Sometimes Comments Are Worth Destroying

I want to reply to a comment I got here. We don’t get many comments here. We get a lot of spam, which (thankfully) is almost always caught by the tools on this site and isolated. I just finished emptying the spam trap here of almost 3000 comments, which is about 3 times the number of approved comments throughout this site’s history. We’re not a well-traveled blog, and most of the time any comments actually come from friends of mine. Only one post really garnered any significant internet interest, and it just pissed me off when the troll army unleashed their hordes on my lowly blog.

But this morning, I got a notification that I had a new comment. Normally, this’d be spam that didn’t get through the trap, but in this case, it appears to be a legit comment by some random person on a 2010 post of mine about the myth that we only use 10% of our brain. So now, I shall retort. Continue reading

NSFW – To F*ck A Mind Or Not To F*ck A Mind, That Is The Question

A friend posted two links to Facebook and asked for comment. The first article, 7 + 1 Ways To F*ck A Woman’s Mind, was written by a man (in tragically comedic I ARE ROMANTIC MIDEVUL WARRIAR words) and the second, a rebuttal entitled 7 + 1 Ways Not To F*ck A Woman’s Mind, was written by a woman. Both were interesting, and I felt I could comment on both. But being the wordsmith that I am, rather than posting a quick comment on Facebook, I ran down to the mighty heat of my cauldron and began crafting the words for a rebuttal in the fires of my wordsmithery. Many days did I struggle whilst hammering ‘pon the vowels and consonants to craft this retort.

To the first piece, there is a word… Rapeporn. Okay, that’s two words, and I removed the space to make it one word like my German ancestors did with one way street (Einbahnstrase) or submarine (unterseeboat), but that’s what it is. Written as someone who clearly watches too much Game Of Thrones, it is an article that tries to discuss the passion that is rough, passionate sex.

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Dr. Oz, John Oliver, And Why I Hate Lying Bastards

The key to an excellent news program is to make information accessible. John Stewart has a long running program which you may be familiar with called The Daily Show and does an excellent job of this. John Oliver’s new show, Last Week Tonight, is also excellent at this, but has the added bonus of not needing to censor profanity, which makes it a win fucking win. If you haven’t been watching this program, you really ought to. Oliver is a great host who takes on difficult topics, and presents things in a thoughtful manner. But for this, I want to focus on his recent comments on Dr. Oz, the supplement industry, and the deliciousness of snake oil. I’ll include the video below the fold.

I cannot call myself a fan of Dr. Oz. I believe he is a charismatic sociopath who, through the power of Oprahfication, has become one of those most dangerous men in Western society. Hearing that he was going to be testifying about weight loss products to Congress, I got me a big old surly chubby. I just knew there was no way that he could scoundrel his way out of looking like a dangerous quack, and I was happy as all fuckbuttons when that was exactly what happened.

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What The Queers Are Doing To The Soil

I started writing this about seven times, each time to remove it because I could not quite scale the sheer wall of stupid that I just read, and then I remembered The Dead Milkmen. If you are approximately my age, then you will probably know the name of the band, you may even know something about a Bitchin’ Camaro, and if you’re really cool, you’ll already know about Stuart:

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Druggies Working For The Man

Every time I start talking about drugs on this blog, I feel that I have to begin by saying I am not a drug user. I am not against drugs, I’m just bad at them, and I find that it really isn’t that much fun for me. But I also say that it’s a person’s choice, and that I don’t give fuck number one about it. Just don’t make it my issue and we’re fine.

Nenshi, however, appears to disagree. The Herald tells us that Nenshi’s supportive of pre-employment drug testing for city workers who use heavy machinery. In the article, he refers to it as “good organizational hygiene” to ensure that “the people who are operating the heavy equipment are doing it in full control”.

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A Writer Writes (About How He Never Writes, But Then Writes About How He’s Going To Start Writing Again)

I always knew I wanted to be a writer. In junior high and high school, I wrote stacks of fictional works that would now get me investigated by the local authorities because I took all the frustration and pain that came from being an outcast and expressed it, often with murderous sprees aimed at characters meant to represent the people who had hurt me in school. This was not my making a death plan or fantasizing about actually killing anyone, it was a form of therapy. I was skinny to the point of the absurd (in grade ten, I was 7 inches taller than the stereotypical 5′ 98 pound weakling, but he had 25 pounds on me) and deeply introverted. When people were nasty to me, I just took it, but I learned that I could get the feelings out by writing.

I figured, as a kid, that I’d be the next Stephen King. Now, keep in mind that my experience set was quite limited, and at that point, Stephen King was the most intriguing author I had heard of. It was always my goal. And when I went to college to get a degree in computers, it was because I accepted that “making it” as a writer was not a safe bet for a man who had a wife and wanted to have kids, so I would need a day job to pay the bills while I spent my nights writing.

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Tilting At Windmills

wpid-Don_Quixote_6.jpegLet me dim the lights here, and you can come in close and sit with me here by the fire, I’m going to explain to you how scary it was when I finally lost my faith. Cuz it was fuck off scary for me, and I think sometimes that people don’t understand that.

I don’t know the moment that the fear set in. I know that I had been doubting for years at that point. I found  myself getting frustrated because the Bible didn’t have the answers that I thought it did. I found myself getting angry when people would talk about stories from the Bible and what they meant without realizing how creepy and racist they sounded, and how petulant their God sounded. I found myself getting genuinely irate with people who would accept everything without asking why and how. I would go to church and I would become mad during the sermon probably seven times out of ten, and those other three times were never uplifting experiences. I was floundering, but I still knew God was real.

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Local Bands I Have Loved – His Last Words

wpid-IMG_213256243717201.jpegHis Last Words reminds me of my first real band, Johnny Incognito. That’s a huge compliment, because I am clearly an egomaniacal prick. The differences are that His Last Words:

a) still play shows
b) have a bright future
c) are actually worth seeing

I chose today to talk about them because I thought it only fair, having yesterday begun the Local Bands I Have Loved series with their opponents in tomorrow night’s Punk Vs. Metal: CARNAGE tournament, but they would have been a band I quickly got to no matter what, because I just think they’re cool. The first time I saw them, I couldn’t help but think of Johnny Incognito. They weren’t very tight, they don’t really look like a hardcore band, and they have a singer that surprises you.

I remember well the first Johnny Incognito gig; it was a Bandwarz at The Shamrock, a venue that Heavenly Father has since chosen to smite with fire, and I will gladly admit that I was perhaps the single worst front man of all time at that point. The entire set had my hand firmly stuck in my pocket, and I just stood there making my throat-noises like a bleating lamb fully aware that the next bullet is the finisher-offer. Fortunately, that gig was captured for posterity and aired as the “local flavor” during the credits of Sports At 11:30, so my suckage was easily accessible. When I watched that tape, the biggest thing I took away from it was that I couldn’t just stand there like a cock, I had to move around. So I made it a point to be as wild as I could on stage. Mostly, this meant pacing, thunder-jumping (I was >300lbs back then, so when I came down hard on a stage for punctuation, you knew a large mammal was commanding your attention), and making my eyes as Steve Buscemi creepy as I could. For those audiences that saw us after that, the biggest thing I heard was how unexpected it all was. We looked like nice enough people, but when we started playing and I started in, you just had to take notice.

So it is with His Last Words, particularly their singer, Richard. And no, that’s not cuz we’re both big guys, it’s because he sort of comes across like the kind of guy who loves his parents and plays D&D a lot. Nothing’s wrong with that, but he seems very gentle. And then the band starts playing, and this evil emits from his throat, and you just wonder where in the blue hell that came from. But as I was saying, when I first saw them, they were a lot sloppier and sort of directionless, and they really didn’t make any impression on me. I don’t know if they wound up playing over the credits of Sports At 11:30 or not, but something changed in them, and they have become a band you can’t help but take notice of.

Now, I’m an outsider, but I think it might have a lot to do with the new bass player, Dave. Dave also plays in stab.twist.pull, and it might be unrelated, but it seems to me that when he started with the band, that’s when things started to pick up for them. Whether he as that missing thing that brought the band together or not, Dave’s a ridiculous bass player. He comes to the Keith Morrison Band open jams every other Monday at The D, and each time he does, I suggest he should try out my upright bass. Something tells me it’d take him all of eight minutes to be better at it than me. Sick with talent.

In reality, the whole band is fantastic, and they’re really great guys. The first time I really met drummer Brett (I mean, we’d hung out at shows, but this was the first time we got to chatting) was at Three Days Of Dissent, and he just struck me as a decent, interesting cat. Watching him play makes me happy. He does exactly what a drummer should do, keep the band together and throw in just the right amount of flourish.

And Ryan? Ryan’s a guitarist… I mean, who doesn’t like guitarists? I kid, of course, nobody likes guitarists, but Ryan’s great. When he’s on stage, I often have trouble reconciling that there’s only one guitar on the go. His riffs are often very controlled, something I don’t see in a lot of bands in the underground music scene.

One area they need to do better at is the interwebs. Type in his last words band into google and you get nothing. It’s even better when you go to the images tab and see these guys:


On the youtubes, I wasn’t able to find the band playing, but I did find a hype for their recently-released album, Sapience, and it sounds pretty sweet:


Why I Hate (And Love) Canadian Content Laws

wpid-nickelback300.jpegI was reading Lousy Canuck’s blog today, and there’s a post there called Skepticon: Not My Canadian Pride! which I quite enjoyed. I was going to write a post mentioning a few more of those small cultural differences that separate Canadians from Americans, but it was suffering from a terminal case of TL;DR and I didn’t think it was worth posting. But it did get me thinking about our Canadian Content laws, and I figured I’d mouth off about them a little bit. Because I have a blog, and bloggers mouth off on things. Win.

By way of explanation, Canada has laws in place that dictate that magazines, radio programs, and all sorts of other stuff have to have a certain amount of Canadian content. Personally, I think the spirit of these laws is a fine thing. Especially in our current Western World, we are inundated by American culture, and requiring our broadcasters to give a push to the locals is a good thing. But the trouble is in the Nickelbackery.

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The True Christian

CraziesYou know what Christians I think are the most directly rooted in their faith? The Westboro Baptists. Now, keep in mind that I have met and wholly respect Nate Phelps, a Phelps family member who escaped their clutches and has moved on to a new life working with CFI Canada. I am disgusted at all turns by the actions of the WBC, and think that they are vile people.

But at least they’re trying.

I don’t mean to say they are trying to make the world a better place, and I don’t mean to say they are trying to save people. From what little I know about their faith, I believe they are Calvinists, and believe that the small list of people who will go to heaven is already defined, and that anyone else is really just kidding themselves.  They are trying to live the life God wants for them. Most Christians cherry-pick all the really good stuff and ignore the hideous reality of their walk with Christ. The rapists, the slaves, the homophobia, the degradation and subjugation of women… it all adds up to a pretty clear image of the nature of God. He is a horrifying figure. Yes, there is love to be found therein. It is the love of an insecure and abusive father. His love is dangerous, jealous, cruel, and totally devoted to those that believe. Any who step outside of his directions in the slightest may expect anything from fire raining down to disease to famine to forced homosexuality to outright and instantaneous murder.

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