Sunday, October 28, 2007

Proof that I am Sexorz

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My CBC job fell through. They decided to need me on the one day of the entire week that my evening is not completely free. I am royally disappointed. But I DO look like George Harrison, so it's not all bad, I guess.

Here's my friend Cassie.

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- Silent G

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

An Open Letter to Hotmail Live

Behold, the Non-Threatening, Trendy Face of Evil.



Dear Hotmail,

For the last half a year or so, maybe even a year, you've been offering to glam yourself up by upgrading to "Hotmail Live." Every time I've logged on, you've asked me, "would you like to upgrade to Hotmail Live?" You were polite and gave me options, and I always gracefully declined. "No, Hotmail, you're beautiful the way you are," I would often think to myself as I proceeded with my usual sign on. And it's true, you were beautiful.

But the other day, I come home and see you all whored up anyway? Let me ask you; if you were just going to do it anyway, why bother asking?

It'd be one thing if you looked good as Hotmail Live. But the fact is, you suck ass. Only able to spellcheck the first 4000 characters? Fuck you! I write lengthy, existentialist rants back to my fundamentalist American ePenpal Scott Zimmerman, and 4000 characters isn't good enough. You used to be able to correct all of them. How exactly is this an upgrade?

You're also slow as fuck on a glacier. You're as slow as this Blogger site, and just as annoying to edit. The fuck is wrong with you?

Just cuz you've got a new best friend Vista doesn't mean you should change who you are to impress it. You were perfect just the way you were.




No go clean yourself the fuck up, it's sickening to look at you.

-Silent G

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Everything's Coming Up AWESOME



My last year of University was a bit of a hell; noisy neighbors, not very many friends, the stress of FYP, having to leech off my parents for comic book money, bizarre home life, no cats. But while those last two are still a reality, my second year is far more awesome. My neighbors are quiet and polite, lots of people enjoy my company and my napkin art, most of my classes are simple beyond reason, and over the summer I had a great job that's kept my comic book habit well in check. I'm even the Vice President of the anime society here at King's, and I got the highest mark on my first test of the year. How can things possibly get any better?

A new girlfriend?

No, let's not get ahead of ourselves here.

Won the lottery?

No, you have to actually play first.

A job with the CBC?

A-YUP!

It's true, yours truly is now a member of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation! HOT DAYUM! It's a part time student gig that my Radio professor Doug Kirkaldy (who has had many past experiences working with the CBC, and as a result a number of hilarious stories about it) was asked to find an interested student for. Four interested parties and one hat draw later, here I am!

What I'll be doing is writing up traffic reports to be read on air a couple days a week. I'll basically just come in, call the police, Metro Transit, and I guess a few more important people in the world of traffic, ask them what's happening on the roads, and write up that information in a very conversational way. Ipso Facto, I'm done.

I can't imagine it will pay me incredibly well, with four hours a week or so of work. But I'm not excited so much over the fact that I'll be getting paid (I mean, that rocks. It'll keep me in Ultimate Spider-Man and Tonkatsu), but rather that I will have the CBC as my first journalistic employer. And that HAS to look good on the resume of a budding journalist, doesn't it? And I'm also told people who get this job have often gone on to do more permanent things with the company, which is even better.

I haven't been this excited in ages. I work with the Goddamn CBC! Hee hee, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, jumping with glee over the new Playstation Santa's elves had made me, and marveling at the soot footprints leading to the fireplace.

If I could only get that girlfriend, then life would be pretty much perfect right now.

Speaking of...

Hey ladies. I'm single, and I work for the CBC. Can you imagine anything more erotic? Me neither. Call me.

- Silent G

Saturday, October 13, 2007

Do a Line...



Uh, hi.

Yeah...so...

So, I was Congaed today.

I know that is not a real word. But for a phenomenon this random, I feel coining a new term, however grammatically incorrect it may be, is highly appropriate.

Earlier today, two of my friends and I decided to trek down to the local comic book depository for some much-deserved revelry. On the way there, this middle aged woman essentially jumped out of the bushes with a number of other people and shouted, "Now HERE are some energetic people!" Dumbfounded, I strike a sort of pose in an awkward sort of way, as is my general response to any sort of oddity. Cassie and Denise were far more stunned. Then, the strange woman said something that'd set the mood for the rest of the afternoon;

"LET'S CONGA!"


DON'T LET THIS HAPPEN TO YOU!

Yes, this woman wanted me to conga with her. Before I could even ask the obvious question ("What the fuck are you on?"), she runs up behind me and GRABS MY WAIST. I am picky about who I want touching me, and a strange 40-something woman leaping from the shrubs is not among the privileged few. Not knowing what to do, I just stood there for a moment, shocked that this was happening. Her creepy bush friends were all laughing and going on, goading me. I felt rather dirty, to be honest.

Then Miss Crazybush here dragged my two friends into this. A strange woman forcing one of my female friends to touch me around my waist from behind is just WAY too much for me, and I just began walking away. This was some crazy bullshit, and I wasn't putting up with it. Fuck them, I just wanted some manga.

But of course, it doesn't end there. No, while no one physically or emotionally accosted us since that woman, we didn't walk 20 feet before a group of younger girls asked us if we'd mind joining them in a Conga line. WHAT THE FUCK? Did we land in Bizarro Halifax or something? We promptly told them no way in hell, and left the general vicinity as fast as the traffic lights would allow us.

The rest of the way to the comic book store was clear, thankfully, and we spent the time discussing what the fuck kind of medication they were overdosing on. On the way back, in the same place as when we first met our attackers, an older couple asked if we could stand between them and pretend tha-- and we cut them off right there. We knew what was coming and we basically told them to fuck off. We hurried home.

Something MUST have been going on today, I simply refuse to believe that the Public Gardens were suddenly causing people to lose their minds. Yet, none of these creepy people thought to explain why they were assaulting people with Latin rhythm. If they were, I don't know, Conga-Lining for Colon Cancer in Kids, then sure, I'll conga. It's for a good cause. But for all I know, these could have been just a group of wandering perverts. Or perhaps an example of the chilling scenario played above.

One thing I know for sure is I am going to SCOUR the fucking paper tomorrow. Maybe they'll have something to say; Random localized conga parties in the middle of the city at noon has GOT to be newsworthy, hasn't it?

That's it for me. Excuse me while I go wash the filth away.

- Silent G