Hey fucking neighbours who think it’s ok to have 3-4 friends over at 3 fucking a fucking m on a fucking Monday morning. What. The. Fuck? You may have shift work jobs (how nice for you) but where do you get off thinking it’s party time for the entire apartment building at that hour? Eat hot fuck!
Dead Robot

Hmmm… a different perspective. Now I’m starting to understand the feelings of the mysterious source of all that banging that night earlier this month when I checked into a hotel room with Rachel. At 3am. And she tested the beds by jumping back and forth between them. Destroying one of them. And flying head-first into the space between it and the wall adjacent to it. And not having the TV on. Or more than two people in the room. But still receiving a noise complaint by 3:12.

Rachel: (on the phone to the front desk) What? You don’t have bathrobes? Then can you send up extra towels? (hand over phone) They want to know how many towels.
Simon: We don’t need any extra towels.
Rachel: (into phone) Six. Send up six towels.

On my way to work today I was listening to the radio and contemplating how Daft Punk’s 2001 Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger is still so good that when Kanye West’s Stronger comes on some autonomic function of my brain totally filters him and his artistic contributions out, when an ad for Jack Astor’s brought itself to my attention. Their new advertising slogan is: Jack Astor’s. It’s not a meal, it’s an event.

This is so obviously a rip-off of the advertising campaign I designed for the Hillfield-Strathallan College Highschool Video Dance 1996, titled Remember, it’s not just a dance; it’s an experience.

Stylebiters.

God bless the north end beer store — which stays open until 10pm on weeknights (the drive through stays open until 11!) — but I can’t truly love anything that has the capacity to ambush me with a moral quandary.

As I was getting out of my car last night to go into this The Beer Store™ when a gentleman whose outward appearance prompted the judgy pro-stereotype part of my brain to cry out ‘homeless individual!’ tried to get my attention with a friendly ‘Hey, buddy?’.

I steeled myself to rebuff a ‘down on my luck’ story followed closely by a request for change, but instead the solemn old fellow held out his hand (which contained $4.50 in change) and said “Would you go inside and buy me a beer? The lady in there doesn’t like me and I’m not allowed in the store.”

Now what kind of a world do we live in where any one of of us could be prevented from buying a sweet, cold beer, the solver of any possible problem life could throw at you? I was outraged.

But I was also conflicted. Maybe there was a reason he shouldn’t have that beer. Maybe alcohol was a crushing yoke in his life, and here I was tightening the little straps or whatever that hold the yoke onto what the yoke goes onto. Maybe he should have taken that $4.50 and bought a nice suit and a computer on which to write a resume so he could get a job that had the kind of problems that were solved with Boli Stolis instead of Molson 40s. To deny his request impaired his short term happiness but to grant it might very well dismantle any hope for real and lasting self-fulfillment. What was I to do?

Obviously I bought the beer for him.

But I still ended up thinking way more than I like to during a Thursday night “omg gotta get there before it closes” beer run.

King of Jerkspot? I call shenanigans on your Facebook status, Dicky.

Coworker One stole some of my cereal. It didn’t have my name on it. While he was eating it he was told by Coworker Two that it was my cereal. I don’t know if he asked or was just told. When Coworker Two asked Coworker One if he was going to tell me that he ate some of my cereal, Coworker One said “no.”

The next morning while Coworker Two was not in the room Coworker One told me that he ate some of my cereal, and that he had bought two new boxes of cereal to make up for it. That afternoon while Coworker One was not in the room Coworker Two said to me “I don’t want to be a horrible person and a tattle tale, but [Coworker One] has been stealing your cereal.”

Who is worse, Coworker One or Coworker Two?

p.s. Max max max to the max.