Living in university, most of my peers live with a flat mate (sometimes two or even three). They come to me asking "Dr. Rockmell, my flat mate is a horrific twat. Can you kill them?" Well, I actually tried that a few times but cyanide isn't as easy to get a hold of anymore so now I have to offer them actual advice instead. Living with other people is a tricky balancing act. There are a lot of unwritten rules that so many people are not aware of. You must be assertive, but not bitchy. You must be polite, but not a push-over. You are allowed to have sex with his girlfriend, but only when he's NOT home... ad infinitum. The problem is that when only one party follows these rules, the situation can be even more hopelessly frustrating and can end in eviction, a break-up, or a homicide. Some people are fine with this. I am not. So here is a guide for coexisting- the manual for the rest of us.

Part I - Idenify Your Flat Mate.

A very important step you must first take is identifying your flat mate. There are various kinds with even more sub-catagories- far too numerous to cover entirely, but I have tried to include the main types.

i. The Arts Student: They are generally lethargic, boring, have a tendency to wear shitty clothes from A&E which they will try to pass off as "vintage" and listen to shittier music they try to pass off as "indie". They are most likely to major in things like English Literature, Linguistics, Psychology, and "Women's Studies", and get violently offended when you ask them what they will do with a degree in arts. Your typical arts student will never pay their bill on time (because they're perpetually unemployed), blast shitty lesbian folk music at 3 am in an attempt to be original, and constantly check their Last.fm page. Their day to day vocabulary frequently features words like "ostensibly," "soundscapes," and "lingua franca." They will attempt to be snarky/witty by saying things such as "English is now the lingua franca of the world...Ironic, isn't it?" to French students, but nobody takes these dipshits seriously. The chances of bringing home a date is quite slim so the awkward morning-after talk when bumping into the date the next morning will be rare and must be cherished.

ii. The Frat Boy: These guys are total bastards: loud, obnoxious, and borderline retarded. They were probably traumatized during FroshWeek and considered the anal probe a "bonding experience." They LOVE their frat brothers (but not you know, in the gay way. That'd be totally gay). They were in a fraternity during their freshman year and they just never got over it. Almost everything they do will have some sort of homoerotic undertone, which they will fervently deny when questioned. Their vocabulary isn't of much interest as it is rarely ever coherent. They are prone to throwing up on your most valued posessions after a night of debauchery (that is to say, every night). They are careless, loud, but will usually have a ready and ample supply of alcohol; however, the alcohol is probably beer and not very good. The chances of bringing home a date varies over a wide range, as it depends on which type of frat boy you've got. Most will talk incessantly of sex and the female body but will actually not "score" very often (mostly because of such behaviour), but there are many "casanovas" amongst the frat boy crowd. It should be noted that they have rather low standards (nearly nil) and most of these "babes" they bring home will be a) fat, b) ugly, c) bitchy, d) stupid, or some combination of the four. These "babes" are probably also crawling with venereal diseases so you should avoid them at all costs and make sure to sterilize everything that they've touched. One good thing is that their parents are most likely to be fairly rich, so as long as they keep sending in the cheques, your bills should be paid on time.

iii. The Sorority Sister: They are the female counterpart of the frat boys, but they usually tend to agglomerate with their own kind so they should not be really a problem unless your frat boy flat mate brings them home. They are most likely to be pretty, but vapid and usually bitchy with a self-esteem lower than the Mariana trench.

iv. The Artist: They are easily identified by their eccentric behaviour and constant mumbling of "You don't get me. You don't get me. You won't get me until I'm dead!" The phrase is probably some sort of mantra but has baffled scientists for ages since these artist types are often shallow and there usually isn't much to "get" about these persons. If you luck out, your artist will be actually talented and interesting; however, he is more likely to be another dumb fuck who bought too many sets of paint brushes. There are many subcatagories of artists such as the destructive artist (you may come home to find your TV, computer, and all your electronic equipment smashed to bits); the Andy Warhol (you may come home to find a throng of half-naked models and drag queens doing cocaine off your thesis; the fucking nutbag (you may come home to find your friend hanging upside down from the ceiling as to increase the blood flow to his brain in order to get more ideas). Unless your friend is somewhat established and famous, do not expect any monetary contributions of this type. Just consider them a charity case and maybe make them paint on the wall instead of actual payment. The upside is that they will most likely have some sort of supply of mind-altering drugs on hand all the time that you can steal when they are too fucked up to notice. The chance of bringing home a date is directly proportional to the amount of talent, fame and money.

v. The Redneck: If American, probably from any of the southern states (or Maine). They will enjoy shooting any urban wildlife that comes within 500 ft of the flat, which may be amusing especially if he is drunk on moonshine. Do not discuss politics and it will be okay most of the time. They are probably the most "normal" of many of the types of flat mates, and especially handy if you two happen to get lost in the wilderness. If he is especially fond of you, he will tell you the secret of riding a moose. You can usually expect prompt payment unless he has "bought the Champlain bridge" and renamed it after his mum.

vi. The Gangsta: You can pretty much dismiss all of his "street cred," seeing as how he couldn't find a flat mate that isn't a "fly hunny" or a fellow "pimp" (but it indeed is a hard world for a pimp). Contrary to appearance, they will most likely be quite broke around rent-day seeing as how they've spent all their money on 12k gold bling from the pawn shop. They may or may not speak ebonics and their speech may be quite interesting, but also often incoherent. Usually trying to start a conversation about linguistics of "jive" (such as the dropping of the copula like in Russian or the extensive usage of the double negative) will end only in frustration and probably a cap being popped in yo' ass, so you best not be frontin'.

vii. The Dyke: Is your flatmate flying the rainbow flag from every orifice possible? Then she may be in catagory 7. You can usually identify the "dyke" by her butch mannerisms and outwardly appearance. If you use the word "gay" in a derogatory sense, you will get kicked. If you do not like Bikini Kill, you will get kicked. If you think Margaret Cho is overrated, you will get kicked. If you do not like the L Word, you will get kicked. If you are not down with her and her girlfriend making out on your bed in a drunken daze of passionate love, she will call you a homophobe and she will gather all her dyke friends to kick you with her. Really hard. She will, however, usually be on time with payments but for all the shitty ass Feist songs she's playing at night, she'd better be.

viii. The Fag: Your flat mate is like the entire of cast of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. In one body. This can be bad or good, depending on your metrosexuality and your gender. For example, if you are a
female, then he will provide fashion tips and be more than glad to ogle boys with you; however, if you are a male with no metrosexual qualities whatsoever, the discussions may seem somewhat foreign and a bit scary (boys waxing? Yikes). If you are a boy, do not flatter yourself. Just because you are straight does not make every gay guy in the vicinity lust after your unavailable ass. They are impeccably groomed, and will harass you for not being as fabulous as they, but deep down, you know and they know that unless you are also a gay boy, you will never be as fabulous so do not take their quips too seriously. If they happen to have some sort of talent (probably hair-cutting) they will be usually on time with bills, albeit their cheques may be pink, sparkling and scented.

If you cannot identify your flat mate, then ask yourself these questions:

a) Do they meow/bark/make some sort of sound that doesn't resemble any human language?
b) Do you have to clean up their fecal matter?
c) Do they have a tendency to jump up and lick your face when you get home?>
If you've answered yes to these questions, then you most likely have a non-human animal (or a person with (a) severe handicap(s)) on your hands. The tactics that I will impart in the following sections will probably not work with them so you should stop reading now.

other.

Part II - How To Steal Food From Your Flatmate (Among Other Things)

Now that you have identified your flatmate, it is time to exact some revenge in form of stealing trivial things. Unless they are extremely vile and repulsive, things of great importance (ie credit cards, computers, girlfriends etc.) should not be stolen. The true joy of stealing is stealing random unnecessary things to punish them for staying up too late listening to bad Joy Division covers by butch dyke bands. There is a special place in hell reserved for those lot as well but that doesn't do you much good in this life, so steal if you must (not that we are condoning criminal behaviour).

1. How To Steal Food.

Let's face it- someone as wonderful as you has no time to waste on day-to-day activities such as grocery shopping since you are far too busy reading SM2 (plus, it is their own fault that they leave such wonderful food within your grasp and they could do with losing a few pounds); however, your flatmate may not appreciate your wonderfulness as much as everyone should and may be anywhere between slightly annoyed to fuming mad to have you eat their food without permission. This is why it is very very important to use rather creative methods of getting away with food theft. This way, even if you get caught, he will be so charmed and amused by your antics that he may actually buy extra food for you to steal (the ideal situation). The following should only be thought of as a guideline-- feel free to add your creative touches. One thing you must follow is that the rule that you should only steal food AFTER your flatmate has gone out of the kitchen. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. If they are in the same room as you, unless they are blind (but they may have a heightened sense of hearing then, so even then you must be careful), THEY WILL CATCH ON TO YOU RATHER QUICKLY. This is bad. So make sure they are either unconscious, out of the house, or at least out of the kitchen before you attempt the following.

i. Stealing food contained in a jar: This is rather easy. Dump out the content of interest, eat, then smash the jar with a hammer. When questioned, tell him that you were getting something out of the fridge and accidentally knocked it over, upon which the jar rolled and fell on the floor, breaking into little bits. Be sure to smear a little bit of it on the floor near the refridgerator for an extra convincing story. This way, your friend will think that you are far too lazy to have been able to steal something, let alone be clever enough to trick him.

ii. Stealing various foods not contained in a jar but paper containers: You have to be a bit crafty for this one unless your friend is not a great fan of details then you might not have to be so crafty afterall. This works best if your friend buys only ONE BRAND of cereal or what ever the product of interest is. First, you save all the old boxes and cut out the bits with the Best Before dates. Now, cut out the exact same bits from a newer box that is currently being eaten and replace the new dates with the old dates. Casually point out that the Best Before date has long since passed and that you are going to throw it out. Then take it into your bedroom for leisurely eating. This method, however, will not work with frat boy types and anyone not very concerned with their own health.

iii. Stealing fruits: This is a pretty complicated procedure and may be easier to actually buy the fruits and can only be performed with fruits with thick skins ie oranges and various types of melons. First, make a small incision at the bottom of the fruit (or the most inconspicuous place) and using a modified knife that has a curved blade, make a full circle inside the fruit, as to separate the skin from the flesh. Using another modified with a straight, thin blade, cut the inner sphere into small, extractable pieces. Using a combination of thin blades or chopsticks, extract the pieces and eat. Alternatively, I would imagine that you can also modify an electric toothbrush with a sort of a tiny hammer for a head, stick that into the fruit, pulverize the insides (kind of like the Egyptians) and drink. This method is to be used with caution, unless you are an excellent liar (we would hope you are), and can somehow convince your friend that there must be a new species of supermice in the flat to be extracting all these fruits with such surgical precision.

2. How to Steal Clothing:

Now that we have covered the most important base, FOOD, we can cover the next most important ba1se: clothing. Clothes are rather expensive, especially new. Small articles of clothing are easy to steal, such as socks and underwear (though stealing underwear is not recommended on grounds of safety), but bigger articles of clothing are where the real money lies and are therefore much harder to steal.

i. Piece-by-piece: For this, you will need to invest in a pair of very small scissors or one of those metal things that you use to undo stitches and possibly a sewing machine. Make sure your flatmate is out of the apartment for this as well, as you will be needing to go through his closet. FIrstly, go to his closet and identify some t-shirts that you would perhaps like and preferably, match together. The latter part is rather important as you will see soon enough. If the clothes are hanging, firstly remove the sleeves of the shirts of interest hanging on the inner side of the closet with the aforementioned scissors or metal doo-hickey. Take them back to your lair, and stitch them onto a perhaps an old shirt of yours that has tattered sleeves. Or if you are bold enough, take the torso piece of another shirt (perhaps one somewhere in a box) and stitch. The point of this is that the pieces must come from different shirts so that when they are all put together, they will look like an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT SHIRT ie your flatmate will not suspect anything when you are wearing the shirt and that he will think that perhaps he has lost a few shirts while he was doing laundry last time.

ii. Stealing shirts in their entirity: One way to steal shirts without deconstruction would be of course, reconstruction. Say your friend has a shirt that would fit you wonderfully. And you like it quite a bit, but the problem is, she does too. Tragic. But it looks far far better on you. She will not acknowledge this. Go to her closet, steal the shirt, and then modify the shirt in some way-- silkscreen, embroidery , whatever -- so that she will think you have bought a new shirt, but what she doesn't know is that you have rather cleverly disguised her shirt as an even better shirt! When she compliments you on it, you can secretly laugh inside and say (TO YOURSELF) "I TOLD YOU SO, NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH."

Now that the two most important bits have been covered, next week, I will be further enlighting you on how to steal pens, books, and other household objects of interest.

This article will continue in the following weeks.
-Editor

I never make new year's resolutions because frankly, they are kind of stupid and nobody ever sees them through anyway. But today, I have nothing to do other than sit on my ass and read Maurice Maeterlinck.

1. To become a psychic spoon bender.
This is an absolutely serious goal that I intend to take on. I want to bend spoons using my psychic powers. If they choose to manifest themselves through my hands and fingers, so be it. By the end of the year, I will travel to Tel Aviv and meet Uri Geller, and take over his international domination on the world of psychic spoon bending using any psychic utensil bending forces necessary.

2. To stop cracking my knuckles.
This is not because it causes arthritis. That's a myth. It may cause stretching of ligaments and weakening of muscles, but it does not cause arthritis. But I really should stop cracking my knuckles. It is apparently really strange to see a 100lb, 5'5 girl in a dress with lace collars cracking knuckles and calling people cunts.

3. To stop calling people cunts and to find a more socially acceptable pet-name for friends.
See above.

4. To run in an election campaign.
This will obviously be as an independent to bring back the corner of the triangle that the press forgot. People think that most of these issues have only two sides. THEY ARE WRONG!!! I will be representing the third alternate view point that they don't want you to know about:

GAY MARRIAGE ONLY: Marriage is for gays.

BANNING OF ALL FIRE ALARMS: If you cannot tell that there is something wrong with the building with raging orange flames, giant clouds of smoke, and people running away from the building, you deserve to die. This is called natural selection.

THE CALL FOR SEPARATION OF QUEBEC (AS WELL AS ALL OTHER PROVINCES): If you have spent any amount of time in Canada, you will have come to the realization that the provinces have really nothing in common and would be better off alone. Quebec's plan's been brewing for a good long time; BC can fuck off and get stoned all day and go drinking and driving in Hawaii; Alberta can hunt hobos for sport and drill for oil all they want; Manitoba and Saskatchewan can join together to form a gigantic, unified wheat-field; Ontario can keep paving over the entire province and sending tourists barrelling down the Niagra falls; and as for Nunavut, Yukon, and the Northwest Territories, nobody ever gave a shit about them anyway.

GRAMMAR LAWS WILL BE STRICTLY ENFORCED: Any government issued material must not contain ANY grammatical errors and those found to be responsible will have to take a 6 month intensive programme on proper English grammar. Landlords will be forced to learn the difference between "you're," and "your". May god help you if you don't. While British English will continue to be preferred and Canadianisms acceptable, American English will continue to be tolerated. This also applies to French. "Fermer" or "Fermez" when the sign should be "Fermé" will no longer be tolerated. All immigrants, upon arrival in Canada, will get an emergency grammar repair kit and a copy of the grammar bible.

BANNING OF WARNING LABELS ON CIGARETTES/ALCOHOL: Junk foods are an equally serious social problem (if not more so) and they are not required to carry warning labels, so cigarette and alcohol companies will no longer be required to carry them either. Frankly, if by now, you do not realize what shit goes into cigarettes, you deserve to get cancer.

LEGALIZATION OF POT: So we can tax it. All money will go to public schools.

DEMILITARIZATION OF CANADA: It's not like we've ever really had a proper military in the first place. The military budget will be relocated to health care and education.

FREE POST-SECONDARY EDUCATION: You will not have to pay tuition for universities as long as you can get in and maintain a passing GPA (that is to say, class average or higher); however, you will have to pay back all tuition fees plus interest in full over 4 years should you flunk out.

REINSTATEMENT OF THE DEATH PENALTY: Death penalty will be put back into the justice system; however, the victim's <u>direct</u> family will have complete say over whether the criminal gets the death penalty or not. Once they do decide the criminal should die, single member of the direct family (extended should there be no surviving member of the direct family) must be chosen to carry out the execution in their manner of choosing such as a duel to the death; close range gun fight; sword fight; throwing of hammers/feral cats/knives, etc.; crucifixion... possibilities are endless. Creativity will be encouraged in the manner of death as it will be televised on pay-per-view satelite TV and all proceeds will go to rehabilitation of inmates.

FREE ABORTIONS FOR EVERYONE!: Forreal. Even desperate teenage sluts need a representative. I want to be that representative.

BANNING OF THE PENNY: They cost more to make than they are worth and nobody uses these copper pieces of shit anyway.

BANNING OF HIRING MENTALLY DEFICIENT PEOPLE AT CANADA POST: I am all for equal oppourtunities in jobs but the state of the Canadian Postal service is an absolute disgrace. It is clearly run by incompetent boobs with an average IQ of 40. My dog could do a better job. In fact, I will only hire dogs. This will show a clear improvement. Within 4 years, I intend to replace the dogs with dolphins and the postal service will see efficiency and accuracy improve approximately 5 billion percent from the current level. In 10 years, I hope to expand this into ALL branches of the government. To give the mentally deficient postal workers new jobs, I will fire all current MPs. This will again, be a clear improvement as it has been shown that the average IQ of the Canadian MPs are about 25. These MPs in turn can have jobs going around collecting pennies from Canadians while they go door to door apologizing for all the shitty work they've done (or haven't done, rather).

CHANGING OF THE NATIONAL ANTHEM: It's not like anyone knows the whole thing now anyway. It should be changed to something Neil Young, though I will settle for Stompin' Tom Connors. (For those not in the know, Stomping Tom O'Connors is a singer who sings and sort of stomps. This qualifies him as a national hero in Canada.) Actually, I'd settle for anything other than something by Celine Dion and something from those fucking annoying Molson "I AM CANADIAN" beer commercials.

If all of these goals are accomplished, I assure you the world would be a better place!!!

*bends spoon*

I don't know what could be a worse Christmas present than waking up to the news of James Brown's death. Seriously-- what the hell? James Brown's dead, guys! As always, a death of an icon is followed by a bit of a panic among the general public. MY GOD, if the hardest working man in show is dead, surely WE ARE NEXT. This, in turn is followed by a fervent chanting of the idiot's mantra- live every day as if it were your last.

That is probably one of the stupidest sayings to live by. If everyone actually DID live every day as if it were their last, the whole world would consist of people eating obscene amounts of chocolate, fucking, and binge-drinking (which, I guess, is a normal day in Montréal, but I digress).

Maybe it wouldn't be that bad if the people actually led exciting lives filled with debauchery, with pictures of them uploaded on LastNightsParty.com topless or pantless, because that would mean even though their brains are full of shit, their lives are in order with their shit-thoughts; however, most people who list that as their "favourite quote" are usually fucking boring, creepy men with receding hairlines who at the age of 35 still go bar-hopping to hit on college girls (because that apparently is what they would do during their last day on earth.)

OH BUT EWR, they just mean you should live life to the fullest, and enjoy every moment!!!

There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but people too often use that excuse to accomplish dick-all. Because who would go to school if they were going to die tomorrow? Who would go to work? Who WOULD CUT OUR HAIR WHEN THEY'RE GONE??!?!? Who the fuck needs to get a real job and have an actual passion other than the passion of "living" when they are "living" as if they had an appointment with the executioner tomorrow? More importantly, who the fuck decided that living my life to the fullest has to mean that I get shitfaced? What happened to academic pursuits? What happened to making a shitload of money so you can buy 200 kilograms of weapon-grade uranium? That is to say- what happened to the American Dream (TM)?!?

And enjoy every moment? Bitch, please. I'm not going to go out of my way to "enjoy" waiting for the dipshit working the customer service line to find out why i was overcharged $40 for my shitty ass phone service. I'm not going to "enjoy" taking my 3 hour Calculus exam. I wouldn't enjoy it if I was a cancer-ridden death-monger; I don't have to enjoy it now, so go fuck yourselves with your giant metaphorical phallus of fake optimism and enjoy that.

Oh yeah, joyeux fêtes.

-EWR.

Remember when you were in grade 5, if you liked someone, you could just get your friends to ask them out for you or if you were brave enough, slip them a note with three checkboxes yes, no, maybe? Yeah, well, apparently you can't do that once you're in college because that's not cool anymore and "childish". The world of interpersonal relationships is a lot like warfare. There are a lot of rules but nobody really know who the hell came up with them, nor why they exist, and if you are rich, sexy, and powerful, you don't really have to pay attention to them. Since nobody bothered to educate me on this subject, I decided to google it because if Google hasn't got the answer, it is a stupid question. Well, google DID have the answer. But i didn't like it. So I decided that I would make my own rules and educate my fine readers (this means you) about it. If you follow all these rules and they still don't like you, they are probably gay (or straight. depending on what you are)

1. If your date is one of those types that claim to have a sense of humour, TEST IT. Rigorously. Start by telling self-deprecating jokes about your race/sexual orientation/sex. And then step it up a notch to all offensive jokes. And I mean all offensive jokes. Dead baby ones, abortion jokes, dick jokes, gay jokes, political jokes. In fact, you should buy a print of Hello Kitty Abortion Clinic and put it in a prominent place in your house where your date can see it when they come to pick you up. If you are cool enough, you should even start quoting JerkCity (preferably Spigot or Pants). If they get offended, well, would you really want to date someone who couldn't love JerkCity?

2. Everyone loves pretentious assholes. This is the honest to god truth. Read up on all the obscure sounding bands. By that I mean anything featured on Pitchfork. It doesn't actually have to be obscure-- it just has to be something that MTV never plays. And you don't actually have to listen to them. Just make sure to use words and phrases like "soundscapes" (extra points for "sonic landscape"), "infusion of Bartok and the modern age", and "existentialist angst." In fact, if you can make a sentence like the following, you are definitely in:

Oh, I absolutely adore __________. They make such beautiful sonic landscapes. They're like an infusion of Bartok and the modern age, steeped in existentialist angst.

*NOTE: It doesn't actually matter whether or not it makes sense or even remotely applies to the band as long as it SOUNDS like it makes sense. If you can have an entire conversation consisting mainly of these phrases, you should immediately apply for a job at an indie music review website. Also, you should talk about the band as if you know them personally.

3. Do NOT ever confess your feelings. Honesty is never truly appreciated. Instead, make them a mix cd/tape consisting entirely of Morrissey/the Smiths, but lay it on thick. Make sure to include "Ask", "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want," and "Unloveable." If they are not familiar with the Smiths, it is acceptable to just use Louder than Bombs in its entireity because they will never know. In fact, they will most likely not get beyond the second track.

4. I can't stress this enough: Make no attempt to improve yourself for your date. Here are some helpful suggestions: do not shower for your first date! Actually, don't even change your underwear or any of your clothes. Because eventually, you will end up like this at one point in your life. If they do not love you at your lowest point, they do not love you at all. Don't be punctual. Keep them waiting. It's fashionable, and you need to see if they'll actually wait for you. 5 minutes is nothing. Make them wait 2 hours listening to shitty music at the café. And if they don't wait, you still win because you'll have more to write about on your livejournal when you get home.

5. If they reject you after the initial date, run lots of attack ads. People say that attack ads are just dirty tactics and don't accomplish anything nor do they solve issues on hand but these people are probably just jealous that you even got a date to be rejected from in the first place. My belief is that if it's good enough for John Hodgman, it is good enough for the rest of us. Here is a suggested template:

____________ Hours...

______ dollars and _______ cents...

and what did (your name here) get in return?

a burning sensation in his/her heart and excruciating pain while urinating.

is this the 21st century equivilent of a good night kiss?
is this (your date's name)'s idea of... a good time?

the fact is, (your name here) was nothing less than a perfect (gentleman/lady).
and (your date's name) did not even bother to inform him/her about the raging case of (your choice of STD here. you may also list more than one if you wish),
nor did he/she bother to return (your name here)'s phonecalls or numerous text messages, even though (he/she) specifically said (he/she) would.

____________ Hours...

______ dollars and _______ cents...

is this the going rate... for a broken heart?

If you are a struggling college student or a broke-ass artist, it may be hard to afford air time on any decent channels so you may have to opt for the public service channel, or the TV listings channel. If all else fails, you should put it on Youtube and blog it in as many places as possible and set up a PayPal account so you can collect donations.

If you should follow these rules and still get a lukewarm reception, that definitely means your date is gay (or straight- whatever you're not). But if for some reason you should still want to pursue them, I suggest going on the next date completely starkers. If that doesn't do it, well, I can't help you much beyond that.

DISCLAIMER: I cannot be held legally responsible for any damages that may occur including but not limited to physical injuries, loss of jobs, emotional distress, and monetary loss.

I made the great leap from BC to Quebec and I still haven't gotten used to some of the fucking weird quirks around here that nobody ever told me about before. So here are a few things to know about Montreal before you get here.

At the airport:

1. The French you hear once arriving at P.E Trudeau* is not the french you hear on the streets and shops. Montrealaise is a bizarre language of English and Archaic French consisting of "unique" vocabulary that isn't even in the freaking french-english dictionary! (Like depanneur! ) Pronounciation is a little weird too--Moi becomes moe and oui sounds something like quacking.

2.The taxi drivers are also insane. For the first time in Canada, I met drivers that were on par with downtown Seoul drivers. That is to say, lights and signs are mere "suggestions"** and rules are thrown out the window because that's how they roll. If you are lucky, you will arrive between 4 to 6 (which I did) just in time for one of three daily traffic jam times and you will get to see how people can drive without signals (or in some cases, hands) using only their elbows and a string of curse words!!! This is a very exciting experience as long as you don't DIE.

* Pierre Elliott Trudeau is something of a folk-hero to Quebecois because he is to Quebec what Stompin' Tom O'Connors is to the rest of Canada since he also sort of stomps and sort of sings. He eradicated the province from hobos, beavers and flourine, replacing them with pigeons and squirrels. He was especially fond of pigeons, and when he was elected prime minister, he was the first to have an all pigeon cabinet. Trudeau's meticulously preserved Lenin-esque body can be seen on display at Place du Canada. Legend has it that when Ragnarok*** hits, he will rise from his chemical grave and lead Quebec into a new age of independance.

**This also applies to pedestrians, who are apparently all colour blind, or a little bit like that bus in Speed or something because once they hit stride, they must maintain their speed or they will die.

***Viking apocalypse in which all humans die from a gigantic fire except for two people who survive by hiding in a tree (wtf I thought it was a fire?).

Apartments:

Looking for an apartment can be a little tricky because like everything else in Montreal, IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. Whereas all the other cities in the world calls a three bedroom apartment a THREE BEDROOM APARTMENT, the closest thing in montreal is a 5 1/2, which can also be a one, two or a three bedroom apartment because the number five corrosponds to the number of "rooms" (dining room, living room, kitchen, etc) as opposed to the actual number of bedrooms. And the half is a bathroom. This system was devised by the illuminati, just to piss off the freemasons.

More on Apartments:
They are actually pretty damn cheap but the value depreciates even more near Concordia. Because it's near Concordia, which is actually built on an Indian burial ground.

Gratuitous Concordia joke:
What do Concordia students have in common with McGill students? They both applied to McGill.

Disclaimer:
Mcgill is pretty shitty too.
But at least it is pretty.

Hygiene:

(Insert your favorite stinky-french joke here) To landlords in the McGill ghetto (Read: Federal Real Estate*), hygiene is a secondary worry. When they said "McGill Ghetto," I thought they were kidding, but they weren't. Some flats in the ghetto are fucking SCARY. While most apartments are at least habitable, some (Read: 3565 Lorne) are fucking disgusting. Many have bare concrete hallways and not in a cool post-modern way, just disgustingly bare way. When you ask that they fix cracks in the ceiling and holes in walls, they will plaster and leave the windows open so that the 4 billion birds in the city can shit all over your apartment**. Also, Montreal has no flouride in their water. Nobody knows why, but it probably has something to do with Freemasons***.

*A company that I fight in episode 23 and win by launching a campaign of attack ads. The explosions are of extraordinary magnitude.
**A VERY TRUE STORY.
***Will all be explained next saturday when I interview Jim Brown. You may know him as the old bearded man that yells something about racism and governments outside the McGill Roddick gates. Do not confuse him with the other man who also is often outside the Roddick gates!!! THe other guy is black and has a car that says "JESUS LIVES." Roddick gates is like the epicentre for strangeness in Montreal or something.

Language:

1. In addition to all the lies your teacher ever told you (like, there is no such thing as the square root of a negative number or that the world is round), you do not need French to live in Montreal, especially if you are a rich anglophone living in Westmount or a student living in the "McGill bubble" that stretches from Peel to Du Parc. However, if you speak english outside of these areas, French assassins will kill you with poison darts or at the very least, give you dirty looks.

2. It would not be an exaggeration to call the language police Language NAZIS because they go above and beyond even France itself. For example, KFC is called PFK (Poulet Frit Kentucky). Not even FRANCE calls it that. Quebec is the only place in the world where it is called something other than KFC. Here is a Little known fact I have heard from survivors: If you violate the language laws, they will come arrest you in the middle of the night armed with chains and suspenders.

Smoked Meats:

There are two main stores in Quebec that sell smoked meats- Schwartz and some other place that I can't remember. There used to be at least 500 smoked meat shops in Montreal, but were wiped out during the Great Smoked Meat Shop battle of 1700s. Only two remain. Their bloody battles can be seen in the Molson Stadium every second Sunday of the month. It is a great spectacle between two butchers, armed with sharp pointy things... two go in... one come out.

Smoking:

Montreal is something of a city captured in a time capsule because their attitudes on smoking are eerily similar to those of the 1950s. If you are not a smoker, you will be shunned from every social circle. Unlike other cities where the smokers have to go outside to light up, Montreal is the only city in North American where non-smokers have to leave the room if smokers want to smoke.

Weather:

Did your west coast friends tell you that Vancouver is the only one with shitty weather? THEY WERE LYING. Montreal has worse weather--- all the rain and misery PLUS crazy fucking winds. Everyday. Also, Montreal is the only city in the world where absolute zero can be reached for at least one day of the year.

Wildlife:

Montreal is home to 4 billion pigeons and 2 billion squirrels. Both shit everywhere they possibly can. In fact, it is commonly thought that modern Montreal pigeons and squirrels are radioactive creations of Ernest Rutherford, presented to Prime Minister Trudeau on his 25th birthday because nothing in this world will ever kill them. They mutate faster than any virus and replicate at the speed of light. They are not found outside the island.

Montreal, A User's Guide Part II - Secrets of McGill University

Now that you have identified your flatmate, it is time to exact some revenge in form of stealing trivial things. Unless they are extremely vile and repulsive, things of great importance (ie credit cards, computers, girlfriends etc.) should not be stolen. The true joy of stealing is stealing random unnecessary things to punish them for staying up too late listening to bad Joy Division covers by butch dyke bands. There is a special place in hell reserved for those lot as well but that doesn't do you much good in this life, so steal if you must (not that we are condoning criminal behaviour).

1. How To Steal Food.

Let's face it- someone as wonderful as you has no time to waste on day-to-day activities such as grocery shopping since you are far too busy reading SM2 (plus, it is their own fault that they leave such wonderful food within your grasp and they could do with losing a few pounds); however, your flatmate may not appreciate your wonderfulness as much as everyone should and may be anywhere between slightly annoyed to fuming mad to have you eat their food without permission. This is why it is very very important to use rather creative methods of getting away with food theft. This way, even if you get caught, he will be so charmed and amused by your antics that he may actually buy extra food for you to steal (the ideal situation). The following should only be thought of as a guideline-- feel free to add your creative touches. One thing you must follow is that the rule that you should only steal food AFTER your flatmate has gone out of the kitchen. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. If they are in the same room as you, unless they are blind (but they may have a heightened sense of hearing then, so even then you must be careful), THEY WILL CATCH ON TO YOU RATHER QUICKLY. This is bad. So make sure they are either unconscious, out of the house, or at least out of the kitchen before you attempt the following.

i. Stealing food contained in a jar: This is rather easy. Dump out the content of interest, eat, then smash the jar with a hammer. When questioned, tell him that you were getting something out of the fridge and accidentally knocked it over, upon which the jar rolled and fell on the floor, breaking into little bits. Be sure to smear a little bit of it on the floor near the refridgerator for an extra convincing story. This way, your friend will think that you are far too lazy to have been able to steal something, let alone be clever enough to trick him.

ii. Stealing various foods not contained in a jar but paper containers: You have to be a bit crafty for this one unless your friend is not a great fan of details then you might not have to be so crafty afterall. This works best if your friend buys only ONE BRAND of cereal or what ever the product of interest is. First, you save all the old boxes and cut out the bits with the Best Before dates. Now, cut out the exact same bits from a newer box that is currently being eaten and replace the new dates with the old dates. Casually point out that the Best Before date has long since passed and that you are going to throw it out. Then take it into your bedroom for leisurely eating. This method, however, will not work with frat boy types and anyone not very concerned with their own health.

iii. Stealing fruits: This is a pretty complicated procedure and may be easier to actually buy the fruits and can only be performed with fruits with thick skins ie oranges and various types of melons. First, make a small incision at the bottom of the fruit (or the most inconspicuous place) and using a modified knife that has a curved blade, make a full circle inside the fruit, as to separate the skin from the flesh. Using another modified with a straight, thin blade, cut the inner sphere into small, extractable pieces. Using a combination of thin blades or chopsticks, extract the pieces and eat. Alternatively, I would imagine that you can also modify an electric toothbrush with a sort of a tiny hammer for a head, stick that into the fruit, pulverize the insides (kind of like the Egyptians) and drink. This method is to be used with caution, unless you are an excellent liar (we would hope you are), and can somehow convince your friend that there must be a new species of supermice in the flat to be extracting all these fruits with such surgical precision.

2. How to Steal Clothing:

Now that we have covered the most important base, FOOD, we can cover the next most important ba1se: clothing. Clothes are rather expensive, especially new. Small articles of clothing are easy to steal, such as socks and underwear (though stealing underwear is not recommended on grounds of safety), but bigger articles of clothing are where the real money lies and are therefore much harder to steal.

i. Piece-by-piece: For this, you will need to invest in a pair of very small scissors or one of those metal things that you use to undo stitches and possibly a sewing machine. Make sure your flatmate is out of the apartment for this as well, as you will be needing to go through his closet. FIrstly, go to his closet and identify some t-shirts that you would perhaps like and preferably, match together. The latter part is rather important as you will see soon enough. If the clothes are hanging, firstly remove the sleeves of the shirts of interest hanging on the inner side of the closet with the aforementioned scissors or metal doo-hickey. Take them back to your lair, and stitch them onto a perhaps an old shirt of yours that has tattered sleeves. Or if you are bold enough, take the torso piece of another shirt (perhaps one somewhere in a box) and stitch. The point of this is that the pieces must come from different shirts so that when they are all put together, they will look like an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT SHIRT ie your flatmate will not suspect anything when you are wearing the shirt and that he will think that perhaps he has lost a few shirts while he was doing laundry last time.

ii. Stealing shirts in their entirity: One way to steal shirts without deconstruction would be of course, reconstruction. Say your friend has a shirt that would fit you wonderfully. And you like it quite a bit, but the problem is, she does too. Tragic. But it looks far far better on you. She will not acknowledge this. Go to her closet, steal the shirt, and then modify the shirt in some way-- silkscreen, embroidery , whatever -- so that she will think you have bought a new shirt, but what she doesn't know is that you have rather cleverly disguised her shirt as an even better shirt! When she compliments you on it, you can secretly laugh inside and say (TO YOURSELF) "I TOLD YOU SO, NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH NAH."

Now that the two most important bits have been covered, next week, I will be further enlighting you on how to steal pens, books, and other household objects of interest.

This article will continue in the following weeks.
-Editor

I remember a couple years ago when a purple-mohawk wearing punk was a real rarity and a bit of a gem and it brough a little tear to my eye to see one walking around town or something because looking that ridiculous took some guts. Dressing like a lunatic was reserved for artists, druggies, and well, lunatics. But of course, that was then, this is now. Every dipshit teenager looks like a psych-ward escapee these days.

Of course, there's a fine line between wearing something out of the ordinary and looking good, and wearing something that makes you look like you got dressed by a blind man from the 80s.

Honestly, I don't know what's wrong with kids these days. They look like idiots. Clashing patterns, obnoxiously obviously fake pearls, flats that make their feet look huge, SPANDEX!!! SPANDEX. WHAT THE HELL? All the goddamn "scene" girls are wearing spandex under their skirts make me want to puke my guts out till I can't see. Shouldn't Spandex have been buried with the rest of the 80s? It didn't look good then, what makes you think it looks good NOW? Not just that, they cut it off at mid calf so they look like stumpy little midgets. EXCUESE ME, DO YOU KNOW WHY THOSE MODELS LOOK OKAY IN SPANDEX? BECAUSE THEY'RE 6'4 AND 100LBS. THEY CAN PULL IT OFF BECAUSE EVEN IF THEY WEAR SPANDEX CUT OFF MIDCALF, THEY STILL LOOK LIKE THEY'RE 6'4 AND 100LBS. Why can't they just wear nylons or something? Jesus. Not to mention their hair-- I'm surprised half the kids aren't bald yet. They must bleach it every goddamn day or something. OR if it's not bleach, they dye it black. No offence, emo kid, BUT I THINK THE ASIANS GOT THE BLACK HAIR THING DOWN PAT.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they realized the irony of their store-bought Che shirt. But they don't. Just because you have shitty hair and a fucked up wardrobe, it doesn't make you an individual-- especially if every other kid at your school looks EXACTLY LIKE YOU. That would be you know, maybe, whatever's the opposite of being an individual-- OH YEAH, being a corporate sheep that you are, being spoon-fed new ideas by corporations. And it makes me wonder again-- WHO CAME UP WITH THE SPANDEX SHIT? Did some company find 5000 boxes of spandex while cleaning out their warehouses in New Mexico? What should we do with 5000 boxes of spandex? Who's going to wear it? IDIOT KIDS, THAT'S WHO!!! I was going to throw in a subplot about hookers and child labour laws but that might have been a little complex.

On their myspace pages-- they're the one bitching about how much they hate "cheerleaders" or some niggers or gangsters or whoever's cool to hate now. I mean, do they just not get it? THEY'RE THE PREPS OF 2006. THEIR bands are on MTV. THEIR clothes are in malls. THEIR songs are on radio. DON'T YOU GET IT? YOU'RE THE FUCKING MAJORITY NOW!

Anyway, maybe I wouldn't be so bothered if they realized they're not individuals just because they dress like shit. I mean, a lot of people dress like shit. A LOT. But at least they're not pretending that their American Eagle shirt was a vintage flea-market find because, like, OH. MY. GOD. if they ever found out, they would totally de-friend you on livejournal, xanga, AND myspace and that would just totally be the end of me.

JUST GO HOME ALREADY AND TAKE YOUR STUPID FUCKING BLINKING ICONS.

SPANDEX!!!!
I just can't get over that. What happened to sexy hipsters? OH, I KNOW. They must have died when Hawthorne Heights started bitching for votes on TRL.

Sorry I've been MIA for a while. I had to disconnect my computer's internet connection and the only other computer in my house is probably as slow as a dial-up, and I tried using it a few times and it just made me want to stab myself in the chest. I'm at school 30 minutes early today (because I'm just a keener like that), I thought it would be a good time to write an article. I also have 2 pages of NU done, and I'll try to scan it this weekend at my friend's house.

In the absence of my computer, I've become addicted to the Food Network. I can't help it. Since I don't have Discovery to fill the void of Wikipedia, the Food Network is the closest thing--- and who can resist Iron Chef?

Anyway, watching the food network, I've learned many useless facts, like how many donuts Americans eat on average per year, how many times Gordon Ramsay can swear before a commercial, and Jamie Oliver's kids names. The last fact is so appalling that I almost peed my pants. He named his kids Daisy Boo and Poppy Honey. This made me realize something: Chris Martin is not an isolated phenomenon. Celebrities cannot name their children.

Seriously- celebrities give their kids the weirdest names EVER. Here are a few of my favorite worst names ever:

-Frank Zappa: Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet, Diva
-Toni Braxton: Denim Cole, Diezel Ky
-Jamie Oliver: Poppy Honey, Daisy Boo
-Billy Ray Cyrus: Destiny Hope
-Maynard James Keenan: Devo
-Justin Hayward: Doremi Celeste
-Chris Martin: Apple
-Vanilla Ice: Dusty Rain
-Roger Waters: Dagwood
-Keith Richards: Dandelion

I guess Keith Richards, Roger Waters and Frank Zappa have a bit of an excuse since they were probably on a trip when they named their kids (Dandelion has changed her name to Angela-- a bit shit as well, but more normal than Dandelion), but Chris Martin? He's NORMAL if not anything. What could possibly compell anyone to name their children after fruits? Jamie Oliver is a bit stupid, I understand, and "Honey" is expected, I suppose, since he's a chef, but "DAISY BOO"? It just sounds like a ghetto stripper's name or something. It's cute when she's 3 but it's going to be hell when she's 13.

Do they think that since their kids are going to be compared to them forever, they should have something that sets them apart? Or are they just worried that they'll be boring, untalented losers who just end up living off their money for the rest of their lives so if they give them bizarre names, they will be at least interesting people--- or at least interesting to the tabloids?

Someone should do a scientific study on this. Level of fame and ability to name children-- maybe with some bar graphs or something.

But something far more disturbing is who allowed Vanilla Ice to have a kid? WHY? They're just going to be teased until they commit suicide.

Remember like, 3 or 4 years ago when digital photography was in its infancy and 64 mb memory with 2.0 megapixel was considered amazing?

My brick of a camera too was considered amazing once. Like the box cameras of the turn of the century, what seems clunky and awkward was once the zenith of photo technology. Last night, it finally crapped out on me. Ever since the lens barrel fell out and the LCD monitor went kaput, it's been doing the death rattle thing since last august.

So it went. It went on almost 9 + months like the tough little bastard it was and then last night it just gave out. Why last night? Why not 9 months ago? Why not 10 years later? Why last night? Does God think it's funny when I have to pay for more things on top of university and moving across the country? (I bet he never had to go to university and look where he ended up.)

Anyway, I hated the damn thing. It was fat, inconvenient, low-res, lo-fi, and a bit useless without the LCD, but I felt really terrible after it died. It reminded me of the fat neighbour in the Outsider & his dog. He yelled and beat his dog but he still felt like shit after his dog went missing.

Is it the inconvenience of not having an instant-feedback of a digital camera that's getting to me or that i really did love the camera? Could I have actually loved the camera or have i gotten so used to it over the past 3~4 years that i just think i love it for the sake of routine?

Have I become 50% of those old couples you see ragging on each other every chance they get, so much so that people wonder why the hell they're even still together? And in those people, is it a bizarre backwards love that can only manifest itself in abuse and being general assholes to each other or is it actually what they feel for each other and the only reason they stay together is because of convenience? Is either one better than another?

Perhaps there is a much less meaningful answer to my depression. Maybe i just crap and gripe because this means i have to get a new camera and i am a cheap bastard.

Let's all have a moment of silence of anyway. Cake will be served.

If I could ask Jesus for one thing, it would be for the scene kids to shut the fuck up about ninjas/dinosaurs/robots/pirates. It's not cute anymore! SERIOUSLY. It's just fucking annoying. It was cute in the kitschy sort of way for like 5 minutes then 5000 bands simultaneously went "LOLOLOL IF WE USE ANY OF THOSE WORDS IN OUR NAME, WE WILL BE FAMOUS FOREVER AND ALL THE STUPID IMPRESSIONABLE KIDS WILL WANT TO GIVE US ORAL SEX." After that, it was just lame, not to mention passe.

WHOAAA SWEET, THEY WERE OVERGROWN LIZARDS THAT ATE EACH OTHER!!! Do you know why they died? BECAUSE THEY REALIZED THAT I WOULD BE BORN AND I WOULD TOTALLY KILL THEM ALL IN A HARDCORE BATTLE JUST BY LOOKING AT THEM SO THEY ALL CRAWLED INTO A CORNER AND CUT THEMSELVES LIKE THE PUSSY EMOS THEY REALLY WERE. (Chuck Norris has nothing on me. This should be evident by now.)

AND ANOTHER THING.
WTF is this whole Chuck Norris fad? He's just another washed up idiot and since there are a couple stupid jokes that a few morons came up with on a bong hit, YEAH, OMG I LOVE CHUCK NORRIS HE'Z SO HARDCORE LOLOLOLOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If someone came up with hardcore jokes about the Marlboro man, would you be sucking his cock too? GOD! Idiots!

What indie/scene culture has become proves that our generation is a collection of worthless idiots who'll cling on to any fad and suck the life out of it until it shrivels up like a 90 year old dick, no matter what their record collection consists of. I HATE EVERYONE. IF I SEE ANOTHER RETARD WITH A DINOSAUR SHIRT I AM GOING TO START A HOLOCAUST.

I was going to write about the whole Morrissey Fiasco because Mozzer's reasoning abilities are absolutely flawless and his fans are really LOL, but I had to run to the grocery store to get some tomatos and I saw something so horribly offensive to my eyes that I felt the need to write a letter.

An Open Letter

Dear Wanksta guy in front of me in the line-up at the grocery store & your fat girlfriend,

LET ME OPEN THIS LETTER BY CONGRATULATING YOU ON FAILING AT LIFE. Sorry, DEFERRED SUCCESS AT LIFE. I would like to take this time to thank your mother because she was apparently a bit of a tart and didn't teach you much about public etiquette, and also your father because your obvious and over-zealous need to make up for your flabby middle by listening to uber-macho gangsta rap can most likely, at the very least, indirectly relate back to him.

Number one, LOOK ASSHOLE, LOOK AROUND YOU. You live in KELOWNA. You live in Wine Country, BC. You live in the bible belt of Canada outside Alberta. It isn't exactly Compton. In fact, the closest thing to a ghetto in Canada is a native reservation, and they make canoes and skin animals. GET THE HELL OVER IT. Stop pretending to embrace a culture you couldn't possibly hold a connection to. Get your own.

Number two, is it really necessary that the world watches you fondle your girlfriend's ass? COME ON. Just be like a normal couple and make a sex video so nobody has to watch it. PDA that lasts more than 3 seconds is almost always disgusting, compounded that with your and your girlfriend's physical unattractiveness (to say the least-- but I guess every freak of nature deserves another and ugly people in love can be okay, i guess), and the sheer thought of you contaminating the gene pool is nothing less of horrifying. GET A ROOM, or at least have the decency to find a quiet place in the corner or in the freezer or something. Anywhere but here, where I have NO CHOICE but to stare directly ahead. FOR FUCK'S SAKES.

GOD SAVE YOU IF I SEE YOU AGAIN AND I FIND THE NON-SAFETY SCISSOR AISLE.

Luff,

EWR.

This article is late because I've been accepted both into McGill and UBC Van so I have been drinking to celebrate until I can feel my liver deteriorating. Kidding. I'm being lazy again, and cannot afford alcohol anyway.

Here is a list of what's pissing me off this week:

-Excessive usage of semicolons by pseudo-hipsters. (Example: my heart bleeds;;;;;;;;; ->insert picture<-)

-old farts that take 30 minutes to do ANYTHING

-bank tellers

-much music (not that this one is new)

-Most of all, the grad fever that is sweeping the nation!!!!!

Seriously, what the hell is this north American fascination with graduating high school? Why is this considered such an achievement? Any retard who bothers to show up can graduate. Oh great, for the last 12 years, you've bothered to get a free education and achieved mediocrity. GREAT JOB!!!!! Let's party. I don't get it! What the hell's so hard about high school, other than all the people?

But ok, if you're psyched about it, whatever. Fine. LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE. I don't want to buy a fucking yearbook because I don't want to remember all this shit. I don't want to buy a ticket to prom because I'm only going to know 3 people there and I don't want to pretend to be having a good time and I sure as hell don't want to pay $400 to act bitchy for 5 hours. NO, I DON'T WANT A FUCKING POOFY DRESS. UGLY UGLY UGLY.

Honestly, if we haven't talked before, don't start pretending to be my best fucking friend because OH MY GAWWWWD, WE'RE IN THE SAME GRAD CLASS!!!! I'm not going to come to my 10th reunion, or the 20th one, or any of them. In fact, I'm not even going to come back to this miserable stinking town once I leave!

Celebrate when you've actually accomplished something. Throw me a party when I'm done medical school. Throw me a party when I get a solo show in MET. Throw me a party when I'm the dictator of the world. Getting the easiest diploma in the world does not count as "something." Just because everyone else found Essentials of Math 12 doesn't mean that I found any of this to be anything more than an inconvenience.

2006 IS NOT THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY LIFE. I'M NOT GOING TO PRETEND THAT I LIKE EVERYONE IN MY CLASSES ALL OF A SUDDEN BECAUSE I'M NEVER GOING TO SEE THEM AGAIN (GOD WILLING). I DON'T WANT TO PRANCE AROUND AND TURN TRICKS FOR YOU LIKE A RETARDED 3 LEGGED DOG THAT LIVES OFF GARBAGE. GRADE 12 IS NOT THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY LIFE, LET ALONE THIS YEAR. THE REAL CHALLENGE IS KEEPING MYSELF FROM CASTRATING YOU WITH A DULL PAIR OF SCISSORS SO YOU CANNOT DIRTY UP THE GENE POOL WITH YOUR SEEMINGLY INHERENT IDIOCY. GLORY DAYS ARE FOR ATHLETES WHO GET FAT. TAKE YOUR FUCKING YEARBOOK AND SHOVE IT FORCIBLY UP YOUR ANUS.

Okay, so I was at the grocery store today buying well, groceries, because sometimes even starving artists need to buy food. Yeah, it's amazing, I know. I was standing in the line up behind masses of 100% Canadian lard-asses and soccer moms who get Botox injections weekly, and I saw a huge ad for the Atkins diet.

What the hell? That shit's still around? Anyway, it made me really mad because it reminded me of how much I hate diets, but the Atkins diet specifically, because the Atkins diet is like a sand trap in which all the fat and stupid people get caught.

Even Dr. Nick's diet would be better than Atkins and the premise of his diet is "EAT ANYTHING YOU WANT ANYTIME YOU WANT, AND MAYBE YOU'LL LOSE SOME WEIGHT! WHO KNOWS?" At least you won't stress out about it.

Here are the two biggest things wrong with people who follow the Atkins Diet:

1. THE COMPANY FILED FOR BANKRUPTCY IN 2005!!! Would you buy electronics from a company that went out of business and started selling drinking birds?

2. Robert Atkins had a heart attack, and was fat. Why would you take diet advice from a fat dead man? That's like taking relationship advice from Dashboard.

Also, consider the following:

1. The Atkins diet became extremely popular shortly after the Mad Cow Mania (I'm not talking about Oprah--- I'll get to her later). Obviously, the most logical thing to do when meat may carry deadly diseases is to eat more of it!!!

2. The only way ANY diet works is by keeping the food energy below maintenance level. Most likely the only reason people are losing weight on the Atkins diet is that they're cutting out a huge part of their meal (carbs).

3. Increased acidity from eating too much eat can cause Osteoporosis. Insufficient carbohydrates (aka Fibre) causes constipation. You want to lose weight fast? Go eat a wheat field and shit your guts out.

There is no solid evidence that Atkins or any other no/low-carb diet has helped someone lose weight any more than they would have using any other method out there. Weight loss, if any, tend to be short-term and any long-term weight loss is a lot less than ones by other diets.

The problem with North American obsesity isn't because we're eating pasta. It's because we're eating too much pasta and not getting off our asses because we need to watch 50 episodes of Simpsons that came on today and were recorded on our TiVo. If carbs make people fat, asians should be the fattest people in the world. Serving portions have probably tripled in the last century, and we can get illegal immigrants and machines to do everything for us. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU EXPECT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?

I hope every Atkins Dieter dies of heart attacks and constipation. Stupid fucks.

Since it's St. Patrick's day or what the hell ever it is that people celebrate, it seems appropriate to write an article about humanity's favorite past time: Drinking.

From washed up stars to misunderstood artists, alcohol has been a friend and a crutch to many. Is alcohol a legitimate muse? Would Edvard Munch have been just as brilliant if he hadn't been an alcoholic? Would Eugene Debs not have been as inspiring if he hadn't an internal struggle? Or conversely, did their dependancy inhibit them from reaching true potential?

However, artists are artists. They can do what the hell ever they want. Now, drunken idiot teenagers, there is a rant.

I stopped taking the school bus last year.
1. It smelled really funny, especially when it was raining or snowing.
2. It was packt like sardines in a crushd tin can.
3. There were so many idiots bragging about their weekends.

What the hell's so great about binge drinking? Ruins your liver, makes you throw up, makes uglies look attractive, makes you look like an asshole... YEAH, HELLA SWEET, DUDE.

OK, so you drink. Fine, whatever. Who the hell cares? YEAH, HELLA SWEET, DUDE, YOU JUST FUCKED UP REAL BAD LOL!!!!! Let's drink some more.

WOOO HOO, DUDE, I TOTALLY GOT TRASHED AND THEN I SMOKED LIKE A HUGE JOINT, RIGHT? THEN I HAD UNPROTECTED SEX WITH SOME GIRL -- I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME -- AND THEN SHE CALLED ME AND SHE WAS LIKE "LOLZ I'M LATE?" AND I WAS LIKE "4 WUT?" AND SHE WAS LIKE "LOL U R RETRDED." SO I FINK I'M WORKING THAT CONSTRUCTION JOB FOREVER!!!!!! LOL!!!!

VERY FUNNY, DUDE. GO BAG MY GROCERIES FOR THE NEXT 15 YEARS.

From Durer to Rembrandt to Van Gogh to Picasso, the art of self-portraits has been a difficult one to master.

How does one depict one's self without bias, and romanticism? Or alternately, how does one fully express one's feelings without holding back by painting/photographing/drawing one's own self?

More importantly, how in holy hell did this delicate art form in which to articulate the most subtle and deepest emotions become epitomized by MYSPACE ANGLES?

As most people are already probably aware, Myspace is a website filled with drag queens, bad rap music, and horny children who have the serious case of MYSPACE ANGLES (TM). Single-handedly, the cult of myspace has managed to turn the art of self-portraiture into puckered lips, bad make-up, and awkward angles. Who the hell actually looks like that in real life? (SORRY, FAT KID, but no extreme angle will make your belly look flat and your cheeks normal. Try trimspa.)

Perhaps the worst part about this is that most of these myspace angles are perpetrated by so called photographers and so called art types. Camera shake? 400 filters? Blinding flash? How is this artistic? My blind brother with downs and muscular dystrophy could take better pictures and I don't even have a fucking brother!

NO, IT'S NOT POST-MODERN. GO SHIT YOURSELVES.

Explosion of bad amateur porn? Piss poor excuses for self-portraits by self-proclaimed "fine arts" majors?

I blame digital cameras.

When you had to go get your film processed the old fashioned way, you would be too embarrassed to take pictures of yourself on the toilet because you never know who would be working at SuperSave1HourPhoto that night.

BUT NOW, IN THE AMAZING AGE OF TECHNOLOGY, YOU CAN TAKE PICTURES OF YOUR VAG WITH BLINDING FLASH AND UPLOAD IT FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE WITH A FEW CLICKS OF THE MOUSE. EXCUSE ME, MISS, BUT EVEN JACKSON POLLACK WOULD SHIT ON YOUR CHEST.

I hate myspace.

I hate digital cameras.

BLOW ME.

Even as a little girl, I had been convinced that public exhibition of one's work was the highest point you could achieve in art.

Even as a 6 year old kid, I was really excited for Fridays, when my art teacher would pin our work on the hallway bulletin board, because then maybe someone would recognize greatness in my drawing of purple 5 eyed elephants.

Alas, nobody ever did.

Tonight was my first public exhibition of my photographs. A series of 9 photographs out of 130 pieces.

Hovering around the mediocrity on the walls and over-hearing over-self-indulgent conversations about all the bullshit I never gave a damn about made me rethink the whole thing.

WHAT THE HELL'S SO GREAT ABOUT THIS?

After having to feign interest in other people I was supposed to meet, the pessimist in me kicked in.

The drinks were terrible. The water probably had hepatitis B. The cheese had AIDS. And my wonderfully metro attire was being wasted on a crowd that couldn't even pronounce Galliano. Between all that and plus the old farts giving a speech about community or some bullshit I had zoned out some 15 minutes ago, the nagging, persistent question burning like a bad case of STDs.

8:13, being unable to bear it any longer, said good night to my photographs and went home.

WHY IS THIS SO GREAT? Wasn't this what I wanted? Was it just that reality never meets expectation or that this thing really did blow? Is it just me or is everyone else in this room retarded? This is an art show. Shouldn't we be pumping some music and celebrating the joy of wasting money on dreams?

Is it sad that at my first exhibition, the best part of it was the ride home? Or is this a normal condition? Any replies, please direct to futureismetric at hotmail dot com.

An Open Letter to My Generation:

DEAR JUGEND,

You are all pathetic. In the 60s there was racial segregation, in the 70s there was vietnam, in the 80s there was disco, in the 90s there was horrible fat kids in plaid. IN THE 00s, THERE IS GAY MARRIAGE.
Forget it, man.
THERE IS NO FUCKING BATTLE.

Turn down 50 cent for half a second and look at what you're being so pissed off about. 90 cents per litre of gas? OH BOO HOO BUT MY DAD ONLY PAID 3 CENTS PER BARREL WHEN HE WAS GROWING UP. Guess what, moron? It's an un-renewable resource!!! It kind of tends to be expensive! Like gold! You know? What the hell did you think was going to happen? Turn the damn bass down. That's just annoying.

We are the most pathetic generation by FAR. Oh wah wah. Pay for my car, daddy. Pay for my weed, daddy. Pay for my lipo, daddy. Pay for a house of my own in the suburbs, daddy. I NEVER WANT TO LEAVE. Hey, sweetheart, here's a suggestion. GET OFF YOUR VELVETEEN COVERED ASS FOR A SECOND AND TRY NOT BEING A VAPID WHORE FOR A CHANGE.

OH HEY, STRAIGHT EDGE VEGAN EMO KID, stop photo-shopping those pictures of yourself because not only do you fail at being a useful human being, you fail at photoshop. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you didn't claim to love your body and hate all those stick thin models BUT GUESS WHAT, HYPOCRITE? F MINUS!!! Those telltale jagged lines and distorted features scream out "I WISH I COULD AFFORD TRIMSPA."

WHEN WILL PEOPLE REALIZE THAT NO MATTER HOW MANY SWEET BLINKING ICONS AND SWEET LAYOUTS THEY HAVE THEY WILL BE FAT RETARDED FUCKS THAT SPEND 4 HOURS ON MYSPACE EACH DAY.
GO SHIT YOURSELVES WHILE I DIE.

I FUCKING HATE VALENTINE'S DAY.

I did before, I still do, and I will until I die. It's just such a phony holiday. Here is the real uncensored version of history of valentine's day.

Okay, so once upon a time, there was this guy, I think he was Roman or something. That doesn't matter. Anyway, he was called Valentine, and contrary to popular belief, he was an evil genius. He wanted to take over the world by spreading STDs around young people thereby immobilizing future armed forces. He hooked up young men with his legion of contaminated prostitutes, who also happened to be actors, not very good ones, but sometimes boys are stupid like that. He instructed his hooker minions to convince the young men that they were in love, and to copulate and spread the disease. AND SPREAD THEY DID! (More than the disease, wink wink nudge nudge.)

But the idiot fell in love with one of his girls and married her, forgetting that she had deadly diseases of the nether regions. So he died. Sucks for him, he never got to take over the world. Then the pope thought it would be a good idea to canonize the guy (it was a slow year), and a couple hundred years later, fat business men at Hallmark found a lull between Christmas and Easter, and felt the business needed a little pick-me-up. AND IF THERE CAN BE A WORLD AIDS DAY, WHY NOT A HOLIDAY WITH THE SAME ACRONYM AS VENEREAL DISEASES?

Hooray, hooray, valentine's day!I hate Hallmark! GOD! February 14th is just another gimmicky reason to jack up the prices on flowers and chocolates and plushy toys that nobody needs in the first place. Think about this: every plush you buy kills another starving child in china who is making all those stupid things by hand.* YEAH, IT'S SOOOO ROMANTIC. Why do you need a goddamn day on the calendar to motivate you to be nicer to someone? I hope everyone gets VD and dies. FUCK.

*not actual statistic, but it's probably close.

I never make new year's resolutions any more because I am pretty sure I will break them before the week is out. (Half-assed attempts are my specialty. Of course, I'm an artist. Half-finished paintings and sketches, littered around the room, can add to the insulation and give the space the "EVEN MY SCRAPS ARE BETTER THAN YOUR PORTFOLIO! MWAHAHAHAH!" quality. Not that I'm an elitist or anything. Ahem.)

But I don't see why people do it- year after year. Are they just too stupid to learn a lesson or very persistent, albeit the attention span of a mentally retarded goldfish?

I'm not saying self-improvement is a noble cause. It's more like, if you need to change yourself, why do you need an excuse? If you want to lose weight, Sally McFatass, maybe you should get off the couch and stop eating twinkies no matter what day it is. If you want to pass Remedial Math that you've been taking for the umpteenth time because you're a loser that smoked so much of god-knows-what that you can barely count out the change during your shift at McDonalds, maybe you should do that regardless of what month it is.

It's like valentine's day--Is your relationship so shit that you need Hallmark to tell you to buy your girlfriend some chocolate and try your hand at doing the dishes for once? Then you probably shouldn't be in a relationship in the first place.

Or maybe it's not the whole New Year's Enthusiasm that I'm not getting. Sure, after all that turkey and champagne, it might suddenly dawn on you that yes, the last 4 pounds out of the 500 was really fucking deadly and being a size 29 with no discernable shape is not really being voluptuous at all, but just being fat. But maybe it's the "can't-blame-me-I've-tried" attitude. If you worked yourself up enough to write all over the goddamn fridge and posted sticky-notes on every item containing saturated fats, you really SHOULD stick to it, you know? How do you justify buying a $200 gym membership and NOT USING IT FOR THE REST OF THE 350 DAYS OF THE YEAR? No, Grandpa. You may have bought the juicer, but you're still not Jack LaLanne.

Call it cynicism, I call it being realistic. Honestly, just think about it. How many lard asses of the world will become Jared this year? It didn't change last year, or the year before that, or the year before that, so why the hell would they stop eating/fucking/smoking/killing now?

January 29 '06: Post Script

Nearly 4 weeks have passed since the new year. Undoubtedly, twinkies and McDonalds are creeping back into the cupboards, more quietly and slowly than at some homes than others.

So, the question stands. Was I right or what?