Monthly Archives: July 2008

New Rules for 2008


I’m quoting at length here from George Carlin’s New Rules for 2008, which is, naturally, copyright by George Carlin and not my work.  It’s a good epitaph.

New Rule: No more gift registries. You know, it used to be just for weddings. Now it’s for babies and new homes and graduations from rehab. Picking out the stuff ‘you’ want and having other people buy it for you isn’t gift giving, it’s the white people version of looting.

New Rule: Stop giving me that pop-up ad for classmates.com ! There’s a reason you don’t talk to people for 25 years. Because you don’t particularly like them! Besides, I already know what the captain of the football team is doing these days — mowing my lawn.

New Rule: Don’t eat anything that’s served to you out a window unless you’re a seagull. People are acting all shocked that a human finger was found in a bowl of Wendy’s chili Hey, it cost less than a dollar. What did you expect it to contain? Lobster?

New Rule: Stop saying that teenage boys who have sex with their hot, blonde teachers are permanently damaged. I have a better description for these kids: ‘Lucky bastards.’

New Rule: Ladies, leave your eyebrows alone. Here’s how much men care about your eyebrows: Do you have two of them? Good, we’re done.

New Rule: There’s no such thing as flavored water. There’s a whole aisle of this crap at the supermarket, water, but, without that watery taste. Sorry, but flavored water is called a soft drink. You want flavored water? Pour some scotch over ice and let it melt. That’s your flavored water.

New Rule: Stop screwing with old people. Target is introducing a redesigned pill bottle that’s square, with a bigger label. And the top is now the bottom. And by the time grandpa figures out how to open it, he’ll most likely be in the morgue. Congratulations, Target, you just solved the Social Security crisis.

New Rule: The more complicated the Starbucks order, the bigger the ass ordering it. If you walk into a Starbucks and order a ‘decaf grandee, half-soy, half-low fat, iced vanilla, double-shot, gingerbread cappuccino, extra dry, light ice, with one Sweet-n’-Low, and One NutraSweet,’…. ooooh, you’re a huge ass.

New Rule: I’m not the cashier! By the time I look up from sliding my card, entering My PIN! number , pressing ‘Enter,’ verifying the amount, deciding, no, I don’t want Cash back, and pressing ‘Enter’ again, the kid who is supposed to be ringing me up is standing there eating my Almond Joy.

New Rule: Competitive eating isn’t a sport. It’s one of the seven deadly sins. ESPN recently televised the U.S. Open of Competitive Eating, because watching those athletes at the poker table was just too damned exciting. What’s next, competitive farting? Oh wait, they’re already doing that. It’s called ‘The Howard Stern Show.’

New Rule: I don’t need a bigger mega M&Ms. If I’m extra hungry for M&Ms, I’ll go nuts and eat two.

New Rule: If you’re going to insist on making movies based on crappy old television shows, then you have to give everyone in the Cineplex a remote so we can see what’s playing on the other screens. Let’s remember the reason something was a television show in the first place is that the idea wasn’t good enough to be a movie.

New Rule: When I ask how old your toddler is, I don’t need to hear ’27 months.’ ‘He’s two’ will do just fine. He’s not a cheese. And I didn’t really care in the first place.

New Rule: If you ever hope to be a credible adult and want a job that pays better than minimum wage, then for God’s sake don’t pierce or tattoo every available piece of flesh. If you do, plan your future around saying, ‘Do you want fries with that?’

Please feel free to add your own!!!

Damn.  I wish I could write like that. If there are payments required to his estate, we’ll pass the hat later.  Thanks George.

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Canada Day


Today is the 141st birthday of Canada.  For those south of the 49th, July 4th, is the American equivalent of Canada Day. Which is reason enough for some consideration of What It Means To Be Canadian.

First off, being Canadian means you’re considered ‘safe’ by the rest of the world, from the standpoint of imperialism, wars, oil, food and the rest of the other nonsense.  In many countries a Canadian passport means the Customs folks wave you through with barely a cursory inspection. 

Second:  An impression by others that you’re boring.  Which is fine, as it allows us to keep under the radar, get things done and get out with nary a ripple.  Sure, we’re the New Zealand or Switzerland of North America.  We like it.

Third:  An inbred appreciation of food that includes:  Pot stickers, perogies, onion bhaji, curried goat roti, hommus, gelato, ‘cue, tea, rum and beer.  Our multicultural nature means you don’t stick to one type of cuisine, your plate is an international buffet and the salad bar is a forty-foot long agglomeration of everything.  By the way, that’s what the white folks eat.  Persons of different heritages have an appreciation for even more stuff that you can’t pronounce.

Four:  You don’t declare bankruptcy if you break your ankle.  We have cradle to grave health care.  Yes, it’s not perfect and in some ways downright crap, but it’s head and shoulders above the rest of the world.  We pay for it in higher taxes, but not as high as Scandinavian countries, for instance.

Five:  You don’t have to worry about approaching the cops, unlike other countries where the police are the biggest group of thieves and killers.  You might get hit with a Taser for no good reason, but generally, the police is on our side.  The politicians suck in Canada, like everywhere else.

Six:  The CBC is second to no one as an international broadcaster of repute. 

Seven:  Familiarity with Chez Helene, The Friendly Giant, Mr Dressup, Gordon Lightfoot, Anne Murray, Glenn Gould, Oscar Peterson, Robbie Robertson, Neil Young, Robert Charlebois, Chilliwack, Stompin’ Tom Connors, Geddy Lee, Kim Mitchell, Rene Simard, Great Big Sea, Bare-Naked Ladies, The Tragically Hip, Take 30, Knowlton Nash, Harvey Kirk, Lorne Green, about half of Hollywood, the X-Files and Trailer-Park Boys.

Eight:  We’re really sorry about Celine Dion.  All of us.

Nine:  The White House.  It wouldn’t be white if we hadn’t kicked your ass in the War of 1812 with a half a battalion of regular soldiers and a another half battalion of piss-drunk militia members who were just looking for a good fight, then a beer-up.  Since there was nothing to do after invading Washington, some of the militia members figured burning down the President’s residence would be a great way to spend a Saturday night, after getting their drink on.

Ten:  Canadian Forces 431 Demonstration Squadron.  Also known as the Snowbirds, they fly ancient subsonic training jets with a precision and skill that is unbelievable.  The Blue Angels pilots love to hitch rides with the Snowbirds because they know our folks bring it.  The best place to see the Snowbirds is on Canada Day on Parliament Hill at noon with 299,999 of your closest friends.

Eleven:  Mumbling the words to our national anthem, O Canada.

Twelve:  Honestly, we’re really, really sorry about Celine Dion.  Really.  Cross our hearts.

Thirteen:  Curling, Ice Hockey and Lacrosse.  The only international sport (Curling) where drinking is considered an essential part of the game. Bareknuckle fistfights with the occasional hockey game describes the national pasttime.  Then there is Lacrosse which makes tough sports like Aussie Rules Football and Rugby look like needlepoint conventions with big audiences.  The only folks who aren’t scared of lacrosse are the would-be suicides who play jai lai. 

Fourteen:  We do lists like this every Canada Day, if only to reassure ourselves that Canada is a nice place.

Happy Canada Day eh?