*.google.com 1:0-∞

I need to tell you something. First, some background. One of the gods I worship is information. The dictionary is my old testament, google my new testament. Using information retrieval systems is vastly diverting for me. As an aside, diversion, variety, and surprise are all in my personal pantheon.

So, the scene evolves at work. I am in conversation with a couple of my work chums, and here I'm going to make up a couple of names for them, not for any reason of anonymity, but because when you name someone or something it gives you magick. What I'm saying here is that I am some kind of crazy occult guy, and if I give you a nickname look the fuck out! You might wake from a trance in some socially awkward position because I found it amusing. Wait a minute, this is sounding a lot like the last thirty or so years. I plan on not thinking about that too much from now on.

Mik Soledyan and Dai Etaunyk and I were all standing around, arguing over which forest creature is represented on the Canadian quarter dollar. I was being my usual jerkish self and claiming that it's an elk, while Dai and Mik were fairly sure that it's a caribou. Nothing like a little conflict, that's what I say. After a brief "Nuh-uh! You're an...wrong!" type argument, we checked wikipedia. And here's where it all went horribly scope down.

We find the entry for the Canadian quarter dollar, and lo and behold, it's a caribou. Surprise. For a laugh, I edit the page, operating under the assumption that people check these things. In place of caribou, I put in elk. No big deal, someone will see that and change it back.

Nope! Almost a week later, it still says elk. I felt a deep, abiding shame creep over me. I changed it immediately of course. And now I await the vengeance of an angry information god.

Slow, Burn

I remember you weakened my defenses first, and I didn't even know. My perception clouded, I couldn't see when you glued my feet to the ground. I only knew when I saw you, tried to run, and felt like I was knee-deep in Elmer's. I cried out! I was encased in ice, helpless, wishing I could say anything at all. You grew in my vision, then you were close enough to touch, and I broke free! I took a step towards you, so close, glowing. As I reached out, the ground beneath my feet went slick, and I fell at your feet, as you wanted. I tried again to get up, fell again. Again. When I was sure there was no more you could do, the oil lit, searing my flesh as I screamed until my voice became the voice of the fire. I slumped to the ground, cracked, broken, godless.

Some Explanations of Things

I wrote this in response to some people who didn't understand some of these cartoons.


Unless you want to look like a total jerk, I wouldn't suggest using any of these in conversation. Also I pretty much just made a bunch of stuff up from what I could remember. For the love of whatever you consider sacred don't expect me to back you up either. Let's say we're at a party and you say w00t when really you meant to say pwnd, I'll be in the other room. It's called cutting the apron strings. Get used to it. No, I don't love you.

******That's it for the disclaimer******

NSFW - Not Safe For Work - Pornography is not something you should be viewing while at work. The internet is roughly 100% pornography, so a lot of people use this as a warning to others that they should perhaps wait until they get home to click that link.

OMFG - Oh My Fucking God - I don't need to explain this.

LOLZ - Laugh Out Loud Z - So this is the mysterious added Z. What's it doing there? Well, the Z adds value to the LOL. A little pizazz, something to let the person you are chatting with know that this LOL is special, not like the other, meaningless, LOLs you toss out at random.

ZOMG - Z Oh My God - Same deal. I did some etymological research (had a nap) for this, and it looks like the Z in this case may have been birthed from people frantically trying to hit the shift key so they could blurt out OMG. This one is really fun to say, I usually pronounce it "zoh mah gawd". Good times.

O RLY - Oh Really - At some point some crazy genius juxtaposed the phrase in question with an image of a really surprised looking owl. Internet history was made.

ROFLMAO - Roll On Floor Laughing My Ass Off - This combines two classics of chat, ROFL and LMAO. Another fun one to say out loud. I say "roffelmayo". Fun to substitute rhyming words! Try roflbatter, wafflecakes, and so on, with the person you are chatting with for that "I just made that up!" feeling.

WTF? - What The Fuck? - Really now. If you are learning about this acronym from this post, you may as well just go outside and start clubbing rocks together in the hopes that you will start a fire and someday connect to the internet. Good luck.

WOOT! - This is neither acronym nor abbreviation, throwing all attempts at categorizing this post out the window. This is an interjection, expressing celebratory feelings, usually from making my pixels toss your pixels around (this is video game humour). It may have come about from hackers gaining root access to your computer (this is bad), and saying woot because they didn't want their mom to overhear and figure out what they were doing. Or maybe it is an acronym, for We Owned the Other Team. But probably not. Possibly a portmanteau of "Wow, loot!", which is something a video game player might say after tossing your pixels around, then taking your pixel stuff. var.\/\/007, w00t, wewt, &c.

NOOB - Newbie - Someone who knows very little about whatever it is they are doing. This comes from a long tradition of people fucking with spelling because they think it's cool. Would have been pronounced to rhyme with floozy initially, and you could still do that if you wanted people to think you were old school. More commonly pronounced to rhyme with tube. var.newb, mcnooberston, n00blet, &c.

PWND - Owned - Another video game thing. Some 13 year old kid just killed you in an online game? You got "PWND", especially if you didn't do much to defend yourself or otherwise got beaten really badly. It can be applied in other situations, as diverse as dropping your hot lunch on your lap to taking a tumble in front of the cute girl in science class. Another fun one to pronounce. If you are old school, then just plain owned will do, but if you're on the up and up you might want to try out pawned, poned, or for the truly cutting edge, pawnage.

TEH - The - A common misspelling caused by people typing really fast. Used to mock the ignorant, but also in the same kind of value-added spirit as the Z explained a little while ago. This one is my favourite of all the cartoons. That cat is great.

FTW! - For The Win! - This is the second half of a fairly commonly used phrase, where you get to play along and insert your own thing for the first half. Usually the thing you are inserting into the phrase has had some positive, measurable effect on a victory. For instance if you have strong feelings about your boots, you might have them repaired. You could then say "Shoe glue FTW!", expressing your victory over paycheque-hoovering shoe stores.

RTFM - Read The Fucking Manual - This is just an excuse to say fuck.

KTHXBAI - Okay, Thanks, Bye - People use this when they're in an argument and they feel they have made an especially strong point, devastating their opponent. Alternatively used by people who wish to end a discussion, presumably in the hope that the other person will be compelled to shut up by the force of combining three parting words into one. I like this one because it gives a real rushed impression, and when I see it I imagine the other person saying it really fast and hanging up. Tends not to work too well in silencing an internet warrior though, as that's not really how it works online. How it works is basically people throwing their views out there without listening to each other, growing ever more frantic in the face of opposition, making baseless claims or accusations, and finally descending into a froth of insanity. I am not exaggerating. That would actually make for a reasoned discussion compared to some of the bullshit on the internet.

The "I Just Quit Smoking Cigarettes (for the umpteenth time)" Journal, Day 3

A couple of ales, followed by a couple of Guinness, and so much for that. Oh well, at least I might sleep tonight. And the homicidal urges are back to operational standard. Tomorrow: Day 1 again.

The "I Just Quit Smoking Cigarettes (for the umpteenth time)" Journal, Day 2

We're all going to die.

You know all that stuff in the news about North Korea testing nuclear arms? And the stuff from last year's news about Chinese generals stating that they will use nuclear weapons on USian cities if the 'mur'kins block their possible takeover of Taiwan? (Don't believe me?

"If the Americans draw their missiles and position-guided ammunition on to the target zone on China's territory, I think we will have to respond with nuclear weapons."
Major General Zhu Chenghu)

All that stuff is music to my ears. Know why? It's because if nuclear war happens, and I somehow survive (like the main character in Cormac McCarthy's incredible new book, The Road), then I'll probably have a little more on my mind than whether or not I can stop myself from smoking.

The "I Just Quit Smoking Cigarettes (for the umpteenth time)" Journal, Day 1

I fucking hate everything.


I changed my template around a bit. I took away a few things, notably links to weblogs and a couple of news sites. I got rid of the weblog links because they were essentially dead, or appear that way to me at any rate. Julie still posts fairly regularly, but I felt it messed with the neatness of my design to keep only one weblog linked there. Perhaps a little OCD. The news sites I took down because, quite frankly, I have ceased to give a shit. Plus they messed with the neatness of my design. Or something.

On the plus side, I've added a couple of things. There's a permanent link over there on the sidebar for Librarything, which I just joined. I haven't got a lot of my books up on there yet, but here's the link to what's there so far. And who could live a full life without Lifehacker or boingboing? I ask you. Nobody, that's who.


Today I spent some time scraping the internet for information about people I love. It was like looking at someone else's life, but with feelings mixed in that confuse me. There should be a word for when you're happy and sad at the same time. The Germans probably have a word for it. Hell, there's probably a word for it in English.

On another note, my favourite catch phrase has morphed again. It was "We'll finish this later" for a while, then something I can't recall at the moment (it was a brief catch phrase), and now it's "I don't care for ____". You'd be surprised how much I can use these phrases in a day. I'm already kind of wearing out the latest one. My favourite was probably when at work, a friend was looking at a magazine, and I said, "What's that? Art magazine?" He replied in an affirmative grunt, and I got to say "I don't care for art". Which is, of course, not true. But it makes for good copy! Mmm, copy.

As a matter of fact, pity copy. That is an inside joke only one person will get, and odds are he doesn't come around here.

The Third Part of a Serial Adventure, Entitled Jim the hand and the 50 million dollar man

Right then, Mary, take Bred with you and get us a cup. Chip stays, and Poncet, and you two. Names?

They call me Jim, Jim the hand, and this 'ere's Marty de Groot. What you want us for then?

Well we can't just leave you to their tender mercies now can we? The man gestured vaguely off towards the market, where sirens were just starting up their bitter whine. Jim could see porcine outlines holding up customers, just for a couple of questions of course.

Or we could just drop you off back yonder? Chip, a vehicle, please. Chip sauntered over to a woman waiting for her child to finish practice and whispered in her nervous ear. At first she looked surprised and looked into the middle distance. Soon, though, she giggled and began digging in her purse, overcome by the eloquence of the dashing Chip. He returned to the man, pulling up in the usual blue Chrysler, its pentacle bravely displaying occult powers.

Never inquire as to the methods if you are satisfied with the result. The man's words chiseled themselves into the air, allowing Jim and Marty to study their import and wonder once again what they had done to merit words from the 50 million dollar man. It seemed that they had never heard anyone speak so fruitfully, his words echoing in their ears. They all piled into the van, Poncet and Jim in the middle seat, Marty taking up the back, and the man of course in the front.

So what are we doing here boys? The man turned his head slightly to examine Jim and Marty. You coming with us, or back over the wire? Here he made use of a convenient fiction, that is a black/white yin/yang either/or, in which he presented himself and his eggshell carriage as the only reasonable alternative. Jim felt a rumble of disquiet start at his collarbone and work its way down into his gut. Marty had already consigned himself to the man's service, unaware that when presented with a choice the best one you can make is to run. Jim, privy to this knowledge, had a presentiment of harm whispered at him from the man's plastic face. Against his better self, Jim threshed out a sentence.

Suppose you've got us over a barrel, 'aven't you. We're in, whatever that means.

It means a great deal to me, Jimmy, a great deal. Let's get going, I presume that lady will need her van back soon. The whole gruesome lot of them sped off into lost windy streets full of dust mouths. The search had begun, windows looked at through the small windows of their borrowed ride. They finally pulled over in a small run down housing centre parking lot.

Right then, the man said, you two wait here a few while we go spear the river. Jim and Marty were left in baffled silence as the man and his accomplices jumped out and ran into the house.

Think we should stick around?

Thought genuinely escapes me right now, man.

Hey look, food! Marty discovered more food than he had seen anybody buy at once. Jim thought the obligatory thought. Marty grabbed the groceries and they both reached for the plastic handle. The whole situation had gotten a bit extreme for them, and fast out the door was something they had both learned how to do at a fairly young age. Jim opened the door and they stepped out onto the burnt cinder blocks. They looked around and walked off down the sidewalk in an attempted casual fashion, looking for a street sign.

The Second Part of a Serial Adventure, Entitled Jim the hand and the 50 million dollar man

Whadda fuck you assholes want with me? Yous want a piece or what? The half-visioned fiends said nothing but clicks and whirrs and reporting live this is, and then the man came around the corner and went right up to the biggest half-head. He did nothing but grin, showing the big canines and even some molar. The man looked around. He let a weird call escape his rigid features, and his team chased the sound around the market corner.

Gotta watch those ones. Otherwise they'll just watch you. Jim the hand and Marty de Groot stood in awe, wondering just what they had done to merit words from the 50 million dollar man. Both attempted, and failed, to remember the august advice. When the man and his crew started running across the field behind the market they just tried to keep up.

Sidestepping through barbed wire towards the baseball diamond and the pointy knots caught and let go hurting. All tried to climb the bleachers and they too were wired go away. They went over anyway blood dripping. The backstop posed a new challenge as they realized it might not support their combined weight. Jim, the quick one, saw a new way and took it. The rest followed around the side, making for the centre. If they made it to the centre they would be free from the buzz of the half-haves. The wire still resisted them but they had gotten used to it in the evil that is the foreign war and were soon breathing heavy at the door to the centre.

Who has the key? The door is locked. An envelope slid out from under the door and blew down the lot.

Catch the fucking thing! Bred ran after and rolled onto the offending paper.

Whew. Close thing there. He handed the envelope to Marty and backed away, afraid of the information. Marty steadied his hands by contemplating breakfast. Two eggs, sunny, soggy toast and pack of jam, hash browned potatoes, juice, and bad old coffee. He ripped open the package and threw it away in one uncertain motion.

Ya ox! Marty got a whack in the arm. Jim the hand threw himself at the package and grabbed the paper that rose out of it trembling.

Good. Now bring it here. Hmm. You, stay. Jim and Marty looked at each end of the mostly empty parking lot, estimating spaces between minivans. No good. They were forced by the moment to stay attached to the man. Glories voiced on trumpets accompanied the truculent pair as they awaited further explanation.

The First Part of a Serialized Adventure, Entitled Jim the hand and the 50 million dollar man

Jim the hand and Marty de Groot watched as the 50 million dollar man left it running, got out, and slammed the door. Marty had never noticed before, but now that Jim and the man were both in front of him reflecting the light of a dying star at his rods and cones, there appeared some striking similarities. Mostly in the grin, thought Marty. The movement of thought to speech being a somewhat ponderous affair for the muscle half of their one - two, the man was inside the market by the time he said anything.

Ya know, he lowed, ya kinda look like dat...rich guy. Jim the hand snorted back a loogie and arced it out onto the street.

Hah, let's take 'is fawncee caw. Here Jim affected an upper class drawl, not entirely accurately. The two felons made for the shiny black surface reflecting the drabness of their lives in full colour. Jim hopped behind the wheel and waited for Marty de Groot to wedge himself into the passenger seat.

Now we'll show 'em. Marty reached towards the stereo, hoping to find some prize in wait. Instead he got the slap on the wrist from the hand.

Here, stop fucking wi' dat. I like this song. This from Jim, an aficionado of the more slutty of the new breed of pop star. Dija know she's talkin' about? Marty was forced to admit that he did not, in fact, know what she was talking about.

Well, ya ignaraymus, she's talkin' about da goods. Marty nodded sagely while wondering if that meant sex, or drugs, or what. Let's go. The car flowed away into a full out turn. They hit the corner of the market and were all set to make a speedy away when Jim pulled the car to a halt.

Looka them bastids. Waiting there for the man. Don' tey 'ave a code, or what? Jim threw the question at the windshield where it changed into a hunting call for waiting paparazzi. He got out of the car, and Marty followed suit.

Open War

The path to stillness surrounds us, at all times, in all places. We clutter ourselves with the mundane while we ignore the supernal. The fey have been all but choked out of existence, suffocated by pollution of the mind and body. They have been forced to make new homes, retreating ever further into the wilderness, and living in slums when they must.

A sensation of unbalanced form, cold and tired looms over a coal or ember. Mouths blow heat over the coal, and still the darkness.


I reach across the table to touch me on the arm, and pretend not to notice as my fingers come to rest. Float my gaze out at me walking by the window. I ask myself how I end up in these places, I mean I don't even like me or really all that much about me for that matter, and yet here I am having coffee with me again in the usual place. I look over and make eye contact briefly with me, but my eyes flick away quickly, pretending interest in the menu. I'm left looking at the top of my head wondering when I got so damn bald.

I've just decided to take my hand back when my hand covers it gently. I tell me that I'm really a good person, I have some great flaws, and maybe I'll find me in another place or another time. I sit back and think I'm probably trying to say something but can't. I've always been like this, using careful language to soften a let-down. Why can't I just tell me what I'm thinking? Instead of pretending to still want me sometimes and other times shying away from my touch, hiding from my phone calls, not answering the door when I drop by because I know it's me.

I'm silent now, if I say something I might leave. I want to prolong this moment for fear that I might not see me again for a long time, or maybe never you never know with me. I order another refill, looking gratefully at me for coming by to check how I'm doing. It breaks the silence and I get a refill too. I talk a bit about my new job, but I can tell I'm not really listening. I yammer on, hoping to stave off my departure. Then the moment comes and I look at me in the eyes for extra sincerity and say those words I've been waiting for.

I think I should start seeing other people.

The Notes He Didn't Play

For a brief time last night, a giant strode across the stage, huddled and limping. There are few of them left, these pioneers of art. The pleasure of experiencing firsthand what McCoy Tyner can still do with a piano was such that I was moved to extremes of emotion. Elation, sorrow, hope, and difficult to tell which I was feeling at any one time. Though I can tell you that what I felt when that great man stumbled away, off the stage, was a sense of loss for the future.

Smoked Sandwich

olive bun
artichoke dip
smoked tofu
smoked salmon
salt & pepper
post-Sandwich cigarette and coffee

This is quite possibly the best sandwich (pronounced sammich) that I have ever had the pleasure of devouring like a starving wolf. I would have a picture available, but I accidentally ate my cellular phone (which has a camera) while hallucinating post-Sandwich. Yes, it's that good.

You might say while reading the recipe, "But I don't smoke", or "I don't eat salmon, they farm that fish and it's not good for the environment", or "I don't drink coffee", or "I'm allergic to (whatever it is you're allergic to)". To these concerns, I say "Pah!" with great profundity and pomposity. At this point, you may feel free to imagine me smirking and waving my hand in a dismissive fashion. [Edit: Despite the loss of my cellular phone due to a snack-related mishap, you don't have to imagine it! I've found a stock image of me smirking and waving my hand in a dismissive fashion on my hard drive. What are the odds?]

On to the instructions, sparse though they may be. Obviously everything should be sliced thinly in order to achieve full flavour potential, while still being able to fit the Sandwich into your slavering maw. The dip, spread in a thin layer. I suggest de-seeding the tomato (cut it in half and squeeze the pulp out) in order to avoid unnecessary mess. It is possible to substitute certain elements of the Sandwich, but I don't recommend it.

The Bringdown Research Division is currently working on Smoked Sandwich v1.1, attempting to incorporate nicotine and caffeine as ingredients in the Sandwich itself. Those crazy researchers! What will they think of next?

Knock, knock

On the best days, I hide
Motherless, alone

My head on fire
And shaven, clean
Next to holy
I am, I am not

Prying the world
Away from me
Dreaming, awake, of
Mazes leading me home
Exoteric to esoteric

Hoping that
Underneath it all
Mnemosyne still loves me

10 out of 59

I wanted to write about clocks and the difference between the biological and mechanical varieties twisting our souls into captivity and so on, but now that I set myself to the task I find that I have no desire to write about anything, or at least I can't easily be motivated to write with such a vague task in mind. Poetry is not always easy for me. I think I have a good idea and then it dissolves by the time I get to a place where I can write. It always seems so good in my head and then once I am confronted with the stark reality of a blinking cursor it usually feels like a waste of time. Nihilist is not the half of it, my friend in the blue coat and vest of like raiment.


A Haiku in Honour of 10000 Days

a man at a desk
offered me a glass of wine
and I drank of it

I Should be a Teacher, You Know, One of the Ones who Hates Teaching but does it Anyway Dictator

It's easier to do it like this, I don't feel like I'm contacting you individually. I can hide behind layers of communication and obfuscatory media, and pretend this isn't directed squarely at you.

Our personal and societal obsessions with information and the methods we use to proliferate and procure it are interfering with any reasonably efficient or reliable experience.

Consider the effects of popularly held beliefs on our psyche.

Reply in a manner you find suitable. This is worth ninety percent of your final. The remaining ten percent will be a reflection of your attendance and awareness level.

I Wax Philosophic About Mastication

Today was a solid day all around. I had a couple of gin and tonics early on, which helps me loosen up with the customers and generally just be a little more bellicose than usual. I got some good soap at Lush, which is not just for girls, damn it. The type I bought has a centimetre-thick layer of sand on one side that helps me to remove skin, something I find necessary to feel clean (pdf, sorry).

Then I chatted for a bit with one of the original beat poets, a local who was buddies with Ginsberg et al. back when that sort of thing was cool. We talk about books and writing whenever he comes in, he's great.

Now it's time to order up some pizza. Mmm, pizza. I like eating.

In This Post I Compare Myself to a God

I just spent a few hours weeding half of my back garden and felt the need to brag self-righteously about it. I feel...like how a god would feel if they had just done something so incredibly good. My brain is sending out all kinds of happy chemicals, which are mixing pleasantly with some organic beer and some herbs.

So that's it. I just wanted to shout my goods out. That being done, I'm going to enjoy a few Traditionals, an ale produced by one of the finest Canadian breweries, Big Rock. And, of course, plan out my garden. I'm thinking a garden of sin, there's got to be a goodly amount of appropriate plants, and it would be nice to have a theme other than "You know, some tomatoes, garlic, a few varieties of basil, and some other veggies", which is pretty much what I've been planning so far.

What I did on my Holiday, by Alexander Marshall

So I've been back in Vancouver for a few days now, and damn, man. Why did I leave again? Seriously, this place is way better than whatever slum-hole you live in. I'm going to eat some smoked salmon, olives, sourdough, and raw milk cheese now. Okay I'm back. That was awesome. I've recently been turned on to raw milk cheese, and holy shamoly is that good stuff.

So what did I do for my holiday? I went skiing in Colorado, after getting a few precious hours slamming back some booze with friends in Winnipeg. I really wish my friends from back there would move away, so at least I could visit someplace interesting instead of horrible old smelly Winnipeg. Colorado was great, though. There was fresh light snow on the fourth day, and I skied in the trees after the runs got all chewed up. Fresh tracks all day (insert needle joke here), I haven't had that for some time.

In the interest of alleviating boredom of all kinds, I've added yet another feature to this Sisyphean weblog here. This post is viewable in Winnivision*, a method of altering your screen so that if you live in Winnipeg, the most important part of the post will appear in large, bold type. Be sure to read this bold information at least ten times in order that it sink in.

*Winnivision may still be effective if you have moved away from Winnipeg, or even if you have simply known someone who lived there. I am still ironing out some bugs. Thank you for your patience.

You are either stupid or don't like drinking

And because it amused me no end, here is the only response I have had to my drinking contest:

mensagem to me

leia depois questione isto pode mudar sua vida... pois a minha ja esta mudando....

>> LEIA AQUI! <<

I ran that through a couple of different translation services and came up with very little, which leaves me to conclude that it is most likely poorly spelled Spanish. I have no idea what the significance of the name mensagem is. I'm pretty sure it's a spam email. Thus the title of this post is aimed squarely at you, dear reader. Was it too difficult? Or am I writing for an audience (and I find this unlikely in the extreme) of teetotalers? If it's the first problem, I'll make it easy on you. Guess one of the drink names that I made up, and I'll owe you a beverage of your choice. If it's the second there is nothing I can do for you.

It's all about trying to be grounded in reality, none of that altered state bullshit

Two nights ago, I put on some shorts and a t-shirt, laced up my boots, and ran. I ran clumsily, my long legs stretching out like I'm trying to reach the shot glass on the top shelf. Feet hit the ground loud, and heaving for air after I counted to four three times, one, two, three, four. I had shin splints after ten fours.

I ran at the beach, it's not far from my house. I thought, This is a reasonable goal. I can run to the beach and back. My leg's not that bad. I could feel my right foot swelling inside my boot, and I started to favour my right leg about halfway down the hill. Now my left foot was louder on the ground, and in my head ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. I told myself that pain grounds me in reality, holds me to my physical being. I ran, less in control as the hill got steep in the last bit before the beach. I turned around at the lights so I wouldn't have to stop, turned my back on the ocean. And ran back up the hill to my house.

In Praise of Booze

This post is dedicated to my one true friend, who will always be beside me, guiding me through the pitfalls of life and helping me to achieve my highest potential. I speak, of course, of alcohol. By choice I drink single malt scotch, but that can occasionally (read: pretty much all the time) be beyond my meager budget. When I can't afford the 18 year old Highland Park, and don't feel like drinking a lot of beer, I turn to the mixed drinks for a quick and tasty drunk. I compiled a list of drinks that I thought sounded good, and here they are. In no particular order. I've made up names where they were missing, and I've edited for consistency a little bit. But not a lot.

If you feel like playing a game, see if you can guess the six names I made up. Email your answer to drinking.contest@gmail.com. There is no deadline, but there's only one winner: the first person to get it right. Obviously. If you get it right, I'll take you out and get you hammered. There are some caveats here, though. I'm not leaving Vancouver to do this, so if you're out of town you have to come here. Or Winnipeg, where I'll be for a couple of non-consecutive nights towards the end of March. Just to be clear, I'm willing to pay for your drinks until you can no longer drink. Ideally I think we'd be looking at some mild alcohol poisoning on your part.

The Tipsy McStagger

2 shots vodka
2 shots Irish creme
1 shot butterscotch schnapps
Doin' the Dew

4 parts Mountain Dew
1 part Cinnamon Schnapps
1 part Butterscotch Schnapps
Los Irish-Canuckian

Bailey's Irish Creme
Canadian Club
Flaming Rum Sunrise

1 shot Tequila or Rum (or 1/2 shot of 151)
1 dose grenadine
Glass of OJ
Bacardi 151 on top

Pour tequila in OJ, hit it with the grenadine (will sink) and then float 151 on top. Light and serve. The sooner you blow it out, the more hammered you're going to get.
Tucson White Trash Classic

Open a bottle of Corona and take a quick swig. Pour in enough Bacardi Limon to refill the bottle, do the Thumb Over the Top Upside-Down Bottle Mixing Trick and enjoy. The added bonus is that you won't be the resident fruit-in-the-beer weenie.

1 part everclear
3 parts sake
Splash of your strongest sours

1/3 dark rum
1/3 kahlua
1/3 ginger ale

Serve over ice.
Mind Eraser

1 part kahlua
1 part vodka
1 part club soda

Put in glass of ice in that order, they layer quite nicely.
Master Shake

1. vanilla ice cream
2. vodka
3. kahlua
4. reeses peanut butter cups
5. ice cubes

Redheaded Slut

* 1 1/2 oz Jagermeister
* 1 1/2 oz Peach schnapps
* Fill with Cranberry juice
Flaming Bob Marley

in layers:
Peppermint schnapps
float of 151 or higher
Tie Me To The Bed Post

Peach Schnapps
Southern Comfort

1 part gin
1 part sweet red vermouth
1 part Campari
El Presidente Margarita

8 oz margarita mix
1 oz El Presidente (or generic) brandy
1 oz cointreau (or triple sec)
2 oz tequila

Shake with ice and strain into a salt-rimmed glass.
Sour Oligarch

1/2 Bacardi 151
1/2 Rosa's Lime Juice
Splash of Sprite

2 oz spiced rum
4 oz bourbon or rye
4 oz heavy cream
1-2 oz spiced simple syrup (see below)
1 very fresh egg

Shake hard with ice, a minute or so to incorporate the egg. Pour into cocktail glasses, dust with fresh nutmeg. Enjoy. Repeat. This amount will make two medium sized drinks.

spiced simple syrup

Put 2 cups sugar, 1 cup water, orange peel, star anise, cinnamon, cardamom, &c. into a smallish saucepan. Heat over medium low heat, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved (15 minutes or so). Turn off heat and let cool. Strain.
Hydrolic Pancake

2 Part - Kahlua
1-2 Part - Irish Cream
1-2 tbsp Maple Syrup (or to taste)
Fill with Coffee

It's too late now, jackass

As we look forward to our very own rightish wing government, I feel that a few words about this are called for. To begin with, I'd like to lambaste the non-voters. Who the hell do you think you are, 36% of Canada's eligible voters? And where were you yesterday? Flu? Out of the country? Car broke down? What I'm getting at here is that in Canada we take our government for granted. We say things like, "It won't change my life that much", or "Don't blame me, I voted for Kodos".

Well I've got news for you. It will, and I voted for Kodos too. Didn't seem to help much. Even if we had proportional representation, Kodos wouldn't have enough seats in parliament to have a real voice anyway. All I have left to cling to is the fervent hope that having a minority government will hamper the more rabid elements of the Conservative party.

Welcome to our brave new world.