Heinz “British Style” canned beans – a review


I’ve been DEATHLY ill for two days. I didn’t even get out of bed till 3:30 pm yesterday. It was horrid. My stomach tried to kill me the ungrateful Bastard. As soon as I felt better (yay drugs and a Wolverine like metabolism and immune system) I ate dinner, then a second dinner, then smoked kippers then a pb sandwich. Fuck you stomach.

My wife took me out grocery shopping quite late as I needed to get the hell out of the house. I lasted an hour or so before I started to feel a bit unwell, ate a kids meal (man need food if man go to gym day after sickness) and bought these. If I have never told you, beans at breakfast are GOOD.

Result, quite nice. I always prefer tomato-based beans over the super-sweet molasses-based ones. These are even less sweet. A little pepper and I am in a foreign country, bumping up my fibre over morning nosh.

4 out of 5 stars.

(I promise a better review tomorrow. I was sick and still a little drugged up. Oh look , a unicorn…)

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Bullet Points


I am currently assisting a school chum (I hate that term but “hot chick I used to go to school with and fawn over” sounds so dorky) with a reunion.  We both came to the realization that we both like bullet points. Here are my top ten reasons why they are awesome (in no order as I am making this up as I go):

·         you can skip capitalization, punctuation and proper grammar just because
·         if making a presentation you can use them to prompt discussion
·         a full 75% of them can be mumbo-jumbo and you talk around them
·         It takes very little skill to throw a list together yet looks awesome
·         Unlike a bar chart or spreadsheet you can thrown a random value in a bullet and usually get away with it (i.e. “a full 75% of them can be mumbo-jumbo”
·         Synergy
·         Everybody stand and stretch (while I try to remember what I was talking about)
·         People don’t read text, people read bullet points
·         You can slip half a joke into a presentation in the middle of a list
·         “A Fraid Knot” !!!
·         Discussion

But enough about bullet points. Reunion. Oh ye gods a reunion.  I went to one in 1997 with my girlfriend (now wife) and was pleased to sit with a few good friends, talk to some people I hadn’t seen in 10+ years and scornfully not stand when people I disliked back in HS came over to say hi (feigning a pleasant demeanor, pretending I didn’t want to crank them in the teeth). Now however, I am a bit more relaxed and resigned to forget transgressions of the past. A list of people I no longer wish to crank in the teeth:

·         Jean jacket guy
·         Afro guy
·         Dumb guy who did what Salesman guy said including tormenting me, stealing my lunch, shoving me around
·         Teacher who I accused of banging female students who ended up marrying one
·         Kid who moonwalked who I had no reason to dislike as he did detract the jerks from pestering me and the nerds
·         Smarmy rich girl #3
·         Salesman Guy
(He’s still on the list.  He is a dick.)


So, will I attend?  Yes.  I’m kind of resigned to do so. 

Will I enjoy it? Likely, but only to see people I actually like.

What will I most be looking forward to?:

·         Having an even better reason to go to the gym more than I currently do
·         Being able to brag/complain about how I have to get my hair cut every three weeks “I WISH I was going bald like you!”
·         Having a reason to get my Audi waxed
·         Get to wear a bowtie and look down at people that would have in 1984 teased me about it
·         Explaining that I never ever return to my hometown except to visit my mother because it is a hive of scum and villainy and I am making an exception
·         Writing about it after the fact
·         Doing the Stephen Colbert  mic drop on the stage

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A Review of Fury


I was defending this movie before I had even seen it.  A CTV reviewer had entered the theatre with a huge, Gorilla Glue™ed in  place chip on his weasely shoulders.  He called it an anti-anti-war movie which I gather in leftist boomer parlance means a pro-war movie.  I, having read a fair bit about it before I gleefully decided to go see it, retorted online that he was a crazy hippie and that sometimes movies are made without “meaning” or “message” and people sometimes need to stop seeking such.

I have now seen Fury and can see why the semi-professional wonk reviewer may have been confused.  It is not a pro-war movie, and anti-war movie, an anti-anti-war movie or a well funded conspiratorial attempt to embolden Americans and cause a mass sign-up to the US Army.  It’s frankly, just a war movie.  Frankly, again, it’s not bad.

Well acted, well written, nice to watch (as a movie), horrific to behold (as a fairly true depiction of WWII) and I am sure quite surprising to a lot of people who have the false belief that the allies were all Geneva Convention upholding peaceful folks.  Brad Pitt’s character is typical of a lot of men who signed up back then, full of Fury (aha!) at the demons from Deutschlan, ready to kill Krauts.. The propaganda of the day painted Germans as godless beasts intent on murdering everyone in sight and ready to take over the world (and somehow garrison it with the relatively miniscule army they possessed). He murders a prisoner on his way to interrogation.  He has no compassion apart for a pair of women in a liberated town that offer him a bit of domestic respite, but soon it was back to killing.  It ends badly for many people, as, frankly, war does. If I was a die hard, undying supporter of the military, I’d find this movie a bit uncomfortable and in fact, a tad anti-war.  If I was a German (I am a bit) I’d be put off that the movie depicts all men in German uniforms to have been Borg™ like combat drones (apart from one young man at the end of the film). If I was a peace-loving hippie boomer (and worked for CTV) I’d be put off that there is no overt anti-war speech or message apart from the BLATANTLY OBVIOUS DEPICTION OF WAR AS FILTHY, BLOODY AND HORRIFIC. If I was none of the above, I would simply enjoy it for what it is, a pretty good war film.

I enjoyed Fury, but was mildly iffy over the fact that it wasn’t a fun jaunty adventure.  I didn’t go in wanting a message, I wanted excitement, fun, 1950s vintage war movie fun.  I walked out a mix of emotion.  Angry at Wardaddy for being a complete dick to the replacement co-driver who murdered not one but two surrendered men for no reason at all apart from misplaced vengeance.  Happy that they found respite in a liberated German town.  Sad that it was ruined all too quickly by internal and external forces.  Annoyed that the advertising sold me on a false depiction of the film.  Content that it was worth the money I paid. Resigned that I don’t plan to ever watch it again.

Three out of five stars

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Librarian Chix Rock and other Stories

(Working title of my as yet un-written autobiography)

It is late autumn. I am sitting in a library. I am sitting in the library because my gym is packed with older women taking or waiting to take group fitness classes. I had planned to write a chapter or two of my next comedy novel (the better one) but I see that I am an idiot. Thanks to having far too many computer devices (tablet, two smart phones, laptop (circa 2008) and desktop (circa pre-2008) and THE CLOUD, I have made a grave error. I had started writing on this device (the tablet), saved said file on the desktop and uploaded a copy to THE CLOUD. The next time I felt like writing, I used my laptop. I saved it on the desktop rather than THE CLOUD. So, here I am in the library, patiently awaiting my children to finish their sporty activities, ready to write and whammo, I cannot see what I wrote last time. It was a significant amount of humorous tale. I don’t know where I left off. It has been a few weeks as I was sidetracked with a script I started (and have not yet abandoned but it is now looking sad and lonely). I dare not re-write anything as then I will have to decide which version is better. I best walk away (figuratively) and tackle it again tomorrow. Likely I will forget what my plan was and do something else till I remember.

I promise, it was a good bit of writing I was going to do today. Here, let me make a few bullet points so you can remind me:

  • Dan tells his tale of woe
  • Dan’s new ex (long story) proceeds to get his car stolen
  • Tim Allows Dan to stay at his house but Marie, Tim’s wife who has been talking to the ex says no.
  • Dilemma (Tim is Dan’s friend but also his boss)
  • A mysterious package arrives
  • The femme fatale shows up
  • Hilarity ensues
  • Oops, the nanny too! LOL
  • LOL!!

The library is nowhere near as fun or exciting as when I was thirteen and I would walk the three blocks from my house two nights a weekend and at least one a week and load up with a cornucopia of books. I would start at 001.00 and peruse the nutty supernatural books and sasquatch books and UFO books. I’d slide to history. I’d backtrack to science. I’d go to any one of two dozen random places within the library, fawn over a few young library workers, be looked over the glasses at by my friend Anne’s mother, find a place to sit and read. I’d often stay till someone would finally start turning off lights. I’d check out my pile of books and haul them home. This would be repeated over and over and over till I REALLY discovered girls (or more accurately till I got a job at a theatre and discovered that girls would go on dates with me…).

Back when I was in my pre-women phase (though still fawning over the young librarian helper girls) I should have applied for a job at the place. I knew where everything was. I could find a book often by its name and author alone knowing the Dewey Decimal system as well as I did. The library had a smell. A slightly musty, woody smell. The young librarian girls smelled like drug store perfume. The stairs to the children’s library had a smell of rubber stair mats. Not as nice as the previous two smells. I swear I could smell my way to a book. Okay, no, I could smell my way to a pretty young librarian girl and pretend I couldn’t find a book and she’d help me. Then I’d shy away because I was coy and dumb.

Actually, aside, I DID finally one day ask out a young librarian girl. I cannot remember her name but she said yes and we went out and we danced (a LOT) drank (a fair bit) and danced (really, really closely) then she told me that she was engaged to some big dumb Dutch guy. It was, seriously, a church arranged marriage. After cursing the Dutch I proceeded to woo her more for a few weeks. She eventually said that maybe she would back out of the thing because she lived on her own now and never went to the church. At this point I did what I have in the past done a fair bit and got distracted by shiny things (other women) and yeah, she and I were through, her engagement was off and she didn’t get mad at me though she should have.

Anyways, original point, ok, second point, libraries at that time were more dank, dark, mysterious. I SWEAR they try their best to make them more open and inviting. It’s not working. There are MAYBE 20 people in here tonight and most of them are bozos sitting at desks writing or internet scouring due to free wi-fi. The internet makes it less attractive to the masses to find information in quick, sound-bitey snippets of inaccuracy than in actual wood books. The internet also makes it less attractive to meet young librarian women in person so people google “young librarians hot single” and find pictures of quite dull minded non-librarians with horn rimmed glasses, no underwear, looking down stairs at you sporting a surprised look. (I am only assuming).

So here I sit. Cursing THE CLOUD and my own stupidity, cursing the Dutch (and my own stupidity) and cursing the Neo Library Design Movement which also includes a push toward allowing people to be LOUD and have LOUD group discussions at tables full of people not looking at books or creeping at Young Librarian Women which is what you are SUPPOSED to do in a library.

I need a coffee.

Jesus. Look. You can now buy food and coffee in the library. What the hell? You will only ENCOURAGE THEM to enter the building!! Stop it now.

Marie. That was her name.

She could really dance.

Kimmy K


Kim Kardashian.  Ye gods woman, put some pants on.  While you are at it, go away. Shoo.  Begone.  You are a terrible, terrible influence on young women much as your man is a terrible influence on young men.  Shoo.  To the hills, the woods, the desert, to where the wolves await to munch upon your talentless frame(s).

Yesterday, my Twatter feed was full to the brim with (well made, bravo (clap, clap)) photoshopped incarnations of her cover pic from Paper magazine.  Her large glistening orbs set out for all to see, dwarfing any true importance she has or at least should have in our silly society where celebrity, nay, faux-celebrity is aspired to and put upon a pedestal.  This being of course, a plastic pedestal, spray painted with that fake lumpy rock paint stuff to make it look granitey.  I smirked at the pictures, where her buttocks were replaced with peaches, moons, faces, wheels etc.  I smiled at the work put into mocking her rather weighty posterior. I marveled at the relative small waist above said bum, wondering if in a high wind she would simply double over, her columns of leggy flesh holding still in the maelstrom whilst her willowy midsection crumpled.

I digress.

How did she ever become famous.  How does anyone without an actual talent become famous nowadays.  We, well, not me, you are to blame.  (Okay maybe not you, but someone you know most likely.)  People ascribe to the insane Forrest Gumpy belief nowadays that not only should everyone have the right to live their dream but said dream, especially a dream that involved being FAMOUS (without a real, valid talent) can and will be gained simply by being claimed. If one wants to be famous, one need be SEEN to be famous. Success should come to those least deserving.

She and her tedious family are connected to the OJ Simpson Trial. 

She and her tedious family are connected to Bruce Jenner (he being ONE OF THEM). 

She and her tedious family had/have (I don’t care to verify) a painfully uninteresting reality TV show.  I watched it twice as it was on the overhead televisions at the gym and I will tell you that with no word of a lie, Swamp People, a show where southern ruralites murder alligators for their skin and meat is more appealing.

I hear entertainment news people talk about her as a person of great beauty and fashion sense.  I balk.

I hear them speak about her (and her family) as if we should all know who they are.  I balk. 

I hear people, young people, in a rather fashionable clothing store, say “Oh, I saw Kimmy K wear something like that on (insert name of some show I don’t recognize and would rather be eaten by a horde of conservative party zombies than watch)”. I wonder if said people have any clue that they are giving credence to someone with nothing to offer them in terms of life lessons. I balk, feeling ill.

Women and men are equal.  We are.  We are deserving of equal treatment at all times. Individuals deserve differing treatment based on what we/they do in their lives.  People like “Kimmy K” and others of the “faux celebrity” ilk somehow bypass the process.  They gain that which they do not deserve simply because people who aspire for fame (and not being famous for DOING anything of note) see them as icons of their dreams. This is wrong.  Kimmy K deserves nothing.  She deserves not praise, attention or scorn, for she is nothing. She is a punch in the face to feminism.  She is a kick in the teeth to celebrity (and thankfully, the people that count in the entertainment business have plenty of scorn for her).  She is a rich person who did nothing to acquire said wealth apart from being born and paid attention to.

Ignore her, and her maleficent ass..

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I’m done as a horror writer. I give up. I’m not good at it. I am best to stick to what I AM good at: comedy.

And making omelettes.

And non-self depreciating humour.

And laughing at fat guys slipping on the ice (then rushing to help them up because I’m not really mean.)

And drawing badly.

And telling stories.

And complaining.

And reviewing movies.

And giving my wife reason to threaten me with THE COUCH.

Because that’s what Tiggers are best at.

That is all.

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I don’t want to be old
I don’t want to nibble on toast
To buy sensible Levi Orange Tabs
To listen to jazz

I don’t wish to grow old
I don’t wish to lose interest in my likes
To need less sleep
To enjoy the company of other old people
To commiserate with them

I don’t need to be old
I don’t need to be worried about
To be visited so I “don’t get lonely at Christmas”
To be fed so I eat properly

I don’t want to be old
I don’t want to forget the things I have seen
To forget the things I regret doing
To forget that which I do not regret

I don’t want to be old
But I am getting there

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