Thursday, 31 December 2009

Dick Drops His Ball And We're Watchin' It At My Place


It's party time at nonamedufus!  I live in Ottawa - across the river in Aylmer, Quebec to be precise - and holding a party here can be a real challenge.  Ottawa's a government town where bureaucrats vacate their offices at 4pm and the sidewalks are rolled up by 6pm.  In downtown Ottawa there's a pedestrian mall called Sparks Street a block away from Parliament Hill.  While the street is jammed with civil servants at lunch time, passing through shops and eating at outdoor terraces, you can shoot a cannon down the street at 5pm and not fear hitting anyone except for a flock of pigeons still engaged in plucking dropped french fries off of the pavement.

But I digress, I was shanghaied into this party in the comments section of my post Tuesday by CatLadyLarew who invited herself to what then was a non-existent party.  She said she was going to drive up from Rochester  ...and to use a seasonal expression, it kind of snowballed from there.

So I got some snacks out - some swedish meatballs and piggies in a blanket left over from Christmas.  I've warned up the HDTV so we can watch Dick Clark's ball drop.  Eww, that didn't sound right.  At 80 you'd think that would've happened by now.  No, I mean the big ball with the lights in Times Square.  There's diet Dr. Pepper I got a deal on at Amazombie.com for a couple of my guests, including Quirkyloon.  And Don from Beyond Left Field will be happy to know there'll be plenty of fruit cakes to both nibble on and - since he'll be there - talk to.

And folks?  This is a non-resolution party.  I don't know about you but I can never seem to keep resolutions.  So why in the hell make them.  That's the one resolution I CAN keep - not to make any.

So come on in.  Have you met Mad Mad Margo?  Don't say I told you this but poor Margo is schizophrenic.  She also goes by the name of Screaming Me-Me.  Poor dear.  She lives in Arizona.  Must be the heat.  But I didn't say anything, okay?

I've already told you about Cat Lady.  Now she's a bit odd in that she calls herself Cat Lady but calls her blog How To Be A Cat Lady Without The Cats.  Go figure!  She's also a DDP-aholic.  Again, it wasn't me that told you.

The Queen of DDP though is Quirkyloon.  She must have 20 cans a day.  But she'll always share.  She's kind that away.  Indeed I'm always telling her about her largesse.  You know, though, I think she must be having an affair with Dr. Pepper.  Better not tell Tiger.  How else could she afford to put so many away in a day?  I had to bring in 10 cases special for her from this place she told me about - yeah, Amazombie.com.  Who better to know.  After all she's preoccupied with all things zombie. But, once more, you didn't get it from me.

I mentioned Don from Beyond Left Field.  He's really from Hattiesburg, Mississippi - home town of quarterback Brett Favre.  Don's a real, live good ol' boy and he's one of the goodest I've ever met.  But you didn't hear ME say that, okay?

Hold up, there's a few more folks I'd like you to meet.  This here's Chelle B also known as The Offended  Blogger.  Be nice to her.  She also runs Humor Bloggers Dot Com where we all hang out (so I had to invite her) and she's just started up The Offended American which is quickly becoming the Offended Canadian because I'v published several posts over there!  Chelle's our over achiever, eh?  But don't tell her I said that.

Speaking of Canadians, here's Frank Lee Mei Dear from Toronto.  But watch out he'll probably tell you, and I quote, "I Probably Don't Like You".  Frank's an academic type, a college professor.  Which may explain why's he's just started up a new blog I Probably Don't Like Teaching.  But someone else told you this, okay?

The quiet guy in the middle of the room is Joel "don't call me Joe" Klebanoff from Stuff and Nonsense, another guy from Toronto.  I know, I know he's in the middle of the room because he thinks he's still at the centre of the universe.  He must have car-pooled with Frank, the cheap bastard.  Joe-l never reads my blog, so you can tell him anything you want.

Oh, look, there's Jayne.  She's new.  She seems nice, chatty.  But she's in her own little world at times.  You could say she's injayne'sworld.  She herself says she's an unapologetic bleeding-heart liberal.  My kinda gal.  But don't tell her I said so.  We've got some funny people here right-of-center and I wouldn't want to offend them.  But don't tell them I told you that.

That guy over in the corner by himself nursing a six-pack of Corona is Mike from Too Many Mornings.  Mike's a journalist but just lost his job.  What a downer - at Christmas.  He also knows Adam Sandler and has been on his yacht.  Maybe he can get Mike a job in Hollywood.  Don't mention I said anything.  Maybe he can't.

Oh yeah, and that guy there, covered in flies?  That's Moooooog, perpetual winner of my caption contest and owner of Mental Poo.  Moooooog don't know shit.  Well actually he does, and he blogs about it at every opportunity.  But you didn't get that from me.

And then there's me, nonamedufus, your congenial host.  I'd never say an unkind word about anyone you jerk-off, fucking remember that.  But, hey, I didn't just say that, okay?

There are many others here too many to introduce individually but to get acquainted with the folks I've mentioned and those I haven't just click on my blogroll in the right side bar and you'll find them all.

So I hope everyone has a happy New Year and...  Hey Dick's dropping his ball!  10...9...8...


Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Moooooog's 2009 End of Year "What's This Shit" Caption Challenge



Between now and when we announce the winner of our "little contest that could" we'll have celebrated New Year's eve and ushered in 2010.  Happy New Year's everyone.  Because half of us will be brain-dead from celebrating a wee too much into the early hours, it's only fitting they'd bring back Dick Clark to help host the festivities.  On that note, caption away...

Kirsten may be running late but check to see if her caption contest is up and running.  ettarose has been m.i.a. in the last few weeks but maybe she's back this week.  And that Arizona amnesiac Mad Mad Margot just might have her thing going today so check her out too.

See ya back here with the winner on Saturday.

Tuesday, 29 December 2009

Fly The Friendly Skies

Boy, oh  boy, those poor folks trying to get out of Dodge on an airplane this week.  Since that Nigerian guy tried to blow up his crotch and a plane last week in Detroit Transport Canada has clamped down on security at Canadian airports.  Havoc has ensued.  Line ups, delayed and cancelled flights.  No carry-on luggage allowed.  I'd hate to be an air traveller trying to get home or get away on holidays.

The more I thought about this story, the more questions I asked myself.

Southwest Airlines picked the wrong time to go with their "all checked bags fly free" promotion.

The guy sewed the explosives into his underpants.  It gave me visions of the guy in Spinal Tap going through security with a cucumber in his pants wrapped in aluminum foil.


No skid marks!

Although, now that I've seen the size of the um, er, packet of explosives this guy had little to brag about...if you know what I mean.

The guy's from Nigeria.  What's up? Did he want to teach us a lesson for not answering his e-mails?

Planes flying to the States out of Canada will not allow passengers out of their seats for the last hour of the flight.  What happens when the movie ends and everybody has to go to the washroom?  If Air Canada's smart, on top of $5 bucks for a pillow and $7 bucks for a blanket, they'll charge $25 for Heavy Duty Depends.

Those skies aren't so friendly anymore.


Endorsed by jealous NASA astronauts

Monday, 28 December 2009

Look What I Got For Christmas




Yep, last week...the week leading up to Christmas...Christmas eve as it were...nonamedufus got a metaphorical lump of coal in his stocking.  And here I'd done my best to be a good boy.  Let me back up.  Around late summer/early fall I submitted my blog to Ask And Ye Shall Receive for review.  When a couple of months had passed and I'd had no response I figured they'd passed me by and I put it behind me.

Lo and behold, last week a very nice fellow by the name of People In The Sun reviewed my blog.  Now I should have picked up on their preternatural disposition to other people's blogs.  The domain name of their site is, after all http://iwillfuckingtearyouapart.blogspot.com/.  Yeah, enough said.  And, I knew going in they had a mad on for humour bloggers, in particular members of Humor Bloggers Dot Com.  But it must have been my good Catholic upbringing because as an adult I still crave to be punished for no good cause.



The review, titled Blame Humor Bloggers, is kind of meh.  It doesn't focus on the content at all but rather criticizes my blog template and the number of widgets and badges in my right sidebar.  For some reason they don't like the "looks" of my blog, in particular the number of references to Humor Bloggers Dot Com.  Hey, my feeling is that the folks at HBDC allowed me into their somewhat exclusive club and the least I can do is provide a link or two to their site and participate in some of their events.

Feel free to read the review at the link above and the comments some of their frantic fans have posted...and let me know what you think.

I'm willing to take their criticism at face value and to that end I intend to do some tweaking here and there.  As Canadian handyman Red Green likes to say: "I'm a man, but I can change, if I have to, I guess."

On balance, I found the review to be basically, um, er...balanced.  I would like to have seen more reaction to my blog's content but if they left it well enough alone I guess they didn't have a problem with it.  And as I said in my comments to them, I should be happy with their rating of "one star", seeing how there were 4-5 categories, including flying fiery fingers to pass through to get to it.  So Ask And Ye Shall Receive thanks, I think.


Saturday, 26 December 2009

From My Cold Dead Hands




Well everyone took their best shot this week.  For example, Tgoette got us in his sights with:

Merry Christmas from the Glenn Beck compound.




CatLady's arresting effort was:

Christmas is all about family, togetherness and automatic weapons.




And FreakSmack slayed me with:

The Johnson kids know one thing, if Santa thinks he can come into their house and get all kissy-kissy under the mistletoe without bringing them a Bakugan Battle Arena, then this Christmas will be his last.


But it was Moooooog who must be a charter-carrying member of the NRA.  Our winner came up with:

Charlton Heston's grandkids have a very Merry Christmas.




And so, Moooooog, at this wonderful Christmas time, you be hangin' with Dufus.  Congratulations!!!

Thanks for playing everyone and for enjoying the pics this year.  Here's to a happy New Year.


Thursday, 24 December 2009

Bless You

Christmas eve! Where did the time go? And as we anticipate Christmas morning with packs of presents under the tree, family near, and a huge turkey dinner tomorrow night, tonight we - as the song goes - will fall asleep counting our blessings. Some of us. For others Christmas isn't all blessings.





Here are a few items that crossed my mind or my computer screen last week. And in the spirit of giving, I just thought I'd share them with you.


Now that I have an 52" HDTV, news networks run clips of reporters on broadband and Skype. What's up with that? I make a step forward. They take two back.


Italian PM Berlusconi was severely disfigured when a deranged man threw a small statue at him breaking his teeth and cutting his face. When hit with the mini-monument was Berlusconi heard to inquire, "Allo, statue?" (I know, bad, bad joke.)


An SUV recently crashed into the departures area at Vancouver International Airport. Talk about "checking in". The car, by the way, was a - wait for it - Honda Pilot!


ABBA was accepted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame last week. They can keep them. Please don't let them out again.


A couple in Newcastle England were found to be in contravention of a municipal social order for having abnormally loud sex. Neighbours, passers-by and the postman, apparently, all heard the raucous romp and described it as "unnatural" and "like they are both in considerable pain". I guess the postman had to ring a lot  more than twice. 


An Irish couple have invented an environmentally-friendly vibrator. No batteries. You just wind it up and it provides "sustainable" pleasure for about 30 minutes. It's called the Earth Angel, measures about 8 inches and costs about $100. Not bad for something that never cheats, is always in the mood and is always 'up' to the task at hand.


And finally, what did the Hewlett-Packard computer technician say when he showed up to repair the camera on your laptop? "I see black people."


Have a good Christmas everyone, and be sure and mush on over to Humor Bloggers Dot Com to see what my blogger buddies are up to during the festive season.

Wednesday, 23 December 2009

Pause, Ponder and Pun - Christmas Edition (2)

Aw, isn't that cute.

A Christmas present that makes a point - a hollow point!

You guys know what to do. I'll see you Saturday with the target..er, ah, winner.

Oh, and Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, 22 December 2009

This Is No Silent Night

At Christmas many folks are moved to lift up their voices in song and sing traditional carols. Well, not around here. It's Christmas Carnival Week over at Yule (Howl) Log Dot Com and I've decided to rewrite one of those traditional carols and try to mention as many of my favourite blogger buds as is possible. Think of it as my way of wishing you guys a Merry Christmas. And, hey, it's way cheaper than a gift.


This is No Silent Night
by nonamedufus

This is no silent night, holy night
This is Stuff and Nonsense, yeah right
About Zombies, she makes me swoon
Out Beyond Left Field

This is no silent night, holy night
The Offended Blogger is quite a sight
Debbie Does Drivel from heaven afar
Christ, Screaming Me-Me me scorns
Christ, Screaming Me-Me me scorns

This is no silent night, holy night
The Unfinished Rambler is getting tight
Is Ettarose's Sanity On Edge?
Are those Nanny Goats in Panties up on the ledge?
Jesus, I Probably Don't Like You

This is no silent night, holy night
Knucklehead's calm, his dome's kinda bright
Too Many Mornings I do my thing
Make the blog rounds, I like Of Cabbages and Kings
And Cat Lady Without The Cats

This is no silent night, holy night
There are two bloggers that give me a fright
What the hell is this thing - Mental Poo?
He writes funny stuff, does funny pictures too
Don't confuse him with the Mind Of Spaz
Don't confuse him with the Mind of Spaz

***

I'd like to take this opportunity to wish these guys, and all who drop by, read and comment here the very best for the holidays. May the new year grant you health, happiness and - of course - humour.

Monday, 21 December 2009

The Resurrection of Santa Claus

Well, that special day is drawing near. And as it does my thoughts turn to Christmas as a kid: toys, snow, the tree and, of course, Santa Claus.

Growing up as a kid, Christmas was probably the most special day of the whole year. I'd looked forward to it for months. I'd pretty much have the Sears Christmas catalogue memorized by the time I had to pull my wish list together. And if we were lucky, it had snowed in the days leading up to Christmas and we'd make snow angels and snow men. A snowball fight or two with the other kids on the street was a certainty.

I grew up in Toronto. In the suburb of Scarborough to be precise. There weren't any big hills near our house - and we didn't have a car - so I had to rely on my friends' parents to drive us and our toboggans to the nearest snowy slope. There was an outdoor skating rink nearby, though, and we would spend hours at Clairlea Park playing shinny.

I walked to and from Our Lady of Fatima School everyday. All my buddies were protestants, so it was a quick solitary jaunt of about 5 minutes. I recall I used to wet back my hair each morning just so it would freeze on the way to school. This was a favourite activity of mine, daring the elements to break chunks of my frozen locks off. They never did. But it was interesting sitting in my desk at school for the first half hour as the ice melted and ran down my forehead and the inside of my shirt collar.

In Grade's 3 and 4 I attended St. Michael's Choir School in downtown Toronto. As Christmas approached the students would practice for the big Christmas concert - an annual affair at the Knights of Columbus Hall.

St. Mike's was much further away than Our Lady of Fatima and required me taking a bus and the subway to get there. But I didn't mind. Especially at Christmas. You see around the corner from the school were Eaton's and Simpsons, two huge department stores. And as Christmas approached both stores decorated their street-level display windows with all kinds of Christmas scenes using shiny decorations and thousands of lights. It was like they were in a contest to outdo each other.
Photo: People looking at a Christmas window display, 1958
Photo: Santa's Toyland window display, 1953
One year, the magic of Christmas lost it's sheen. A couple of the older boys from across the street told me there wasn't a Santa Claus. They told me they had proof. One of them had found some presents in his parents dresser drawers and said he had placed special marks on them. Guess what? On Christmas, he received the same presents, with the marks, from Santa Claus. In later years this delinquent would spend time in a penal institution. OK, I made that up, but he should have.

I was crestfallen. And my mom - I don't know why to this day - confirmed the horrid fact and killed the dream that eventually dies within each child.

But one day I had kids of my own, and now I have grandchildren and - guess what? There is a Santa Claus!



Check out Humor Bloggers Dot Com today and the rest of the week to see what other Christmas tales are being told. Hey, and be sure and come back here tomorrow!

* photos from Archives of Ontario

Sunday, 20 December 2009

Sunday Funnies

The world's leaders gathered in Copenhagen to discuss the environment over the last two weeks. Arriving by private jets and travelling in private limos did little to reduce the carbon footprint. Canada was recognized appropriately for it's climate change efforts, winning the Colossal Fossil Award. This dubious honour is bestowed upon the nation that has won the most Fossil of the Day Awards throughout the conference.

Delegates had further reason to question Canada's commitment to climate change when documents were leaked that indicated the federal government would go easy on the oil and gas sector, in terms of emissions, particularly Alberta's oilsands operations. Political cartoonists didn't limit their emissions.

Oh, and since this is our last Sunday Funnies before the big day - Merry Christmas!






Saturday, 19 December 2009

Let It Blow, Let It Blow, Let It Blow...


Oh the picture on my blog is frightful
But the captions were delightful
And since Grampa's got no place to go
Let it blow, let it blow, let it blow

Ah, nothing like a blow-up doll to inflate our spirits this time of year...

We had plenty of great captions this week.


For example, injaynesworld got me chuckling with...

Some people can just suck the life out of anything


And lotgk took a swing at things with...

Since the Tiger Woods debacle, Ernie has been working overtime to keep up with requests


And FreakSmack got good one in with...

Sure, Grandpa acted surprised to find the blow-up doll under the tree, but the man's been walking around singing "All I want for Christmas is a Porky Paulina" since mid July


Those were all good captions, folks, but it was surveygirl46 that put me over the top with...

When Bobby came downstairs the night before Christmas and caught his Grandfather sitting under the tree and "patching Patches", the mystery of what an 86 year-old man had been doing with all those boxes of viagra in his sock drawer for the last 6 months was suddenly solved.

Congratulations surveygirl, you be hangin' with dufus. Look up. Mistletoe! Merry Christmas.

Friday, 18 December 2009

Just What The Doctor Ordered

The other night my wife and I were partaking in our favourite nocturnal activity. No, not THAT one. We were watching TV. We were glued to some mindless drivel when a commercial came on. Now normally we reach for the remote and turn down the sound because the volume level of commercials must be 10 times louder than the shows we watch. But we weren't quick enough and we began watching an ad for a smoking cessation product.

I quit smoking about 15 years ago, after several unsuccessful attempts over the close to 30 years I puffed those cancer sticks. I started at 11 or 12 years of age and asked my smoking parents for permission to smoke when I was 13. I think they were disappointed, but what could they do? After all they already stunk up the house, the yard and my lungs. The best way my Dad could put it was "I'm giving you my permission but not my acceptance." And so 30 years of going from a social "with-it" to being a social "misfit" - a real piranha at the end - was underway.

So that's my story, and the time I quite for good, I quit cold turkey - no aids, no drugs, patches or hypnosis.




Now here's the kicker. This commercial almost made me want to start again. Why? Because the side-effects from the product sounded more health threatening than smoking.

The commercial starts off innocently enough. A former puffer, with just a hint of smoker's throat and yellowing teeth talks about how much he used to smoke, how he quit and how long he's been off the wicked weed. Indeed he swears by the product and recommends the product to us.

But the majority of the commercial spends its time warning of the side-effect. It tells the viewer, words to the effect, that if you, your family, or caregiver notice agitation, hostility, depression or changes in behaviour, thinking, mood that are not typical for you, or you develop suicidal thoughts or actions, anxiety, panic, aggression, anger, mania, abnormal sensations, hallucinations, paranoia, or confusion, stop taking the drug and call your doctor right away.

Duh?  Suicidal tendencies?

See what I mean about just keeping on smoking? I never experienced those side-effects when I was a smoker! Hell, I could be healthier if I started again.



Thursday, 17 December 2009

A Tale Of Two Athletes - Will History Repeat Itself?

The Theme Thursday topic this week is "history". And, as is my predilection, here's a bit of a different take on the theme. Sports has had a history of bad boys. Tiger Woods won't be the last. But who will be the next? Read on.

Until now transgressions of sports figures have sort of flown beneath the radar. They may make the news for a couple of days and then people forget about it. We've seen some who've been shot, who've shot others and who've shot themselves. Then there are those who train and bet on fight dogs. And of course there's the steroid hall of fame. But it was you-know-who who really put transgressing sports figures on the map.

At least MY hero hasn't gone off the rails. He's as straight as an arrow, as cool as a cucumber and as sharp as a tack (I never understood that one. Are tacks sharp?) I'm talking about Brett Favre. But wait a minute. When you think about it, Favre is poised to slip. He's right on the edge. Let me show you what I mean.

The number of NFL seasons Brett Favre has played: 19
The number of mistresses Tiger Woods played with: Hmmm...


Elin and Tiger: par for the course.

Unfortunate ad copy for Brett Favre: I'm comfortable in jeans that fit great.
Unfortunate ad copy for Tiger Woods: Just Do It

Play-by-play double-entendre about Brett Favre: He...could...go...all...the...way.
Play-by-play double-entendre about Tiger Woods: I think he's gonna sink it, Jim.

How Brett Favre exits a car: Your brothers break the window with a golf club after you've had an accident. (1990)
How Tiger Woods exits a car: Your wife breaks the window with a golf club after you've had an accident. (2009)

Most recent image we associate with Tiger Woods: horny. (Well, you know.)
Most recent image we associate with Brett Favre: horny. (Minnesota Vikings)


I'm horny!

How we make fun of Tiger's name: He's not out of the "woods" yet.
How we make fun of Favre's name: We can't. It's not funny. His middle name is Lorenzo, though. That's funny. And if he had a receiver named Lor he could throw it to him in the enzo. OK, only football nuts are likely to get that one.

Check Spelling
So you see, if my sports hero Brett Favre slips. He's primed to make fun of. Of course, I wouldn't make light of him now. I'll just file this away in case I need it later. History will be the judge.

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

Pause, Ponder and Pun - Christmas Edition (1)

You may have seen mommy kissing Santa Claus, but I saw Grampa a-wassailing - so THAT's what that means!

Okay, to get in the festive spirit we've run a Christmas-themed pic this week. We'll do the same next week, too.

Give it your best shot. We'll see you Saturday folks, with a winner. Of course you're all winners in my book. (What a suck-up.) Merry Christmas.

Tuesday, 15 December 2009

'Tis The Season

There's nothing like the advent of Christmas and the anticipated arrival of relatives to get one's ass in gear. Last night my mother-in-law arrived on an eastbound Westjet from British Columbia. Like a dutiful son(-in-law) I met her at the airport, winter boots in hand. Hey' we've got snow. In Kelowna, they're still water skiing. Well not quite, but they are a tad warmer and snowless.
Plane: leaving it to the last minute is sure to result in a close shave

All this to say the exodus has begun. My brother-in-law and his son arrive on the weekend and the cousins and their kids from Montreal and Wichita will be Aylmer-bound Christmas eve. The kids and grandkids will be here Christmas day.

But back to yesterday. With 5 hours to spare before I'd see the white's of the eyes of the first family member I finally got around to doing a couple of odd jobs. You have to understand, I'm a last-minute kind of guy. In university, I used to count off the penalty points for missing my essay deadline with enough marks to spare to actually pass the course. Yeah, well that was beyond last minute, so you get the idea.

But yesterday I decided to finally plane those 3 doors that stuck. One of them was the door to grandma's bedroom. Better late than never! So I cut it close (pun intended) going at it on the day of her arrival. That wasn't so bad. It didn't take long. And I even vacuumed up all the wood shavings. What a guy, eh?

Now I just have to paint those doors where I planed them. My brother-in-law's coming on the weekend? Hell, I've got 5 days yet! Lotsa time.

Paint: a little dab'll do ya

Monday, 14 December 2009

I Know What Happened To Baby Jane!


Remember that campy horror film from the early 60s, "What Ever Happened To Baby Jane?" Well, I think I know. I read an article yesterday that made me laugh but it made me shake my head at the same time.

It had to do with a woman in Dartmouth, Massachussetts who strangled her nursing home roommate to death. That sounds pretty tragic doesn't it? Nothing to laugh at.

But it turns out the strangler was 98 years old. The stranglee was 100. Wha? That's how I reacted. I did a double take. I backed up and read the article a second time.

It seems the younger(!) of the two women thought the other one was "taking over" their room. And she taunted her older roommate about soon getting the bed by the cherished window because she was going to outlive her. I guess she knew something the other woman didn't.

Now, it strikes me that someone - a family member, nursing home staff, somebody - would have seen trouble brewing. After all, the two had been roommates for about a year. But no, according to all everything was tickety-boo.

Now if she goes to jail, first of all I wouldn't want to be her cell mate. And if I were I'd be damn sure to offer her the bottom bunk. But more to the point, I wonder when the hell she'd get out. In 20 years with time off for good behaviour?

The victim's son has said that prosecuting her would be like prosecuting a 2 year-old. This of someone who wrapped a plastic bag around her victim's head and waited for her to stop breathing.

I don't know but I think it's time we updated that generational rallying cry from the 60s: "Don't trust anyone over 90!"


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