The Steroid Bar at Home Depot

There are few things that raise testosterone levels in men to dangerous levels. They are in no particular order; V8 engines, womens beach volleyball , barbecues,and any home improvement project that involves power tools.

It seems to be an integral part of a "real man's" DNA to have the ability and desire, to dismantle a V8 engine , and rebuild it using parts that are constructed out of old lawnmowers. Alpha Male Mechanics will group together with others of their kind and they will spin tall tales involving rebuilt carbs, the tensile strength of carbon fiber and high performance engine modifications harnessing the power of farts to propel vehicles to unheard of speeds. Don't take my word for it, take a look on You Tube and you'll see what I am talking about.

Even though I have the necessary genitalia and genetic makeup, I can never gain entrance into this exclusive club of Alpha Male Mechanics. Their entrance requirements are quite strict. For the test this year it is an essay question on the best way to improve the torque in a '74 hemi engine. You can only use items you can find in a "real man's" glove compartment - which if you believe the test contains items such as a socket set,lubricant - know what I mean , say no more - nudge nudge wink wink - and a filleting knife. I'm guessing the correct answer is to put the filleting knife to the throat of an auto mechanic and threaten to sever a major artery unless he finds a way to improve compression in your 74 hemi. But that is just me.....

If you really want to see the hold that power tools have on males on this planet look no farther then the steroid bar that opened up at my local Home Depot. Home Depot is well known for having a huge assortment of power tools and hardware gadgetry. And we are already aware as to the supernatural pull that power tools have over men so it seemed like the natural spot to put a Steroid Bar - it's called "The Juiced Bar" - Catchy name if you ask me, which no one did.


Finally there is a place where former professional athletes can hold court and teach the up and comers all they need to know when it comes to steroids. Items that are discussed over a syringe are how to trick a urine test, and the proper etiquette when injecting your friends. "The Juiced Bar" even has workshops you can sign up for. Coming up next weekend up is "Harnessing your 'roid rage" and "Bench press your drill press".

I understand the "rage" thing as that is an emotion that I have encountered before, but I'm not clear on what a "drill press" is. I think it must be a Chippendale's dance routine.

Dude what's with Twitter?

Can someone explain to me the whole "Twitter" craze? Maybe I'm missing something but I have little desire - no scratch that - no desire to know when someone is "eating a ham sandwich", or "thinking about watching American Idol."

If you are honest with yourself, most people have nothing note worthy to say at the best of times - why do they think that their thoughts have more substance to them when published on the latest social networking site? Who is that interesting that you want to be updated via wifi connection about their every coming and going?

It was in the news recently about which celebrity had the most followers on Twitter. Ashton Kutcher's name came up several times in these articles. To build on my previous point about people not having anything news worthy to contribute to the plethora of tweets and twitters that are out there consider this;

If a celebrity's cinematic claim to fame is "Dude where's my Car?" - what makes you think that getting regular updates via Twitter will give you any more insight into their character?

Imagine for a moment that the collective twittering of planet earth would be analyzed by scientists hundreds of years from now. It has been said that you can learn much about a people through the study of their communication. What on earth would these learned men and women deduce from our nonsensical twitterings?

Ancient civilizations had items such as the "Rosetta Stone" that allowed scientists to gain valuable insight into their culture and how they lived. Scientists of tomorrow will be forced to rely on gems such as "picking up dry cleaning" and "eating marinated figs, mmh delicious" to give them insight.

If these same scientists of tomorrow get a hold of "Dude where's my Car?" I fear no good can come of it.

Camping Adventures

Well this weekend here in Canada is the Victoria Day long weekend. Victoria Day was originally instituted to commemorate Queen Victoria’s birthday but now symbolizes the traditional start of camping season and opening up the cottages.

What you consider “camping” I suppose is defined based on what demographic group you fall into.

For those of you who are between the ages of 16 – 25 – “Camping” is a simple process. It may or may not involve a tent or any camping equipment at all. It will include lots of alcohol, drugs and a veritable pharmacy of mind altering stimulants the like not seen since Grandma’s hip replacement. Food is an item that is often forgotten entirely. In fact people would rather fill the remaining space in their already overloaded vehicles with the aforementioned drugs and alcohol rather then bring along silly items like food.

At the end of a weekend camping, you can expect to have several bruises and possible broken bones that where a result of you trying to find your inner “Captain Morgan”. It is also possible that you will be shunned by members of the opposite sex for the remainder of your adult life based solely on your enthusiastic review of the latest Star Trek film.

The stories, and injuries that come about as a result of these mayhem fueled weekends will follow you for years. The statute of limitations though, that varies based on your district – contact your local authorities to see when can put that “incident with the donkey” behind you.

For the demographic group 26 – 55 your camping experiences are much closer to what you may see in commercials. Your camping adventures will be filled with, fishing with the kids, cooking dinner over an open fire and singing songs around the campfire. Could this be the idyllic camping adventures that people reminisce about?

Alas dear friends there is more to your camping adventures then what is shown in commercials. Some of the camping excitement that is not often depicted in any advertising campaigns are the following;

- Removing a fishing lure from the ear lobe of a hapless family member as a result of an erratic cast by an enthusiastic 8 year old.

- applying ointment to your “nether regions” as a result of squatting in a patch of poison ivy.

- Dad severing a major artery whilst trying to clean the fish little Billy caught.

- And Mom polishing off the “cooking wine” and nearly drowning in the lake.

Oh the memories……

For those of you over the age of 55, camping is defined as going into your impeccably manicured backyard and reminiscing over icy cold refreshments about camping mishaps of yesteryear.

Government studies have shown that it is statistically safer to pitch a tent in your living room, cook up a plate of fish sticks and watch reruns of "Dancing with the Stars" rather then venture off into the great unknown. The only thing that could possibly come close to the excitement of camping, may be stuffing live kittens down your pants and going to a Michael Vick dog fight.

Let this post serve as a lesson for the generations that will come after us. Leave the great outdoors to the spotted owls and grizzly bears. Stay inside where it's safe.

Mothers Day - not all that it seems

Mothers Day - the perfect "Hallmark" holiday. The holiday that came out of a Norman Rockwell picture if you believe the tripe the advertisers are pitching. Can anyone out there relate to the "Wholesome" family image being portrayed in the Mother's Day commercials? Kids are cute, both the father and mother are beautiful, and the dog is a golden retriever.

You don't even have to look but you know that the family depicted in the commercials, live in the burbs, have a picket fence and drive a mini van. ACK!

I hate to be the one to bring this up, but everything is not exactly as it seems on TV. Allow me to explain.

What the camera does not show you in this slice of "Wholesome Family Values" is the huge wad of bills that little Billy got from peddling his grandmother's painkillers to his classmates.

Nor do we see the needle marks on Mother's arms. Those are tastefully hidden behind the vase of tulips on the table. In the 60's The Rolling Stones sang about Mother's little helper -
"Kids are different today, I hear ev'ry mother say
Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she's not really ill, there's a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of a mother's little helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day"

Well instead of pills the Mom of the new millennium needs a syringe of high grade heroin to give here the energy she needs to help her fulfill her duties as soccer mom.

Dad - well he's having an affair with his secretary and is thinking of fleeing the country.

Little Suzie - surely she can't be tainted in any way? She is the family princess and pure as Ivory soap.

Hate to break it to you campers, but Little Suzie has a successful web cam empire running a stable of underage school girls that cater to the repressed needs of the "All American Dad". Business is booming and she is looking to expand her market and target the clergy. If the Vatican was worried about the new Angels & Demons film, they ought to be more concerned about Little Suzie and her plan to take over the world.

You would think that this would kill the dream of the"typical American family" but no. People love the idea of the perfect family and like to hold out hope that indeed that family is out there somewhere. People strive to achieve this lofty goal. I think the first step in achieving this goal is to have the right pet. This afternoon I'm getting a Golden Retriever, and after that I will put a new coat of paint on my picket fence.

HBDC Story Meme

The collection of ne'er do wells and social misfits at Humor Bloggers Dot Com are at it again. This time around we're trying to work as a semi cohesive unit to collectively write a story. "Many keyboards and only one mind" is what Confucius said so without further ado I present the collective works of the Humor Bloggers.

(Mind of Spaz) Wanda was always confused. Not about work, because she loved what she was doing. Not about her friends or her hobbies, because her social life was great. It wasn't her looks either, because she was tall, lean and had an absolutely perfect rack, the best money could buy. No, Wanda was confused because she has a penis.

(The Shark Tank) It had come wrapped in several layers of newspaper, stuffed into a tube typically reserved for delivering posters. It wasn't just any penis, either. Judging from its length (11.2 inches), scent (formaldahyde and tree sap), and coloring (burnt sienna), it had belonged to T. horridus and dated back to the late Cretaceous. In layman's terms, it was the penis of a Triceratops. Standing in her driveway, watching as the UPS guy hopped back into his truck and flipped down the visor, Wanda said something she'd thought many times before, but never said aloud.

"It's smaller than I thought it would be."

(Venom, Secrets, & Lies) Wanda headed into her garage, hoping to quell her nerves with some mundane gardening chores. Her mind was lurching around inside her skull and she worried what message was being sent to her with the arrival of the big, old, stinky, discoloured penis.


Wanda had been receiving anonymous, unsolicited gifts for the past few weeks, and the packages had gone from innocent to strange and, now, bizarre. The first gift was flattering & intriguing. Wanda had excused herself momentarily from the table where she was lunching with her sister, she returned to find a single, exquisite orchid across her plate, its' stem wrapped in a napkin with the message

'? from Your Secret Admirer ?'

written across it in a very fine hand. Her sister had been busy flirting with a busboy when the flower appeared & no one else had noticed or cared. Wanda had tucked the blossom behind her ear and worn it there in her hair all day long; she'd had no thought at all that Secret Admirer might be code for Crazy Stalker.

(The Offended Blogger) Of course, deep down Wanda knew that due to the fact that she had sustained numerous head injuries during rough sex over the years, she couldn't trust her own judgment or fully rely on her instincts. And given her history with those of the penile persuasion, including more than one romp on an expensive, leather couch with a tall, dark, handsome psychiatrist at the Center for Recovering Sex Addicts, she knew that someone might end up hurt.

She was also acutely aware that although she had mastered the art of projecting an angelic image which easily lured in the opposite sex, she had yet to conquer her sociopathic, nymphomaniac tendencies and lately found herself daydreaming about things like cannibalism and necrophilia.

Sure, the thought of a well hung secret admirer sending her taboo sexual gifts appealed to her deviant nature, but she had been down this road before and on more than one occasion it had turned out badly for her unassuming, love stricken victim and had nearly led to her own ruin.

Once it had even led her half way around the world where she ended up dismembering and depositing her heavily accented My Space admirer into the murky waters of the Rhine and was forced to work in a seedy German sex club as a towel girl just to earn enough Deutschmarks for the trip back to the states....

(AmyOops) But on her journey back, she learned in Belguim they don't use deutschmarks to open the toliets. So here she was stranded in a strange country and had to use the bathroom.

Oh whats a girl to do....

( Ettarose) She did the only thing she could think to do. She hiked her skirt up and grabbing her naughty parts, let loose with a long perfectly aimed stream of pee that went up over the cracked wooden stall door and gave a satisfying groan as she heard it hit her mark. “Hey!” someone yelled from the other side of the locked door. “Watch who the hell you are pissing on you skank!” Wanda was so startled she lost her concentration and as her pee dribbled down her legs and soaked her bobby socks. The door slammed open and there stood the biggest, hairiest lesbian Wanda had ever seen. “Where did you learn to do that?” she asked in awe as Wanda’s piss dripped off her nose. Oh great Wanda thought, now what?

(Lady Sarcasm) Wanda thought that it she played up on the woman's (?) awe, that she could charm her way right out of this hot mess. "I was a model for the P-mate, and eventually I showed them I could do it without a P-mate, so I was fired." Wanda explained. "Why I'll be!" said the burly lesbian known as Jackee. Jackee's awe was short lived Wanda noticed. Jackee was stepping forward. "That model thing was kind of cute, but what are you going to do about the fact that you just pissed all over me huh?" asked Jackee. Wanda immediately thought of that formaldahyde and tree sap smelling Triceratops penis...

“Do you wanna?” asked Wanda. “Do I wanna what?” countered Jackee. “Do you wanna foot long?” clarified Wanda. “No honey, I don’t go that way” exclaimed Jackee. “No, no” said a weary Wanda, “Do you wanna foot long for five bucks?” “Hey! shouted Jackee, “I won’t go there at any price!” Disappointed, Wanda quelled the rumblings in her tummy. She’d had her heart set on that steak and mushroom foot-long submarine sandwhich at Subway.

To subtly shift the subject of speech Wanda whispered “I absolutely adore alliteration”. “Some would say so” joked Jackee. “Oh, did I say that outloud” wondered Wanda, “Sorry”.

“I have a penis” proclaimed Wanda. “And I thought I was hiding something” retorted Jackee. “No, no” said Wanda, “It’s not mine – it belonged to a Triceratops. Here, look.”

“Oh my it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before” sighed Jackie. “Yeah, I can’t imagine you’ve seen many penises, eh?” queried (no pun intended – queer-eed) Wanda.

But that’s where Wanda was wrong (no alliteration intended). It turned out Jackee was not only of the poetess Sappho persuasion, she was also... (rimshit followed by cymbals)(hey, this is a cheap meme, not a big budget hollywood suspense thriller) ...a palaeontologist!!!

“Au contraire” parlayed Jackie – because not only was she a gay palaeontologist, but she came from gay Pa-ree!!! “I have seen many pre-historic penises, just never one this small or one this bleu, sacre!”

“Hmmm,” Wanda thought, “That’s the first time I’ve heard a big dyke complain about a small dick!”

Wanda's attention was drawn to a drop of her urine that was slowly rolling down the nose of her new lesbian friend. The droplet seemed to balance on the end of Jackee's nose and glisten in the sun. Her moment with the urine was shattered when Jackee blurted out - "So can I see it again?"

"See what? I thought you did not like dicks?" Wanda responded

"Not your dick silly , the dino dick. Back at my lab in gay paree - it's located in the homosexual section of the city, don't judge me the rent is cheap. Anyways in my lab we can conduct all sorts of tests on the dino dick and maybe learn something about its' former owner"

"Um I dunno, what can you learn from a dick?"

"Well if you listen to my girlfriend you can learn how to belch, scratch your ass and use power tools" Jackee laughed.

"Maybe you're right Jackee, testing the dino dick in the lab could get me closer to finding out who sent me the prehistoric penis. Where did they get it? and what message are they trying to send me?"

"So you and your dino dick will come to my lab in Paris for testing?

"Speaking for my dick I can say that we would be happy to join you at your lab"

"Excellent Excellent" Jackee exclaimed jumping up and down causing the remaining urine to fly off her in a fine mist. "You'll love Paris, and I can't wait for you to meet my girlfriend. She has her own vagina now. You honestly can't tell she used to be an accountant named Steve"

Wanda shuddered inside about the prospect of meeting a post operative "Steve", but she forced a smile and responded - "Great So when can we go?"

Now onto "Wannasmile" for the next exciting installment....

The Four Horsepeople of the Apocalypse

During this latest media induced crisis, a time when our thoughts turn to death, pandemics,pestilence and plagues. My thoughts of course turned to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

The four horsemen of the apocalypse - do you think it's time that they updated their preferred mode of transportation? Who rides horses anymore? It's so 1800's. And their whole schtick of being "harbingers of doom" --woo woo - is getting a bit old. Time to dust off the horsemen and update their image.

Seeing as the horsemen are agents of death it's not likely that they will be driving an environmentally sound choice like a Toyota Prius as their preferred vehicle. I'm thinking they will be driving souped up dune buggies like the ones seen in the Mad Max films. Vehicles that belch out clouds of noxious ozone destroying pollutants and run exclusively on leaded gasoline. Actually the vehicles wont run on gasoline at all, but they will run on a highly explosive mixture made out of kittens and song birds.



Times have changed and I for one think that the horsemen would find greater success if they replaced some of their numbers with females. I know that if I ever saw a shrieking woman driving a kitten powered toxin spewing vehicle of destruction, I for one would welcome death. We all know the phrase "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" and I'm sure we have all met some women that makes us pause for a moment and wonder if Hell can really be all that bad...



The traditional four horsemen of the apocalypse - now referred to as "the horsepeople of the apocalypse" came bearing gifts of war,famine,pestilence and death - well the new horsepeople will bring a more updated assortment of goodies for public consumption.

Pestilence and death will be replaced by Spoiled lunch meat and Swine Flu.

New vulnerabilities in mankind will be exploited by the horsepeople.

With a push of a button the horsepeople will be able to release millions of gallons of peanut oil from their vehicles. Those with peanut allergies will be swept away in the oily wall of death, while those remaining will be forced to swim for their lives or perish in a sea of peanuty goodness.

Thanks to the wonder of modern technology we will be able to witness the swath of death and destruction inflicted by the horsepeople via breaking news updates on CNN.

I wonder if the Horsepeople are on Twitter? Maybe I’ll send them a quick note and see if they can pay a "special" visit to the people on my list. They are all worthy candidates for a visit. The people who started the idea of being "Politically Correct" are at the top of my list, along with the inventors of Muzak and Reality TV. Maybe I'll include an episode of The Bachelor or Rock of Love so the Horsepeople have the proper motivation when they come a calling.