Archive for April, 2010

Gift Cards And Butterscotch Suckers

April 30, 2010

You know the guy who says, “I’m not giving that homeless guy any money; He’ll just use it to buy drugs or hooch”? Yes, we all do. At some point or another, you may have even been that guy, or girl (this depends entirely on what’s dangling or not dangling between your gammies ←—that’s a lot of digression). But let’s forget about that. Most of us tend not to think about hobos all that much. But when we buy a gift card for a friend or family member, we’re treating them just like the common metropolitan transient.

Here’s the deal. It’s your friend’s birthday. You think to yourself, “what do I get for Craig?” Fucked if you know, right? So you get Craig a card. You write some shit inside and slip in a gift card for $25 dollars towards a purchase at Fabricland. Why get him an actual gift? That requires thoughtfulness. But you could have given him cash. Cash that would give him the ability to do with it whatever he wanted. Instead you chose Fabricland. You like their product. Their yards of, duh, fabric. The copious balls of yarn. Their pleasant elderly staff who wouldn’t look out of place in a Werther’s commercial. Craig has no choice where he spends his gift card now because evidently you value Fabricland more than your friendship with Greg (his name is Craig, you jerk). Imagine if you had given Craig $25 in cash. He could have purchased a knife. A knife that he could use to stab you with. Or hooch. Turns out a gift card might have just saved your life.


Are You There, Charles Manson? It’s Me, Talvid

April 20, 2010

Today, Talvid mailed a letter, which you can read below, to Charles Manson. Fingers crossed he writes back!

Dear Mr. Manson,

For a long time, I’d heard your name, but I never really knew who you were – I just sort of felt it. So, in the spirit of self-improvement, I decided to research you and your art. Well, let me tell you – I was in for a treat! Your music is beautiful and thought provoking. Some of the melodies even remind me of the Beach Boys and the Beatles. Were you influenced by them?

It’s not quite clear to me why, but it seems that you get a bad rap from some people. Some people don’t like the truth. Should we help those people or forget them? What do you think?

One truth I know is that jail is bad. How do you manage to stay creative behind bars?

Also, you have some great tattoos. I’ve always thought about getting a sweet tat. Trouble is I can’t decide what! Have you ever regretted your tattoos? What do you think I should get?

Also, what’s a chingon?
And do people think you drowned Dennis Wilson? I don’t know if they do. That’s why I’m asking you. Maybe it’s a metaphor.

Is it hard to find love in prison? Is it hard to find it outside of prison? I think so.

Random question: Do you like hockey? There was a hockey player named Dave Manson that played about ten years ago who took a lot of unfair penalties. Sometimes I wonder if people can be other people at the same time as they are themselves. Can they?

Did you know America’s president is a black man? Is this the first step towards Helter Skelter?

What kind of food do you like? I’ll send you some.

Thank you for taking the time to read my letter. I hope you’ll write me back. Maybe I could send you some music that I think you might like.

Your friend,


What To Do At Funerals

April 19, 2010

Funerals and other dumbass death rites are supposed to be a time for tears and reflection. If you’re a pussy. Funerals isn’t an anagram for “Laser Fun” by accident. Here’s five ways to spread nut butter all over a funeral’s sad sandwich:

1. [Open casket; male] Reach into the casket — right where the deceased’s pudenda would be — then turn to the person next to you and say, “Yep, still hard.”

2. [For the Jews] At the unveiling, go up to the tombstone, announce, “Ladies and gentleman, for my next trick . . . ” then whip off the veil with a flourish and say, “Shoot, still dead.”

3. Inhairatince

4. When people are sad, they’re emotionally vulnerable. When girls are emotionally vulnerable they’re vulnerable. Know what I’m saying, limpdicks?

5. Two words: After party

Talvid Reviews the Oscar Nominated “An Education”

April 13, 2010

Yeah fuggin right. If I wanted to learn somefin, I’d punch you in the gut at the School of Kiggin Your Ass. It’s Ivy Leauge. As in, you’ll be hooked up to the IV once I’m done pummeling your stupid face, consequently leaving you dehydrated and ugly. Now shuddup before I give you a honourary PhD (Punch in your head/Dick).
Peace, Tooth Fairy’s on demand, bitches.

You Are Not A DJ

April 11, 2010

Last night I was at an exclusive party in an exclusive part of a city that you probably have only been to in your dreams. Some part-time models were taking turns sitting on my lap while I made the crowd bust their fucking nut with tales of mystery and imagination. Needless to say, phrases like “Best party guest ever” and “crucial” were being lobbed in yours truly’s direction. But there was one goddam problem. The D.J. Some shmeckle with control issues insisted on “DJ’ing” the party. I wanted to brain him with his iPod.

But I don’t wanna make a mounting out of a molehell or whatever the saying is. This yutz was just a symptom of a larger societal probleemo. We all know some idiot who says he or she “DJs”. Oh really, you fucking thumb jockey? You bring turntables and a mixer to parties and fade in and fade out and adjust the E.Q. and everything? Of course not, you exaggerating pile of penis cheese. All you did was put together an iTunes playlist.

Not only are these lemur-brained bozos liars, they’re arrogant sums of bitches. People who tell you they DJ parties are really saying they think they have great music taste. “Yeah, this party is pretty good, but it’d be way better if I was allowed to kick shit up two notches by picking songs to play.” No, you sack of scabby skin flakes, just shut up and play shit people know.

Calling these fools DJs is like calling someone who brings a box of Bugles to a party a chef; or saying that the friendless virgin watching YouTube videos in the corner is “programming” visual entertainment.

But anyway, I know what you’re thinking and the answer is yes — I left the party having received 2.5 beejers and half a handjob.

That’s What Friends Are For

April 9, 2010

The other night I walked by one of Toronto’s many cookie cutter Irish Pubs. Outside on the sidewalk, there were two gentlemen embroiled in a heated, soulful conversation. One guy, wearing an oversized Montreal Canadiens jersey, likely with his family name emblazoned on the back. The other guy, dressed like a trucker probably because he actually was a trucker. Both men were smoking DuMauries. Sucking them right to the filters as they stood too close and spoke too loud. The man in the trucker-wear was clearly in a sorry state and was being consoled. Things would get better for him. He has a life to get back to. Don’t give up, said his Les Habitants friend. But that’s not really what he said. In his slurred speech, the Rogie Vachon wannabe gave him the best reason a man could ask for to continue his life: “Duuuuude, you got a bbbb(burps) beer in there, man!”. And back inside they went. It’s a beautiful life.

Examining The Whores Cliche

April 7, 2010

For the dude with a tiny whore fetish.

“Straight from the whores’s mouth”. Doctor looks at sore and says, “hmm, looks like you got this one straight from the whores’s mouth”. Now don’t correct his English. He’s the doctor.

“You can lead a whore to water, but you can’t make her drink”. From my experience, they’re after cash. Hydration is definitely not a whore’s M.O. However, on occasion you’ll find a whore who’s looking to get straight. See Jodi Foster in Taxi Driver. She’s the type of whore you CAN lead to water.

“Don’t look a gift whore in the mouth”. Before the whore you’ve been gifted proceeds with his/her suckoff, don’t look it in the mouth. The gift whore that is. It aint gwan be pretty. I know.

“Beating a dead whore”. It was one time and you were drunk, right? Regardless, not cool.

“Putting the cart before the whores”. Never do this! Frankly, it’s best if you approach them on foot. When the fuzz see a whore approaching a cart, that’s when arrests happen, brosephine.

“Whoreses are dirty, filthy animals”. Makes sense to me.