Tag Archives: Humour

Jesus of Suburbia

A random conversation with my offspring yesterday morning…

OS: That guy’s always sitting there.

Me: Perhaps he’s Guardian of the Milk Crates.

OS: Maybe he’s waiting for Jesus.

Me: Well if Jesus ever shows up at a convenience store, you be sure to let me know.

OS: You know that even if it’s a guy that looks like Jesus, I’m still calling you.

Me: And what would he look like?

OS: You know, he floats down on a cloud, with long flowing hair, wearing sunglasses and playing a guitar.

Me: On his own personal cloud?

OS: Of course, he’s Jesus. And they’re epic aviator sunglasses like 4 sizes too big.

Me: Is he black or white? Continue reading

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I have no sole

I have a shoe problem.  Not in the Imelda Marcos sense, (although I would sell my first-born for a pair of LV”s), but rather in the Murphy’s Law sense.  You see, we have a love/love relationship, my shoes and I.  I love them, and they love to break on me and ruin my day on a regular basis.  It usually happens at work, which is only mitigated by the fact that a friend happens to keep a box of shoes under her desk.  Come to think of it, I have no idea why she keeps an entire box of shoes under her desk.  Perhaps there’s some sort of underground shoe fashion show/fight club thing that I’m not aware of.  I shall have to investigate further.  In the meantime, instead of walking like I have an old war wound when my shoes break, I borrow a pair of hers and pray that I don’t look too fashionably uncoordinated.  I once broke a boot heel walking across the street to the train station after work and had the choice of either walking with a serious limp, or tip-toeing it with that one foot and pretending there was nothing wrong.  I tip-toed.  I’m vain like that. It happened again


It takes a village idiot to raise a child

Major overcrowding

school  [skool]

Noun:  An institution for educating children, or a large group of fish or sea mammals

Personally, I’m in favour of the fish.  Fish are quiet.  You don’t have to worry about hurting a fish’s feelings.  Fish don’t have parents that whine and complain about the treatment of their offspring.  (Not to imply that all fish are bastards, just that the parental units have bigger things to fry).  Oh, and you can eat a fish.

Most importantly, a fisherman can’t be suspended for fishing, (unless of course, he’s unlicensed and/or fishing for an endangered species or something).  Whereas, if you’re a teacher working for the Edmonton School Board, you can actually be suspended for teaching.

In a bitter twist of irony, a teacher at Ross Sheppard High School was suspended last week for trying to teach his students that their actions have consequences.

Unlike when my Aunt got the strap for writing with her left hand, (the consequence of a sore palm outweighing the consequence of being burned at the stake), Mr. Lynden Dorval had the gall to give a failing grade to students who did not complete assignments.

I’ll repeat, more slowly and using smaller words.  Students that did not do their work were given a zero.

A travesty, to be sure!

According to the school board, penalizing students for not completing their work is against policy.   Read on


While the White People Watch

Is that a club in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

I would have made a terrible feminist.  I couldn’t bear to part with my bra, let alone burn it.  Do you have any idea how expensive those things are?  Victoria’s got a secret all right, and it’s damn well going to cost you.  And even if I were tempted to jump on the flaming brassiere train, going free bird could be disastrous.  Sure, it’s all fun and games until somebody loses an eye, namely me, and I can’t afford to take that kind of time off work.  Besides, we’ve made significant strides over the years.  Hell, we can even vote now.

So no, I’m not a feminist.  However, I couldn’t help but get my g-string in a knot when I learned that CBC had partnered with “While the Men Watch”, and will offer their online broadcast during the final series of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Described as “Sex in the City meets ESPN”, (which if you ask me should be about horse racing), this talk-show allegedly offers “alternative” sports commentary geared toward women.  With topics such as “Love me like Lundqvist: 5 Sex Games for Hockey Season” and “6 Things NOT to Say if His Team Loses”, how could any woman not tune in?  Quite easily, I assure you. I kid you not, dear reader


C.D.O. (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder)

A conversation between two friends while unpacking…

Me:  That’s the wrong cupboard.
 
Friend:  What do you mean?
 
Me:  That’s not where the glasses should go.
 
Friend:  What difference does it make?  They’re in the kitchen.  It’s not like I’m unpacking them in the laundry room.
 
Me:  It makes all the difference.  The glasses belong in the cupboard beside the fridge.  That way, when I’m thirsty, the proximity of the glasses to the frosty beverages is within optimum range.  I don’t want to have to traipse through the kitchen to get a glass and then traipse back to the fridge.  It’s logical.
 
Friend:  How thirsty do you anticipate being?
 
Me:  You’ll thank me the next time you come over.
 
Friend: You’re anal.
 
Me: Bitch.
 

Can you believe that? She actually called me anal!  My superior organizational skills blatantly disregarded as the ramblings of a crazy person.  (It’s a good thing I didn’t tell her that I like all of the cans of food in the cupboard turned out so that the English side of the label, and not the French, is showing; (I know, very Sleeping with the Enemy.)  She probably would have had me committed.   Or at least brought me a helmet to wear the next time she came over.) Continue reading


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