An Open & Honest Letter to Primus Canada

Dear Primus Canada,

In the recent past I ordered a high-speed Internet line, ostensibly provided by you Primus Canada, to be installed in my abode. And installed it was, with no fuss or muss. A friendly technician arrived in two days’ time and set up the coaxial cable feed with both alacrity and ease. Responding to my query as to when the cable modem would arrive so I could use my fresh and new internet line, the smiling technician (leaving with some haste, I might add, obviously looking forward to an evening of not working for Primus) stated said crucial device would show up in a few days.

It’s been over SIX WEEKS NOW, Primus, and the thrice-damn’d cable modem has not arrived. Or should I say, thrice-plus-one damn’d modem since a) I’ve called your various and confusing help desks “run” by various and confused employees FOUR TIMES now and, b) I don’t know the word for what comes after “thrice”.

On top of calling you by phone, I’ve sent e-mails to your, uh, “organization” pleading for my cable modem. No response, of course. I suspect your e-mail manager is actually a skeleton in a shirt and a tie sitting in front of a cobwebbed computer from 1996 still running Windows 95 which has been displaying a grey box asking for the address of your POP3 server located on the token-ring network for nearly two decades.

Hell, I’ve even made a post on your Facebook Primus page, to which I will not link because I’m frankly tired of doing pointless things. I had enough of that after going to college and using valuable broadcast equipment to videotape gophers running across the 401 highway. Well, maybe not so pointless, since the gophers who were annihilated by the passing cold and uncaring Grim Reaper-like traffic have actually gotten further to acquiring a cable modem than I currently have from your corporation.

As I type this polite and respectful letter to you, oh gibbering primates of Primus, my cable modem line pleads silently to me to fulfill its function. It is as a grey and near-leafless tree branch in the depths of winter, cold and despairing for a summer that will never arrive while tiny snow termites gnaw away at the dying quick within it.

Despairing of ever entering the sweet round crevice of a sexy female coaxial plug, my cable modem line juts out with no purpose whatsoever, as unto offering a handshake to the Venus De Milo.

It dangles out of my wall like the penis of a castrated 19th century Castrato opera singer, shrieking out impossibly high-notes of want and desire while being completely useless.

I guess what I’m trying to say here, Primus, is WHERE IN THE SWEET NAME OF GOD AND ALL THAT IS HOLY IS MY PROMISED CABLE MODEM? Sorry for yelling everyone but MY GOD WHY PRIMUS WHY? Oh, sure, I’ve been getting your BILLS asking me for PAYMENT for your, uh, “service”. Oh, YES INDEEDILY-FUCKING-DOODILY your requests for payment have had NO PROBLEM WHATSOEVER finding their demonic way into my mailbox like demonic, E-coli-bearing flatworms invading the lower colons of all hapless bastards who dare to swim in any beach located within ten miles of Ottawa.

I literally do not know what to do anymore with you, Primus. Every action I attempt to communicate with you is met with, at best, empty promises and indifferent silence. I get a better response swearing at my cat, Steve, whom merely gazes up at me and wonders why the food-bringer is being so noisy at it for pissing on my newly upholstered ottoman.

(Wait, what the hell is an “ottoman”? And why the HELL am I asking YOU, Primus?!?)

Before I go, here’s a quick true story from my past just for you, my Primus pals, that I’ve never shared with anyone else. Back in the day when I enjoyed drinking vast amounts of alcohol as both a hobby and scientific study, one evening after hitting the bars with my buddy Dave he drunkenly dared me to wave a large rubber penis at traffic. (To this day I’m not sure where he got hold of said imposing, nine-inch long marital aid – I suspect he had a pretty freaky girlfriend).

Outside his creepy apartment on Somerset Street, as I waved and shook that horrible rubber penis at the passing cars bearing startled and staring drivers and children, I reflected on the sheer pointlessness of my stupid act. But now I realize that this horrible deed I performed did actually have a point, since I’d would have had a better chance of someone walking up to me and saying, “I see you’re waving a huge dildo at passing motorists, here’s a cable modem” than ever getting one from the daydreaming, ceiling-staring folk at PRIMUS.

Thank you for reading and considering this inquiry, Primus representatives. I hope this kind, caring letter finds you in good health as you’re all stuffing chocolate eclairs down your throats while discussing last night’s episode of “Cheating Spouses” rather than, y’know, actually working on finding out what weird stranger’s mail slot my cable modem has been shoved into with enough Herculean force to remove it from this frame of reality.

Your Pal in Jesus,

‘Cause only He knows where my cable modem is,


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An Encyclopedia Dramatica Article

I recently wrote an article for Encyclopedia Dramatica about a gamer whom deceived the community:

I aim to write more crap content for ED because it’s fun, dammit. What more can I say? They give me “the lulz”.

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How To Make a Home-Made Nuclear Reactor

Materials you’ll need:

  • Scissors,
  • Glue,
  • Tinfoil,
  • Pencils (@ 75 – 100),
  • Home Smoke Alarms (@ 3,279),
  • Play-Doh ™ brand play-dough,
  • One (1) Lead Vest “borrowed” from a hospital’s X-Ray unit or your dentist.

Step One: Cut the tinfoil sheets into thin, long rectangles about one (1) centimetres wide, by (8) centimetres long. Prepare about four dozen or so.

Step Two: Remove the wood coverings of the pencils and grind the graphite rods by hand or with a small coffee grinder. Grind into fine particles.

Step Three: Combine the graphite powder with the Play-Doh ™. By weight, add 3 parts graphite to 1 part Play-Doh ™.

Step Four: Shape the graphite dough into small two centimetre sized cubes. Wrap a tinfoil rectangle around each. Make around forty-eight (48) cubes.

Step Five: Locate and remove the tiny amount of radioactive Americium from your approximately three thousand two hundred and seventy-nine (3, 279) smoke alarms.

(Helpful Hint: Large apartment buildings are often the best locations to find smoke alarms. Merely sneak into such buildings and, with a broom handle, run down the hallways while knocking the alarms off the ceilings. If anyone asks what you’re doing, inform them you are the fire alarm inspector and that you forgot your ladder.)

Step Six: Combine the Americium bits into a sphere approximately the size of a baseball. Remember to wear the lead vest you acquired from the health service you chose to grossly abuse.

(Helpful Hint: To store your Americium ball in between experiments, wrap the lead vest around the sphere and place it in your bathtub. Then find a new place where you can bathe.)

Caution! Improper storage of the radioactive sphere may result in:

  • House pets experiencing spontaneous combustion.
  • Large sores appearing on your room-mate who inadvertently took a long shower in your now-radioactive bathtub.
  • Emergence of super-powers, if by “super-powers” we mean “super-melanoma”.

Step Seven: Stack the graphite & Play-Dough ™ cubes, each wrapped in tinfoil, around the ball of radioactive Americium in a square pattern. Wrap the top of this large cube with a sheet of tinfoil.

Step Eight: If properly constructed, the radiation from the Americium sphere will bounce off the sides of the graphite-Play-Doh cubes stacked around it and flow upwards through the thin sheet of tin foil. The top of the cube will grow hot. Very hot. Very, very hot. Congratulations! You’ve just made your first nuclear reactor!

What You Can Do With Your Home-Made Nuclear Reactor:

  • Use the hot top of your reactor as an oven element to cook food in a frying pan, on a grill, or a wok. Now you can enjoy bacon that only took you .003 of a second to cook!
  • In the winter, your nuclear reactor will heat your home to a cheery 113 degree Celsius!
  • The radiation created by your home nuclear reactor is perfect to sterilize cookware of all germs. Other house-hold items you can sterilize are towels, pets, and the mailman.

How to Turn Your Home-Made Nuclear Reactor into a Thermonuclear Bomb to Get Rid of Unwanted Neighbours and, Hell, the Whole Neighbourhood:

  • Place your home-made nuclear reactor in your microwave.
  • Set microwave to “High” and the timer for five minutes. Hit start button on microwave.
  • Run.

Next Week’s Home Project: Turning a Thousand Cheap Laser Key Pointers into a Mega-Laser Capable of Stunning Airplane Pilots at 30,000 Feet!

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A DEVO-Inspired Song o’ Love!

Pull Me”

I want to hold you,

I want to kiss you,

I want to know you,

But you don’t know me.


Girl, I pursue you,

Attracted to you,

Distracted by you,

My soul isn’t free.


Well, here I go again.

Back on the circle that brings me back to you,

Well, here’s a show we can

Make of the spectacle of me chasing you.


Oh baby, you got my soul in your hands,

Oh lady, I give in to all your demands,

Pretty girl, I really just can’t understand,

The way you pull me,

Pull me without your hands.



Oh baby pull me,

Pull me pull me pull me pull me.

Oh gracious lady,

Just pull me pull me pull me pull me.

I will not struggle,

When you pull me pull me pull me pull me,

I won’t be trouble,

If you’ll just pull me pull me pull me.

(end chorus)


I want to hold you,

(While you pull, pull, pull onto me)

I want to kiss you,

(When I push, push, push into you)

I want to know you,

(Oh most, most, most biblically)

But you won’t know me.

(‘Til you pull pull pull onto me)


Girl, I pursue you,

(And it’s easy when you’re pulling me)

Attracted to you,

(I know you won’t give it up easily)

Distracted by you,

(But it’s only you that I can see)

And my soul just isn’t…

My soul isn’t free.

(chorus x2)

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“Peanut Butter Teddy Bear Kisses” – Part Four

A high-pitched voice comes from the back of the living room. Strom can’t see what the hell it is but he’s guessing Mannering can because all of a sudden his partner is turning to flee, his skin complexion gone white. Strom wants to make a Michael Jackson joke at this point but he’s positive Mannering wouldn’t get the reference.

“I WANT TO LIVE!” yells a high-pitched child’s voice from the darkness.

“JESUS MERCY!” yells Mannering.

A MicroApple brand bubblechip media player, about the size of a large book, sails past Mannering’s head and smashes against the wall. Stromb winces. Damn, those things are expensive.

Continue reading

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“Peanut Butter Teddy Bear Kisses” – Part Three

“Knocking on the front door is a good start,” he tells his wide-eyed partner. Strom motions Mannering to get the hell out of the van and follow him. The house itself doesn’t stand out from the surrounding neighborhood: it has an unkempt lawn, soot from various city emissions lightly coating its plastic exterior siding, cracked doorbell button, all the accoutrements of low income housing from the decades-past 20th century.

Since Strom is sure the buzzer is broken, he knocks on the door with more-than-polite force.

Mannering catches up to him. “You sure knocking is a good idea?”

“Quiet. Wait.”

A full minute passes and Strom only has to hush his naive partner once more; no response comes from another hard knocking. “Okay,” he tells Mannering. “The biological inhabitants are either dead or incapacitated. Let’s – ”

“What?!?” Mannering looks dismayed. “How do you know that?!?”

“Listen to me closely, young Padawan – ”


Strom almost sighs again, stops himself, and shakes his head. Fucking kids these days. “Just open your goddamn eardrums and stop interrupting me. The call to this house was placed by one of the residents. The wife, it’s a het-couple, I think. Anyways, from my unjustifiably long years on this godforsaken job, I’ve learned in these situations that if the original complainants don’t answer a loud authoritative knock, there’s usually a very good reason, like being dead or bleeding all over the place which generally precludes the ability to answer their door. Understand?”

Mannering nods a fast, nervous affirmative. Strom is starting to get annoyed at his rookie partner’s eyes bugging out of his head. Mannering is beginning to look like a frightened security guard drawn in anime style. “So what do we do now?”

“We now have justifiable cause to enter the domicile.” Strom removes a one-time-use-only door override passcard from one of the many pockets on his black jumpsuit. The little orange and red plastic beauties can open almost any residential-level door but will also alert the corporation to the fact you’re using it… all to save their legal ass, of course. Opening someone’s locked entranceway after they called the corp for help pretty well guarantees legal protection from lawsuits so Strom isn’t sweating it.

The thick plastic door unlocks and Strom pushes it open. Of course everything is dark as Satan’s anus inside. It’s a guarantee on domestic calls that you won’t be able to see shit inside the house wherein great danger lurks to stab you in the ass with a handy kitchen butcher knife.

“You first”, Strom pushes Mannering in front of him . The young man begins to protest; in fact, he gets out a startled, “But I – ” and then Mannering is inside the house.

“Good job,” Strom says. “Look around, what do you see?”

Mannering’s only a few feet inside the place, he’s now a dark figure lit only by the blue flickering of flourescent streetlights coming in from the open entranceway. “Dark small hallway, even darker living room – AHHHHHH!!!”

“What? WHAT?!?” Strom yells.

(Part Four to Follow)

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“Peanut Butter Teddy Bear Kisses” – Part Two

Fifteen minutes later and all of Strom’s coffee is gone, goddamnit. He’s thinking of ordering Mannering to find a Caffeine-Plus drive-thru but they’re almost at the mission’s location. Caffeine-Plus coffee is one of the few things that keeps Strom going, he’s so burnt out from the many years of working long hours.

“Let’s see.” Strom looks at one of the many computer screens on the dashboard. A street address in green text is flashing, telling him that, yes indeed, this is the place. “Pull over and park across, Mannering.”

They’re in a somewhat run-down residential neighborhood. Not one of the worst places in the habitat city, but the ever-present economic recession isn’t making it any better.

“66710 Court Hampton Street,” Mannering reads from the same display after he parks the van. He points at the house across from their vehicle. “That’s… a house,” he states.

“Very good, partner.” In the past, Strom would have added a few witty remarks about Mannering’s intelligence. But he was just too goddamn tired.

“No, I mean… uh… I ‘ve never had an assignment at a house before. Apartments in the habitats, sure. And sometime the corp sends me… us… to a data silo for pickup, or some rich event for shareholders to stop the untagged homeless from crashing the party. But a house… I’ve never been to an old residential house.”

Strom doesn’t know how to answer Mannering’s unspoken question of why the hell they are here. All he knows is that residential calls are never, ever easy; much more than likely this evening was going to turn downright ugly. Residential calls to any kind of home are like the crap-shoot of security troubleshooting, there’s all that arguing and you never know when things might go south real fast due to an enraged spouse going berserk.

“Read out the quick point list on what we’re supposed to do, Mannering.” Strom leans back and closes his eyes as his inexperienced partner speaks instructions from yet another dashboard screen.

” ‘Mission Type: Product Malfunction: Children’s Toy. Mission Objective: Neutralize or destroy all products showing autonomy or self-awareness. Aid survivors and encourage them to sign appropriate release form(s).’ ” Mannering stops reading. “Product malfunction? Self-awareness?”

Yup, this is a bad one. Strom knows he has to get the kid up to speed to save him from some serious freaking out. Like the poor young bastard has any chance to stay sane on this career path, thought Strom. “Okay Mannering, listen up. It’s a bit complicated, so I’m not going to say it again. The corporation we work for makes all sorts of crap, right?”

“Uh… sure.”

“From baby food products to computers, our beloved corp makes it all. And it has serious interest in ground-breaking consumer products. Stuff people have to buy, because it’s new, has wow appeal, all that glitz-shit. So some of the products our corp inflicts on the general public can be pretty incredible… and complicated.”


“Yes. Such as toys built with cybernetics and artificial intelligence.” Leaning forward Strom points at the highlighted TOY word on the data display and taps it once. “And, of course, sometimes complicated things have problems. So we’re here to fix the problem.”

The data screen wipes the text to show a slowly revolving image of a teddy bear. A “Happy Chappy SuperSmart Teddy Bear”, to be specific. Strom knew it was one of the more popular toys this Christmas season.

Mannering’s eyes bug out towards the screen, which would’ve made Strom laugh years ago. “A… a teddy bear?!?” He looks at Strom as if his partner just became eligible for mental sick leave.

Strom leans back in his chair and closes his eyes again. “I knew the corp shouldn’t have rushed them to market,” he remarks to the cold and cruel universe surrounding him.

“What… do we do?”

Strom doesn’t answer Mannering for a moment, choosing instead to savor the sensation of relaxing in the comfortable van chair. But he can sense Mannering staring at him, and nobody can truly rest when some idiot is watching them like a terrorized puppy, so Strom sighs – he’s been doing that a lot for the past few months as the job continued to wear him down ever more – and opens the passenger’s side door.

(Part Three to Follow)

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Rob Mayor Found Guilty of Conflict of Interest, or; The Shambling Mass of Public Embarrassment is Gone

This is a sculpture of Rob Ford, made out of butter. Yes, butter. Ironic thing is, Ford’s actual fat content is higher than the statue.

Let’s get one thing straight: I never liked “Mayor” Rob Ford. I have a “sense” about people, a strong ability to feel the energies that make up the personality of the person. And the first moment I saw Ford, I knew the city of Toronto was in for a rough ride.

In fact, the first time I saw Rob Ford on TV, and listened to him babble in a self-serving manner, I turned to my friend Scooter and said, “I bet you, in a year or so, Ford’s going to be raising a lot of controversy about his actions.” And I was right.

(As an aside, my ability to predict future events unsettles me at times. I’ll write about a matter, or speak about it with a friend, and make a prediction that more often than not comes true. The biggest, most correct prediction I’ve made was when I told Scooter in 1999, “I think, in the next few years, the United States will suffer a very destructive act by terrorists.”)

Anyways, back to the now-disgraced Rob Ford. I wish I could run for Mayor, because I’d be everything Rob Ford ISN’T (except possibly the weight). I’d do my best to serve the public, such as really tackling the homeless problem in Toronto, for one example. And I’d go to all the yearly celebrations in Toronto – the Pride March, Caribanna, what have you – I’d go to them all to show my support (and grab free eats, possibly) for all the various cultures in our great city.

And that’s just the proverbial, “tip of the iceberg” of the goals I’d do my best to fulfill as Mayor. But we all know that’s never gonna happen. I’m just happy to know, compared to the national embarrassment Rob Ford, I’d be a great mayor. But then again, if you compare anybody with Ford, they’d be a great mayor. So vote for me, or get in the election race yourself, because all these so-called learned “politicians” like Ford are serving only themselves while the poor and homeless starve.

It’s funny that they say anyone can run for Mayor of Toronto, when the reality is you’d have to lay down the major bucks just to have your name on the ballot. Democracy in action, eh?

Well, I’ve rambled enough. Good-bye, ex-Mayor Rob “What’s in it for me?” Ford. You were a horrible embarrassment for Toronto, and the only good thing you can do for us now is leave City Hall and go back to coaching high school football, the only job in which you were semi-competent. By the way, Ford, all those youths you coach in football hate you, too.

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This Website is Under Construction!

Please bear with me as I aggregate all my schtuff onto this heah WordPress site! My articles are on the right, and I’ll be adding links, etc, in the next few days. Oh dear God the excitement! Yes.

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My tweets

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