WTF Volume 5: The Baconator

In this edition of JTC’s continuing “WTF” series, we analyze “The Baconator”, Wendy’s new hamburger, which is essentially a cow wearing buns.

Wendy's Strategy

WTF Factor: Palm-covered face

For a company that prides itself on quality and freshness, offering this colon-clogging behemoth is quite the fucking departure.

The Egregious Size of the Burger

WTF Factor: Speechless Pointing

Two quarter-pound patties, six slices of bacon, cheese, cheese sauce, mayonnaise. It sounds like a week’s worth of groceries.

The Nutritional Content

WTF Factor: Crinkled Brow

840 calories, 1880 mg of sodium: That’s just the burger. It’s 1660 booty-plumping calories with a large coke and fries. I feel like I’m putting on weight just looking at pictures of it.

People Who Order It

WTF Factor: Condescending Stare

Fast food enthusiasts can relish in their dissent of a pussy, health-conscious society, saying “fuck off, you granolas – I’m going to do what tastes right!”

The Experience of Eating One




WTF Factor: Clenched Anus

Wrapping your quivering lips around this meat-stronsity may quell your longing for grease, but trust me, your beleaguered bowls will pay for it. Constipation: what a rush!

fds

The Lack of Warning Labels

WTF Factor: Puzzled Stuterring

They have warning labels on cigarettes. Why not for this hamburger? The wrapper should read with at least the following warnings: Do not operate heavy machinery within 3 hours of consuming the Baconator. Women nursing or pregnant should avoid contact with the Baconator. If eating the Baconator results in an erection lasting longer then 8 hours, please contact your doctor.

Random Thoughts

So - we've been back from Coachella for over a week, and haven't posted anything - our bad. Turns out that our "real jobs" are actually keeping us all pretty damn "busy". That's okay though - here's a random listing of shit I feel like talking about:

1) The Fucking Toronto Transit Strike

We've gone on and on about how a strike by the Toronto Transit Commission would be pretty damn cool. The union insisted that they would give at least 48 hours notice before going on strike, so we should be fine to leave town for a weekend to go to California, no? No. Those fuckers went on strike, ignoring the 48 hours notice promise, and we were in Cali, unable to enjoy the hysteria. By the time we were back, all transit was once again running smoothly.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.



2) Best T-Shirt Seen At Coachella

While we saw a ton of great t-shirts at Coachella, the one with this graphic was hands-down our favourite:

3) This Deserved A Pair Of Bad Idea Jeans

So there we were, 4am on a Monday morning, driving the rental car back to LA, and we needed to fill it up with gas. I spotted a station, and pulled off the highway. The following conversation ensued:

CoCo: "If we get shot, this was your idea."
JohnnyM: "Don't be silly. I'm not getting out of the car. You are."

What followed was fucking bizarre. I got out of the car, to try to pump the gas. A car immediately pulls up beside me, and some woman gets out, offering to sell me a pair of "high-end car jacks". I then notice her vehicle has no rear wind shield. The gas pump won't take my fucking credit card because it's asking me for a zip code (hilariously, I tried "90210"). CoCo and I then tried to talk to the guy in the attendant booth, and give him $20 to pre-pay for some gas.

Despite some excellent miming of the action of gas pumping (which in hindsight MAY have looked like we were pretending to shoot someone lying on the ground) and the fact that the guy WORKED AT A GAS STATION (what did he think we wanted?) he had no idea what was going on. As more and more weirdos came out of the woodwork, and seemed to be taking a lot of interest in us, we decided to leave and purchase our petroleum derivatives elsewhere. I enjoyed this comment from CoCo - looking at the map - as I gunned our white-kid-carrying-rental-SUV straight outta there:

"Jesus - you just tried to buy gas at 4am in Compton."

See you in a week!

The Board of Directors is en route (that's french for "on the way", people) to the Coachella festival this weekend. Enjoy yourselves (not that way), and we'll undoubtedly have some hilarity to share on our return. In the meantime, all of you JTC delegates are asked to participate in the new poll.

In my mind, you're all Super delegates.

Coco

TTC Strike Averted; JohnnyM Horrendously Disappointed

So - contrary to my previously mentioned hopes and dreams, there will be no transit strike here in the city of Toronto, and the estimated 1.5 million daily TTC riders (my sublime, self-righteous ass among them) can continue to be herded to work like cattle tomorrow morning.

But before we go back to our regularly scheduled programming, I'd just like to relay a conversation held between myself and CoCo on Friday afternoon on a downtown patio, which I think gets to the root of my "put people outside of their comfort zone, and something good might happen" argument...

JohnnyM: "So, if there's a strike on Monday, how are you going to get to work?"
CoCo: "I'll just walk. You?"
JohnnyM: "I think I'm going to run in."
CoCo: "But won't you be all sweaty?"
JohnnyM: "Yeah, but I can shower at the gym."
CoCo: "Hey - that's a great idea...I think I'll do the same. Actually, regardless of if there's a strike, I might just start doing that."
JohnnyM: "There it is."
CoCo: "You're really hot. Let's make out."*
JohnnyM: "Holy shit, you're so gay."*


* I may have taken some 'artistic license' with this portion of the conversation. But I'm pretty certain CoCo is gay. And I don't mean happy. We're talking rainbows.

WTF Volume 4: Calgary

Welcome to the fourth installment of JTC Inc.'s "WTF" series, where we highlight things that make us say "What the fuck?". This edition deals with Alberta's largest city, Calgary: gateway to the west. And by "the west", we mean "rampant crack smoking".

The ludicrously short Calgary (nee Husky) Tower

WTF Factor: Head recoil with eyeroll

Usually the narrow form factor of a tower is used to achieve greater heights than surrounding buildings of standard design, but not in the case of this embarrassingly short edifice from which the Husky company quickly disassociated itself. In a contest of phallic symbols, The CN Tower makes this look like a nipple.

Trailer Park Tuxedoes

WTF Factor: Cringe with groan

Jeans. Jean shirt. Jean Jacket. This class outfit is a Calgarian staple, even in the business district. With every second person around me consistently draped in denim, I felt out of place in an actual suit.

The Idiotic Street/Avenue/Quadrant System

WTF Factor: Clenched "I'll get you!" fist shake

Albertan Urban Planners must be smoking B.C. bud, because they decided to combine the 'avenue/street' cross-hatch city plan with the 'ne/se/sw/ne quadrant' plan. The resultant layout means not only does each avenue intersect itself (ie. 9th and 9th), but there are two of each intersection (ie. two 9th & 9th's). Perfect for the hammered out-of-towner trying to give directions to a cab driver.

Plus 15

WTF Factor: Gestures suggesting masturbation

Instead of being a real city and burrowing beneath the earth, the city decided to escape Old Man Winter's chilly spank by building walkways "Plus 15" feet above ground. Welcome to Calgary: Despite bathing in oil, we're still lame and cheap.

The Number of Transient Crack Smokers

WTF Factor: Turned-up-the-wrong-street regretful frown

Actually, although there were a lot of crack smokers, what was weirder was the number of addicts on the streets generally. The fun part is seeing who can get the least number of needles stabbed in their arm while running by the Cecil Hotel.

The Red "Mile"

WTF Factor: Both palms facing upwards

The fact that a few Flames' supporters bars are within a three-block length in a four-kilometer strip-mall called 17th Avenue is great, but Calgarian's belief that these these bars cover a "mile" might explain the Calgary Tower's height.

JTC Inc. would like to extend our deepest apologies and sympathies to Calgarians; Apologies, for the above scathing commentary about your municipality, and sympathies, because your city really, really sucks.

On behalf of the entire crew, thanks for flying JTC Inc.

In the midst of loathing air travel during a recent excursion, I noticed how the whole flight safety routine with the flight crew sherades et al is little silly. There's no need to point out the only four possible exits from the hermetically sealed vessel that passengers will be riding at 30,000 feet above the earth: trust me, I'm pretty sure we know exactly where the door is in the event of an emergency, and have probably already sussed out the old ladies and children we'll need to trample to get there.

That said, the useless pointing routine could be used to alleviate the doldrums on the plane between the "sit down with your seatbelt on" time and the "get up and have sex with a stewardess in the bathroom" time; They could do a fulsome job of pointing out the insanely obvious and add the following to the routine:

"There are two exits at the front, two at the rear" *point at two exits at front, and two in rear - don't forget to blow out your guns after using them to point*

"Food goes here" *point at passenger's mouths*

"Pants go here" *point at passenger's leg/crotch areas*

"This is going to be huge!" *point at own crotch*

"Motherfucking snakes!" *point at motherfucking plane*

I think you get the idea - it could be a lot more exciting.

What doesn't need spicing up, however, is the fold out safety pamphlet geared towards those who slept through the safety procedures at takeoff and need a quick refresher as the plane dives into a tailspin. It's fucking hilarious. For instance, the pamphlet shows that during an emergency, the following will occur:

Business women will fire dashed lines out of their eyes down at helpless souls on the earth's surface:

fdas

Despite the prospect of crashing into land or water, passengers will be as enthralled as my first year archeology class (check out bearded dude just staring at the ceiling):

sdf

sdf

fds
And more interestingly, there will be unnecessarily hot women suggestively inflating their vests:

sdadfd

If this is what really goes on, I very much look forward to my next emergency, in particular, having my vest inflated. As a final thought, if you take anything away from this article, please remember to adjust your own motherfucking snake before adjusting the motherfucking snake of a child.

J-Lo's Miracle Weight Loss Plan

I was walking past a magazine stand on Friday, when a headline caught my eye - it was something along the lines of "J-Lo Loses 40 lbs With Miracle Weight Loss Plan!"

Now - unlike CoCo - I'm not much of a celebrity gossip hound, but didn't J-Lo just have twins? Wouldn't extricating two small humans from your abdomen certainly help with your "miracle weight loss plan"?

We here at JTC have a bit of an engineering / process background, as evidenced by our well-documented love of flow charts. In order to help those who may be wishing to employ the J-Lo miracle, I quickly put together the following:

The beauty of this is that it DOESN'T MATTER how many children you may be carrying - triplets? quintuplets? - it STILL WORKS. You just keep on removing them, until you reach your WEIGHT LOSS GOAL.

You're welcome,

JohnnyM

P.S. I saw Doug Gilmour in the Loblaws at Laird and Millwood this afternoon, and almost shit my pants, I was so excited. I guess that could be another weight loss plan...

Watch Out!

We here at JTC are huge fans of watches. And no, I'm not talking about Swiss time keeping pieces (although we are a big fan of both the Swiss and their currency) - I'm talking about when something is considered so "news-worthy" that it gets it's own "watch" on the evening news. As luck would have it, these watches usually come packaged with their own graphics and theme music.







I know you've all seen these - if you troll around the net long enough, it's not difficult to find all sorts of this shit, be it a "Storm Watch", "Hurricane Watch", "Disease Watch", "Gas Watch", "Stock Watch", "Britney Watch", or what have you.



However, what we really love - and what seems to grip our beloved city of Toronto every few years - is the threat of a public transit strike by the Toronto Transit Commission. Who can forget the fantastic Wildcat Strike of '06 when we all found out how important wild felines are to the smooth operation of our transit infrstructure? Shit - we loved it so much that we here at JTC came up with our own graphic for that one.




Well, with another TTC strike appearing imminent, our fear-mongering friends at CityTV ("How simple household items CAN KILL YOUR CHILDREN! Coming up, after sports and weather") have come up with a fresh, updated strike watch graphic




I can't wait to see what happens. Truth be told - even though two thirds of the JTC Board of Directors rely on the TTC to get to our...uh....real jobs - I wouldn't mind if there was a strike. I enjoy seeing people being put out of their comfort zones and realizing that maybe walking/biking to work wouldn't kill them. Also, I'm a big fan of general civil unrest. Throw in an Olympic Torch protest with a TTC strike, and I might just be in heaven, comrades.

WTF, Volume 3: Las Vegas

Following Coco's lead, the following is a list of things that made me say, "What the fuck?" when I recently travelling to the charming village of Las Vegas, Nevada:

Jaw-Dropping Obesity
WTF Factor: Loss of Appetite
Seriously - this kinda grossed me out. I noticed on the plane when we were flying there, that there appeared to be a few more...uh...COS's (Customers of Size) than on most flights I've been on, but I frankly wasn't prepared for the amount of sub-cutaneous fat that I got to observe. How did these people walk around with all that weight? Well...some of them didn't...



Why Walk When You Can Ride?

WTF Factor: Pursed Lips
Never have I seen so many people riding on those little scooters in my life. I think the "water-shed" moment for me though was when I saw two scooters "parked" beside the buffet at the Rio.



That Dude That Gave Me The Finger
WTF Factor: Bemused Smile and Wave
One night, me and the CHP were standing on a corner outside the Bellagio. A taxi came around the corner, and the dude who was riding shotgun, leaned out the window and gave us the finger. There was no one else around - it was clearly directed at us. The following conversation ensued:

CHP: "That was nice."
JohnnyM: "I'm sure he had his reasons."


REAL Whoring
WTF Factor: Disbelieving Stare
While there's been some recent discussions of our own whoring activities here at JTC, I wasn't prepared for the open nature of the REAL whoring in Vegas. Trucks went down the strip, guys wore t-shirts with phone numbers while handing out ads, and every 10 feet there were boxes with pamphlets in them, all offering "girls to your room!"

Not my bag, peeps...but if it's yours - stay safe.



Bringing Children To "Sin City"


WTF Factor: Head Shake
Why? Seriously: why?

WTF, Volume 2: JTC Inc. Blog Comments

A comment on the previous post:

Anonymous' Comment

WTF Factor: Wanker
I'll plead guilty to whoring for blog traffic on SWPL, but not to vaginal irrigation, and if you're one of the millions of people who hate spam, you could help the cause by not making "anonymous" comments on blogs. Muppet.

WTF, Volume 1: Toronto

The following is a short list of things about the city I call home that keep me asking "what the fuck?":

The Cost of a Large Beer at a Leaf’s Game

WTF Factor: High
Increasing at about 100 times the rate of inflation, this season a large was $13.50. I guess they felt they were just giving it away when they charged $11 a couple of years ago.




People who say “Spah-Deen-Ah”

WTF Factor: Moderate
It’s “Spah-Dine-Ah”, you fucking muppets.





The fact that the TTC built a Sheppard Subway Line

WTF Factor: Cocked Eyebrow
Mel Lastman’s ‘Ikea Express’ is breathtakingly stupid: Check out Leslie station, conveniently located on a 6-lane suburban corridor with barren sidewalks.




The Flagrant Gentrification of Queen West

WTF Factor: Head Shaking
The “Bohemian Embassy”? Really?!













The Uselessness of Yonge/Dundas Square

WTF Factor: Eye Rolling
A paved, bleak square surrounded with offensively large advertisements and big box stores. It’s really urban planning at it’s best.






The Amount of Roasted Corn Consumed at Toronto’s “Taste of” Festivals

WTF Factor: Stink Face
People who probably never eat roasted corn will line up forever for a butter-soaked cob at these street parties. I think it’s really fucking weird.






By-law 522-78

WTF Factor: Mild
This is why little kids in Toronto grow up wanting to overthrow the government.







David Zancai, a.k.a. “Zanta”

WTF Factor: Honey Garlic
Yes! Yes! Yes!

Couple of quick items

Here are two things I thought you would all (both?) love to know:

1) File this one under 'full disclosure': For those of you who were over at our house last Thursday night, I have an admission - as is rapidly becoming a habit on Thursdays, I was going commando for a good portion of the evening. When I got changed after my cycling workout earlier in the evening, I realized that I didn't have any underwear with me, so it was...uh...just me and my jeans, if you know what I'm sayin'. Don't worry though - I eventually got changed after about an hour or so of coming home.

2) Similar to CoCo's well-documented issues in the bathroom, I tend to run into odd situations in change rooms. While I don't believe I've ever written a blog post about these, I'd just like to comment that one of my favourites was the time when I saw a dude blow-drying his pubes at the gym. Anyhoo, last Saturday I enjoyed quite the spectacle at a local community centre. Following a swim, there was an older Asian gentleman in the showers with me. (Well - not with me...he was sort of beside me...oh, whatever.) This guy appeared to be showering prior to entering the pool area. Suddenly, without warning and with the water still running over him, he dropped down to the floor and started doing push-ups in the shower. It was fucking odd, let me tell you.

Degrading Discounts

Ah, tiered fares - the first world's caste system! If you think they were born out of stiff competition in the airline industry (where airlines pass on savings to customers who forego frills), you're dead wrong. Dead wrong. It's actually a group of sadistic marketing sonofabitches making up the restrictions, hoping to humiliate passengers. Don't believe me? Here's a couple of recent examples:

1. My recently purchased 'Economy Supersaver' ticket on BMI restricts me from being able to select a seat, even at check in. I don’t even know what the fuck this means. Do I just show up and look for an empty seat like I’m at the movies? Are there going to be assholes who put their bags on empty seats like in the subway? How does this save BMI money? Oh right, it doesn't - it's just another random inconvenience for me, the cheap-ass passenger.

2. Similarly, a friend flew Southwest on their “Wanna Get Away” fare. Apparently, “Wanna Get Away” means “I’m poor and would like to be treated that way”, because what ensued was staged boarding at the gate, with the stages not being defined by the usual “old people and babies followed by row number” fashion, but instead, by “fare class”. So essentially, there was no assigned seating, and they let the passengers on in order relative to how much they paid. When my friend finally got on, he and his wife were about 20 rows apart. Humiliated? You bet!

If any of you sadist marketers are reading this (and given our absolutely massive readership, that’s more a certainty than a probability), I’d like to suggest other things me and my fellow cheap ass passengers are willing to do to save our hard-earned and tightly-held travel dollars.

Instead of a seat, I’ll sit on a stool in the galley in the back. Or I'll just stand. If you want, in between movies, I’ll make your full-fare-paying customers feel great by walking up and down the aisles yelling “Hey people! I’m sitting on an uncomfortable stool in the back of the plane because I paid less than you! You're getting value for your money, dammit!”. Alternatively, I could sit in a corner near the washroom with a dunce cap that says "discount fare". Or, I could forego use of the bathroom. If it’s an overseas flight, I’ll wear a fucking catheter if I have to. If necessary, your stewardesses can tell the other customers why I’m wearing a catheter. I’ll also offer to show them the catheter while discussing my thrift and smaller annual income.

Anything you want guys! Lets work together to make air travel accessible, and embarrassing, for all.

Stuff JohnnyM Likes

Most (both?) of you are probably aware of the hilarious blog "Stuff White People Like". Despite the fact that this blog has only been in existence since January of this year, it is extremely popular, registering almost 16 million hits, with upwards of 600 comments on each post.

By comparison, our blog has been around for over 2 years, has only been viewed 5,000 times, and frequently our posts generate zero comments.

In an article published in the Toronto Star on Thursday, one of the creators of the Stuff White People Like blog states, "There was no grand plan. We'd done comedy blogs just for a few friends. We expected maybe 10 people on this one. But then it went completely viral."

If there's one thing in this world that I like, it's someone who has a very similar idea to me, only he executes that idea much, much better. Much better.

Because we like to put the "who" in "whoring", my buddy Coco the Monkey decided to put a link to the JTC blog into a comment on the Stuff White People Like blog on Wednesday of this week. The results speak for themselves - here's a chart of traffic on our blog for the past month:

Stuff white people like appears to include "blindly clicking on links".

Destination of the week: Peru

I’ve recently returned from a short sojourn to this country of ancient cultures and rich colonial tradition, and thought I’d share a couple of observations from my visit.

Observation: There are a lot of tourists in Peru who deserve to be robbed

While trips to Europe and North America offer the opportunity to observe robotic tourists ricocheting between sights via turn-by-turn guidebook instructions, Peru offers the chance to see the same short-panted, long-socked globe trotters out of their first-world comfort zone.

For your enjoyment, there is an endless supply of breathtaking stupidity on display in this country, where despite an environment of extreme poverty, violent political instability and rampant police corruption, there are visitors who look like they were just teleported from the Epcot Center. Some of the most notable sights included:

• I saw one genius take out what looked to be approximately three months worth of an average Peruvian's wages out of an ATM, and then turn away from the machine to count it in plain sight of nearby hawkers. He stepped on bills he dropped to stop the wind from taking them away before proceeding to stuff the whole crumpled wad into the back of his trousers, making a veritable pickpocket’s piñata out of his ass.
• I watched a tourist stop in the middle of a crowded market, blocking the thoroughfare for a picture. He then held his camera outstretched with one hand, only to see it promptly removed from his grip by a run-by thief. Seeing him stand there in shock and without reaction, I felt like going over to pants him, just to complete his moment.

Observation: Peruvian canines are easily aroused

I'm a big fan of canines, and my heartstrings are particularly well plucked by the malnourished and often injured street dogs in Central and South America. Despite the oily, flea-infested coats, I can’t resist petting those that come up to me, or sharing a bit a food. This personal protocol has now been abuptly cancelled.

As my co-habitational partner proceeded to pet the slimy head of one of these dogs in Peru, the back end of the animal began to bow inwards, a common sight I’ve seen with my own pup before she lays a deuce. However, I recommended we step away, and for good reason, as it was becoming clear this was not your typical number-two action. Apparently the light petting was received as heavy petting, and the dog dry-humped what must have been the air-guitar version of his fantasy bitch, finishing the event by ejaculating all over the pavement. It was a glorious, glorious sight.

The little boys (and old ladies) room

If you’ve been keeping up with the blog (and I’m not entirely sure that phrase addresses anyone at all), you know I keep witnessing what I consider to be seriously abnormal activity in bathrooms. I have yet another tale of the toilet.

At the conclusion of yesterday’s weekly round of golden tee with the Board, I went off the bathroom. At this particular pub there are adequate facilities and therefore never usually any wait time, so when I passed through the door into the bathroom I was surprised to be presented with a lineup a few gents deep.

Curious as to what the holdup was all about, I prairie-dogged on tip-toes over the shoulders of my fellow full-bladdered drinkers to have a look at the situation. There was a urinal empty. I automatically assumed the nancy first in line was caught-up with having to pee right beside someone else, and began to by-pass the lineup with a frown, visibly showing my disgust with the excess urinal capacity. However, when I was about to pass the first gent, I noticed his face looking at me bore not the digust of being budded, but carried an expression of curiosity, wondering what the hell I was doing. That’s when I realized what the lineup was for. We were waiting for an elderly woman to finish with one of the urinals and pull up her knickers from around her ankles.

In the first microsecond prior to my realizing the entire scene, I just assumed it was a drunk urinating man who decided to fly his flabby halves, which is somewhat taboo in male urinary culture but not completely unusual. However, I saw half of the face and realized what we were dealing with.

Let me fill out the visual and answer what is undoubtedly your second question: How the hell is a woman using a urinal? Well, I guess theoretically there would be two ways. This old lady did not have the stamina nor the musculature required to hold a position that would “back it in” and make her delivery. Instead, she can only do what I would describe as “The Fonz” slouch (sans thumbs up, of course), where the pelvis is held at an angle sufficient for… well that’s probably enough to explain it.

By the time I had sussed up this whole scene, my bladder was getting the best of me. Being twenty percent of the way to deciding to pee in the urinal beside her, I was relieved of that potentially life-changing experience by a stall door, ajar and advertising it’s vacancy. I ran, turning the lock more for security rather than privacy.

When I came out the miscreant was washing her hands. At this point the line had dissipated and the urinals were once again at full capacity, but this time with customers for which they were designed. New arrivals to the bathroom saw the old lady washing her hands, but went about their business without any visible shock. It’s a funny thing that when a woman enters a men’s bathroom and makes herself at home, nobody minds. In fact in long lineups at concerts, etc, men are often jeering a hardy “Come on in!” to the ladies who are in dire straights and looking to come to the other side. In contrast, if a man enters a woman’s bathroom, I’m pretty sure the result would be anywhere from being called a pervert through to being arrested.

To conclude, while my bathroom experiences are leading to several posts, which is always a good thing, I really fucking hope this kind of thing stops happening to me.

Why I Went Commando At Work On Thursday

Do you ever feel like not wearing underwear? Me neither, but on Thursday I didn't really have a choice. You see, on certain days before work I go swimming. I then leave straight from the pool and head to work. As people that know me can attest, I'm all about the efficiency, so on my way to the pool, I usually wear my bathing suit under my pants, and bring along a pair of undies for after my swim. And on Thursday I forgot them.

The sinking feeling I felt when I was looking through my bag, and realized that it was devoid of undergarments was quite strong. The decision to then just pull my pants on was quite the leap. I considered going home to get some undies, but then remembered that going back home wasn't particularly efficient, and as mentioned above - I'm all about the efficiency. I briefly considered purchasing new underwear when I got downtown, but then remembered that I'm a cheap bastard - why buy new underwear when you have perfectly good underwear at home?

So - I spent the whole day with my pants rubbing directly against my "bits". It felt kind of weird. And also led me to maniacally check my fly every 20 seconds, regardless of if I'd recently gone to the bathroom or not.

As if that wasn't enough, here's something else that happened on Thursday... My desk at work is very close to a small kitchen area that includes a water cooler. I heard a bit of a ruckus over in that area, and it turned out that the water cooler was leaking all over the floor. There was a guy and a girl there, and they seemed to have everything in order. Let's see what happens next:

Random Guy: "Hey John, could you come and give us a hand with this?"
John: (not wanting to help in the slightest) "Uh...sure...hang on." (gets up; checks fly)
RG: "Can you pull the water jug off the top of the cooler? It's leaking. I'd do it myself, but I have a bad back."
J: (extremely doubtful of the bad back story; looking forward to soaking pants that don't have underwear underneath them) "Sure." (JohnnyM lifts off leaking water jug, and places it on kitchen counter. And then checks his fly.)
RG: "Thanks. I'm not sure when it started leaking. It wasn't leaking when I put the jug in there an hour ago."
J: "Wait a fucking second. You didn't have a bad back an hour ago when you put the jug on the cooler, but now when it's leaking all over the place you do? You're such an asshole."* (checks his fly)

In summary:
- don't forget to wear underwear
- don't help people who are assholes


* I didn't actually say this. But boy, did I want to.

Me and The Big Swede

It's been a while since there's been a new post - our apologies for the delay. One of the problems is that our actual (non-JTC) jobs seem to be keeping us all fairly busy these days. Slavery, I tell you. Anyhoo - I was at the Leafs game this week, and I knew that you'd all (both?) want my thoughts on that.

Me and the CHP headed down to the Air Canada Centre to watch the Leafs ACTUALLY WIN. I was stunned to say the least. There were a couple of other things of note to mention. First off - if you can afford to go to a Leafs game (even in the "cheap" seats, where I am) I think you can also afford to do laundry. Especially if you've urinated on yourself. There was someone sitting very close to us who appeared to be caught up in the "afford Leafs ticket / can't afford to wash urine-soaked clothing" paradox. Hmmmm...

The other thing I wanted to mention were peoples' Leafs jerseys. I always enjoy the sheer idiocy some people show when buying jerseys, and slapping names on the back. For starters, at least let someone play for a season and make sure they don't shit the bed completely before getting their jersey! I was stunned by how many Andrew Raycroft jerseys I saw...the guy's Goals Against Average (GAA) is over 4! As CoCo helpfully e-mailed to me during the game, that ranks 79th out of 81 goalies in the NHL. Holy shit.

Putting your own name on the back of a Leafs jersey is just sad. However, worse than that is putting some bizarre nickname on the back. I keep seeing this dude downtown before games in a Sundin jersey with "THE BIG SWEDE" across the back. That got me thinking during the game on Tuesday about other horrendous things to put on jerseys. How about these player / nickname combos:

Bryan McCabe: "THE BIG CONTRACT" (He's getting about $6MM / year to score OT winners. On his own fucking net.)
Andrew Raycroft: "4.07" (That would be his GAA. You may think it would be hard to keep this up to date, but is Raycroft really going to play again this year?)
Jiri Tlusty: "NAKED CELL PHONE GUY" (He's...uh....that naked cell phone guy - don't worry the link is to the CBC)

Unreal Estate

A friend from out of town is considering moving to Toronto and buying a house. He’s looking mainly in the downtown core, known as the “C01” area on MLS, a property listing service that is largely monopolized by the most intelligent and professional business people in the world: Real Estate Agents.

I took a look through the listings on his behalf, and even more shocking than the fact that you can barely get anything for under $400K these days is the hilarious captions these Devry-graduates put up on the ads to lure potential buyers. Some of their best strategies for these comments seem to be as follows:

1. List the extras! Really, this is Real Estate 101. If the house has a circuit breaker, make sure you put that on the ad. If you don’t take this key step, buyers who are specifically looking for houses with circuit breakers may scroll right over your property! It’s all about using the circuit breaker to get them to the property, and then using the rest of the home’s luxury features, like pipes, a roof and walls, to close the deal once they are through the door.
2. Remember that your potential buyers are making one of the most important financial decisions of their lives, and as a result, they need your professional guidance. Tell them to “see with their own imagination” what is really for sale. Help them imagine themselves owning the property – what would they do with it? As a trusted professional, you could suggest they could “live in it, or use it as a rental”. This will open up a whole world of possibilities they probably hadn’t thought of.
3. Focus on the positive. Cunningly turn the home's crack-house status into a selling feature, and the offers will come pouring in. If the property you are trying to sell is really only suitable for the raccoons and rodents that currently inhabit it, advertise it as a “Contractor’s Delight!”. “Renovator’s Dream” is also widely used in this regard. This one is just common sense.
4. Build a vision. It’s all about making the buyer imagine what their life will be like in this new property, and making that vision a desirable one. For instance, if it’s a Victorian house you’re selling, have them imagine a “Victorian Lifestyle!”. What could be more attractive to a buyer than imagining that buying your property will throw them 150 years back in time, at the height of the British Industrial Revolution. Hell, I’d like to put an offer in right now.
5. Make sure you comment on the valuable upgrades your client has made to the property. “New Paint” should not be overlooked, and can help justify why you have listed for $698,900, and not $698,850.

Two Years On The Fake Corporate Calendar

As many of you have noticed*, I was away this year in late December, and wasn’t able to make my traditional “anniversary post”, where I summarize the year that was for JTC, and list my favourite e-mail sign-offs. Looking back at last year’s anniversary post, I see that we’ve increased our output from a paltry 1,838 e-mails to each other in 2006, to an astounding 4,066 e-mails in 2007. Using last year’s estimate of 250 “working” days a year, we’ve shattered our target of 10 e-mails a day, actually exceeding 16 e-mails a day (holy shit!).

As mentioned, I took it upon myself to read through all 4,066 e-mails, and come up with my list of favourite e-mail sign-offs….here they are, all 136 of them in glorious chronological order. Enjoy:

Totally professional,
No legal precedent for fucking yourself,
Lawlessly smoking at entrances,
Take your skirt off,
"Effectiveness" is my middle name,
Stymied,
Maybe you got it by being so damned promiscuous,
Fecal contamination,
I hate you,
Enraged and Disgruntled,
Bra burners,
Try to guess the number of beers John will drink this week,
Match made in hell,
He's your friend,
The financial district is a ghetto,
Since I’ll be down there, I’ll go ahead and take care of the cockroach problem,
Sensitivity training,
Pursed lips,
Zero tolerance,
A 5 day work week? Slavery,
Not a JTC team player,
Not my friend,
He's your acquaintance,
Dead gringos,
Jetpacks,
Great use of ‘fucking baboon’,
Your cat smells,
I sneeze every time I smell “your cat”,
I tried to pet ‘your cat’ and it farted,
Starts with an "h", ends with a "e", and in the middle is "ypocrit",
Shalom, I’d like a loan,
Shit the bed,
They're the ones writing it off,
IT band,
Hoochin',
How does that taste,
Toasting your birth,
Getting older, not smarter,
Horny for a 'reverse danforth',
Better prepare your leather pants for a face imprint,
Just kidding about the gay stopping thing,
Don't mess with JTC,
Out of ideas after thinking for 0 seconds,
Just thinking of our readers (us),
You guys want to go to the GAP?,
Burning, just like urination,
Insanely inappropriate,
You're stale,
Where the hell is that updated policy register,
No comment on pussy’s nightwear? Bullshit,
“Gay roots”,
Epidural anyone?,
You’re too old for this,
I six sigma’ed it up her,
Just answer the question,
Attention Ladies: I watch Grey’s Anatomy,
“Latent Homosexual Tendencies”,
Anticipating the "P.S. I hate you" email response,
My palette is ruined,
Your an idiot,
“Allegations of polygamy”,
He networked it up her,
Slut for alcohol,
Urban sprawlers,
You are aware I took the smaller office,
Welcome to your Carlsberg years,
Don’t forget the fucking notebook,
‘Tee Whore,
The world revolves around you,
And by ‘real work’, I mean ‘JTC work’,
There’s gotta be something funny to write about amidst the tragedy of a wedding,
I might be trash too,
She’s also incontinent,
GFY, China; Our kids can out produce yours,
Sex with men? Not as gay,
That's Billion with a "B",
Flagrant use of ‘whore’,
Thank god I put on my Himalayan walkers,
Spite,
I mean, COME ON!
Gold diapers,
Drunk with power,
You have the full support of the board,
Where is my fucking parachute,
Wanting to leave and drink heavily, but instead I know I'll be working 'til 10pm for no fucking reason,
“Breastmilk White Russian”,
I’m suing you for laziness,
My life doesn’t revolve around your beer needs, all the time,
Get some help,
Looking forward to putting a smoke in my mouth, just so you can slap it out,
I can’t write all these fucking jokey emails all at once,
They should have their own schools,
Swearing = fun,
How about a big cup of what the fuck,
My hat, my hat, my lovely lady hat. Check it out,
Pre-emptive GFY,
Yes, I am a scientist,
Jew,
Crossing the blue line before the puck,
I can smell it on your breath,
Shrewdness of Apes,
TTC’s new motto: “Don’t like our service? Go ahead and use our competitors… OH BURN!”
Defer all over your face,
Financial Armageddon,
Niagara falls all over your face,
I went ahead and fixed the glitch,
I wanna make every woman I see,
I wear women's pants,
We are such girls,
Drinking right now,
Ya ya ya yya ya yya ya chit chit yaow,
I used them as toilet paper,
Night time lady caller,
See you in hell,
I thought we were going for a steam,
Picturing us doing the robot moves when the strobe is off while saying “Juxtapose!”,
Maybe this time I’ll stop masturbating,
I like the way you work it, no diggity, I got to bag it up,
I’m not gay you sons of bitches,
We’re not men,
Treat me like an object,
Clusterfuck,
Surprised you are not on the floor sweating and twitching,
You decide asshole,
While I’m not sexist per se, I do appreciate hilarious sexist jokes,
Dumbest idea ever,
Engage number 1 *point finger*,
Clap, clap… clap clap clap,
Your team? Monkeys,
Ambiguity – they say it has less fat, but you eat more of it,
In a virtual golfing slump,
Following by example is much easier,
10 letter word for wireless email device,
This better not affect JTC Board Meetings,
We should hire talented people – that would diversify our department,
I hope she doesn’t stay in touch,




* No one noticed