Thursday, November 30, 2006

Open letter to radio stations in my listening area who have taken it upon themselves to play nothing but Christmas music all day until Christmas...

Dear radio station people,

It's hard, isn't it? Trying to fill all this time with Christmas music? Yeah... you kind of painted yourself into a corner with that one, eh?

Here's the thing: There isn't that much good Christmas music out there. Wait, wait... I know what you're thinking: "But what about Please Come Home for Christmas"?. Well, I don't consider Bon Jovi as a provider of holiday music. Seriously. And nope, not Brandi, either. And for god's sake, not Chrissy Hynde! Her version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas was recorded as a joke, you know. A joke! ... wasn't it? I mean, surely they never intended to actually release that. It was recorded during a 4-day holiday bender, resulting in a bunch of hammered rockers stumbling into the studio wearing Santa hats and... Wasn't it?

Anyway...

I'm thinking your listeners won't mind a bit if you stick to the classics... the real classics, and then fill the rest of the time with regular music. You know, a little Nat King Cole here, some Bing Crosby there. We'll even tolerate the Carpenters, if we must. But only because she's dead.

Okay? Thanks!

Berry

Wednesday, November 29, 2006

You've got mail

So the Iranian president has written a letter to the American people. Not to the American president, but to the actual people. All of 'em.

Well... not all of 'em, really. Only the god-fearing ones. Not the atheists.

Well... not all of the god-fearing ones either. Like, not the agnostics. Oh, and especially not the jews. No, not them... they're poo-poo heads.

And not the scientologists, either, 'cuz there was no mention of any "alien-fearing" people.

Anyway, part of the letter is pretty sound, and part of it sounds like Boston Rob trying to hustle an alliance on Survivor (hidden agenda much?).

And then there's the whole "monotheist society" thing near the end. You know... only one god. I'm thinking a few folks would have trouble agreeing on which god gets the honor. (Christ, even Boston Rob would pretend to be okay with a couple of gods!)

But anyway... as a Canadian, I'm a little miffed that no-one ever sends us open letters like that to be read on the UN floor.

Just sayin'...



And the baby goes to...

Sofia Coppola gave birth to a daughter, Romy.

As a Coppola, Romy is already scheduled to be nominated for, and win, an Oscar in 2039.

No news yet as to which Huston descendant she will be up against (not that it matters, because a Coppola always beats a Huston).


Monday, November 27, 2006

How to drive in the fog...

Main Man and I came across some thick fog this evening on our way home. I'm a pretty experienced driver-in-the-fog, so I thought I'd share some tips with y'all about how to handle this potentially dangerous situation:

1. Always lean forward in your seat, as close to the windshield as possible. You'll see the road WAY better this way.

2. Squint your eyes and frown. This will let the car know you're taking this fog seriously.

3. Stop talking, and turn down the radio. It's important to hear the fog.

4. Comment on how thick the fog is at least 3 times in a row; throw in a "wow" or two for good measure.

5. Comment on what the fog probably indicates about tomorrow's weather. This is extremely important.

That should cover it. Drive safely, my friends!

From rags to skanks...

Seriously, Britney?

You wanted to distance yourself from your poser husband because your reputation was flailing, so you hook up with Paris Hilton on a week-long skankathon?

Seriously?

Look, if you really want to trade up, you'll be happy to hear that Kid Rock is single again.

What do you mean, he's "icky"? You can't expect to reach for the top just yet, silly. Small steps, girl. Small steps.

What exactly are you trying to say?

I had a disturbing dream last night. I needed money and was desperately looking for work. The only place willing to hire me was a brothel.

Yes... a whore-house.

But wait, you don't understand. They wanted me only as a "greeter" at the front door. Fully dressed, and smiling like a tour guide.

Why? Because I was too old, they said. Too old!!!!! They wanted no-one over 25, tops. All night, I watched men line up to get behind one of those doors with the young girls. The girls were making $23 per BJ, cranking the guys in and out of the rooms at a rate of 6 per hour... each... and here I was making minimum wage.

I did recognize a couple of faces, though, and spent the rest of the night plotting my extortion plan. I guess that's something you're never too old for.

But seriously, I need to be kinder to myself in my own dreams.

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Do you see what I see...?

I'm exhausted. I just came back from spending 90 minutes trying on a bazillion different types of frames for glasses.

I was eventually so overwhelmed with choices that I just left the store... empty-handed.

Really, all I set out to do was have my eyes examined, and then replace the lenses in my current frames (which I love dearly and had every intention of keeping). It should've been a piece of cake... in & out... thanks, Berry... come again!

But then I started "looking around". Ugh. Those two little words. What a fucking Pandora's box that usually turns into.

The poor girl who helped me during those 90 minutes must be pissed. I mean, she probably really hates me. I was pretty annoying, too. After the first 60 minutes, I ended up with a pile full of "maybes", and proceeded to spend the next 30 minutes in front of a mirror, trying them all on...

one. after. the. other....

...saying adorable things like "I dunno... ", "wait, maybe this one?...", "oh, I can't decide!...", "hmmm, lemme try this one again...", "Gosh, I keep coming back to this one, but I dunno...".

And then I fucking left!!!! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!

Yeah, I'da totally flipped out if I was her. "PICK ONE, YOU CRAZY BITCH!!!!!" Heh-heh. I'm pretty sure she'll ignore me if I go back there. How badly would it suck if I went back in a few days, and she ignores me, so I get someone else to help me, and I drop lots of $$$ on a few pairs of glasses that I don't even need to try on (now that I've tried them all on), and the new chick gets the commisison?

Yeah. Seriously. I think she'd kick my ass.

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

How to breed anti-US sentiment

Here you'll find an instructional video on how to ensure a child will grow up hating and wanting to blow up Americans.

The duration of the lesson is important, but even more imperative is the acceleration of the vehicle near the end. Please note that laughing and taunting is also crucial to the success of the training lesson.

Practice often in order to ensure as many children as possible are reached.



In the land of the ridiculous...

So now the two guys who were the target of Michael Richard's racist rant are attempting to sue him.

For money. For their own use. Because of the "pain" they suffered during those couple of minutes.

Thing is, they can't really sue him, in the traditional sense. So their salivating lawyer is trying to get Richards to sit with them in front of a retired judge so that Richards can "listen to their pain". After that, the used-to-be-a judge will decide if, and how much, Richards should pay them.

Pay them?? WTF for??!!

Anyway, good luck to them in trying to get Richards to agree to this.

In the meantime, I'm combing through my childhood diary to gather the names of the people who hurt my feelings during recess. And I'm gonna get me a retired school principal to oversee a meeting between me and those bullies, and I'm gonna tell them about my "pain". And then the principal will decide if, and for how long, those bullies are gonna have to sit through detention next week. Suckas!

Monday, November 20, 2006

Even Mel Gibson would blush at this...

Wow. Holy shit, Mikey. What the hell...?

If you don't mind squirming uncomfortably in your seat, have a look at what happens when Michael "Kramer" Richards gets a wee bit pissed at some hecklers.


Click here.

Open letter to fashionistas...

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Dear Fashionista,

Yes, the boots look sexy. Yes, they're also warm and comfy. No, they're not new.

I wore these very boots every single day during the winter seasons of Grades 4-6. I learned a few things about them during this time, and I thought I should pass my wisdom on to you:

1. Do not walk in the snow. The lower part of the boot will get wet, and your once-sexy leg will look like a cold, wet dog has draped itself over your foot.

2. Do not walk where there is street salt. The reasons mentioned above apply. Plus, the cold, wet dog will now also have a distinct white, calcified line running around the perimiter of its body.

3. Do not wear them with a skirt. You will look funny.

4. Brush them. Often. Do not use hairspray on them. Trust me.

5. Do not try to dye them with a permanent marker. (Gimme a break... I was 9).

6. Do not wear them in Southern California. It bugs me when you do that.

7. Do not wear them while fashionably lounging next to the fire during the apres-ski. They are extremely flammable (especially with hairspray on them).

Now, go forth and strut yourself in your furry boots! But hurry... before the snow and salt comes.

Sincerely,

Berry

Saturday, November 18, 2006

My own Christmas soundtrack

You know, when I was a kid, I used to sing:

Deck the halls with balls of holly
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

What... it sounded alright to me. Boughs/balls... poetayto/poetahto. When you're just one in a chorus of 30 or 40 kids, no-one can tell.

Besides, it's fun to sing it this way. Next time you get a chance to sing along with Deck the Halls, try my version. It'll make you grin inside.

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la

p.s. - were you tempted to say the la-la-la's slowly to make sure the count was correct? Yeah... me too.




Friday, November 17, 2006

They're dropping like flies

Everybody!... sing together!...

One of these things is not like the others
One of these things just doesn't belong
Can you tell which thing is not like the others...



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I still don't understand how this happens. Yet another model dies of starvation (yes, that's her in both pics). Starvation!! Unbelievable. I need a PopTart.

R.I.P., Ana. I hope you're stuffing your face, wherever you are.


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The ice caps cometh...

Hey, guess what...

It's 19 degrees up here in Quebec right now. (That's 66 degrees in Americkese).

Yep.

In mid-November.

Yep.

We're so screwed.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Open letter to stupid vegans

Dear stupid vegan,

No, I'm not calling all vegans stupid. I'm writing to the vegans who are stupid. And that means you.

If I hear you say one more time that an egg is like a chicken abortion, I will slap you, and then I will kick your ass. The slap is because you're stupid. The ass-kicking is because your ignorance annoys me.

The eggs that are sold for consumption are not fertilized. Idiot. They are not "unborn baby chickens". They are just eggs. Eggs that are layed, whether or not they are fertilized. You know... kind of like a chicken "period".

Now... get out of my face. My omelette's ready.

Thanks!

Berry



Monday, November 13, 2006

What's in a name?

Main Man was at a trade show last week. He met with one of his Taiwanese vendors who then introduced Main Man to the new guy who will be handling his account.

The Chinese often give their kids Christian first names, such as Douglas, Jennifer, Carter, etc., because they believe it will help them succeed in business dealings with the Western world.

Sometimes, though, they are completely unaware that the name they have chosen is not terribly appropriate.

Take Main Man's new account guy, for example. His name is Peter. And while Peter is a lovely name, this poor guy draws all sorts of blank stares, giggles, and the occasional "Excuse me?" when introducing himself.

That's because Mr. and Mrs. Pan had unfortunately never heard of J.M. Barrie when their son was born.

Yes... that's right... he's Peter Pan.

Direct me to your acrylic section, please

This weekend I performed my dreaded annual pre-winter Washing of the Sweaters. It's when I pull out all the thick and comfy sweaters from storage to de-stink and re-fluff them.

It's a very time-consuming and space-consuming ritual. I have to hand wash every single one and then find a place to lay it out flat to dry. Main Man was away on business, so I cleared every possible flat surface in our home to accommodate wet sweaters, and then I got down to it.

It took forever, and 2 days later, some of them are still not completely dry. And thing is, I'll need to do this several more times during the winter. Fuck.

So I've made a decision: I'm retiring my "Hand wash only; Lay flat to dry" wardrobe. I'm done. I quit.

I'm buying acrylic sweaters from now on. If it doesn't go from washer to dryer, it's not going in my closet. I don't have time to be fucking around with fabric that's afraid of water and a little heat. (Well, okay... that's not true. I've got all the time in the world. But that's not the point.)

Now when I go shopping for sweaters, I'll get to watch my hair stand up on-end every time I pull one over my head. When I wear one, I'll get to feel the jolt of static shock every time I touch something metal or walk across a carpet to shake someone's hand.

But I'll also get to throw the damn thing in the washer and dryer when I'm done. And then I can do more important things, like laying myself flat to rest.




Friday, November 10, 2006

And from the Dept. of the Obvious...

In other news today, Statistics Canada has completed a study which concludes that the "paperless society" predicted by many has not yet arrived.

Copies of the study are available on paper.

What an a-hole

Alright, alright. I'll talk about it, already. Christ, it's like an elephant in the room.

Yes, it's true. An Englishman really did almost blow himself up...

...by igniting a firecracker that he had stuck up his butt at a party.

(sigh) This is why Westerners suck at suicide bombing.




Thursday, November 09, 2006

Bitch can sing...

First of all, I am not normally a fan of her stuff, but here's the deal:

I don't care who you are, or what your musical taste is, or how old you are, or how tough you are, or how happy you think you are...

If you listen to Christina Aguilera's "Hurt" in its entirety, you will cry like a little baby.

(Bonus: if you have lost someone very close to you at any point in your life, you will also sob uncontrollably and snot yourself).

Just sayin'...

Chinese bird flu expert to head WHO

What?

No, WHO.

Who?

Yes, WHO.

Exactly.

What?

That's what I'm asking!



This moment brought to you by classic comedy that we should all know by heart. Scroll down on that page to find the audio. Damn, that's still funny.


Job qualifications

A city in India has hired eunuchs to go around collecting overdue taxes from shop owners.

Residents have expressed surprise at their success in collecting the money, considering the balls required to do this kind of job.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

In a New York hotel room this morning...

(ring ring)

(ring ring)

(ring ring)

Hello?

Good morning Kevin. This is your wake-up call.

Yo, I didn't axe for no wake-up call.

It's not that type of wake-up call.

What?

Your wife just filed for divorce.

Wha...??????!!

Wakey-wakey.




Monday, November 06, 2006

Phew! I can finally relax...

The full moon is phasing out. We should all be feeling a little better already.

Except maybe this guy...


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I think he's pretty much fucked.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

What I did this weekend...

VERSION 1:

A little background: My sister and I were big-time Supertramp fans when we were kids. Roger Hodgson left Supertramp in the early 80's, but continues to tour and perform mostly Supertramp songs (well... he wrote them, so they're his anyway).

For my sister's birthday, I took her to see Roger Hodgson on Friday night. She was thrilled! She's a single mom of 3, and doesn't usually get to do stuff like this.

The show was mostly "unplugged" and acoustic, but it still kicked ass. We had an awesome time, singing along to all our favourite tunes and remembering good times of yore.


When the show was over, we went home. On Saturday, I hosted my sister’s birthday dinner. We enjoyed a family meal and ate a cake that Main Man baked. Then everyone went home.


VERSION 2:

A little background: My sister and I were big-time Supertramp fans when we were kids. Roger Hodgson left Supertramp in the early 80's, but continues to tour and perform mostly Supertramp songs (well... he wrote them, so they're his anyway).

For my sister's birthday, I took her to see Roger Hodgson on Friday night. She was thrilled! She's a single mom of 3, and doesn't usually get to do stuff like this.

The show was mostly "unplugged" and acoustic, but it still kicked ass. We had an awesome time, singing along to all our favourite tunes and remembering good times of yore.

After the show, I said to my Sis, “Wait here.” I snuck backstage and caught up with Mr. Hodgson. I said “Hey, it’s my sister’s birthday. I’m having a dinner for her tomorrow. Wanna come?”

Naturally, he said yes.

Rodg (it’s what I call him now) arrived early on Saturday to help inflate balloons and put up decorations. He’s really quite good at that. Anyway, he and Main Man had a laugh in the kitchen when they got icing aaaalllllll over the toaster oven. They’re so silly together, those two.

When my family started arriving, Rodg hid in our bedroom. He was giggling loudly behind the door, so Main Man had to go and ask him to stop, otherwise, well… the surprise would have been ruined. Completely silly, I tell you.

When Sis got here, Rodg could barely contain himself and burst out of the bedroom! Sis was FLOORED! Rodg grabbed Main Man’s guitar and started singing “Sister Moonshine”. Well, as you can imagine, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

We had a fabulous meal, cooked by me, of course. Rodg helped a bit, but he had mostly wanted to oversee the decorations, which was cool with me. After cake and coffee, we adjourned to the rec room and broke into a group version of “Give a Little Bit”. Such good times.

Afterwards, I drove Rodg back to his hotel. He got out, and before I pulled off, I noticed he had forgotten his piece of cake in foil on the back seat. I ran into the hotel lobby and reached him just before he got into the elevator.


I said, "Rodg! Wait! You forgot your cake!" He slapped his forehead and said "D'oh!", and then we both laughed.

I thanked him for coming over, and he said "Anytime, Berry. Happy to do it." What a guy. He's British, you know.

Then I went home.

Friday, November 03, 2006

And the award for most arrogant, tantrum-throwing, disrespectful asshole of the year goes to...

KANYE WEST!!! (loud cheers erupt; orchestra plays a little hip-hop bit; camera zooms to Kanye's grumpy "I'm a gangsta so I don't smile" face)

Okay Kanye. Now is the time to walk up on stage and say something. See how it's done? You take the mic when you actually win something.

Asshole.

I hope you apologized to the guys whose entire fucking year you ruined by hijacking the most important night of their lives.

Seriously. You're an asshole.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

A quote from Travis Barker...

On whether he'd ever consider getting back together with his wife, Shanna something:

"I never say never – Shanna taught me that," he says. "I could never write her off."

Ha!! You just said "never"!

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

It's MY fat and I'm keeping it!

Jesus. I just finished watching a documentary on cosmetic surgeries gone wrong.

What a mess. What horror! Lipo, lifts, tucks....Revision surgery after revision surgery to "fix" things gone wrong. Infections, amputations, unfuckingbelievable scarring... holy crap.

Nine million (!!!!) cosmetic surgeries a year in the U.S., and no accurate data on fuck-ups, because they are not a matter of public record.

I watched the whole thing while I was on the treadmill. When it was over, I looked down at my bod... my marvelous, functioning, imperfect bod... and said "Thanks. You rock."


Headline Gnus

I love headlines. They crack me up. I believe most of the cheeky ones are written very deliberately. But I'm sure that sometimes, The Funny just happens, completely undetected by editors.

Take a couple of this morning's msnbc.com headlines, for example:

1. Mortgage Applications Fall Sharply. Youch... sounds like a wicked paper cut in the making.

2. Fight Over Clean Air Program Heads to Supreme Court. Are you also picturing a cartoon cloud of dust with lots of arms and legs flailing about, moving along the street?

3. Bush Avoiding Many Races. Um... yeah. ...'nough said.

4. Construction Spending Falls Again. I wonder if they were sitting on the same desk as the mortage applications?