The end begins

The snowflakes drifted down from the sky. They gracefully made their way to the ground.
I stood with my arms spread wide, eyes shut, mouth open and tongue way out, trying to catch those itty-bitty flakes with my tastebuds.
The temperature had just dropped to a crisp 10-below celsius. A tender breeze lowered the air by a couple more degrees, but I couldn’t be happier.
There’s no greater feeling than standing on top of the tallest structure in a town wearing some brown tights and listening for the bell to sound signifying the next bout against evil.
I opened my eyes and looked at the quiet street below. The fluffy flakes kept coming down, thousands upon thousands.
I then had a flashback to Grade 2 science, when the teacher told us no two snowflakes were exactly alike.
I sat in my tiny desk next to the girl with cooties and believed every word the teacher spoke.
I wish I could have jumped up and yelled dogpoo.
How can you be so sure? There’s billions and billions of snowflakes falling every year. There must be two that are perfectly identical. Maybe one up in Alaska and one at the south pole that are the equal in every way.
I was a gullible fool. Seven years old and not even capable of seeing through my teacher’s deceitful words. Shame on me. My thoughts filled my head and lost my focus. It was a big mistake.
A whooshing sound pounded on my eardrums and a black blur appeared in my peripheral vision.
I heard a dull thud as the white snow flakes went fuzzy and the world was drown in black.
I awoke groggy, on my back in the alleyway behind Shop Easy Foods. My head hurt.
Once my eyes focused I could see the brick wall in front of me.
There were four letters written in neon green. My jaw dropped. I began to tremble. It couldn’t be. Terror rose through my body. Snot dripped out of my nose. I vomited out chunks of lunch. It didn’t taste good, but it didn’t matter.
My worst nightmare was coming true.
The four letters WANK.

The next two months are going to suck

Uh-oh. I just inherited two months of bad luck. I don’t know enough people to send this chain letter on. Why can’t I know enough people to pass on these stupid e-mails that will send me into unluckiness.
The last bout of bad luck was just about to come to an end and then another one pops up.
The e-mail had some guidelines to follow to make a girlfriend happy. It’s obviously propaganda from the female forces of the world. I was not fooled. They don’t like to be complimented, given presents, surprised, hugged, flirted with, hands held and so on. I’m a lot smarter than that.
At the bottom was the curse. Pass this on to 16 people or receive two months bad luck.
I panicked. I only have 15 addresses in my e-mail list. I’m screwed. I guess that lottery ticket in my pocket won’t be a winner and my Seattle Seahawks will take a dive for the rest of the season. The surgeon promising to remove Joel from my back will cancel the surgery and my life will get considerably worse as time progresses over the two months.
Why don’t a I just erase spam e-mails?



Wasn't Hitler a handsome man?

It's beginning...

Middle of the month.
I checked my account to see what bills I have yet to pay. I printed out a statement and on the 15th a mysterious $92 was taken out, but two days later the money was put back in.
I was puzzled. I looked back a month and again on the 15th $92 was taken out.
I went up to the teller, who was pretty good looking, and inquired.
She took down the information and it was passed along to the manager. She wasn't interested in my witty banter about the weather.
She told me the manager would look into it and give me a call.
The manager did. It turns out that on the 15th of the month I manage a trip to Calgary to purchase something from a store that I don’t know about.
It makes me wonder about some security issues at my bank. Does this happen at all banks? Am I a freak of nature? Why me?
It hasn’t really done anything harmful, but this could be just be the start of something big. A conspiracy by some evil organization based out of Calgary. There's no other explaination; banks don't make mistakes.
I urge everyone to go check their accounts and make sure some diabolical transactions aren’t happening to you.
We have to squash this evil uprising before it grows too powerful and takes over the world on bank account at a time.

This post is made better by listening to some Zebrahead while reading.

What's taking so long?

He hobbles around the office with a left-legged limp. An old curling injury he boasts, but like that’s anything to be proud of.
It’s a hectic day at the office. The minutes are ticking away and deadline is getting closer and closer.
He creeps by the cubicles, gazing at the work being done by everyone else. He circles the editorial department before heading back to his lonely office. There’s still a lot of work to be done and very little time.
I check the clock. It’s 11:45.
The sports pages are done and deadline is only 15 minutes away. The paper needs to be upstairs, shot, plated and sent to the press.
The wounded man comes out of his office again. He has a calm look upon his face.
Time has come, but only four of the 12 pages are upstairs on the production manager’s work station. Sports and Lifestyles are ready to go, but not the news, classified or native page.
Thirty minutes overdue, limpy comes back out and dishes out pages to be completed.
One and two head to one guy. Three, ten and 11 go to the deputy editor. Four and five remain with curling-mishap man.
I sit back in my corner cubicle and watch the chaos. I smile crosses my lips. There’s nothing better than watching others panic.
Curses are flying around the office. Derogatory rumblings are spoken in a silent whisper.
Finally pages come off the printer waiting to be proofed.
I jump into action, but really why do I proofread. I suck at spelling and grammar. Whatever, I do it anyway. I’m a team player. I give it 110 per cent and as long as we win it doesn’t matter about individual efforts.
Production Manager harasses us. The pressure is on. Pages four and five are the last to make their way upstairs.
Three hours later the paper gets done. It’s pushed back the whole operation. The press room is waiting around grumbling. They should have had the paper printed by now. They should be heading home after a long 10-hour day.
We’ll do this all again on Tuesday. Hopefully it’ll be done on time.

The News-Optimist is under the guidance of a new editor. As of last week, the new guy has been in charge.
The former editor has stepped back into a reporter position, which has made for an awkward newsroom.
It’s weird working beside your former boss. Something doesn’t seem right. Most people would rather quite than take a step back.
The new guy didn’t seem to have the drive to meet the deadline, which doesn’t really work in the newspaper industry.
I will say he didn’t get much training. He was thrown in.
The former editor doesn’t want anything to do with training. It’s a troublesome situation.
It might be a strange couple of weeks until the new guy get comfortable and the awkwardness ends, if it every does.

Good news about the job. I received a five per cent raise. I was shocked. I heard nobody gets raises here.
But let’s figure out how much that is. I do little math and come up with $45 a paycheck minus Saskatchewan’s huge taxes it works out to about $25. Now I wonder what I’m going to do with all this extra cash.
It’ll probably end up paying for more beer, so I’m happy once again.
I’m off the bars are open and it’s time for an afternoon dose.

One more note: I hate the song My Lumps by the black eyed peas. I don’t like the song because it makes me think of Joel prancing around campus blaring the song out of his retro boombox. I think he even has the same purple shorts as Fergie wears in the video. I shake my head and wonder why Joel doesn’t like good music.

It's been a long time

This is the best publicity stunt for a bar that I have ever heard of.

Tampa, Florida – Two Carolina Panther cheerleaders spent the night in jail after a rough night in Channelside. The Panthers were in town to play the Bucs Sunday afternoon.
Witnesses say Angela Keathley and Renee Thomas were engaged in some type of sexual activity inside a bathroom stall at Banana Joe's around 2:20 am Sunday. Another woman waiting to use the bathroom got into an argument with the pair.

What guy or lesbian wouldn't want to go to a bar where cheerleaders are having sex in the bathroom? And how many times have you seen and heard about Banana Joe's on the news? If I ever open a bar that is how I'm going to attract my clientele.
It's also a win for the two cheerleaders. They may have been kicked off the squad for embarrassing the team, but now they can pursue that porn career they've probably dreamed of. I'd buy that one. For Joel as a Christmas present of course. You sick-o Joel.

What's kept me away from the blog other than laziness? A new Xbox. Yes, after many years without owning a videogame system, I finally cracked. The last system was super nintendo. Now I have something to lure the girls back to my house after a night of drinking. There's nothing like a game of strip NHL 2K6 and a bottle of wine to get things going.

There's new leadership in the newsroom. Our new editor arrived today. I don't know what to think yet. He's an Oiler fan. I like Calgary. There could be problems.

Joel thinks Dane Dangerson is a stupid name. I disagree.

The cold has finally came. I'm not ready for it. I wish I was on the sunny shores of California. That'd living the dream. I could wear speedos all year round.

That's all I feel like saying.

Vibration is Manmade

Whoa! Who the hell is that freak standing in the back?

Also, did that host from Survivor pose nude lately or something? Because all of a sudden we've been inundated by searches for "jeff probst naked". C'mon, people, if you somehow manage to get your jollies off on that guy maybe it's time to take a long look at your life and figure out what the hell's wrong.