tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24297310172672429222024-02-07T20:33:32.958-08:00culture priestLittle thoughts, ideas and general observations about music, travel, and pop culture in general.The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-50658253893551354442014-06-23T19:04:00.004-07:002014-06-23T19:21:11.413-07:00OUTFOXED BY MULDER<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've never really been one to have a crush on celebrities before. In fact, I can name only two celebrity crushes that I've had in my entire 30+ years of life. My first crush happened when I was about six years old as I was watching an episode of Toronto Rocks on CityTV (this show ran in the '80s before MuchMusic was a thing). I used to run home from school every time this show would air.</div>
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On this particular day they played a video by Olivia Newton John. From the first moment she appeared on the boob tube in my kitchen wearing that spandex, neon outfit, she had my heart! She was the perfect woman to me. She was beautiful, stylish, blonde, yet completely unobtainable - you know, being that she was famous and 20 years older than me. </div>
I think I cried in my room for two days when I realized this.<br />
It was my first real heartbreak.<br />
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My second celebrity crush occurred as teenager when I became obsessed with The X Files. Gillian Anderson had slowly fought her way into my heart while wearing those cute little power suits with that FBI badge that adorably hung from her left lapel that identified herself as "Dana Scully". She was beautiful, pragmatic, mothering and a little bit difficult. She had red hair, too, which showed that I had matured in some way and it signalled that I had moved on from blondes. </div>
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In the summer of 1994 I decided to do what I'd never done before - and never have again. I picked up a pen and I wrote Gillian Anderson a letter and told her how much I admired her and that I had a bit of a crush on her. I never expected her to reciprocate my feelings, but at the very least I figured that I'd get some sort of response from her.</div>
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A few weeks later a package arrived with the return address of 20th Century Fox in California. Could this have been what I was waiting for? Could this have been a special response from Dana Scully herself???</div>
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I ran upstairs with the coveted package in hand and slammed my bedroom door shut as I sat down on my bunk bed. Feverishly, but with the precision of a brain surgeon, i opened the package. </div>
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Instead of Dana Scully, I actually received a signed photo of David Duchovny as Fox Mulder that read, "Christian - Thanks for watching - David Duchovny". Enclosed was a letter from his assistant that read, "David thought you'd like his autograph better". </div>
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I remember being super disappointed and sad. It took me some time to realize how cool this was, though. Fox Mulder actually pranked me. Out-foxed, as it were. It may not have been immediate, but Mr. Duchovny won me over that day. The original signed photo is below.</div>
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<br />The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-1838515101668304182014-04-16T08:47:00.000-07:002014-04-16T10:44:47.170-07:00FLO DRIVA<div>
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One thing I've learned in my 30+ years of life is that my love for McDonald's is only trumped by my love for a good road trip and free things. Recently, I combined all three of these amazing things by registering with a company called Toronto Drive-Away and flying to Florida to drive a retired couple's car back from Fort Lauderdale.</div>
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For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of "drive-away", it is a service for people who have driven their cars to various destinations in North America, yet they pay for someone to drive their vehicles back to Toronto for a variety of reasons. The two busiest seasons for this are spring (cars coming back to Toronto) and fall (cars going to Florida, Arizona, California, etc.) The idea is not new. In fact, I've done similar trips a handful of times over the past 15 years.</div>
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Though there are a variety of drive-away companies in Toronto, the prerequisites for participating are slightly varied and so too is compensation. So please be aware that the breakdown in this post is for Toronto Drive-Away only, whose main requirements for driving are that you have a clean driver's license, are at least 30 years of age, and that you have no criminal record. The company also requires a $200 deposit from your credit card. Once the car is returned to the owner, the company will then reimburse your $200, all gas costs incurred, as well as a flat payment of $500.</div>
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It sounds like a pretty sweet deal, and it is if you're interested in an adventure - which I was. Though, it's not a really ideal option if you're actually looking for relaxation and/or a vacation. First off, there are some catches to consider; Once the company receives your $200 deposit the only information they provide is the owner's contact information and where to drop the car off. You must also figure out how to get to where you need to go and either book a rental car or flight to get there. The cost of this comes out of the $500 you get at the conclusion of your trip. Additionally, you have only 72 hours to cross the border into Canada for cars coming back from Florida.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsTodYtL5y6lxzI2QW_r8tEOWWUJAHHoqpkS_13m9R_c9iooWlbzdan67gI8tai4Q5nW9-_cyW1DB7EtU4AHa7Rpfb22BEiM9_pZhZ7s9v0rj9cwhAaA00QxGTScscXz1CXMKAX90fp4/s1600/IMG_3512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFsTodYtL5y6lxzI2QW_r8tEOWWUJAHHoqpkS_13m9R_c9iooWlbzdan67gI8tai4Q5nW9-_cyW1DB7EtU4AHa7Rpfb22BEiM9_pZhZ7s9v0rj9cwhAaA00QxGTScscXz1CXMKAX90fp4/s1600/IMG_3512.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere over Montreal.
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So without delay, here's a condensed version of my trip ...<br />
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*Please note that I have three rules when travelling solo on U.S. road trips: Initially carry no cash, go in blind without the use of a map of any kind (including those on my iPhone), and subsist purely on McDonald's*</blockquote>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"> I spent three days trying to get in touch with the owner of the vehicle in Florida to make arrangements, only to find out that he'd died a few days previous. Bad omen? Owner's widow contacted me, letting me know </span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijq08BL4HZ7JMp_nNdxfOfZOnRTzsmZIjI3KLU998AXZgaOlAZwoI8yKR4Q7g4if1Za_t_mSH7DdDRlhsap-nqpDNnF_2iJodyQVfGLRbPRsAzP0Acrrck0lBAxvhIFrb9vKxmNK1T1ug/s1600/IMG_3519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijq08BL4HZ7JMp_nNdxfOfZOnRTzsmZIjI3KLU998AXZgaOlAZwoI8yKR4Q7g4if1Za_t_mSH7DdDRlhsap-nqpDNnF_2iJodyQVfGLRbPRsAzP0Acrrck0lBAxvhIFrb9vKxmNK1T1ug/s1600/IMG_3519.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a> </td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The Floridian coast.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"> that I still needed to pick up the car. Thought of bussing to Buffalo to save money on the flight south. Quickly realized the pain in the ass it would have been just to save only $75. Flew out of Toronto's Billy Bishop instead. My 8am flight from Toronto to Montreal was delayed by one hour. My bags were searched by
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Customs, at "random" as they pointed out. Arrived in Montreal with only one hour to make my connection. It seemed an ample amount of time until I was ushered into the U.S. Customs office and told to strip down to my underwear. It was a "random" search, they noted (again). Luckily, there was no bum play. Made my connecting flight with no time to spare and eventually arrived in Fort Lauderdale at 3pm. It began to rain immediately upon landing. Couldn't find a bank machine in the airport. Also, couldn't find a bus to where I needed to go. Eventually paid a limo $20 to drop me off at the gated community of Coconut Creek. </span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> Spent an hour trying to figure out where to pick up the keys to the car. The information I received said "Apt. 3", though I quickly realized all apartments were preceded by a letter which meant 26 different possibilities for so-called "Apt. 3". Was finally directed to the right one after being <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW1dWob0XAYDuH_4qgDmHqq0evpyp7Ht9GKxozl0QxvQf66wXk2u54QW87HJdhzZN2VYZhztFkKYRv_vfzCHbPr-drc5n_gWkX4kwX_cbHw11WtISOqitHLJ-daPZ7-ZiKozT8-tDt68/s1600/IMG_3554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW1dWob0XAYDuH_4qgDmHqq0evpyp7Ht9GKxozl0QxvQf66wXk2u54QW87HJdhzZN2VYZhztFkKYRv_vfzCHbPr-drc5n_gWkX4kwX_cbHw11WtISOqitHLJ-daPZ7-ZiKozT8-tDt68/s1600/IMG_3554.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The infamous Ford Fusion.</td></tr>
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surrounded by three Jewish women who I could have sworn were the inspiration behind TV's "The Golden Girls". A Mrs. Snider ushered me into her apartment only to tell me that she "couldn't find the keys to the car". "Awesome", I thought. An hour later, said keys were found. Walked down to the car where I was disappointed to find a Ford Fusion waiting for me. I was definitely hoping for something on the higher end side for what should have been my 22-hour drive. Immediately started driving north. Instead of taking the I-95, I chose to take the scenic route 1 up the Floridian coast. Construction. Construction. And more construction. Stopped to eat McDonald's (first time in nearly one year), which is basically the equivalent of visiting an old friend when it comes to road trips of any kind. Continued driving for three hours until it got dark. Only then did I realize how exhausted I was. After all, it had already been a 15-hour day of travel. </span></span>Got a $50 room at a motel on the side of the highway called "Budget Inn of Cocoa". I drank some beers in bed while a lizard stared at me from the wall behind the television set. He clung to the wall for hours and had this face on him that looked like he just told a joke and was waiting for my reaction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKG0UHLeY6NbXBw4mFH0Jnrdn4ML0rEhlvAsJPKYvsfx818f8xKotLzztWiVli-HgNXNebgYeDpuZWp97h42QNekqsPh1FjMdIx8S2PwntzwVZRq1NPwbarzbIqzJIlZFSdeFmvIxYAQ/s1600/IMG_3578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEKG0UHLeY6NbXBw4mFH0Jnrdn4ML0rEhlvAsJPKYvsfx818f8xKotLzztWiVli-HgNXNebgYeDpuZWp97h42QNekqsPh1FjMdIx8S2PwntzwVZRq1NPwbarzbIqzJIlZFSdeFmvIxYAQ/s1600/IMG_3578.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The infamous "boob" mountain.</td></tr>
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Woke up at 6am and waited for the sun to rise. The bastard didn't actually rise until 7am. Started raining again. Continued driving up Hwy 1 and passed by Cape Canaveral, which up until this point I'd never visited in my life. Saw some interesting signs about astronauts and stuff. I laughed. Eventually, Hwy 1 merged with the I-95 as I saw the coast slowly disappear in my rearview mirror. Eventually made it out of Florida and into Georgia. The rain was finally behind me.
Stopped at another McDonald's just outside of Savannah. Was told that my "mama raised me right", when the cashier noticed that I'd wiped my rain soaked shoes on the mat at the entrance. Drove 100 miles in the wrong direction through South Carolina on the I-95 when I should have merged with the I-77 back in Charleston. I only realized my error when I ended up at a place called "South of The Border" - a place I'd never seen before. Strange, considering I'd made this drive many times before. That being said, "South of The Border" blew my mind. Was the best error I've ever made.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64ujDOJVS05IkATqLCmdT_UXhzLrQM8AxgTfECJtt-bvm4QJRkc_JW_Q33-Gd1dAtXZmg6GcRqYM31kat1PERXpaeZ8Dgjom5YvDxUNDYV5cvr0rYMYDgTf77d-BlHqyedfWB6iPRW-g/s1600/IMG_3560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64ujDOJVS05IkATqLCmdT_UXhzLrQM8AxgTfECJtt-bvm4QJRkc_JW_Q33-Gd1dAtXZmg6GcRqYM31kat1PERXpaeZ8Dgjom5YvDxUNDYV5cvr0rYMYDgTf77d-BlHqyedfWB6iPRW-g/s1600/IMG_3560.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South of The Border!!!</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> Stopped at McDonald's again. Drove five hours west to correct my mistake. Endured a crazy monsoon-type storm that led me to pull over because I couldn't see more than two feet in front of me. Saw a mountain in the shape of a giant boob. I took a picture to make sure I wasn't hallucinating, because at that point I'd driven for nearly 13 hours straight. Got caught in a snowstorm in the Virginian mountains. Had to pull over and get a motel in a town called Fancy Gap. Funny, because I was so out of it after so many hours of continuous driving that I thought Fancy Gap was a euphemism for "vagina". </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: justify;"> Woke up at 7am.
Broke my own rule and bought a pocket map because I couldn't afford to mess up again and wanted to get back to Toronto that evening. Drove without pants for the next 5 hours through the rest of Virgina and West Virginia. Endured more crazy snowstorms, which sucked because it was only then that I realized the car I was driving did not have snow tires on it. Can you imagine driving through the mountains on a concrete road covered in snow without snow tires? Stopped at a McDonald's again. Put pants on. Took pants off for the remaining drive through Pennsylvania and New York before stopping to pant-up just before the border. Why? Just because. Stopped at the Duty Free because as Kramer once sang, "I like to stop at the Duty Free shop". Crossed the border without incident. Couldn't have been happier to drive on a Canadian highway again as the Toronto skyline began to take shape in front of me. Though, it must be noted that I crossed two entire U.S. states in the time it took me to travel 10 km in Toronto. It was the only traffic I'd endured during my entire 2,361 km adventure. </span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedrV3nIYnJ3S_9xOOAC_ARaSTn5TVFSvWQrqKaLKe_s7SUgSKCysLlW1H4SvNXcbEpV-ca4qwIlcl5TkZw9XEt6qrtKxbG21HoB26kPt2-yxT8y6NB32qZGkJUKam7sYi5bkxgR43jbo/s1600/IMG_3536.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjedrV3nIYnJ3S_9xOOAC_ARaSTn5TVFSvWQrqKaLKe_s7SUgSKCysLlW1H4SvNXcbEpV-ca4qwIlcl5TkZw9XEt6qrtKxbG21HoB26kPt2-yxT8y6NB32qZGkJUKam7sYi5bkxgR43jbo/s1600/IMG_3536.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside Cape Canaveral.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgHM27zZtgJFEoJm7uiQBnOA8hPbi8X6wLMtYytQmEgLQ7k2TYKTlKcsren_ylbtxKNDTQdjMq-fNX6z1xvQ-qp6XssLBGWLXV90Zhw6q9CaMBLyalxkFiknrGrG9vn3eYmjvivu0vi0/s1600/IMG_3545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgHM27zZtgJFEoJm7uiQBnOA8hPbi8X6wLMtYytQmEgLQ7k2TYKTlKcsren_ylbtxKNDTQdjMq-fNX6z1xvQ-qp6XssLBGWLXV90Zhw6q9CaMBLyalxkFiknrGrG9vn3eYmjvivu0vi0/s1600/IMG_3545.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere in South Carolina.</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">If you're still interested, here's some websites to visit: </span><br />
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www.canadadriveaway.com</div>
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www.torontodriveaway.com</div>
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www.carstoflorida.com</div>
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www.hittheroad.ca</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BNqBSCKBJoW-2_umWwjyhd7Md2aNBSKoiqurATen6iC0m1QIzWKU9GP3YrqWJQoseSYiJ1bxgfbIkli2z6kRHWPZxflD50-Z8m5-WvQ6vZ-ljMqga1vPWgGHwDtAbD0Qqitgz4mYZS0/s1600/IMG_3582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-BNqBSCKBJoW-2_umWwjyhd7Md2aNBSKoiqurATen6iC0m1QIzWKU9GP3YrqWJQoseSYiJ1bxgfbIkli2z6kRHWPZxflD50-Z8m5-WvQ6vZ-ljMqga1vPWgGHwDtAbD0Qqitgz4mYZS0/s1600/IMG_3582.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving without pants is the best.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88h3_dBHkTCgQBgk3kVej8eyk-7jdcabcohhxwxkJBVBW5ZCAVF3oWQuPUzX1JB3hJUs1gEqIIRMxApbUTrfG2T2aEo8ianA3tjb5d4r3Ycc-IztrwPaVgXG5wRFrecbPaURIwSqCPTk/s1600/IMG_3553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg88h3_dBHkTCgQBgk3kVej8eyk-7jdcabcohhxwxkJBVBW5ZCAVF3oWQuPUzX1JB3hJUs1gEqIIRMxApbUTrfG2T2aEo8ianA3tjb5d4r3Ycc-IztrwPaVgXG5wRFrecbPaURIwSqCPTk/s1600/IMG_3553.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some interesting accidents one sees.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxZYiYDynuVVkYx2PrivCxO_9MkcjgAfzvMr5e5jk-4-toTvSzK_2ju3hAIjHUZIjg2r7Dh9P7mOODQodCk-6pWs9axtw-Tifm7VwRHWQbGOmDNvTbFsK1kJGdRmCyw5c74C4oJy3PJY/s1600/IMG_3525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwxZYiYDynuVVkYx2PrivCxO_9MkcjgAfzvMr5e5jk-4-toTvSzK_2ju3hAIjHUZIjg2r7Dh9P7mOODQodCk-6pWs9axtw-Tifm7VwRHWQbGOmDNvTbFsK1kJGdRmCyw5c74C4oJy3PJY/s1600/IMG_3525.JPG" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Safety first on U.S. Interstates.</td></tr>
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The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-83568159505758638512014-03-05T10:16:00.003-08:002014-03-05T13:32:14.978-08:00WORLD WAR MEOWPeople hate Nazis, but people seem to love cats.<br />
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So what happens when you combine the two?<br />
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The images below, taken during WWII of Nazi soldiers with cats, show a different perspective of the horrors of war. It's strange how these monsters of the Third Reich suddenly become humanized when accompanied by felines.<br />
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Paul McCartney once said, "You can tell a man's true nature by the way he treats his fellow animals."<br />
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Considering the atrocities committed by the Germans in WWII, that theory should probably be reconsidered ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOtui_0AnljRR3sk4HI0-7UdE3yNOmOgVyzbtuCh4uSph0VDuRQH0Bmlf1dgp128xYJvY4_SKAwAuRtGoKmExmgjN-iER-2WuB7HHIEdzwaAgK7CnW0ro5ALVaPzbrZ-d4WNPVy6rE3o/s1600/nazi11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOtui_0AnljRR3sk4HI0-7UdE3yNOmOgVyzbtuCh4uSph0VDuRQH0Bmlf1dgp128xYJvY4_SKAwAuRtGoKmExmgjN-iER-2WuB7HHIEdzwaAgK7CnW0ro5ALVaPzbrZ-d4WNPVy6rE3o/s1600/nazi11.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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Waffen-SS officer holding two kitties.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtNi8G2KcwqmHQnOjrXBpcHHo_LiSdtPl0u9pIsJuFt6xsL3H8nbS3-xmR76dSE8Z8FH46rv0qhtVvXTdyLA1DW5DNVucEPZ2lngTzZPKxozG416dCqgiEMD9GjNG3FDKwIaHkH0CvaU/s1600/nazi12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtNi8G2KcwqmHQnOjrXBpcHHo_LiSdtPl0u9pIsJuFt6xsL3H8nbS3-xmR76dSE8Z8FH46rv0qhtVvXTdyLA1DW5DNVucEPZ2lngTzZPKxozG416dCqgiEMD9GjNG3FDKwIaHkH0CvaU/s1600/nazi12.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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"I don't want to be pet today, Mr. Wehrmact officer!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUzsSOn96iUrufDJVeZIwJ1VIR28ysb-kyMPWV1W1Li8DVRQVzYufMD-_zjErqXxNq4IN5UauMzXCjos1Us9i6E0kkGg_SriYdGXOcukpYuHusLinZidx9tdRZXqfNiujZvR0iCWHFOw/s1600/nazi13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUzsSOn96iUrufDJVeZIwJ1VIR28ysb-kyMPWV1W1Li8DVRQVzYufMD-_zjErqXxNq4IN5UauMzXCjos1Us9i6E0kkGg_SriYdGXOcukpYuHusLinZidx9tdRZXqfNiujZvR0iCWHFOw/s1600/nazi13.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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Luftwaffe officer coddles tabby.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3kvcUkC85rUUBPNmgpgmdOiQ5KF7xVeHUH4WtlKKVu3FplPvWAWoijfyDKUi_ZwbFMhDTx-C-RQoTeQsQuvKUPTyqTLWJqDwc97xOj_w6HP1gcDcyu8sK5GSLrK85-RksXQW1UpKHIU/s1600/nazi14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip3kvcUkC85rUUBPNmgpgmdOiQ5KF7xVeHUH4WtlKKVu3FplPvWAWoijfyDKUi_ZwbFMhDTx-C-RQoTeQsQuvKUPTyqTLWJqDwc97xOj_w6HP1gcDcyu8sK5GSLrK85-RksXQW1UpKHIU/s1600/nazi14.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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Wehrmact officer is helped with paperwork by a feline friend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgSJnbUX4wkDUBrNR4grl8yNYH0W7LNNbPQmKvjZXnkpIEH0yue6_3wLaOePDIxi86oATfTgCUPhMLmIPA1dvgPDMqlPNqirF9fS4TYPj-iSJwtTJOjWVRYAFaM3UVrpi4vUaDuiUgfo/s1600/nazi15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJgSJnbUX4wkDUBrNR4grl8yNYH0W7LNNbPQmKvjZXnkpIEH0yue6_3wLaOePDIxi86oATfTgCUPhMLmIPA1dvgPDMqlPNqirF9fS4TYPj-iSJwtTJOjWVRYAFaM3UVrpi4vUaDuiUgfo/s1600/nazi15.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Wehrmact soldier resting and sharing rations with three cats.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3uu2tao8PZ6kWzt4PCcHBqA41-B2la5eapfxbZnw8yLqAcg5Yh7ql-eJ6k_i35ukpHGyHdPO3uvhkVuPcjqS-0KoyvXIL7pQUPlozlEAFaVSlmKMK9tEMVS9Q3_wyS6fI2oEzK0Fxd54/s1600/nazi17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3uu2tao8PZ6kWzt4PCcHBqA41-B2la5eapfxbZnw8yLqAcg5Yh7ql-eJ6k_i35ukpHGyHdPO3uvhkVuPcjqS-0KoyvXIL7pQUPlozlEAFaVSlmKMK9tEMVS9Q3_wyS6fI2oEzK0Fxd54/s1600/nazi17.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Kitty takes a peek inside wehrmact soldier's ration tin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7YJCKl9lWK8F5qGgLEEoBl2T_zf8FnO4ji-bQGhQw8T3W6Hs38mLonWeGu5sL93TXYobHYhVTn34RLf9JYiDzkoNUd2P4OeGdL1rRJLhPqZaYO5FMWvr4L4CB0wZrtD-0rPAFmukEPk/s1600/nazi19.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP7YJCKl9lWK8F5qGgLEEoBl2T_zf8FnO4ji-bQGhQw8T3W6Hs38mLonWeGu5sL93TXYobHYhVTn34RLf9JYiDzkoNUd2P4OeGdL1rRJLhPqZaYO5FMWvr4L4CB0wZrtD-0rPAFmukEPk/s1600/nazi19.jpeg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Waffen-SS soldier from the Handschar division hanging out with a furry friend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikyVMvwBFzd2gFTf-aaJN6A5JxOus3mIxCMUxex9yemu6i1mA6V9a9_LdI3pHI-ffpZHwEF1lN7rE-zCducEjKZiZg3t8Hjh0obsYVOAAEK13uxOYzHpY7iyRzhVu85NDrYzQo9ra9tnQ/s1600/nazi20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikyVMvwBFzd2gFTf-aaJN6A5JxOus3mIxCMUxex9yemu6i1mA6V9a9_LdI3pHI-ffpZHwEF1lN7rE-zCducEjKZiZg3t8Hjh0obsYVOAAEK13uxOYzHpY7iyRzhVu85NDrYzQo9ra9tnQ/s1600/nazi20.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Double the pleasure, double the cute for these two wehrmact soldiers taking a break from battle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1ioIoD0s2H3V8ZtQC7B0SKxaJzZT_YtIv4oNabysTo9EKnGveAng3kI2LQRULbEJYhYuBAvmLtDSmjAXmRrJhFv34cQsc1ibnGqEUwho-XtqyX6nJWmBUkPvv_NSnY1rn-CzzBmOx7w/s1600/nazi21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp1ioIoD0s2H3V8ZtQC7B0SKxaJzZT_YtIv4oNabysTo9EKnGveAng3kI2LQRULbEJYhYuBAvmLtDSmjAXmRrJhFv34cQsc1ibnGqEUwho-XtqyX6nJWmBUkPvv_NSnY1rn-CzzBmOx7w/s1600/nazi21.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Always remember that curiosity killed the cat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1pcI91zAM2W9dGz2Q12Txv_vzPwEWS8Kl7CyQmeMnFWg4y_tezqOKvyo_JhbxopHNuDkEsukTa0gI31MaPFjM2I-b_eBzvkB_jJwlyGuPEoXnX9jaKnRxllVXN9raEgc2GNZQzw3fbo/s1600/nazi23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim1pcI91zAM2W9dGz2Q12Txv_vzPwEWS8Kl7CyQmeMnFWg4y_tezqOKvyo_JhbxopHNuDkEsukTa0gI31MaPFjM2I-b_eBzvkB_jJwlyGuPEoXnX9jaKnRxllVXN9raEgc2GNZQzw3fbo/s1600/nazi23.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
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A box full of cuteness for this wehrmact officer and his friend.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R5d054XOGl5F_PZ2h_U1HRoQOAwBGYVW7Nu0ry5oq3tP_ne6Xl8nm7O5G3KmfEUqVGcHrIlap5S-9HbbQm5VjFkjGBKZHVkU2NTogVILZm1uCS6gAgl_14YXcSFQ-eq4pIdNFUze9Tc/s1600/nazi24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7R5d054XOGl5F_PZ2h_U1HRoQOAwBGYVW7Nu0ry5oq3tP_ne6Xl8nm7O5G3KmfEUqVGcHrIlap5S-9HbbQm5VjFkjGBKZHVkU2NTogVILZm1uCS6gAgl_14YXcSFQ-eq4pIdNFUze9Tc/s1600/nazi24.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a><br />
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An Afrika Korps soldier poses with friends.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoj9V4uFtVTae6Fo8WankIAdWl9wXxxBtQJFgvq5iaNEwgS3-868p9NMzpKOpReaLNrejzOCwYUkuXTKRt7n-LQsg3ySj1Gn5G7gHzRBgE5zTnyUXKzUW9IziU2BTlfG7F1RXcP_z2cQ/s1600/luftwaffe-bob-pilot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSoj9V4uFtVTae6Fo8WankIAdWl9wXxxBtQJFgvq5iaNEwgS3-868p9NMzpKOpReaLNrejzOCwYUkuXTKRt7n-LQsg3ySj1Gn5G7gHzRBgE5zTnyUXKzUW9IziU2BTlfG7F1RXcP_z2cQ/s1600/luftwaffe-bob-pilot.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a><br />
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Luftwaffe officer sitting inside his cockpit with a lion cub.<br />
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Some notable photos of NAZIs with <i>other</i> cute animals.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgK5AO9sE-4Uzz4rm8FhvY27O_feK8XUWEKGvvwjuAU4bDvFOteUQBCpHCHxDmwI9i5eJK3uhKG7BiDtvYP0oOrA-y7T43LUkFC7bnu61oSM8MmJicVySIN46rCH6NYnLdqR6XJNo_XI/s1600/nazi6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkgK5AO9sE-4Uzz4rm8FhvY27O_feK8XUWEKGvvwjuAU4bDvFOteUQBCpHCHxDmwI9i5eJK3uhKG7BiDtvYP0oOrA-y7T43LUkFC7bnu61oSM8MmJicVySIN46rCH6NYnLdqR6XJNo_XI/s1600/nazi6.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a><br />
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Is that a bird on this Waffen-SS officer's shoulder and a fox in his pocket???<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOYe-_9PLc61gO4QEtLblsYB4LrRxlY-HRqKKIJbp08mtnNub2qg6IGADiBvGj3KxA9D4gXqn0yby_AV_DkWx8Bcb86lcYR4fD0_AYHC2gT764H9zPGqPFj8oMPx7-jfrSaRMQL9PbkQ/s1600/nazi19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYOYe-_9PLc61gO4QEtLblsYB4LrRxlY-HRqKKIJbp08mtnNub2qg6IGADiBvGj3KxA9D4gXqn0yby_AV_DkWx8Bcb86lcYR4fD0_AYHC2gT764H9zPGqPFj8oMPx7-jfrSaRMQL9PbkQ/s1600/nazi19.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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Dude, is that a squirrel on your shoulder?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6G-dDyF7Fwj6UeghUtIWAH6XuRh3-nNPVfc5MWDjJ2EeVgMumub-BHKslHHrDcCCW0UvdV2_L_uyQo04FWHlx8WuhNw4LJALZB0YaXn9E7oevVuaY0gTo3axG4rnrcZg8Dp7JAwCPXE/s1600/15086237010052463580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY6G-dDyF7Fwj6UeghUtIWAH6XuRh3-nNPVfc5MWDjJ2EeVgMumub-BHKslHHrDcCCW0UvdV2_L_uyQo04FWHlx8WuhNw4LJALZB0YaXn9E7oevVuaY0gTo3axG4rnrcZg8Dp7JAwCPXE/s1600/15086237010052463580.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></div>
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How much does this blow your mind? Hitler. Adolf Hitler - as in the most evil man on the earth like ever - feeding Bambi.</div>
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Is there anything more eye-gougingly annoying than when you meet someone for the first time at a party and their first question is to ask you what you do for a living? Now, just imagine how annoying this question becomes when you've recently become unemployed. The worst part is that you probably won't even attempt to change the subject. In fact, the very question about what you "do" presents the perfect opportunity to plant the idea that you're doing everything but being unemployed. You'll use myriad stock euphemisms like "in transition", "job market researcher", or, my personal favorite, "freelancer". Though, after five minutes of rambling on and on, you'll both come to the mutual understanding that you are, in fact, unemployed.<br />
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I know this situation well because <i>I</i> am unemployed. Not only am I unemployed, but I'm also collecting Employment Insurance (EI). I know what you're thinking, "that sounds awesome!" Well, yeah. Who wouldn't think that? You get to do what you want when you want to do it. You even get to go to bed late and wake up whenever the hell you want. The best part is that you get to do all this while receiving a bi-monthly cheque from the government for 36 glorious weeks.<br />
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It didn't used to be like this. I had a job, a full time one too. Much like many of you, I used to sit at a desk eight hours a day, five days a week while my brain cells slowly eroded away. I'd spend copious amounts of time on Facebook and YouTube in a vain attempt to cloud the sad reality of my day-to-day existence. I would often daydream about what <i>other</i> people were doing while I was imprisoned inside, toiling away for "the man". Not only would I pine for the world outside my office walls on a daily basis, but I'd habitually worry about whether today was the day my impending repetitive stress injury finally kicked in.<br />
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I didn't hate my job, nor did I ever dread having to go to work. But I wasn't particularly happy to be working for a large corporate law firm, with lawyers whose ethics were as maleable as the law itself. Principles aside, I felt no sense of accomplishment from my work and the appreciation I received from those I worked for reflected that. Most of all, I disliked being forced to wear a stupid suit and tie every day in the firm's hardline policy that raped its employees of any semblance of individuality and/or personality.<br />
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I wanted out for years. But as a monkey suit-wearing, corporate automaton, the firm paid me pretty damn well. After all, it's hard to walk away from comfort. If the sense of well-being and fat paycheque weren't enough to keep me around, the firm also showered me with gift cards and presents. And if those didn't skew my negative views of office life, the partners disarmed me with free booze at its monthly staff parties. It was a brilliantly manipulative tactic to keep me in line. In many ways, the firm was like an abusive spouse; ruthless and brutal, yet overly apologetic with its grand acts of kindness. I knew things wouldn't change, but I wanted to believe. So I stayed ... for yet another year.<br />
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Then one day, everything changed. I had been unceremoniously let go "without cause" (their wording, not mine). And after almost four years of dedicated and loyal service, I found myself now a part of the unemployed 7% in Canada. I remember lingering around my office building for a couple of hours after it happened, not knowing exactly what to do next. After all, my crappy little world had suddenly been turned on its axis. Eventually, I made made my way home where I'd remain in a perpetual state of numbness for the next few days of my new unemployed life. For hours on end I'd lay on my couch and watch bad daytime TV, all the while attempting to process things: How did this happen? What do I do now? Most importantly, how the hell was I going to pay rent next month?<br />
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My initial shock then beget relief, as I began to realize that I was actually free (also, it was nice to know I was eligible for EI due to the fact that I neither quit or was fired). Regardless, I was free of fluorescent lighting. I was free of my suit and tie. I was free of lawyers. I was free of my desk. I was free of paperwork. I was free of faxes and phone calls. I was free of corporate doublespeak and office politics. I was free of my PC. I was free of scanning, photocopying and pretending to care. Most of all, I had freed up 40 hours a week to do whatever the hell I wanted to do - and there were <i>a lot</i> of things in my life that I'd long neglected.<br />
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I had big plans.<br />
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I was going to purge my apartment. I was going to write a book. I was going to hit the gym every day and get totally buff. I was going to cook a nice meal for myself every night. I was going to start taking classes - any classes. I was going to practice guitar as much as I could. I was going to travel - anywhere. I was going to conquer that mountainous pile of laundry I'd neglected for weeks. I was going to sleep - oh lord, was I going to sleep. Last but not least, I was going to finally paint my bathroom - a bathroom I'd been meaning to re-paint for years. (*side note* my ex forced me to paint it "salmon"-coloured a couple of years back in a bid to save our relationship. I learned two very important things from this experience: Painting a bathroom will not save a relationship, and "salmon" is actually a man-friendly way of saying "pink".)<br />
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Regardless, EI was going to buy me some much needed time. I was going to sort out the rest of my life before I really had to hunker down and look for another job. For some, collecting only 60% of a paycheque you'd received regularly for years may not seem sustainable, but for me it was enough (or so I thought). After all, I had no real responsibilities other than paying rent and my phone bill. Ever more, I had no dependents.<br />
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Even though EI may seem like heaven to those who've never had the opportunity to collect it, the reality is that it opens the gates of hell. You see, being unemployed is a festering cancer that pits you against all of your worst habits. It slowly eats away at your soul in a way that working for "the man" never quite did. Although there were a host of things I had been excited to accomplish with my newfound liberation, I soon realized that unbridled freedom itself is quite imprisoning.<br />
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In the weeks that immediately followed my dismissal, I made a valiant attempt to wake up early every day and tackle the chores and goals on my "to-do" list. Though, when you have a predisposition for procrastination such as I, a life without structure is a recipe for disaster. My time management skills quickly began to erode. Even something as simple as doing laundry started to demand a large chunk of my day. Chores that seemed inconsequential when I was employed - such as making dinner, grocery shopping or even making my bed - suddenly became difficult. Within a month, I began waking up one-to-two hours later than I had been previously. And before I knew it, the biggest detriment to my life became the simple act of putting on pants.<br />
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Without pants, I soon fell into a never-ending spiral of deeper procrastination, habitual napping, boredom, laziness, anxiety, masturbation, drinking, staying up way too late, and eventually depression. It didn't help my cause that unemployment happened to come in the dead of winter - which happened to be one of the worst winters in 50 years - either. Soon, I stopped leaving my apartment during the days and would sometimes go an entire week without seeing anyone. Although I tried my hardest to stay busy, the frustration at the reality of how unproductive I'd actually been that day left me prone in the fetal position on my couch. It was self-defeat at its ugliest. Although I'd managed to get a few things done in the early weeks of unemployment, the sustained disorder of my days left me standing in the bottom of a dark chasm (aka hell).<br />
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It shouldn't have come to this. I really should have known better for no reason other than I had danced with the devil that is EI in the past. Though, collecting EI in my 20s had been a far different beast than collecting it in my 30s. From what I remember, everyone I knew back then had been unemployed, in school, or drunk - so we were all on the same level. You see, when you're in your 20s nobody expects anything from you. That, and everyone also seems to disregard the fact that you're an idiot. I assume this is because you have potential. You can still improve. It's funny, though, the slack people cut you comes to an immediate end once you reach the age of 30. Though the idea that we should all have our lives sorted out by our third decade of life is unrealistic, we somehow believe this as truth.<br />
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As much as I've tried to distance myself from societal expectations, the truth is that I totally buy into it. Don't we all? More than anything, I despise the stigma of being unemployed. The sheer pressure to produce and sort myself out leaves me both stressed and with little time. After all, looking for jobs is, in itself, a full time job. The panic to re-join the world of the employed has been further heightened by the realization that EI has left me broke (because, let's face it, 60% of a paycheque doesn't go nearly as far as it did a decade ago).<br />
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Though being in my 20s allowed me a certain amount of flexibility, I'm smarter now and I am blessed with 20/20 hindsight. When I was younger, I couldn't see the forest through the trees. But age and experience have taught me that a positive, life altering change is the result of a conglomerate of small actions. Though I'd allowed myself to slowly descend into the doldrums of unemployed life, I've come to see it for what it is. I have become acutely aware that I had to start doing things differently and become more proactive in my day-to-day life. After all, nothing good comes to those who wait (aka lying on a couch watching Dr. Phil all day).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvazsA6v75KzJUnpFH0_eJgobUOPize2UG52ox4-12xaPAOdUVG-n2DSz8_KrlHqJdRkwWnpBEaodnR5VRIis5NjKqNg_sbrq8ANjU0qu5CelcVzulS9W3BpAGuzu8lDnBw29zmpzgbU/s1600/treadmill-runner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvazsA6v75KzJUnpFH0_eJgobUOPize2UG52ox4-12xaPAOdUVG-n2DSz8_KrlHqJdRkwWnpBEaodnR5VRIis5NjKqNg_sbrq8ANjU0qu5CelcVzulS9W3BpAGuzu8lDnBw29zmpzgbU/s1600/treadmill-runner.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a> So one day, I put on a pair of shorts and started going to the gym. Sure, they weren't exactly pants, but this small action was a gateway to better things ahead. I started jogging and this seemed to kickstart my brain, which had taken a permanent vacation since I stopped working full time. With synapses firing, new ideas began to flow. And with these ideas I began to be productive once more.<br />
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Though the exiguous act of going to "work out" may seem inconsequential, it's made all the difference in the world. My mental state quickly improved and a side effect of that is that I started to look better. Together, those things have helped me to regain the confidence I seemed to lose some months back. This positive flow of energy is infectious and soon I started to see that other people noticed me. I was no longer that dark, hunched figure people avoided eye contact with on the street. Strangers actually began to smile at me and this helped further perpetuate the idea that I was still relevant; a feeling that had disappeared the moment my job did.<br />
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I've found my rhythm. It took a long time, but I've eventually found my way. Though I'm not out of the woods, I see a clearing in the distance. Sure, I still haven't exactly mastered the art of wearing pants for longer than a few hours in a day, nor have I become employed, but all of this will come in time. I think.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-24224674006886465572014-02-14T10:19:00.000-08:002014-02-17T19:39:01.258-08:00HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY TO MY EXES!<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZmZTTr0w4RWWq7q1vTJAbuw4IrOUF7ahnkh6kVbBNWzHXCffBTyGj6ld2-MoimAgufSV_8Z3_cHXMCk79U5oAItSOwDyEcmY6DPy32K5pCQmUzvJufntLOmQ3BTZMZ5iScF-lvTcir8/s1600/Lucie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxZmZTTr0w4RWWq7q1vTJAbuw4IrOUF7ahnkh6kVbBNWzHXCffBTyGj6ld2-MoimAgufSV_8Z3_cHXMCk79U5oAItSOwDyEcmY6DPy32K5pCQmUzvJufntLOmQ3BTZMZ5iScF-lvTcir8/s1600/Lucie.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
I love my exes ... and I'm not even lying.</div>
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In fact, I consider these ladies to be some of my best friends in the world (even if I haven't spoken to one of them in years). </div>
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They know me better than anyone else. Hell, they know me better than my own parents do.</div>
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They've seen me at my best. Most importantly, they've seen me at my absolute worst. </div>
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They've supported me through hard times and celebrated the good.</div>
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We've gotten drunk together and helped nurse each other's hangovers.<br />
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We've laughed together and we've even cried together.</div>
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Most of all, these ladies have always been brutally honest with me while others would prefer to treat me with kid gloves.<br />
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They've never been afraid to tell me that I'm being an idiot, nor have they been too shy to remind me that I'm not nearly as awesome as I think I am.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUhL4tO5eNrb3Aa80KFV8HygAl_t8GrDlEz5ppf74PFuPNmZGfoDKspTWx550fpmVswE1tORMhmYagjBIcdCyDL_9_mCI4LBu0qmQf2dS22ZD1TIlhp-bu7Pnq4Juzd1viT7w5EntPwQ/s1600/Lisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZUhL4tO5eNrb3Aa80KFV8HygAl_t8GrDlEz5ppf74PFuPNmZGfoDKspTWx550fpmVswE1tORMhmYagjBIcdCyDL_9_mCI4LBu0qmQf2dS22ZD1TIlhp-bu7Pnq4Juzd1viT7w5EntPwQ/s1600/Lisa.jpg" height="199" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBndTPdFS5Z3nfVUPyc_UuqI-5OhbIc4fLKhx9Hgg3QMzMwn14HQgVW3ltDJuSdeFmltjkmDGkpQgZDgMh1t8a3mIAgFPjKx5c9zEk8R4kj_53Lu69vrh_XhG1XWTel6P8AIzxknCgqU/s1600/Sandra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJBndTPdFS5Z3nfVUPyc_UuqI-5OhbIc4fLKhx9Hgg3QMzMwn14HQgVW3ltDJuSdeFmltjkmDGkpQgZDgMh1t8a3mIAgFPjKx5c9zEk8R4kj_53Lu69vrh_XhG1XWTel6P8AIzxknCgqU/s1600/Sandra.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a> These are the kind of people I prefer to keep around. Because of these reasons, I'd take a bullet for every last one of them.</div>
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Sure we broke up, but who cares? The only things that really change due to a break-up are sex and arguments - meaning, these two things no longer happen anymore.</div>
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Though staying friends with someone you were in a long term romantic relationship may not be easy, it's totally worth it. After all, the only loving relationship that is truly a waste of time is the one that you didn't work on maintaining ... even if the dynamic and title of that particular relationship have changed.<br />
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Relationships with your exes take a lot of work, but what worthwhile thing in life doesn't require hard work? </div>
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So, a big heartfelt happy Valentine's Day to to all of my wonderful exes! xo</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-56701054773415862432014-02-10T19:34:00.001-08:002014-02-11T23:06:25.594-08:0060 FIRST DATES<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have one major prerequisite when dating someone for an extended period of time - there must be a cool story about how we met. An idealistic bonus is that my partner has a really cool name: Lucie, Joya, Tia, Anita, Altaira, Veronique, and Elisa are all acceptable examples.</div>
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My expectations aren't even that high for what would qualify as a cool story. In fact, I've set the bar so low that "cool story" just means that I met you randomly in real life and not online. This could mean anything from meeting you at a bar or at a party, on the bus or on the street, at the laundromat or even at the grocery store. It's not totally unreasonable to want this, right? I mean, my grandparents didn't meet during WWII by mindlessly "swiping" right on each other's photos. They met like normal people do; in real life and in a real life situation. This is only one of the many reasons that exist for why internet dating will never work for someone like me.</div>
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Oh, I've tried. Believe me, I've tried. In fact, I'm what some would consider a "veteran"; an expert at all things e-dating. I'm stubborn as all hell and that's the only reason I still dabble in it after all this time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrSaMO6rgSqGO_5bOLEqDVrX8H4oa0BfTunUNScA45OxDMvAIRdmONyDrADDVWkpHgkGlAI_Q2Yv3z9WCbe2t25fzx9sSkv3UzKJHFmnJeUngCv4W7F8ZlnTknPusCg3G6l2cRg7xuIc/s1600/online-dating-angle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfrSaMO6rgSqGO_5bOLEqDVrX8H4oa0BfTunUNScA45OxDMvAIRdmONyDrADDVWkpHgkGlAI_Q2Yv3z9WCbe2t25fzx9sSkv3UzKJHFmnJeUngCv4W7F8ZlnTknPusCg3G6l2cRg7xuIc/s1600/online-dating-angle.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a> I've gone on well over 60 dates over the past decade, all of which were the result of messages I'd either sent or received courtesy of <i>Plenty Of Fish</i>, <i>OKCupid</i> or <i>Tinder</i>. I've made sure to give my "dates" a fair amount of time and attention, regardless of attraction. I even have a self-imposed rule of ordering myself at least two beers per date. If I'm enjoying myself, I'll have more. Though I'm no mathematician, in my summation I've probably spent no less than 150 hours drinking 150 pints of beer on dates that went absolutely nowhere. To put this feat in perspective, I'd have to spend an entire week, dating 24 hours a day, just to equal the amount of time I've given to girls I've met online.<br />
How's that for dedication?<br />
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The sheer numbers alone are quite impressive when you consider that I've only been single for less than one year in total over that entire 10-year period. The reason I've had so many dates in such a small timeframe is that I don't dawdle online. If I think you're cute and you have some semblance of being normal, I will ask you to go out almost immediately. I mean, why the hell would I want to talk to a stranger I've met online for an entire month just to realize I'm not sexually attracted to them the moment we meet in person? Let's not split hairs on this thing, because sex is what drives us and what ultimately causes us to fall in love in the first place. The fact that you like the same bands, eat the same foods, or like the same movies I do is just a bonus.</div>
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In many ways, joining an internet dating site sounds like the best idea in the world ever. In fact, it's such a great idea you'd think that the Germans or Swedes invented the concept. Take a moment to <i>really</i> think about it. I mean, you can actually "meet" people and plan dates without ever having to leave your apartment. Hell, you don't even have to put pants on. How crazy is that? I know what you're thinking; "where do I sign up?" But not so fast, horny human. Though it may seem like simple, one-stop shopping for love and sex, internet dating actually sucks.</div>
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First off, let me clarify some things for all of you. Though I may not be Brad Pitt, I am certainly no Danny DeVito. I'm more like Serge Gainsbourg, just less sleazy. I'm intelligent, charming, witty, funny, disarming, and thoughtful (other peoples' words to describe me, not my own). I reactivate my online dating profiles every time I'm suddenly single not because I'm socially inept or incapable of meeting new people. I'm on dating websites because I'm lazy and it just happens to be winter whenever I'm single. I am not an anomaly. In fact, there are many reasons people troll sites like <i>OKCupid</i>. Below is a basic list of why you are probably online:</div>
<ol>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3ChgQOxFx44mMY9_eddvdrtru5BvmChTtwDeeAPhas2S7zpROcWpszVWS8T1-QZ6_BIor2KjqYg6w1FsYlHKQo-9MJnyQ6-ye_Bh_Ouo6oYnPW4kdzvU6W5AuW1QTlDV7fn-tr_3O_w/s1600/ryan-gosling-hey-girl-meme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3ChgQOxFx44mMY9_eddvdrtru5BvmChTtwDeeAPhas2S7zpROcWpszVWS8T1-QZ6_BIor2KjqYg6w1FsYlHKQo-9MJnyQ6-ye_Bh_Ouo6oYnPW4kdzvU6W5AuW1QTlDV7fn-tr_3O_w/s1600/ryan-gosling-hey-girl-meme.jpg" height="320" width="293" /></a>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're too busy to meet people </b>(aka: your job as an astronaut has you stationed on the International Space Station for the next 10 months). </li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're desperate </b>(aka: you've abandoned all hope and standards for the chance to meet somebody ... anybody). Before internet dating existed, you'd probably have been one of those people who wrote letters to convicted killers in prison just for a chance at love.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're moving, or have moved, to a new city and you want to meet people.</b></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're a complete creep</b> <b>and/or are incapable of interacting with people in social situations </b>(ladies know better than anyone else that dating websites are a breeding ground for predators, shirtless douchebags and guys who just can't wait to send you dick-tures).</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're recently out of a long-term relationship and you don't know any better</b> (Though, you figure out really quickly the inherent problems and horrors of internet dating - see #4. You're on here briefly and disappear back into the real world as fast you left it.</li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><b>You're lazy</b> (aka: me).</li>
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The harsh truth about internet dating is that it really shows you just how incompatible you are with most people. Although 98% of the people I've gone out with turned out to be nothing short of weird and/or utterly insane, that doesn't necessarily mean I haven't met some really good people. In fact, I've forged some really worthwhile friendships via the internet. But they have never morphed into anything more than that. I suppose there's just something so unromantic about going on a date with someone I've met online that it actually sullies the entire idea of being with that person at all. Going out with someone you've met on the internet is probably the most unnatural thing I've ever done. And after an illustrious history of internet dating, that uncomfortable feeling has never really waned.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhuSYBdhJS9i0t_XbIBQXCc8uNZccIGWX1SGJL3hL6gocmTBUsNqBz-jWkXqZItJlKPj2svPQeV4Snfz2zpE7CeJrPX75w4_-5L5HDfMfN9Cn3bYLoZ7Q6-sfuARIoYAf5rBuV9-K_00/s1600/9weetzie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhuSYBdhJS9i0t_XbIBQXCc8uNZccIGWX1SGJL3hL6gocmTBUsNqBz-jWkXqZItJlKPj2svPQeV4Snfz2zpE7CeJrPX75w4_-5L5HDfMfN9Cn3bYLoZ7Q6-sfuARIoYAf5rBuV9-K_00/s1600/9weetzie.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
I don't truly understood why things have never gone anywhere with the people I've met online even though the majority of them have been attractive. Though, a recent experience finally made me see the inherent, underlying problem for what it is. A few months back, I met someone at a house party. I noticed her immediately from the moment I walked in the room. She was like the sun, a radiance that my eyes could not ignore. She glowed and her draw was both vexing and exciting. A mutual friend eventually introduced us and the rest of the night her and I were lost in a world of our own; talking in hushed tones and flirting with each other. I walked her home a few hours later. We held hands. It was innocent and beautiful. Most of all, I was happy and relieved to know that my heart was still capable of being captured.<br />
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Although there was an instant connection between us, something nagged at me. Her face was recognizable, though there's no way we'd ever met previous to that night considering she was new to the city. It perplexed me enough that I eventually reactivated my <i>OKCupid</i> account. I hastily leafed through some old messages. And then I finally found what I'd suspected. It turns out that I'd actually messaged this very girl some six weeks earlier. She never responded, yet here we were so inexplicably drawn to each other. We ended up dating for a couple months. Though, I truly believe that had she answered my initial message we wouldn't have made it to a second date.</div>
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The answer to this is simple. Our attraction to each other at that party was guided by the most basic of human instincts - pheromones. This is something a computer algorithm can never and will never be able to calculate. Although attraction is shallow and easily identified, chemistry is far more complicated than simply looking at a photo of someone. Attraction is fleeting, while good chemistry based on pheromones is the difference between a one-night stand and lasting love.<br />
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Another reason her and I wouldn't have gone out again is that I've never actually gone into an online date hoping for the best. In fact, I flat out expect the worst. And if you look for the worst, you will surely find it. Always. You may ask be asking yourselves why pheromones don't play a part when I go on these internet dates. Well, truth be told, my anxiety level trumps any animal instincts I may have. My senses are numb and my guard is up. I wasn't nervous when I met that girl at the party that night because I had no expectations of who she was as a person. In my mind, she was a beautiful blank canvas and I was excited to discover for myself who she was rather than being told what she was.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH8n6Se6uMwQ2ObYI8uwZb4gCzMTMz1pNSPWUcOb3ufXwaNAovYgm2iNoSGVnafcwlyN7t61ISZchDgd8GFZNRPspcOWto047RHJ8CLWMae5y4iv0FB8i83J2Xov15SkDUeLzmtScZrw/s1600/height2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAH8n6Se6uMwQ2ObYI8uwZb4gCzMTMz1pNSPWUcOb3ufXwaNAovYgm2iNoSGVnafcwlyN7t61ISZchDgd8GFZNRPspcOWto047RHJ8CLWMae5y4iv0FB8i83J2Xov15SkDUeLzmtScZrw/s1600/height2.jpg" /></a></div>
The reason for this anxiety and trepidation when meeting someone on the internet is well-founded, considering that the woman I meet in person is rarely the person she's built herself up as online. Although I'd like to believe that people don't intentionally lie when they describe themselves on the internet, we are mostly incapable of describing our flaws. If we did, who the hell would date us? Add to this the fact that most of us have a warped perception of ourselves. Just imagine the surprising reality that sits across from you when you do finally meet in person.<br />
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This "surprising reality" has included, but is not limited to, girls who describe themselves as "fit" online, yet are pushing 300lbs in real life. It's also why guys often describe themselves as 6'0" when they are actually only 5'5" in person. It's why people post a photo of themselves from a decade ago under the guise of it being a current likeness. It's why humourless people use the catch phrase "loves to laugh" and why uptight people describe themselves as "down-to-earth" or "easy going". In their eyes, this is truth. Maybe it's not that they think this who they are, rather it's who they <i>hope</i> they are. It's almost as if writing it down will make it so. This is why internet dating isn't as simple as it seems and it makes you truly understand why the Germans and Swedes didn't invent the concept in the first place - because it just doesn't make sense.<br />
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That being said, I do know people who've had a different experience than the one I've had with internet dating. In fact, I have friends who've met their significant other in cyberspace and some have even gotten married. So, in the end, maybe the problem is not the internet. Maybe the problem is me? God forbid.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-14906570635459207892014-02-09T10:29:00.000-08:002014-02-10T07:29:57.211-08:00R-awwwwwwwww-B FORD<div style="text-align: justify;">
Rob Ford. </div>
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Have two words ever elicited such a strong negative reaction from Torontonians? Probably not, considering that this is a city full of hipsters more concerned with their "fixies" and avoiding eye contact with strangers than with actually voicing their discontent about something as intimidating (*gulp*) as city politics.<br />
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Yes, there are a great many things to dislike about Toronto's mayor. He's a crack smoking, homophobic, foul-mouthed alcoholic, and all-around vile beast. In most cities around the world, just one of those adjectives would have been grounds enough for termination or at least elicit a dishonorable resignation. But not in Toronto. In many ways, the Rob Ford effect will affect real change as the city is forced to review the existing rules which prevent us from impeaching such an elected official. Though, that's another topic for another time.</div>
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Sure, it's been nice to see the entire downtown core come together to hate on a mayor who has been one-part farce and one-part performance art. But maybe it's time we tried to see another side of Rob Ford - the cute side. After all, he's not going anywhere for at least another nine months.<br />
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Here are seven adorably perfect moments frozen in time that best exemplify the cuddly doughboy they call Rob Ford:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Vz4-F4FwUEWqeQdhxidF__UzWeo6Jo_Un_hfUZT4tIa2UCQxUmCrZfJ2alMRq9I361RatWlv7jW-jYMTcaohbc5vTzRd7RjC-BHG5KOY40rhD5big7CoEfjHvkQW7FRQmSlfZo8zvLs/s1600/Ford.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Vz4-F4FwUEWqeQdhxidF__UzWeo6Jo_Un_hfUZT4tIa2UCQxUmCrZfJ2alMRq9I361RatWlv7jW-jYMTcaohbc5vTzRd7RjC-BHG5KOY40rhD5big7CoEfjHvkQW7FRQmSlfZo8zvLs/s1600/Ford.jpg" height="232" width="320" /></a><br />
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That time he had to hold his sippy cup with two hands at a council meeting. (It must be noted that this happens often).<br />
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Bonus cute points for the milk moustache!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QEUZ3UXDxa3NEiN3Kk5l_ZiXosp0kMzxFRQPIIkdZPqanqxCAqTyvG5P6Vl2Tw8gOiIDTAVXTLuyJdPDcGOPExiwIcA7Kj9qlQRxSxnobGDCbHAhCMAYtCR3Z8H2k2iL7fwKp-oZ5Kw/s1600/Ford2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1QEUZ3UXDxa3NEiN3Kk5l_ZiXosp0kMzxFRQPIIkdZPqanqxCAqTyvG5P6Vl2Tw8gOiIDTAVXTLuyJdPDcGOPExiwIcA7Kj9qlQRxSxnobGDCbHAhCMAYtCR3Z8H2k2iL7fwKp-oZ5Kw/s1600/Ford2.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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Two handing not just sippy cups, but pretty much anything. In this case, a glass stein full of ice? Awwwwww!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RKBslDMJ1T1MQZUdKFnUGu7mXsCKK0EIuLs-xEEpyg6sLWTppy1UozE5YJzZq_B45FySCO2sYBfCjFyJuujmg3mC7Er-tAxhviWSrHywPABo5tlUSKgoOuaX_vLFHiLuqmaSfB1YObw/s1600/Ford3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RKBslDMJ1T1MQZUdKFnUGu7mXsCKK0EIuLs-xEEpyg6sLWTppy1UozE5YJzZq_B45FySCO2sYBfCjFyJuujmg3mC7Er-tAxhviWSrHywPABo5tlUSKgoOuaX_vLFHiLuqmaSfB1YObw/s1600/Ford3.png" height="320" width="287" /></a></div>
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And when he's exerted himself too much from holding drinks, he opts for something far less physically taxing: a straw. Adorbs!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlMcRRMmGmlJb9k8Jao3y2sMVySdHlsAl7ugkpmHgGWQpLdpjdCnG4OinyE0PgQPUB50sLFYfpcP4ri3Y8TsW77LZnlE0Hlh_l7WSYFYvk_-mI3Jx0XP7kr3c_tyt7ouqGpAMsAy6n3I/s1600/Ford4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlMcRRMmGmlJb9k8Jao3y2sMVySdHlsAl7ugkpmHgGWQpLdpjdCnG4OinyE0PgQPUB50sLFYfpcP4ri3Y8TsW77LZnlE0Hlh_l7WSYFYvk_-mI3Jx0XP7kr3c_tyt7ouqGpAMsAy6n3I/s1600/Ford4.jpg" height="320" width="308" /></a></div>
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Oh, look at this. The mayor's being tickled by budget chief Frank Di Giorgio. Look at the glee in the jolly fat man's face. Soooooo cute.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvrEJ62bn0hYg_dDtfvS-5m1YLmrcuuo9qhD7YvoxwWCbqRHLZLiuExcN_7EmkhTQJ7C7m_X-gEAHpLFX4SWsgNVVzYI9zRHFZfqmZdCXwYpLSTnf0rYnRaVkUS9wvAZHJ0zzHPcZ9sI/s1600/Ford5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQvrEJ62bn0hYg_dDtfvS-5m1YLmrcuuo9qhD7YvoxwWCbqRHLZLiuExcN_7EmkhTQJ7C7m_X-gEAHpLFX4SWsgNVVzYI9zRHFZfqmZdCXwYpLSTnf0rYnRaVkUS9wvAZHJ0zzHPcZ9sI/s1600/Ford5.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></div>
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Remember that time Rob Ford dressed up as a bellicose Canon Doll for the COC's performance of The Nutcracker? If this image doesn't make your heart melt, I don't know what will.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp0dnmg45Q1DrR9ErVxCsOxNWhjM8Tm8LYC3NSy232M1URkdSn0EkP0bHh66cdZH9Bl1_e9EQqI3hTgoFrBgaUux3lNzoH0CqCGP9QXpQApneWJob2eQX4a-FW6Ba_2UgtrEMWUWyE7o/s1600/ford6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDp0dnmg45Q1DrR9ErVxCsOxNWhjM8Tm8LYC3NSy232M1URkdSn0EkP0bHh66cdZH9Bl1_e9EQqI3hTgoFrBgaUux3lNzoH0CqCGP9QXpQApneWJob2eQX4a-FW6Ba_2UgtrEMWUWyE7o/s1600/ford6.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZnfTvQdN5gpfZC3TLNOA_Wa3A7W6p22qyJskGLWTiveQoFBrTXLFAHeASxtFxoWUhJcd6kJtbIEsh7panN5KXY-7ngkPCAUhVmtSXCAIT8yrnqdGMQYjDcmaMpn1cREDek4OZpSaB7o/s1600/Ford7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZnfTvQdN5gpfZC3TLNOA_Wa3A7W6p22qyJskGLWTiveQoFBrTXLFAHeASxtFxoWUhJcd6kJtbIEsh7panN5KXY-7ngkPCAUhVmtSXCAIT8yrnqdGMQYjDcmaMpn1cREDek4OZpSaB7o/s1600/Ford7.jpg" height="160" width="320" /></a><br />
This photo makes me both happy and sad. There he is in the background, looking all dejected and left out. I mean, what sort of monster would leave Rob Ford off their Red Rover team? Everyone gets to have fun but our mayor. It's NOT FAIR. This photo fills me with an insatiable need to hold him, brush his little blond eyebrows and tell him that everything will be OK.<br />
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OK. This isn't really a photo of Rob Ford. That being said, whoever tatted the mayor smoking crack on their arm is really giving that girl with the "Drake" tattoo across her forehead a run for her money.The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-32240082012864917792014-02-07T08:05:00.000-08:002014-02-07T11:00:34.234-08:0019-YEAR-OLD ME vs. 19-YEAR-OLD BIEBS<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqH6UcFQenZWwzo-t0-GdtHfbnA0-mfGvO1Xco_uiqKXgGtCVGlbJXdcmXOVXNhdbVODc13PYWU7lqLuFymU0tQNaMzOyE0LD5K1OMIvjDji9mwxNj6OUb1xt71MzqNUCARxEglMfIzE/s1600/Untitled-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoqH6UcFQenZWwzo-t0-GdtHfbnA0-mfGvO1Xco_uiqKXgGtCVGlbJXdcmXOVXNhdbVODc13PYWU7lqLuFymU0tQNaMzOyE0LD5K1OMIvjDji9mwxNj6OUb1xt71MzqNUCARxEglMfIzE/s1600/Untitled-1.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;"> I have two words for all those who dare judge Justin Bieber for his ongoing erratic behavior and recent troubles with the law: SHUT UP!</span></div>
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I'm actually shocked that Canada's midget king is still alive, that none of his enemies are dead, and that he hasn't spent a single day in jail after five years of being one of the most famous people in the world. Most adults can't even claim that sort of track record after a few years of fame. Put yourselves in Bieber's shoes. Can you? I mean, do you even remember what it was like to be 17, 18 or even 19? I do, and it wasn't pretty. In fact, this kid makes me look like the devil incarnate himself as I look back to those days. Aside from age, there are some fundamental differences between myself at 19 and JB at 19. And these are very important to note:</div>
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<li>I wasn't famous.
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<li>I, nor any of my friends, had any money.</li>
<li>I didn't even have a job.
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<li>I still lived at home with my parents.
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<li>I wasn't a sex symbol.
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Those differences aside, there are two things he and I did happen to share at age 19 - we both played music and we both have/had a giant ego. (**off topic dating tip to all females who love guys in bands: musicians are assholes, especially young dudes**) While JB's ego is a result of millions of fans, dollars and an unlimited amount of girls who want to have sex with him, my ego was just simply the result of being born with some intelligence, mediocre musical talent and parents who loved and backed me up even when I was wrong. The result was a nightmare. I was the epitome of bad idea jeans. I drank to excess. I did copious amounts of drugs (and half the time I didn't know what drug some random person put into my hand). I cheated on all my girlfriends. I habitually broke the law. And I constantly got into fist fights with anyone who dared challenge me. In my mind I was a god and I had no respect for anyone whatsoever. I wasn't an anomaly. In fact, most of the people I knew at that age were nightmares.<br />
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I'll tell you right now, if I had 1/10th of what JB has you can bet people would have been dead. I was a genuine prick when I was young and I would have paid nicely to see people I didn't like suffer for a good laugh. That being said, I would have probably become the first casualty of my own success. I would have drowned myself in a sea of booze and I most certainly would have formed an incapacitating drug habit. The only reason I didn't get consumed with drugs when I was younger was that, although I didn't have much money, the idea of throwing the little money I did have down the drain for a quick high never sat right with me - a side-effect of being the child of immigrants I suppose. Being broke totally saved my life (and the lives of others - enemies or otherwise). Disposable dollars would have been death. That I'm sure.<br />
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You know the latest story of how pilots aboard JB's private jet had to wear oxygen masks and lock the cockpit door because he and his entourage wouldn't stop smoking pot and accosting the flight crew? If that was me in that situation back then, I would have broken down the cockpit door with something - anything - and forced myself onto the controls. You know why? Because I thought I was God and it would have been a hilarious thing to do. Also, I'm kind of a sadomasochist and super stubborn. I would have flown that plane straight into the ground just to try to prove that we wouldn't die. And even if some of us did get hurt or die, I would have still been satisfied. I was an idiot back then and I totally remember how I used to think about things ... because, truth be told, I still kind of think like that. The only differences now are that I realize I'm not a god nor am I invincible. Most of all, I've actually learned to love and respect others. Man, 19-year-old me would have absolutely hated what I ultimately became.<br />
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So for a 19-year-old multi-millionaire, Justin Beiber ain't doing too bad.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-14671163249610862822013-08-13T09:57:00.003-07:002013-08-13T09:57:51.488-07:00BEST NEW BAND?!Music and fashion are not and should not be mutually exclusive and I hate it when bands act like they are. If you want to play music, you should dress the part. Don't dress like you just strapped on your guitar and walked up on stage after working a 10-hour shift at Burger King. This is why I've always hated shoegaze and hardcore music. It's why I hated grunge too. Kurt Cobain always looked like he could have been scooping fries out of the McDonald's deep fryer. I could never respect that, nor ever listen to Nirvana seriously. <br />
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This is why I love Swedish bands. They put an effort into creating a concept around the sound. Look at bands like The Hives and The Ark. And the latest addition to this? Ghost (or, Ghost BC in North America). Everything about this band is well-thought out. They've already created quite a legend for themselves in just three short years. And with music that crosses genres from metal to pop, the sky is the limit.The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-8952652519064643902013-05-03T09:00:00.001-07:002014-02-06T06:54:36.542-08:0011 CYCLISTS YOU HATE Everyone knows that cyclists hate cars and cars hate cyclists. But did you know that there's something cyclists hate more than cars? No? Well, I'll let you in on a little secret: cyclists HATE other cyclists. Especially these types that you'll inevitably run into in a bike lane near you this summer:<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE EATER</span></b><br />
You'll sometimes see this person in the morning, peddling along and weaving in and out of the bike lane. No, they're not drunk. They've just chosen this time as the best possible moment to take the term "eating on the go" literally. Some of the shit I've seen people shove into their mouths while riding a bike would blow your mind. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE ROCKER</span></b><br />
If you're under 25, this is probably you. Yeah, I get it. You're young, you're untouchable and more importantly, the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs album is darn great for a sunny day. Though Karen O may be in pretty good form, she won't protect you from getting hit by that cement truck you failed to hear creeping up from behind you. If you're over 25 and still listening to music through headphones while riding down busy city streets, you're just a fucking idiot. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE DYNAMIC DUO</span></b><br />
One, or should I say two, of the most callous and oblvious of all cyclists you are likely to see riding on a busy city street. Sometimes referred to as "conversational cycling", these two ride side-by-side in the bike lane making it nearly impossible to pass them ... even though they are usually riding at a snail's pace.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE CHILD ENDANGERER</span></strong><br />
Although you're more likely to get in a car accident than a cycling accident, these statistics are a bit misleading. Cycling accidents are kinda like plane crashes - they don't happen all that often, but when they do you're fucked. This is why seeing a parent riding with their kid strapped to the back of a bike in a child seat is kinda disturbing. It's one thing to ride with your kid on a sunny day through the park, it's a whole other level of idiocy to ride with your kid down a busy city street. Yes, yes. I get it. Parents will argue that they are careful. But it's not parents that worry us, it's that asshole driving a Lexus and talking on a cell phone one lane over.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE TALK-TEXTER</span></b><br />
Texting while driving is one thing, but texting while riding your bike down a busy street is a whole other ball of fucktard wax. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE TURTLE</span></b><br />
If this is you, I'll let you in on a secret. Every other cycllist hates your fucking guts. This is the slowest cyclist in the bike lane. Although you've already passed them three or four times already, they always find the best way to win the "race" is to overtake you whenever you're stopped at a red light.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE E-BIKER</span></b><br />
These are some of the most annoying ones on the road. Mostly because they equate themselves to bikers, without having to use the energy required to actually be one. They pass you silently like fat, lazy ninja's while you are minding your own business in the bike lane, annoyingly oblivious to the fact that it's illegal to ride in the same lane as you.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE BIKE COURIER</span></b><br />
The bike courier is punk on wheels. He/she doesn't give a shit about society or it's rules. Most importantly, they raise a middle finger to "the man" and loudly proclaim "fuck you" to all who'd try to fit them into a box. Not the brightest lights on the road, considering that they work as bike messengers ... which is the epitome of bitch work (for "the man", no less). <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE LAW BREAKER</span></b><br />
This person sometimes gets confused with bike couriers due to their general kamikazee nature and lack of respect for the rules of road. They run red lights and stop signs, don't yield to anyone and pass other cyclists dangerously. I'm not sure where their sense of entitlement comes from, but luckily these are the ones who get smushed by heavy trucks and run down by taxis - more than any other rider on the road.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE HIPSTER</span></b><br />
This cyclist has decided that a normal bicycle isn't enough to express himself/herself as an individual. He/she <em>REALLY</em> needs you to know that they're unique like a snowflake. You'll see this idiot riding down a busy street with a bike in the shape of a chariot or a bike that looks like a lion or something stupid like that. I mean, really? If you see one of these types on the road, pull up next to them and poke a stick into their front wheel spokes.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE BIXI BIKER</span></b><br />
The Bixi Biker isn't really a nuisance at all. In fact, he/she is actually the opposite. Many cyclists view them as inexperienced, which they can be. But, Bixi Bikers not only seem to know the rules of the road, they actually follow them to a T.<br />
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<br />The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-6759967029787226512012-12-21T07:08:00.000-08:002014-02-06T06:36:32.967-08:00TOP 10 ALBUMS OF 2012<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<strong style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">#1 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">THE DARKNESS</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span> When The Darkness announced they were getting back together late last year, and then subsequently said that they were going to release their first album in seven years, I nearly lost my shit. The first single taken off the new album, "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us", was a nice way to show they still had what it takes to rock us. Though, the two subsequent singles left me feeling empty. So much so, that I'd given up on even listening to the album when it was finally released. At a friend's prodding, I eventually gave it a listen some months later.<br />
Boy, was I wrong to give up on them. This could be even stronger than their debut. The guitar interplay between brothers' Hawkins, the hooks, melodies and general balls-to-the-wall rock is the best thing I've heard in years. Extra points go to the band for their killer album cover. Babes lying on pancakes covered in syrup? Yes, please.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#2</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">THE FRANK & WALTERS<strong> </strong></span><em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Greenwich Mean Time</span></strong></em></div>
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The Frank & Walters are one of those bands who are respected not because they've refused to go away, but because they've consistently released fantastic albums and never sounded out of date after 20 years. The Cork, Ireland trio is back at it with an album that is as poppy and clever as their 1992 debut <em>Planes, Boats And Trains</em>.<br />
Paul Linehan's innocent, yet wise lyrics are a testament that it's possible to write a happy song without being cheesy. Highlights include: "20 Years", "The Clock", "Trust In The Future", "Slow It Down".<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#3 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">FOXY SHAZAM<strong> </strong></span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Church of Rock And Roll</span></strong></em></div>
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In my summation, Foxy Shazam are the best rock and roll band out there today. Even more, they are quite possibly <em>the</em> best live band in the world. <em>The Church of Rock And Roll</em> is their coming out party. <br />
In comparing their three previous albums, one would be hard-pressed to figure out who the true Foxy Shazam were. Though, they've built upon their third album (and best of the previous three) to solidify themselves as the modern day Queen with a side portion of The Stone's-esque white mans blues.<br />
Simply said, this is one of the danciest, hipswaying, anthemic soundtracks of 2012. Oh, and it spawned the best single of the year in "Holy Touch".</div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#4 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">THE VACCINES<strong> </strong></span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Come Of Age</span></strong></em></div>
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The Vaccines are probably writing the best and purest guitar pop songs today. When this UK four-piece first burst onto the scene back in 2010, I wanted to hate them more than anything I've ever hated in my life. Probably because they were being touted as the next Nirvana. I've never really understood how someone touted them as the next Nirvana, but they've definitely lived up to the "next-big-thing" hype with the quality of songs they've released so far in their brief career.<br />
<em> Come Of Age</em> is just as simple and to-the-point as their uber poppy debut, yet some of the wrinkles lyrically have been ironed out. The songwriting, too, has evolved (as one would hope). More suprising is that the tasteful production of the debut album remains much the same on the follow-up. Notables include "Bad Mood", "Aftershave Ocean", "Wirdo".</div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#5 </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">TIA BRAZDA </span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Cabin Fever EP</span></strong></em></div>
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Tia Brazda is the most refreshing thing to come out of Toronto since John McLaughlin invented Ginger Ale back in the early 1900s. Though, that's not entirely true considering that this red-haired beauty originally hails from Vancouver, BC.</div>
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Although not a true "album" by definition, I had to include Brazda's debut on my list purely based on its sheer brilliance and her unique and sultry voice. </div>
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Brazda has managed to reinvent the swing/jump jazz genre by fusing classic jazz chords and melodies with modern sounds and pop hooks. It sounds like it shouldn't work, but it does. The major label-quality production of the EP is a pleasant surprise, especially considering that Brazda is still 100% independent with an instilled DIY ethic. There is no filler here.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#6 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">ISLANDS</span><strong style="font-size: x-large;"> </strong></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A Sleep & A Forgetting</span></strong></em></div>
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Islands are Canada's best kept secret. Where fellow countrymen like Arcade Fire, and most recently Caribou, have been making huge strides in fame (both nationally and internationally), Islands, while having critical acclaim, still seem to hide under the mainstream surface. One reason is that the production on their past albums has never really been able to capture the true essence of their well-crafted and dynamic songs.</div>
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Though, with <em>A Sleep & A Forgetting</em>, all of that can be forgotten. This album features some truly beautiful arrangements and Nicholas Thorburn's vocals have never sounded better.<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">#7</span> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">THE HIVES</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Lex Hives</span></strong></em></div>
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The thing with The Hives is that you always know what you're getting before you listen to a Hives album. That being said, it's been five years since their last offering. A lot can change in five years, though, luckily for Hives' fans it remains the status quo for one of Sweden's biggest and most energetic rock acts.<br />
Top tracks: "Wait a Minute", "Take Back The Toys", "These Spectacles Reveal The Nostalgics".<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#8 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">REDD KROSS</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Researching The Blues</span></strong></em></div>
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Redd Kross are one of those bands that you seem to completely forget about between albums. And then they release a new album and you think, "Man, these guys are so fucking great!". They've stood the test of time - over 30 years of making albums - and, in my opinion, have been releasing far better music in the 15 years than the first 15. While Guns 'n' Roses (who used to open for them back in the mid-80s) have gone on to release the bloated and underwhelming <em>Chinese Democracy</em>, Redd Kross have shown the world you can still write relevant rock and roll songs well into your 40s.<br />
Highlights include: "Dracula's Daughter", "Stay Away From Downtown", "One Of The Good Ones".<br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#9</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">LANA DEL REY<strong> </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>Born To Die</em></strong></span></div>
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Lana Del Rey is the pop star you love to hate. She's rich, pretentious and actually quite boring. Yet, her music is undeniably beautiful. She has this really annoying habit of pretending that she's had a hard life living on the streets and is haunted by a past that may or may not include drug and alcohol problems. </div>
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But sometimes it doesn't matter whether it's actually reality as long as the artist believes it to be true. In this case, it works. Del Rey's music and lyrics are dark and evocative and sometimes controversial.</div>
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Highlights include: "National Anthem", "Born To Die", "Million Dollar Man".</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#10</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> THE WEEKND</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>Trilogy</em></strong></span></div>
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Although not exactly an album(s) full of "new" material, <em>Trilogy</em> makes my Top 10 simply due to the fact that it's chalk full of gamechanging songs. The Weeknd, aka Abel Tesfaye, has proven that no matter how little you care or how little you try ... great music will trump stoner ambitions (oxymoron. see what I did there?) any day of the week.</div>
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Songs like "High For This", "The Morning" or "The Knowing" are musically dark, while Tesfaye's bleak and twisted lyrics leave you wondering whether the songs would be better suited for an orgy or a funeral. </div>
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Regardless, <em>Trilogy</em> makes you feel something even if you don't particularly feel comfortable with the emotions is evokes.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong><u>OTHER NOTABLES</u></strong></span></div>
Tame Impala - Lonerism<br />
The Cribs - In the Belly of The Brazen Beast<br />
Crystal Castles - III<br />
Kristian Anttila - Djur & Människor<br />
Metz - Metz</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-27525553829966397392012-12-13T08:09:00.001-08:002014-02-06T07:13:04.157-08:00TOP 10 (UNDERGROUND) XMAS SONGS<div style="text-align: center;">
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#1 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">SULTANS OF PING</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Xmas Bubblegum Machine</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span> <span style="text-align: center;">This was one of the first songs I ever learned to play on my guitar. Its message is straighforward and catchy as hell. The Sultans (formerly The Sultans of Ping, who were then formerly known as The Sultans of Ping f.c.) proved to the world that the Irish can write an awesome tune while being completely shitfaced.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#2</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">RUN DMC</span><br />
<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas In Hollis</span></strong></em></div>
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Best. Rap. Group. Ever. Period.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">#3 </span><span style="font-size: large;">THE DARKNESS</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Christmas Time (Don't Let The Bells Ring)</span></strong></em></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">This has got to be one of my favourite Christmas music videos of all-time. I mean, who wouldn't want a Gibson Les Paul for Christmas? And, a guitar solo in the snow? Let's get real. This is my dream Christmas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>#4</b> </span><span style="font-size: large;">MANIC STREET PREACHERS</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>The Ghost of Christmas</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Here's an unreleased Christmas tune by the Manics, the usually morose and deadpanned three-piece (formerly four-piece) from Wales. It's bloody catchy ... and, wait ... is that Ozzy in the music video?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>#5 </b></span><span style="font-size: large;">MELODY CLUB</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">I Don't Believe In Angels</span></strong></em></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">A newer tune by Sweden's Melody Club that's as catchy as a cold on Christmas day. I couldn't find an album version of this tune on YouTube, but if you get a chance ... listen to it. It's awesome.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#6 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">TIM WHEELER & EMMY THE GREAT</span><strong style="font-size: x-large;"> </strong></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Home For The Holidays</span></strong></em></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Aw, that little cute man-boy from Ireland's Ash finally comes of age with flavour-of-the-month Emmy The Great. Together, they've made an instant classic that you'll probably never have heard otherwise.</span></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">#7</span> </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">SLADE</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Merry Christmas Everyone</span></strong></em></div>
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Slade = Awesome.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4Nuvoxj3ZZ579sA5eygYD-HRhfRnb55XV7XVrmCMNXGC0_X_-EZd1YNqc5z7sSnROFbVR0lZWXJa3XoY4HSprBI3BFS9vgXsUONeGV3zFrm7W9_5l9oaR61-g5XlWDr9UutWLL1Funs/s1600/reddkross.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/My5Bzf0PQhc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#8 </span></strong><span style="font-size: large;">THE HIVES & CYNDI LAUPER</span></div>
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<em><strong><span style="font-size: large;">A Christmas Duel</span></strong></em></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Just released this year (2012), Pelle had me at "I slept with your sister".</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">#9</span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b>SHONEN KNIFE</span><span style="font-size: large;"><strong> </strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>Space Christmas</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Much like everything else out East, the Japanese LOVE to celebrate Christmas even though they have absolutely no idea what it's about. Who gives a shit, though. Shonen Knife tell it like it is in three chords or less.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#10</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> DENIM</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>I Will Cry At Christmas</em></strong></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Lawrence from Denim admits what most of us will not.</span></div>
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The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-38181255620238600342012-11-23T07:13:00.004-08:002014-02-06T06:40:39.503-08:00RIH-ASSHOLE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There was a time, a few years back, when I thought Rihanna was the saviour of pop music. She had great tunes, she had a bit of an edge and overall she just seemed cool. She was Hip Hop's answer to Pink. And it also didn't hurt that she was, and still is, sexy as fuck. Though, labelling her as "beautiful" is pretty easy when you compare her to the likes of a troll-faced pop star like Fergie from Black Eyed Peas. Man, is she disgusting. Ok. Now I'm off topic.</div>
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As the years have gone by, and I've watched Rihanna grow as an artist, I've begun to realize something: Rihanna is a fucking cunt. Yep, I totally called her a cunt. Quote me on that. Video evidence above.</div>
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Yes, yes. I know. Chris Brown beat her up. Black eye aside, it's not an excuse for her present and future bad behaviour. Anyway, over the past year or so, more and more video has been surfacing of Rihanna's diva behaviour towards fans and, as seen in the above video, even her own band. What makes the footage of RiRi losing her shit even more pathetic is that it's not even the band's fault. It's HER fault. Listen closely, she came in just a tad too early and that's why the band is "off". A simple mistake. It happens. It's the end of her tour and she's tired. But, DON'T throw your band under the bus.</div>
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Remember Ashlee Simpson (video above) and her misdirected blame for the SNL mishap? It was pathetic and people called her out on it. So far, I haven't heard a peep about Rihanna's disparaging remarks about her band. This, probably due to the fact that the video of the incident is almost unsearchable on YouTube. Clearly, her label is trying to bury it. Regardless, I'll still masturbate to Rihanna but I won't buy her records (though, that's not much of a loss being that I never bought them in the first place).</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-70466888498145593342012-11-20T08:56:00.002-08:002014-02-07T08:04:10.175-08:00MR. D<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To me, Gerry Dee is one of the most under-rated comedians in Canada right now. Sure, he has a hit show on CBC ("Mr. D"), but even that is under-rated. It's an instant classic and right up there with The Office in both intelligence and awkard humour. The most amazing part of Gerry Dee, unlike his comedic counterparts in Louis CK and Dane Cook, is that his material is hilarious without the added bonus of swearing. Seriously. What comedian doesn't say "fuck" or "shit" while doing stand-up these days? He's a rare duck, indeed. Like all great Canadian comics, he's relocated to Los Angeles. But, be assured that Los Angeles has been kind to Canadian comedians. Just look at John Candy, Jim Carrey, Michael J. Fox, Eugene Levy, Norm Macdonald, Howie Mandel, Mike Myers, Leslie Nielsen, Russell Peters and Seth Rogan to name just a few. Good luck, Gerry!The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-14062451178605670022012-11-13T07:11:00.001-08:002014-02-06T06:41:02.232-08:00REMEMBRANCE WEEK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've never really understood why only one day out of the year is dedicated to soldiers who served in WWI. Although it officially marks the end of WWI (on November 11th, 1918), I think much more should be made of it. As the last of the soldiers of WWI disappear (I think there is only one soldier from the Great War still living in Canada), Remembrance Day's significance has begun to shift to remembering fallen soldiers in WWII. Specifically, Remembrance Day has shifted toward an emphasis on D-Day. The reasoning behind this is probably due to the fact that all Allied countries were represented on some level during this mission (though, the US media in particular tend to focus on D-Day due to the fact that it was pretty much the only meaningful contribution the US made in the European theatre of war during WWII). </div>
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Regardless, I think it's a great thing. But I also think this "day" should become an entire week of remembrance. Hundreds of millions of people (soldiers and civilians) have died in various wars in the past 100 years. Over 60 million people died in WWII alone, so dedicating an entire week of events and various ceremonies makes far more sense than one day. A week would really put an emphasis on the dedication and sacrifice of not just soldiers who served but civilian casualties caught in the crossfire of war.</div>
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So, talk to your local MP, congressman or others in positions of political power to make this change happen and honour our fallen soldiers and civilians in a much more meaningful way.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-66938606364656560252012-11-02T08:46:00.003-07:002014-02-06T06:35:05.008-08:00MOVEMBER SPAWNED A MONSTER<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0n6ZAw6zpRzkZSw3_hIlNPo1V6JnfGeN0_QAd7T2QR3t6gmjc_mRplc9G92CNz73gN1EMNFrecdbBR4U0V7M9d4gb_AiqCdHDITE3P6GOEfbM8Bzmq0wxVA6ks9Gh4LLoxGjF4qMhc_c/s1600/oddjob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0n6ZAw6zpRzkZSw3_hIlNPo1V6JnfGeN0_QAd7T2QR3t6gmjc_mRplc9G92CNz73gN1EMNFrecdbBR4U0V7M9d4gb_AiqCdHDITE3P6GOEfbM8Bzmq0wxVA6ks9Gh4LLoxGjF4qMhc_c/s1600/oddjob.jpg" qea="true" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">#10</span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"> - ODDJOB</span></div>
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I give points to Oddjob for the mere fact that he annoyed the fuck out of James Bond throughout "GoldFinger" and that he didn't further perpetuate the notion that Asians only look good wearing fu manchus.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2ldK1OZ-VyW3XrcVVvpGLlUU3oNLslbMXjbjQhko7qgR6uTc_wcYyGX8J1XKYYzLcJyL5csmXfGLaYSTpLqVReTije4avPBNxXfxtGA0FxmgfPeSKNx7ruI14b5hECzPEimFTj28UEU/s1600/parros.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2ldK1OZ-VyW3XrcVVvpGLlUU3oNLslbMXjbjQhko7qgR6uTc_wcYyGX8J1XKYYzLcJyL5csmXfGLaYSTpLqVReTije4avPBNxXfxtGA0FxmgfPeSKNx7ruI14b5hECzPEimFTj28UEU/s320/parros.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#9</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - GEORGE PARROS</span><br />
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The NHL enforcer/star not only made the league look tough again, but he started to make us forget about those ridiculous mullets Eastern Europeans brought over in the early 1990s.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#8</strong></span> <span style="font-size: large;">- GERALDO RIVERA </span></div>
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Geraldo would have made it higher up on in the list if he wasn't such a douchebag and if he didn't work for Fox News. That being said, Geraldo's 'stache is classic. It should be bronzed when he dies.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnUl6PPXCVNPtdARjnSUTXBTkzzmVOsbmO-9yzX2frPU_fLEfyNVF_B-lshUVpbscueDJOJGtA9En8V4-03cglfzyK8VKHvoqBmlKrbOpcUKQRvC5bP_QJ8Hb6JV9OXv-DaKBi6_Ixjc/s1600/hulkhogan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBnUl6PPXCVNPtdARjnSUTXBTkzzmVOsbmO-9yzX2frPU_fLEfyNVF_B-lshUVpbscueDJOJGtA9En8V4-03cglfzyK8VKHvoqBmlKrbOpcUKQRvC5bP_QJ8Hb6JV9OXv-DaKBi6_Ixjc/s320/hulkhogan.jpg" height="185" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#7</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - HULK HOGAN</span><br />
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What can you say about Hulk's handlebar 'stache? It's about as American as being gunned down in a public place and about as recognizable as Ron Jeremy's penis.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#6</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - SALVADOR DALI</span><br />
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Mr. Dali's 'stache was more of a piece of art than anything else. It's certainly not the kind of thing you go riding on a motorcycle with. And it most definitely is not the type of 'stache you'd hope to intimidate someone with. </div>
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Though, if you want to get yourself beaten up really quickly, this is the moustache to get that point across.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYSN6-otKC9MQkr-hfwqKPkx3FNo-CoIrles9ynlSN64Ejct8cDxlt_3Ng01ZTSR1qwcrGIm33H5y3k1sehTstMeCpgBPj_flg5otvLm54aMocYf4ikM2hs0qDOIeANC29tsNnNJPY3A/s1600/goose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheYSN6-otKC9MQkr-hfwqKPkx3FNo-CoIrles9ynlSN64Ejct8cDxlt_3Ng01ZTSR1qwcrGIm33H5y3k1sehTstMeCpgBPj_flg5otvLm54aMocYf4ikM2hs0qDOIeANC29tsNnNJPY3A/s1600/goose.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#5</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - GOOSE GOSSAGE</span><br />
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Goose pitched for the New York Yankees for a number of years. Long before Steinbrenner made Don Mattingly shave off his famous mutton chops. This 'stache clearly says to the world that he loves to get drunk, fight and fuck whatever girl he decides is his for the night. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvU_qrXm0KeDL5le4iJygDjgzhAkQ2xbWwH0QNpxj_upgRSO9IQ8ezN9BmRCHv-DeZJCG2LJd6_wuxNF2qiAGSW39GFMsMH8E5h4b7pSeQUQdg78X1GGYU9NVG51MB6aCJosto5k_1oc/s1600/lanny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZvU_qrXm0KeDL5le4iJygDjgzhAkQ2xbWwH0QNpxj_upgRSO9IQ8ezN9BmRCHv-DeZJCG2LJd6_wuxNF2qiAGSW39GFMsMH8E5h4b7pSeQUQdg78X1GGYU9NVG51MB6aCJosto5k_1oc/s320/lanny.jpg" height="320" width="271" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#4</strong></span> <span style="font-size: large;">- LANNY MACDONALD</span><br />
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The Lanny is as wild as a night out in Nunavut with your friends, two polar bears and a 40 ounce bottle of Native moonshine. It's not the intimidating sort of 'stache that it could be, but it does make you second-guess yourself and your ideas about life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuygzNfmzqh8QbiCAQWzWLYQHFdeNCJydC0gF1L6fdHHhYZzCleK3BxpjIOgwlGscxdatIGOL_TPT1ZQ241z4GVLgGSZCFYO6ymQXDLkKHgOvaEms8JyjQ-68UXG2f4_2KnvwZovi_XU/s1600/rolliefingers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtuygzNfmzqh8QbiCAQWzWLYQHFdeNCJydC0gF1L6fdHHhYZzCleK3BxpjIOgwlGscxdatIGOL_TPT1ZQ241z4GVLgGSZCFYO6ymQXDLkKHgOvaEms8JyjQ-68UXG2f4_2KnvwZovi_XU/s320/rolliefingers.jpg" height="320" width="274" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#3</strong></span> <span style="font-size: large;">- ROLLIE FINGERS</span><br />
This is a perfectly quaffed 'stache that could be functional in an array of different situations. It's cowboy, yet French class all rolled into one. <br />
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Rollie could go get wasted in a Houston dive bar one day and accompany the Queen of Sweden to a gala the next. It's tough and tuxedo friendly all at once. And that's a very rare combo indeed. Extra points for being named Rollie Fingers.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmzV3xOkyh7nKAfCzAl-Glde_ghVB4ph0aL_CxgZCXlLUegqpS8eKmQ93KDFrbYkWl1BlHwwGFDH5Nv1lV2cuXLq1SO0JA1iF9h1jhqn39Ld7jXjdwG5Q5svSFBPagtoJFtbeMK4dIhA/s1600/CHARLIE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmzV3xOkyh7nKAfCzAl-Glde_ghVB4ph0aL_CxgZCXlLUegqpS8eKmQ93KDFrbYkWl1BlHwwGFDH5Nv1lV2cuXLq1SO0JA1iF9h1jhqn39Ld7jXjdwG5Q5svSFBPagtoJFtbeMK4dIhA/s320/CHARLIE.jpg" height="320" qea="true" width="256" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#2</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - CHARLIE CHAPLIN</span><br />
Hitler ruined this 'stache for everyone. <br />
That sucks because this compact and simple moustache rocks.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JToOfbAHEsrRX1HHNm_s0FTehJigvJltCgs6FpwBz1E0CdFBuQfrisAqScIRkzbZgv61ZMQr1SG6iuvl-l7YnCKY4O3dEGCfLZBp9NlPEnKcAjxR_m8tELWPmQ0PN5cKBY-zHdsx9PQ/s1600/Selleck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-JToOfbAHEsrRX1HHNm_s0FTehJigvJltCgs6FpwBz1E0CdFBuQfrisAqScIRkzbZgv61ZMQr1SG6iuvl-l7YnCKY4O3dEGCfLZBp9NlPEnKcAjxR_m8tELWPmQ0PN5cKBY-zHdsx9PQ/s320/Selleck.jpg" height="320" width="258" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#1</strong></span><span style="font-size: large;"> - TOM SELLECK</span><br />
The Selleck. 'nuff said.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><strong>HONOURABLE MENTIONS</strong></u></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys3BGY1c8GIyaBsWy9Xcj1O9hTf6cXYvSyaTHz4XOzy7VaWa7PlXWTw0eEkAJg-gduo8m8_9NdT8XbrwynGGePczacIPPkaiTx8OBFHcALyxc7SAqHU1T1HSQRhCWsujfiGjU7e7Gn0Y/s1600/burt_reynolds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys3BGY1c8GIyaBsWy9Xcj1O9hTf6cXYvSyaTHz4XOzy7VaWa7PlXWTw0eEkAJg-gduo8m8_9NdT8XbrwynGGePczacIPPkaiTx8OBFHcALyxc7SAqHU1T1HSQRhCWsujfiGjU7e7Gn0Y/s320/burt_reynolds.jpg" height="264" qea="true" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">BURT REYNOLDS</span><br />
Burt would have made the list, if not for the fact that he's kinda like the poor man's Tom Selleck.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQ33gIiNCcoDBoHTkEYrtj4tBFZLWtb9lH3RbNBFwOePXwg3YyBclj2v5BpmGUgGSZQ2A1ud17wwLoo-O5EEQc-hvxCyl0uZB-iR2odGvTOqSh4P2QDZXj9SMnJpPSFUVA6orjWFmXVg/s1600/sanders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQ33gIiNCcoDBoHTkEYrtj4tBFZLWtb9lH3RbNBFwOePXwg3YyBclj2v5BpmGUgGSZQ2A1ud17wwLoo-O5EEQc-hvxCyl0uZB-iR2odGvTOqSh4P2QDZXj9SMnJpPSFUVA6orjWFmXVg/s1600/sanders.jpg" qea="true" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">COLONEL SANDERS </span><br />
How amazing is this look? <br />
It didn't make the list simply for the fact that the 'stache doesn't stand alone without the chin strip.The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-47381553472149327612012-10-30T10:14:00.001-07:002014-02-06T06:41:15.180-08:00SLAYER GOES TO CHURCH<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This makes me smile. Slayer + Church = AWESOME.The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-7624315022407353772012-10-26T09:34:00.002-07:002014-02-06T06:41:26.908-08:00HAPPY BARFDAY, AVRIL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've really, really tried to avoid commenting on the news that Avril Lavigne and Chad Kroeger announced their engagement a while back. But it's been eating me away from the inside. But then this video surfaces, taken during Nickleback's latest tour on Avril's birthday.</div>
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How much do these two suck? And how pathetic is it that these two fucknuts are considered Canadian pop star royalty???</div>
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And the even sadder part of it all, personally speaking, is that I'm unsure if Chad is a step up or a step down for Avril after having been married to that troll from Sum41.</div>
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That question aside, two specific things make me want to barf all over myself and shit my pants at the same time:</div>
<ul>
<li>the thought that these cheesy assholes will one day procreate</li>
<li>the fact that they actually seem like they are in love. barf.</li>
</ul>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-45606777039895002452012-10-25T10:41:00.003-07:002014-02-06T06:42:40.923-08:00PM PARTY CRASHER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffXtK4mh4dT7rqRNIbnYrlEi746uXfd8Dm5tL76OJd6vyMInWMH2Wi4PpBPMVTJV2RFacGb_9xstn9TmvE2hAPl3nHup3lCockaV-1TsUDmCMXjr7uMNNDfpR0FcWa1t33jxQsNd0hUk/s1600/HARPER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffXtK4mh4dT7rqRNIbnYrlEi746uXfd8Dm5tL76OJd6vyMInWMH2Wi4PpBPMVTJV2RFacGb_9xstn9TmvE2hAPl3nHup3lCockaV-1TsUDmCMXjr7uMNNDfpR0FcWa1t33jxQsNd0hUk/s320/HARPER.jpg" height="179" oea="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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I'm not the biggest pusher for Prime Minister Stephen Harper or Canadian politics in general, but damn, this is kinda awesome. Taking a page out of Barack Obama's "How to be cool, laid-back and influence people" handbook, Harper totally crashed a wedding photoshoot in Ottawa on Wednesday afternoon. How fucking brilliant would it be to have this photo over your mantle for the random factor alone? Somewhere deep down, I hope he crashed the reception later on and played a kickass cover of The Beatles "Let It Be" on the piano.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-35828970869919617012012-10-25T08:11:00.002-07:002014-02-06T06:42:55.313-08:00HIV ... I MEAN, HMV<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuGwzYBCl7G8S9w9Ru7dlHaSsNw0HrYdJ5ZyR345yOmdnuComYGwHrR6I3ZuXEMQ1GxHool068teA1FblLuKWa2MA30eFj07WjG0O5iFQvkgZUNXdbZMUj5bPtuvouiWk6RVD6qe9Rrc/s1600/kevin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTuGwzYBCl7G8S9w9Ru7dlHaSsNw0HrYdJ5ZyR345yOmdnuComYGwHrR6I3ZuXEMQ1GxHool068teA1FblLuKWa2MA30eFj07WjG0O5iFQvkgZUNXdbZMUj5bPtuvouiWk6RVD6qe9Rrc/s320/kevin.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="234" /></a></div>
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When I was 14, there were only three things I wanted to do in life: rock, bang chicks and work in a cool record store. With yesterday's announcement by HMV that they are banning employees from showing tattoos, I am now only able to fulful two of my dreams from so many years ago. A statement from the company reads: "We're not trying to ban tattoos. But if someone does have extensive body art, we expect them to cover this up with their uniform." The company also denies initial reports that said long hair was to be banned as well. </div>
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Although the move by HMV may seem surprising, is it really?</div>
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Clearly, the fact that HMV is still operating as a business is, in itself, mindboggling - especially considering that they've been quite slow in responding to the rapid decline in CD sales. Sure, they've attemped to restructure and re-brand themselves by selling more video games, DVDs and books. But, at the end of the day, HMV is still predominantly a hard copy music provider (of the CD variety). Regardless, here are my reasons for why HMV's new policy is actually a good move:</div>
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<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
the new policy stirs up a bit of controversy. In turn, this makes for some nice press and ultimately creates free advertising. I mean, when's the last time you walked by an HMV without its neon sign being more than an afterthought? I didn't even really realize HMV was still in business until earlier this year when I read that story about someone posting "Warning. Don't Buy This Album. This Man Beats Women" stickers on Chris Brown albums inside one of it's London, UK stores.</div>
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Though the new policy banning visible tattoos for its employees may seem entirely uncool, HMV isn't and has never been considered a "cool" record store. Cool is being an independent music store that sells bootlegs of rare B-sides by a band you probably won't give a shit about in a year's time. (sidenote: the only reason people like me ever shopped at HMV was that it sold CDs for far cheaper than that "cool" independent record store on the corner). Ultimately, this means the company FINALLY understands what it is and what it isn't - a huge step in the right direction for a successful business (which, it hasn't been for some years).</div>
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<li><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The predominant clientele who DO shop at HMV are the ones who find the sight of tattoos uncomfortable, with sub-clientele either old-schoolers who love to feel the physical format of CD, vinyl or DVD in their hands OR people who are generally too lazy to learn how to download music and/or movies for free or too fucking stupid. By all accounts, old schoolers and computer illiterates are a dying breed. Therefore, by making its employees appear more "professional", the company hones in on its core clientele. (To be honest, I'm actually quite tired of having to deal with some 20-something hipster dipshit covered in neck, chest and arm tattoos following me around a store everytime I'm out shopping.) Hence, this goes back to the main point of why HMV's new policy has been implemented: to increase sales.</div>
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Don't get me wrong. HMV won't be around in 10 years. But for now, it's doing something right considering that a complete re-brand would cost millions while redrafting employee policy costs about as much as the paper it is written on.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-50488817788684046142012-10-24T10:29:00.001-07:002014-02-06T06:43:26.492-08:00SUBPOENA GOMEZ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGESaCLcq65gbdR6eon9De2jDMFFEvOleV_1fecWIu9pkGUCjkNq02X1oaLyGOHLyM7iAf7vnAEfCSAdn9xwt9eLOGMtThrN9sbs7HeqB8uvX4hgqRq0rwvk9m74RuDa8zO6onntmrhDA/s1600/BIEBER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGESaCLcq65gbdR6eon9De2jDMFFEvOleV_1fecWIu9pkGUCjkNq02X1oaLyGOHLyM7iAf7vnAEfCSAdn9xwt9eLOGMtThrN9sbs7HeqB8uvX4hgqRq0rwvk9m74RuDa8zO6onntmrhDA/s320/BIEBER.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="273" /></a></div>
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You know what I love about Justin Bieber? The lawsuits this dude illicits. Some of the prime points listed in the latest lawsuit by a man claiming to be Selena Gomez's "real" father:</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">•</span> "Bieber has cost me $426.78 and never paid me back. This money was used as abortion money because Justin Bieber got my daughter Selena pregnant in my bedroom, on my canadian bear rug."<br />
<strong>•</strong> "[Bieber] gave selena a std and Bieber stole my credit card to buy him and sean p-ditty [sic] combs cocaine to use in drug free school zones."<br />
<strong>•</strong> "Bieber also got a penis enlargement with my stolen american express card." <br />
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FYI: Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, defaces a Canadian Bear rug. Shame on you, Justin!The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-31166888232168748812012-10-22T11:49:00.001-07:002014-03-06T08:32:51.012-08:00Top 10 HOTTEST WOMEN CURRENTLY IN PRISON<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G8zSyEI0gSgs-m4xEyRG2Rh7hbgbApP4dHcMVfhtzTqahwc1aLmBZJxE1wW6IJ-GcoW1uPAGZlHR_ekfAeeQFO7xGiQBXC6h81BxYeNYDUBVwo_NbV5lR6J7wpX5ah7YmY3XX4Ayyo0/s1600/1amy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1G8zSyEI0gSgs-m4xEyRG2Rh7hbgbApP4dHcMVfhtzTqahwc1aLmBZJxE1wW6IJ-GcoW1uPAGZlHR_ekfAeeQFO7xGiQBXC6h81BxYeNYDUBVwo_NbV5lR6J7wpX5ah7YmY3XX4Ayyo0/s320/1amy.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="129" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#1</strong></span><br />
Meet Amy.<br />
She's 36 and daaaaaamn is she sexy. Those legs would wrap around your neck like a grizzly bear's forearms and choke you the fuck to death in less than 10 seconds flat.<br />
But you'll like it.<br />
Then she'll beat the shit out of your warm corpse and take her tits out and wag them in your dead face and laugh. You probably won't mind that too much either. Ever more, you won't give a shit when she ends the night by cleaning out your wallet while you lay on the bed all rigor mortising and shit.<br />
Nice.<br />
You'll have to wait until June 27, 2013 to have any of these experiences, though. <br />
That's the year she's finally released from her Las Vegas prison cell.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutI8WAPcbSwrDhJyyhAxys90speOyLMNeiyj_Y9yje9jGKy2WuZmMz2pM0zJ2dNrru1F61W0yUCw9L91YEgetjzfdyDOMkxdp9NXdbScykPv4zicWCm5rC6RoLRifYR8pWbbTaoQro-8/s1600/2jenny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutI8WAPcbSwrDhJyyhAxys90speOyLMNeiyj_Y9yje9jGKy2WuZmMz2pM0zJ2dNrru1F61W0yUCw9L91YEgetjzfdyDOMkxdp9NXdbScykPv4zicWCm5rC6RoLRifYR8pWbbTaoQro-8/s320/2jenny.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="247" /></a><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong><br /></strong></span></strong></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#2</strong></span><br />
Here we have Jenny.<br />
She's 24 and currently serving out the last few months of her prison sentence in North Carolina.<br />
Look at those eyes. Crazy, right? But it's a different kind of crazy than the one you men are probably used to. Unlike most girls who get all dramatic and shit when you come home late from the bar, Amy will probably burn your fucking house down and then murder you. I dunno what it is, but there's something hot about that.<br />
(Bonus points to Jenny for wearing a bra in her profile picture!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROWZXbpw6pEawaB6CPWgcu5dZriH0dNdD88ftGG5y0HAzyvUF2HhnBeQWKNwIejMUaxEI4doymSx0EzGkoWcXAP1u-oje2EkX5WukK650xAY-k8GZSpNSMMUdtgaUonow2TF_4EIMxH4/s1600/3maeghan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROWZXbpw6pEawaB6CPWgcu5dZriH0dNdD88ftGG5y0HAzyvUF2HhnBeQWKNwIejMUaxEI4doymSx0EzGkoWcXAP1u-oje2EkX5WukK650xAY-k8GZSpNSMMUdtgaUonow2TF_4EIMxH4/s320/3maeghan.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="220" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#3</strong></span><br />
Meet Maeghan and her fabulous 20-year-old titties. What the fuck is it with 20 year olds and their tight bodies? I mean, look at that skin.<br />
It's absolutely perfect.<br />
She's like a painting.<br />
Don't let her unblemished skin, perfect smile and C-cups fool you, guys. This one's in the sin bin for 2nd degree murder, so you'll have to put up with conjugal visits only for the next eight years. <br />
But that seems to be more of a positive than a negative, no?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVuJc1vqyQ0wpKtlsxz9iEVHqGRdcQiH3cS2IqfLimxEgM596xk3_guDFn9dbow2Vt6kJHQhaUxHzd8TjLCPlj-EqN2nncezKXQdsccXJZAecP1NKhT-T4oODngQj4qeAAPsl1GAqKdY/s1600/4caitlin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVuJc1vqyQ0wpKtlsxz9iEVHqGRdcQiH3cS2IqfLimxEgM596xk3_guDFn9dbow2Vt6kJHQhaUxHzd8TjLCPlj-EqN2nncezKXQdsccXJZAecP1NKhT-T4oODngQj4qeAAPsl1GAqKdY/s320/4caitlin.jpg" height="230" oea="true" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#4</strong></span><br />
Caitlin, 21, is a Jill of all trades: hairstylist, piercing artist, and criminal. Though, the only vocation I really give a shit about is the exotic dancing she lists as "career" before her incarceration. She's a smart, good girl who just happened to get caught up with the wrong people.<br />
I'd be her bad influence any day of the week!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-WhIXab8woQa8wvwjvNc-czCAvZmfEGRMM1hI5RO7K-3BJghSFuNigD_mnHK-8q8NW7gSS9SQcgEgc5xyKPI7B2dns6hVBJ0SIWPky0uoJAiEURN5A6kmwvNX3Hg5LUJ1QhIU39aL_zQ/s1600/5ana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-WhIXab8woQa8wvwjvNc-czCAvZmfEGRMM1hI5RO7K-3BJghSFuNigD_mnHK-8q8NW7gSS9SQcgEgc5xyKPI7B2dns6hVBJ0SIWPky0uoJAiEURN5A6kmwvNX3Hg5LUJ1QhIU39aL_zQ/s320/5ana.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="178" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#5</strong></span><br />
Have you ever heard the term "arresting blue eyes"?<br />
I assure you, the irony of this sentiment is not lost on 23-year-old Ana.<br />
She's due for release from her Las Vegas prison digs sometime in 2014. <br />
Nicknames: "Hollywood" or "Vogue"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHQSH3_JVBQUgNV65KNjtP6vbcCAMx_ROZt683fKgxySVlbkd5bYYTUfev83OHzupXEaqLlnN1HUm1VWnAmzjjBR8pYLgm5Hx7Eevalikuk8OiXT6r5fe0tGPquMOFYJdd9_x0FxyYWc/s1600/6jennifer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPHQSH3_JVBQUgNV65KNjtP6vbcCAMx_ROZt683fKgxySVlbkd5bYYTUfev83OHzupXEaqLlnN1HUm1VWnAmzjjBR8pYLgm5Hx7Eevalikuk8OiXT6r5fe0tGPquMOFYJdd9_x0FxyYWc/s320/6jennifer.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="141" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#6</strong></span><br />
I gave SERIOUS thought to making Jennifer my #1 pick on this list, merely for the fact that she's dressed up like a fucking prison guard in her profile pick. How fucking cool is that?<br />
Seriously.<br />
At 39, she'd give any 19-year-old chick a run for her money.<br />
Only six months away from her Nashiville prison release, fellas.<br />
Turn-ons: Men with grey hair.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tfKn3SURqdeeJuCrFIxuPAruSY6JC-dWuLWiJc1P9n_ZGNdKSf49_gQfeK487krM-fB0Vw3ljLRGGYmVj-MZQgDdn3c6mSgwSHKvvilFp6Kz5zXK2RwJ_-pTAUW7-W-dnvJ_ILdq3oQ/s1600/7jillian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tfKn3SURqdeeJuCrFIxuPAruSY6JC-dWuLWiJc1P9n_ZGNdKSf49_gQfeK487krM-fB0Vw3ljLRGGYmVj-MZQgDdn3c6mSgwSHKvvilFp6Kz5zXK2RwJ_-pTAUW7-W-dnvJ_ILdq3oQ/s320/7jillian.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="230" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#7</strong></span><br />
Jillian is 31 and if the tattoo on her forearm is any indicator of what you're getting into by dating her, then be ready.<br />
(Note: it reads "Beautiful Disaster").<br />
She loves to travel, though I don't think she'll be going any further than the prison yard for the next two years. If you're hoping for some face time fellas, then you're shit-outta-luck for the next six months.<br />
Though, that's subject to change when her visitation rights come up for review in six months.<br />
Turn-ons: Airshows and rollercoasters.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1APBuL_6xDtAPRAGldvEaOY_6rNnDOk5idAOcFNyew7ANznKxJuX-Fy8-0eXs7xMT-DcScu_qgX6tM8PQAPDpJd85xhOg0UaKfI3YZnGMhH3QVXBvgco2KU43nqneAztFcwG-Hk-554/s1600/8anna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI1APBuL_6xDtAPRAGldvEaOY_6rNnDOk5idAOcFNyew7ANznKxJuX-Fy8-0eXs7xMT-DcScu_qgX6tM8PQAPDpJd85xhOg0UaKfI3YZnGMhH3QVXBvgco2KU43nqneAztFcwG-Hk-554/s320/8anna.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="173" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#8</strong></span><br />
Anna, 28, seems like the kind of woman you'd love to bring home to meet your parents. Though, that opportunity won't be available until at least 2014.<br />
She looks innocent enough, but there's something slightly evil behind her gaze that screams "I'll cut you" if you dare cross her.<br />
Hot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n2PjBniYF1ODr3qLMLvo7XIAMUfpO_cVGWweA4nHorxOdDe0sh70bFu2OJkqpVduxp9M_owtE1IvebuoMKeRxjv7zRyYf8ntQE2OrRSZyBtbAfOGacAbD-7rBKS5LT19EwOaRDKDz_M/s1600/9claudia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n2PjBniYF1ODr3qLMLvo7XIAMUfpO_cVGWweA4nHorxOdDe0sh70bFu2OJkqpVduxp9M_owtE1IvebuoMKeRxjv7zRyYf8ntQE2OrRSZyBtbAfOGacAbD-7rBKS5LT19EwOaRDKDz_M/s320/9claudia.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="149" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#9</strong></span><br />
Claudia fits the bill for what every guy loves about a part-Cuban, part-El Salvadorian chick: Beautiful face, passionate lover, great body and fucking bat shit "I'm-gonna-cut-your-dick-off-and-feed-it-to-you" crazy.<br />
Only 30, Claudia has quite a few more years left to steal hearts and the balance of your bank account.<br />
Release date: June 2013.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5pXHPrjcythaxTeuyd9Pwvd3BcgpKlorvSoKpmB053FN0Lwte2L-bGI4Vjh4dejr4TR0EIqx9wgCykQKJ_XX8EmbQv18mrCtyGlj1Wv0PW6hje2F4aLqRuuuJvRNumvsL6sybQ9iVtM/s1600/10cynthia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5pXHPrjcythaxTeuyd9Pwvd3BcgpKlorvSoKpmB053FN0Lwte2L-bGI4Vjh4dejr4TR0EIqx9wgCykQKJ_XX8EmbQv18mrCtyGlj1Wv0PW6hje2F4aLqRuuuJvRNumvsL6sybQ9iVtM/s320/10cynthia.jpg" height="320" oea="true" width="89" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>#10</strong></span><br />
Cynthia, 37, is a former fetish model, actress and makeup artist.<br />
Though, she had me at fetish model.<br />
She has just six months left at the bad girls club in California. She calls her stint in prison a "bump in the road" and she's open to suggestions about where her life takes her post-incarceration.<br />
The romantic in you should be interested to know that Cynthia is released on Valentine's Day next year!<br />
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All photos and information for this TOP 10 were taken from <a href="http://www.meet-an-inmate.com/">www.meet-an-inmate.com</a>The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-50886789233884920872012-10-18T10:15:00.000-07:002014-02-06T06:44:12.766-08:003 REASONS WHY DRAKE ISN'T HARDCORE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOFsJq2gIEGIYHvRy_3U8eWvDEGo8KPjEr9MZclEa1J9pHV934xW6Jz5llExNvFcicrZUlsNcvuBvEQXcjOc7Vrz0WXyobxwA6dA6oXaezzM9RHW6t7d9M8rRVgYAjtPxO2MeOeCX6Lw/s1600/Drake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOFsJq2gIEGIYHvRy_3U8eWvDEGo8KPjEr9MZclEa1J9pHV934xW6Jz5llExNvFcicrZUlsNcvuBvEQXcjOc7Vrz0WXyobxwA6dA6oXaezzM9RHW6t7d9M8rRVgYAjtPxO2MeOeCX6Lw/s320/Drake.jpg" height="320" nea="true" width="224" /></a></div>
I've never really been a fan of hip hop. Though, I've found that chicks LOVE hip hop beats. Even more, chicks LOVE to have sex to hip hop beats. Because of this, I've always had a Run DMC album in my CD player just in case I needed some added ambience for when I'm about to do my business with some babe. Throughout the years I've come to realize that Run DMC isn't the kind of "hip hop" chicks like to have to sex to. <br />
Anyway, as I've floundered to find a replaceable hip hop sex soundtrack I discovered Drake. First off, how the fuck did this nerd rise up the ranks to become one of the posterboys for hip hop? Second, how the fuck did this guy fool everyone into thinking he's hardcore? Note photo (above). <br />
So, to enlighten you all, here are 3 REASONS WHY DRAKE ISN'T HARDCORE:<br />
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1) Drake grew up in North York NOT Toronto. That's like someone from New Jersey telling you they grew up in New York City.<br />
2) Drake is Jewish. And not the cool kind of Jewish either. Unless you're in the IDF dealing with some Arab extremist motherfuckers carrying AK47s or blowing shit up with bomb vests, you ain't hardcore.<br />
3) Drake is Canadian. Do I have to explain why this isn't hardcore?The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-8613485705141963002012-10-18T10:13:00.003-07:002014-02-06T06:44:31.649-08:00THAT DUDE FROM "SEVEN"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Usually, I'm very reluctant to take the piss out of anybody. Unless, of course, they take themselves way too seriously. Case in point; the following advert from Chanel No.5, starring Angelina Jolie's better half.<br />
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I almost shit my pants out of anger and it's prompted me to write an open letter to Mr. Pitt ...</div>
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Dear Bradley Ulysses Pitt;</div>
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WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT? This sort of pretension in advertising is left to sports stars who are too 'roided up to know any better. Dude, you starred in "Seven". "SEVEN", dude. You played the husband of Gwynneth Paltrow BEFORE she actually got married to that whiney bedwetter from Coldplay. Have you ever heard a Coldplay song? Dude, they make Nickelback look HARD! Anyway, "Seven" ruled. What is wrong with you? Get your beautiful face out of Angelina's cold, hard tits for one second and listen to me: You are peddling perfume, dude. PERFUME. Stop being such a twat and write the sequel to Moneyball already, will you.</div>
The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2429731017267242922.post-42687014743883221862012-10-18T10:12:00.003-07:002014-02-06T06:35:42.560-08:00TRAPPED IN THE AWESOME<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/zFosUj6A22c?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
I don't care what anybody says, R.Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet" epic music video 12-part series is the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life. I almost forgive him for filming himself having sex with underage girls. I'd seriously tear him another asshole for being far too serious and far too full of himself, if it weren't for the fact that this wasn't so absolutely fucking brilliant. It'll make you laugh. It'll make you cry. It'll make you puke. It'll make you forget about Chris Brown. It'll make you want to buy a gun. Hell, it'll make you want to fuck a midget. But here's the BEST part of it all: R. Kelly has announced that he's filmed another 20 - yes 20 - episodes of "Trapped In The Closet" due out sometime in November. Christmas came early, bitches!The Culture Priesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10825413004819470739noreply@blogger.com0