A Blog Post Found In An Abandoned Cabin and Six Things To Do While Twitter Is Down


Why is twitter down? It was behaving kind of odd last night, before I gave up and went to bed. This morning it was no better. In fact, it was no longer “kind of odd,” it’s full blown screwed up. Like a child actor with midlife crisis action.

Somehow I see my feed, but that’s it. Interacting with tweets or trying to check notifications etc. causes twitter to barf. Which is concerning. What is that indie author who sent me a link to their cool new book going to think when I don’t engage with their link? That’s sad twitter and it’s on you.

Maybe all I need is a restart. Perhaps I should just do a quick google search. See if twitter is down. Ah, yes, there it is. Fifteen minutes ago. Maybe I should have said something before I got my solid eight hours. Become the world leader in twitter news. A source that people trust and come to in these dark times. Years will pass before anyone will know which news sources to trust, which end is up, or whether to scratch their watches or wind their butts.

What am I on about? Wait, what was that? Did you hear that? Sounded like chatter, a tap tittering on the floor. Like thousands of bags seeping through the walls and beginning their journey toward me. Is that someone standing outside my window? I could have sworn I saw them, across the street. Now all I see is a nondescript van.

Think I’m losing it. Need to keep myself busy, with these:.

Six Things To Do While Twitter Is Down!

Drink Coffee

Sure, sounds good. The good ol’ mornin’ tradition and the best part of waking up, besides reading twitter. I mean I was going to do that anyway. While I read twitter, but it’s down. The caffeine is starting to really kick in.

Go To Facebook

I’ll go spend some time on facebook. Which is where I actually start every morning. It’s kind of like doing some stretching before a vigorous physical activity. I get to judge people based on their political stances and compare my life to others. Eventually, stupid image shares will get the best of me. The kind that beg for shares because a dog addicted to wearing fedoras or whatnot. That’s when I have my fill and move on.

Make a Podcast

Twitter down? Have a lot of opinions, no audience and no experience with recording audio? Then making a podcast is for you! What about? Who cares, just talk. Don’t edit a thing. The best podcasts like two hours long or something.

Do Taxes

Just did them, but why not get a jump on next years.

Clean the House

No thank you.

Go To Work?

Why not.



Change Is Coming

Sorry to those who don’t like change, but it’s coming. You can’t stop progress, but – if conservative politicians are an example – you sure as hell can piss and moan and drag your feet the entire way. Pile all your players onto it’s back and make it drag all of them over the touchdown line. That is what it’s called right, the touchdown line? I haven’t paid attention to football in so long.

At this point, progress has shaken all the players off. It’s crossed the touchdown line, went over the grass, headed through the tunnel, into the parking lot, got in its Honda Civic, and is now driving off out of sight.

Progress is happening! Which means this little blog is moving and changing its name. Something a little shorter and easier to remember. At the moment I am uncertain if I will be giving wordpress.com $14 U.S. for a redirect. I’m kind of leaning towards no, because I know my enterprising readers can just update their RSS feeds or hit a subscribe email on the new site. If you follow through social media, you won’t have to worry about a thing.

Some may be wondering why I am doing this. Well, it’s as simple as saying that I don’t like the idea of walls. Whether that is Trump’s wall, the people down the street with the surname Wall, or the pay wall that wordpress.com puts features behind, I don’t like it. Why should I have to pay through the nose to edit templates that are available for free elsewhere? Not to mention all the plug-ins I can customize my site with. Not bagging, it’s just time for me to spread my wings and leave the nest.

Stayed tuned. It’s going to happen real quick.

Dernt Terk Er Gerns!

I’ve written several times about gun control. Sure, I’ve seasoned the posts with a dash of my usual dry humor, but they were mostly serious. You can read them for yourself and be the judge. However, if the spirit moves you toward humor, then perhaps you should simply read on.

I received a well written comment a few days ago on one of these serious posts. A fellow Canadian thoroughly buttered my biscuits and pretty much fell in line with things that I said and mentioned a few things that I didn’t fully touch on. In closing he said, “The question is now whether there is a better alternative than bearing arms in order to achieve the objectives that the Founding Fathers envisaged.”

That got me thinking, I’ve always been thinking, but this was more than usual. Plus, I am just pissed off and exhausted over hearing gun enthusiasts defend their god given right to aid in the killing of innocent people whenever the mood strikes them or their creepy kid gets the keys to the gun closet.

What are some alternatives to guns? What are some incentives for people turning in their point and clickers of death? What are some silver medals for ostracized Trump supporters to purchase in a – hopefully – much needed pick me up on November, 9th?

Self-defense lessons at the learning annex – Guns are the remote controls of death and defense. Why not, end the perpetrators life with bad ass martial arts skills? How cool would that be? No one goes to Jason Statham movies to watch him shoot people. We want to see the leg sweep, mid-air throat grab, ground slam, knife to the left ocular cavity!

An interpretive dance course at the same learning annex – Defend yourself through the magic of dances inspired by flamenco and zoomba! Grab that perpetrator and unleash the forbidden powers of the tango. While the rose may be on a, while supplies last basis, who leads is not. Lead the perpetrator to their end by taking and holding them until authorities arrive. Spin and whirl them to the point of disorientation. Never let go! Drag them to and fro across the room. Is that lust in their eyes? Sweep the leg, grab the throat, slam, forcefully place knife or rose in left ocular cavity!

Mascot courses at the learning annex – Why conceal your guns when you can conceal yourself in a man sized red breasted warbler suit? Not to be confused with a giant chicken suit or the giant chicken in the suit, this bad boy allows paranoid cowards to quit worrying about their inherent safety and fall in love with life all over again. This time without the tin foil hat conspiracy theory and inaccurate self-evaluation that makes them feel like they need a gun to fight off the government. On the rare chance that some shenanigans do arise, all one must do is simply flap their wings in a warning fashion and emit a warbling sound. The redbreast will appear and frighten off most non-red-green color blind attackers. If one flaps their arms fast enough, causing the red to flicker, one may cause the onset of a photosensitive seizure, if the attacker is prone to such things. At which point, one will have ample opportunity to sweep the leg, grab the throat, slam, ram the beak into the left ocular cavity.

I came up with all three of these in just a few minutes. What the hell could a team or committee of people come up with? Actually, after the sit-in and several bills being shot down, not much.

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.

Waiting for the Meteor

I don’t hold much hope for humanity tonight. Perhaps it is the fact that I have to pay attention to two elections right now. One is enough to make ya crazy. Two is enough to make you realize how fucked we are. I am just starting to think there may be too many crazy people in the world. Too many selfish people who only give a fuck about themselves and a handful of people around them. Too many people that are so scared of change and helping others that they are perfectly content to keep their world somewhere between 1957 and 1988.

It feels that the ability to compromise and work as one, for the better of the planet and our species, has been lost. Perhaps it never existed all. Sometimes I look to the sky and think to myself, it wouldn’t be so bad if a meteor just came crashing into earth. Like when your dog hits the switch on the surge protector underneath your desk and your PC is immediately shut down. You know the PC you have not restarted in a month. Your internet browser chugs like a frat boy on spring break. Videos stutter like a senator caught in an expense scandal. Sure you could try closing some tabs or try a different browser, but sometimes things need a reboot.

So among everything else on my mind, there is one topic in particular I would like to emphasize on. That is the easily offended and politically correct inquisition going on. No one better point fingers at anyone except themselves. This isn’t a he said she said thing. This isn’t a battle between the good ol’ boys and the high falutin’ city folk. Point that finger at yourself and call it a night. Don’t worry, I’ve already pointed a finger at myself. Just go ahead and sift through my archive – please do and share – to find the instances where I have been offended. Enjoy zingers such as this and that.

Every group, every demographic, every walk of life. Everyone has been offended lately. That isn’t to say that we shouldn’t be. It is just that everyone is doing it and so everyone else does it to. If they can, why can’t we? Because, maybe you shouldn’t be offended to the point of doing something. Maybe you should just be offended, but not make a big deal about it. Maybe your argument is stealing the thunder from important discussions that need to be had. Maybe your argument shorts other arguments out. Then people begin to lose hope and wonder why they tried in the first place. Then we all start looking to the sky and start waiting for that meteor.

Fat Shaming A-Go-Go: Arbour, more like Abhor!

A few days ago, Nicole Arbour, a “comedian” I had never heard of before, but now unfortunately have, uploaded a video that has since had a zillion hits. She said it broke the internet. What really happened was google censored her. Which in all actuality, it probably should have.

By now, I am certain you have seen the video. A skinny blonde woman who, by society’s definition, is attractive. She states that fat shaming isn’t a thing and then proceeds to fat shame the ever loving shit out of overweight people. Kind of like eating a burrito and saying it isn’t a burrito. She has some tasteless colloquialism about sitting on a plane next to an overweight person. She goes on to say that fat people need to eat less, love their bodies, and several other things that only someone who is nowhere near empathetic and fully sentient would say. Which is completely contrarian to her statement about her having a brain.

I have battled my weight all my life. I have been working really hard and I guess could now be considered skinny-ish. Maybe I have a “little cushion for the pushin’” as she calls it. I am one of the ones who wanted to do something about it and was lucky enough to get results. There are others who aren’t so lucky, even though they work out just has hard and eat just as well. There are many people that can’t do anything about it at all. Others that aren’t as wading pool shallow as she and don’t let their size rule their lives. There are some people that live in food deserts or don’t have the funds to buy healthy foods. There are some people that simply can’t help it.

Even though she said that if people have a health issue that is causing them to be overweight, her video wasn’t aimed at them. It was. It was aimed at everyone with a weight issue and people don’t necessarily have to be visibly overweight to have a weight issue. Which is something she obviously didn’t consider, along with everything else.

I have written about fat shaming and how socially acceptable it is. If her little rant didn’t prove that I was right, I don’t know what will. If she had replaced fat people with any other demographic, religion, orientation – which she kind of did and was still offensive – a different group of people would be pissed off.

There has got to be nothing worse than some skinny woman telling people they are not all that great, that they are a problem and that they will die. Except for when that woman says all that and snarkily adds something to the extent of I will love you regardless, but I hope this truth bomb makes you want to be healthy. So we can all enjoy you as a human being longer on this planet. Does she not consider overweight people human beings by default? All of this as she somehow praises herself for giving the hard truth. Could this be one of the first documented cases of mass cyberbullying? 

Minimum Wage Three: A Brief Pause For Expostion

(Continued From)

“Ross Perot and super bionic cybernetic exoskeleton suit wearing Ralph Nader?” I ask with a heavy helping of astonishment.

“Yes! You hadn’t talked in so long that I was beginning to think that a side-effect of time travel was losing your voice.” Ross answers.

“If only that were true!” Nader says with a glance at Ross Perot. “And that is super bionic, cybernetic exoskeleton, bio-fuel powered, paradox proof, time travelling suit wearing, Ralph Nader to you. However you can call me Ralph.”

“R-r-r-a-l-ph.” I drawlingly growl. “You’re right, I can!”

“Fine. You may call me Ralph.”

I nod my head in agreeance with Mr. Nader. I then wonder if I should remind Ross that I spoke no less than five minutes prior. Then I decide that it is probably just a waste of time. “Why do you call him Hank?”

“He had a real issue with always saying ‘I’m Ross the Boss or Ross, rhymes with Boss,’ and other things to that extent.” Nader leans in close to me and finishes in whispery whisper. “Not only is his first name Henry, but Hank, rhymes with wank.” He smiles and shrugs as he prepares himself for criticism on his joke.

While Ross takes some more pie charts over to Machismo and young Bill Clinton, Nader explains a few things to me. Like how his suit is paradox proof. That before any leap, it is able to calculate travellers intentions and project them along a path of what has already happened. If at anytime a traveler begins to alter the course in a sweeping manner, the suit will emit a warning. If things become dire, it will immediately send them back from the time they came from. This includes everyone touching the suit as the suit can handle multiple external travellers. Also, it runs on bio fuels and if not, it has a plastic reclamation and oil purifier system.

“So basically, it is full proof, can’t get stuck, and doesn’t cause plot holes?” I inquire in summation.


“And if there seems to be a plot hole? Because time travelling stories always seem to have holes.”

“It was supposed to happen, just as the suit predicted.”

“That is great to hear!”


Minimum Wage: Aftermath of A Kick to the Cha-Cha’s

(Continued From)

So there I am, lying on the porch, the pain in slowly dissipating. While the severity of the situation grows on me. Stranded in 1960 Washington, D.C. With an asian guy from Canada, Machismo Wainwright, and a really young Bill Clinton, he has to be about twelve. He is also hungry as he has just reminded me for the second time in five minutes, that he would like to get a sandwich or some wings. I didn’t even know they had wings in the sixties.

“We just got kicked in the junk by a young Pat Buchanan, who stole our time machine and has gone into the future to assume the identity of Ted Cruz! Do you really think now is the time to worry about food?” I scold the once and future president.

“I’m sorry. I just always have fought time traveling conservatives better on a full stomach.” he says with a doughy faced grin.

“Is that your attempt at ironic appropriationalist internet humor?”

“What’s the internet?”

“Don’t worry, your best friend will say he invented it, get ribbed for saying he invented it, then become the sex symbol of the environmentalist world.”

“Way to go Bobby!” young Bill Clinton says with a glance to the sky.

I just look at the kid in disbelief. When I was his age and weight, he was running the country. Now – since we figured it was safest to get a younger and less wild version of young Bill Clinton – I could be brought up on kidnapping charges.

I sit up and check on Machismo. He says he is fine, but I know that he is beating himself up for leaving the keys in the car. “Don’t worry man, we are going to be just fine. We’re gonna do great!”

Machismo opens his mouth to speak. Before he can say a sound, he is interrupted by a new voice as someone rounds the house. “Finally! I was getting tired of waiting on you to say something like that so we could make our grand entrance. Mr. Flare for the drama, probably voted for Obama, over here wouldn’t have it any other way.” The voice is fast, with that nasally southern drawl. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place where. My view is intercepted by a pie chart as a turn to find the speaker.

“See here, this is how much the space time continuum has veered from your reality since you bunch of panty-waists let Patsy steal the time machine.”

A blur of color fills my binocular vision. I can’t make out anything other than blurred colors where my vision overlaps. My brain screams at the paradox of only seeing yellow in my left eye, blue in my right, and green in the center. In attempt to better make out what the holder would like me to see, I lean back, putting distance between the pie chart and myself. Whoever is holding it though just keeps it against the tip of my nose. Pushing it to keep it at the current distance.

“I can’t read your damn pie chart!” I roar as I rip from the grip of the holder and send it flying like a broke ass frisby. The continuation of my rant falls short. In fact, I don’t think it would be a good idea to berate any further. One in a business suit, the other is some futuristic mechanized battle suit thing. Names swim in my head and I find them almost instantly. However, they don’t leave my lips as their conversation continues and I sit awestruck.

“I don’t believe you can call them panty-waists.” Mr. Roboto responds. His voice is slower, deep and bouncy. Well thought out by comparison.

“It is 1960 Washington, D.C. I can do whatever I want! Wanna get a hooker? Fine! Wanna go do blow with absolutely any politician? Fine! Wanna call a couple of losers and a fat kid panty-waists because they practically gave a time machine to my good friend Patsy, who honestly has no business having a time machine, because he can’t help himself? Why don’t you just go ahead and give a bottle to a baby or something!”

“That isn’t a very apt metaphor, Hank. You see, people generally give babies,” The chastisement is cut short.

“Quit bustin’ me in the bean bag for god sakes Ralphy! This is why we never hang out!”

“That isn’t the only reason.” he responds with a smirk.


Minimum Wage Increase: Waiting For The Meteor

Yesterday I had a friend, Machismo Wainwright, strike up a conversation with me about the raising of minimum wage. It was in response to me sharing some “Republicans suck and voted down raising the minimum wage.” post on facebook. He asked me if I was really in favor of it and mentioned a few of the negative points. Such as the possibility of having to fire people in order to pay other’s higher wages. What if everyone becomes too expensive? To the point that automation has a more appealing price point to shareholders and lots of people lose jobs.

I agree with him on the points he brought up. My reply was that something has to be done and that I am in favor of doing something. Sure that something could something that sounds impossible like Getting the money out of politics! or The government regulating shit out of things that are too expensive for people to afford on the current minimum wage. Which by the way is pretty much fucking everything! Another something could simply be Waiting for a meteor to wipe us out of existence.

Instead, I began to fall back to my defensive dry humor and said something far more plausible “We can fix it! Although I have no idea where we are going to get a time machine and go stop Reagan, Nixon, Pat Buchanan and everyone else responsible for this mess. This time travel reference was not of the Terminator paradigm, but more of the Bill and Ted/Back to the Future variety.

An asian guy and a guy with a red beard in a time travelling smart car pull up in front of each and every respective offenders house. From there we cram them in the nearly non-existent back seat – apologizing profusely for the cramped space while pointing out that in the future we don’t have the money to buy huge vehicles. Also, that thing called global warming turned out to be real and is now called climate change. Without more a do we take them to the future and show the scummy clog they have created.

We make them watch women give birth and go back to work in under two weeks. We make them watch hard working people not make ends meet. We make them watch as young people go to college and incur crippling debt only to get unpaid internships. We make them watch as people die due to terrible medical coverage.

The message sinks in. I have a good feeling about Reagan and Nixon being overall good guys and seeing the errors of their ways. They are also incredibly interested at the wealth accumulation prospects of a time traveling smart car! Machismo will have to keep an eye on the keys. George H. “Walker Texas Ranger” Bush says he will do his part to make things right as he throws a box of magnums up on the counter at the 7-11. “If only we had’em in this size the first time ‘round.” He says as he tips up his cowboy hat with his thumb. “Now that’s what I call planned parenthood!”

We can’t fit everyone in the smart car at once, so we just have to keep taking them and then dropping them off. Things get a little weird when we pull up at Buchanan’s place. Doesn’t help that young Bill Clinton didn’t eat lunch before we left and he is a little hungry. However, when the door opens is when we officially step into the poo. I must have seen a photo of young Pat Buchanan recently. He seems so familiar.

“Aw, my cha-chas!” Bill Clinton roaringly mumbles as Pat kicks him square in the nards. Before Machismo and I can even react younger – and surprisingly spry – Pat Buchanan lunges forward, dropping to one knee and punches both of us in no-no’s. He sprints away from the battle, leaving us lying in crippled heaps.

While laying in the fetal position next to a panting young Bill Clinton, I realize why young Buchanan looks so familiar. “God damn you, Ted Cruz!” I yell with all the strength I can muster. Yelling through the pain throbbing in my stomach.

“That is a great name, I think I will use it when I establish a new political career for myself in the future.” He says as he opens the door to the smart car. He pauses and leans against the roof, resting his elbows. “Say where ya’ll from? Ya’ll seem like nice folk, you from Canada or something?”

“Yeah, we are from Calgary.” I whimper after a moment’s pause. I know full well what he is going to say next and it pleases me to no end that I have bested him, for now.

“Hey that sounds like a great place to live and call my birthplace!”

Eat shit young Pat Buchanan, enjoy Nickleback, winter, and your damn hockey team. I think to myself as I smile and double over in pain once more. I  hear the smart car drive away and hit a fuel efficient eighty-seven miles an hour as it begins its leap into the future. A whole mile sooner than the older model. I lie there and wait for the meteor to come.


Light Up Laughing Shirt

I heard on the morning news that some Vancouver science students have invented a light up shirt. Apparently the shirt will light up, laugh and in general throw a fit as people pass the wearer on the street. This is supposed to show that the wearer of said shirt is fun and approachable. Open to conversations and what not.

The light up laughing shirt is supposedly a cure for the quiet, stuck up, unapproachable Vancouver stereotype. Which is a fair stamp to slap on the city and its citizens. We are like that and we do give off that vibe. However, it seems like something that we could treat in a different way.

There are other solutions we could try instead of a jack ass shirt that makes one – unless people are aware of what the shirt is supposed to represent – look like a psychotic shithead. Since the transit plebiscite was clearly a demonstration that we have money to burn, perhaps we could hang up a few posters that say, “We aren’t bunch of dicks!” “Say hello to the next person you see!” “You hate translink and so will the next person you see, already more in common than you thought.” “We all just want to talk and maybe get a hug.”

Whatever! I am just spit balling here. Vancouverites have managed to bestow the title of a stuck up city upon ourselves. I don’t think we really are, I just think we have heard it one to many times and tell ourselves that everyone around us is stuck up. When in reality, we are just a bunch of people that want to connect and interact. Seriously, how can one city be full of pretentious snobs? If New York, which is a zillion times bigger than Vancouver, can be friendly, so can Vancouver! Without a light up laughing shirt, buy someone a beer instead.