd just passed a gas station a minute ago, so (being naively optimistic), I tried to pull a no-gas U-turn on a busy road. Taking it wide, I rolled up onto the sidewalk, where this dude -- the nerve of him! -- was just strolling leisurely down the sidewalk as if he owned the place. His back was to me and he was blabbing on his cell phone, completely oblivious to the minivan on his heels.

So I honked. Given his road-side location, I guess he was pretty surprised to see me. I then succintly explained that I was out of gas and needed to conserve, so as to make it to the next service station ("MOVE! NO GAS! NEED EVERY DROP!" out the window as I rolled past). So I got turned around, but since the gas station was up a hill, I didn't get far. At the very least, I learned that gas needs to be at the front of the tank in order to be useful for locomotion. The line behind me was a about a dozen cars long before I deciding that this was no way to get gas into my poor van. So I coasted into a parking lot and left it in the open, not even having enough to make it to a parking space.

From here, I just booted it up to the Irving, where the cashier watched, perplexed, as I inspected the beverages, bought a 2L jug of water, walked outside, and dumped it out. I then filled it up with gas, paid, and ran back down the street. If you live in Saint John and happened to see some dude tearing down the street with what looked to be a large bottle of urine, then that was probably me. Once I got to the van, I realized something. Since recessed gas tanks aren't designed to accept liquid from a generic-brand water bottle, I could only get about $2 of the $3 worth of gas into the tank. And that was only with me thrusting the nozzle of the bottle into the gas openning with great velocity, in an effort to get the last little bits in. Needless to say, gas covered the side of my van and the ground in the immediate vicinity. I guess I can't complain though, since it was enough to get me to the next gas station.

So why didn't we have my van fixed ages ago? Well we've tried, but as I said, the problem is on-again-off-again. What happens is this: We book an appointment with the car dude, but by the time we get it in, the symptoms are gone. The car guy could never find anything wrong, so after 3 or 4 visits, he probably thinks that we're a family of vehicular hypochondriacs.

So... yeah... the end.