Tag Archives: funny

Twisted Seasonal Songs

And now … the moment that no one has been waiting for! It’s Twisted Seasonal Sing-Song Time!!!

Good King Donnie T (to the tune of Good King Wenceslas; arr. L. d’Arty-Cross)

Good king Donnie T looked out

On the Feast of Stealing,

When the snow lay round about,

Deep and crisp and even.

Brightly shone Till’s head that night,

Though ole Don was cru-el,

When poor Comey came in sight,

Gathering cabinet fu-u-el.

It’s a seasonal landscape!

Jingle Coins  (arr. L. d’Arty-Cross)

Jingle coins, jingle coins,

Jingling all the way,

Oh what fun it is to see the money stacked like hay – yay!

Jingle coins, jingle coins,

Jingling all the way,

Buy it all for Donnie dear

And sign your life away!

Happy Winter!

Donnie the Red-Handed Conman (arr. L. d’Arty-Cross)

Donnie the red-handed conman,

Had a very tiny dick,

But if you ever saw it, you would need to have a drink

All of the other presidents, used to bow and scrape and wink

They wouldn’t bar ole Donnie, from a little pressy dink

Then one smoggy Christmas day, Mueller came to say, Donnie with your hand so bright, won’t you join my cell tonight?

Then all the presidents dropped him, they went and checked their banks with care. They couldn’t believe he’d had them, even though they took their share!

And many other old favourites … 😉

My apologies (condolences?) to my American brethren for my references to your president. However, I just couldn’t help myself … 😉

 

Jitter All the Way

I’m not a morning person, but even if I was, I would still love coffee. Strong coffee. Turkish coffee. Arabic coffee. Cafe mocha. To me, coffee has all the nuance and complexity of a good wine.

Unless it’s plonk coffee.

And I know that this is some sort of national heresy, but when I think plonk, Tim Horton’s springs to mind. Well, it doesn’t spring. Their coffee has all the kick of grandpa’s walker.

Coffee is one of the best times of the day, even if it does mean that I’m propped up somewhere instead of sleeping.

Coffee has done a lot for me, too. For one thing, it has kept me awake enough to be employed. For another, it’s probably saved me from countless charges of road rage and the like.

Without coffee, I’d be unemployed and in jail. It’s amazing what coffee can do.

But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become sensitive to it. Which is weird, because it seems like everything else is desensitizing. I don’t see as well. I don’t hear as well. Calories arrive and take up permanent residence anywhere they can find a squat. I consider it to be a good day if I don’t wake up to another sag.

It used to be that coffee would never keep me awake, no matter what time I drank it. Then I couldn’t drink it in the evenings. Then I noticed that the afternoons were problematic. Then I noticed that it could make me a little shaky. Drinking coffee all day became a thing of the past.

Mornings, though. Those were sacrosanct.

So this morning while sitting at work, I noticed a slight tremor in my hands. I also felt a little jittery. As I reached for my coffee, I realized that I was consuming my fourth large cup. Could my hands and the coffee be related???

My cup holds a quarter of a litre.

Oh oh. Was I on my way to drinking a litre of coffee a morning??? Oi.

I thought about it. I thought, I don’t usually drink this much coffee.

Then I thought, yes I do.

Shit.

And no, I don’t mean poo-poop-de-do civet coffee, either.

However.

I’m not giving up coffee. I’ll cut back, but I’m not giving it up.

While I was thinking about it, I decided that there’s some other stuff I’m not giving up.

Chocolate.

Steak.

Red wine.

Maybe the odd cigar.

You’ll have to pry this stuff from my cold shaking hands.

Well okay, okay. Maybe I will have to sort of give it up at some time.

But never completely.

What will you never give up?

 

Yop Narci Signs

So I found this in my search terms, along with “narcissist bullshitter” and “the narcissist cookbook.” Could be something funny here – do you think?

Are narcissists bullshitters? Do they bullshit about cooking? Or are they busy cooking up bullshit? With Yop yogourt? Yuck. Now there’s an unattractive visual. Maybe the searcher was looking for Gordon Ramsay’s cookbook.

My ex-narcissist was the biggest bullshitter when it came to his cooking abilities. And everything else. But when it came to recipes for the narcissistic line, he was yops, er, tops.

What recipes would The Narcissist Cookbook contain? Let’s take a quick stroll through a potential table of contents.

1. Appetiser – The “I love you because you’re perfect” Smoked Oysters.

2. Pasta – The “I can’t live without you, precious” Farfalle with Creamy Truffles.

3. Meat – The “I really need a quick loan and will pay you right back” well done flank steak.

4. Fish – The “will you marry me” Cedar-Planked Salmon with Arugula Salad.

5. Palate Cleanser – The “you’re such an annoying person but anyway will you buy this suit for me” Eye-Watering Lemon Sorbet.

6. Dessert – The “I’ve fallen out of love with you but you still need to buy these tires for my car” Curdled Creme Brulee.

7. Cheese Plate – The “I know you want a divorce but you’re gonna have to pay me” Squishy Grape and Smelly Rotten Cheese Platter.

8. Very Expensive Civet Coffee with Petit fours.

9. Free-at-last Digestive (recipe not included in cookbook but necessary in order to recover from meal-induced heartburn. Don’t worry. It goes away.)

10. (Next day) Tummy-soothing Oatmeal with Brown Sugar, best consumed with good friend.

Do you have any recipes to add?   🙂

A Resolution By Any Other Name Is Still a Resolution

I don’t really do new year’s resolutions. Sometimes, I’m definitely tempted, but I know what will happen – nothing.

I’m one of those people who has to be ready to do or not do whatever it is; an arbitrary due date that forces me into trying to change some awful behaviour or other will only result in failure, at least for me.

It’s much better for me to think about what I won’t do rather than about what I will do. At the very least, it’s the kind of whimsical bullshit that puts me to sleep at night, so it does accomplish something.

As a result, I have created the list that none of you has been waiting for – the top ten things that I resolve to not do. I can now bask in the rationalization that sometimes, making new year’s commitments is very hassle-free.

1. Go parachuting. The only way I would do this is if the airplane is on fire and James Bond is not available to rescue me.

2. Pierce a body part. I pierced my ears when I was 17. That was enough. Starting a personal relationship with Hitler would be more attractive.

3. Get a tattoo. That whole fad is starting to get ridiculous, especially among the oldsters, who are making themselves look older by trying to appear younger. If you ain’t where you are baby, you’re nowhere, and that particularly applies to age.

4. Join Facebook, again. If you want to see narcissism in action, Facebook is the place to go. The oneupmanship/mea culpa crap is nauseating. The idea that we want to know your every move and your every lame thought – well, don’t strain yourself. I don’t need to know that it burns when you pee. Just quietly visit a doctor and quietly inform the source of your “Burnin’ Love.” Otherwise, this information is not important, and neither are you.  In fact, I would rather eat a bug than read your stuff.

5. Eat a bug. I’m not planning on joining a reality tv series situated in some remote jungle where the only food sources are bugs, eyeballs and leftover toenails. Or something else that’s equally gross.

6. Enjoy shopping for a new bathing suit. Now, those of you who “know” me know that I hate shopping. Shopping for a bathing suit? Stuffing a pine cone up my nose would be an easier task.

7. Climb Mt. Everest. I gave up backpacks when I left the army. Ditto tents, cold beans and ropes. Doing that same crap in -50 while the wind is howling and you’re about to run out of air sounds about as logical as performing brain surgery with a pair of pliers. Just because “it’s there” doesn’t mean you have to do it. Cars are “there.” I don’t jump in front of them to see if their brakes are working.

8. Start eating Kentucky Fried Chicken. M calls this stuff “the dirty bird.” That is descriptive, isn’t it?

9. Open my own shoe store. I only like comfortable shoes and hate it when my feet hurt. I would never try to make people feel like they have to wear the crap that supposedly keeps them “fashionable.” Have you noticed those shoes that make a woman’s foot look like a hoof? Giant ugly platforms with squared toes that especially on petite women, call to mind Henry VIII’s armour. The feet, not the codpiece. Anyway, I’m relieved to see that they are starting to wane.

10. Run for public office. I don’t think that I’m suitable. Really. I’m not narcissistic enough, deluded enough, disrespectful enough or suffering from megalomania enough. Now, if only the rest of the world would listen to me. After all, I have all the answers. And remember, it doesn’t matter how you get there, only that you do.

See, that was easy, wasn’t it? Do you have a list of stuff you know you won’t do? Share your thoughts, please!

Finally, a Post!

Taken in Megeve, France
Taken in Megeve, France (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s been a while since I did a post!

That’s because I’ve had waaaay too much to do and just trying to keep up with my reader has been difficult.

So here’s what I’ve been doing:

– completing courses that will lead to a major career change. I have a break coming up but I have to study for a big test. Sob.

– working, and right now it’s crazy at work although the end is in sight.

-getting ready for Christmas – and ready to explode because of it.

-shovelling snow. Actually, no. M has been doing that. It’s made me swear a lot, though. The snow, not M.

-whining about snow. Yes, that would be true.

-whining about the cold. Yup. Actually, maybe I should explode. At least that would be warm. And, isn’t this time of year supposed to generate warmth around my heart cockles? What are cockles, anyway? If I didn’t know better, I would say that they’re teeny tiny c***s.

-whining about having to dodge snowbanks while out in the cold on my way to the mall. Yay.

– whining about being overworked and tired. Check.

– whining about hearing “The Little Drummer Boy” for the 1, 274, 451 st time. If I catch him, I’m going to shove those drum sticks down his weird little throat. He should be playing computer games, not following babies and playing his drum for them.

– whining about that creepy little oaf, er, elf, who keeps trailing people around the mall and squawking at them in a high-pitched voice to buy stuff.

-whining. Really, the only whine I want comes out of a bottle. The whine that comes out of me is boring. But I have to. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be me.

And I gotta be me. Who else would want the job?

What delicious pre-Christmas things have you been up to?

I Am NOT a Morning Person

"Oh How I Hate to Get up in the Morning&q...
“Oh How I Hate to Get up in the Morning” (sheet music) page 1 of 3 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Why is it that the morning people dominate the world??? Discriminatory, I say! My rights are being trampled on!!

Night owls of the world arise! You have nothing to lose but your sack time, and that’s already happening! We need respect! We need understanding! We need coffee!

I hate mornings.

I really hate mornings when you’re with someone who’s all perky and bright and chirpy.

They sing at you: La da ti da dahh di da doe mi so la fa dahhh …

That’s what it sounds like to me. Then, because you don’t respond because you can’t understand them, they sing at you again, more loudly this time. It’s like having a gong go off in your head.

And because you aren’t like them, they can get all huffy and defensive and even start viewing you as a lesser species.

A word of advice: it ain’t about you, morning lark.

If you think that there’s no such thing as life after death, you haven’t been to my house and seen me get up in the morning.

M. is the same way. Only worse.  He looks the way I feel. Slow. Lumbering. Somambulant.

If you really poke at me, I can start acting like a pissed off velociraptor.  A confused one.

Nothing looks right. It’s all so briiiight, and faaast, and loooud. And I hear and see it all in slow motion, no kidding. The lights are on but nobody’s home.

Coffee is my saviour. Without coffee, I wouldn’t wake up until four o’clock in the afternoon.  I wouldn’t be able to deal with plumbers, meter readers, letter carriers, work, or breathing.

Coffee bean
Coffee bean (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If life operated the way it should, I would go to bed at one o’clock and get up at nine. I would be functioning and contented, if still not fully awake. But our 24/7 world doesn’t allow for this. We have millions of years of evolution screaming at us to go back to bed, especially while that storm is raging outside, but we have to shoehorn ourselves into a work life that our biology hates.

I really sometimes wonder what we’re doing to ourselves. Do you?

Random Stuff

Emmental - Swiss cheese
Emmental – Swiss cheese (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, I’ve been really busy and haven’t had a chance to post for a while.  I realized just how busy when I took a look at my last post and saw that I was supposed to give eleven random facts about myself but didn’t. Why eleven? I have no idea, but that didn’t even register when I was doing the post…

All right. I’m digressing again. To finish the last post properly, here are eleven random facts about me:

1.  I am fourth-generation former military. My son makes five.

2.  I once met George Bush Jr. before he was president and had a chance to talk to him. His wife was nice. He was an idiot.

3. I am “double-jointed,” especially in my hands, elbows and shoulders. My legs used to be the same way but aren’t any more because I’m two seconds away from officially becoming ancient.

4. Every time I have the gall to think that I’ve figured something out, God or the prophets or Murphy (you know, the Murphy’s Law guy) smites me (smotes me?) to make sure that I don’t get above my raisin’.

5. Water follows me everywhere, especially into my basement where it keeps finding new places to drip.

6. I’ve eaten prairie oysters and enjoyed them. For those of you who don’t know, prairie oysters are bulls’ balls.

7.  I have a small extra rib on one side, colloquially known as “Adam’s rib.”

8. I like to eat Swiss cheese and pickled beets. Together. I know. It’s weird.

9. I’m half English and half French. This should make me the perfect little Canadian but what it really means is that I can shrug and have a stiff upper lip at the same time.

10. My favourite colour is red. I like lots of other colours, too, but red rules!

11. I am NOT a morning person. I could do a whole post on this one. I hate mornings.  They’re just so, so bright, and, and, bright. And I don’t like it when people around me leap out of bed and act all perky … see, there’s a rant coming.

Dadahhh! Done!

Making the Best of It

Happy..Happy.. Mother's Day :-)..
Happy..Happy.. Mother’s Day :-).. (Photo credit: Thai Jasmine (Smile..smile…Smile..))

So it’s Mother’s Day tomorrow and all you procrastinators and excuse-ridden forgetful people who are too lazy to get out of their own way better rush out and get a card, some flowers – even if you have to steal them from someone else’s yard – and then make your lunch reservations.

Lunch reservations?

Fuuuuck!

Probably too late for that now!

Now what are you to do? Standing there with a card that used to say “Happy Birthday” and to which you’ve applied a liberal amount of  Wite-Out while your stolen flowers droop for lack of water and and your face resembles that of a robber’s horse?

Hah! I guess you’re just going to have to make the best of it and do what we used to do years ago before the commercialization of everything under the sun, including Hang-Nail Day. Ohhh, wait a minute. I think they forgot that one.

Nevertheless.

Here’s what we used to do – and I would do now if I still had my mom:

1. Make a card. When we were kids we used to make these really goofy-looking cards that were supposed to be endearing during the Friday afternoon art class before Mother’s Day Sunday. After my mom passed away, I discovered that she had kept a whole stack of these from me and my siblings.  It’s not hard to go find a craft store, get a few simple supplies and make something that’s much better than you can buy.

2. Grow some flowers. Kidding. Actually, I did do this a couple of times when I was a child but I got the idea back in February. However. If your mom is into flowers or gardening, you could buy a plant that will bloom later in the season. In this hemisphere, our greenhouses are all just getting going and there’s lots of choice. There might even be plants available that have some blooms on them already. And don’t buy those tacky ones that they sell in the grocery store.

3. Make lunch. Or dinner. OH. MY. GOD. Make dinner? But I burn water, you scream silently to yourself.  Don’t stress. If necessary, you can always buy something ready-made and just heat it up. Remember, the whole idea is for your mom to have a day off. And be sure to do all the clean-up. She’ll probably appreciate that more than anything else.

4. Last but not least. If all else fails, go to your mom’s place and do her cleaning or her yard work or her laundry for her. I don’t think that there could be a better present.

Happy Mother’s Day, moms, stepmoms, and all you people who have endeavoured to raise us and give us a good life!

On “Being” Canadian, Part 2

So I was noodling, mulling over how I was going to fashion part two on “being” Canadian, when Barack Obama put his size twelve tootsies  into his  mouth, both at the same time, and provided me with the perfect fodder.

It seems that while giving a speech on Israeli/Palestine relations, Mr. Obama compared the two warring nations (question – Is Palestine now considered to be a nation?) to Canada and the U.S. What he meant was that Canada and the U.S. sometimes disagree about things but that we eventually figure it out without resorting to violence, and that Israel and Palestine should get over themselves and do the same. What it sounded  like was that we are at each other’s throats and that Toronto is Baghdad‘s sister city.

Twitter is beside itself with glee. The twittersphere is busy twitting, sorry, tweeting, about a movement called #TheCanucksAreComing. Sounds like a bowel movement to me.

Some of the comments are really funny. Some are just plain stupid. Some are using this incident as an excuse, oops, forum, to complain about Quebec. 

Remember my comments from part one about how we can be smug and arrogant and have a self-esteem issue all at the same time? Well, some people might say that this goes a long way to proving it. The Canucks Are Coming?? In what way, exactly? According to the twits, sorry, twitterers? tweeters? it’s going to look something like this (with my respects to the originators of these comments, I have taken some liberties and made some twits, er, tweaks):

Washington will need a wash after it has been set awash in a sea of poutine. [Will we need a pipeline for this??]

All U.S. hockey players are part of a sleeper cell. [Especially Tampa Bay.]

We will change the alphabet from “eh” to “zed.” [And add an indiscriminate “u” tu euery wurd.]

The Americans will face maple syrup bottle projectiles as militants of the Canadian Intifada cross Lake Erie. [We will cross with the guidance of the ice road truckers except by dog sled. More authentic that way. Waiting for Lake Erie to freeze, however, might be like waiting for, well, hell to freeze over.]

Wayne Gretzky is an embedded spy. [Which is why his hockey team can’t get to the Stanley Cup.]

There were lots of other comments about Tim Horton’s coffee and burning down Washington, all of which give some insight into the Canadian psyche. While many were quite funny, they also had something of a scathing edge to them.  A little hurt, maybe; maybe even a little bitter.  A little bit pissed off that the U.S. doesn’t pay more attention or isn’t more respectful or doesn’t turn to us more often for advice or help. After all, we have all the answers!

And we also need to grow up about it, too.

What do you think?

Barack Obama, President of the United States o...
Barack Obama, President of the United States of America, with Stephen Harper, Prime Minister of Canada. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Hanging On By One Fingernail

So I haven’t posted for a while. Since January 20th, to be exact. I’ve been trying to keep up with my reader, but even that is proving to be difficult. So let me tell you, dear readers, what I’ve been up to.

First of all, there were my water troubles. For those of you not familiar with Chez d’Arty’s love/hate relationship with water, I refer you to a couple of earlier posts called Homeowner’s Bliss, Parts One and Two.

So anyway, my water troubles are sort of fixed. My shower still leaks. My kitchen sink still leaks. But a lot of the other leaks are fixed. The CIA would be proud.

But then I had to go to another city for a 9-day work assignment. And I got sick. I wasn’t feeling too hotshot before I left but while there all the little virus particles decided to really let go, literally. I didn’t think that it was possible to spend that much time in the bathroom. The worst part is that I was in a hotel room without the familiar comforts of home: The dog lying next to me, burping and farting. The plumber trudging up and down the stairs and probably envisioning a lifetime’s worth of work in my soggy basement. My neighbour, swearing loudly as he shovels the sidewalk. I can’t tell you how glad I was that I was in a hotel room.

Actually, that’s not very true. I was really missing M. but also glad that he was in no danger of getting infected.

And on top of it all, I had to keep working.  Since I was not long back from medical leave I didn’t think that it would be a good thing to claim further illness, so Immodium became my best friend. Yum.

I got back home to a pile-up at work and having to face the fact that I’m not really better yet. I am awaiting the results of further tests.  In the meantime, I have actually done some catch-up reading and am amazed anew at the creative abilities of those I follow – and others of you, as well.  You really are a talented lot. Thanks for making me laugh and for making me think.

The -foot ( m) diameter granite CIA seal in th...

I appreciate you all.