Down for the count

I think Joel had a little too much catnip last night after work. I'm going to have to beat him like Williams beat Tyson. It'll take four rounds of pummling, but in the end Joel will fall face first on to the canvas and cry like a little girl. I'll raise my mighty fists skyward and hug my trainer, Van Dam.

Joel's bloodied, battered, bruised body will be swept over the edge of the ring, never to be found again.

Anyway, Bozzy's pool hall is shutting down in Rocky. It'll reopen in two weeks under the name of the Fish Bowl. It's not like I went to Bozzy's too often, but I'm not going to the fish bowl ever. What a crappy name.

A Momentous Occasion

Hello everybody! This is Joel speaking. This is an historic day for our site, because Dane and I have decided to co-author a post! I have to admit that the excitement in the air is palpable. Why don't you say hi to the nice people, Dane?

Hey.

Oh c'mon, Dane; you can do better than that.

Hey moron, I didn't even wanna do this, so don't start co-depending me!

I think you mean condescend.

Damn it Joel! That's it, get out of my house. And stop inviting yourself over!

But I thought it'd be something cool for the blog!

This is the stupidest idea you've ever had.

And I even made cool little icons for us!

Who cares? I'm not a damn cat.

Watch it, you peckerhead...

No! Guess what? You're off the team! I'm out too! No blog!

What? You can't do that! I'm the administrator, you stupid asshole!

Fuck you! You piece of shit! Get the hell outta here! Where's that crowbar...

Damn it, why does this keep happening to me?

One sweet ride

I thought I'd mention this story for the last paragraph. It shows why criminals are criminals.

40 held hostage in Halifax robbery

Last Updated Fri, 30 Jul 2004 13:46:20 EDT

HALIFAX - About 40 employees of a big box store in Halifax were held hostage for more than three hours early Friday while a gang robbed the store.

Police said four or five armed and masked men entered the Costco store at about 3 a.m., taking the overnight staff hostage. They proceeded to tie up the early morning staff as they arrived for work between 4 a.m. and 6 a.m.

No one was hurt.

The robbers ransacked the store, taking a number of items including a large amount of cigarettes.

Police say they are looking for a cube van with a picture of a purple octopus on the side.

Written by CBC News Online staff

A picture of a purple octopus on the side. How inconspicuous. There must be millions of purple octopus sided vans driving around Halifax. Some people are just too stupid. They should be shot. There's no use for people like that in society. They might be able to handle a job at a convenience store. There's no way they could hold an occupation as strenuous as being a reporter.

I fought the law and the law won?

I have always respected the law. I fear the repercussions of breaking the law. I'm not sure I do anymore.

On Wednesday, I covered provincial court in Rocky Mountain House. Was I ever disappointed with our justice system. I've been a law abiding civilian my entire life. I don't have a criminal record. I do have two speeding tickets, which I paid in a timely manner.

What's the point?

The entire process was crap. Half of the names on the docket never showed. The afternoon trial was held over because the witness never appeared, and the lawyers were unorganized and unprofessional.

Three quarters of the charged had their court dates postponed. The quarter that did face the consequences of their actions received the minimum charge.

I was thoroughly disgusted with one case in particular. Ivan C. Beaverbones entered the local dollar store and attempted to steal some batteries. He was drunk and the staff caught him in the act. He had also cut himself and was bleeding all over the building. He received a $100 fine for the theft and another $100 fine for breech of probation, which he received for being drunk. He not supposed to drink and must attend AA meetings every week.

I would have been all right with the sentence had he been a first time offender. Beaverbones has a long list of criminal activity. He's a drunk criminal and even the prosecutor said he expects to see Ivan again real soon. "He's a nuisance and he'll be back." I'm starting to understand the 3-strike rule in California. We need to put some fear into the criminals again. The death sentence doesn't stop people from killing, but I'm sure it has decreased the numbers.
Anyway, Ivan left the courtroom smiling. He has no respect, so why should the average citizen who actually obeys society's rules?

I'm also trying to figure out the relationship between the population of natives in the area and the number that appear in court. There are five times the number on non-native people living in Rocky, but there are about the same amount of natives in court as non-natives. There were five members of the Beaverbones clan, two members of the Goodrunning family, two Redbears among others. I hope this is a Rocky anomaly. If this is the case everywhere, something has to be changed.

I will give them some credit. They all showed up. They know how the system works even if they don't care for it.

I always thought justice was an all powerful being. A godlike figure, who slams his gavel down. Now I believe he is more of a withered, battered old man, who has seen too much and just doesn't care.

this is a cry for help

INSPIRED BY THE KIDS IN THE HALL

Hi, I'm Joel Nielsen. I'd like to tell you about the Danes I know.

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

Dane McGowan
He lives in my comic books
He joined the freedom fighters
But you'd probably think they're kooks

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

Dane Lutz
I've known since I was eight
In grade eight I broke my wrist
So I couldn't masturbate

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

All of them are Danes
Dave Lutz: But my name is just Dane
They all have their own hands
But they come from different moms

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

Dane, the Great
Man, this cat can swing
But you might be surprised
To know that it's a dog.

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

Dane McGrunder
I hardly know him
...

These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know
These are the Danes I know, I know
These are the Danes I know

Danes:
We are the Danes he knows, he knows
We are the Danes he knows
We are the Danes he knows, he knows
We are the Danes he knows

Some of us are Danes
But this one here's named Dane
We all have our own hands
But we come from different moms

These are the Danes I know, I know
Danes: We are the Danes he knows, he knows
All: These are the Danes.

Gambling granny strikes again

I got a nice chuckle out of this story when I first read it. I found the article at cnn.com. What are her great-grandkids going to think?

I have to say this is one criminal Dane and Joel might have a chance at beating up.

ROME, Italy (Reuters)
 
Italian police have arrested an 80-year-old great-grandmother suspected of drugging and robbing easily fooled victims for years to feed her gambling habit.

Vittoria Benetti was detained after her last victim, a 70-year-old woman travelling in the same train compartment, identified her in a photo, Italian media reported Saturday.

Benetti drugged her with a cup of coffee and then escaped with 1,000 euros ($1,226) which she promptly spent at a casino in neighboring Slovenia.

Benetti's criminal record for a string of frauds and swindles and her obsession for gambling made it easy for the police to track her down, newspapers said.
 
I guess prison is just about as bad as an old-folks home. The difference is the abondoned, retired old people have pensions and life savings. Prisoners have cigarettes. She'd probably have more fun swindling all the inheritance out of the senile fools at the care centre, not the jail.

 

Sweaty Dumb Crappy Measles Hour.

For some reason, the ads at the top of our site right now deal with excessive sweating. I find this hilarious, yet somehow painfully sad.

Steven H. Gilchrist!

As you're most likely aware, I've not been posting on this site for some time now. This was mainly because I was too busy working on the 52nd Post Spectacular for the other site. And hey, if you haven't read it yet, what the hell are you doing here? Go read it. I've received word that people have found it quite funny, and it even has interviews with both Dane AND Steve Smith, our mysterious benefactor. Shameless plug over.

Back to business. I've been away, and I return to the site today to find that Dane has turned himself into an angry, charismatic prophet of some kind; announcing that the animals are quickly going to take over Earth and subject us humans to their iron-willed tyranny. Although I - having an as yet unmatched loathing for all of humankind - would not be upset if those events were to unfold, I must say that Dane really needs to stop smoking peat moss.

Step one of the reconstruction of this site is now complete.

They're looking to replace us

It's right out of Orwell's Animal Farm. Monkies will be the new humans. I hope the other critters are able to see that the monkies are going to screw them over.

Jerusalem - A young monkey at an Israeli zoo has started walking like a human after a near-death experience.

The zoo's veterinarian said Natasha, a small five-year-old black macaque monkey at the Safari Park next to Tel Aviv, began walking exclusively upright after a stomach ailment nearly killed her.Monkeys usually alternate between upright movement and walking on all fours.

A picture in the Ma'ariv newspaper on Wednesday showed Natasha standing ramrod straight like a human. The picture was humorously labelled "The missing link?"

"I've never seen or heard of this before. One possible explanation is brain damage from the illness," veterinarian Igal Horowitz said.

Sapa-AP

Beware

Who didn't see this coming?

CBC

Lesbian couple seeking country's first same-sex divorce

Last Updated Wed, 21 Jul 2004 11:44:04 EDT

TORONTO - A lesbian couple in Ontario may face problems getting what is believed to be Canada's first same-sex divorce because the law limits divorce to male-female couples.

Martha McCarthy

INDEPTH: Same-sex Rights

The two women, identified only as M.M. and J.H., were married in Ontario on June 18, 2003, a week after Ontario's Court of Appeal legalized same-sex marriage.
They separated five days later.

RELATED: Ottawa to recognize same-sex marriages

However, the Divorce Act, which is federal legislation, defines spouses as "either of a man or a woman who are married to each other."

Toronto lawyer Martha McCarthy and her client, M.M. have asked the Ontario Superior Court of Justice to issue an order that the federal definition of spouse under the Divorce Act is unconstitutional. She said the federal government is due to respond next week.

"It's unconstitutional to give straight people the freedom to divorce, and not gays and lesbians," said McCarthy.

She said she has written to the federal government asking it not to fight their court challenge.
"In September, there could be gay marriage and gay divorce in the province of Ontario," said McCarthy.

The Ontario court was the first to legalize same-sex marriage in Canada. British Columbia, Quebec and the Yukon soon followed.

The federal government referred a draft bill changing the definition of marriage to the Supreme Court for its consideration. Hearings on the issue are scheduled to begin this fall.

Spider-Goats

Goats now have the ability to spin webbing. It's part two in the animals taking over the world. Birds lighting entire forests on fire in California and now goats that can trap humans in webs. The main thing that sucks is that we're giving the goats these incredible abilities.
 
Here's a piece of the article I found on the BBC's website.

(Dane originally posted a link to the article here, but since he's an inbred twit with no regard for proper formatting, I deleted it to return the page to it's former nicely-formatted glory. Since Dane is a journalist you would think he would have a grasp on the fact that there's only a limited space to work with. But I guess not. - Joel)
 
In an unlikely coupling, genetic engineers have now bred goats that have spider silk genes inside them. By doing this, they can harvest the silk proteins from the goat's milk (silky milk, anyone?). The silk gene was just one of 70,000 that make up the DNA blueprint for building a normal goat.

In adult female goats, the silk gene is activated only while the animal is producing milk. One goat can produce about 7g of silk per day.

Spiders in space and surgery
 
Called 'biosteel', the silk is lighter, yet tougher than Kevlar, and nearly as elastic as nylon. It could be used in medical supplies, space equipment and bullet-proof vests.
So there's a new superhero in town. Swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper, fighting crime as it shoots jets of silk from its udders, it's Spider-Goat!
 
The author thinks the entire thing is a joke. I can't believe it. He won't be laughing for too much longer.
 
I've noticed that Joel was harboring a small force of terrorist animals at his trailer. Now they're all heading their separate ways to lead larger forces in the destruction of mankind. I wouldn't be surprised if Joel trained them himself. After three years of dealing with people at Rolf's, he's begun to despise all people and wants to kill them all.  
 
Damn you Joel. Damn You. 
 
By the way everyone should check out his 52 post extravaganza at http://www.brokencontroller.blogspot.com/. It's pretty funny.

We're all going to die.

I saw this on CNN’s website. It had me worried.

"The wildfire began when a red-tailed hawk hit power lines and caught fire, said Jim Dellamonica, a spokesman for the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection.The bird fell to the ground, setting plants on fire, he said. Helicopters dropped water on hillsides, seeking to halt the Foothill blaze's spread."

The fire is still raging. I think this could be the start of the apocalypse. Animals are going to destroy the human world and kill everyone in it.  They seem willing to sacrifice themselves. We're doomed.

I’ll keep this post short so everyone doesn’t get into a panic. I suggest everyone should try and go about their daily lives and let the end come. It’s no use trying to fight. We’re horribly outnumbered.

My eyes should be gouged out and tossed into a bed of hot coals.

On Monday night, I saw one of the nastiest sights I’ve ever seen. It was horrible. All the gyrating, fake smiles and jiggling. What did I do to deserve that punishment? I’m scarred. Terribly, terribly scarred. It was worse than seeing Court’s dance in an Amsterdam nightclub. I’ll try and get Joel to perform the dance and have to downloaded onto the site, but we’ll see. It wasn’t pretty.

Where did I go? What did I see? You ask.

It was Monday, 9 p.m. I went to the bottom bar, and I had my first encounter with a Rocky Mountain House stripper. I don’t think I’ve ever been so disgusted. She didn’t put any effort into her routine, which would have made the show bearable. She looked bad and everything else that could suck, did. I was only there to meet my girlfriend and play some pool. If only I had known. My sheltered life made me believe strippers were supposed to look good.

How I rate strippers?

1) Appearance. Yes, I’m superficial. I like to see good looking strippers. I don’t mind fake breasts. I’m not going to touch them anyway, so they might as well look good. I’m not asking for a life sized Barbie. I actually prefer athletic girls. Piercings are nice, but too many isn’t good. Not for me.
No one wants to see ugly people get naked. It’s alcohol’s job to make ugly people bearable. Covering them up with clothes is also a good idea. Lots and lots of thick baggy clothing. I myself have numerous hoodies that I frequently wear.

2) Performance. I like strength moves. I like Pole tricks, acrobatics and flexibility. Good dancing is a must. The performance should be fluid and not at all awkward. Music is key. I like loud, heavy and fast. I don’t really like the ladies who play the top 40. The louder and faster the music the more the crowd gets pumped up and excited.
They might not want to get the drunk, dirty bastards all rowdied up, but they’ll make more money.

3) Enthusiasm. I like a stripper who enjoys getting up and being naked in front of a bunch of horny bastards. At least pretend. They should look like they want to be up there. I don’t care if they have to do a couple lines, smoke a joint or down a bunch of shots, but they need to look like they’re having fun. They can’t flinch when loonies are tossed at them. It just looks stupid.

4) Bonuses. It’s always great when there are more than one on stage at once. A shower is great. Prizes are a must. Posters, key chains, videos, etc... You need somthing to remember the ladies by.

Rocky’s stripper didn’t have anything. The music I guess was okay, but that’s it. She was old. I’d guess she was about 40. She could hold a handstand for ten seconds, but didn’t use the pole or confirm her flexibility. She made a lousy $6 dollars in loonies.

I always wondered what happened to strippers when they got too old. They go on a small town circuit. They travel around to crappy locations and take their clothes off. I always hoped they quite and find a waitress job.

Maybe my standards are too high. I’ve only seen Calgary strippers. It’s very competitive and only the best remain. The rest exchange occupations or join the minor leagues. I’ve also seen the stripper in Powell River. A town about the size of Rocky. She looked good, but couldn’t dance. If she could, she probably could have been making the big bucks in Vancouver or Victoria.
 
I've managed to come to grips with the nasty stripper. I blocked it from my thoughts for a week and needed a form of release. This is it. I warn everyone to stay away from the strippers in a small town.

Breathed Is God

Are you looking for some Bloom County? I sure hope so, because that's all I've got to give you today. Perhaps if I show a bunch of strips and spread the County love, the good folks who own the rights will see fit to reprint the entire canon. And that'll be just like a sloppy kiss on a rainy day. With a helping of boysenberry pie.

For the benefit of the ignorant jackasses or those people who hated Spider-Man 2 (although those two things aren't mutually exclusive) I should give a reminder that you need to click on the picture to view the strip at full size.

A bit of commentary for the first strip: I've already shown it to a certain somebody who said the part of the rabbit sums up their entire political career. No points for guessing who it is.

The transformation is almost complete

It was a hot summer day, and Joel and Dane were cruising around Rocky. The black ‘83 Chevette was hot, the AM radio cranked out the sounds of the oldies, and the sweat stains were appearing in the armpit regions of their superhero costumes. It was almost time for a free slurpee from Rolf’s.

They took a final tour down main street, the hub of the action in the small town. If there was crime prevention needed, it was on main street. Dane was looking for villainous activity, while Joel’s eyes were perusing, peering, probing the area for scantily clad women. Joel was in heat and on the prowl. Watch out ladies.

The pair had already saved one kid from the perils of J-walking. A new daily record would be established if they foiled two more crimes.

“If only the cops would do their job,” Joel muttered. He was pissed because he didn’t get to go to Sylvan Lake to admire all the uncovered flesh. “I wouldn’t have to be in this hot car, in this skin-tight suit, patrolling a boring town.”

“We have powers that have to be used for the good of the world,” Dane said trying to calm the easily irritable Joel. “You know you need to use your editing skills to further mankind, not to destroy the already fragile planet.” Dane had become very concerned about Earth once he heard about the atrocities in Iraq and the Liberals winning the federal election. He still couldn’t believe they were true.

Joel on the other hand didn’t know what to think. He knew his powers could help eradicate evil, but he also knew the world was weak and his for the taking. It was then that his dream girl walked down the street. Silky, brown hair flowed over her tanned shoulders. Long legs jutted out of a pair of cutoff shorts and her low-cut shirt was too much. Joel got out of the car and strutted over to her. The kind of strut only a superhero wearing a mask could execute. Dane had never seen Joel do anything this perposterous sincehe puked on some guy’s shoes in the old Republic.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite planned out the scenario. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t. His voice froze; he couldn’t force out a word. He just stuttered. It was an incomprehensible mumble. His face went red and a puddle formed at the bottom of his right leg. Joel ran in horror. He flipped a manhole cover and fled into the sewer.

In the background the only sound was laughter. Dane fell out of the driver’s side door and couldn’t stop laughing. Tears steamed down his face, and his sides burst. The pain and misery of his friends made his life worth living. A car quickly turned in beside the Chevette and cranked Dane in the head. Everything went black.

The girl didn’t know what to think and continued on her way. Her thoughts were on the bald clerk from Rolf’s who sold her a Hershey bar the night prior.

With the compression of his finger and thumb, he could have squished my head clean off.

The judge sits high on his perch, gavel in hand. His bloodshot eyes peer down upon me. My hands are bound in cuffs at crotch level. I give myself a quick scratch before he hands down his sentence. The room must have increased in temperature by 20 degrees. Sweat drips down in between my ass cheeks and collects in my boxerbriefs. Everyone is waiting for the judgment, especially me.

With his comments, my life changes. Will I feel his wrath or will I leave a man with a free mind? The hulking judge slowly opens his mouth, saliva threads tear apart as his lips separate. Here it comes. The words vibrate along his vocal cords and the sound waves reach my ears.

“Very good,” says the judge. “You’ve met or exceeded all expectations.”

(I love my thesaurus. Another word for vibration is vibration. Stupid Webster’s English thesaurus.)

I let out a sigh of relief. My body begins to fill with pleasantness. I feel like Joel does when Rolf gives him a gold star for his excellent work ethic. I feel as good as a kid does when they are rewarded for wiping their own ass. I feel good.

Today was my midway evaluation. I wasn’t sure how it was going to turn out. I’ve been going through the motions, but there’s been nothing to really challenge me. No tests. Everything is small and fairly easy. I haven’t had to deal with any serious, controversial topics. But really, are there many in a small town? If there are, another one of the reporters is on top of the story.

I’ll get a good review, which hopefully means a good evaluation, which lands me a good job, which means a happy life. I’d really like a happy life. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be doing to keep me happy, but I’ll found out soon enough.

I couldn’t believe he just snooked me. It was go time

Giving someone the finger is the typical gesture of offense. We don’t bite our thumbs anymore, like in Romeo and Juliet, but I think we should rekindle the art of snooking. To snook is to perform a rude gesture made as a sign of contempt, thumb on the nose and fingers out-stretched. It was the primary signal of insult in the late 18th century.

I also feel we should reinstate the glove-smack-to-the-face challenge. If you are going to fight, you have to make it clear. You can’t just sucker punch someone. There needs to be some sort of code again. I’m not a fighter, but I’ve been hit in the head a couple of times. Most were a result of what I said and should have known it was coming, but on one occasion that wasn’t the case.

I was drunk in a bar. It was the Metro in Calgary. Another drunk blamed me for spilling his beer. He told me to buy him another one. I refused and walked away. My friend, Cartwright was talking with one of the bouncers. He was actually trying to pick up a beer tub girl, but ended up talking to the other staff member standing beside her. Anyway I went over and joined in the conversation.

It was a $1.50 high ball night and I was having a great time. As this other drunk guy walked past, he asked if we were tattling to the bouncer on him. I said no, and seconds after his fist hit my face twice. His buddy hit Cartwright once before the bouncer jumped in and escorted the evil duo out. No damage was done to my face. I got a free beer and everything was all good.

Cartwright and I wandered around the place looking for people we knew. All of the sudden the pair was back in the bar and had spotted us. They came in through the front. The doorman didn’t know they had been thrown out because they were escorted through a side door. Anyway, they came right up to us. Cartwright bolted. One guy grabbed my arms, while the other drove his knuckles into my head. I managed to tuck my chin into my neck so I took the brunt of the hits with forehead. I wouldn’t doubt that he broke a knuckle on my thick skull. I suffered a cut in my right eyebrow, and was asked to leave. I still have a small scar to this day. Cartwright was already outside. We got in a cab and headed home.

The next day I had a hangover and Cartwright had a story about how he scared the two off. His buddy Chad asked me what really happened? Did he run? Yep. Anyone that knew him, knew he was full of crap. But the story he told was a lot better than I got my ass kicked while he ran story. So, I didn’t really care.

Wrap your computer in plastic and stick it in the closet. This might be worth something someday.

As I promised/threatened before, I was going to write an installment in the adventures of Drunk Man and Bug Guy or whatever the hell their names are. And here it is! Now you may go about your business now that the Master of Brilliant Awesomeness has blessed you. Of course, after you're done with him, you could always read this. Issue 0, hitting blogstands now!

But before I start, I'd just... screw it, I'll save it for another post. Enjoy!





It was a dark, or a stormy, or perhaps a dark and stormy night. Lightning crashed, which pissed off the thunder, because apparently only thunder is supposed to crash. They bitched at each other for a while then whisped away to the atmosphere, leaving behind a stench of ozone. The suicidal rain drops fell to the earth and burst apart on impact, leaving behind streams of watery gore. Newsprint blackness was smeared over the landscape and was everywhere. Except in one area, where it was washed away by two thin streams of light.

A small black car slid sharply around the corner of the gravel road. It began to drift and soon found itself hurtling into a tree. It crashed, as expected. Three rather large branches came down with a thud on the hood. And then, all was quiet. All was still. For a few moments anyway, for loud screaming came from inside the car. Soon after, the passenger side door opened.

"...Ing ASSHOLE!!! FUCK! FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK!! WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!!" yelled Joel as he stepped outside. The driver side door opened, then Dane stepped outside as well.
"Calm down, Joel. This car cost us thirty bucks. Those new red pens you bought cost more than that. And look! We're in the driveway of my house!"
"CALM DOWN?! I'LL CALM DOWN AFTER I'VE URINATED ON YOUR CORPSE, YOU FUCKING WACKADOO!"

Dane calmly took a cigarette out of his pocket and shoved it in Joel's mouth. Before Joel could react, Dane grabbed his lighter and lit it. Joel immediately inhaled half the cigarette, then crumpled into a heap on the road. Dane shook his head, grabbed Joel's arms, and dragged him towards the house.

After ten minutes of arduous pulling, Dane zipped up his pants and went into the living room to see if Joel was still alive after he had threw him on the couch twenty minutes earlier. He went back into the kitchen after he saw Joel muttering about "all the pretty puppies". Damn, Dane thought to himself, all this pulling has worn me out. I'm used to pushing things! Before he could curl up on the table and go to sleep, he was confronted by his girlfriend, Famira!

"So, I'm still not good enough for your little adventures, am I?" she sneered. Dane lept to his feet, opened a cupboard, and hid behind it's door.
"It's just that you don't have any powers, sweetie!" stammered Dane.
"What, like you guys? WOW, the ability to get drunk. That's a showstopper. And being able to push things?"
"Dammit, Famira; I have a gift! I push well! And with a bit of power, comes a little responsibility!" shouted Dane as he stood up and raised his fist to the ceiling. Famira shook her head.
"Dane, I have a secret to tell you. You didn't get bitten by a radioactive dung beetle. You got bitten by a radioactive spider. But besides making you sterile, it didn't do anything for you."
"But... but what about Anthony? I pushed him into in a little ball!"
"Oh, him. Well, it turns out he was just a big sissy."
"And why the big story about the dung beetle?"
"Because, dear, if I told you you were bitten by a radioactive spider you would've tried jumping from buildings and stuff. This at least kept you safe on the ground."
"But I have no powers!"
"Do you need powers to be a hero?"
"Hmmm... I guess not... wait a minute, what the fuck am I saying?! Of course you need powers to be a hero! Does Superman save a busful of screaming passengers from going off a cliff by talking nice to the bus?"
"Sigh... you don't get it."
"No! You know what I don't I get? How you appeared out of nowhere! You're supposed to be at work right now! And you don't even sound like you usually do! You don't talk like that! What the hell is going on?"

Famira suddenly began to flicker. She was an image, projected from some unknown source.

"HA HA HA! That's right! I'm not Famira! And this is the end of the line for you!"

To Be Continued!!!

Based on a true story

It wasn’t a position he usually found himself in. Well maybe one or two times before. He was fighting evil with a tire wrench. Mud dripped down his face. He wiped the sludge from his eyes and cleaned his hand on his Dung Beetle Guy uniform. The uniform he wore when he crushed badness into a ball and threw it in a trash can. This particular devil landed DBG in a mud puddle on a rainy day. He had a flat tire.

“What the hell is taking so long?” Inquired the ex-Disorientedman from the passenger seat of the goodmobile. They hadn’t agreed on a decent name for their mode of transportation. It was a black 1983 Chevette.

Since sobering up, Joel was having an identity crisis. He couldn’t decide whether he was the all powerful Editor or if he wanted to be Nicfit. Joel had just quit smoking and was having a rough time. He could, however, turn that nicotine free ferociousness on anyone who got in his way.

“Shut up you lazy bastard,” replied DBG, a vein was starting to pop out of his neck and his eye began to spasm. “With one push, I could send this car into orbit and it’d be your casket for all eternity,” DBG whispered under his breath as a smile crossed his lips.

“What was that?” Joel asked. He heard some mumbling but couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Nothing. You sit in the nice warm car and relax. You stupid cunt,” said DBG. The tire iron pressed against the nut and with a little effort began to spin. “Ha ha. I’ve triumphed again.” Soon all four of the bolts were on the ground. DBG pulled off the flat and tossed on the itty-bitty spare. He fastened the nuts back in place, released the jack, tossed the ruined tire in the trunk and hopped back behind the wheel. They were off to Kal-tire.

Evil was vanquished for yet, another day.

An Open Letter To Dane

They're chasing after me DANE!! Gadfly in your nose! Check the issue!! BRING THE PAIN!! URRGH... aagh. Okay, under control for the time being. It's up to you to keep this thing alive for awhile, I know you can do it... The 3/4 tempo has enslaved my HEADCHEESE! Stick tripe in your colon, you know YOU CAN DO BETTER!! BLARGH!! VOTE FOR THE LIBECOISERVAGREEN.D.P FOR WHITE TEETHH!!!

Playmates of the Year

Those of you new to our site probably have some questions cranking the hamster wheel in your brain; and I have no doubt that number one on your list of inquiries is this: Just what the hell do we look like? Mostly to know who you're looking for when you finally decide to make Darwin's theories more "pro-active", I'm guessing. Well, tough luck, assholes! AH HA HA HAH!

Ahem.

Barring the pictures on our logo, the pictures of us in our posts and the spiffy animated GIF in our sidebar, we're just not that well represented image-wise on our site. I decided to rectify this tout de suite.

         
We're ready for our close-ups, Mr. DeMille.

Well, I hope that helps when you make the trip to Rocky to pop some caps in our ignorant asses. We'll be eating cupcakes and watching Winnie the Pooh until then.

Now on to the first edition of Dane's Relevant Links!

Now hold on, you're saying. You, Jam-Master Joel, are writing this post. Why the hell is it Dane's Relevant Links, then? Because, my simple friend, when Dane recommends a link, it is Relevant. When I recommend a link, it is Useless. Read the damn sidebar. Since these links are actually somewhat relevant, I'm acting as a proxy for Dane until such time when he is in a capacity to recommend them himself. At the moment Dane is currently holding hands with his girlfriend or brushing her hair or perhaps engaging in any number of wholesome activities that boys and girls do together nowadays. I don't know, I took a vow of celibacy two years ago; not as an expression of any beliefs, mind you, but more as a way to justify my social life or lack thereof. But that's neither here nor there.

I'd really like to claim that I created the images above and the images in our header myself, but then I'd be lying. And liars make cuddly kittens cry while Jesus plots to literally shit in their cereal. Or something. Anyways, I made them with the help of some avatar creation programs I managed to find while trolling the Interweb. Kudos goes to Heroine X for being the person whose post about them I found first.

• Portrait Illustration Maker - Used to make the images contained in this post. Not that pretty of a system, really; but there's lots of things to play around with.
  
• Dookyweb - Used to make the images in the logo. Nice and easy! Less options than the one above, though.
  

Up next: Joel attempts to write a chapter in the saga of Drunk Guy and Bug Man, or whatever the hell their names are.

My first time

It was a great day for me. I've never experienced the excitement and pleasure before. Today was my first time being bitched at because someone didn't agree with my column in the paper. It was my first column, but hopefully I have many more angry readers calling into the paper.

I'm sure Joel will tell you my column title sucks, but his recommendation was too clever and no one got it.

(Admin's Note: It was "A Paradigm Shifting Without A Clutch.")

I wrote about Todd Bertuzzi being charged. I don't think he should have been. Anyway, the guy on the other end of the phone started going off and I just listened. I countered every time he said something I didn't agree with.

The conversation ended with him complimenting me on my opinion piece. It's nice to see that I've got people talking.

(Admin's Note: In case you're curious about his editorial, I've typed it below. Yes, I have no life.)

Dane States His Case

Bertuzzi, what did you do?

On Thursday, June 24, Todd Bertuzzi was charged with assault causing bodily harm for his vicious on-ice attack directed at Steve Moore of the Colorado Avalanche. Moore suffered a broken neck and a concussion. It is still unknown whether he'll play next season. The incident at GM Place ocurred three and a half months ago in front of 18,000 fans.

The league acted quick and fierce. Bertuzzi was suspended for the final 13 games of the season. He missed the Canucks' seven post-season games. He lost more than $500,000 in salary. The Canucks were also fined $250,000 for the clubbing from behind. Bertuzzi wasn't selected for Team Canada at the World Hockey Championships in August, because the league hasn't reinstated Bertuzzi making him eligible to play. Now, he faces the possibility of jail time. It's too much.

The attack was terrible and deserved discipline. The league was taking care of it. Now, Bertuzzi has a lot more to worry about. The maximum penalty depends on how the Crown proceeds. Bertuzzi faces a maximum penalty of 18 months in provincial jail. Or if the Crown chooses to go the path of indictment, Bertuzzi could spend the rest of his NHL career in jail. The Supreme Court could send him away for a maximum of 10 years.

Jail time is unnecessary. Bertuzzi has been punished enough. Plus, how much punishment is going to be handed down? The Marty McSorley stick-upside-the-head incident received an 18-month conditional discharge, after being convicted of assault.

In 1998, Dino Ciccarelli was sentenced to one day in jail and fined $1,000 Cdn. for striking Luke Richardson in the head with his stick.

One more. In 1982, Jimmy Mann, Winnipeg Jets enforcer, left the bench and clocked Penguin's Paul Gardner. Mann broke Gardner's jaw in two places. The penalty was a $500 fine and a suspended sentence.

Whatever sentence the courts hand out pales in comparison to what his suspension has done to the Canucks. Bertuzzi could have been the difference in the first round of the playoffs. He could have scred the game winning goal in Game 7 to send the Canucks on to Round 2. He could have had the influence to extinguish the pesky flames before Game 7. It could have been the Canucks battling the Tampa Bay Lightning for the Stanley Cup. It could have been Vancouver's year. Now they'll never know.

The league has to look at ways to keep a similar occurence from happening again. I suggest they eliminate the instigator rule. A player who tries to fight an unwilling combatant is ejected from the game with the possibility of suspension. Before the instigator rule an enforcer could protect the team's star players. Bertuzzi's attack on Moore was in retaliation for a controversial bodycheck. In a previous game Moore injured Vancouver captain Marcus Naslund. Vancouver wanted to punish Moore for the hit. Bertuzzi was the one who acted.

Bertuzzi didn't drop the gloves and hit Moore face to face because of the instigator rule. Instead he chose to hit Moore from behind and take him to the ice, breaking Moore's neck. If Moore had skated away, the play would have likely resulted in a roughing call, and maybe a suspension. It wouldn't have been nearly as long as the one he's serving now.

The terrible assault never should have happened and the penalties could become even more sever with a conviction.