Tell me what you really think?

Bacon: I am a firm believer that bacon was invented by the hands of God. This stuff just goes good on anything. I don't even get upset anymore when I'm cooking bacon topless and the grease splatters onto my tummy. I know that it's just a labor of love.

Same Word, Different Spelling: The bacon chronicles just reminded me of this pet peeve. Why is that America and Canada spell the same words differently? Drives me nuts. I know that there's surely some scientific reason involving complex long division, fractions, and Roman numerals for why we spell the word colour with a 'u' but our Southern counterparts do not. Perhaps the letter 'u' did something to the States way back when and they just decided to leave it out of certain words as a punishment. Or perhaps Canadians deemed the letter 'u' to be really powerful and thus decided to include it into more words. I'm not even sure which way I prefer, but I can tell you this, it seems as though most word processors are American-built and my spell checker keeps telling me that I'm spelling lots of words wrong, when Mrs. Gray taught me to spell them that way in the first place. It's like a riddle, tied up inside of an enigma, trapped inside of Pandora's Box, wrapped up in back bacon.

Fishing: Is there anything better to do to pass the time on a nice summer day? Probably, but for my money, you can't beat the feeling of sitting alone (or with some good time buddies), having a great boat party, but that boat party is only missing one thing. More species. Be it bass, pike, pickerel, muskies, crappie, trout; it doesn't matter to me. I just love it when these little fucker's bite my bait and then I get to drag them unwillingly to the boat to meet me. I've never been good with knives or guts, so if you must know, I don't ever intend on killing them for belly gains, I find it much more rewarding to simply let them back into the wild. After all, its the least I could do after jamming a two inch hook through the side of your jaw.

Getting Dressed Up For No Good Reason: I really think its great to throw on a completely outlandish suit every now and then. Not when you're going to an important business meeting, or you have a work presentation or anything like that. I'm talking about if you just going out with your buddies for beer and wings. I have found that when someone takes this type of initiative, the night will always end up much more humorous (u again) than it would be if everyone is dressed as simple civilians. The last time my friends planned a fake Father's Day outing, we even went so far as to convince one soldier that we were all dressing up. You should have seen the look on his face when we pulled up to his driveway, all of us wearing normal gear, and he came sauntering out of his house in a tuxedo. It was priceless. We went out and painted the town red, we ate smoked bbq and did ridiculous things, and he was indeed the talk of the town that night.

Reggie Miller: Possibly the greatest three-point threat the NBA has ever seen. Was born with abnormally large ears, but made up for it by the way he rolled off of screens and drained buckets. Has developed into a great commentators as well. You're my boy Reggie.

The Prankster: I have one friend that will go to great lengths to pull pranks on all of our buddies. It has come to the point that if my friends are golfing and he is calling us, we cannot answer our phones in the fear that one of us might divulge our whereabouts, thus causing us to get pranked. I have had a six-foot Justin Bieber poster plastered across my garage, my car has been toilet papered and post-it noted, animal bones have found there way into my glove compartment, others have been sleeping in tents and woken up to a nice piece of shit inside of a plastic cup...under their bed, numerous cocks get drawn on faces if you fall asleep first, dream-catchers on your window, steals your car keys and moves your car into the adjacent parking lot while you're sleeping, backseats getting filled with old tires and rubbish, the list goes on.

Ottawa: When I was in my twenties, I used to travel extensively, and I can always remember thinking to myself how boring my home city was and how much I looked forward to going to other places in the world. I'm not sure if it was just a product of getting older, but I have come the realization that my home city is truly awesome. Our downtown core is quaint and clean, there's no huge skyscrapers or massive buildings, but the area itself is gorgeous. We have so many rivers and lakes around us that if you are a fan of water and nature you are in the right place. Drive one hour in any direction and you are in the country. Cottage country is everywhere, and cottages, in my personal opinion, are the greatest things known to man. When I retire, if I ever am able to retire, I want nothing more than to stay in Ottawa. I will live the winter months in suburbia, and I would love to spend June through October at the lake. When the leaves start to change colours (damn u again) I get that tingle in my crotch region that brings an immediate smile to my face.

Lucy: Lucy is my daughter. Multiple sources have confirmed that I have the cutest daughter in the entire world. She is only nine months old, and although I am completely terrified of her, she is the single greatest thing I have ever accomplished. She is currently learning to walk and get all kinds of into everything. She enjoys when someone reads the exact same three books to her close to 7 times a day, and although she knows exactly where the babies belly button is in her favorite (not this time u) book, it amazes her just as much as the last six times she found it on the page. She loves looking at pictures of herself and making scrunchy faces when anyone tries to feed her cheese. She has shat and pissed on me no less than 30 times, and although this type of offense is normally enough to make you puke, I only seem to laugh harder every time she catches me off-guard. I'm beginning to think that she knows exactly what she's doing. It's almost her way of saying "Hey Dad, oh you think you can walk me over to the bathtub without any clothes on and not pay the piper?". Well think again. She is deathly scared of rocking horses, loves squash, and one day she will swim in a lake with me and not scream.

That Old Sweater: I hope everyone has one of these. You know the one, its so old a tattered that you might not even wash it as much anymore because you're worried about it falling apart. It smells like an old catchers mitt, and looks like someone left it for dead on the side of a dirt road in a town that you don't want to go back to. Everything about this sweater screams "Throw me in the fucking trash bin!" but when you put it on, its like getting hugged by a person when you're on ecstasy. It just feels so great. Every crease and subtle nuance is just where it should be. It doesn't smell like years of smoking and ketchup stains have tarnished its reputation, it smells like glory would smell if glory was actually a type of smell. The colour has completely taken a turn for the worst, it is a faded shamble of its former self, but when you wake up on a Sunday morning and have nothing more on the docket aside from riding the couch like a bull, you don't even waste a second on what sweater you're going to wear. You're wearing it. And you fucking love it.

The Shitty Lunch: I think I'm just getting lazy when it comes to work lunches. I think I have told myself 100 times that this will be the last Pizza Pocket I will ever eat. These things are toxic. They taste like someone has grinded up a bunch of assholes and tried to mask that taste with some form of alien-like pizza sauce. I'm almost brought to tears when I'm sitting at my desk chewing this microwavable manure packet, knowing that there's something so much better out there. If my stomach could talk to me, here's what I think it would say on Pizza Pocket Day: "Hey you up there, get with the fucking program Champ, what are you 13 years old? Whatever you're stuffing down here is not working for either of us, keep this up, and going to call your anus and have him rectify the situation"

The 49ers: I think lots of people fall in love with certain sports teams because of either their parent's allegiance, where they live, or perhaps a fond childhood memory. I am never surprised by the amount of Montreal Canadien, New England Patriot, Dallas Cowboy, or New York Yankees fans. I fall into the latter of those reasons. I have a fond childhood memory of Joe Montana. He was the shit. I was also extremely excited when Steve Young stepped out from his predecessor's shadow and claimed a title of his own. They have since gone through many tough years, but now they have finally rounded the corner. Last year was heart breaking. I wanted to punch myself in the neck when we fumbled the ball on that late-game punt return which led to us losing the game by a field goal to go back to the Superbowl. Call me supersticious, but I said when this season's schedule comes out that if we can go into Green Bay in week one and win that game, then we're going to get back to the big dance. Well, week one is now over, the 49ers beat the Packers at home and I think we're going to make it back to the Superbowl again this year. Fuck Yeah!

The Left Sock: Seriously, how many left socks have you lost in your lifetime? Whether it was the left or right sock is not important, what is important, is that you accept the fact that there is a group of people in this world that are hell-bent on stealing one of your socks. Kind of like the Freemason's or the Illuminati, only they're not dealing with enlightenment or whatever it is that those groups deal with, their sole purpose is to hide your socks so that you never find them again. Don't even bother looking for those fucking things, they're not behind the washing machine or at the bottom of your gym bag, they're trapped inside of a nexus, spinning aimlessly between two parallel universes. It's a fact, and the sooner we all accept this, the sooner we can all get back to this crazy game called life.

The Black Keys: I won't say much about these guys, other than the fact that I love them more than I have ever loved any band in the history of bands. In fact, my obsession runs so deep that if they released a 3 hour album of just them making farting notices into a microphone, I would not only buy it, but I would also write angry letters to any reviewer that trashed their flatulation album. I love them that much.

Running Out Of Ideas: I'm just fucking with you, I'm rarely running out of ideas, I think most of the time I can write for days, the main problem is that I truly do not think I have anything of substantial merit or value to actually write about. As evidenced by the above mental shit-tsunami, I am clearly lacking a lot of focus. I'm not sure I have the attention span to write anything really long with connecting plot points and vivid character developments, so instead, I'll just place these fat fingers of mine on the keyboard and start typing whatever it is that crawls up into my melon. I highly doubt that anyone will ever stumble upon any of the two things I've posted on this website, but on the off chance that you have, firstly I will say a prayer for you, secondly I thank you for making it to the end, and lastly feel free to write something back to me. Give me a topic that you'd like me to discuss or touch on, give me some pointers, give me a reason to write something else, and I promise I won't let you down. I won't just write a small tale, I'll caress the words like they were a furry puppy dog lost in the woods. I'll jot down a bunch of words, those words will hopefully form some type of decipherable sentences, the sentences will flow until they are worthy of being deemed a paragraph, and those paragraphs will eventually get lost forever.

Until the next time my friends...

Keep it gutter.