Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Sleep Log

Monday, December 28:

Bed at 1:00am. Wake up at 3:00am for heinously early flight. Due to pre-departure excitation will approximate 1.5 hours sleep time.

No sleep on flights due to Air Canada induced rage. Did not know planes could be too heavy to accept all passengers onto flight. Did not know airline can also oversell flights. Did not know Air Canada does not provide customer service desk at airport. Completely unprepared for anal rapage. No sleep on flights.

Tuesday, December 29:

Bed at 2:00am BC time (3:00am in Alberta). Realize have been up for 24 hours, after sleeping only 1.5 hours previous night. Laugh hysterically. Clarify: is not laugh that's hysterical, but am myself hysterical and laugh is subsequent. Wake up at 7:00 for total of 6.5 hours sleep since Sunday.

Future sleep projection: bleak. Currently 8:00pm, plans to engage in nighttime activities in near future. Tomorrow will be up early for go-karting, as is best done in early hours, followed by 30 hours drinking binge. Then New Year's Eve. NO SLEEP TILL 2010!!!

Have heard sleep deprived hallucinations to set in soon. Looking forward to it. See you soon Garfield ghost of Christmas past carrying flaming chainsaw with suitcase of baby turtles! See you soon.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Happy Holidays from Brittney and Pedro!

Happy Holidays everybody! Christians: party like it's JC's b-day. Jewish friends: don't let the candles burn the house down. Kwanzan's: ...have fun with that. Alcoholics: this is your time to shine. Pedro and I took some sweet shots for our fb profi pics and here are the outtakes:

If you see Santa tell him I've been good. Good and drunk. Meowy Christmas!!!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Black and white camo: helps you blend into the 1950s?

Think it over.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

The Definitive Guide to a Crazy Life

I've just ended my three and a half year relationship with Montreal and while most of life in la Belle Ville passes by at warp speed, the last four months in particular have passed by in a demented whirlwind, the kind driven by demon forces that makes you want to grab Helen Hunt to use as a human shield as a cow flies by your face (Yes, Twister reference, point for you). Now that the dust is settling I'd like to share with you my tips and tricks for making it through the madness if you're ever so unfortunate to find yourself hanging on by a thread and trying to floss with it. Just kidding, I don't floss.

Step one: after months of post-graduation unemployment, get a job. Then get another. Then when boths jobs offer you more hours, be desperate enough to say yes. This is key. Stop when you reach 52-60 hours per week, make sure there's at least a few 12 hours days in there, including evenings and weekends. Got it? Good.

Next: wakeup routine. First, set your alarm at least a half an hour before you really need to get up. Slap the snooze button until your hand starts to hurt. If your alarm clock has a snooze button that requires a push instead of a slap, get rid of it. You're going to need to get out some am rage by really wailing on that clock. Sometime between the 5th and 25th snooze reach over and grab a handful of chocolate covered coffee bean crack pellets. Breakfast of junkies and champions. Go back to sleep until you're jittery enough that your twitches wake you up.

Then: grab your computer that you put on standby overnight because you sleep for so few hours anyway. Pull up the youtube page where last night you queued up your morning playlist. This list varies, but usually includes Nine to Five, by Ms. Dolly Parton, Taking Care of Business by BTO and there is no time like before sunrise to listen to some Jock Jams. Next, dance around your room in a sleep induced daze, stumble into the dresser and blindly put on whatever falls out first. Grab the three meals you packed last night and stumble out the door as you scrape the sleep out of your eyes.

(Name that tune!)

After that: coffee routine. If you're lucky enough to work at a place where the gold flows freely, then you're in luck. I know I said luck twice there, but that is how fortunate you really are. Drink old coffee. Cold coffee. Stale coffee. Microwaved coffee. Cut out milk and sugar. Add Bailey's and an iv. Cut out all food that can't be consumed while talking into a phone, add more alcohol, turn up the stress, lose 10 lbs. You're right on track darling.

Finally: be sure to have an amazing boyfriend who (says he) doesn't mind hysterical phone calls and bouts of depression. Preferably he should be a relentless optimist with a sense of humour. Ideally he should look like this:

orrrrr whatevs.

Rinse, repeat until exhausted. Do it again, and again, and again.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Hey folks,

I don't have much time but I thought I'd drop you a line as I sit here outside my high school in my parents extra large suv, stealing internet from the neighbours, LIKE A CHAMP. Some say dreams don't come true. I say, keep circling the block and you'll find unsecured wireless eventually.

So as you may know the lovely Little Smoky is not connected to the world wide web. This means my sanity levels are in the danger zone and blog posts will be infrequent. Rest assured though, I will be stealing the keys again very soon and describing in detail what it feels like to, after five years away, getting a first class education, be back at home. Sitting outside my high school. With a first class post secondary education and about five dollars to my name.

Reach for the stars kids. They're pretty from wherever you are.

Monday, December 14, 2009

The last of it, I swear.

"My doctor says I should do the gastric bypass surgury, do you think I should get these pills instead?"

"Is this product coming from Salem, NASA?"
- NASA? No.
"Well what's NH for then?"
- New Hampshire. There's not even an 'h' in NASA. No child left behind.

"I don't want this product anymore, I had liposuction in the meantime." (Product was one week over the standard shipping time due to backorder, she made an appointment, had consultation, and surgury. In Canada there's five year waiting lists to see a doctor. One point for the land of the free.)

Re: instructions to put Cellu-Light weight loss patch in an area with loose clothing: "I don't have any loose clothing. I guess really big people might have baggy clothing but I wear really tight things. I don't think I can use this product."
- *Sigh....

Old Eastern European woman: "I vould like make horder for Astrono-Slim pills becuase I like austro-noughts bery much. I halways vatch dem on the tv and haf telescope to see stars. I think space technology good for veight loss too."
- So's waiting in the bread line.

"I got quite a gut on me, but I just likesta drink beer."
- My kind of woman.

"I'm in the Chicago area and there are a lot of, shall we say, 'clothing free clubs' that I get invited to in Indiana, and going to nudist colonies for the health meetings requires a certain degree of personal care."
- No naked fatties. I get it. How much of the Ultra-Lipo-Slim do you want?

"I need to return this book, I didn't know there'd be so much reading. I'm a half blind widow see." (Later in the conversation I found out that half blind meant blind in the left eye.)

"Is algae a fruit?"

The code we ask for at the beginning of each call is a series of nine numbers, in groups of three, separated by dashes. As I've mentioned before getting these numbers from clients is like pulling teeth out of a toothless whore.

"673 minus 579 minus 468."
- Uh-huh, yes, thank you. For future reference those horizontal lines are actually dashes. We know you can't do math.

"This patch dunn shtick anywhurr but incept the top of my butt. Can I shtick it atop my butt?"
- How about you shtick it up your ash?

Someone else took this call, but it was so lie on the floor and pee yourself funny that I'm going to claim it as my own from here on out. Someone called with the first name Lei-a. He ignore the fucked up spelling and pronounced it as through her parents weren't huffing glue in the delivery room when she was born; Leia, rhymes with playa, like the star wars broad. But no, no, no, she corrected him, it's pronounced Laydasha. SHE PRONOUNCES THE DASH IN HER NAME AS THOUGH IT WERE A LETTER AND STILL THE WORLD CONTINUES TO TURN.

American callers are often amused and confused when they find out they're calling Canada. On several occasions people have cancelled their orders after finding this out. Sometimes when they find out they tell one girl who works at the call centre that they can tell she's from Canada by her accent. Her British accent.

"Canada?? Well you speak very good English, it's so hard to find these days."

Many, many people like to discuss the weather, often without asking where I'm at first. Why do you care what the weather's like here if you don't even know where here is? Unfortunately that's often the least confusing part.

"Y'all measure the weather in celcius??"
- Yes.
"Not farenheit?"
- No.
- Yes.

Angry old lady: "If you don't remove me from this mailing list, I'munna...I'munna see what I can do."

"Brittney, is it? Tell me, Brittney, do you like your line of work? At least your not in India."

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

However, there are some little victories I'd like to share. For example, if someone was being rude to me I'd make them wait on hold while I "verified some information." I would then verify which cards I should pass to the right in my game of Hearts, giving them a moment to consider their behaviour, before I continue the call.

Our hold button is actually just mutes our phone, though, so I can hear everything they say while their on hold. If someone says something rude while their on hold I'll take them off hold just long enough to let them know I can hear what their saying, then put them back on hold while I finish up my game of solitaire.

When someone calls our number a robot gives them two choices before they get through to us: order desk or customer service. I answer both, but they come up differently on the display so I know which they're calling for. If someone presses the wrong button I punish their stupidity by making them wait on hold while I transfer them to the correct departent. I take a moment, have a sip of coffee, before I take them off hold and continue the call. No one ever called me out on being the same person.

Whatever gets you through the day.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Pervy Apologies

I meant to do this whole Last Day of Work Pervy Hooplah but my life ran away from me full tilt so here we are, Thursday night, sitting in the middle of a pile of my unpacked possessions, whiskey in hand, cbc on the radio. This is the happiest I've been in months.

So for my last pervy update I'm going all out. Settle in folks, pour yourself a glass so I'm not drinking alone and brace yourself. Shit's 'bout to get nasty. Freaky nasty.

The instructions for the topical erectile dysfunction products are as follows: apply one to two quarter sized amounts on to the penis and massage for three to five minutes. Simple? No.

"Quarter sized? Whata thisa mean?"
-Like the coin. Make a circle the size and shape of a 25 cent piece.
"Ok, I make-a the circle, but I no fill it in."
-Well then it's not really the shape of a quarter is it? I didn't say the shape of the outer ring of a toonie, did I?

"Do you put it on the skin or on the beginning of the penis?"
-This is an either/or question? Does that mean there's no skin on the beginning of your penis? Which end is the beginning? Do you know what a penis is?

"Do you put it between the legs?"
-Well...yes...your penis is between your legs...I don't understand the question.
"Would it help to go back further?"
-Yeah sure, go for it. While your at it, shove your arm up your ass so far your turn yourself inside out.

"You just put that on your privacies??"
-Sure. If you're 5 years old and no one has taught you the real word for your bits. Otherwise just slather it all over your wrinkly cock.

Some are confused about what the end result should even be:
"Is it for headaches?"
"It bring the penis up?"
-Yup, that's the one.

"I'm not interested in girth, I just need circumference."
-What did I tell you about using words with more than two syllables? Did you pass grade 6 math?

"What happens if it gets too big? What should I do?
-Shove it in your mouth so you stop talking.

"Now will I be able to get out the front door after using this stuff? I don't want it to get caught in the door and get kinks in it."

"I'm at 10" right now, with a girth of 7". I'm looking to break 12", but I've kind of hit a plateau, like working out, you know?"
-You should try steriods. I think this will help both problems.

Before this job I knew very little about the male prostate. Those were the glory days.

"See the problem with an enlarged prostate is that it pushes up on the penis and don't let the blood through.

"Volcano gel, now is that a gel?"

"I'm looking for some sort of a pump or a vacuum, do you have any of those?"

"The fact of the matter is I have one of them pumps, my lady doctor gave it to me (I love it when they say 'lady doctor' like they're still not sure if she counts as a real doctor) and if I get it on real good with the clips and all it'll stay up for 10-15 minutes real good."
-Clips? CLIPS? I don't want to get old.

"Will this make me ejaculate sooner? I take like three or four hours to cum."
-That is perserverance man. I would have quit 3 hours and 45 minutes sooner than that.

"What if the penis is dead?"
-Cremate it? Tiny penis coffin?

"Will it make him grow?"
-If you use a pronoun for your penis anything is possible.

"I'm 57 and I need a little boost in my back. Shit, I'ma go enjoy myself."

"I'll be honest with you, I haven't had contact with a woman in 15 years."
-What are you manning the international space station?

"I'll be honest with you; I'm very sexually active."
-I'll be honest with you; I fucking hate you.

One of the products utilizes a new scientific discovery called 'sublingual absorption' where you put a tablet under your tongue and the ingredients are absorbed so rapidly into your body that you achieve an erection in a matter of seconds. Amazing really. Also, difficult for stupid people to understand.

"Can you tell me some more about this sublingual abortion?"
-Yeah, it just dissolves the baby under your tongue.

"I'm a perfectly desperate person."
-I can tell.

"Hi. My wife wanted me to call...I don't know why..."
-Want to take a guess? The answer isn't hard. No, I mean the answer is not hard. The question's not difficult and your penis is soft. You with me?

-Sometimes the men like to call me things like baby. This makes me mad.
"Oh, geeze, come on, it's just a figure of speech."
-You mean you don't actually think I'm an infant? Oh, that's cool then.

I'm involved in very high level political stuff and I'm sure my phone is being monitored, so to the boys at CSIS, go ahead laugh it up!"
-You have phenomenal self importance for a man with a limp dick.

"Can I try this without a partner first? You gotta know before you go."

"Are there any poison or germs in this?"

"I don't get erected."

"I hope thisa works or I'll come-a hunt you."

Oh man, I didn't even get to the weight loss idiots. Another day, kids. Another day.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Tell Your Friends.

Especially if they like broken shit. Or if you know anyone with a serious hoarding problem, like inches close to getting a tlc documentary about their life because they can't say no to buying things, please point them in my direction. I bet they've got a spot right between the pile of National Geographic magazines from 1978-1985 and their beeny baby collection. Much appreciated.


Thursday, December 3, 2009

Buy My Desk.

If the recession has taught us anything, it's that it's a buyers market which is why I'm going to $ell! $ell! $ell! you my desk for a reasonable price.


BisforC has been photoless for some time now due to a minor camera malfunction wherein it no longer turns on. But it's still a good camera though, for example, if you want to hold it up in front of something and make a 'click' sound with your mouth and then focus really hard on the object so you can remember it for eternity then yeah, it's a great camera.

So I'll share some old timey photos with you. All the way back from haloween 2009. The golden years.

Bad Goth, no smiling.

Cut the shit yo.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

I Don't Hate You Cause You're Fat, I Hate You Cause You're Stupid.

It's Me vs. Them. I lose every time.

Them: "I really need to lose the weight so I can get rid of the diabetes."
Me: "No. Wrong. False. Things there are not cures for: diabetes, cancer, aids, your stupidity."

Me: "Can you read me the 9 numbers printed above your name on the backside of the order form?"
Them: "1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9."
Me: "No. Wrong. You just counted to nine. You fail."

Them: "Does it sales good?"
Me: "That question is so bad I'm not even sure what you're asking. Does it sell well? Are the sales good? Is it on sale, if so is it a good sale? Do you even realize how far from grasping the English language you are?"

Them: "Do you have any gum?
Me: "Gum?"
Them: "Yeah."
Me: "No."
Them: "No?"
Me: "No."
Them: "Oh. Ok."
Me: "Ok?"
Them: "Bye."
Me: "Bye."

"I need to send this product back for a refund. I didn't lose any weight, I'm still 120lbs."
Me: Get fucked.

Monday, November 30, 2009

As Always...Pervy Mondays

We're approaching the end of this wonderful perverted trip my dear friends. One week and counting until I'm Free Falling a la Tom Petty. Until then, we're Mary Jane's Last Limp Dick, Here Comes my Boner, You Don't Know How It Feels (to Get an Erection).

"That would make me over 10 inches. I mean, how much could a woman take?!"
- "Uh, well...sir...that would depend on the size of her vagina, I suppose." (Things No
One But Your Gyno Should Say, a page-a-day calander)

"Have you ever seen a porno?" (Have you ever seen the miracle of birth? I think it's safe to say that the vagina is a voodoo shapeshifter that can accomodate whatever you have to offer.)

I have an implant."
- "Uh-huh..."
"It has bubbles that I can blow up inside my testicles."
- "Uh-huhh...?"
"And I can get an erection, but I just don't enjoy it."
- "Uh-huhhh...??" That sounds like fun, I know I like blowing bubbles, and what a fun
visual. I picture a man floating away into the clouds, crotch first through the sky.
Sometimes women call in, usually to get something for their husbands, boyfriends or imaginary lovers (dream bigger ladies), but sometimes things are a little closer to home:

"Does this stuff stop premature ejaculation? I'm calling fer my brother, he wants ter know."
Incest is the number one cause of erectile dysfunction. No means no, if he's your bro.

"Can I talk to someone in customer service? Those order desk people are asswipes."
This was his second call, after audibly playing with himself during his first attempt. He
called back a third time after I hung up on him to say that we're all Chinese people who
can't understand English. Fortunately masturbation is a universal language.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

I spy with my little eye...

While people watching on the metro today I saw a reverse goatee.

Think about it.

Swish it around the ol brain sac.

Picture it in your head.

Got it?

On the count of three:



Thursday, November 26, 2009

Since we last spoke...

...I quit my job, interviewed for and was offered a job in Busan, South Korea.

Possible theme songs that should be playing in my head now:

The Times They Are a Changin, Bob Dylan.
Movin on Up (to the East Side), The Jeffersons
Livin la Vida Loca, That Gay Latino

The only song that's in my head night and day:

Bad Romance, Lady Gaga

Good thing it's AWESOME.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Ch-ch-ch-chelsea Handler

Since I can't string ten words together that aren't "What's the name of the product you'd like to order?" I'll just direct your attention to a funnier, blondier babe. I read this article in People magazine which, yes, I read, becuase how else would I stay up to date with the investigation into John Travolta's son's death (isn't that so sad?). Every once in a never you get a gem like this:

My Life as a Beauty by CHELSEA HANDLER

Obviously, being on television every day requires me to maintain some level of physical decorum, which in turn requires me to exercise. There are few things I enjoy about exercise, and by few, I mean when it's over. Working out is definitely not something I would be participating in if I was a librarian and/or my dream job, Carnival cruise director. I would much rather spend my free time watching the Animal Planet or Lifetime. So to ensure I get a good run in, I'll drop myself off in a bad neighborhood and run home. I used to Rollerblade home, but that went out of style a couple of years ago for anyone who's straight.

I have cellulite. I make sure there are no fluorescent lights at any beach that I go to, and if they cannot turn the lights off at the resort, then I wear my nude nylons, much like Kirstie Alley on Oprah. I've been to Hooters. I've seen what panty hose can conceal.

The one area I don't have to worry about are the natural acrylic nails I was born with. French tips apparently run on the Mormon side of my family, so not only do I have a permanent French manicure, I have permanent acrylics that will always keep my memories of the Jersey shore at the forefront of my mind.

I try to always make sure that I am caring for myself in the same loving manner that I would care for a pet dolphin. I love homemade remedies. I exfoliate my face with a stale baguette or if it's Shabbat, a bagel. My hair is damaged, dry and has low self-esteem. People have been recommending mayonnaise for years, but what's missing from this equation is Grey Poupon. Whether you go with Dijon, country Dijon or deli is up to you and your astrologer. I use deli, because I'm half Jewish and have ties to the deli community. The combination of these two delicious condiments is good for a sandwich and a head of hair that you are trying to keep yellow. This is my life and I'm sorry you had to hear about it.

Amiright ladies? Amiright? God love ya that's rich you slay me amen.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Pervy Mondays

Pervy Monday is back already. It seems like only yesterday that men were being rude and disgusting in my ear. Oh wait, it was, becuase this is my life every. single. day.

This is one I found particularly disturbing. Enjoy.

- "Do you think she's gunna like a two hour ride? Do they like a long ride? Will she die if I don't stop?"

"Well sir, I really can't say what your wife will or will not enjoy, that's really a matter of personal preference."

I didn't address the death factor, becuase frankly I was concerned he might have been disappointed if I said no. I found this disconcerting and disgusting and so I was quite shocked when he started to yell at me about being offended. Apparently he does NOT have a wife and I how DARE I have said that and WHY don't I know if all women will like this. I'm so sorry sir, I mean I don't know what your prostitute will enjoy.

Along the same line:

- "Do you think it'll get too big? I dun wanna hurt 'em. I just want to last three or four hours."

This is my favorite one recently, an older Indian man with a heavy accent:

- "If the woman want to suck the dick, you have to clean it first?"

Highly recommended sir. Highly recommended.

If your significant other is not a filthy, disgusting sack of impotent shit, go have sex with them right now. If they are, tell them to stop calling me.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Potential New Segment

Possible names for segment: Fat Bitches Say Stupid Shit. Big n' Dumb. Obesity is the Leading Cause of Ineptitude. Stop Phoning Me You Tubby Idiot.

Let me know your favorite potential title, or feel free to request something new. I'm always looking for new ways to illustrate the inverse relation between the size of their waistline and their brain.

Example posts:

"Does this product give you diahrea? Is that why it's called Drain Out? Cause I just had a movement that was lemon yellow, like mucus."

Mmmmmmm, lemon cream pie for dinner.

"I'm 5,3" - how much weight should I lose?"

Oh, ok, well in that case, all people who are 5,3" should lose twenty pounds. All of them. Because contrary to popular belief, how much you should lose really has nothing to do with how much you currently weigh. Nothing. Also, do you have hair? Because right now we're hearing that all people with hair should get a fucking clue. That costs extra.

Call 1-800-idol-05 to vote for this segment. Phone lines will be open until Ryan Seacrest is hospitalized for exhaustion.

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

There was a time once when I thought the only Korean I'd ever need was from Arrested Development. An yeong! Yes An Yeong we see you. This is no longer the case and so, with the help of the The Worst Instructional Video Ever I will learn the most difficult language in the world. The Worst Instructional Video Ever (WIVE) uses what I believe to actually be a news program format and offers absolutely no explanations, pronounciations or english writing. Neither do they offer excuses for your stupidity.

Given the lack of actual learning tools, this is what I have grasped so far: An yeong ha say yo. Brittney im yee da. Ching chong wing wong.

Translation: Hello. My name is Brittney. I'm a filthy gringo.

Next I'm working on: I can haz ryce?

This is what you say to order any food.

Monday, November 16, 2009

This Week on Pervy Mondays

In the shaky, wobbly voice of a man at the age where his heart has failed probably more than once, he's seen the world from the other side of a machine that forces him to breathe, and he still expects his penis to function. There's not enough blood for the heart and the dick old man, so choose wisely.

"Will what you've got get my peter hard?"

-"Yes, that's right."

"I don't have any money, but I need it."

- "Uh-huh."

"Well, could you send me another letter?"

- "Didn't you already recieve one sir? Isn't this how you got the phone number?"

"Well, I'd just like to see some more of those pictures. There's one girl on here with a real purdy butt."

-"There's only one mailing."

"I mean, I just want to push it in the pink some more. I wish youdta come out here and do a demonstration for me."

I wish youdta let em euthenize ya, but no means no pops.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Interviewend met der President

President Obama? Diedrieck van Smoogle for the Amsterdam Tribune, a question if I could: you have said previously that you would like to see a larger role for the Netherlands in the G20, is it safe to say that you are also in favour of their traditional cooking appliances? A follow up to that: does the First Lady agree with you in this regard and, if so, would you say she is more heavily involved with the giving or recieving of such kitchen appliances?

"Where there is great love, there is still gas."
-Brittney Drysdale

Finally, the Dutch Centre for Aquatic Sciences has suggested a revolutionary new way to engineer the vertical hinged metal plate which allows water vessels to change course, are you in favour of such progress? Would Vice President Biden be willing to assist in this regard, say, during long trips away from the White House?

See Joe, you gotta get a good grip on the shoulder, and it's only gay if our faces touch.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Does anyone else prefer Kirstie Alley fat?

Skinny Kirstie is so severe. She seems harsh and shrill in a way hungry people always are. She reminds me of that awful Amish movie she did with Tim Allen. Her only redeeming quality is her role in It Takes Two, where her character was the dowdy, lovable foil to the actual skinny woman.

Fat Kirstie though, she looks comfortable. Like you could burrow your way into her bosom and come out with perfectly softened jujubes. She reminds me that there are marshmallows in the cupboard and wouldn't it be nice to wear a full length skirt in pubic?

I think fat Kirstie is the kind of woman who licks her bowls clean, uses her fingers to get the last of the pudding out of the container and brings bowls of ice cream into the bathtub. I think she has a large kitchen, where she keeps multiple cake on multiple stands and usually wears an apron. She gives meaning to words like 'zaftig' and 'seconds, please.'

Get down with your fat self Kirstie. G'head girl, go on, get down.

Monday, November 9, 2009

Pervy Mondays

I've been collecting little nuggets from my job with the intention of doing a big BEST OF post, but I've just gotten too many and it's a little overwhelming so I've decided to give them each their turn in the spotlight in a little segmet I'll call Pervy Mondays. Each Monday I'll pick the best of the week and share them with you.

I'll include notes about accents, pronounciation, and so forth, so you can get the full image of each individual loser and anything in italics is what I would like to have said, but instead pulled the phone cord a little tighter around my neck.



For the week of 9/11/09:

(in a low, slow voice of the kind that has been coated in some kind of oil based product and is audibly greasy)

"When I masterbate I can get strong and hard no problem, see, but when it comes to anal sometimes I just start squirting before I even get in there." (*the first 'a' in anal pronounced like 'apple.')

This is my full time job. Sometimes I wipe my tears away with my university diploma.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Pop Culture Update

Goooooood afternoon everybody, coming atcha live from my little corner of the universe with this week's pop culture update, the segment of my show where I dig, dive and delve into the crazy upside down world of popular culture to give you the 411 on what's h.o.t.

This week: Shwayze. Hey, who you calling shwayze? No, I'm just joshing with you, I mean Aaron 'Shwayze' Smith, the 22 year old hip-pop sensation who's been rockin your pods and movin your bods with partner in fashion crime Cisco Adler. Now call me old fashioned, call me racist (just don't call me late for dinner), but what kind of inside out oreo show are these guys running?

Aaron Smith

So white he worked at Starbucks.

Cisco Adler

Black name, big balls. Coincidence?

This reduced calorie hip hop/indie fag combo's latest track to tear up the airwaves is called Get U Home. Who me? Yes u. These boys are combining geek chic and hipster doofus in a way no one, and I mean no one, thought possible. Shwayze drops the beats, spits the rhymes and then Cisco sweeps in with a chorus that'll melt the edible panties off of a skanky skank. That's skank squared to you bro, but there's nothing square about it: take me to the bathroom/take me clothes off/make love to me up against a dirty wall. Shit son, my old lady won't even pee in a public toilet. She says, if it's not disinfected it's not making love. I still say purel is not a lubricant!
But more importantly, why are you air guitaring Cisco? You're wearing a fedora and a deep-v, we weren't expecting much from you to begin with. But it doesn't matter! It just doesn't matter! The important thing is that the honey's with the money are on the dancefloor shaking, rattling and rolling. We're talking bouncing the bongos, tappping the tatas, grinding up on the fellas with whatever God or a doctor playing the part gave em.

Make sure your minds are in the full and upright positions kids, because this song is going to take off.

Drysdale, out.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009


On a Wednesday night.

The tip off begins for the nightly game of children's league basketball.

Venue? Deuxieme etage. Toujours le meme.

The hitch? Basketball's broken.

But don't worry, the resourceful enfants have found an alternative.


That is, they're now playing basketball with a bowling ball.

Above my head.

My first guess though was that they were just throwing bricks around, but no, there is the distinctive sound of a rounded surface rebounding off of what is likely only a thin layer of drywall between them and I.

If only they had a quieter hobby, like tap dancing, or the bagpipes.

How young is too young to for adhd pills? Whatever happened to the kids who just sat and stared at the tv all night? Could this be the exact reason why people go to the suburbs when they have kids? Is it to spare the poor, mercifully childless downstairs neighbours? I'd like to think so.

Monday, November 2, 2009


Somebody needs to get on these ideas. Then, after you've created them, we'll split the proceeds 95-5. 95 being me.

- Reality tv show called Paula Deen's Daughter in Law (alternative title: Deen's in Law). Contestants vie for a shot to wed one of Paula Dean's boys. Ideal candidates know that high fat pastries can be used as a substituted for basically any other ingredient. Contestants participate in competitions such as who makes the best butter soup and get eliminated for things such as forgetting to put lard in Bobby Deen's cereal, buying lean cuts of meat and having a healthy cholesterol level. Potential elimination catchphrase: 'You're fried!"

Potential plot twist: the one on the right is gay!

- You know when your movie or tv show pauses at a split second that makes your favorite stars look like gigantic sacks of retarded shit? One eye half closed and the other rooled back into their heads and a tiny line of spit flying out of their slack jawed mouth that you wouldn't have noticed if not paused at that exact second? There should be a 'best of' website. Perhaps http://www.uglycelebrityfreezeframe.com./

Feel that low pressure system folks? That's a brain storm rolling in and there's a high percentage of awesome in the air.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

An Apple a Day

I just found out that as part of the recruitment process for teaching in Korea they require a medical exam with a urine sample. I don't want to freak out and cancel the trip or anything, even though that was my first instinct, but I just think maybe it wouldn't hurt to consider some alternate options. Say, developing countries without doctors? Sounds like paradise. The last time I successfully gave a urine sample was 5 years ago. Five. And that required an elaborate water consumption regimen, abundant use of faucets for audio therapy, and two unsuccessful attempts before I got any in the cup and most on my hand. Surely there must be an easier way to get this liquid gold, for example, just brainstorming here, a large needle inserted through my stomach to extract the urine? That sounds waaaay easier. I usually try to view this personal defect in a positive light, for example, on road trips I never request to pull over to pee. For roadside turnouts, novelty oversized statues, fruit stands, corn stands, seafood stands in landlocked areas, interesting foliage and diner's with the word 'Ma' or 'Pa' in the name, yes. Peeing in a dirty gas station, no. I'll hold it for another 4 hours, thanks. Then there's the added bonus of my blood pressure being alarmingly high as soon as I go near a man with a stethoscope. Never trust a man who thinks he can find your heart with a glorified necklace. The only way to my heart is through food Doc.

But I think this is going to be ok. I bet Korean doctors are way nicer than Canadian ones. I bet the language barrier will be no problem and I won't have to mime 'I can't pee' (for the record though, it'll be legs crossed, semi-crouch, shaking head vigorously and arms waving 'no' over my crotch). I bet Korean doctors are really understanding too. I bet they're kindly old men who are never rude, or in a hurry and willing to accept a pinkie promise that I've never done drugs in lieu of my bodily functions. Yes, definitely. This is how it will have to be.

Also, they're all cartooons, which is why they're so nice, and they give rocks as medicine.

Unrealted note: why have I never seen this picture? This seems like something I should have come across on my extensive internet time wasting travels. Also, listed on the first page when I google image searched 'korean doctor.'

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Today I saw a man roller skating while pushing a baby stroller. I assume this means the gay adoption debate has ended favorably.

Tim-tim makes a funny:

"You know how when you're watching a movie and the nerdy guy is talking to the hot chick and you think, he's the perfect guy for you! Right there in front of you! I like to look at it from the other side: there is no perfect guy, and one of you will be killed by zombies by the end of the movie."

Monday, October 26, 2009

A New First, A New Low

Today a man said "FUCK YOU!" to me, and I realized that I don't think anyone has ever said that to me. Excluding, of course, family members and anything said in jest. I don't believe I've ever caused anyone to be so excrutiatingly angry that they said that to me in the direct sense. "Fuck her" said in private, behind my backside, sure. "That fucking bitch" whispered in a corner as I hit on your boyfriend near the punch bowl. "Get fucked" as I exaggerate the details of a particularly bad story, but never "FUCK YOU!" from a non-blood relative.

In the interest of fairness to the accused, I may have potentially incited the incident. However, if you call to scream at someone before 10:00am about the cost of shipping and handling fees after you've already read, agreed to and paid them, you should well expect the response to be heavily dosed with sarcasm. Their is a direct correlation between Time Coffee Has Had to Reach My System and Level of Detectable Sarcasm on the graph of my morning work time. That is not to say I get less sarcastic after the caffine kicks in, but rather I better hide it so it's mostly for my entertainment and less as a means of passively expressing my opinions to the raging morons of the world.

The best time to call and exemplify the qualities of a rectum is actually directly after one of your fellow brethren has called. I'm so hell bent on proving I'm not a horrible human being I'm liable to take any telephonic abuse your filthy mouth has to offer.
This cake was made by people who have never said 'FUCK YOU!' to my face:

A New First, A New Low

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Little Baby has a Brother

The other baby can walk. In a manner of speaking.

Thump thump thump thump thump thump thump fwaaap. Pause. Thump thump thump thump Fwaaap. Giggle. Thump thump thump. Pause. Fwaaap.

A toddler running in feetsy pajamas running around above you is a very distinct sound. So is the sound of a diapered bottom hitting the floor. And while the sound of a baby laughing is funny on youtube (seriously. double seriously) I far prefer the sounds of my empty uterous. If you put your ear next to my ovaries you can hear a tumbleweed roll past but right now I can't enjoy it over the racket that is our future. Plus it's 11:46pm, what kind of raver children are you raising? Take the extacy soother out and get them to bed already.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

A Classic Whodunnit

I yank open the freezer door. The handle jiggles, loose in its hinges, as the cool air hits the my face. There's no light in the freezer, there never is, but I know intuitively where it is. I thrust my hand deep into the frozen box, my upper arm skin jiggling just like that damn door handle. 'Must remember to do triceps curls before bed,' I thought, immediatly ignoring the good intentions of my brain.

The box is cool and moist in my hand. A shiver runs up my spine and my mouth starts to water. I thrust back the lid, shove my spoon inside and - egads! What coufounded scoundrel could be capable of such horror?!

Chocolate! Where in god's sweetened frozen dairy name is the chocolate???

Regaining my composure after my initial shock I stifle a sob and go back for a closer look. Notice the bottom of the box, see how the packaging shows through in small lined patches. Small lined patches, say, about the width of an index finger?! It would appear this criminal was the hands on type, and no doubt a double dipper.

Is their no dignity or rightousness left in this tattered mess of a world? What will become of society if everyone eats the chocolate first? Will we starting picking the smarties out of the trail mix??? No. Becuase we're not damned animals. We're all on this crazy ride together and for god's sake you' ve just got to scoop perpindicular for an equal distribution of flavours. If not for me, then do it for pink. Poor, poor, pink. An obvious underdog in the cut throat world of neopolitain ice cream. Chocolate? Always a hit. Vanilla? Classic. Pink? Pink. Not even a real flavour, there's nothing strawberry about it. Pink has it's place; bubblegum, pepto bismal, raw meat, but by god pink just doesn't cut it in this tough love icecream trio.

I shovel a scoop into my waiting mouth, and then another and another. 'Let me love you pink,' I cry, as the brain freeze takes over my frontal lobe, 'Everything's going to be ok, you'll never be alone again, we'll always have each other!'

We'll always have each other.

Monday, October 19, 2009

Little Baby Lives Upstairs

A baby has moved in to the apartment above my bedroom. I am assuming that the baby is living alone because surely if there were also adults in the apartment they would make the damn thing stop crying. Right? But then who is doing the loud stomping? Is it the baby flailing itself about the house becuase it lives alone but hasn't learned to walk yet? I realize the baby probably doesn't yet understand what it's like to work 65 hours in one week, but I'm sure if it had then it would appreciate that I would prefer to listen to the sound of myself crying, and not it's pathetic little 'oh my diaper is poopy' crying. My metaphorical diaper of life is poopy, ok kiddo? Put that in your college fund and smoke it. I think the previous tennants sporadic, jerky sex noises were even preferable over this, becuase at least I knew he was going to finish up in a matter of minutes and then not get laid again for months. This kid will probably keep crying until he's twelve, at which point I assume he'll get a guitar and learn to play emo music.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

The Internet Fucks With My Mind

I started watching Undeclared tonight, as part of my 1205 step program to become Seth Rogan (#7 convert to judiasm for the jokes) and the second I saw the character Lzzy I thought to myself, "I have totally seen this woman with a cock in her mouth."

I'm a little bit startled because I don't actually watch a lot of porn (except novelty porn, which I watch probably too much of because I think it's totally necessary to make sure everyone I know has seen two kinds of dinasour porn as well as meatloaf farts) but I was totally, completely certain I'd seen this woman take it from behind like a champ, and I could vividly picture her making that half sexy moan-half in pain moan that the porno ladies do so well.

So I cruise over to imdb, totally contemplating my moral dignity and then I find it: Californication. She's the girl Charlie cheats on Cokey Smurf with. So she's not a porn star, she just plays one on tv. And I'm not a pervert, I just watch a lot of tv.

And now, back to allthingsanal.com.
Things I have learnt today:

- Never be the lowest man on the totem pole at a film shoot.
- Sometimes you can be so tired that even food can't help you.
- You should eat the stolen leftover catering anyway.
- Eating it in bed tonight and spilling means breakfast in bed tomorrow.

On Monday I only have to work eight hours! In eight more days I get a whole day off!

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Another Day Older

Apologies for the lack of bloggy blog blog posts, Thanksgiving hit Chez Cool in a hard way and I have had about half of my regularly scheduled sleeping hours and about twice the designated drinking times. The result is the complete removal of my vocal box, which is super stellar given my chosen profession. Nothing gives a perv a reason to be pervy like a smoky, raspy voice. Perv on pervs.

Last night instead of reacquainting myself with my rem cycle I went to bed at 9:30 pm and then woke up at 11:30 pm to drag my sleepy ass to the Dan Mangan show. My body resisted this curious torture but only until the show started. I was going to write a gushy post about how much I just love love love him and want to curl up inside his guitar and have him carry me around, singing in his angelic baritone voice until we find the robots and give them the love they need. In the fluorescent light of day though, away from his magnetic smile, this seems to be at best lame, at worst very lame. However, if that robot reference is gibberish to you, youtube/myspace/stalk this man and get ready to let the love flow.

But I am going to get gushy about the goodness that exudes from this man's eyes and smile, and the wonderful communal feeling during his show, although in fairness this is likely due to the abundant Vancouver ex-pat population (after their scenery, climate and pot Vancouverites love nothing more than each other). During Robots he passed out tambourines, drums and bells to the crows and everyone swayed, sang and clapped as he walked through the crowd. How lovely.

This comes after a perfectly wonderful week/end, filled with shared meals/bed spaces with so so many good people. Among these is my favorite boyfriend who is incapable of a bad mood, has an inconcievable amount of energy, and can rally a crowd like none else. His same communal mindedness leads him to believe that a crowd of strangers can, and need, to do the limbo in a bar without that limbo song (you know, that limbo song). More importantly though, he's good looking. Thank god.

This post has been less humorous than I generally strive for, so let me end on a joke that Dan Mangan told last night: have you heard about the new corduroy pillows? They're making headlines. Think about it.

Love fest over. Drysdale out.

Friday, October 2, 2009

For Christs Sake

I have been collecting a lot of interesting tales from my time on the front lines of the boner pill hotline and there are definitely some good ones which I'll share with you at a later date but this one takes the cake for today. It's long, but it's good, please allow me to share.

I get yelled at a lot during the 8 hours a day my ear is connected to a headset. A lot. The advertisments we send in the mail feature flexible young women in a variety of positions, as well as a plethora of engorged male members. It's clearly stated on the outside that the envelope contents are of a sexual nature but still people allow their 3 year old daughters to open and read it. It is my job to remove the names of screaming people from our system. Screaming people don't buy product.

Today a woman with a spicy vocabulary and a strong set of lungs called in for this purpose. Before she did this however, she tore up the mailing into little pieces. Tiny pieces. Shreds so small that apparently she couldn't read the nine digit number I need to take the name off the list. Nor could she find the name of the person it was addressed to. What she did have was her name, of no use to me since it wasn't sent to her, and creative uses of four letter words. She could also clearly see the 'dirty bitches' that are 'all over this shit' that I 'kept fucking sending to her.' I asked her to please not swear at me, that I don't actually work for the company, I work for a call centre for many different products and would take her name off if she could give me the necessary information (she could not). I cannot possibly convey with written words the tone of the next thing she said, it is something that only the human voice can accurately convey, but imagine if you will this being said with the most utter disdain one can muster. She said, 'Oh you think your some kind of fucking little angel don't you?' I told her I was hanging up the phone and did so.

As luck and perserverance would have it, this little firecracker called back and to my great misfortune and wishful thinking I recieved her call once more. The hang up had increased her fury. My continued inability to help her without the relavent information also increased her fury. She told me that not only was she furious, but the priest was as well.

Excuse me?

'Yeah, you've been sending this perverted porno to a rectory,' (pause for giggle at the word rectory. Also porno, who says porno?).

You're calling from a church? And you've been swearing at me for the past five minutes??

'Don't you worry about that.'

Well I'm just a little surprised-

'Father Thomas is very upset about this and I'm going get him on the phone right now.'

-no! Wait, hold on, I don't want to speak with Father Thomas, I really don't think-

'Father Thomas speaking.'


In the end the good Father was more committed to the Christian values of not being a cunt face than his wayward underlings. He was also successful in piecing together the porno confetti and getting me the information I needed. Thank you Father, peace be with you.

This is where the second part of the story comes in though, and it's good, so don't go refresh your facebook just yet. Father Thomas told me that the name the mailing was addressed to was in fact the name of a recently convicted child pornographer. Now, far be it for me to give props to a child pornographer, but I think you must admire how wickedly hilarious this is. This pervert got himself on a mailing list for sex products but then had them sent to a Catholic church. I mean he had to look up an address of a church, decide which one to send it to, get himself on a mailing list, give the faulty address and his only reward was to imagine how angry this would make them when they got it. That's fucked up. And kind of hilarious. Alternatively, as a child pornographer perhaps he thought he and the priest shared some common ground and was trying to reach out to him. I'm not saying. I'm just saying.

This is also the second time in two weeks that I've been yelled at by a member of the church. It would seem that doing God's work makes you a little testy. I don't want to criticise His management style or anything, but if these are his representatives on earth I would think he might be considering some layoffs. And now is not the time to be an unemployed nun.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Monday Monday

I got hit by a car on my way to work this morning. What a beautiful little Monday morning wake up call. A nice lady turned straight into me and sent me a-flying for a close encounter of the pavement kind. Now I was on the bike path and apparently the bike light had turned red while I was going through, but the regular traffic was green still on so everyone was going through, no flashing green for her left hand turn or anything, and apparently she missed the part of drivers training where you yield to people who are already in the intersection. Fucking women drivers. So this nice Scottish lady helped me get off the road and then the driver comes over and says, "Are you okay? You should really pay more attention."


The nice lady gave her a full what-the-fuck, which was nice because I was shaking and not verbalising well. All is well though, I didn't need that knee anyway. I'll post pictures tomorrow when the bruise has set in nicely.

(*Bike is fine Eli! Not a scratch that wasn't already there. That thing is a champ.)
So I get home, drenched to the bone and see I have a package from mother waiting at the post office. Awesome! A package from home will totally make this day better! Off I go to the post office and I come home with this:

I don't know if you can tell this in the photo, but the darker areas are actually damp spots in the cardboard box. When the post office man brought it out there were literally fruit glies following it. What is this, hate mail?

I open it up, the scent of rotten everything slaps me across the face. What small piece of hell could she have sent me this time?

Milk?? No, wait, what's this inside the carton?
She's sent canned goods with popcorn as packing material. I could not possible have thought this up in my wildest dreams. She used actual popped corn as packing material. Genius, obviously.

But what in sam hell is that awful smell?

She packed ripe tomatoes around the milk cartons.

That is to say, she packed ripe tomatoes around the milk cartons in a box going through the mail.

This is far and away better than the time she sent shortbread cookies in a regular envelope. They arrived exactly as you might expect: completely disintegrated back into their original ingredients.

However, the three jars of homeade antipasto arrived safe, if a little smelly. There is nothing in the world better than homeade antipasto and I will wade through cardboard boxes soaked in rotten tomatoes for it anyday.