Apparently there's somewhat of a hissyfit being thrown by certain fundamentalists over the war being waged against their annual celebration of Jesus' birth, also known as Christmas. Seeing as how Jesus died for the sins of humanity and went to live with his old man in heaven about two thousand years ago, these people are taking it upon themselves to ensure that his name will forever be used to sell decorations and toys.
Someone explain something to me. First, Jesus was all like "Get that commercialism shit out of this temple or I'll flip out and cast you out myself." and people seemed to think that was a good idea. The house of God is no place for consumerism and capitalism. This part makes sense to me. Don't mix people's faith with consumerism, as it will most likely end up in the exploitation of the masses.
Somewhere between then and now, it became tradition to celebrate this man's birth by buying eachother presents. This, in and of itself, isn't too bad. Christianity (to the best of my knowledge) puts a lot of emphasis on giving to those in need, so I can see how the gift-giving part of this holiday still falls within Jesus' teachings. Spend time and money on others, to make them happy. Of course, the gifts don't necessarily go to those in need, but those who are important to us, so there's already some discrepancy. Reasonable, though, seeing as how buying presents for our loved ones is hard enough. Imagine trying to please total strangers.
I have absolutely no clue how Santa Claus began to tie into all of this, but I like to think that he was created to let non-Christians get in on the fun. Don't practice the same religion? No problem, just invent a fat man in a red suit to keep the kids entertained, and buy eachother presents all the same. Everybody's happy.
Now, the confusion kicks in when I hear people claiming that not celebrating this holiday is equal to waging a war against it. There is a war being waged against a religious holiday, but the biggest complaint I keep hearing is that the phrase "Happy Holidays" is slowly replacing "Merry Christmas". There are people boycotting stores because they use "Happy Holidays" in their commercials. People actually think those two words are going to destroy the foundation of their solemn tradition.
Hey, dumbasses. First, your messiah tries to seperate materialism and religion. Then, over the next two thousand years, materialism becomes a large part of your biggest religious holiday. After realizing that even Jesus Christ himself couldn't take the materialism out of religion, people begin to try to take the religion out of materialism instead. It seems to me that if I were a Christian, I'd be happy to see companies removing my savior's name from their commercials. Why not let others buy eachother gifts and spread good will and all that crap without using religion to sell stuff? Wait, what am I thinking. Instead of letting people do whatever they want during the holidays, why don't you get offended if people don't use the correct terminology to express good will. While you're at it, why not fight to get your messiah's name used to sell as many different products as possible? We all know how happy Jesus would be to come back to Earth and see that his birthday is celebrated by lining up in crowded stores and comparing gifts. He'd also like to see people acting like crybabies because "Happy Holidays" doesn't acknowledge him. We all know how much Jesus hated it when the house of God began to resemble a bazaar, so why not boycott the companies who refuse to associate Christ's name with the annual explosion of consumerism that Christmas has become these days?
The above refers to a very select group of people, though. Otherwise, I don't celebrate Christmas because I never got into it that much. I don't really have much of an explanation besides the religious aspect not applying to me at all and the traditional side of it not having much appeal to me.
I also never understood the hatred for socks. The few lackluster Christmases I remember involve receiving yet another book or board game or toy while my socks resemble swiss cheese at a firing range. Just a few good pairs of socks that could last me more than a month would have probably improved my opinion of Christmas in general substantially.
Note: I realize a lot of this particular blog is probably based on assumptions about Christianity and Christians in general, and probably doesn't apply to 99% of the people out there. In fact I'm pretty much talking out of my ass most of the time because the truth is I have absolutely no idea of the real origins of Christmas, both the religious version and the traditional version. I guess you could say I'm ranting about things that don't concern me at all. Furthermore, I'm a greedy bastard who doesn't enjoy spending large amounts of money on loved ones. This may bias my opinion in some way. Also, Christmas sucks.
Sunday, December 25
Wednesday, December 14
You're jealous.
So this company called Babel Media is going to be paying me eleven dollars an hour to play videogames all day then tell them what went wrong while I was playing said videogames. Eleven dollars an hour to PLAY GAMES and WRITE STUFF. And if I happen to do more than forty hours a week of playing games and writing stuff, my overtime hours are worth sixteen bucks an hour.
They're going to pay me to play videogames and write stuff down! Little do they know that's what I usually do for FREE!
This new job only starts on Monday so in the meantime here's a little story about my current job as a market research interviewer. In case you can't figure it out, my job involves dialing phone numbers and asking people if they want to spare ten minutes to answer some mind-numbingly repetitive and redundant market research questions.
I called this one number the other night and start off with our oh-so-convincing intro paragraph. "Yes good evening, my name is Jacob and I'm calling from Impact Research concerning a market research study. I'd like to know if you have about ten minutes to answer some market research questions with me over the phone at this time." Rather than the usual "I thought I told you guys last week I don't care for market research, stop calling this number", the guy on the other end of the line starts with "Well I'm sort of busy right now but if you give me your home number I'll call you later and we can talk for a bit."
This was the first time somebody had tried to mess with me, and I was sort of proud that it was coming from a Montreal number. Just goes to show how much better we are than you (assuming you don't live in Montreal. If you do, keep on rocking, friend). So of course I'm not going to sit there and stammer like someone who's not from Montreal, I'm going to mess around just as much with this guy as he's trying to mess with me.
"Well man I'd love to give you my number and all but I don't see what good it would do seeing as how the computer I need to take your answers down with is in the office and not at home. If you want I can just write your number down and call it from home and we can talk all you want though." This must be just as good as him getting my number and calling me, right? I mean, I already have his phone number so why not just call him myself if he wants to talk so badly?
He must not have thought this was a good idea because he once again insisted I give him my number. You see, not only do I sort of not have a phone number (the phone in the house is my cousin's cell phone) but I didn't expect him to call me anyway. So I told him, "Actually, I'm homeless and didn't want to admit it if I didn't have to. That's why I'm working this terrible job. Can we call you back at another time though?"
He either didn't feel sorry for me at all or realized I was quite obviously joking, because he then told me "Oh, you're homeless? Sucks. Anyway I'm actually only robbing this house so don't call back because I won't be here." So this guy thinks he's a comedian or something.
I tell him: "Okay well if you're robbing the place can you leave at least one phone so that when I call back the owners will have a phone to answer?" The last thing I heard before I hung up was him going "NO DAMMIT DON'T CALL BACK!"
But that's all in the past especially seeing how I'm about to start getting paid to play games and write stuff.
They're going to pay me to play videogames and write stuff down! Little do they know that's what I usually do for FREE!
This new job only starts on Monday so in the meantime here's a little story about my current job as a market research interviewer. In case you can't figure it out, my job involves dialing phone numbers and asking people if they want to spare ten minutes to answer some mind-numbingly repetitive and redundant market research questions.
I called this one number the other night and start off with our oh-so-convincing intro paragraph. "Yes good evening, my name is Jacob and I'm calling from Impact Research concerning a market research study. I'd like to know if you have about ten minutes to answer some market research questions with me over the phone at this time." Rather than the usual "I thought I told you guys last week I don't care for market research, stop calling this number", the guy on the other end of the line starts with "Well I'm sort of busy right now but if you give me your home number I'll call you later and we can talk for a bit."
This was the first time somebody had tried to mess with me, and I was sort of proud that it was coming from a Montreal number. Just goes to show how much better we are than you (assuming you don't live in Montreal. If you do, keep on rocking, friend). So of course I'm not going to sit there and stammer like someone who's not from Montreal, I'm going to mess around just as much with this guy as he's trying to mess with me.
"Well man I'd love to give you my number and all but I don't see what good it would do seeing as how the computer I need to take your answers down with is in the office and not at home. If you want I can just write your number down and call it from home and we can talk all you want though." This must be just as good as him getting my number and calling me, right? I mean, I already have his phone number so why not just call him myself if he wants to talk so badly?
He must not have thought this was a good idea because he once again insisted I give him my number. You see, not only do I sort of not have a phone number (the phone in the house is my cousin's cell phone) but I didn't expect him to call me anyway. So I told him, "Actually, I'm homeless and didn't want to admit it if I didn't have to. That's why I'm working this terrible job. Can we call you back at another time though?"
He either didn't feel sorry for me at all or realized I was quite obviously joking, because he then told me "Oh, you're homeless? Sucks. Anyway I'm actually only robbing this house so don't call back because I won't be here." So this guy thinks he's a comedian or something.
I tell him: "Okay well if you're robbing the place can you leave at least one phone so that when I call back the owners will have a phone to answer?" The last thing I heard before I hung up was him going "NO DAMMIT DON'T CALL BACK!"
But that's all in the past especially seeing how I'm about to start getting paid to play games and write stuff.
Monday, November 28
Check this out
This is the door in my bedroom.
This is where the magic happens.
My dresser doesn't fit in this new room, so I had to make due with the space I had.
And this is the back wall.
I'd type up something interesting here but I'm sort of in a rush to get to bed so good night.
Oh, and I'm aware of the various spots where I fucked up. I'll fix them soon.
Friday, November 4
Eric
Saturday night. So there I am sitting on the 207, right? On my way to a friend's house for a party. I'm sitting towards the back of the bus and I vaguely notice a black guy get on the bus and sit in the back, but just out of my sight. Ten minutes later the guy decides he wants to get to know me better and comes and sits next to me.
Okay, stop. Now I know I said "next to" me but it was really more of a combination of "next to" and "on top of". His left leg was pressed firmly against mine and he was leaning in towards me. I immediately look him right in the eye to see if he's trying to get my attention or something. So after three seconds of direct eye contact without him saying anything and still pressing his leg against me, I take it upon myself to inquire into his intentions.
"What the fuck are you doing?" What can I say, I like to get to the point.
He stares directly at me for another second or two before managing to mumble out, "Uh, wait, you're not a girl?" HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM!
I take a moment to ponder the infinitely complex question this African-American stranger has put forth to me. After a few moments of intense calculation and reasoning the best answer I can come up with is "Ummm, no." This answer seemed to arouse my new friend, as the next thing I see him doing is flicking his tongue at me. Okay, things are getting fucking creepy now. I guess my vacant/confused stare triggered something in this guy's head that something about the situation wasn't right, because he then went about trying to double-check everything we've went over so far.
"Are you sure?" Fucking Christ. Yeah, buddy, I'm sure. I mean, I was a guy last time I checked but who knows what's changed since then so let me just stick my hand down my pants and make sure just for you. It's around this point I start to figure things out and ask the first relevant question of the night. "Are you like really drunk or something?" He shakes his head no. "Did you take something?" He shakes his head yes. PROGRESS! Now you might think after being asked if you've taken something, you might just figure it out to tell the person what it was. But no, I had to ask him. "What did you take?" Finally it fucking comes out that this guy is tripping on mushrooms. I politely inform him that he should have told me that from the beginning as it would have made for an overall less awkward situation. Then I realize that he thought I was a girl at first and was trying to hit on me, so he's either lying about being on mushrooms or he's tripping pretty fucking hard. He was also still pressing up against me and he did look sort of out of it so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
During the course of the bus ride I got his name and e-mail address so I can talk to him online and see if he remembers any of it. Eric also invited me to his house for his mom's cooking somewhere along the way. I declined.
Anyway the 207 brings us to Fairview Terminus where I have to go take another bus to get to my friend's house. I sit on a planter to wait for the bus and lo and behold Eric comes to wait at the same spot. As I'm sitting down he stands in front of me and presses his kneecaps against mine and leans in towards me. Of course in any other situation, an older guy who I just met actively pursuing physical contact would scare the shit out of me, but who knows what the fuck goes through your head when you're tripping so I let him have his fun. He does this for about a minute before getting bored and sitting down in between me and this girl who's talking on her cell phone while waiting for the bus.
Seeing as how I only met him minutes ago I don't really pay him much attention while he's sitting next to me. He's no longer hitting on me or touching me so I take advantage of the situation by zoning out and staring into space like I often do while waiting for the bus. That is, until I hear the girl who was sitting on the other side of Eric asking, "Excuse me? Hello? Were you talking to me? What did you just say?" I look over and surprise surprise Eric is staring directly into her eyes mumbling something about "hi what's your name your lips are real shiny".
For a split second I thought of letting her deal with him on her own. I could chose to pretend to not know him, do absolutely nothing and eavesdrop on what I am sure is going to be the most hilariously awkward conversation I've ever eavesdropped on. Of course this master plan is ruined when I remember that Eric was just pushing up against me right next to this girl. She must think we are here together and will probably either end up asking me what's going on with my friend anyway.
Actually, about my "friend". You might be wondering exactly how he was acting. I mean, he was obviously acting weird enough for me to notice something was up but I had the benefit of being mistaken for a girl as a red flag. It's not the first time it's happened, mind you, but when he sat down right fucking next to me and looked me in the face and asked me "Are you sure?" it kind of clicked in my head. Other than that, though, the first thing you'd notice about him was the way he'd stare vacantly while talking. He wasn't violent or jumpy or hyper or anything like that, but rather too mellow and relaxed to take seriously. Oh, and he also had a tendency to lean in towards you just a little too close for comfort. He was able to answer questions without going on rants about the cosmic intergalactic uniqueness of our entity that is linked by all living beings and blah blah blah so there was very little indication that he was intoxicated, let alone on a hallucinogen. By the way he had told me he took "three big caps" of mushrooms at an afterhours near Berri-UQAM metro. We were now at Fairview Terminus and he was by himself the entire time. He also told me he was 26. Make of that what you will.
After a short staring contest with Eric, the girl looks at me as if to say "what the hell is going on please save me with your gigantic, rippling muscles" so I explain the situation as best I can. "Don't look at me, I just met him five minutes ago. He said he was on mushrooms." Well what do you know, she doesn't really believe me so I have to spend the next five minutes telling the first half of this story five minutes after it happened. Eric fills in the gaps in my story by staring and nodding in agreement. The girl tells us she's done mushrooms before and can sort of understand so she was pretty cool with it. Anyway Eric leaves to go take his bus and the girl tells me that she had seen us pushing our legs together so she figured we were a couple. Then, upon closer inspection we're both guys so she figures we're gay. Then Eric decides to start hitting on her so she figured we were swingers or something. Once I told her he was on mushrooms she thought we were playing a joke on her. And I think I forgot to mention that while Eric was there she was explaining the situation to her boyfriend who was on the phone as I was explaining it to her.
I then proceeded to go to the party and tell this story several times over the course of the night. Now I never have to tell it again.
Okay, stop. Now I know I said "next to" me but it was really more of a combination of "next to" and "on top of". His left leg was pressed firmly against mine and he was leaning in towards me. I immediately look him right in the eye to see if he's trying to get my attention or something. So after three seconds of direct eye contact without him saying anything and still pressing his leg against me, I take it upon myself to inquire into his intentions.
"What the fuck are you doing?" What can I say, I like to get to the point.
He stares directly at me for another second or two before managing to mumble out, "Uh, wait, you're not a girl?" HOUSTON WE HAVE A PROBLEM!
I take a moment to ponder the infinitely complex question this African-American stranger has put forth to me. After a few moments of intense calculation and reasoning the best answer I can come up with is "Ummm, no." This answer seemed to arouse my new friend, as the next thing I see him doing is flicking his tongue at me. Okay, things are getting fucking creepy now. I guess my vacant/confused stare triggered something in this guy's head that something about the situation wasn't right, because he then went about trying to double-check everything we've went over so far.
"Are you sure?" Fucking Christ. Yeah, buddy, I'm sure. I mean, I was a guy last time I checked but who knows what's changed since then so let me just stick my hand down my pants and make sure just for you. It's around this point I start to figure things out and ask the first relevant question of the night. "Are you like really drunk or something?" He shakes his head no. "Did you take something?" He shakes his head yes. PROGRESS! Now you might think after being asked if you've taken something, you might just figure it out to tell the person what it was. But no, I had to ask him. "What did you take?" Finally it fucking comes out that this guy is tripping on mushrooms. I politely inform him that he should have told me that from the beginning as it would have made for an overall less awkward situation. Then I realize that he thought I was a girl at first and was trying to hit on me, so he's either lying about being on mushrooms or he's tripping pretty fucking hard. He was also still pressing up against me and he did look sort of out of it so I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
During the course of the bus ride I got his name and e-mail address so I can talk to him online and see if he remembers any of it. Eric also invited me to his house for his mom's cooking somewhere along the way. I declined.
Anyway the 207 brings us to Fairview Terminus where I have to go take another bus to get to my friend's house. I sit on a planter to wait for the bus and lo and behold Eric comes to wait at the same spot. As I'm sitting down he stands in front of me and presses his kneecaps against mine and leans in towards me. Of course in any other situation, an older guy who I just met actively pursuing physical contact would scare the shit out of me, but who knows what the fuck goes through your head when you're tripping so I let him have his fun. He does this for about a minute before getting bored and sitting down in between me and this girl who's talking on her cell phone while waiting for the bus.
Seeing as how I only met him minutes ago I don't really pay him much attention while he's sitting next to me. He's no longer hitting on me or touching me so I take advantage of the situation by zoning out and staring into space like I often do while waiting for the bus. That is, until I hear the girl who was sitting on the other side of Eric asking, "Excuse me? Hello? Were you talking to me? What did you just say?" I look over and surprise surprise Eric is staring directly into her eyes mumbling something about "hi what's your name your lips are real shiny".
For a split second I thought of letting her deal with him on her own. I could chose to pretend to not know him, do absolutely nothing and eavesdrop on what I am sure is going to be the most hilariously awkward conversation I've ever eavesdropped on. Of course this master plan is ruined when I remember that Eric was just pushing up against me right next to this girl. She must think we are here together and will probably either end up asking me what's going on with my friend anyway.
Actually, about my "friend". You might be wondering exactly how he was acting. I mean, he was obviously acting weird enough for me to notice something was up but I had the benefit of being mistaken for a girl as a red flag. It's not the first time it's happened, mind you, but when he sat down right fucking next to me and looked me in the face and asked me "Are you sure?" it kind of clicked in my head. Other than that, though, the first thing you'd notice about him was the way he'd stare vacantly while talking. He wasn't violent or jumpy or hyper or anything like that, but rather too mellow and relaxed to take seriously. Oh, and he also had a tendency to lean in towards you just a little too close for comfort. He was able to answer questions without going on rants about the cosmic intergalactic uniqueness of our entity that is linked by all living beings and blah blah blah so there was very little indication that he was intoxicated, let alone on a hallucinogen. By the way he had told me he took "three big caps" of mushrooms at an afterhours near Berri-UQAM metro. We were now at Fairview Terminus and he was by himself the entire time. He also told me he was 26. Make of that what you will.
After a short staring contest with Eric, the girl looks at me as if to say "what the hell is going on please save me with your gigantic, rippling muscles" so I explain the situation as best I can. "Don't look at me, I just met him five minutes ago. He said he was on mushrooms." Well what do you know, she doesn't really believe me so I have to spend the next five minutes telling the first half of this story five minutes after it happened. Eric fills in the gaps in my story by staring and nodding in agreement. The girl tells us she's done mushrooms before and can sort of understand so she was pretty cool with it. Anyway Eric leaves to go take his bus and the girl tells me that she had seen us pushing our legs together so she figured we were a couple. Then, upon closer inspection we're both guys so she figures we're gay. Then Eric decides to start hitting on her so she figured we were swingers or something. Once I told her he was on mushrooms she thought we were playing a joke on her. And I think I forgot to mention that while Eric was there she was explaining the situation to her boyfriend who was on the phone as I was explaining it to her.
I then proceeded to go to the party and tell this story several times over the course of the night. Now I never have to tell it again.
Thursday, October 20
blah blah blah
Yes, I'm still alive. Yeah, I'm aware I've barely been blogging. It's not that I'm lazy, it's just that all this procrastinating I've been doing lately is really getting in the way of, well, pretty much everything else I've been doing lately. Make of that what you will.
First things first, I quit my job at the shithole. Oops, I mean dollarstore. This decision was primarily based on two specific facts:
Fact 1: I'm moving soon and don't feel like taking the metro every day to work. I'd much rather find another job somewhere closer to where I'm going to be staying.
Fact 2: I was working at the fucking dollarstore.
And the restaurant I was washing dishes at on the weekend is closing until springtime, which puts me into the "unemployed" demographic once again. I saved up what will hopefully be enough money to last me until I get another job, but this time the pressure is on because I actually have rent to pay now. At the moment I'm sort of in between two addresses, but once I get a truck to haul all my stuff over there, I'm going to be living with my cousin near the Plateau in Montréal. For those of you unfamiliar with the Plateau, it's like downtown and a rich residential area fucked and the Plateau popped out, only with more hippies and a big fucking mountain right in the middle.
Anyway, painting my room is taking much longer than I had expected (this is mainly due to previously mentioned chronic procrastination) but once it's done I'll finally be out of this sketchy neighborhood and in a somewhat sketchier neighborhood. Oh well. No amount of sketchiness is going to stop me from getting out of this goddamn house.
Well that's enough blabbing about me for a while. I'd like to blab about something else for a bit. For example: What the FUCK is up with all these hurricanes? It's like every time I turn on the news another expert is shitting their pants over the next storm that's going to whoop the Gulf Coast's proverbial ass. First, Katrina comes and destroys New Orleans like it was some kind of five-year-old's sandcastle I smashed at the beach last summer. Then, Mother Nature gives America just enough time to blame Michael Brown before hurricane Rita comes out of fucking nowhere and pulls the same shit again. And now there's Wilma, showing up late to the party but making up for it by being the strongest one so far.
Now I know this is a horrible tragedy for most of the people affected by it, and to laugh at them during their moment of need would be pointlessly rubbing their faces in it. But I also know I'd be a liar if I said I didn't snicker when I first heard New Orleans had been turned into Atlantis. I mean, it's no secret that I don't care much for America. Note that I said America, and not Americans. America is a country, Americans are just human beings that had the misfortune of being born in America. So when America gets put in its place by something that nobody has any control over, I'm happy.
About a week or two after Katrina hit I was watching TV and a commercial comes on raising money for hurricane victims. No big deal, just a concerned organization trying to help out those who need it. Then somebody had to run their mouth and include something in the commercial about "together, we can prove human nature is stronger than Mother Nature". Oh really? I was under the impression that the people who thought that in the first place are the ones that now need rescuing from their rooftops after Mother Nature coughed in their general direction. If human nature is stronger then why isn't there a hurricane death toll? Where are all the organizations trying to raise money for hurricanes damaged by American buildings? That's right, there are none because Mother Nature could kick humanity's ass without even trying. They should have just said "human nature is stronger than God" as long as they were going to start claiming superiority over fictional characters that represent the unexplained and unpredictable.
Speaking of unpredictable, I predict another terrorist attack in the states sometime before Bush's presidency ends. With the country spending tons of money left and right trying to rebuild a city on this side of the world and trying to finish a liberation/war/constitution/democracy/etc on the other side, the terrorists would have to be pretty ignorant to not realize this would be a great time to strike. Since I know someone out there will misinterpret what they just read as me condoning and/or inciting terrorism, I'd like to point out that from a terrorist's point of view, it would make sense to attack soon. Not to mention that Bush is less liked every day, meaning any retaliation to an attack would be highly criticized and most likely somewhat lackluster due to lack of two crucial elements: public support and good old bling-bling.
I feel sort of like an idiot ranting about things that don't concern my country at all, but can you really blame me? If I was to write about all the exciting things that happen in Canada... well then I wouldn't be writing about very much now would I? Oh yeah, I went there. The closest Canada has had to a disaster lately is a plane going off the runway in Toronto, and nobody even died. Not even one old fart who couldn't handle the suspense and croaked of heart failure. Nothing. Canada is so boring we have to watch other country's news and get outraged because our own news puts us to sleep.
Okay well I'm getting tired of typing now so I'm gonna go somewhere else for a while.
First things first, I quit my job at the shithole. Oops, I mean dollarstore. This decision was primarily based on two specific facts:
Fact 1: I'm moving soon and don't feel like taking the metro every day to work. I'd much rather find another job somewhere closer to where I'm going to be staying.
Fact 2: I was working at the fucking dollarstore.
And the restaurant I was washing dishes at on the weekend is closing until springtime, which puts me into the "unemployed" demographic once again. I saved up what will hopefully be enough money to last me until I get another job, but this time the pressure is on because I actually have rent to pay now. At the moment I'm sort of in between two addresses, but once I get a truck to haul all my stuff over there, I'm going to be living with my cousin near the Plateau in Montréal. For those of you unfamiliar with the Plateau, it's like downtown and a rich residential area fucked and the Plateau popped out, only with more hippies and a big fucking mountain right in the middle.
Anyway, painting my room is taking much longer than I had expected (this is mainly due to previously mentioned chronic procrastination) but once it's done I'll finally be out of this sketchy neighborhood and in a somewhat sketchier neighborhood. Oh well. No amount of sketchiness is going to stop me from getting out of this goddamn house.
Well that's enough blabbing about me for a while. I'd like to blab about something else for a bit. For example: What the FUCK is up with all these hurricanes? It's like every time I turn on the news another expert is shitting their pants over the next storm that's going to whoop the Gulf Coast's proverbial ass. First, Katrina comes and destroys New Orleans like it was some kind of five-year-old's sandcastle I smashed at the beach last summer. Then, Mother Nature gives America just enough time to blame Michael Brown before hurricane Rita comes out of fucking nowhere and pulls the same shit again. And now there's Wilma, showing up late to the party but making up for it by being the strongest one so far.
Now I know this is a horrible tragedy for most of the people affected by it, and to laugh at them during their moment of need would be pointlessly rubbing their faces in it. But I also know I'd be a liar if I said I didn't snicker when I first heard New Orleans had been turned into Atlantis. I mean, it's no secret that I don't care much for America. Note that I said America, and not Americans. America is a country, Americans are just human beings that had the misfortune of being born in America. So when America gets put in its place by something that nobody has any control over, I'm happy.
About a week or two after Katrina hit I was watching TV and a commercial comes on raising money for hurricane victims. No big deal, just a concerned organization trying to help out those who need it. Then somebody had to run their mouth and include something in the commercial about "together, we can prove human nature is stronger than Mother Nature". Oh really? I was under the impression that the people who thought that in the first place are the ones that now need rescuing from their rooftops after Mother Nature coughed in their general direction. If human nature is stronger then why isn't there a hurricane death toll? Where are all the organizations trying to raise money for hurricanes damaged by American buildings? That's right, there are none because Mother Nature could kick humanity's ass without even trying. They should have just said "human nature is stronger than God" as long as they were going to start claiming superiority over fictional characters that represent the unexplained and unpredictable.
Speaking of unpredictable, I predict another terrorist attack in the states sometime before Bush's presidency ends. With the country spending tons of money left and right trying to rebuild a city on this side of the world and trying to finish a liberation/war/constitution/democracy/etc on the other side, the terrorists would have to be pretty ignorant to not realize this would be a great time to strike. Since I know someone out there will misinterpret what they just read as me condoning and/or inciting terrorism, I'd like to point out that from a terrorist's point of view, it would make sense to attack soon. Not to mention that Bush is less liked every day, meaning any retaliation to an attack would be highly criticized and most likely somewhat lackluster due to lack of two crucial elements: public support and good old bling-bling.
I feel sort of like an idiot ranting about things that don't concern my country at all, but can you really blame me? If I was to write about all the exciting things that happen in Canada... well then I wouldn't be writing about very much now would I? Oh yeah, I went there. The closest Canada has had to a disaster lately is a plane going off the runway in Toronto, and nobody even died. Not even one old fart who couldn't handle the suspense and croaked of heart failure. Nothing. Canada is so boring we have to watch other country's news and get outraged because our own news puts us to sleep.
Okay well I'm getting tired of typing now so I'm gonna go somewhere else for a while.
Thursday, September 1
Hooray for nature
I went to the Biodome last Sunday. Here are some pretty pictures. Enjoy.
Not pictured: Several dozen out-of-focus shots of various animals, at least ten closeups of my hand because I don't know how to use a camera, a fourteen dollar plush snake I bought during a drug-induced moment of spontaneity, Pauly Shore.
Not pictured: Several dozen out-of-focus shots of various animals, at least ten closeups of my hand because I don't know how to use a camera, a fourteen dollar plush snake I bought during a drug-induced moment of spontaneity, Pauly Shore.
Saturday, July 23
I like money
As some of you may already know, I got a job a month and a half ago. Please, save your applause until I'm done. A little explanation is in order here.
Last year I took Computer Science at Dawson College. I was pretty psyched to be going to college for three years to study computers after putting up with the five years of bullshit and bare minimum academic self-application known throughout the world as "high school". Pretty psyched until I realized it was more or less a more complex version of high school but with many more people and that computer science was, in fact, really fucking boring.
Sure, I might enjoy playing videogames and browsing the internet a little more than the average person. Sure, I've been to around a dozen or so LAN parties, in which anywhere from dozens to hundreds of like-minded geeks gather for a weekend to play network games and swap porn while keeping their personal hygiene to a bare minumum. Sure, I'd probably throw myself out of the nearest window if I was ever forced to live without a computer. Imagine my surprise when my computer lab becomes one of the last places I want to be. Sometime during exams in December I get the brilliant idea to just stop going to school. No calling the school to let them know. No backup plans. No bothering to go in and at least finish the semester so if ever I decide to return I have some credits already accounted for. Just no more school.
Looking back on it now it was probably the most immature and unprepared way of dealing with things I could have chosen, but I'll be damned if I can do anything about it now. Anyway, from December up until June I pretty much laid around the house, occasionally going outside to confirm that there still was an outside. I told a lot of people I was looking for a job but in reality I was hoping that a job was looking for me while I took it easy.
Just over a month ago I got really tired of not having any money, which as we all know, implies not having any fun. I handed out a bunch of CVs in my neighborhood and lo and behold, I'm now an official employee of Dollarama Inc. In case you don't know, Dollarama is a large chain of dollarstores in Canada. Of course, being a multi-million dollar corporation and all, they pay us minimum wage to do the work that nobody in their right mind would ever want to do if they really had a choice. But seeing as how I'm a seventeen-year-old dropout with just enough French to get by at a retail job and very little motivation to make the world a better place or stay in school long enough to learn how to do so, I can't really complain.
Wait. Yes I can.
First complaint: customers. Working at a dollarstore in Verdun (residential, relatively low-class, mainly French neighborhood in Montreal) has made me the slightest bit jealous of corporate slaves who sit in a cubicle all day long. I mean, sure, they're essentially trapped in a prison designed to look like an office, but at least they don't have to interact with the general public. Whether it's the crazy-looking hippie type that asks me where a certain item is, then complains to me that we don't have it until I apologize and make a run for it, then walks up and down the aisles muttering to herself under her breath, or the fat, slightly inbred-looking forty-something year old man wearing a wifebeater and cutoff shorts that cut off somewhere near where the top of my boxers would be that reeks of alcohol and cigarettes no matter what time he's in the store, the customers at a dollarstore aren't exactly the kind of people you enjoy interacting with. To be fair, not everyone that shops at dollarstores are crazy or stinky or scary, but the normal ones are the ones that don't need any help finding what they're there for. The only way I can deal with the customers is by convincing myself that the more of them that I have to put up with, the happier I will be when I eventually get a job somewhere where the average IQ of the clientele is higher than the tax rate.
In addition to the crazies that speak French or English, there's the customers that barely speak a word of either. They might be crazy as well for all I know, but I have enough trouble trying to figure out what they're saying let alone judging their IQ. I don't hold it against them that they don't know very much English or French, but when they get frustrated that I can't understand what they're saying, I start to get annoyed. The sounds coming out of their mouths barely resemble a language to me, let alone one I understand, and they get visibly angry when I can't keep up. Like the old couple that, after I had to figure out how to explain to them that the store was closed (pointing to your wrist seems to be universal for this), starts trying to have a conversation with me in Colombian. Unfortunately I don't know how to say "Please leave me alone and never speak to me again" in Colombian, so I was limited to fake smiles and nodding my head, followed soon after by walking in the immediate direction of "away".
I'm usually the one who sweeps the floors before closing up, which I don't mind that much. Sweeping by itself is no big deal, but seeing how much garbage people leave on the floor is. Apparently the floor of the store resembles a garbage can to most people, hence the tons of receipts and empty coffee cups and chocolate bar wrappers and cigarette butts all over the place at the end of the day. Just once I'd like to meet someone whose idea of cleaning up after themselves isn't limited to "put your garbage where it's someone else's problem as opposed to yours". And not only do they empty their own pockets onto the floor, they come in and take items off the shelves, then decide they don't want to spend their hard-earned dollar on it and put it back somewhere else in the store. Is it that fucking hard to walk back to wherever you picked it up and put it back? Why must you take chocolate bars from the food aisle and put them in the candle aisle? Spoons in the school aisle? Batteries next to the tuna fish? Don't you realize this takes away from the amount of time I have to help you find your spray bottle or curtain rod or video cassette or whateverthefuck it is you're too busy to just look for yourself?
When I'm not being harassed by customers or cleaning up after them, I'm either in the back doing inventory or placing boxes in the aisles so the other employees can place the items in them on the shelves. At all times, Dollarama plays the radio over the store's PA system to help soothe our nerves and give us something to listen to while we slave away. Did I say soothe our nerves? Because I meant to say drive us absolutely fucking insane by playing the same five or six songs over and over and over and over and over until Jacob slashes his wrists with his exacto knife and welcomes the sweet embrace of death.
Two days ago I did the improbable and went out and got myself a second job on the weekends. Now after reading this blog you might be asking yourself, why on Earth would I do such a thing? Why would I purposely go out and get another job which will just exhaust myself even further and take away the few free hours I still have per week? What possible good could that serve? Am I a fucking idiot or somethi-
Last year I took Computer Science at Dawson College. I was pretty psyched to be going to college for three years to study computers after putting up with the five years of bullshit and bare minimum academic self-application known throughout the world as "high school". Pretty psyched until I realized it was more or less a more complex version of high school but with many more people and that computer science was, in fact, really fucking boring.
Sure, I might enjoy playing videogames and browsing the internet a little more than the average person. Sure, I've been to around a dozen or so LAN parties, in which anywhere from dozens to hundreds of like-minded geeks gather for a weekend to play network games and swap porn while keeping their personal hygiene to a bare minumum. Sure, I'd probably throw myself out of the nearest window if I was ever forced to live without a computer. Imagine my surprise when my computer lab becomes one of the last places I want to be. Sometime during exams in December I get the brilliant idea to just stop going to school. No calling the school to let them know. No backup plans. No bothering to go in and at least finish the semester so if ever I decide to return I have some credits already accounted for. Just no more school.
Looking back on it now it was probably the most immature and unprepared way of dealing with things I could have chosen, but I'll be damned if I can do anything about it now. Anyway, from December up until June I pretty much laid around the house, occasionally going outside to confirm that there still was an outside. I told a lot of people I was looking for a job but in reality I was hoping that a job was looking for me while I took it easy.
Just over a month ago I got really tired of not having any money, which as we all know, implies not having any fun. I handed out a bunch of CVs in my neighborhood and lo and behold, I'm now an official employee of Dollarama Inc. In case you don't know, Dollarama is a large chain of dollarstores in Canada. Of course, being a multi-million dollar corporation and all, they pay us minimum wage to do the work that nobody in their right mind would ever want to do if they really had a choice. But seeing as how I'm a seventeen-year-old dropout with just enough French to get by at a retail job and very little motivation to make the world a better place or stay in school long enough to learn how to do so, I can't really complain.
Wait. Yes I can.
First complaint: customers. Working at a dollarstore in Verdun (residential, relatively low-class, mainly French neighborhood in Montreal) has made me the slightest bit jealous of corporate slaves who sit in a cubicle all day long. I mean, sure, they're essentially trapped in a prison designed to look like an office, but at least they don't have to interact with the general public. Whether it's the crazy-looking hippie type that asks me where a certain item is, then complains to me that we don't have it until I apologize and make a run for it, then walks up and down the aisles muttering to herself under her breath, or the fat, slightly inbred-looking forty-something year old man wearing a wifebeater and cutoff shorts that cut off somewhere near where the top of my boxers would be that reeks of alcohol and cigarettes no matter what time he's in the store, the customers at a dollarstore aren't exactly the kind of people you enjoy interacting with. To be fair, not everyone that shops at dollarstores are crazy or stinky or scary, but the normal ones are the ones that don't need any help finding what they're there for. The only way I can deal with the customers is by convincing myself that the more of them that I have to put up with, the happier I will be when I eventually get a job somewhere where the average IQ of the clientele is higher than the tax rate.
In addition to the crazies that speak French or English, there's the customers that barely speak a word of either. They might be crazy as well for all I know, but I have enough trouble trying to figure out what they're saying let alone judging their IQ. I don't hold it against them that they don't know very much English or French, but when they get frustrated that I can't understand what they're saying, I start to get annoyed. The sounds coming out of their mouths barely resemble a language to me, let alone one I understand, and they get visibly angry when I can't keep up. Like the old couple that, after I had to figure out how to explain to them that the store was closed (pointing to your wrist seems to be universal for this), starts trying to have a conversation with me in Colombian. Unfortunately I don't know how to say "Please leave me alone and never speak to me again" in Colombian, so I was limited to fake smiles and nodding my head, followed soon after by walking in the immediate direction of "away".
I'm usually the one who sweeps the floors before closing up, which I don't mind that much. Sweeping by itself is no big deal, but seeing how much garbage people leave on the floor is. Apparently the floor of the store resembles a garbage can to most people, hence the tons of receipts and empty coffee cups and chocolate bar wrappers and cigarette butts all over the place at the end of the day. Just once I'd like to meet someone whose idea of cleaning up after themselves isn't limited to "put your garbage where it's someone else's problem as opposed to yours". And not only do they empty their own pockets onto the floor, they come in and take items off the shelves, then decide they don't want to spend their hard-earned dollar on it and put it back somewhere else in the store. Is it that fucking hard to walk back to wherever you picked it up and put it back? Why must you take chocolate bars from the food aisle and put them in the candle aisle? Spoons in the school aisle? Batteries next to the tuna fish? Don't you realize this takes away from the amount of time I have to help you find your spray bottle or curtain rod or video cassette or whateverthefuck it is you're too busy to just look for yourself?
When I'm not being harassed by customers or cleaning up after them, I'm either in the back doing inventory or placing boxes in the aisles so the other employees can place the items in them on the shelves. At all times, Dollarama plays the radio over the store's PA system to help soothe our nerves and give us something to listen to while we slave away. Did I say soothe our nerves? Because I meant to say drive us absolutely fucking insane by playing the same five or six songs over and over and over and over and over until Jacob slashes his wrists with his exacto knife and welcomes the sweet embrace of death.
Two days ago I did the improbable and went out and got myself a second job on the weekends. Now after reading this blog you might be asking yourself, why on Earth would I do such a thing? Why would I purposely go out and get another job which will just exhaust myself even further and take away the few free hours I still have per week? What possible good could that serve? Am I a fucking idiot or somethi-
Monday, May 30
Friday, April 29
Yawn.
Am I the only one who wishes biological clocks came with an instruction manual? I find it's way too easy for my biological clock to get out of sync, but incredibly hard to try and reset it. For a few weeks I've been going to sleep around five in the morning and waking up at five in the afternoon. I'm starting to think my biological clock has some sort of factory defect or something. Falling asleep is like some sort of challenge to me. I lie awake in bed for an average of about two hours per night, and if I try to get to bed by a decent hour I'll just lie there until the sun comes up and sleep through the entire day.
Which brings me to today. I should be asleep right now, but I'm forcing myself to pull an all-nighter so I can get to sleep at a decent hour later tonight. I'm really only writing this blog because it's something to do in the meantime that will keep me awake. I'm highly considering riding the metro around the city for a few hours just because I know it would force me to stay awake. It's sort of a shame that I'm only writing here because there's really nothing else to do, but on the other hand at least I'm writing something. I haven't written much lately, but don't think it's because I don't have anything to say. If anything, it's because I have too much to say. If I were to write down everything that goes through my head I'd never get ANY sleep.
As long as I'm here I might as well say a few things. First off, what's all this I've been hearing about gays not deserving the right to adopt kids? Is this some sort of twisted joke that I'm not in on or something? Just watching a politician openly saying that gays and bisexuals shouldn't be allowed to adopt children with a straight face makes me sick to my fucking stomach. I'm absolutely speechless, in fact. I'd like to state a list of reasons why they should be allowed to, but I don't even see the point in doing so. I honestly cannot understand how anyone could truly think that a person's sexuality should determine their rights. Writing the last three sentences took at least ten minutes because I can't even choose the right words to express myself.
Fuck it. I'm not even going to bother. Just thinking about the pure idiocy and hypocricy of some people makes me want to cry my eyes out. The fact that there are people on this planet who actually believe some of the bullshit they spew under the pretense of being tolerant and caring baffles me beyond words. Knowing that these people are so dedicated to their prejudice that nothing I say will phase them puts me in such a terrible mood that I don't even want to bother any more.
Anyways. Lately I've been getting tons of junk mail from internet vigilantes who thought subscribing my e-mail address to a bunch of newsletters would demonstrate the error of my ways. Congratulations, you've made me spend an extra five seconds checking off a box and clicking "Delete". I will never, ever make fun of anyone again. You've sure showed me a lesson I won't soon forget.
It hasn't been all bad, though. I've received quite a few complimentary e-mails and comments and I'd like to let you know that I appreciate them all. It's always good to have proof that there are others like me who aren't so stuck up on being politically correct and can have a laugh at other people's expense every once in a while. Yes, it is fun to laugh at those who are less fortunate than ourselves. I'm not saying you should make a habit out of it, but I'm not going to jump down your throat when you eventually do it. A lot of people like to argue the fact that I wouldn't like it if others laughed at my misfortune. And you know what, maybe I wouldn't. But that's why it's called misfortune. It sucks. Part of it being misfortune is the fact that people are going to laugh at you. Actually, there's probably nobody on this planet that makes more fun of me than I do. Accepting the fact that others will get a small amount of pleasure from your displeasure makes life a lot easier to go through. I highly recommend it.
Speaking of complimentary e-mails:
Sure, I'll marry your daughter. As soon as you explain to me why your daughter would have to dodge the draft. Maybe it's the same reason you put "mother" in quotation marks? Sorry, I don't swing that way. But at least if I did, I'd have the right to adopt a kid where I live. Whoops. I wasn't supposed to mention that again. There goes my blood pressure.
Well, this has taken up about an hour and twenty minutes which is long enough for me. Before I go I'd like to mention that Michael Jackson was damn sexy back in his prime. He might be a scary, boy-hungry waxface now, but back when he was still black he was the shit, there I said it.
Which brings me to today. I should be asleep right now, but I'm forcing myself to pull an all-nighter so I can get to sleep at a decent hour later tonight. I'm really only writing this blog because it's something to do in the meantime that will keep me awake. I'm highly considering riding the metro around the city for a few hours just because I know it would force me to stay awake. It's sort of a shame that I'm only writing here because there's really nothing else to do, but on the other hand at least I'm writing something. I haven't written much lately, but don't think it's because I don't have anything to say. If anything, it's because I have too much to say. If I were to write down everything that goes through my head I'd never get ANY sleep.
As long as I'm here I might as well say a few things. First off, what's all this I've been hearing about gays not deserving the right to adopt kids? Is this some sort of twisted joke that I'm not in on or something? Just watching a politician openly saying that gays and bisexuals shouldn't be allowed to adopt children with a straight face makes me sick to my fucking stomach. I'm absolutely speechless, in fact. I'd like to state a list of reasons why they should be allowed to, but I don't even see the point in doing so. I honestly cannot understand how anyone could truly think that a person's sexuality should determine their rights. Writing the last three sentences took at least ten minutes because I can't even choose the right words to express myself.
Fuck it. I'm not even going to bother. Just thinking about the pure idiocy and hypocricy of some people makes me want to cry my eyes out. The fact that there are people on this planet who actually believe some of the bullshit they spew under the pretense of being tolerant and caring baffles me beyond words. Knowing that these people are so dedicated to their prejudice that nothing I say will phase them puts me in such a terrible mood that I don't even want to bother any more.
Anyways. Lately I've been getting tons of junk mail from internet vigilantes who thought subscribing my e-mail address to a bunch of newsletters would demonstrate the error of my ways. Congratulations, you've made me spend an extra five seconds checking off a box and clicking "Delete". I will never, ever make fun of anyone again. You've sure showed me a lesson I won't soon forget.
It hasn't been all bad, though. I've received quite a few complimentary e-mails and comments and I'd like to let you know that I appreciate them all. It's always good to have proof that there are others like me who aren't so stuck up on being politically correct and can have a laugh at other people's expense every once in a while. Yes, it is fun to laugh at those who are less fortunate than ourselves. I'm not saying you should make a habit out of it, but I'm not going to jump down your throat when you eventually do it. A lot of people like to argue the fact that I wouldn't like it if others laughed at my misfortune. And you know what, maybe I wouldn't. But that's why it's called misfortune. It sucks. Part of it being misfortune is the fact that people are going to laugh at you. Actually, there's probably nobody on this planet that makes more fun of me than I do. Accepting the fact that others will get a small amount of pleasure from your displeasure makes life a lot easier to go through. I highly recommend it.
Speaking of complimentary e-mails:
I am a 53 year old "Mother" from Texas. Would you marry my 21 year old daughter? She may need to live in Canada when the US gets the draft again. I really enjoyed Terri's Blog. If I need a Blog about me or any other family member, I will contact you. RKAssuming this isn't a joke, which it most likely is:
Sure, I'll marry your daughter. As soon as you explain to me why your daughter would have to dodge the draft. Maybe it's the same reason you put "mother" in quotation marks? Sorry, I don't swing that way. But at least if I did, I'd have the right to adopt a kid where I live. Whoops. I wasn't supposed to mention that again. There goes my blood pressure.
Well, this has taken up about an hour and twenty minutes which is long enough for me. Before I go I'd like to mention that Michael Jackson was damn sexy back in his prime. He might be a scary, boy-hungry waxface now, but back when he was still black he was the shit, there I said it.
Friday, April 1
It's about time.
In case you haven't already heard, Terri's status has finally been changed from Basically Dead to Dead. I'd like to think that with her passing away we'd be hearing the last of it but now that she's a martyr I don't think that's going to happen.
It really is a shame that despite the cold hard truth that every living thing must someday die, there are people that just can't deal with the concept of death and choose instead to cling to anything they can pass off as life.
Rest in peace, Terri.
Thursday, March 31
Durrrrr
You are a fucking asshole that needs to be castrated and burned alive because that's the only kind of living you deserve you low life bag of shit. I am glad they took her off the tube, and those religious assholes can shove it but you are more infuriating then even Tom Delay. I know you will find enjoyment from recieving these kinds of comments, I just wanted to remind you that you ARE the scum of the earth.
it really worries me that there are people like you fucking morons in existence. too bad i believe that all human life is sacred, because if i didn't i swear i'd get rid of as many of you inconsiderate bastards as possible. you're all bigger wastes of air and space than teri schiavo is, i'll tell you that much. find a better use of your time than making fun of a brain damaged, suffering woman...or burn in hell for all eternity. hey kids, your choice
yall are some fucked up people, making fun of a crippled person, espcially the jackass who created this blog
You guys think you are funny making fun of her, Fuck you retarded assholes, whoever write this website is probably live in a retarded house or will be,
If this website is an indicator of the state of society, then humanity is done for. Enjoy mocking the death of a fellow human being while you can. When it's your turn to meet your Maker, I can only hope that you will not be shown the same heartless, soulless lack of respect for human life that you have displayed here.
Terri has more brain activity than the sick creep that started this blog.
You fucktards that leave comments, degrading Terri, I have one wish for you, that being, you suffer the same fate with one of children. You are nothing but cowardly, moronic, imbeciles, who have the bad taste of breathing the same air as her. Easier solution for you all is go and commit suicide then the world would truely be rid of useless humans.
I am DISGUSTED by the sarcasm and ridicule of the blog. The blogger claims to support her, yet is making fun of her, ridiculing her. The author of this post should go to hell!
HOW CAN PEOPLE NOT ONLY WANT TO KILL SOMEONE, BUT ALSO IS LAUGHING THEIR ASSES OFF AT THE THOUGHT OF SOMEONE DYING! EVEN IF IT WERE FOR SOMETHING GOOD I WOULDN'T BE LAUGHING MY FUCKING ASS OFF AT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111
I guess some people just can't take a joke.
Friday, March 25
Why won't you die already
I'm so fucking sick of seeing your face everywhere I look. I can't stand hearing your name every time I turn the TV on. There was probably a time when I might have given a shit about who you are but that time is long gone. Now I just wish you would die so the world can move on and shut the fuck up.
Yes, Terri Schiavo, I'm talking to you. I don't really know why I am, though. I mean, you're just a lump of flesh with a name by now. The only thing that keeps you on the CNN.com front page rather than the obituaries page is the fact that your heart is still beating. I bet if you could talk (or blink Morse code) you'd tell everyone to shut their whiny mouths and let you die properly. None of this half-dead half-alive shit. You must want to climb into your big spacious coffin by now and relax.
But you can't. Your parents aren't going to let you go that easy. They'd much rather ensure that the rest of your life consists of staring at the opposite wall of your hospital room. They say you're now down to your last hours and something has to be done immediately. Well I've got news for them: Your "last hours" have already been prolonged to about fifteen years.
Let's talk about that for a while. Try spending ten straight minutes doing absolutely nothing but what your body does involuntarily. No talking, no moving, no smiling, no laughing, no crying, no scratching yourself, no turning your head to change the view. You can blink, but that's pushing it and you should consider yourself lucky.
Now, do it for FIFTEEN YEARS. Yeah. That's what I thought.
If I was your husband I'd get you secretly stuffed and leave the country. Your parents probably wouldn't notice a difference for at least a week. That'd give me plenty of time to get far, far away from them and anybody who thinks you're going to recover from a fifteen year coma that's left a big puddle of spinal fluid where your cerebral cortex should be. Far away from anybody who thinks you're anything more than a poster child for euthanasia. And far, FAR away from the shithead who decided that starving someone to death is better way to euthanize someone than a quick and relatively painless prick in the arm.
But, then again, there might not be anywhere far enough on this planet. I'd probably have to invest millions into getting myself launched into space where I can finally get away from all those people. And you know what, Terri? I don't have millions of dollars. So just fucking die already.
Yes, Terri Schiavo, I'm talking to you. I don't really know why I am, though. I mean, you're just a lump of flesh with a name by now. The only thing that keeps you on the CNN.com front page rather than the obituaries page is the fact that your heart is still beating. I bet if you could talk (or blink Morse code) you'd tell everyone to shut their whiny mouths and let you die properly. None of this half-dead half-alive shit. You must want to climb into your big spacious coffin by now and relax.
But you can't. Your parents aren't going to let you go that easy. They'd much rather ensure that the rest of your life consists of staring at the opposite wall of your hospital room. They say you're now down to your last hours and something has to be done immediately. Well I've got news for them: Your "last hours" have already been prolonged to about fifteen years.
Let's talk about that for a while. Try spending ten straight minutes doing absolutely nothing but what your body does involuntarily. No talking, no moving, no smiling, no laughing, no crying, no scratching yourself, no turning your head to change the view. You can blink, but that's pushing it and you should consider yourself lucky.
Now, do it for FIFTEEN YEARS. Yeah. That's what I thought.
If I was your husband I'd get you secretly stuffed and leave the country. Your parents probably wouldn't notice a difference for at least a week. That'd give me plenty of time to get far, far away from them and anybody who thinks you're going to recover from a fifteen year coma that's left a big puddle of spinal fluid where your cerebral cortex should be. Far away from anybody who thinks you're anything more than a poster child for euthanasia. And far, FAR away from the shithead who decided that starving someone to death is better way to euthanize someone than a quick and relatively painless prick in the arm.
But, then again, there might not be anywhere far enough on this planet. I'd probably have to invest millions into getting myself launched into space where I can finally get away from all those people. And you know what, Terri? I don't have millions of dollars. So just fucking die already.
Thursday, March 10
Wednesday, March 9
Monday, March 7
The Ultimate Guide to Telemarketing Fraud
Introduction
So for whatever reason, you're starting to show an interest in taking people's money. Congratulations. You're about to embark on a journey of persuasion, misplaced trust, flat-out lies and a little something I like to call "possible jail time". Not to mention a salary higher than minimum wage and cash bonuses for making more sales* than expected. Let's get started, shall we?
* The term "sale" when used in the context of telemarketing fraud does not imply that you have sold a client a product or service, but rather that you convinced them to give you money.
Getting started
The first step you must take towards becoming a successful telemarketer is finding an employer. Montreal seems to be a hotspot for telemarketing rings, but almost any major city in North America should have at least one call center willing to hire you.
If you are having trouble finding somebody willing to pay you for lying, a good place to ask around would be in a high school. Due to the fact that most telemarketing centers hire almost immediately without checking references or requiring previous experience, many of them are filled with 17-year-olds wanting to make some easy money. Almost any teenager would be able to point you in the right direction or to somebody else that can. If that fails, simply look in the newspaper for jobs in call centers. The vaguer the job description, the better.
Once you've found the perfect place to ensure you're going straight to Hell, the next step is the interview.
The Interview
This section will be absolutely useless to the common person. An interview for a telemarketing position generally consists of asking your name, and shortly after telling you that you're hired. As long as you don't stagger in the door stinking of dead animals and screaming obscenities, you're almost guaranteed a job. In fact, it might not make much of a difference either way.
There is only one good piece of advice you should follow during an interview. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the legality of the job. Your prospective employer has more important things to worry about than whether or not what he's doing (and soon enough, paying you to do) is "legal". Just remember the unofficial motto of telemarketing fraud: Don't ask, don't tell.
Getting Good at Lying to People
Convincing people to give you their personal information is not an easy task. Luckily, lying to people is a skill that improves drastically with practice. For about a week or so after getting the job you will spend most of your time stalling and stuttering while you try to think of a good enough answer to the questions which will inevitably pop up. Don't be discouraged. Soon enough people will be happy to give you their banking information. For the rest of the guide let's assume you are convincing potential clients that their banking information is stored in a database that your company is in charge of managing. The database is also accessible by other companies, which leaves their bank account at risk. Your job is to verify the information to confirm their identity, and mark the information for removal. Here are some general tips to help you out.
Advanced Techniques
Sometimes there are situations where you have to make a judgment call in order to proceed. Here are a few examples.
So for whatever reason, you're starting to show an interest in taking people's money. Congratulations. You're about to embark on a journey of persuasion, misplaced trust, flat-out lies and a little something I like to call "possible jail time". Not to mention a salary higher than minimum wage and cash bonuses for making more sales* than expected. Let's get started, shall we?
* The term "sale" when used in the context of telemarketing fraud does not imply that you have sold a client a product or service, but rather that you convinced them to give you money.
Getting started
The first step you must take towards becoming a successful telemarketer is finding an employer. Montreal seems to be a hotspot for telemarketing rings, but almost any major city in North America should have at least one call center willing to hire you.
If you are having trouble finding somebody willing to pay you for lying, a good place to ask around would be in a high school. Due to the fact that most telemarketing centers hire almost immediately without checking references or requiring previous experience, many of them are filled with 17-year-olds wanting to make some easy money. Almost any teenager would be able to point you in the right direction or to somebody else that can. If that fails, simply look in the newspaper for jobs in call centers. The vaguer the job description, the better.
Once you've found the perfect place to ensure you're going straight to Hell, the next step is the interview.
The Interview
This section will be absolutely useless to the common person. An interview for a telemarketing position generally consists of asking your name, and shortly after telling you that you're hired. As long as you don't stagger in the door stinking of dead animals and screaming obscenities, you're almost guaranteed a job. In fact, it might not make much of a difference either way.
There is only one good piece of advice you should follow during an interview. Do not, under any circumstances, mention the legality of the job. Your prospective employer has more important things to worry about than whether or not what he's doing (and soon enough, paying you to do) is "legal". Just remember the unofficial motto of telemarketing fraud: Don't ask, don't tell.
Getting Good at Lying to People
Convincing people to give you their personal information is not an easy task. Luckily, lying to people is a skill that improves drastically with practice. For about a week or so after getting the job you will spend most of your time stalling and stuttering while you try to think of a good enough answer to the questions which will inevitably pop up. Don't be discouraged. Soon enough people will be happy to give you their banking information. For the rest of the guide let's assume you are convincing potential clients that their banking information is stored in a database that your company is in charge of managing. The database is also accessible by other companies, which leaves their bank account at risk. Your job is to verify the information to confirm their identity, and mark the information for removal. Here are some general tips to help you out.
- Be as vague as possible. The more details you leave out, the less likely it is that your "client" will realize that you're flat-out lying to them. The more time spent on the phone, the more time for them to think about what you're telling them. Keep it simple, stupid. "I'm calling to inform you that your banking information is in a computer system that many people have access to" works very well in most cases. If they ask what computer system specifically, don't rack your brain trying to think of a reasonable-sounding answer. Simply "a database used by many banks across the country" will usually do.
Example:
Them: "How did my information get into this system?"
You: "We don't really know, sir, but we do know that it's in there and that we can remove it today with your cooperation." - Keep a quick pace throughout the entire call. Pauses in the conversation give them a chance to think, and this is simply not acceptable. If you must stall shortly to think of a response, start your sentence with "Well," or "You see," and use the short pause to do your thinking. A dead silence gives them an opportunity to ask questions which should be avoided at all costs.
Example:
Them: I'm not so sure about this. I'm going to go speak with my bank tomorrow.
You: Well, sir, if you could just go grab your chequebook we could be done in a matter of minutes. - Be rude. Interrupt their questions with answers that don't answer anything. Cut them off before they refuse and tell them that if they refuse to cooperate you will be forced to leave their information in the computer system, and they don't want that to happen. Always remember that they don't know who you are or where you are calling from. This allows you to get away with almost anything.
Example:
Them: But I don't understand how my information-
You (interrupting): Ma'am I already explained it to you. Now I need you to go get your chequebook to ensure that your information gets removed today. - Never lose track of your goal. If they ask several questions in a row or try to stall, constantly ask them to go get their chequebook. In fact, telling them to get their chequebook works much more effectively.
Example:
You: Do you have your chequebook nearby?
Them: Yes, but can you please tell me what this is all about?
You: As I said before, I'm calling to help you remove your personal banking information from our computer system. Now you said your chequebook was nearby, could you go grab it while I hold the line?
Them: Why do I need a cheque?
You: To simply confirm that you are the owner of the account in question. Now go get your chequebook while I hold.
Advanced Techniques
Sometimes there are situations where you have to make a judgment call in order to proceed. Here are a few examples.
- Being vague / being overly detailed. As I already mentioned, it's usually best to stay vague. This leaves less space open for inconsistencies in your story. When they ask questions you should be judging their tone of voice to see if they believe what you're saying, or are just trying to get you to slip up. If you are sure that you've got them convinced then you can go into as much detail as you want. This creates a false sense of trust between you and your "client". Pretend you're telling them information they usually wouldn't be getting, such as "Well, I'm not supposed to tell you this but the information could have been accessed as recently as last week." This further portrays the illusion that you're trying to help them and makes them more likely to go get their chequebook.
- Dealing with people who have been ripped off before. Every once in a while you may hear "The last time this happened we got ripped off 400$. What makes you think I'm about to fall for it again?" If you're lucky enough to work at a place that uses the banking information story, you can tell them how it's your job to do everything in your power so that they won't lose any more money. Otherwise, you now know that they're gullible enough to fall for almost anything. Use this opportunity to explain how your company is different because "they have a toll-free number for you to call if you have problems" or "we can't take your money unless you sign a cheque so there's nothing to worry about." Remember, they just admitted to you that they're not so bright. Take advantage of it.
- For some reason I found women much easier to deal with and more gullible on the average. Maybe girls would find it easier to deal with men but I wouldn't know. Look for first names that indicate that the person is older than average, like Yolanda or Eugene or Gertrude. These people are the piggy banks of telemarketing fraud.
Conclusion
By now you should have people running for their chequebooks within a minute of picking up the phone. If you need a little help dealing with your conscience, well that's too bad and I'm not surprised.
And before the hate comes flooding in I'd like to explain that the point of this post isn't to teach people how to rip others off, it's to let people know that this type of thing is happening every day. That being said, feel free to tell me how I'm going to hell in the comments.
Thursday, March 3
What First Amendment?
Read this first.
I have to point out that it's sort of hard to pass judgment without reading the story he wrote first, but I'm going to do it anyway because I feel like it.
I was going to try to make this a well-thought out post about the absurdity of the situation but the more I think about it the more I realize that won't be happening.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? First off, the grandparents turned their grandson in over finding a story he wrote? What a pair of fucking loser grandparents. Why don't you old twats stick to giving us socks and sweaters rather than FELONY CHARGES. If my grandmother tried something like that with me she'd wake up with more than the daily recommended amount of broken hips.
Oh, and the story was about zombies. Could somebody please tell me how a fictional story about zombies taking over a high school could in any way be perceived as a terroristic threat? Zombies don't even EXIST. Is threatening to cast a spell on someone considered a threat these days? If I call up a school and announce "THERE IS A VAMPIRE IN THE BUILDING. MEET MY DEMANDS OR HE WILL SUCK THE BLOOD OF ONE HOSTAGE EVERY HOUR ON THE HOUR", will I be taken seriously? I don't fucking think so. So why am I even hearing about this stupid zombie threat?
Somebody must have been scared shitless because not only is he being held for writing a story, but his bail has been raised "after prosecutors requested it, citing the seriousness of the charge". At this point words can't even express what I'm thinking so here are a bunch of letters in a half-random order that may help you get a grasp of what I think of this whole situation:
FUCKFUCKFUCKNOWHATHEFUCKSOFUCKING DUMBJUSTFUCKINGDIEALREYADFUCK WHOGIVESASHTIIFWHEWROTEABOUTUCKFUCZOMBIES SHITFUCKFUCK
That being said I'd like to demonstrate what many people around the world are being deprived of every day, free speech, in the only way I know how.
-- begin free speech
I believe that all people of any race other than my own are inferior to me in every way. They're even inferior at being inferior, which tells you a lot about how much I hate them. They aren't worth the bullet I'd like to put in each and every one of their foreheads.
Furthermore, gay people should be burned at the stake or at least stabbed on site. I am sexually aroused by rubber boots and cream cheese. The only thing I hate more than old people is babies, because they may some day grow into old people. Therefore I would like to nominate myself for presidency of the "Kill Everybody Except Me" club.
America is the biggest shitheap excuse for a country this world will ever see and if given the chance I would happily set it on fire. Everybody from America is by association an idiot and not worthy of the time of the guy whose job it is to tell people whether or not they are worthy of my time.
Telemarketing fraud is only possible because there are people stupid enough to fall for it. If people would stop believing almost everything upon hearing it and actually start realizing that giving out personal information concerning your goddamn MONEY over the phone is a stupid idea then telemarketing fraud couldn't exist, now could it? Until then I'm glad you got suckered out of 400$.
I, Jacob Young, have placed thermonuclear devices in several cities around world and will detonate them if I am not named Supreme Grand Leader Guy of Everything In This Universe and All Other Possible Universes Not Discovered Yet.
-- end free speech (but not really)
If anybody has any objections, complaints, suggestions, terroristic (apparently it's a word now) threats or questions, good for you.
I have to point out that it's sort of hard to pass judgment without reading the story he wrote first, but I'm going to do it anyway because I feel like it.
I was going to try to make this a well-thought out post about the absurdity of the situation but the more I think about it the more I realize that won't be happening.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? First off, the grandparents turned their grandson in over finding a story he wrote? What a pair of fucking loser grandparents. Why don't you old twats stick to giving us socks and sweaters rather than FELONY CHARGES. If my grandmother tried something like that with me she'd wake up with more than the daily recommended amount of broken hips.
Oh, and the story was about zombies. Could somebody please tell me how a fictional story about zombies taking over a high school could in any way be perceived as a terroristic threat? Zombies don't even EXIST. Is threatening to cast a spell on someone considered a threat these days? If I call up a school and announce "THERE IS A VAMPIRE IN THE BUILDING. MEET MY DEMANDS OR HE WILL SUCK THE BLOOD OF ONE HOSTAGE EVERY HOUR ON THE HOUR", will I be taken seriously? I don't fucking think so. So why am I even hearing about this stupid zombie threat?
Somebody must have been scared shitless because not only is he being held for writing a story, but his bail has been raised "after prosecutors requested it, citing the seriousness of the charge". At this point words can't even express what I'm thinking so here are a bunch of letters in a half-random order that may help you get a grasp of what I think of this whole situation:
FUCKFUCKFUCKNOWHATHEFUCKSOFUCKING DUMBJUSTFUCKINGDIEALREYADFUCK WHOGIVESASHTIIFWHEWROTEABOUTUCKFUCZOMBIES SHITFUCKFUCK
That being said I'd like to demonstrate what many people around the world are being deprived of every day, free speech, in the only way I know how.
-- begin free speech
I believe that all people of any race other than my own are inferior to me in every way. They're even inferior at being inferior, which tells you a lot about how much I hate them. They aren't worth the bullet I'd like to put in each and every one of their foreheads.
Furthermore, gay people should be burned at the stake or at least stabbed on site. I am sexually aroused by rubber boots and cream cheese. The only thing I hate more than old people is babies, because they may some day grow into old people. Therefore I would like to nominate myself for presidency of the "Kill Everybody Except Me" club.
America is the biggest shitheap excuse for a country this world will ever see and if given the chance I would happily set it on fire. Everybody from America is by association an idiot and not worthy of the time of the guy whose job it is to tell people whether or not they are worthy of my time.
Telemarketing fraud is only possible because there are people stupid enough to fall for it. If people would stop believing almost everything upon hearing it and actually start realizing that giving out personal information concerning your goddamn MONEY over the phone is a stupid idea then telemarketing fraud couldn't exist, now could it? Until then I'm glad you got suckered out of 400$.
I, Jacob Young, have placed thermonuclear devices in several cities around world and will detonate them if I am not named Supreme Grand Leader Guy of Everything In This Universe and All Other Possible Universes Not Discovered Yet.
-- end free speech (but not really)
If anybody has any objections, complaints, suggestions, terroristic (apparently it's a word now) threats or questions, good for you.
Friday, February 18
American Justice
Not too long ago, somebody successfully sued two teenage girls for leaving cookies on their porch as a surprise. Yes, somebody was sued for giving somebody cookies. I didn't believe it at first either. At the time I wished there was something I could do to show the woman how amazingly selfish and stupid she was acting.
Looks like I didn't have to do anything.
Looks like I didn't have to do anything.
Friday, January 7
Wednesday, January 5
Generic title
Attention. The following things piss me off:
Stupidity. Not only stupidity in itself as everyone has stupid moments but the fact that stupidity is apparently a desired quality. People love to tell others how dumb they are rather than have an intelligent conversation. People have asked me, with straight faces, "Why do you waste your time watching documentaries?". Sorry, I guess I wasn't aware that choosing to learn on your own about whatever interests you was a waste of time. I also wasn't aware that what I choose to do on my time is any of your business. Anything that can be seen as educational is automatically hated by most younger people. I once sat quietly in class and read a book while my peers talked about how fucking wrecked they were on the weekend or how much they hate school solely for the point of hating it. People started making fun of me because I was reading. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. If you're going to waste your own time in school, then try to stop others from learning and wonder why you fail your tests, why don't you just stay in your goddamn house.
Bandwagon rebellion. All of a sudden it's cool to hate police officers for no reason. Cops have one of the worst fucking jobs in the world. They have to deal with strung-out homeless people, intoxicated criminals and god knows what all the time. This alone should make people respect police officers to a certain extent, but it doesn't. It's a growing trend among teens to hate cops. The police are not our fucking enemy. Stop pretending you're a gangster with a pure hatred for police and shut your fucking mouth. I asked somebody why they hated cops so much and they could only come up with "Because they don't let me smoke weed." Well boohoo, you're not the first person to get hassled by "the Man". Instead of whining like a baby and hating people for the sole reason that they are doing their JOB, why don't you write a letter to a politician urging them to change drug laws. Oh, that's right. Writing a letter might make you look smart and you definitely don't want to do that.
Hysteria. There's a big fuss in the states right now over a father who shined a laser pointer into an airplane's cockpit while pointing it into the sky with his daughter. He now faces up to 25 years in prison. Am I the only one that doesn't see a crime being commited? Temporarily blinding somebody is just being mildly annoying. It's not a crime to be annoying. If it was, most celebrities would be rotting in prison right now. The states think that shining a strong light into the cockpit of a MOVING AIRLINER could cause it to crash. Even if somebody could somehow keep the light focused into the eyes of the pilots while the plane moves at an ungodly speed through the air, such an evil and well-planned terrorist attack could be countered by... oh, I don't know. MOVING YOUR FACE A CENTIMETRE TO THE LEFT? Putting your hand up to block the light? It's really depressing to watch a nation of people allow their rights to be taken away from them in the name of safety. Duct tape is one of the best ways to tie people up quickly and effectively if you were hijacking a plane. Why hasn't duct tape been made illegal? I mean, if you are going to tell people they are not allowed to smoke God's plants in their own homes, why stop there? Why not ban cigarettes, which have been proven hundreds of times to be addictive in the worst sense of the word, give you cancer (not only you, but your children who don't even smoke, as well) and instantly cause rooms to smell like somebody died? Oh, that's right. It's because cigarettes make money. My mistake.
Tsunamis. Why couldn't they hit the United States more often? I'd like to see them invade the Pacific Ocean in retaliation.
Stupidity. Not only stupidity in itself as everyone has stupid moments but the fact that stupidity is apparently a desired quality. People love to tell others how dumb they are rather than have an intelligent conversation. People have asked me, with straight faces, "Why do you waste your time watching documentaries?". Sorry, I guess I wasn't aware that choosing to learn on your own about whatever interests you was a waste of time. I also wasn't aware that what I choose to do on my time is any of your business. Anything that can be seen as educational is automatically hated by most younger people. I once sat quietly in class and read a book while my peers talked about how fucking wrecked they were on the weekend or how much they hate school solely for the point of hating it. People started making fun of me because I was reading. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. If you're going to waste your own time in school, then try to stop others from learning and wonder why you fail your tests, why don't you just stay in your goddamn house.
Bandwagon rebellion. All of a sudden it's cool to hate police officers for no reason. Cops have one of the worst fucking jobs in the world. They have to deal with strung-out homeless people, intoxicated criminals and god knows what all the time. This alone should make people respect police officers to a certain extent, but it doesn't. It's a growing trend among teens to hate cops. The police are not our fucking enemy. Stop pretending you're a gangster with a pure hatred for police and shut your fucking mouth. I asked somebody why they hated cops so much and they could only come up with "Because they don't let me smoke weed." Well boohoo, you're not the first person to get hassled by "the Man". Instead of whining like a baby and hating people for the sole reason that they are doing their JOB, why don't you write a letter to a politician urging them to change drug laws. Oh, that's right. Writing a letter might make you look smart and you definitely don't want to do that.
Hysteria. There's a big fuss in the states right now over a father who shined a laser pointer into an airplane's cockpit while pointing it into the sky with his daughter. He now faces up to 25 years in prison. Am I the only one that doesn't see a crime being commited? Temporarily blinding somebody is just being mildly annoying. It's not a crime to be annoying. If it was, most celebrities would be rotting in prison right now. The states think that shining a strong light into the cockpit of a MOVING AIRLINER could cause it to crash. Even if somebody could somehow keep the light focused into the eyes of the pilots while the plane moves at an ungodly speed through the air, such an evil and well-planned terrorist attack could be countered by... oh, I don't know. MOVING YOUR FACE A CENTIMETRE TO THE LEFT? Putting your hand up to block the light? It's really depressing to watch a nation of people allow their rights to be taken away from them in the name of safety. Duct tape is one of the best ways to tie people up quickly and effectively if you were hijacking a plane. Why hasn't duct tape been made illegal? I mean, if you are going to tell people they are not allowed to smoke God's plants in their own homes, why stop there? Why not ban cigarettes, which have been proven hundreds of times to be addictive in the worst sense of the word, give you cancer (not only you, but your children who don't even smoke, as well) and instantly cause rooms to smell like somebody died? Oh, that's right. It's because cigarettes make money. My mistake.
Tsunamis. Why couldn't they hit the United States more often? I'd like to see them invade the Pacific Ocean in retaliation.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
