HELLOOOO NEWMAN: Laughter is your sixth sense
Thursday, 31 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes: I always get the words Pentax and Tampax confused, especially when I'm Christmas shopping. Not surprising, since they have their simi...
Musings and Woes
I always get the words Pentax and Tampax confused, especially when I'm Christmas shopping. Not surprising, since they have their similarities as products. Pentax (the camera) soaks up the light to make a picture, and Tampax, well, you get it.
Which came first? I figure Pentax did. Unless the maker of Pentax loved the word Tampax and told his marketing department to find a similar word that won't get them sued. Or was it a nod to the intricate technology that both products share? Both do come with a telephoto lens, after all.
I thought of a product that combines the two words. Pamtax. It's a camera that snaps at you for five days out of the month.
The older models come with hot flashes.
The older models come with hot flashes.
I love the quiet, relaxed family time around Christmas. It's the perfect time to binge-watch. Still, I'm conflicted on the benefits of binge-watching. Do I really want to watch four seasons of a great show in one night, and then take a week to recover before I regain the ability to speak so I can discuss it with friends? That's like going to Morton's Steak House, paying $200 for dinner and finishing it in ten minutes. That dinner just cost me $20 per minute.
I want to put a piece of steak in my mouth and chew on it for a bit. Same with an episode of Homeland. Could you pass the terrorist cell? I'm not done with it yet.
I want to put a piece of steak in my mouth and chew on it for a bit. Same with an episode of Homeland. Could you pass the terrorist cell? I'm not done with it yet.
I guess that's why we put "binge" only in front of questionable activities. No one is ever accused of binge-reading, binge-flossing, binge-meditating or binge-rectal exams.
Do people binge-blog? Get some sleep.
Tuesday, 29 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Now I'm Even More Confused
Helloooo Newman: Now I'm Even More Confused: I'll be honest. I don't know if God actually exists. Not in the sense that I know black mould exists on the floor of my shower, and ...
Now I'm Even More Confused
I'll be honest. I don't know if God actually exists. Not in the sense that I know black mould exists on the floor of my shower, and I should really clean it every few months.
This means that religion, to me, is the sales and marketing team for selling the idea that He actually does exist.
Well, He needs to bang some heads on the sales and marketing team. They suck.
On the subway, one of His marketing campaigns says that, "God made you for the pleasure of knowing you."
That makes me feel like He made me for His pleasure alone. Kind of like when I was a kid at camp I made a soap stone carving of a polar bear. I felt good about it and it was neat to hold and look at.
If God really made me like that, why does He put conditions on my existence? Why do I need to love Him? Why do I need to be good?
I didn't expect my carving to love me. It was my decision to make it. And if I was unhappy with the way my carving turned out, who should I blame? The carving? That doesn't make much sense.
I should throw the carving in the lake and start on a new carving until I'm happy with it. Maybe take a carving course. Start with something simpler that has no legs, like a baby seal.
So what's with the Bible, a huge set of conditions that He places on me? Do this, don't do that, this makes me angry, that pleases me.
Shouldn't it be the other way around? The conditions should be on Him, not me. Hey man, you screwed up when you made me. What's with the nagging? Start again if you're so unhappy.
Free will? That was your decision. If my soap stone polar bear came alive and ate me, could I really blame him? He's a polar bear for goodness sake.
I think it's time God admitted His mistake and started again.
Sure, there will be lots of unemployed sales and marketing people, but ISIS is always looking for smart PR professionals.
This means that religion, to me, is the sales and marketing team for selling the idea that He actually does exist.
Well, He needs to bang some heads on the sales and marketing team. They suck.
On the subway, one of His marketing campaigns says that, "God made you for the pleasure of knowing you."
That makes me feel like He made me for His pleasure alone. Kind of like when I was a kid at camp I made a soap stone carving of a polar bear. I felt good about it and it was neat to hold and look at.
If God really made me like that, why does He put conditions on my existence? Why do I need to love Him? Why do I need to be good?
I didn't expect my carving to love me. It was my decision to make it. And if I was unhappy with the way my carving turned out, who should I blame? The carving? That doesn't make much sense.
I should throw the carving in the lake and start on a new carving until I'm happy with it. Maybe take a carving course. Start with something simpler that has no legs, like a baby seal.
So what's with the Bible, a huge set of conditions that He places on me? Do this, don't do that, this makes me angry, that pleases me.
Shouldn't it be the other way around? The conditions should be on Him, not me. Hey man, you screwed up when you made me. What's with the nagging? Start again if you're so unhappy.
Free will? That was your decision. If my soap stone polar bear came alive and ate me, could I really blame him? He's a polar bear for goodness sake.
I think it's time God admitted His mistake and started again.
Sure, there will be lots of unemployed sales and marketing people, but ISIS is always looking for smart PR professionals.
Friday, 25 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Grinch who Stole Turkey
Helloooo Newman: The Grinch who Stole Turkey: Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means to stuff myself more and more And snore.
The Grinch who Stole Turkey
Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means to stuff myself more and more
And snore.
Tuesday, 22 December 2015
Sunday, 20 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes: What exactly is the dark web? I heard ISIS uses it but I don't understand. How can you search for things if it's dark? Why don&#...
Musings and Woes
What exactly is the dark web? I heard ISIS uses it but I don't understand. How can you search for things if it's dark? Why don't they do some online shopping and buy some search lights?
Yesterday I took some oil of oregano in pill form to stop my cold. I smelled like a walking spaghetti sauce. In Loblaws I was attacked by a box of penne and received a huge al dente on my noodle. I sued but didn't receive a single penne for my injuries. For a while I suffered emotional damage but now I've learned to live in the present, not the pasta.
I was in Chapters xmas shopping and an employee actually called out if anyone was on line facilitation. She asked me if I wanted to join the line. I explained to her that I'm not a joiner and could I start my own line? She said yes as long as my line starts at the end of the official line. Everyone after me wanted to join the first line instead of mine so I never made it to the cash. What joiners.
PS: I lied. Last blog was not my last. Sorry.
Friday, 18 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Whew
Helloooo Newman: Whew: Whew, made it through another year. I'm not sure about that last post. Was it a post too far? Should I pull back? Sensor or censure my...
Whew
Whew, made it through another year.
I'm not sure about that last post. Was it a post too far? Should I pull back? Sensor or censure myself?
These are the issues I deal with every day as a writer who is read by tens of people around the globe. A special thank you to my readers in mental hospitals (it's hard logging on in a straitjacket) and on other planets.
Speaking of planets, scientists just found evidence of a "Super-Earth" nearby, if you call 14 light years away "nearby". This may be my next target for growing readership. However, I refuse to do press junkets there,
Hey, I know I'll never write for the New Yorker, but I certainly don't want to write for a publication called the New Yucker.
And you know what they say – one person asking for a dislike button means there's 10-20 people behind them wanting the same thing. And that encompasses my entire readership. So…
…Amy must come down. At this stage I don't think she needs the publicity anyway.
I hope everyone has a great holiday. Newman needs a break. Maybe we'll see you in '16.
I'm not sure about that last post. Was it a post too far? Should I pull back? Sensor or censure myself?
These are the issues I deal with every day as a writer who is read by tens of people around the globe. A special thank you to my readers in mental hospitals (it's hard logging on in a straitjacket) and on other planets.
Speaking of planets, scientists just found evidence of a "Super-Earth" nearby, if you call 14 light years away "nearby". This may be my next target for growing readership. However, I refuse to do press junkets there,
Hey, I know I'll never write for the New Yorker, but I certainly don't want to write for a publication called the New Yucker.
And you know what they say – one person asking for a dislike button means there's 10-20 people behind them wanting the same thing. And that encompasses my entire readership. So…
…Amy must come down. At this stage I don't think she needs the publicity anyway.
I hope everyone has a great holiday. Newman needs a break. Maybe we'll see you in '16.
Wednesday, 16 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Proof of God?
Helloooo Newman: Proof of God?: I was at the used MAC store today. I won't say why because someone I know will be very embarrassed. I was wondering about the Apple Ca...
Proof of God?
I was at the used MAC store today. I won't say why because someone I know will be very embarrassed.
I was wondering about the Apple Care warranty. Would it cover a used computer?
NO. The shiney Apple man explained to me that the standard Apple Care warranty does not cover used stuff, accidents or acts of God?
Acts of God? Is that written right in the warranty? Which Psalm is that?
Well, I couldn't leave that alone.
I told him I am agnostic. Does that affect the warranty?
He was uncertain. Just like me! Then he offered me a free di-agnostic.
The results of the di-agnostic: I was a lapsed Catholic and could not be fixed. An act of God? Interesting question.
I went whole hog. I absolutely do not believe on God. He said if I can prove there is no God, Apple will fix my computer even if I stick it in the washing machine for a cycle. Hmmmm. Proof? Toughie.
I wasn't done. What if the damage falls under the Act of God clause, but a few weeks later we discover there actually is no God?
No. Because Steve Jobs is God. Or His replacement, anyway.
What if there are several Gods and they get in an argument? One God decides he wants to cause damage to my computer, but the other Gods didn't give their stamp of approval for this deliberate action. Am I covered?
He said all arguments between Gods are handled in God Court. These proceedings are secret. Sorry. All Mighty convenient for them.
Are you telling me God can deliberately break my computer? Doesn't that make Him a mean God? Shouldn't you cover the computer to discourage God from misbehaving?
"Sir, we've decided to sell our store to a Chipotle franshise. Please leave."
I was wondering about the Apple Care warranty. Would it cover a used computer?
NO. The shiney Apple man explained to me that the standard Apple Care warranty does not cover used stuff, accidents or acts of God?
Acts of God? Is that written right in the warranty? Which Psalm is that?
Well, I couldn't leave that alone.
I told him I am agnostic. Does that affect the warranty?
He was uncertain. Just like me! Then he offered me a free di-agnostic.
The results of the di-agnostic: I was a lapsed Catholic and could not be fixed. An act of God? Interesting question.
I went whole hog. I absolutely do not believe on God. He said if I can prove there is no God, Apple will fix my computer even if I stick it in the washing machine for a cycle. Hmmmm. Proof? Toughie.
I wasn't done. What if the damage falls under the Act of God clause, but a few weeks later we discover there actually is no God?
No. Because Steve Jobs is God. Or His replacement, anyway.
What if there are several Gods and they get in an argument? One God decides he wants to cause damage to my computer, but the other Gods didn't give their stamp of approval for this deliberate action. Am I covered?
He said all arguments between Gods are handled in God Court. These proceedings are secret. Sorry. All Mighty convenient for them.
Are you telling me God can deliberately break my computer? Doesn't that make Him a mean God? Shouldn't you cover the computer to discourage God from misbehaving?
"Sir, we've decided to sell our store to a Chipotle franshise. Please leave."
Tuesday, 15 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: rAIRified
Helloooo Newman: rAIRified: Today I just finished celebrating the fact that we can now buy Smart Water. (see below) I was so depressed. I have nothing else to look...
rAIRified
Today I just finished celebrating the fact that we can now buy Smart Water. (see below)
I was so depressed. I have nothing else to look forward to in this bleak world. Well, yippee ki-yay, mofo! I just learned that you can buy fresh air in a can. (see below)
I breathed a fresh sigh of relief. Let the celebrations continue.
I wasn't at all happy with my last supplier of canned air. I don't think it was pure fresh air – it tasted like they aired it down with air from old car tires. Cheaters!
Listen, I too had my doubts. In case you suspect that this canned air isn't top quality, here is a picture of it…
See? That's quality air!
If you notice, no artificial flavours, colours, or added sugar. This is not air from some mechanical assembly line. It's from the mountains.
This is no ordinAIRy air. This is air extraordinAIRe! The Champagne of air. Bubbly air.
I know it's hard to believe, but read the studies. Four out of five people across the globe who breath air regularly prefer this canned air to old fashioned free air.
Just ask pregnant women. They are clamouring to use it as a substitute for breast feeding. You only need a special adaptor to transfer the air from the can to the breast. Watch for over-inflation of the breast. Sure, your husband will appreciate it, but there are dangers.
I interviewed the founders of this new and exciting product and I was suitably impressed. These guys have a real head for air. So I was dumbfounded when they recoiled from being called fresh air heads. Don't turn down compliments is my motto.
I know, you are wondering how I like my air. When I'm at parties, I like to open the can and breath it nice and slowly, take a few breaths, put it down, chat some, have some more breaths. It's so satisfying and helps me to think of all kinds of interesting topics to discuss. I find that with this fresh air, my memory has improved so much that my Google searches for mundane facts are down 35%.
In the summer I'll pour it into a glass and add ice cubes. Very refreshing. It also makes a great mixer.
I had one suggestion for the owners, which excited them a lot. Why not add a few recipe ideas on the can? I'm not always sure of the best way to add air to my favourite meals.
Also, it's a bit pricey. Can I use my air miles, I asked? No. That's polluted air.
They also have very exciting expansion plans. By next year they hope to can wind (two choices: hurricane and soft breeze), sunshine, air from Donald Trump's lungs, the entire Mesolithic era and a typical Sunday afternoon on Uranus.
Truth be told, I'm still a little uncertain if canned air is the way to go, but I'm gonna air on the safe side. What will you breathe?
I was so depressed. I have nothing else to look forward to in this bleak world. Well, yippee ki-yay, mofo! I just learned that you can buy fresh air in a can. (see below)
I breathed a fresh sigh of relief. Let the celebrations continue.
I wasn't at all happy with my last supplier of canned air. I don't think it was pure fresh air – it tasted like they aired it down with air from old car tires. Cheaters!
Listen, I too had my doubts. In case you suspect that this canned air isn't top quality, here is a picture of it…
See? That's quality air!
If you notice, no artificial flavours, colours, or added sugar. This is not air from some mechanical assembly line. It's from the mountains.
This is no ordinAIRy air. This is air extraordinAIRe! The Champagne of air. Bubbly air.
I know it's hard to believe, but read the studies. Four out of five people across the globe who breath air regularly prefer this canned air to old fashioned free air.
Just ask pregnant women. They are clamouring to use it as a substitute for breast feeding. You only need a special adaptor to transfer the air from the can to the breast. Watch for over-inflation of the breast. Sure, your husband will appreciate it, but there are dangers.
I interviewed the founders of this new and exciting product and I was suitably impressed. These guys have a real head for air. So I was dumbfounded when they recoiled from being called fresh air heads. Don't turn down compliments is my motto.
I know, you are wondering how I like my air. When I'm at parties, I like to open the can and breath it nice and slowly, take a few breaths, put it down, chat some, have some more breaths. It's so satisfying and helps me to think of all kinds of interesting topics to discuss. I find that with this fresh air, my memory has improved so much that my Google searches for mundane facts are down 35%.
In the summer I'll pour it into a glass and add ice cubes. Very refreshing. It also makes a great mixer.
I'm getting my friends in on it too. One time, as a practical joke, I shook my friend's can of air really hard without telling him. He opened it and air got all over his face and clothes. He was so pissed with me. But still, he's hooked.
Maybe I'm overdoing it a bit. I had a bad doctor's appointment last week. He said, "Paul, cut down on the canned air, will ya! You're starting to retain air." Oh no, is it showing? Do I have obese lungs?
I had one suggestion for the owners, which excited them a lot. Why not add a few recipe ideas on the can? I'm not always sure of the best way to add air to my favourite meals.
Also, it's a bit pricey. Can I use my air miles, I asked? No. That's polluted air.
They also have very exciting expansion plans. By next year they hope to can wind (two choices: hurricane and soft breeze), sunshine, air from Donald Trump's lungs, the entire Mesolithic era and a typical Sunday afternoon on Uranus.
Truth be told, I'm still a little uncertain if canned air is the way to go, but I'm gonna air on the safe side. What will you breathe?
Saturday, 12 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Marathon Dentist
Helloooo Newman: The Marathon Dentist: We talked movies before the cleaning. Her favourite movie: Marathon Man Favourite Actor: Dustin Hoffman Favourite Scene: The dentist&#...
The Marathon Dentist
We talked movies before the cleaning.
Her favourite movie: Marathon Man
Favourite Actor: Dustin Hoffman
Favourite Scene: The dentist's chair, torture scene
Does my dentist vaguely look like Laurence Olivier? But she's a she. Is the fear making me hallucinate?
It had been six years since I'd seen a dentist. She told me the tartar buildup was so massive that seafood restaurants across North America would bid for me to be their sole tartar sauce supplier.
It began. The cleaning.
Three hours later…I decided she wasn't cleaning my teeth, she was chiseling them into a bust. Given the pain, I assumed a bust of Donald Trump, presented to him for his Inaugural address. My mouth will be transported to Mount Rushmore and glued in place beside the great Presidents.
Yes, Mr. Trump will be President, and the U.S. will develop a giant, decaying cavity for four years (maybe eight?). Afterwards the country will need a root canal and braces to straighten out the damage.
Or, was it torture? NSA-style. What was I to confess? Please, I am not a terrorist. The closest I've come to bombing is delivering a failing humourous speech at my Toastmasters club.
I confess, I've done some bad things. I put a recycled item in the garbage bin once. It won't happen again.
The constant rinsing. With that endless hose. At some point it stopped being rinsing and became water boarding. Can't swallow, sweet death approaching. I was willing to talk, but couldn't with water, various hoses, cotton, fear and a sharp instrument all lodged in my mouth.
Soon, Stockholm Syndrome set in. I began to love my torturer. I love you. I felt it. The giver and taker awayer of pain. What could I do to stop the pain? To show my love. I offered to father her children. She hesitated. No. They would be born with teeth like mine. Bad teeth genes.
She pumped me so full of flouride I could taste it in my tears of pain. My eyes will be cavity-free.
The ending. She was right. Tartarless, I was five pounds lighter.
I got the bill. I fell out of love.
I hate Laurence Olivier and Dustin Hoffman.
Her favourite movie: Marathon Man
Favourite Actor: Dustin Hoffman
Favourite Scene: The dentist's chair, torture scene
Does my dentist vaguely look like Laurence Olivier? But she's a she. Is the fear making me hallucinate?
It had been six years since I'd seen a dentist. She told me the tartar buildup was so massive that seafood restaurants across North America would bid for me to be their sole tartar sauce supplier.
It began. The cleaning.
Three hours later…I decided she wasn't cleaning my teeth, she was chiseling them into a bust. Given the pain, I assumed a bust of Donald Trump, presented to him for his Inaugural address. My mouth will be transported to Mount Rushmore and glued in place beside the great Presidents.
Yes, Mr. Trump will be President, and the U.S. will develop a giant, decaying cavity for four years (maybe eight?). Afterwards the country will need a root canal and braces to straighten out the damage.
Or, was it torture? NSA-style. What was I to confess? Please, I am not a terrorist. The closest I've come to bombing is delivering a failing humourous speech at my Toastmasters club.
I confess, I've done some bad things. I put a recycled item in the garbage bin once. It won't happen again.
The constant rinsing. With that endless hose. At some point it stopped being rinsing and became water boarding. Can't swallow, sweet death approaching. I was willing to talk, but couldn't with water, various hoses, cotton, fear and a sharp instrument all lodged in my mouth.
Soon, Stockholm Syndrome set in. I began to love my torturer. I love you. I felt it. The giver and taker awayer of pain. What could I do to stop the pain? To show my love. I offered to father her children. She hesitated. No. They would be born with teeth like mine. Bad teeth genes.
She pumped me so full of flouride I could taste it in my tears of pain. My eyes will be cavity-free.
The ending. She was right. Tartarless, I was five pounds lighter.
I got the bill. I fell out of love.
I hate Laurence Olivier and Dustin Hoffman.
Thursday, 10 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Christmas in July
Helloooo Newman: Christmas in July: Christmas was on the horizon and I stumbled upon a lady who was hanging her Christmas lights. It was one of those strange early November ...
Christmas in July
Christmas was on the horizon and I stumbled upon a lady who was hanging her Christmas lights.
It was one of those strange early November days with the temp around 60 degrees (about 15 Celsius), thanks to global warming, aka climate change, aka Al Gore's multi-million dollar nest egg. I'm big on climate change because I live in Canada and look forward to palm trees and piña coladas in my backyard instead of polar caps and shivering knee caps.
"I'm hanging my lights today because it's so warm out", said the light-hanging lady. "I'm afraid it will get cold very soon."
The above quote lacks the woman's tone – unsaid was, "It's good to get this crappy chore out of the way so I can get on with Christmas."
Hmmmm. Should all chores be thought of as "chores", things to get out of the way? Some chores can be more fun than others. I think it's fair to say – hanging xmas lights is a festive chore, scrubbing the porta potty is a fetid chore.
If you're going to hang your lights so early because it's warm out, the obvious question becomes, why don't you hang them in July? Maybe during a heat wave. Throw on the Lulu's with a screwdriver belt, grab a beer, get some sun.
Christmas in July sounds even better. I'm sure the neighbours won't notice you're dragging a pine tree into your living room wearing a speedo and flip flops. Oops, looks like a tiny pine cone got wedged in your suit. That's so cute.
Or snuggling a baby Jesus in the Nativity scene, only to have His plastic baby face dissolve from too much Agent Orange on your "green" lawn. Elephant Baby Jesus – "I am not an animal. I am a baby. I am Jesus."
Neighbours hear "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" winding its way up your chimney. I guess their air conditioning is broken, they think.
Christmas songs get summer-ized. "Burgers roasting on a open fire. Melanoma nipping at your nose."
I'm not only saying early November is too early for xmas lights, let alone for playing xmas music. I hope we all agree on that.
I think it was Edison who said, upon perfecting the light bulb, "Listen folks, I know this is a nifty gadget, but don't go loco on the xmas light until December, capiche?"
I'm also saying that some chores are attached to a larger activity that really only make sense doing at a certain time. Isn't the fun of xmas, at least in Canada and the Northern U.S., to bundle up, hot coco, hang the lights, maybe cut your own tree down.
Conversation #1:
Bob: Hi Jim. I was wondering why you were kissing my wife in July and then I saw the mistletoe. What's with the batman costume?
Jim: We're gonna do Halloween tonight. Too cold and rainy in October.
Bob: Ah. And your lawyer is here because?
Jim: Finalizing my divorce
Bob: Sorry to hear you're having trouble.
Jim: We're not. It's just in case and he was in the neighbourhood.
Conversation #2
Patient: Hey Doc, you're a great surgeon but my G.P. told me my liver is missing.
Surgeon: Ya. I removed it.
Patient: Wasn't I in for a kidney stone?
Surgeon: Let me ask you something. You're a big drinker, right? Down the road you'll probably get cirrhosis of the liver. I was in there anyway, so… You know, two birds, one kidney stone. Ha!
The New Bible:
In the beginning, God didn't create the heaven and the earth, because it was too cold out. He waited for a nice warm day. Then there was light, and He saw a beach and hung out at the beach bar for days 5-7.
Let me put it another way. Just because it's a convenient time to perform an activity, doesn't mean it always makes sense to do it.
When I was young I had an erection 24/7. Whoa, another hard on? Can't let that go to waste. 24/7 erections doesn't mean 24/7 sex. First off, back then no girls would come near me. Second off, I would need a 5-6 minute rest in between 24 hour intervals anyway.
It's a bit like phone sex replacing real sex.
Wife: Honey, that was terrible. It totally felt like you phoned that in.
Husband: I did.
Wife: Next time a letter will do.
Timing is everything.
It was one of those strange early November days with the temp around 60 degrees (about 15 Celsius), thanks to global warming, aka climate change, aka Al Gore's multi-million dollar nest egg. I'm big on climate change because I live in Canada and look forward to palm trees and piña coladas in my backyard instead of polar caps and shivering knee caps.
"I'm hanging my lights today because it's so warm out", said the light-hanging lady. "I'm afraid it will get cold very soon."
The above quote lacks the woman's tone – unsaid was, "It's good to get this crappy chore out of the way so I can get on with Christmas."
Hmmmm. Should all chores be thought of as "chores", things to get out of the way? Some chores can be more fun than others. I think it's fair to say – hanging xmas lights is a festive chore, scrubbing the porta potty is a fetid chore.
If you're going to hang your lights so early because it's warm out, the obvious question becomes, why don't you hang them in July? Maybe during a heat wave. Throw on the Lulu's with a screwdriver belt, grab a beer, get some sun.
Christmas in July sounds even better. I'm sure the neighbours won't notice you're dragging a pine tree into your living room wearing a speedo and flip flops. Oops, looks like a tiny pine cone got wedged in your suit. That's so cute.
Or snuggling a baby Jesus in the Nativity scene, only to have His plastic baby face dissolve from too much Agent Orange on your "green" lawn. Elephant Baby Jesus – "I am not an animal. I am a baby. I am Jesus."
Neighbours hear "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow" winding its way up your chimney. I guess their air conditioning is broken, they think.
Christmas songs get summer-ized. "Burgers roasting on a open fire. Melanoma nipping at your nose."
I'm not only saying early November is too early for xmas lights, let alone for playing xmas music. I hope we all agree on that.
I think it was Edison who said, upon perfecting the light bulb, "Listen folks, I know this is a nifty gadget, but don't go loco on the xmas light until December, capiche?"
I'm also saying that some chores are attached to a larger activity that really only make sense doing at a certain time. Isn't the fun of xmas, at least in Canada and the Northern U.S., to bundle up, hot coco, hang the lights, maybe cut your own tree down.
Conversation #1:
Bob: Hi Jim. I was wondering why you were kissing my wife in July and then I saw the mistletoe. What's with the batman costume?
Jim: We're gonna do Halloween tonight. Too cold and rainy in October.
Bob: Ah. And your lawyer is here because?
Jim: Finalizing my divorce
Bob: Sorry to hear you're having trouble.
Jim: We're not. It's just in case and he was in the neighbourhood.
Conversation #2
Patient: Hey Doc, you're a great surgeon but my G.P. told me my liver is missing.
Surgeon: Ya. I removed it.
Patient: Wasn't I in for a kidney stone?
Surgeon: Let me ask you something. You're a big drinker, right? Down the road you'll probably get cirrhosis of the liver. I was in there anyway, so… You know, two birds, one kidney stone. Ha!
The New Bible:
In the beginning, God didn't create the heaven and the earth, because it was too cold out. He waited for a nice warm day. Then there was light, and He saw a beach and hung out at the beach bar for days 5-7.
Let me put it another way. Just because it's a convenient time to perform an activity, doesn't mean it always makes sense to do it.
When I was young I had an erection 24/7. Whoa, another hard on? Can't let that go to waste. 24/7 erections doesn't mean 24/7 sex. First off, back then no girls would come near me. Second off, I would need a 5-6 minute rest in between 24 hour intervals anyway.
It's a bit like phone sex replacing real sex.
Wife: Honey, that was terrible. It totally felt like you phoned that in.
Husband: I did.
Wife: Next time a letter will do.
Timing is everything.
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes
Helloooo Newman: Musings and Woes: Here are some things that have occurred to me in the last little while… I'm terrified of skydiving, or the idea of it. I thought it w...
Musings and Woes
Here are some things that have occurred to me in the last little while…
I'm terrified of skydiving, or the idea of it. I thought it would be an interesting experiment to skydive while strapped in a La-Z-Boy chair. Then I don't know if I should be scared or fall asleep.
I've never found a can opener that works properly. It always leaves a tiny bit of uncut metal, forcing me to twist off the lid, cut my finger and get pee soup on my pants.
Almost ever day I worry about my diet:
• I wish my riboflavin had more flavin and less ribo.
• Is there enough coconut water in my urine?
• Am I eating too much BHT? IDK!
• What about my consumption of green bulge?
• Am I chewing enough xanthan gum?
• Is this used in Basketball? (see below)
• I adore egg whites, but I am not a racist. Kudos for not going with "Whites Only" (see below)
Drying fruit causes massive nutrient loss, depleting 30-80% of its vitamin content, according to the USDA. Previously they thought it depleted 0-100%. I predict they will discover it depletes 50-50%.
Do I get enough vitamins? I thought I was lacking in vitamin K, and quickly realized it was actually vitamin Elemenopee.
A 2010 study found 48% of fountain soda drinks contain fecal bacteria. Last week my doctor found mountain dew in my poo.
Chia seeds are highly hydrophilic - they absorb 9-10x their weight in water. So does the entire eating population at Red Lobster.
I look forward to waking up in the morning just so I can have a cup of coffee. Then I want to go back to bed until it's coffee time again.
I'm terrified of skydiving, or the idea of it. I thought it would be an interesting experiment to skydive while strapped in a La-Z-Boy chair. Then I don't know if I should be scared or fall asleep.
I've never found a can opener that works properly. It always leaves a tiny bit of uncut metal, forcing me to twist off the lid, cut my finger and get pee soup on my pants.
Almost ever day I worry about my diet:
• I wish my riboflavin had more flavin and less ribo.
• Is there enough coconut water in my urine?
• Am I eating too much BHT? IDK!
• What about my consumption of green bulge?
• Am I chewing enough xanthan gum?
• Is this used in Basketball? (see below)
• I adore egg whites, but I am not a racist. Kudos for not going with "Whites Only" (see below)
Drying fruit causes massive nutrient loss, depleting 30-80% of its vitamin content, according to the USDA. Previously they thought it depleted 0-100%. I predict they will discover it depletes 50-50%.
Do I get enough vitamins? I thought I was lacking in vitamin K, and quickly realized it was actually vitamin Elemenopee.
A 2010 study found 48% of fountain soda drinks contain fecal bacteria. Last week my doctor found mountain dew in my poo.
Chia seeds are highly hydrophilic - they absorb 9-10x their weight in water. So does the entire eating population at Red Lobster.
I look forward to waking up in the morning just so I can have a cup of coffee. Then I want to go back to bed until it's coffee time again.
Friday, 4 December 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Long and Short of It
Helloooo Newman: The Long and Short of It: "There's no Federal law that prohibits a gift of a firearm to a relative or friend that lives in your home state." "The...
Thursday, 3 December 2015
The Long and Short of It
"There's no Federal law that prohibits a gift of a firearm to a relative or friend that lives in your home state."
"The ATF recommends that if you want to give someone a new firearm, rather than going to a gun store, buying it on your own and giving it to, say a friend or you dad, consider instead purchasing a gift certificate from that retailer and giving it to them as a present. That way he’ll get the exact gun he wants, and there’s no question about who is “the actual buyer of the firearm,” which is a question any purchaser must certify on the Federal Form 4473 at the time of purchase."
Hey Max, how long have we been friends now?
Long time, Frank. Thirty years or so.
That's long. Speaking of long, I'm finished using my long gun. I want to give it to you as a present.
Wow! That's so nice, dude. Why don't you need it anymore?
Well, you know, I've finished my training with the AR-15 and I feel I'm ready to move up. Maybe an AK-47. Had my eye on a Beretta AR70 too. NATO uses that gun.
This is so cool. Is it legal?
Dude, come on. Would I suggest it if it were illegal? You can thank the government. They told me how easy it is to pass on military-style weapons to whoever the fuck you want. No paper work trail, no fuss, no muss.
What about Stevie? Can Stevie have a gun too?
Who is Stevie?
He lives inside me. You never met him? Can he have a gun? Can he?
Sure, Stevie can have whatever he wants.
Good. Stevie gets mad if you say no to him.
Hey, maybe Stevie wants this gun? I call it a "short"gun. Hee hee. Get it?
Are you calling me short?
No no. It's a joke. It's called a hand gun.
Are you saying my penis is short? My penis is bigger than this hand gun, you know.
Ya, ya, I know. I mean, I don't know. I believe you.
Okay, but don't ever call me short again. I think I know how this works. You press this, right?
Careful, it's load……………(bang, splat)
Frank, you okay? You don't look okay. Hello? Guess you won't be needing your car either? Ah, forget it. Too much paper work involved.
Christmas is coming, folks.
"The ATF recommends that if you want to give someone a new firearm, rather than going to a gun store, buying it on your own and giving it to, say a friend or you dad, consider instead purchasing a gift certificate from that retailer and giving it to them as a present. That way he’ll get the exact gun he wants, and there’s no question about who is “the actual buyer of the firearm,” which is a question any purchaser must certify on the Federal Form 4473 at the time of purchase."
Hey Max, how long have we been friends now?
Long time, Frank. Thirty years or so.
That's long. Speaking of long, I'm finished using my long gun. I want to give it to you as a present.
Wow! That's so nice, dude. Why don't you need it anymore?
Well, you know, I've finished my training with the AR-15 and I feel I'm ready to move up. Maybe an AK-47. Had my eye on a Beretta AR70 too. NATO uses that gun.
This is so cool. Is it legal?
Dude, come on. Would I suggest it if it were illegal? You can thank the government. They told me how easy it is to pass on military-style weapons to whoever the fuck you want. No paper work trail, no fuss, no muss.
What about Stevie? Can Stevie have a gun too?
Who is Stevie?
He lives inside me. You never met him? Can he have a gun? Can he?
Sure, Stevie can have whatever he wants.
Good. Stevie gets mad if you say no to him.
Hey, maybe Stevie wants this gun? I call it a "short"gun. Hee hee. Get it?
Are you calling me short?
No no. It's a joke. It's called a hand gun.
Are you saying my penis is short? My penis is bigger than this hand gun, you know.
Ya, ya, I know. I mean, I don't know. I believe you.
Okay, but don't ever call me short again. I think I know how this works. You press this, right?
Careful, it's load……………(bang, splat)
Frank, you okay? You don't look okay. Hello? Guess you won't be needing your car either? Ah, forget it. Too much paper work involved.
Christmas is coming, folks.
Monday, 30 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Smart Water: The Interview
Helloooo Newman: Smart Water: The Interview: Did you know you can buy Smart Water? Why was this marvelous news kept from me? I suspected the tap water I drink was no magna cum l...
Smart Water: The Interview
Did you know you can buy Smart Water?
I suspected the tap water I drink was no magna cum liquid, but I didn't think it was dumb, stupid, slow, simple, Gumpish, imbecilic – watered down.
So much so, Helloooo Newman interviewed a bottle of Smart Water.
Newman: Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Water.
Mr. Water: You can call me Smart.
Newman: A lot of people wonder what makes you smarter than other water. How do you answer them?
Mr. Water: Well, just look at regular water, like toilet water, or water that contains denge fever. You can tell on the first drop that comes out of their mouth.
Newman: Um, okayyyyy. People don't drink that water, but can you be more specific?
Mr. Water: It's the extra oxygen molecule. Dumb water has one oxygen molecule and 2 hydrogen molecules. I have an extra oxygen molecule – more oxygen to my brain. I've always had a real thirst for knowledge.
When I was a kid I always had my hand up first in class. I remember one bottle of dumb water (he was from a tap water family), the teacher asked what water is made of and he answered HbO. Too much binge watching, I guess. He was a few drops short.
Then I was streamed into the gifted program but didn't mix well with other liquids. Got into a scuffle with a really snooty bottle of olive oil. Pummeled him so bad now he just sits in a can at Red Lobster marinating leftover crab meat.
You know, they say Einstein was the man that changed the way we think. I want to change the way we drink.
Newman: It's just hard to imagine water having an I.Q.
Mr. Water: Listen, I'm a hell of a lot smarter than the people who buy me. $2.99 a bottle? What a joke.
Newman: Jennifer Aniston is your spokesperson. What is your situation with her?
Mr. Water: I would say it's very fluid. We're great friends, but sometimes she makes me boiling mad with her demands.
Newman: Any romance there?
Mr. Water: Ha. She talks dirty to me. Told me I make her wet. We took a shower together once. She couldn't find me for days
Newman: Um, I forgot to mention children might be listening.
Mr. Water: Oh, sorry. I'll filter myself.
Newman: I understand you got some acting gigs through Ms. Aniston.
Mr. Water: Yes. I was the rain in Rain Man.
Newman: Hmmm, I don't remember rain in that movie.
Mr. Water: Ya, they cut me out. Bummer. That was a really draining experience.
Newman: Do you drink Smart Water yourself?
Mr. Water: Do I look like a cannibal?
Newman: What's next for you, Smart?
Mr. Water: I might go over Niagara Falls in a bottle. You know, for publicity.
Thursday, 26 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors
Helloooo Newman: The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors: Her smile was completely out of place. I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies...
The Face That Launched a Thousand Doctors
Her smile was completely out of place.
I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies everywhere but none of them were dead in the actual sense. We were dead, bureaucratically speaking – the depression-era lineup, obedient nobodies clutching forms, shuffling to the next available spot in the line, the stench of procedures and regulations everywhere, no eye contact, no EEG readings. Waiting…
After a while, the walls and the lighting meshed together, creating a soft hue of baby puke. Stay focused: I was here to renew my licence, not my humanity.
Moving to one of the service counters of the dead was the smiling woman. Why was she smiling, against such odds? This was no Gioconda, coy half-smile. This smile had a PhD in smiling. From corner to corner, the smile started in this office and ended somewhere around the edge of the known universe.
She handed her forms in and stepped in front of the camera.
"Ma'am, no smiling." A voice rang out with all the bellicosity of a Rhino protecting its young.
"You can't smile."
The smiling lady was flummoxed. "I'm not smiling", she said.
"Ma'am, no smiling", the Rhino repeated.
It turns out the government had not finished shrink-wrapping our soul and muting our humanity. Smiling for one's driver's licence photo was forbidden, even dangerous. It's important that your photo expressed all the joy of Charles Manson's mugshot.
Helter Skelter, mandolin version, was playing in the background.
The smiling lady kept insisting that she was not smiling. She turned to the crowd for help. Immediately I saw the problem.
Behold the face that launched a thousand plastic surgeons. Her face was not a face, it was a set of tupperware. Her lips (were they lips or stretch marks? did she give birth through the esophagus?) couldn't send the proper nerve signals to her brain, telling her "we are smiling, now we are not".
I had to help her. I suddenly remembered: Heat. Melts. Plastic.
Conveniently, the government office was located in a Canadian Tire store. I moved like a Gazelle. I lost my place in line and grabbed the most powerful blow dryer I could find – the Ferrari 3000.
I approached the woman's face with engines full. Her face began to droop. Oops. I turned the heat down. Some last minute sculpting and the lips normalized. She was ready for her closeup.
I smiled BIG.
For one brief moment, I felt alive in a government office.
I was at the Service Ontario government office, standing in the line of the dead. There were bodies everywhere but none of them were dead in the actual sense. We were dead, bureaucratically speaking – the depression-era lineup, obedient nobodies clutching forms, shuffling to the next available spot in the line, the stench of procedures and regulations everywhere, no eye contact, no EEG readings. Waiting…
After a while, the walls and the lighting meshed together, creating a soft hue of baby puke. Stay focused: I was here to renew my licence, not my humanity.
Moving to one of the service counters of the dead was the smiling woman. Why was she smiling, against such odds? This was no Gioconda, coy half-smile. This smile had a PhD in smiling. From corner to corner, the smile started in this office and ended somewhere around the edge of the known universe.
She handed her forms in and stepped in front of the camera.
"Ma'am, no smiling." A voice rang out with all the bellicosity of a Rhino protecting its young.
"You can't smile."
The smiling lady was flummoxed. "I'm not smiling", she said.
"Ma'am, no smiling", the Rhino repeated.
It turns out the government had not finished shrink-wrapping our soul and muting our humanity. Smiling for one's driver's licence photo was forbidden, even dangerous. It's important that your photo expressed all the joy of Charles Manson's mugshot.
Helter Skelter, mandolin version, was playing in the background.
The smiling lady kept insisting that she was not smiling. She turned to the crowd for help. Immediately I saw the problem.
Behold the face that launched a thousand plastic surgeons. Her face was not a face, it was a set of tupperware. Her lips (were they lips or stretch marks? did she give birth through the esophagus?) couldn't send the proper nerve signals to her brain, telling her "we are smiling, now we are not".
I had to help her. I suddenly remembered: Heat. Melts. Plastic.
Conveniently, the government office was located in a Canadian Tire store. I moved like a Gazelle. I lost my place in line and grabbed the most powerful blow dryer I could find – the Ferrari 3000.
I approached the woman's face with engines full. Her face began to droop. Oops. I turned the heat down. Some last minute sculpting and the lips normalized. She was ready for her closeup.
I smiled BIG.
For one brief moment, I felt alive in a government office.
Thursday, 19 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: If Not Now, When?
Helloooo Newman: If Not Now, When?: Do you ever troll through LinkedIn, only searching for really good looking people (chicks or guys, depending) and then connecting with them?...
If Not Now, When?
Do you ever troll through LinkedIn, only searching for really good looking people (chicks or guys, depending) and then connecting with them?
Me neither.
It's a time-waster.
My current mantra is: If not now, when?
This is meant to get myself to do things. I love, adore, covet putting things off. Procrastination is my minx, a pretty woman wooing me into indolence.
I also suffer from finifugalism. This is the fear of endings, of finishing anything. It's even hard to finish this sentence because I have so much to say the trees and winter's coming and I have to start my shopping what will I get this year oh no another blow dryer but the GrowBot is neat…see!
I repeat it in my mind every night before I fall asleep. I suppose this is a curious time for that specific mantra. "If not now, when?" implies I am about to do something really important that I've been putting off for years…but then I just fall asleep. I never put off falling asleep.
I enjoy putting things off so much that sometimes I will do something just to put off putting it off. Yes, it's that bad.
As a procrastinator, I'm in good company, historically speaking. There is a temple in Spain called the Sagrada Familia. Construction of the Sagrada started in 1882 by a dude named Gaudi. The damn thing is still being built. You read right. They're still adding shit to it. I have a picture of the Sagrada on my wall to remind myself of how well I actually am doing.
The main reason I put things off is fear. There's the finifugal fear, plus the fear of screwing up, failing, looking stupid, fear of missing a nap etc.
Lately, though, I've decided fear will not control me anymore. I like to say that fear is no longer my pilot. I'm the one flying the plane now. Fear is the co-pilot at best, and preferably the hot flight attendant that I can do on those moving stairs used to de-plane.
Only yesterday did I realize that "If not now, when?" is a question requiring an answer. I never thought to answer it. When is when? Now? Tomorrow at 1:20 p.m.? Once I've read all my Twitter feeds? There's no easy answer.
What are some of the things I need to do? Well, it would be cool to be bilingual. I have a friend at Toastmasters who is bilingual, and constantly reminds me of it. He speaks Spanish and English. Being a single guy, one time he told me he was also cunnilingual. I'm not sure what that meant. I said I'm married.
His favourite word was chucklefuck. "Oh man, that girl was a real chucklefuck", he would say. Nope, not sure what that means either.
I just try to focus on doin' the doin' and staying ahead of the Sagrada builders.
Me neither.
It's a time-waster.
My current mantra is: If not now, when?
This is meant to get myself to do things. I love, adore, covet putting things off. Procrastination is my minx, a pretty woman wooing me into indolence.
I also suffer from finifugalism. This is the fear of endings, of finishing anything. It's even hard to finish this sentence because I have so much to say the trees and winter's coming and I have to start my shopping what will I get this year oh no another blow dryer but the GrowBot is neat…see!
I repeat it in my mind every night before I fall asleep. I suppose this is a curious time for that specific mantra. "If not now, when?" implies I am about to do something really important that I've been putting off for years…but then I just fall asleep. I never put off falling asleep.
I enjoy putting things off so much that sometimes I will do something just to put off putting it off. Yes, it's that bad.
As a procrastinator, I'm in good company, historically speaking. There is a temple in Spain called the Sagrada Familia. Construction of the Sagrada started in 1882 by a dude named Gaudi. The damn thing is still being built. You read right. They're still adding shit to it. I have a picture of the Sagrada on my wall to remind myself of how well I actually am doing.
The main reason I put things off is fear. There's the finifugal fear, plus the fear of screwing up, failing, looking stupid, fear of missing a nap etc.
Lately, though, I've decided fear will not control me anymore. I like to say that fear is no longer my pilot. I'm the one flying the plane now. Fear is the co-pilot at best, and preferably the hot flight attendant that I can do on those moving stairs used to de-plane.
Only yesterday did I realize that "If not now, when?" is a question requiring an answer. I never thought to answer it. When is when? Now? Tomorrow at 1:20 p.m.? Once I've read all my Twitter feeds? There's no easy answer.
What are some of the things I need to do? Well, it would be cool to be bilingual. I have a friend at Toastmasters who is bilingual, and constantly reminds me of it. He speaks Spanish and English. Being a single guy, one time he told me he was also cunnilingual. I'm not sure what that meant. I said I'm married.
His favourite word was chucklefuck. "Oh man, that girl was a real chucklefuck", he would say. Nope, not sure what that means either.
I just try to focus on doin' the doin' and staying ahead of the Sagrada builders.
La Sagrada Familia
Thursday, 12 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Gentle Ben Carson
Helloooo Newman: Gentle Ben Carson: Unlike his evil compatriot, Jeb Bush, Ben Carson does not kill babies. He is gentle Ben. Ben was asked a slightly different question tha...
Gentle Ben Carson
Unlike his evil compatriot, Jeb Bush, Ben Carson does not kill babies.
He is gentle Ben.
Ben was asked a slightly different question than Jeb. "Would you go back in time and abort fetus Hitler?", was Ben's question.
A stern NO boomed out of his mouth. "Im not in favour of aborting anybody."
Gentle Ben said that, being a doctor, he would deliver baby Hitler, immediately shave the moustache, remove his arms so he could not invent the Nazi salute and operate on his tongue to create a lisp so that if he tried any of that dictator talk, people would just laugh and go picnic in the Black Forest.
Sieg Heil would sound like Thieg Heil, Nathzees. No real man will get behind that kind of talk, right?
Gentle Ben figures that baby Hitler didn't have enough Jethuth, sorry, "Jesus", in his life and also suffered from a poor diet.
Easily remedied, according to Gentle Ben. Ben's house is (in real life!) full of paintings of him posing with Him, that Him being Jesus.
That's right. A house full of religious selfies, Bible-style.
It's uncertain who painted these images. It definitely wasn't Charles Manson, another ruthless killer who Gentle Ben would gladly deliver from the womb. Charles thinks he's the second coming, and that upsets big Gentle Ben.
These paintings would be strategically hung around baby Hitler's play pen. Of course, Gentle Ben would have to explain to Baby Hitler which one in the paintings was God's son. I hear Ben often gets that confused.
Improving baby Hitler's diet is easy too. Ben would go further back in time, store some of that Egyptian pyramid grain in portable pyramid tupperware, zip back and feed it to Hitler.
Ben even considered specializing as a doctor who only delivers evil-doing babies, guaranteeing that his delivery would cure them of their sadistic impulses.
Running for President is a far greater calling for Ben.
He is gentle Ben.
Ben was asked a slightly different question than Jeb. "Would you go back in time and abort fetus Hitler?", was Ben's question.
A stern NO boomed out of his mouth. "Im not in favour of aborting anybody."
Gentle Ben said that, being a doctor, he would deliver baby Hitler, immediately shave the moustache, remove his arms so he could not invent the Nazi salute and operate on his tongue to create a lisp so that if he tried any of that dictator talk, people would just laugh and go picnic in the Black Forest.
Sieg Heil would sound like Thieg Heil, Nathzees. No real man will get behind that kind of talk, right?
Gentle Ben figures that baby Hitler didn't have enough Jethuth, sorry, "Jesus", in his life and also suffered from a poor diet.
Easily remedied, according to Gentle Ben. Ben's house is (in real life!) full of paintings of him posing with Him, that Him being Jesus.
That's right. A house full of religious selfies, Bible-style.
It's uncertain who painted these images. It definitely wasn't Charles Manson, another ruthless killer who Gentle Ben would gladly deliver from the womb. Charles thinks he's the second coming, and that upsets big Gentle Ben.
These paintings would be strategically hung around baby Hitler's play pen. Of course, Gentle Ben would have to explain to Baby Hitler which one in the paintings was God's son. I hear Ben often gets that confused.
Improving baby Hitler's diet is easy too. Ben would go further back in time, store some of that Egyptian pyramid grain in portable pyramid tupperware, zip back and feed it to Hitler.
Ben even considered specializing as a doctor who only delivers evil-doing babies, guaranteeing that his delivery would cure them of their sadistic impulses.
Running for President is a far greater calling for Ben.
Gentle Ben & Jesus – Buds
Tuesday, 10 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Jeb Bush Kills Babies
Helloooo Newman: Jeb Bush Kills Babies: Jeb Bush wants to kill babies. And he wants to be your President. Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was poss...
Jeb Bush Kills Babies
Jeb Bush wants to kill babies. And he wants to be your President.
Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was possible, would he go back in time and kill baby Hitler.
"Hell, ya. You gotta step up." That is a direct, real-world quote.
Finally, we're getting to the nub of an important issue that affects the middle class. Time travel, and its effect on nasty people.
It's remarkable that the iconic film Back to the Future, with all its ramifications, is finally causing reverberations throughout society, as I knew it would.
Marty McFly, philosopher of the ages. Sales of DeLorean's are skyrocketing.
It gets tiresome when politicians are continually bothered with "that's-not-gonna-happen", hard-to-believe scenarios like nuclear war, unemployment, terrorism, when history is full of far more important issues, like who was the caveman that threw the first ever punch.
My reaction is, why stop at one baby? Baby killing can be habit-forming. While your time machine is up and running, why not get Stalin? Pol Pot? Nixon?
Jeb went on to say that he would enter the nursery where little Adolph was born and do it quietly, with a pillow, identifying Hitler by his trend-setting moustache. He loved the irony of such a violent man going so gently into that good night.
At one point, the interviewer handed Jeb what looked like a genuine plane ticket, with the words "Virgin Air Time Travel-One Return Ticket" on it.
Jeb got very nervous, thinking holy shit, I might actually have to do this. The interviewer laughed and admitted it was a fake, but Jeb was unconvinced, sweat flowing from his armpits.
I so wish the interviewer presented him with other likely scenarios, so I can better judge if he is up for President. My question would have been: let's suppose a car hits a street lamp, the light falls, rolls into some scaffolding at a nearby building, which collapses, causing a large board to fall from a great height, further causing a nail to be flung from the board, whistling towards a nearby baby's head. Would you, Jeb, jump in front of that nail to save baby X.
A man who can kill babies one day and save them the next, a man who can make that crucial distinction, has President written all over his face.
Alas, there was some disagreement in the Bush household. Jeb's wife, what's her name, preferred the more motherly route: go back, breast feed Adolph and dress him in soft, hand-knit sweaters, so that he has the proper upbringing to avoid seeing people as vermin.
Could you be President? What would you do?
Recently, while on the campaign trail, Jeb was asked that if it was possible, would he go back in time and kill baby Hitler.
"Hell, ya. You gotta step up." That is a direct, real-world quote.
Finally, we're getting to the nub of an important issue that affects the middle class. Time travel, and its effect on nasty people.
It's remarkable that the iconic film Back to the Future, with all its ramifications, is finally causing reverberations throughout society, as I knew it would.
Marty McFly, philosopher of the ages. Sales of DeLorean's are skyrocketing.
It gets tiresome when politicians are continually bothered with "that's-not-gonna-happen", hard-to-believe scenarios like nuclear war, unemployment, terrorism, when history is full of far more important issues, like who was the caveman that threw the first ever punch.
My reaction is, why stop at one baby? Baby killing can be habit-forming. While your time machine is up and running, why not get Stalin? Pol Pot? Nixon?
Jeb went on to say that he would enter the nursery where little Adolph was born and do it quietly, with a pillow, identifying Hitler by his trend-setting moustache. He loved the irony of such a violent man going so gently into that good night.
At one point, the interviewer handed Jeb what looked like a genuine plane ticket, with the words "Virgin Air Time Travel-One Return Ticket" on it.
Jeb got very nervous, thinking holy shit, I might actually have to do this. The interviewer laughed and admitted it was a fake, but Jeb was unconvinced, sweat flowing from his armpits.
I so wish the interviewer presented him with other likely scenarios, so I can better judge if he is up for President. My question would have been: let's suppose a car hits a street lamp, the light falls, rolls into some scaffolding at a nearby building, which collapses, causing a large board to fall from a great height, further causing a nail to be flung from the board, whistling towards a nearby baby's head. Would you, Jeb, jump in front of that nail to save baby X.
A man who can kill babies one day and save them the next, a man who can make that crucial distinction, has President written all over his face.
Alas, there was some disagreement in the Bush household. Jeb's wife, what's her name, preferred the more motherly route: go back, breast feed Adolph and dress him in soft, hand-knit sweaters, so that he has the proper upbringing to avoid seeing people as vermin.
Could you be President? What would you do?
Saturday, 7 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Dancing with Wolf Blitzer
Helloooo Newman: Dancing with Wolf Blitzer: In my mind there's really only one authority in news – Wolf Blitzer. That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wo...
Dancing with Wolf Blitzer
In my mind there's really only one authority in news – Wolf Blitzer.
That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wolves first appeared, oh, about fifty million years ago, as estimated by scientists.
One builds up a pretty good resume after that much time. I wouldn't want to be the HR person who has to sift through his 100,000 page resume, but boy, I would be impressed with the page count.
Wolf Blitzer is one of those names where I have trouble believing someone actually called their child "Wolf", and someone's family name is actually "Blitzer".
Isn't there a reindeer called Blitzer?
Mr. Blitzer is German, so you're probably thinking that "Wolf" is short for "Wolfgang", a common German name.
You could call Wolf the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart of news yelling. He started very early, coming out of the womb screaming about the "situation" in the Middle East, and with nary a teleprompter in sight.
However, after considerable research, I discovered that Wolfgang is not the etymology of his first name. He was, in fact, raised by wolves.
Wolf would sit in playgrounds and recite, in a newsy bellow, the various goings on of the children. People had enough when he started muckraking the parents, accusing them of affairs, embezzlement, child abuse, or colluding with Yasser Arafat. He wouldn't stop so his parents quietly left him in a nearby forest and the wolves received him without question.
When he first started in television, he would howl the news, pee on the cameras, causing an electrical fire, and then stalk, attack and eat his co-anchor. People got tired of the studio looking bloodier then the local car accidents they would cover.
Years of training has pared down those nasty instincts to a simple monotone yelling into the camera.
Somewhere along the line he made a huge civilizational leap – wearing really nice suits. This was accompanied by sophisticated talk, cocktail parties, art appreciation and a taste for the finer wines. I trust Wolf Blass is his wine of choice?
The true "wolf" in him lingers with those blue wolf eyes and oval pupils. Wide and always looking for the kill. Sometimes I'm still afraid he will reach out of the television and turn me into stewing beef.
I think if CNN ever dumps Blitzer, he has a career as a mutant, don't you?
Wolferine Blitzer?
That's because Wolf has been covering the human news since wolves first appeared, oh, about fifty million years ago, as estimated by scientists.
One builds up a pretty good resume after that much time. I wouldn't want to be the HR person who has to sift through his 100,000 page resume, but boy, I would be impressed with the page count.
Wolf Blitzer is one of those names where I have trouble believing someone actually called their child "Wolf", and someone's family name is actually "Blitzer".
Isn't there a reindeer called Blitzer?
Mr. Blitzer is German, so you're probably thinking that "Wolf" is short for "Wolfgang", a common German name.
You could call Wolf the Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart of news yelling. He started very early, coming out of the womb screaming about the "situation" in the Middle East, and with nary a teleprompter in sight.
However, after considerable research, I discovered that Wolfgang is not the etymology of his first name. He was, in fact, raised by wolves.
Wolf would sit in playgrounds and recite, in a newsy bellow, the various goings on of the children. People had enough when he started muckraking the parents, accusing them of affairs, embezzlement, child abuse, or colluding with Yasser Arafat. He wouldn't stop so his parents quietly left him in a nearby forest and the wolves received him without question.
When he first started in television, he would howl the news, pee on the cameras, causing an electrical fire, and then stalk, attack and eat his co-anchor. People got tired of the studio looking bloodier then the local car accidents they would cover.
Years of training has pared down those nasty instincts to a simple monotone yelling into the camera.
Somewhere along the line he made a huge civilizational leap – wearing really nice suits. This was accompanied by sophisticated talk, cocktail parties, art appreciation and a taste for the finer wines. I trust Wolf Blass is his wine of choice?
The true "wolf" in him lingers with those blue wolf eyes and oval pupils. Wide and always looking for the kill. Sometimes I'm still afraid he will reach out of the television and turn me into stewing beef.
I think if CNN ever dumps Blitzer, he has a career as a mutant, don't you?
Wolferine Blitzer?
Friday, 6 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Heeeerrrrs Johnny
Helloooo Newman: Heeeerrrrs Johnny: Okay, now I'm really confused. Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson? This is strikingly similar to a question I asked my...
Heeeerrrrs Johnny
Okay, now I'm really confused.
Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson?
This is strikingly similar to a question I asked myself last week – what would I rather die of, necrotizing fasciitis or lewy body dementia?
Dilemmas, dilemmas.
Mr. Carson is actually Dr. Carson. Doctors are smart, aren't they?
Dr. Carson recently said he believes the pyramids were built by the biblical Joseph to store grain.
You know, I'm not really sure how smart the ancient Egyptians were. None of them had PhDs, like Dr. Carson has.
Now keep in mind I'm neither an architect nor a farmer. However, if I were building a structure to hold grain, I would probably built it mostly empty. You know, so it could hold as much grain as possible. That way I'm not constantly riding my camel back and forth to the grain store, to fill up my grain pyramid.
The pyramids are mostly not empty, save for a few tunnels and chambers containing mummified corpses.
They are pretty much solid stone. Wow, someone in Egypt screwed up on the grain holding portfolio. Yet they had the astounding skill to build the pyramid in the first place. Somehow they carved and moved stones the size of bungalows. Confounding, indeed.
Think about a simple water-carrying jug, which I think the Egyptians carried on their heads. What shape is it? Is it tall and bowl shaped, or pyramid shaped, because it looks really cool.
They went with the bowl shape, a great decision. The bowl shape holds more water per unit of carrying time. A pyramid-shaped container would hold much less water, or would have to be about the size of the actual pyramid to make it worth while.
Someone in ancient Egypt forgot to apply the bowl logic to the pyramids. The chief architect declared, "Let's have the grain storage unit come to a point. It holds less grain, but it's gnarly, dude." I wonder if he was eventually fired.
Does anyone really care about Dr. Carson's grasp of history? Not really. Except that he's applying for a job that allows him to launch in the neighbourhood of 5,000 nuclear weapons. He gets to make that decision.
Unless…Unless he thinks those missile silos actually contain grain, not civilization-ending bombs.
I'm throwing my hands up and voting for Johnny Carson.
Who would I vote for? Donald Trump or Ben Carson?
This is strikingly similar to a question I asked myself last week – what would I rather die of, necrotizing fasciitis or lewy body dementia?
Dilemmas, dilemmas.
Mr. Carson is actually Dr. Carson. Doctors are smart, aren't they?
Dr. Carson recently said he believes the pyramids were built by the biblical Joseph to store grain.
You know, I'm not really sure how smart the ancient Egyptians were. None of them had PhDs, like Dr. Carson has.
Now keep in mind I'm neither an architect nor a farmer. However, if I were building a structure to hold grain, I would probably built it mostly empty. You know, so it could hold as much grain as possible. That way I'm not constantly riding my camel back and forth to the grain store, to fill up my grain pyramid.
The pyramids are mostly not empty, save for a few tunnels and chambers containing mummified corpses.
They are pretty much solid stone. Wow, someone in Egypt screwed up on the grain holding portfolio. Yet they had the astounding skill to build the pyramid in the first place. Somehow they carved and moved stones the size of bungalows. Confounding, indeed.
Think about a simple water-carrying jug, which I think the Egyptians carried on their heads. What shape is it? Is it tall and bowl shaped, or pyramid shaped, because it looks really cool.
They went with the bowl shape, a great decision. The bowl shape holds more water per unit of carrying time. A pyramid-shaped container would hold much less water, or would have to be about the size of the actual pyramid to make it worth while.
Someone in ancient Egypt forgot to apply the bowl logic to the pyramids. The chief architect declared, "Let's have the grain storage unit come to a point. It holds less grain, but it's gnarly, dude." I wonder if he was eventually fired.
Does anyone really care about Dr. Carson's grasp of history? Not really. Except that he's applying for a job that allows him to launch in the neighbourhood of 5,000 nuclear weapons. He gets to make that decision.
Unless…Unless he thinks those missile silos actually contain grain, not civilization-ending bombs.
I'm throwing my hands up and voting for Johnny Carson.
Thursday, 5 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Costdom?
Helloooo Newman: Costdom?: Freedom isn't free. This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of...
Costdom?
Freedom isn't free.
This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of course. Luminaries like George W. Bush (not to be confused with George H.W., who actually seems like a reasonable guy – maybe the H is for Hey, I don't know everything, maybe a little humility is in order).
But shouldn't freedom be free? Why does it have the word free in it? That's really confusing.
Maybe it's free, but it costs something to ship it to you. Six to eight weeks? Damn, I want out of this marriage now.
Dubya tried to export freedom and boy, the shipping charges on that were a whopper. One trillion and counting.
Or the batteries on freedom are sold separately. Freedom, the action figure.
Maybe it's like Netflix. The first month of freedom is free, then you start with easy monthly payments on your credit card. Freeforthefirstmonthdom.
Or there's Uber freedom. When you feel like being free, you open your app and order freedom to drive you around for a while. Next stop, servitude.
I suppose there must be a tax on freedom – there's a tax on everything, including my workout. Very taxing.
If freedom isn't going to be free from now on, I propose we call it Costdom. So we know what we're getting. Having the word free in freedom, and then charging the customer behind his/her back is just plain dishonest.
I guess Mr. Carson (initially I thought it was Johnny Carson running for Prez) means that we have to spend money to defend freedom.
I can get behind that. But are we defending "freedom"? Aren't we really defending a specific country and a way of doing things?
Freedom is a bad, inaccurate word – just like love. I love my parents and I love how freely available porn is on the internet. Obviously, I'm not talking about the same kind of love, but I have to use the same word. Using "parents" and "porn" in the same sentence makes me want to throw up my stomach lining.
Are we really free? What an annoying question. I never ask it of myself. Except now, for this important educational moment.
Freedom is clearly a relative term. It means nothing unless compared to some other state of being. Like being hung in a closet, auto-erotic style.
Some people are more freer and some are less freer – so let's call it freerdom.
We also have freedom "to" and freedom "from". Being free to watch porn (especially free porn) means I'm free from disease. I can offer free advice on where to find free porn, but that's a later, "free", blog article.
There's also the proverbial "free lunch", which doesn't exist. This means that even if you didn't pay for your lunch, someone has to along the line. We have to call that freeformedom. It was free for me, and I don't give a shit about the other person.
Whatever freedom means, don't underestimate it. In countries like China and Russia, people are not free to read this free article. I think if China or Russia ever do become really free, I'll start charging for this blog. Free them of some of their money.
Speaking of freedom "from", I think I'd like to be free from Mr. Carson as Prez of the USA. This man does not believe in evolution. I'm afraid that for me, believing in evolution is a requirement for any important job, like Librarian or professional Funeral Mourner (a real job!).
Hey, dying ain't free.
This is the exalted wisdom of American presidential candidate Ben Carson. Many others have said the same thing, of course. Luminaries like George W. Bush (not to be confused with George H.W., who actually seems like a reasonable guy – maybe the H is for Hey, I don't know everything, maybe a little humility is in order).
But shouldn't freedom be free? Why does it have the word free in it? That's really confusing.
Maybe it's free, but it costs something to ship it to you. Six to eight weeks? Damn, I want out of this marriage now.
Dubya tried to export freedom and boy, the shipping charges on that were a whopper. One trillion and counting.
Or the batteries on freedom are sold separately. Freedom, the action figure.
Maybe it's like Netflix. The first month of freedom is free, then you start with easy monthly payments on your credit card. Freeforthefirstmonthdom.
Or there's Uber freedom. When you feel like being free, you open your app and order freedom to drive you around for a while. Next stop, servitude.
I suppose there must be a tax on freedom – there's a tax on everything, including my workout. Very taxing.
If freedom isn't going to be free from now on, I propose we call it Costdom. So we know what we're getting. Having the word free in freedom, and then charging the customer behind his/her back is just plain dishonest.
I guess Mr. Carson (initially I thought it was Johnny Carson running for Prez) means that we have to spend money to defend freedom.
I can get behind that. But are we defending "freedom"? Aren't we really defending a specific country and a way of doing things?
Freedom is a bad, inaccurate word – just like love. I love my parents and I love how freely available porn is on the internet. Obviously, I'm not talking about the same kind of love, but I have to use the same word. Using "parents" and "porn" in the same sentence makes me want to throw up my stomach lining.
Are we really free? What an annoying question. I never ask it of myself. Except now, for this important educational moment.
Freedom is clearly a relative term. It means nothing unless compared to some other state of being. Like being hung in a closet, auto-erotic style.
Some people are more freer and some are less freer – so let's call it freerdom.
We also have freedom "to" and freedom "from". Being free to watch porn (especially free porn) means I'm free from disease. I can offer free advice on where to find free porn, but that's a later, "free", blog article.
There's also the proverbial "free lunch", which doesn't exist. This means that even if you didn't pay for your lunch, someone has to along the line. We have to call that freeformedom. It was free for me, and I don't give a shit about the other person.
Whatever freedom means, don't underestimate it. In countries like China and Russia, people are not free to read this free article. I think if China or Russia ever do become really free, I'll start charging for this blog. Free them of some of their money.
Speaking of freedom "from", I think I'd like to be free from Mr. Carson as Prez of the USA. This man does not believe in evolution. I'm afraid that for me, believing in evolution is a requirement for any important job, like Librarian or professional Funeral Mourner (a real job!).
Hey, dying ain't free.
Wednesday, 4 November 2015
Helloooo Newman: Take the Brain Train
Helloooo Newman: Take the Brain Train: Today is take your brain to work day. For me, anyway. From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe...
Take the Brain Train
Today is take your brain to work day. For me, anyway.
From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe is the brain.
Its secrets go far deeper than Bill Gates' pockets, or Justin Trudeau's sexy looks.
And scientists are only just beginning to make sense of this riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
Here's an example. One study had males look at two pictures of the same woman side by side and were asked to rate in which picture the woman looked friendlier, or sexier, and a whole bunch of other criteria as well.
As in most studies, there was a trick. The pictures were not quite identical. In one picture, the woman's pupils were dilated and in the other they were wide open.
The men, being the sophisticated apes they are, didn't notice this, as they were too busy shifting their erections around so they wouldn't experience penile snapping in their jeans.
The men overwhelmingly rated the women with the dilated pupils as sexier and friendlier than the same women without the dilation.
Think about that. A completely unconscious process potentially influencing which woman they would mate with.
That's just so…male. And it's not "our" fault. It's our brain. Which is essentially us, but not really. Sort of.
I prefer when a woman's nipples dilate, but that's just me. And yes, I can tell the difference between pictures of dilated and non-dilated nipples. Because I'm porn-smart.
I believe that everything we think of as important in this universe is just made up by the brain – things like personality, self, consciousness, "I", "me", love, faith, who wins the Stanley Cup.
A total illusion. That's what everything is. When your brain is gone, "you", your "self", your erotic dreams – all gone too. That last part is really depressing.
That's why it's so futile to ask the big "why" questions in life. Why am I here? Why do I continually eat burgers with Reese's Pieces inside the meat?
There is no answer, despite the fact that you need one.
The single most important question we can ask is – why is there something, anything, instead of nothing?
You might as well ask why a circle is round.
It is a question that cannot be answered. This is where I part with my buddy Stephen Hawking. That's probably why he won't Facetime me.
Stevie has publicly stated he wants to answer why there is a universe instead of nothing. Points for ambition, that's for sure!
I hate to say it, but Hawking will die, and the why will go on.
The person who never stops asking why is either very bored or being paid to ask it.
Why am I writing this and not eating the picture below?
From a human perspective, the most complicated and mysterious object in the universe is the brain.
Its secrets go far deeper than Bill Gates' pockets, or Justin Trudeau's sexy looks.
And scientists are only just beginning to make sense of this riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.
Here's an example. One study had males look at two pictures of the same woman side by side and were asked to rate in which picture the woman looked friendlier, or sexier, and a whole bunch of other criteria as well.
As in most studies, there was a trick. The pictures were not quite identical. In one picture, the woman's pupils were dilated and in the other they were wide open.
The men, being the sophisticated apes they are, didn't notice this, as they were too busy shifting their erections around so they wouldn't experience penile snapping in their jeans.
The men overwhelmingly rated the women with the dilated pupils as sexier and friendlier than the same women without the dilation.
Think about that. A completely unconscious process potentially influencing which woman they would mate with.
That's just so…male. And it's not "our" fault. It's our brain. Which is essentially us, but not really. Sort of.
I prefer when a woman's nipples dilate, but that's just me. And yes, I can tell the difference between pictures of dilated and non-dilated nipples. Because I'm porn-smart.
I believe that everything we think of as important in this universe is just made up by the brain – things like personality, self, consciousness, "I", "me", love, faith, who wins the Stanley Cup.
A total illusion. That's what everything is. When your brain is gone, "you", your "self", your erotic dreams – all gone too. That last part is really depressing.
That's why it's so futile to ask the big "why" questions in life. Why am I here? Why do I continually eat burgers with Reese's Pieces inside the meat?
There is no answer, despite the fact that you need one.
The single most important question we can ask is – why is there something, anything, instead of nothing?
You might as well ask why a circle is round.
It is a question that cannot be answered. This is where I part with my buddy Stephen Hawking. That's probably why he won't Facetime me.
Stevie has publicly stated he wants to answer why there is a universe instead of nothing. Points for ambition, that's for sure!
I hate to say it, but Hawking will die, and the why will go on.
The person who never stops asking why is either very bored or being paid to ask it.
Why am I writing this and not eating the picture below?
Monday, 26 October 2015
Helloooo Newman: You've Got to Know When to Hold 'Em
Helloooo Newman: You've Got to Know When to Hold 'Em: You've got to admit, Kenny Rogers is a wise man. Maybe he's a wise guy too? Being in all those casinos. Well, he sure knows gambling...
You've Got to Know When to Hold 'Em
You've got to admit, Kenny Rogers is a wise man. Maybe he's a wise guy too? Being in all those casinos. Well, he sure knows gambling.
Idea for a movie: The Three Wise Guys. Based on the life of the three wise men, they were Jesus' bagmen. Collect money for Jesus, take delinquent payers and prayers into the stable and break their hands with a hammer.
One person who clearly doesn't know gambling is René Angélil.
Who's that? His more well known name is Celine Dion's husband. Or "That creepy old guy married to that famous Canadian singer".
Last time I was livin' la vida loca in Las Vegas, I found out that Mr. Dion built up a gambling debt of some $100 million dollars.
Okay, so he never spent time in Mr. Rogers' neighbourhood listened to his music. I totally understand that. He didn't know about holdin' 'em and foldin' 'em.
But still…you gotta question…
I think when I got to $10 million in loses, I might have said to myself, "Ya, you know what? I think I have a slight problem. I know I'm just a beginner so I'll give it another try, but I'm gonna keep in the back of my mind the Gambler's Anonymous tel # and maybe consider some other hobbies."
When I hit $30 million, I might have said, "Okay, I get it. Gambling doesn't come naturally to me. I have a lot of strengths, but bluffing isn't one of them. I'm gonna put Gambler's Anonymous on speed dial."
At $50 million? "Time for some serious thought. Maybe I should take a break. Take in a Cirque du Soleil show. Maybe I shouldn't live in a city that is completely devoted to gambling and praying on the hopes and dreams of desperate people. My wife makes a ton of cash. I could live anywhere. Des Moines, Iowa, maybe. Get my focus back."
At $99,999,999? "Fuck, man. It appears I'm really losing here. I'm not so sure I can turn this around anymore. One more dollar. I'll try just one more dollar. Then I'll ask my wife for more money."
Idea for a movie: The Three Wise Guys. Based on the life of the three wise men, they were Jesus' bagmen. Collect money for Jesus, take delinquent payers and prayers into the stable and break their hands with a hammer.
One person who clearly doesn't know gambling is René Angélil.
Who's that? His more well known name is Celine Dion's husband. Or "That creepy old guy married to that famous Canadian singer".
Last time I was livin' la vida loca in Las Vegas, I found out that Mr. Dion built up a gambling debt of some $100 million dollars.
Okay, so he never spent time in Mr. Rogers' neighbourhood listened to his music. I totally understand that. He didn't know about holdin' 'em and foldin' 'em.
But still…you gotta question…
I think when I got to $10 million in loses, I might have said to myself, "Ya, you know what? I think I have a slight problem. I know I'm just a beginner so I'll give it another try, but I'm gonna keep in the back of my mind the Gambler's Anonymous tel # and maybe consider some other hobbies."
When I hit $30 million, I might have said, "Okay, I get it. Gambling doesn't come naturally to me. I have a lot of strengths, but bluffing isn't one of them. I'm gonna put Gambler's Anonymous on speed dial."
At $50 million? "Time for some serious thought. Maybe I should take a break. Take in a Cirque du Soleil show. Maybe I shouldn't live in a city that is completely devoted to gambling and praying on the hopes and dreams of desperate people. My wife makes a ton of cash. I could live anywhere. Des Moines, Iowa, maybe. Get my focus back."
At $99,999,999? "Fuck, man. It appears I'm really losing here. I'm not so sure I can turn this around anymore. One more dollar. I'll try just one more dollar. Then I'll ask my wife for more money."
Monday, 19 October 2015
Helloooo Newman: It's Your Fault I Won
Helloooo Newman: It's Your Fault I Won: The Canadian election reminds me of that famous Groucho Marx line, later co-opted by Woody Allen in Annie Hall . Paraphrasing, the line is...
Helloooo Newman: It's Your Fault I Won
Helloooo Newman: It's Your Fault I Won: The Canadian election reminds me of that famous Groucho Marx line, later co-opted by Woody Allen in Annie Hall . Paraphrasing, the line is...
It's Your Fault I Won
The Canadian election reminds me of that famous Groucho Marx line, later co-opted by Woody Allen in Annie Hall.
Paraphrasing, the line is, "I would not join a club that would have me as a member."
If I were running as leader of a particular party, I would not vote for myself. I would also not kiss any baby who was going to vote for me, and the same goes for their parents.
In fact, I would choose not to represent the people who voted for me. It's entirely their problem they voted for me. They shouldn't have. After all, I didn't vote for myself.
I would not join the party that wanted me as their leader. I would probably move to another country if I won, and rule from that other country.
I would still enjoy actually running for office, only to be able to not vote for myself.
You see, I already know the truth about myself, and I know that I am not up for the job of PM.
The electorate? Well, they'll just have to find that out in good time. I've done my part by not voting for myself.
Anything I do in office after that is okay, because I didn't vote for myself. All my mistakes would be the fault of the people who didn't know me, and decided to vote for me.
If I actually won and became PM, I would continue refusing to accept the position, but would still rule over my subjects.
They would insist I rule or they would have to admit they wasted their vote, which is really stupid of them, but that's their choice.
So, I hope I don't have your vote.
Paraphrasing, the line is, "I would not join a club that would have me as a member."
If I were running as leader of a particular party, I would not vote for myself. I would also not kiss any baby who was going to vote for me, and the same goes for their parents.
In fact, I would choose not to represent the people who voted for me. It's entirely their problem they voted for me. They shouldn't have. After all, I didn't vote for myself.
I would not join the party that wanted me as their leader. I would probably move to another country if I won, and rule from that other country.
I would still enjoy actually running for office, only to be able to not vote for myself.
You see, I already know the truth about myself, and I know that I am not up for the job of PM.
The electorate? Well, they'll just have to find that out in good time. I've done my part by not voting for myself.
Anything I do in office after that is okay, because I didn't vote for myself. All my mistakes would be the fault of the people who didn't know me, and decided to vote for me.
If I actually won and became PM, I would continue refusing to accept the position, but would still rule over my subjects.
They would insist I rule or they would have to admit they wasted their vote, which is really stupid of them, but that's their choice.
So, I hope I don't have your vote.
Candidate, E: Paul Hardie – SPOILED
Helloooo Newman: Из России с любовью
Helloooo Newman: Из России с любовью: Здравствуйте The title of this article is From Russia with Love . The Russian word above is "hello". In Russian, of course. ...
Из России с любовью
Здравствуйте
The title of this article is From Russia with Love.
The Russian word above is "hello". In Russian, of course.
I would like to thank all my Russian friends for their support. You see, in the last few weeks the most readers I have had are from…(drum roll) Russia.
I'm as shocked as you are.
It's such a coincidence, because I have more in common with Vlad Poutine (Canadian spelling of Putin) than you would think.
First of all, I write all my articles with my shirt off. As I type on the keys, my sinewy muscles reverberate shock waves throughout my neighbourhood, much like Vlad's does when he is fishing. What's he fishing for? Must be Sturgeon, for the caviar. Or maybe for another piece of land he feels belongs to him.
I'll admit, I don't wrestle tigers and sharks, like Vlad does, but I do wrestle with my morals, my daughter, and with the English language, so that I can write with just the right, um, words.
Another coincidence – one of my great influences in writing is none other than the legendary Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
If you look closely, there are hints of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot in my work.
I know this because my fans say, "Paul, I read your last blog and it reminded me of an idiot."
I'm so flattered to be compared to, like, only the best Russian writer in history.
Or, maybe my blogs are a tale told by an idiot. Still, that's another great writer – Shakespeare.
Don't get me wrong, my Russian fans. I only make fun of your leader, not your country, the citizens or the magnificent history. I make fun of all political leaders, because they are all liars and cheaters (save for one or two, I guess), and no offence, but they should all keep their shirts on. Aren't you glad Boris Yeltsin kept his shirt on?
I can poke fun at the leaders in my country, Canada, just as easily. We have Justin Trudeau, still in diapers. I think he will win and Canada will collectively suck their thumbs.
Tom Mulcair, who thinks writing letters on paper and having them delivered door-to-door via the post office is the future of communication.
And Stephen Harper, whose face is being used to model the new doll in the latest Chucky horror film, Chucky Hides in the Closet to Save his Own Ass from the Gunman.
In fact, I've been to Russia twice, to adopt my wonderful daughter. I don't remember a whole lot, on account of the vodka I.V. I was on. But I do remember getting my daughter, because at this moment she is screaming her head off about some boy at school.
The people we met were wonderful and generous. I do hope our political leaders learn to get along, like you and I do.
The Russian word above is "hello". In Russian, of course.
I would like to thank all my Russian friends for their support. You see, in the last few weeks the most readers I have had are from…(drum roll) Russia.
I'm as shocked as you are.
It's such a coincidence, because I have more in common with Vlad Poutine (Canadian spelling of Putin) than you would think.
First of all, I write all my articles with my shirt off. As I type on the keys, my sinewy muscles reverberate shock waves throughout my neighbourhood, much like Vlad's does when he is fishing. What's he fishing for? Must be Sturgeon, for the caviar. Or maybe for another piece of land he feels belongs to him.
I'll admit, I don't wrestle tigers and sharks, like Vlad does, but I do wrestle with my morals, my daughter, and with the English language, so that I can write with just the right, um, words.
Another coincidence – one of my great influences in writing is none other than the legendary Russian author Fyodor Dostoyevsky.
If you look closely, there are hints of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot in my work.
I know this because my fans say, "Paul, I read your last blog and it reminded me of an idiot."
I'm so flattered to be compared to, like, only the best Russian writer in history.
Or, maybe my blogs are a tale told by an idiot. Still, that's another great writer – Shakespeare.
Don't get me wrong, my Russian fans. I only make fun of your leader, not your country, the citizens or the magnificent history. I make fun of all political leaders, because they are all liars and cheaters (save for one or two, I guess), and no offence, but they should all keep their shirts on. Aren't you glad Boris Yeltsin kept his shirt on?
I can poke fun at the leaders in my country, Canada, just as easily. We have Justin Trudeau, still in diapers. I think he will win and Canada will collectively suck their thumbs.
Tom Mulcair, who thinks writing letters on paper and having them delivered door-to-door via the post office is the future of communication.
And Stephen Harper, whose face is being used to model the new doll in the latest Chucky horror film, Chucky Hides in the Closet to Save his Own Ass from the Gunman.
In fact, I've been to Russia twice, to adopt my wonderful daughter. I don't remember a whole lot, on account of the vodka I.V. I was on. But I do remember getting my daughter, because at this moment she is screaming her head off about some boy at school.
The people we met were wonderful and generous. I do hope our political leaders learn to get along, like you and I do.
Любовь , от Канады
Moscow Metro station. A tad more glorious than Bloor station.
Friday, 9 October 2015
Helloooo Newman: Uber Everywhere
Helloooo Newman: Uber Everywhere: Uber is a brilliant business model. It's the wave of the future. Here are a few businesses that would do well using the Uber model. ...
Uber Everywhere
Uber is a brilliant business model. It's the wave of the future.
Here are a few businesses that would do well using the Uber model.
Uber Fertility Clinic:
It's called Uberm. Women having trouble getting pregnant call us up on their cell, we go to their location and give them the ride of their life.
Yes it takes business away from some poor husband, but he's obviously not doing a good job.
Uberm is all about enhancing the passenger experience. We'll get them to where they want to be much quicker. In about 5 seconds, actually.
Uber Suicide Hotline:
Feeling down in the dumps? Want to end it all?
Call us from atop that bridge for a quick pick-me-up.
Uber Soul Searching:
Feeling guilty? At a crossroads in your life?
Call us. We know the shortest route to your soul. We can help you find what you're looking for in there, too. We never get lost.
Uber Loner:
Are you a loner? Or just need some alone time?
Call us and we'll leave you alone.
That's right. We won't show up. We'll make sure no one else shows up too.
And in honour of the Blue Jays…
Uber Baseball:
Traffic during the World Series can be horrendous. Bases can get very loaded. Who needs the stress?
We'll take you on a safe round trip from home plate to home plate, as often as you like.
Bring some friends. Score more points and chat while you win.
Here are a few businesses that would do well using the Uber model.
Uber Fertility Clinic:
It's called Uberm. Women having trouble getting pregnant call us up on their cell, we go to their location and give them the ride of their life.
Yes it takes business away from some poor husband, but he's obviously not doing a good job.
Uberm is all about enhancing the passenger experience. We'll get them to where they want to be much quicker. In about 5 seconds, actually.
Uber Suicide Hotline:
Feeling down in the dumps? Want to end it all?
Call us from atop that bridge for a quick pick-me-up.
Uber Soul Searching:
Feeling guilty? At a crossroads in your life?
Call us. We know the shortest route to your soul. We can help you find what you're looking for in there, too. We never get lost.
Uber Loner:
Are you a loner? Or just need some alone time?
Call us and we'll leave you alone.
That's right. We won't show up. We'll make sure no one else shows up too.
And in honour of the Blue Jays…
Uber Baseball:
Traffic during the World Series can be horrendous. Bases can get very loaded. Who needs the stress?
We'll take you on a safe round trip from home plate to home plate, as often as you like.
Bring some friends. Score more points and chat while you win.
Thursday, 8 October 2015
Helloooo Newman: Team Ice Cream
Helloooo Newman: Team Ice Cream: Hello folks. We are here with Presidential candidate Dez Parrot. Today we are discussing a topic on many people's minds, those many be...
Team Ice Cream
Hello folks. We are here with Presidential candidate Dez Parrot.
Today we are discussing a topic on many people's minds, those many being the silent majority. The ones who never seem to say anything about anything.
The cold button issue is ice cream.
Interviewer: What is your stance on ice cream?
Dez P: I like it. A lot.
Interviewer: Why is it important to support ice cream?
Dez P: Who doesn't like ice cream? It's cold, refreshing, tastes great. We are Team Ice Cream.
Interviewer: What is your favourite ice cream?
Dez P: Vanilla.
Interviewer: There has been some controversy swirling around the fact that you like vanilla ice cream. Are you a racist?
Dez P: Nope. I like chocolate ice cream too. And chocolate sauce on vanilla ice cream.
Interviewer: What about vanilla sauce on chocolate ice cream?
Dez P: Do they have that?
Interviewer: Nope. But would you support it?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: What about other colours and flavours of ice cream? Are you the inclusive candidate?
Dez P: I've come out in favour of neapolitan ice cream too. One day I hope we can learn to stop enjoying the different colours and flavours and just think of it all as ice cream.
Interviewer: Post-racial ice cream?
Dez P: Exactly.
Interviewer: Does vanilla ice cream matter?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Does chocolate ice cream matter?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Do they equally matter?
Dez P: Only on Tuesday.
Interviewer: Do you think people should be able to strap a trombone to their body while they eat ice cream?
Dez P: Yes, if it's part of their culture. People come to this country to eat their ice cream any way they want.
Interviewer: What if their culture forces them to eat their ice cream wearing a trombone?
Dez P: I would advise them to try and substitute for a smaller instrument. Harmonica or something from the woodwind family. Dividing the ice cream population does us no good.
Interviewer: What about people who rob convenience stores with a gun, stealing the ice cream?
Dez P: Background check when you buy ice cream is the answer.
Interviewer: Do you think ice cream tastes as good as it use to?
Dez P: No. I'm going to make ice cream taste great again. I'm going to make a big wall out of ice cream, along with some bridges, alleys and highways. Cars will run on ice cream. There will be so much ice cream, the planet will cool down. I'll be great for ice cream.
Interviewer: Wow. I actually believe you. Are you here to apologize for your comments as well?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Do you know what you're apologizing for?
Dez P: No. But it's important I apologize.
Interviewer: Thank you. Next week we'll discuss bread.
Today we are discussing a topic on many people's minds, those many being the silent majority. The ones who never seem to say anything about anything.
The cold button issue is ice cream.
Interviewer: What is your stance on ice cream?
Dez P: I like it. A lot.
Interviewer: Why is it important to support ice cream?
Dez P: Who doesn't like ice cream? It's cold, refreshing, tastes great. We are Team Ice Cream.
Interviewer: What is your favourite ice cream?
Dez P: Vanilla.
Interviewer: There has been some controversy swirling around the fact that you like vanilla ice cream. Are you a racist?
Dez P: Nope. I like chocolate ice cream too. And chocolate sauce on vanilla ice cream.
Interviewer: What about vanilla sauce on chocolate ice cream?
Dez P: Do they have that?
Interviewer: Nope. But would you support it?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: What about other colours and flavours of ice cream? Are you the inclusive candidate?
Dez P: I've come out in favour of neapolitan ice cream too. One day I hope we can learn to stop enjoying the different colours and flavours and just think of it all as ice cream.
Interviewer: Post-racial ice cream?
Dez P: Exactly.
Interviewer: Does vanilla ice cream matter?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Does chocolate ice cream matter?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Do they equally matter?
Dez P: Only on Tuesday.
Interviewer: Do you think people should be able to strap a trombone to their body while they eat ice cream?
Dez P: Yes, if it's part of their culture. People come to this country to eat their ice cream any way they want.
Interviewer: What if their culture forces them to eat their ice cream wearing a trombone?
Dez P: I would advise them to try and substitute for a smaller instrument. Harmonica or something from the woodwind family. Dividing the ice cream population does us no good.
Interviewer: What about people who rob convenience stores with a gun, stealing the ice cream?
Dez P: Background check when you buy ice cream is the answer.
Interviewer: Do you think ice cream tastes as good as it use to?
Dez P: No. I'm going to make ice cream taste great again. I'm going to make a big wall out of ice cream, along with some bridges, alleys and highways. Cars will run on ice cream. There will be so much ice cream, the planet will cool down. I'll be great for ice cream.
Interviewer: Wow. I actually believe you. Are you here to apologize for your comments as well?
Dez P: Yes.
Interviewer: Do you know what you're apologizing for?
Dez P: No. But it's important I apologize.
Interviewer: Thank you. Next week we'll discuss bread.
Tuesday, 6 October 2015
Helloooo Newman: Afterbirth Suit
Helloooo Newman: Afterbirth Suit: Today is my birthday. I like birthdays. Just not my birthday. It reminds me of the day I was born. The day I was born was the worst day ...
Afterbirth Suit
Today is my birthday. I like birthdays. Just not my birthday.
It reminds me of the day I was born.
The day I was born was the worst day in two people's live – me and my mom's.
Well, also for JFK, because that was around the time he had to decide if he was going to nuke Russia over storing some missiles at various all-inclusive Cuban resorts.
I'm sure JFK wished for something far less dangerous to handle, like getting Marilyn Monroe pregnant.
Nope. He got my mom pregnant. Obviously that's not true. If I were JFK's son, I wouldn't be able to count the number of women I parlayed into my lair on one finger.
My birth resulted in all kinds of emotional and mental damage. I call it the afterbirth. As I was exiting the canal – sounds so romantic, canal, like you're riding a gondola through the watery streets of Venice, sipping olive oil and play-acting the romantic scenes from The Godfather –
As I was exiting the slippery tube-like structure, my mom exhorted, "send him back."
I am in complete agreement. I had a good thing going in the womb. Being on complete life support is a good deal. I can't wait to be on it again.
I blew it. While I was in the womb, I should have drawn up a "do not suscitate" order and pinned it on my mom's vagina, just like the "do not resuscitate" order I'm working on now.
I never actually heard my mom say "send him back", but in later years she told me she said that. I'm glad she was so honest because I felt badly it was just me who was a little let down by the bright lights, screaming, scissors, having to chew my food, losing the automatic climate control, cigarette smoke in the delivery room, getting places and raising myself.
Nevertheless, here I am. I sustain myself with wisdom that I've gained over the years.
Forget about the past, because you can't change it.
Forget about the future, because it's not here yet.
Focus on the present, and bitch and complain all to Hell, because maybe it will change something.
Just maybe.
It reminds me of the day I was born.
The day I was born was the worst day in two people's live – me and my mom's.
Well, also for JFK, because that was around the time he had to decide if he was going to nuke Russia over storing some missiles at various all-inclusive Cuban resorts.
I'm sure JFK wished for something far less dangerous to handle, like getting Marilyn Monroe pregnant.
Nope. He got my mom pregnant. Obviously that's not true. If I were JFK's son, I wouldn't be able to count the number of women I parlayed into my lair on one finger.
My birth resulted in all kinds of emotional and mental damage. I call it the afterbirth. As I was exiting the canal – sounds so romantic, canal, like you're riding a gondola through the watery streets of Venice, sipping olive oil and play-acting the romantic scenes from The Godfather –
As I was exiting the slippery tube-like structure, my mom exhorted, "send him back."
I am in complete agreement. I had a good thing going in the womb. Being on complete life support is a good deal. I can't wait to be on it again.
I blew it. While I was in the womb, I should have drawn up a "do not suscitate" order and pinned it on my mom's vagina, just like the "do not resuscitate" order I'm working on now.
I never actually heard my mom say "send him back", but in later years she told me she said that. I'm glad she was so honest because I felt badly it was just me who was a little let down by the bright lights, screaming, scissors, having to chew my food, losing the automatic climate control, cigarette smoke in the delivery room, getting places and raising myself.
Nevertheless, here I am. I sustain myself with wisdom that I've gained over the years.
Forget about the past, because you can't change it.
Forget about the future, because it's not here yet.
Focus on the present, and bitch and complain all to Hell, because maybe it will change something.
Just maybe.
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