just say joe to drugs

I'm So Drunk, You're Hot

2006-10-25T15:21:00.000-07:00

When last we spoke, I made certain promises about the end of my picture show. I lied. It seems yours truly has absolutely nothing else going on right now and is running a little low on the old creativity juice. But just to mix it up and show you that I am not completely out of ideas yet, I'm going to turn this last (I swear it's the last) batch of lame pics into a contest. Until now I have been showing you shots of shippy and I looking more or less photogenic, (her being the more and me being the less) but now I'm going to reveal to you the ugly ducklings of the bunch. Now, some of these photos are bad because the photographer or subject was retarded and the rest are because shippy and I were drunk off our ass. It will be up to you to decide which was the case with every pic. I will number the shots and for each one you can either put an 'A' for 'artistic problems' or a 'D' for 'so drunk, it's a miracle their livers didn't leap out of their bodies and apply for amnesty.' The winner will receive a blog dedicated entirely to them and also a lifetime supply of oxygen.

Oh, and shippy is disqualified.

1. Don't feed the bears.

2. Scarier than anything in The Blair Witch Project.

3. When nobody offered to give me an airplane ride, I decided to give one to myself.

4. Poor Iceland, shippy only has eyes for the camera.

5. Hmm, no points for this one.

6. Girls love a cannon between their legs.

7. After awhile they just stopped asking me to be in shots.

8. I think this was an earnest debate concerning the recent Olympic spending in China. Or they were singing "Don'tcha" by the Pussycat Dolls.

9. Seriously, that's tobacco. No honestly, it is, I swear.

10. Amazingly, all these girls had boyfriends named John Smith. Just my luck.

This one isn't part of the contest, I just included it to say thank you to Tara for (hopefully) being a good sport about these pics being online and for an amazing trip. Booze Before Babes.

Surried!

2006-09-24T08:52:00.000-07:00

Alright, here's the last round of euro pics. I have a lot more but I figured everyone is probably pretty sick of them by now, so I'll try to quit while I'm slightly ahead. Before we get started I should probably explain these a wee bit. You see, Tara has a friend who works in a snow or skateboard shop, I forget which, who gave her a couple pounds worth of Surrey stickers. (Surrey is a city in B.C. with a less than reputable reputation.) The idea being that we would take pictures of famous places and monuments newly emblazoned with a Surrey sticker. You will also notice that I am not in these shots. There are two reasons for this, the first being that I don't know Tara's friend and it would be kind of weird for him to have a bunch of pics of some guy he doesn't know. The second being that Tara looks a lot better than I do on film. (Except for her International Driver's License, she looks like one of the Pickton chicks in that one.) Finally, if you're worried that a bunch of culturally important monuments have been permanently ruined, don't be, we took the stickers off after we got the shot.

This is a castle in Trogir, Croatia. You may have to zoom in to see the sticker.

Another Croatian castle. This one's in Hvar.

A beautiful view of Cesky Krumlov... ruined by a Surrey sticker.

OK, the Eiffel Tower isn't technically getting Surried here, but it's hard to get it into the whole shot from up close.

And here's a shot from the Eiffel Tower.

This is the glass pyramid of the Louvre. Straight underneath us is the holy grail, or so says Dan Brown.

Alright, not a monument, but still a pretty cool look at the harbour in San Sebastian.

Awww yeah, we totally Surried this dude in Barcelona. He was completely oblivious. The dude on the left is Luphur, but we just called him Iceland.

This Quicksilver bus got to keep its sticker.

The prince of Monaco get's his castle Surried. The country rejoices.

Tara and Nick, what a cute couple. She had a good night on that pub crawl, I believe there were two other girls and thirty guys.

The Pantheon in Rome. When we put the sticker up I'm pretty sure I heard Raphael turning in his grave.

This last one isn't a Surrey photo, but we saw this in the Vatican museum and I wanted to bring the argument we had to the people. Undeniably it's beautiful, but is it art?

Photos for my Phriends

2006-09-12T19:27:00.000-07:00

Ready for a new batch of phine photos? (If you don't like that joke, then phuck you.) Well get ready sucka, cause I'm bringing em hard 'n fast.

Amsterdam. City of... well, I'm sure you've heard.

Diamonds from the diamond factory. Luckily, Tara didn't try to transfer her special beer-mug, thief skills to diamonds.

The hot summer fashion.

Clogs. The new face of dignity and refinement.

Inside the wax museum. Here I am high-fiving the Chinese president. A portentous picture?

Bush is left speechless as Tara points out the follies of his government. He is taken to task for the Iraq war and for being, as she calls him, "Batshit crazy."

The eyes say it all.

Who's gayer now?

Um, ditto.

Make way for "Sweatpants-Spice."

This is actually a video, she didn't move for a half-hour.

The dinner ended when Clooney made a grab for Tara's last piece of smoked salmon.

Finally, a place where I could relax and be among friends.

Well, that's another one done. Check back in a week or so for the "Surreying" of Europe.

Pics for my Peeps

2006-09-05T15:39:00.000-07:00

OK, here they are in no particular order.

Paros, Greece. Can you believe that only took her five minutes?

Mykonos, Greece. This is the only wildlife shot we got. Enjoy.

Hvar, Croatia. This is the view from the fortress on the hill in Hvar. What you can't see is us laughing at all the saps back home.

Hvar, Croatia. Joe in cell, thinking about what he did. (This is my first pic on the net since they took those other ones off when they found out I'd lied about my age.)

Split, Croatia. Two Joes for the price of one. What Joe (your Joe, not the doppleganger) and Tara don't realize is that they are in for an all-nighter, followed by a plane ride to Czech. Poor saps.

Prague, Czech. Little did I know when I left with her, but Tara is an amazing artist. She is considered one of the best in the world in the medium of oranges. Here is Drew with his likeness. Uncanny.

Cesky Krumlov, Czech. Yes, I was soaked and I had ruined my belt, but look how happy I am with my fifteen crowns. You better Czech yourself before you wreck yourself.

Cesky Krumlov, Czech. The waterfall in the bottom right is exactly like the one I slid down. Oh yeah, we're looking down from some old castle tower.

Cesky Krumlov, Czech. I'll leave you with what you all came to see... hardcore nudity! I'm the one in the one-piece.

More pics to come, stay tuned...

Fifteen Crowns Bitches!

2006-08-25T15:14:00.000-07:00

Sorry, no photos yet. I know, I suck, but if you belong to MySpace then shipkicker might have some up on her page; check out shipkicker's blog to get her new address. However, I can't guarantee anything since I don't belong to that other blogging thing and won't join just cause it's the "cool" thing to do. In fact, I have never done anything "cool" in my life. But I digress...

To try to hold you over until I get my ass in gear with those pics, I thought I'd relate an amusing little story that happened in Czesky Krumlov, a small town in the Czech Republic. Shippy and I had met this dude named Drew in Prague and decided to travel together for a few days. One night after dinner we were walking along the cobble stone streets at sunset when we came upon a picturesque bridge with a gurgling river rushing beneath it. Shippy dared me to jump in; I declined. Shippy said she would give me five crowns (Czech currency) to jump and Drew said he would throw in ten; I hesitated. Shippy and Drew said they would each buy me a beer; I began taking off my shirt.

As I climbed over the railing, Drew ran down to the edge of the bridge to get a better shot with his camera. A small but enthusiastic crowd had gathered and I was about to jump when Drew and some strange, shirtless czech man began to yell at me. Ignoring the urging of Shippy to "just jump," I listened to Drew who told me that the old guy had jumped some years earlier and had broken his legs. Hm, a good thing to know.

Not wishing to disappoint my public, or lose fifteen crowns and two beer, I hustled my ass up the river to a small, man-made waterfall and proceeded to wade out to the middle, drop to my butt, and slide down the waterfall. The water was quite nice. I floated on my back and let the current take me to the bridge where I stood up to show how shallow it was; the water barely came up to my waist. Let this be a lesson to all the kids out there: never trust your friends. They mean you harm.

After getting out and having my picture taken with the old guy who might have saved my life, we went to a bar for ice cream and, in my case, free booze. The only unfortunate thing about all of this is that Shippy's camera ran out of juice so only Drew has the video of this escapade. I will try to get him to email it to me, but don't hold your breath. Oh, one last thing, in case you were wondering how much fifteen crowns was, it's approximately seventy cents... yeah.

Stinky Feet and Fanta

2006-08-11T15:08:00.000-07:00

"How can I miss you if you never leave?"

After hearing that phrase over and over from friends, family, and that girl at the drive through at McDonalds, I finally left... and now I'm back. So, did you miss me?

Yes, loyal notjoecheeseheads I have returned from the land of soccer, warm beer, and delicious Fanta with stories to tell and bills to avoid. (Seriously, if any of you are bill collectors I sent the check out last week, honest.) Pictures will be available whenever the kicker of ships delivers them to me, but until then you will have to make do with what I call "word pictures." (Yes, I am aware of how lame word pictures are.) Here is my first word picture:

jjjjjjjjjjjjjjj
j j
j j
jj O O jj
j j
j j j
j j
j ---- j
j j
jjjjjjjjjjj

That is an abstract word picture of myself. It is awesome.

Anyway, enough with the foolishness and let me tell you a little bit about my trip because if there's one thing that people love more than seeing slides of a trip, it's reading about one. Now, I won't go into full disclosure mode because there is a lot to cover and I'm hoping to get a few posts out of this one topic. I also won't give away shipkicker's finer moments in case she wants to post about them herself. (Believe me, she had a few.) Alright, with that out of the way, let us take a journey across the Atlantic to a far away continent, full of history and magic... and Absinthe...

Lame. Honestly, that's how it started. Kinda lame. The lameness started right after we left the plane in London and ran right smack into the unholy, bitch goddess of customs. I wish her a million slow, excrutiatingly painful bowl movements. I wish they would bring back a few of the torture devices we saw in the London Tower and test them out on her. I wish... well you get the picture, (the word picture) she wasn't very nice. After dealing with her, the rest of London was pretty cool. We managed to figure out the subway system without too much trouble and we didn't really care about the absurdly high prices because at that time we were freakin rolling in the dough. The only trouble was that we were doing all this alone. I mean, we were together but we weren't meeting anybody. This hadn't started to bother me so much, but shipkicker was definitely getting a little antsy. Unfortunately for us, this trend would continue until Barcelona.

After London, we took the chunnel to Paris. Ahh, Paris. Finally, a chance to test out my forgotten, high school french. "Je m'appelle Joe." Being virgin backpackers, we had both packed way too much stuff and were lucky that Paris has a post office located conveniently on the first floor of the Eiffel Tower. Also, Paris has many other sights that you should probably look up because frankly, I don't feel that I should have to do all the work for you. (People are so damned lazy.)

OK, there was an incident on the train ride from Paris to San Sebastian, Spain. If you talk to shippy it will sound like a big deal but the truth of the matter is that everything turned out alright... just like I knew it would... *cough*. The deal was that we got off one stop too early for our transfer and had to rush back to the train before it left. We barely made it and were sitting near the luggage racks when I decided to check our Eurail passes one more time. They weren't there. They weren't anywhere. After suffering a minor heart-attack, I got off at the next stop and was proceeding to the info desk when one of the train employees, let's call him Pierre, began asking all the backpackers with canadian flags on there packs if they had lost their Eurail tickets. Let me say that I have never loved another man quite the way I loved Pierre at that moment. He took us back to the other station where the tickets had obviously fell out of my pocket on the mad dash back to the train. After another short adventure in a small Spanish town, we finally made it to San Sebastian. No harm, no foul. And for that seemingly insignificant little incident, I had to endure another month of, "Do you have the Eurail tickets? Are you sure? Maybe we should staple them to one of your useless body parts, like your brain."

San Sebastian was gorgeous and the trip was just about to hit the next gear in Barcelona, but this post is starting to get a little long-winded, like its author, so I think I'll end it here. If you have any questions about cities that I've already covered, please feel free to ask. I am now an expert on all things european. Especially the trains.

Coming August 2006

2006-04-08T08:36:00.000-07:00

THE EPIC RETURN OF NOTJOECHEESE

Featuring:
-a brand new command of the english language, including words like "threnody" and "viviparous."
-an allstar group of guest writers such as Chuck Norris' stunt double, the guy who played Worf on Star Trek, and Neil Diamond's estranged cat.
-the same jokes you love and remember, digitally enhanced and recycled.
-new contests!
-an expanded self-help guide. (ex. "How to please your man when you're completely out of cheese.)
-an exclusive look at shipkicker and notjoe's europe tour '06.
-a behind the scenes retrospective on the first season of just say joe to drugs, including an indepth report on what went wrong with the poem post.
-saltier pretzels, language.
-more taste! less filling!
-more revealing pictures of underage girls.
-new passwords!
-more exclamation points!!!
-all new political commentary. (ex. Is Fidel Castro getting fat?)
-"Million Little Pieces" style confessions from the years when I was hooked on children's Advil. Don't let anyone ever tell you that Flinstones Vitamins are not a gateway drug.

Do not despair, this August your internet connection will again become useful.

Hiatus For Uranus

2006-01-06T17:59:00.000-08:00

I am afraid, my friends, that it is time to call off this whole blogging thing for awhile. That's right, we here at "just say joe to drugs" are going on hiatus for retooling and some much needed rest and relaxation. I'm sorry it had to come to this, but management refuses to hire another assistant and the warehouse guys are threatening to go on strike. Also, the lack of any real news has really forced our creative team to put in some serious overtime. (Yes, we do have a creative team. His name is Gus and he graduated from Pauly Shore's Online Learnin Depo.) The team and I will probably be back in August and we will continue to read and comment on your blogs, but the budget for that has been slashed, therefore the frequency and quality of the comments will be noticibly poorer.

So this is it folks. The last blog for at least six months, and seeing as how my colleagues have already made a beeline for the super cheap whiskey the company has provided, I guess I'm on my own for this one. Fellow bloggers, put on your helmets. We're taking a ride on the Joseph Leslie Everson express, where everything will be revealed and... wait, did I just write my middle name? That was the one thing I was going to keep secret. Damn, oh well, there's no time for deleting now because the train has already left the station. Remember to hold on at all times and if you need it, a barf bag is under your seat.

Favourite Band of All Time: Rage Against the Machine (I love the feeling of righteous anger almost as much as I love the feeling of righteous indifference.)

Most Awkward Moment: Back in '95, I was at my friend, Adam's cabin on Savory Island and the two of us snuck off to have a party on the other, uninhabited, side of the island. There were at least ten of us rowdy teens and we were all very drunk; so drunk in fact that one girl decided to start mooning everybody. A little while later Adam, this cute little blonde number, and I were taking a walk when my friend dares me to make out with "Michelle." Me, thinking that Michelle was the girl back at the fire who had mooned everyone, started laughing like a lunatic. Of course, Michelle was the girl we were walking with and she had this embarrassed look on her face that I can still see to this day, whenever I start thinking I'm the shit. After seeing her, I realized my mistake and tried to mumble some drunk apology that I'm not sure she understood and then my family and I left the next day. You can tell when I'm having that memory because I'll wince all of a sudden, for no apparent reason.

Best Fight: When I was seven and had just gotten my yellow belt in karate, some neighbourhood punk started some shit with me on his front lawn. I decided to throw down and use my karate skillz on his punk ass. Except, I decided to forgo my punch, kick, block skillz in favour of the kata (a series of moves that you have to learn to pass to the next belt) that I'd just mastered. So, this kid is trying to wrestle and hit me and I'm steadfastly doing my routine, regardless of what he is doing or even where he is. Eventually he got so frustrated that he ran inside. I was the neighborhood hero.

Worst Fight: Getting the crap kicked out me by about fifteen to twenty guys, just because me and my friends were walking by. The worst part is that they decided to leave my friends alone and focus on me because I was bigger than they were. Life is tough in the hood.

High School Years: Wasn't super popular, wasn't a geek. Maybe I could put it this way: I helped win some basketball games and I came third in the province in a math contest. I won "best costume" one year for my Jolly Green Giant impersonation. For grad, (or the prom for you Yanks) I got turned down by one blonde but somehow managed to go with an even hotter one. All in all, they were probably the best nine years of my life. ha ha

Favourite Movie: The Godfather (reminds me of the old country)

Favourite Pastime: Reading (Yeah, I play a lot of videogames, watch a lot of tv, and eat a lot of pizza pops, but reading still comes in at numbah one. Just can't get enough of those Harlequin Romance novels.)

Dream Date: Buffy Summers (C'mon, it's a dream, I know she isn't real. Plus, who could say no to a girl with super powers?)

Dream Date With Actual Person: You... as long as you're buying. I swear I won't order the lobster.

And now I'd like to give a shout out to my blogging buddies, those people that somehow looked past the poor writing and lame jokes and decided to give me some constructive comments such as, "You suck." You are all very smart ("s.m.r.t.") and awesome people who deserve to be prime minister or president or overlord (or Underlord) of whatever country you live in. Those of you who are pirates deserve to be captain and those of you who are leprechauns deserve your pot of gold... or at least your Lucky Charms. So whether you're hugging your Cheat, living it up in a Rainbow Palace, cheering for the Canucks, ripin a fat solo on your videogame guitar, or sweating to the oldies, I'd like to thank you for a swell few months and I'll see you in August.

Scurvy is for Suckers

2005-12-29T15:19:00.000-08:00

About two years ago now, my dad bought a 26' MacGregor sailboat. Since we knew little about sailing my dad, my brother and I decided to take a four month class; two of us passed. However, I am of the opinion that knowledge should be free, so I went back and extracted the most important information from my notes. You asked for it, (no you didn't) you got it. The three most important categories in sailing training:

ETIQUETTE

-When coming aboard, please don't comment on the size of the other boats booms. Every captain suffers from boom envy.
-Beer is usually provided, however, more is always appreciated.
-If you know some sailing terms from movies, such as "hoist the mainsail," feel free to shout them out at any time. This will give the captain the feeling he has a competent crew and not a bunch of louts who are too drunk to stand on dry land.
-It is customary to moon boats you are passing.
-If you are mooned by people on a passing boat, it is customary to die a little inside.
-Mutiny is strictly prohibited.

SAFETY

-If the sailboat is experiencing turbulence, the captain will turn on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and put your tray table into the upright and locked position.
-Lifejackets should be worn at all times, unless it clashes with what you're wearing or you think it makes you look fat.
-Yell "man overboard!" at irregular intervals, just to make sure the captain is awake.
-Stilts are prohibited, it's just common sense.
-While on the ocean, refrain from drinking the water. I'm not sure why, but I believe it has something to do with jellyfish urine.

PROCEDURE IN CASE OF PIRATES

-Stay calm.
-Assess the pirates. Are they bad pirates like Blackbeard or Fox Network executives? Or are they good pirates like Jack Sparrow or Orlando Bloom's character?
-Load your cannons but do not fire! Diplomacy is always the first option.
-Once diplomacy fails, fire your cannons at the hull of the pirate ship. If you have any musket sharpshooters get them to aim for the pirate captain's parrot. This will demoralize the pirate crew and disorient their captain.
-If your ship is taken over, reconsider diplomacy. Try to pass off one of your better looking female crew members as virtuous. (Unless, of course, you were shooting a Girls Gone Wild video. They're pirates, not retards.) If this works, you can usually sneek up behind them and push them overboard while they're combing their beards and polishing their peglegs.
-Always remember that pirates are superstitious. If any of your crew has a glass eye or a fake ass, now is the time to bring it out and show it to them. Tell them it gives you great power, then turn up the heavy metal. This should scare them off.
-Pirates also hate being kicked in the junk, but that is true of most seafaring folks.

If you wish to know more, simply bring a full bottle of hard liquor to my apartment, as it is impossible to teach sailing unless both parties are completely soused.

Here Comes the Bearon

2005-12-22T14:52:00.000-08:00

I have discovered the wonders of Build-a-Bear; come hither and rejoice.

For those of you who, like me, had never heard of Build-a-Bear, it is an amazing little store that lets you construct, from the ground up, your very own teddy bear. But I am getting ahead of myself here, perhaps I should start at the beginning.

On Tuesday I phoned and woke up shipkicker at 11:30am. Like a startled wolverine, shippy verbally tore me a new one, threatening my family, mocking my hairstyle, and at one point comparing me to a cross between a shaved ape and a bag of puke. (Actually, that's all a lie, she was very pleasant.) She told me to pick her up in half-an-hour, and after braving the outer mom defences of Fort Shipkicker, I did just that. Our plan was to finish off our shopping, so we (translation: shippy) decided that would be best accomplished at MetroTown.

Relying on shippy's impecable directions and my ability to drive without causing any major accidents, we managed to fight through the goddamn, piece of shit, oughta be outlawed, holiday traffic. We arrived at the local mecca of consumerism, found a decent parking spot, (shippy's doing) and started our shopping. We found nothing. Actually, that's not true, we did find some things that we would like. After shipkicker bought me lunch, (if you want the number to her bank card, simply send me ten dollars and I will email it to you) we went off to build bears.

To begin, you must first pick out your bear's skin. These come in a wide variety of bears, frogs, dogs, and even Frosty the Snowman. Next, you take him/her/it (think carefully about neutering your animal, it keeps the teddy bear population in check) over to the stuffing machine, where a young girl will force you to do humiliating things, simply for the amusement of people walking by. I chose to put a little sound device in, which played "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". You also have to pick out a little heart for your bear, but don't put it in until you've warmed it up and kissed it and wished upon it, or else the stuffing girl will get mad. Once you have the bear stuffed to your preference of squishableness, you then take him over to the air pump to give him a quick brush. Finally, you're ready to accessorize your bear. Choose from a myriad of clothes, hats, shoes, fairy wands, and weapons. I chose a Blue Jays shirt.

After registering our animals, (this is to ensure that they won't be put down if they are caught by the SPCA) we got on a roll. Shippy found something perfect for her mom, and herself, and I bought my grandpa a book entitled "The Five People You Meet in Heaven". Perhaps you think giving a book with that title to a seventy-six year old man is too poignant. Well, you weren't there so I had to use my own judgment. With that done, we booked it out of there and made our way back home.

I have to thank shippy for somehow making a trip to the mall fun, something that I usually loathe. Without her, my nephew wouldn't have Bearon Von Big Bear to slobber on. I didn't include the details of shippy's animal, but ask her about it, because it rocked. Style points would definitely have to be awarded to shippy's creation. Big Bear out.

From Justin to Kelly... to Cyanide Pills

2005-12-17T11:45:00.000-08:00

I wake up today, first day of my vacation, and wonder to myself, "What would be the best way to get the most out this precious time?" So I sit down in front of the TV and discover that Much Music is showing the delightful musical From Justin to Kelly. This "movie" stars the final two contestants of the first American Idol and is fab.u.lous, (as long as you enjoy watching horrible movies for the sole purpose of mocking them.) Unfortunately, there was nobody else around to hear my amazingly funny witticims, but I didn't let that stop me. I especially liked saying "Well why don't you sing about it?", after the characters have trouble expressing their feelings by talking. I didn't see how it ended, so please don't ruin it by telling me if they got together or not. Overall, I'd give this movie two high Cs and a tremello.

My dad just showed up, (I don't know how he got in the building; I didn't buzz him up) and gave me some mail. It seems I have my first Christmas card of the year. It comes from my video store and it had a certificate for one free rental, so to all the people down at The VideoWorks, Merry Christmas. Now I can find out how the movie ended. This card will get a place of honour atop the fireplace, next to the beer can.

Now that I have a Christmas card, I need only one more thing to make this Christmas perfect... Guitar Hero! Guitar Hero is a videogame that comes with it's own controller: a guitar! OK, so it's not a real guitar, but rather a life-size replica of one but without any strings. The game comes with a bunch of rockin songs that you have to play along with on your controller. Perhaps you are wondering why I simply don't just buy an actual guitar and learn those songs for real. Well, smarty pants, I already tried that and it turns out that apart from learning a few chords, (including the ever popular bar-chord) I suck at playing the guitar. It seems I suffer from stubbyness of the fingers, which would account for my poor typing and my difficulty at palming a basketball, despite being fairly tall. My dad and my brother are both excellent guitar players and I have never gotten much respect for my kickass trombone playing. (Breaking out the trombone at parties is a sure way to get your teeth kicked in. Also, note that the trombone has no keys. And another thing, please stop calling trombone players "boners", it's not funny anymore... well, maybe a little funny.) Naturally, once I have this game, I will buy myself a long-haired wig and stage dive off my couch. I am also hiring groupies.

One last thing; I need to get a present for my roommate's parents and am looking for ideas. Every year they get me something and I have yet to get them squat. I used to operate under the idea that this meant I was winning, but am now feeling like a douchebag. I was thinking maybe a gift certificate to a decent restaurant. If you got something better, let me hear it. Happy Kwanmasukah!

Double Your Pleasure

2005-12-14T15:42:00.000-08:00

Alright, I stole this idea from Undr, (he of the jokes that are actually funny) and I don't plan on giving it back. I'm not going to tag anybody with it, but if you want to use it, you're more than welcome. And awayyy we go.

2 names you go by
1. notjoecheese
2. He Who Must Not Be Named

2 parts of your heritage
1. english
2. italian (according to some people)

2 things that scare you
1. ghosts
2. ninja ghosts

2 of your everyday essentials
1. cereal
2. milk

2 things you are wearing right now
1. ceremonial garb
2. the blood of a virgin

2 of your favorite bands or musical artists (at the moment)
1. beck
2. beastie boys

2 of your favorite songs (at the moment)
1. gimme shelter
2. got your money

2 things you want in a relationship (other than real love)
1. the remote
2. a feeling of moral superiority

2 truths
1. I got back
2. Kong got four and a half stars in the Vancouver Sun

2 physical things that appeal to you (in the opposite sex)
1. t
2. a

2 of your favorite hobbies
1. sports, sports, sports, sports
2. reading... about sports

2 things you want really badly
1. PS3
2. June

2 places you want to go on vacation
1. Europe
2. Africa

2 things you want to do before you die
1. be universally adored
2. win the slam dunk contest... in space!

2 ways that you are stereotypically a dude
1. I produce my own weight in spit during baseball games
2. I just watched my friend wipe his ass with a paper towel and was not repulsed, but rather found it the funniest thing I had ever seen (seriously, the dude did it in the living room)

2 things you are thinking about now
1. sports
2. sex (maybe not in that order)

2 stores you shop at
1. Electronic Boutique
2. are "tha streets" a store?

2 people I would like to see take this quiz
1. His Holiness, the Pope
2. AC Slater

There, now I'm another post closer to death. I hope your happy.

Roundhouse to the Groin

2005-12-08T15:51:00.000-08:00

I was going to come up with something original today, but I got hit in the nuts at work and am not feeling very creative. So here is an email I got from my aunt. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe a beer is calling me.

Biography of Chuck Norris

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead punched his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard. Before email was invented Chuck Norris would attach messages to kittens and roundhouse kick them. The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain. Chuck Norris' tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.

When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women. Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway. Chuck Norris has yet to get a Jeopardy question wrong. Jesus has missed two. Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

A man once asked Chuck Norris if his real name is "Charles". Chuck Norris did not respond, he simply stared at him until he exploded. Chuck Norris's girlfriend once asked him how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. He then shouted, "HOW DARE YOU RHYME IN THE PRESENCE OF CHUCK NORRIS!" and ripped out her throat. Holding his girlfriend's bloody throat in his hand he bellowed, "Don't fuck with Chuck!" Two years and five months later he realized the irony of this statement and laughed so hard that anyone within a hundred mile radius of the blast went deaf.

Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull. The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Chuck Norris--more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris--robot in disguise," and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.

To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong. Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.

Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and saying "booya". Chuck Norris once shot a German plane down with his finger, by yelling, "Bang!" After much debate, President Truman decided to drop the atomic bomb on Hiroshima rather than the alternative of sending Chuck Norris. His reasoning? It was more "humane". If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death. Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits. Hellen Keller's favorite color is Chuck Norris. At the end of each week, Chuck Norris murders a dozen white people just to prove he isn't a racist. Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs. Chuck Norris took my virginity, and he will sure as hell take yours. If you're thinking to yourself, "That's impossible, I already lost my virginity.", then you are dead wrong, my friend.

If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face. When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes ever. Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.

Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did. Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean. Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement. Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris won 'Jumanji' without ever saying the word. He simply beat the living shit out of everything that was thrown at him, and the game forfeited. Chuck Norris once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Chuck roundhoused kicked the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.

When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.

Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it. Chuck Norris only masterbates to pictures of Chuck Norris. Scientists used to believe that a diamond was the world's hardest substance. But then they met Chuck Norris, who gave them a roundhouse kick to the face so hard, and with so much heat and pressure that the scientists turned into artificial Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris carries a man bag. If you call it a purse, he pulls a baby out of the bag and throws it at you. The baby will blow up upon impact. God offered Chuck Norris the gift to fly, which he swiftly declined for super strength roundhouse ability.

When Chuck Norris's wife burned the turkey one thanksgiving, Chuck said, "don't worry about it honey," and went into his backyard. He came back five minutes later with a live turkey, ate it whole, and when he threw it up a few seconds later it was fully cooked and came with cranberry sauce. When his wife asked him how he had done it, he gave her a roundhouse kick to the face and said, "Never question Chuck Norris."

Chuck Norris owns the greatest poker face of all-time. It helped him win the 1983 world series of poker despite him holding just a joker, a get out of jail free monopoly card, a 2 of clubs, 7 of spades and a green number 4 card from the game Uno.

Introducing the GLB

2005-12-04T15:33:00.000-08:00

When I started this here little blog thing, my friend shippy, very kindly, put out the good word for me by saying that I was the funniest person she ever met. This was an obvious exaggeration, but flattering nonetheless. However, when she said that, she pigeonholed me into writing more comedic pieces, which forced me to abandon my true literary love. But now, gentle reader, I feel we have grown close enough for me to share with you the one thing that keeps me getting up every morning, the one thing that drives me, the one thing that makes my soul sore… granny league bowling.

Yes, I am part of the ever expanding field of the sixty and over, traveling bowling league. And while I can never be a member, due to my gender, I have lent my services to this sport of queens for nearly twenty years. Starting as a lowly false teeth cup holder, I managed to work my way up to ball wiper, then to score keeper, and for a while I even worked at a kiosk that sold prune juice and massive control top panties. (When the games start to heat up, those things can be heard snapping all over the alley.) But I have finally managed to work myself up to the pinnacle of the non-athletes that hover around the sport; yes, I am now a reporter.

I am aware that while the GLB is the fastest growing sport in the coveted sixty to eighty demographic, it has not yet reached the mainstream audience. This is where I come in. Perhaps a few of you have read my article in Bowling Babes Weekly about the amazing Golden Girls team that swept the US nationals in ’93. (Betty White, captain.) But still, the majority of you probably don’t even know that this sport exists; for shame. So now I will use the power of blogging (and Greyskull) to send the message out. I will start with a rundown of the local team, Langley’s own Fabulous Frans.

Captain: Fran “Just One More Bite” Wilson
Wilson is the heart, soul, and founder of the team. Her famous battle cry, “Kill ‘em for Johnny,” strikes fear and confusion into the hearts and minds of her opponents. Standing a remarkable 5’9’’, she is the tallest of the shrunken league and uses her advantage to spot wigs on opposing teams. “Carpet-Head is gonna gutter it!” is one of Wilson’s trademark putdowns.

Assistant Captain: Fran “Bahama Mama” Henderson
“Bahama Mama” is named after the drink, (1/4 oz. coffee liqueur, ½ oz. dark rum, ½ oz. coconut liqueur, ¼ oz. 151 proof rum, juice of ½ a lemon, 4 oz. pineapple juice) which she drinks two of before every game.

Manager: Fran “I Raised Eight Kids” McLung
Known for her no-nonsense style, McLung organizes every Fabulous Fran outing, including the annual “Get Baked Sale”. McLung never attends a game without her posse, which always includes at least six of her kids, along with as many as twenty-two grandkids. She is the only member of the league to be suspended for beating up an opponent in the parking lot after a game.

Bowling Specialist: Greta “Fran” Harding
Following her dismissal as “Miss Cow-Milker” in ’42, (she was found milking a stable boy) Greta devoted herself to bowling. She bowled for Canada in the ’52 Summer Olympics, until officials kicked her out of the gym. (Bowling was not an Olympic sport.) Greta became a Fabulous Fran in ’96, when the other members realized that they could use a serious bowler, since they themselves were always too busy getting drunk, fighting, and talking trash.

Thus the Fabulous Frans were born and proceeded to climb the ranks of the GLB. While purists deride these “outrageous old-timers” and their antics, most fans agree that they have injected some much needed spice into the game. (I believe oregano is the spice most frequently injected.) But whatever your views on them, you have to admit that they have the sports world buzzing about the GLB again, and I for one couldn’t be happier. Stay tuned for my report on the pre-season escapades of the Fabulous Frans and they’re fans.

Joe is...

2005-11-30T16:23:00.000-08:00

I wasn't going to update today but it seems I've been tagged by tgp so what the hell, let's git r done. I entered my name into some sort of voodoo internet thing and this is what came up.

Joe is my interactive bra.
Joe is coming.
Joe is a legendary coffee.
Joe is on the loose.
Joe is the hottest man alive.
Joe is appearing with his own band.
Joe is the devil.
Joe is interrogated at the police station.
Joe is a highly secret paramilitary organization whose job is to stop the diabolic organization of Cobra from taking over the world.
Joe is finally drawn well.
Joe is a priest.
Joe is so smart.
Joe is no ordinary gorilla.
Joe is truly a beer fanatic.
Joe is on a mission.
Joe is dancing in the streets.
Joe is not stoned.
Joe is founder and president of hypnotic marketing.
Joe is a likeable but quiet man who works in the video department of a Minnesota pharmaceudical company.
Joe is set in the part of Europe that doesn't go on postcards.
Joe is hardly an appropriate name for a lover man.
Joe is not too keen on this assignment.
Joe is not a "big" name tattooist.
Joe is too cool to call me.
Joe is on course to be the heavyweight champion of the world.

I would also like to say that I am psuper psyched to be going to Europe with shippy this summer. And while it appears that I was the third option on this trip, I assure you that I will not drop the ball. I have already set a budget for the next six months and am feeling quite giddy right now. (Giddy does not look good on me, in fact it's almost frightening.) I go now to polish up my french. "Je ne comprends pas. Oui, votre pamplemous sons grandes."

And the Weiner is...

2005-11-29T15:14:00.000-08:00

Whoa, hey there. Not so fast, I'll get to the winner of the first and only notjoecheese brag-a-thon in a little bit, but first I'd like to share a letter that was inserted into my door on Sunday night or Monday morning. It is my first ever noise complaint and I'd like to address it line by line.

Dear (tenant's name),

OK, so far so good. Nice and friendly.

I am writing this letter to you in order to try and resolve the issue of your loud music which we have discussed on more than one occasion.

Ah, my first issue with this letter. You see, nobody has ever said anything to either me or my roommate about loud music. But that's a minor mistake, please continue.

Although you agreed that you would remedy the problem, you have made no effort to do so.

Again, I wasn't aware that there was a problem. Perhaps my telepathy is malfunctioning again, I'll call tech support immediately.

After consulting our tenancy act (see attached) I feel I have no other alternative but to contact the manager for assistance in solving the problem.

The manager hasn't said a word to me about this and I just said hello to her in the hall. Also, there was no tenancy act attached. Did you run out of crayons?

If that does not solve the issue I will contact the local authorities as there are laws against loud noise.

I wish there were laws against idiots.

I hope that we can come to some sort of an agreement as I have not had a good night's sleep because of the noise from your loud music. Sincerely,

I have to get up at 5:00am every morning and I seem to be able to sleep through the "loud music" in my apartment. And I would love to come to an agreement, but other than this letter I have had no contact from you, nor do I know who you are. (I haven't changed this letter at all. The page is ripped after "Sincerely.")

So there it is. I have a feeling they may have put it in the wrong door, but if it was indeed intended for me then I may be getting a visit from the fuzz. I'm resiting the urge to turn my stereo up to 11, but only barely.

Anyway, on with the contest results. I had a tough time deciding on a champion. Pockey's entry dove straight to my love of sharks, (they remind me of myself, we're both large and hungry... and we both have rows of razor sharp teeth) while Gareth's idea of getting revenge on the birds that constantly befoul (or befowl) my car was truly inspired. No entry made me laugh like Undr's Stephen Hawking race, which would have made some great headlines in the papers. "Local Boy Wins Race, Loses Dignity", "Winner Credits God... and Opponent's Weelchair", or "Stephen Hawking: Back to the Gym?" But in the end I have to give the award to the girl with those three small initials... tgp. Tgp's entry was funny, included other people, and was potentially harmful to Christmas trees, all components of a championship brag. As promised, I will write her name and a brief description of her entry on my hand, in pen, and will offer an explanation to anyone who inquires about said hand writing. I anticipate huge stardom for tgp and hope that she doesn't become too much of a celebrity to post with us anymore. Congrats to everyone who entered and remember to turn the music up.

That's nothing. This one time...

2005-11-24T15:48:00.000-08:00

Everybody likes lists right? Some lists of note include: Letterman's Top Ten, Fortune's 500, Ten Things I Hate About You, and Leave it to Beaver's secret list of commie spies, hidden in the credits. These lists are all highly regarded, so I've decided to ride that wave of popularity and create my very own. What is it you ask? A grocery list? A list of my favorite lists? A list of songs that sound good when sung in the shower? No, this will be a list of things that I would like to brag about, but technically haven't done yet.
After reading it (or before, if you're a lazy bastard) send me some of your own and I will pick the best one and write it on my hand. In pen. Just think, when everyone asks me what I've got written on my hand, I will have to explain it and give credit to whoever came up with it. You could be famous. Good luck, now on with the show...

NJC's WANNABE BRAG LIST

- sky-dive into a sporting event, interrupting play and causing a riot
- advise a prime minister
- throw out the first pitch at a Blue Jays game (I would throw a wicked curve)
- tell Tiger Woods how to improve his swing
- shoot down a Goodyear blimp
- lift a horse with my bare hands
- create a language even gayer than that one Jodie Foster used in Nell
- become a one-hit wonder
- pick someone at random out of a phone book and convince them I'm their long lost brother, "Bruce"
- have a birthday where my age is reduced
- vote for a winning politician
- get in a high-speed chase that involves driving through boxes down a narrow alley
- go bowling with Keith Richards and call it a night at 8:00
- ask your mom out
- verbally tear someone apart, Hannibal Lecter style, and then say, "just kidding"
- win the lottery and give half to you
- dream in black and white, smell in black and white
- leave a bar without my pants
- unmask a wrestler
- convince the UN to declare war on the Calgary Flames
- make a cow laugh
- have StrongBad answer one of my e-mails
- bleed profusely on a visiting dignitary, while acting as if nothing's wrong

These are just a few of the things I would like to brag about in the future. Can you come up with something better? (A cat walking on the keyboard could do better.) Peace out, you all. (Or y'all, if you're into slang.)

I Heart Triple-Bypass Surgery

2005-11-20T01:58:00.000-08:00

My other title for this post was Can't Hardly Write, but I decided against it, since my post has little to do with the movie Can't Hardly Wait. Other than they're both intended for a (im)mature audience. I'm finding it hard to sleep tonight, probably because, at age 25, I will soon be expected to pick up where my forefathers left off and be a leader in the continuing improvement of our human race... or maybe it's because I had a four hour nap earlier. Whatever reason it is, I'm up, and if you're reading this then so are you, so why don't we try and figure our lives out. We'll start with mine.

Life Options:

A. Stay at job, get hugely overweight, marry a whore, barely stay out of debt, never travel, disappoint parents, watch them die, become jealous of siblings, die of heart-attack at age fifty-one, have no one remember me, go to purgatory, get janitor job, stay at janitor job for eternity.

B. Kill the kids playing techno outside at 2:30am.

C. Get back into school, go to class, get ambitious and dedicated (possibly with medication), become succesful TV writer, marry a gorgeous astronaut/lawyer (smart chicks are hot), buy Ferrari for the old man, have kids, buy new robo-dog (Now with better love-simulators!), hire siblings, die of heart-attack at age forty-nine (thereby never having to see my parents die), go to purgatory, get office-temp job, stay at office-temp job for half of eternity before being let go because of missing pens.

When you look at these options objectively, it's pretty obvious which one to pick. I HAVE TO KILL THOSE KIDS.

Living in Squalor: A How to Guide

2005-11-16T15:47:00.000-08:00

Alright, after a guest blogger posted the last item, I'm back and ready to entertain my faithful readers... and the thousands of wierdos who are here to look at that album cover. (Just scroll down you perverts, it hasn't gone anywhere.) Well, today's topic is squalor and is brought to us by the letter 'e.' (The letter 'e' payed big money to be today's sponsor.) Recently my roommate and I cleaned our apartment. It took two days but we managed to get it up to a level of cleanliness we haven't reached since before we moved in. This got me to thinking, (thinking is easier than cleaning) "Why is being messy so bad? Nature's full of dirt, why can't my bathtub be the same?" I decided that while living in squalor is no way for a normal human to live, it's probably OK for you and me. So here it is, the first (I've done no research to back that claim, nor should you) guide to living in squalor.

*To help ease the author's remarkably poor grasp of the language, the guide is written in do or don't form.

Do: Take out garbage.
Don't: Take out garbage right away. You've had a tough day and what are you trying to prove?

Do: Presoak dishes.
Don't: Actually wash dishes. Presoaking them is enough.

Do: Vacuum carpet.
Don't: Vacuum near edges or under anything. Just make a clear path down the middle.

Do: Dust off the TV screen.
Don't: Dust anywhere else.

Do: Make a neat newspaper pile.
Don't: Stop making newspaper piles. Don't ever stop.

Do: Tidy up before guests arrive.
Don't: Tidy up so much that the guests feel they don't have to clean while your back is turned.

Do: Get a roommate.
Don't: Get a female roommate.

Do: Save bottles that can be returned.
Don't: Return bottles until you have enough to pay rent. This may involve heavy drinking, but hey you're paying rent so it's frugal.

Do: Make your bed each and every day.
Don't: Limit yourself to your mother's fascist view of what constitutes a made bed. As long as it's fairly upright, it's made.

Do: Tell yourself, "This weekend, I'm going to clean this place up, but good."
Don't: Ruin your weekend.

There you have it, a few helpful tips to get you started on your road to squalor. I hope you learned something, but if you didn't maybe this will enlighten you; 'squalor' is worth 48 points on a triple word score. Booyah.

i am a blog whore

2005-11-14T22:51:00.000-08:00

hi my name is joe. i like pretty girls. are you a pretty girl? if so, check yes. my interests are video games, blogging, and getting my ass kicked at miniature golf by 'jp' and tara.
i have a complaint. my wife is a slut. i like a big bowl of cereal. while i jerk my pole in the morning. would you like to share?? there is plenty. its a big bowl. you too can be a millionare. just join my seminar.
i heart meat.

FIRE: The Silent Killer

2005-11-13T22:04:00.000-08:00

This post goes out to tgp, who somehow managed to whine across the net. Kudos. Alright, so you know how the phone always seems to go off when your in the shower? (Sobbing silently in the fetal position, because you can't face the fact that your dream of one day creating a time machine, going back to the third grade, and beating up Brett Hickey will probably never happen. Oh, if you're reading this Brett, Hieee... jackass. Oops, time to close these brackets.) Well, a couple days ago that very same thing happened to me, only it was the fire alarm.

Now, I know those obnoxious fire department pamphlets say to leave as fast as you can, to test doors to see if they're hot, and to tip the firemen so they save your apartment first. I did none of that. Never one to panic, I calmly finished my shower, put on some smooth fire-escaping jazz, and grabbed my wallet. (Huh, maybe those pamphlets do have an effect on me.) Once outside, I used my Batman-like detective skills to assess the situation. Thankfully, there was no need to use my Tick-like nigh-invulnerability to save any burning citizens because it was a false alarm.

So there I was, stuck outside, wearing shorts in the freezing rain, and talking to a guy I will call Copstache, because he had a very distinctive police moustache. Copstache was asking me if this kind of thing happened regularly and I said that it had only happened once before, since I'd been there. (I failed to mention that it was my fault the last time. I left some popcorn in the microwave for too long and produced a pretty spectacular amount of smoke.) While Copstache was going on about his ex-wife and why she got the house, I saw this girl that I'd had a few two-word conversations with and smiled at her as she walked by. I am almost definitely the world's worst flirter and she blindsided me with, "Nice legs," as she walked by. I believe my response was, "Hm yeah *cough* er aaaa I hm." (Chicks dig confidence.)

Now the big question of the day is: Was she flirting? She very well could have been mocking me; I assure you, my legs, while dependable, are certainly not "nice." The most probable scenario, that I can see, is that she was commenting on the fact that I was wearing shorts when everyone else had the smarts to anticipate a fire alarm, and dress accordingly.

Anyway, me and ol' Copstache decided that his ex would never get laid before he did, and that his corvette would look really fly with some new mags. Then, the firemen turned off the alarm (which will cost a tenant $75, as I remember) and everyone made it back to their rooms safely. The End.

Help, Quick... He's Coming...

2005-11-12T12:33:00.000-08:00

Please, someone, anyone. You gotta help me. My roommate asked me weeks ago, to go with him to some lame snowboarding movie with people from his work. I agreed because at the time it was the easiest thing to do, but now it's tonight and I seriously don't want to go and I'm drawing a blank on excuses.
I've been to one of these things before and it sucks beyond belief. Everybody talks about work, I don't know anybody, and quite frankly, I don't want to know most of those people. They're all snowboarders, which is fine, but since I'm a skier, or "two-planker", I get lost with the lingo. "I carved a phat dookie-snowplow, into a revert-juggler-shinbone. Gnarly."
If this thing were only a movie, it wouldn't be so bad, but since my buddy is a manager, he's got to talk to all the reps and sponsers and customers and potential future customers. The whole thing is a complete waste of a Saturday night. So please, if you've got a special excuse you've been saving, now is the time to whip it out. Don't make me beg.

Developmental Problems

2005-11-10T20:47:00.000-08:00

This will be a quicky... no, not that kind. Sicko. I just read that one of my favorite television shows has just had it's season order of episodes reduced to thirteen, from twenty-two. This is usually a sign of imminent cancellation. The show is Arrested Development and it is truely one of the funniest shows ever. I must urge anyone who reads this (and who lives in the States, because the networks really don't care what we watch up here in Canada) to check this program out. It airs Mondays at 8:00 on Fox, although it may be on hiatus right now. Arrested Development has received almost universal critical praise but it's ratings haven't been great. Apparently, people would rather watch surgically enhanced models eat pig intestines. Really, I'm not bitter. I also have seasons 1 and 2 on DVD for anyone who wants to borrow them.
I seem to be attracted to TV shows that get cancelled before their time; Freaks and Geeks, Undeclared, Firefly, etc. I hope I don't give the kiss of death to this program as well. And here endeth the rant.

Double or Nothing

2005-11-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

Alright, so my last post has been met with, shall we say, some tepid reviews. I still think it was my funniest yet, but I have long ago come to the realization that my sense of humour is not the kind that the goverment would recomend you get five servings of a day. So here I go with something that I will never do again, post twice in the same day. I have seen Gareth accomplish this feat, so I know it can be done, but he has been in training for a lot longer than I have and, quite frankly, I am scared. But let us push past the fear together, just you and me, like we were pushing past an old couple to get out of a burning building. Here goes...

... I'm still thinking, leave me alone.

Ok, I've got it. Let's give this portion of the post the title: Joe vs. Sven. You see, Sven is a hulking neanderthal who frequents the same gym as me, and recently Sven has become a nuisance. Normally I deal with people who become nuisances the same as most people, that is, punch them in the gut when they're sitting on the jon. But it has come to my attention, via my parole officer, that that is technically illegal. I know, who knew? So I have to come up with an equally brilliant plan to deal with peanut-brittle brain. And I just may have something.

But first, let me give you a little backstory on our boy Sven. For starters, his name is not actually Sven, in fact I have no idea what his real name is. Nor do I care. I named him Sven because he has really blonde hair and kind of Norse-looking features. This guy is a behemoth; he has to be 6'8", at least, and he probably weighs in the mid 300s. Now, let me tell you why Sven deserves to be punished. He sweats. Yeah, yeah, big deal right, who doesn't? But believe me, nobody on this planet or any other sweats as much as this man does. What's more is he doesn't bring a towel, and I honestly think he gets some sort of sick pleasure out of seeing everyone else use their own towels to wipe down machines he's just used. Why doesn't anyone ask him to bring a towel you ask? Perhaps you think we are all just a bunch of pussies and are scared of him. You would have been right... until now.

The beauty of my plan is it's simplicity; a child could have come up with it. But in this case I beat the children to it. (Mental note: in the future, refrain from using the phrase, "beat the children.") So, here it is, (be prepared for a big letdown) my big plan: I tell on him. That's right, I'm no pussy, I'm going to find the first 90 pound girl who works there and say, "That guy didn't bring a towel. Don't tell him I told you." Ahhhh, the perfect plan, fiendishly clever in it's intricacies. And then I stab his tires.

This Cost Me Two Bucks?

2005-11-08T15:30:00.000-08:00

I couldn't think of anything to write today so I outsourced it to a 12 year old, goth girl from Indiana, and she wrote a poem... Enjoy!

Beast of Burden

by *Hillary Swank

*Not my real name. I combined the names of my two heroes, Hillary Clinton and Hillary Swank to form: Hillary Swank.

We, the cows

grazing, milking, wandering,

Lost between the electric fences.

Gorgeous farmer/lover

Brad. The high-man

Never broken, never defeated

So above us yet so internal.

Grass. I eat/smoke it,

It brings myself closer to mother earth.

Eternally swaying, eternally growing,

growing where it never has before.

Four stomachs, but only one heart

I eat, but am never filled

Shifting organs

My sweaters/the leather

Becoming tighter

Will Brad notice?

Formerly of the herd,

The cow queen, Crystal.

Now the bitch-wolf preying on the cows.

Now in the farmhouse with Brad.

He is too smart.

See through her, he will.

Through to us

carrying his burden

us the cows

us the beasts.

Blossoming into swans.

Well, I guess you get what you pay for huh? (Now I wish I had given my two bucks to that kid down the hall with the fart joke.)

How Much is that Bloggy in the Window?

2005-11-06T12:22:00.000-08:00

I feel I must first apologize for the bad puns that have shown up in my last few titles. I will tire of it soon enough, so no need to gouge your eyes out quite yet. The title of today's post refers to my dog, Carter, who was named after Joe Carter, the baseball player who hit a homerun to win the '93 World Series. Carter just died. (The dog, not the athlete.) Now, I am going to attempt not to make this post a sob-story, because after all he was just a dog and not Margaret Atwood or some other human. I am, however, still a little down and a lot angry, because my dumbass family forgot to tell me that they were going to put him down. He's been dead since Wednesday! If you read my previous post, you know that we got a recent addition to the family and that could have pushed the dog from their minds, but that event wasn't until Thursday and they should have told me about it before they took him to the vet. So I have decided to do the freeze out thing and not call them. (Yes, in my head not talking to me is a punishment and not a gift. Perhaps you think differently; perhaps you eat paste.)

For those of you still reading, here is the Readers Digest version of Carter's life: Carter was a purebred dalmation. He was treated badly as a puppy (beaten, neglected, forced to watch Full House reruns) and was soon abandoned. He then was found by an SPCA woman (SPCA slogan: "Get your bunnies for nothing and your chicks for free.") who nursed him back to health even though all her colleagues told her Carter was a lost cause. My mom saw him and decided to take him home, despite the fact that we already had a dog and a cat and a turtle. (Well OK, the turtle wasn't hard to take care of, mostly we just had to keep it away from the cat.) Carter lived with us for over thirteen years and I have never seen a more neurotic dog in my life, nor a more cheerful one. He would act tough when encountering a german sheperd or some other big dog, but would cower in fear whenever a poodle would walk by. He also thought he was the embodiment of virility long after he was neutered. He would pull on the leash at the beginning of a walk, but have to be dragged at the end, and despite years of failed training he would always bark at us when we came home.

It's weird how these things happen isn't it? Has anyone been to a funeral and a wedding in the same day? I have.

Well that did get a little more sappy than I wanted, but I'm too lazy to change it. Join me next time when I cry over spilt milk and bawl like a baby when I get a booboo. Kiss it better?

...cradle and all

2005-11-03T15:54:00.000-08:00

I just became an uncle. My brother's son, William, was born early this morning and although small, he appears quite healthy. I'm going into Vancouver right now to see him and to perform my new duties as uncle. (I'm guessing I'll have to stand around and say congragulations a lot.)

Here is a picture of little William.

He's already got his uncle's dance moves.

In Blog We Trust

2005-11-01T16:18:00.000-08:00

I've got a problem people. No it's not odour, (why do people keep saying that) my problem is my own personal blend of sarcasm and snarkiness that I call snarkasm. Today I will focus on the sarcasm because I believe the snarkiness comes from my recent decision to cut way down on the sugar intake. (Yes just in time for Hallowe'en, yes I'm an idiot.)

The decision to do something about the sarcasm came right after my boss explained to me why he had to fire one of my friends. He said that the company would be able to save some money, to which I replied, "Yeah, now if there was only some way to get rid of the rest of us, you guys would have one rich-ass company." He was not amused. I need this job if I'm ever going to afford that mail order bride, the one without the siphilis, so I'm starting my own AA style club: Sarcaholics Anonymous. Motto: "We'll Completely Rid You of Sarcahol, Oops Sorry, Sarcasm."

Every SA meeting would start with our rousing cheer of, "Oh yeah, THIS is a great club." The cheer would be followed by an entertainer, purposefully chosen because of their high level of incompetence, who would be forced to perform while unduring sarcastic comments from the audience. Bad comedians would be a mainstay. You see, the purpose of SA wouldn't be to diminish your sarcasm, but instead to release it all at once so you could go through the rest of your week without feeling the urge to say hurtful things to your friends, family, or police officers. (By the way, I don't think AA meetings could work on this principle... but they would probably be more fun.) Glitter or Gigli would also be watched regularly so that members could try out new material, such as, "Nice ass Lopez, I guess you never needed a high-chair as a kid huh?" Every meeting would end with a round table discussion of whatever was bothering people that week. (For me this week it's that Yoplait commercial. Do I need to see a guy sitting on the can? It isn't very appetizing.)

So sign up now! Spots are going fast and we sarcaholics need to stick together because everyone else wants to beat us up. You especially.

Combat Rock

2005-10-29T16:56:00.000-07:00

The title means nothing, I've just been listening to the Clash all day. Also, I stopped selling Combat Rocks after all the kids in my neighbourhood ended up in the hospital. Whiny bastards. Nothing special today, just thought I'd hit ya with a bunch of musings and see what sticks.

Advertising Age magazine reported that North American business will lose 551,000 person-years of work time this year because people are online reading blogs. If you are at work right now, reading this, hang your head in shame. OK that's enough, it's hard to read when you've got your head down. I actually don't think this is such a big deal, at least people are at their desks or cubicles and not doing meth in the bathroom, which is the only other alternative.

I was flipping through channels and came across the best worst movie I've seen since Oasis of the Zombies. (Best line: A group of young people are sitting around, talking politics and this girl pipes in with, "C'mon guys isn't love important too?" Oh yeah, it's dubbed.) Spike TV, formerly The Guy Channel, was showing a movie titled 'Santa's Slay'. I missed the first part but became fully engrossed when I saw Santa kicking the living shit out of two guys at a bar. After he slays both of them we are caught up on the backstory by way of puppet animation. It seems that Santa is the son of Satan and the only reason he has been so nice lately is because he lost a bet with an angel a thousand years ago. This movie featured some brilliant acting by Goldberg, the wrestler, as Santa and that by girl who had the baby on Lost. Unfortunately, I didn't see the ending because my brain began to hurt.

Baseball's over and I'll cry if I want to, but I am also excited about the Canucks so it ain't too bad. If you are among the many who find baseball boring, your opinion is wrong and also your feet stink.

Finally, I almost became an uncle last night but will have to wait for at least a few weeks. Longer hopefully. It's not that I'm not ready to be an uncle yet, it's just that the baby could do with some growing. Little William (Will not Bill) or Grace is going to be a very lucky baby with my bro as his/her dad.

"If you ain't reggae for it... Funk out!
No-one knocking your door?
Overpowered by funk? Funk out!" - Overpowered by Funk, The Clash

snob? moi?

2005-10-27T23:11:00.000-07:00

This is an open letter to all those who think I am a blog snob. To begin, let me say that I'm not completely sure what a blog snob is but I will assume it is someone who postes and doesn't comment on anyone else's blogs. If that is a blog snob then you do have a point and I apologize.

The reason for this is that I have feelings of anxiety whenever I meet new people. I'm shy, it's embarrasing. So for the past week I have only been commenting on people's blogs I know. If you give me a little time, I promise I'll fill your postes with so many comments you'll be sick of me, if you're not already. Believe me, if a friend hadn't forced me to start this thing in the first place, I never would have had the guts.

PS: I have been reading plenty of blogs, so please don't think I'm only concerned with my own shit. Again, I apologize.

PPS: If a blog snob is something different than what I stated above, then for God's sake tell me and I'll fix it; this is keeping me awake and I have to get up at five.

Party Down?

2005-10-26T16:28:00.000-07:00

Well, it's getting to be that time of year again. No, I'm not talking about Halloween, Rememberance Day, or Christmas, I'm talking about the big year end bash of unholy debauchery, New Years. And hell no it ain't too soon to start thinking, "Where am I going to go? Who am I going to go with? If I conceive a child, will I ever tell it the truth?" (Always lie, you can say that it was a 'wonderful surprise' for you and what's her name.) Why isn't it too early you ask? Because if you don't you may get stuck, as I was, hosting the lamest new year's party since 1908, when a pretty, young jewish girl refused to kiss a petulant little bastard named Adolf.

My roommate (whose name I will change from 'Jean-Paul Anthony Deschenes' to 'JP', to conceal his identity) and I found ourselves days away from new year's eve without anywhere to go. JP, being optimistic, and I, being drunk, decided that we would hold our own shindig for all the rest of the people out there who had forgotten to make plans, get girlfriends, etc. Turns out "all the rest of the people" turned out to be Shippy. She decided to come. She made a big mistake.

To be fair, Shipkicker probably did have other plans that she canceled to come hang with us and perhaps our flyers were a bit boastful; she may have reason to sue. We bought alcohol and food, JP (who doesn't drink) bought some of this lovely green herb that grows in BC (honestly, it should be listed on our GNP) and we even cleaned the appartment. Nobody showed. With JP altering his consciousness and Shippy nursing a cooler, I decided it would be a shame to let the beer go to waste. I have always said that I couldn't remember how many I had that night, and it was true. However, I did count the empties the next day and I am ashamed (and a little proud) to say that it was more than fifteen and less than twenty. During the course of the night our friend Shippy, ever the intrepid reporter, thought it would be a good idea to preserve the memory of this party so that future generations could learn from our mistakes. Thus follows the minutes of lamefest '03-'04: (Coloured names indicate who's writing.)

Tara:
9:45- Joe unnecessarily tells Tara to "shut up"
10:00- Joe's "friend" Mike leaves to move on to The Rendevous
10:01- Joe has his "6th" beer
10:04- Tara goes to the bathroom and looks in JP's cupboard (just kidding) editor's note: she wasn't kidding
10:06- Tara, JP, and Joe toss the old pigskin around while singing 'traveling bangos'
10:20- Joe gets "7th" beer
10:32- Joe gets "8th" beer (4.7% alcohol, 12 beer minimum)
10:47- JP taps his foot along to the beat of 'Rock and Roll all Night' by Kiss
10:49- Joe asks what I'm doing in his Italian 3 piece suit and says "say hello to my little friend"
editor's note: I realize that Al Pacino was playing a Cuban when he said that , but if you've been paying attention I was already on my "8th" beer.
10:55- "I fuckin' hate guys like that," says Joe. yet another editor's note: We were watching Dazed and Confused, but I can't seem to remember which character I hated. Probably Ben Affleck.
11:00- Tara realizes that perhaps she's been tricked into coming to a 'party' that only consists of three people, one of whom has had 9 too many beers. She wonders what they have in store for her.
11:05- Tara reads minutes of evening while fearing for her safety.
11:09- discuss possibility of putting Joe in his 3 piece suit
11:11- air raid!
11:11:30- you got some splaining to do...
11:13- chocolate chocolate shockolate
11:20- ooooh I can't believe a whole year has gone by and it sucked shit
11:22- Joe goes to bathroom- did he puke?
11:23- Joe thinks he's funny, he finds out he's mistaken
11:28- Tara phones JP's cell and Joe thinks it's someone looking to party. Very funny- sadly pathetic.

JP
11:32- took over the minutes
11:43- fuck the minutes

Joe
11:52- Joe says something extremely witty... no one laughs.
11:53- Joe realizes that the witty thing he supposedly said was actually two M&Ms talking on TV.
11:54- Tara complains about shitty year, JP loses interest.
11:55- Joe squints and Tara laughs at him, trying in vain to get back at him for his scathing remarks at 9:45
11:57- Joe, pretending to be drunk, carefully takes notes of his "friends" behaviour for future bestsellig book.
11:59- Tara has lamest New Years in 13 years.
12:00- NEW YEARS! final editor's note: I think it said NEW YEARS, at that point my handwriting is a little hard to make out.

So there you have it, confessions of a brutal party planner. And do yourselves a favour and start making plans early this year, I promise you won't regret it. One final thing... is it weird that I had more fun at that party than I've had at 90% of the krazy keggers I've been to?

sick days

2005-10-24T15:57:00.000-07:00

First off I would like to thank the millions of people who commented on my first post. Especially Shippy, Gareth, and that girl possessed who had the decency to be real people and not figments of my fevered imagination. Oh yeah, Gareth don't be too alarmed about Shippy's gun. I've only seen her use it twice; the first guy totally deserved it and the cop was just asking too many questions. Also, I just checked my profile and apparently I was born in the zodiac year of the sheep. I was worried briefly about what that said about my personality but I came to the conclusion that I am more of a leader sheep; I may still follow the sheperd but the rest of the sheep have to look at my ass. (Damn it man, clean it up. You promised you wouldn't work blue.) Anyway if, like me, you're destined to be a follower, just be sure to follow the right leader. (You can't pick my leader, she's already booked solid.)
Looking at my title I see that tonight's topic is sick days. My problem is that I have become really good at a job I don't particularly enjoy and as a result the company is somewhat reliant on me to be at work everyday. (That last sentence made it seem like I am some sort of super employee, actually, I work in a warehouse and a trained gorilla could do my job. Scratch that, the gorilla doesn't have to be trained.) But irregardless of my gorilla-like abilities I find myself, every few months, unable to get out of bed and face the tedium of another day at work. I know I am lucky to have a job that pays decently and that has a workforce of fully house-trained employees but is it unreasonable to fake a cold once in awhile? The company doesn't give sick days so it's not like I'm getting paid for sitting on my ass. Maybe this isn't a huge problem but it's been bugging me years so if you have any thoughts as to how many times a year calling in sick is acceptable I would dearly love to hear it.
One final note: that girl possessed (I'm sorry I don't know your abbreviation yet, is it tgp? or g.posse?) you are absolutely bang on about the 'your mom is online' thing. The first time I saw that I laughed for days at completely inappropriate times.

2005-10-23T22:13:00.000-07:00

Hey everybody, long time reader, first time blogger. Actually a friend came over last night, you might know her as shipkicker, and basically forced me to create a blog. So here I am, primed, ready, and rarin' to go... um, what the hell am I supposed to write about?
Wait! I got it. Here's something you may be able to relate to: finding your user name. Shipkicker and I wasted over an hour trying to come up with something totally original and hilarious. We failed. (In case you're wondering "notjoecheese" comes from natcho cheese. There, wasn't it funnier after I explained it? Please don't respond to that, I already wasted too much of my life coming up with it to hear any negative comments.) So anywhoo, here are a few of the discarded names along with a brief explanation to fleshen things out:
1. Joprah- the real combination of Joe and Oprah would create a baby so rich and lazy it would consume one third of the earth's oreo supply.
2. Cpt. Spellcheck- is 'Cpt.' spelled correctly?
3. Shawshanked- the t-shirts would read, "I Got Shanked At Shawshank"
4. Maneater- now, I didn't get this one because I am neither gay nor a cannibal (much)... wait a minute. A gay cannibal? Pair him up with a vegetarian drill sergeant and I smell sitcom!
5. Peterpantsless
6. hootchie pappa
7. yabbadabbadope
8. bloggahogga
9. FeloniousMonkey
10. General Typo- obvious mortal enemy of Cpt. Spellcheck.
11. Palweiser- like budweiser, but with a pal instead... yeah, shipkicker didn't laugh either.
12. joeyspumoni- for the longest time shipkicker thought I was italian and would make these jokes about my heritage. I never got the jokes but she didn't notice because she was laughing so hard at her own great wit. She continues to crack wise about my italian upbringing even after finding out I'm not from Italy. Shipkicker is not one to let a good joke die just because of some poor fact checking.
13. joe momma- please send me any 'yo momma' jokes, as long as they aren't about my momma.
14. ihavepoolis- I meant to write 'ihaveloopis', but misspelled it and consequently came up with a much more terrible disease. Incidently, I don't suffer from lupus (the correct spelling) or poolis, but if you think you may have contracted poolis from a toilet seat or a wild animal just send me five bucks and I will get the cure right out to you with the next available hitchhiker. (Please allow six to eight weeks for delivery and please have a sandwich ready, hitchhikers are people too you know.)
Well that's about it. Feel free to use any of these names, they're all pretty radical, (excluding the first fourteen) and if I 'created' a name someone's already using, it was purely a coincidence. So stay tuned all ye who are bored, voyeurs, enjoy high-school quality english, or who wish to see if you are mentioned. (Probably you will be.) Also, I promise to have up to date sports scores. Check the ticker for the latest.