Let me tell you about my day so far.

I woke up at around noon from a vigorous sleep that began around 2:30 am. I went down to my computer in order to check the message board of my cartel. There was only message. It was from a coworker of mine named Joey Scum. It said that he had been jumped by a thug named Spliff Star.

This upset me deeply. The first thing I did was take a subway over to Downsview with the intention of jumping Spliff Star myself. He wasn’t there. Not to be discouraged, I hoped on the next subway going to Fairview Mall. There he was at the station. I jumped him good. I acquired $423,742, as well 8 junkies and 7 square feet of lab space off him in the battle. Consider it reparations of war. But not all was won. In the battle, I lost 450 guns and 455 vests; however, I destroyed 477 guns and 472 vests from your enemy.

Once my encounter with Spliff Star was over, I got on the next available subway over to York University. From my previous day at work, I still had 80,000 units of ecstasy, 45,000 units of heroin, and 32,000 units of special K in my trench coat.

As soon as I got to the university, I was pleasantly informed that the addicts were paying an unprecedented $35 per unit of special K. The laws of supply and demand suggest that I sell all my units at once. A price as sky high as that is very rare. I got rid off all my units to dirty students and made a cool $1,575,000 in the process. A great way to start off the day to say the least.

As I was leaving the university, it came to my attention that pot was dirt cheap. Usually, Pot goes for about $27 or $28 a unit. But on this day, it was selling for $24 a unit. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to buy up all the cheap pot I could, so I purchased 96,000 units. This put me back $2,304,000. That figure may seem astronomical to some petty dealers, but you’re talking to Mr. Monopoly here, the king of the dopewars.

Immediately after my purchase, I got a message on my cell phone from an old friend, Mayor O.D. McCrack. He told me that E is selling like hot cakes over at Ontario Place. He told me to get over there ASAP. I used up my remaining subway tokens and got over there as fast as humanly possible.

Just as I got off the train, I was jumped by some bitch named Duval. I heard through the grapevine that Duval was in the same cartel as Spliff Star. Nonetheless, things didn’t really go his way. As I stepped off the train, he shot me in the back. This was a bad move on his part because I wear vests all day long. I played possum with for a while. I went down and pretended that he got me. When he leaned over me to see if I was dead, I shot him right in the mouth 11 times. I waxed the mother fucker. He managed to get nothing off me, but I punked the majority of his guns off him.

This whole event set me back a few minutes, and in the world of drugs, time is always of the essence. Luckily though, the tourists at Ontario Place were still paying top dollar for the Ecstasy. I got rid of all 80,000 units within 2 hours. It was selling for around $33 a unit, so I made a cool $2,640,000. Once I got rid of all those pills, the Mayor and I decided to call it a day. We went to the Ponderosa steak house for dinner, and then went to the movies.

I got home about 20 minutes ago. I figures I’d tell you all about my day because I have nothing else to do and I’ll probably be up for a while: I just put back a few hits of LSD.
Have a great night.

I went to the mall this morning to buy the few remaining gifts needed to complete my holiday shopping. I wasn’t sure what I had to buy, so I thought I’d just head down there and walk around, hoping that something would jump out at me. All I knew is that I still had to buy for my best friend in the world, Pierre.

Pierre is a difficult person to buy gifts for. He certainly has the most bizarre interests of anyone I know. For example, Pierre loves red meat, gerbils, and impressionist art. He also enjoys banking.

I wasn’t quite sure what I’d find at the mall, but I knew that if I were to have some sort of eureka moment, it’d be there.

It was around 2:30 a.m. when I finally got the energy to go shopping. I like shopping at the dead hours because it’s quieter. I had no trouble whatsoever finding a parking spot. People always complain about mall parking lots at Christmas, but there didn’t seem to be a problem in my eyes.

The doors to the mall were locked, but in preparation for this setback, I brought my mall crowbar. It took about 5 minutes of jimmying, but eventually, the door opened up and I found myself in the consumer Mecca. There were so many stores; I just didn’t know where to start looking.

I walked around aimlessly for about 25 minutes until finally I came to a bank. The bank had a big display in front of it. The display illustrated the happiness yuppies can achieve if they invest in mutual funds. Mutual funds, I thought: what a great idea.

I went into the bank, and stood in line. The service was terribly slow. It wasn’t until 9 a.m. that I got any service. I had been waiting for nearly 6 hours. Luckily, they had all the necessary paperwork in the aisles in front of the counter, so to pass the time, I filled out the paperwork. I filled out a rough copy, and then did a second copy for more edits. It would have been the third round of form-filling when I decided all the information was accurate.

The friendly woman at the bank asked me how I got in to the store. I told her that they locked me in from the night before and that all I wanted to do was buy some mutual funds for a friend. The woman told me that Pierre had to be there with me to sign the necessary agreements, or else the purchase couldn’t go through.

Very well, I said to her cheerily.

I left the bank and proceeded back through the mall, towards the exit I came in at. I then realized I hadn’t eaten anything in five days. I turned around and went back to the bank. The woman was still there, only by now, other patrons were there as well. I stood in line hungrily until finally I reached the front.

I politely greeted the woman.

Remember me, I asked. She nodded her head very softly. I the told her about how hungry I was. I asked her if she had anything to eat. She said no. I then asked her if she had any of those delicious mutual funds lying around. Maybe even some day olds or something. Confused, the woman told me that I couldn’t eat mutual funds. I was so embarrassed. My face went bright red. In that case, I said, how about you lend me some money so that I can buy some food for myself and lucky Pierre.

The woman declined. That made me sad. I cried. I just couldn’t hide the fact that Pierre was going to be so disappointed in me.

The following is an e-mail I received on August 17, 2002 at 5:23:07 PM.

It comes from a friedn who spent a year at Missouri Baptist University in Saint Louis. he was there on a golf scholarship. he stayed for one year and one year only.

The e-mail has not been edited in anyway. Enjoy!



Jesus fucking christ, i cant stand it, im gonna fucking kill somebody. ive just found hell of earth right here at bible college.. . figure that one out. just for the update, ive sworn 6, thats right 6 times in the last 2 days that ive been here, and if you know me, than thats my quota for the minute. my roommate, im gonna gonna fuckin crusify that kid, pull up a lawnchair, eat popcorn and watch him die, holy fucking shit, i cant stand him. this guy is a walking bible. i said that i was "lucky" that my bed was the right size for me and he went on and on how theres not such thing as luck and that youre blessed by god instead. holy fucking shit, god sure blessed the fuck me when i broke my fucking foot, another reason i have no fait (thanks roommate). holy fuck, this place is filled with ned flanders's. rediculous, everyone is happy and speaking the good word. ok, everyone here is amazingly nice and friendly: but however, not fun at all. i have to keep the sarcasm to a minimum, actually ive stopped completely. so far ive meet one person who knows jack fucking shit about religion and likes to drink and party, sweet eh? and it gets better, shes a chick too, now heres the best part. me being a guy, cant go to her fucking room to get her or to hang out with because guys cant be in girls dorms and vice versa BOO FUCKING YEAH. im goin to be home inna couple days.well, for now im out. have fun, cuz i know im not goin to.

Rod Black and Leo Rautins.

The following is an e-mail I received on October 22nd, 2003 at 4:54 pm.

I will not disclose the name of the author.


Hey guys, I have a funny story for you.

I recently started working as a doorman at a club in downtown Toronto called "Up". It attracts a bit of an older crowd and sometimes the odd local celebrity drops in for a drink. Such was the case last Friday night. I was working in the back of the club when who should walk up and ask me where the washroom was but Leo Rautins. At first I didn't recognize him, but when I did I said "Leo Rautins", he then turned and said "Hey, How's it goin' buddy".

For those of those unfamiliar with Canadian basketball, Leo was the first Canadian drafted to the NBA, in the first round of the 1983 draft and went on to a short NBA playing career with the 76ers and the Hawks. Currently Leo works with CTV Sportsnet and has adhered himself to Toronto basketball fans by providing excellent and often humorous color commentary for the Raptors games.


After Leo used the washroom he returned to the other side of the club. As I continued to keep an eye on things in my area I chuckled to myself and thought how I could tell my friends who enjoyed Leo's work, thinking this was the last I would see of the the former collegiate all-american.

Nearing the end of the night I was excited to see the 6'9" Rautins return to my part of the club, with another friend and two lady friends, and sit a table in the back corner. It was not till it was time for everyone to leave when things got quite humorous.

Until the lights were turned on at the end of the night I did not recognize who Leo's friend was. But when they got up to leave I realized it was none other than Leo's broadcasting partner, CTV's own Rod Black, one of the most highly regarded journalists in this country. I think they had just finished working a preseason Raptors game.

It then became apparent that both Leo and Rod had been drinking quite heavily.
As Rod headed for the washroom, I seized the opportunity to tell Leo what a fan I was of his. He shook my hand and said thanks buddy. His ladyfriend then turned to Leo and said that's the guy that told me not to go into the DJ's booth (which I had done earlier). Leo apparently would not stand for this type of talk from his date. He said "Easy woman. Easy. Don't make Leo slap you around again. Don't make Leo lay another beating on you. Don't make me call my friend Kobe". It was nice to know that I had not only Leo Rautin's back on this one, but also Kobe Bryant's.

My attention was then quickly drawn to the washroom where Rod Black was stumbling out and leaning against the door. At that point the 5-time Gemini Award nominee turned to us and quipped, "I'm fucked, I'm totally fucked". It was true, Rod was thoroughly fucked. His degree of drunkiness was apparent by his inability to walk.

At that point in the night Rod, Leo and friends started to head out of the club, but to get out you must pass the lounge which is equipped with a bed. As they passed the bed Leo grabbed Rod and threw him onto the bed. He then proceeded to jump on Rod "hump" him. The sight of the former NBAer dry humping the distinguished broadcaster made myself and the other doormen laugh quite heartily. Rod seemed to enjoy it for a second as he chuckled sheepishly, but then decided that it was neither the time nor the place for that type of "play by play", so he rose from the bed and stumbled towards the exit. Leo, unsatisfied and unimpressed with his broadcasting partners reluctance to get it on said, "Is that it? Is that all I get? No wonder they call you the minute man. Uncle Ben!" With that Leo and his date exitted the bar, leaving me to wonder how I would ever capture the hilarity that just happened when I told this story.

The next morning I turned on the TV to CTV and saw Rod Black in a commercial for the Christian Children's Fund. As he held a needy child I couldn't help but think "I'm fucked, I'm totally fucked."

Things have become dire.

I lost my leather shoes last night while running away from a gang who I accidentally upset by calling their leader 'Jennifer.' I'm not quite sure what happend to the show because i've got more important things to worry about. As I was running, I saw a cop. I screamed and yelped, but no avail, I didn't get her attention. I had to do something, so as I was running, I scooped up a handful of snow, formed it into a nice solid ball, and whipped it at her car squad car.

I missed and hit her in the eye.

She thought she'd been hit by shrapnel because of all the stones and glass in the snowball. She pulled out her gun and started shooting at me. In order to protect myself from the flurry of bullets, I flipped a garbage can upside down, put it over my upper torso, and started running again. Little did I know, the garbage can still had garbage in it. And not just any garbage, but garbage from an East-Indian curry restaurant.

I couldn't see where I was going and I was terribly disoriented by the putrid smell, but I had to keep running. I had a gang and an angry cop trying to kill me.

By now, my feet were really starting to hurt. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I knew I had to get somewhere warm and quite; somwhere I could lay low for a while. I ran into a department store and hid behind a couch in the furinture section. The cop and the gang seemed to be gone, but my troubles were far from over.

A sales associate from the department store asked me if I needed any help. I removed the trash can and, because I was afriad of standing out or causing a scene, I said that indeed I did need help. The salesman showed me a few couches and love seats. Some of them were very nice, but because my mind was elsewhere, I couldn't quite focus. I ended up buying a $3,000 sofa bed. The problem is that I don't have the money. I paid by cheque and told the friendly man i'd be back the next day to pick it up with my Ford pickup truck and my three teenage sons.

I don't have any kids that I know of, and I think pickup trucks are for rednecks.

I left the store through the rear exit, and ran across the street to a Burger King. I told the lifer behind the counter that I need to use the phone. He said I couldn't unless I purchased something. I ordered some chicken fingers and they were awful. Once I was finally allowed to use the phone, I called my lawyer to let him know about my misfortunes.

"I'm at a burger king and I stink like curry," I said.

"I'm being hunted by a ravenous gang, I've assualted a cop, written a fraudulent cheque, jay walked, and my feet are cold as shit."

After I was done my ran, I suddenly realized that I dialed the wrong number. I actually called my grandmother instead of my lawyer. She died of shock from the phone call. My cousin told me. He also told me that I ate highly contaminated chicken and that I'm the first person in North America to contract the avian flu. He's a doctor. The cops and gangs and furniture stores are still looking for me too. Oh, and let's not forget the East Indian guy who's out an aluminum garbage can.

Modern Man

"I’m a modern man, a man for the millennium. Digital and smoke free. A diversified multi-cultural, post-modern deconstruction that is anatomically and ecologically incorrect. I’ve been up linked and downloaded, I’ve been inputted and outsourced, I know the upside of downsizing, I know the downside of upgrading. I’m a high-tech low-life. A cutting edge, state-of-the-art bi-coastal multi-tasker and I can give you a gigabyte in a nanosecond! I’m new wave, but I’m old school and my inner child is outward bound. I’m a hot-wired, heat seeking, warm-hearted cool customer, voice activated and bio-degradable. I interface with my database, my database is in cyberspace, so I’m interactive, I’m hyperactive and from time to time I’m radioactive. Behind the eight ball, ahead of the curve, ridin’ the wave, dodgin the bullet and pushin the envelope. I’m on-point, on-task, on-message and off drugs. I’ve got no need for coke and speed. I've got no urge to binge and purge. I’m in-the-moment, on-the-edge, over-the-top and under-the-radar. A high-concept, low-profile, medium-range ballistic missionary. A street-wise smart bomb. A top-gun bottom feeder. I wear power ties, I tell power lies, I take power naps and run victory laps. I’m a totally ongoing big-foot, slam-dunk, rainmaker with a pro-active outreach. A raging workaholic. A working rageaholic. Out of rehab and in denial! I’ve got a personal trainer, a personal shopper, a personal assistant and a personal agenda. You can’t shut me up. You can’t dumb me down because I’m tireless and I’m wireless, I’m an alpha male on beta-blockers. I’m a non-believer and an over-achiever, laid-back but fashion-forward. Up-front, down-home, low-rent, high-maintenance. Super-sized, long-lasting, high-definition, fast-acting, oven-ready and built-to-last! I’m a hands-on, foot-loose, knee-jerk head case pretty maturely post-traumatic and I’ve got a love-child that sends me hate mail. But, I’m feeling, I’m caring, I’m healing, I’m sharing-- a supportive, bonding, nurturing primary care-giver. My output is down, but my income is up. I took a short position on the long bond and my revenue stream has its own cash-flow. I read junk mail, I eat junk food, I buy junk bonds and I watch trash sports! I’m gender specific, capital intensive, user-friendly and lactose intolerant. I like rough sex. I like tough love. I use the “F” word in my emails and the software on my hard-drive is hardcore--no soft porn. I bought a microwave at a mini-mall; I bought a mini-van at a mega-store. I eat fast-food in the slow lane. I’m toll-free, bite-sized, ready-to-wear and I come in all sizes. A fully-equipped, factory-authorized, hospital-tested, clinically-proven, scientifically- formulated medical miracle. I’ve been pre-wash, pre-cooked, pre-heated, pre-screened, pre-approved, pre-packaged, post-dated, freeze-dried, double-wrapped, vacuum-packed and, I have an unlimited broadband capacity. I’m a rude dude, but I’m the real deal. Lean and mean! Cocked, locked and ready-to-rock. Rough, tough and hard to bluff. I take it slow, I go with the flow, I ride with the tide. I’ve got glide in my stride. Drivin and movin, sailin and spinin, jiving and groovin, wailin and winnin. I don’t snooze, so I don’t lose. I keep the pedal to the metal and the rubber on the road. I party hearty and lunch time is crunch time. I’m hangin in, there ain’t no doubt and I’m hangin tough, over and out!"

- George Carlin

Brilliant.