I got this joke on sale.

Question:
Why did the corrupt accountant have a heat lamp installed above his desk?

Answer:
So he could cook the books.

Whatever, it's funny.

I always wear that ring on my right hand, why do you ask?

Upon receiving this month's credit card statement, I noticed a delicious little surprise in the top right corner. My credit limit has been not just extended, but doubled. Why, thank you MasterCard, you shouldn't have.... oh MasterCard, (insert delighted shriek of laughter here) you know just how I like it. But it's not all good news, for alas, I have a moral dilemma.
When my credit is extended, I get this feeling like I'm at some woman's house, I don't know who, just a woman who's house I'm not supposed to be at. Some sort of indescribably sexy temptress that my mother, or my wife, or both, have warned me to stay away from. Nevertheless, I am there, in the doorway, about to try and leave.
What's that sexy temptress? oh...yeah, I suppose I could stay for a drink, what's the harm in that? What's that? Oh no, I'm comfortable in what I'm wearing thank you.
I put on a cool front, but I'm terribly nervous, because I know that it is not possible for any good to come of this.
What's that you say MasterCard? I can leave even further beyond my means? I suppose I can buy one more pair of shoes, what's the harm in that?

Spring time, when winter's silence is ruined by the sounds of love

What do dorm rooms, bathrooms, furnace rooms, and broom closets have in common? All of them are a better place than a coffee shop for a couple to make out.
Today, as is typical of any Tuesday between 11:30 am, and 12:50 pm, I was enjoying a coffee and catching up on some reading in one of the coffee shops on the Concordia campus. Just 12 minutes into my blissful midday routine, in walked a young couple. A thin young man and what I presumed to be his "best girl", sat down at a table near mine, and readied a laptop computer for what I had, in vein, assumed would be some sort of work session.
What actually took place requires no exaggeration on my part. A very, very serious make out session quickly got underway.
I am sort of a libertarian at heart, believing that whatever you must do to get your kicks is none of my business, should it not impugn the ability of myself, or anyone else, to get our kicks. Moreover, I am a reasonable man. I can understand a tender moment between two kids in love, so overwhelmed by emotions and so bereft of consideration for anyone else that a tender, loving embrace may seem reasonable in a public place. But this was beyond an intimate moment. There was heavy breathing. There were sucking noises. They had a rhythm. This was foreplay, as in, that which could occur before sexual relations, you know... coitus.
And my trouble begins here. First, because their foreplay is none of my business, but second, because every reasonable man knows that foreplay is for bastards, suckers, and politicians. The only thing more disgusting than the sound of this suckface session, was how long I stayed there, stubbornly refusing to be ousted by a couple of kids with no self-control.

He who walks among us.

In one of my classes, specifically which one shall remain a secret, there sits a young man behind me that has helped to set the benchmark for the dumbest things I've ever heard. So dumb, in fact, that I wonder 2 or 3 times per lecture if I'm on some variety of "candid camera" show, or perhaps, as I live in Montreal, "Just for Laughs: Gags". The nature of this class requires the use of elementary calculus, the particular application being quite simplified. Now I am not particularly adept in mathematics, and the list of who I had to sleep with to pass university calculus may induce vomiting for some, but even I can comprehend taking a partial derivative. So of the array of hurdles that might prove difficult in an intermediate economics class, I would certainly not have guessed that the most trying of these is dividing by fractions or, what resulted in a frustrated 5-minute long explanation, square roots. How does such a man get to this point? How is it possible that the university administration allowed this specimen to slip through the cracks for so long? How does he manage to find his own ass in the morning so that it can fill the seat behind me? Moreover how is he not so frustrated, and so bewildered that he hasn't burned all of his books in a massive ritual surrounded by a hundred drumming men, with torches and guns and people in masks screaming profanities...and stopped attending?
Such questions don't have answers and so I beg of you, the facilitators of this cruel joke, come out from your places of hiding. Explain that this has all been an elaborate scheme, a hilarious yarn, because frankly the entire study of economics depends on it.

Why Lionel is Now Eating Off a Napkin

Lionel says: "I got these dishes, you know, plates, bowls, smaller plates, the works. Anyway, they're made from clear glass, you know what I mean? I mean they're glass, but they're completely clear. I'd say I love them, but since I put them away I haven't been able to find them."

I wish I could green up the grass on this side.

Often, after awaking from what some might refer to as a scotch-induced 8 hour coma, also known as a night's rest, I sit down at my computer. The power still on, but in some sort of stand by mode, I jiggle the mouse and wait for a reaction. and wait. and wait. nothing yet. and then, some action, the desktop is visible. I double-click on a program.
"Snog off," the computer might say with a harsh lower-class tone of 18th century Britain, as if rolling over in bed with a snorty in-breath, "I'm not in the mood"
"Come on computer," I could say, "I wanna run an application."
"I said snog off! Come back another time."
Foiled by technology, I revert to antiquated entertainment methods, such as books. But even as I go about pretending that I don't care, I do care. I want to know if I have any emails. I want to know what the temperature is today. I want to waste an hour reading articles about things I've never heard of. I want to compare fares for flights I won't be going on. I want to do these things but I can't, and it's killing me, and my computer knows that, and it likes it.

I can say, with a great deal of certainty, that given:
-enough crackers
-a 2 to 3 hour program to watch
-2 glasses of beer

I could eat an entire cheeseball in one sitting.

Problems of the Young Urban Male

My current apartment is close, I mean incredibly close, to a well stocked grocery store. As such, I rarely keep very much food in my apartment, but rather buy things as I need them. As a result, I find myself spending, comparably, an incredible amount of time in the grocery store. So much actually, I've abandoned my old ways of having a list to shop with, I feel like such a pro, I just wing it now. Quite often however, once through the turnstile (I never grab a cart or basket, to discourage compulsively buying more than I can carry), I realize I have no idea what I'm looking for.
Panic typically sets in after I've done 2-3 laps around the store, somewhere between bread and dairy. You see, a grocery store isn't like say, a clothing store, or a gun store, where you can browse with the option of not buying. If you're in there, you're buying something, the only way out is through the cashier.
"Eff sake," I say to myself, "People are staring. Just pick something up for Christ sake." So I go to my safety item, milk. Immediately after, I feel better. Even though I still have no idea what to buy, no one thinks I'm crazy for wandering back and forth all over the store, they just think I'm trying to find something to go with my milk.

Hey I think the reality cart just rattled by.

Recently I developed an interest in travelling by train. To explore this interest I decided to turn what would have been a few hour flight from Winnipeg to Montreal, into 15 grand hours of travel, starting from the time I was dropped off at the Winnipeg airport, to the time that I staggered through my apartment door in Montreal.
I rode in the first class train car, so naturally the perks were endless. Because I had to catch a connecting train at the Toronto Union Station, I was eligible for 2 separate meals. There were free alcoholic beverages in first class, and frankly, I can't imagine how over 8 hours on a train would be possible were it not for delicious Dry Gin and her sidekick, Tonic. The legroom was really something of an amazement to me, and I made certain to mention it to everyone sitting in my row, on every leg of the trip.
So after a day that included about 7 cups of coffee, 2 beer, 3 Gin n' Tonics, 5 glasses of red wine, and 1 after-dinner Grand Marnier, I found myself in train's washroom. The rocking of the train as it jumbled down the track stifled my accuracy. They did have handles to hold on to (presumably a first-class only feature) but I thought them to be for amateurs. An especially large jolt caused me to crack my knee on the toilet as I was washing my hands, but I only laughed, and thought about how much more it would have hurt had I not been drinking since 11:00 am.
All in all, I'm glad to have experienced it, but I'd say the clickety-clack could pretty much go fuck itself for all I care.

Am I ready for the clickety-clack?

On a scale of 1-10, I'd say that travelling by train is pretty awesome. I recently looked into getting to New York City by train from Montreal. It's relatively inexpensive, so I believe that I will take a trip down at some point. However, I've never travelled by train, and I can't help but wonder if a sheltered boy like me is really ready for such a classic mode of transportation.
Are the following items still required to ride in the first-class car?
-A Mustache?
-A stiff, felt hat with a rounded crown, known as the Derby?
-A large voluptuous wife, wearing a corset, one of those dresses with the big bow on the back, and a big floppy hat?
-A large estate back home that includes several slaves?

Moreover, do I really have a reason for going to New York? Not that it is entirely necessary to have one, but I like a road trip with a purpose, however minimal it may be. I think it reminds me of the movie "Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas" (unfortunately I haven't read the book) if you've seen it you know what I mean, and anything that reminds me of that movie is something I should aspire to.

My Latest

At last, I have joined the rest of society and started a blog. I know, everyone is wondering why I waited so long. Why have I held out on the world? Perhaps the biggest reason is that I don't have a job anymore. So naturally, I have more time on my hands. Moreover, if I don't find a way to sell something that I've written, I might actually have to get a job using the Economics degree I'm working on. Thus, and I apologize in advance, this blog will primarily full of relentless plugs, and a distasteful level of self-promotion.