Leave me alone, I'm watching the Playoffs.

This has got to be one of the best quotes ever. Montreal Canadiens coach Guy Carbonneau on the Boston Bruins' decision to start backup goaltender Hannu Toivonen:

"It doesn't matter to us who is in net. Even if Jesus is in net, we'll try to beat him."

Montreal won the game 2-0.

For the record, I am not the one who wrote that (I don't really feel the need to write my name on stuff), but it happened to be the parking spot we were in and I found it funny, so I took a picture.

I am so sick of people going on about Facebook all the time. If you don't know what Facebook is, it's something like Myspace or some crap. It's the next big thing, yadda yadda yadda. Fuck it!

The worst is I've never been on the site, and mostly it's because everyone I know tells me how awesome it is because it made them connect with so and so and this and that and their long lost fucking cousin from Nebraska or some shit. What's next, facebook is so great 'cause it cured my blindness and gave me a hard on? I had made a myspace page before and all I got was these dumb spam sex webcam friends to add me every second day. Not that great if you ask me, and a huge waste of time. I actually deleted my page and vowed never to go on that site again.

Fuck that shit.

I was taking a leak at the urinal at work today when I glanced down and noticed a pubic hair in there (not mine). Now any guy will tell you this is not uncommon because there's absolutely no way for you to wipe the urinal or pluck your pubic hair out, hence once it falls in it is pretty much an offering to the Toilet Gods for everyone to admire.

Anyways, it made me think of something funny that I encourage everyone to try: go around the office looking for someone (preferably female, it makes it even more ironic) that has the longest darkest curliest hair possible.

Now carefully select one of these long hairs and bring it back to the urinal, and place it in such a way that even those CSI fuckers would think it had fallen from a man's hairy nut sack.

Once everyone at work is grossed out (and engrossed on the mystery of who's pubic hair that was), follow up with fake blood on the toilet seat, but this time in the women's washrooms.

This could actually even be more fun at work than a bandoleer of sticky notes.

So there's these ads up here in Canada about Kraft's Delissio frozen pizza where there's two people who argue back and forth about the pizza being take-out or Delissio, with the idea being that supposedly you can't tell the difference and that this particular brand of frozen pizza is as good as one you would order in.

Well, newsflash: We can all tell the difference...

Delissio tastes like shit.

So I happened to watch this show called "Are you smarter than a 5th grader" hosted by Jeff Foxworthy (who used to be funny).

After that experience, I feel dumber than a 5th grader simply due to fact that it's a fucking stupid ass show and made me dumb simply by watching such pointless idiotic crap.

Honestly, the whole premise sounded midly amusing...

It really is not.

I'm in relax mode.

A woman threatening not to talk is like a terrorist threatening not to bomb.

Happy Valentine's Day.

There's so many Wii jokes I could be making, but I won't since you've probably heard them all.

Anyways, I got one.

Now I need a new TV...

Why does it take so long for a woman to get out of the car?

It always seems like such a painstakingly long task of putting on your coat, arranging the wardrobe, checking the purse, fixing the makeup, brushing the hair, etc, etc, etc...

How can it take so long when all you've been doing the whole time is sitting there? I'd understand if cars hadn't been invented with a windshield to protect you from the elements, but I doubt the heater or air conditioner has the power to really fuck up your appearance that bad.

It's like taking 15 minutes to exit a vehicle is written in the woman's DNA or something.

Billy Talent, February 2nd 2007

I've recently downloaded the new Sam & Max games, and came across a comic strip generator. For the fun of it, I decided to make my own with a little Dan the Man comedy.

Enjoy!

I was talking to a co-worker the other day regarding the rules of who pays for what during dates. Obviously this is my own views, since this is my blog. If you're not happy, then go fuck yourself.

Firstly, let's start with the beginning: the first date. Now, typically a guy will ask the girl out first. Regardless, the guy should pick up the tab. That doesn't mean it should be assumed. See, even though I know I'm going to pay, and you know you're not going to pay, you should still offer. But don't over offer, that's annoying.

Example #1:

"I got it", says the guy.

Girl files her nails and doesn't acknowledge the gesture.

Result: Go fuck yourself you prissy uptight bitch.

Example #2:

"I'll pay for this.", says the guy.

"You sure? I can pay half.", says the girl, with admiration and genuine feeling.

"No really, I invited you, I got it." warm smiles all around.

Result: Perfect. The girl showed the guy she is willing to toss a few bucks at the bill, especially if she had three appetizers, the lobster and two desserts. Oh, and about five $10 pina-fucking-coladas. Now ladies, you have to be careful if you offer, because some idiot guy is going to break the code and will take you up on it one of these days, so if you're going to offer to pay half and the guy says "Sure", then don't get all pissed off (and don't be so fucking cheap either). On the second date, the girl definately should offer and actually pay half of the bill.


Example #3

"I got it."

"No I can pay for half."

"No really it's okay, I invited you."

"No, I want to pay for half."

"I have this, really."

"I demand that I pay for half."

"I want to pay for it all!"

Etc. Etc. Etc.

Result: Look, you offered once, and thanks for that. But when we say we got it 10 times in a row, shut the fuck up and accept it.

Honestly, it's one of the all time most annoying things in the world, well probably second to talking during the hockey game.

And this whole rant is why I don't go on dates.

The Purple Rose.

Why not... To keep in the tradition of my last post...

Merry Christmas!

Who said work couldn't be fun?