Monday, July 27, 2009


I sell brake pads for Ford F-150s and tires for Toyota Corollas. Naw, you'll want 10W-40, not 10W-30 'cause the... uh... viscosity something um. Trust me. I have a computer that tells me these things. I got WHMIS.

At our training session the mechanic -- who looks like a Tamil Wheels (Degrassi, Jesus...) -- tells us to treat the battery lovingly, and don't connect this connector to that connector or the battery will lose its charge "dramastically".

It's 1996 and I'll be graduating high school this year, what. I've got a job at Canadian Tire, word. I've got a job selling you auto parts. At the end of the night, if you peep me while I'm restocking shelves with motor oil, you'll see me I'm in the stock room curling boxes of 10W-40 as I carry them out to the floor. At least 20 pounds, those boxes. At least 10 reps. I've got a mad crush on this cutie from another school and she likes biceps.

Me. Selling YOU. Auto parts.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009


Naw, it's gotta go, man. It's just not cool anymore. It hasn't been cool in mad long. That whole I'm gonna drink this drink and you're gonna say something shocking and I'm gonna choke and/or geyser it outta my mouth onto your face like a spritzer... and the audience is gonna laugh... Naw man, it's gotta go. Like in (500) Days of Summer, when Zooey Deschanel says she was known as "Anal Girl", and guy next to her chokes on his Long Island iced tea or whatever... tasty lemonade or whatever... I didn't laugh. Shit's supposed to be funny but it's played out. Cliché. Look, no one chokes when in mid-drink, no matter how shocking the news. You know what you do when you're sipping Snapple and someone says, "'Sup, I'm Anal Girl"? You stop sipping. You pause. Process the information. Proceed. Not spit up, you baby. That joke ain't funny anymore. Stop it. Jack Tripper mastered that joke in 1982 and no one does food gags better than Jack Tripper. It went to comedy heaven with him.