That's right my friends. Due to overwhelming response, Box Head is back. And this time, he means business.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Sunday, December 17, 2006
I sitting here watching Dirty Harry juxtaposed against our groovy fibre optic Christmas tree. Pretty wild. Pretty...pretty...pretty...pretty wild.
Thinking ahead, what with all the global warming shit-n-stuff, I wonder if the type trees that thrive in Canada will change so that the pulp used to make toilet paper is different from that which is currently used. If so, our toilet paper won't provide us with the so-familiar-yet-ever-so-taboo "wiping" experience. I hope not. Especially since I found a brand I can stick with. (No pun intended).
Thinking ahead, what with all the global warming shit-n-stuff, I wonder if the type trees that thrive in Canada will change so that the pulp used to make toilet paper is different from that which is currently used. If so, our toilet paper won't provide us with the so-familiar-yet-ever-so-taboo "wiping" experience. I hope not. Especially since I found a brand I can stick with. (No pun intended).
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I've finally come up with a metaphor tp help explain why I don't like new horror movies...here it goes...
You know those guys who go to the washroom and return to tell you in detail about what transpired on the toilet? Yeah...exactly...It's gross stuff you don't want to hear about, and you definately don't wanna see. The directors of those really graphic horrors are like those guys.
You know those guys who go to the washroom and return to tell you in detail about what transpired on the toilet? Yeah...exactly...It's gross stuff you don't want to hear about, and you definately don't wanna see. The directors of those really graphic horrors are like those guys.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
Prairie Doggin' On A Tuesday Night
Off the top, first off, hats off to the man, the genius, Captain Beefheart!
No word of a lie, this is an actual news story from the CBC:
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - Five-year-old Gabby Supapo stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed. "Oreos," she declared.
Not exactly what the California Milk Processor Board had in mind when it outfitted five San Francisco bus shelters with ads embedded with the smell of just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies.
The scented bus shelter advertisements made their U.S. debut Monday, according Louis Zafonte, spokesman for New York-based Arcade Marketing, which designed the ads to encourage milk drinking.
"Scent is a primary driver of memory," Zafonte said. "When you smell baby powder or chocolate chip cookies, everyone feels good."
To overcome the frequent blasts of exhaust and the funky whiffs that often permeate a big-city bus shelter, scented oils were sandwiched between cardboard cards emblazoned with "Got Milk?" and affixed to shelter walls.
Which brings me to my point; public washrooms reek. And I don't mean the ones where your shoes stick to the floor and you have to flush the toilet with your foot because you don't want to touch the handle either. I mean the ones at work. The ones where you know everyone who uses the can.
(I can honestly say that my ass has not graced a public toilet in 15 years.)
The washroom at work is an olfactory nightmare. I don't know what the men in this town eat, nor do I want to know. However, what pisses me off is that I'll go in in the morning to turn on the fan preemptively...by noon, someone has turned off the fan and it smells like a bus ride to Calcutta. All we need are chickens flying around.
No word of a lie, this is an actual news story from the CBC:
SAN FRANCISCO (AP) - Five-year-old Gabby Supapo stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed. "Oreos," she declared.
Not exactly what the California Milk Processor Board had in mind when it outfitted five San Francisco bus shelters with ads embedded with the smell of just-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies.
The scented bus shelter advertisements made their U.S. debut Monday, according Louis Zafonte, spokesman for New York-based Arcade Marketing, which designed the ads to encourage milk drinking.
"Scent is a primary driver of memory," Zafonte said. "When you smell baby powder or chocolate chip cookies, everyone feels good."
To overcome the frequent blasts of exhaust and the funky whiffs that often permeate a big-city bus shelter, scented oils were sandwiched between cardboard cards emblazoned with "Got Milk?" and affixed to shelter walls.
Which brings me to my point; public washrooms reek. And I don't mean the ones where your shoes stick to the floor and you have to flush the toilet with your foot because you don't want to touch the handle either. I mean the ones at work. The ones where you know everyone who uses the can.
(I can honestly say that my ass has not graced a public toilet in 15 years.)
The washroom at work is an olfactory nightmare. I don't know what the men in this town eat, nor do I want to know. However, what pisses me off is that I'll go in in the morning to turn on the fan preemptively...by noon, someone has turned off the fan and it smells like a bus ride to Calcutta. All we need are chickens flying around.
Monday, December 4, 2006
Touching Cloth On A Monday Night
It's been a while since I had a blog, so you'll have to put up with me until I get back into things.
The last time I did this sort of thing, I was single and didn't worry about offending anyone. Not that my wife is easily offended, but I can no longer express my monstrous ego with reckless abandon. Not if I hope to get any, if you know what I mean.
I don't typically talk about the day's events, because sure as to fuck, I'll already have been bored shitless and will not want to rehash the intricacies of trying to scratch my balls.
Instead, perhaps I'll write about the scenes that pop into my head...
The last time I did this sort of thing, I was single and didn't worry about offending anyone. Not that my wife is easily offended, but I can no longer express my monstrous ego with reckless abandon. Not if I hope to get any, if you know what I mean.
I don't typically talk about the day's events, because sure as to fuck, I'll already have been bored shitless and will not want to rehash the intricacies of trying to scratch my balls.
Instead, perhaps I'll write about the scenes that pop into my head...
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