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Kick Ass Karaoke tonight

Yes, today isn’t the Wednesday closest to the middle of the month, but Kick Ass Karaoke, the most rock-and-roll karaoke night in town is tonight! It’s at the Bovine Sex Club (Queen, about half a block east of Bathurst). Not only will there be karaoke, there’ll also be a Thirsty People of Toronto gathering at the same time!

If you come you’ll be greeted by mean-looking but friendly bouncers…

Photo: Tommy, one of the bouncers at the Bovine Sex Club.

…your host, Mr. Carson T. Foster…

Photo: Carson, on his knees, wearing only a pair of black underwear.

…cute women…

Photo: The girls from Sunni Choi -- Sandi, Karin, Julie, Tara -- rock the mics.

…and dapper gentlemen,…

Photo: The gentlemen of the establishment. Mike

…among whom is Yours Truly.

Photo: Me doing 'Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap'

Won’t you come out and play?

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Guns ‘N’ Moses

While flipping thorugh some of the photos in Yahoo News, I found this shot of Charlton Heston and just had to post it.

Photo: Caption from Yahoo News reads 'National Rifle Association president Charlton Heston addresses gun owners during a 'get-out-the-vote' rally Monday, Oct. 21, 2002, in Manchester, N.H. (AP Photo/Jim Cole).'

I’m not sure how convincing he sounds in light of all the sniper activity in Virginia. “Guns don’t kill people, white vans do!”
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I already have a plastic saviour, thank you very much

Two men say they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong

— lyrics from Industrial Disease by Dire Straits

Photo: Me and the incredibly popular plastic Jesus figure.

Me and The Dude. Hey, he turned water into Crown Royal, earning his place in history for the World’s Greatest Party Trick.

I know that the plastic Jesus figures (“with gliding action!”) are the all the rage, but if you’re considering buying me one for my birthday, don’t — I already have one.

I am, after all, a good Catholic boy.

[Thanks to Cory at BoingBoing for the link]

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Hot euro-on-euro action!

Last month, I stumbled across the eXile, Moscow’s alternative paper written largely by expats driven by American xenophobia, culture shock, homesickness and the fact that communism tends to turn places into joyless hellholes. What it lacks in journalistic standards — consider their current contest: whoever guesses the date closest to the American invasion of Iraq wins an hour with one of the prostitutes featured on page 23 — it more than makes up for in hilarity that makes you feel slightly guilty for laughing.

Anyone who’s done a little travelling is probably aware that Europeans generally perceive Americans as bloodthirsty, greedy gun nuts who make lousy beer. This is why the Lonely Planet set often do un-American things such as sew Canadian flags on their backpacks and maybe even attempting to learn a few phrases in the local blabber before hiking across Europe.

What a lot of people don’t know is that Europeans hold their neighbours — Europeans other than themselves, that is — in equal, and possibly greater, contempt. While the worst thing the Americans did to most Europeans is flood them with bad food (Spam during the Marshall Plan, McDonald’s today), Europeans have been raping and pillaging each other since the earliest days, when the rivalries were between villages, not nations (this sort of rivalry continues today). I’m surprised that the word “neighbour” doesn’t have a secondary use as an insult in most European languages.

The eXile have done a little research — and I use the term “research” very loosely — and the result is a feature article called 18 Ways to Hate Your Neighbor. Here’s an excerpt from the introduction:

Bigotry and hatred are the bread and water of European life. This isn’t a vague, impersonal hatred; rather, it’s a profoundly evolved, carefully tailored hatred, a SMART Hatred if you will, tailored as tightly as a Swiss banker’s shirt towards the village over the hill, where your bosom enemies live.

Through hard and thorough research (ie., by pouring beer into the throats of selected Europeans and letting them rant), the eXile has managed to isolate and map the 18 fundamental hatred genomes that Europeans carry towards their neighbors—the RNA strand of Euro-hatred, if you like.

So put away your Lonely Planet guides, and pick up your Euro-Bigotry primer. It’s because of European hatred that the biggest massacres in human history have taken place. And the wonderful thing is, in spite of all the post-war European talk of peace and understanding, all the bigotries still live on, waiting for the day when they can transform Europeans back from harmless disco-dancing buffoons into the murderous village brawlers they once were, and may someday be again.

You should probably take any primer on Europe that makes liberal use of the word “Eurofag” with a grain of salt, but there’s quite a bit of truth in the article and the accompanying charts.

I’m just surprised that the increasingly popular Simpsons description of the French, cheese-eating surrender monkeys, doesn’t appear at all.

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Coderman can’t resist

Martin “Coderman” Peck can’t resist poking fun at my Microsoft-style fake “Switch” testimonial. We’re both fans of the online comic Achewood, and we’ve both “sampled” it to make our own commentary. Here’s mine:

graphic: Fake Achewood comic: 'Do you think it is rad to make fake testimonials Ray'

and here’s Coderman’s.

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A public service announcement for people who do not know the difference between "bawl" and "ball"

In the past couple of weeks, I have stumbled across a number of Web pages in which the word “ball” was used when author clearly meant to use the word “bawl”. The misuse is always the same:

I balled my eyes out.

Many people make this mistake. See for yourself.

“I balled my eyes out” is both incorrect and funny in a Beavis and Butthead sort of way. When “ball” is used as a verb, it means either “to form into a ball” or even better, it’s a vulgar slang term for “to have sex with”.

Of course, if you wrote that you “balled someone’s brains out,” you’re probably using “balled” correctly.

The correct way to write the phrase is:

I bawled my eyes out.

That’s because “bawl” means “to cry or sob loudly”.

Class dimissed.

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This one’s for Stavros

The survivor of the bombing in Bali who has the fewest degrees of separation from me is Rick Gleason. He’s a friend of a fellow blogger, Chris “Stavros the Wonder Chicken” Kovacs, a hard-drinkin’ Canadian living in Korea who writes the weblog EmptyBottle.org. From his writings and a couple of e-mail exchanges, I know that Chris is a stand-up guy, and the reports about the kind of person his friend Rick are nothing short of glowing: a real go-getter with four degrees who spoke five languages, always ready to go somewhere. Rick was badly hurt in the explosion, sustaining burns to almost half his body and internal injuries. Chris is, understandably, quite shaken.

If you have the time, please send Chris — or anyone else you know who’s had a friend or relative hurt or killed in the blast — some words of sympathy.

If you have a little extra spending money, you can send it to the fund started for Rick at:

Brian L. Morris, in trust for Rick Gleason

c/o Bank of Montreal

111 Main Street

P.O. Box 4400 Whitehorse

Yukon Territory, Y1A 3T5 Canada

Transit #0998

or the Australian Red Cross’ Bali Appeal.

If you’re the praying or well-wishing type, I’m sure your prayers and wishes would be appreciated.

If you’re the drinking type, raise a glass for Rick and Chris, as well as all the victims and their families. At the very least, I know Rick and Chris would appreciate that very much.