__________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Saturday, April 14, 2007

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.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

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?

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

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.