Yes, I'm back.

No promises on how permanent my return is, but stop on by my new blog and say "hi"!

My new blog: BOCTAOE

I'm browsing around the net and stumble across one of those sugary-sweet pictures of a child holding their first lost tooth. How cute. Ain't he sweet? Well… yeah. Pretty cute, but think about how bizarre the whole concept is.

"Sleep well, son. I hope you enjoyed your third birthday. Oh, by the way, now that you're three… bits of your body are going to start falling off and we'll take pictures. Nighty night."

"But Daddy… what parts?"

"Oh, uh, teeth and thems such. Like I said, sleep well. Night now."

"…k… one question? What if I need my teeth?"

"Yeah, well. Too bad, I guess. The tooth fairy needs them too. She sneaks in while you're asleep and helpless. She takes your teeth. Don't worry though. She'll leave a quarter."

"Oh. Um, can you leave the light on tonight?"

"Ok. Just this once. Don't forget to eat your brussel sprouts tomorrow, or we'll have to have a little talk about the happy magic eyeball elf."

Gene Simmons would be proud. Why? Did I write a song worthy of KISS? Did I meet the Phantom of the Park? No. I licked a Tootsie Pop. Halloween leftovers, you know. How does this relate? Tootsie Pops occasionally have sharp spots (if you've ever had one, you know what I mean). I cut my tongue.

Stop wincing, wimp. It didn't hurt that much. I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed my tongue on it expecting to see little specks of red. I looked down at a wet inch-wide circle completely saturated with thick red blood. "Oh, that ain't good", I thought as I walked to the bathroom. I have a white carpet, so I kept my mouth shut.

I got to the bathroom and opened my mouth to inspect my tongue and half a mouthful of blood poured down my chin into the sink. Children of the 80's now get the Gene Simmons reference. The rest of you still think I'm talking about that sweaty "Jiggle to the Oldies" guy in shorty-shorts. Different Simmons. Really different. I was quite the mess. All I needed was a little black paint and a guitar.

I stuck my tongue out and blood kept just pulsing out of it into the sink in a little stream. Man. I've seen neater surgeries on the Discovery Channel. Blood doesn't bother me, and the solution to bleeding is always the same. Pressure. I grabbed a cloth and squeezed my tongue for a few minutes. That's all it took.

The tip of my tongue is a little sore, but damned if I can see even the slightest injury. There isn't any sign that anything at all happened to my tongue. My bathroom, however, is a different story. It looks like someone got rid of a corpse by running it through a juicer and pouring it down my drain.

This time of year is interesting in Canada. The days get shorter and the nights get longer. This is because, as you know, things move more slowly when they're cold. As night approaches, and it gets cold, the Earths' rotation slows. Night gets much longer. The sun finally rises, warming the ground. Conservation of momentum, the uncertainty principle, and a reversal of the shield harmonics means the earth must rush around to night again or it would rip in half along its zipper.

The most noticeable effect of this to Canadians is that we must drive both to and from work in complete and utter darkness. Well, that, and you have to drink your drivin' beer much faster so it doesn't freeze to the dash.

We are in the transition period at the moment (aka "The Period of Transition") where we're just approaching these dark commutes-of-the-damned. The transition is important psychologically, also. Driving to work blinded by the rising sun teaches us that it is something to be feared and loathed. By the time it arrives, we welcome the arduous winter baby-seal-clubbing season.

Come late May or early June, the newspapers will publish fliers reminding us about the sun. Despite the preparations, 911 will be flooded with calls from people fearing the sky is on fire. BBQ's across the nation will sizzle as they melt their snowy caps for the first burgers of spring. The cycle will begin anew.

I don't feel like working too hard on a blog entry today. Regular readers know what that means… list time! Let's just review today's Google news headlines, shall we?

Tests Show No Mad Cow, Cattle Prices Rise
They learned from Canada. Shoot the fucking thing and dump it in a lake.

JFK Reloaded is Just Plain Creepy
Yeah. But I bet the Bush patch will be cool.

Ozzy Says He "Acted On Impulse" During Robbery
Bullshit. I bet he said, "I frucking hadleblrb fnucking thrble fuck. SHAAAARON!!"

Chocolate Could Quiet Coughs
Hard to cough with a triple-layer cake shoved into your mouth, hey, Oprah?

Bush Orders Review of US Covert Operations
Kremlin says no problem. They'll ship it via overnight post.

IBM, Honeywell Ink 10-Year Defense Deal
That's the last time either of us are getting creamed by a fucking basketball player!

US Open To Eventually Restoring Ties With Iran
It's not like Iran can golf well enough to win anything anyway, so what's the harm?

I've been trying generic colas lately. Not sure why. I like Coke™. I'm not cheap either, so I don't mind paying a premium for Coke. I know I'm paying for all that advertising, but who cares. That's how capitalism works. Wait. What was I talking about?

Oh, yes. I've been trying generic colas lately. Some aren't too bad. Out of the ones that I've tried, none really taste close to Coke. The cheapest of the lot (about 18¢ a can) actually tasted like liquid caramel. Really yummy, but not what I was looking for. Considering that the average can of cola contains between 10 and 12 teaspoons of sugar, I'm not surprised the cheap guys ended up with caramel flavor.

What has really surprised me, though, is how many non-diet low-cost colas have perfectly reproduced that awful neurotoxic DNA-rupturing Aspartame aftertaste. How they did it without vats of aspartic acid and phenylalanine I'll never know. Why they'd go for that particular ultra-sweet off-the-tastebud-scale and lingering chemical formaldehydey bouquet I don't even want to know. I guess it's just Monsanto™ ridding the world of bio-hazardous waste one cheap can of pop at a time.

Do you ever wish you weren't so smart? Some of you are probably blessed with a high level of dumidity. You don't realize what a burden it is to be as staggeringly intelligent as the vast majority of my readers. Be glad you get to live your life through haze coloured glasses.

Those of us cursed with intelligence struggle every day. We idle behind someone waiting for a stop sign to turn green and worry that the world is full of fucking morons. We listen to our next generation discuss MTV using a mish-mash of grunts and obscenities and worry the world is breeding a whole new supply of fucking morons. We see the most powerful nation in the world being run by the biggest fucking moron of the lot and worry the world is soon to be destroyed by fucking morons.

I had a friend who had a dog. It wasn't exactly a pleasant dog, either. It was always snapping at you or barking. The dog had an accident and suffered brain damage. Ever since the accident, this dog was completely and deliriously happy. It didn't know why — or care. It just wagged it's tail madly and jumped up and down and ran in circles. Even when it ran into the wall or fell down the stairs. It would just get up and almost combust from happiness from the experience of being dog.

Wish I knew which part of his brain he damaged.

I may have been a little miffed when I found out Laura Prepon went... I can hardly say it… blonde from red. However, Maxim shows that not music but pictures will prove this lavished breast. Needless to say (so I'll say it), Laura is this months' cover. It's a must have. Don't miss this issue (innuendo unintended).

On another note (you know what's coming)… what the FUCK are you Americans thinking?! How can this even be a close call? The presidential race? Bush doesn't even belong in the human race. Is the ability of the religious right to self-censor what they see and hear so automatic that one man can do so much to harm so many in so little time and still be seen as a viable leader?