Trade Notification

It's been a great year at Generic Student Employment Co. In my time at my Generic Student Job, I hold the record for most individual membership sales, highest (and second and third highest) cashouts in one day, have trained more new employees than anyone else (other than my old boss), and am currently counted on to help the company through a difficult and unique transition period. Because of this, the timing is perfect to announce that I am requesting a trade to a new city in the spirit of my new role model. I know, I know. I just signed a long-term contract and gave Generic Student Employment Co. every indication that they could proceed knowing my status was one certainty they could rely on as they focus on other matters, but gosh, I'm just not happy, you know?

All dubious sarcasm aside, Chris Pronger sucks harder, deeper, and longer than any other hockey player has ever sucked. Why sign a five year contract they ask to be traded because your wife doesn't like the city? DON'T SIGN THE CONTRACT THEN. You were within one backup-goalie fuck-up of winning the Stanley Cup in a city that kissed your ass all year and did nothing but tell you and anyone else unfortunate to be in the vicinity how great you are, the best defensemen in the NHL, would-be Conn Smythe winner, and certified Hall of Famer. Plus $6.25 million a year. Not good enough eh? Don't let Jason Smith's stick hit you across the head on your way out of town.

It's louder now...

As much as I my taste in music is gradually becoming more subtle, more refined and a little more exploratory, deep down there lingers a desire for raw, unnecessary pure power. Eight ago I was playing in a tennis tournament in Vernon and my doubles partner, whom I'd met down there, was driving the two of us around town to our match locations. He had his big sub pumping out some phat b-boy tracks, and I asked him why he dug such dope beats, fo-shizzle. He said he didn't really like rap but that it made the sub pound. At the time I thought it odd that the message be dictated by the medium, rather than the other way around. Shouldn't one first like a certain type of music and then buy the right speakers, receivers and source? Seemed to make sense. Then a couple years ago a friend of mine introduced me to the world of high-end analogue audio. He was listening to jazz, female vocals, and classic tunes which were a far cry from the shrieking metal he preferred in high school. Once again, the idea was that the medium chose the message because it sounded better. I'm moving along the same path with my home theatre setup dictating louder, dumber, awesomer movies because they maximize (and justify?) the system (and the cost). Here's the latest addition to the Team.

Thanks for a great ride

In the last two months, the Oilers became the first eighth seen to make it to the Finals, the third team to beat the President's trophy winner in the first round, the third team ever to force a game seven after being down 3-1 in a final and the first Oiler team in sixteen years to make it to the last series. They also overcame a 2-0 deficit for the first time in team history, the loss of the hottest goalie in the playoffs, and a flu virus that hit half the players in the third round. Some people say they failed. I say that it was the most rewarding spring I've ever had, and thanks to a great team for an inspiring run. See you next year!

Gotta love sports.

MacT will save us!

Size matters not. Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you? Hmm? Hmm. And well you should not, for my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you; between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere. Yes, even between the land and the ship.

Down 3-1, going back to Carolina. I believe.

I have never seen anything so gay in my entire life

And by gay, I don't mean that it's wrong or vile or soon-to-be-illegal-when-grouped-in-legal-twosomes. I just mean gay. Stay tuned everyone!

I Pity the Fool

In the year 2006, a crack cosmetics unit was sent out to sell a product by a corporation they don't understand. These women promptly escaped from all arguments promotting reason and common sense to the Prince George underground. Today, still wanted by their husbands, they survive as National Vice President of fortune. If you have a sun-parched skin, if no one else can help you exfoliate, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire: The A(rbonne)-Team.