Friday, January 23, 2004

What's in the middle?

A glorious moment.

I haven't had an Oreo since I went camping when I younger. They froze overnight and we had to dip them in hot chocolate to make them edible. I ate nearly a whole box of them, and ever since then I've had crunchy, sweet nightmares.

So when a friend of mine came in and asked me if I wanted an Oreo and proceeded to point a bowlfull of them at me, I thought I might puke the puke of a thousand sick babies all over her. But then I paused, shut my eyes and took a bite. Best decision I have ever made! I hereby declare the Oreo king of this cookie called earth. I would gladly take arms in their preservative-laden service LONG LIVE THE OREO! I will eat Oreos till the day I drop. Or more likely I'll eat them until I go into a coma, and they'll say "Max, we're doing this for your own good...This will hurt us more than it'll hurt you" and stich my mouth closed. Then comes the inevitable Tube food. Leaving me to forever mumble in my cookie-less misery.

Put on your thinking caps, and then you'll think perhaps...

I just found out that Captain Kangaroo died. Well that's depressing.

Damn Homie, Back in high school you was the man, Homie

I realized last night, walking home in that biting cold, that I would really like to know someone that works in a diner. Like Fran's. Just so that I could go in and say "How's life Gail?" Or "The usual please Martha". They would undoubtedly have a name that came straight from the 50's. A 50's mom name. I'd stamp my feet, rub my hands together and sit down at my usual seat at the window. I could sit there, listen to Sam Cooke and read the paper, sipping my coffee watching the couples walk by. They would step into view and suddenly be bathed in the red and green neon lights from above. I'd watch the clouds of breath curl upwards untill they became invisible and usual again. Then they'd pass (they were seeing a movie) and I'd be back to the paper , Earth Angel, and my homefries again. I'd give Verna a good tip, and then head back out into the cold, to wherever I live. The girls always wondered where I lived.

The boy farted softly. As if to say, I'm not a afraid of you...

I've fallen in love with Italics. Italics....Italics BOLD BOLD ITALICS!

Thursday, January 22, 2004

Did you just see that? Was that...The Fonz?

In my food\natural light deprived state I totally forgot the most important thing I saw on TV last night.

Ok, so I was watching CTS (I think it means Christian Television but I have no idea) as I always do when I'm eating olives, and wearin' my jeans. It makes the whole experience so much more surreal, more powerful. Anyway, Happy Days comes on. I'm down with that, that's coo, I just hope it's a good one. It just so happens that the TV gods had selected this very night to play THE episode...The episode where the Fonz, on water-skis, jumps over a deadly plastic shark that just happens to be swimming underneath a massive ramp.

My mouth fell open, spilling green sludge and pimentos all over my denim. What the hell are the odds? To turn on the TV and there he is, the man himself, still dressed in a leather jacket but wearing the smallest pair of swimming trunks known to man (The Fonz goes all out) speeding along behind a boat with Ron Howard screeching "Are you sure you want to do this Fonz?" The Fonz just looks at him for a second, squinting in the sun, his hair glistening, he majestically raises his right hand, pauses for a moment, and slowly but surely forms the international sign for "Ehhhhhhhhhhh".

Needless to say, the Fonz lands the jump effortlessly and skis up to shore to be lifted above the gang of previously horrified spectators who have totally forgotten their worries because, man, the Fonz is just so damn cool.

I blacked out at that point, the stress was too much. But later I awoke to see Ron Howard talking to his father about signing a big "Hollywood movie contract". Now, I don't know how many of you have actually seen Happy Days but is it me or is Tom Bosely mildly, and I mean very mildy, retarded? Or permanently tipsy? Or in constant mind-altering pain? Because I swear every time I see that guy, he's always kind of slurring his speech and carrying on about his childhood. While nobody seems to actually want to hear his rants, they all listen as if they have to in order to not hurt his feelings. Or maybe he would react violently, spitting and thrashing about like a spoiled, drunken child screaming Nobody ever listens to me!. Ron Howard just sort of agrees with his Dad, pats him on the back and tells him he's a good boy. "Gee Thanks Dad, I'm really glad we could have this talk. Now I know that no matter what people tell me, the Fonz was right, condoms are for geeks"

Thank You (Falettinme be mice elf)

Olives, natures crack. I can't stop eating olives (which sounds lude I know, "eatin' olives" wink wink), and now that I know that they're damn cheap I'm never going to stop. I woke up at 5 this morning to those crazy howling ghost winds flying down college, and I was terrified. But then I thought, hey, I'll eat some olives.

And it was good.

And then Our Lady Peace came on...I've never liked them, but this time was the last. That guy's voice is more irritating than the deaf Choir singing "God Bless America". And the guys name is rain? Ergh.
I bet rain eats olives. But I'm willing to bet he eats only the pits\seeds, because that's gross, and he's gross.

OH! YEAH! I tried something daring last night. While stuffing my face, I turned on the ol' television machine to watch me up some o'them funny people. TV was good to me, and gave me everything I wanted. Real TV andAmerica's funniest home videos! (The original I might add) Can life get better? I submit that it cannot! But just as I had reached the ultimate in the North American TV experience I decided that I'd take a chance and see what was on MuchMusic. I casually flipped, expecting to see my...Favourite...Chingy Or maybe even Evanescence...Ahem...When to my horror, my arch-nemesis stood before me, and he was staring straight into the very depths of my soul. Phil Collins was doing his warbly, sissy-British wailing thing in front of the New York City skyline flailing his stumpy limbs and spinning round, while his not quite bald, fat-ass head emitted what scientists like to call "The Phil Collins Frequency". It's shrill and piercing but with absolutely no intensity. It's the quietest shrieking, the mellowest anger. DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE...Excuse me. Phil and I don't exactly get along.

Maybe only certain people and dogs and certain dog-people can hear the actual song because I can't fathom why, or even how anybody could sit down and think I'm enjoying this, I like this, Phil Collins isn't part girly-Lucifer, part sissy-Hitler, he's too sincere to be evil...

Because I think I'm that cool I read The Old Man and The sea by Ernest Hemingway last night and now I think I understand. MUTHERFUCKIN' HEMINGWAY MAN! HEMINGWAY FUCKIN' RULES!

Wednesday, January 21, 2004


I just wrote a thing about hobo-twins, and when I finished it, I pressed the damn post button. Now I had presumed that the post button did what the name implies...Post...But apparently that is not the case. What the button should really be called is "Mostly post, but sometimes make hard work disappear, and in turn make Max whine and cry about how nothing is fair".

Tuesday, January 20, 2004

I see speed indeed, I tell him what I need

So my Jeans and I met Dave for lunch today. Saw a sparrow inside and Dave and I encouraged it to defecate on a mans head. It wasn't having any of that, and left us. I stuffed myself full of Indian food at an alarming rate and I'm feeling it as we speak. My fellow workers have kindly asked me to stop moaning and rubbing your stomach, get to work! What is your job anyway? Weren't you fired like a month ago?

Found out a friend of mine's hot roommate thinks I'm "cute" as opposed to the ever popular "an asshole" and I'm happy about that. Not that it means anything, because girls still make me puke blood but hey, it feels good. Not puking "I love spewing!", of course.

All in all I don't really have much to say, I'm bored, I wish I had more friends, and as my buddy Shay used to say:

"Put the toilet paper in the freezer, Max is having Indian!"

The spell checker wanted to change Asshole to Ashley...and I laughed

Monday, January 19, 2004

Get off my elevator

I bought Jeans yesterday. The thing is, in my professional opinon, buying pants is worse than... Jay Leno. OH! ZING! Seriously, I think buying pants is probably number one on the top ten list of the things I hate having to buy. It's up there with embarrasing personal products and anything remotely girly, like un-mentionable personal products.

Anyway, if I'm gonna get pants, then I may as well go big...no, I don't mean big pants. So I head with two trusty companions to the local levis jeans store. I had a love-hate relationship with this store because 2 days before I had walked by and heard "God Save the Queen" blasting out. I hated the fact that a company as boring as levis was playing Sex Pistols to promote jeans, but at the same I loved it. I mean, it is kind of bizzare. All the girlies in pink track pants and vests, shopping to the Sex Pistols. Pretty surreal. Anyway, first thing we do is make a pass by the store, you know, make sure I know what I'm up against. Lots of people? Lots of women...and no men whatsoever?...you never know? I didn't know where to start, and frankly I didn't want to. But then I looked down and saw my frayed pant legs, blowing in the wind, like my frayed pant-leg soul and I decided it was time to put a stop to it.

Next thing you know, I'm looking at a wall of jeans, so many styles, sizes....flavours? Luckily, one of them wile-ly store people came swooping in out of nowhere, making sure to be as happy as possible, so as to make me uncomfertable as possible. I would have bought anything just to get out of there "These pink buttless chaps would like great on you" "Yeah whatever, just stop asking me quesitons, take my money, please! Boy did she love her jeans. She actually asked me who introduced to me the world of jeans. She welcomed me in, and told me it was a great world.

I guess. "If jeans are as great as she thinks they are, then I'm in for a treat!" I thought.
They aren't I found out. My life has improved only slightly due to these jeans. Because they're blue, and I happen to like blue.

"Is she from heaven, is she from hell? Is she a sex industry professional?"

I gotta go, I got jeans


I'm ready boys, so lets take a trip

To encourage more Todd, I've decided to stop complaining today. If Todd is anything like Polkaroo, well, that'd be terrifying. Nevermind. Todd has a very good point about chocolate milk. When I was far away in Australia, I was amazed by the abundance of SHITTY ass chocolate milk brands. They'd have whole fridges full of them, and they were all disgusting and overpriced. And he's totally right, on a sunny day sitting downtown, watching people walk by, there is nothing more relaxing and somehow fulfilling then a good ol' large chocolate milk.

But I digress...Back to Todd.

Dear Sir Todd of...Toddingham,

Please for the love of all things righteous, spare us this misery! I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't do anything but ponder over the who-abouts of this illusive Todd. My going theories change every hour, from The Chimp with a computer theory, to the abstract, Chimp who is on the phone with a baby who is on a computer, but the baby fell asleep, his juice fell and broke the computer, and the chimp is mentally ill due to horrific make-up testing theory. Those of course are the extremes but most, scratch that, all of them involve chimps. I like Chimps. I like Todd.

Bless you Todd, God speed you magnificent bastard.

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