Williams Lake: Pre-Mature Injectulation

grammar, writing

I heard something interesting on tonight’s news. Something that was interesting only because of how out of left field and uninformed it was. Something that made me stop preparing dinner and walk into the living room. Something that made me sit down and giggle.

Williams Lake is a small town in British Columbia. It is just about six hours north of Vancouver. Apparently crime and crazy are running rampant in that town. So much so that the city council voted unanimously to “inject” high risk and prolific offenders with GPS technology. Something that doesn’t really exist except on the pages of sci-fi novels and probably in tin foil hat top secret government hoobajoobery labs. Not only that, passing such laws seem a bit out of the jurisdiction of municipal government.

City councilman Scott “His Hair Isn’t The Craziest Thing About Him” Nelson put the motion forward. He also mentioned something about watching these criminals 24/7 all year round. Of course, he wouldn’t be watching them. Unless is magic eight ball counts and only during commercial breaks of reruns of Conspiracy Theory with Jesse Ventura.

I am of course, putting words in Scott Nelson’s mouth. Which is probably better for him in the long run. At least he won’t sound as crazy. While I am helping him out, he also said “Why not graft rainbow colored angel wings and unicorn horns to the offenders as well. At least that way, people will see them coming!”

If I lived in Williams Lake, I think I would be furious that time and money were spent voting on such an insipid topic. What it really sounds like is that the powers that be have lost control and don’t have any idea what to do.


Happy Mother Stuffin’ Valentine’s Day!

Still rings true!

zweihander plus eins

  What a great and glorious day the marketing necromancers at card, chocolate, and jewelry companies have invented for us. Conjured straight from thin air. No besmirching of pagan traditions. No solstice to expand on and contort into some holiday. Just an arbitrary date in the middle of February.

  Consumers are still in their post-christmas comas and the economy needs a jump start. Nothing can fix it except for a day based on diabetes and papercuts. Since Type 2 Laceration Day doesn’t sound good, they instead named it after a guy who was shot to death with arrows. Actually, it could have been two guys and maybe neither were shot with arrows. I simply can’t be bothered to research this any further.

  My wife and I don’t really buy into the whole thing. Why have only one day to love each other? Can’t I, a man, express my…

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The White Power Closet

There seems to be a lot of hate south the Canadian border. It could just be the media loving easy stories with similar themes. It could just be Donald Trump loving free publicity. It could just be Phil Anselmo being an idiot. It could just be that I know it is Phil Anselmo being an idiot!

Don’t open a new tab and type in Phil Anselmo! If you don’t know, he is the frontman for bands such as but now limited to Pantera and Superjoint Ritual. Sometime last weekish he was performing at Dimebash, a show in honor of former Pantera guitarist, Dimebag Darrell. Just after the set, in the sweaty onion patch scented afterglow of metal, he started do some strange calisthenics. Which eventually gave way to him doing that strange sieg heiling gesture, like some anti-semite football referee. After he had fully expanded his chest and increased his lung capacity by ten percent, he stepped forward on the stage and yelled “White Power!”

One would think they would be able to hear a pin drop after such a scene. That was not necessarily the case. However a vast majority of attendants and bands have come out against Anselmo. Plenty of articles and videos have been created. Many tweets have been, tweeted. He has also apologized and set it was a reference to the white wine he was drinking backstage.

For me it was news, but in different sense. I always just assumed he was this kind of guy. I hate playing the stereotype card, but he has that look about him. On top of that, his lyrics are typically classified as angry with heaping helpings of hate. He hates everything and he is angry about it. In fact, the guy could probably write a song about how much he hates eating a big ol’ slab of chocolate cake and washing it down with a glass of two percent. It would probably go something like, chug-da-chug-chug-da-chug “CAKE!” chug-da-chug-chug-da-chug “MILK!” chug-da-chug-chug-da-chug “HATE!”

Simply put, he gave off that vibe. Much in the same way I was all, “Yeah, duh!” when Ricky Martin came out of the closet, I was not surprised when Phil Anselmo stepped out of this one. Albeit this one is probably located in a dimly lit, poorly insulated, and unfinished basement and contains an entirely different demographic of people. Also, the fashion sense is probably worse.

In all seriousness though, with everything seeming to be coming to a head, we are going to see more instances of this. Some folks don’t seem to mind being outed as racist, some revel in it. Just wait there will be more and they won’t all be a bunch of rednecks or necessarily, white.