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1. No matter how many boxes you have, you will never have enough.

2. The more your friends promise to help, the more likely it is they will be deathly ill or out of town the weekend you are moving. (and you’ll find this out, the day of moving of course!)

3. Whatever it is that you need, it is always in the bottom of a box that has already been taped shut.

4. Now that you are moving and no longer need it, you will always find something you have been looking for for years.

5. The tape, the scissors, the markers and the screwdriver all know how to play hide ‘n’ seek.

6. The thing that gets broken will always be an irreplaceable antique heirloom - never something cheap that you didn’t like anyway.

7. Regardless of how long the drought has been going on, it will always rain or snow on moving day.

8. You will always loose your chequebook, your car keys, the remote control or the telephone.

9. If you stay up all night packing to be ready for the movers (or friends), they will be late, or won’t show up at all.

10. No matter how large the new place is, it will shrink before you move in.

Moving SUCKS ASS!

I find peace and rest in the arms of my wife and the company of friends, satisfaction in seeing the things I teach really get through to my students, strength in my faith, and pride in making things work beyond the expectations of others.

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There isn’t a problem that cannot be overcome by the suitable application of caffeine, poetry, and love

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Love.

Perhaps the most elusive concept known to human beings.

Love is the force that overthrows kings, moves mountains, and drives us all to do things we’d never in our wildest dreams think we’d ever do.

What does it mean to love and be loved? Is it the narcotic rush that accompanies seeing my wife walk towards me clothed only in moonlight? What about the warmth that embraces me like an old blanket as I watch my wife sleep in peace?
Perhaps it is embodied in the peace I feel knowing that there is a Goddess and that she has always kept me safe.

I think it is all these things.

I mostly use Opera to surf the Web. Do you know what happens when I come to one of these websites that was written by a knuckle-dragging troglodyte using Frontpage, and it tells me that it doesn’t work unless I’m using IE? I go elsewhere.

On at least one occasion, I have actually made on-line purchases from the second website I found rather than the first, because the first website told me that I couldn’t come in unless I was using IE.
Let’s get something straight, people. I’m the goddamned customer! I can use whatever f*cking web browser I want, and I refuse to be bludgeoned into goose-stepping Microsoft conformity by an online retailer!

If you’re an online retailer and your website is designed only to work with IE, you can just kiss my ass, because that’s as close as you’re ever going to get to my wallet.

Remember the show, Highlander? About immortals who tracked each other down to kill each other, and the only way to kill an immortal was to behead them? I can’t accept that. There must be other ways to kill an immortal…

Nuke ‘Em?
So, if an immortal was, oh, say strapped to a nuke–not a big nuke mind you, just a measly B-57 or something similar–and say someone flew that nuke out somewhere in the desert, and dropped it, and it exploded, and everything for 10 miles was vaporized…

Fry ‘Em?
Okay, okay, what if we tied him spread eagle to the exhaust of an engine on the Space Shuttle, and we, oh, maybe flipped that launch switch, and thousands of pounds of fuel mixed with oxygen and shot out of that engine cone like a fireball from hell, and his ropes were fireproof so he couldn’t get away…

Crush ‘Em?
Say it’s in the future, and our immortal friend is now an astronaut who is being sent on a “very special” mission to some planet with gravity a thousand times stronger than Earth’s, you know, a planet that is bigger than God, and he is bound and gagged and strapped into his seat with titanium chains and is lounging leisurely in a steel straightjacket, and the ship reaches this planet and spirals down into the atmosphere straight towards the core as the planet’s gravity crushes the ship into molecules…

Crush ‘Em? Part 2
Okay, so maybe Jupiter isn’t quite enough to do him in. What about Cygnus X-1? You know that black hole thingy made famous by the band Rush, where supposedly a teaspoon of black hole weighs more than God cause it’s so dense, see, so here’s our immortal friend in a spaceship again, hurtling towards the constellation of Cygnus, and he’s got a lot of time to think about this cause even at the speed of light, it’d take a few years to get there, but as he gets closer and closer, this star crusher starts tugging playfully on the ship, and starts to stretch it out thinner than a human hair, turning it into pure energy…

Rip Him Apart?
What if we were at the Red Deer Air Show in July, and our immortal friend was there for some reason, so one of the main attractions is the Blue Angels, but this is a special Blue Angels appearance, cause they’re there for a special purpose where our immortal is spread eagle tied to 4 of the blue Angels, and they’re facing away from each other on this weird big square runway, and that announcer guy turns on the microphone, clears his throat, says “check check 123″ and then yells “GO!” and all 4 jets take off in different directions, taking a part of the immortal with them (one of them even has a rope on the immortal’s head)…

Smash ‘Em? (Which is sort of like crush ‘em but different)
So you have these 2 trains loaded down with lead weights to capacity see, and they’re on the same track, which normally they wouldn’t be, but for this one time, someone paid both of the conductors big wads of cash, and they agreed to put the trains on the same tracks, so anyway, our friendly immortal is strapped to the front of one of them. They back up about 5 miles, pour on the steam to full power and collide head on…

Feed ‘Em To Starving Lions?
Pretend we have a 100 starving lions that are so desperate for food, they’ve starting eating dirt, but then one day we fly in over them with our immortal in a burlap bag with just his head sticking out and a digital recording playing “I hate lions. Lions are so stupid” over and over in “lionspeak”, so they get really pissed, spit out the dirt, and have an immortal filled burlap Boston Cream filled donut, but just to make sure there’s not an immortal heart still beating in there somewhere, we release thousands of starving hyenas on top of the lions…

Would those kill them?

This commercial is seriously starting to get on my nerves. If a Mac was that amazing, you could play games on it, you would have a wider choice of software, and lets face it, we would have noticed already.

These commercials are so condescending with comments about a PC comes in several boxes while a Mac only comes in one. From a man’s point of view, I would prefer to come in several boxes….. You can also have your processor encased in any design of case you want. Silver, see-through, ultraviolet lights everywhere…. and a Mac, well its beige.

When you open a Mac you can make videos, do this, do that. With a PC, you don’t get much but lets face it, you can log onto a warez site and download several thousand dollars of software without paying anything. You can alter the way the PC looks on the screen, its called themes etc… with a Mac it, well looks like a Mac.

Finally, the PC has a virus, and the Mac boasts that well, there are thousands of viruses for PC’s, but not Macs. Thats because PC’s are on approximatley ninety percent of desktop computers. Why waste time writing a virus for Macs if it is only going to affect a small amount of users?

I know its called advertising but lets be serious now, the only people who are going to believe these commercials are those who think that AOL ‘is’ the internet.

Now for a real laugh — > Check this Video Out and this f*ckin hilarious one

I wrote this at the Frankfurt airport when returning to Canada… but I’ve been far too busy with life to post it.  Cheers!

Every comedian that I’ve ever seen on TV, heard on or watched in a club has their own rant about going to the airport. It’s only natural, I guess, since the life of a stand-up comic consists of criss-crossing the country where they spend the majority of their life running to catch airplanes and the other half trying to open those little plastic bags of peanuts while trying to not to get a thumb cramp.

But it gets a little repetitive hearing comics make fun of the stewardess’s little pre-takeoff speech about oxygen masks or why the pillows they give you are so small and consequently, it becomes unfunny. So since airports have gone through such drastic changes in the past months, I figured it was time to write another one.

First off, airport security has mutated where its main goal is to make them support security and totally aggravate everything at the same time. I’ve never seen so many people look so pissed-off and so safe at the same time. They’re standing in these lines at security checkpoints that are longer than Louie Anderson’s shopping list and they all just want to lash out at the subhuman mongoloid running the X-ray machine who never seems to find anything dangerous in them except the few times when he calls for an attendant to open your bag and check it because he thought he saw a porno mag in there that he could confiscate for “security reasons.”

But they all know that this extra inconvenience is for their own good, so they just stand there and pray that they can make their flight on time without setting fire to the person in front of them as a protest because then they’d get shot by the armed military guard that’s standing behind the baggage checkers. In every airport across the country, I kid you not, there are guys (and gals) in military fatigues standing behind the metal detector with automatic rifles as you walk out the baggage check area. It’s almost like they’re teasing the people in the airport who trying to sneak the gun on the plane by sticking it up their ass.

Plus, it’s a psychological tactic against the terrorists as well as a physical one because when you’re holding a gun, it’s really hard to stare down a guy with an automatic weapon and a chest strap filled with grenades. It’s so much easier to overtake a plane when you’re biggest obstacle is a stewardess with a drink tray and a handful of roasted peanuts.

Then before you get on the plane, there’s another security check. I’m not kidding, and what’s scary about this check is that they don’t even check everybody that gets on the plane. They pull random people out of line and check not just their luggage, but also everything on them including their clothes, their pockets and even their shoes. Of course, I know why, ever since Richard Reed hid a bomb in his shoe aboard a Delta airlines flight and everyone is paranoid that some Richard Reed fan club president might try to cop his idea, and they should be. But what happens if someone tries to hide a bomb in their lower intestine aboard an airplane. Does this mean that airport security will now include mandatory appendectomies? Sure they could just use an X-Ray machine, but if it’s the same guy who’s running the X-ray machine who has the ability to spot porno magazines in a single bound, then whip out the sodium pentathol and sharpen up the scalpel.

Then getting on the plane is a whole other story. You would think that just because your bags, your shoes and your lower intestine were given the OK by the crack squad of high school graduates running airport security that everything is okee-dokee terrorist wise, but things only get worse.
Now the stewardesses continue the scare tactics just as you are getting comfortable, including the ones that asked you to stop slapping their ass and saying, “Get me another cold one, sweet thang. What the hell, it’s my mom’s credit card anyway.”

They tell you that there are emergency exits located in the front, middle and rear of the plane. Emergency exits? How are those any good? If a fire breaks out while we’re in the air, how is exiting the plane at thirty thousand feet going to save any lives? Then she says that the seat I’m sitting on can also be used as a floatation device.
Why? Is the pilot going to open the pool in an hour or has my flight been redirected to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean? Then if case of cabin pressurization, a small oxygen mask will fall down from the ceiling…STOP! If I’m suffocating five miles from the nearest lithosphere, the last thing I want to do is play with an oxygen piñata. There’s something rather unfulfilling about having the last few seconds of your life turn into a six-year-old’s birthday party.

Oh geez, I’m starting to sound like Jerry Seinfeld on crack. I’d better quit while I’m ahead. Next thing you know, I’ll start complaining about cold medicines and how there are a million different kinds that only cure runny noses and a million different other kinds that only cure my sinus headache.

Don’t get me started.