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How many times have I heard something similar in my house? Was a time facebook meant something else entirely...

Summer Camp Survival Guide

It's Day 4 of camp over at the interweb's comedy motherhouse Humor Bloggers Dot Com. Tuesday I participated in Campfire Sing Along Day. Today it's "Survival Day" and Head Camp Boob-Pah...er, ah...Poo-Bah Thinkinfyou has appointed Red Raider from Beyond Left Field to coordinate our survival efforts.

So, Red, here's how our little charges should handle themselves - and why - if they want to make it out alive...

1. Get your mom to sew labels with name and phone number in all clothes, particularly underwear...campers will change underwear every day - Tommy will change his with Billy, Billy with Harry, etc., and you'll want to get your own back at the end of the session before you go home.

2. Pack nutritious snack items, fruit and fruit juice boxes...because you won't find any nutritious meals at camp. We serve the blah-est and tasteless looking goopy slop you've ever seen. So if you wanna still be standing when camp's done, bring your own nutritious stuff.

3. Bring sunscreen and sun tan lotion...unless you live in eastern Canada or the northeast United States where these items may be substituted for rubber boots, raincoats and sou' wester hats (i.e. the garments worn on The Deadliest Catch). They've seen so much rain and so little sunshine for so long...how long is it?...its been so long moss has started to grow in their armpits.

4. Swimming is a daily activity so bring at least 2 swimsuits...unless you live in eastern Canada or the northeast United States, then see #3.

5. Pack plenty of cash or a 40 ouncer of Canadian Club...Counselor Raider can be bribed. He might just remember where he hid the outhouse key if appropriately compensated or lubricated.

And thus endeth the lesson of how to survive Camp Humor Blogger Dot Com! Thank God its only virtual.

Say What?

Over at Humor Bloggers.com where the funniest and punniest on the interwebs hang out - sort of like an AA for humour bloggers - Frank Lee Mei Dear of I Probably Don't Like You initiated one of my favourite Forum threads: The Humpty Dumpty Word Challenge. As Frank explains: "When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty told Alice, "It means just what I choose it to mean -- neither more nor less."

Frank challenged other HBDCrs to share in the forum random "Humpty Dumpty" words they've encountered on other folks' blogs when asked to enter a word verification, that jumble of letters required to be re-typed as a security measure, and to come up with our own definition for them.

Frank gave us an example or two to get us started. One was:

"tremotop"n. A hairpiece that has not been properly secured to the scalp.

Okay, you get the idea. Here's a few I've found and their Humpty Dumpty definitions...

...the practice of shampooing, to the point of near addiction. For example, Peggy Lee, who sang "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" can be said to have practiced prelism. (Prell shampoo)

...nachos that don't move (inertia/nachos)


One who has been taught to be dishonourable; one given an ignobleness lesson.
ie: He was so dishonorable he could probably teach an ignesson.

You've heard of Google? This is the act of searching for change on the internet. 2 choices: "Coingl Search" or I'm Feeeling Lucky"

What an obstetrition does to confirm a woman's pregnancy = an o.b. dab.

These are the folks who enjoy swinging both ways...they're bi-likers!

Two of my favourites on the list include Ettarose from Sanity on Edge's entry:

ABLEO: What a pirate says when asked if he is able.

and an entry from cdmauger at Maugeritaville:

ASHOLE: He's not a complete asshole, but he's getting there.

And you thought humour bloggers had nothing better to do with their time!

It's A Long Way To Tickle Larry - Humor Bloggers Summer Camp Week

The folks over at, Humor Blogger.Com, of which I'm a member, are so inventive and creative (oh, why, thank you). In the midst of the summer doldrums they've invited their members to Summer Camp. Chief Counselor thinkinfyou (and the horse you rode in on - it's an inside joke) explains it on her site and she's planned all kinds of activities for the week. The schedule goes like this:

Monday: Crafts

Tuesday: Sing Along

Wednesday: Campfire Stories

Thursday: Survival Guide

Friday: Letters Home

Being a closet rock and roller I couldn't let "Sing Along" pass me by and the fact that our Music Counselor is our own zombified, rocking blogging buddy Quirkyloon ...well, that's just the icing on the cake.

So as day draws to an end and dusk falls, we gather round the roaring campfire after a dinner of franks and beans and let 'er rip...oh, and we sing too!

It's been some time since I've been to camp but when I got to thinking about it camp fire songs are kinda silly. So if I were a snot-nosed little brat at summer camp what kind of songs would I sing? Probably something like "It's a Long Way to Tickle Larry"

It's a long way to tickle Larry

It's a long way you know

It's a long way to tickle Larry

Cause he's ticklish on his nose

Goodbye dangling boogers

Farewell nostril hair

It's a long, long way to tickle Larry

But my hand won't touch there!

Or how about "Donnie Caught His Dong In The Door"? Are you ready? And a 1, and a 2:

Donnie caught his dong in the door, ow-oo-ah-yah

Donnie caught his dong in the door, ow-oo-ah-yah

Sister saw him comin' and slammed the door, ow-oo-ah-yah

Sister saw him comin' and slammed the door, ow-oo-ah-yah

The doorway's deep, the doorway's wide, ow-oo-ah-yah

And sister slammed it from the other side, ow-oo-ah-yah

Donnie caught his dong in the door, ow-oo-ah-yah

Not gonna ask sister to open it no more, ow-oo-ah-yah

And our final selection is my own personal favourite, "Gotta Pee":

I love to go a-wandering

But not too far from home

Cause as I go I drink fruit juice

And recite this little poem

Gotta pee, gotta yeah

Gotta pee

Gotta yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

Gotta pee, gotta yeah

And recite this little poem

I love to wander by the stream

That dances in the sun.

But if I hear a waterfall

Well then I gotta run

Gotta pee...

Be sure and wander on over to Humor Bloggers.Com for more great fun at Summer Camp all week. Tell 'em Dufus sent ya. Excuse me, I gotta pee...

Be My, Be My Bubba

Here's a story to take our minds off the 24-7 media preoccupation with all things Michael Jackson and it has all the elements of wackiness necessary to hold our attention. No it's not the weird story of the brief thief I shared with you last week. And no, it's not about the last day in office of Sarah Palin - yes, she's wacky but I suspect her best, or worst depending on your perspective, is yet to come thus adding immeasurably to Tina Fey's popularity and income.


No, the story I'm talking about was found in the New York Post and it reports on Charles Manson's Overture to Phil Spector. Spector, the famous music producer known for his so-called "wall of sound" approach to recording was recently transferred to Corcoran State Prison in central California, where Manson -- who masterminded the savage Tate/LaBianca killings 40 years ago -- is housed in a separate wing.


Manson, who had a mad on for getting into the music business in the mid-60s before he gave up and settled for a quieter existence as a mass-murderer, apparently sent Spector a note praising his qualities as a music producer. Funny he didn't mention his admiration of his qualities as a murderer. Spector, who reportedly threatened artists such as the Ramones and John Lennon with a gun and Leonard Cohen with a crossbow, is currently serving 19 years for the fatal shooting of a young actress. But despite his proclivity for brandishing weapons, there's no denying the man was a genius at the sound board producing such artists as the Ronettes, the Crystals and other "girl groups" in the 60s, the Righteous Brothers Ike and Tina Turner and even the Beatles.

I wonder what Manson has in mind in striking up a friendship with Spector. Does he want him to Be My Baby?


Maybe he's hoping they can throw off their shackles and sing an Unchained Melody.


Perhaps he's enlisting Spector's help in escaping one night. You know, going over the wall of sound (okay, that was bad).



Maybe it's not Spector he's interested in but his cellmate Ronald. Yeah, perhaps he wants to Da Doo Ron Ron.


My Sweet Lord! Imagine! Get Back!


Okay, okay enough with the music puns. Some people don't know that the murder of Sharon Tate and her friends was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In trying to break into the music business Manson tried his best to impress Terry Melcher, then a top music producer and son of actress and songstress Doris Day. Melcher spurned Manson and Manson was so mad he sent his buddies out to murder him. Turns out Melcher's former address was the Tate household. Who was in the right place at the right time? Tate's husband Roman Polanski wasn't at home.


Que Sera Sera.

Sunday Funnies

Walter Cronkite passed away last week at the age of 92. Cronkite helmed the CBS Evening News for almost 20 years and in countless surveys throughout the years was voted "the most trusted man in America". He has been associated with two key events in particular: his coverage of the death of John F. Kennedy and of Neil Armstrong's walk on the moon.

Ironic he should pass away at about the 40th anniversary of that latter event. Ironic, too, that he should be replaced by Comedy Central's Daily Show host Jon Stewart who last week was rated America's most trusted news anchor in a Time magazine poll. These ironies didn't escape editorial cartoonists this week...

Holy Crap!

Over at Sanity On Edge Ettarose my good bloggin' buddy and fellow comedy cabal member at Humor Bloggers.Com runs a weekly caption contest where she invites her readers to "Craption This". Guess what? This week I won the highly coveted Golden Craption Award.

And here's the picture I had to caption - one of the weirdest and most challenging I've ever come across...

My caption?

Found under "be careful what you ask for":

Sue didn't exactly have this in mind when she'd asked for a new Jersey.

And here's the comment I left on Ettarose's blog...

Dear Ettarose:

Holy cow, I won? Manure the best Ettarose. This is udderly fantastic. I'm truly moo-ved! Thanks.

I hang the Golden Craption Award with pride on my right sidebar with the rest of my hardware. If you click on the pics you'll see how I came by my other wins.

US and Them #11

What is it about strapping yourself into a metal hull, donning a fiberglass helmet and hurtling around a race track at close to 200 miles per hour? There's a group of good 'ol boys who every weekend demonstrate to the world their need for speed once the anthem is away, the fly past is flown and some clueless celebrity issues that car racing catchphrase "GENTLEMEN...START...YOUR...ENGINES!!!"

Just what the hell am I referring to? Well unless you live under a rock or are a fey fashionista rather than a fast car freak you know I'm talking about the National Association for Stock Car Racing or more simply put NASCAR.

According to Wikipedia, NASCAR is one of the most viewed professional sports in terms of television ratings in the United States. In fact, professional football is the only sport in the United States to hold more viewers than NASCAR.. NASCAR holds 17 of the top 20 attended single-day sporting events in the world and claims 75 million fans who purchase over $3 billion in annual licensed product sales. All this for a sport who's claim to fame is 3 and-a-half hours of 40 cars going around in circles, never turning right.

And fans have their favourites. Maybe it's the king of the auto aristocracy Jeff Gordon. Or his team mate who's turned a little rough around the edges sartorially this year Jimmie Johnston. Or how about erudite-challenged Dale Earnhardt Jr. who stutters stops and starts...not just in the interviews but as he races round the track, too. Then there's former bad boy turned owner/racer Tony Stewart who's running number one in The Chase. Or my personal favourite Kyle "Bad Boy" Bush who drives that #18 car like there's no tomorrow. Kinda reminds me of myself when I jockeyed cars for AVIS Rent-a-Car during university.

Nothing quite compares to the exhilaration of a NASCAR race here in Canada, except perhaps one event. Regular readers will know from previous posts that Canadians are a little quirky. Their currency is a loonie, their national symbol a beaver and their revered rock star is Stompin Tom Connors. Well, the sport that rivals NASCAR up here is bathtub racing. You heard me right! But the tubs today are a little more modern than this one...

Bathtub racing began in Nanaimo, British Columbia in 1967 as a Canadian centennial celebration and every year since, the annual tub trek has occurred the last week of July. Not bad for a city who's previous claim to fame was it's link to the confectionery nanaimo bars and, by association, the "nanaimo look" - a 70s fashion statement made by my father and millions like him (like the swinger below) of a white belt and white shoes, usually used as accessories to his leisure suit.

The Loyal Nanaimo Bathtubbing Society oversees (no pun intended) the annual event and "tubbers" from around the world spend in the area of $3,000 to make their tubs seaworthy to race the 36 mile course.

NASCAR's known world wide. You might say it's high tide (oooh) the Nanaimo tub race got a plug too! (puns intended)

Fast Food Heaven

You often hear people talk about Rock and Roll Heaven and the fabulous group that must have been formed to include members like Buddy Holly, Janis Joplin, Elvis Presley, Jimi Hendrix, John Bonham and so on. But there's another celestial group whose membership increased this week...Fast Food Heaven!

Gidget, a 15 year old female chihuahua was the pitchman, er, ah, pitchdog for Taco Bell until a stroke put a permanent end to her advertising career - an effect eerily similar to the one might get from the product she pitched. But health concerns aside, she becomes the latest member of that great fast food restaurant in the sky.

It's no wonder Taco Bell had a dog as a spokesperson. Some of their menu items looked like they came out of the south end of a north-going mutt. But I digress.

15's pretty old in dog years. But she's not the only junk food maven to live to a ripe old age.

Other elderly members of this high cholesterol collection include Ray Kroc founder of McDonald's who died in 1984 at the age of 82. He may have had one Big Mac too many. It's a shame he passed away, he deserved a break today. Colonel Harland Sanders, founder of Kentucky Fried Chicken bit the dust in 1980 at the age of 90. He had a secret recipe, that encouraged us all to set the table without silverware because it was finger lickin' good. Dave Thomas found the beef and created Wendy's. He died in 2002 at the age of 69.

So maybe there's something to being a junk food junkie after all. Good to know I'll have a choice in the afterlife.

Under Where?

In Berlin, Germany police recently nabbed a kinky crook. Reuters reported earlier this week that police arrested a 46 year old man caught nicking 3 pairs of knickers from a sports store and uncovered over 1,000 pairs of underwear and more than 100 pairs of swimming trunks at the home of this wannabe Calvin Klein.

I guess you could say that after pooling their resources police nabbed the swimwear thief.

If he hid the swim suits in trees you might say police discovered trunks...in trunks.

If he hid the underwear in a tree did he get his panties in a knot?

If it didn't take police long to solve the crime, you could say he was arrested after a brief investigation.

If the thief was a drunk Caucasian, you could say police detained a tighty whitie.

Upon searching his house I wonder if police discovered what was in his drawers.

Maybe after an initial investigation police came up shorts.

Nevertheless they got him in the end.

If he was gay with an underwear fetish he might have been a fruit of the loom.

If he was a tall pirate with an everyday name would police refer to him as Long John?

If he was a pugilist and he escaped from jail, would police be on the lookout for a missing boxer?

Did they catch him under there? Under where?

Maybe police were alerted by his loud voice. You know, perhapth he wath thinging a thong.

He and his buddies weren't always criminals. In fact, you might say they were late bloomers.

Was this underwear collector guy effeminate? You know, a real pantywaist?

If he escaped on a horse did his pursuers jockey for position?

If it was a pursuit did police catch him on the fly?

Perhaps police nabbed the man after a lengthy foot race because he couldn't catch his breath in short pants.

Perhaps, perhaps not. It all depends.

No Sex Please We're Japanese

I was thumbing through a Maclean's magazine from a couple of weeks ago last week, catching up on my periodical reading (isn't that why they call them periodicals, 'cause you read them periodically?) and I came across an article that made me burst out loud laughing. In Japan apparently 60% of guys in their 20s are known as soushoki dansi or, in everyday English herbivores or literally translated grass eating boys.


Are these guys:
a) dope-fiends,
b) only date goats, or
c) have two stomachs.


None of the above. Nope. A herbivore is a celibate Japanese slacker. Konnichiwa? To be precise, according to Maclean's a herbivore is a young Japanese man "who saves money, shuns sex, has a penchant for nice clothing and prefers a quieter, less competitive lifestyle". In Japanese "sex" is translated as "relationship in flesh". So pop culturist Maki Fukasawato coined the term herbivore boys because they aren't interested in flesh.


The article goes on to say that grass eating boys are close to their mothers, are attentive to their appearance and have few career ambitions.


Who do these guys worship as a role model, Richard Simmons?


And what the hell is happening to the long held ideal of the place of masculinity in society? It's being flushed right down the toilet. Literally. Japanese toilet-maker Matsushita Electric Works (good name for a closet crapper: Mats-u-shita) reports over 40% of men in Japan sit on the toilet to pee. Horror of horrors men, urine a heap of trouble!


And get this, right out of a Seinfeld episode, Tokyo company WishRoom is selling men's bras. If Kramer had only gotten the patent he'd be rich.


Man, Japanese men are really blurring the lines when it comes to defining the "fairer sex"as they bid sayounara to their masculinity.

Sunday Funnies

At least one editorial cartoonist was still having fun with "wafergate" this week as the furore over the Canadian Prime Minister allegedly pocketing a communion wafer died down. Meanwhile, Aislin in the Montreal Gazette was wondering along with a lot of other Canadians where Canada's answer to Madoff, Earl Jones, had run off to. CAM in the Ottawa Citizen found the lighter side to the story of Canada's privacy watchdog expressing concerns over how Facebook uses personal information. And several Canadian editorial cartoonists were happy to have former Prime Minister Jean Chretien to kick around again as he received his order of Merit from the Queen.

US and Them #10

It was Will Rogers who once said: "I don't make jokes. I just watch the government and report the facts." But the words might well have been uttered by - or for that matter about - former comedian and newly minted U.S. Senator Al Franken. Franken, you see, spent several decades as a writer and cast member of Saturday Night Live the show that forever lampooned the politicians of the day.


What are we to expect from the former comic and now Senator from Minnesota? Well, maybe there's a clue to be had from his past.



Franken, who spent nearly as much time contesting his election results as he did parodying politicians, in one of his incarnations appeared as self-help guru Stuart Smalley on SNL. Several of his famous catch phrases included:

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.

It's easier to put on slippers than to carpet the entire world

Franken also wrote several books, among them the not-so-obliquely titled: Lies and the Lying Liars Who Tell Them: A Fair and Balanced Look at the Right.


So okay, we get a sense of where he's coming from, but we're not so sure where he's going.


Who knows, maybe he'll end up like former Canadian Prime Minister Jean Chretien. Chretien was in the news again this week as only the third Canadian recipient of the Queen's Order of Merit. He's in some pretty august company. Mother Theresa and Winston Churchill are among the award's previous recipients.


A shrewd politician, Chretien led his Liberal party to 3 successive majority government's in Canada. But Jean wasn't the most erudite individual. Indeed, many used to say he showed no favourites among Canada's two solitudes as he managed to mangle both official languages. He also was prone to blathering as opposed to giving a direct answer (hey, he was a a politician). He often came off looking more like a stand-up comic than a Prime Minister. Here's a few examples:

When you're a mayor and you have a problem you blame the provincial government. If you are a provincial government and you have a problem you blame the federal government. We don't blame the Queen any more, so once in a while we might blame the Americans.

A proof is a proof. What kind of a proof? It's a proof. A proof is a proof. And when you have a good proof, it's because it's proven.

I don't know what is marijuana. Perhaps I will try it when it will no longer be criminal. I will have my money for my fine and a joint in the other hand.

When holding a press conference on Free Trade with U.S. president Bill Clinton, Canadian prime minister Jean Chretien was asked what he thought about all the drugs that were entering Canada from the U.S. He responded: "Well, it's more trade." After a tense moment of silence and some muffled laughter Clinton leaned over and whispered something in Chretien's ear. Chretien immediately blurted "Oh drugs! I thought you said trucks!"

So my American friends, look out. Mr Franken may unexpectedly and inexplicably rise to the heights of Mr. Chretien. Geez, a lot of quotes have been thrown about in this article and I'm sorry but for some reason when I think of these two politicians I am reminded of one more quote, this one from Plato:

Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber.

Crochety Old Man Yells At Nurses

Da Old Man of Crochety Old Man Yells at Cars, our blogging buddy and mentor over at Humor Bloggers Dot Com, continues to soldier on. Three and-a-half weeks ago DOM was rushed to the hospital with kidney failure. Since then there have been some complications. How do we know all this? Because DOM, trooper that he is, continued to blog about his predicament, beginning as he waited for the ambulance to arrive, through his dialysis, his staph infection, wrongly prescribed meds and mini stroke.

And having had to endure all this, you know what his big complaint is? He can't get an internet connection in the hospital! So he's been dictating his posts to his charming wife, Mrs C and she's been posting his hospital humour. Together the two of them have put a new spin on that Reader's Digest maxim: laughter is the best medicine.

DOM aka Crochety aka Joe is also a Yankees fan, so I wanted to get his blood boiling by letting him know this woman was a Mets Fan.

And I wanted to send my best wishes in true Humor Blogger fashion...

"...and this is Ralph, your anesthesiologist."

Drop by DOM's place at Crochety Old Man Yells At Cars to follow his progress and leave him a note to let him know you're cheering him on.

And DOM we're all pullin' for ya. Get well soon.

Update: 6pm - Dom was released from the hospital today and is now in rehab - no, not THAT kind of rehab. And he's no longer "DOM Unplugged". He's got internet access and he's begun blogging again. Great news!

The Wait

In my youth I was an observant child, more so than most perhaps. To the point of aggravation to my parents, I'd often demand "why?" several times over in an effort to understand why (oops, there I go again) things were the way they were. My 3 year old grandson has the same affliction and I guess I know where he gets it from.


Many of those childhood memory "snapshots" have stayed with me over the years, being poked loose from time to time from the recesses of my cranium by current day occurrences. One such incident made me hearken back just the other day, forcing me to ask myself "why?". Actually, at middle-age the phrase is another interrogative that starts with a "w": wtf?


I was doing the weekly grocery shopping and was zipping up and down the aisles, making good time, when I and my basket came to a screeching halt. As I turned the last corner and headed for the front of the store and the cashiers I encountered the apocalypse. People and their shopping carts were everywhere, snaked across the front of the store. Why? Because only 2 cashiers were on hand to handle the hoards of harried customers.


I deftly circumvented the crowd and headed for the automatic check-outs. I don't know why they call it this because it's actually you the customer that checks out your own groceries as opposed to the cashier. Do you pay any less for this apparent attempt at express egress? No, but you can pay more at the rate of 5 cents per each plastic bag if you didn't bring your own. Alas, not unlike love, the true course of automated cashiering never runs smoothly and there were about another 20 people lined up to engage in technological supermarket sado-masochism.


2 cashiers for 50 people? My middle-aged mind cried "wtf?". And here's where that innocent childhood memory came flooding back. As a young boy in the 50s I visited the barber on a weekly basis, as often as I went to church, to maintain my very cool brush cut. The shop was at the back of a small variety store where, with the change from my haircut, I'd load up on gumballs, licorice twizzlers and other candied confections, an Illustrated Classics comic book or a copy of Hot Rod Magazine. But the thing I remembered most about this picture of little boy bliss was the sign in the window of the barber shop: "Six chairs, no waiting."


And it made me think. Lining up at automated grocery store cashiers, ATM machines, fast-food drive-throughs, self-serve counters and the like just doesn't make sense. Why in the world do things intended to speed us along at twice the pace in this modern world end up taking twice as long?


God I yearn for the days of "six chairs, no waiting". Why? Because.

The Weird and The Weirder

You know, there's some weird, wacky and wonderful things going on around us. Sit back, relax, and let's see if I can provide you with an overview of stuff so odd you probably think I'm making it up. But noooo, Mr and Mrs Newshound, this stuff's for real.


Last week Canada's media - and the Catholic Church establishment - was aghast that the Prime Minister, a protestant, attending the funeral mass for former Governor General Romeo LeBlanc, appeared to pocket his communion wafer. This story had legs for about a week until the PM dismissed the story as the lowest of the low in journalism in a news conference at Italy's G8. Too bad. It had all the makings of the next Dan Brown blockbuster.


The madness that is MJ refuses to quit. In a story titled "Jacko in the Box" The New York Post reported last week that while the Jackson family dithers over Michael's final resting place his body is temporarily parked in Motown record mogul Berry Gordy's crypt. He's right next to Sandra Dee's final resting place who starred in "Imitation of Life" in 1959 - a fitting epitaph for her temporary neighbour.


Meanwhile, AFP reports a recent study for Expedia.com indicates "pushy French are world's worst tourists". The study says the French are stingy when it comes to tipping and are down right rude. In an unrelated story AFP also reports a French woman was found after 11 days stranded in Spain's Pyrenees with nothing but a picnic to eat. The real story is no one would give her food or directions because she was so rude.


And finally, for those of you really wanting to keep abreast of current events, you'll be happy to learn that a financially strapped New Zealand porn entrepreneur intends to go ahead with his annual "Boobs on Bikes" parade this year in Auckland. The parade features topless female porn stars on the backs of Harley's. Not surprisingly the event encountered some stiff opposition from city council. Zoom. Zoom.

Sunday Funnies

Michael Jackson's death and funeral and the saturation of media coverage caught the imagination of editorial cartoonists last week. As did Sarah Palin's resignation and Billy Mays' passing into pitchman's heaven. Speaking of heaven, Prime Minister Harper may or may not get there. One cartoonist thinks he has all the bases covered and that a communion wafer may not be the only thing he stuck in his pocket...

Dufus Does Death To A Diet

Earlier in the week I promised to share with you how I prepared breakfast on our fishing trip. I've kept my promise. Keep in mind: it's a guy thing.

If cholesterol be the food of love, stick a fork in me, turn me over and call me Eros.

This high caloric, cholesterol-laden concoction is swimming in fat, grease and guilt but, nom nom nom, it is sooo good.

Nonamedufus' Specials have become a yearly tradition with me and my fishin’ buddies. Each June 3 or 4 of us traipse into the wilds of the “near North” of Ontario to Lake Temagami once bass season opens. We tell our wives we’re roughin’ it and we kick back at a place called Loon Lodge and watch satellite TV, drink beer, eat huge Lodge-prepared dinners, enjoy the sun and swat at the odd black fly. Oh, yeah, sometimes we actually fish.

Provisions for our fishing folly are procured ahead of time at the grocery, liquor and beer stores in North Bay about an hour away from Lake Temagami. The local economy (particularly the beer store) gets a considerable boost from 4 guys headed out for 8 days on the lake. Now the dinners are provided by the Lodge. So that leaves 2 other meals and snacks that the guys are responsible for. Deli meats, pickled eggs, chips, pretzels and hot dogs are the usual staples for lunch and snacks. But breakfast is another matter entirely.

In the late of the evening - well, actually, long before dinner - after a long, hard day out on the lake the guys break out the beer and the booze, sit back and shoot the breeze about the one that got away or deride the one guy who didn’t catch anything. We’re close like that – hey, two of these guys are my brothers. With a break for dinner, the discussing – and the drinking – continues until the moon rises and the call of the loon beckons us to our beds.

In the morning, it’s sometimes difficult to get moving for some reason. Here’s where the Nonamedufus' Specials come into play. The bread, the grease and the cholesterol counteracts the effects of the booze and simply soaks it up. A side of tomato juice is the perfect accompanying breakfast beverage, spiked or au natural. Of course after each of us eating two of these there’s a rush to see who can get to the bathroom first. But once our business is done, we’re fresh, revived and ready to face another beer, er, ah, day!

Here’s how you can make your own Nonamedufus' Specials:
-turn stove burner to #3
- melt, butter, margarine or cooking spray in pan
- cook bacon (2 strips per special) (low sodium back bacon can be substituted by wusses)
- cook eggs easy-over in same pan using grease from bacon
- place slice of cheddar cheese on egg when egg is flipped and let melt
- cut and toast English muffins
- add salt and pepper while eggs cooking
- place 2 slices of bacon and 1 egg with cheese on open English muffin
- put other half of English muffin on top
- voila, a feast fit for a king size hangover
- can be served with a side of fried potatoes (also cooked in bacon grease) and a glass of orange or tomato juice

Happy eating!

US and Them #9

The haunting hoopla accorded a certain middle-aged pop star's death recently disturbed me. And it disturbed me on several levels. In terms of a frenzied media it was O.J. on the Los Angeles freeway all over again. Coverage to the point of saturation. Speculation to the point of inanity.

Meanwhile, the level of devotion, adoration and idolization amazed me. Thousands were interviewed, millions from his music back-catalogue were sold and BILLIONS tuned in around the world to his memorial.

An emotional outpouring on such a level is virtually unprecedented. Who else could have garnered such attention? We can think back to Lady Di's funeral but apart from that nothing comes close.

It's odd who we choose to idolize. Why Wacko Jacko? Why don't we place all our devotional powers in traditional religions and their deities? Well for Catholics, at least, lapsed and the few remaining, Pope Benny isn't exactly a charismatic figure.

Why don't we worship our politicians? Heck, with guys like South Carolina Governor Mark "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina" Sanford and former Illinois Governor Rod "Money - That's What I Want" Blagojevich I guess I understand why.

Why don't we worship steroid junkies, er, ah, athletes? Next question.

Here in Canada, I can't think of anyone that could engender the same kind of idol-tery. We've had a succession of bland, uninspiring Prime Ministers and uncharismatic Premiers. We have some mildly entertaining performers and artists. Although I love Leonard Cohen, Neil Young and Gordon Lightfoot I don't think their passing would match the reaction the self-proclaimed King of Pop received.

Don Cherry, that hockey analyst blowhard, is about the closest thing we have to an icon. His shtick is sheer buffoonery and his sartorial sageness is somewhat lacking but hockey-loving Canadians adore him and want to draft him to run for Prime Minister. I can just see his approach to diplomacy with his elbows up in the corners.

But wait, speaking of hockey, I know just the man who inspires in Canadians what Mister Jackson did for Americans. That idolized purveyor of puck history and other tales: Stompin Tom Connors.

America may have its King of Pop, but Canada has its King of Pucks!

Fishin' Friends

For about 8 years now several of us have been hitting Lake Temagami in northern Ontario for a week of fishing in late June/early July as soon as bass season opens. The characters change a bit from year to year: another friend, a brother or two but the two mainstays have been me and my buddy Pierre. Some years we catch a ton of fish and others very few. But at the end of the day the beer's always cold and they have to carry you away from the dinner table 'cause the home-cooked meals at the lodge are to die for.

Temagami is about an hour north of North Bay and for us about 6 hours from Ottawa. The first year I ventured forth I didn't know a bass from my ass, had to get Pierre to worm my hook and if I caught a fish, forget it, someone else had to take it off the hook! And clean it? Yeah, good luck with that.

I've come a long way since then. I can bait my hook - using rubber worms. I call it the prophylactic approach to fishing. Don't laugh, you'd be surprised at how many fish I've caught practicing "safe fish"! And this year, after 8 years on the lake, I've cleaned fish! It helps when everyone else refuses to do it and you want fish for dinner! Just give me a sharp knife and watch me go. I'm a clean and gut master.

Over the years, we've had a lot of fun and some interesting experiences. For example, several years back Pierre and I were out in the boat one afternoon when for no apparent reason the engine stopped. Try as we might we couldn't get it going again. So we paddled across the lake to a dock and prevailed upon the owner of a cottage to use his phone. We called the lodge owner where we were staying to see if he could come and get us. As we waited it started to rain and by about half an hour later when the lodge owner arrived in his boat it was pouring. As the cottager, the lodge owner Pierre and I huddled over the engine the cottager innocently inquired "Does this boat have a kill switch?" A kill switch is a safety feature. You attach the ignition key to your life vest so that if you fall overboard the key is yanked out of the ignition and a switch flips to stop the engine. Pierre said quietly, so quietly we could hardly hear him "Oh, shit!" As the rest of us looked on, drenched to the skin, Pierre flipped the switch, turned the ignition and the boat roared to life. It took him the rest of our stay to live that one down back at the lodge!

All in all though it's a great guys' week away. And truth be told our wives appreciate a week to themselves too!

Later this week, I'll talk about my "special" fishing week breakfast and give you the recipe. Don't get too excited. Remember, this is a guy thing. In the meantime here's some photos from this year's trip.

Catching Up

Well I'm back from a week on the lake; eight days without access to the internet, my Blackberry, Twitter or my blog. We caught and ate plenty of fish - trout, bass, pickeral and pike. But imagine my surprise upon my return yesterday when I discovered that the posts I had set to post automatically - didn't. My apologies dear reader. While the posts are dated as intended I only just posted them manually, yesterday. So, anything since June 28th is a week later than intended. Sometimes technology sucks.






There was one thing upon my return that made me very happy. I've won another award while I was away! But what's so special about this award? Well, while the others were for captioning pictures on fellow bloggers sites, this award was given to me on the merits of MY site.


Yep, my good blogging buddy, fellow rocknroller and zombie devotee Quirky over at Musings of a Quirkyloon awarded me the creatively-named "I Heart Your Blog" award! Thanks for the blog love, Quirk. You rock.

Click here to read Quirky's post.

Do You Want Pants With That?

What's going on at drive-thrus? You know, those time-saving devices where you can get fast food faster? Nothing says good food like an exhaust fume-laden cheese burger. Yum. Yum. But I digress.

A couple of weeks ago the case of a Nova Scotia wheel chair-bound man getting barred from Tim Horton's made the news. He made the news because he was barred from the drive-thru. Now to my mind, a guy on a motorized scooter and a drive-thru is a marriage made in heaven. What a great idea this guy had. Instead of struggling up steps or a ramp, through a pair of doors, down a narrow isle and at great risk of backing into other patrons to get his "double-double" the guy decided to go through the drive-thru. Not so fast physically disabled guy, said Tim Horton's, if you want that double-double you've gotta come in and get it. He's threatening to go to the Human Rights Commission over this and I say "You go, guy!"

Meanwhile, last week, at the other end of the country, police were looking for some naked guy who stole a lady's fries at a Wendy's drive-thru. Yep, you read that right. As the drive-thru attendant was handing the lady her order some guy, naked as a jaybird, sped between them, grabbed the fries and kept on, er, truckin'. Now this raises a number of questions, chief among them where did he come from? Was he out for a jog in the buff and got a hunger pang and thought "I know, I'll just run through the first drive-thru I see!" It was likely a prank as his buddy was waiting for him in a van in front of the restaurant.

While the first example makes me merely shake my head, the second makes me think the guy took the Burger King slogan a little too far (even though it was Wendy's). When they said "have it your way" they meant choice of condiments not clothing optional! And it strikes me they'll have to add "pants" to that sign "no shirt, no shoes, no service".

These Guys Are Doing It Wrong