Statutory Ape

A group of my friends back home have been in a band, Endangered Ape, together for over a year now. They have put countless hours into writing, practice, recording, performance, shameless self-promotion, and inducing permanent ear damage in innocent listeners. Now, my good friends are heading clear across our wide country on a national tour. Here’s a list of things that could go wrong:

a) The tour van breaks down in northern Ontario, and after only a few days without internet access the band resorts to cannibalism. In the end, only Jane is left.
b) In effort to save money on gas and food, the band resorts to cannibalism, starting with the least important band members. You know who you are.
c) With every passing day, the chances of someone in the van losing their mind, doubles. By day ten there is a %200 chance of cannibalism.
d) The band gets lost in the urban sprawl of southern Ontario and Paul has to ask a gang of cannibals for directions. They are very helpful but could have been less condescending.
e) The band is singlehandedly responsible for seeding multiple cases of swine flu across Canada, but luckily also discover the cure; glazing with honey every 30 minutes or until golden brown.

There once were some Apes in a band
who traveled across the land.
They spread some flu, man.
They ate some human,
glazed, so it wasn’t too bland.

Good Luck Apes!

Power Shower

This part of Australia is experiencing a terrible drought right now that has seen reservoir levels steadily dropping for many years now. I tell ya, it’s dry; it’s so dry that when my wife spills her morning vodka, it evaporates before she even can suck it out of the carpet. Ha! But seriously 50% of Melbourne’s population died of dehydration last year.

So as you can imagine, there is much government propaganda that is meant to trick people into saving water, including this torture device that you can conveniently stick to the wall of your shower:

Our Water / Our Future (My Nightmare)

It’s a simple little gadget, and doesn’t seem too bad at first until you realize that it isn’t an hour glass, it’s a four-minute glass. So I came from an apartment building in Canada where I could have a guilt-free “hour shower” and not run out of hot water, to Australia where if I take five minutes, I feel like a criminal and get shunned as a pariah. If the government catches you taking longer than the sanctioned time, they haul you off to a reeducation centre where they waterboard sandboard you into human putty then rebuild you into a model citizen that collects rainwater to brush your teeth with. Let me break down the “power shower” for you:

Minute 1: Spend this time waiting for the water to get warm; you now have three minutes to shower, hot shot. What are you gonna do?
Minute 2: Use this time to shampoo your head. I recommend Head and Shoulders; it’s the Champagne of shampoos.
Minute 3: Soap up! Remember “FAG”; face, arm pit, groin. If you have time for more, do it quickly.
Minute 4: You have 60 seconds to rinse, use them wisely. Every drop is precious! Hurry!
Minute 5: Turn water off no matter what stage you are in and sob quietly. Use tears to continue rinsing if need be.

Notice there is no time for conditioner or masturbating, and certainly no time for masturbating with conditioner. This is hell.

Sex move of the week: The Bangers and Mash.
Fuck You: Mexico!

Blog agog

It was bound to happen eventually: a blog post about blogging.

One great thing about having a blog on wordpress.com is that on my “dashboard” I have access too all kinds of stats about my page; how many visitors I get, how they found my page, what they look like naked, etc. Having said that, I’m proud to report that this very post will push me past my first 1000 views! If I could have animated confetti explode from a monkey’s ass, I would. The only anomaly is that I don’t have enough friends to realistically view my blog 1000 times in two months, so I investigated my stats. Below is a list of the top ten wordpress searches that outsiders used to find my blog:

10) fat man diving in water pics (a bit specific, but whatever)
9 ) fat woman swimming
8 ) fat swimmers (there seems to be a trend emerging)
7 ) fat swimmer
6 ) fat old man
5 ) caveman clothes (perhaps not all hope is lost)
4 ) fat people swimming (never mind)
3 ) fat old men
2 ) fat man swimming (and finally…)
1 ) fat man

As it turns out, one of my early posts about swimming is getting a lot of attention from whom I can only assume are sex-starved women and gay men with water and fat fetishes who may or may not be cave dwellers; not that there’s anything wrong with that. The traffic on that one post actually accounts for 15% of all my traffic but I don’t care where my views are coming from; all that matters here is the number 1000, so it’s time to party like it’s 999!

In fact, how about I REALLY go for ratings…
Celebrity Gossip: Oprah and Ellen are teaming up with Brittany and Madonna to open for Michael Jackson who will live twitter his London shows!
Corporate News: McDonald’s, Apple, Microsoft, and Walmart are merging to form one super-corporation that will capitalize on the recession to take over the world! (McMacMicroMart?)
A List Of Sex Moves: Hot Carl, The Napoleon Bone-Apart, The Sandy Clam, FedEx from Brown-Town, Splash Mountain, The Princeton Rub, The Sticky Wicket, Boxcar Willy, The Rusty Trombone, The Cracker Jack, The Jack Nicholson, The Ol’ College Try, The Jam Donut, Nutters, Glass-Bottom Boat, The Bohemian Crapsody. (That was too easy. Perhaps a ‘sex move of the week’ feature is in order?)

Thank you readers, happy 1000!
~tony

It’s in my jeans

I can almost set my watch by it; that magical time every two years when the crotches on all my jeans simultaneously explode into flaccid shreds of denim. Now this may sound amusing but I assure you that Trouser Associated Inner-thigh Network Trauma or “TAINT” is no laughing matter. This phenomenon could be caused by a laundry list (pun intended) of many side splitting scenarios, but my TAINT is surely caused by extreme groin friction from the dozens of steps I take every week. This TAINT was so bad that one pair even ripped in the shape of a frowny face, the other pair in the shape of the Virgin Mary.

"Clearly, sir, I can see your nuts."

It is possible to continue wearing TAINTed jeans, but doing so only exacerbates the problem. It’s also risky in that with each wear you increase the chance of flashing someone your scrote on a busy tram ride (“Mommy, that man sat in gum!”) or paparazzi-filled taxi stop. It was with this concern for the pubic public that I decided to go on a shopping spree for some new jeans. I needed my ideal jeans to meet the following criteria: fit me, cost less that $60, not have holes in the crotch. As luck would have it, I came upon a sale rack of “all jeans $55″ where I found a great pair of flattering jeans and another more scandalous pair that fit like a glove! So I bought both. Shopping spree over. Crisis averted.

It took me 20min to come up with the TAINT acronym.

JATFICE’09

According to The Bible, about two thousand years ago, Jesus Christ (our Lord and saviour) went on a forty-day journey of self-discovery and fasting in the desert before beginning his ministry. Personally I think he went on the lemon and cayenne pepper cleanse and his nutrient-deprivation drove him mad and he just woke up in the desert forty days later, probably spooning a cactus or even cacti. Either way, Jesus returned from the desert looking more fabulous than ever and he did lots of good stuff after that.

Now since all good Christians want to be more like Jesus (except for the crucifixion) we partake in Lent where, for the forty days before Easter, we give up something we enjoy. This is supposed to be equal to toiling in constant pain in the desert for forty days being tempted by Satan so I always give up ice cream. A number of years ago, my good friend Jane and I realized we both gave up ice cream and so decided to support each other through the dark times and celebrate after Lent on the holiest feast of all “Jane And Tony’s Fuckin’ Ice Cream Extravaganza” or JATFICE. We traditionally celebrate by replacing dinner with an orgy of ice cream artfully topped with sauces, sprinkles, crushed cookies, and everything else fun in life. As a side note: JATFICE serves as a non-denominational holiday to replace Easter just as Festivus replaces Christmas, thus completing the non-liturgical calendar.

JATFICE is extremely important to me and I initially was going to plan my trip around it so we could all be together for the holidays, but it just didn’t work out. Luckily the internet, in its boundless wonder, allowed Jane (janerpantz69) and I (bonertwink18) to videoconference the ice cream eating ceremony live! It was just like eating together except we didn’t have to smell eachother’s moist ice-cream-farts. Jesus Christ.

BTW BYO BO

I remember the day as if it were only ten years ago. I was camping with my mom, step dad, and younger brothers at Little Bow Provincial Park for a hot, summer long-weekend. It was all pretty mundane, the usual panty raids and bear attacks, except for something my mom said to me one afternoon in the trailer, “You smell like B.O.! You gotta start wearing deodorant.” That simple utterance changed my life. I didn’t realize it at the time, but as I applied my mom’s Speed Stick, I became a man.

Since that fatefull day when my oniony aroma hung heavy in the moist air of that confined trailer, I’ve been wearing deodorant of one kind or another. I would literally try a new brand, format, or scent every time I bought deodorant: gels, sticks, and sprays, with edgy names like mountain monsoon, tsunami surge, and puberty punch. Nothing was ever quite right for me though, but after years of being too wet, too dry, too perfumy, too waxy, and too pit-burned, I found my true love. AXE Kilo deodorant/antiperspirant in stick format which combined my love of lumberjackerry with my love of smelling like the metric system. Every swipe of AXE Kilo harnesses the power of a thousand axes to chop away bad odour and clog sweat glands with potentially harmful chemicals. Refreshing.

The stick I brought with me from Canada got worn down to the stump the other day and I made a mistake. When the last sliver of AXE exploded into sticky wax chunks all over my bedroom carpet I acted out of anger and bought Nivea roll-on to replace it. It smells good, and I suppose it does give me pretty good 24-hour protection, but it’s just not the same. I miss you AXE, wherever you are.

I’m dying

…to tell you about the great time I had at the beach house last week!

(Names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved)

I met up with my old pal, Professor Fagdicker, and his boyfriend Fausto Ramirez on Wednesday afternoon. We walked to the local supermarket and collected supplies essential for any fun night at the beach house: taco ingredients, alcohol, and many fancy cheeses. Back at the professor’s place, we were joined by Cynthia Bushnell-Tate II, and as soon as Sir Wilhelm Fipple The Lionhearted arrived with his car, we set off to the professor’s beach house.

We tried desperately to race the sun but were unable to arrive early enough to watch it set over the water. Although Fausto nearly burned the house down by charring the hard shells in the oven, we still managed to prepare a bounty of tacos which even included a choice of lamb or beef filling. Naturally I prefer lamb for the strong taste of helplessness and robust, innocence-undertones; but beef still holds a special place in my heart (literally, it has left rubbery, fat-deposits in my heart).

Drinking ensued and the night was filled with whimsical drunken antics:
Professor dropped a cup which ended up putting a Nick in the coffee table.
Fausto kept a bowl of water at the ready Just In case he started another fire.
Cynthia had us stand side-by-side to sing a Christmas song (Carol Lines are such fun!).
Sir Wilhelm told us about a monster, Lochey, that lives in a lake near his hometown and,
I told war stories about my Toe, Knee and shoulder scars.

The next day we triumphantly hiked to Jump Rock (don’t get excited, the rock doesn’t jump at all) and then leaped, hopped, bounded, and bounced off of Jump Rock into a shimmering, salty, water-filled tidal pool. It was a blast!

Then we went home; story over.

~Generalissimo Rolo-Doody Brown Town

Keeping your sanity, one crazy stunt at a time.

I’m calling upon all of my readers (both of you) to join in the fight to take back our personal space, and I’m going to tell you exactly how. I’m about to have a truthgasm and fire a huge wad of hot facts in your direction; so lean in, grab a hold, and read closely, because you are going to get an eye-full!

There are certain sacred places in this world where men (or free-thinking dames) should be able to be alone and undisturbed with their important thoughts. People in churches, study halls, and libraries need their privacy of course; but I’m speaking more of places that people actually go to think. “Personal temples” for the modern thinking-man include park benches, laundromats, coffee shops, and above all, public transport in all its many malodorous forms. In this fast-paced world of computers, internets, punch cards, and you tubes, we need these personal temples to think about our lives and regret our many decisions.
These places are under attack!
Every sociopath looking for a fresh kill, every heartless corporation peddling coupons, every homeless person looking for a handout, every cult looking for a fresh kill, every busker busking, every injured person screaming for first aid, and every old person wanting to make friendly small-talk; they are all lurking around every corner wanting only to destroy our thoughts and invade our personal temples!

HOW TO APPEAR UNAPPROACHABLE IN PUBLIC:
5 Tips for the modern (wo)man.

1) Be a psycho: Replace the cover of a good book (not The Good Book) with a fake cover like 1001 Ways to Kill a Man with this Book. Just enjoy your normal reading but occasionally chuckle and violently highlight some passages with an unsteady hand. Also, mutter things like “Ya! You can’t scream now, can you, you sunnuvabitch?”

2) Be a pervert: Wear a sandwich board with a hole in the front where your penis can come through. Have the sign read “Ask me about free lotion samples”. You don’t have to actually poke your penis through, but you probably should. Instead of the sandwich board you could wear a trench coat and pretend to masturbate inside. The key is a flurry of activity in the crotch area, here’s your chance to really be creative and make this your own! You could file your nails in there, practice a card trick, or knit, for instance.

3) Be a hobo: Beggars can’t be choosers, but they can be fabulous! Dress in clothes that look extremely ratty but are still comfortable and not urine-soaked. You can still listen to your iPod, just hide the headphones in your edgy, street-stylish hairdo (rue-chic coif) Carry a dirty paper cup, look people in the eye, and ask “Spare change?”. They’ll either avoid you or give you money, either way you win… unless they pee on you.

4) Be in need of assistance: Glue a bunch of empty boxes together and walk around as if they are really unbalanced and awkward. If you stick some fake, gloved hands on the sides, you can put your real hands inside and play your DS or read a book through a periscopic viewing window. If “The Cleavland Boxiola” trick is too much fabrication trouble, you could also pretend to be blind; nobody bothers blind people. Wear sunglasses and use a white cane and your troubles are over! Authentic white canes are expensive but extremely easy to steal. Just don’t play your DS or read.

5) Be a teen: Seinors are the trickiest people to fool because they are so oblivious and desperate for attention; the above tricks may actually attract old folks and their worldly advice or small-talk. The only natural enemy of the senior is the teen. We’ve all felt the burning rejection of puberty but now you’re old enough to appreciate it! Dress and act stereotypically teenagery and remember to be lazy as seniors feel threatened by anyone who moves slower than they do. They will avoid any unhygienic whippersnapper like the plague (which some of them actually experienced).

So friends, use these tips to your advantage and take back your personal space. This hot load of advice can be a mouthful to regurgitate but please take a deep breath, swallow your pride, and spread the word; just don’t blow my cover.